Chapter X: Sister and Brother

"WELL, Ada, how did the gloves go off?" asked Arthur at breakfast next morning.

"Pretty well," answered Ada seriously. "I'll tell you all about it when we start for school."

Arthur looked up in her face inquiringly; but there was a gravity there so unusual that he felt touched, and forbore to take the opportunity of teasing her, which he would otherwise have done.

When they ran down the steps of No. S together, and set off towards their respective schools, Ada began at once to explain about the difficulties of the previous evening, and she received the fullest sympathy.

"I should cut her dead this morning," he advised.

"I do not think I shall," answered Ada; "but of course, Arthur, I can never feel quite the same again. Not that I bear her a grudge; I really do forgive her for the pain she caused me; but I was mistaken in her, and I can't feel the same."

"I should think not," said Arthur; "but I never did admire that girl, she's far too grand to suit my fancy."

"Oh, that's nothing; she's not grand at all; there are lots of girls grander at our school. She was one of the popular girls, and I believe, Arthur," added Ada, lowering her tone, "that I liked being her friend for that reason."

"A very silly reason," said Arthur, in his inexperience.

"And now I'm friendless," said Ada, hopelessly.

"You'll find another."

"No; I shall never trust my own judgment again."

Arthur whistled; and presently they came to the corner where they usually parted.

"Isn't there something about 'I will guide thee with mine eye,' Ada?" he said thoughtfully.

Ada nodded; but her eyes were tearful, and she hurried on towards school, feeling rather choked.

That morning Clara May felt very uncomfortable when she thought of meeting her friend at school. She hoped Ada would have left the dressing-room before she went in; but in a moment became aware she was there, at the other side, changing her damp boots.

When Ada raised her head, and saw who it was, she advanced directly across the room, looking frankly into her face, and said:

"Clara, I wanted to tell you that I was so sorry I was not suitably dressed last night; but my excuse must be that I had no idea it was a party."

"Oh, don't think anything more about it," answered Clara, looking away in some confusion; "it did not matter."

"No," answered Ada quietly, "not so much as we are inclined to think. I will try and forget it."

Clara looked at her curiously; but Ada said no more. She gathered her books together and hastened into class.

She never again alluded to the subject, nor could Clara detect any difference in her; but gradually from that time, they ceased to be on such intimate terms; and Ada grew much happier than she had been for some months.

At this time Arthur was extremely considerate towards her. He had been touched by her friendless condition, and in his boyish way, did his best to make up for the loss. Nellie's being away had increased Ada's feeling of loneliness, and she looked forward to her sister's return with a sense of relief and comfort which she herself wondered at.

One day she and Arthur were sitting in the drawing room. The weather was very hot, and little Tom had been carried down, and was lying on the sofa. He looked very frail and delicate, and his thin little fingers were playing with each other listlessly. A book which he had been reading lay half closed beside him, and he seemed very weary.

"I was thinking, Tom," said Ada, "whether you would like to learn to do wool-work?"

"I don't know," answered Tom, turning his head a little.

"You got tired of the knitting mamma taught you."

"Yes; I really am sick of that."

"Well, then, I'll go up and fetch a piece of canvas, and some of my wools."

Tom lay quiet while she was gone, only sighing deeply once or twice.

"Does anything hurt you?" asked Arthur.

"No-o!" he answered. "But I'm so tired of lying here;" then quickly adding, "I don't want to grumble, Arthur; but of course the days do seem long."

"I am sure they must," said the strong boy, stretching his legs, and thinking for a moment what it would be to him not to be able to get up and do as he wished. He looked pityingly at Tom, but said nothing.

"Here you are, Ada! Have you got the canvas?" asked Tom, raising his head.

"Yes, here it is. Now look, Tom; watch while I do a straight row, and then you shall work a few stitches."

Tom lost his listlessness and became interested; very soon, he caught the way to do it, and went on by himself quite absorbed, while Arthur and Ada talked.

"I wonder what Frank Compton will be like?" said Ada.

"Like other boys, I suppose."

"It will be a great change for us to have him here."

"Yes, something a little lively; but what a long time mamma is gone to the station."

"She will soon be here," said Arthur, glancing at the clock; "it is nearly one o'clock now."

Soon after this a cab stopped at the door, and they both hurried to the window to see their visitor alight.

He was a tall youth of sixteen, the son of a friend in Scotland, and had just returned from his first voyage in a merchant vessel. His father had written to Dr. Arundel, asking permission for him to spend a few days with them, until Mr. Compton should have time to come up to London and join his son.

Mrs. Arundel came upstairs, followed by the boy, who soon made himself at home with the young people.

With ready sailor wit, he amused the whole family. Tom's wool-work was quite cast aside, and his only anxiety became that he should be lifted downstairs on all possible occasions.

Frank neglected no one. He was politeness itself to Mrs. Arundel; pleasant to the servants; kind to Tom; charming to Ada and the little ones; and fraternised constantly with Arthur.

During the mornings, when Ada and Arthur were at school, he often joined Mrs. Arundel and the little ones in the nursery; but sometimes he went out for a stroll in the streets, or to the British Museum, which was near; and when Arthur was free, they were off to see some London sight which was new to the Scotch boy.

Thus the first few days of his visit passed quickly away.

Arthur used generally to come to Ada's room at night to tell her all that had transpired; but one or two evenings the boys were home rather late, and there was not time, and when Ada said, "Come along, Arthur," one evening, he said, "Don't bother, Ada, I'm tired."

Ada looked surprised, but said nothing, and went into her room and shut the door.

"What a milksop you are," exclaimed Frank, laughing, as they entered their joint room; "what with 'mamma,' and what with 'sister Ada,' you have no time to yourself."

"I don't know that I want any," answered Arthur; but he felt angry; he did not know whether it was with Frank, or with Ada, or with himself.

"Of course I am growing up," he mentally argued, "and I have been a good bit with them; but, as Frank says, one cannot be always at Ada's 'beck and call.'"

"What are you in a 'brown stud' about now?" asked Frank.

"Oh, nothing," answered Arthur hastily, while he prepared for bed.

"You're just a wee bit cross, aren't you?" said Frank jestingly.

"I don't know that I am."

"Well, good-night," said Frank, "we won't talk if you are tired."

The words sounded kind in themselves, but there was an ironical ring in them that vexed Arthur, and roused him to make an effort to get rid of his disquieting thoughts; so with a light word or two, he laughed off his ill-humour, and dashed into lively talk.

Somehow the atmosphere of the house was less placid than it had been. Tom grew restless, and, strange as it would seem, he was often called 'the weather-glass of the house.' Any change in the moral atmosphere always affected him, and now, while feverishly anxious to enjoy Frank's company whenever he was there, he did not seem satisfied with it when obtained. He was heard to sigh more after liberty; he brooded more over his affliction, and was often snappish to the little ones and fretful with his mother. These were like the old days to him, before he had found out what Christ had done for him.

What was the cause? He did not wait to ask himself, or if he did, he knew not the answer.

Mrs. Arundel looked tired and worried, and told her husband that things did not seem to go so smoothly as usual. "But then," she added, "I am always tired if Tom is poorly."