Chapter II: Their Father's Friend

"I AM glad the fog is clearing," remarked Ruth to Barbara, on the following afternoon —it was Saturday— as she was assisting in putting away the dinner things in the kitchen, "because father would be disappointed if it prevented Dr. Reed's coming to-morrow."

"I am sure it would be a great pity if the gentleman did not come after all the trouble you've taken on his account, Miss Ruth," Barbara replied, smiling good-naturedly; "you've been hard at work all day making the house look as nice as possible."

"I've given the study the most thorough turn out and clean it's had for months," said Ruth; "for father is certain to take Dr. Reed in there to talk with him; and I've cobbled together several tears in the sitting-room curtains, and nailed down the canvas in the passage where it's worn out—Billy caught his foot in it last night and had a nasty fall. But, dear me, Barbara, I don't know where the work in a house comes from, there seems to be no end to it."

"Things will wear out," Barbara observed sagely; "and when they do and are not replaced—"

"Ah, that's it!" Ruth interposed, "we so seldom have anything new. We ought to have a new carpet in the sitting-room, it's really dreadfully shabby, and will look more so when the sunny spring days come, but it's no good thinking about it. I hope Dr. Reed won't notice it, but mother says doctors are very observant people as a rule, so I suppose he will."

"I wouldn't begin to worry about that if I were you, miss," advised Barbara; "the gentleman isn't coming to take stock of the furniture, you may depend. What time does master expect him?"

"About one o'clock, I think—after church, he told father. He is going home on Monday; he has an assistant who looks after his practice in his absence."

Ruth was wiping the plates and dishes which Barbara had washed. She often gave her assistance in this way in the kitchen on Saturday afternoons, thus enabling Barbara to get over her work earlier than she otherwise would have done. Madge and the boys were out; but Mrs. Wyndham and Violet were in the sitting-room, mending stockings, and, as soon as Ruth had put away the dinner things, she joined them there.

"Oh, here you are!" exclaimed Violet, as her sister entered the room. "How tired you look, Ruthie!"

"No wonder, poor child," said Mrs. Wyndham; "she has had a very fatiguing day. I am glad the study has been turned out, howler, for I know it wanted cleaning badly; but your father does not like Barbara to do it for fear that she might misplace his papers, and I really have had no time to see to it myself. I peeped into the room just now, and thought it looking very fresh and nice."

"Still it hardly seems fair that Ruth should have had to work so hard on her holiday," Violet remarked; "we ought to keep two servants—cook and house-maid—"

"Oh, Vi, you know we couldn't afford two servants!" Ruth broke in protestingly, whilst her mother shook her head.

"I suppose not," Violet admitted. "It is too bad that we should be so wretchedly poor," she proceeded irritably; "we are wretchedly poor, although no doubt we ought to be thankful we have a home, and food to eat when so many people have neither. But it seems to me that we are poorer than most people in our position; I'm sure I don't know why it is. Father's no better off now than he was on his wedding day; I heard him tell you so, mother, didn't I?"

"Yes, my dear," assented Mrs. Wyndham; "but that is not his fault, he has had no opportunity of bettering his position. Besides, when a man has a wife and five children to provide for he is heavily handicapped, remember. Perhaps some day your father will get a more lucrative post; he is very clever, every one says so—"

"Yes, but it's not always the clever people who get on best," interposed Violet, who, in some ways, was wise beyond her fourteen years; "the fathers of several of the girls at school are not in the least clever, but they're very well off."

"You're not blaming father in any way, are you?" Ruth cried hotly, her brown eyes flashing with anger. "Perhaps if he had made a fortune by speculating like Agnes Hosking's father you'd be more satisfied!"

"Don't be disagreeable, Ruth," pouted Violet; "you don't mean that, and you know I don't blame father. What an idea! See how hard he works. That's why it seems so unfair that he should not earn more money. I don't suppose Dr. Reed works any harder than father does."

"I don't think he could," Ruth replied, speaking more quietly. "Let me help with the stockings." She slipped one over her hand and commenced to darn it. "I wonder what Dr. Reed's daughter is like," she said, by way of turning the conversation into a different channel.

"I expect she has everything heart can desire," Violet answered with a sigh; "lucky girl!"

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Wyndham; "doubtless she has all that your father and I would give you, Violet, if we could. But you are a poor man's daughter, and she—well, she is Prosperity's child."

There was a touch of bitterness mingled with reproach in Mrs. Wyndham's tone, and Violet had the grace to feel ashamed of the discontent she had shown. Ruth kept silence, for her heart was full of indignation against her sister, and she feared that if she spoke she might say something she would repent. Presently Violet said—

"There is one thing I do not envy her, and that is her name."

"What is it?" asked Ruth; "I did not hear father say."

"She is called 'Ann.'"

"Ann," Ruth repeated; "Ann Reed. It is not a pretty name, I suppose, but I do not know that I dislike it."

"It is an old-fashioned name, of course," said Mrs. Wyndham; "Dr. Reed told your father that he had called his daughter after his mother. I do hope nothing will happen to prevent Dr. Reed's coming to-morrow now we have prepared for him."

By the following day the fog had quite gone, and towards noon the sun cleared. When the Wyndham children returned from church, after morning service, they found their father's expected visitor had just arrived, and they were immediately presented to him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a grave, clean-shaven face, and a pair of steel-grey eyes which looked both keen and kindly. The young folks took to him at once, and Ruth's heart warmed towards him, when, after her father had introduced him to her, and they had shaken hands, he said:—

"Why, you must be about the age of my little maid at home! One of these days I must persuade your mother to let you pay us a visit; I am sure you would be friends with Ann. Do you know that your father and I were chums before we were as old as you?"

"Yes," Ruth answered; "he has told us so."

"Ah, but he hasn't told you how he used to stand by me, at school, and help fight my battles! No, he wouldn't tell you that!" —And he straightway launched into an account of his school-days, which they all— Frank and Billy especially—found very interesting.

Soon the children were quite at their ease with their new acquaintance. He made himself at home at once, as Mrs. Wyndham afterwards remarked; and his visit proved a great success. Ruth and Violet could not help wondering if he noticed the shabbiness of the house, but he did not appear to do so; and they would have liked to find out what his own home was like, but he said very little about it, though he talked a good deal of his wife and daughter. Every one was sorry when the time came to say good-bye to him; and he left with the promise to call and see them again the next time he came to town.

"He isn't a bit as I expected he would be," Violet confided to her sister when they were alone for the night in the room which they shared; "I pictured him like Agnes Hosking's father, but he doesn't resemble him in the least."

"I never saw Mr. Hosking."

"Oh, he's a stout, red-faced man with a big curled moustache, who puts his hands in his pockets, and jingles his money when he's talking to you. Agnes took me over their new house the other day, and I saw him then. It's such a grand house, Ruthie, and the furniture is lovely— almost too handsome to use. The drawing-room chairs are upholstered in bright pink satin— Agnes says pink is the fashionable colour for drawing-rooms, now; and there's one mirror so big that it reaches nearly to the ceiling. Everything is the best that can be had for money. How I should like to be rich and live in a house like that!"

"It would be far too grand to suit me," Ruth said, shaking her head. "What made Agnes take you there? I did not know you were very friendly with her."

"I am not. I think she wanted to show off her new home, and when she asked me if I'd like to see it, I said 'yes,' and went. As a rule she doesn't have much to say to me. I think she is rather inclined to look down on us, Ruthie, because we're poor, and, do you know, once I heard her call father 'a newspaper hack'— that was after I'd been to her house, I wished then I hadn't gone. I wonder if Dr. Reed's daughter is anything like Agnes Hosking."

"I should think not."

"Oh, I don't know! Being rich often makes people very horrid. You heard what mother called Ann Reed? Prosperity's child. I expect she's quite spoilt, and as selfish as she can be."

Violet paused for a minute; but, as her sister made no response, she continued: "Did you notice that Barbara had a smut on her nose when she was waiting table at dinner? I told her about it, in a whisper, and she tried to rub it off, but just smeared it instead. I wish we could afford to keep a proper parlour-maid, but it's no good wishing. Ruthie, does it ever strike you that we're a rather untidy family?"

"Yes," Ruth admitted, with a slight smile; "Miss Minter says there should be a place for everything and everything should be in its place, but that's certainly not the case in our house."

"I never think about it unless we've visitors," Violet confessed; "then I notice it, and wonder what they think."

Long after her sister was asleep that night Ruth lay awake pondering on many things. She was vexed that Violet's curiosity should have taken her to Agnes Hosking's home; for Agnes had been neither kind nor considerate in her treatment of the Wyndham girls, having frequently allowed them to see that she looked down upon them because they wore somewhat shabby clothes, and had but little pocket money to spend. Ruth both disliked and despised Agnes.

By-and-by she dismissed her from her mind, and her thoughts passed to her father's old friend. She liked him, she told herself, and she fancied she understood now a remark she had overheard her father make to her mother, that prosperity had not spoilt Andrew Reed. She wondered if Dr. Reed had really meant that he must persuade her mother to let her pay a visit to his home. Yes, she believed he had meant it; he did not strike her as being the sort of man who would have said it merely to be pleasant. Perhaps, some day, she would receive an invitation from Mrs. Reed. How delightful that would be!

Then she reflected how much better her father had looked that day, and that his cough had been less troublesome. She had been glad to hear Dr. Reed tell him that he must take care of himself; for he never considered himself enough, he was the most unselfish of men. Now, as it always did, her heart softened and thrilled with loving pride as her mind dwelt on her father; and she remembered how, once, when she had been regretting the fact that his work was not appreciated as she had thought it should be, he had put his arm around her and said:—

"Never mind, little daughter, perhaps my day will come, and if not—well 'The true problem of life is not to "get on" or "get up," not to be great or to do great things, but to be just what God meant us to be,'" and the recollection soothed and comforted her, for she realised that one who believed that could not be altogether dissatisfied with his lot.