Chapter V: Lion's Find

MRS. M'COSH and Felicia stood on the down platform at Bristol railway station, waiting for the arrival of the train by which the latter was to travel to N—. A very pretty, interesting little girl Felicia appeared in her neat black dress and hat, looking younger than her twelve years by reason of her small, slight figure. She held her companion's hand—encased in baggy cotton gloves—very tight, and gazed up into her broad, red face with sorrowful, blue eyes, as the minutes slipped all too quickly away, bringing the time at which the train was due to arrive at Bristol very near now.

"You have the pocket-book safe?" said Mrs. M'Cosh interrogatively.

"Yes, here," Felicia answered, touching the bosom of her frock.

"That's right, my dear; all you have to do is to put it into your grandfather's hands. Then if he says you 're to stay, you'll send me a line and I'll forward your box at once."

"And if he says he won't have anything to do with me I shall come right back again," declared Felicia; "Mr. M'Cosh has given me enough money to buy my ticket home. Perhaps you'll see me again this evening."

She was trying to speak calmly; but her lips quivered and her eyes were dim. Mrs. M'Cosh smiled at her encouragingly, and bade her keep a good heart.

"Master suggested my taking you to the Priory myself, Felicia," she said, "but I thought that wouldn't do. Your relations are gentlefolks, you see, and they mightn't understand how I had come to be your friend."

"I shall tell them," Felicia interposed quickly, with a flash of her blue eyes and a grateful pressure of her little fingers on the big hand she clasped so affectionately; "I shall tell them that you and Mr. M'Cosh are my best and dearest friends, and I shall explain all you have done for mother and me. Oh, I wish you were coming too!"

Mrs. M'Cosh rather wished it herself. She was very anxious as well as not a little curious to know the reception Felicia would get when she presented herself at the Priory. At that moment, however, the train arrived, and clasping the little girl in her arms she kissed her tenderly.

"Good-bye, child, and God bless you," she said, her deep voice unusually soft in tone. Then she added hurriedly: "Be a good girl, and obey your grandparents if so be they decide to give you a home, and I suppose they won't be able to refuse to provide for you, anyway. Master and I would dearly like to adopt you, but your father was a gentleman, it appears, and you belong to a different class of folks to what we do, and so—and so—you understand it would never do."

They found a compartment with a corner seat empty, which Felicia took. There was no opportunity for further conversation of a private nature; and a few minutes later the train steamed out of the station. Felicia put her head out of the window and tried to smile, but it was a very sorry attempt, for she was deeply grieved at heart.

Mrs. M'Cosh stood on the platform waving her handkerchief till she had watched the train out of sight, then she turned her footsteps homewards, very low-spirited indeed. She much doubted if she would ever see Felicia again.

"I wonder why God should have let us become attached to the child if He meant to let her pass right out of our lives," she mused; "perhaps He just wanted to make use of us for the time. Well, we won't grumble at that, for maybe the little we've been able to do He'll count as done unto Him. Poor little Felicia! I hope her grand relations will treat her well and make her happy."

Meanwhile the train was carrying Felicia beyond the smoke and the grime of the city into a purer, sweeter atmosphere, and soon it was rushing between pleasant meadowlands, where haymaking was going on. Through the open window of the carriage came delicious scents of flowers, and when the train—a slow one—stopped at the small stations on the line, Felicia was charmed by their well-kept gardens.

How beautiful everything was on that perfect summer day! The little girl's spirits began to rise, and a thrill of happiness stole into her heart, only to give place, a moment later, to a pang of sorrow at the thought that there was no dear mother with her now to enjoy the beauty on which she was feasting her eyes.

"But if it is so lovely here, how much lovelier must it be in Heaven," reflected Felicia, and the thought brought comfort with it.

At last the train slowed into the station at N—, and Felicia alighted on to the platform. She found she was the only passenger who left the train, which waited but a couple of minutes.

"Any luggage?" questioned the porter in the doorway, to whom Felicia tendered her ticket.

"No," she replied, colouring, as she noticed the curiosity of his glance. "Can you tell me the way to the Priory?" she inquired.

"To the Priory?" His eyes travelled over her black dress, then rested on her face again. "Yes, certainly. Keep to your right through the village, go past the church and the Vicarage, and in about five minutes' walk from there you'll come to the Priory gate."

"Thank you," she responded politely.

"A friend of one of the servants, are you?" he asked, following her out of the station.

"No—oh no!"

"Not a friend of the family?" he questioned dubiously.

"Not a friend—exactly," she answered. He was very inquisitive, she thought, but she could see he did not intend to be rude. "Keep to the right, you said? Good morning—and thank you."

Felicia started towards the village at a quick rate, but she slackened her footsteps and looked around her attentively when she reached the first cottages. The village street was long and straggling, and almost deserted on this hot, summer afternoon, for most of the adult inhabitants were haymaking and the children were at school. Felicia passed the schoolhouse by-and-by—it stood on the opposite side of the road to the church—from whence came the monotonous singsong noise of some fifty young voices repeating a lesson. Close to the church, which was a picturesque old edifice, was the Vicarage—a modern red-brick house, with bow windows. The Vicarage garden joined the churchyard wall, in which there was a door of communication. Felicia was naturally an observant child, and little escaped the notice of her sharp eyes as she followed the porter's directions and kept straight on. Her heart began to palpitate unevenly when she, at length, reached the big iron gate at the entrance to the Priory grounds, and as she passed up the wide carriage drive leading to the house she began to tremble with nervousness, and when she stood before the front door, it was several minutes before she could pluck up sufficient courage to ring the bell; and the instant she did nerve herself to do so, she felt inclined to take to her heels and run away.

In answer to her ring, the door was opened by a tall, old man, with snowy hair and a pair of bright, brown eyes. He spoke to Felicia in a tone of indulgent surprise.

"Well, little maiden, what brings you here ringing at the front door—eh?"

Felicia regarded him timidly. Her limbs were trembling, and she was very flustered, for she had jumped to the conclusion that this benevolent-looking old man must be her grandfather.

"Oh, please," she gasped, "are you—are you Mr. Renford?"

"No, my dear," he replied with a chuckle of amusement. "But who, pray, are you? I don't seem to know your face—you're not one of the village children?"

"No. I—I've come from Bristol. I—I particularly want to see Mr. Renford."

"He's not in; he's out with the haymakers. Better tell me your business."

"No, thank you," Felicia responded; "I will call again. Will Mr. Renford be at home soon?"

"He'll be home in good time for dinner."

"In good time for dinner? Why, it must be nearly four o'clock!" cried Felicia, whose acquaintances had always dined in the middle of the day.

"It's past four," said the old man, smiling. "Seven's the dinner hour at the Priory. Now, come, my dear, what do you want of the master? Can't I do as well? What's your name—eh?"

But Felicia merely shook her head; and repeating that she would call again, she turned hastily away, and retraced her footsteps down the carriage drive into the high road.

By that time she was hot and panting, and sought about for some sheltered spot where she could sit down and rest. There was no shade in the high road, so she climbed a five-barred gate into a meadow, where the grass, which was starred with moon daisies, was not laid up for mowing. The meadow sloped towards a deep ditch, overgrown with hazel bushes, and into this ditch Felicia crept amongst the tall meadow-sweet and yellow irises. It was cool and shady there, a damp place in the winter, no doubt, but the drought of the last few weeks had dried it up, and the little girl sat down to rest, thinking what a charming spot she had discovered. She was very tired, worn out by excitement, in fact, and it was very comfortable in the ditch. The air was full of the pungent scent of meadow-sweet, and the drowsy hum of insects fell soothingly upon her ears. Her eyelids were heavy, so she closed them, and laid her head back upon the cool, green grass, and thus fell into a little doze from which she passed into a deep, firm sleep.

An hour went by—two hours—and still the child slept undisturbed; but at length a huge dog—a mastiff—leaped the gate from the road into the meadow, and, nose to the ground, made straight for the ditch. The next minute Felicia was awakened by a movement at her side, and opening her eyes, she was terribly shocked to see an enormous, yellowish-drab animal, with cruel-looking open jaws, from which lolled a great red tongue, standing over her. She dared not speak or move, fearing the creature would pounce upon her, for he looked so fierce, and the gaze of his light brown eyes was so appalling.

Thus the child and the dog regarded each other silently, immovably, for some minutes; then the latter began to slowly wag his tail, and bending his head he gently licked first the little girl's hands, next her cheek. Relieved to find him inclined to be friendly, she ventured to stroke his neck; whereupon he exhibited great delight, and lifting up his head, gave utterance to a deep bark. A moment later a man's voice responded, shouting: "Lion! Lion! where are you, old boy?"

Lion wagged his tail, looked expectant, and barked again.

"What have you found? Nothing of importance, I expect, but I suppose I must come and see," grumbled the voice. "Where are you? Oh, there in the ditch, hidden by the meadow-sweet and the rest of the ditch flowers. Why—well, I never!" The speaker paused in astonishment. He had reached the spot where Felicia lay, and clutching the dog by the collar, he pulled him sharply back as he bent his gaze on the little girl, a humorous smile curving his lips. "This is a rare sort of ditch flower," he remarked, "as evidently Lion thought when he found you. My child, why are you hiding there?"