Mr. Murray often paid a visit to the little cottage at Hampstead, and whenever he came he was always warmly welcomed, both by Agnes and Mrs. Clair.
The tenant of the house in Fitzroy Square was behaving very well indeed: the rent would be ready by quarter-day, and there were several things in the house that he would be pleased if Mrs. Clair could take away: the piano, for instance; he would consider it a real kindness if she could remove that, he had no use whatever for it, and had a case of rare butterflies that would stand very comfortably in its place. So the instrument arrived one day at the lodgings, and gave the children more enjoyment than anything else, for the evenings were drawing in, and it was too dark for a run on the Heath after the boys returned from the City.
They all sang and played by instinct, and Aunt Amy gave them a lesson each every evening, and as the evenings became longer, and winter crept towards them with "stealthy steps and slow," they settled down to a regular course of study.
Bertie devoted most of his time to music; Eddie to reading up his French and German—for he found both those languages would be very useful to him in the City; while Agnes was busy over her drawing-board, tracing designs for Christmas and Easter cards. She declared she was not going to be the only drone in the hive, and bade fair to be successful later on, for two of her little cards had already been accepted by a great City publishing firm. When Mr. Murray dropped in of an evening he used to have a long look from one to the other of their cheerful, contented faces, and then he would have a little private conversation with himself in a corner.
"They're too happy," he would mutter, "too content, too well occupied. Good fortune would only spoil them now. I'll wait and watch a little longer; and yet, people who bear poverty with such equanimity should bear the accession of riches with humility; still, I'll wait a little. My old friend's children are bearing their probation bravely." For to Mr. Murray Mrs. Clair's income seemed absolute poverty: he paid some of his own servants nearly as much; and the great City merchant was learning, for the first time, that it is not the actual amount of income one has, but the way it's spent, that constitutes poverty and wealth.
CHAPTER XVIII.—THE FORTUNE FOUND.
M r. gregory did not consent to Bertie Rivers leaving Gore House with a very good grace, and he bitterly resented the interest Mr. Murray took in both boys. He wished to keep them entirely under his own control—as, indeed, he had the power to do, being their sole guardian since Mr. Clair's death; but, on the other hand, he was not in a position to refuse Mr. Murray a trifling favour, as he had just begged a very heavy one from him. Things had been going on very badly in Mincing Lane for some time, and Mr. Gregory had been peculiarly unfortunate in his business transactions: he kept on losing large sums of money without in the least retrenching his expenditure, and at length it became painfully clear, even to himself, that nothing short of a large sum of ready money could save him from failure and disgrace and ruin, and that there was only one man in London who could and would assist him—for Mr. Gregory was more respected than liked by his brother merchants. Mr. Murray was willing to do all that he wanted, on certain conditions. First of all, he wished Mr. Gregory to give up the guardianship of Eddie and Bertie Rivers, and that their uncle willingly consented to, for he feared that when Eddie came of age there might be some awkward questions to answer about the management—or rather, mismanagement—of the property, if he were called to give an account of his stewardship. Then Mr. Gregory, Mr. Murray said, was too extravagant: he should curtail his expenses, and live according to his income: cut down his establishment, and put the boys to some profession or work of some sort, for he declared he had no intention that his honestly and hard-earned money should be squandered in unnecessary luxury. Mr. Gregory agreed to all Mr. Murray's conditions, and at the time meant fully to perform his promises, but the immediate pressure of his difficulties being removed, he went on in much the same way, and Mr. Murray, who was observing closely, resolved never again to advance money to maintain such senseless extravagance.
Though old Mr. Murray had quite made up his mind what he would do for Eddie and Bertie Rivers, he determined to make sure first that they deserved his kindness. It was good to see Mrs. Clair's cheerful face, and hear her pleasant voice, as she recounted many instances of the children's kindness and consideration: Bertie's hearty resolution not to be daunted by anything; Eddie's supreme patience at the office and steady work at home; and the untiring efforts of little Agnes to add her mite to the general fund, though of course she often failed to dispose of her cards, some of which, nevertheless, were adapting themselves to other circumstances, and forming a very handsome screen to keep the draughts from Aunt Amy's chair.
"We are not only living within our income, but saving something for the proverbial 'rainy day,'" Mrs. Clair said one evening, when Mr. Murray dropped in. "We have been here only three months, and have done ever so much better than I expected, thanks to your good advice; and we are all ever so much happier than I ever hoped to be again, which shows that sorrow is but a short-lived suffering if we do not nurse and cherish it. And then Eddie is so polite and attentive to every one now, and he used to be so proud and haughty. I really can't understand the change in him."
"'Sweet are the uses of adversity,'" Mr. Murray quoted, with a peculiar smile. "There was talent and good sense in Eddie after all, though I sometimes half doubted it. Some day he will see the wisdom of his choice, and be glad to feel that he laboured with his hands to do the thing that is right."