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Chapter XXIII.

I wonder if Nellie will ever come back to Bonsby, father?"

"I am afraid not. The girl had a rough time of it here, and I do not blame her for not wishing to come back. What has set you thinking, old woman?"

"I hardly know, Presentiment maybe. I always have declared, and always will declare that I do not believe half the tales that were told about Nellie. She is not a girl to act in direct opposition to everyone's wishes unless she had just cause, and I have faith in her character to rely on that cause being consistent with her firm, inflexible sense of right. To my mind her silence has a deeper meaning than that generally understood. She is just one to screen others by letting suspicion rest upon herself. I shall never forget one time when she said, in that strange way of hers which so few interpret aright, 'I consider nothing too great a sacrifice for the prevention of family failings exposure. Nothing short of honour. Indeed, in many cases it should not be looked upon as a sacrifice, but as a sacred duty.' A girl with such a creed as that, although in little danger of adding to those family failings, stands on the very border of a mistaken regard for duty toward families and society at large. Besides, all those whispers concerning money troubles are not without foundation, and you and I well know Nellie's aversion for what she calls 'the Devil's right-hand man.'"

"'The Devil's Man Friday,'" corrected Mr. Alen, with his knowing smile. "You were always Nellie's steadfast page 278champion, mother. I hope your confidence will never be shaken."

"It shall not. Nellie herself could not shake my confidence in her. I don't always build my convictions on reason—human reasoning, I mean. I am going to ask Amelia to write—no, I shall write myself, and Amelia can send my letter to her."

"And what are you going to write about, Mrs. Polly?"

"Nellie promised to come to me if ever I needed her. I feel my days are nearly numbered, and I would like to have the child about me at the last"

"What nonsense you talk!" exclaimed Mr. Alen angrily, "Your days numbered! Why, you are as strong, if not stronger, than I."

"The heart knows its own weakness, father," quietly answered Mrs. Alen, laying her hand a moment on her husband's old grey head as she passed out of the room.

"Polly certainly does not look well," muttered the old gentleman to himself, "I shall go into town to-morrow. Perhaps Amelia will have a spare corner in her home for her old mother-in-law until this melancholy darkness is frightened away. Poor old Poll!" Musing thus, he took his way back to his sheep. And Mrs. Alen, while she tended to her flowers, and cooned over her chickens and birdies, let her mind wander whither it would. Childhood, girlhood, womanhood, parents, children, friends, all arrayed themselves in an even line, and passed before her fading thoughts. Was it possible that she, who had roamed the wide, mutable world, was about to pass away in this remote, desolate spot. And then that death, or vision of death, so long ago, when with hungering eyes she had gazed down into the newly-digged grave, and called to the red, worm-riddled earth to cover her. Between now and then, what lay? Had she caused God to feel pleased He had not cut page 279her off then? She could think of nothing done. Hers was a commonplace life. There may be plenty left undone; but her mind was too tired to think. She only knew she was glad she had lived; thankful for all that was past; hopeful for all that was to come. Yet she would not ask her life again. She was tired; had lost taste for the world, pleasant and beautiful as it was. Seventy, sixty—indeed fifty years of sojourn here should satisfy the soul. She would not care to take with her her wizened, wrinkled face. Would Eva—if she had been called to Heaven first—would she know again the ungrateful woman of her former kindness?" Then the vision of a sweet face, with dark planetary eyes, floated before her mind, and seemed to put everything in order. She turned toward her writing-paper and pen, and wrote her message to the truant one: "Come back; I am in need of thee." And the next day, when the first streaks of dawn painted themselves across the eastern sky, Mr. Alen, mounted on his old white horse, which he had named after his wife, and flourishing his crooked stick, rode into town bearing the sacred message.

"Come and talk to grandpapa, my baby, while mother makes the tea, and then we shall go over and see baby's other grandmamma." Baby did as she was told, which was a wonder, for I do not know whether all babies are like this one, but little baby Alen lorded and tyrannized over Grandpapa Alen, and strange to say, Grandpapa Alen liked to be lorded and tyrannized over. So, while the grey-haired old man danced the fair-haired little child on his knee, they cooned and crowed to one another; the rugged tones of the old blending in pleasing harmony with the soft, inarticulate accents of the young.

"I know mother has not heard from her for some time," said Mrs. Alen as she and her father-in-law set out on their visit to the Main household; "still she will be able to tell page 280you more than I can. Nellie wrote once since she left, but only to say she was well, and did not wish to be reminded of Bonsby. We concluded she did not care for our correspondence, and therefore wrote no more."

"How long has she been away?"

"About eight months or more, I really forget."

"It is strange she should have gone away so suddenly, and that she should seek to sever herself from her former life."

"It is stupid, madness; I don't understand her, neither does any one else to my thinking. She is the first of our family to leave home, and I should have thought she would have been the last. We are all displeased and disappointed."

"Well, well, she is a rare good little lassie, and there is no fear but that she knows what's best for her. Common clay dare not presume to know the why's and wherefore's of costly china."

"But common clay, as you call us, expect a little consideration."

"Maybe we got it, but did not understand, nor treat it aright. I am sweer to lay doon the law for onybodie, knowing, as I ken, my own lack o' judgment."

"I cannot see where Nellie can be different, nor that she should be treated differently, to anyone else of the family."

"Ah! lassie, no one knows what's in the heart o' t'other. Maybe she has a different course to run, than most young women have. Not but that yer on an equal footing, yet mony a lassie 'll be wrecked on sunken rocks, others 'll pass by unperceived."

Mrs. Main's residence stood remote from the surrounding neighbourhood, at the farthest extremity of the town; whither they had moved immediately after Mr. Main's death. It was a pretty little place, almost enclosed by page 281evergreen trees, and box thorn hedges; and the vacant sections, which stretched around it on every side, gave the home a look of comfort and seclusion. It was well for Mrs. Main, and her family's peace of mind, that they were thus debarred from too close an intimacy with their neighbours; for where there is a large family of healthy mischievous children, there is not much likelihood of ever having a quaker's meeting. But when the wayward juveniles were the possessors of sound lungs and wiry limbs; and when they laughed at restraint, until you were compelled, by their genuine happy mirth, to join in the laugh against yourself; and when they would coolly tell you in their saucy innocent way, that since grown up people were not always happy and wise, they intended to remain children as long as they could, so as to be able to say they had once been happy and wise; and when they would dance round, and laughingly defy you; and when you remembered that after all it was all innocent fun, and that they were orphans, the younger ones would never know a father's love, never see a father's face, save in the unlike likeness of a portrait, save in the priceless, "that's father;" when all these things, and many more were taken into consideration, how could the neigbours expect but that the little Main's would be spoilt, and noisy, and full of mischievous pranks.

The few minute's silence after Mr. Alen's kind defence of the absent one, was occupied by turning the corner which brought the visitors in direct view of the home. Suddenly a terrific noise, like the sound of thunder, came rolling toward them. They stopped and listened. The noise increased. "Good Heavens! What can be the matter?" Then a thick black line of smoke arose from among the trees, and began curling its way upward toward the sky. The noise became deafening.

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"Quick father. The place is on fire," cried Mrs. Alen, snatching up her child, and setting off toward the house at full speed. "Mother is out, and the children have been up to mischief."

They hurried along, their fears increasing with every increasing volume of sound. The poor old gentleman for once forgot his sore foot, and hobbled along with the air of a veteran soldier. And the mother almost crushed to death "her wee baby," as she hugged it to her trembling breast, and sped on. After what seemed to them an indefinite length of time, the gate was reached. There were no signs of commotion at the front, but then the back was a good way off, and the fire might not have gained much of a hold. So rushing over neat flower-beds, stamping down Mrs. Main's choice hyacinths, and upsetting several pots of fuchsias, they reached the back door; when, lo!—

Mrs. Alen sank down on a bench, Mr. Alen collapsed. Mrs. Alen gasped for breath, Mr. Alen gasped too. Mr. and Mrs. Alen both choked with laughter and relief; and little baby Alen broke away from her mother's arms, and joined her juvenile aunts.

Around the wide kitchen door was gathered a crowd of children, indeed all the children of the immediate neighbourhood seemed to have been invited "To play in their backyard." Each child was furnished with a large tin dish of any conceivable description, and a stick almost as big as themselves; and all were beating away with the lusty goodwill of children; their round happy faces, the personification of mischievous glee. When the noise had subsided a little, and when Mrs. Alen had recovered her breath sufficiently to speak, she asked what they were doing.

"Tin-canning a wedding. We want some cake," uttered a chorus of laughing voices, and then the noise renewed. page 283Finding it impossible to be heard in such a clamour, Mrs. Allen seized hold of Edie, a little girl of ten, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and with a voice as pleasing and merry as the dimples playing about her shell-like face.

"What's all this noise about?" asked she, shaking the child to remind her who spoke.

"We married Milton to Laura's doll," laughed the little girl; "James' room was the church. Pommy became minister; Stewartie acted as horse and carriage; and I drove the bride and bridegroom home. That is the kitchen. Now we are waiting for the wine and cake. We are the larrikins." The child broke from her sister's hold, and joined the noisy, shouting throng. Suddenly the noise ceased, a moment's pause, then down went every tin-can and stick, and a shriek of laugher rent the air, while the little people began to dance around and clap their hands. There in the doorway stood the little two-year-old Milton, with his doll-bride in his arms. What with the uncommon character of the youthful sport, the pleasure it afforded the mischevious actors, the sober face of the bridegroom, with his equally soberfaced bride in his arms, and the striking likeness between this wedding and a genuine one—for all were dressed after the manner of the office in which they severally officiated—no human being could fail to be tickled by the whole scene, and Mrs. Alen burst out laughing—Mr. Alen had been laughing all the while. One, however, did not share in the mirth. Perhaps the subject touched too near home. Little Laura, seeing the too affectionate embrace with which the husband held his wife, grew fearful of the result. Pushing forward, she attempted to tear the bride from the arms of the bridegroom. Such an outrage was not to be tolerated. The young husband bent forward to make a ferocious attempt at defence, when—oh, horror of horrors!—he mistook his antagonist, and bit the nose off page 284his bride. Poor Laura set up a dismal wail, and became chief mourner of that sympathizing group, and the youthful wedding party adjourned to the garden to discuss the possibility of restoring to the disfigured bride, her lost beauty.

"It is time we adjourned too," exclaimed Mrs. Alen, leading the way inside, followed by Mr. Alen still in a state of general collapse, and vehemently declaring he would purchase, that very day for the little sorrowing one, "the handsomest doll in the town."

Mrs. Main was out, but expected back every minute, and the cause of that dark line of smoke was through some peculiar leaves being thrown on the fire. They had not long to wait; soon Mrs. Main returned. She willingly promised to address the letter, and along with another very important one, she and her family had just received, to send it to her truant daughter. For the remainder of the afternoon she was entertained and amused by graphic descriptions of her youngest son's marriage, and she laughingly told him he would not always "bear his blushing honour so nicely." It is needless to say that only a very slight hint of this circumstance was needed to incite a smile to the faces of the Main household whenever they were discussing the wedding subject. Mr. Alen returned to his home and his wife, and with the rest, awaited the issue of their message.