The Old Pincushion Part 11

Miss Clotilda's memory could not help her.

'Perhaps you will think of it afterwards,' she said.

And probably Kathie would have done so, had it not happened that her aunt had that morning, while the children were out, closed and locked the old cupboard in the little girl's room. So there was nothing to remind her of what she had been on the point of asking Miss Clotilda about Mrs. Wynne's old pincushions.

CHAPTER VIII.

NEWS FROM PHILIPPA.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative T]

he next two or three days pa.s.sed most pleasantly. The weather, as if to make up for its bad behaviour on the day of their journey, was particularly fine, and the children were out from morning till night.

Old Martha thought privately to herself that it was a good thing the neighbours were so kind, for they were even 'better than their word,' in sending all sorts of good things to Ty-gwyn for the Captain's children, as Neville and Kathleen's appet.i.tes, thanks to the change of air and the sea breezes, were really rather alarming. And Miss Clotilda was so perfectly happy to see them both so bright and well, that she tried to banish all painful thoughts as much as she could.

Still they were _there_; and when the poor lady was alone in her room at night, it was often more than she could do to restrain her tears. For the happier the children were, the more she learned to love them, the more bitterly, as was natural, did she feel the disappointment of not being able to hope to see much more of them. But she said little or nothing of her feelings, and the children--Kathie especially--little suspected their depth. Kathie was living entirely in the present; she but rarely gave a thought to the ideas Philippa had suggested. And Neville, though less carelessly light-hearted and forgetful, was slower both of thought and speech. He could see nothing to be done, and for some time he rather shrank from coming upon the subject with his aunt.

It came to be spoken of at last, however, and this was how it happened.

One morning, about the fourth or fifth of their visit, old John Parry, with a great air of importance, as if he were doing her a special service, handed to Kathleen a rather fat letter, addressed to herself.

'You see, miss, to be sure I never make no mistakes,' he said.

For he was quite aware that Miss Clotilda still in her heart, somehow or other, a.s.sociated him with the mysterious loss of Neville's letter, and he wished to keep up his dignity in the eyes of the stranger young lady.

'Oh yes, thank you,' said Kathie, not quite knowing what else to say.

For in London one's personal acquaintance with the postman--or post_men_, rather--is necessarily of the slightest.

'What a comical old fellow he is!' she said to herself, as she ran off.

'I daresay he did lose the letter, after all. How amused Phil would be at the people here, and the funny way they talk! Dear old Phil! I wonder what she has got to say, and what she has written such a long letter about?' For the moment she got it in her hand she recognised little Philippa's careful, childish handwriting on the envelope.

'Aren't you coming out, Kathie?' Neville called out from some mysterious depths, where he was absorbed in arranging his fishing-tackle.

'Not yet. I've got a long letter from Philippa. You'll find me in the library if you look in in a few minutes.'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

And in a comfortable corner of the deep window seat Kathie established herself to enjoy Philippa's budget. It was in the library that Miss Clotilda and the children spent most of their time. The drawing-room was a more formal and less cosy room, and the library gave old Martha less to do in the way of dusting and daily putting to rights. It was a dear old room, filled with books from floor to ceiling, many of them doubtless of little value, others probably of great worth in a connoisseur's eyes--had connoisseurs ever come to Ty-gwyn--for all were old, very old.

'How Philippa would like this room!' thought Kathie to herself. 'Phil is like Neville; she's far more sentimental and poetical, and all that sort of thing, than I am. I do hope she's enjoying her holidays.'

She opened the envelope as she spoke. Out tumbled another letter, closed, addressed, and stamped, but which had evidently never been through the post. It was Neville's letter to Miss Clotilda!

'Oh!' Kathie e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

Then she turned to Philippa's own letter. It was dated, 'Cheltenham,'

and she began, child fashion, by telling that she had got there safe, and she hoped Kathleen and her brother had got to Ty-gwyn safe, and that they were both quite well. Then she went on with rather doleful news.

Her poor grandmother was ill; she had been taken ill the very night Philippa came, and though she was a little better the doctor said she would not be well for a long time, and she was to go away somewhere for change of air. Philippa was not allowed to see her, and her uncle did not know what to do, but he had told Philippa he was afraid she would have to go back to school, and stay there for the rest of the holidays.

'Uncle is kind, but he doesn't know how awful it will be,'

wrote the poor little girl;

'and I don't like to tell him, because he is so troubled about grandmamma. It is most because you won't be there, dear Kathie.

That Wednesday was as long as a week, when you had gone. I am afraid I am to go in three or four days. Uncle will take me. Do write quick to poor little Phil, _and don't' forget your promise_.'

Then came a postscript, Philippa having evidently been too absorbed by her own woes to think of anything else while she was writing the letter.

'I found this letter in your old serge frock pocket--the one that was too shabby to take with you. I meant to send it to you before, but I wasn't sure how to write the address; you wrote it on such a sc.r.a.p of paper. I will keep this till to-night, and ask uncle to help me. I hope it won't matter, for as you are there your aunt won't need letters from you. I was feeling in your pocket for my new bit of india-rubber that I lent you, but it wasn't there.'

Kathie sat quite still for a minute or two after reading all this. Then she took up Neville's letter and looked at it vaguely.

'Yes,' she said to herself, 'I must have slipped it into my pocket, meaning to have it posted with my own note to Neville. How careless of me! and to think how I went on about aunty not meeting us at the station.'

It was a good lesson for Kathie. The softening process had begun, and she was already ashamed to remember the way in which she had spoken of Miss Clotilda. And she was not a little mortified at now finding that she, and she alone, had been to blame. But Kathleen was courageous and honest. After a moment or two's hesitation, she got up and marched off, letters in hand, to the dining-room, where she knew she should find her aunt at that time of day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'LOOK, IT'S NEVER BEEN POSTED AT ALL!']

'Aunty,' she said, and Miss Clotilda looked up from the fine old damask tablecloth she was carefully darning--she prided herself on her darning, and though the table-linen, as well as everything else, was Mr.

Wynne-Carr's now, she would not on that account relax in her carefulness--'Aunty, I've got something to tell you. It wasn't old John Parry's fault about that letter, nor anybody's but mine. Look,' and she held it up, 'it's never been posted at all;' and she went on to explain to Miss Clotilda how it had been found. 'I am so sorry,' she said at the end.

Just then Neville came in. 'I have been looking everywhere for you, Kathie,' he said; and then the story had to be told to him again.

'I am sorry,' Kathie repeated, 'and ashamed,' she added, in a lower voice, and Neville saw that the tears were quivering on her eyelids. He understood.

'Poor dear child,' said Miss Clotilda, 'you shouldn't take it to heart so. It'll be a little lesson to you to be more careful about such things; will it not, dear?'

'Yes, indeed,' said Kathleen. She could not tell her kind aunt why she felt it so much--it would have been wrong to pain her by repeating the naughty, foolish things she had said of her--and this in itself made the impression still deeper.

'And the little girl--your friend who has written to you--is she not the same one you were speaking of the other day?' asked Miss Clotilda, to change the subject.

'Yes, aunty; and oh, I am so sorry for her! May I tell you what she says?' And Kathie read aloud Philippa's letter.

'Poor little girl!' said Miss Clotilda. 'What does she mean by asking you at the end not to forget your promise?'

'Oh,' said Kathleen, 'she's a little silly about that. She--I told her about the will, aunty--you don't mind? I didn't tell any one else'--

'It matters very little,' said Miss Clotilda. 'There is no secret about it. Everybody here knows the whole story. But what was your promise?'

'Phil had an idea that n.o.body had looked enough--for the will, or for the letter telling where it was to be found,' said Kathleen. 'She said she was sure _she_ would think of new places to look in if she were here, and she made me promise to try. But--I am sure you have looked everywhere, aunty--it would seem impertinent of Neville and me to try to look.'

'Not that, my dear,' said Miss Clotilda, 'but really and truly there is nowhere else to look. Do you know we have taken down and shaken every book in the library? A man, accustomed to such things, came on purpose.

I have thought about the letter of directions too, but it is much less likely to be found than the will itself. It would be so small. If Mrs.

Wynne had not given me the envelope containing the blank paper, so very shortly before her death, I should have begun to think that she had changed her mind and made no will at all. And yet--it was so unlike her.

No, I feel sure the blank paper was put in by mistake.'