Chapter VI

HOW THE CHRISTMAS ROSES BEGAN TO TAKE ROOT.

OLLIE GARLAND had been very happy making his daisy chain sitting on the ragged grass plot which formed the so-called garden in front of Ralph's house. He was too innocent, and so was Ruth, to be aware of the danger he incurred by playing in the streets with the little urchins of his own age, whom he met there; it was not exactly the school one would have chosen for a child hitherto kept rather too much apart. But he had taken no harm as yet. As water runs off the feathers of a water-bird, so evil failed to penetrate the soft armour of the boy's innocence. Still, he was happier in the Forest with Ruth, or even here, alone among the daisies. Presently his chain was so long that he determined to lay it along the gravel path, in order that its full magnificence might be seen by Ruth as she came out. But while thus occupied, he heard a voice calling:

"Boy! Little boy! You there—come here, I want to speak to you."

Ollie looked up; there was the fat old woman who had called him and his sister beggars; and it was to him she spoke, he perceived.

"Come here," she cried again, beckoning with her hand. "Come here, child. Bless the boy! I shan't eat you; I only want to speak to you."

Ollie took up his daisy chain and scrambled over the low stone wall which divided the gardens. Rather slowly and reluctantly, he went up the white steps and stood before Mrs. Short, whom he regarded with considerable disfavour, expressed in his large dark eyes.

"Here's a piece of luck!" murmured Mrs. Short. "Now I shall find out everything, in spite of old Crusty. Come in, child; don't bring that trumpery in to spoil my carpet, though."

She snatched the daisy chain from the child's unwilling hand, breaking it, of course, for daisy chains are not made to bear rough handling; throwing it down on the steps, she bore her captive off triumphantly, pushing him along before her. She took him to her parlour, and lifting him suddenly in her short, stout arms, plumped him down rather roughly on one of the least ornamental of her chairs.

Now, Ollie was a very quick child, and sensitive too, as quick children generally are; her muttered words about finding out everything had by no means escaped him, and had enlightened him as to the reason of his capture, of which he disapproved in every way, entirely disliking Mrs. Short's manners. So he quickly determined that whatever questions this dumpy dame asked him, he would answer in French, which came as natural to him as English, if not more so; but which he surmised would be quite the reverse of natural to Mrs. Short: at least, Mrs. Cricklade had failed to understand it.

"Well, child," said Mrs. Short, seating herself snugly in her padded chair, panting a little after her exertions, "Tell me now, what is your name?"

"Oliver Garland," replied Ollie, making the name sound very unlike an English one.

"Laws, now! Olivia Golong—what a name! And a boy to be Olivia, too! Bless us! You're a furrineer, then, I do suppose?"

Ollie rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"And where do you come from, Olivia?" inquired Mrs. Short.

Ollie assured her in French, that he came from the moon.

Mrs. Short desired him to speak English, "Which I know you can speak it," said she.

"I can," replied Ollie.

"Then tell me where you come from," cried the tantalized lady.

Ollie relapsed into French, and this time stated that he came from the Red Sea.

"Look here," said Mrs. Short, impressively. "You tell me what I want to know, and I'll give you a piece of cake. See if I don't now. I'll show it to you."

She repaired to a corner cupboard, and produced a rich cake, off which, with a deep sigh, she cut a very thin slice, and laid it on the table before the child.

"Now, Olivia," said she, "tell me."

"I am not hungry, thank you, madame," said Ollie.

"But this is cake!" screamed Mrs. Short. "Lovely rich pound cake, made with my own 'ands. It's delicious—that's what it is."

"Then eat it up, madame," answered Ollie, mildly.

Mrs. Short could have danced with rage, only that her figure was not suited to such violent exercise.

"You unmannerly cub!" said she. "Answer my questions in good English, or I shall box your ears soundly."

"I shall not speak any more English at all," said Ollie, gravely. "But if you touch me, I shall roar, and Ruth will hear me."

And to this determination, he adhered. Mrs. Short tried bribes and persuasions in vain, and she was afraid to strike him. Ollie sat quietly on his perch, pouring forth replies to everything she said, but all in what she called his nasty furrin' tongue; and not one word of common sense could she get out of him, as she afterwards remarked. At last the knock at the door, of which I have already spoken, concluded this vexatious interview.

"That's Ruthie!" cried Ollie, dropping off his chair and making for the door; but, remembering himself, he turned and made a polite bow to Mrs. Short, saying:

"Mille pardons, madame—adieu!" And then Mrs. Short, watching in dumb dismay from her window, saw the party return to Ralph's house.

"Did Mrs. Short ask you many questions?" asked Ralph.

"A great many; she never stopped, sir!"

"And did you answer? But of course you couldn't help it. What a plague," thought he, "the old woman will be, if she has got the whole story from the boy."

"Yes, I answered her," replied Ollie with a grave smile. "Only—I spoke in French; and she did not like it, sir."

Ralph actually laughed, for the first time for many years, so that the sound almost startled him.

They went to church together, and I cannot say that Ollie's behaviour there was edifying, though he was quiet enough; for he fell fast asleep, and lay with his head in Ruth's lap, looking like a beautiful picture. Mrs. Short would hardly have recognised her saucy tormentor in this lovely sleeping cherub. Ralph's heart grew softer with every glance; he could not fix his mind on the sermon at all; but I think the two children were the text to an unspoken sermon, preached to Ralph alone.

Ruth and Ollie went home after church, thanking him so heartily for their pleasant day, "and all the trouble you are going to take for us," Ruth added, that poor crusty old Ralph felt wonderfully happy.

Next day, after a good deal of thought, he wrote his letter to Mr. Mordan, and then left home, but not, as usual, to wander aimlessly about the country. He went up the hill, and betook himself to the curate's house. Somewhat to his surprise, he got away without being pounced upon by Mrs. Short; but in truth, that good lady felt a little shy of him, not knowing what he might say about Ollie's enforced visit the day before.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Cloudesley were at home, and Ralph was at once taken to their pretty little sitting-room. May sprang up gladly,—

"Have you come to see me at last, Mr. Trulock, to make up for your being always out when I go to see you?" she said; and as she spoke she found a comfortable chair for him.

"You are very kind, madam," he said, in his formal way, "and I am very glad to see you look so well. But I only ventured to call on a little matter of business—or not business exactly, but to ask Mr. Cloudesley something."

"What is it, Trulock?" said Mr. Cloudesley, pushing aside his writing-desk. "Anything that I can do for you?"

"Not for me, sir, but for a little boy—his name is Garland, and I want to know if he can go to the Greatrex school for a time. I know it is intended for the children of Fairford people only, and, as far as I can make out, this child does not belong to Fairford; but it is a pity that he should be running idle about the streets."

"Garland! I don't know the name," said Mr. Cloudesley.

"No, sir; it is not a Fairford name. These children—for the girl is no more than a child herself, Heaven help her!—came over from France with their father, who said he was coming to Fairford to see his father. The poor young man died at Southampton, and from the girl's story I should conclude that he had given up his situation, and undertaken the journey, having reason to believe that his life was near an end. He did not tell the child this,—it is only my own idea. With his last breath, he urged her to come on here to her grandfather, and she obeyed, of course; but no one of the name was ever known here."

"Have they been here long?"

"Since the early part of April, sir. They lodge at Mrs. Cricklade's; she keeps a baker's shop half-way down the hill."

"Ah! That accounts for my not hearing of them. Mrs. Cricklade contrives to keep out of my way, or to be wonderfully busy when I call."

"I met the girl in Price's shop, sir: she works for them, and what she earns is nearly all they have to depend on. I have undertaken to write to Bordeaux, and to advertise for the grandfather, but meantime it seems a pity that little Oliver should be running about the streets."

"Nor is Mrs. Cricklade's the best place for them," remarked May.

"No; but until we get an answer from Bordeaux, I thought they might as well stay there, as the old woman is very kind to them."

"Well, perhaps you are right," replied May, and was going on to say that she would call and see the children, when to her surprise her husband gave her a look which she knew meant "don't." And if this surprised her, how much more was she amazed to hear Gilbert making some difficulty about admitting the boy to the Greatrex school.

"I fear he hardly belongs to the class for which the school is intended," he remarked. "Most likely, when you have found the relatives, they will be indignant that he should have been sent to a school of this kind. Perhaps we may as well wait a bit, at least."

"Well, sir, I hardly like it for him. He is a fine little fellow, and very innocent. His sister cannot spare time to see after him."

"Still, considering that the grandfather may turn up any day, I hardly like to take the responsibility."

"I will take it upon myself, sir. I have been advising the girl, and I will advise her to send him."

"Oh, very well, then. There is a penny a week to pay, I suppose she can manage that? And threepence a week extra secures to the children a meal in the middle of the day—a good dinner, too, for it is partly provided by Lady Mabel's bequest. That's fourpence a week; you will tell the girl, and the child can begin to-morrow. I will see Mr. Manders about it in the evening."

"Fourpence a week," said Ralph with a sigh. "I will remember, sir."

Then he said good-bye, and departed.

"Gilbert, why did you stop me just now? And why did you not admit this poor child free? You can, can you not?"

"I can; but don't you see how interested old Trulock is in them? Is it not the very thing we could have wished for the poor old fellow—something to draw him out of his shell? And would you interfere with him? You'll find that this fourpence a week will be paid by Ralph himself, and that by degrees he'll give more care and thought to these children than if we took them up. Then he would feel that they were all right; but if we leave them to him, he won't neglect them. Why, he looked quite softened when he spoke of them."

"I should never have thought of all that!" cried May admiringly. "It is not for nothing that you come from the North, sir. You are a long-headed personage. Poor old Ralph! I do like him, Gilbert."

Ralph went to see Ruth, and found her hard at work, and Ollie sitting beside her, looking, with his soft bright eyes and restless movements, not unlike a newly-caught bird in a cage. Ruth explained his presence by telling her friend that some of the boys had had a fight, and had hurt one another, and Ollie had run home quite horrified. This smoothed the way for the mention of the school, at the idea of which, particularly when the "good dinner" was mentioned, Ruth's sweet brown eyes glistened with joy. Ollie was glad, too, for he liked learning, though he was nervous at the notion of going among strangers alone.

"But you must go alone, for I could not spare time to go with you, Ollie. And besides, I don't know them any more than you do," said Ruth.

"I will come for you and go with you the first day, Ollie," said Ralph, not without a feeling of surprise at himself.

"Mr. Trulock, I do think you are the kindest person in the world!" cried Ruth earnestly.

"You won't find many to agree with you there," replied Ralph drily.

"That fat woman called you Old Crusty," remarked Ollie.

"You should not have said that Ollie," Ruth said reprovingly. "She did not mean Mr. Trulock to hear it. Well, sir, I hope our grandfather may turn out to be just like you," she added, turning to Ralph.

Mr. and Mrs. Cloudesley were at breakfast the next morning, when past the window went Ralph Trulock, and by his side, holding by his hand, and chattering gaily, with dark eyes raised fearlessly to the stern old face, was the loveliest boy, May declared, that she had ever seen.

"See how well the spell works," said Gilbert.

"I knew Trulock had a kind heart," she replied, "if I could only get at it. He speaks of his wife so tenderly."

"These children are finding their way to it, I suspect," answered Mr. Cloudesley. "Now, May, let them quite alone. Trulock will be the better for being left to manage everything for himself."

"Oh, yes," said May; "but I suppose I may look at that boy when I go to the school for the singing!"

In a few days, Ralph received the following answer from Mr. Mordan:

"DEAR SIR,—"

"I know nothing more of the late Frederick Garland than the facts with which, from your letter, I suppose you to be already acquainted. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, he saved my son's life, the ship in which they had taken passages for Canada being wrecked off the coast of Ireland. My son did not go to Canada at all, and therefore saw nothing of Garland until I became the senior, and he the junior partner of our firm, and then he begged of me to find a situation for this young man, as he had ascertained that he had not got on well in America. Garland came to Bordeaux at once; but as he was no accountant, though evidently an educated man, I could give him nothing better than a place as what you call a storekeeper, which he filled for eight years, giving every satisfaction as to honesty and general good character. I know nothing more of him, and my son, who is at present absent, travelling in the East, does not, to the best of my belief, know anything that could assist you in your search for his relatives. The girl he married here was an orphan, and had no relatives living. Garland stated to me that he hoped to remain in England with his father; but he said no more than this. He left no debts here, nor is there anything due to him; but I always fancied he was saving money, as, though in receipt of a good salary, he lived in a very economical way. He must have had some drain upon his income of which I am ignorant."

"I remain,"
"Your obedient servant,"
"OLIVER MORDAN, Senior."

And the advertisement in the Times was put in again and again, till it had cost quite a little fortune, and yet it never was answered. Ruth and Ollie seemed to be abandoned by all the world, except poor "crusty" Ralph Trulock, who at first grudged every sixpence they cost him. But Ruth had crept into his heart, and Ollie was such a bright, innocent, creature—the more he saw of them, the more he loved them. And they loved him, which was not wonderful, as every little pleasure they enjoyed that summer came from him. The Sunday dinner party became quite an institution: first came church, then dinner, then a long walk in the Forest.

Ruth worked hard all the week, but as Ollie got his dinner at school, and many a little present came from Ralph, she got on very well. Her black calico wore out, and she did not replace it, but wore a coloured dress; quietly remarking that "Father would not mind, because he knew she loved him as well as ever." Ralph said something about her father "not knowing," but Ruth, after a little distressed thought, smiled and answered,—

"Would not the angels tell him? You know they come and go still, though we cannot see them; and he would be sure to ask questions about Ollie and me. They will have told him that although we could not find our grandfather, God has given us a good friend."

The rector came home presently, and then Mr. Cloudesley had a holiday, and went away for awhile. Mr. Barton had a great deal to do, and was not a great visitor; and seeing Ralph in church every Sunday, he was quite satisfied about him.