Chapter II: Concerning Aunt Caroline

WHEN Mr. Pringle and Billy returned to the sitting-room after having been upstairs to look at Peggy asleep so comfortably, they found that Mrs. Pringle, with the assistance of Sarah, the maid-of-all-work of the establishment, had prepared the long-delayed tea. Whilst the family sat down to the meal, Sarah, at her own suggestion, went to keep watch by the little sleeper; and a few minutes later there was a knock at the front door.

"Go and see who's there, Billy," said Mr. Pringle. "I should not be surprised if it is Mr. Maloney," he proceeded, turning to his wife, "for he was very concerned about Peggy and said he hoped to look in by-and-by to hear the doctor's report."

And Mr. Maloney the visitor proved to be. He accepted Mrs. Pringle's offer of a cup of tea, and took the chair Billy placed for him at the table.

"I am glad to know the doctor thinks your little girl is not much hurt," he said in his pleasant voice. "Billy greeted me with the good news the moment he opened the door."

"The only injury she has sustained is to her shoulder," replied Mr. Pringle, "but of course she has experienced a great shock. Her escape from a frightful death was quite providential," he added with a slight break in his voice.

"Quite," Mr. Maloney agreed. "It was too bad of the owner of the carriage to drive on, as she did, without ascertaining the extent of the poor child's injuries," he continued warmly. "The least she could have done, under the circumstances, one would have thought, would have been to have driven her home."

"She was a nasty old woman, I'm sure she was," declared Billy with flushing cheeks and sparkling eyes. "She told the policeman, he had better take Peggy to a hospital if she was hurt, and she said it was his business, not hers. She spoke in such a proud way—as though she didn't care for anything or any one."

"Well, Peggy found a friend in need," Mr. Pringle remarked with a grateful glance at Mr. Maloney, who smiled and said he was glad to have been of service.

The Vicar and the organist of St. John's were on terms of friendship, though the former was elderly and the latter not middle-aged. Mr. Maloney had lived most of his life in London. He was a hard worker, and much beloved by all who knew him. But some of his acquaintances declared him lacking in ambition, for on several occasions he had declined preferment, choosing to retain the living of St. John's, which he had held for more than twenty years. He was an unmarried man, and consequently the living, though a poor one, supplied his simple needs.

He was getting an old man now, but the bright, unquenchable light of that enthusiasm which had made him a faithful labourer in Christ's vineyard all his days still shone in his earnest, deep-set eyes, and earnestness was stamped indelibly upon his countenance. And the truth was that his ambition soared far and away beyond the worldly meaning of the term: he was working for the "Well done" of the Master for Whose sake he had elected to live amongst those of little account in this world.

Mr. Pringle had been the organist of St. John's since his marriage ten years previously. He was a tall, fair man with a thoughtful face and clear blue eyes. Peggy much resembled him; whilst Billy took after his mother in appearance, being brown-haired and brown-eyed. The Pringles were a very united family, and theirs was a happy home though it was a rather poor one, and Mr. Pringle was glad to add to his salary by taking music pupils.

"I did not see the owner of the carriage," Mr. Maloney remarked by-and-by, after they had discussed Peggy's accident at some length. "Why, dear me, how stupid of me!" he exclaimed, a sudden recollection crossing his mind. "I have her card in my pocket here! She gave it to the policeman, who, in his turn, gave it to me, thinking that you might be inclined to seek redress from her for poor Peggy's injuries, I believe. Let us see who the unsympathetic old lady is."

He had produced the card by this time, and now handed it to Mrs. Pringle, who glanced at it, uttered a cry of astonishment, and grew very red.

"You know her?" Mr. Maloney inquired.

"Yes," she replied in a low tone, "I do. I can understand that she evinced no interest—though she could not have known whose child Peggy was."

She passed the card to her husband as she spoke.

A brief silence followed, during which Billy, keenly observant, noticed that his mother was trembling, and that his father's face had grown very stern.

"Who is the lady, father?" he ventured to ask at length.

"She is called Miss Leighton," was the answer. "You never heard of her, Billy; but I expect you have?" he said, addressing Mr. Maloney.

"I think not," the Vicar responded. "Is she a person of importance?"

"She is a very rich woman. Her father was James Leighton, the great ironfounder who died so immensely wealthy—"

"Ah, then I have heard of her," Mr. Maloney broke in. "But I thought she was quite a philanthropist—hardly the sort of woman who would act as this Miss Leighton did to-day."

"That is exactly how she would act," Mrs. Pringle said decidedly. "We are speaking of the same person. She gives away vast amounts of money yearly to charities, but she denies herself nothing in order to do so, for she is very wealthy. She was never a woman who showed kindness in little ways or to individuals. I know her well; in fact, she is my aunt."

"Really?" the Vicar said, looking intensely astonished. He knew the Pringles were not well off—that they lived solely on Mr. Pringle's earnings, and it seemed odd that so rich and charitable a lady as Miss Leighton should do so much for strangers and nothing for her relations.

"The truth is, my wife offended her aunt by marrying me," Mr. Pringle explained, rightly reading the expression of Mr. Maloney's countenance; "and Miss Leighton never forgives any one who offends her."

"Then God help her!" the Vicar exclaimed solemnly.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pringle, sighing, "poor Aunt Caroline! She was very good to me years ago, she had me educated when my parents died, and afterwards she allowed me to live with her. She would have continued to provide for me, if I had not become engaged to John," glancing at her husband with a loving smile. "I had to choose between him and Aunt Caroline, and since my marriage I have never seen my aunt. 'She washed her hands of me,' she said, on my wedding day. She declared she would never willingly look on my face again, and I know she will keep her word."

"You can realise now what sacrifices my wife has made for my sake," Mr. Pringle said, rather sadly, as he met Mr. Maloney's interested glance.

"I have made no sacrifices," Mrs. Pringle returned quickly. "But, sometimes it grieves me to think of the bitter feelings Aunt Caroline harbours against me. She considers me ungrateful; I was never that. I do not want her money, but I should like to be on friendly terms with her. It was ten years ago I saw her; she must be getting an old woman."

"She looked very old, mother," Billy said, and as he spoke, Mrs. Pringle started, for in the excitement of talking of her aunt, whom she rarely mentioned now even to her husband, she had forgotten the boy was present, listening to every word.

"Her hair was quite white," he continued, "as white as snow. I didn't like her eyes, they were so very sharp. Oh, mother, how odd that she should be your aunt! And how surprised she would have been, if she had found out that Peggy was your little girl, wouldn't she? I expect she would have been sorry for her, then, don't you think so?"

"I—I—perhaps so," his mother replied, "but she did not find out, and it was best as it was."

She took up the card which her husband had laid on the table and tore it into little bits, which, upon rising, she threw into the fire.

"There, we will talk no more of Aunt Caroline," she said. "Thinking of her always makes me unhappy, and I don't want to be that to-night, when I ought to be feeling nothing but thankfulness on Peggy's account."

A short while later, Mr. Maloney took his departure, and, after that, Billy said good-night to his parents and went upstairs. He peeped into Peggy's room; but did not go in, for Sarah, who was still watching by the bedside, raised a warning finger when she caught sight of him in the doorway. She was to be relieved from her post very soon by her mistress, whose intention it was to sit up all night.

Although Billy was really tired and was soon in bed, it was long before he could get to sleep, for he felt strangely restless and excited; he continually pictured the pair of high-stepping horses which had so nearly trodden his sister beneath their hoofs, and he was haunted by the proud face of the old lady who had appeared so unconcerned.

"She must be very wicked," thought the little boy, "for father said she never forgives any one who offends her. How dreadful that is! Doesn't she know it's wrong, I wonder! And, oh, how strange that she should be mother's aunt! How surprised Peggy will be when she knows!"

Then he forgot Miss Leighton in thinking of Peggy once more. He had not omitted to thank his Father in Heaven, as he had knelt by his bedside before getting into bed, for having spared his sister's life; but his full heart thanked Him again and again as he lay awake mentally reviewing the events of the last few hours, and he fell asleep, at length, with the fervent prayer upon his lips:

"Dear Jesus, please always take care of Peggy, and remember she is
blind."