Kitabı oku: «Daddy's Girl», sayfa 7

“Why don’t you shut your eyes and go to sleep?” asked her mother.

“I can’t, on account of the round-and-roundness feeling,” replied Sibyl.

“What a funny little thing you are. Here, give me your hand.”

Mrs. Ogilvie stretched out her own warm hand and took one of Sibyl’s. Sibyl’s little hand was cold.

“May I come quite close to you, mother?” asked Sibyl.

“Yes, darling.”

The next instant she was lying in her mother’s arms. Her mother clasped her close to her breast and kissed her many times.

“Oh, now that’s better,” said the child with a sob. It was the first attempt at a sob which had come from her lips. She nestled cosily within her mother’s clasp.

“I am much better,” she said; “I didn’t understand, but I understand now. I got his letter.”

“Must we talk about it to-night, Sibyl?” asked her mother.

“Not much; there’s not much to say, is there? He said I was to be good and to obey you. I was to be good all the time. It’s very hard, but I ’spect I’ll do it; I ’spect Lord Jesus will help me. Mother, why has father gone to Queensland? It’s such a long, long way off.”

“For a most excellent reason,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You really are showing a great deal of sense, Sibyl. I never knew you more sensible about anything. I was afraid you would cry and make scenes and be naughty, and make yourself quite ill; that would have been a most silly, affected sort of thing to do. Your father has gone away just on a visit – we will call it that. He will be back before the summer is over, and when he comes back he will bring us – ”

“What?” asked the child. “What has he gone for?”

“My dear child, he has gone on most important business. He will bring us back a great deal of money, Sibyl. You are too young yet to understand about money.”

“No, I am not,” said Sibyl. “I know that when people have not much money they are sorrowful. Poor Mr. Holman is.”

“Who in the world is Mr. Holman?”

“He sells the toys in the back street near our house. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for that sovereign. Mr. Holman is going to send me some dusty toys to-morrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t ’splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money.”

“Plenty of money,” echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; “that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. When your father comes back we’ll be rich.”

“Rich?” said Sibyl, “rich?” She did not say another word for a long time. Her mother really thought she had dropped asleep. In about half an hour, however, Sibyl spoke.

“Is it nice, being rich?” she asked.

“Of course it is.”

“But what does it do?”

“Do? It does everything. It gives you all your pretty frocks.”

“But I am more comfy in my common frocks.”

“Well, it gives you your nice food.”

“I don’t care nothing about food.”

“It gives you your comfortable home, your pony, and – ”

“Lord Grayleigh gave me my pony.”

“Child, I cannot explain. It makes all the difference between comfort and discomfort, between sorrow and happiness.”

“Do you think so?” said Sibyl. “And father has gone away to give me a nice house, and pretty clothes, and all the other things between being comfy and discomfy; and you want to be rich very much, do you, mother?”

“Very much indeed; I like the good things of life.”

“I’ll try and understand,” said Sibyl. She turned wearily on her pillow, and the next instant sleep had visited the perplexed little brain.

CHAPTER X

“Nursie,” said Sibyl, two months after the events related in the last chapter, “mother says that when my ownest father comes back again we’ll be very rich.”

“Um,” replied nurse, with a grunt, “do she?”

“Why do you speak in that sort of voice, nursie? It’s very nice to be rich. I have been having long talks with mother, and she has ’splained things. It means a great deal to be rich. I am so glad that my father is coming back a very, very rich man. I didn’t understand at first. I thought to be rich just meant to have lots of money, and big, big houses, and heaps of bags of sweeties, and toys and ponies, and, oh, the kind of things that don’t matter a bit. But now I know what to be rich really is.”

“Yes, dear,” said nurse. She was seated in the old nursery close to the window. She was mending some of Sibyl’s stockings. A little pile of neatly mended pairs lay on the table, and there was a frock which also wanted a darn reclining on the back of the old woman’s chair. Sibyl broke off and watched her nurse’s movements with close interest.

“Why do you wear spectacles?” she asked suddenly.

“Because, my love, my sight is failing. I ain’t as young as I was.”

“What does ‘not as young as you was’ mean?”

“What I say, my dear.”

“I notice,” said Sibyl, thoughtfully, “that all very, very old people say they’re not as young as they was, and so you wear spectacles ’cos you’re not as young as you was, and ’cos you can’t see as well as you did.”

“That’s about it, Missy, and when I have to darn the stockings of a naughty little Miss, and to mend holes in her dress, I have to put on my glasses.”

“Then I’m glad we’re going to be rich; it will be quite easy to ’splain why I am glad,” continued Sibyl, thoughtfully. “When our gold comes, nursie, you’ll never have to do no more darning, and you need never wear your glasses ’cept just to read lovely books. Oh, we’ll do such a lot when we are rich. There’s poor Mr. Holman: I was talking to him only yesterday. Do you know, nursie, his shop isn’t paying, not a bit, and he was, oh, so sad about it, and Mrs. Holman began to cry. She told me there’s a new big toy-shop in Palace Road, a great big lovely swampy sort of shop. I mean by that, that it takes all the customers. They go in there and they spend their money, and there’s none left for poor Mr. Holman. It’s just ’cos he lives in Greek Street, and Greek Street is what is called a back street. Isn’t it perfectly shameful, nursie? Mr. Holman said if they could afford to have a shop in Palace Road he would get all the little boys and girls back again. But they won’t come into his nice, quiet back street. I like back streets, don’t you, nursie? It’s horrid of the boys and girls not to go to Mr. Holman’s.”

“It’s the way of the world, dear,” answered nurse; “the world always goes with the prosperous people. Them that are struggling the world leaves behind. It’s a cruel way, but it’s the way the world has got.”

“Then I hate the world,” said Sibyl. “My beautiful Lord Jesus wouldn’t allow it if He was on earth now, would He, nursie?”

“Oh, my love, there’d be a lot of things He’d have to change if He came back; but don’t ask me any more questions now, Missy. You go out with your governess. You don’t get half enough of the air, to my way of thinking; you’re looking peaky, and not what the master would like to see.”

“But I am perfectly well,” answered Sibyl, “I never felt better in all my borned days. You know, nursie, I have got a lot to do now. Father gave me ’rections in that letter that nobody else is to see, and one of them was that I was to keep well, so I’ll go for a walk if you think it will be good for me; only I just wish to say that when father comes back dear Mr. Holman shall have his shop in Palace Road, and a lot of fresh toys put in it, and then he’ll be quite happy and smiling, and his shop will swamp up all the children, and all the pennies and all the half-pennies and sixpennies, and poor, dear, darling Mrs. Holman won’t have to wipe away her tears any more.”

Sibyl skipped out of the room, and nurse said several times under her breath —

“Bless her! the darling she is!”

Smartly dressed, as was her mother’s wish, the little girl now ran downstairs. Miss Winstead was not ready. Sibyl waited for her in the hall. She felt elated and pleased, and just at that moment a servant crossed the spacious hall, and opened the hall door. Standing on the steps was Mr. Rochester. Sibyl uttered a great whoop when she saw him, rushed forward, and seized him by the hand.

“Oh, I am glad to see you,” she said. “Have you come to see me, or to see mother?”

“I am very glad to see you,” replied the young man; “but I did call to see your mother.”

“Well, come to the drawing-room, I’ll entertain you till mother comes. Go upstairs, please, Watson, and tell mother that Mr. Rochester is here. Be sure you say Mr. Rochester —nice Mr. Rochester.”

Watson smiled, as he often did when Sibyl addressed him, and nice Mr. Rochester and the little girl disappeared into the drawing-room.

Sibyl shut the door, took his hand, and looked earnestly into his face.

“Well?” she said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, in some confusion.

“I was only wondering if Lady Helen had done it.”

“Really, Sibyl, you say very queer things,” answered Rochester. He sat down on a chair.

“Oh, you know you are awfully fond of her, and you want her to marry you, and I want her to marry you because I like you. You are very nice, very nice indeed, and you are rich, you know. Mother has been ’splaining to me about rich people. It’s most ’portant that everybody should be rich, isn’t it, Mr. Rochester? It’s the only way to be truly, truly happy, isn’t it?”

“That it is not, Sibyl. Who has been putting such an idea into your head?”

Sibyl looked at him, and was about to say, “Why, mother,” but she checked herself. A cloud took some of the brightness out of her eyes. She looked puzzled for a moment, then she laughed.

“When my own father comes back again we’ll all be rich people. I hope when you are very, very rich you’ll make,” she said, “dear Lady Helen happy. I am very glad, now, my father went to Australia. It gave me dreadful pain at the time, but when he comes back we’ll all be rich. What has he gone about; do you know, Mr. Rochester?”

“Something about a gold mine. Your father is a great engineer, and his opinion with regard to the mine will be of the utmost value. If he says it is a good mine, with a lot of gold in it, then the British public will buy shares. They will buy shares as fast as ever they can.”

“What are shares?” asked Sibyl.

“It is difficult to explain. Shares mean a little bit of the gold out of the mine, and these people will buy them in order to become rich.”

“It’s very puzzling,” said Sibyl. “And it depends on father?”

“Yes, because if he says there is not much gold in the mine, then no one will buy shares. Don’t you understand, it all depends on him.”

“It’s very puzzling,” said Sibyl again. “Are you going to buy shares, Mr. Rochester?”

“I think so,” he answered earnestly. “I shall buy several shares, I think, and if I do I shall be rich enough to ask Lady Helen to marry me.”

“And you will be happy?”

“Very happy if she says ‘yes.’ But, Sibyl, this is a great secret between you and me, you must never tell it to anyone else.”

“You may trust me,” said Sibyl, “I never tell things I’m told not to tell. You can’t think what wonderful ’portant things father has told me, and I never, never speak of them again. Then you’ll be glad to be rich?”

“Yes, because I shall be happy if Lady Helen is my wife,” he answered, and just then Mrs. Ogilvie came into the room.

Sibyl and Miss Winstead went out for their daily exercise. Sibyl had already ridden the pony in the morning. It was a nameless pony. Nothing would induce her to give it a title.

“When father comes back he’ll christen my pony,” she said, “but no one else shall. I won’t give it no name till he comes back.”

She enjoyed her rides on the brisk little pony’s back. She was rapidly becoming a good horsewoman. When her mother did not accompany her the redoubtable Watson followed his little mistress, and the exercise did the child good, and helped to bring a faint color to her cheeks.

Now she and Miss Winstead walked slowly down the shady side of the street. Sibyl was pondering over many things.

“It is very hot this morning,” said the governess.

“Oh, that don’t matter,” replied Sibyl. “Miss Winstead, is your head sometimes so full that it seems as if it would burst?”

“No,” answered Miss Winstead, “I cannot say it is.”

“Full of thoughts, you know.”

“No,” replied the governess again. “Don’t turn in your toes, Sibyl, walk straight, turn your toes out a little, so; keep step with me. Little ladies ought to walk properly.”

Sibyl took great pains to follow Miss Winstead’s instructions. She was always taking great pains now. A wonderful lot of her naughtiness and daringness had left her. She was trying to be good. It was extremely irksome, but when she succeeded she felt a great glow of pleasure, for she believed herself near to her father.

“Miss Winstead,” she said suddenly, “I have been thinking of something. It is most terribly ’portant. Would you greatly mind if we went to see the Holmans before we go back?”

“We shan’t have time,” replied Miss Winstead.

“Oh, but I want to go,” said Sibyl, knitting her brows, “don’t let us go into the stupid Park, do come to the Holmans.”

“I cannot do it, Sibyl, it is impossible. We must be back rather early for lunch to-day, as your mother is going into the country this afternoon.”

“Mother going into the country, what for?”

“I cannot tell you, it is not my affair.”

“That means that you know, but you won’t tell.”

“You can put it in that way if you like. I won’t tell. Now come into the Park, we can sit on one of the chairs under the trees and keep cool.”

Sibyl obeyed unwillingly. She felt, as she said afterwards, as if Miss Winstead had rubbed her the wrong way.

“I am like a pussy-cat when its fur is rubbed quite the wrong side up,” thought the little girl. “I don’t like it, not a bit.”

Presently she slipped her hand through her governess’s arm, and said in a coaxing voice —

“Do come home through Greek Street; I do want just to say one word to Mr. Holman, you can’t think how ’portant it is.”

“I cannot, Sibyl; you must not ask me again.” Here Miss Winstead took out her watch.

“We must hurry home,” she said; “I had not the least idea the time was going so fast.”

They left the Park, and came back in time for lunch. During lunch both Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter were very silent. Sibyl was thinking of the Holmans, and how more than important it was that she should see them soon, and Mrs. Ogilvie had another thought in her head, a thought which caused her eyes to dance with pleasure.

“Why isn’t Mr. Rochester here?” said the little girl at last.

“He could not stay,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “You and he are great friends, are you not, Sib?”

“He is nice, he is very nice,” said the child; “he and Lady Helen – oh, more than nice. I like ’em very much, don’t you, mother?”

“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Ogilvie got up. “Good-by, Sibyl, I shall be back late this evening.”

“Good-by, mother dear.”

Mrs. Ogilvie left the room. Miss Winstead, having finished her lunch, desired Sibyl to be quick with hers, and then to follow her to the schoolroom. There was no one in the room now but Sibyl and the footman, Watson. Watson began to remove the things. Sibyl played with a biscuit. Suddenly she looked full up at the young man.

“Are you tired after your ride this morning Watson?”

“No, Miss Sibyl, not at all.”

“I wonder if you’re awfully hungry, Watson?”

“Why so, Miss?”

“Because it’s time for the servants’ dinner.”

“Well, Miss, I’m going down to the hall presently, when I shall have my appetite satisfied, thank you all the same for inquiring.”

Watson greatly enjoyed having a private chat with Sibyl.

“You couldn’t, p’waps,” said the little girl, knitting her brows, “you couldn’t, p’waps, come a short way down the street with me afore you begin your dinner?”

“Where do you want to go, Miss?”

“I want to see Mr. Holman; you know Mr. Holman, don’t you, Watson? He is the dear, kind, nice, sorrowful man who keeps the dusty toys.”

“I have heard of him from you, Miss.”

“It’s most ’portant that I should see him and his wife, and if you walked behind me, mother would not be very angry. Would you come, Watson? You might just put on your hat and come at once. I have not taken off my hat and coat. We can do it and be back afore Miss Winstead finds out.”

Watson looked out of the window. He saw Mrs Ogilvie at that moment go down the steps, closing the door behind her. She walked away in the direction of the nearest railway station. She held a dainty parasol over her head. He turned to where the eager little face of Sibyl was watching him.

“If you’re very quick, Miss,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

“You are good,” said Sibyl. “Do you know, Watson, that you’re a very nice man – you have very good impulses, I mean. I heard father once say of a man who dined here that he had good impulses, and I think he had a look of you; and you have very good impulses, too. Now let’s go; do let’s be quick.”

A moment later the footman and the child were in the street. Sibyl walked on in front, and Watson a couple of feet behind her. Holman’s shop was fortunately not far off, and they soon entered it.

“Watson,” said the little girl, “you can stand in the doorway. It’s very private, what I has to say to the Holmans; you must on no account listen.”

“No, Miss, I won’t.”

Sibyl now entered the shop. Mrs. Holman was alone there. She was attending in the shop while her husband was eating his dinner. She looked very sad, and, as Sibyl expressed it afterwards, rusty. There were days when Mrs. Holman did present that appearance – when her cap seemed to want dusting and her collar to want freshness. Her black dress, too, looked a little worn. Sibyl was very, very sorry for her when she saw her in this dress.

“Dear! dear!” she said; “I am glad I came. You look as if you wanted cheering up. Mrs. Holman, I’ve splendid news for you.”

“What is that, my dear little lady? That you have got money to buy another toy? But Mr. Holman said only as late as last night that he wouldn’t send you another worn-out toy not for nobody. ’Tain’t fair, my love. It seems like playing on your generosity, my dear.”

“But I like them,” said the child; “I do really, truly. I paint them up with the paints in my paint-box and make them look as good as new. They are much more interesting than perfect toys, they are truly.”

“Well, dear, your mother would not like it if she know we treated you in what my husband says is a shabby way.”

“Don’t think any more about that now, Mrs. Holman. You both treat me as I love to be treated – as though I were your little friend.”

“Which you are, darling – which you are.”

“Well, Mrs. Holman, I must hurry; I must tell you my good news. Do you remember telling me last week that you had a hundred pounds put away in the Savings Bank, and that you didn’t know what to do with it. You said, ‘Money ought to make money,’ and you didn’t know how your hundred pounds would make money. It was such a funny speech, and you tried to ’splain it to me, and I tried to understand.”

“It was silly of my husband and me to talk of it before you, Missy. It is true we have got a hundred pounds. It is a nest-egg against a rainy day.”

“Now again you are talking funnily; a nest-egg against a rainy day?”

“Against a time of trouble when we may want to spend the money.”

“Oh, I understand that,” answered the child.

“And I had it well invested, but the money was paid back, and there was nothing for it but to pop it into the Post Office Savings Bank.”

“It’s there still, is it?” said Sibyl, her eyes shining.

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, now, what do you say to buying bits of gold with it?”

“Bits of gold with our hundred pounds?” said Mrs. Holman, staring at Sibyl.

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean; bits of gold. You will be able to if you keep it long enough. If you promise to keep that money safe you may be able to buy great lumps of gold out of my father’s gold mine. My father has gone to Australia to – Oh, I must not tell you, for it really is an awful, awful secret; but, anyhow, when he comes back you’ll be able to make a lot of money out of your money, to buy heaps of bits of gold. Will you promise to keep that hundred pounds till father comes home? That’s what I came about, to ask you to promise, and Watson came with me because Miss Winstead wouldn’t. Will you promise, dear Mrs. Holman?”

“Bless you, darling,” said Mrs. Holman, “so that is why your father has gone away. It do sound exciting.”

“It’s awfully exciting, isn’t it? We shall all be so rich. Mother said so, and mother ought to know. You’ll be rich, and I’ll be rich, and dear, dear nursie will be rich, and even Watson. Watson has got such good impulses. He’ll be rich, too, and he shall marry the girl he is fond of; and there is a friend of mine, he wants to marry another girl, and they shall be rich and they shall marry. Oh, nobody need be sorrowful any more. Everybody will be quite happy when father comes back. You’ll be able to have your shop in Palace Road, and oh, be sure you keep that hundred pounds till then.”

Sibyl did not wait for Mrs. Holman to make any further remark. Mrs. Holman’s eyes looked bright and excited; the child dashed out of the shop.

“Come, Watson,” she said, “you’ll have a splendid appetite for your dinner, and you have done a very good deed. You have denied yourself, Watson, and made a sorrowful woman happy. What do you think of that?”