Vivian's Lesson

by Elizabeth W. Grierson

‘All the same, you must go and change your coat and your stockings,’ said Mrs Osbourne, running her hand rapidly over his clothes, ‘and your knickerbockers too, I think. Don’t run out in such rain again, dearie, for you are quite damp, and there are a lot of colds about. I don’t want you to catch one, for I have heard of more gaieties for you. But run off now; you shall hear all about it when you come back.’

‘There is a splendid party at Mrs Seton-Somebody’s,’ cried Claude, always eager to be the first to tell any piece of news, ‘and we are all invited, and mother is going to write to Aunt Margaret to ask if Vivian and you can stay.’

Fond as he was of parties, Vivian almost hoped that his mother would insist on Ronald and him returning home on the day that had been originally fixed, for the thought of the stolen pistol still lay like a load on his mind, in spite of the fact that it was no longer in the house, and he felt that he would never shake the load off until he was safely home, and it was left behind him—left hidden in the hollow branch which Isobel had shown him that afternoon.

For that was the true errand that had taken him out in the rain, although he had glanced hastily into the summer-house for an excuse, in case any one asked him what he had been doing, and then he had seen an old cap lying on the floor, and wrapped it round the pistol to protect it from the wet. Then it had been an easy matter to slip behind the summer-house, in the growing dusk, and jump up on the branch, and pull the old duster out of its place, and drop the bundle into the hole, and then close it up again, and run back to the schoolroom with the easy lie about the knife upon his lips.

‘And indeed it was not a lie at all,’ he reasoned to himself, as he slipped off his wet clothes and tried to rub out the marks which the wet branches had left on them, ‘for I had lost my knife, and I did look into the summer-house, and it might have been there;’ and with a feeling of relief that the parcel was now safe from any risk of discovery by the servants, he went into the schoolroom and joined the others at the tea-table.

Saturday morning brought a reply to Mrs Osbourne’s letter, and loud were the exclamations of delight when she announced at breakfast-time that Aunt Margaret consented to the two boys staying a couple of days longer.

Even Vivian felt glad for the moment, for the party on Tuesday night bade fair to eclipse any that even Ralph had been to as yet; and now that the excitement of their own Christmas tree was over, the Eversley children could talk of little else.

Mrs Seton-Kinaird was a rich young widow who lived in a large old-fashioned house at the top of the Heath. She had had two children, a boy and a girl, but the girl had died of consumption, and the boy was very delicate; and his mother, haunted by the fear that someday she might lose him as she had lost his sister, indulged him more, perhaps, than was wise. His lungs were weak, and as soon as the Christmas holidays were over she intended to shut up her house and go to Egypt with him, in order to avoid the cold spring months at home.

The doctors, indeed, had advised her to go away in December; but Cedric, as the boy was called, hated the idea. He was tired, poor little man, of being dragged from one foreign country to another in search of the health that did not come, and he had cried so bitterly at the prospect of spending Christmas away from home, that his mother had given in to him, and had promised him this birthday party, agreeing to have performing dogs, or conjurers, or any novelty that he liked, so long as he made up his mind to the prospect of the journey afterwards.

The children at Eversley knew him slightly. Claude and Isobel often met him on the Heath, walking with his mother or his governess; but the friendship did not grow rapidly, their boisterous health and high spirits rather alarmed him, for he did not care to rush all over the grass, playing hide-and-seek among the bushes, while they, on their part, soon grew tired of his sober face and peevish, complaining ways.