Poor Jeff yearned for the tenderness and affection that seemed so far off. How long it would be before the hunger in his heart would be satisfied he dared not think. But grandmama was old and feeble, and he might not stay long in her sitting-room.
It seemed rather hard to Jeff that she was never allowed to have her own way—that her life was ruled for her. Aunt Annie would always come and fetch away the little boy after ten minutes, even when grandmama had sent for him.
But after some weeks, when it was found that the little boy could sit still and not tease with too many questions or too much talking, he was allowed to stay longer; sometimes to play draughts with or read to the old lady.
About Aunt Annie Jeff did not at once make up his mind. She was a tall woman, with a strong voice and handsome features, who always seemed busy and in a hurry.
Brian said she knew Latin and Greek, so Jeff decided she must be clever. She did not wear pretty clothes or soft laces like his mother. Her dresses were very plain, of some harsh coarse stuff and dull ugly colours; her manner was always a little abrupt, and she seemed to have no patience to listen to anything that children said. Jeff supposed that she was so wise that she could not profit by anything they might say.
Perhaps nothing in Scotland surprised Jeff more than to find how busy everyone was, and how much one could do here. Even ladies and rich people did things for themselves, and their amusements generally seemed to be like hard work. Young men walked or rode, or played tennis and cricket incessantly. There was no mid-day sleep; no lying in hammocks smoking and reading novels. It was never too hot to go out and do something, though to Jeff it often seemed too cold. By degrees, however, he became accustomed to the climate, and before the summer had fully arrived his fair delicate face took a new bloom that would have gladdened the heart of his mother. He had been more than a month at Loch Lossie when the following letter was posted to India.
LOCH LOSSIE, May 10th.
Dear darling Mother,—I am not nearly a hero yet. I have not got even really brave, but I mean to. I don't like lots of things here at all, and I get angry and quarrel with Brian, because he tells lies—or sort of lies—and is very unkind to Jessie. He pinches her where it won't show when she won't do what he wants. Nobody ever believes that Brian does not tell truth. He seems so obedient, and he never asks questions or bothers people, and he is so clever with his lessons. He always seems to know them with hardly looking. The Rev. Mr. M'Gregor, who is our tutor, you know, says Brian is very intelligent; a most promising pupil he calls him to Aunt Annie. I think Mr. M'Gregor flatters Aunt Annie, because he wants to stay our tutor. But I don't think Brian knows deep down about the things what he learns. He never is tiresome wanting to see behind things, or to know why. You remember those questions always did come to me when I did lessons with you and father. Cousin Jessie is very pretty, and I know she has a very kind heart. She gave two shillings out of her money-box—all what she had saved in pennies—to a little beggar girl without any shoes that came to the door. Aunt Annie was angry about it, because she said, "No one need to beg or be poor."
Grandmama is a very nice person, but why does she never listen when I speak of father? I go and read to her sometimes when she is feeling well, and she says she likes my reading better than Brian's; he gabbles on so quick and never stops, because he wants to get it over. Sometimes I stop altogether in the middle of a chapter and talk instead. We have very nice talks—we talk about you. Then grandmama always sighs and says how hard it is you are a soldier's wife, and are poor and are obliged to live in India. They seem to think a great deal about being rich here; but I think honour and glory is more, and I mean to be a soldier.
Aunt Annie does not seem to love her children much. She just kisses them in the morning and at night once on the cheek, without any arms, and she never goes to tuck them up.