Miser Farebrother Volume I Part 21

"Whatever it is," said Aunt Leth, "it will be as welcome as the best. I should say, a cup of tea and some nice thin bread and b.u.t.ter."

"Yes," said poor Phoebe; "that will be all, I am afraid."

"But even that," said Aunt Leth, "will entail a small expense. Let me see your purse."

"No, aunt; it is all right; and I must go at once."

"There is no hurry, my dear; you have at least half an hour to spare.

f.a.n.n.y is going with you to the station, and she will not be ready for the next twenty minutes. Show me your purse, Phoebe."

"Aunt dear----"

"My dear child, I insist, or I shall think you do not love me."

Phoebe's purse was out in a moment; but she repented when it was in Aunt Leth's hand.

"You foolish girl!" said Aunt Leth, looking into the purse, and pinching Phoebe's cheek; "there is next to nothing in it. Come, now--it is too late, I hope, for secrets between us--tell me all."

Phoebe, in a low voice, told of the conversation between her father and herself, and of his giving her a florin for a birthday present. Aunt Leth did not look grave as she listened; on the contrary, she nodded and smiled brightly. It was not in her nature to do the slightest thing to aggravate the gloomy surroundings of the young girl's home. Her heart was filled with sweet pity for her niece's lot, and it was for her to shed light on Phoebe's life.

"My dear child," she said, "do you look upon me as a mother?"

"Indeed I do, dear aunt."

"Would you wish to vex me?"

"No, aunt; no."

"Then you must let me have my way. I know what is right and what is best. I have a little treasure-box, which I find very useful often when I am in a wilful mood. It is sometimes filled with saved pennies, and you have no idea how they mount up. Don't oppose me, Phoebe, or I will not kiss you." In proof of which she gave her niece a number of affectionate kisses at once. "I am going to my treasure-box now."

She produced it from her desk, and put fifteen shillings into Phoebe's purse. Then she closed the purse, and pressed it into the girl's hand.

"What can I say, aunt?" murmured Phoebe, her eyes filled with tears.

"Say, my dear, 'I am glad my aunt treats me as she would treat her own child.' I have served you just as I would serve f.a.n.n.y."

"I shall never be able to repay you, dear aunt."

"You are repaying me, Phoebe, every day of your life."

The grat.i.tude which filled Phoebe's heart had something sacred in it.

But, indeed, that happy house was more than a home to the young girl--it was a sanctuary.

Therefore Phoebe, unloved and neglected as she was in Parksides, was perfectly happy on the day before her birthday. She would be able to make her tea-table quite gay, and she went to the village and laid out to great advantage the money her aunt had put in her purse.

"Good afternoon, Miss Phoebe."

It was Jeremiah Pamflett who accosted her. He was on a visit to the miser, with books and papers under his arm.

"Good afternoon," said Phoebe, who was also carrying parcels. She would have hurried on and left him, after these salutations, but he was too quick for her.

"Won't you shake hands with me, Miss Phoebe?"

"I can't; they are full."

"Where there's a will there's a way. You had better shake hands with me, or your father will be angry when I tell him."

This threat served him. Phoebe managed to extend her hand, which he took and held in his for a longer time than was necessary.

"What a pretty hand you have, Miss Phoebe?"

She shrank at the compliment, and s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from his grasp. He did not take umbrage at this action, pretending not to notice it.

"We are both going home, Miss Phoebe. May I offer you my arm?"

"I can do quite well without, thank you," said Phoebe.

"And as well with. I always like to be polite to ladies; a gentleman can't do less. Let me carry a parcel or two for you. I shall tell your father that I a.s.sisted you, and he will be pleased. I do all his business for him, you know, and he has the greatest confidence in me. I do all I can to deserve it, I am sure. Thank you. Don't you feel more comfortable now? I should if I was a young lady, and a gentleman had insisted upon helping me."

Had it not been that she was fearful of angering her father, Phoebe would on no account have accepted his a.s.sistance; but he forced it upon her, and compelled her to take his arm. He walked proudly through the village with his lovely charge, tilting his hat a little on one side of his head to show his quality. Sometimes he dropped one of Phoebe's parcels, and when she once stooped to pick it up and their heads touched, he became quite merry, and asked her which was the hardest.

She spoke scarcely a word; but he beguiled the way with anecdote and jest, and, when they reached Parksides, declared it was the pleasantest walk he had ever taken. She ran up to her room and left him alone. For himself, though he was at the door of the house, he did not enter it; he turned back, and walked about the grounds in thought, saying more than once to himself, "Upon my soul it wouldn't be half a bad move!"

emphasizing his remark by slapping his leg smartly. On his way back to the house he encountered Tom Barley, and, elated by his reflections, he cried out:

"Hallo, you beggar! How are _you_ getting on? Making your fortune?"

"No," said Tom Barley; "are you?"

"Yes," said Jeremiah, exultantly. "_I'm_ getting on like a house on fire. Here's a penny--no, a ha'penny for you."

Tom Barley threw it back savagely, and it grazed Jeremiah's forehead.

"I could have you up for that," said Jeremiah, edging away from Tom.

"a.s.sault and battery, you know. If you give me any of your cheek I'll land you at the station-house."

"Give me any of yours," retorted Tom, "and I'll break every bone in your body!"

Jeremiah deemed it best to walk away, which he did rather swiftly, and with decided nervousness. Upon making his appearance before his mother he worked himself up into a great pa.s.sion, and said that Tom Barley had set upon him with a knife, and had threatened his life. She soothed him, and advised him to inform Miser Farebrother, which he promised to do; and being further mollified by a draught of ale and a plate of cold meat and pickles, he condescended to be in a better humour.

"You haven't kissed me, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett.

"Oh, bother!" he said, brushing her cheek with his lips. "I like to kiss girls. I say, mother, how pretty Phoebe's grown!"

"Miss Farebrother?" asked his mother, somewhat startled.

"I said 'Phoebe,' didn't I? She's about as pretty as they make 'em. I met her in the village, and she took my arm. A little stuck-up at first, but I soon brought her to her senses. Mother, what do you think of me?"

"You are the best son in the world," she replied, readily, "and the cleverest man in England."

"Yes, I think I can show them a trick or two. Are you proud of me, mother?"