Chapter XII

LITTLE MISS ADELA. MILES' STORY—(continued).

NOTHING particular happened, that I can remember, through the early part of that winter, up to Christmas, except that my father got on perhaps a little better than was expected, and was able to sit up and use his hands, though he could not stand, and his legs still had little or no power in them. We all knew well enough by this time that he never could be an able-bodied man again; though, as years went on, he might slowly improve. The wonderful thing still was how quietly he took it all.

I suppose, where great trouble is sent, strength to bear it is sent too; at least it was so in his case. And my mother was just her old self; always busy, and always a little anxious, but happy in her own way, and thinking of everybody before herself.

I had a week at home at Christmas and New Year, and didn't once see Mr. Laurence the whole week through.

Mr. Bertram came back, of course, for the Christmas holidays, and he was growing tall and thin, and not looking over well; but he was full of fun and high spirits. He used to come in and talk nonsense, till we were all in such fits of laughter we didn't know what, to do with ourselves. And through all the fun, he was so kind and gentle to my father. Well, I never did see any one quite like Mr. Bertram, and for the matter of that I don't think I ever shall.

When I went back at the week's end, there was a visitor at The Myrtles—Mr. Laurence's only grandchild. I knew he was expecting her for the New Year, and I wondered how that quiet house would seem with a child in it. Children do make such a difference where they are, and, to my mind, no home is perfect without children.

I got there after dark in the afternoon, and I was told that Mr. Laurence had gone out on business. So I went straight to the museum, thinking I'd take a look round there the first thing. I found the door unlocked which rather startled me, as it was so uncommon; and when I first opened the door I saw nobody. So I shut it, and stopped to take a look at a side-table, where a new piece of red granite was lying which had not been there when I went away. Mr. Laurence was always getting fresh things to add to his collection. And then I went on a few steps, and to my surprise, all at once I saw somebody sitting in my chair, sound asleep.

She was the prettiest little lady, and I always did say she had a look of our poor little Bessie, who was killed by the falling of the cliff. I don't know how it was, but she had a look of her, somehow. I saw it in a moment, though little Miss Adela was very fair, with rosy cheeks, and blue eyes, and short flaxen hair. The blue eyes were fast shut when I saw her first, and her head was dropping over to one side, and one little round white arm lay over the table where I always wrote.

I was so taken aback, I stood and looked at her, not knowing what to think. And then she suddenly woke up, and looked at me without moving.

"How d'you do?" she said sleepily. "What o'clock is it?"

"It is getting on for half-past five, Miss," I said.

"Oh, to be sure. I've had my tea," she said, and she got up slowly. I saw she was about as tall as our Rosie, or taller, though I found later she was only eight years old. "Grandpapa's gone out," she said. "And they told me the museum-boy was coming back, so I thought I would be here to see him. Are you the museum-boy? And is your name Miles?"

"I'm Miles Murchison, Miss," I said; "and I've got to look after the museum."

"Oh yes; I know all about it," said she. "And the housemaid and under-gardener tried to get in, and you wouldn't let them. That was like a soldier doing his duty;" and she held up her head. "My papa is a soldier, so I know all about it. And he told me a story once—about the private and the Duke, you know."

"No, Miss; I don't know the story," I said.

"Don't you? Why, I thought everybody did," said she. "Let me see, how did the story begin? There was a private soldier put at a door to keep people from going in, except those that had got a written order— at least, I think that was it. The soldier was told to turn back everybody else, you know; and of course he had to turn back lots. And presently a duke came up, at least, I think it was a duke; and I believe it was the Duke of Wellington, only I'm not sure. But anyhow, the Duke hadn't a written paper to show, and he wanted to go in without it, and the soldier wouldn't let him. And of course the soldier was right, because he only just had to do as he was bid. And the Duke gave up, and went away quietly; and when the soldier heard who it was he had turned back, he was rather frightened, because he thought the Duke would be angry. But instead of that, the Duke saw the soldier afterward, and praised him for obeying, and said he was perfectly right. Wasn't it nice of the Duke? And I think," Miss Adela went on, "it was a wee bit like that, when you turned Rose and Will out of the museum; only not quite the same, because there wasn't any Duke."

"But Mr. Laurence doesn't mind you coming here, does he, Miss?" I asked.

"Me? Why, of course not. I am his grandchild," said she. "Of course I may do what I like in his house. He is the dearest old Grandpapa, isn't he? And he likes you ever so much, I know, because he told me he did. He said you were such a trustworthy boy."

I was glad to hear this, even though I knew pretty well already what Mr. Laurence thought.

"And I made him give me his museum-key before he went out, so that I might come here after my tea," she went on. "It's such fun—nurse can't come after me when I'm in the museum, because nobody must come in without Grandpapa's leave. She can only rap at the door, and call. Now you are going to tell me about all these things;" and she waved her hand toward the cases. "I want to know about every single thing."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much, Miss, because I have only begun to learn," I said.

"Well, then, you can tell me the beginning, just as far as you have learnt," said she. "Come, what is this big round stone? Look how it is marked."

"That's an ammonite," I said, glad to know the first thing she asked.

"An am-mo-nite?" said she. "Yes; go on," and she nodded her head.

So I told her what little I was able, how the ammonite had once been a living sea-creature, swimming about in the ocean; and how it had somehow died out, so that no ammonite was ever found now alive; and how the only ones ever seen were these fossil ammonites, which had lived so very, very long ago, that their remains were turned to stone. I showed her some tiny little ammonites, beside the big one she had noticed first.

For the best part of an hour she kept me busy, either answering questions or saying I couldn't answer them. Sometimes she would murmur, "How clever you are!" and quite as often it was, "What! don't you know that!" So I was in no danger of being made conceited.

All went smoothly enough so far, and the little lady was as sweet and pleasant as she could be; but by-and-by we came to a small glass case, which had Indian curiosities in it, and she stooped over to look at them.

"Oh, what are those funny things?" she cried. "Look! are they stones? What do you call them? 'Catseyes!' Not real eyes of real cats?"

"It's a sort of precious stone," I told her. "They are worth a lot, I believe."

"I like those catseyes better than anything else in the whole museum," said she. "And I mean to make Grandpapa give me one of them. It would make a lovely little brooch, you know. Oh, what a bother! The case is locked. Where is the key?"

"It isn't meant to be opened, Miss," I said.

"Have you got a key?" said she.

I was glad to be able to say "No," for Mr. Laurence kept the keys himself of the smaller cases; but the next moment she gave a little scream, and lifted up the glass lid. And I saw that the lock had just failed to catch. Mr. Laurence must have turned the key in a hurry, not noticing that the lid wasn't quite closed, and so he had really locked it open. Miss Adela's hand grasped the biggest catseye in a moment; and I knew I had no easy task before me. For it wasn't difficult to see, with all her sweetness, that she was a good deal spoilt, and used to getting her own way.

"We mustn't touch anything inside," I said. "Mr. Laurence wouldn't like it. Put that back, please, Miss."

She opened her eyes wide, and looked at me in astonishment.

"You don't think you've got to tell me what to do!" said she, with a grand air.

"I'm in charge, Miss," I said; "and I can't have the things meddled with."

"I'm going to keep this dear little catseye till Grandpapa comes in, and then I shall make him give it to me," said she.

"If he gives it you, that's all right," I said; "but till he does, it's got to stay here in my charge."

She gave a funny little toss to her head, and said, "Don't you wish you may get it?"

"You wouldn't want to get me into disgrace, would you, Miss?" said I, thinking I'd try persuasion.

"Oh no!" said she; "I shall just tell Grandpapa you couldn't help it."

I knew very well that would do no good. Mr. Laurence would say I ought to have helped it.

"I'm going to show it to Nurse now," said she; and she walked towards the door; but I was there before her, and I had my hand on the key.

"No, Miss; I daren't let it leave the room," said I.

"But you'll have to; because I'm going, and I mean to take it with me," said she.

"No, Miss," I said.

"But I will!" said she.

For all answer I locked the door, and put the key in my pocket; and didn't Miss Adela's blue eyes give a flash!

"You're a naughty impertinent boy," said she; "and I shall tell my grandfather how you behave."

I half thought she would have cried and struggled to get the key; but she didn't. She held up her head like a little queen, and turned her back upon me.

"I'll open the door in a minute, if you'll just give me that catseye," said I.

"No!" said she. "I'm going to keep it."

I thought I'd make one more try. "Miss Adela," I said, for I knew her name already, "you told me a nice story just now about the soldier and the duke. If I let you take away that catseye, shouldn't I be like the soldier disobeying his orders, and letting the duke go in?"

"Well, and I think he ought to have let the duke go in," said she. "He was a rude impertinent soldier to keep the duke out; and if I was the duke, I would be very angry. I think it's a stupid story, and I don't know why I told it to you."

Then she pulled my chair round, with its back to where I was; and she seated herself on it, with her pretty arms folded, and the catseye clasped tight in one little hand.