The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2) Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  FORTUNATUS' PURSE.

  'Out, base mechanical churl!'--_Shakespeare._

  Weeks went on, and nothing more was heard of 'Marilda' except thewishes and wonderings of the children. Alda decided that she was oneof the heartless fine ladies one heard of in books--and no wonder,when her father was in trade, and she looked so vulgar; while Wilmetcontended against her finery, and Cherry transferred the heartlessnessto her cruel father and mother, and Robina never ceased to watch forher from the window, even when Felix and Edgar for very weariness hadprohibited the subject from being ever mentioned, and further checkedit by declaring that Marilda looked like a cow.

  There was plenty besides to think of; and the late summer and earlyautumn rolled cheerily away. The wonderful remnant of Felix's birth-daygift was partly applied to the hire of a chair for Geraldine upon everyfavourable evening; and as the boys themselves were always ready toact as horses, they obtained it on moderate terms, which made the sumhold out in a marvellous manner. And not only were these drives delightunimaginable to the little maid, but the frequent breaths of pure airseemed to give her vigour; she ate more, smiled more, and moved withless pain and difficulty, so that the thought of a partial recoverybegan to seem far less impossible.

  The children trooping about her, she used to be drawn to the nearestbit of greensward, tree, or copse, and there would occupy herselfwith the attempt to sketch, often in company with Edgar; and with afew hints from her father, would be busied for days after with thefinishing them, or sometimes the idealizing them, and filling them withthe personages she had read of in books of history or fiction. She wasa sensitive little body, who found it hard not to be fretful, when toldthat it was very ill-natured to object to having her paints daubed overher drawings by Lance, Robina, and Angel--an accusation often broughtagainst her by rough, kindly Sibby, and sometimes even by Wilmet in anextremity; while Mamma's subdued entreaty, that she would do somethingto please the little ones, if it could be without mischief to herself,always humiliated her more than anything else, and made her ready toleave all to their mercy, save for deference to Edgar, and gratitude toFelix. Robina would look on soberly enough in admiration; but Lance'snotions of art were comic, and Fulbert's were arbitrary, and both wereimperiously carried out with due contempt for the inferior sex, andwere sure to infect both the little sisters.

  Then, of course, so many holiday boys were hard to keep in order.Clement had a strong propensity in that direction; he was a grave,quiet boy, without much sense of the absurd, and was generally thevictim of Edgar's wit; but, on the other hand, he was much in thehabit of objecting to anything Edgar or Fulbert proposed, and therebygiving forbidden or doubtful amusements double zest. He was never _in_mischief, and yet he was never an element of peace.

  All this, however, was mitigated when the holidays ended, and Lancewas allowed to follow his brothers to school, while Bobbie importantlytrotted in the wake of her sisters. Mamma and Cherry felt it no smallcomfort to have no one at home who did not sleep away two or three ofthe morning hours; and the lessons that the little girl delighted toprepare for her father went on in peace--the arithmetic, the French,the Latin, and even the verses of Greek Testament, that he always saidrested him.

  And he was 'quite well,' he said himself; and though his wife neverconfirmed this reply, he was everywhere as usual--in church, in schoolsof all kinds, in parish meetings, by sick-beds, or in cottages, asbright and as popular as ever, perhaps the more so that he was moretransparently thin, and every stranger started at the sound of hiscough; though the Bexley people had grown weary of repeating the sameaugury for four or five years, and began, like 'my Lady,' to call it'constitutional.'

  So came the autumn Ember Week; and Mr. Audley had to go to receivePriests' Orders, and afterwards to spend the next fortnight with hisparents, who complained that they had not seen him once since he hadsettled at Bexley. The last week was the break-up of summer weather,and Mr. Bevan caught cold, and was rheumatic; there were two funeralson wet and windy days, and when Mr. Audley, on Lady Price's entreatingsummons, wrenched himself from a murmuring home, and, starting by anearly train, arrived half through the St. Michael's Day Service, it wasto see Mr. Underwood looking indeed like some ethereal ascetic saint,with his bright eyes and wasted features, and to hear him preach inextempore--as was his custom--a sermon on the blessedness of angelhelps, which in its intense fervour, almost rapture, was to many as ifit came from a white-winged angel himself. Mr. Audley glided into hisown place, and met Felix's look of relief. The sermon was finished,and the blessing given; but before he could descend the steps, thecough had come on, and with it severe haemorrhage. They had to sendone startled boy for Mrs. Underwood, and another for the doctor, andit was an hour before he could be taken home in a chair. No one everforgot that sermon, for it was the last he ever preached. He was veryill indeed for several days, but still hopeful and cheerful; and as theweather mended, and the calm brightness of October set in, he rallied,and came downstairs again, not looking many degrees more wan and hecticthan before, with a mind as alert as usual, and his kind heart muchgratified by the many attentions of his parishioners during his illness.

  During the worst, Mrs. Underwood had been obliged to keep one of theelder girls at home--Wilmet at first, both by her own desire and thatof Alda; but it was soon made a special matter of entreaty by MissPearson, that the substitution might not take place; the little classwas always naughty under Alda, and something the same effect seemed tobe produced on Angela and Bernard. They made so much less disturbancewhen entrusted to Cherry, that the mother often sent Alda to sit bypapa, even though she knew he liked nothing so well as to have hislittle pupil's soft voice repeating to him the Latin hymns she loved tolearn on purpose. Alda read or sang to him very prettily, and they werevery happy together; but then Wilmet could do that as well, and alsomind the babies, or do invalid cookery, and supplement Sibby's defects,and set the mother free for the one occupation she cared for most--theconstant watching of that wasted countenance.

  But all was better. He had been able to collect his children fortheir evening's Bible lesson and Sunday Catechism, and to resume thepreparation of Edgar and Geraldine for their Confirmation, though itwas at least a year distant, and even had spoken of sending for othersof his catechumens. Wilmet and Alda were both at school, the twobabies out with Sibby, Mamma at work, Papa dreaming over a Comment onthe Epistle to the Philippians, which was very near his heart, and healways called his holiday work, and Geraldine reading on her littlecouch when there was a sharp ring at the bell, and after an interval,the girl who daily came in to help, announced 'Lady Price.'

  Even my Lady had been startled and softened by the reality of Mr.Underwood's illness, and remorseful for having coddled her husband athis expense; she had sent many enquiries, some dainties, and a goodmany recipes; and she had made no objection to Mr. Bevan's frequent andaffectionate visits, nor even to his making it obvious that howeverlittle his senior curate might do that winter, he would not accept hisresignation for the present.

  It was enough to make Mr. Underwood feel absolutely warm and gratefulto his old tormentor, as he rose, not without some effort, held outhis hand to her, and cheerily answered her inquiries for his cough.She even discussed the berries in the hedges, and the prospects of amild winter, in a friendly, hesitating tone; and actually commended Mr.Underwood's last pupil-teacher, before she began--'I am afraid I amcome upon a disagreeable business.'

  Mr. Underwood expected to hear of his own inefficiency; or perhapsthat Mr. Audley had adopted some habit my Lady disapproved, or thatthe schoolmaster was misbehaving, or that some Christmas dole wasto be curtailed, and that he would have to announce it because Mr.Bevan would not. He was not prepared to hear, 'Are you aware that--inshort--perhaps you can explain it, but has not your son Felix beenspending a good deal of money--for him, I mean--lately?'

  'Felix had a present from his godfather,' said Mr. Underwood, not atall moved, so secure was he that this must be an
exaggeration.

  'Last summer, I heard of that. It was laid out on a pic-nic,' said LadyPrice, severely.

  'It was intended to be so spent,' said the curate; 'but people wereso good-natured, that very little actually went that way, and theremainder was left in his own hands.'

  'Yes, Mr. Underwood, but I am afraid that remainder has been made tocover a good deal of which you do not know!'

  Mrs. Underwood flushed, and would have started forward. Her husbandlooked at her with a reassuring smile. My Lady, evidently angeredat their blindness, went on, 'It is a painful duty, Mr. Underwood,especially in your present state; but I think it due to you, as thefather of a family, to state what I have learned.'

  'Thank you. What is it?'

  'Have you reckoned the number of times the chair has been hired?'and as he shook his head, 'That alone would amount to more than apound. Besides which, your daughters have been provided with books andmusic--fruit has been bought--all amiable ways of spending money, nodoubt; but the question is, how was it procured?'

  'Indeed,' said Mr. Underwood, still pausing.

  'And,' added the lady, 'the means can, I am afraid, be hardly doubted,though possibly the boy may have done it in ignorance. Indeed, one ofhis sisters allowed as much.'

  'What did she allow, Lady Price?'

  'That--that it was won at play, Mr. Underwood. You know Mr. Froggattgives his boy an absurd amount of pocket-money, and when she was taxedwith this, your daughter--Alda is her name, I believe--allowed that--'

  'Papa, Papa!' breathlessly broke out Cherry, who had been forgottenon her little sofa all this time, but now dashed forward, stumpingimpetuously with her crutch--'Papa, it's all Alda, how can she be sohorrid?'

  'What is it, my dear?' said Mr. Underwood. 'You can explain it, I see.Tell Lady Price what you mean, Geraldine,' he added gravely, to composethe child, who was sobbing with excitement and indignation.

  'O Lady Price!' she cried, facing about with her hair over her face,'he earned it--he earned every bit of it! How could any one think hedid not?'

  'Earned it? What does that mean, little girl?' said Lady Price, stillseverely. 'If he did the boy's exercises for him--'

  'No, no, no,' interrupted Geraldine, 'it was old Mr. Froggatt. He askedFelix to look over the papers he had to print for the boys' work at theGrammar School, because it is all Latin and Greek, and Charles Froggattis so careless and inaccurate, that he can't be trusted.'

  The faces of the father and mother had entirely cleared; but Lady Pricecoughed drily, saying, 'And you did not know of this arrangement?'

  Geraldine's eyes began to twinkle with tears. 'I don't know what Felixwill say to me for telling now,' she said.

  'It must have come to light some time, though concealment is always aproof of shame,' began Lady Price in a consoling tone that filled thelittle lame girl with a fresh passion, drawing up her head.

  'Shame! Nobody's ashamed! Only Mamma and Felix and Wilmet never willbear that Papa should know how terribly we do want things sometimes.'

  And Geraldine, overpowered by her own unguarded words, ran into hermother's arms, and hid her face on her shoulder.

  'Thank you, Lady Price,' said Mr. Underwood gravely. 'I am glad mylittle girl has been able to satisfy you that Felix has honestly earnedwhatever he may have spent.'

  'If you are satisfied,' returned the lady, 'it is not my affair; but Imust say I should like to know of such transactions among my children.'

  'Sometimes one is glad to have a boy to be perfectly trusted,' said Mr.Underwood.

  'But you will speak to him?'

  'Certainly I shall.'

  Lady Price felt that she must go, and rose up with an endeavour toretract. 'Well, it is a relief to Mr. Bevan and me to find your son notconsciously in fault, for it would have been a most serious thing. Andin such a matter as this, of course you can do as _you_ please.'

  To this Mr. Underwood made no reply, as none was necessary, but onlysaw her out to the door in that extremely polite manner that alwaysmade her feel smallest; and then he dropped into his chair again, witha curl of the lip, and the murmur, 'Not consciously!'

  'O Papa, Papa!' cried Cherry.

  'Dear Felix!' said the mother, with tears in her eyes; 'but what canAlda have been saying?'

  Cherry was about to speak again, but her father gently put her aside.'A little quietness now, if you please, my dear; and send Felix to mewhen he comes in. Let me have him alone, but don't say anything to him.'

  There was no need to send Felix to his father, for he came in of hisown accord, radiant, with a paper containing a report of a publicmeeting on Church matters that his father had been wishing to see.

  'Thanks, my boy,' said Mr. Underwood; 'where does this come from?'

  'From Froggatt's, father. It was only fourpence.'

  'But, Felix, repeated fourpences must exhaust even that Fortunatus'purse of Admiral Chester's.'

  Felix coloured. 'Yes, Papa, I wanted to tell you; but I waited till youwere better.'

  'You will hardly find a better time than the present,' said MrUnderwood.

  'It is only this,' said Felix, with a little hesitation. 'Youknow there's a good deal of printing to be done for the schoolsometimes--the questions in Latin and Greek and Algebra, and evenwhen Mr. Ryder does have the proofs, it wants some one who reallyunderstands to see that the corrections are properly done. Old Smithused to do it, by real force of Chinese accuracy, but he has been illfor some time, and Mr. Froggatt can't see to do it himself, and Charliewon't, and can't be trusted either. So one day, when I was reading inthe shop, Mr. Froggatt asked me to see if a thing was right; and itwent on: he asked me after a time to take anything I liked, and I didget some school books we all wanted; but after that, just when youwere ill, I could not help telling him I had rather have the money. OFather!' cried the boy, struck by a certain look of distress, 'did I dowrong?'

  'Not in the least, my boy. Go on; what does he give you?'

  'Exactly at the rate he gave Smith for doing the same work,' saidFelix: 'it always was an extra for being so troublesome. It was sevenshillings last week--generally it comes to three or four and sixpence.'

  'And when do you do it?'

  'I run in after I come out of school for half an hour. Last SaturdayI corrected a sheet of the Pursuivant, because Mr. Froggatt had to goout, and that made it more. And, Father, Mr. Froggatt says that poorold Smith will never be fit for work again.'

  'Then I suppose these welcome earnings of yours will end when he has asuccessor?'

  Felix came nearer. 'Papa,' he said, 'Mr. Froggatt told me that ifCharlie would only have taken to the work, he would have done withoutanother man in Smith's place, and got him gradually into editing thepaper too. He said he wished I was not a gentleman's son, for if Ihad not been so I should have suited him exactly, and should be wortha guinea a week even now. And, Father, do not you really think I hadbetter take it?'

  'You, Felix!' Mr. Underwood was exceedingly startled for the moment.

  'You see,' said Felix rather grimly, leaning his head on themantelshelf, and looking into the fire, 'any other way I can only be anexpense for years upon years, even if I did get a scholarship.'

  His face was crimson, and his teeth set. Mr. Underwood lay back in hischair for some seconds; then said in a low voice, 'I see you know allabout it, Felix; and that I am going to leave you as heavy a burthen asever lad took on willing shoulders.'

  Felix knew well enough, but his father had never uttered a word ofdespondency to him before, and he could only go on gazing steadfastlyinto the fire with an inarticulate moan.

  Mr. Underwood opened the first leaf of a volume of St. Augustine,beside him, a relic of former days, the family shield and mottowithin--namely, a cross potent, or crutch-shaped, and the old Englishmotto, 'Under Wode, Under Rode.'

  'Under wood, under rood,' he repeated. 'It was once but sing-song tome. Now what a sermon! The load is the Cross. Bear thy cross, and thycross will bear thee, like little Geraldine's cross potent--Rod
andRood, Cross and Crutch--all the same etymologically and veritably.'

  'Don't call them a burthen, pray!' said Felix, with a sense both ofdeprecation and of being unable to turn to the point.

  'My boy, I am afraid I was thinking more of myself than of you. I aman ungrateful fool; and when a crutch is offered to me, I take hold ofit as a log instead of a rood. I did not know how much pride there wasleft in me till I found what a bitter pill this is!'

  Felix was more crimson than ever. 'Ought I not--' he began.

  'The _ought_ is not on your side, Felix. It is not all folly, I hope;but I had thought you would have been a better parson than your father.'

  There were tears in the boy's eyes now. 'There are the others; I may beable to help them.'

  'And,' added Mr. Underwood, 'I know that to be a really poor priest,there should be no one dependent on one, or it becomes, "Put me intoone of the priest's offices, that I may eat a piece of bread." It islowering! Yes, you are right. Even suppose you could be educated,by the time you were ordained, you would still have half these poorchildren on your hands, and it would only be my own story over again,and beginning younger. You are right, Felix; but I never saw theimpossibility so fully before. I am glad some inward doubt held me backfrom the impulse to dedicate my first-born.'

  'It shall be one of the others instead,' said Felix in his throat.

  Mr. Underwood smiled a little, and put his finger on the verse in hisbeloved Epistle--'Look not every man on his own things but every manalso on the things of others.'

  'You really wish this. Do you consider what it involves?' he said.

  'I think I do,' said Felix in a stifled voice.

  'This is not as if it were a great publisher,' continued Mr. Underwood,'with whom there would be no loss of position or real society; but alittle bookseller in a country town is a mere tradesman, and though aman like Audley may take you up from time to time, it will never be onan absolute equality; and it will be more and more forgotten who youwere. You will have to live in yourself and your home, _depending_ onno one else.'

  'I can stand that,' said Felix, smiling. 'Father, indeed I thought ofall that. Of course I don't like it, but I don't see how it is to behelped.'

  'Sit down, Felix: let us go over it again. I suppose you don't knowwhat our subsistence is at present.'

  'I know you have L250 a year from Mr. Bevan.'

  'Yes, I had L200 at first, and he added the L50 when the third curatewas given up. That goes with me, of course, if not before. On the otherhand, my poor good uncle, the wisest thing he ever did, made me insuremy life for L5000, so there will be L150 a year to depend on, besideswhat we had of our own, only L2,350 left of it now. I have had tobreak into it for the doctor's bills, but at least there are no debts.Thank God, we have been saved from debt! I think,' he continued, 'thatprobably it will have to be brought down to twenty-two hundred beforeyou have done with me. On the whole, then, there will be about L180 ayear for you all to live upon. Are you understanding, Felix?'

  For the boy's anxious look had gone out of his face, and given place toa stunned expression which was only dispelled with a sudden start byhis father's inquiry. 'Yes, yes,' he said recalling himself.

  'I have left it all absolutely to your mother,' said Mr. Underwood.'She will depend more and more on you, Felix; and I have made up mymind to expect that no help will come to you but from yourselves.Except that I hope some of you may be educated by clergy orphanschools, but you are too old for that now. Felix, I believe it may beright, but it is very sore to break off your education.'

  'I shall try to keep it up,' said Felix, 'in case anything should everturn up.'

  'A guinea a week!' said Mr. Underwood, thoughtfully. 'It would make youall not much worse off than you are now, when I am out of the way. Andyet--' A violent cough came on. 'We must wait, Felix,' he said, when hehad recovered himself. 'I must have time to think; I will speak to youto-morrow.'

  Felix left him, very grave and subdued. He buried himself in his tasksfor the next day, hardly looked up or smiled at little Bernard's mostearnest attempts at a game of play, and had not a word for even Cherry,only when Wilmet begged anxiously to know if he thought Papa worse, heanswered that he believed not particularly so.

  Alda was sent to carry some tea to her father that evening. As sheset it down on the table before him, he said gently, 'My dear, I wantto know what has been passing among you and your school-fellows aboutFelix.'

  'Oh, nothing, Papa,' said Alda rather hastily. 'Some nonsense or otheris always going on.'

  'Very true, no doubt; nor do I wish to be informed of general nonsense,but of that which concerns you. What have you been saying or hearingsaid about Felix?'

  'Oh, it's nonsense, Papa. Some of the girls will say anythingdisagreeable.'

  'You need not have any scruples on Felix's account, Alda; I knowexactly what he has done. I want you to tell me what is being said--oryou have allowed to be said--about it.'

  'That horrible Miss Price!' was all the answer he got.

  He sat upright--laid on Alda's wrist a long bony burning hand, whoseclasp she did not forget for weeks, and forcing her to look at him,said, 'Did you allow it to be believed that your brother Felix was agambler?'

  'Papa! I never said so!' cried Alda, beginning to sob.

  'Command yourself, Alda; I am not fit for a scene, and I may not beable to speak to you many times again.'

  These words--far more new and startling to Alda than to herbrother--appalled her into quietness.

  'What did you say, Alda? or was it the deceit of silence?'

  She hung her head, but spoke at last.

  'I only said boys had ways and means! They did tease and plague so.I do believe Carry Price counts every grape that goes into thishouse--and they would know how I got my new music--and little Robinawould tell--and then came something about Mr. Froggatt; and if theyknew--'

  'If they knew what?'

  'Papa, you have no idea how nasty some of them are.'

  'My poor child, I am afraid I have some idea by seeing how nasty theyare making you! Gambling more creditable than honest labour!'

  Alda had it on the tip of her tongue to say winning things was notgambling, but she knew that argument would be choked down; and she alsoknew that though she had spoken truth as to her words, she had allowedremarks to pass without protest, on the luck and licence that the modelboy allowed himself, and she was bitterly displeased with the treacheryof Miss Price.

  'These old rags of folly don't look pretty on other folk,' he sighedpleasantly. 'Alda, listen to me. What I have heard to-day gives me morefears for you than for any one of my children. Did you ever hear thatfalse shame leads to true shame? Never shuffle again! Remember, nothingis mean that is not sin, and an acted falsehood like this is sin andshame both--while your brother's deed is an honour.'

  Alda was obliged to go away murmuring within herself, 'That's all true:it is very good of Felix, and I should not have equivocated, I know;but those stupid girls, how is one to live with them?'

  Felix was not quite dressed the next morning when his mother came tothe door of the attic that he shared with Edgar and Fulbert.

  'He wants to speak to you before church, Felix. It has been a very badnight, and the sooner this is settled the better.'

  'O Mother, I am very sorry--'

  'It can't be helped, my dear boy. I think it will really be a greatrelief to him.'

  'And you, Mother, do you mind?'

  'Dear Felix, all _minding_, except to have you all well, and fed andclothed, was worn out of me years ago. I can't feel anything in it butthat it will keep you by me, my dear good helpful boy.'

  Felix's heart leapt up, as it had not done for many a long day; but itsoon sank again. The children had never been admitted to their father'sroom in the early morning, and Felix thought he must be suddenly worsewhen he saw him in bed propped by pillows, pale and wearied; but theusual bright smile made him like himself.

  'All right, old fellow,' he said brightly. 'Don
't come up to me. I'm_incog._ till I'm up and dressed. Are you in the same mind?'

  'Yes, Father.'

  'Then ask Mr. Froggatt to do me the favour of coming to speak to me anytime after eleven o'clock that may suit him. I must understand what heoffers you. The nonsense is conquered, Felix; more shame for me that ithas followed me so far; but the sense remains. I must try to be surethat this sacrifice of yours is a right one to be accepted. Any way, myboy, I thank and bless you for it, and God will bless such a beginning.There's the bell, be off,' he concluded.

  And, Papa,' blurted out Felix suddenly, 'would you _please_ bephotographed. I have the money for it. _Pray--_'

  Mr. Underwood smiled. 'Very well, Felix; that is, if I am ever capableof getting up all the stairs to Coleman's sky-parlour.'

  'Oh, thank you!' and Felix ran away.

  Mr. Froggatt came in due time. He was an elderly portly man, wellshaven and smooth-faced, intensely respectable, having been broughtup to inherit an old hereditary business as bookseller, stationer,and publisher of a weekly local paper, long before Bexley had brokenout into its present burning fever of furnaces. He was a very goodreligious man, as Mr. Underwood well knew, having been his greatcomforter through several family troubles, which had left him and hiswife alone with one surviving and woefully spoilt son, who hated thetrade, and had set his heart upon being a farmer--chiefly with a viewto hunting. Mr. Froggatt was conscious of having been too indulgent,but the mother and son were against him; and the superior tone ofeducation that the son had received at the reformed grammar school hadonly set him above the business, instead of, as had been intended,rendering him more useful in it.

  Good Mr. Froggatt, an old-fashioned tradesman, with a profound feelingfor a real gentleman, was a good deal shocked at receiving Mr.Underwood's message. He kept a reading-room, and was on terms of acertain intimacy with its frequenters, such as had quite warranted hisfirst requests for Felix's good-natured help; and it had been reallyas a sort of jesting compliment that he had told the young gentlemanthat he wished he would take Smith's place, little expecting to see howearnestly the words were caught up, how the boy asked whether he reallymeant it; and when, on further consideration, he allowed that it mightbe possible, begging him to wait till his father could be spoken to.

  Poor as he was, Mr. Underwood had never lost general respect. Somethingthere was in his fine presence and gentlemanly demeanour, and stillmore in his showing no false shame, making no pretensions, and neverhaving a debt. Doctors' bills had pressed him heavily, but he hadsacrificed part of his small capital rather than not pay his way; andthus no one guessed at the straits of the household. Mr. Froggatt hadnever supposed he would entertain for a moment the idea of letting hiseldest son, a fine clever and studious lad, undertake a little countrybusiness, and yet the old bookseller had come to wish it very much onhis own account. As he explained to Mr. Underwood, he loved his oldbusiness, and knew that with more education he should have been ableto make more of it. His elder son had died just as intelligence andenergy were opening up plans that would have made both the shop and thenewspaper valuable and beneficial; while Charles's desertion left themto decline with his father's declining years, and in danger of beingsupplanted by some brisk new light. Felix Underwood was indeed veryyoung, but he had already proved his power of usefulness, and a veryfew years would make him capable of being a right hand to the old man,and he might in time make a position for himself. Mr. Froggatt wouldotherwise ere long be forced by his own infirmity, to dispose of thebusiness at a disadvantage, and this would, he confessed, go to hisheart. Mr. Underwood felt greatly reconciled to the project. There wasreal usefulness in the work, great means of influencing men for good,and though there would be much of mechanical employment, for which itwas a pity to give up the boy's education, yet it was a stepping-stoneto something better, and it gave present and increasing means ofmaintenance. There was less temptation in this way of life than inalmost any that could be devised, and it would give Mrs. Underwood thecomfort of a home with him. The great difficulty for the future was,that Felix was never likely to have capital enough to purchase, orbecome partner in, the business; but Mr. Froggatt explained that if hegained experience in the editing of the Pursuivant, he would be alwaysable to obtain profitable employment, and that it was possible thathe might eventually take the business, and pay an annual sum out ofthe profits to the Froggatt family, unless, indeed, something shouldturn up which would keep him in his natural station. Such was the hopelurking in the father's heart, even while he thankfully closed with theoffer; and Felix was put in the way of studying book-keeping till theNew Year, when he was to enter upon his duties and his salary.

  Mr. Audley was greatly troubled. It was with incredulous vivacity thathe inquired of Mr. Underwood if it were indeed true that Felix hadaccepted such prospects.

  'Quite true,' said Mr. Underwood. 'You need not argue it with me,Audley; my own mind has said all you could say seven times over.'

  'I should not venture on interference; but could you not let me try todo--something?'

  'And welcome, my dear fellow: there are so many to be done for, that itis well one can do for himself.'

  'But Felix--Felix out of them all!'

  'As the voice I want to silence has said a thousand times! No; Felixseems capable of this, and it is not right to withhold him, and throwhis education upon the kind friends who might be helping the otherboys--boys whom I could not trust to fend for themselves and others, asI can that dear lad.'

  'What he might be--'

  'Who knows whether he may not be a greater blessing in this work thanin that which we should have chosen for him? He may be a leaven forgood--among the men we have never been able to reach! My dear Audley,don't be a greater ass about it than I was at first!'

  For the young curate really could not speak at first for a rush ofemotion.

  'It is not only for Felix's sake,' said he, smiling at last, 'but theway you take it.'

  'And now, I am going to ask you to do something for me,' added Mr.Underwood. 'I have left this magnificent estate of mine entirely to mywife, appointing her sole guardian to my children. But I have begunto think how much has been taken out of her by that shock of leavingVale Leston, and by that wonderful resolute patience that--that I shallnever be able to thank her for. I scarcely dare to let her know that Isee it. And when I look on to the winter that is before her,' he added,much less calmly, 'I think she may not be long after me. I must add aguardian. Once we had many good friends. We have them still, I hope,but I cannot lay this on them. Our cousin Tom Underwood does not seemdisposed to notice us, and his care might not be of the right kind. Ouronly other relation is Fulbert Underwood.'

  'Who drove you from Vale Leston?'

  'Who did what he had every right to do with his own,' said Mr.Underwood. 'But he is not the style of man to be asked, even if I couldsaddle him with the charge. Probably twelve children to bring up onseven thousand pounds--a problem never put before us at Cambridge.'

  'Do you honour me by--' asked the younger man, much agitated.

  'Not by asking you to solve that problem! But let me add your name.What I want is a guardian, who will not violently break up the home anddisperse the children. I believe Felix will be a competent young headif he is allowed, and I want you to be an elder brother to him, and lethim act.'

  'You cannot give me greater comfort.'

  'Only, Audley, this must be on one condition. Never let thisguardianship interfere with any higher work that you may be called to.If I thought it would bind you down to Bexley, or even to England, Ishould refrain from this request as a temptation. Mind, you are onlyasked to act in case the children should lose their mother, and thenonly to enable Felix to be what I believe he can and will be. Or, as itmay be right to add, if he should fail them, you will know what to do.'

  'I do not think he will.'

  'Nor I. But there are ways of failing besides the worst. However, I donot greatly fear this illness of mine taking root in them. It has notbeen in t
he family before; and I am nearly sure that I know when I tookthe infection, four or five years ago, from a poor man in Smoke-jackAlley, who would let no one lift him but me. They are healthy youngthings, all but dear little Cherry, and I hope they have spirits tokeep care from making them otherwise. You will say a kind word to mylittle Cherry sometimes, Audley. Poor little woman, I am afraid it mayfall sorely on her, she is of rather too highly strung a composition,and perhaps I have not acted so much for her good as my own pleasure,in the companionship we have had together.'

  So the will was altered, though without the knowledge of anyone butMrs. Underwood and the witnesses; and Mr. Audley felt himself boundto remonstrate no further against Felix's fate, however much he mightdeplore it.

  Nobody was so unhappy about it as Edgar. The boy was incredulous atfirst, then hotly indignant. Then he got a burnt stick, and aftershutting himself up in his attic for an hour, was found lying on thefloor, before an awful outline on the whitewash.

  'What is it, old fellow?' asked Felix. 'What a horrid mess!'

  'I see,' said Lance. 'It is Friday grinning at the savages.'

  'Or a scarecrow on the back of a ditch,' said Felix. 'Come, Ed, tell uswhat it is meant for.'

  Edgar was impenetrable; but having watched the others out of the house,he dragged Geraldine up to see--something--

  'Oh!' she cried. 'You've done it!'

  'To be sure! You know it?'

  'It is Achilles on the rampart, shouting at the Trojans! O Edgar--howbrave he looks--how his hair flies! Some day you will get him in hisgod-like beauty!'

  'Do you think he has not got any of it, Cherry?' said Edgar, gazingwistfully. 'I did see it all, but it didn't come out--and now--'

  'I see what you mean,' said Cherry, screwing up her eyes; 'it is in himto be glorious--a kind of lightning look.'

  'Yes, yes; that's what I meant. All majesty and wrath, but no strain. OCherry--to have such things in my head, and not get them out! Don't youknow what it is?' as he rolled and flung himself about.

  'Oh, yes!' said Cherry from her heart. 'Oh! I should so like to do onetouch to his face, but he's so big! You did him on a chair, and I couldnot stand on one.'

  'I'll lift you up. I'll hold you,' cried Edgar.

  The passion for drawing must have been very strong in the two children;for Geraldine was most perilously, and not without pain, raised to achair, where, with Edgar's arms round her waist, she actually workedfor ten minutes at Achilles' face, but his arm she declined. 'It is notright, Eddy! look--that muscle in his elbow can never be so!'

  'I can't see the back of mine, but you can,' said Edgar, lifting herdown, and proceeding to take off his coat and roll up his shirt-sleeve.

  'That's the way. Oh! but it is not such an angle as that.'

  'Achilles' muscles must have stood out more than mine, you know. I'llget a look at Blunderbore's. O Cherry, if I were but older--I know Icould--I'd save Felix from this horrible thing! I feel to want to roarat old Froggy, like this fellow at the Trojans.'

  'Perhaps some day you will save him.'

  'Yes; but then he will have done it. Just fancy, Gerald, if _that_picture was as it ought to be--as you and I see it!'

  'It would be as grand as the world ever saw,' said the little girl,gazing through her eye-lashes at the dim strokes in the twilight. 'OEdgar, many a great man has begun in a garret!'

  'If it would not be so long hence! Oh! must you go down?'

  'I heard some one calling. You will be a great artist, I know, Edgar!'

  It was pleasanter than the other criticism, at bed-time.

  'Hollo! Man Friday does not look quite so frightful!' said Felix.

  'I'm sure I won't have him over my bed,' said Fulbert, proceeding torub him out; and though, for the moment, Achilles was saved by violentmeasures of Edgar's, yet before the end of the next day, Fulbert andLance had made him black from head to foot, all but the whites of hiseyes and his teeth; Robina and Angela had peeped in, and emulated theterror of the Trojans, or the savages; and Sibby had fallen on theyoung gentleman for being 'so bold' as to draw a frightful phookaupon their walls, just to frighten the darlints. Indeed, it was longbefore Angela could be got past the door at night without shuddering,although Achilles had been obliterated by every possible method thatFelix, Clement, or Sibby could devise, and some silent tears of Cherryhad bewailed the conclusion of this effort of high art, the outline ofwhich, in more moderate proportions, was cherished in that portfolio ofhers.

  Another work of art--the photograph--was safely accomplished. Thephotographer caught at the idea, declaring that he had been so oftenasked for Mr. Underwood's carte, that he had often thought of beggingto take it gratis. And he not only insisted on so doing, but he camedown from his studio, and took Mr. Underwood in his own chair, underhis own window--producing a likeness which, at first sight, shockedevery one by its faithful record of the ravages of disease, unlightenedby the fair colouring and lustrous beaming eyes, but which, by-and-by,grew upon the gazer, as full of a certain majesty of unearthly beautyof countenance.

  The autumn was mild, and Mr. Underwood rallied in some measure, so assometimes even to get to church at mid-day services on warm days.

  It was on St. Andrew's Day that he was slowly walking home, leaningon Felix's arm, with the two elder girls close behind him, when Aldasuddenly touched Wilmet's arm, exclaiming, 'There's Marilda Underwood!'

  There indeed was the apparition of Centry Park, riding a pretty pony,beside a large and heavily-bearded personage. The recognition wasinstantaneous; Marilda was speaking to her companion, and at the samemoment he drew up, and exclaiming, 'Edward! bless me!' was off hishorse in a moment, and was wringing those unsubstantial fingers in acrushing grasp. There was not much to be seen of Mr. Underwood, forhe was muffled up in a scarf to the very eyes, but they looked out oftheir hollow caves, clear, blue, and bright, and smiling as ever, andsomething like an answer came out of the middle of the folds.

  'These yours? How d'ye do!--How d'ye do!--Mary, you don't get off tillwe come to the door!--Yes, I'll come in with you! Bless me! bless me!Mary has been at me ever so many times about you, but we've been hadabroad for masters and trash, and I left it till we were settled here.'

  It was not many steps to the door, and there Wilmet flew on to prepareher mother and the room, while Alda stood by as her cousin was assistedfrom her horse by the groom, and the new-comer followed in silence,while Felix helped his father up the steps, and unwound his wraps,after which he turned round, and with his own sunny look held out hishand, saying, 'How are you, Tom? I'm glad to see you--How d'ye do, MaryAlda? we are old friends.--Call your mother, one of you.'

  The mother was at hand, and they entered the drawing-room, where, asthe clergyman sank back into his arm-chair, the merchant gazed withincreasing consternation at his wasted figure and features.

  'How long has this been going on?' he asked, pointing to him andturning to Mrs. Underwood, but as usual her husband answered for her.

  'How long have I been on the sick list? Only since the end ofSeptember, and I am better now than a month ago.'

  'Better! Have you had advice?'

  'Enough to know how useless it is.'

  'Some trumpery Union doctor. I'll have Williams down before you are aday older.'

  'Stay, Tom. Thank you, most warmly, but you see yourself the bestadvice in the world could tell us no more than we know already. Are youreally master of old Centry Underwood? I congratulate you.'

  'Ay. I'm glad the place should come back to the old name. Mrs.Underwood and myself both felt it a kind of duty, otherwise it wentagainst the grain with her, and I'm afraid she'll never take to theplace. 'Twas that kept us abroad so long, though not from want ofwishes from Mary and myself. The girl fell in love with yours at firstsight.'

  'To be sure I did,' said the young lady. 'Do let me see the littleones, and your baby.'

  'Take your cousin to see them in the dining-room, Alda,' said themother; the order that Alda had been apprehending, for the dining-
roomwas by many degrees more shabby than the drawing-room; however, shecould only obey, explaining by the way that little Bernard, beingnearly two years old, was hardly regarded as a baby now.

  Wilmet was in effect making him and Angela presentable as to the hands,face, hair, and pinafore, and appeared carrying the one and leading theother, who never having closely inspected any one in a riding-habitbefore, hung back, whispering to know whether 'that man was a woman.'

  Marilda was in raptures, loving nothing so well as small children, andvery seldom enjoying such an opportunity as the present; and the twobabies had almost the whole of the conversation adapted to them, tillAlda made an effort.

  'So you have been on the Continent?'

  'Oh yes; it was such a horrid bore. Mamma would go. She said I musthave French masters, and more polish, but I don't like French polish. Ihope I'm just as English as I was before.'

  'That is undeniable,' said Felix, laughing.

  'Didn't you care for it? Oh! I should like it so much!' cried Alda.

  'Like it? What, to hear French people chattering and gabbling all roundone, and be always scolded for not being like them! There was a poordog at the hotel that had been left behind by some English people, andcould not bear the French voices, always snarled at them. I was justlike him, and I got Papa to buy him and bring him home, and I alwayscall him John Bull.'

  'But wasn't it nice seeing places, and churches, and pictures?' askedGeraldine.

  'That was the most disgusting of all, to be bothered with staring atthe stupid things. Mamma with her Murray standing still at them all,and making me read it out just like a lesson, and write it after, whichwas worse! And then the great bare shiny rooms with nothing to do. Theonly thing I liked was looking at a jolly little old woman that soldhot chestnuts out in the street below. Such dear little children inround caps came to her! Just like that,'--endeavouring to convert herpocket-handkerchief into the like head-gear for Robina.

  'I have always so wanted to come here,' she continued, 'only I amafraid Mamma won't like the place. She says it's dull, and there's nogood society. Is there?'

  'I am sure we don't know,' said Wilmet.

  'Lots of people are coming to stay with us for Christmas,' addedMarilda, 'and you must all of you come and have all the fun with us.'

  'Oh, thank you! how charming!' cried Alda. 'If Papa will but be wellenough; he is so much better now.'

  'He must come for change of air,' said Marilda. 'You can't think howpleased my father was to hear I had met you. He talked all the way homeof how clever your father was, and how wickedly Cousin Fulbert at ValeLeston had served him, and he promised me when I came here I shouldhave you with me very often. I would have written to tell you, only Ido so hate writing. This is much better.'

  Marilda seemed to have perfectly established herself among them beforethe summons came to her; and as the children herded to the door, herfather turned round and looked at the boys inquiringly. 'There,' saidMr. Underwood, 'this is Felix, and this is Edgar, sixteen and fourteen.'

  'Bless me, what a number, and as much alike as a flock of sheep,'again exclaimed the cousin. 'One or two more or less would not makemuch odds--eh, Edward?--Mary, what kissing all round?--D'ye know themall?--I'll look in to-morrow or next day, and you'll give me youranswer, Edward.'

  They were off, and at Mr. Underwood's sign Felix followed him intothe sitting-room, to the great excitement of the exterior population,who unanimously accepted Alda's view, that one of them was going tobe adopted. Their notion was not so much out as such speculationsgenerally are, for Mr. Underwood was no sooner alone with Felix andhis mother, than he said, 'You are in request, Felix; here's anotheroffer for one of you--the very thing I once missed. What say you to aclerkship at Kedge Brothers?'

  'For one of us, did you say, Father?'

  'Yes; the answer I am to give to-morrow is as to which. You have thefirst choice.'

  'Do you wish me to take it, Father?'

  'I wish you to think. Perhaps this is the last time I shall have anydecision to make for you, and I had rather you should make your ownchoice; nor, indeed, am I sure of my own wishes.'

  'Then,' said Felix decidedly, 'I am sure I had better not. Edgar wouldnot, and must not, go to my work; there would be nothing coming in forever so long, and it would be a shame to throw old Froggy over.'

  'I rather expected this, Felix. I told Tom you were in a mannerprovided for, but when he found you had a turn for business, he was themore anxious to get you.'

  'I've got no turn that I know of,' said Felix, rather gloomily; 'but wecan't all of us set up for gentlemen, and Edgar is the one of us allthat ought to have the very best! Such a fellow as he is! He is sureof the prize this time, you know! I only don't think this good enoughfor him! He ought to go to the University. And maybe when Mr. Underwoodsees--'

  'Not impossible,' said the sanguine father, smiling; 'and, at anyrate, to get put in the way of prosperity early may make his talentsavailable. It is odd that his first name should be Thomas. Besides,I do not think your mother could get on without you. And, Felix,' helowered his voice, 'I believe that this is providential. Not only assecuring his maintenance, but as taking him from Ryder. Some thingshave turned up lately when he has been reading with me, that havedismayed me. Do you know what I mean?'

  'A little,' said Felix gravely.

  'I know Ryder would be too honourable consciously to meddle with aboy's faith; but the worst of it is, he does not know what is meddling,and he likes Edgar, and talks eagerly to him. And the boy enjoys it.'

  'He does,' said Felix, 'but he knows enough to be on his guard. Therecan't be any harm done.'

  'Not yet! Not but what can be counteracted, if--Felix, you cannotguess how much easier it makes it to me to go, that Edgar will not beleft in Ryder's hands. As to the younger ones, such things do not comedown to the lower forms. And they will be eligible for clergy orphans.Audley spoke of a choristership for Clement in the clergy-house atWhittingtonia. Was there ever such a raising up of friends and helpers?I am glad to have seen Tom Underwood, hearty, kindly--sure to be alwaysa good friend to you all. What did you think of the girl, Felix?'

  'She is a jolly sort of girl,' said Felix; 'not like ours, you know,Father, but not half a bad fellow.'

  Mr. Underwood smiled thoughtfully, and asked, 'Have you seen enough ofher to judge how she is brought up?'

  It was treating his son so much more as a friend than as a boy, thatFelix looked up surprised. 'I should think her mother wanted to makeher no end of a swell,' he said, 'and that it would not take.'

  Mr. Underwood lent back thoughtfully. In truth, his cousin had, in hisoutburst of affection and remorse at long unconscious neglect, declaredhis intention of taking home one of the girls to be as a sister to hisMary, and then, evidently bethinking himself of some influence at home,had half taken back his words, and talked of doing something, bringinghis wife to see about it, &c.

  And when Mr. and Mrs. Underwood were again alone, they discussed theprobabilities, and considered whether if the offer were made they wouldaccept it. Mr. Underwood had only seen his cousin's wife once, in hisprosperous days, when he had been at the wedding, and his impressionwas not that of perfect refinement. There was reason to think from thewords of her husband and daughter that there was a good deal of the_nouveau riche_ about her, and Mrs. Underwood did not know how to thinkof trusting a daughter in a worldly, perhaps irreligious, household.But Mr. Underwood was a good deal touched by his cousin's warmth andregret; he believed that the family kept up religious habits; hethought that Providence had brought him friends in this last hour, andhis affectionate sanguine spirit would not hesitate in accepting thekindness that provided for another of the children he was leaving. Shetrusted him as sure to know best; and, after her usual mode, said nomore, except 'Wilmet would be safest there.'

  'You could spare her least.'

  'Yes, indeed, it would be losing my right hand; but poor Alda--'

  'Poor Alda! but consider if there is not worse evil in
keeping heramong girls who hurt her, if they do not Wilmet. Beauty and woundedvanity are dangerous in a place like this.'

  'Dangerous anywhere!'

  'Less so in a great house, with that good honest Mary Alda, and Tom,who will look after her in the main, than here, or as a governess, withan inferior education.'

  'It may be so. I know I can spare her better than her sister.'

  'Wilmet is doing something for herself too--as Alda cannot, it seems.Justice settles the point, dearest, as it did between the boys--thatis, if we have the offer.'

  Perhaps the mother still had a lurking hope that the offer would not bemade. Her instinct was to keep all her brood round her; but, silent anddeferential woman that she was, she said nothing, and resolved to bethankful for what so eased her husband's mind.

  The handsome carriage tore up to the door, and violet velvet andfeathers descended, Mary Alda sprang after, and then came her father,and hampers on hampers of game, wine, and fruits ensued; while Marildaseized on Alda, and turned of herself into the dining-room, bearing abox of sweets. 'Where are the little ones? Little Bobbie, here; and allthe rest.'

  Not many calls were needful to bring a flock to share the feast, withcries of joy; but Marilda was not yet satisfied.

  'Where's the other of you?' she said to Alda. 'I don't know you wellapart yet.'

  'Wilmet's in the kitchen,' thrust in Lancelot, 'ironing the collars forSunday.'

  'Lance!' uttered Alda indignantly.

  'Oh! what fun! do let me go down and see! I should so like to iron.'

  'But, Marilda--your Mamma--'

  'Oh nonsense, come along, show me the way. That's right, Robins, onlyyour hands are so sticky. What, down here!--Oh, Wilmet, how d'ye do?what delicious work! do you always do it?'

  'Generally, if Sibby is busy.'

  'Do let me try.'

  And she did try for ten minutes, at the end of which the mother's voicewas heard calling for Edgar, who, turning crimson, went upstairs,leaving the others standing about the tidy kitchen, fresh sanded forSaturday.

  'What, not you!' said Marilda, pausing in her smoothing operations, andlooking at Felix.

  'No,' said he. 'I have got my work.'

  'Oh! don't talk of it,' said Alda. 'I can't bear it. I didn't think hewas in earnest, or that Papa would let him.'

  Marilda turned full round. 'What, you won't go and be my father'sclerk, and be one of Kedge and Underwood, and make a fortune?'

  Felix shook his head.

  'And what is your work instead?'

  'Printing,' said Felix stoutly. 'It gives present payment, and we can'tdo without it.'

  Both Marilda's hands seized on his. 'I like you!' she said. 'I wish Iwere you.'

  They all laughed, and Felix coloured, more abashed than pleased.Lance--to make up for his ignominious rescue at their lastmeeting--performed a wonderful progress, holding on by his fingers andtoes along the ledge of the dresser; and Marilda, setting her back (abroad one) against the ironing-board, went on talking.

  'And do you know what besides?' looking round, and seeing they didnot. 'One of you girls is to come and live with me, and be my sister.I wanted to have this little darling Angela to pet, but Mamma wouldn'thave her, and I did so beg for Geraldine, to let her have a sofa and apony-carriage! I do want something to nurse! But Mamma won't hear ofanybody but one of you two great ones, to learn and do everything withme; and that's not half the use.'

  'But is it really?' cried Alda.

  'Yes, indeed! You'll be had up for her to choose from--that is, if shecan. How exactly alike you are!'

  'She won't choose me,' said Wilmet. 'Hark, there's Edgar coming down.'

  Edgar ran in, with orders to the twins to go into the drawing-room.Wilmet hung back. 'I will not be the one,' she said resolutely. 'LetAlda go alone.'

  'No,' said Felix, 'it is what you are told that you've got to do now.Never mind about the rest! Let us all come out of this place.' And itwas he who took off his sister's ironing apron as they went up to thedining-room together, while Marilda cried eagerly, 'Well, Edgar?'

  'Well,' said Edgar, not in the enchanted voice she expected; 'it isvery good of your father, and what must be must.'

  'Don't you like it?' said Marilda, half hurt; and Edgar, always a boyof ready courtesy, answered, 'Yes, yes, I'm no end of grateful. I'llget rich, and go abroad, and buy pictures. Only I did hope to paintthem.'

  'Paint pictures!' cried Marilda. 'What, rather than be a merchant! Dosuch stupid useless things, only to bother people with having to stareat them, when you could be making money?'

  'There's no reason one should not make money with pictures,' saidEdgar; 'but I'd rather make delight! But it can't be helped, and I amvery glad to have done with this horrid place.'

  Meantime Wilmet and Alda found themselves before a large, florid,much-dressed lady, with a most good-natured face, who greeted them with'Good morning, my dears! Just as Marilda told me, so much alike as tobe quite romantic. Well, no doubt it is a pity to separate between you,but my Marilda will be a true sister. She has spoken of nothing else.Are you willing, either of you, my dears?'

  'Ay!' chimed in Mr. Thomas Underwood; 'we'll make you happy whicheverit is! You shall be in all respects like our own child; Mary would seeto that, if we didn't.'

  'As to choice,' said the lady, 'there's none that I can see--prettygenteel girls both, that will do us credit, unless it is their ownfault. Excellent governess, London masters--you may be assuredeverything shall be done for her.'

  'Shall we toss up which it shall be?' laughed her husband.

  'No,' said Mr. Underwood gently. 'We think that this one,' laying hishand on Alda's arm, 'will value these advantages, and is not quite sucha home-bird as her sister. I hope you will find a grateful good childin Alda Mary, and a kind sister to Mary Alda.'

  The tears came into Alda's eyes, as her father seemed thus making herover; a great rush of affection for all at home, and contempt for MaryAlda in comparison with her own twin, seemed to take away any elation,as Mr. and Mrs. Tom Underwood kissed her, and welcomed her, anddeclared they should like to take her home at once.

  'You shall have her soon,' said Mr. Underwood. 'Let me keep her forChristmas Day.'

  And for Christmas Day he did keep her, though at the bottom of Alda'sheart there were strong hopes of invitations to join the festivitiesat Centry Underwood. Indeed, such a party was insisted on by Marilda,one that was to include all the little ones, and make them happier thanever they had been in their lives. It was to be on Twelfth Day, butMrs. Underwood hinted to the twins that they had better not talk to theyounger ones about it, for she scarcely believed they would go. Shehad never before spoken out that conviction which had long crushed herdown, and Wilmet's whole soul seemed for the moment scared away by thisfresh intimation of the condition in which their father stood; whileAlda vehemently repeated the old declaration that he was better. Hesaid he was better. Alas! such a better as it always was.

  'How well you ought to be!' said Mr. Audley one day at the reiteration,'better every day!'

  'Yes, and best of all at last!' was the reply, with a sweet smile.

  For he was very happy. The partial provision for the four eldestchildren, two by their own exertions, two through friends, hadevidently been received by him as an earnest of protection and aidfor the rest, even to the babe whom he scarcely expected ever tosee in this world. He said it would be ungrateful not to trust, andhe did trust with all his heart, cheered as it was by the tardycordiality of his cousin, and the indefinable love of kindred thatwas thus gratified. Thomas Underwood poured in good things ofall kinds on the invalid and his house, fulfilled his promise ofcalling in further advice, and would have franked half the familyto Torquay--Nice--Madeira--if the doctors had given the slightestencouragement. It could be of little ultimate avail; but the wineand soup did give support and refreshment bodily, and produced muchgratitude and thankfulness mentally, besides lightening some of Mrs.Underwood's present cares.

  No one was more anxious
to help than Mr. Ryder; he had been assiduousin his inquiries and offers of service ever since the attack atMichaelmas; and it was evident that he really venerated the Curate,while he was a severe and contemptuous judge of the Rector. But when,after a brilliant examination, he became aware that he was to loseboth the elder Underwoods at once, his mortification was great; hecame to call, and Mr. Underwood had again to undergo an expostulationon Felix's prospects, and an offer of keeping him free of expense.The school-fee was a mere trifle, but Mr. Ryder would willingly haveboarded and lodged the boy himself--for the benefit of his authority,as he said, over younger boarders.

  'I am afraid,' said Mr. Underwood, kind and grateful as usual, 'thatthere are too many younger boarders here for Felix to be spared. No,thank you; I am sincerely obliged to you, but the hard cash is anecessary consideration.'

  'And you can sacrifice such a boy's prospects--'

  'Bread and cheese _must_ be earned, even at the cost of prospects. Hecannot afford to wait to make his labour skilled.'

  'Forgive me, Mr. Underwood, but I cannot think it is right to throwaway his abilities.'

  'You can allow that it is a less wrong than to leave the rest to debtor starvation.'

  'You should trust--'

  'I do trust; but I can do so better when I humble what is nothingbut pride and vanity in me, after all. I was foolish enough about itat first, but I am quite content now that my boy should do his duty,without being curious as to where it is to be done.'

  'You will tell me a schoolmaster's vanity is concerned; and I allow itis, for I looked to your sons to raise the reputation of the school;but perhaps it is only put off a little longer. Will you let me haveClement or Fulbert, on the terms I proposed for Felix?'

  'No, Ryder; with many, many thanks, much feeling of your generouskindness--it cannot be.'

  'You do not trust me.' This was said with as much indignation as couldbe shown to a man in Mr. Underwood's condition.

  'No. Your very kindness would make the tone I regret in you moreperilous. Do not think Felix ungrateful, Ryder; the desire is mine--andremember, it is that of a man who is dying, and who really loves andvalues you greatly. It is that the younger boys should, as soon as maybe, go to schools where older systems prevail.'

  Mr. Ryder was exceedingly mortified, and though he tried hard toconceal the full extent of his annoyance, he could not help saying,'You know how I respect your motives; but let me say that I doubt yourfinding any place where the ideas you deprecate are not to be found.And--pardon me--may not the finding their progress obstructed by yourscruples, the more indispose your sons to them?'

  'I hope not,' said Mr. Underwood, calmly. 'I hope it may show themhow strong the approach of death makes that faith--nay, ratherassurance--with which your party are tampering.'

  'You are not doing me justice, Mr. Underwood. You know that my faithand hope are at the core the same as your own. All our question is whatoutworks are untenable.' Again he spoke hotly, but Mr. Underwood'sgentleness seemed to silence him.

  'And that there should be any such question proves--alas!--the utterdifference between our belief. Ryder, you are a young man, and as Ibelieve and trust verily in earnest; and some day, I think, you willunderstand what faith is. Meantime, your uncertainties are doing moremischief than you understand--they pervade all your teaching more thanyou know. I dread what they may do to such as have not your moralsense to restrain them and bring them back, as I pray--I hope ever topray--it may be with you. Thank you for all your kindness, actual andintended, to my boys.'

  Then rising from his chair, while Mr. Ryder remained uncertain howto speak, he signed to him to remain still while he sought in hisbook-case and returned with a small old copy of Jeremy Taylor's 'HolyLiving and Dying;' then sitting down again, wrote the schoolmaster'sname in it, above his own 'Under-wode, Under-rode' stamp. 'Keep it,Ryder! I do not say that you will care for it now, but some day I thinkyou will, and if I am allowed to know of it, it will be joy.'

  Mr. Ryder could only wring the hand that held it out to him, and with agreat effort say, 'Thank you.' He saw that Mr. Underwood was too muchtired to prolong the conversation; but he wrote a note of warm thanksthat evening, promising to do whatever lay in his power for the boys,that their father would not think dangerous for them; and he added,that whatever he should for the future think or say, such an exampleas he had now seen was a strong weight on its own side. It was warmlyand tenderly put, and like everything that befell him, gratified Mr.Underwood.

  A very happy man he had been, as he sincerely told those who would havegrieved over him, and not without some remorse.

  'Yes,' as he said to Mr. Audley, who watched him like a son, 'it isindeed the Lord who hath led me all my life through. I never had a wantor a care unfulfilled till nine years ago. Then, just as I had becomesluggish and mechanical in fixed habits of easy country work, camethis thorough change, break, and rousing. I tell you, I can never bethankful enough for the mercy. Not to leave them all provided for, asthe saying is, would I go back to be such a priest as I was becoming.Happy--yes, I have been much happier here, since no choice was left mebut working up to my strength.'

  'And beyond it,' said Mr. Audley, sadly.

  'If so--well; so much the better!' he said. 'It is a blessing to beallowed to be spent in that service. And for the children, I wish onlyfor work and goodness for them--and for that I may well trust my goodMaster.'