The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests

'How lovely the sea is!' said Kathleen. 'The only fault I can find with Ty-gwyn is that you can't see the sea from the house. Now that house over there, Neville – over towards the sea, but a good way from it – on the side of a hill,' and she pointed towards it, 'must have a lovely view of the sea. I wonder what house it is? It looks so pretty.'

'I know,' said Neville. 'It is the old farmer's. It is Dol-bach.'

'Old Farmer Davis's?' said Kathleen. 'Oh, that reminds me the old woman at the cottage said we should go to see him, and thank him for being so kind the day we came. Indeed, we should have gone already.'

'Did she say so?' said Neville; 'she must be rather an impertinent old woman. It's no business of hers.'

'Oh no, she isn't impertinent at all,' said Kathleen. 'She didn't say we should have gone already. That was only my own thought. She said he'd be "proud" to see us – I think that sounds very nice, Neville – and that Mrs. Wynne thought "a deal" of him and his wife. Supposing we go now, Neville, on our way home?'

'No,' said Neville. 'I don't think it would be right to go anywhere without asking Aunt Clotilda. But I daresay she'll let us go. I remember old Davis said something about knowing Mrs. Wynne very well.'

'We'll ask her,' said Kathie. 'It would be something nice to do, to keep my mind off Phil's coming. And we might dress nicely, Neville. It would be more of a compliment to them, you know, if we went nicely dressed – like paying a real call.'

They met Miss Clotilda coming to meet them, when, after a good long ramble among the hills, they made their way home.

'I have come along the road two or three times to look for you,' she said. 'Have you had a nice walk, and any adventures?'

'Oh, yes,' said Kathie, and she launched at once into an account of her old woman.

But Neville noticed that she did not mention the anecdote about the pillow. 'Perhaps it is better not to keep reminding aunty of it,' he thought. 'I am glad Kathie is so thoughtful.'

'And may we go to see Farmer Davis, aunty?' asked Kathie eagerly.

'Oh, certainly,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was thinking of proposing it. It would have been no use going to-day, as both he and his wife were at Hafod Market, I know. There are many of our neighbours I should have liked to take you to see, both the gentlepeople and others; but it is impossible to go about much without a horse of any kind,' she ended, with a little sigh.

'May we go to Dol-bach to-morrow?' asked Kathie. 'I want to keep myself from fidgeting.'

Miss Clotilda could not help smiling at her.

'I have no objection,' she said, 'if the weather holds up; which, however, I have my doubts of.'

And her doubts proved well founded. 'To-morrow' proved a very rainy day – a thoroughly and hopelessly rainy day, such as seldom is to be seen in the middle of summer, and Kathleen's spirits sank to zero. She was sure they were not going to have any more fine weather; sure a letter would come from Philippa's uncle refusing the invitation; and very angry with Neville for remarking that if the first prediction was fulfilled, it was almost to be hoped the second would come to pass also. And when the morning after broke again dull and gloomy, Miss Clotilda felt really distressed at Kathie's gloom.

'My dear,' she said, 'you must make an effort to be cheerful and patient. You cannot, at soonest, have an answer from Philippa till to-morrow, and you cannot go to Dol-bach to-day; even if the rain leaves off, the roads will be terribly bad. Try to think of something to do in the house that will occupy and interest you. I am almost sure that to-morrow will be fine.'

Kathleen listened respectfully enough, but with a most depressed look in her face, to the beginning of this speech. Half-way through it, however, her face suddenly cleared, and a light came into her eyes.

'Thank you, aunty,' she said. 'Yes, I have something I should like to do up in my own room. I won't grumble any more,' and off she set.

'She is a dear child,' thought her aunt. 'A word suffices with her.'

Poor Miss Clotilda! She scarcely knew her volatile, flighty little niece as yet.

CHAPTER X.

A PLAGUE OF FEATHERS

An hour or two later, Miss Clotilda, having completed her housekeeping arrangements for the day, went up to Kathie's room to see what she was about. Neville had gone off for a walk, as the rain was now slight, and of course, as he said himself, 'for a boy it was different.'

'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda, as she reached Kathleen's door; 'I hope she isn't feeling dull, all alone.'

The door was locked.

'Kathie,' she called, 'it is I – aunty.'

A scattering inside, and then Kathleen's voice, sounding rather odd, replied, 'In a moment, aunty. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish I' —

'What is the matter, Kathie? Open at once, my dear; you alarm me!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed.

Thus adjured, Kathleen had no choice. She drew the bolt; Miss Clotilda entered.

What was the matter? For an instant or two she was too bewildered to tell. The room seemed filled with fluff; a sort of dust was in the air; Kathie's own dress and hair looked as if they had been snowed upon; every piece of furniture in the room was covered with what on closer inspection proved to be feathers! And Kathleen herself, the image of despair, stood in helpless distress.

'Oh, aunty,' she said, reminding one of the merchant in 'The Arabian Nights,' when he had let the genii out of the bottle, 'I can't get them in again.' Poor Kathie – her genii were to be reckoned by thousands!

'What is it? What have you been doing? Feathers!' exclaimed Miss Clotilda, stooping to examine a whitey-grey heap on the floor, which, disturbed even by her gentle movements, forthwith flew up in clouds, choking and blinding her. 'Feathers– my dear child!'

'Oh, aunty,' said Kathleen, bursting into tears, 'I never knew they were such horrid things. It's my pillow, and one off Neville's bed, and two off yours, and one off the big green-room bed, and – I got them all in here;' and then amidst her sobs she went on to tell her aunt of the old woman's story and the search it had suggested. 'I didn't mean to empty the pillows, but they kept coming out so when I put my arm in to feel, and I thought at last it would be easier to shake them all out and fill the covers again, so that I couldn't have missed even a small piece of paper. But it's no good; and oh, I've made such a mess!'

There was no denying this last fact. Miss Clotilda hurried Kathie out of the room – for, as everybody knows, the fluff of feathers is really injurious to the throat and lungs – and hurried Martha up to see what could be done. It ended in a woman having to be sent for from the village to re-imprison the flighty feathers in their cases; but even after this was done, Kathleen could not sleep in her room that night.

'I am so sorry, aunty,' she said, so humbly that kind Miss Clotilda could not but forgive her, though she made her promise for the future to attempt no more 'searches' without consulting her elders.

'Of course I'll promise that and more than that,' said Kathie, as she dried her eyes; 'I won't search at all for that nasty will. I didn't want to, only I thought Philippa would say I should have tried to find it. But I'll just show her it's no use.'

And Neville was so sorry to see her distress that he did not even remind her of his having told her that searching the pillows would be no use; which, in my opinion, was truly generous of him.

All troubles were, however, cast into the shade when the next morning brought a letter from Mr. Wentworth, Philippa's uncle, most heartily thanking Miss Clotilda for her kindness, and eagerly accepting her invitation. Mr. Wentworth wrote that he had been quite distressed at the idea of sending the poor child back to school, but till Miss Clotilda's proposal came he had seen no help for it. He went on to say that he would bring Philippa himself to Hafod if Miss Clotilda could send to meet her there, but that he could only make the journey at once. If 'Thursday' were too soon for Philippa to come, would Miss Powys telegraph to say so – in that case he feared the visit would have to be put off till he could hear of an escort.

'Thursday!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed, 'that is to-morrow. Telegraph! It is plain Mr. Wentworth does not know much of this part of the country. There is no telegraph office nearer than Boyneth, and that is half-way to Hafod.'

'But, aunty,' said Kathleen, looking up from the little scrap to herself which Philippa had slipped into her uncle's letter, 'need you think of telegraphing? Mayn't she come to-morrow? She is so happy – oh, aunty, do read her dear little letter.'

Aunty did not need much persuasion.

'If we can get things ready, and if Mr. Mortimer can lend us his waggonette,' she said hesitatingly. 'There is your room still upset, you know, Kathie,' at which Kathleen grew very red; 'and I don't know' —

'Can't I go to Mr. Mortimer's and ask him?' said Neville. 'It isn't very far, and I can find the way, I'm sure.'

'That might do,' said his aunt; 'and if the waggonette is not to be had, perhaps he would lend us the pony-carriage. That would do for two, besides the one driving.'

So it turned out. The waggonette was required to meet friends of the Mortimers themselves, arriving to-morrow, but Miss Clotilda was welcome to the pony-cart, and the strong pony which drew it would be quite able for the two journeys, with a good rest between. And the little girl's luggage might come up with that of the Mortimers' friends, and be left at Ty-gwyn on the way.

There was only one drawback; Kathleen could not go to the station. Miss Clotilda would drive, and Neville must go with her to open gates, etc., in case of need. And Kathleen must content herself for staying at home by adorning Philippa's room with flowers, as Neville had suggested.

'Only, whatever you do, please leave the pillows alone my dear,' said Miss Clotilda, as they drove off the next morning.

Kathie was quite cured of searching for the lost will, though not sorry to be able to assure her eager little friend that she really had done so. The day passed quickly enough, however; for, to make up for the trouble she had given the day before, she set herself to be particularly useful to Martha. And by seven o'clock, the time at which the pony-carriage might be begun to be looked for – for Philippa was to come by a much earlier train than the London express – Kathleen, having helped to set the tea-table and bake the cakes, and having given the last touch to Philippa's little room, was hopping about in front of the house, looking very neat and nice in a clean white frock, her face and eyes, indeed her whole little person, in a perfect glow of happy expectation.

Nor was her patience long put to the test. It was not more than twenty minutes past seven when approaching wheels were to be heard. Kathie scuttered back into the house; she wanted to be standing just within the door, not outside, when they arrived; and in another half minute there they were. Neville had jumped down and was helping out a little familiar figure, while Miss Clotilda smiled brightly at the sight of the children's delight.

'My dear old Phil!' 'My darling Kathie!' and for a moment or two hugs and kisses had it all to themselves. Then Miss Clotilda got out, and Neville got in again to drive the pony home, with many charges to be quick.

'Tea is quite ready,' Kathie called after him; 'and I'm so hungry that I can fancy what you must all be.'

'Take Philippa up to her room, Kathie,' said her aunt. 'Her luggage won't be here for an hour or two, but you can lend her a pair of slippers, I daresay.'

'Oh, mine would be far too big, aunty; but you may be sure Phil has got a pair in her bag,' said Kathie, laughing. 'She's a regular old maid, you know;' and she held up the bag in question for her aunt to see. 'Your room will just suit you, Phil,' she ran on; 'it's as tiny as yourself and as neat as a pin.'

And Philippa's exclamations of delight when they entered it, well rewarded Kathleen for all the trouble she had taken.

'Oh, Kathie,' said the little girl, 'what a perfect place Ty-gwyn is! and how kind and sweet your aunt is, and how good of you all to have me; and oh, Kathie, have you hunted well for the will?'

'Don't speak of it – horrid thing!' said Kathleen with a grimace. 'Yes, I have hunted for it – all to please you, Phil. I'll just tell you what I did,' and she proceeded to relate the unfortunate experience with the pillows.

Philippa was deeply interested.

'I don't think it's likely she hid it in a pillow,' she remarked. 'But I have such a feeling that it is somewhere in the house. I am sorry you don't mean to look any more, Kathie.'

'Oh well, don't talk about it any more just now,' said Kathleen. 'We want to be as happy as ever we can be. If only the weather is fine, and it does look better to-day, – oh, you don't know how it rained yesterday, and the day before worse still, – we can go such lovely walks. You know we're quite near the sea here – up there from that hill we can see it,' and she pointed out of the window.

'Can we really?' said Philippa. 'How nice! I do think it is the loveliest place I ever saw, Kathie. How I do wish it was going to be your home for always!'

'Ah well! there's no use thinking of that,' said Kathleen, 'though of course we can't help wishing it. It's worst for aunty – isn't she sweet, Phil? Come now, are you ready? We'll just take a peep into my room on the way down – isn't it a jolly room, the very next door to yours, do you see? And afterwards I'll show you all the house – there are such lots of rooms, and all so nice and queer. Don't you smell that nice old-fashioned sort of scent, Phil? Like lavender and dried rose-leaves; and it's partly the scent of the wood of the wainscoting, aunty says.'

'Yes,' said Philippa, sniffing about with her funny little nose; 'it's very nice, and everything is so beautifully clean, Kathie. Grandmamma's house is very nice, but it hasn't the same sort of look and feeling this dear old house has.'

'I am so glad you like it, dear,' said Kathie, very amiably. 'But we must run down. I am sure you must be very hungry.'

'I think I'm too happy to be very, very hungry,' said Philippa.

She managed, however, to do justice to the good things Martha had prepared, and Miss Clotilda told her she would be very disappointed indeed if three weeks at Ty-gwyn did not make her both fatter and rosier.

'But she's looking much better than she did at school, aunty,' said Kathleen. 'Last spring she was a miserable little object.'

'But that was because I was so very unhappy about mamma going away,' said Philippa, getting rather red.

'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda. 'Ah, well! I can sympathise in that. But you will be able to send your mother a very cheerful letter from here, I hope.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the little girl. 'And I'm so glad now that we didn't write last week to tell her of grandmamma being ill, and my having to go back to school. Uncle and I talked it over, and we thought we might wait till this week, and now she'll hear of grandmamma's being better and me coming here, at the same time, so it won't make her unhappy.'

'Your uncle seems very kind indeed,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was quite sorry for him to have to make such a long journey, and to go straight back again.'

'Yes,' said Philippa. 'But, you see,' she went on, in her funny little prim way, 'he wouldn't have felt happy to have left grandmamma longer alone. He will be home by eleven to-night.'

This first evening was not a very long one, for after tea Philippa's box arrived, and Kathleen had, of course, to go up-stairs with her little friend to help her to unpack her things and put them away. And Miss Clotilda told the children that they must go to bed early, as Philippa would be tired.

'Have you been very tidy, Kathie, without me?' asked Philippa. 'I'm sure you must often have wanted me to put your belongings neat, and to find your pencils and gloves, and all the things you lose.'

'No; I've got on very well indeed, thank you, Miss Conceit,' said Kathie, laughing. 'It's much easier here than at school. There's so much more room, and one isn't so hurried.'

'Still, it would show a good deal if you were very untidy,' said Philippa. 'The house does look so neat all over. Have you done any work, Kathie? I am in such a fuss about what I can make to send to mamma for her birthday. I've always made her something every year as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't like to miss this year, the first I've been away from her.'

'We'll have to think of something. Aunt Clotilda is very clever at work,' said Kathie. 'You should see her darning.'

'Grandmamma was going to have helped me to get something pretty to work for mamma, only then she got ill,' said Philippa. 'Uncle is going to send out a box soon, so it needn't be a very little thing, not like for going by post. I shall be so glad if your aunt can think of anything.'

'I'm sure she will,' said Kathleen.

But just then Martha tapped at the door with some hot water for 'the young lady,' which was a broad hint that it was time for Philippa to go to bed.

'Good-night, dear,' said Kathleen. 'I think it's going to be fine to-morrow – the sky looks nice and reddy – and we shall be out nearly all day. You like going long walks, don't you, dear?'

'Yes, of course I do; at least, if it isn't too far. But we could always have nice rests, couldn't we? It isn't like going out walks in town, where one has to go on and on, however tired one is.'

'No, indeed. There are lovely places to rest. And, by-the-by, that reminds me – but I won't keep you up, Phil. I'll tell you to-morrow.'

For suddenly there had flashed into Kathie's flighty head the remembrance of the visit she had been eager to pay to the old farmer at Dol-bach. It would be such a nice expedition for Philippa's first day.

'I'll ask aunty early to-morrow morning if we mayn't go,' she thought, as she fell asleep.

But to-morrow morning brought fifty other ideas to volatile Kathie. There were so many things to show Philippa; the house, and the garden, and the poultry, and the dairy absorbed the morning, and in the afternoon Miss Clotilda went out with them herself to show the little guest some of the prettiest views, ending up by a visit to the beach.

'Isn't this sea different to the beach at Bognor, Philippa?' said Kathleen. 'All crowded with people, and Miss Fraser scolding, and no hills or trees. Oh, I forgot! you hadn't been long enough at school to have been at Bognor. That's a pleasure to come for next year. Oh dear! how I wish' —

But she stopped herself, and said no more. Everybody knew what she wished, but they all knew too that there was no use in speaking about it.

'Kathie,' said Neville, partly to change the conversation, 'what's become of our visit to Dol-bach? You were in such a fuss about it two or three days ago.'

'Oh,' said Kathie, 'I forgot. Aunty,' she went on, 'may we go there to-morrow? If it's as fine as it is to-day, mightn't we take our dinner with us, like the other day? And then we could go to Dol-bach on our way home in the afternoon, and very likely they'd give us some milk, and perhaps some cake.'

Aunty had no objection, and so it was settled.

By the next day Philippa had quite got over her tiredness, though Miss Clotilda warned Neville and Kathleen that they must remember she was not quite as strong as they. And the three children set off on their expedition in high spirits.

'You don't want to see your old woman in the cottage near the creek, do you, Kathie? Don't you think, perhaps, you should tell her about the results of searching the pillows?' said Neville mischievously.

Kathleen looked at him indignantly.

'I think you are very unkind,' she said, 'and very mean. You know I don't want to quarrel just as Philippa's come, and you're just taking advantage of it.'

'Come now, Kathie,' said Neville good-humouredly. 'I don't think really you need be so touchy.'

'I only did it to please you, Phil,' Kathie went on.

Philippa opened her eyes at this.

'To please me?' she repeated.

'Well, you know you said you were sure you'd find it if you were in the house, and I didn't want you to think I hadn't looked at all.'

'I didn't say I was sure I'd find it,' said Philippa. 'If I thought that, I'd ask Miss Clotilda's leave to look now I am in the house. But I have a very queer feeling that it is in the house; and last night – now don't laugh at me, Kathie – I had such a queer dream.'

'Do tell it to us,' said both Neville and Kathleen.

But Philippa was a little out of breath with climbing.

'Let's wait till we sit down to eat our dinner, and then I'll tell it you,' she said.

So they agreed to wait till then.

CHAPTER XI.

THE PINCUSHION MANUFACTORY

After a while the three children had had enough of climbing and scrambling about, besides which they began to feel hungry. They found a nook which, as Philippa said, 'seemed made on purpose to eat their dinner in,' and there they comfortably established themselves for that purpose.

Dinner over, Kathleen reminded Philippa of her dream.

'Oh yes,' said the little girl, 'it really was a very funny one. I thought I was at school, and Miss Fraser was calling to Kathie and me to be quick, and just as we ran out of the room – which had turned into Kathie's room at Ty-gwyn, only that there were seats all round like a railway-carriage, and the door was like a railway-carriage door – Kathie's frock tore, and she called to me for a pin. I put my hand into my pocket to feel for my little pincushion, which I always keep there, and my pocket was all full of some sort of stuff like – like' —

'Like feathers,' said Kathie; 'it was my telling you about the pillows.'

'No,' Philippa went on, 'it wasn't like feathers – it was more powdery.'

'Like dried rose-leaves?' again suggested Kathie. 'What aunty calls "pot-pourri." We were talking of the scent of it last night.'

'Oh, Kathie, do be quiet!' said Neville. 'You can't always explain dreams like that – indeed, you very seldom can.'

'Bits of them you very often can,' Kathleen maintained.

'But it wasn't dried rose-leaves either,' said Philippa. 'I remember the feeling of it in my fingers. If I remember afterwards what it was like, I'll tell you. Well, I pulled my hand out again, and I found I was holding something – not my pincushion. The thing was a little book, only it wasn't made of paper, but of lovely bits of silk, all fastened together, for the leaves. And the funniest thing was that though they were of all sorts of patterns and colours, there seemed to be words on them all, which you could read through the patterns somehow. I fancied that the words on the first page were, "For dear mamma, from her loving Philippa;" and immediately I called out, "Oh, Kathie, see! it's a present for me to send to mamma, only I haven't made it myself." Still I went on turning the leaves. I can't remember any of the words on them till I came to the last, and on it I read, "Look in the – " and then it seemed all a muddle, only I knew it meant the place where the will was. I tried and tried to read it, but I couldn't; and then I called to Kathie to try, and I suppose I must have really made a little squeak in my sleep, for just as I thought I was calling her very loud, I woke.'

'And all the time I was waiting for the pin,' said Kathleen. 'Well, yes, it was a very queer dream, though I could explain a good deal of it. You see, you' —

But Neville put his fingers in his ears.

'We don't want it explained,' he said. 'It's much more interesting to fancy what it could mean – like – like the dreams in the Bible, you know.'

'You're very irreverent, Neville,' said Kathie.

'I'm not,' said Neville. 'Dreams do come sometimes that mean things.'

'But I can't think what the stuff in my pocket could be,' said Philippa; and neither of the others could help her to an idea.

'I think,' said Neville, 'we'd better be going on to old Davis's. It's about twenty minutes' walk from here.'

'Very well,' said the little girls; and they set off, Philippa declaring that she was now 'quite, quite rested.'