Aunt Judith Part 9

"Let me think," replied Winnie. She leaned forward towards the table, drooped her head slowly on her little white hands, and then the struggle began--the struggle between good and evil, between the paths of right and wrong.

"Just this once," she murmured yearningly--"only this once;" and as she strove and wrestled inwardly, it seemed as if two figures stole silently to her side and stood with earnest eyes watching the weary battle. "I'll never do it again," she muttered, "but--only to say good-bye;" and at this the dark figure smiled triumphantly, while the white, spotless one listened with saddening eyes.

This was no mean struggle in which Winnie was engaged. Many a one had fallen under a lesser temptation; for a visit to Aunt Judith meant much, oh so much, to her. There was something in the atmosphere of Dingle Cottage that raised the young girl to a loftier, purer standard; something that made her yearn after what was good and holy, and stirred up the childish heart to reach after the things which belong unto our peace. She would never feel so again. How could she, when there was none to guide her in the paths of right--none to tell how she might weave a golden sunshine into her life, and leave lingering tracks of light behind her? All these thoughts pa.s.sed through her childish brain as she sat with low bowed head and aching heart, thinking and struggling, oh so wearily. At length the contest was ended; and turning to d.i.c.k with a look of firm determination on her face, Winnie said briefly, "I will go." So the struggle was over, and the dark figure reigned triumphant, while the white-robed one stole weeping away.

"Write and let Nellie know then," replied d.i.c.k, preparing to leave the room. "I am going off to skate with Archie Trollope, and can post your letter on my way to the pond if you choose."

Winnie opened her desk--a birthday gift--and her heart smote her as she wrote in a crude, girlish hand:--

"_December 27th, 18--_.

"MY DEAR NELLIE,--I shall come and spend Wednesday afternoon with you all at Dingle Cottage. If suitable, do not trouble replying to this scribble.--

Your loving friend, WINNIE M. BLAKE."

"There," she said, sealing the envelope and handing it to her brother, "I have written; and you--you will come for me at night, d.i.c.k."

"Of course I shall, Win," answered the boy, looking down with wistful, loving eyes on his favourite sister, "and we shall have a jolly time for once. Put all gloomy thoughts aside, old girl, and let us be happy while we may." With that he treated her to a rough, hearty embrace, making teasing remarks at the same time about boiled gooseberry eyes and swollen lids; then giving one parting hug, marched out of the room, and a few minutes after the loud clanging of the hall-door intimated that Master Richard Blake had gone out for the day.

The afternoon was spent by Winnie in driving with her step-mother, who tried in many pleasant ways to atone for the morning's harshness; and so well did she succeed that the little girl's heart ached sorely and quailed at the remembrance of the deceit she was practising. But, she would never do it again, no, never again, and only this once could not be such a very great sin.

So the time pa.s.sed, and Wednesday came at last, a true winter's day, with snow-mantled earth and keen, hard frost.

"Don't be late in coming for me, d.i.c.k," was Winnie's parting injunction, as he saw her safely into the 'bus. "I shall expect you soon after tea." And the boy promised.

The little sister looked after him as he strode briskly away. "What a dear, kind brother he is!" she murmured lovingly. "How should I manage without him? Good old d.i.c.k. He is all the world to me." And the boy, tramping along the slippery streets with giant steps, was muttering--"Poor Win! she will fret very much at first, and I shall miss her sorely; but it can't be helped--I must run away."

Meanwhile the 'bus, whirling rapidly through the busy streets, stopped in due time at Broomhill Road, and Winnie, alighting with flushed, expectant face, found Nellie awaiting her eagerly.

"How good of you to come, dear! and how pretty you look!" she said, kissing her little guest affectionately. "I was so pleased to get your note on Monday evening."

"You cannot guess how glad I am to be here, Nellie," replied Winnie simply, slipping her hand through her friend's arm as they walked rapidly along the quiet road. "Your home seems like an Eden to me, and spending a few hours with you all there one of my greatest pleasures."

After this both tongues went merrily till Dingle Cottage was reached, and Winnie stood once more in the snug parlour, listening to the hearty welcomes which fell so pleasantly on her ears. The tiny home wore its usual air of cosy comfort, and the faces of its inmates seemed positively to shine with happiness and content. Aunt Debby's chubby countenance was all aglow, and Aunt Meg's peevish visage, having apparently caught the reflex of her smile, looked very fair and sweet as the invalid turned it brightly towards the youthful visitor.

"A thousand welcomes, child!" cried Miss Deborah delightedly, drawing Winnie to her ample bosom, and treating the girl to a hearty hug (the word, though not eloquent, is singularly expressive); "it is good to see your pretty face again. This is Aunt Meg," pointing to the invalid. "I do not think you have ever met her before." Then Winnie was obliged to cross over to the sofa and shake the thin white hand that looked so small and fragile.

"Is your brother coming for you at night, dear?" inquired Miss Latimer, turning from her seat by the window and giving the young guest a tender, loving glance in answer to a certain wistful look cast in her direction.

"Oh yes; he promised," replied Winnie a.s.suredly. Then with a little burst of vehemence--"Dear Aunt Judith, I wish to enjoy myself so very, very much to-day, and be ever so happy."

All looked startled at the pa.s.sion in the girl's voice, with the exception of Aunt Debby, who viewed everything in a practical light.

"So, so! very good indeed," she said, knitting industriously, and with added vigour. "We'll do our best to gratify your wish, child; and one ought to be specially happy at this season of the year, I suppose."

The talk then became general, and Aunt Meg, laying aside her fretful voice for the time being, wakened up and became the life of the small party, chatting in such a pretty, graceful manner, and seeming altogether so full of animation, that Winnie wondered if this could really be the cross, peevish invalid Nellie had so often described.

Ere long, however, she learned that appearances are sometimes deceitful, and that a gentle face and plaintive air can often be a.s.sumed as occasion warrants. It so happened that just as Miss Deborah was preparing to see about the tea the postman's knock sounded at the door, and one of the dear home-letters was handed to Nellie.

"Please excuse me," she said to Winnie, breaking the seal and commencing to read; "the children have been ill with scarlet fever, and I am anxious to know if they are better."

The sheets were large and closely written, consequently some little time was spent over them; but at length the last word was read, and then Nellie, replacing the letter in its envelope, said with a happy smile, "Mother writes the little ones are improving daily, and she thinks they will soon be quite well. She sends you all her love, and is glad to hear Aunt Meg is feeling so much stronger. She hopes, if the improvement continues, to see either you, Aunt Judith, or Aunt Debby home with me in the summer-time."

The invalid's face darkened, and Miss Deborah's merry orbs twinkled ominously. Nothing suited Miss Margaret better than to pose as a saintly sufferer, burdened day by day with a weary load of never-ceasing pain. It was wonderfully pleasant at times to a.s.sume the _role_ of the patient martyr, and talk of lonely days and nights borne without murmuring. But once hint at any visible improvement, once mention an increase of colour on the pallid cheeks or a clearer light in the dimmed eyes, and Aunt Meg's wrath knew no bounds. Having fathomed this secret in the invalid's nature, we can readily understand the twinkle lurking in Aunt Debby's...o...b.. as she scented the coming storm.

"Who told you I was feeling better, Nellie?" demanded Miss Margaret; and Winnie started at the anger in the voice, only a few minutes since so soft and gentle. "Who gave you authority to utter--to write such a falsehood? Better!" (with infinite scorn), "and my poor frame racked with such excruciating pain. Do you imagine, because a load is borne with unmurmuring patience, that the weight is gradually lessening and the burden will soon be lifted? Answer me at once. Who dared to tell you I was much stronger?"

Nellie's amazement was extreme, but she replied quietly, while Winnie sat by Miss Latimer's side, every fibre of her mischievous nature quivering with thorough enjoyment. "I only said what I believed to be true, Aunt Meg. You have been looking better, and I heard Aunt Judith telling a lady the other week that there was a very marked improvement lately, and that she was thankful to be able to say so."

Miss Margaret cast a withering glance at Miss Latimer's quiet face.

"That is all in a piece with the rest of Judith's stinginess," she observed sneeringly. "I know only too well why she speaks of being thankful. Were I to regain my wonted strength, there would naturally be less nourishing food required and fewer doctor's bills. Oh! I only wish I could honestly say I feel a daily increase of health; but, alas!

the very thought of being a heavy burden and viewed in the light of a constant nuisance helps to weaken and keep me low."

At this point Nellie drew Winnie towards the window and tried to engage her in conversation; while Aunt Debby, lowering her voice, muttered, audibly enough, however, for the girls to hear, "Don't make a fool of yourself, Meg, and talk such utter rubbish."

The invalid's rage increased, and she was about to make some rejoinder, when Miss Latimer interposed. "Hush, Margaret," said the quiet, gentle voice; "for my sake do not speak so before the children. You know perfectly well, dear, you are wilfully misinterpreting my words. I am only too happy to be able to gladden your life in any way."

But the invalid refused to be pacified.

"Ah! I understand you, Judith. You do not wish to have your true character exposed to the public. It suits you to pose as the saint abroad, I suppose, and--" but here Miss Latimer interrupted her.

"Margaret," she replied firmly, "you must either be silent or leave the room. I cannot listen to such conversation in the presence of our guest; and if you refuse to comply one way or the other, I shall be obliged to send the girls into my study."

"Oh no! not at all," returned Aunt Meg, her voice suddenly a.s.suming the most plaintive, martyr-like tone; "the house does not belong to me.--Debby, will you a.s.sist me to my bedroom? and--no, Judith, I could not think of troubling you; but perhaps Nellie would help her poor aunt for once."

Now all this time Winnie had been enjoying the tragic scene immensely, and shaking inwardly with suppressed laughter, greatly to Nellie's distress.

"Oh, be quiet, Win; she will hear you," whispered the girl hurriedly, as a low ripple of laughter was hastily smothered by a mock cough. But the warning came too late. Aunt Meg caught the choking sound and in a moment the saintly expression on her face gave place to one of intense rage and indignation. This sudden transformation was too much for Winnie's risible faculties. The whole affair struck her in such a comical light that she lost all control over herself, and, with a wild burst of stifled laughter fled hastily from the parlour to Nellie's bedroom, where that young lady quickly followed.

"Close the door--close the door, Nell!" gasped Winnie, holding her handkerchief to her mouth and vainly endeavouring to suppress the laughter. "I know it's dreadfully wicked to behave in this manner, but I can't help myself," and off the child went again; while Nellie, unable to resist, joined in the merry peal. When both stopped at length, the tears were running down their cheeks, at the sight of which Winnie nearly repeated the performance. "This is awful," she panted, wiping her eyes and fanning her hot cheeks violently; "but when I begin to laugh I must just continue till I have emptied all the laughter out of me: then I am all right. No, Nellie, do not go away yet; wait till I am quite calm."

Before Nellie could reply, Aunt Debby opened the door, and looking in shook her head admonishingly. "I should like to know if you are not both ashamed of yourselves," she said severely; but there was laughter lurking in her eyes and playing about the corners of her lips which belied the severity of her words. Winnie jumped up, and throwing her arms round the good lady's neck, replied, "I have been very rude and naughty, dear Miss Deborah; but indeed I did not mean any harm," and she held up her rosy mouth for a kiss of pardon.

"There, there, it's all right, child. I understand. Come down to the parlour now; tea is ready." And with that, active, cheery Aunt Debby trotted away, leaving the two culprits to follow at their leisure.

CHAPTER XI.

"IT IS SO HARD TO SAY GOOD-BYE."

When Nellie and Winnie re-entered the parlour they found the table spread, Aunt Debby seated as usual before the urn, and Miss Latimer standing by the window gazing up at the murky sky, where the leaden clouds predicted a gathering snowstorm. Winnie ran up to her. "Aunt Judith," she said humbly, "I am very much ashamed of myself; please forgive me."

Miss Latimer patted the upraised face, and the pained look died out of her eyes. "Never mind, child," she replied pleasantly; "it is all right. I understand" (as the girl still looked anxious); "I know you had no thought of grieving us."

So the subject was dropped, and once more they gathered round the simple board whereon every dainty was displayed with such charming taste. There, tongues loosened and the merry chatting recommenced, while Winnie's spirits rose wonderfully. Putting from her with a strong determined will every sad thought and the burden of grief so new for her to bear, she laughed and talked, the gayest of the gay--speaking in her own quaint style, and laughing her own clear ripple of silvery laughter.