Chapter XVII: At Myrtle Villa

"COME in! Oh, do, pray, come in! Oh, surely you were not going to pass my house without calling?"

The speaker was Miss Goodwin, who had waylaid Mrs. Mickle outside Myrtle Villa, on her way to Haresdown House. The old lady was so persistent in her request that she would "come in and have a chat" that Mrs. Mickle complied, and followed her into the pretty, rose scented parlour, the window of which commanded a view of the high road beyond the sweetbriar hedge that marked the limits of Miss Goodwin's domain.

"How nice it is to have you here!" Miss Goodwin cried, as she led her visitor to a comfortable chair, and seated herself close by. "You come to see me so seldom, and actually to-day you were going to pass without calling," she added in accents of playful reproach.

"I was going to Haresdown House—" Mrs. Mickle was beginning, when the other broke in—

"Oh, then I am so glad I stopped you, for you would have had a tiring walk for nothing! Mr. Bailey and his nephew are not at home. I saw them drive past here towards the town more than an hour ago, and I am sure they have not returned. Now, you can remain here with an easy mind, and have tea with me, can you not?"

"Yes, if you will have me, Miss Goodwin."

"Oh, that will be delightful—delightful!" the little lady exclaimed, clasping her hands childishly.

"It will be delightful for me," Mrs. Mickle said. "How pleasant and cool it is here, and how quiet!"

"A little too quiet sometimes," Miss Goodwin remarked, "more especially in the winter; though, to be sure, seldom a day passes without a visitor to cheer my solitude; and now that Haresdown House is occupied again, I can watch the going to and fro between there and the town. Often Mr. Willis comes in and talks to me; he admires my garden, you know. And that dear child, Angel, as she passes by, always looks to see if I am at one of the windows. And I must not forget to tell you that a few days ago Mr. Bailey took me for a long drive in his pony-carriage."

"I am certain you enjoyed that!"

"Oh yes! It was a real treat. He is a very careful driver, and such a kind-hearted, pleasant man!" Miss Goodwin paused momentarily whilst a slightly puzzled expression crossed her face. "I fancy life in Australia must age people," she continued thoughtfully, "for it astonishes me to see how grey Edward Bailey has grown. He looks quite elderly, does he not? But it cannot be for his age, can it? I remember him as a boy, you know!"

"I think he has worked hard all his life till quite lately, and now he is taking a well-earned rest," Mrs. Mickle said gently. "He appears to have settled down very contentedly at Haresdown House; he is evidently much attached to his nephew and the children. Does Gerald Willis come to see you as well as the others, Miss Goodwin?"

"Very seldom. I often have a visit from Gilbert, though. Has he told you, I wonder, that he is going to paint me a picture? No? He is, then. Isn't it good of him? What a clever boy he is!"

"Yes," Mrs. Mickle agreed, smiling brightly. "God has given him great abilities, and I trust he will make the best use of them."

"You, may depend upon it he will. He is not one to let his talents rust: God bless the lad!" Miss Goodwin exclaimed fervently. "Now, I will tell you a secret, and it is this. Of all my young friends, Gilbert is my favourite. Tom is a dear boy, and I'm very fond of him, but I confess I do not always understand him. He is continually laughing, and joking, and making fun. But Gilbert is different; he talks so sensibly, and knows so much about flowers and gardening, and he never laughs at me."

"Laughs at you? Oh no! Who would do that? Not Tom?"

"Certainly not Tom! But there are those who do. There's Dr. Hope's son, now! He was whispering and laughing about me when he passed here yesterday with Gerald Willis. Gerald tried to stop him, but I saw what was going on. Do you think young Hope is a suitable companion for Gerald, Mrs. Mickle?"

"I fear he is not. Look, Miss Goodwin; is not that Angel Willis passing now?"

Miss Goodwin rose from her seat, and going to the window, beckoned to Angel, who was lingering at the gate, to come in. The little girl obeyed the mute invitation, and flushed with pleasure and surprise when she entered the parlour to find Mrs. Mickle there.

"How well you look, my dear!" Mrs. Mickle said as she kissed Angel's bright face. "Isn't she looking much better than when we first knew her, Miss Goodwin?"

"Indeed she is!" the old lady answered. "Now, Angel, my dear child, you need not hurry home, as I know your father and uncle are away. Sit down and entertain Mrs. Mickle whilst I go and speak to Sarah about tea. You must stay, Angel, indeed you must!"

Without waiting for a response, Miss Goodwin flitted out of the room; and the next minute her high, piping voice was heard in the kitchen in consultation with her servant. The old lady was full of excitement and importance at having two unexpected visitors; and she was eager to give them the best she had to offer.

Meanwhile Mrs. Mickle and Angel sat in the parlour in close conversation. The former after a while mentioned Gerald's name, and inquired how he liked his companions at the Grammar School, remarking that she thought Tom did not see much of him nowadays.

"No," Angel answered hesitatingly, a slight shadow crossing her face, "Gerald is very friendly with Reginald Hope, and I think he spends most of his spare time with him; but he does not bring him to Haresdown House."

"How is that, my dear?"

"I—I scarcely know—that is—"

The little girl stopped in confusion. She was strictly truthful; but she could not tell Mrs. Mickle that she believed Gerald was afraid his father would not approve of his friendship with Reginald Hope, and that was the reason why he never invited him to Haresdown House, although he knew Mr. Bailey liked him to entertain his friends in his home. This was only what she surmised to be the real state of the case; she had drawn her own conclusions from a few incautious remarks her brother had let drop on different occasions.

"By the way," Mrs. Mickle said presently, "I want to tell you how dangerous the clay pits are, and advise you to keep away from them. I know boys often go there fishing, and if one fell in it would be almost certain death, and so—"

"Oh," Angel interposed, "Uncle Edward has forbidden us to go there. He told us all about them, how deep they are, and how a man was drowned in one of them some months ago."

"And yet Gerald does go there!" Mrs. Mickle cried involuntarily, now comprehending the reason why he had deceived his sister as to his doings on the preceding Saturday afternoon.

"What do you mean?" Angel asked quickly, her face paling. "Oh, Mrs. Mickle, surely you must be mistaken Gerald would not disobey Uncle Edward like that! Why—why—"

She paused, the anxiety and doubt on her expressive countenance giving place to a look of sad certainty.

"Oh, it is true!" she cried in great distress. "I understand it all now. That is where Gerald went on Saturday afternoon. Gilbert said he had not gone to play cricket. I noticed the clay on his boots when he came home, and—oh, dear, what shall I do? How wrong of him to disobey Uncle Edward like that, and to tell such a story too!"

"It was very wrong of him," Mrs. Mickle said gravely, "if he was my son I should punish him severely."

"But father doesn't know—oh!—you won't tell him? Oh, please, don't tell him!"

"Angel, my dear child, you have no right to shield your brother as you do. Oh, I mean it! Did it never occur to you that in glossing over Gerald's faults you yourself are acting a deceptive part? I know how you love him; and I do not encourage any one to tell tales of another, as a rule, but there are exceptional cases when it is right to speak out. Gerald has disobeyed his uncle, and been very untruthful, I fear; now such behaviour should be stopped, and—"

"I will speak to him! I will make him promise faithfully never to go near the clay pits again!" Angel cried. "He is so thoughtless! Oh, Mrs. Mickle, please, please don't say I ought to tell father! Gerald will be sorry when I point out to him how wicked he has been. And father would be so grieved! You don't understand how fond and proud he is of Gerald."

"Oh yes, I think I do! Well, I won't say you ought to tell your father—that is, if you can be certain you can persuade Gerald to keep away from the clay pits for the future. Think how terrible it would be if there was an accident! But, there," she proceeded as Angel gave a shudder of horror, "we won't contemplate that. Do believe that I have spoken to you as I have because I care for you very much—you, and Gerald too. I have a motherly interest in you both."

Angel flung her arms impetuously around her kind friend's neck, and kissed her with great affection; whilst she whispered—

"I know, I know! You are so good to me! Oh, if only mother had lived! Oh, Mrs. Mickle, you can't think how much I want her sometimes!"

"Yes, dear, I think I can," was the sympathetic response. "I am sure you and Gerald must miss her dreadfully."

"You will have such a bad opinion of Gerald now," Angel said, with a sigh of deep regret. "I'm afraid you won't like him any more."

"There you are mistaken. I think Gerald is a very lovable sort of boy, but you must not help to spoil him by hiding his faults and failings, because by doing that you are not acting truly yourself. It is often very difficult to be quite true where others are concerned; it is so very easy to blind ourselves to what is blameworthy in those dear to us. Oh, Angel, pray for Gerald. You love him very dearly, I know; but think how weak and powerless your love is compared to the infinite love of Him who died for us all. It is only by His grace, and by His Holy Spirit in our hearts, that we can do aright. Ask Jesus to help and guide you in your dealings with your brother, and He will show you how to act, and what to say."

Angel made no response, for there was a lump in her throat at that moment which prevented her speaking; but Mrs. Mickle's words, so gently and kindly uttered, impressed her greatly, and she was deeply grateful to her for the interest she evinced in Gerald, although she did not realize that it had been an effort to her to speak so plainly as she had done.

Presently Miss Goodwin returned, followed by Sarah, who laid a dainty cloth over the small square table in the centre of the room, upon which she proceeded to place a big blue jar of lovely gloire de dijon roses, and sundry little glass dishes filled with different preserves, which the former had manufactured herself from the fruit grown in her own garden. Then a plum cake was taken out of a cupboard in the sideboard, plates of thin bread and butter were put on either side of the table, Miss Goodwin hovering around, and giving directions all the while.

It would have struck many people that the old lady was making a good deal of fuss about casual visitors; but Mrs. Mickle knew how it delighted her hostess' hospitable heart to have an occasion to use her silver tea service and her best china tea set, so she sat quietly watching her move first one thing and then another on the table, until at last the silver tea urn was brought in, and Sarah declared the meal ready.

Miss Goodwin, with a guest on each side of her, took the top of the table; and in listening to her chatter, Angel forgot her troubles about Gerald for the time, and was amused and interested. Being really hungry, she made an excellent tea, much to Miss Goodwin's gratification, for the kind old soul liked to see that her visitors duly appreciated the good things she was so pleased to put before them.

Soon after the meal was over, Angel said she thought she ought to go, as no doubt her father and uncle had returned home by that time, and they would wonder at her absence. She found an opportunity to whisper, "I will remember all you said," to Mrs. Mickle before she left, and received in return an understanding pressure of the hand and a motherly embrace.

As the little girl slowly pursued her way homewards she pondered over Gerald's disobedience and the lie he had told her, and grew very low and depressed. She was not aware that her brother had ever directly lied to her before, though she knew he had often prevaricated about different matters.

"It would make father very unhappy if he thought Gerald told stories," she reflected, "and I don't think he ought to be troubled now after his having been so ill. I know the doctor told Uncle Edward father must not be worried. I'll speak to Gerald, and see what he has to say before I make up my mind what to do. I wish I knew what was right; I must ask God to show me, as Mrs. Mickle said."

In spite of her desire to shield Gerald all she could, she was very indignant with him for behaving so deceitfully. Her cheeks burnt with shame when she remembered how Gilbert had looked at her last Saturday afternoon, when she had informed him Gerald had gone to the cricket-field. She had failed to understand his surprise and hesitation at the time, but now she could understand it all even the look of embarrassment which had crossed the lame boy's tell-tale countenance when, in speaking of Gerald, she had said, "You don't think he'd tell me a story, do you?" Oh, how humiliated she felt! Of course, Gilbert had known that Gerald had told her a story, but he had not liked to say so. It was shameful of Gerald to have put her in such a position.

On reaching Haresdown House she found her father and uncle had come home, having returned by a circuitous route. Gerald was in the dining-room preparing his lessons for the morrow; but Angel did not join him. After explaining to Mr. Willis where she had been, she went upstairs to her own room and began to learn her lessons there, not wishing to encounter her brother till she felt more composed. She shed many bitter tears as she bent over her books, and consequently it took her a long while to get over her work.

The lessons finished at last, she went to the open window and stood looking out; but she saw nothing of the fair landscape, for her eyes were misty, and her mind too preoccupied to concern itself with the beauties of nature. Presently she heard her brother's voice beneath the window calling to her.

"I'm going into the orchard, Angel," he said; "will you come too?"

"Yes," she responded quickly. "I'll be with you soon."

"All right!" he shouted back as he strolled away. "Be quick; I want a talk with you."

The tears had gone from her eyes now; but her heart was throbbing painfully. She knew the time had come when she must speak to Gerald of his misdoings; and with a fervent prayer to God for help, she went soberly downstairs, and a few minutes later joined her brother in the orchard.