four such happy, beautiful weeks followed. mrs. carlyon and geoffrey came down to porthcallis within a few days, and they all settled into the comfortable rooms dr. carlyon had taken for them. loveday was very sorry to leave bessie and aaron and the dear little bedroom; but they went every day to “bessie’s beach,” as they called it, for it was their favourite play-place. each day they thought they knew all the rocks and pools by heart, yet every time they came again they found fresh ones.
very often, too, mrs. carlyon engaged john lobb to row them along the coast in his best boat, and they would land at some of the nice little bays and coves and have their dinner or tea, and light a fire and boil the kettle.
the red bucket “thomas” grew to look quite shabby with the hard usage it had, and so many of its letters got knocked off that it was difficult at last to know what the name was meant to be. priscilla had chosen a green bucket with “mary” on it, as she could not get one with her first name. the colour did not go very well with her blue cloak, but she did not want to use them together very often, and when she did she solved the difficulty by carrying the bucket underneath the cloak. sometimes they went for picnics on the downs on the top of the cliff, and one day when they were up there priscilla saw mr. winter, and, running up to him, brought him over and introduced him to her mother. he seemed rather shy at first and not very happy, but the next time they met him he came up to them of his own accord and talked to them for a while, and as the days went on they even induced him to join them at their picnic teas, and when he had done so once or twice he seemed really to enjoy himself, and would ramble about with them for quite a long time, saying little, but evidently interested in all they said and did.
priscilla was his most constant companion. geoffrey, at first particularly, reminded him too painfully of his own dead boy, and he himself reminded loveday of the mortifying occasion when he had locked her up, a prisoner. as time went on they often talked of the escapade, and laughed about it, but loveday could not at first see any joke in it, or quite throw off her awe of her captor, and preferred to race and tear about with geoffrey, sharing his dangers and adventures.
often when priscilla was tired she would find her new old friend by her side, and with his arm to lean on they would saunter on slowly together and talk and talk. such long conversations they had, though it was generally priscilla who was the talker, but that was because he asked her so many questions about their home, and their games, and their lessons, and their doings, and he seemed so interested in every little thing that priscilla told him that she thought perhaps it helped him to feel more cheerful and forget his own troubles. so she chattered on to him very willingly.
she did not have all the talk to herself, though, for sometimes he would tell her stories of the time when he was a boy, and all sorts of other interesting tales; but her mother had told her so seriously never to ask him questions, or speak of anything that would be likely to arouse sad memories, that poor priscilla was not quite certain what she might say, and what she must not, and really felt easier when she was telling him of their own little doings.
one day she told him all about lady carey and the cloaks, and he seemed very interested. “is that the pretty cloak i first saw you in?” he asked; and when priscilla said, “yes, it was,” he said, “a very sensible clever woman she must be to make such a charming garment. i have never seen any i like so much.”
another day she told him about miss potts, and what an interesting person she was, and how she was an “only”; so she, priscilla, tried to be a sort of sister to her, and went quite often to see her.
“i should like to know miss potts,” he said, and priscilla knew that he was thinking of the story she had blurted out to him so thoughtlessly that first day.
“i wish you could,” she said eagerly. “oh, i wish you would come to trelint and see her, and see our house, and betsy and—everything. i am sure you would like it. miss potts loves trelint. she told me she felt at home there at once, and ever so happy, and she has never wanted to go anywhere else since. i am sure you would love trelint if you came.”
“i feel sure i should,” said mr. winter. “perhaps i will come some day. i dare say i shall; in fact, i have been thinking about it a good deal.”
“oh, have you? how lovely!” cried priscilla, really pleased. “it won’t seem so hard to leave porthcallis now.”
for the last days had come, and the end of the visit was very near. already there had been talk of trains, and some farewell visits had been paid, and they all felt very sad, for they loved the little place.
“of course it isn’t as fine in some ways as porthcallis,” she remarked, after a short pause, beginning to wonder if she had painted home too glowingly, and so prepared a disappointment for a new-comer to the place. “there is no”—she had nearly added “sea there,” but checked herself just in time—“nothing, i mean, very famous, like ruins, and tombs, and castles, and things, but it is very—very homey.”
“i am not particularly fond of sight-seeing,” said mr. winter, “and i would prefer a home to a ruin. it seems to me i have been living in the latter too long already,” he added, half to himself. “now let us go and find your mother. i want to ask her to bring you all to tea with me at my house to-morrow. i hope you will not mind giving up a part of your last whole day. would you like to come, little one?”
for a moment priscilla was speechless. even she, child as she was, understood a little what this invitation must have cost him. but she quickly recovered herself and remembered her manners.
“oh, i would love to!” she cried warmly; “we all would, i know.” but she added in her own sedate little way: “won’t we be a great trouble to you?”
[158]mr. winter smiled.
“not a trouble, child.”
they soon overtook mrs. carlyon, who gladly agreed to the plan, and thanked mr. winter warmly, and soon after that they parted.
it was with very varied feelings that they all climbed the cliff the next day to mr. winter’s home, and walked slowly up the pebbled path. geoffrey was full of curiosity and interest; loveday was a little shy of again entering her prison, but interested too; mrs. carlyon was very thankful, and in her heart very glad, for it seemed to her that it might be the beginning of brighter, happier days for the poor, lonely, sad old man; priscilla, too, dimly felt the same thing, and she wanted, oh, so much! that he should be less sad.
mrs. tucker let them in, glum as usual, but more civil in manner.
“will you please to walk inside and sit down,” she said, showing them into a little bare room where there was no sign of any preparations for tea, no flowers, nor even chairs enough for them all. “the master will be here in a moment.”
and in less than a moment he came in.
as soon as their eyes fell on him standing in the doorway, two at least of them—priscilla and her mother—noticed a change in him; they could not have said whether they saw or felt it, or in what the change lay, and when he came forward to shake hands he seemed only a little quieter, a little more sad than usual, and somewhat more absent-minded. he welcomed them very cordially, but after the first greetings a silence fell, then:
“will you come this way?” he said, rising and moving towards the door. he spoke in a nervous, strained manner. “i have had tea laid in the—the drawing-room. it is a room i do not often use.” as they rose to follow him he laid his hand on priscilla’s shoulder. “may miss priscilla and i lead the way?” he asked.
it was a curiously silent little procession that straggled from the one room to the other—mrs. carlyon full of surmise as to what was to follow, geoffrey and loveday too absorbed in interest at being in the house of mystery, as they had always considered it, to notice anything unusual.
but as soon as the drawing-room door was opened, mrs. carlyon began to understand. “this is one of the closed rooms, and for us he has at last opened it,” she thought; and once more a deep pang of tender pity filled her heart.
mr. winter walked in without looking or speaking; priscilla walked beside him, her hand held fast in his, and even through all her wonderment she noticed how his hand trembled. straight across the room they went, and right up to the windows where the blinds were still fast drawn. “i want you to be the first to draw these up,” he said gently, and priscilla, a little nervously, but very gladly, pulled the cords, and let in the beautiful air and sunlight.
for a moment they stood there, priscilla gazing with wide eyes at the glorious view which spread before her, glorious, yet almost awe-inspiring; mr. winter looking down at her, as though he could not yet force himself to let his eyes rest on what he had so long shut out. he turned away at last, and leaving her standing there alone, went over to mrs. carlyon, who was lingering in the doorway trying to keep back her tears.
“forgive an old man’s sentiment,” he said to her, with his gentle sad smile; “as she was the first to let sunshine into my life again, i wanted her to be the first to let it into my house too.”
“i know, i understand,” said mrs. carlyon softly; “you are very brave.”
then loveday, with a cry of joy, relieved the tension of the moment, and every one felt grateful to the unconscious little maiden.
“o mummy!” she cried excitedly, “mummy! do look! here is a dear dinky little cup with ‘loveday’ on it. then they do paint ‘loveday’ on things sometimes, and that woman told a story when she said they didn’t.”
mr. winter turned to her with a pleased smile.
“that was my grannie’s cup,” he said, “made on purpose for her, and that was her name; and as you are the only other loveday i have ever known, i am going to ask you to use it, and after that to accept it from me as a little keepsake from the ogre to the pisky.”
at which loveday gasped and squealed again more delightedly than ever, and from that moment forgave him for her humiliation, even going so far as to admit him as one of her very best friends.
it was a very pleasant tea that, and one none of them ever forgot, though it was not entirely joyous, owing to the many memories called up, and the thought of the parting on the morrow, which was hanging over them all.
but when the next morning came and the actual parting, the spirits of most of them were not as low as they had thought they would be, for they were going home, and that is always pleasant, and there was the journey and the drive. and what an exciting, bustling time it was, packing up the last things and getting off. the children had so many more treasures too—buckets and spades, shells and pebbles and seaweeds; and loveday had her tea-cup too, which had to be packed with special care in mrs. carlyon’s best hat-box. and then, when at last they reached the wind-swept station, and priscilla in her blue cloak, and loveday in her red one, were standing on the platform, who should appear but mr. winter himself to see them off!
“i thought i might be of some use in helping you,” he said kindly. “is there anything i can do? tell me, please, if there is.”
“oh, will you please hold this?” gasped loveday eagerly, pointing to the hat-box which she and priscilla were guarding. “my cup is in it, and i am so afraid some one will run into us and joggle it.”
mr. winter took the box at once into his care, and then turned to help their mother, and when the train came in he found them a nice comfortable compartment all to themselves, and having first placed the precious hat-box in safety, and arranged a dozen other things in the rack, he then helped in priscilla and loveday and mrs. carlyon.
“good-bye,” he said, when at last the whistle blew to warn them they were about to start. “good-bye, good-bye, children, and i hope you will write to me sometimes, and tell me what you are doing, and how miss potts gets on, for i shall be very lonely without you,” and he stepped quietly out of the carriage as though half ashamed of having said so much; and the last thing they saw as they rolled away was mr. winter standing alone on the little bare platform, the wind blowing his white hair about as he waved his hat to them.
“i don’t know how we should ever have got off without mr. winter,” said nurse, who had taken a great liking to him.
“nor i; nor how we shall get on at home without him,” said mrs. carlyon gravely; “i think he will have to come to trelint.”
“so do i,” sighed priscilla. “i am sure he will be very lonely without us. i must write to him very often, to cheer him up.”
and priscilla did. sometimes it was difficult. she felt disinclined, or she thought there was nothing to say, or she could not spell the words she wanted to use, but she very seldom failed altogether, and she would not have done so at all, had she known how her funny little badly written letters were prized by her old friend.
one day there came a letter from mr. winter which sent priscilla dancing joyously through the house.
“my dear scylla,” it said—mr. winter had called her “scylla,” because he said that as the little blue flower was the first to push its way through the hard frosty ground, so she had been the first to push her way through his frosty nature:—
“my dear scylla,—your last letter interested me much, and what you told me of the old house next to miss potts made me so anxious to see it that i have determined to come over to trelint for a few days to have a look at it; so be sure that no one else takes it first. the front of it so close to the street that i can see your house from it, sounds very enticing, and the old-fashioned garden at the back sounds as if it was made on purpose for me; and if i like it as much as i think i shall from what you say, i should not be surprised if, like miss potts herself, i felt so at home in trelint i should never want to leave it again, and then you would be relieved of the task of writing to your dull old friend,
matthew winter.”
a very few days later, mr. winter did come to trelint, and mrs. carlyon and the children went with him to inspect the comfortable, roomy old house which stood beside miss potts’ little old-fashioned house and shop, without humbling hers or losing its own dignity. and everything in the house seemed right; and the garden was beautiful, large, and old, and well-filled with every kind of flower that one loves best, and many kinds of fruits too.
“i must have this,” said mr. winter, and he spoke so eagerly and gaily it was a treat to hear him. “i can just imagine you children racing about here and playing all sorts of games. you will let them come, won’t you, mrs. carlyon?”
“oh, indeed, yes,” she cried laughingly; “they will come—the question is, will they go? you must see to it that they do, mr. winter. i am sure they will always be wanting to be here.”
“it really is a dear old house, and the garden is lovely,” she said afterwards to her husband; “but i believe he would have taken it if it had been the most wretched and inconvenient place imaginable, he seemed so determined to come here.”
“and it all came,” said loveday solemnly, when they were talking over the wonderful event amongst themselves—“it all came about through my being a pisky in his garden.”
“or a prisoner in his house,” jeered geoffrey, to tease her.
“it really began further back than either,” said priscilla, “for if it hadn’t been for our accident loveday wouldn’t have been sent to porthcallis, and so——”
“so really you have me to thank for it all,” cried geoffrey, “for i put up the swing.”
“and if you had put it up properly it wouldn’t have broken, and there might not have been any accident,” agreed priscilla. “but——”
“no,” said loveday, who had been cogitating quietly for some time, “it was through me, after all; for if mrs. wall hadn’t been so long changing her frock, and kept me waiting so, i should have been in the swing too” (excitedly); “and then i should have fallen out, and p’r’aps been killed, and then i wouldn’t have gone to porthcallis, and you” (growing more and more eager) “wouldn’t any of you have known mr. winter, so you see ’twas through me, after all.” and to her immense surprise she was for once allowed to have the last word.
