Black, White and Gray Part 20

He was small and thin, just about Dennis's age, and he was certainly poor, for his clothes were old and shabby. Who was he? If he were a boy in the garden at Fieldside, she went on to reflect, Dennis and Maisie would know his name, and where he lived, and how many brothers and sisters he had, and what his father earned a week, and how long he had left school. Why should she not make these inquiries, and afterwards, perhaps, she could give him some new clothes, and some money to buy sweets. Then he would be grateful, as Tuvvy was to Dennis, and be willing to do all sorts of things for her. Suddenly, fired by this resolve, she jumped off the window-seat, intent on running down into the garden, when Miss Mervyn came into the room.

"Well, my dear Philippa," she said kindly, "have you enjoyed your visit?"

"Very much," answered Philippa ungraciously. "I hate coming home.

There's nothing to do."

"Oh, come," said Miss Mervyn, with an air of forced cheerfulness, "you mustn't say that, with all these things to amuse you. Have you wound up the musical box?"

"I don't care for it," said Philippa, with as much disdain as the kitten had shown for the clockwork mouse.

Miss Mervyn's glance fell upon Blanche, who was washing her face delicately with the tip of one paw.

"How pleased the kitten must have been to see you again!" she remarked.

"You're just as wrong as you can be about that," said Philippa decidedly. "She wasn't a bit pleased, and I believe she'd rather go back to the stable."

"Well, to be sure, it _is_ the proper place for her, isn't it?" agreed Miss Mervyn, with a look of relief; "and I daresay she's really happier there."

"But, all the same, I don't mean to let her go," added Philippa; "I shall keep her with me more than ever, and teach her to be very fond of me."

"Where are you going, my dear? it is just tea-time," asked Miss Mervyn, as Philippa left the room hurriedly after this remark.

"Into the garden," Philippa called back. "You needn't come," and she ran down-stairs as fast as she could. Her mind was so set upon doing good to the poor boy in the garden, that it did not once strike her that there was some one nearer home to whom she ought to be kind. Poor Miss Mervyn! How often Philippa worried her with her whims and naughtiness, and yet how patient and good she was! But that seemed natural to Philippa. It would have been quite as strange for Miss Mervyn to be cross and selfish, as for Blanche the kitten to be meek and well-behaved.

When Philippa reached the spot where the boy knelt, hard at work, she came to a standstill, and hardly knew how to begin the conversation. It would have been easier if he had looked up, or seemed aware of her presence; but his whole attention was so fixed on getting out the weeds with his knife, that he evidently had not heard her approach.

"Good afternoon, little boy," she began condescendingly at last.

The boy raised a hot face, and touched his ragged cap. He was much taller and bigger than Philippa herself but it seemed right to her to call him "little boy."

"Who are you?" was her first question. "I've never seen you before."

"I'm the new gardener's boy, miss," he answered; "I ain't been here long."

Philippa looked down at him, wondering what she should say next.

"Are you," she began hesitatingly, after a moment's pause--"are you very poor?"

The boy seemed a little puzzled. He sat back on his heels, and sc.r.a.ped the gravel thoughtfully from the blade of his knife.

"We ain't near so bad off as some in Upwell," he said at last; "but we could do with a little more sometimes, now that Becky's so bad."

"Oh, you live at Upwell, do you?" said Philippa; "and who is Becky, and why is she bad?"

"She's my sister, miss," answered the boy, "and she's had a fall and hurted her back. She can't run about, and hasn't not for ever so long.

It's very hard on Becky. She was always one to like running about."

"Won't she ever get well?" asked Philippa, drawing a little nearer, and speaking with real interest.

"The doctor says she will, if so be she keeps quiet a bit longer, and has lots of nourishing things," replied the boy.

"Why doesn't she have them, then?" asked Philippa.

The boy cast down his eyes. "Well, you see, miss, up to now things has been a bit orkerd. Father didn't always bring home much, and I was at school. But that'll be different now, and I expect we'll get along fine."

At this moment Miss Mervyn appeared from the house. She carried Philippa's broad hat, a parasol, and a small knitted shawl, and came hastening up rather breathless.

"My dear child," she exclaimed, "no hat, nothing to shield you from the sun, and nothing over your shoulders! You will most certainly be ill!"

She put the hat on Philippa's head, and the shawl round her neck, as she spoke. "Your tea is ready," she continued, with a puzzled glance at the boy, who had fallen busily to work again.

Philippa made no other answer than a sharp backward drive with her elbow, which nearly hit Miss Mervyn in the face as she stooped anxiously over her. Then she continued hurriedly to the boy:

"What's your name, and where do you live in Upwell? I mean to go and see your sister, and take her some nourishing things."

"Thank you, miss," murmured the boy shyly; "my name's Dan Tuvvy, and we live at Number 10 Market Street."

"Then," said Philippa, "it's your father, I suppose, that works for Mr Solace?"

Dan nodded.

"And it was my cousin Dennis," continued Philippa, with a superior air, "who was so very good to him, you know, and took so much trouble to persuade Mr Solace not to turn him away. You ought to be very grateful, you know, to my cousin Dennis."

Dan, who had not once looked up since Miss Mervyn's appearance, now seemed suddenly startled out of his shyness. He raised a face so glowing with pleasure and affection at the mention of Dennis's name, that he was almost like another boy.

"Well, we are, miss," he said earnestly, "just about--Becky, and me, and mother too," he added, as an after-thought. "We'd do anything for Master Dennis. And I'm pleased to hear, miss, as how you're his cousin, because p'r'aps you'll tell him so."

His dark eyes brightened as he spoke, and his cheeks flushed. Philippa, surprised at the sudden change, stood looking at him silently for a minute. How fond every one is of Dennis! she thought.

"I'll tell him what you say when I see him again," she said; "and you must remember to tell your sister that I'm coming to see her, and bring her some nourishing things."

"Thank you, miss," said Dan, dropping into his old shy manner again, as he touched his cap and bent over his weeding. He did not seem overcome with pleasure at the idea of Philippa's visit, and she felt a little disappointed, but she had been interested in his talk; and as she went back to the house with Miss Mervyn, her mind was so full of it, that she felt obliged to tell her all about Tuvvy and Dennis, and her own plans for Becky's benefit. Miss Mervyn listened attentively, and though she was not equal to Maisie and Dennis as a companion, Philippa was surprised to find how well she entered into the matter, and what good suggestions she could make. During tea-time, which pa.s.sed much more pleasantly than usual, she found a great many questions to ask.

"Why do you suppose Dan looked so very pleased when I talked about Dennis?" she inquired.

"I suppose because he is a grateful little boy," answered Miss Mervyn.

"Do people aways look like that when they are grateful?" said Philippa.

"Will his sister look like that when I take her the nourishing things?"

"Perhaps she will," said Miss Mervyn; "but, my dear Philippa, it is not only giving people things that makes them grateful."

"What does, then?" asked Philippa, with a stare of surprise.

"Well, I think kindness and love make people more grateful than rich gifts. Your cousin Dennis liked Tuvvy, and took a great deal of trouble for him. That was better than giving him a great deal of money."

Philippa thought this over a little.

"But," she said at length, "I can't possibly like Dan's sister Becky yet, you know, because I've never seen her."