Chapter VII

JOYCE had kept her friends and kinsfolk at The Chase fully acquainted with her improved position, and the consideration with which she was treated at Springfield Park.

"You will hardly believe it," she wrote, "but I have the most perfect home here. Mr. and Mrs. Ross treat me as a friend, and it is delightful to feel that I have their confidence and the love of my darling pupils. If I am absent from the children for awhile, they are no sooner within reach of me, than little clinging arms are clasping my neck, kisses rain on my face, each child contending which shall love me best; whilst Mrs. Ross, instead of discouraging these marks of affection, smiles with pleasure, and says, 'This is as it should be. No power can compare with the influence of love in training children.' But in this house love reigns supreme. I never thought I could be so happy again as I am now. How sweet it is to be wanted, and to have a place to fill and work to do for others."

Joyce had three correspondents at The Chase—Sarah Keene, Mr. Evans, and Adelaide. It was the latter who persisted in making her mother acquainted with Joyce's present happiness and the consideration with which she was treated.

"And," continued the daring girl, "I think Joyce ought to spend the Christmas holidays here, if she will. Shall I invite her, and say that we will try to make her happier than she was before?"

"You will do nothing of the kind," replied Mrs. Evans; "she has chosen to leave us, and if she wants to come back she will have to ask—not me."

"We were not kind to her before, mamma. I think we all feel that now," said Adelaide, glancing at her sister, who assented. "If we might have the time over again, I think we should act differently. However, if you will not ask Joyce, I should think her friend Mrs. Caruth will invite her to Fernsclough. You know how anxious she was about Cousin Joyce, and how wishful for her to stay with her altogether. No fear but Joyce will have friends to think of her at Christmas."

And with this parting remark the girl left Mrs. Evans to meditate on her suggestion.

"Really, I think every one has gone mad about Joyce since she left, though no one cared much for her when she was here. It was no fault of ours that her father died and left her a mere beggar."

"But it was our fault that she was miserable here," said Augusta. "It told against ourselves, I know, for she is our cousin, and her parents were well-born and respected by people who care little enough about us."

This was Augusta's remark, and a certain amount of worldly wisdom which pervaded it had more effect on Mrs. Evans than all Adelaide's regrets for the past neglect and unkindness experienced by Joyce when at The Chase. She began to think that, for her own sake, it might be politic to extend the shelter of its roof to her husband's niece during the holiday season.

A few days later Mrs. Evans told Adelaide that she might invite "that girl" for Christmas, if she chose. "But send no message from me," she added.

"Too late, mamma. Joyce has already declined an invitation from Mrs. Caruth, and has decided to spend Christmas in what is a true home—Springfield Park. There will be a large gathering of friends, and I hope Joyce will have as happy a season as she deserves. I wish I could look forward to one such as hers promises to be."

It was quite true that Mrs. Caruth had written to invite Joyce to spend Christmas at Fernsclough. She did this unknown to her son, and immediately after that first conversation with him on the night of his return home. She was a generous-hearted woman, and his words about Joyce had touched her deeply. She looked back over the years during which the girl's parents had been her own most trusted friends. She recalled the wise advice Mr. Mirlees had given her during her early widowhood, and to the excellent influence he had exercised over her own son.

"But for him, Alec would never have been the noble man he is to-day," she owned to herself; and she was anxious to make prompt amends for anything that had been lacking in her own conduct to Joyce. "Mine has been but a poor, half-hearted friendship," she said to herself. "I fear I thought more of consequences than of doing what my better feelings prompted for that dear orphan girl. I may be mistaken in fancying that Alec cares more for her than for other girls, but if he does, what then? He has enough, and can afford to be indifferent about fortune in a wife."

"As his father was before him."

Mrs. Caruth almost thought she heard these last words spoken, but they were only the final echo of her own thoughts. Yet they were true words, for she had been a portionless bride five-and-thirty years before, and had known the happiness of being loved only for what she was in herself. So her heart went with the invitation to Joyce, and she told the girl of her son's happy return to Fernsclough, and his wish to meet again his old pet and playmate.

When Joyce received the letter she had already promised to remain at the Park, for Mrs. Ross had told how glad they would all be to keep her with them, and to make the season a real bright holiday to her. The prospect of having their darling governess had made the children almost wild with delight. So, when Mrs. Caruth's letter came, Joyce could only send grateful thanks, and tell her what had been already decided upon.

The thought that Major Caruth might probably leave England again without her seeing him was the one cloud in what was otherwise all bright and hopeful. He had been so much to her in those old days, when she owed her chief childish pleasures to his kind thought, and was accustomed to appeal to him in every difficulty and trouble.

Yet Joyce had other memories of nearer date. She recalled that time when Alec Caruth came to Fernsclough after a long absence, during which she had changed from the merry, romping schoolgirl into the tall, slender maiden of seventeen, and she could picture his look of surprise and admiration, mingled with regret, as he said in his frank fashion—

"I was coming to meet my child-friend, and, alas! I have lost her, and find that I have to make acquaintance with a new Joyce Mirlees, who has grown-up to young ladyhood in a most objectionable manner during my absence."

She had laughed at his rueful face, and taken his arm to be led in to dinner, instead of dancing into the room holding by his hand, as in former days. She had noticed a little change in Mrs. Caruth's manner from that day—a sort of reserve towards herself and watchfulness over her son, as if she were a little jealous of his attentions to her. And her father had seemed to want her more, and kept her by his side at times, when formerly she had been accustomed to run over to Fernsclough and spend hours together with Mrs. Caruth, always receiving from her a motherly welcome.

"She has her son now, Joyce," he would say. "She will not want my little girl from me so much, and I shall be so glad to have more of your company."

Joyce could recall how, at length, the conviction dawned upon her that the old, free intercourse between her and Alec Caruth must be deemed a thing of the past—dead and buried with her childhood. Also that Mrs. Caruth, whilst still as kind and motherly as ever, did not express regret at her absence when she had stayed away longer than usual, or urge her to come more frequently, until she was once more left alone by the departure of her son.

Then Joyce's pride took alarm, and she did not respond quite readily to the renewed invitations of Mrs. Caruth, though she was most careful not to allow her feelings to be suspected. On the contrary, her manner was perfectly frank and natural as she replied—

"Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Caruth, but my father really requires my help more than he did. He finds that I can now be of some use to him, and I am quite proud to feel that he misses me when I leave him. I fear I used to leave him too much alone, for Fernsclough had so many charms for me, thanks to your great kindness. But there is something else. I am supposed to have finished my education and to be a grown-up girl, but really I am only just finding out how ignorant I am, so my father is going to let me read with him, that I may gain more information, instead of losing the little already acquired."

Joyce remembered that conversation with Mrs. Caruth, and how, after it, she had gone less to Fernsclough, until the time of her great trouble came. Then her old friend had been constant in her attentions to the dear father, and full of sympathy with herself. Her uncle's arrival had taken her out of Mrs. Caruth's hands, and they had drifted widely apart from each other during the last nine months.

This unexpected invitation to spend Christmas at Fernsclough, and with it the direct news of Major Caruth's presence there, seemed to say, "Forget that I raised a barrier between you and ourselves. Come back to Fernsclough, and take again your old place. Rejoice with me in having my son here once more, and be to us both, what you were during those happy years long ago."

Joyce had answered the letter with a somewhat heavy heart, whilst feeling angry with herself that she could be anything but glad at the prospect of staying at Springfield Park for Christmas.

"Before your kind letter came, I had promised to remain here," she wrote. "Indeed, I felt only too happy at the thought of being allowed to stay, and did not dream of receiving any other invitation. You will know, dear Mrs. Caruth, that I would rather spend Christmas at Fernsclough than in any other place in the world, for, though Welton and its neighbourhood are associated with the greatest sorrows of my life, all its joyful memories are bound up with them also. Thank God these are so many!"

"I should dearly love to go in and out of the cottages, and see my old friends there, but it cannot be. I have promised Mrs. Ross; the children count on my staying; I am pledged to help here in everything that I used to have a finger in at Welton. I can only thank you again and again, and wish you every joy that the word Christmas can suggest. The presence of Major Caruth will make amends for the absence of all others. I do rejoice that he will be at Fernsclough for Christmas, especially as he has so often been away at that season. Nevertheless, I hope you will both miss me a little, as I have never before been absent from Welton at Christmas. Please give him my kind remembrances and all imaginable good wishes."

"I think you will be pleased to know that my cousin, Adelaide Evans, has also written to ask me to The Chase, and this, too, with her mother's knowledge and, to some extent, approbation. I am glad of this, and the letter has set me thinking and wondering whether I was as kind and as considerate as I might have been when under my uncle's roof. I went to The Chase almost a stranger, and I fear I was more ready to look for slights than to expect kindness. The very fact that my cousin Adelaide sought me out as she did, met me more than half-way in sympathy and friendship, and has continued ever since my affectionate relative, correspondent, and friend, proves that I was harsh in my judgment, and unnecessarily proud. My aunt was not kind, and I was very desolate; nevertheless, if I had to live over again those months at The Chase, I believe I should act very differently, and try more to merit and to win the love of those around me."

"All recent circumstances have been made to work together for my good in a manner that I neither hoped for nor deserved. I trust the memory of mercies received will make me more thankful, trustful, and humble in the future."

The letter contained allusions to old Welton friends, and other matters which need not be repeated.

Mrs. Caruth closed it with mingled feelings of pleasure and disappointment. She was glad of all the good that had come to Joyce, and of the glimpse of the girl's heart which it gave her. But she was honestly sorry that she could not come to Fernsclough, for, having made up her mind to ask Joyce, she really wanted her.

Mrs. Caruth told her son what she had done, and had her reward in seeing the lighting up of his face, and in feeling herself drawn to his side by an embracing arm.

"Thanks, little mother," said he, then bent down and kissed her. "You have carried out the thought that came into my own mind after we were talking of Joyce the other evening. It would have brought back old times most delightfully if she could have come to us, but seeing she is obliged to refuse, we must make all the more of each other. One thing, however, I should like to do. You know how Joyce thought of all the poor folk at Christmas time, and stirred up the richer ones to give of their abundance, so that there might be a cheery fireside and a well-spread table in every cottage. You can tell me just how she managed this, and whom she helped. We will do it this year, and tell the people that we act for their old friend and pastor, Mr. Mirlees, and for Joyce. They will miss her face as we shall, little mother, but they shall miss nothing else, and still, as in old times, many a voice will pray, 'May God bless Miss Joyce, and give her a happy Christmas, and many more to follow it!'"

"It is a good thought, Alec, and we will carry it out together. I will write and tell Joyce, and that it was your suggestion. Or would you like to write yourself?"

"Thanks, no; you shall write, and put in all the kind wishes you can think of on my behalf," which decision perplexed Mrs. Caruth not a little. She had quite expected an eager affirmative response when she proposed that Alec should write to Joyce, and was somewhat disappointed at his matter-of-fact refusal.

Could it be that, after all, Joyce was only thought of as the child-friend of her son's youthful days? Contradictory as this may seem, Mrs. Caruth was quite prepared to be indignant, should this prove to be the case, and to ask what he could want in a wife which he would not find in Joyce? Also, where should she meet one whom she would so gladly welcome as a daughter?

This second letter from Mrs. Caruth delighted Joyce, as may well be imagined. One of her troubles in connection with the coming season had been caused by the thought of her poor friends at Welton. The new clergyman had a delicate wife and a family of young children. He could not take up Joyce's old work, and there was no one else to step into the gap and do it.

Joyce one day accompanied Mrs. Ross in a drive to town, and while she was buying Christmas gifts for her friends and household, the girl strolled through the market, crowded to overflowing with everything suggestive of good cheer. She asked prices, and began to calculate how many dinners the utmost amount she could spare would purchase for some of her poorest friends at Welton. She had already occupied her spare moments in making a number of pretty and useful articles for them.

Joyce sighed as she said to herself—

"The most I can do is so little when compared with their need and my desire to help them; but I must do my best and leave the rest."

Now she knew that all would be remembered, and was thankful on their behalf, whilst again and again the memory of one sentence in Mrs. Caruth's letter brought a bright flush to her cheek.

"Alec bade me tell you that none for whom you cared shall be forgotten, and all will know that they owe their Christmas dinners this year to your loving thought and labour in former seasons. I am sure the good cheer will taste twice as good when it is known that you, dear Joyce, though absent, have your full share in its distribution."

"I should be wicked and ungrateful indeed, if I could cherish a single discontented thought," she said to herself; and she worked cheerfully on, completing her little presents. To each article she attached a short note and a card painted by her own hand, for Joyce was no mean artist, and could use pencil and brush with considerable skill.

There was something for each friend at Welton, Mrs. Caruth included; something for all at Springfield Park, for though Joyce had not found time to do so much during her residence there, she had brought with her many pretty articles, on which she had occupied what would otherwise have been weary days at The Chase.

There was only one friend to whom no Christmas gift was addressed, and that was Major Caruth.