"I hope she will," said Nancy; "but she's got a hard row to hoe. I can't help feeling a little sorry for her."
Aunt Laura had taken up her abode in a little old house on the village street, with a square, brick-walled garden behind it. The agent had occupied it before the death of Aunt Ellen, but had now removed to a farm which was in hand.
They found the old lady sitting by the fire in her parlour, knitting. She was frail and shrunken, and looked as if she might not long survive her transplantation. Mrs. Clinton or the twins came to see her every day, but a visit from the Squire or one of his sons, and especially Dick, was an honour which never failed mildly to excite her. She was now in a flurry, and told the elderly maid who had shown her visitors in to bring wine and cake, in the fashion of an earlier day. The men of the family never refused this entertainment, either because they were averse to wounding Aunt Laura's susceptibilities, or because they liked it.
"Well, I hope you've made yourself pretty comfortable, Aunt Laura," said Dick in a loud, clear voice, for the old lady was rather deaf, although she did not like to acknowledge it. He was looking round the room as he spoke. Its panelled walls were painted light green, and were hung with coloured prints. A recessed cupboard was full of beautiful old china; but there was nothing else of much value in the room, which was furnished with a Victorian drawing-room suite and a round rosewood table. The old lady had a pretty modern French table by her side with conveniences for her work and her books. She had also her old cottage piano, with a front of fluted red silk, upon which she sometimes played. A canary hung in the window, which faced south and let in, between the curtains, a stream of wintry sunshine.
"It is a bright little house," said Aunt Laura. "I sometimes wish that your dear Aunt Ellen had spent the last few years of her life here after your dear Aunt Anne died. The dower-house was a very dear home to us, and we were greatly attached to it, but in the winter it was dark, and this is much more cheerful. It is cold to-day, and I am sitting over the fire, as you see. But I often sit by the window and see the people going by. You could not do that in the dower-house, for nobody did go by."
"Did you bring all the furniture you wanted to make you comfortable, Aunt Laura?" asked Dick.
Aunt Laura looked up over her spectacles. "I am quite comfortable, I thank you, Dick," she replied, "although I have not got quite used to things yet. It is not to be expected that I should, all at once, at my age, and after having lived with the same things round me for close upon forty years. But your dear father has been kindness itself, as he always is, and allowed me to have all my bedroom furniture brought here, so that in my room upstairs I feel quite at home. And for the downstairs rooms he told me that any pictures or china and so forth that I had a fancy for I might have, and I hope I have not taken advantage of his generosity. I shall not want the things for very long, and they are being well taken care of. He did not want me to take any of the furniture, as he said this house was furnished already, but he wanted me to feel at home here."
Dick seemed to consider for a moment. "If there's anything special you want in the way of furniture, Aunt Laura," he said, "anything you've got attached to and like to use, we'll see if we can't get it brought down for you."
"Well, of course, I got attached to it all," replied Aunt Laura. "But I can't expect to have it all, and what is here will do for me very well. Hannah is making some pretty loose chintz covers for the chairs and sofa in this room, which will give it a more home-like appearance. I do not like the carpet, which is much worn, as you see, and was never a very good one, but I have half formed a plan of going over to Bathgate when the spring comes and seeing if I can get one something after the pattern of that in the morning-room at the dower-house, which your aunts and I used much to admire. It was old and somewhat faded, but its colours were well blended, and I have heard that it was brought straight from Persia, where they have always made excellent carpets, for my grandfather, who was in business in the city of London. He would be your great-great-grandfather, and they used to call him 'Merchant Jack,' even after he succeeded to Kencote."
If Dick had known the true value of the carpet in question he might not have offered to have it sent down for Aunt Laura's use, but he immediately did so, and the old lady's gratitude ought sufficiently to have rewarded him. "Now is there anything else, Aunt Laura?" he asked.