Chapter IX

TRUSTWORTHINESS. MILES' STORY—(continued).

IT was settled that I should make my home altogether at The Myrtles— which was the name of Mr. Laurence's house—because he wanted to have me always within call.

The first evening I got there, things did seem strange. The house was so big and quiet, and I seemed to belong to nobody. The servants' hall and kitchen were lively enough, no doubt, but I was told I had no business there, and I could see that the maids looked upon me with no friendly eyes. They didn't see what on earth I was come for, one of them said; and another muttered something about "one of master's new freaks," which was not over respectful.

However, I was not likely to interfere much with them, or they with me, since my work lay upstairs. I had a cosy bedroom all to myself, nicely fitted up—the first time I had ever slept alone in my life. My meals I was to take with the housekeeper, Mrs. Crane, in her sitting-room, and not in the servants' hall. Mr. Laurence had settled all this, in a way he'd got, which did not allow anybody to question his will. He always spoke very quietly, and never raised his voice; but nobody in the house dared go against him, when once he said a thing was to be.

Mrs. Crane made no complaint; but it was easy to see she didn't like the arrangement. She was tall and stout, and she commonly wore black silk, with a pile of red ribbons on her head. She moved about in a very slow dignified sort of way, and she had a pair of cold eyes which made me feel uncomfortable whenever she fixed them on me, which was pretty often. I dare say it was a bore to have a strange boy set down at her table: though I can say one thing for myself, and that is, that I knew how to behave there, thanks to my mother, who'd always been so particular to teach us nice ways, and to cure us of ugly tricks. Everybody knew that if Mr. Laurence said a thing he meant it. Mrs. Crane was not obliged to stay, but if she stayed she had to do what Mr. Laurence chose, which was only fair and just, seeing she received his money, and ate his food, and was sheltered by his roof. She was much too wise to want to leave, and so she gave in; but all the same I could feel I wasn't welcome.

There were no indoor men-servants, for Mr. Laurence disliked the bother of them. The maids could all be under Mrs. Crane, but a man he would have had to manage himself. As it was, he just gave all his orders to the housekeeper, and held her responsible for what went wrong.

But with me he made a difference, having me with him, and giving me his orders direct from the first, which Mrs. Crane objected to.

I suppose I was in a rather difficult position—difficult because it was uncertain. I was not exactly one thing or the other—neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. I had to make my own standing as it were, and this could not be an easy matter for a boy of fifteen, brought up hitherto in a busy crowded little home, where all were on a level, and all knew and loved the rest.

After tea with Mrs. Crane—and a silent tea it was, scarcely a word passing between us—I was sent for to the study, where Mr. Laurence commonly sat. It opened out of the great library, which was lined with books; and the museum, a biggish room, full of all sorts of curiosities, was on the other side of the library. The dining-room was beyond the hall, and so was the drawing-room, not often used. The little observatory was up at the top of the house.

Mr. Laurence was at his writing-table when I came in, and another table in the bow window had microscopes on it, under glass cases. He looked up and said—

"How do you do, Miles? Had your tea?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Ready for work?"

I said "Yes" again.

Then he stood up and wiped his pen carefully, and laid it down, for he was always neat, and never in a hurry. After that he took me through the library, into the museum, which I had not seen before. There was matting over the floor, and a chair and table stood near the farthest window, while all round close to the walls were glass-fronted cases, with stuffed birds, or insects, or curiosities from foreign parts, arranged in them. Other odd things lay about on tables, or were fastened to the walls.

"This is to be your especial charge," Mr. Laurence said. "I hope I shall find you capable. We must begin slowly. I have never allowed anybody to handle my specimens or to dust my books; but I am beginning to feel the need of help. You will have to learn—gradually."

He pointed out to me a great bone, lying on the top of a case, and he said it was part of an animal which had lived long long before the time of Adam. "The bone has turned into stone now," he went on, "so it is a fossil."

"May I come in any time, sir?" I asked wonderingly.

Mr. Laurence gave me a look, and asked—"Would you like it?"

"I should like to learn all about everything here," I said.

"So you shall—as far as I can put you in the way of learning. No man alive knows 'all' about any one thing; but some of the little that can be known you shall learn. You will have a key, and when you are not here the door is always to be locked. By-and-by I hope you will be able to copy out things for me. I know that you write a clear hand. Remember, if you wish to be of real use to me by-and-by, you must study and read steadily. When the bell in the corner rings, you will know that I want you."

Then he pointed out a glass case full of weapons from distant countries.

"Some day these things must all be turned out and cleaned or dusted," he said; "but not just yet." He stood still, looking at me. "Do you know what the first thing is that I have to find out about you, Miles?"

"Whether I won't break things?" I asked. "But I'll take care, really, sir."

"I am sure you will. That is important; yet not the most important. What I want to know is whether you are fully and utterly true in all that you say and do—whether I may depend, not only upon your honesty, for that I do not doubt, but upon your absolute truthfulness and trustworthiness."

"I wouldn't tell a lie for anything," I said.

"I don't think you would. I hope not. Your mother says the same. But I want more than just the absence of direct falsehood. I want to be able to place entire confidence in you. Now how is that to be brought about?"

I understood in a measure, yet I was at a loss what to say.

"I will tell you," he said, and he spoke slowly. "If anything goes wrong—if anything in your charge is injured or broken—mind you never attempt to hide it, but come at once and tell me. Sooner or later you would be found out, and then I could never be sure of you again. Be brave, and speak out always. Never try to shield yourself from just blame. Then again you have to be obedient. When I am absent, just as when I am present, do what I tell you to do. You have leave to come to the museum yourself, but not to admit others without asking me. Remember that! No matter who asks, you have to say 'No'!"

"Yes, sir, I will."

"That is right. Now about the matter of your going home. I do not wish for incessant running to and fro; but you may see your people reasonably often—once a week, at all events. When you wish to go, ask me, and if possible I will arrange it. If I send you out on an errand for myself, don't spend the time in going to your parents, but be back as sharp as you can. If I send you out for an hour or two to amuse yourself, then you may do as you choose. But do not go out without asking my leave."

"No, sir, I won't," I said.

"One more thing, Miles. When you are in my study, among my books and papers, remember that I am trusting you. Nothing is to be read, except what you know that I intend you to read. And what you do see, or read, or hear, is not to be talked about elsewhere—either among my servants or out of this house. Do you understand me? Can I put confidence in you?"

A rush of pride swept through me, as I thought that he should do so— that I would make myself worthy of his confidence. It was my first real glimpse of what is meant by "honour." He was "putting me on my honour," and he should not be disappointed.

"It will do, I see," said Mr. Laurence, smiling. "You understand."

I was so busy, thinking, I hadn't said a word, but only just gazed up in his face.