The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests

They were heartily welcomed at Dol-bach. Mr. Davis introduced his wife, who was as pleasant-looking for an old woman as he for an old man. He had been 'hoping they'd look in some of these days,' he said; and Mrs. Davis had evidently heard all about them, though she, and Mr. Davis too for that matter, looked puzzled as to where Philippa had come from. They were very much interested to hear all about her, and congratulated her on having had a pleasanter ending to her journey than had fallen to the share of her friends.

'It didn't seem so far a way from Hafod to Ty-gwyn yesterday as in the carrier's cart, did it, sir?' said Davis to Neville. 'But the road's a deal better than in my young days; and Mrs. Wynne, she's many a time told us how her mother – the Captain's great-aunt she'd be – never went to Hafod but once a year, and thought a long time about it before she did that. She was a clever lady too – you'll have seen the chairs she worked – wasn't it chairs?' he added, turning to his wife.

'Yes, indeed,' she said. 'Your aunty's not showed them to you? Ah, well, she must feel it hard, things being as they are. But our lady, – that's what we call Mrs. Wynne, – she was handy with her fingers too. I can show you the present she brought me last Christmas as ever was.'

'Oh, yes!' Kathie exclaimed. 'The pincushion! Mr. Davis told us of it.'

It was duly fetched and exhibited. It was rather a new-fashioned kind of pincushion, being one of those made out of a small cigar-box, which served for box and pincushion at once. It was most neatly made, covered with rich and uncommon-looking brocaded satin, which Mrs. Davis eyed with great approval, and edged with a narrow frill of old thread lace.

'Such a useful shape, too,' said Mrs. Davis; 'I'd never seen one like it before, but Mrs. Wynne told me she'd covered a many. The old silk was a piece of a gown of her mother's. I believe there's some fine things of the old lady's still at Ty-gwyn.'

'Yes, aunty has some lovely pieces; she's promised to show us them,' said Kathie. 'Perhaps she'll give us some, Phil.'

Philippa looked up eagerly at this. She had been examining the pincushion with the greatest attention.

'Do you think she would perhaps, really?' she asked, when they were on their way home, having promised Mr. and Mrs. Davis to come to see them again some day soon.

'I daresay she would,' said Kathleen. 'Why are you in such a fuss about it, Phil?'

'Oh, because – because,' said the little girl, 'I have got such an idea into my head. If I could but manage it! Do you think, Kathie, I could possibly make a pincushion like that to send to mamma for her birthday? It would be so beautiful!'

'I don't see why you shouldn't,' said Kathie; 'I don't think it would be so very difficult. And I'm almost sure aunty would give you some bits.'

'If I had one very pretty piece for the top,' said Philippa, 'a plainer kind would do to frill round it, and quite plain would do to line it – just silk that one could get in any shop. And I could get some lace that would do very well. I have some money, you know. Couldn't we write to some shop in London?'

'I should think so. And you'd have to get some stuff to scent it – that one was scented, didn't you notice? What fun it would be to make it! If I had anybody to make one for, I'd like to make one too.'

'Kathie!' Philippa exclaimed, 'you have your own mamma!'

'Oh, but,' said Kathleen, blushing a little, 'I don't remember her, you see. I've never made her anything. It's different from you. Still – if I thought she'd like it. She's often written about my learning to sew and to be neat-handed, and I don't like that sort of thing, so I never answer that part of her letters.'

'It would be very nice for you to make her something, to show her you are neat-handed. Wouldn't it, Neville? Don't you think so too?' asked Philippa.

'Yes,' Neville replied. 'I think it would be very nice. Only there's one difficulty – where are you to get the boxes? There must be a box for that kind of pincushion.'

Philippa's face fell; but Kathie's, on the contrary, brightened up.

'I know,' she said. 'I have an idea. But I won't tell you just yet. Leave it to me, Philippa – you'll see.'

'But, Kathie,' said the little girl plaintively, 'you won't forget, will you? You so often do, you know. I've only a fortnight before the box goes. Uncle and grandmamma had got it nearly all ready before she got ill; there are books and lots of things going out to papa, that can't wait. And if I can't do the pincushion, I must think of something else.'

'Oh, I won't forget,' said Kathie confidently. 'The first wet day – and it's sure to be rain again soon; that's how it does in these hilly places; it's never long the same thing. Well, the first wet day, it would be a capital way of getting through the time to make pincushions.'

Philippa said nothing, but Neville noticed that her little face still looked dissatisfied.

'Never mind, Philippa,' he whispered; 'she's only teasing you. I'll see that she doesn't forget. And if she can't get a box for you, I'll try if I can't.'

'Thank you, Neville! oh, thank you so much!' said Philippa fervently, drawing a deep breath. 'How I wish you were my brother!'

Kathleen caught the last word. 'That's always the way,' she said. 'Perhaps if he was your brother, he wouldn't be so nice to you as he is.' Kathie was in one of her mischievous, teasing moods, and when this was the case she said things she did not really mean. But Philippa was rather matter-of-fact. She looked quite distressed.

'Oh, Kathie!' she began.

'Well?' said Kathie.

'You don't really mean that, do you? I know you've often told me that Neville was a very good brother to you. I'm sure she doesn't really mean it, Neville.'

Neville smiled at her anxious little face.

'No, I'm sure she doesn't,' he said. 'It is a shame of you to tease Phil, Kathie. You've made her look quite troubled, poor child.'

'I'm very sorry,' said Kathleen. 'Phil isn't to look troubled once the whole time she's here. Tell me, dear, what can I do to make up for teasing you?'

Philippa slipped her hand through Kathie's arm.

'Kathie,' she said, 'if you would but see about the pincushions without waiting for a wet day. Now I've got it into my head, I do so want to do it. And I think it would take a good while to make, do you know – longer than you think, to do it quite neatly.'

'Very well, you little fusser,' said Kathie. 'I'll see what I can do. But mind, I'm not going to be mewed up sewing and bothering at pincushions all day, if it's beautiful, fine weather like this.'

'I don't want you to do anything of the kind,' said Philippa. 'That's why it's so much better not to put off about it. We can take several days to them, and do a little every day.'

'Humph!' was Kathleen's reply.

'Why do you say that?' asked Philippa.

'Oh,' said Kathie, 'I know what your "doing a little bit every day" means. I know it of old. When she gets a thing in her head, Neville, she fidgets at it till it's done, and won't give herself any peace.'

'Well, then, Kathie,' said Philippa, 'I just promise you I won't do that way about the pincushion, if only you'll set my mind at rest by helping me to get it begun.'

And she looked so pitiful, speaking in her quaint, earnest way, that Kathleen could not help kissing her, and promising to do what she could at once.

That evening, after tea, Kathie touched her aunt's arm as they were leaving the dining-room.

'I want to speak to you a moment, aunty,' she said, and Miss Clotilda turned back with her.

'Do you remember, aunty,' she said, 'that one day, when I first came, you said you would show me some of the pieces of old silk and things of Mrs. Wynne's? And I think you said you'd give me one or two. Would you let us see them? And do you think you could give Phil some? She's taken such a fancy in her head;' and Kathie went on to explain about the box going out to India, and the pincushion old Mrs. Davis had shown them, which Philippa so much wished to copy for her mother.

'And,' Kathie went on, 'I've another idea too. We were thinking it would be very difficult to get a box to make it with. That morning when the cupboard was left open in my room, I saw several old pincushions that you said you had meant to cover fresh. Might, oh! might we have two of them? We could easily get some plain thin silk for lining them with – Phil has some money, and I have a very little – if some of the nice old pieces would do for the outside.'

Miss Clotilda looked a little bewildered.

'Two, my dear?' she said. 'I thought it was Philippa who wanted to make one. Do you want one too?'

Kathie blushed a little.

'They said,' she began, 'Neville and Phil said, it would be so nice if I made one for mamma too. I've never made her anything – I don't like sewing, you know, aunty, and she's always writing about things like that.'

Miss Clotilda patted Kathie's head.

'Yes, dear,' she said; 'I do think it would be very nice indeed. I am sure it would please your mamma. I am almost sure I can give you two of the soiled ones that you can undo and cover and line freshly. If you undo them carefully, you will see exactly how they are made without my helping you. You would rather make them all by yourselves, would you not?'

'Yes,' said Kathie, 'if we can. It would be much nicer, as they are to be presents to our mothers. Thank you so much, aunty.'

'I will bring down the bundle of old pieces this evening, if you like,' Miss Clotilda went on. 'I know exactly where they are; I can put my hand upon them in a moment. It will amuse us to look them over and choose which will do.'

And the kind creature set off up-stairs at once to fetch them, while Kathie, overjoyed, ran to tell Philippa the success of her application.

The pieces of silk proved quite as interesting as they expected.

'It reminds me,' said Miss Clotilda, with a smile, 'of Mrs. Goodrich in "The Fairchild Family," a story I read when I was little, when she gave Bessy and Lucy and Emily each two pieces of old brocaded silk or satin as a test of their neat-handedness. You have never seen the book, but it was a very favourite one of mine as a child.'

And she went on to tell them the rest of the story of the patches of silk, how the good little girls turned theirs to purpose, and how the poor naughty girl threw a bottle of ink over hers.

'Poor naughty girl!' said Kathie. 'I am afraid I must be rather like her, aunty. And Philippa is like all the good little girls rolled into one. Oh, aunty! what a lovely piece that is!'

It was a narrow satin and silk stripe of a curious salmon colour, and here and there were little daisies embroidered in gold thread. There was another pale grey satin, with wreaths of flowers running all over it, which was greatly to Philippa's taste; and as there was enough for the purpose of each of these, Miss Clotilda gave them to the children. Then a letter had to be written to be sent by the carrier to the draper's at Hafod, where Mrs. Wynne had always dealt, to order a yard of plain rose-coloured silk for Philippa, and the same quantity of white for Kathie, as linings for both pincushions. A contrast would be best, Miss Clotilda told them, as it was all but impossible to match the strange and delicate shades of the old silks, except perhaps in very rich and expensive materials. Bedtime had come before all this was done, and the children went off to dream of 'flowered padusoy,' and pearl-grey satins 'that would stand alone.'

Miss Clotilda had some difficulty the next morning in persuading them to go for a walk early and not to set to work till later.

'It will be very hot this afternoon,' she said. 'Indeed, I think there is thunder not far off. You will have a nice quiet time for getting to work after dinner, and I will look out the old pincushions this morning.'

They set off, though rather reluctantly, for Kathie, now that she had taken up the idea, was more full of it than even Philippa. And she was much less ready than Philippa to yield her wishes and opinions to those of others.

It did not rain that afternoon, but, as Miss Clotilda had foreseen, it was very hot. And the children, all three – for Neville too seemed bitten by the pincushion mania – found it very pleasant to sit round a table in the nice cool library, busy with their work.

There was not much they could do at first beyond unpicking and measuring. Miss Clotilda had given them two of the pincushions out of the cupboard, and, as Philippa had foreseen, when they came to take them carefully to pieces, they found that there would really be more work to do than they had expected.

'What patience Mrs. Wynne must have had,' said Kathie, 'to do them so beautifully! Did you ever see anything so neat? Just look at the hemming of this frill, Phil.'

Philippa took it up to admire.

'We might hem our frills this afternoon,' she said, 'and then to-morrow, when we have the silk from Hafod, we can go on with the linings.'

'I do hope to-morrow will be a wet day,' said Kathie. 'We could get on so splendidly if it were.'

Neville looked up suddenly from one of the now uncovered pincushions which he had been examining.

'You've forgotten about the scent,' he said.

'No, we haven't,' said Kathleen. 'Aunty has some sachet-powder she is going to give us.'

'And I'll tell you what,' he went on, 'you'd better get some fresh bran. This cushion does smell a little musty, and it won't be much trouble to unfasten it from the top of the box, and fill it fresh. Look, it's only tacked down at the corners. The silk top keeps it in its place. Mrs. Wynne must have been a faddy old lady. Just see – there's a sheet of note-paper under the cushion – and the date she made it.'

He drew out the paper as he spoke. On it was written, as he said, the date, 'Ty-gwyn, January 24th, 1865.'

'What a good plan!' said Philippa; 'the thick paper keeps it all so nice and even – perhaps she did it for that too. Let us put papers in ours with the date, Kathie. Perhaps our great-grandchildren will find them some day. We'd better put our names too.'

Kathie had no objection. And Neville very good-naturedly went off to the 'shop' to get some nice bran, to be ready for to-morrow.

CHAPTER XII.

FOUND

It actually rained the next day!

'Who would have thought it?' said Kathie, with a face of great content. 'The weather so seldom does what one wants.'

'We can set to work immediately after breakfast,' said Philippa. For the rose-coloured silk and the white had come from Hafod the evening before, 'just what one wanted,' and Miss Clotilda had given them the satchet-powder, and had promised to look out some lace that would do for edging. 'We have got everything right now,' the little girl went on, her eyes sparkling.

So they established themselves in the library, with a newspaper spread out on the table to catch all the shreds and cuttings.

'And the bran,' added Neville, as he brought in a paper bag filled with the article in question. 'Bran's awfully messy stuff.'

He opened the bag as he spoke, and plunged his hand in.

'I like the feeling of it,' he said.

Philippa stood gazing at the paper bag.

'Is that bran?' she said, 'Let me feel it too. I didn't know bran was like that,' she went on; 'I thought it was something like cotton-wool.'

'Oh, you silly girl,' said Kathie, but Neville checked her. 'How should she know?' he said. 'She's never been in England till this year.'

But Philippa was not attending. She had pulled back her sleeve, and had plunged her arm into the bag.

'Kathie,' she said, 'that's the stuff my pocket was filled with in my dream. Isn't it funny? For I didn't know about making the pincushions then – and I didn't know till this minute what bran was like.'

She was quite excited about it, and the others agreed it was very curious. But the work soon engrossed them all. Neville had something to do too this morning. He took charge of emptying the cushions of the old bran, and re-filling them, and most interesting work he found it, the first part especially. He shook out the cushions on to another newspaper, and for some minutes did not speak. Then Kathie looked round and asked him what he was doing.

'Oh,' he said, 'this is such jolly fun! Just look here, Kathie and Phil,' and he pointed to a row of needles and a few pins at the side of his newspaper. 'I've found all these in the bran. And I expect there are a lot more, and some ends of old brooch pins – looks like real gold,' he went on, holding up one – 'it's as good as a hunt. You have to spread the stuff out quite thin and flat, and even then you've no idea how the needles hide. Hullo! here's another.'

Kathie and Philippa watched him for a few moments.

'Yes,' said Kathie, 'it's very interesting. But we must get on with our work. And when are you going to fill the cushions with the new bran for us, Neville? I can stitch them up as soon as they are filled, and we must put a little bag in near the top with the scent-powder, Phil.'

'They won't take five minutes to do,' said Neville. 'Will you fetch me a big spoon, Kathie? It'll make less mess.'

And in a very few minutes, as he said, the cushions were filled. Then Neville went back to his needle-hunt, and for a quarter of an hour or so he was quite silent. Then he began to fidget.

'I wish I had some more to do,' he said. 'Kathie, hasn't aunty any more to be made over?'

Kathie shook her head.

'No; the other two she wants to keep as they are for the present, she says,' Kathie replied.

'I've finished this stuff,' said Neville. 'Here – you may divide the needles among you. There are more than thirty. I'm going to keep these brooch pins to test if they're pure gold. Oh, I wish it would leave off raining!'

Suddenly he jumped up and ran out of the room. In about ten minutes he was back again, another old pincushion and two or three pieces of silk in his hand.

'Aunty says I may undo this one,' he said, waving it over his head. 'It's the one out of my own room. I just remembered it was very shabby, and aunty says I may undo it and fill it fresh, if one of you girls will help me to cover the top again. The frill isn't the same silk, you see, and it isn't dirty – the top's all pin-holed. I expect there'll be a jolly good lot of needles in this one. Here goes!' And he took the scissors and began to unpick it.

'How funny you are, Neville!' said Kathie. 'You're quite excited over your needle-hunting. Now just see here, Phil; should we turn in the inside lining or tack it down outside?' and a discussion ensued between the two girls, and they paid no more attention to Neville.

On his side he was very quiet for some minutes. Neither Kathleen nor Philippa heard a curious sound – a sort of smothered exclamation – which escaped him. Nor did his sister notice that he had left his seat and was standing beside her, till he touched her on the arm.

'Kathie,' he said, and his voice sounded strange and almost hoarse, and Kathie, looking up, saw that he was deadly pale.

'Oh, Neville,' she exclaimed, 'what is the matter? Have you swallowed a needle?'

He could scarcely help smiling.

'Nonsense, Kathie,' he said. 'Nothing's the matter. It is this,' and he held out a sheet of note-paper, with some writing on it. The paper looked rather yellow, and was marked here and there at the edges as if it had been stitched. 'This is the paper that was in my pincushion, just like the others. It was meant to have the date upon it, I suppose. But it isn't that – look what it is instead. I can scarcely believe it. I feel as if I was dreaming. I want you to read the words.'

And Kathie read – though with some difficulty, for she too felt as if she were dreaming, and the lines danced before her eyes. They were very few, however, and very legible, in Mrs. Wynne's clear, precise handwriting.

'My will, and some other papers of less importance, will be found in the plate-chest – containing the best silver – underneath the lining of green baize in the bottom of the box. The lining is only tacked in and will be easily removed.

'Davida Wynne.'

Kathie, without speaking, turned the sheet of paper round. On the other side was written, what Neville had not noticed, a date, 'Ty-gwyn, May 15th, 1859,' just as there had been in the other pincushions, only this was an older one.

Kathie's eyes sparkled, and the power of speech seemed to return to her.

'Yes,' she said, 'she had thought this was a blank sheet, and she put the blank sheet in the envelope of "directions," and sealed it up, by mistake. Neville, Neville, Phil, it's it!'

Neville was trembling so, he could scarcely stand.

'What shall we do?' he said. 'I can't bear to risk any more disappointment for aunty. If we could look ourselves, first, but we can't. Suppose it isn't there after all – or suppose it doesn't leave things as they think. She may have changed – Mrs. Wynne, I mean.'

'No,' said Kathleen, 'I'm not afraid of the will if it's there. Mrs. Wynne told aunty almost the last thing that it would be all right. But she may have changed the place of keeping it – though it's not likely. I'll tell you what, Neville – I'll ask aunty if she has ever looked in that plate-chest, and see what she says.'

'Yes,' said Neville, who was recovering his composure by now. 'We might do that. It would make it less of a disappointment if it weren't there.'

'Oh,' said Kathie, 'we could get her to show us the plate-chest even without that. Yes – that will be best. I'm sure I can manage it.'

'But then,' said Neville, 'we'd have to tell her about this paper all the same. We couldn't conceal it.'

'No; but don't you see that there would be no disappointment about it. She would know at once that it wasn't there before she could hope or wonder about it. I don't think she could bear any more "hoping," Neville.'

'No,' he agreed, 'I don't think she could.'

And he felt both pleased and surprised at Kathie's womanly thoughtfulness for her aunt.

'We can't work any more till we know for sure about it,' said little Phil. 'Oh, Kathie, do settle something quickly.'

'I'm going to,' said Kathie. 'Put all our things together neatly, Phil. I'll be back in a minute.'

And in less than five she was back.

'Phil, Neville,' she called out, 'you're to come up-stairs to the locked-up room where aunty keeps the best linen, and the best china, and the best silver. Aunty's going to show it all to us because it's a wet day, and we don't want to work any more.'

'It is better not to tire yourselves over the pincushions,' said Miss Clotilda's gentle voice behind her, 'and you will have all the afternoon for them. I am sure it is not going to clear. So come along. I have got my keys. It is a very good idea of yours, Kathie.'

Up jumped Neville and Phil. Kathie was already nearly at the top of the staircase, Miss Clotilda following more slowly. From the long passage which ran almost the length of the house on the first floor, she led the way down a shorter one, then up a little flight of steps ending in a small landing where there were two doors.

Miss Clotilda pointed to one on the right.

'That was the old butler's room,' she said. 'He left last year, for he was too old to work and he would not rest while here.'

'Is he dead?' asked Neville.

'Yes,' she replied; 'he died a week or so before Mrs. Wynne did. I have often thought,' she added, with a sigh, 'that he might have known something had he been alive.'

She chose a key and opened the other door. It led into a fair-sized room. All round three sides were large cupboards; one or two big cases stood on the floor, and at one side were two strongly-made wooden chests.

'The linen is in those cupboards,' Miss Clotilda went on, 'and the best china near the window. In those boxes there are some new blankets and counterpanes that Mrs. Wynne never saw. They had just been ordered. And those are the two plate chests. Nearly all the silver is laid away.'

Kathie looked at Neville.

'Best and every-day silver all together?'

'Oh, no,' said Miss Clotilda. 'The best is in this one,' and she touched it; 'the other was only brought up here for greater security when Mrs Wynne died, and I had to stay on here alone with Martha. Now, what shall I show you first, children? The china, perhaps, would please you the most?'