Miss Leighton stood at the window and watched the little girl out of sight, a gentler expression than usual on her face. Then she resumed her seat and took up the book she had been reading before the child's arrival; but it failed to interest her now, for her mind was full of uneasy thoughts. Barnes had lived with her for nearly twenty years, she reflected; and yet how little she really knew of the woman! Well, it could not be expected that she would interest herself in her maid's concerns. And yet, how surprised Peggy had been at discovering her ignorance of aged mother and her imbecile son. Peggy had learnt all there was to know about them in less than half an hour.
Miss Leighton paid her servants liberal wages—she was never stingy where money was concerned—and it had often occurred to her that Barnes must be of a miserly disposition, for she dressed very plainly and it had been impossible not to notice that she begrudged spending money. Now she understood where the woman's wages had gone. Barnes had not been making a purse for herself, but spending it upon those dear to her, and, all the while, she had been regarding her as a mean, poor-spirited creature.
It was difficult to realise that the humble, silent woman who had borne with her mistress's haughty temper so patiently, had been leading a life of self-sacrifice and self-repression from the noblest of motives; but Miss Leighton now realised that such had been the case, for Peggy had thrown a new light upon the maid's character.
What had made Barnes tell Peggy about her brother? the old lady wondered. Was it because her heart had been hungry for sympathy, and she had known instinctively that she would receive it from the blind child? Probably so. She had preferred to confide in a stranger, rather than in the mistress whom she knew to be accounted a charitable woman—one lavish in giving of her wealth.
"I don't think she can really be charitable, if she isn't kind in little ways," Peggy had said ingenuously, passing her childish judgment on her mother's rich aunt, and the words returned forcibly to Miss Leighton's mind now, and cause her a strange pang, whilst she asked herself if she had ever been really kind to Ellen Barnes, or for that matter, to any member of her household. She was a lonely old woman; but, after all, was it not greatly owing to her own fault? She had certainly never been "kind in little ways."
[CHAPTER IX]
TEA AT LOWER BRIMLEY
IT was not the ordinary "afternoon tea" to which Miss Leighton was invited, but a substantial meal laid on the square mahogany table in the parlour at Lower Brimley, with a mass of primroses in the centre intermingled with sprays of beautiful fern moss, surrounded by plates of daintily cut bread-and-butter and various kinds of preserves in glass dishes, an old china bowl full of clotted cream, a plum cake, and some saffron buns—"knobbies" as they are called in Cornwall.
It was but natural that Mrs. Tiddy should put her best possessions before this relation of her little visitor's, so the silver tea-service had come out of its flannel wrappings, and Miss Leighton drank her tea from a rare old china teacup with a wreath of pink roses inside its brim—one of a set which had been treasured in Mr. Tiddy's family for three generations and was only used on great occasions—and stirred her tea with an apostle spoon, worn thin with age; whilst, much to her hostess's gratification, she evidently appreciated the efforts which were being made to entertain her.
Seated at Mrs. Tiddy's right hand at the tea-table, the old lady looked about her with a sense of unusual contentment. For once in a way, she was satisfied with the company in which she found herself. Yes, she liked this hearty, out-spoken west-country farmer and his pleasant, intelligent wife, for she was under the impression—a true one—that they would have welcomed her as cordially if she had been poor instead of rich, and she so seldom felt that about people. After tea, Peggy took possession of her, and, after visiting the yard and inspecting the poultry, she was led into the great farm kitchen, where, in one corner of the oak settle close to the fire was a flannel-lined basket containing two weakly chicks.