Miles Murchison

by Agnes Giberne

Of course I know now well enough that the feeling sprang from jealousy, because I was favoured by Mr. Laurence, and was made free to go in and out where none of them might venture. Besides, they did not like me being put to meals with Mrs. Crane, instead of in the servants' hall.

If I had been of a surly or an ill temper I should have found it hard not to be unpleasant again; but as it was, I only felt uncomfortable, and wondered what it all meant.

It was a good thing my mother had not trained me to be dainty in my eating, for Mrs. Crane never asked me what I would like, but always gave me the worst that was on the table. She had plenty of nice things for herself, and I shouldn't have minded a little of them too; but all the same I ate what she put on my plate, and I made no fuss, which was best, of course, in every way. She would soon have used against me any manner of grumbling on my part, and it is good for everybody to learn not to mind what one eats. I do despise daintiness! Mr. Laurence never seemed to care what he had on his plate, and as often as not he just ate without knowing what he ate. Everybody can't be like that, I suppose, because everybody hasn't such a mind as he had; but I do think it contemptible when a man's happiness and good temper depend on his victuals being to his taste. Or a woman's either—which perhaps isn't quite so common, though I'm not sure.

The only person about the house who spoke kind words to me, beside Mr. Laurence, was Andrews, the head gardener—a big slow man, who knew what he was about. He had been used to come in once a week to dust out the museum, because Mr. Laurence wouldn't trust anybody else among his treasures. But Andrews didn't seem to mind seeing me there instead. He always had a pleasant smile.

The very first Sunday after I got to The Myrtles, Mr. Laurence asked if I would like to go home for the afternoon and evening: and right glad I was to do it. Weeks might have passed, instead of only days, since I'd seen them all.

There was plenty to hear and plenty to tell, though I was mindful of what Mr. Laurence had said, and I wouldn't let myself gossip about things I'd no business to repeat. Mother saw I was careful, and then she grew careful too, and wouldn't ask many questions, and I knew she thought me right.

Before I left home it had been all settled about Mrs. Coles' little house being taken on by my parents, and now Mrs. Coles was gone, and our house at Littleburgh was given up, and our furniture was on the way down. The furniture in our new home did not belong to Mrs. Coles, but to Mr. Kingscote; and as Mrs. Coles would not need the things where she was going, Mr. Kingscote was going to let mother have the use of some of them for the present—enough to furnish nicely the rooms for letting, as we shouldn't have had enough of our own.

So it was all settled, and mother hoped to have all straight in a week or two ready for lodgers. Two or three people had been already to ask about lodgings.

I did not think my father seemed better, but he was as good and patient as could be, and he had begun to have a little feeling in one of his legs, which the doctor said was a good sign.

The wonderful thing to us all was that he should lie, day after day, so quiet and contented, not worrying or fretful. It is bad enough for anybody to be cut off from work, and laid on a bed for nobody can say how long; but with a strong active man like my father, always used to be busy, it must have been especially bad, and yet he didn't fuss or grumble. It often seemed as if, when God laid him there, He gave him a spirit of quiet willingness; though I didn't understand this till long after. When father sometimes said with a little smile, "I'm learning lessons, Miles!" I could not see at all what he meant.