Chapter IV: Laying Our Plans

THE journey and the excitement of my arrival had exhausted me more than I imagined. I woke the next morning with a terrible headache and was unable to leave my bed all day. Nor could I quit my room on the following day, but when it was over, I enjoyed such a long, restful night as I had not known for months.

On the following morning I felt like a new creature, and by mid-day I was seated by the fire in the dining-room, enjoying a glass of delicious milk and such sponge cake as was never bought in London, for aunt's cook had made it specially for me.

The windows of the dining-room looked on to the large garden at the back of the house. With its fruit trees, strawberry bed, and wealth of flowers it was a delightful place in summer, but when presently I moved to the window and stood looking out for a few minutes, I found that in winter it did not lack charm. The early morning had been grey, but now the sun was breaking through the clouds, and each leaf and blade of grass, gemmed by hoar-frost, glittered gloriously beneath its rays. Aunt Patty never failed to spread crumbs for the birds on cold mornings, and I was amused to watch the movements of the thrushes, blackbirds and starlings which came in search of these, and occasionally quarrelled over her bounty.

A long stretch of lawn ran through the garden, and a few years before, not without some grumbling from Uncle George, aunt had instituted lawn-tennis for the benefit of her young friends. There was room, too, for croquet and bowls, so Aunt Patty's guests need not lack outdoor diversion in fine weather.

As I turned from the window I heard the house door open, and the next moment auntie came into the room wearing her bonnet and cloak. I had not seen her since I came downstairs. The servant who brought me the milk told me that her mistress had gone to the village. Aunt was looking pale and tired, but she smiled brightly on me as she said:

"I am glad to find you downstairs, Nan, and, really, you look better already. Our bracing air will soon work wonders for you, I can see."

"It seems very cold air," I said with a shiver, as I bent nearer to the fire.

"It is certainly keener than London," she replied; "but you will soon get used to that, and begin to feel the good of it. I have enjoyed my brisk walk."

Then she told me she had been to the village to see a poor woman whose husband had died suddenly.

"Oh, auntie," I said, feeling shocked, "that was very sad for you."

"Oh, no," she responded. "I felt that I must go to her, because, you see, I can understand. It helped her to feel that I had known the same shock of trouble and was enduring the same loss."

Certainly, if ever woman had "a heart at leisure from itself," auntie had. She would make even her sorrows helpful to others. It was with wonder that I realised how deeply she had loved Uncle George and how truly she mourned him. To us younger people he had always seemed a disagreeable old man, and most persons, I fancy, found it difficult to get on with him. But Aunt Patty's was the love which "taketh no account of evil," but wraps the one beloved in a mantle of goodness and grace which others judge misplaced, though it may fit better than they think. I often marvelled at her capacity for love, and the conclusion to which it invariably led me was that I could never love any one in that way.

Later aunt discussed with me her plans for the future. She told me she had decided to sell all the land with the exception of the pastures immediately adjoining the house, and all her cattle except two cows, which would supply her house with milk and butter. She would keep one horse to draw the wagonette, which would be needed to take people to and from Chelmsford, and a pony for the little chaise. One man-servant would be necessary to drive and look after the stable, and the old gardener also would be retained.

"The garden must not be neglected," said Aunt Patty, "for I shall rely on that to supply us with fruit and vegetables for the table. People have a right to expect good rural fare when they come to sojourn in the country, and I mean that my guests shall have it. I have little fear that cook will not consent to remain with me, for she has often lamented that this place gave her so little opportunity of displaying her talents. She is really clever at made dishes and sweets, but, as you know, your uncle's health obliged him to be very careful in his diet, and I never cared to have anything on the table that might tempt him to break the restrictions imposed by his doctor. But now, if I were so fortunate as to get my house full of 'paying guests,' I should wish her to make plenty of dainty dishes to set before them."

"How many guests could you take, auntie?" I asked.

"Let me see," she said; "there are seven bedrooms besides the servants'. Taking away yours and mine, five are left for the guests; but they are such good-sized rooms that two beds could be placed in most of them. I must hope to have visits from friends and relatives who will be willing to share a room. I could easily accommodate ten persons in that way, and that, I think, would be as many as I should desire to have. I don't know what Jenny would say to waiting upon so many, but, of course, I should help her as much as I could."

"And I would, too," I said, as in duty bound, though in truth I felt very reluctant to take up domestic tasks, and disliked the idea of "Gay Bowers" being invaded by ten strangers. But I had sense enough to know that if I hated the thought of "all sorts and conditions" of people—within certain limits—being free to make their home in the dear old house, it must be inexpressibly more painful to Aunt Patty herself. But I could see that she fought against the feeling and was resolved to face the inevitable bravely. It was the only way in which she could remain in the home she loved, and it was not clear what she could do if she gave it up.

"I have come to think that this is God's will for me," she said quietly. "I have put my future into His hands and asked Him to show me the path He would have me tread. You know I believe that He will give us His guidance, if we seek it, even in the smallest details of our life. Perhaps it is the door into new service for Him. I should like to welcome some of His worn and weary ones to rest here."

The smallest details of our life the objects of God's care! That was a strange thought to me. I could hardly receive it, yet I felt then, and know assuredly now, that it is an uplifting and ennobling conception of life, and one that makes the whole of it sacred and grand. Could it be that there was a divine purpose in the ill-health which had frustrated my hopes and brought me to this quiet, out-of-the-world, country place to share my aunt's changed lot? I felt awed as I contemplated the possibility, and my heart put up a prayer that it might be for good that I had come here. There was in my heart a vague longing to know more of God. Absorbed in my intellectual work, I had neglected the study of God's Word and suffered my prayers to become merely formal. Even on Sundays, I had often read for my examination, and both body and spirit had suffered in consequence. I knew now what a mistake I had made.

In the afternoon Aunt Patty's solicitor drove out from Chelmsford and kept her occupied with business matters for more than an hour. I was not dull however, for Jack Upsher came to see how I was. He persuaded me to put on over-shoes and one of auntie's thickest wraps, and go round the garden with him. Together we revisited all the old nooks which had been the delightful haunts of our childhood, and I had great fun in recalling some of our most foolish adventures, and the plights into which they brought us. Then we went into the house and chatted by the fireside till aunt brought in Mr. Crowther to have tea. When he had gone, Jack still lingered, till Aunt Patty rather pointedly reminded him of his studies, upon which he reluctantly took his departure.

"I was grinding away for three hours this morning," he grumbled, "and now I deserve a little relaxation."

"Which you have had," aunt said promptly. "So you will be ready for another three when you reach home."

"Why, I declare you are as bad a slave-driver as the governor," retorted Jack, "and with this fearful example—" indicating me—"of the dangers of over-work before your eyes."

Aunt Patty gave a little laugh.

"Oh, Jack, there is no such danger in your case!" she said, shaking her head. "I almost wish there were."

"What!" he exclaimed. "You would like to see me with a pale, lank visage and reduced to a long-drawn-out shadow! Who would have believed you were so heartless?"

"I have no fear of seeing you 'sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,'" she replied, "and I do want you to work so steadily as to make a second failure impossible."

"I will indeed. I have promised it, and I mean to keep my promise," he said resolutely, and was gone.

Aunt Patty smiled and then sighed as she looked after him.

"Poor dear fellow!" she said. "I wish he were not so idle, for there is much that is good in him. If only his father understood him better!"

"Don't they get on well together?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"They never could. You must remember how severe the Vicar was with him when he was a boy."

"I know he liked always to be here," I said, "and never seemed to care to go home."

"Just so; the poor lad never knew a mother's love, nor what it is to have a happy home," said my aunt. "Mr. Upsher's housekeeper is a very worthy woman, but not in the least fit to look after a young fellow like Jack. The Vicar cares only for his books. He likes to shut himself up in his study, and is almost a stranger to his son, except that he has a keen perception of his faults. And yet he is a good man, and, I am sure, loves Jack in his way."

"Jack is very fond of you, auntie," I said. "You have been almost a mother to him."

"I have always felt a great longing to 'mother' him," she said. "People talk against step-mothers, but it might have been a happy thing for Jack if he had had a step-mother."

"Does the Vicar still preach such dry sermons?" I asked.

"I cannot say that they have improved, Nan," replied my aunt with a smile.

"Humph," I said, "then we cannot offer the 'paying guests' the attraction of good preaching, though they will be able to worship in a beautiful old church."

Upon which we reverted to the subject we were destined to discuss again and again during the ensuing weeks.

Aunt decided to lose as little time as possible in preparing for the reception of her guests. She hoped that she might be able to secure some for Easter, which fell early this year.

As she had prophesied, the strong, fresh country air proved an excellent tonic for me. My nerves regained tone; I slept and ate well, and soon felt so strong that I was inclined to think slightingly of Dr. Algar's diagnosis of my case. I enjoyed the spell of sharp, clear weather we had in February. Jack and I had some delightful skating on the river. I was rather out of practice, for I had not skated for years, and I was very timid at first, but with his help I soon conquered my fears, and enjoyed immensely the excitement of skimming over the silvery ice with my arm linked in his.

Aunt and I were very busy as Easter drew near. We had to re-arrange and re-furbish the rooms. Many a shopping expedition took us to Chelmsford. Of course, it was necessary to advertise for our boarders, and the drawing-up of the advertisement cost us much thought, while it evoked many absurd suggestions from Jack. We were anxious to make the most of our attractions, yet there was danger in being too explicit, since what would attract one person might induce another to stay away. It is curious how many ways there are of putting things, and how various were the forms I drew up for aunt's consideration. I made my head ache with the effort to put a great deal in a few words. At last we were satisfied with something like this:

"Paying guests received in old country house in pleasant rural neighbourhood. Fine air, excellent farm produce, and all home comforts. Large garden with tennis and croquet lawns. Good fishing. Desirable residence for any needing quiet and rest."

It seems simple enough as I write it now, but, oh, the deliberation with which we weighed each word! Aunt Patty was for describing her home as "desirable for invalids," but I was certain that would frighten away every healthy person under sixty, and I did want some young people to come.

I made several copies of this advertisement, and sent them to such of the London newspapers as we judged best suited for our purpose. Aunt also wrote to many of her friends and acquaintances, telling them of the attempt she was making, and asking their kind assistance. Then we waited, I eagerly, she anxiously, for the result. She hoped to hear from gentle widows, worn-out governesses and the like. I hardly knew what to expect. But our first response when it came was a surprise to us both.