I was almost sorry when Mrs. Cornish called us into the oak room, and yet a most pleasant hour followed. Mrs. Cornish poured out the tea, and the children were very good; even Reggie behaved quite nicely. The room was very dark and low, and furnished entirely with oak, but a cheery little fire burnt on the hearth; and though the thunder rain beat heavily against the window, it seemed only to add to our merriment. Mr. Hawtry had promised to drive us home in the waggonette, but we dared not venture until the storm was over.
When the children had finished their bread and honey they played about the room, while we gathered round the window.
Mr. Hawtry spoke most to Gay, and I sat by and listened. He spoke about Mr. Rossiter presently.
“I think him a capital fellow,” he said, in his hearty manner; “and it quite puzzles me why Mrs. Markham dislikes him so; she is always finding fault with him.”
“Oh, there is no accounting for Adelaide’s likes and dislikes,” replied Gay, a little impatiently. “Sometimes I think she would have found fault with St. Paul himself if she had known him.”
Mr. Hawtry laughed. “Rossiter is not a St. Paul, certainly, but he is a downright honest fellow, and that is what I like. Perhaps he is not a shining light in the pulpit, but he is so earnest and painstaking, that we cannot blame his want of eloquence. He is just the companion that suits me; always cheerful and always good-tempered, and ready to talk on any subject. I must say I am rather partial to Walter Rossiter.”
Now I wonder what made Gay look so pleased, and why her eyes beamed so softly on Mr. Hawtry. But she said nothing, and Mr. Rossiter’s name soon dropped out of the conversation.
Very shortly after that the rain cleared and the waggonette was ordered. While we were waiting for it, Gay asked me to come with her into the dairy to see Lydia Sowerby. I was anxious to see Hannah’s sister, but I own I was not prepossessed with her appearance. She had red hair, like Molly—indeed, most of the Sowerbys had red hair—but she was far plainer than Molly, and it struck me her face looked hard.
I was to own by-and-by, however, that first impressions may be wrong, for a few moments afterwards, when Mrs. Cornish carried Reggie into the dairy, Lydia’s hard-featured face softened in a wonderful manner, and such a pleasant smile redeemed her plainness.
“Oh, do let me hold him a moment,” she said, eagerly; “he reminds me of little Davie, our poor little brother who died. Hannah has talked so much about him.” And when Mrs. Cornish relinquished him reluctantly, she carried him about the dairy with such pride and joy, that Mrs. Cornish nodded her head at her benignantly.