Chapter X: Mousey's Rich Cousin

MOUSEY quickly grew accustomed to school life, and made friends with the other pupils, who soon found out the little there was to know about the quiet, dark-eyed child who lived with the queer old jeweller, whom everyone agreed in considering the most miserly man in the town.

"I pity you," said Nellie Thomas, a bright-faced girl about Mousey's own age, as she and Mousey stood talking in the playground at the back of the house during the quarter of an hour's respite from work in the middle of the morning. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything! It must be dreadful to have to live in that wretched side street."

Nellie's father was a flourishing draper in Haughton, who possessed a private residence on the outskirts of the town, so it was small wonder his daughter looked with disfavour on Mr. Harding's dingy abode.

"Cousin Robert's house is rather dull," Mousey acknowledged, "but I don't notice it as much as I did at first; and I have a beautiful view from my bedroom window."

"Is Mr. Harding kind to you?" Nellie inquired.

"Oh, yes!"

"And that odd-looking boy who came to fetch you the first day of the term—who is he?"

"He is Cousin Robert's assistant," Mousey explained. "He is learning to be a jeweller. Cousin Robert took him from the workhouse, and is bringing him up to his trade."

"From the workhouse!" Nellie exclaimed. "And do you mean to say he lives in your cousin's house?"

Mousey assented, and proceeded to tell all she knew about John Monday, whilst her companion listened with deepening amazement.

"I never heard anything so extraordinary in my life!" Nellie commented. "A workhouse boy!" and there was a world of scorn in her voice.

"He can't help having been born in a workhouse," Mousey said, looking troubled.

"No, no, of course not," the other replied; "but what a strange person your cousin must be to have a common boy like that living in his house as though he was one of the family."

"I don't think John Monday is common," Mousey was beginning, when she paused abruptly at the sight of the half-smile that crossed her companion's face.

"Mr. Harding is very rich, isn't he?" Nellie asked.

"I don't know," Mousey answered. "I thought he was, but—"

"Oh, yes, I know he is. I heard father say so. Father said he expected he was one of the richest men in Haughton. Fancy! And his is such a poky shop, isn't it? Do you know, I could hardly believe, at first, that you lived there? I tell you what, I'll get my mother to ask you to tea on Saturday. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Mousey assented, with a beaming smile, her eyes sparkling at the thought of such a pleasure. "How very kind of you, Nellie!"

"Oh, not at all!" Nellie answered brightly; "I like you very much, and I shall call you Mousey, as you say you are generally called that. It's a much prettier name than Arabella. Look, there are the twins!"

Mousey turned quickly, and saw Mrs. Downing's children entering the playground with their nurse. They were a dear little pair—Dolly and Dick by name—and they loved to be allowed a few minutes in the playground when the girls were there to make much of them. To-day they had just returned from a walk with their nurse, and each child held a bunch of daisies, gathered with very short stems. Dolly trotted up to Mousey and held up her chubby baby face for a kiss; after which she solemnly presented her nosegay to her new acquaintance.

"For 'ou," she lisped, "all for 'ou!"

"Oh, you dear little soul!" Mousey cried, her face wreathed with smiles as she accepted the gift. "Thank you, Dolly. Did you pick them yourself?"

"All mine self!" Dolly said, nodding her curly head with an air of great satisfaction.

Meanwhile Dick was declining to part with his daisies. They were for his mother, he explained; he would not let the girls have them, but ran into the house shouting, "Muvver! Muvver!" at the top of his voice.

Shortly after that the bell rang for the school to reassemble, and there was no further opportunity that day for Mousey and Nellie Thomas to resume their conversation.

Mousey carried home the daisies which Dolly had given to her, and put them in water in her bedroom, where they revived, lifting their drooping heads and unfolding their pink-tipped petals. The little girl wondered how long it would take before the daisies grew on her mother's grave, and thought she would write to Aunt Eliza and ask if the grass was springing over the spot beneath which both her parents lay at rest.

It had always been Mrs. Abbot's desire to place a headstone over her husband's grave, but she had never been in the position to provide even the simplest stone. She had been buried in the same grave as her husband, and it was very unlikely, Mousey thought, that there would ever be a headstone to mark the place. On the evening of that same day, whilst Mr. Harding was allowing himself a few minutes in which to peruse the newspaper, he was somewhat astonished to hear his little cousin and his assistant conversing together in lowered tones, as they sat one on each side of the table in the parlour. Mousey had her lesson books in front of her, but she had finished her work, and was telling John Monday about Dolly and the bunch of daisies.

"She is the sweetest, dearest little girl I ever saw!" Mousey was saying; "and Dick's a darling, too."

"Who's Dick?" Mr. Harding asked sharply.

"He's Mrs. Downing's little boy," Mousey said; "he and Dolly are twins—only just three years old."

"I knew Mrs. Downing had children; but I didn't know how many," Mr. Harding remarked. "Twins, eh?"

"Yes, Cousin Robert. Oh, you'd love them," she proceeded enthusiastically; "sometimes they come into the playground, and they have such pretty ways."

"Humph!" Mr. Harding grunted. "Have you finished preparing your lessons for to-morrow, child?"

"Yes, Cousin Robert. John helped me with my sums."

Mr. Harding glanced at his assistant, and smiled sarcastically. He had never had a very high opinion of John Monday's abilities, and it amused him that the boy should assist Mousey with her work.

"Let me see," he said, holding out his hand; and the little girl obediently gave him the paper on which she had worked her sums. He glanced through the figures, and nodded his head.

"Yes, they are perfectly correct," he admitted. "Are you happy at school?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied readily. "I like Mrs. Downing and Miss Longley so much, and the girls are kind—generally," she added truthfully, remembering that one or two of them had teased her by laughing at Mr. Harding, at his dingy shop, and his shabby clothes.

"Generally?" he echoed. "What do you mean by generally, eh?"

She seemed distressed. He repeated his question, but Mousey remained silent. At length, however, she said hesitatingly—

"I'm afraid I can't tell you what I mean, Cousin Robert."

"Don't you find the girls friendly?" he questioned.

"Oh, yes!" she answered quickly. "Oh, yes, indeed! There is one girl I like very much—Nellie Thomas."

"Is she a daughter of Thomas the draper?"

"Yes, Cousin Robert. She is going to ask me to her house to tea one Saturday."

"Is she, indeed. And do you propose asking her here in return?"

Mousey glanced round the parlour, and looked doubtful. Somehow she could not picture her bright-faced, well-dressed school-fellow in that shabby room. Mr. Harding smiled in what Mousey thought was a very disagreeable manner.

"I suppose you think your friend's father must be a very rich man, eh?" he questioned. "You think because he has a fine shop, and a private house for his family, that he is wealthy, eh? Don't judge by appearances. I am richer by far than he is—oh, yes."

There was a ring of triumph in the old man's tone, and his eyes sparkled brightly. Mousey was greatly impressed by his words, though not in the way he imagined.

"It must be nice to be rich," she said softly. "I know what I would do if I had plenty of money," she continued; "I would put a beautiful, white marble tombstone over mother and father's grave; and I would send a lot of lovely presents to Aunt Eliza, and Uncle Dick, and the children."

"Oh, indeed! And would you give me anything?" Mr. Harding asked in his most caustic tones.

"You don't want anything," Mousey answered simply. "I mean, not anything money could buy."

"That's true. I want nothing from anyone."

"Does it make you happy to be rich, Cousin Robert?" she asked. "Mother used to say money did not often make people happy. She and I had very little money, but we were very happy."

"Your mother had a contented disposition," he replied, not answering her question.

"Yes," she agreed, smiling; "she used to say her treasures were in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal."

"That's in the Bible, isn't it?" Mr. Harding said. "Well, on Sunday you shall read the chapter to me with that bit in it."

He took up his newspaper again; but though he tried to feel an interest in what he was reading, he found he could not; and at last, throwing it aside, he went to his secretaire, and soon forgot Mousey and the disquieting thoughts which his conversation with her had evoked, as he became absorbed in his account books.