BREAKFAST IN BED.
otwithstanding her great fatigue, it was very early the next morning when Kathleen woke. At first she could not remember where she was, then a slight aching in her head and stiff pains in her legs reminded her of the long and trying journey of the day before. Now that it was over, however, it really seemed like a dream.
And one glance towards the window, of which the blind had only been half drawn down, made it almost impossible to believe in the darkness and dreariness of their arrival the night before. The rain was gone; the sun, though it could not be more than six o'clock, was shining brilliantly in an unclouded sky. From where Kathie lay she could see the fresh green leaves of the trees as they moved gently in the soft summer air; she could faintly hear the birds' busy, cheerful twitter, as they flew from branch to branch.
'Oh, I do love the country!' thought the little girl, with a sudden feeling of warmth and joyfulness in her heart. 'I do wish—oh, how I do wish it were going to be our home!'
Then there returned to her the remembrance of Miss Clotilda's last words the night before. The cupboard door had not been quite shut, and it had gradually swung open, revealing piles of linen neatly arranged on one shelf, on another various dresses folded away, and on a lower shelf, which Kathie could see into more clearly, some rolls of canvas, bundles of Berlin wool, and in one corner two or three square-looking objects of various colours, which puzzled her as to what they could be.
'I will ask Aunt Clotilda,' she thought. 'I daresay she will show me Mrs. Wynne's things. Some of them must be very old and curious. What a funny room this is!—all corners, and the window such a queer shape! I feel quite in a hurry to see all the house. I daresay it is very nice—the hall and the staircase seemed beautifully wide last night, and the steps were so broad and shallow. But, oh dear! I wish my legs didn't ache so! Poor Aunt Clotilda! I am very sorry I called her stupid, and all that. She is so kind.'
But in the midst of all these thinkings she fell asleep again, and slept for more than two hours. When she woke she heard a cuckoo clock outside her room striking eight.
'Dear me!' she said to herself; 'how late it is! and I meant to be up so early;' and she was just beginning to get out of bed when a soft tap came to the door.
'Come in,' said Kathleen; and in came Aunt Clotilda, her kind face and gentle eyes looking brighter and younger by daylight, and behind her, Martha, carrying a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, on which was arranged a most dainty little breakfast for the young lady, whom Miss Clotilda evidently intended to pet a great deal to make up for yesterday's misfortunes.
'Oh, aunty,' said Kathie, 'I was just going to get up. I am so sorry to give you so much trouble,' and she lifted up her face to kiss Miss Clotilda.
'No, no, my dear,' her aunt replied. 'You are to rest to-day as much as you like. Neville is up, and he and I have had our breakfast. He peeped in an hour ago, and saw you were fast asleep, as I was glad to hear. It is just nine o'clock, so I thought you must be getting hungry.'
'Nine o'clock!' Kathleen repeated. 'Why, I thought the cuckoo struck eight.'
'He is a lazy bird,' said Miss Clotilda smiling. 'He is always an hour behind. I must get him put right—at least,' she went on, correcting herself, 'I meant to have done so. It is not worth while now. Now, dear, see if we have brought you what you like for your breakfast.
'IT IS DELICIOUS' SAID KATHLEEN.
'It is delicious!' said Kathleen. 'I could live on the bread and butter alone, without anything else. And honey! Oh, how lovely! Aunt Clotilda, I have never been so petted before,' she burst out, 'never in all my life. How very good you are! Do you know I've been more than six years at school without ever having what I call a holiday till now? Do kiss me, aunty.'
Kathie's heart was fairly won. There were tears in Miss Clotilda's eyes as she stooped to kiss her.
'But they are not unkind to you at school, dear?' she said. 'If you are ever ill, for instance.'
'Oh, no, they are kind enough; but it's different—not the least like home. I can understand better already what other girls who can remember their homes meant when they said so. Philippa Harley, you know, aunty—oh no, of course you don't know; but I'll tell you about her. She has always been with her mother till lately, and she was always saying how different home was.'
Martha had by this time disappeared. Miss Clotilda sat down by the bed-side, while Kathie proceeded to eat her breakfast, chattering in the intervals.
'You make me very happy, dear Kathie, when you say you have already a home feeling with me,' said Miss Clotilda—'very happy, and,' with the sigh that Kathleen was at no loss to translate, 'very unhappy.'
For a few moments neither spoke. Then Kathleen began again.
'Aunty, even though the house isn't going to be yours any more, or ours, you'll show us all the things in it, won't you?'
'Certainly, my dear. I want you to know it well, and to remember it always,' Miss Clotilda replied.
Kathie's glance just then fell on the lace frills of her night-gown, and thence strayed to the half-open cupboard.
'What are those queer-looking square things of different colours in there, aunty?' she asked.
Miss Clotilda's glance followed hers. Just at that moment Neville put his head in at the door, and asked if he might come in. His face beamed with pleasure when he saw Kathleen and his aunt chatting together so 'friendlily.'
'Those things in the cupboard?' said Miss Clotilda. 'Oh! they are some of Mrs. Wynne's pincushions. I wrapped up the new ones—one or two she had just finished, poor dear, when she was taken ill—and those are some old ones that were to have been fresh covered. I have lots of beautiful pieces of old-fashioned silk.'
'Oh, how nice!' said Kathleen. 'I hope you will let me see them, aunty. But please tell me'—
At that moment, however, Martha came to the door to say that John Williams had called for orders about fetching the trunks from the station.
'He must have some writing to show, he says,' said the old woman. 'But he's so stupid—maybe he doesn't understand.'
'It's better, perhaps, to give him a note to the station-master,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I'll come and speak to him.'
'I'll write the note,' said Neville running off.
'Aunty,' said Kathie, as Miss Clotilda was preparing to follow him, 'mayn't I get up now? I'm only a little stiff, but I'm not at all tired; and I'm in such a hurry to see the house, and the garden, and everything.'
'Very well, dear,' her aunt replied. 'Martha will get your bath ready. Can you manage with the things you have till your trunk comes this evening?'
'Oh, yes,' said Kathleen. 'My frock did not get wet at all. It's only rather crushed. And I brought my house shoes in my hand-bag. Philippa made me; she said it was such a good plan.'
'She must be a very sensible little girl,' said Miss Clotilda.
'She's a dear little girl every way,' said Kathie. 'I'm sure you'd like her dreadfully, aunty.'
She was feeling very cordial to Philippa this morning, thinking how much the little girl had tried to influence her to come to Ty-gwyn.
'But for her,' thought Kathleen, 'I'm not at all sure that I would have come. I was so sure I shouldn't like Aunt Clotilda.'
As soon as she was dressed she ran off in search of Neville, who was 'somewhere about,' old Martha told her. She found him in the garden, and together they began their explorings. By daylight the White House was far from the desolate-looking place they had fancied it the night before. It was a long house, built half-way up a gentle slope, and the entrance was, so to speak, at the back. You did not see anything of the pretty view on which looked out the principal rooms till you had crossed the large, dark-wainscoted hall, and made your way down the long corridor from whence opened the drawing-room, and library and dining-room, all large and pleasant rooms, with old-fashioned furniture, and everywhere the same faint scent, which Kathleen had noticed more strongly up-stairs, of lavender and dried rose-leaves. This part of the house was more modern than the hall and kitchens, and two other rooms, in the very old days the 'parlours,' no doubt—now called the study and the office. For the house had been added to by a Mr. Wynne, the late owner's father, a grand-uncle to David and Clotilda Powys.
'Then the old part is very old indeed, I suppose?' said Neville to his aunt, who by this time had joined them.
'Very old indeed,' she said. 'And up-stairs it seems very rambling, for there are good rooms built over the pantry and dairy and the other offices, all of which are very large. I had it all planned in my head,' she went on, 'and even Mrs. Wynne herself used often to talk of what rooms would suit you all best when it came to be your father's. Up this little stair'—for by this time they were on the first floor again—'there are two rooms which would have made such nice nurseries for little Vida, and the "office," as we call it, could easily have been turned into a very pleasant schoolroom.'
The children were delighted with it all. Up-stairs, indeed, it was precisely the sort of house to captivate young people. It was so full of mysterious passages and unexpected staircases, and corner windows and queer doors, and steps up and steps down, that it seemed larger than it really was, and of course the usual praise was pronounced upon it, that it would be 'just the place for a game at hide-and-seek.'
Then when the house had been seen, Miss Clotilda sent them out, with directions not to wander too far, as they must be home for dinner at two o'clock.
'You cannot lose your way,' she said, 'if you take a good view all round. The sea is only a mile off on two sides—west and south—and this house therefore faces the sea, though the little hill in front hides it.'
'The sea!' exclaimed Kathie. 'Why, aunty, if I had known we were so near the sea, I should have been in such a hurry to see it, I wouldn't have slept all night. Did you know, Neville?'
'I didn't know it was so near,' said Neville.
'Go up the little hill, and then you will understand where you are,' said Miss Clotilda. 'There is the old church, too, and the ruins of the abbey beside it. You will find there is plenty to see at Hafod.'
'I don't care much for churches,' said Kathie, 'but I'd like to see the ruins.'
'Then set off at once; it is fine and sunny just now, but I don't think the weather is very settled. Near the sea we have to expect sudden changes,' said Miss Clotilda.
The children eagerly followed her advice. They climbed up the hill, which they reached by a path through the garden, and then they were well rewarded for their trouble. The view before them was a beautiful and uncommon one. At their feet, so to speak, lay the wide-stretching ocean, sparkling and gleaming in the sunshine, and further inland stood the grand old church and ruins, with the white cottages of the scattered village dotted about in various directions.
'How queer it is to see that great church in such a little place!' said Kathleen. 'It doesn't seem to belong to it, and yet it looks grander than if it was in the middle of a town; doesn't it, Neville?'
'I suppose there was a great monastery, or something like that, here once,' said Neville; 'perhaps before there was any village at all. I think I have read something about it. We must ask Aunt Clotilda. Isn't it a beautiful place, Kathleen? Oh, don't you wish dreadfully it was going to be our home?'
Kathleen sighed. She had not before understood how much she should wish it.
'Look there, Neville,' she said, pointing to a white thread which wound over the hills, sometimes hidden for a little, then emerging again, 'that must be the road from Frewern Bay that we came along last night. Don't we seem far away from London and from everywhere? Do you like the feeling? I think I rather do, except for poor old Phil.'
But Neville did not at once answer her. He was standing with his eyes fixed on the sea.
'I don't feel so far from papa and mamma here as in London,' he said; 'I like it for that.'
Kathleen's gaze followed his.
'Poor papa and mamma!' she said. 'Oh, Neville, how I wish we could find the will!'
They spent the rest of the morning, greatly to their own satisfaction, in visiting the ruins, and, as by a fortunate chance the door was open, the church also. It was so unlike anything they had ever seen, that even Kathie was full of admiration, and determined to learn all she could of its history.
'We must ask Aunt Clotilda to tell us all about it,' she said. 'I daresay she has books where we can read about it, too. Papa and mamma would be pleased if we—oh dear! there it comes in about that will to spoil things again! I suppose it's best not to write much about things here to them; it would only make it seem worse to them.'
'Perhaps it would,' said Neville; 'but we can say lots about Aunt Clotilda, and that will please papa and mamma. Oh, Kathie, don't you like her?'
Kathie grew rather red.
'Yes,' she said, 'I do. I like her awfully. I love her, Neville, and—and—I'm very sorry I called her stupid, and all that.'
'Dear Kathie,' said Neville, 'you didn't know her.'
'Well, no more did you,' said Kathleen; 'but you're much better than me, Neville. So is Philippa.'
'Dear Kathie,' said Neville again, 'it's only that you've not had mamma with you, or anybody like that. I was older than you, you know, when they left us. And Philippa's always had her mother. But now you have aunty.'
'Yes,' said Kathleen; but she sighed as she said it.
They turned to go home again, for they had not yet half explored the garden, which bid fair to be quite as delightful as the house. A little door in the wall was standing half open, and peeping in, they saw that it led by a footpath to the front door. There Miss Clotilda was standing talking to a funny-looking old man with a canvas bag slung over his back. Miss Clotilda seemed rather annoyed, and was speaking very earnestly.
'You are sure, then, John Parry, quite sure, you have not dropped or left it at the wrong house, or anything like that?'
The old man only smiled amiably in a sort of superior way.
'Sure, miss? To be sure I am. You'll see miss, the letter has never been posted. Good-day to you, miss. Indeed, I am glad the young gentleman and lady's got safe here;' and he trotted off.
'It's about your letter, Neville,' said his aunt. 'I was certain it would turn up this morning. But it has not come, and it makes me uneasy. Just think, if one of your dear papa's letters was to be lost. I have got fidgety about letters and papers, I suppose.'
'It's very queer,' said Neville. 'All our other letters have come quite rightly.'
'Yes,' said Miss Clotilda. 'However, my dears, as I've got you safe here I must not grumble.'
She went back into the house to fetch her garden-hat, in which, Kathie could not help whispering to Neville, she did look a funny old dear. For the hat was about the size of a small clothes-basket, and Miss Clotilda despised all such invisible modes of fastening as elastic and hat-pins. She secured her head-dress with a good honest pair of black ribbon strings, firmly tied, for Ty-gwyn was a blowy place, as might have been expected from its nearness to the sea.
The three spent the rest of the morning most happily in the garden, visiting, too, the now disused dairy, and the poultry-yard, where Miss Clotilda's cocks and hens, in blissful ignorance of the fate before them, were clucking and pecking about.
'I must fatten and kill them all off before the autumn,' she said; 'at least, nearly all. I could not have the heart to kill my special pets. I will give some to the neighbours.'
'Aunty,' said Kathleen, as they were returning to the house, 'there is something I wanted to ask you, and I can't remember what it is.'
Miss Clotilda's memory could not help her.
'Perhaps you will think of it afterwards,' she said.
And probably Kathie would have done so, had it not happened that her aunt had that morning, while the children were out, closed and locked the old cupboard in the little girl's room. So there was nothing to remind her of what she had been on the point of asking Miss Clotilda about Mrs. Wynne's old pincushions.