'I almost hope he will not come till tea is over,' she said.
It did not sound like a motherly sentiment, but it was spoken out of the depths of a true motherly feeling.
Cecil Cunningham was coming home in a kind of disgrace. He had been placed at a good grammar school in the county town, some fourteen miles from Wilbourne, had won for himself an 'exhibition,' as it was called, by which the greater part of his school expenses were defrayed, and would have been allowed to keep it till he went to college had his progress during the first year been sufficiently good. But, alas! it had just been discovered that the marks he had gained for his various studies throughout this time did not, when counted up, amount to the rather high total which the founder's will required; and so it had been announced to him and his parents that he had forfeited the 'exhibition,' and could not be received at the school again unless his father were prepared to pay the full terms, which, though not very high, happened to be more than Mr. Cunningham could justly afford. The middy had lately been fitted out for sea. The son at Sandhurst was a considerable expense; and though it was hoped that after another six months he would succeed in getting a commission without purchase, there would be his outfit and yearly allowance to provide; and altogether, Mr. Cunningham did not see his way to giving Cecil such advantages as he could wish, without the help of that 'exhibition' which the boy had just lost by his own fault.
Cecil was very clever, and, though rather idle by nature, had promised to work hard at school, and had been supposed to be conscientious enough to be sure to keep his word. He greatly wished to be a clergyman; and this desire of his had been an intense joy to his father, who, though a good deal disappointed at his two elder sons choosing army and navy, had consoled himself with the thought that one at least of his children had a real desire for the priesthood, and this the very one whose talents best fitted him for a university education. From school he was to have gone to Oxford; and his whole prospects had seemed fair enough till now, so that it was not wonderful that the unexpected news of his failure had occasioned great disappointment at the Rectory. His father was much displeased with him, and meant that he should feel how great a fault his idleness had been; and his mother, who knew this, and believed that her boy was already feeling it, was anxious that the first meeting should be got over without the presence of spectators.
But just as she spoke, Cecil, followed by the gardener wheeling his luggage in a barrow, was seen coming up the gravel walk towards the house.
The little curly-haired boy rushed off at once to meet him,—not to open the hall door, for that stood wide open already,—but a restraining look from the mother stopped the girls, who were rising also; and when Cecil came in, the greetings were very quiet, though not in the least cold, except perhaps on Mr. Cunningham's part. Cecil had his mother's face, at once dark and bright, with brown clear eyes that looked full of intelligence, and, alas! seemed to say that their owner might have kept his place in the school with ease had he but so chosen. He did not seem very conscious or very miserable: he had the true boyish instinct of hiding feelings, and looked much as usual, though there was nothing like bravado or nonchalance in his manner. When his father shook hands with him gravely, and merely said, 'Well, Cecil,' in a short dry way, a sudden flush mounted up in his brown cheek; and there was a little anxiety in his face when he turned to kiss his mother, as if a sudden fear had come over him that she might refuse the caress. But she did not; and he sat down calmly enough to his bread and butter, showing a very tolerable schoolboy appetite, and munching away rather quickly when he found that the others were near the end of their meal. His sisters and his little brother volunteered some information about his rabbits, and so on; but when they began to ask questions concerning his schoolfellows, their father said quietly, 'Let Cecil have his tea,' and began a conversation about politics with the curate, in which none of the juniors ventured to join except the cadet.
When they rose from the table, the two gentlemen went off to the study; and with a sigh of relief one of the little girls exclaimed, 'Oh, now you can come and see the rabbits, Cecil; father won't want you!'
Cecil glanced at his mother; but though she was longing for a good hug and a little private talk, she thought it better to refrain just then, and said gently, 'Yes, you can go with Jessie, but don't go out of earshot;' after which she turned away and went up-stairs.
Jessie, who was just a year younger than Cecil, was his special friend and ally, and the other long-haired lassie considerately left them together, and went off to do some gardening; while little Lewis followed at a respectful distance, not able to tear himself quite away from Cecil, and yet not presuming to interrupt the confidential talk between him and his sister.
The rabbit hutch was in a little yard not far from the house, and within view, as it happened, of the study window. Cecil stroked the soft creatures' ears, and fondled them a little, and fed them with some cabbage leaves with which Jessie supplied him; but his manner was rather absent, and presently he said abruptly, 'I say, Jessie, isn't it an awful shame?'