The Mean-Wells

by Mabel Quiller-Couch

Very often, too, Mrs. Carlyon engaged John Lobb to row them along the coast in his best boat, and they would land at some of the nice little bays and coves and have their dinner or tea, and light a fire and boil the kettle.

“They would light a fire and boil the kettle.”

The red bucket “Thomas” grew to look quite shabby with the hard usage it had, and so many of its letters got knocked off that it was difficult at last to know what the name was meant to be. Priscilla had chosen a green bucket with “Mary” on it, as she could not get one with her first name. The colour did not go very well with her blue cloak, but she did not want to use them together very often, and when she did she solved the difficulty by carrying the bucket underneath the cloak. Sometimes they went for picnics on the Downs on the top of the cliff, and one day when they were up there Priscilla saw Mr. Winter, and, running up to him, brought him over and introduced him to her mother. He seemed rather shy at first and not very happy, but the next time they met him he came up to them of his own accord and talked to them for a while, and as the days went on they even induced him to join them at their picnic teas, and when he had done so once or twice he seemed really to enjoy himself, and would ramble about with them for quite a long time, saying little, but evidently interested in all they said and did.

Priscilla was his most constant companion. Geoffrey, at first particularly, reminded him too painfully of his own dead boy, and he himself reminded Loveday of the mortifying occasion when he had locked her up, a prisoner. As time went on they often talked of the escapade, and laughed about it, but Loveday could not at first see any joke in it, or quite throw off her awe of her captor, and preferred to race and tear about with Geoffrey, sharing his dangers and adventures.

Often when Priscilla was tired she would find her new old friend by her side, and with his arm to lean on they would saunter on slowly together and talk and talk. Such long conversations they had, though it was generally Priscilla who was the talker, but that was because he asked her so many questions about their home, and their games, and their lessons, and their doings, and he seemed so interested in every little thing that Priscilla told him that she thought perhaps it helped him to feel more cheerful and forget his own troubles. So she chattered on to him very willingly.

She did not have all the talk to herself, though, for sometimes he would tell her stories of the time when he was a boy, and all sorts of other interesting tales; but her mother had told her so seriously never to ask him questions, or speak of anything that would be likely to arouse sad memories, that poor Priscilla was not quite certain what she might say, and what she must not, and really felt easier when she was telling him of their own little doings.

One day she told him all about Lady Carey and the cloaks, and he seemed very interested. “Is that the pretty cloak I first saw you in?” he asked; and when Priscilla said, “Yes, it was,” he said, “A very sensible clever woman she must be to make such a charming garment. I have never seen any I like so much.”

Another day she told him about Miss Potts, and what an interesting person she was, and how she was an “only”; so she, Priscilla, tried to be a sort of sister to her, and went quite often to see her.

“I should like to know Miss Potts,” he said, and Priscilla knew that he was thinking of the story she had blurted out to him so thoughtlessly that first day.