“What about that hamper?”
“Hamper?” echoed Rhoda. “Hamper?” Her air of bewilderment was so unaffectedly genuine that the other’s expression became in turn doubtful and uncertain.
“Yes, yes, the hamper! The hamper of good things that has just arrived for my brother. I thought you—”
“I know nothing about it; truly I don’t! I wish I did, but—”
“But, my dear girl, it came from your home. There was a game label upon it, with your father’s name in print—‘From Henry Chester, Erley Chase.’ There cannot be two Henry Chesters living at houses of the same name.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Rhoda, and her face lit up with pleasure. “It’s mother! Of course it’s mother! It’s just the sort of thing mother would do. I told her that your brother had been ill, and that you were anxious about him, and so she set to work to see how she could help. That’s just like mother, she’s the kindest dear! I believe she sits down in her armchair after breakfast every single morning, and plans out how many kind things she can do during the day.”
“Bless her heart!” cried Miss Everett devoutly. “Well, Rhoda, she succeeded this time. My mother has written me all about it. It was a dull, wet day, and Lionel seemed depressed, and there was nothing nice in the house, and nothing nice to be bought in the little village shops, and she was just wondering, wondering how in the world she could cheer him, and manufacture a tempting lunch out of hopeless materials, when tap-tap-tap came the carrier’s man at the door. Then in came the hamper, and Lionel insisted upon opening it himself, and was so interested and excited! There were all sorts of good things in it—game, and grapes, and lovely, lovely hot-house flowers filling up the chinks. They were all so happy! It was such a piece of cheer arriving in that unexpected fashion, and mother says the house is fragrant with the scent of the flowers. Lionel arranged them himself. It kept him quite happy and occupied. How can I thank you, dear?”
“Don’t thank me. It was not my doing. It’s mother.”
“But how did your mother know where we lived? How did she know who we were?”
“Well!” Rhoda smiled and flushed. “Naturally I tell her the news. I suppose I must have mentioned that your father was Vicar of Stourley. I don’t remember; but then I’ve so often written about you, and she would naturally be glad to do anything she could, for she knows you have been kind to me, and that I’m very—fond of you!”