Part 2 (2/2)
It was true that Robbie had caused more trouble than his five sisters put together, but his exploits had been of an innocent, lovable nature, and when the temporary annoyance which they caused was over, she and her mother had laughed over them with tender pride. He was such a manly little fellow! Many a boy would have been spoiled if he had been brought up in a household composed exclusively of womenkind, but nothing could take the spirit out of Robbie. He had begun to domineer over his sisters while he was still in petticoats, and now that he was promoted to sailor suits, he gave himself the airs of the master of the house!
Mildred recalled the day when he had been discovered standing before a mirror, making wild slashes at his curls with a pair of cutting-out scissors. The explanation given was that some boys had dared to call him ”pitty girl!” and he couldn't ”'tand it!” When his mother shed tears of mortification, Robbie hugged her with sympathetic effusion, but st.u.r.dily refused to say that he was ”torry!”
A vision of the little s.h.a.ggy head rose up before Mildred's eyes: she saw the chubby face, the defiant pose of the childish figure, and stretching out her hands, sobbed forth a broken prayer.
”Oh, G.o.d! you have so many children in Heaven--so many little boys. We have only one... Don't take Robbie!”
The morning wore away, the blazing sun of noon shone in through the open window, Mildred's head throbbed with pain, then gradually everything seemed to sink away to an immeasurable distance, and she was lost in blessed unconsciousness.
When she awoke the church bell was chiming for afternoon service, and Miss Margaret knelt by her side, holding an open telegram in her hand.
”I opened it, darling!” she said; ”I thought it would be better. It is good news, Mildred--good news! Robbie is better. The doctors think he will get well now!”
Ah! that was a happy afternoon! Mardie took Mildred in her arms and kissed and petted her to her heart's content, then the door opened and in came old Ellen, the cook, carrying a tea-tray with freshly-made scones, a plate of raspberries from the garden, and a jug of thick, country cream. The kind old soul had been so full of sympathy that she had insisted upon carrying it up the three flights of stairs herself, although her breath was of the shortest, and she gasped and panted in alarming fas.h.i.+on. Mildred laughed and cried in one breath, and lay back against the cus.h.i.+ons, drinking tea, and eating raspberries in great contentment of spirit.
”I was awfully hungry, though I didn't know it. I feel as if I had been ill. Oh, Mardie, isn't it a lovely feeling when the pain goes, and you can just rest and be thankful! ... It's worse to have a pain in your mind than in your body. I feel ashamed now that I made such a fuss about staying at school--it seems such a little thing in comparison, but don't say 'I told you so!' Mardie, or that will make me feel horrid again. It really _is_ big, you know, only the other was so much bigger... Mardie, have you ever had a disappointment--as big a disappointment as mine?”
A quiver pa.s.sed over Miss Margaret's face, and for a moment she looked very sad.
”Oh, Mildred, yes!” she cried. ”Everyone has, dear, but sometimes I have been discontented enough to imagine that I have had more than my share. A disappointment, indeed! dozens,--scores,--hundreds! But of course some are harder to bear than others.”
”Tell me about one now!” said Mildred, leaning back against the cus.h.i.+ons and settling herself to listen in comfort. ”Do, Mardie! I feel just in the humour to listen to a story; and I know it will be interesting if you tell it. 'The Story of a Disappointment!' Something exciting that happened to you when you were young. Now then, go along! Begin at once!”
Mardie laughed, and then pretended to look indignant.
”When I was young, indeed! What do you call me now? When you are my age you will be very indignant if anyone calls you old. Well now, let me see! I'll tell you the story of a disappointment which happened to-- well--not exactly to me, but to a very great friend whom I had known all my life. He tried to get on in business in England, but it seemed as if there was no opening for him here, and at last he made up his mind to go abroad. He heard through an advertis.e.m.e.nt of an opening in a tea plantation in a.s.sam (a.s.sam, Mildred! You know where it is, of course), and though he hated the idea of leaving home, he thought it was the right thing to do. Well, he went. It was a long and expensive journey, and when he arrived he found that things were not at all as they had been represented. I can't enter into details, but the advertis.e.m.e.nt had been one of those cruel frauds by which young men are tempted abroad, and robbed of time and money. My friend was clever enough to see through the deception, and refused to have anything to do with the business. That was all right so far as it went, but there he was, alone in a strange land, not knowing where to turn, or what to do to earn a livelihood. It was just about this time that the planters in Ceylon were beginning to grow the cinchona-tree, from the bark of which the medicine known as quinine is made; and it happened one day that my friend overheard two gentlemen discussing the prospects of the crops and speaking very enthusiastically about it. He made inquiries in as many directions as he could, and finally decided to go south to Ceylon and prospect. He had some money of his own, and he was fortunate enough to meet a man who had been in the island for years, and who had valuable experience. They bought an estate between them, planted it with cinchona, and worked hard to cultivate it; and it is very hard, Mildred, for an Englishman to work in the open air in those tropical countries!
It was a difficult crop to raise, and misfortune befell all the estates around. The roots 'cankered', the leaves turned red and dropped off, so that the trees had to be uprooted, and very little if any of the bark could be used. My friend's estate, however, flourished more and more.
His partner was a clever planter, and they were not content to leave the work to the care of an overseer, but looked after it themselves, night and day. There was not a single precaution which they neglected; not an improvement which they left untried, and as I say the place flourished-- people talked about it--it became well known in the island. It was all the more valuable because of the failure of the other estates, and the sum which the estate would realise, if all went well, would be a fortune--large enough to provide both partners for life.
”Imagine how they felt, Mildred! How eager they were; how delighted.
They had been away from home for years by this time, and were longing to return. They had each their own castle in the air, and it seemed as if this money would build it on solid earth. For some time everything flourished, then--one morning--”
Miss Margaret paused, and drew a difficult breath; Mildred stared at her with dilated eyes.
”My friend wrote me all about it. They had finished breakfast and strolled out together, talking of what they would do when the next few weeks were over, and the money was paid down. They were to buy presents in Colombo, take pa.s.sages in the first steamer, and come home laden with spoils. The partner--his name was 'Ned'--was picturing the scene which would take place at his home when he distributed the treasures which he had bought for his sisters--amethyst rings, tortoise-sh.e.l.l brushes, bra.s.s ornaments. He walked on ahead, gesticulating, and waving his hands in the air. Suddenly he stopped short, started violently, and stared at one of the carefully-guarded cinchona-trees.
”'What is it, Ned?' cried his partner, and at that the other turned his face. It had been all bright and sparkling a moment before. It was changed now--like the face of an old, old man. My friend looked and saw: the leaves were shrivelling--it was the beginning of the red blight!”
Miss Margaret jumped up from her seat and began to pace the room. Her voice quivered; her eyes had a suspicious brightness; while Mildred was undisguisedly tearful.
”Oh, Mardie! How awful! Oh, the poor, poor fellows! What did they do?”
”There was nothing to be done. They knew that by experience. The blight would spread and spread until the whole estate was destroyed.
They could do nothing to stop it. They went back to the bungalow and sat there all day long--without speaking a word or lifting their eyes from the ground. All the years of hard, unceasing work had been for nothing--”
Mardie stopped abruptly.
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