Part 15 (2/2)
Beth dashed forward, s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of her hand, and threw it into the sea.
”We are not beggars!” she cried.
”Well done, little one,” a gentleman who was sitting near exclaimed.
”Won't pick up the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, eh?
That's a very proper spirit. And who may you be?”
”My father was a gentleman,” Beth answered hotly.
CHAPTER XII
Uncle James Patten sent a landau to meet his sister and her family at the station, on their arrival from Ireland. Mildred was the first to jump in. She took the best seat, and sat up stiff and straight.
”I do love carriages and horses, mamma,” she said, as they drove through Rainharbour, the little north-country seaside place which was henceforth to be their home. ”I wonder which is to be our house. There are several empty. Do you think it is that one?” She had singled out one of the largest in the place.
”No,” said Mrs. Caldwell rather bitterly, ”more likely this,” and she indicated a tiny two-storied tenement, wedged in between tall houses, and looking as if it had either got itself there by mistake, or had been put in in a hurry, just to fill up.
”That _is_ the one,” Beth said.
”How do you know?” Mildred snapped.
”Because we're going to live in Orchard Street, opposite the orchard; and this is Orchard Street, and there's the orchard, and that's the only house empty.”
”I'm afraid the child is right,” Mrs. Caldwell said with a sigh.
”However,” she added, pulling herself up, ”it is exceedingly kind of Uncle James to give us a house at all.”
”He might have given us something nicer,” Mildred remarked disdainfully.
”Oh!” Beth exclaimed, ”he's given us the best he has, I expect. And it's a dear little place, with a little bow-window on either side of a little front door--just like the one where Snowdrop found the empty beds when the bears were out.”
”Don't talk nonsense, Beth,” Mildred cried crossly.
But Beth hardly heard. She was busy peopling the quaint little town with the friends of her fancy, and sat smiling serenely as she looked about her.
They had to drive right through Rainharbour, and about a mile out into the country on the other side, to arrive at Fairholm, Uncle James Patten's place. The sun had set, and the quaintly irregular red-brick houses, mellowed by age, shone warm in tint against the gathering grey of the sky, which rose like a leaden dome above them. At one part of the road the sea came in sight. Great dark mountainous ma.s.ses of cloud, with flame-coloured fringes, hung suspended over its s.h.i.+ning surface, in which they were reflected with what was to Beth terrible effect. She sat and s.h.i.+vered with awe so long as the lurid scene was in sight, and was greatly relieved when the carriage turned into a country lane, and sea and sombre sky were blotted out.
It was early spring. Buds were bursting in the hedgerows, birds were building, songsters sang among the branches, and the air was sweet and mild. Fairholm lay all among fertile fields, well wooded and watered.
It was a typical English home, with surroundings as unlike the great, bare, bald mountains and wild Atlantic seas Beth had hitherto shuddered amongst, as peace is unlike war. Certain natures are stimulated by the grandeur of such scenes; but Beth was too delicate an instrument to be played upon so roughly. Storms within reflected the storms without only too readily. She was tempest-tossed by temperament, and, in nature, all her yearning was for repose; so that now, as they drove up the well-ordered avenue to the house, the tender tone of colour, green against quiet grey, and the easy air of affluence, so soothing after the sorrowful signs of a hard struggle for life by which her feelings had hitherto been harrowed, drew from her a deep sigh of satisfaction.
The hall-door stood open, but no one was looking out for them. They could hear the tinkle of a piano in the distance. Then a servant appeared, followed by a stout lady, who came forward to greet them in a hurried, nervous way.
”I'm glad to see you,” she said, kissing Mrs. Caldwell. She spoke in a breathless undertone, as if she were saying something wrong, and was afraid of being caught and stopped before she had finished the sentence. ”I should like to have gone to meet you, but James said there were too many for the carriage as it was. He says more than two in the carriage makes it look like an excursion-party. But I was listening for you, only I don't hear very well, you know. You remember me, Mildred? This is Beth, I suppose, and this is Bernadine. You don't know who I am? I am your Aunt Grace Mary. James begs you to excuse him for a little, Caroline. It is his half-hour for exercises. So unfortunate. If you had only come a little later! But, however, the sooner the better for me. Come into the dining-room and see Aunt Victoria. We must stay there until Uncle James has finished practising his exercises in the drawing-room.”
Great-Aunt Victoria Bench was sitting bolt upright on a high chair in the dining-room, tatting. Family portraits, hung far too high all round the room, seemed to have been watching her complacently until the travellers entered, when they all turned instantly and looked hard at Beth.
Aunt Victoria was a tall thin old lady, with a beautiful delicate complexion, an auburn front and white cap, and a severely simple black dress. She rose stiffly to receive Mrs. Caldwell, and kissed her on both cheeks with restrained emotion. Then she shook hands with each of the children.
<script>