Chapter XV: Edgar Learns His Father's Suspicions

"AUNT JANIE, I should think you must be a very happy person," said Polly, casting a contemplative glance around her.

Mrs. Marsh and her little niece were sitting on the garden seat beneath the laburnum tree at the Rookery, where they had had their tea, an arrangement which had delighted Polly and Roger, who were thoroughly enjoying the day as their aunt's guests. The morning had been spent in the gardens, and the afternoon in a long drive into the country; and now the boys had betaken themselves to the stables, whilst Polly, tired with pleasure and excitement, had gladly fallen in with her aunt's suggestion to rest awhile.

"Why should you think so?" Mrs. Marsh asked curiously.

"Because you've such a beautiful home and plenty of money. It must be nice to have plenty of money to be able to give people presents," Polly replied ingenuously, her hand slipping into her pocket to make certain her purse was safe. "I don't think I was ever so pleased before as I was last night when I came across your present. I can never thank you enough—"

"Why, my dear child," interposed Mrs. Marsh, with an amused laugh, "you've thanked me over and over again already."

"Because I feel so very grateful, Aunt Janie. No one ever gave me a half-crown in my life before. Roger has had several, though, and he has always shared them with me; you know, girls don't get as many tips as boys. That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"I don't think it does. It has been very generous of Roger to share his money with you; few brothers would do that, I fancy."

"Wouldn't they?" said Polly, rather surprised. "Don't you think Edgar would if he had a sister? No. I don't expect he would, for Roger says he always keeps the best of everything for himself; I suppose that's because he's never had anyone to share with, Aunt Janie? It's a pity, isn't it? Cousin Becky says it is a misfortune to be an only child."

"Cousin Becky knows nothing about it," Mrs. Marsh said coldly, an expression of displeasure clouding her face. "Am I to understand she has been finding fault with Edgar?"

"Oh no, Aunt Janie; she stuck up for him. She said we ought to make allowances for him as he has no brother or sister; she likes him, she does indeed." Polly paused, looking slightly distressed, conscious she had been letting her tongue run away with her. "I'm afraid you don't like Cousin Becky," she proceeded hesitatingly, "but you don't know how kind she is to us."

"I think it is you, or your parents rather, who are kind to her."

"She pays for living with us," said Polly. "Father wouldn't allow her to do that if he was better off—he said so—but you know he is not rich like Uncle John, and—oh, I don't like to think how we should miss her if she went away now! She helps us with our lessons, and she's always doing things for mother; why, she made this frock! Isn't it pretty?" And the little girl arose and turned slowly round in front of her aunt that she might the better view Cousin Becky's handiwork.

"Yes, it is very nicely made," Mrs. Marsh allowed. "I expect Cousin Becky is accustomed to work for young people as she brought up her brother's children. By the way, does she ever hear from them?"

"Oh yes."

"Do they send her money, Polly?"

"I don't know, Aunt Janie, I don't think so. She reads their letters to mother, I've heard her; they write very nice letters."

"And you never heard any mention made of money? No? Dear me, what ingratitude! They ought to be contributing to her support, and so I should like to tell them. Why, she was like a mother to those children of her brother's, and to think that after devoting her life to them and their father, she should fall back upon Martin for a home in her old age—as though he had not enough weight upon his shoulders without burdening himself with an additional care! I have always declared he will live to rue the day when he took the charge of an old woman who never had the least claim upon him. Cousin Becky should have gone abroad to her nephew."

"But, Aunt Janie, she didn't wish to go, and I am sure, now, it would grieve us all dreadfully if she went." There were tears in Polly's eyes as she spoke, for Cousin Becky had won the devotion of her warm, young heart.

"It does not appear that she contemplates leaving you," Mrs. Marsh observed dryly, "so there is no cause for you to be distressed."

"What do you mean by saying father will live to rue the day when he took the charge of an old woman?" Polly asked, after a brief pause in the conversation, during which Mrs. Marsh had had time to regret what she had said. "Do you mean he will be sorry Cousin Becky came to us? I don't believe he will; and Cousin Becky says God will pay her debt to father, she told me she was sure of it, because Jesus said, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.' That's in the Bible, Aunt Janie. Had you forgotten it?"

No, Mrs. Marsh had not forgotten it, but she had not thought of it for a long, long while; it had slumbered in her memory through many years of prosperity, during which she had gone her own way thinking little of those less fortunate than herself; and a look which Polly failed to read crossed her face now—an expression of mingled shame and regret.

"Cousin Becky has found a champion in you, at any rate, my dear," she said at length in a softer tone. "You are evidently very fond of the old lady. I think I must try to see more of her in order to ascertain wherein lies her charm."

At that point in the conversation the boys reappeared upon the scene, and, a short while later, the master of the house arrived at home. The latter seated himself by his wife's side on the garden seat. He made a great deal of Polly, but he took but slight notice of Roger; indeed, so marked was the difference in his manner to the two children, that, after they had gone, his wife took him to task upon the subject.

When Edgar, who had volunteered to accompany his cousins to the entrance of the Rookery grounds on their departure and had said good-bye to them there, returned to his parents, he found them deep in earnest conversation. They did not notice his approach, for, with the mischievous intention of startling them and making them jump, he had crept up behind the seat, meaning to spring forward with a "whoop;" but, chancing to catch a sentence, spoken by his mother, he paused spell-bound.

"I can never believe that Roger is a thief!" she had incredulously exclaimed.

Then came her husband's answer, to which Edgar listened with breathless interest. "My dear, I sincerely trust he is not. You must not repeat a word of what I have said to Edgar, I would not have him know that I suspect his cousin of having taken the Calais Noble for the world. I like Roger, and I thought him straight like his father, certainly he proved to be so over that matter of the cigarettes; but—I know what boys are. My theory is this, that having learnt the value of the coin from Edgar, he gave way to sudden temptation and took it. If I am right, there is a possibility that I may yet get my Calais Noble back, for the boy will not know how to dispose of it."

Edgar waited to hear no more; and, without having made his presence known to his parents, he softly and swiftly hurried away and betook himself indoors, where he ran upstairs and shut himself into his own room, to consider this fresh development in connection with the Calais Noble undisturbed. His father suspected Roger of being a thief! Oh, he had never dreamed of such a contingency as that! What should he do? "Confess the truth," whispered his conscience. "Let the matter slide, you are not supposed to know your father's suspicion," whispered cowardice, "he will never tax your cousin with the theft."

"But, it is dreadful he should think Roger would do such a thing," the little boy thought distressfully, "it is so unjust! Oh, dear, I hoped that I should never be worried about the Calais Noble again—that father would think no more about it. Oh, what shall I do?"

Edgar was in a great state of mental trouble, tormented by feelings of remorse and fear. What would his father say if he found out the truth? Mr. Marsh had been both grieved and indignant when his son had allowed him to misjudge Roger on a much slighter matter than this; Edgar told himself he would never forgive him for exhibiting the same cowardice again, and yet he could not pluck up the courage to acknowledge he had lost the coin.

"I did not know he thought Roger had taken it if I had, I believe I should have told him all about it," he reflected. "But you know it now," conscience reminded him, "it is not too late to set the matter right." That Edgar did not do, however; he acted as though he was in total ignorance of his father's suspicion of Roger, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Marsh made any mention of the missing coin to him. But, though the little boy kept silence concerning the Calais Noble, it was never out of his mind by day or night, for it was the dread of his waking hours, and it haunted his dreams which were troubled by harrowing scenes, in which Roger figured either in the clutch of a policeman, or in prison enduring punishment for a crime which he had never committed. It was small wonder that he grew pale and languid; but he declared, in answer to his mother's anxious questions, that he was quite well, and there was nothing amiss. He shirked Roger as much as possible, because his conscience worried him most when he was in his cousin's presence; and Roger, as soon as he became aware of the fact that Edgar tried to avoid him, kept out of his way.

Much to Polly's gratification, her aunt took her out driving on several other occasions; and one afternoon—seeing Mrs. Marsh really desired it—Mrs. Trent and Cousin Becky went too. On the latter occasion, the subject of summer holidays was mooted.

"You really ought all to have a nice change to the sea-side this summer, Mary," Mrs. Marsh said to her sister-in-law in her usual inconsiderate fashion. "Surely Martin will be able to manage it?"

"I am afraid not," Mrs. Trent answered, a wistful expression creeping into her eyes.

"You have not had a holiday for years," Mrs. Marsh persisted, "and Martin himself must badly need a change."

"Yes," assented Mrs. Trent; "but I fear there is no greater chance of his getting it this year than last," she added with a faint sigh.

"It is a long lane that has no turning," Cousin Becky quoted cheerfully. She looked at Polly as she spoke, and, though the little girl failed to grasp the meaning of the old proverb, she understood the glance of Cousin Becky's eyes, which smilingly reminded her of their secret.

How wonderful it would be if the little bird Cousin Becky had spoken of had really told true!