"Oh, the t.i.tle of the book is 'A Summer's Pleasure;' and the author--let me see--why--" and Winnie stopped short, her eyes opened to their widest extent and her rosy lips slightly parted.

"What's up with the girl?" queried d.i.c.k, roused by the little sister's surprised tone and bewildered expression. "Lot's wife could not have looked more petrified, I'll be bound. Do satisfy a fellow's curiosity, Win, and don't sit there mute as a fish."

Thus admonished, Winnie gave herself a little shake and laughed lightly.

"No wonder," she said excusingly. "Only think, d.i.c.k,--the author of this book calls herself 'Aunt Judith,' and that is the name of one of Nellie Latimer's aunts."

The boy gave a prolonged whistle.

"Well, you are a little fool," he said politely, "to make such a fuss about nothing. Dear me, Win, you don't imagine surely that Nellie Latimer's aunt is the author of that book, simply because her name happens to be Judith. Why, there are hundreds of Aunt Judiths in the world;" and philosopher d.i.c.k went back to his whales and icebergs in lofty contempt of his sister's excitement.

"I daresay I am a goose," laughed Winnie apologetically; "but somehow it seemed so strange to see 'Aunt Judith' staring at me from the t.i.tle-page. Aunt Judith--" and the little girl repeated the name softly, as if those two words held for her some subtle charm.

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly one by one. d.i.c.k was away in the far north fighting the whales, and having wonderful adventures with polar bears; while Winnie, curled up cosy fashion in the depths of a huge easychair, was also absorbed in the contents of her book; when the soft swish-swish of garments was heard coming along the pa.s.sage, and the door opened to admit a fair, stately lady, whose silken robe fell in graceful folds to her feet, and whose arms, neck, and hair glittered with sparkling jewels. She was followed by two younger ladies, as richly but more youthfully dressed; and as they entered the room a delicious perfume distilled itself and wafted all around the sweetest fragrance.

"Mamma!" cried Winnie, springing up and gazing admiringly on the beautiful figure before her; "how pretty you look! Are you going out to-night again, and Clare and Edith also?"

"Yes, dear," replied Mrs. Blake in a softly-modulated voice; "we are all going to the opera, and the carriage is already at the door. I wished to know, however, why d.i.c.k was so late in getting home this afternoon, and so looked in on you as I was pa.s.sing."

d.i.c.k, who had barely glanced up at his stepmother's entrance, and then continued reading, now knit his brow in an angry frown, and seemed unwilling to answer; while Clare, the elder of the two young ladies, laughed carelessly as she said, "Our invasion for that purpose was hardly necessary, I fancy. It is simply the old story over again--badly-prepared lessons."

"You're about right there," replied the boy sullenly, never raising his eyes from the volume before him. "What else could you expect of the dunce?" and a bitter sneer curled the corners of his lips as he spoke, while Winnie's warm little heart was all aglow with love and sympathy.

Mrs. Blake's face a.s.sumed an expression of peevish distress. "I am sure, d.i.c.k," she began plaintively, "I do not know what the end of all this will be. Your father is perfectly disgusted at your indolence and ashamed of your stupidity." The boy's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is quite true. I am tired listening to his continual complaints;" and the lady drew her fleecy wrap round her with an injured air.

"O mamma," interrupted Winnie eagerly, "you are wronging d.i.c.k. He may not be so clever as Algy and Tom, but he is such a dear, good boy, and does try ever so hard to learn his lessons. He does indeed; and I should know best, when I study beside him every night."

"That's enough, Win," answered her brother doggedly. "I don't care what they believe;" and the boy, drawing his chair closer to the fire, gazed angrily into the burning embers.

"What a respectful speech, and what charming manners!" said Edith scornfully. "You would grace any drawing-room, d.i.c.k.--Come away, mamma; we shall be late. Papa will soon bring his dutiful son to his proper senses."

"Well spoken, Edith," said Mrs. Blake, sweeping indignantly from the room; "the boy is a perfect boor. I trust he may show more honour to his father than he has accorded to me."

The door closed softly behind the unwelcome guests, the light footsteps died away in the distance, and Winnie and d.i.c.k were once more alone in the little oak parlour, with the dancing firelight playing on their faces and roguishly deepening the tint on their youthful cheeks.

d.i.c.k's book had dropped from his knees, and was lying with crumpled leaves on the rug, while the boy, his hands tightly clenched, sat in moody silence; and Winnie's tender heart ached as she watched him.

Slipping from her chair, she crossed over to his side, and nestling down, laid her pretty head on his arm, saying with a quiver in her voice, "d.i.c.k, my dear, good boy, don't look like that; I can't bear it.

Oh, why do they say such things to you?" Here the tears forced themselves into the bright eyes as she spoke.

d.i.c.k gave the fender a vicious kick ere he replied: "I tell you what it is, Win: one of these days I'll run away. No, no; don't strangle me and say I won't, for I tell you I _will_. A fellow can't be expected to stand this sort of thing all his life. I'm sick of it. Hallo!

what's up?" for Winnie's arms were clasped tightly round his neck and the great tears were running silently down her cheeks.

"Don't go, d.i.c.k, oh, don't go!" she pleaded frantically, half choking the boy with her violent embraces. "Whatever should I do without you?

d.i.c.k, you must not go; only wait, and all will come right in the end.

Promise, promise!" and the little gipsy face looked pitiful in its wild terror.

d.i.c.k's heart melted.

"There, there, dry your eyes, you wee goose; I was only teasing you.

Why, what a disconsolate-looking object somebody is!" and laughing his sister out of her fright, the two sat chatting merrily till bed-time, when Winnie went away to her own dainty room, and d.i.c.k also sought his den.

Then, when alone in the darkness, the merriment died out of his face, and as he lay thinking over his wrongs, real and imaginary, bitter feelings swept over his heart, and the idle threat began to form itself into fixed determination. "I would go right off to-night were it not for Win," he muttered, tossing restlessly on his pillows; "but I guess she would fret sorely, and--'there's the rub.'" Another Shakespearian quotation. "Well, well, I'll sleep over it;" and then d.i.c.k wandered into the land of dreams, to be haunted by the vision of a quaint gipsy face and great pleading eyes--a vision which rose up before him again and again in after years, when he was out on the great waste of waters, and the soft moon and shining stars seemed to whisper of home and loving hearts.

CHAPTER VII.

AN AFTERNOON AT DINGLE COTTAGE.

One Sat.u.r.day afternoon, about a week after the events recorded in the last chapter, Miss Latimer stood at the window of her cosy parlour looking out into the quiet street with its small semi-detached villas and cottages, the tiny gardens of which were now strown with the falling autumn leaves. There was a slight look of expectancy in her eyes and pleased expression on her face calculated to give any beholder the idea that Aunt Judith was watching for something or somebody. And so she was; for Winnifred Blake had gladly accepted the invitation to spend that afternoon and evening at Dingle Cottage, much to Nellie's delight; and that young lady, too impatient to await her guest's arrival, had gone part of the way to meet the expected visitor.

Aunt Judith, after giving a quick glance round the room to see that everything had a comfortable, inviting look, resumed her quiet watch, and for some time the silence of the house was unbroken, save by a slight sound now and then proceeding from the kitchen, where Aunt Debby, Martha-like as usual, was busy with domestic work. At last two figures appeared coming swiftly along the street, and Miss Latimer, hastening to the door, opened it with words of kindly welcome as Winnie and Nellie danced (I can use no better word) up the tiny garden path.

"Come in, dear; I am pleased to see you," she said in her gentle voice, leading the young guest to Nellie's bedroom, and a.s.sisting her to take off her hat and jacket. "Nellie has spoken so often about you that you seem no stranger to me, and I am glad to think my niece has gained such a true, warm-hearted little friend."

Winnie, surveying the kind face bending over her, smiled at the words, but seemed to be too much overwhelmed by an unaccountable fit of shyness to vouchsafe any reply. She kept her usually busy tongue silent till the three were seated in the snug parlour, when, under the influence of Miss Latimer's simple, homely manner, she began, as Nellie expressed it, to thaw, and the fountain once set free produced a play of bright, sparkling conversation.

Aunt Judith's nimble fingers plied the needle industriously, and though she herself said little at first, her thorough enjoyment of the young people's society was evident from the quiet, amused smile which lurked round the corners of her lips, and the close attention she gave to the merry flow of talk. School and school-mates were the two chief themes of conversation, and if now and again a remark savouring rather strongly of girlish malice or jealousy fell from either lips, Miss Latimer wisely made no comment; for she knew what, alas! many pay so little heed to--that for everything there is a season, and that a word of admonition thrown in at a wrong time serves rather to harden than soften the heart.

"Nellie is getting on splendidly at school, Miss Latimer," announced Winnie after a long pause. "Ada Irvine cannot call herself the dux any longer; and I am so glad. It is quite delightful to see her angry, crestfallen look each time Nellie makes a correct answer;" and Winnie's face glowed in thorough appreciation of the present state of affairs.

"As for revenge," she continued, "there will be a terrible climax some day, I am sure. Even now, and this is only the beginning, she cannot find anything too horrible for herself or the other girls to say about Nellie."

"I am sorry to hear that," replied Aunt Judith quietly; "but Nellie must try to win Ada's love, and not provoke her by any appearance of triumph or self-esteem. Draw your chairs nearer me, dears, and I will tell you what happened to me long, long ago when I was a girl;" and here Miss Latimer smiled on the upturned young faces and commenced her story.

There was nothing very exciting in the tale--nothing certainly bordering on the wonderful--and yet one might have heard a pin fall, so great was the silence while she spoke.

Winnie sat quite still, her eyes shining like twin stars, and the whole expression of her face denoting the most intense interest; while Nellie, her lips slightly parted as if in expectation, also seemed to have her attention completely absorbed: for Aunt Judith was a splendid story-teller, and entered heart and soul into the spirit of her tale.

Miss Deborah's little bright orbs twinkled when she entered the parlour with the tea-tray and found how the three were occupied. There was little heed given to her entrance, and not even a glimpse of pretty china or a daintily-spread table could tempt the listeners' eyes or attention from Miss Latimer and her story till the last word was spoken, when both roused themselves with a sigh of the utmost satisfaction.

"Oh, that was splendid!" cried Winnie eagerly. "What a nice story-teller you make, Miss Latimer; you talk just like a book." Here Aunt Debby, accidentally, of course, choked slightly. "I could sit and listen to you for ever,--couldn't you, Nellie?" and Winnie appealed to her companion for an enforcement of her statement.

"Scarcely, dear, scarcely," interrupted Aunt Judith, rising from her chair and advancing to the tea-table; "if you were to hear my stories often, the novelty would by-and-by wear away. But here is Aunt Debby with the urn. Let us see what a successful tea-maker she is, and we can talk more about stories and story-telling afterwards."

Both girls jumped up obediently, and gathering round the tempting table the happy party proceeded to enjoy the many goodly things displayed thereon, and kept up such a merry strain of conversation that the room rang with laughter; and Aunt Meg, lying in her darkened chamber, bitterly bewailed her infirmities and the seeming lack of sympathy vouchsafed to her in her affliction.

Tea was followed by games and other interesting amus.e.m.e.nts, all of which Winnie enjoyed immensely; and then Aunt Judith inquired if she would like to see an old maid's den. "Nellie has never as yet been privileged to cross its threshold," she finished laughingly, "so it will be something new for both of you to inspect."

With that she led the way and ushered the two girls into her study.

Both stood for a few minutes silent, glancing round the pretty room so simply and tastefully furnished; then with a little cry of delight they sprang towards the bookcase and began to scan the contents eagerly.

"Why, I declare," cried Winnie excitedly, "here are ever so many books like the one I have at home just now. They are all by the same author too.--Miss Latimer," she continued, turning and speaking rapidly, "she must be a good lady who writes those books. I have only read one of them, ent.i.tled 'A Summer's Pleasure;' but it was beautiful, and I felt as if I should like, oh _so much_, to talk with the author, and tell her how earnestly I long to be good, and how I can't."

Nellie, who had taken one of the pretty volumes into her hand and was scanning the t.i.tle-page, looked up at Miss Latimer's face with a half-incredulous light in her eyes; but Aunt Judith, gazing down on the little figure before her, failed to catch the puzzled gleam.

"My child," she said, oh so gently, taking the small white hands and drawing the young girl to the warm fireside, "your words do my heart good, and help to repay me for hours of weary labour. You wish to know the author of those books, dear. You feel you could tell her some of your deepest longings. What will you say when I confess that she stands before you--that it is in very truth Aunt Judith who loves children and sends them through print her best heart-thoughts?"