Hugh was a happy little boy in those days. Had not papa’s letter enclosed a scrap of paper covered with o’s, and inscribed, “All for Hughie himself,” and didn’t Hugh know that these meant kisses? Then there was nothing to hinder him from trotting after mamma all day long, and she often sent him upstairs or downstairs to fetch her a brush or a duster. She even let him help her make a bed. She told him he was “a useful little boy,” and that praise came to his ears with a pleasing novelty, which “a sweet darling” or “a precious dear” had lost. She let him watch her cleaning his little boots, she let him try to do it himself. That effectually convinced him how naughty it is to dip one’s foot in mud just for the fun of doing it. And while these delights went on the mother and child talked about the time when Hugh would be a man, perhaps a great explorer, alone in strange countries, and how well it would be for him to know how to do things for himself.
“Or I’ll do them for you when you’re very, very, very old, mamma,” he had said, and Lucy had been half-staggered and half-amused when he had next asked whether it would not be fully time for him to begin next year!
“No, I don’t think I shall want much done for me quite so soon,” she had cheerfully replied; “but you may be able to do something for yourself. I think boys and all men who are not very busy and tired out with doing other things, ought to clean their own boots.”
“I think I’d like cleaning boots,” said Hugh. “If papa doesn’t come home soon, I’ll get a box and go to the corner of the street and say, ‘A brush, sir!’ and I’ll bring you home all the pennies, and we’ll have a lot of money, and you can tell papa he needn’t hurry, I’m taking care of you.”
If here and there the childish prattle touched chords athrill in Lucy’s heart, there were full amends when Hugh put his little arms about her and whispered—
“Don’t let’s have any new servant, mamma—you be the servant yourself.”
“Ah, my pet,” she answered, “I’m afraid that’s a luxury out of my reach just now!”
She questioned herself sometimes whether it might not have been wiser had she never taken up her money-earning scheme, but had simply resolved to live within narrowest limits on their savings during Charlie’s absence? Yet the answer always came, that but for this money-earning scheme, she would scarcely have dared to propose this journey to Charlie, and it was still less likely that he would have entertained the idea. All seemed turning out so happily that perhaps such a venture might have well been made; but before ventures are made one has to reckon with fears as well as with hopes, to provide against mischance as well as to prepare for good fortune. Also, when Charlie should return in restored health, however strong and cheerful he might be, a depleted treasury would have been a drag, which might easily have destroyed much of the benefit received.
Yet strong was her own longing for quiet home life, and keen was her consciousness that the impending arrival of another dubious stranger was the sole element of anxiety and difficulty following her about among her household tasks. From these she didn’t shrink in the least, and she felt sure custom would soon make them easy and pleasant. She could not help feeling thankful that decision or reconsideration was now out of her reach. Her engagement with St. George’s Institute was made for the year, and must be honourably fulfilled.
It was tiresome to be interrupted in some kitchen or bed-chamber task by a ring of the door-bell, and only to find some obviously unsuitable “young person” sent from the registry office. She had to meet the half-derisive smile with which some of them noted that “the missus” herself had answered the door. She had to endure the contemptuousness of their rapid survey of her working toilette—the white handkerchief knotted about her hair, and the blue-checked apron. One or two of them at once said candidly “that the place would not suit.” To others she had to say the same. Yet her week of choice was rapidly passing, and she feared she might be forced to accept Mrs. Brand’s advice and “not be too particular about everything.”