UC-NRLF ll II 1 mil I 1 nil II lill I III! 1 lill 11 II III III Ml lli Nil lill II II II li B 3 327 322 X . _ f^^'^ ^ •M.t.>,...>4.^. .im^uttiteiifmM¥miiiri\nr- 01 mmmm^m:^ m. SteaK^iR5s;s?^s^,v.v-^ /i'i'i^'i:'}vs^-'y^fi&}tfX.'i pagb I. The Washerwoman and her FArLrixT . 1 II. The QriET Little Village of Grinfield 11 III. The Brother and Sister's Walk Home . 23 IV, Trying to Get at the Past . . .37 V. The Fairy Child at the Big HorsE . 55 VI. The Letter from Bournby . . . 93 PART 11. VII. The Burden of a Double Secret . . 121 VIII. The Parable of the Talents . . .137 Vlll CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAOK IX. The Sister's Selp-Sacrifice *. . .153 X. The Fairy Child at the Infant School 167 XI. The Sister's Reward 185 XII. The Bon-bon Box 190 XIII. The Mystery cleared up . . . . 215 XIV. The Great Carver's Greatest Work . 283 XV. After Ten Years . . • . . 247 PAET THE FIRST, CHAPTER I. THE WASHERWOMAN AND HER FAMILY. B CHAPTEE I. It was Christmas time in tlie little village of Grinfield. The snow lay thick and crisp on the hard ground, and all the ponds in the neigh- bourhood were well frozen over. It was bright winter weather, and the sun was shining in cheerfully at the open door of a cottage at the end of the lane, where hved a poor washerwoman, a widow, and her three children. The inside of the cottage was scru- pulously neat and clean ; a good lire crackled merrily in the grate, and a substantial-look- ing pot was sending forth a savoury smelL B 2 4 THWAKTED ; OE, Near the fire sat a little boy, making a wooden soldier, and a nice-looking girl of eighteen was laying tlie cloth for dinner. The widow herself, with arms bared to the elbow, was standing at a table in the window, sorting some clothes, preparatory to putting them into the wash-tub. . Though worn with hard work, and pre- maturely grey, she was evidently still young, and it was easy to see she must once have been very handsome. She had, even now, far more claim to real beauty than her young daughter, though the girl was more pleasing looking, from having an air of greater refinement. The mother was cast in a coarser mould. She was on a larger scale, though she was not so tall ; and she was far more strongly built. Her hands and arms were large and brawny, and looked as if they had done ducks' eggs in a hen's liTEST. 5 much work in their day, and done it well. There was energy and determination in her quick step and in her large dark eye. She worked with a will even while sorting the clothes ; and there was that about her whole appearance and in the deep lines in her forehead which seemed to tell of a woman who had fought a hard battle ^vith life and had come off conqueror. The girl moved about quietly, and went through all the preparations for the mid- day meal without hurry or commotion. She was slighter and fairer than her mother. Her hands bore httle or no trace of hard work, and the expression of her face was calmer and more thoughtful. Still, it was not without traces of resolu- tion ; and it was in this that the two faces were alike. 6 THWARTED ; OE, ' Where is Bill, mother ? ' A shade passed over the widow's face, and something like a sigh escaped her. ' He came home from the farm, but I sent him up to the Big House with some clothes.' ' Why do you sigh, mother ? ' asked the young girl, rather quickly. ' Bill's got one of his queer fits on him to-day,' she answered. ' I did hope he was taking to his work at the farm, and giving his mind to it like a sensible lad ; but to-day he seems as bad as ever*' ' I wonder what brought it on to-day in particular,' said Bessie, half to herself. ' How is one to tell ? ' said Mrs. Tarver, harshly ; ' why can't he be contented with his lot ? I 've no patience with him. Hacking away with a knife and a bit of wood every spare moment he's got, instead of going ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 7 heart and soul into his farm work. I know it sends him back to the farm discontented every time, instead of being thankful that he's got such a start in life. I often wish,' she added with a sigh, ' that God Almighty wouldn't bestow talents where there's no means of making any use of them.' Bessie did not echo her mother's wish. She gloried in her brother's talents, and in the certainty that he was meant for something better than a day labourer. She knew no more than her mother how this meaning in his hfe was to be brought out ; but she was younger and more hopeful. The unknown path of life stretching before her was full of possibilities ; and her young eyes looked out upon a vista of bright- ness which the poor widow's were too worn with work and tears to see. 'And I'm afraid,' the washerwoman 8 THWARTED ; OK, went on, glancing wrathfully at the little boy by the fire, ' that Bill's example is lead- ing Charhe the same silly road. The child's always messing with a bit of wood, wasting his time. I've a good mind, Bessie, to stop it with him at once, like I've often wished I'd done to Bill years ago.' ' You couldn't have stopped Bill carving by telling^ mother,' said the gM proudly, ' any more than you could have put your hand on his head and told him not to grow. He's \hQ tallest lad in the village,' she added, as if to change the subject. 'Worse luck,' said the washerwoman. ' How to keep him neat and respectable I don't know. Why, do what T will, his arms are always too long for his jacket-sleeves, and his trousers half-way up his legs. If he grew stout at the same time, and more fit y for his farming, like I've been used to see ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 9 my brothers grow down in Lincolnshire, well and good ; but instead of that, he's as slim as a young fir-tree ; and the farmers give him less wages than the others, because he can't f^et throuirh so much work. But there ! it is no use talking about it. One must take one's children as God Almighty sends them, and be thankful they're no worse. 'For with all his cranks, Bill's a good son to me, and you're a good girl, too, Bessie,' she went on, ' though you're obstinate about the washing. I've often told you that you and I together might take in double the washing, and make twice the money. But it's no use talk- ing.' ' But think when I'm an infant-school- mistress, mother, and making perhaps 20/. or 30/. a year ! ' ' Ah, well ! I daresay. But all this extra schooling comes heavy. But none of you \ <- *« > 10 THWARTED. take to hard work, so I must just work all the harder myself to make up for it.' And the washerwoman bustled away into the wash-house, and was heard splashing energetically as she rinsed out the clothes. Poor thing ! Like the hen in the fable, she had hatched ducks' eggs in her nest, and now she found the creatures she had expected to be little barn-door chickens, developing powers of which she knew nothing, and eager to dash into waters which she had never dared approach. In vain she stood cackling on the brink, striving to recall them to the barn-door life that had ever seemed to her so all-sufficient. She could not follow them, and they would not lieed her crv. CHAPTER II. THE QUIET LITTLE VILLAGE OF GRINFIELD CHAPTEE II. Dinner being now ready, Bessie called her mother from the wash-house, and then went to the cottage door to see if her brother were in sight. Shading her eyes with her hand, she stood gazing down the road, till in the distance she saw him coming slowly along. ' He's coming, mother ' she said, retm'n- ing into the cottage ; and they began dinner. Bill came in almost immediately after. A taU, slightly -built youth of about seventeen ; in every respect as unlike one's idea of a farm-labourer as could possibly be 14 THWAETED ; OR, He had an earnest, tliouglitful face ; with a tinge about it of shght melancholy. He had the same rather delicate features as his sister. He was very unlike his mother, except in the one point in which Bessie also re- sembled her — the expression of determi- nation about the eyes and forehead. He took his place at the table, but hurried over his meal as if he were only going through the farce of eating because he must. He soon rose, and saying he had some- thing to finish before going back to the farm, he disappeared into the adjoining room. ' He's eaten nothing,' said the widow as soon as he was gone. ' But he's drunk a lot,' said Charlie, hopefully, as he turned over Dick's ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 15 water-mncr, ^hicli he liacl drained to the dreg's. ' He'll not get stout upon that,' sighed the washerwoman, as she rose from the table, and began clearino; awav the things. Bessie now prepared to return to the villao-e school for the afternoon. She was an unpaid pupil-teacher, and was hoping soon to pass the examination which would quahfy her for the post of an infant-schoolmistress. This had been her ambition from early youth, and the thought of its approaching fulfilment often made her heart beat high. She had a natural talent for teaching. It seemed born in her. Long ago, the schoolmistress had seen that the infants, under Bessie's tuition, learnt twice as fast, and with twice as much dehght, as under that of any of the other teachers. She seemed able to be at once clear and 16 THWARTED ; OH, attractive in her manner of imparting in- struction, and to have the power of gaining the most fidgety child's attention. Under these circumstances her future career seemed mapped out for her, and the village schoolmistress educated her for that end. Bessie had stuck to her intention with gentle pertinacity, in spite of her mother's wish for her to take advantage of a vacant scullery-maid's place at the Big House, or her equally earnest desire that her daughter should join her in the labours of washing and clear-starching. Bessie felt that she was fitted for higher things, and also that in the end it would be more advantageous for her mother as well as for herself. She lamented, certainly, that the extra years of schooliug necessary to fit her for DUCKS' EGGS IX A HEX'S XEST. 17 her vocation slioiild for the present be an extra expense to her mother ; but she hoped to pay her back a hundredfold some day, and be the means of loading her dechning years with every kind of comfort. She had always been upheld in her am- bition by her brother, who was proud of her talents, and could not bear the thought of their being thrown away. ' A bird in the hand is worth two in thi. bush,' had been the widow's bitter exclama- tion when she saw that the scullery-maid's place (in her eyes so rare and so valuable an opening in life) was to slip from the grasp by which she would fain have detained it. She could hardly bear with patience to see it pass away from her family ; and was not so sanguine as her children as to the distant infant-schoolmistress-ship ; not seeing c 18 THWARTED ; OE, wlio was to interest themselves sufficiently in her girl to procure her such an appoint- ment. The village in which the family of Tarver lived was certainly not a propitious atmosphere for the development of native talent, or one that paved the way for the rise in life of its young inhabitants. It was an isolated and somewhat neg- lected district. The civilising power of a local railway was as yet unknown. The nearest station was fourteen miles off, and the market town nearly ten. There were no large landed proprietors' houses in the near neighbourhood. The land round about the village belonged to the 'Big House,' and so did the surrounding farms and cottages. It was altogether a behind- the-times, old- fashioned kind of place. The ' Big House,' ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 19 whicli by its name might lead the stranger to suppose it to be a star of the first mag- nitude, was only so called by comparison with the lesser hghts of the village among which it stood ; and was inhabited by an invahd lady and her little girl. What time this lady had in her short day (for she never rose till two) was, of course, devoted to her child. So that leaders of schemes, and promoters of progress and good works, there were none. ' Aide-toi ' was, therefore, the only motto for aspiring young spirits after this world's good in the quiet httle village of Grinfield. 'Bill, it's past the quarter,' said Bessie, looking into her brother's room, with her bonnet on. It was an untidy httle place. Bits of wood and pieces of carving lay about in c 2 20 THWARTED ; OR, every direction ; and unfinished designs on stray bits of paper were scattered about on the floor. In the midst of the confusion sat Bill, with his carving on his lap, working away with a penknife, and completely absorbed in his occupation. It was a wonderfully pretty creation that was growing out of the rough wood under his hand, and Bessie gazed at it vdth admiration. ' How you have got on with it since yesterday. Bill ! ' ' Yes,' the boy answered, looking up excitedly, his face very unlike the quiet, thoughtful face it had been at dinner ; ' but I've just got to a difficulty, Bess ; and I don't see how I am to get past it.' His eyes sparkled as lie spoke with a look half of determination, half of disappoint- ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 21 ment ; his head went down again, and he hacked away fiercely. ' It's no use,' he burst out after a minute ; ' the difficulty would he nothing with proper tools ; but with this wretched knife ' and with something like a sob, he flung it to the other end of the room. ' Never mind, Bill, dear,' said Bessie, softly ; ' try again to-night, when you're not so hurried ; you had better come now.' But even while she spoke he had picked up the knife, and was working away as hard as ever. 'Well, I'll walk slowly on. Bill, and perhaps you'll overtake me. But if by any chance you don't, will you come and fetch me this evening ? It's my day to study with the mistress after the school's broke up, and it'll be dark before I get home.' He murmured something unintelhgible, 22 THWARTED. and she left him. Charlie was ready to start, and they walked on leisurely, so as to give Bill every chance of overtaking them. But when they reached the schools he was still in the far distance ; so Bessie had to give him up, for the clock struck the hour for afternoon school, and her little class was waiting. CHAPTER III. THE BROTHER AND SISTER'S WALK HOME CHAPTEE III. About two hours after, Bessie cauie out of the school, and found Bill walking up and down waiting for her. The brother and sister walked along the road for some time in silence. At last Bessie said — ' What's made you so thoughtful all day to-day. Bill ? . Is there anything particular you've been thinking about ? ' ' Yes ! ' he answered so vehemently that he quite startled her ; ' tliinking what a wretched thing it is to live in a little out-of- the-way hole like this place, where there's nothing ever doing or stirring ; and where 26 THWARTED; OR, nobody does anything to help a poor man to improve himself.' 'What's put it more particularly into your thoughts to-day, Bill ? ' ' Eeading this, for one thing,' he answered, pulling a magazine out of his pocket, ' and seeing how different it all is in other places.' 'And the other thing?' questioned Bessie. ' What I saw up at the Big House last night,' he answered, turning his face eagerly towards her. ' What was that. Bill ? ' ' A beautiful tool-box, Bess, just come down from London. The footman asked me to help him to unpack it. You never saw anything half so dehghtful. Every sort of delicious tool to make a difficulty easier than no difficulty with a penknife. A saw, a chisel, a gimlet, etc., etc' DUCKS EGGS IN A HENS NEST. 27 Bessie could hardly follow the excited enumeration, but she watched the gusto with which the boy pronounced the name of every tool. ' And what were you reading in the magazine, Bill ? ' He handed it to her, and she glanced over the article he indicated. The subject was the progress of art in •England during the last twenty or thirty years ; and the discovery and development of talent of all kinds among all classes. There was a list of institutions established where struggling artists, whose talents would otherwise have run to waste, can now have the best instruction for next to nothing. Amongst other advantages held out for improving the taste of the public was men- tioned the opening of exhibitions, where all the great people of England sent the works 28 THWARTED ; OR, of the old masters that had , been handed down in their famihes from generation to generation, so that all miglit see and profit by them. Having read thus far, Bessie looked up and said, ' Well, but, Bill, there is nothing to complain of in this. What more would you have ? This goes to prove that the poor in these days have quite as many advantages as the rich. Artists learn in London, you see, for next to nothinor.' ' Do we live in London ? ' he retorted. ' That is just what I complain of.' ' Well, no,' said Bessie, slowly ; ' but still ' ' But still,' he said impatiently, ' but still we live in this httle out-of-the-way behind- the-times Grinfield, while in London every advantage is offered free. I am nearly seventeen ; I would work day and night at ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 29 carving willingly and gladly, and I know I could turn it to account ; and for want of instruction and opportunity, I am doomed to work all my life long in a farm-yard, because I should starve if I didn't. Oh, Bessie ! I am sorely tempted sometimes to start off, like Dick Whittington, and find my way to London. Once there, I should succeed, 1 know.' Bessie looked rather frightened. ' Well, read on,' he said, relapsing into his usual quiet manner; 'you haven't got beyond London yet. If it was only London, I shouldn't mind so much, for I should feel I was no worse off than any other country lad. But see what it says after.' The article went on to say how tlie march of enhghtenment had spread into country towns, hamlets, villages, colliery districts, and all over the land. 30 THWARTED ; OR, Institutions on a smaller scale were enumerated, which had served to draw out local talents, as well as to foster and en- courage general improvement. First on the hst came Village Industrial Exhibitions. Then followed book clubs, evening lectures in parish schools, penny readings, agricultural shows, flower-shows, etc., etc. Examples were given of men and boys who, by means of the first institution, had been found to possess tastes and talents hitherto unsuspected, and had been sent up to London to profit by the advantages there. One example there was, and that the last one, of a youth who had for years employed all his leisure time in carving; who, by means of an industrial exhibition in the neighbourhood, had had his talents brought under the notice of a gentleman, who had ducks' EGaS IN A HEX'S XEST. 31 interested himself to procure the boy a situation in a great furniture warehouse in London, at a rate of wages sufficient to support him entirely at the time, with a hope of steady increase in the future. At this point Bessie saw her brother's eye fixed upon her with such a hungry expression, that she could hardly help laughing. She restrained herself, however, and said, as she gave him back the magazine, ' I wish something of the sort would happen to you, dear Bill ! ' '^^ But it never will,' he answered bitterly. ' I shall hve and die a farm-labourer in this wretched little place.' They walked on a little way in silence, and then Bill broke out again : ' Why, not one of the things that article speaks of as common to every httle country village is even hiown here. I don't mean the grander 32 THWAETED ; OR, things, but sucli simple things as book clubs and night schools. We don't even have a flower show ! I can't think^ Bessie, how mother ever came to settle here. Of all places in the world to choose ! She must have had all England to choose from when my father died ! ' ' I wonder where we lived before,' said Bessie, meditatively. ' I shall ask mother this very night,' ex- claimed Bill. Bessie shook her head. ' Better not. Bill ; you know how she hates being questioned. It seems as if she couldn't bear being asked anything about her former life. Besides, it's no good, for she won't answer. ' But I'm not sure she has any right to hide everything about my father from us,' said Bill. ' We are not babies now, and if ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. B3 there's any secret, we ought to know it. / ought, at any rate. Wliy, I don't even know what he was, or Avhere he Hved, or anything about him. I think it's rather hard upon me. It makes me think I don't know what. I de- clare, sometimes it has crossed my mind that perhaps he was a thief, or something of that kind : and that that's why mother is so close about him.' ' It's nothing of that kind, I'm sure,' said Bessie ; ' there's no bitterness in my mother's mind about him. It's not with shame she mentions his name when she does speak of him. There's great trouble and sorrow con- nected with him ; but nothing but that, Bill, you may depend upon it.' ' WeU then, I say it's wrong to keep one so much in the dark as to leave room for such horrible suspicions,' said Bill ; ' and I D 34 THWAETED ; OR, shall tell mother that's what the result of her being so mysterious has been.' ' No, you won't, Bill. You're too good to do that, I know. You've often threatened this kind of thing before ; but when the moment comes, you're too tender-hearted to do it. Mother's a wddow, and you are her eldest son. You never forget that.' ' Well, no,' he answered ; ' I shouldn't be working in a farm-yard now if it wasn't for that. I should be on the road to London, with a bundle on my back ; to work my way as other adventurers have done before me ! ' His eyes sparkled at the thought. ' But I couldn't desert mother,' he added with a sigh ; ' particularly as it might be many years before I should make any money to help her with. And as it is, of course my farm earnings help to keep the pot boiling. But I shall lead up the conversation to-night, ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 35 Bessie, after Charlie has gone to bed ; and try to find out what could have induced her to settle in this place. There's no harm in that.' They reached the cottage-door as he spoke, and found their mother waiting supper for them. Charlie was already in bed. The meal was soon over, and cleared away. Bessie got out her work, and the widow began to darn Bill's socks. The fire crackled merrily, and for a time ; all three were silent. 1)2 CHAPTER IV. TRYING TO GET AT THE PAST CHAPTER IV. ' MoTHEK,' said Bill, suddenly, ' how was it we ever came to live here ? ' Tlie widow looked up sharply, and said ' Ever came to live here I Why we've always lived here.' ' Not always, mother. You've often told me none of us, not even Charlie, were born here.' ' Well, we've lived here as long as you can remember anyhow,' she retorted. Bessie glanced at her brother, as if to beg him to drop the subject, as he had so often had to do on former occasions ; but Bill was not to be silenced to-ni^ht. o 40 THWARTED ; OR, ' Where did we live,' he said, returning to. the charge, ' before we came here ? ' ' At Bournby in Lincolnshire,' she answered ; ' in my father's home.' ' Was our father alive then ? ' pursued Bill. ' No,' she answered, very unwillingly. ' Oh then, that's not what I mean : what I want to know is, where we lived before that — before our father died. Where was it, mother ? ' The direct question seemed to deprive the wndow of the powers of evasion she had always hitherto so successfully practised, whenever her children had touched on these forbidden topics. Bill, too, was so much bolder and more determined than usual, and she answered, almost as if she could not help herself, ' In London.' But she was not prepared for the effect her answer would have upon her son. ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 41 ' 111 London ! ' tie exclaimed, springing to his feet, and crimsoning with excitement ; * Oh Bessie ! Bessie ! do you hear that ? In London ! ' Bessie felt for him sincerely, as he stood there flushed and breathless. She knew well the thouo-hts that were racing through his brain of all that life in London might have done for him : of all the advantages to be found there, that he had that very afternoon enumerated. But she felt also for her mother, who had dropped her work, and was looking at him with a half-scared look, as if asking the reason of this sudden outburst. 'Bless me. Bill,' exclaimed the widow, ' are you gone crazy ? What's the matter with you ? ' ' It makes me crazy to think of it,' he cried ; ' to have hved in London, and to have 42 THWARTED ; OR, left it ! To have had such a chance, and to have thrown it away ! Mother ! mother ! how could you do such a thing ! Oh ! what wouldn't I give to be living there now ! ' ' You're a foolish boy,' she said angrily, roused by his imphed reproach ; ' j^ou don't know what you're talking about, nor w^here you're well off. London indeed ! So that's your idea of good fortune and happiness is it ! London ! A place overcrowded and overstocked with workers, treading on each others' heels, and not w^ork to be found for the half of them ! Oh my God ! ' she exclaimed suddenly, dropping her work and covering her face with her hands, ' lioiv wretched I have been in London ! ' Bessie glanced imploringly at her brother, and signed to him to stop the conversation. Bill drew near to his mother, touched by the siglit of her distress. ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 43 'Little Mother,' lie said coaxingly, stroking her work-worn hands, ' won't you tell us what made you sad in those old days ? Won't you at last tell us something about oiu- father, and our early life ? ' His words and manner seemed to stir her strangely. The tears came into her eyes. ' I'll not have you call me that, Wilham,' she said very softly, and lier voice seemed to dwell fondly and with a peculiar intonation on the liquid sounds that make up the name. 'Why?' asked Bessie gently; ' did my father call you so ? ' 'Yes,' said the widow, as she dashed away a tear; ' but it's long ago, children, oh ! it's very long ago.' ' I was very young to be married, and when you were born, Bessie, your father 44 THWAKTED ; OR, used to laugh to see me with you, because I looked, he said, like a child playing with its doll. So that's what he used to call me. Ah ! those were happy days, before the troubles came.' ' What troubles, mother ? ' ' What troubles ? ' she said wearily, ' every kind. Poverty, sickness, ruin, star- vation, and disgrace. That's all that's to be got of living in London, that I can see.' ' But wliy disgrace ? ' said Bill, slightly frowning ; and his heart began to beat a little from fear of what he might be going to hear. 'Doesn't poverty,' she retorted sharply, ' bring difficulties, and difficulties debt, and debt disgrace ? . . . there ! that will do. Let's talk of something else.' ' Did we go straight to Bournby from London after father died ? ' asked Bill. ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 45 ' For a time we did,' she answered ; ' and tlien I went into service, and left you three children with your grandfather.' ' And where was your situation, mother ? ' ' Here,' she answered, ' at Grinfield, with Mrs. Herbert at the Big House. Her husband was ahve then, and he was related to a lady living near Bournby ; so that's how I heard of the place. But I didn't stay long, for I couldn't bear being parted from all of you. So, when the village laundress died, I set up for myself in this little cottage, and sent for you children here. And here we've lived ever since, and I've often thanked God for the quiet untroubled life we've led. Just enough, and no more, cer- tainly, but still we've been free from cares and struggles, and above all, free from debt. My only wish for you all has always been that you should hve the same, and be kept 46 THWARTED ; OR, out of all I've had to bear. I've had no higher ambition for you. That's all I've got to tell. Don't bother me with any more questions.' There was evidently nothing more to be got out of her ; and the subject would liave dropped then and there if Bill had not heaved a deep sigh and said half to himself, ' Well ! I wish we'd settled anywhere else. If not London, then not in England at all, but in Germany.' The widow looked up sharply. ' Germany ! ' she exclaimed, ' what on earth put such an idea into your head ? ' ' Something I've read here,' he answered, producing his magazine : ' Germany's the place in these days, depend upon it. What with its education, and its army, and the advantages that it offers to poor artists, and the like, there's no place like it. There's ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 47 an article here that says the only reason the German poor are so much cleverer with their fingers than the English poor is, that their tastes are more drawn out, and aided. Wliy, the improvemcHt in England in these respects in the last twenty years is all due to the Germans. It was the Prince Consort that introduced and promoted all the taste, and all the institutions in London. If I'd been born a German, I shouldn't be working in a farm-yard now. Long, long ago, I should have been helped and taught to turn my tastes into a trade. Ah ! they're fine fellows, those Germans! I wish I was a German mth all my heart. And I wisli ! Oh I wish Grinfield was at the bottom of the sea. It seems to ine every place offers advantages except the one in which my hard fate has cast me. It says here too, that all over England, in Worcestershire, Lincolnshire, 48 THWARTED ; OR, and all the counties round about, there have been Industrial Exhibitions and the like, which have roused the men and boys of the villages to give their leisure hours to carving, painting on wood, drawing, and carpentering, with such good results that many of tliem have been admitted into the Worcester china works, or sent to carving establishments in London. And here there's nothing of the kind ever known . . . nothing ! ' He had been so excited with his subject that he not noticed that as he was speaking, his mother had once or twice changed colour, and that she had slightly averted her face from him. 'Where's the good of reading all that stuff? ' she said — but there was a troubled argumentative tone in her voice which it had not had before — ' if it only makes you discon- tented with your lot? How many a poor DUCKS EGGS IN A HEX's NEST. 49 lad in London would be thankful to change places with you! A comfortable roof over your head, and an assured independence, as long as you've the will and the strength to work. It's wonderful to me how people can be so ungratefid for their blessings.' Still, she did not speak with the same confident assurance she had evinced at the beginning of the conversation, and as Bill did not answer, she looked anxiously, even nervously, at him. ' Bill,' she said, ' I've lived longer in the world by many years than you, and I've seen many sides of life. BeUeve me when I tell you a hard-working unambitious life is the safest and the happiest. All the rest is struggle and disappointment. It wears out heart and life, and gives nothing in exchange. Bill, I know it. Give up these high-flown ideas and try and be contented 50 THWARTED ; OR, in the path to which it has pleased God to call you.' Bill shook his head. ' The life of a farm-laboiirer will never make me happy, mother. I'd risk all the struggle and disappointment gladly for the sake of the possible reward. But I'll try and be content for your sake with my present life, till I see a way out of it.' ' What do you mean ? ' said the widow ; ' oh Bill ! Bill ! you're not going to throw up your place ! ' ' No, no,' he said soothingly ; ' don't you be afraid, mother dear. I'm not going to do anything foohsh. I'm only going to wait, till, as I say, I see a way out of it.' ' If there is a way,' said Bessie softly, ' God will show it.' There was silence for a minute after this, till the widow burst out again. ' Thank ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 51 God I've no talents to make me discontented witli my lot. All I ask is for health and strength to earn my bread honestly ; and to owe nobody anything.' ' You talk, mother,' said Bill reproach- fully, ' as if talents didn't come from God quite as much as health and strene^th. Isn't one given by Him to be made use of quite as much as the other ? Yv'hy should you think it rioht for me to hide a talent in the earth ? ' ' Because I've seen the misery it leads to,' she exclaimed. ' I've seen, and suffered from, the misery and ruin that comes from that struggle to make a way in the world, because one fancies one is more gifted than other people. I tell you it's folly from be- oinnincr to end ! ' o o 4fc.She hid her face in her hands. William and Elizabeth glanced at each other. ■E 2 X 52 THWARTED ; OR, They were nearer the mystery that over- hung their past than they had ever been yet ; and the son, flushed with success, was eager to press on the subject, and gain a complete victory. But the daughter, woman-hke, was filled with pity and compunction for the almost prostrate foe, and signing to her brother to say no more, she rose and declared herself ready to go to bed. Her mother seconded her readily; and they left the room together. Bill retired to his own little apartment, and shading the candle that he might not disturb the slum- bers of his little brother, set to work at his carving as if he had never left it. Far into the night he toiled away with his penknife, till, by the might of his firm resolution, and indomitable perseverance, m ducks' eggs m a hex's xest. 53 he had conquered the difficulty that had baffled him before. Far into the night the sister knelt by her bedside, praying that He who had given the talent would show some way in :which it might be turned to account, and not suffer her beloved brother to sink into apathy and discontent. Far into the nidit the mother tossed about, restless ; murmuring every now and then to herself, ' I meant it for the best. Fm sure I've been rigrht to do as I have done. And yet . . . and yet/ CHAPTER V» THE FAIRY AT THE BIG HOUSE, CHAPTEK V The next morning, Bill left home earlier than usual, as he had to take some clean clothes to the Big House before going to his work at the farm. With his thoughts dwelling on the usual subject, he walked along quickly, the basket on his arm. Arrived at the back- door of the Big House, he was about to de- posit his burden and proceed on his way, when the housemaid asked him to wait a minute, as she believed there was a message to go back to Mrs. Tarver. She further requested him to carry the basket to the foot of the bedroom staircase ; 58 THWARTED ; OR, and tlien, pushing open a door in the passage, slie said, ' If you will wait in the little library, I'll go up and enquire about it ; I may be a few minutes, as if the lady's- maid is in Mrs. Herbert's room, I shan't be able to speak to her. There's nobody in the library. Missus won't be down for hours.' BiU assented to her request, and walked into the room. He found himself in a comfortable Httle apartment, evidently dedicated entirely to the invalid lady. There was a couch by the fire, to which was fitted an invalid table and readino- desk. There were books, work, drawing- materials, and paint-boxes on different tables in the room ; and Bill sighed as he thought what a highly-gifted creature Mrs. Herbert ducks' eggs IX A HEX'S XEST. 59 must be, and how fortunate in thus possess- ing every advantage wherewith to cultivate her tastes. He looked in vain, however, for any sign of that delicious tool-box which was so often uppermost in his thoughts. He wandered about the room, lookino- at the china, the pictures, and other things in the room, till he came upon a httle table in the window, on which stood a large wooden box. When his eyes fell upon this box he started, and clasped his hands together. His eyes glowed and sparkled, and with a half-uttered exclamation of delight, he advanced nearer and nearer, and bendino- over it, stood motionless. For its lid was most beautifully and wonderfully carved : a real work of art. For full ten minutes he remained as if 60 THWARTED ; OR, under a spell, gazing with wonder at the beauty of the detail, and the delicacy of the workmanship. And as he drank it in, his heart swelled with the same feelings, half of pride and half of humility, that drew from another kind of artist the triumphant exclamation, ' And I, too, am a painter ! ' It is true his heart sank within him at the thought of his own inferiority ; and at the recollection of his own poor little attempts at home. But with all that, arose a proud feeling in his breast that his foot was upon the same ladder, albeit it were the very lowest step, to the top of which the originator of such a conception had climbed ; that his face was set towards the same goal tliat another had so triumphantly reached ; and that his own work and the realisation of all his dreams, bucks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 61 that he saw before hmi, had been accom- phshed by kindred means. His mind soared away into fields of infinite possibihties. 'Whiat man has done, man may do,' he exclaimed almost aloud, and he drew a long breath of inspuration. ' Why ! you're talking to yourself,' said a soft, very silvery voice close to him. Bill started, and turned round. So far away were his thoughts that he had difficulty in remembering where he was, or what had brouo-ht him hither, and was so dazed and bewildered that he could not speak. At first he saw nothing ; but he found he had not looked low enough. Casting his eyes down, they hghted on a tiny creature, with a shower of wild fair hair, from out of which a pair of laughing eyes were crazing in astonishment at him. 62 THWARTED ; OR, Bill, still half dreaming, had difficulty in persuading himself that this was not some diminutive Queen of art and beauty come to ask him by what right he had made this encroachment on her dominions. The trim, upright, little figure, the sym- metry of the little black silk legs, the colour- ing of the garments that harmonised so well with the bright hair ; seemed to him, for a moment, only another form of art, only another example of the perfection of lines and curves, and harmony of detail, of which his mind was full. An instant's reflection, however, told him that it was only Mrs. Herbert's little girl. He knew her well enough by sight ; as he had often seen her in church, or passed her in the lanes on her pony, or walking with her nurse ; but he had never spoken to her before. DUCKS EGGS IX A HEX S XEST. 63 Blushing deeply, he took off his cap, and stammered out an apology. ' What icere you doing ? ' laughed the child. ' You were starincf so at somethinD- that you didn't even look round when I came in ! And then you began talking to yourself. Do you know I was quite frightened. For one minute I thought you were ' She whispered something, and nodded mysteriously. ' Mad ? ' smiled BiU. 'Oh no!' she said, 'something much worse.' ' Worse ! ' exclaimed Bill. ' Oh yes ! ' she said shaking her head solemnly ; ' much, much worse. It's such a dreadful thing I don't think I could tell you.' ' If it's so bad. Miss,' said Bill, smiling, ' I'm sorry you should have thought it of me.' 64 THWARTED; OR, ' Ah well : it was only for a minute,' she said ; ' I'm sure you never would be this ; now would you ? ' ' But I don't know what it is yet. Miss,' said Bill. ' Well ! come a little nearer, and I'll whisper.' Bill advanced. ' Stoop ! ' she said. Bill stooped. ' Lower ! ' she exclaimed; ' you don't seem to get a bit nearer, though I'm standing on tip- toe. You are so very, very tall.' Bill bent lower and lower, but still to no purpose. ' Perhaps you'd better kneel,' she said at last ; ' and then I shall just about reach your ear.' Bill obeyed ; and raising herself on the very tips of her toes, the child said in an awe- struck whisper. ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. Gd ' Tipsy ! ' Bill stood up, and laughed. ' No, Miss ; you need not be afraid of that. I seldom touch anything but water.' ' I'm so glad,' she said, drawing a long breath of relief ; ' I'm so dreadfully afraid of tipsy men. I often meet them in the lanes late in the afternoon, when I'm riding on my pony : or I see them outside the door of the pub he house in the village ; and it does frighten me so ! I dream of them at night afterwards,' she added, with a little shudder, ' reeling about, and tumbhng down : and it is so dreadful. Do you ever dream that a drunken man is reeling after you, and that your feet are tied to the ground, and you can't get away ? ' Bill's memory was not able to furnish him with the recollection of any such pain- ful experience. F 66 THWARTED ; OR, ' Ah well, you're very lucky then ; for it's a niost horrible dream. But perhaps,' she went on, looking up at him enquiringly, ' you're hke our coachman ? ' ' Like your coachman ? ' repeated Bill. ' Yes. I mean, perhaps you're not afraid of tipsy men. He isn't a bit, you know. He never can think why I want to gallop off when I see one coming along.' 'I'm not afraid of them, Miss,' Bill answered, ' but I hate meeting them quite as much as you do. To see a man making himself like an animal is a dreadful sight, I think.' ' You think a tipsy man looks like an animal then,' she said, as if struck by the idea. ' Indeed I do,' he answered, sadly. ' What kind of animal,' she questioned, ' should you say a man looked most hke DUCKS EGGS IX A HEX S XEST. 67 when he's . . . ? ' she nodded again in a mysterious way, as if she did not hke saying the word. ' I hardly know,' he answered, while his brow darkened. ' A pig ? ' she suggested, putting her hands behind her, and looking up in his face. ' Yes, or an ass,' he said ; but he was speaking more to himself than to her. ' You're getting quite angry about it, ain't you ? ' she said. ' It makes me angry,' he answered, for- getting he was speaking to a child, ' to see men wasting their time, and going to the public house, just because they've got nothing else to do in their leisure hours.' ' Is that why they do it ? ' she said. ' Of course it is,' he answered, warmingf with his subject, as his grievances about 1-2 68 THWARTED ; OR, Grinfield recurred to liim ; ' there's nothing for a man to do in this wretched httle village hut go to the public house. Why, I should think,' he went on, making a bold plunge into statistics, ' there's more drunkenness in this village of Grinfield than in almost any- other place ! ' The child's face lengthened consider- ably. ' In proportion, you know,' Bill added. ' In Proportion,' she repeated ; ' where's that ? Is it the name of this county ? ' ' No,' said Bill, smiling ; ' this county is Yorkshire. Don't you know that ? ' ' I don't know my counties well,' she said, rather shyly. ' I'm not very far on in geography. You see mammy's too ill to teach me much, and, besides, I hate lessons.' ' You ought to go to the infant school, and hear my sister teaching the little children DUCKS EGGS IX A llEy S XEST. 69 there,' said Bill ; ' they like their lessons, and they do lots of geography.' ' Would they know where Proportion is ? ' she asked, timidly. Bill smiled. 'Proportion's not a place, Miss : it's a word.' ' What does it mean ? ' was the next question. Bill looked down from his five foot eleven elevation, to the tiny creature below, who hardly reached his hand, and felt the impossibility of an explanation. ' Pm afraid I couldn't tell you, ]\Iiss.' ' Is it such a very bad word ? ' she en- qmred, looking very solemn. 'No,' laughed Bill; 'it's only difficult for such a little lady as you to under- stand.' ' I see you think me a dunce,' she' said half-pathetically, half-peevishly, ' and much 70 THWAETED ; OE, more stupider than tlie children at the infant school. You want me to go and see how much more they know than I do. It's very unkind of you ! ' Bill was unaware hov/ seldom the petted child was contradicted, or in any way found fault with ; and was surprised at her sudden change of tone. ' Oh dear me ! no ! Miss ; I didn't mean that at all. I only thought it would amuse you to hear them doing their lessons. That's all.' 'Ah well,' she said, mollified in a moment, ' it's just what would amuse me very much, but mammy never will let me go. She always says " you'll catch something " whenever I w\ant to go anywhere. It is so tiresome.' '-» There's nothing to catch just now,' said Bill. ' My sister ahvays knows if any of the duces' eggs IX A hex's xest. 71 cMdren are ill ; but there's been no illness at all this winter. You might go there quite safely.' ' Isn't it funny ? ' said the child, in an aggrieved voice ; ' mammy's alicays expect- ing me to be ill, and yet I never am ill ! I do wish,' with a deep-drawn sigh, ' she'd give up expecting it.' ' You can't wonder she should be nervous about you. Miss,' said Bill gravely, ' when she's lost so many children/ ' They weren't lost^' exclaimed the child ; 'they died. They got ill, and then worse and worse, and then they died. They're all dead but me. ' I don't suppose you remember them, Miss ? ' ' Oh, no ! Sometimes I don't believe I ever had any brothers and sisters. All I know about them is their httle graves in the 72 THWARTED ; OK, cliurchyard. I go and sit there sometimes for fun ... oh, no ! ' she broke off, noticing Bill's shocked expression, ' I don't mean for fun exactly ; but to amuse myself. At least . . . well ! I go there,' she said, in a plaintive voice, ' when I'm all alone, and have got nothing to do : when mammy's too ill to have me, and I'm so dull all alone, don't you see ? ' Bill assented hurriedly, afraid she v/as going to cry. ' But I shall come to the infant school now instead, the very next time I'm dull,' she proclaimed. ' I thought you said Mrs. Herbert would not let you,' said Bill, a little nervously. ' Why, you've just asked me to come ! ' she retorted. ' Didn't you say yourself I ought to hear your sister teaching the children, and that you knew they had got ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 73 nothing I could catch ! I shall tell mammy you said I might.' Bill felt very uncomfortable, and won- dered what he had better say. But be- fore he had made up his mind, she began again ; ' Well ! now go on with what we were talking of before.' ' I said,' retiurned Bill, glad to change the subject, ' that I beheved there was more drunkenness in this little village of Grinfield than in almost any other place, in pro- por .... in England.' ' And is that really true ! ' she exclaimed, looking horrified. ' I'm afraid so,' said Bill, sadly. ' If / were the Queen of England,' said the child, stamping her httle foot upon the ground, ' I wouldn't have any pubhc houses anywhere. I'd burn them all, and not 74 THWARTED; OR, allow any new ones to be built up. Then nobody could go to them, and get tipsy.' ' It would be no use,' replied Bill, regard- less of the youth of his auditor, now that he was' fairly launched on liis favourite topic; ' if a man will drink, he will. If there were no public houses to go to, he'd get the beer or the spirits, or whatever it is, some other way, and drink it at home, or by the road- side, or anywhere. It would come to the same thing in the end. That's not what's wanted. Men ought to learn to use a thing, without abusing it. It ought not to be necessary to treat them hke children, to take a thing altogether away, because they make a bad use of it. We don't want to have a temptation removed, but to learn to resist it. It only wants a httle strength and com^age. Besides, it's not always the love of drink that takes men to the public house. As often as ducks' eggs IX A HEX S XEST. i D not, it's the want of something else to do. It's that that drives our Grinfield men there. And there's more excuse for them than there is for most. Grinfield's not hke other places, where there's occupation and amuse- ment provided for a working-man in his leisure hours. Here, no one takes the trouble to do anything for him. There are no book clubs or lending libraries to give him a chance of improving his mind, no night schools, no penny readings, nothing! There's not even recreation and amusement. Not a flower-show to encourage him to cultivate his garden, or a cricket-club, or anything of the kind. Not a single induce- ment is offered him to prevent his hanging about the public house all day, when he's not at work. There's nothing on earth for him to do else. And it's a crying shame, that's what it is ! ' 76 THWARTED ; OR, ' Are you scolding me ? ' interrupted tlie child ; ' you do seem so very angry ! ' Bill stopped short. The little creature was gazing at him, bewildered and frightened. She had striven to follow him at first, for there was a fascina- tion in being talked to as a grown-up person ; but he had got far beyond her ; and had only created a vague feeling in her little mind that somebody had done something very wrong, and that some others had omitted to do something which it was clear they ought to do. ' 1 beg your pardon. Miss,' said Bill ; ' I was only wishing to explain to you that it is not altogether the men's fault that there's so much drunkenness here ; but that some of the blame lies with those who do nothinof to better the working-man's condition.' He had forgotten that he was speaking to Mrs. ducks' eggs IX A HEX S XEST. / i Herbert's daughter, and that his imphed reproach was addressed to the child of the only wealthy resident in the place. But it flashed across him now, as he looked at the little lady before him, and he began to fear that some kind of light was beginning to dawn in her small mind too. For she still stood silent, looking very puzzled. Not that there was anything of fear of consequences in the young man's breast ; but that in his deeply-rooted love and respect for his own mother, he would not for worlds bring a doubt across the little girl's mind about hers ; or shake that faith in a mother's goodness which is the birthright of every little child. She showed a pertinacious desire to pursue the subject, which troubled him not a little. 78 THWARTED ; OR, ' Who are tliese naughty people ? ' she said, eyeing Bill doubtfully ; ' what are their names ? ' ' There is nobody exactly to do anything,' was his evasive answer. ' Old Mr. Powell, the parson, is too old, and the rest mostly too poor. And . . .' he added hurriedly, ' Mrs. Herbert's too ill . . . and you are too young. But,' he went on more boldly, ' you'll be older some day. Miss, and when you're a grown-up young lady, you'll do a great deal, I dare- say.' He had succeeded, at any rate, in dis- tracting her thoughts ; for a delighted smile broke over her face at the idea of being grown-up. 'I'm going to be eight on Midsummer Day ! ' she said ; ' so in ten years I shall be going to be eighteen. That's quite grown- up, isn't it ? ' ducks' eggs m A hex's xest. 79 ' Quite ! ' he answered ; ' it's a little older than I am now.' The child measured his height with her eye as he stood before her, with proud satis- faction, and sighed with pleasure at the thought. ' A trailing gown ! ' she exclaimed, clasp- ing her hands ; ' no lessons, and hair done up like mammy's ! ' Child-hke, she had forgotten the present in the future, and was lost in a dream of dehght. And youth, which is only one step be- yond childhood, made the young man do likewise ; and his thoughts had wandered on to all that those ten years might bring : to all that he might by that time have accomplished. For a few minutes neither spoke. The volatile child was the first to tire of 80 THWARTED ; OR, meditation ; and she tried to recur to the con- versation. Her httle mind, however, could not pick it up again from the starting-point she desired : and she got back to the old sub- ject. ' So you drink nothing but water ? ' she said, looking at him admiringly ; ' no more do I.' ' I drink beer sometimes,' he answered ; ' a proper quantity is good and necessary for a man who works hard. But I don't care about it much. My mother would be glad if I drank a little more ; she doesn't care to see me drink so much water.' ' I suppose,' said the child meditatively, ' there's so much water wanted in your house, that she'd almost rather you drank beer.' Then seeing Bill looked puzzled, she added : DUCKS EGGS IX A HEX S XEST. 81 ' I was thinking of the washing, you know.' Bill smiled. ' Oh ! there's enough, and to spare. She thinks I should get stronger on beer, that's all.' A deep sigh of intense interest, and then she said : ' But all this time you've never told me what you were looking at when I came in. Why you never even looked round at me ! ' ' I was looking at that box,' he answered ; ' can you tell me anything about it ? ' ' No ! ' she said, ' except that I'm very fond of looking at it too.' Bill started ; could this tiny child be a kindred spirit ? ' You like looking at it,' he exclaimed eagerly ; ' do you carve ? ' ' Yes, a httle ; but not so well as Mrs. Hitchin. She carves beautifully.' G 82 THWARTED I OR , V^J-V, ' And who is Mrs. Hitcliin ? ' ' She's mammy's maid,' answered the little girl. ' And what does she carve ? ' enquired Bill. ' Chickens/ the child answered, ' or rabbits, or whatever mammy has for her dinner. I can only carve just a very little : a tiny slice off the breast, you know, or something like that. When it comes to a leg, or a wing, I have to give it up to Hitchin. But ! you don't seem to be listening to me a bit ! ' Bill sighed, and tried to shake off the feeling of disappointment that had come over him. ' Mrs. Herbert carves though, I am sure,' he said, with a sudden recollection of the box he had seen. ' Oh poor mammy ! ' exclaimed the child, 'her wrist's not even as strong as mine. ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 8 o She can't even carve a boiled chicken, which you know comes to pieces with a spoon. The only thing she can carve,' she added in a tone of lofty disdain, ' is a httle photo- graph-frame, or a paper-knife, or something of that sort. You're listening much more than you were just now.' ' Hasn't she 2fot a most beautiful box of tools ? ' asked Bill, stepping forward in his excitement. 'Yes! She's got a new one just come down from London ; but she's never used it yet. She's been busy over some new kind of work lately. She doesn't often do the same thmg two days running. She gets so tired of everj^thing.' Bill turned away. The idea of the wasted advantages for which he was crav- ing made him feel bitter. 'What's the good of being rich.^' he G '2 84 THWAETED ; OR, muttered ; ' what's the good of having advantages? Oh what waste! what waste ! ' The child's merry voice recalled him to himself. ' The inside of the carved box is much prettier than the out ! ' she laughed, nodding her head. ' Is it really ? ' exclaimed Bill. ' Yes ! ' she said, and there was a merry twinkle in her eye ; ' would you like to see it?' As she spoke, she advanced on tip-toe towards the table, and put one little hand upon the box, while with the other she beckoned to him to follow her. His first feehng about her returned as he watched her. She looked so fairy-like as she stood there, and so much in harmony with the ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 85 beautiful work of art on which her hand was laid. Again she seemed to him some small queen of art and fancy, of genius and imagi- nation. And now she was about to unlock a mysterious casket, and reveal to a mortal's wondering eyes the treasures of beauty con- cealed within ! ' Shut your eyes ! ' she said imperiously, * and don't open them till I've said " Jig ! " ' Bill obeyed, and waited patiently for the expected signal. ' Snip ! ' said the sprite in a high treble. ' Snap ! ' Snorum ! ' Hey-cockalorum ! 'Jig!!' Bill opened his eyes eagerly, and searched for the rare beauty he expected. 86 THWAETED ; OE, He saw nothing but some French bon- bons! ' Is that all ? ' he exclaimed, in the bitter- ness of his disappointment. ' Oh dear, no ! ' the fairy answered, with her back turned, and her mouth already full, ' there's another tray underneath quite full. Why ! how greedy you are to want such a lot ! Wasn't it a nice surprise ? Take one. What do you like? CofTee- caramels, or chocolate with cream ? ' Then looking round at him in surprise at his silence, she added : ' I'm allowed, you know, so you needn't look so serous.' ' Thank you. Miss,' said Bill gravely ; ' perhaps you'll choose for me.' A great hunt, and a good deal of inde- cision ensued : but in a few minutes a beau- tiful rose-coloured bon-bon was produced : and Bill was desired to ' pop it quick into ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 87 his mouth, and not on any account to nibble it first, as it was full of stuff that would gush out.' ' Isn't it good ? ' she said gleefully, as she watched hirn. ' I think I'll eat one like it myself.' Another hunt, and not quite such a successful one, for she contrived to smash the bon-bon with her arm ; and the ' stuff ' ran out all over her cuff, ' Oh dear ! ' she exclaimed, ' what a mess ! ' ' Mother will wash it out,' said BlQ, smiling. ' So she will ! ' she answered, dehghted ; ' and oh dear me ! I quite forgot ! Hitchin sent me down to you with a message, and I've never given it yet ! ' ' Why, that's the message I've been waiting for all this time,' said Bill ; ' and I 88 THWARTED; OR, ought to have gone off to my work some time ago.' ' I'm very sorry,' she said ; ' I'll give it to you now. It was to say there wasn't quite enough starch in my cuffs this week. They're rather limp, you know. Feel them.' ' I see,' said Bill, ' and I'll tell my mother. And now I must wish you good morning, Miss, for that was all I was waiting for.' It struck him that perhaps Mrs. Herbert would not be altogether pleased to find her daughter chatting familiarly to a plough-boy ; and he did not msh to take advantage of the child's ignorance. So he made for the door. ' You haven't said good-bye,' she said, holding^ out her little hand. But Bill did not take it. He bowed and passed on. ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 89 'Why won't you take my hand?' she said, still holding it out. Bill hesitated. ' Is it because it's so sticky ? ' she enquired. ' Well ! it's only sugar, you know. It's not as if it was reel dirt. But I'll soon Avipe it off.' And suiting the action to the word, she rubbed it two or three times on her frock, and then held it out again, saving, ' There ! Now it's clean ! ' This time Bill felt he could not refuse ; and as he met the candid unconscious eyes, he felt it equally impossible to explain why he had refused it before. ' You're very very partic'lar, airit you ? ' she said, as he silently took her little hand in his. And Bill did not contradict her, or vin- dicate himself at all : for his thoughts had strayed from the child once more. 90 THWARTED ; OE, His eyes had wandered from the uphfted face in which a painter would have dehghted, and were riveted again on the antique box. Slowly he drank it in. Moment by moment it became more familiar to him, bit by bit it sank into his mind. All unknown to him, it stamped itself upon his brain with an impress that nothing hereafter would altogether efface ! To his credit, however, be it spoken, that though to the last, as he left the room, his hungry eye rested on it, he did^ ere he closed the door, take one farewell look at the fairy form, which, with all its hopeless alliance to the trivial, the frivolous, and the commonplace, must yet always be associated in his mind with his first glimpse of real art. For eves should not be dead to the beauty ducks' eggs IX A HEN'S NEST. 91 of nature, that are so alive to the beauty of art. And the child made such a pretty picture, standing there, watching him go. Her great eyes looked so puzzled and wistful, peeping out from her ^vild fair hair. The indifference he manifested was so strange and so novel to the petted only child. It troubled her Hght spirit for a moment, and she turned towards the window mth a sigh. Putting her httle elbows on the table, and resting her chin upon her hands, she gazed thoughtfully down upon the bon-bons. ' I suppose,' she said, after a minute or two,as shehelped herself to a chocolate-cream, takmg care this time not to soil her cuff in 92 THWAETED. diving into the recesses of the box, ' I suppose it's being accustomed to see so much wash- ing, and so many clean clothes, that makes him so very very partic'lar ! ' CHAPTER Yl, THE LETTER FROM BOURNBY. CHAPTER VI. Dinner was getting ready at the little cottage : but Bill had not returned. Bessie and Charhe had come home from the schools for good, as it was the Saturday half-hohday; and the widow was busily ironing a few clothes that yet remamedtobe sent up to the Big House. ' The Postman ! ' said Charhe, jumping up from his game with the cat, and running to the door ; ' a letter for you, mother, and the post mark is Bournby.' 'Ah well, give it to Bessie,' said the widow ; ' she must read it to me, for I haven't time to stop. It's a long time now since I've 96 THWARTED ; OE, had any news of my brother, and I should Hke to hear what he's got to say.' ' Charhe must go and get some wood for the fire, then,' said Bessie ; ' I was just going to fetch some from the stack.' Charhe ran off, and Bessie opened the letter and began to read. ' " My dear sister. ' " This comes hoping you and yours are quite well, as it leaves us at present. " ' ' Bless his old heart ! ' put in the widow ; ' as kind and faithful a brother as ever lived ! Go on, Bess.' ' " I write to say there's to be grand doings in these parts, and I've been thinking as how your young folks might like to have a hand in it. So I send you the printed paper, and you'll please return it when done with." ' (Here a piece of paper fluttered to the ducks' eggs in a hex's xest. 97 ground, but Bessie was too excited to notice it.) Her quick eye, travelling on as she read, took in what was coming before she arrived at it, and her face was beginning to flush, and her voice was getting unsteady. ' What ever's the matter, child ? ' en- quired her mother, looking round. ' Oh ! mother, just listen ! ' said the girl. ' Oh ! doesn't it seem wonderful after our talk last night ? Didn't I say God would show Bill a way, if he only waited for it ? ' ' Why don't you read the letter instead of talking?' said her mother, sharply. Dim suspicions were beginning to creep over her, and her growing irritation betrayed itself in her tone. Bessie went on eagerly : ' " This grand affair is coming off" in April, and it's what's called an Industrial Exhibition." ' H 98 THWARTED ; OR, Bessie dropped the letter, and looked up with sparkhng eyes : ' Oh Mother ! Mother ! doesn't it seem almost like a miracle ? ' But the widow ironed away in ominous silence. Bessie waited and waited for an answer, but none came. She had been so overwhelmed with joy for Bill's sake, that she had forgotten her mother might take another view of the subject: but now she began to feel a little uneasy. She contrived to take a sidelong view of her mother's face, and saw she had been right in her surmise. The face ex- pressed nothing but unqualified disapproval, mingled with an expression of resolution that Bessie did not like to see. She got up, and went nearer to her. ' You don't like this, mother ? ' ' Am I hkely to like it ? ' said the widow ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 99 angrily. « Don't I know what it means? Unsettling Bill more than he's unsettled akeady, by putting fresh ideas into his head. It's all very well for your uncle's boys, who'll just employ then: leisure hours by it, and be none the less ready for their work. But I know well the effect it'll have upon Bill, and I'm determined he shall know nothing about it. Give me the letter ! ' 'What are you going to do with it, mother?' enquired Bessie anxiously. 'I haven't read the half of it yet.' ' Give me the letter,' repeated the widow, holding out her hand. ' Won't you let me read it to you first ? ' said Bessie, involuntarily clasping it tighter. ' There's a lot more coming, about how one is to set about worldng, and what uncle's boys and girls are going to do. Let me read the rest, mother.' h2 100 THWARTED ; OR, ' Give it to me, I say ! ' exclaimed lier mother, angrily ; ' is it your letter, or is it mine ? ' Then, as the girl still seemed to hesitate, she snatched it from her detaining hand ; and, without glancing at the contents, she crossed the room with three strides, and flung envelope, letter, and all into the fire! Bessie started forward, as if to try and save it from the flames ; but it was twisted into tinder in an instant. ' Mother ! mother ! ' she exclaimed in despair, ' oh ! what have you done ? How could you — how could you ? oh ! what will Bill say!' ' I've done what I think right,' the widow answered gloomily ; ' and as Bill will never be any the wiser, he'll have nothing to say. For he'll never hear anything of it from me, ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 101 and I won't have you say a word about it either.' Bessie looked up, bewildered, and as if she thought she could not have heard right. ' What did you say, mother ? ' she said in a low voice, as she strove to keep down the tumult of indignation she felt rising in her breast ; ' that I am not to tell 'Bill— Bill anything about it ? ' ' Yes,' said her mother, ' that's what I said, and that's what I mean. I forbid you even to tell him I've had a letter from Bournby — do you hear ? ' A torrent of words rushed to Bessie's Hps, but she forced them back, and answered in the same low tone, ' I 'm not sure I ought to obey you, mother ; so I don't know that I can promise that.' ' And I say that you must promise it, and quickly too,' said the widow hotly ; ' for T02 THWARTED; OE, Bill will be here in a moment. Wliat can a girl like you know about it ? I tell you I have my reasons, and I know I'm right in what I'm doing. If I could explain them to you, you'd think with me directly. There's Bill coming now ! Promise, Bessie ! Quick ! Promise ! ' She laid her hand on the girl's arm eagerly ; and Bessie was frightened to feel how it trembled, and at the violent agitation working in her mother's face. Feelings, half of fear and half of com- passion, came over her again as they had done the night before, and she felt resistance to be cruel and impossible. ' I promise,' she said sadly ; and then she escaped from the room, to hide the tears she could no longer repress. Bill had come home in good spirits. The ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 103 halo of inspiration which had encircled him since his eyes hghted on the carved box had not yet faded, and he seemed to hold his head more erect, and to have a light in his eye which had not been there when he left home in the mornin^. o He looked happy, and was quite disposed to talk at dinner, and to be communicative about his visit to the Big House. That is, as far as the child was concerned He did not mention the box. He wished to keep as far as possible from all dangerous topics ; for he had the memory of last night's conversation fresh in his mind, and he did not wish to distress his mother asrain. The washerwoman was quite as ready as her son to keep up a conversation ; for as the meal went on, she got a httle uneasy at Bessie s non-appearance, and did not wish him to notice it. 104 THWARTED ; OR, She was also rather fearful lest the girl should appear with a tear-stained counte- nance ; and that Bill should begin to ask questions. She was growing a little bit afraid of her children. They were making such rapid advances into manhood and womanhood, and had several times lately shown a disposition to take their lives into their own hands. If they banded together against her in this matter of the letter from Bournby, what was she to do ? To be sure she had implicit faith in Bessie's obedience, and in her given promise : but she dreaded her son's questioning, and his resolution to come to the bottom of the affair ; if his sister's appearance should make him suspicious, or if her protracted absence ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 105 from the dinner-table should attract his at- tention. ' That's a funny httle girl of Mrs. Her- bert's,' said Bill. Here Bessie shpped quietly in, and took her place without meeting her brother's eye, though he looked up and smiled at her entrance. The washerwoman glanced nervously at her ; but her fears were allayed by seeing that, though she looked pale and sad, all traces of crying had passed away. Still, all was not safe yet ; for Bill was looking hard at Bessie, as if wondering why she did not return his smile of greeting : so the widow went on hurriedly : ' Yes : she's a funny little gurl, is little Miss Herbert, and as spoilt as spoilt can be. She's never been contradicted in her hfe, I 106 THWARTED ; OR, believe, or refused anything she wished for. She's the only one Mrs. Herbert has reared, you see. The rest all died one after the other, before they could run alone. But how came you to see her. Bill ? It's never happened before when you've been up to the house with the clothes, has it ? ' ' Well no,' said Bill ; 'I generally wait in the kitchen ; but to-day the child was sent down with the message instead of the maid ; and she stayed chatting on, and forgot to give it me.' ' Where were you waiting ? ' asked his mother ; ' did the child come into the kitchen ? ' ' No,' Bill answered ; ' they put me into a room they called the little library.' He was getting abstracted ; for the thought of the child was bringing back to him the box with which she was so insepar- ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 107 ably connected ; and lie hardly heard now what his mother was saying. ' The child hkes her own way, and has always had it ; but for all that, the servants say she's too good to be spoilt, though she's as wild as a bird.' But Bill's interest was gone; he had relapsed into silence and dreaminess. How- ever, the danger was past, so the widow did not try to keep up the conversation. For the meal was over, and Bessie was beginning to clear away the things. Bill rose after a time, and said he must be off to the farm. As he left the cottage, he turned round and asked Bessie to be at the milestone in the village about four, to meet him on his return from his work. ' As you are going to shop there,' he said, 'we may as well meet, and walk home together.' 108 THWARTED ; OR, Bessie assented, but not witli her usual alacrity. The truth was, she would have given anything to escape a tete-a-tete walk with her brother that afternoon. Poor girl ! her accustomed pleasure was turned into pain by what had occurred. She quite dreaded being alone with Bill ; and besides, she had read in his eyes that he had something particular to tell her. How could she be the recipient of his hopes and fears, with the strain of her promise upon her? How could she talk and sympathise as usual when she knew, what he did not, that the eagerly-desired hand had at last been held out to help him ; and that she was privy to its being flung aside ? She sighed heavily as she cleared away the dinner- things, and tidied up the room. ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 109 She was quite alone, for the widow, who perhaps shrank a little from being with her daughter with no third person present, had retired into the wash-house ; and Charhe was playing in the garden. All of a sudden, Bessie's eye fell upon a printed paper lying on the ground at her feet ; and she picked it up with a start. For it flashed across her in an instant what it must be ; and hope suddenly revived in her breast. She unfolded it eagerly, and read in large letters at the top : Bournhy Industrial Exhibition. She was not mistaken then ! It was the enclosure of which her uncle's letter had spoken, and which must have fallen out without her perceiving it. Too excited to realise anything but that all chance for Bill 110 THWARTED ; OR, was not yet over, slie spread it out, and read it eagerly. To the Working Men and Women, Boys and Girls, of Bournhy, and other Villages, ' It is proposed to have an Industrial Ex- hibition at Bournhy on April 7. ' No one has any idea what they can do until they try: and no doubt you will all find you can do a great deal more than you have any idea of. The Committee of the " Bournby Industrial Exhibition " wants to set you all to work in your own homes, in a pleasant way ; and for you to gain something by it. ' Our winter evenings, and leisure hours in the day, often hang heavy on our hands : and here is an opportunity of filling them up pleasantly, and making them fly quickly. ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. Ill ' Prizes will be given for the best among the articles produced ; and the articles them- selves sold.^ Bessie read and re-read the paper. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled ; while on her lips the question trembled, 'Shall I give it to Bill?' It was a terrible temptation. Conflicting feehngs chased each other through her brain. How was she to tell it was right to let hhn lose this golden opportunity? How did she know she ought to take upon herself the responsibihty of blighting his life in this way ? Was she to be the arbitrator of her brother's fate ? Was she not sacrificing him to a weak fear of her own: because she hated to agitate and distress her mother? 112 THWARTED ; OR, She must weigli these questions carefully in her own mind ; and give each their proper balance. But no ! she had had a command laid upon her ; and she had promised. It was, alas ! no longer a question of due weight and just balance ; but a question of her word given ; her obedience pledged. She felt such a traitor to him on the one hand, to her mother on the other : which- ever way she looked at the subject, she felt as if she wronged some one. Could she not compromise matters ? Supposing, for argument's sake, she handed Bill the paper without speaking. Her mother's words had only been, ' I forbid you to tell him anything about it : even that I have had a letter from Bournby.' It was to that command that she had answered ' I promise.' duces' eggs in a hen's nest. 113 Well ! by tliis means she did not disobey the command, and at the same time she saved her brother. Or she might put the paper in his room, and leave him to find it there : thus easing her conscience by having nothing personally, as it were, to do with the affair. Bill was old enough to judge for himself in these matters. Surely her mother was stretching her authority beyond its limits in thus hiding from a son in early manhood what was so much to his advantage. She got so far as her brother's little room ; and then paused. ^ Obedience to the letter might be hers, but how about the spirit of her mother's command ? She saw suddenly the miserable sophistry of her argument, and felt she was acting wrongly. I 114 THWAETED ; OR, No ! it must not be ! She must think of sometliing else. But now that she was surrounded by Bill's carving, the proofs of the rare talent she so firmly believed in ; she grew indignant at being; bound to thwart him in this way. Why should her mother set her face so against it ? What was this secret in the past for ever starting up to mar her brother's prospects ? She would go to her at once, and demand an explanation. She had been weak last night to interrupt her brother when they were so nearly discovering what the mystery was : but she would be weak no longer. She would force her mother to explain all, and then when Bill came home, tell him what it was that for ever stood in his way, and let him judge for himself in future. She DUCKS EGGS IX A HEX S XEST. 115 had a power over her mother now. She was not, as hitherto, impotent to wrest her secret from her. She would confront her with this paper, and tell her she would conceal it but on that one condition. If she refrised ! — then she would tell her plainly that her intention was to cancel the promise wrung fr'om her at a disadvantage : and Bill should learn the chance that was offered to him, and himself decide whether it was to be thrown away. But it was only for a moment that the girl allowed her feelings thus to get the better or her. She was smarting under Bill's wrongs, and was transformed into a Nemesis for his sake. But soon her own right feeling and the memory of her mother chased these hard thoughts away. I 2 116 TIIWAETED ; OK, That poor liard-Avorked motlier, who had toiled for them all her hfe ! . . . No. She could not do it. There must be no threats ; no menaces ; she must not forget her duty : she must not be wanting in filial reverence, nor lose her own self-respect. ' If there is a way,' she said half-aloud, ^ God will show it." Had it not been her prayer last night ? ' But how do I know,' she argued, ' that this opportunity is not the answer He has sent ? How do I know that this is not the way He means to show me ? May I not be wilfully closing my eyes to what God means me to see ? ' Oh! this struggle between conflicting paths of duty ! Oh ! this uncertainty as to what is right, and what is wrong ! ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 117 What ought she, what ought she, to do ? When wrong looked at one moment like right, and again right had at the next the appearance of wrong, how was she, how was she, to distinguish ! Oh ! for the old days when a Voice 'was heard plainly sapng, ' This is the way, walk ye in it : ' when Abraham and Jacob and Moses and Job ' talked with the Lord face to face, as a man talketh w^ith his friend.' Oh! for the times when the line was drawn, marked and clear, between ' Thou shalt ' and ' Thou shalt not.' There was no mistaking then ; no grop- ing like this in darkness, uncertain and bewildered. . . . She fell on her knees, and prayed for light and guidance. She grew calmer, quieter, more able to judge and to discriminate. 118 THWARTED ; OE, Clear and unanswerable were the words: — ' We may not do evil that good may come.' That was enough. She must snnply act up to them, and leave the rest to God. ' Commit thy way unto the Lord, and trust in Him ; and He shall bring it to pass. ... Fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. . , . Eest in the Lord, and wait. . . .' It had been a hard battle ; but she rose from her knees — victorious. ' Mother,' she said, going into tlie kitchen, and putting down the paper on the table, ' this fell out of Uncle Ned's letter without my noticing it ; and I found it lying on the Hoor. He said he should like it back when VQu had done with it.' Her voice, albeit it was very low and sad, did not shake or falter, and she left ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 119 the kitchen as quietly as she had entered it. But when she reached her own room, shefeU upon her knees with a burst of bitter weeping. PABT THE SECOND. CHAPTEPi VII, THE BURDEN OF A DOUBLE SECRET. CHAPTEE VII. It was nearly three o'clock wlien Bessie and Charlie started for their shopping in the village. The gu4 looked very pale, and there was a sad look in her eyes ; but her face bore no other signs of her late conflict. She had done all she could to remove any traces of it, for fear either of her brothers should be suspicious; and she exerted herself to talk cheerfully to Charhe as they walked along, in order that his attention should not be drawn to her in any way. It took her some little time to make all her purchases in the village. So that it was 124 THWARTED ; OR, past four o'clock before she turned her steps towards the milestone where Bill had ap- pointed her to meet him. Her heart was beginning to sink again at the thought of the coming interview. She dreaded so to find herself alone with him, as usual : and she kept Charlie close by her side, because his presence generally prevent- ed their conversation taking a confidential tone ; and she had a cowardly wish to put ofi" the evil moment as long as possible. Bill had looked so happy at dinner that day, that she was quite sure lie had some- thing pleasant to tell her connected with his carving ; and how to meet his eager eye with her accustomed sympathy and interest she did not know. But wdien she saw Bill coming along, all thoughts of herself, or of her s'ecret, went out of her head. ducks' eggs IX A IIEXS XEST. 125 Something had happened since the morn- ing, she felt quite sure. He no longer looked the same. He walked along slowly and unwillingly, as if he also were putting off the meeting to the latest possible moment. The happy look had gone out of his face, and it was a shade paler than usual. He cast a bored impatient look at Charhe as he came up ; and Bessie saw in a moment he wanted to get rid of the httle boy, that he might speak to her alone. Frightened at his appearance, and eager to learn what had happened, she gave Charlie the parcels, and told him to run home with them as quick as possible. Bill watched his httle brother till he was out of hearing ; and then turning round to Bessie, he said abruptly, ' Bess ! I've lost my place ! ' ' What ! ' cried the girl. 126 THWARTED ; OR, ' I've lost my place at the farm/ he repeated ; ' I'm discharged ! ' — Bessie felt as if all the world were tumbling about her head, and could not collect her thoughts for a minute. In her quiet monotonous life, the smallest change was an event ; and now everything seemed to be happening at once. She felt as if she had Hved years since she got up that morning ; and as if all the cares of hfe had come upon her in one short day. Bill's announcement was so sudden — so startling. The discharge of which he spake so quietly was such a calamity, and one so totally unlooked for. It meant such ruin, and such poverty, for them aU. Without Bill's wages, which formed ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 127 sucli a large part of the family income, what were they to do ? Other thoughts, more closely connected wdth her own aSairs, shot for a moment through her brain ; but she was too unselfish to dwell upon them. Her chief regret was for the others. ' Oh Bill ! Bill ! what are we to do ? What is to become of us ? ' 'I don't know. I can't look forward. I've hardly reahsed it yet. It has been so sudden, and I've been so taken by sur- prise.' 'Mother!' she gasped; 'oh, what will mother say ! ' ' I'm not going to teU her just yet. I want time to collect my thoughts before I can talk it over with her. I shall let her have Sunday in peace, for of course on Monday she must know. By that time I may have 128 THWAETED ; OK, seen some way out of this new trouble ; but just now . . . / 'How was it, Bill? How came the farmer to discharge you in this sudden way? ' 'It's not altogether so sudden as you think. I've known for some time that he's been discontented with me, though I didn't expect anything of this kind. You see I can't get through the work the rest can. But what's brought matters to a crisis is that a nephew of his, who happened to come on a visit, has asked him for my place ; and as he is a fellow with twice my strength, the farmer is very glad to kill two birds with one stone, by obhging his nephew, and getting a better workman. I don't blame him myself. He's behaved very handsomely to me, and has paid me my wages in advance instead of giving me warning, because he ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 129 wants his nephew to begin at once. So we shan't starve just yet. You wouldn't wonder at the farmer's choice, Bess, if you saw this great strapping fellow! Why, my arm by his^' he concluded, laughing, ' looks like a lucifer match ! ' ' I'm glad you can laugh, Bill,' said Bessie, mournfully. ' Well, it is odd, I own ; but somehow, after the first shock of surprise, I'm not so down as I thought I was. I can't think why I'm not more distressed about it. I shall be, I know, by and by, when it comes to breaking it to mother. I think perhaps it is that I feel more free than I did. I couldn't have thrown up my means of living, but as my means of Hving have thrown me up, it seems easier, somehow, to start on my own hue of hfe than it did before.' ' But howV said Bessie, bitterly ; ' what. K 130 THT\^AETED ; OR, better prospects have you of getting a start now tlian you had yesterday ? ' ' No, that's true,' said Bill, thoughtfully and more dejectedly than he had hitherto spoken. Poor Bessie spoke bitterly ; for she could not dwell calmly on the future that lay before them, on the privations and the poverty in store; but more than all, her heart smote her, as she thought of that chance of a start in life for Bill, that had that very day been held out ; that wasted oppor- tunity which might be, which was^ of the utmost importance now. How gladly would she have held out to her brother that little bit of consolation, that hope which she knew^ would more than make up to him for the loss he had just sustained. ' Surely, surely,' she reflected, ' mother ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 131 will change her mind about it now. Surely she will relent when she learns what has happened. It is Bill's last chance.' But here a sudden thousfht struck her with dismay. If Bill did not tell his mother about it till Monday, miglit it not be too late ? Might not the letter to her uncle be written, refusing his offer ? Of course it would be so ! Sunday was her mother's only day for writing a letter; and by Monday it would be posted and gone ! Here was indeed a new dilemma. What must she do ? She must try and turn BiU from his purpose. She must try and persuade him not to keep his mother in ignorance ; but to tell her at once of his discharg-e. K 2 132 THWARTED ; OR, But how do so w^ithout making liim suspicious ? Would he not at once ask her why ? And then what was she to say ? Before she had come to any conclusion, Bill's voice broke in upon her meditation. ' I say, Bess, what are you thinking about so deeply ? I want you to talk it all over with me, and you don't say a word.' There was no time for reflection. An- swer she must ; and she dashed at once into the subject. ' I was thinking, Bill, that it would be better to tell mother about it at once.' ' Oh, no ! ' he answered ; ' I couldn't do that. I must have a little time for prepar- ation.' 'Indeed, Bill,' she said earnestly, 'it would be the best way.' But Bill was firm. ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 133 ' You know what mother is, Bessie. Her lamentations and reproaches would bewilder and weaken me. I must have some course of action settled, so as to hold out conso- lation to her with one hand, after having dealt her such a blow with the other. Don't you see ? ' ' Yes, Bill ; ' and now Bessie's heart began to beat so violently that her agitation betrayed itself in her voice ; ' but still if you will only trust me, and tell her to-day, I think it will be better for us all.' Attracted by something in her tone, Bill turned round upon her, and tried to look into her averted face. 'Bess, why are you so odd and deter- mined about it? What in the world is the matter?' he added quickly, as he saw the agitation working on her features. ' Oh nothing, nothinf?,' she said, alarmed 134 THWARTED ; OR, only eager now to change the subject, seeing that she should not be able to shake his re- solution. ' What made you look so happy at dinner to-day, Bill ? ' Bill's attention was instantly diverted, and he launched into a glowing description of the beautiful work of art he had seen at the Big House. ' It haunts me, Bess ! ' he concluded. ' I see it wherever I look, and I am going to try and do it from recollection directly I get home.' Bessie Hstened to him with a sinking heart. More and more bitterly did her thoughts dwell upon the chance for Bill that had that day been offered and rejected. Bill put down her apathy and unusual depression to the shock of the news of his discharge, and did not bother her with any questions. ducks' eggs in a ho's IsEST. 135 Arrived at home, lie kissed her kindly, bidding her not distress herself about it over much. ' Hope on, hope ever/ he said ; ' some- thing will turn up.' He disappeared at once into his httle den, from whence he did not emerge till supper-time. In his engrossing occupation he lost sight of his trouble, and he went to bed happy in the mere thought of his work ; while his poor sister, with no such consola- tion to raise her drooping spu-its, sought her couch with a heavy heart ; weighed down by the burden of the double secret which had been laid upon her that day. CHAPTER Vm THE PARABLE OF THE TALENTS, CHAPTEE Vm. The next day was Sunday, and the Tarvei family attended morning service as usual. After dinner Bill went out for a stroll ; and Bessie established herself by the fire with a book. Charlie gfot out his bible, and bec^an to prepare his lesson for the Sunday-school, which took place in the afternoon. Bessie watched her mother's movements anxiously, for she was dreadfully afraid she was going to write a letter. Too true! Mrs. Tarver got out her writing materials and sat herself down at the table in the v^indow. 140 THWAETED ; OK, She put the printed paper carefully into an envelope ; and then spread out her paper and began to write. Even at that distance Bessie could see. ' My dear Ned, — This comes hop ' The girl turned away her head, and gazed into the fire with a strange feeling of heart-sickness. She breathed a silent prayer for help : that something miGfht turn her mother's intention, even at this the eleventh hour ; — though what was to do it she could not think. It was hopeless now, quite hope- less. "Bess,' — said Charlie's voice at this moment, ' what is a talent ? ' Why had the boy chosen this time to in- troduce such a topic ? How was she to under- take an explanation just when her heart was so sore on that very subject? DUCKS EGGS IX A HEX'S XEST. 141 But Charlie often required her help in his preparation, and would not understand her refusing it. 'What makes you ask, Charlie?' she said to gain time. ' We've got the " Parable of the Ta- lents " for this afternoon's questioning,' he answered. Bessie saw there was no hope of avert- ing an answer, nor of avoiding a conversation on the subject. So she gave her mind to the question at once. She wondered just a Httle if l':*r mother were listening ; and glanced at her furtively. But she could not make out whether she were or not. The v^-idow was bending over It writing, with her back turned. 'A talent,' said Bessie, accustomed to 142 THWARTED; OK, put everything into the most simple language for the httle children at the infant school, 'is anything God has given us to make use of.' ' But if we don't make use of it, is it a talent then ? ' asked Charlie. ' It is still a talent,' she answered, ' but a Avasted one. The servant who hid his talent in the earth wasted it ; but it was a talent all the same, and his lord, when he came, called him to account for it. So God will call us to account for the use we have made of our talents, or to answer for having wasted them.' She spoke in a low rather hurried tone ; but for all that, her words must have reached the widow's ears. For her pen stopped — she was evidently listening. Bessie, whose head was tmiied towards ducks' eggs in a hen's ]st:st. 143 her little brother, did not observe it, and the conversation went on. ' I suppose very few people have talents ? ' said Charhe. ' More than you would think,' said Bessie softly ; ' in fact, it seems to me, most people have a talent of some kind.' ' What is mother's ? ' asked Charhe. Bessie hesitated a minute, and was going to speak, when Charhe interrupted her : ' Wash- ing, I suppose,' he said, ' and ironing ; oh ! and clear-starching, and I should think mangling too.' ' Yes,' said Bessie thoughtfully ; ' and mother makes use of her talents well.' 'If she didn't wash, and iron, and clear- starch, and mangle, she'd be hiding her talents in the earth, wouldn't she? ' Bessie assented, adding, ' and God has 144 THWARTED; OR, given tier health and strength to do it with, for they are talents too.' ' What other things are talents, Bess ? tell me some everybody has got.' ' Life, first of all,' she answered ; ' God has given us each a life to make the best use we can of; and for tlie use we have made of it we shall have to give account some day. If we v/aste it, we shall have to answer for it to God when He comes, like the lord of the servants in the parable, and reckons with us. Then there is Time, in the same way. Then there is Youth and Opportunity, and Health and Strength, and it's wonderful how w^e waste them all, without seeming to re- member that we shall be called to account for the use w^e have made of them. Then again there are those that are more special and which are only given to a few, such as povv^er, influence, money, and cleverness. ducks' eggs IX A hex's nest. 145 After that come tlie gifts ; preaching like St. Paul, writing books, painting, music, sculp- ture, and other things of that kind.' ' I see,' said Charhe musingly ; ' and I suppose you've got a talent and a gift ; for I heard our master say the other day, that you had such a talent for teaching, it was quite a gift. If you didn't teach, Bessie, should you be hiding a talent in the earth ? ' ' Yes,' she answered very low ; ' I beheve so, Charhe.' The widow had put down her pen, and was sitting very still. ' Have I got any special talent, Bess ? ' 'Well, no Charhe, I don't think you have.' Charhe drew a long breath of great relief. ' And Bill ? ' was the next question. Bessie got hot all over ; for she no L 146 THWAETED ; OR, longer heard tlie scratching of her mother's pen, and she began to think she must be hstening. Had she dared look round, she would have seen the widow sitting bolt up- right, with her unfinished letter before her. ' You know as well as I do,' she said, almost m a whisper. ' Oh carving,' said Charlie, loudly ; ' so it is, of course. Why that's something hke painting, or sculpture, I should think. That's quite a gift, isn't it ? ' Bessie bowed her head. She could not trust herself to speak. ' Then if Bill doesn't so on with his carving, he'll be hiding a talent in the earth, won't he ? ' A very low answer from Bessie. The widow moved restlessly in her chau*. ' I mean it would be wasting a talent ducks' eggs in a hen's nest. 147 God has given him, wouldn't it ? ' the per- tinacious voice went on. Another low murmur from the girl. Another restless movement from the mother in the distance. ' Then he'd have to give account to God some day for not having made use of it ; eh, Bess ? ' ' No ! ' came in low accents the reply ; ' it will not be his fault. He is so situated that he cannot help it.' The widow took up her unfinished letter, and tore it into little pieces. 'Well! I must be ofi*,' said Charlie, rising, and collecting his books. ' Thank you, Bessie, I understand the parable much better now.' And he ran away, whisthng. Bessie sat quite still after he was gone, gazing sadly into the fire, and thinking more L 2 148 TIIWAETED ; OR, regretfully than ever of the wasted talent, and the rejected opportunity. A touch on her shoulder roused her. Her mother was standing by her, holding out the printed paper. ' I've changed my mind about this,' she said ; ' you may give it to Bill, and he can make what use he likes of it.' And before Bessie could recover from her surprise, her mother had left the room. Bessie first bowed her head in silent thankfulness and wonder that her prayer should thus have been heard ; then, hurriedly putting on her bonnet, she went in search of Bill. We need not paint the interview; nor dwell upon the young man's astonishment, his bemldered feverish delight. A flush rose on his cheek, a glad Hght came into his eye ; he eagerly stretched out ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 149 his hand for the paper, and greedily devoured the contents. He covered his face for a moment, as if this sudden reahsation of his wishes were ahnost too much for him; and then he poured forth a torrent of questions. When had it come ? How had it come ? How was it he had not heard of it before ? Bessie answered by giving him an ac- count of yesterday, with its temptation, its conflict, and its final victory. Her conduct met with his unquahfied approval. He would not have had her act other^vise, he assured her, for all the Exhibi- tions in the kingdom. 'No good could ever have come of doing evil,' he said ; ' and the first bad consequence would have been mother's putting down my discharge to my head having been turned by this prospect.' 150 THWARTED ; OR, Brother and sister wandered slowly homewards arm in arm; building airy castles as they went, of Bill's future great- ness. Their happy voices and their laughter rang out in the clear frosty air, and reached their mother's ear as she stood at the open door. 'Bless me, children, how merry you seem ! ' she exclaimed, as they entered the cottage together. ' And no wonder,' said Bill, joyously, going up to her, paper in hand, and kissing her warmly. ' You're a foolish boy,' she said, but she looked happy all the same ; ' and I'm a foolish Woman to put such ideas into your head. But promise me one thing. Bill. It'll not make you give up your place. Promise me that ! ' DUCKS EGGS IN A HEX's XEST. 151 ' Mother,' said Bill quietly ' my place has given me up.' The widow turned very pale, and looked rather frightened. ' Oh Bill ! what have you done ? * - But when Bill explained the reason, her feelings underwent a sudden revulsion, and her indication knew no bounds. ' It's not your fault, my poor lad,' she exclaimed, ' if you're made slight, like your father before you.' ' No, mother,' said Bill, ' it isn't ; but if you could see the boy who takes my place, you'd be the first to say the farmer was right. Such a strapping fellow ! Quite my height, and twice my sinew ! I do declare,' he added, ' he's going along the road now. Come to the window, mother, quick, and have a look at him ! ' The widow was at his side in three strides. 152 THWARTED. Her maternal vanity was wounded, and she was indignant at the idea of the ' strapping fellow,' who had eclipsed her boy. ' Well ! I declare ! ' she wrathfuUy ex- claimed ; ' I never saw such a great hulking, clumsy, clod-hopping creature in my hfe. Never you mind, Bill. I'd sooner see you what you are, my boy, if you lost all the good places in thew^orld. At least you look like a man, though a slim one ; and that fellow. . . .' ' What does he look hke, mother ? ' laughed Bill. ' I couldn't tell you,' she answered, turn- ing in disgust from tlie window, ' for if I looked at him again, I should have no appetite for supper ! ' CH.\PTER IX. THE SISTER'S SELF-SACRIFICE. CHAPTEE IX. Bill knew it was best to strike while the iron was hot, lest his mother should change her mind. He therefore lost no time in com- municating with his uncle at Bournby, and he received in reply, aU the necessary in- structions. - The next week passed quietly and un- eventfully. The widow worked away harder than ever, and asked no questions when Bill disappeared for hours in his little den. She had, as it were, given in under pro- test ; and though she would not for worlds have retracted her permission, she yet wished to show that she herself was stiU of the same 156 THW.IRTED ]70R, mind as ever ; and so did ; not take any' interest in the matter. .' Bessie, relieved from tHe strain of lier • >, secret, and more hopeful than her mother, was very happy again ;. and if for a moment a misgiving came over her as to what was to become of them all if; Bill did not succeed, like others, in getting noticed and helped through the Industrial Exhibition, she quickly chased it away; and her dreams of his future success surpassed even his own. Bill, his heart beating high with hope, was absprbisd in his work, and thought and cared for nothino; else. Early and late he toiled without ceasing ; and there began to grow under his hands a work of rare beauty, which already, even in its outline, bore a resemblance to the box he had seen. His great fear was of forgetting the ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 157 design, before lie liacl sufficiently progressed to be able to work it out. He was s6 afraid of its fading from his recollection. It haunted him, this fear. He would sit with his head between his hands, and his eyes closed, straining brain and memory to recall its every detail : but not always with entire success. He could not always remember it exactly. He got a little confused sometimes; and the details would crowd upon him with such distinct- ness, as to make him a little uncertain how to group them so as to form an harmonious whole. He needed sorely another sight of the box to make certain how the parts blended together. One day he got so hot and impatient over the incapability which possessed him 158 THWAETED ; OK, of recalling the design to his satisfaction, that he left his little room, and went out into the garden to refresh himself in the air. But the change of scene seemed only to obliterate more completely what he was try- ing to remember. He felt he must give up the hope of its returning to his mind for that day ; and went into the wash-house to talk to his mother. She was busy sorting the clothes that had arrived that day from the Big House ; and he stayed chatting some minutes. All of a sudden, without Ms being aware of the cause, the scene in the little Hbrary returned to him ; the box rose before liim, design, details, and all. His attention wandered from what his mother was saying, and he stood silent, gazing as it seemed to her, into vacancy ; ducks' eggs in a hen's n-est. 159 while a look of eager intelligence spread itself over his face. Hope awoke once more within him, and with a hastily muttered excuse, he hurried away to his den again, and eagerly set to work. • Bless the boy ! ' exclaimed his mother, as she plunged the clothes into the tub, -he's clean demented over that wood-work. He can't leave it for a minute to hear what one's got to say ! ' What had he seen in the wash-house? What power had been at work ? His eyes must have seen a vision to which his mother's were closed. The power of association was the unseen spell. His eyes had fallen on something that had brought back the Hd to his mind. But it was only a tiny hnen cuff, with the stain of a bon-bon upon it ! 160 THWARTED ; OR, Towards the end of a fortniglit or so, the loss of Bill's wages began to make itself felt. It was patent to each one, though no one made any remark upon it Everything approaching to a luxury dis- appeared by degrees from the table. The truth was, no one but the widow was now contributing anything towards the family maintenance. Eather the contrary : since both for Bessie and Charlie a weekly sum of money had to be forthcoming. It was getting clearer every day to the widow that this state of things could not go on. There was no doubt in her mind that until Bill got work of some sort, Bessie must give up her teaching, and assist with the washing. DLXKS' EGGS IX A HEX'S XEST. 161 There was no other way of adding to the family funds. The widow could not undertake more washing by herself, and if she hired an assistant, the woman's pay would swallow up nearly all the extra money gained. ATrs. Tarver knew it would be a great blow to her daughter, and fi^om day to day she put off speaking to her on the subject, half lioping the girl would suddenly see the necessity herself, and spare her tlie pain of lurging it upon her. The poor mother pondered the matter as she worked and toiled without ceasing ; but could think of no other way of increasing their means but by pressing Bessie into the service. She took the precaution, however, of letting; it be known in the village that Bill was out of work; and then waited a little to M 162 THWARTED ; OR, see what might turn up. But nothing came of it, and daily the meals grew more frugal, and the sting of poverty began to make itself felt. And meanw^hile Bessie, though she said nothing, had told herself from the first how it must end. It was only because she had seen no immediate prospect of there being more washing than her mother could do by herself, that she had refrained from speaking. But coming home one evening from the schools, she saw two strange children playing in the Eectory garden, and knew that the time had come. For strangers meant guests to the Eector, and guests meant extra washing. It was all over then. Her hopes and ambitions must be given up for this year : for it only wanted a few weeks to the ex- ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 163 amination, and slie needed every minute of her time to fit herself to pass it. She leant sadly against the gate, watch- ing the children at their play, till she was roused by the voice of the rector's house- keeper calling her by name. She opened the gate, and went in. ' Master's quite laid up with rheumatism,' said the housekeeper, advancing to meet her. ' His brother's come to take the duty for him, and brought his family with him. I was just going to send down to your mother to see if she can take their washing when I saw you coming along. You can tell me, I daresay.' ' Oh yes,' said Bessie, mechanically, ' we can take it : yes, we can take the washing.' ' And then we shall want an odd man to do jobs inside and out while they are here. Your mother was saying your brother M 2 164 TIDTARTED ; OR, William was out of place. Would he like to come, do you think ? ' If Bessie had felt weak before, she did so no longer now. If she had told herself before that it was hard that she should have to give up all her cherished hopes and ambitions, all such thoughts were put to flight now. For well she knew that did she did not undertake the washing, her mother would accept the place for Bill. As only one need be sacrificed, it should be herself; not him. He, at any rate, should be left undisturbed, free to give his whole mind to his carving. So she quickly, even eagerly, reiterated her assurances that she and her mother would take the extra washing, and in the same breath declined the ' odd man's ' place for Bill. ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 1G5 ' Better me than him,' she said to herself over and over again as she walked home ; and she went straight to her mother, and told her what she had done. The widow was greatly relieved. 'I'm sorry for you, Bess,' she said, ' very sorry. But you see yourself it's the only thing to be done — don't you ? ' 'The only thing to be done,' repeated Bessie; 'yes, mother, I've seen that all along.' But she did not say a word about the offer to Bill. And so no one ever knew of the sister's self-sacrifice, save He unto whom all hearts are open, and from whom no secrets are hid. CHAPTER X. THE FAIRY CHILD AT THE INFANT SCHOOL. CHAPTEE X. Of course as Bill went on with his work the difficulties increased. Some parts were com- paratively easy, but there were others that baffled him. Either the task he had undertaken was beyond him ; or else a good deal had escaped his notice. After all, he had only seen it once. He felt sure that another oiance at the box would remove the difficulty : but then how t/ ' was he ever to get into the httle hbrary again? He was almost out of heart one Saturday, Bessie's last day at the schools. 170 THWARTED ; OR, So he threw down his knife, and bethought him of going to meet her, to soften her sorrow at leaving, and to pour his own troubles into her ear. He started off accordingly ; but arrived at his destination much too soon. It wanted half an hour or more to the time for breaking up. He sat down on a bank outside the schools ; and closing his eyes, strove once more to summon up the box before him. It was a soft spring day : the air blew pleasantly in his face : he felt soothed already. Presently from within the school-house broke out upon the still air a burst of little voices. 'Tis a lesson you should learn : Try, try, try again. etc etc. ducks' eggs IX A hex's nest. I'll It cliimed in with Bill's feelings very pleasantly : the words seemed to give him hope and encouragement, and the singing of the little voices in unison was very soothing : and so was the clap of all the little hands at regular intervals. He began to think of Dick Whittington on the milestone, listening to the chimes bidding him back to hope and fortune ; and wondered if he might gather courage in the same way. Were not the little voices holding out hopes of success to him too ? Was any difficulty ever surmounted except by the perseverance of which they sang? . . . But the children had ceased singing and all was very still. By and bye, through the silent air, there 172 . THWARTED; OR, fell upon his ear tlie clattering of a pony's hoofs in the distance. Nearer and nearer they approached. At last they stopped suddenly. There was a merry laugh close to him, and a silvery voice said in clear, rather imperious tones, ' William Tarver ! But Bill did not look up. For something, he knew not what, had transported him back, he knew not where- fore, to the little library at the Big House ; to the place where he longed to be ! There was the box, standing on the table ! Its design was returning to him ! and fervently he hoped nought might disturb him, till he had made it his own once more. Yain hope ! Again the silvery voice exclaims, 'William Tarver ! ' ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 173 This time lie recognises it, and opens his eyes. He sees before him a tiny pony, and on it the fairy child. He hardly sees her, for her presence recalls the box. Clearer and clearer she seems to bring it before him. They are so inseparably connected, these two ; he cannot disunite them. Here are the laughing eyes, and the wild fair hair ; and, resting on the pony is an ungloved hand ; the same that rested on the lid ! And there, close by, rises behind her, the feathery foliage, and the grouping of the perfect whole ! 'You don't look as if you knew me,' said httle Miss Herbert. 'I'll take off my hat.' She did so, and shaking her hair out of 174 THWARTED ; OR, her eyes, she exclaimed, ' There ! now do you remember me ? ' ' I beg your pardon, Miss,' he said, rising slowly, and taking off his cap ; 'I think I was half asleep.' 'Well! it is lucky I found you here,' she said ; ' for I've come to hear the children at the Infant School do their lessons like you advised me to, and I shall want some one to show me the way.' Bill looked rather scared. ' So now you can take me in,' she went on, gathering up her skirts and jumping off her pony. ' Give me your hand, and come with me, for I don't like going in alone.' Bill demurred. ' Take me in, I say,' said the spoilt child. ' You never will do what I ask you.' ' What about the pony, Miss ? ' ' The pony will stand. Take me in T Thus driven into a corner, Bill took her ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 175 little outstretched hand ; and they entered the school together. Bessie was sitting with her little class round her, the only teacher in the room. The smallest child in the school was on her lap ; another was leaning against her, the rest were all pressing as close as they could. She was telhng them she should not be able to come and teach them any more. There was consternation on all the little faces ; one child was crying. At the sound of footsteps Bessie looked up, and to her astonishment, she saw her brother advancing towards her, leading little Miss Herbert bv the hand. She rose up, and came to meet them, some of the children still chnging to her, and impeding her progress, ' Let me go, dears,' she whispered ; try- ing to disengage herself from their grasp. But the children, their heads full of the 176 THWARTED ; OR, announcement she had just made them, ckmg tighter to her, crying, ' No, no, you mustn't go. Stay with us.' 'I'm not going away,' she said soothingly ; ' only just going to speak to the Httle lady.' They relaxed their hold after this, though they kept their eyes upon her rather fear- fully. Little Miss Herbert had been an attentive observer of the scene. ' How fond they seem of her ! ' she said to Bill. Then, leaving go of his hand, she ran forward to Bessie, and said, ' Wikiam Tarver says you teach them their geography. I want to hear them do it.' Bessie wondered Bill should have picked out that particular branch of study for display, as the infants' knowdedge of it was of course of the most limited order. 'They do very little of that. Miss,' she ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 17 V answered ; ' they're such httle things ; but you shall hear what they can do. Bill, will you get Miss Herbert a chair ? ' Bill placed a seat by his sister, and then slipped away without speaking. He was eager to get back to his work while the inspiration by which he was seized was still upon him. Bessie gathered her little class around her, and put them through a few simple questions. They acquitted themselves very well Little Miss Herbert sat perched upon her chair, listening attentively ; and then looked up plaintively at Bessie with her great eyes. 'I wish somebody would teach me as nicely as that,' she said. ' It's more like play than lessons.' The young teacher smiled. ' You shall 178 THWARTED ; OH, see them at play now, Miss. They play and sing at the same time.' The infants were soon arranged in a circle, and went through the ' Peasant ' with its accompanying gesticulations. The little girFs dehght knew no bounds ; she got nearer and nearer, and at last joined the ring herself. The sudden advent of a new and undis- ciplined scholar was too much for the infants. Eules were forgotten, and the game finished in wild disorder. Bessie was glad to see the children had forgotten their troubles ; and left them to enjoy themselves unrebuked for a time. But the hour for dismissal was at hand, and she called them to order at last. Beckoning Mss Herbert to her side, she made the infants march past her, two ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 179 and two ; curtsying or bowing as tliey passed on their way out. Very regretfully the young teacher's eyes followed each little couple as they disap- peared ; and as the tiny child she had had on her lap trotted off in charge of an elder brother of five, they filled with tears. She felt it all too probable she should never superintend their little games again. She shook off her depression, and turned to the little lady at her side. The child was gazing almost as mourn- fully at the open door by which the children had disappeared. The room seemed so for- lorn, so deserted : the silence they had left behind them was so great. ' Oh dear ! oh dear ! ' she exclaimed ; ' I wish they hadn't gone. I haven't had such a game for years and years ! What fun it was, and what happy little children they N 2 180 THWARTED ; OR, must be ! I wish / was a little poor cliild, and could come and do my lessons at the Infant School with you. You do it so nicely, and never stop them if they make a httle noise, do you ? ' Bessie sighed. ' No, Miss Herbert, I like to make them love their little lessons. It's what makes me happier than anything.' Just then came a knock at the door, and a white scared face looked in. A voice uttered an exclamation of relief and satisfaction, and the coachman, who had been riding with Miss Herbert, appeared in the doorway. The child, he told Bessie, had given him the sHp while he had been shutting a gate : and he had not been able to make up his mind which of three roads she had taken. Of course he had picked out the wrong one ; but finding out his mistake, he had turned ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 181 back, and had tracked her to the School- house, where the sight of the riderless pony had filled him with alarm. ' Please come home now, ]\iissie,' he pleaded. ' It's long past your tea-time, and your mamma will be getting so imeasy and anxious.' The child stood up, and looked round. ' Where's Wilham Tarver ? ' she said. ' I want to say good-bye to him.' 'He has gone hom.e long-ago,' Bessie answered. ' He's very unkind,' she said plaintively ; ' he never will say good-bye.' 'He is so busy just now,' said Bessie, apologetically ; ' he hasn't a minute to spare from his work.' The httle creature seemed moUified by this explanation, and condescended to be led to the door, and to mount her pony. ' I 1 82 THWAETED ; OR, shall soon be back agfain,' she called out to Bessie as she gallopped off, ' to see you make the children play and sing. Soon, very soon! ' The httle figure with its streaming hair disappeared in the distance ; the echo of the pony's clattering hoofs died away: and silence and sadness settled down again on the young teacher's heart. She returned into the empty school-room, now doubly quiet and deserted ; and she shook her head as she half-unconsciously re- peated the child's parting words. 'You will. never see that any more,' she murmured ; ' that is all over now.' She put on her bonnet, and after taking a farewell glance at the familiar scene of her past labours, she walked slowly and sadly home. When the dusk came on, Bill, who till then had toiled full of hope and inspiration felt the design was once more fading from ducks' eggs m a hex's xest. 183 him ; and, as tlie light grew fainter, his heart grew fainter too. He threw aside his knife, and strove to recall the events of the afternoon, hoping that the feeling of inspiration might return with them. And as he sat thus in the gloaming, half asleep and very dreamy, they came back in a strange medley to his mind. He was sitting, like Dick Whittington, on a milestone, only by the school-house door. The air was full of music, and a band of httle voices sang. Close by was the fairy child, leaning against a table, stretching out her hand. And on the table stood the box. Something the child was saying, which he longed and strained to hear. And as he gazed upon her, she opened her hps and sang : — 184 THWARTED. If you find yon don't succeed, Try, try, try again. Whether he had slept or no, he knew not, but when he took up his knife again the difficulty had vanished away. CHAPTER XI. THE SISTER'S REWARD. CHAPTEE XI. That was Bill's last difficulty. Thence- forward all went smoothly. And now the day was rapidly approach- ing wdien the contributions to the Exhibition must be sent to Bournby. He put the finishing touches to his work; and prepared to exhibit it to his mother, before packing it up. Not that she had shown any more interest in it as time went on. From first to last she had continued to manifest the same indifierence. He and Bessie decided to put it on a httle table ; so as to make it look as much as possible like its fellow at the Big 188 THWARTED; OE, House ; and then Mrs. Tarver was to be called in, to give her opinion. The morning of the day on which this Httle plot was to be carried out, Bessie and her mother were hard at work in the wash- house, when a message came from the Big House, to say that Mrs. Herbert Avished to see Mrs. Tarver immediately. So unusual a summons filled the widow with surprise, not unmingled w^ith a little indignation. ' Why couldn't she have waited till the evening, instead of making one dress up in the middle of the day ! ' she wrathfully ex- claimed, as she withdrew her arms from the soap-suds in which they were plunged, and went upstairs to change her gown. In about half- an- hour she returned, flushed and breathless, with radiant face, and eyes sparkling with excitement. ' Good news ! ' slie called out to Bessie ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 189 and Bill, who met her at tlie door ; ' vronder- ful news, I can hardly beheve it yet ! Here's httle Miss Herbert taken such a fancy to you, Bess, from hearing you teach at the Infant School, that she wants you to be her daily governess ; and ]\Ii^s. Herbert sent for me to ask whether you would give up your teacher's place, if she made it worth your while. Let me sit do^^m, Bill, for I'm quite upset with the suddenness like of the thinor.' Bessie's heart was beating so with surprise and delight, that she could not steady her voice to make any remark. She placed a chair for her mother in silence ; for Bill was too excited to take any notice of the widow's request for a seat. 'Go on, mother,' he exclaimed ; ' don't stop. Tell us aU about it from the very besinnincr. Don't leave out a word.' 190 THWARTED ; OR, Mrs. Tarver went on to say that ever since the little girl's visit to the school, she had been imploring that she might be allowed to go and learn there with the little children ; or at least that if that were denied her, she might have Elizabeth to teach her at home. Mrs. Herbert had at first treated the child's request as a passing fancy : but finding it repeated day after day, she had at last taken it into consideration. She had feared there were great difficulties in the way ; because she had not understood that Bessie no longer attended the school ; and she had assured the child Bessie would never consent to give up her place. Wearied, however, by the httle girl's persistency, and unaccustomed to have to cross her in anyway, she had at last determined to send for the widow, and to see ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 191 if an arrangement of any kind could be effected. Her joy at finding everything so smooth and easy had been great ; and she had made her own terms at once. Bessie was to attend daily from nine to two o'clock, at eight shillings a week. ' And you're to go up there this after- noon, Bessie,' concluded the Avidow, ' to show yourself, and to get your orders. It's a wonderful bit of good fortune, sure — ly ! ' Bessie presented herself before the invahd lady at the appointed hour. To play with the little girl, and keep her amused and happy while Mrs. Herbert was upstairs ; to introduce a httle teaching, if possible, but on no account to bother the child with lessons : such were the injunctions dehvered to her in a feeble shghtly querulous tone : and she wilhngly promised obedience. 192 THWARTED ; OR, The girl's face bore such evident tokens of happiness in the arrangement, that the invahcl paused, and looked at her with languid surprise. ' You're fond of teaching then, I suppose,' she said, eyeing her curiously and half en- viously. ' Oh yes, Ma 'am,' said Bessie ; 'I've missed it so since I left the school, and it makes me so happy to think of beginning again. I'm only sorry to think. . . .' She hesitated, checked by the expression of Mrs. Herbert's face. ' Sorry to think what ? ' exclaimed the invahd helplessly. ' Oh dear me ! I hope there are not going to be any objections, just as I thought it was aU arranged.' ' Objections ! ' repeated Bessie, clasping her hands ; ' how could I make objections to anything I Oh no, Ma 'am. You misunder- ducks' eggs IX A HEX'S XEST. 193 stand me altogether. I was only going to say I was sorry to think I was taking the pleasure from you.' ' Oh well, you needn't be,' said Mrs. Herbert, settling down again on her sofa cushions with a sigh of rehef; 'for it's no pleasure to me at all. It makes me so sadly nervous.' ' Nervous ! ' said Bessie, puzzled. But Mrs. Herbert held up her hand warningly ; for the child had entered the room. 'You're going to be my governess, airCt you ? ' she said, bounding up to Bessie ; ' and you'll teach me all those nice games and songs with the jumping and clapping of hands ? ' ' I hope there won't be a great deal of noise,' said the invalid nervously. Bessie reassured her on that point, and 194 THWAETED ; OR, then rose to take her leave. The child followed her down stairs, talking all the way. 'Do you think you'll be able to make me like my lessons ? ' she asked, ' because mammy can't. But then, you see, she isn't nice and merry over them like you are, and she can't bear me to make any noise — not the least little bit of noise. I think I could do them so much better if I might make just a httle. She gets a head-ache directly. Yqu don't have head-aches, do you ? ' she said, suddenly stopping short on the stairs, and looking with horror into Bessie's face. ' No, never, Miss Herbert,' smiled Bessie ; ' and I'm sure I shall be able to make you hke your lessons. We shall have such happy times together, you and I ! ' The child fairly laughed with delight ; and repeatedly kissed her hand to Bessie, as she stood watchincr her off from the hall ducks' eggs in a hen^s nest. 195 door. ' Come very early to-morrow,' she called out ; ' come very early and stay very late ! ' Bessie kissed tier hand in answer, and sped merrily home. That evening the box was put on a httle table in Bill's den, with a candle on each side of it. After admiring it for a minute, Bessie went in search of her mother, and told her Bill had sot somethino^ to show her in his room. ' The vfidow came in ; and her son and daughter watched her countenance eagerly. But to their dismay, the moment her eye lighted on the box, she started as if she had seen a spectre ; and then looked much agitated. ' Now, Bill ! ' she said harshly, ^ what 2 196 THWARTED ; OR, trick is this you are playing me ? How did you get hold of that ? ' ' What do you mean, mother ? ' exclaimed Bill. ' You know very well what I mean ! * she answered ; ' you got that box from the Big House.' Bill and Elizabeth fairly shouted with delight, while their mother looked from one to the other in astonishment. ' Bill carved it, mother,' cried Bessie. 'It's my contribution to the Bournby Exhibition,' exclaimed Bill. ' Nonsense ! ' she said, sharply ; * don't tell me. Do you think I could be deceived about that box ? It came ojQT the table that stands in the window in the little Hbrary.' She was working herself into a state of incontroUable agitation ; and Bill hastily ex- plained. But the explanation seemed only to DUCKS' EGGS IX A HEX'S XEST. 197 agitate her more ; and, at last, she fairly ran out of the room. ' Now, Bessie,' said Bill, turning to his sister, ' what new mystery is this ? How can the box at the Big House be any way connected with my mother's past hfe, that the sight of my copy should upset her in this way ? ' Perhaps,' suggested Bessie, ' going to the Big House so soon after father's death, any- thinfj" she was accustomed to see then recalls her grief to her.' Bill was not satisfied with the explana- tion, but agreed with his sister that it might be so. ' At any rate,' he said, ' I may console myself with the thought of mother having mistaken my box for the original. It shows it must be more like than I imagined.' The next day he walked with it to the station, and saw it off by the train. CHAPTER XII. THE BON-BON BOX. CHAPTEE XII. Bessie beo-an her tuition at the Big House on the following morning. Bill, for the next few clays, worked in the garden, and did what he could to help his mother, while he waited for news from Bournby. The suspense made him very restless. Sometimes, he was full of hope ; at others, he told himself he had been over-sanguine. The 7th of April came and passed : and now Bill began to look for every post from Bournby, and his heart would beat as the hour drew near. 202 THWAETED ; OE, ' We might very easily hear to-day,' he said to Bessie as he walked with her to the Big House on the morning of the lOth- ' I feel very jiopeful somehow, this morning, Bess. Something seems to tell me everything will turn out well. Perhaps it is because it is such a beautiful day,' he added, stopping short, and lookino; round at the ^reen fields full of little lambs, the banks covered with primroses, the ground blue with wild hyacinths ; the sun shining brightly upon all. Bessie stopped too, enjoying with him the beauty of the spring morning. They stood listening for some minutes to the glad song of a hundred birds around them, and the soft sound of the cuckoo in the distance. ' Good-bye, dear Bill,' said Bessie, when they reached the Big House door. ' Come and meet me after your dinner, for I shall be ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 203 panting to know if you have had any news.' She stood for a moment watching^ him as he disappeared down the lane, marking with sisterly pride his tall slight figure, and the erect carriage of his head. 'He's meant for something great, I'm sure,' she said fondly. ' Cuckoo ! ' sounded close by, from the top of one of the trees in the garden. It seemed to her to come like an amen to the words she had just uttered ; and she smiled brightly as she entered the house. ' Mrs. Herbert would like to see you in about an hour's time, in her bedroom,' said the servant who opened the door. The summons was unusual, for hitherto Bessie had rarely seen the invahd lady. Her little pupil was not able to tell her why she was wanted ; but in the course of conversation observed, that ' Mammy had 204 THWARTED ; OR, had a letter from Aunt Mary at Boiiruby this morninoj.' The news made Bessie's heart beat, and rendered her restless and pre-occupied. She found herself watching the clock, and long- ing for the moment to come when she should present herself before Mrs. Herbert. It came at last, and with some trepida- tion Bessie went upstairs, and knocked at the bedroom door. ' Come in,' said a weak, rather trembling voice ; and Bessie entered. The invalid was lying on the sofa in her dressing-gown, with an open letter in her hand. ' Pray sit down,' she said. ' I've had a letter from my sister-in-law at Bournby this morning, which has puzzled me rather, and I think you can help me.' Bessie sat down. 'It* seems they have had one of these ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 205 Industrial Exhibitions there ; and that the prize for carving has been gained by your brother.' Bessie clasped her hands with delight, and grew crimson to the roots of her hair. The invalid looked rather uneasy. ' This is news to you, I see,' she said ; ' yes, it's very pleasant for you ; but don't agitate yourself, my good girl. I'm not very strong this morning. That w^asn't the point of what I was going to say. My sister-in-law says he is a most promising young man ; and that the foreman of a great church decoration shop in London, who happened to be at the Exhibition, declares his contribution shows very rare talent. You'll be pleased to hear this . . . yes .... but I have not got to the point yet. It seems your brother has contributed a carved antique box, which he 206 THWAETED ; OR has done from memory, after seeing the original once : and when questioned as to where he saw it, he answered in the Big House at Grinfield ! that is, here ! in my house! I can't understand it at all; and it's made me so nervous.* ' I think I can explain, ma'am,' said Bessie. ' My brother waited here one day for a message in the little library, and there he saw the box.' The invalid looked a little happier, but was evidently only partially relieved. ' That is not all, you see,' she said. ' The worst part is that the Committee say it's such a beautiful bit of carving that my sister-in- law has been desired to write and ask me where I got the original box : and she wants an answer by return of post. The very idea of a Committee makes me so nervous that I can't collect my thoughts at all.' ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 207 Here the child shpped in, and sat down on the foot of the sofa. ' I can't think what box it can be,' said the invahd, helplessly. ' Perhaps Mss Herbert could help you,' suggested Bessie ; and with the mother's per- mission, she explained to the little girl the subject under discussion. ' It must be my bon-bon box,' said the child. ' Your bon-bon box ! ' repeated the poor lady, uneasily. ' What bon-bon box ? I can't remember anything to-day. The letter coming so early, and the flurry of having to answer it so early, and the Committee, and altogether, have confused me terribly. Fetch the box, my darhng pet, there's a dear, good, obedient little girl.' The child ran off eagerly, and Bessie « followed her downstairs, and into the 208 THWARTED ; OR, little library, and up to the table in the window. When Bessie's eyes fell upon the box, she was struck dumb with astonishment at the accuracy of Bill's copy. It seemed to her as if this were the very same she had seen gradually grow under his hand at home. Her heart was beating with hope and excitement as she carried it upstairs : but she was forced to control herself on account of the invalid lady. ' I'm so afraid even now of not beincr able to give any account of it,' the nervous voice was saying as Bessie and the child entered the room. ' I feel as if I was being cross-examined in a witness-box. It's a most disagreeable affair altogether.' But the moment her eyes lighted on the box, she exclaimed, ' That box ! Dear me ! Why, that box was sold to me years and years ago, by your mother ! ' ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 209 ' By my mother I ' exclaimed Bessie. 'Yes,' she said. ' Don't be Q^diQd— please ! 'It's very simple. When she eame to be my laimdrymaid, or rather when she left to set up for herself, I bought it of her out of charity.' The invahd lay back on the sofa and gave a great sigh of rehef ; as much as to say the responsibihty rested now on the shoulders of another, and that she washed her hands of it. Bessie meanwhile was so bewildered that she stood staring at Mrs. Herbert vacantly, trying to put her thoughts into shape. The invalid writhed under her gaze. ' You had better go home to your mother, and make enquiries. Look, take the letter with you and let her read it. Bring it, and the answer, back before post-time, that I may write to my sister-in-law this afternoon p 210 THWARTED ; OR, And now I think I'll try and get a little sleep before lunch.' Bessie got up, too glad to make her escape, so great was her longing to see Bill. She put on her things hastily, and took a short cut across the garden into the lane. She sped along the road on the wings of the wind, and never halted till she reached the cottage door. ' Bill ! ' she cried joyfully. But there was no answer, and no one seemed to be at home. * Bill ! ' she cried, crossing the kitchen, and she opened the door of his little room. But the room was empty : there was no one there. Bessie was completely mystified, she could not make it out. In her mother's bedroom were signs of a hasty departure ; her week-day dress lay ducks' eggs IX A hex's nest. 211 on the bed, and the cupboard containing her Sunday clothes was empty. It was the same in Bill's room. What could have happened ! Where could they both have gone ! And where was Charhe? For it was past twelve o'clock, so he must have come home from school. It was so strange that they should have gone off so suddenly, with- out leaving a message or a letter for her. But though she searched everywhere she found no letter of explanation, no clue to their sudden departure. It was so odd that they should not have sent her a message by Charlie. It was very mysterious, and altogether most disappointing when she had so much to tell. She sat down feeling quite distressed, when quick footsteps fell upon her ear ; and p 2 212 THWARTED ; OR, running to tlie door, she encountered Charlie, with a teleo;ram in his hand. ' Hurrah ! ' he shouted ; ' here you are ; I can 't think how I missed you. Such news, Bess ! Bill's got the prize, and he's been sent for to Bournby. I've been all the way to the Big House to tell you; and you had just gone. Look here ! Eead it.' Bessie took the telegram, and eagerly opened it. It ^vas addressed to Bill, from his uncle, it was as follows : — 'You have got the prize. Come to Bournby by next train, and bring anything else you have ever carved with you. All expenses will be paid.' Charhe then told her that Bill had only just had time to get his things together, and to start. He had borrowed a cart from a neighbour, or else he could not have caught the train. He had been very sorry not to ducks' eggs IX A hex's nest. 213 be able to see Bessie before lie went, and had sent her every kind of message. Their mother had gone with him to the station, to see him off, and to drive the cart home. Bessie decided to wait quietly till her mother returned ; as it was no use going back to Mrs. Herbert without an answer. She explained to Charlie that, in her haste, she had come out of the Big House by the front door, and taken a short cut across the garden, which accounted for her having missed him on the road. In due time the widow arrived, looking flushed, excited, and, as it were, triumphant m spite of herself. Bessie could tell her more than the telegram ; and the mother looked highly delighted at the mention of the foreman of the church decoration shop. But as the girl went on to deliver Mrs. 214 THW.\ETED. Herbert's message, the -widow's face changed. She turned away in some agitation, and answered sharply that Bessie need not return to the Big House, as she would go up her- self, and give the required answer. ' Won't you tell me^ mother ? ' said poor Bessie wistfully. ' I may some day,' was the reply, ' but it will not be till Bill comes home again.' CHAPTER Xm. THE MYSTERY CLEARED UP, CHAPTEE Xin. Two days after, the Bournby local paper arrived at the cottage, directed in Uncle Ned's handwriting. The account of the Industrial Exhibition was scored on each side with ink, and one passage in particular deeply underhned. It related to the fact of the prize for carving having been gained by the son of a poor washerwoman ; who had never received any instruction, or even had proper tools to work with, in his hfe. Bessie had the pleasure of reading this paragraph out loud to her mother and CharHe. 218 THWAETED ; OE, The widow's face was a study during tlie reading. An expression of would-be indif- ference struggled with maternal pride on her countenance ; and though she affected not to be listening with any great interest, and went on ironing all the time, she did not really lose a word. More than once Bessie ob- served with delight that the iron remained poised in the air, while her mother's whole attitude denoted rapt attention. Bessie was a little disappointed at not receiving a letter from Bill by the same post ; but before she had time to wonder why he had not written, arrived Bill himself ! And such a radiant, triumphant Bill that Bessie often declared afterwards, she hardly knew him again the first moment. For he seemed to have grown in those few days at least half an inch taller, and several years older, so erect was the carriage of his head. ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 219 and so full of life and self-dependence his whole demeanour. And well micrht it be so ! For he had attained the heif^ht of his ambition : his hopes and his longings were fulfilled. The foreman of the church decoration shop had at once engaged him as a work- man ; and at a rate of wages which would not only support Bill himself, but leave a surplus for him to send to his mother. Nor was this all. His carving had been unanimously declared to be something quite out of the common ; and the foreman had assured him that if he went on as he had begam, he would in time make a name and a fortune. When Bill had recounted to his dehghted audience thus far, he suddenly wheeled round to his mother and looked her full in the face. 220 THWAETED ; OR, ' Little Mother,' he said gently, ' where did you get the box which has been the means of so much ? It is declared to be a most accurate copy of Gibbons : and they say that it must actually have been copied from a certain bit of his work well known to be in the possession of a certain English nobleman. The Committee wrote to Mrs. Herbert to ask her how she came by it, and her answer was,' . . . ' That she bought it of me,' interrupted the widow, hurriedly. 'That's what she said. I dictated the answer myself.' ' Yes,' returned Bill ; ' and now the Committee desire me to put the same question to you. That that box is connected with our past life, and with all that you have hitherto concealed from us, I feel sure. And now, mother, you must unfold this double mystery to us. The time for an ex- ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 221 planation has come, and you must \Yitliliold it no longer.' He spoke with a mixture of tenderness and authority, but in a very determined way. And then added, as if in explanation of his tone, ' My grandfather Oifered to tell me all that I wanted to know, but I said I would hear it from my mother alone.' 'There is no further need of concealment,' cried the widow. ' I will tell you all. The box was carved by your father ! ' 'By our father!' they all exclaimed; and Bill sprang to his feet in violent excite- ment. ' Yes,' she said, half-proudly, half mourn- fully. ' Bill's talent, children, is inherited ; for vour father was a carver too ! ' They pressed her with questions till she told them they were the children of Wilhelm 222 THWAETED ; OE, Tarver, a younger son in a highly respected German family ; who had left his fatherland, and come as an adventurer to England to make a name and a fortune by his talent ; both of which he had utterly failed in doing. ' But why 1 ' burst forth Bill, ' why did he fail? With such a wonderful talent as his, how could he fail ? ' ' Ah, Bill ! ' she answered ; ' you are young, and know httle of the difficulties of life. You seem to think everything is possible, and everything is easy. But I know more about the struggles and the obstacles on the way than you do. However, I will tell you his history and mine, from the beginning to the end — and then you shall judge for your- self She sighed deeply, as if the plunge into the past which she was about to make were a pain and a grief to her, and then began : — ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 223 ' I was not quite seventeen when I first saw your father. ' I remember that evening^ as if it were yesterday. ' It had been a piping hot day, and I was standing at my father's cottage door, enjoy- ing the breeze that had just sprung up, when I saw in the distance a ficmre coming alons^ the road. 'A tall shght stranger, to look at just such another as Bill is now. Thouo-h he was hmping with fatigue, and was covered with dust, I could see he ^vas no tramp, even all that long way off; and when he came nearer, I fell to wonderino- who he could be ; for there was a somethino- about him different to the men I'd been used to see.' When he got up to the cottage, he stopped, took off his hat, and said to me in a faint voice, in a kind of 224 THWAETED: OE. broken English, " I am very weary : would you be so good to give me a glass of water ? " ' Hearing voices, my father came out, and he stayed talking to the stranger while I went to get the water. When I came back, I found father had brought him in, and was letting him rest in the kitchen. He took the water and drank it eagerly ; but in rising to put down the mug on the table, he put his hands to his head, and swooned awa}-. The long and the short of it -was, he had had a sun-stroke. We sent for the doctor, and he said he must not move from our house. He was very ill for a long time, and my mother and I nursed him between us. 'As he grew better, he told us his history. He had left his native land to escape the conscription, thereby deeply offending his father, for the Tarvers were a family of soldiers, and had been for genera- ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 225 tions. Hundreds of his countrymen, he told us, -were every day leaving Germany for the same reason, and emigrating to Austraha and America ; but he preferred to come to Eng- land, to work his way to fame. ' His father had, however, given him his portion of the inheritance, and with this httle fortune in his bag, he was going to Londou. He called it a little fortune ; but to us poor folk it seemed lars^e. ' When he was w^ell enough to go, he asked me to come with him. He said I was strong and brave, and that he wanted such a wife as I should make, to be his ricrht-hand and help-meet in the hfe he was going to beoin. ' I had learned to love him : so gentle and so grateful as he was, who could help it I and I said I would follow him to the world's end. Q 226 TIIWAllTED ; OR, My father and mother didn't hke it ; but they didn't know how to say no, for they saw my mind was made up, and they knew they should never be able to turn me from my purpose : and so we were married. We didn't go straight to London. There was some beautiful carving at a house he knew of near Stamford ; and he had set his heart on seeing it. ' So we went to Stamford ; and from there made an expedition to see this carving. ' I mind the day well, and no wonder, for it was the happiest I ever spent ; and often in the dark days that came after, it's eased my sore heart to look back upon it. 'It was a glorious summer day in the middle of June : w^e dressed ourselves in our Sunday best, and went off together to Burghley. ' We sauntered all along the shady avenue ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 227 that leads to the house, laughing and talking, and Hstening to the birds ; and we were very happy. And we came to tlie grand old house, and were let in ; for it was a visitors' day. And we walked through the grand rooms and passages, till we came to one where the walls were covered with carving ; and he stopped short in dehght, and stood staring up at it like a mad thing, talking to himself in German. ' It didn't seem much to me ; not half so well worth looking at as the beautiful carpets and curtains, and other things in the room. And I wanted him to come and look at them instead ; but I couldn't get him to move, and he said something about a Mr. Gibbs or Gibbins or some such person. (I haven't heard the name since, Bill, till you mentioned it just now.) And he sat down opposite it, and took out a pencil, and began to draw. a2 228 - THWARTED ; OK, I sat down too, and talked to him all the time ; and we spent a happy hour in the quiet cool room. It has been something, children, as I said before, to have the memory of such a day as that to turn to in all the dark times that come after. And now you know why I love that carved box so well. For on the lid is the bit of carving that recalls that day to my mind. The sight of it even now gives me a kind of feeling of being young again, and brings along with it a sort of mixture of hope and happiness and sunshine ; — just like a pot of mignonette in our dingy London lodging used to give me a whifF of my country home. I sold the box to Mrs. Herbert at last, to pay for the wash- tubs and things when I set up as a laundress. It didn't seem like parting with it altogether ; for I thought I should see it now and again at the Bipf House. ducks' eggs l\ a hen's xest. 229 ' Well ! the rest of that day we wandered about the beautiful park, and the day after we went on to London/ The widow stopped, and sighed. How was she to tell Wilhelm Tarver's children of his faults, of his weak vacillating character, of his total want of industry and perseve- rance, of his idle selfish way of allowing her to toil and slave, while he took his ease, and worked or not, as it pleased him ? Of her disappointment in him as day by day her eyes opened more to his weak points ; of his getting orders for carving, and his either not executing them, or so delaying that his employers and customers, in disgust, by degrees fell away from him ? She softened all this as best she could, and dwelt more upon his want of strength ; and upon the over-stocked state of the trade in London. 230 THWARTED ; OE, At last had come sickness, debt, and increased expenses after the births of the children. She herself had been unable to find time, between the care of a sick husband and a young family, to earn sufficient to pay the rent, and to provide food and clothing for them all : and the crash came. Shortly after Charhe's birth, the bailifis entered the house ; and the whole family were obliged to go to the work-house. There her husband had died ; and she had then left London for ever. Was it a wonder, she passionately asked, as, overcome by the recollection of all the sad past, she sank upon a chair weeping bitterly, that, knowing from whom Bill in- herited his talent, she should have tried to keep him from the path that had proved such a pitfall to his father ? ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 231 Her children, carried away by lier story, and filled with love and admiration for her conduct, were unanimous in assuring her that she had indeed acted for the best. Tenderly they soothed and kissed her, and thanked her for all she had done. For though, in her recital, she had, while sUuTing over her husband's weakness, equally passed over in silence her own heroic efforts, her own determined perseverance in work of every kind, by which means alone the final crash had been so long averted, — yet William and EHzabeth saw clearly enough how it had been. But the reader, who owes no filial rever- ence to the poor washerwoman, will see where she made a grievous mistake. She had laid all the blame of her husband's failure in hfe, and the consequent ruin of his family, upon his talent instead of upon 2o2 THWARTED. himself, and had not realised the difference in character between the father and the son. She had failed to see in Bill her own determined resolution and indomitable per- severance ; which, joined to the talent he had inherited from his father, would surely brins^ him the success which that father neither attained nor deserved. She had thwarted him in every possible way from his earliest childhood : but in the end she was thwarted herself. For, as we have seen, her intentions were frustrated, and her efforts over-ruled by a village Industrial Exhibition. CHAPTER XIV. THE GREAT CARVER'S GREATEST WORK. CHAPTEE XIV. In a very little while, Bill started for London ; where his marvellous talent rapidly developed itself, and he as rapidly rose. He lost no time in communicating with his German relations, who were delighted to hear of his existence, and of that of the rest of the family. They entreated him to come over and establish himself among them, as soon as he had made sufficient progress in his art to set up for himself. This Bill accordingly did; and in the course of time was able to make a home 236 THWARTED ; OR, for his mother. He tlien wrote to his family to follow him. ' You shall never toil too hard any more, mother,' he said ; ' but shall be mistress of my house, and do just as much or as little as you feel inclined. Charlie shall go to a miHtary school, and follow out his wish to be a soldier. And tell Bessie there are plenty of httle children here, and plenty of schools to teach them in ; so she may yet carry out her schemes, and gratify her old ambi- tions.' The summons came just in time. Bessie, having implanted in her httle pupil a love of learning, and habits of attention and industry, had for some time felt the child's education should now be confided to more skilful hands. The widow was longing for a little rest, for the strain of her hard life was begfinninor to tell upon her health ; and both mother ducks' eggs IX A hen's xest. 237 and daughter were piniug for Bill, from whom they had never before been separated. Charlie, too, it need not be said, was enchanted at the prospect held out to him. They gladly obeyed it therefore, and were joyfully received by Bill in then: Fatherland. There the poor widow led a happy hfe ; enjoying that immunity from care and toil which had never before been hers ; sur- rounded by her children and her grand- children, and proudly watching her Wil- helm's success. There Karl in due time had his dreams fulfilled; for he joined the Prussian army, and became a distinguished soldier. And there Elizabeth found the hopes held out to her in Bill's letter fully reahsed : for, as years went on, she gathered httle children round her knee once more. 238 THWARTED ; OR, But her old schemes she rehnquished, and her ambitions ran to waste ; for these children called her ' mother,' and they were her very own ! And so the family of Tarver passed away from the village of Grinfield, not even leaving their name behind. For fifteen years they had lived there — did no trace of their sojourn remain ? Nay — but we cannot live anywhere for so long without leaving our mark : our influence for evil or for good. So, though the laundress was gone for ever, the memory of her industry remained. Her hard-working perseverance, her energy, and her determination are still talked of at Grinfield, are still held up as a pattern to the young. Bessie lives still in the hearts of her little ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 239 pupils ; and is for ever an example of gentle- ness, patience, and unselfishness to all suc- ceeding teachers in the school. And Wilham Tarver, the boy who so deeply deplored the evils existing at Grin- field ; what mark did he leave upon it ? what influence of his was left behind him to work any change ? When he quitted the village, it was just what he had always known it — neglected, uncared for, and devoid of every kind of ad- vantage. But by and by, as years went on, great changes and improvements began to be seen. Flower-shows, night-schools, penny-read- ings and book-clubs were estabhshed : gra- dually the village lost its neglected appear- ance ; the population improved — grew cleaner, tidier, more civihsed, and conse- quently more prosperous. 240 THWARTED ; OR, In due time, a young active clergyman succeeded the poor broken-down old rector : the church was restored, and the services were more frequent. Houses were built in the village ; ii spread. A local raihvay in time was estab- lished, and a little station was built on the site of the Tarvers' home. But wdiat has all this to do with Bill? Simply that this is his work : this the mark he has left behind. Not that he has done it knowingly, or by the force of his own will. Toiling away in his German studio, Grinfield has almost faded from his mind. His has been thjift indirect influence which is such a wonderful power in the world. These glorious fruits have sprung from seed unconsciously sown by his hand. ducks' eggs l\ a hex's xest. 241 Lonof, Ions ag;o, he had sown it broad- cast in the heart of a httle child. Not more deeply had the first sight of real art sunk into the soul of the artist than had his own passionate words of complaint and reproach sunk into the heart of that child. That far-away interview in the little hbrary had done a double work. It had been his first insight into a world harmonious, a world of beauty and perfec- tion, lying somewhere beyond him, but yet not out of reach. It had been hei' first insight into a world discordant, a world of want and imperfection, lying around her, outside her door, at her very feet. Then had come to him an intuitive con- viction that he had a part in that world of talent, and that he could play it well. Then had come to her a faint, a shadowy B 242 THWAETED ; OR, suspicion that she, or hers, might have a part to play, though all unplayed as yet, in the well-being of the world around her. The sight had sunk into his mind, touched the spring of inspkation, and deve- loped his hidden genius. The words had sunk into her heart, touched there the chords of love and pity, and set them vibrating for evermore. It took him but a few weeks to throw into shape the thoughts that haunted him, the vision of beauty that filled his brain ; and then his name was known for ever : for fame is more noisy than love. But it took her long years to throw into shape the thoughts that his words had set stirring ; the vision of things to be done, and good to be accomplished ; and no one heard of her : for love works silently, and asks for no reward. ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 243 Though his words had remained for a lono' while dormant in her childish breast ; only half understood at the time, and after- wards well-nigh forgotten ; yet their memory was never wholly extinguished. If it grew dim, they would be brought back to her by the scenes around, the sights by which she was daily surrounded. When she fled in terror on her pony when a drunken man drew nigh, she was silently learning the lesson those words were meant to teach. While the coachman wondered what made the child so pensive, when they passed the noisy pubhc house. Bill's com- plaints and reproaches were recurrmg to her. As years went on, she saw more clearly his implied reproach ; realised who was in fault, and where her duty lay ; made up her Pv ii 244 THWARTED ; OR, small mind early it should be as he had said, and that when she was older, she would work herself all the improvements that were so sorely needed. The resolution grew with her growth, and strengthened -with her strength, abun- dantly fed by the meditation for which in her lonely child-hfe she had so much opportunity. In her long companionless rides, in the silent rooms at home before her invalid mother came down downstairs, in her quiet musings by the graves of her little brothers and sisters : for ever the same idea filled her mind; and, as she blossomed into woman- hood, the fruits of her resolution became apparent in the wonderful reformation we have described. So this was Wilhelm Tarver's greatest work after all ! ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 245 He would not say so : he would point to certain carved seats in a German cathedral, or to a beautiful font in one of the old churches, that is tlie admired of all be- holders : but we *say no ! For in God's sight the humblest work ' of love far out- weighs all the most beautiful works of art that the hand of man can accomplish. Gifts perish : the hand that creates withers and dies : the sight that directs the hand fails and perishes : and ' How dieth the wise man ? even as the fool ! ' but, ' Charity never faileth : Love abideth for ever ! ' ' Covet earnestly,' says St. Paul, at the end of the twelfth chapter of his epistle to the Corinthians, ' the best gifts . . .' Cultivate, that is, to the utmost, every talent, and every accomplishment that God has given you . . . 246 THW.yaTED. . . . . ' And yet show I unto you a more excellent way. ' Now the more excellent way is Charity.' CHAPTER XV. AFTER TEN YEARS. CHAPTER XV. And Bill, far away, carving his way literally and figuratively, to fame and fortune ; mount- ing step by step the ladder of success ; would still be recalled sometimes to that conversa- tion in the little hbrary at Grinfield, albeit he was unaware of all that had sprung there- from. A little wistful face would peep out at him sometimes from amidst the ferns and foliage growing under his shaping hand. And whereas once the child would recall to him the carving he could not always re- member, so now the carving would recall to him the child he could never quite forget. 250 THWARTED ; OR, The fairy form was so indelibly graven on his mind ; was so inseparably connected with his first glimpse of art ; was so interwoven with the beCTuinincr of his success. Was he likely to forget it ? Still at times it stood beside him, with its little outstretched hand ; still the little face was uplifted, and the plaintive voice would cry, 'Why won't you take my hand?' Still the great eyes, so puzzled and wist- ful, gazed out from the wild fair hair. He threw it into shape at last. A cherub's face, with that wondering ex- pression, began to grow one day under his hand. And as he carved the eyes and lips, and strove to give them the likeness he re- membered, he threw aside his tools, and burying as of old his head, so as to' shut out ducks' eggs IX A hex's xest. 251 his present surroundings, he hstened for the httle voice aiirain. From the far past it must have reached him ; for his face was bright when he took up his chisel ; a few more strokes, a few more touches, and the face of the child was there ! From that day, all his cherubs bore the same face : and other artists wondered how he carved such speaking features with no live model near. He would smile, but would never say. However the expression might vary, the face remained the same. Sometimes the cherub was plaintive and peevish ; sometimes timid and shy. Sometimes he conjured it up laughing roguishly, beckoning with an invisible hand. At others, imperious and very determined, it insisted on having its way. 252 THWARTED ; OR, But the wistful, puzzled, and mournful expression was ever the one he preferred. And always, ere he caught it, he must go through the same ceremony again. He must close his eyes, and bury his head ; and strain his memory to the full. And when he has broug^ht her beside him, he still must make her say, 'Why won't you take my hand? Is it because it's so sticky ? . . . You're very, very par- ticular, ain't you ? ' During one long hard winter at Grinfield, the villagers were observed to be remarkably busy. Men and boys were seen in their leisure hours toiling away with painting on wood, carving, and carpentering ; and the women and girls giving every spare moment to knitting and other kinds of work. That there was some special end in view, ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 253 it was easy to see ; and on Midsummer Day, the eighteenth birthday of Miss Herbert of the Big House, the mystery was solved. For on that day Grinfield held it first Industrial Exhibition ! Many were the contributions from every cottage in the neighbourhood, and wonder- fully pretty and ingenious were some of the articles displayed. But the greatest contribution of all, and the one of which the villagers were most proud, was a beautifully carved antique chair for the new chancel of the church; which had been sent all the way from Ger- many, by Herr Wilhelm Tarver. Visitors to the Exhibition were told with just pride, that the contributor was one of the most celebrated carvers of the day ; and that he had been brought up at Grinfield. On the back of the chair was a profusion 254 TIIYTARTED ; OR, of flowers and foliage, which had almost the lightness of nature ; and from their midst peeped out a cherub, with a mass of tangled hair. There was something about the face of this cherub that attracted the attention of the villagers, besides its beauty as a work of art. Many gazed at it long, and returned to ' gaze again. It seemed to them famihar, and yet they knew not why. One or two thought they detected a like- ness ; but then, again, thought they were mistaken, and with a shake of the head, passed on. For to them Miss Herbert is a tall fair girl, with earnest eyes, and thoughtful brow ; a beautiful woman, whose presence alone brings rest and consolation, and whose voice ducks' eggs IX A hen's nest. 255 and step are known and loved in every cottage home. Only to liim will she always be a fairy child of seven ; a little queen of art and beauty ; a tiny creature stretching out her hand to him, with wondering eyes, and a mass of wild fair hair. LOXDOX : riUXTED BY SPOTTISWOODE ASD CO., SEW-STICEET SQCAEE AXD PARLIAMENT STREET ^ 'H