Jasper

“By-the-bye,” she said, “we have not too much time to spare,” and she glanced at the clock. “Put away the books, children, for Harriet must get tea ready early. Your aunt will like to have it with all of us together, when she arrives. I wonder what Leila is about.”

“There isn’t much need to wonder about her,” said Chrissie, as she hastily collected the books and slates and bundled them into their little owner’s arms with an “I don’t know where you keep them, Jap.”

“I keep them in my own room now,” he replied with pride, for the possession of “my own room,” a tiny slip of a place out of Roland’s, had gone far to console him for the loss of former luxuries and comforts; “and I’ll tell Lelly to come down to be ready for Aunt Margaret; shall I, Mumsey?” and off he ran.

So, thanks to Christabel’s feeling vaguely wishful to make up for her impatience with her pupil, and perhaps in her heart grateful to him for having made the best of it to her mother; thanks, too, to Jasper’s timely rousing Leila to come downstairs to be ready for their expected guest, the sisters were in good trim when the four-wheeler drew up at the door and Jasper’s joyful cry, “They’ve come,” brought them all out into the hall.

It was such a rainy day – a really hopelessly wet winter’s day – the dull street looking duller than ever, the sky without the faintest gleam – everybody knows what London, above all London “far out,” and where there are no shops even near at hand, can look like in these conditions. And to one whose whole home life till now had been spent in beautiful places, the contrast must have been sharp. Yet never did a face look brighter than Aunt Margaret’s as she got out of the cab and smiled up at her nephew as if asking him, too, to be happy, which poor Mr Fortescue just then was finding difficult.

He glanced anxiously at the house, and was pleased to see the door open and a row of heads in the passage.

“I am sure of Edith” – “Edith” was Mrs Fortescue – “and little Japs,” he thought, “but those girls! I do hope they will be all light.”

Yes, they were at their best – gentle and affectionate, and indeed it would have been difficult to greet their aunt in any other way. She was not a very old lady, though her hair was quite white and she looked delicate, for she was many years younger than her brother, Sir Percy.

She came in, her eyes bright with pleasure, her kind voice already murmuring all their names, and the children gave a start of delight when they saw that their aunt was carrying a huge basket of the loveliest flowers – Fareham flowers, from the beloved hot-houses there. Their delicate fragrance already seemed to fill the little hall.

Mrs Fortescue darted forward.

“How good of you,” she exclaimed, even before she kissed the new-comer, and indeed it would not have been easy to do so with the mass of flowers between them! “Oh, how delicious! Leila, Chrissie,” and the little girls seized the treasures eagerly, and between them bore the basket off to a safe place.

“I thought I would like to bring the flowers in myself for my darlings,” said Aunt Margaret, smiling, “as a sort of ‘good luck,’ you know.”

Then she hugged them all round – Jasper coming in for a hearty share; and what with her pleasure and the scent and colour of her gift, somehow sunshine seemed to have come into the house for the time, and the rainy, muddy, gloomy street outside to have vanished.

“Morris,” Aunt Margaret went on, “Morris was so eager to send you a good supply. The last he can send, poor man,” with a quick sigh, “for the tenants are expected to-morrow.” Morris was the Fareham gardener of longstanding. “And there is a hamper-full of plants in pots, with my luggage – oh no, coming by goods train, I mean. We thought, Morris and I, it would amuse the dear children, Edith, to do some indoors gardening, so he chose ferns and flowers that will grow well in the house with a little care.”

“Oh, I am so glad,” exclaimed Jasper. “May I have a planted one of my werry own, Auntie?”

“Of course you may – more than one,” she replied, “and Leila and Chrissie too,” and she kissed them in turn as she named them. “My dears, how you have grown!” she went on; “Leila especially, I think. And Chrissie looking so well and rosy.”

Leila was pleased to be told she had grown, and not sorry for the “so well and rosy” to fall to her sister’s share, for she liked to think she herself looked rather pale and delicate. And Chrissie, to do her justice, cared exceedingly little about “looks” at all. Just now her whole attention was given to the flowers.

“I do hope Mums will let me arrange them,” she thought. “She’ll very likely say that Lell and I may do them together to-morrow morning, and if she does, I know what I’ll do.”

By this time the whole party had somehow got into the dining-room, where, thanks to Mrs Fortescue’s care, tea was all ready.

“We thought you would not mind having it like this all together, this first evening, dear Aunt,” she said. “Just take off your thick cloak and – ”

“Please may I take it upstairs for Auntie,” said Jasper, scrambling down from his chair and hurrying off with the heavy wrap, though it was almost more than he could carry. He managed it somehow, however, and was back again almost immediately, his gaze fixed lovingly on something he held in his hand.

“Jasper,” exclaimed Chrissie, forgetting her aunt’s presence, “that’s very naughty of you. Mummy, he’s taken a flower out of the basket.”

Mrs Fortescue winced at her sharp tone. She was so anxious for everything to be smooth and peaceful.

“It does smell so lovelily,” said Jasper, for his treasure was a spike of stephanotis, “but if it was naughty of me I’ll put it back.”

“No, no, dear – keep it by all means,” said Aunt Margaret. “There is plenty more of it. And – oh Roland, my dear boy,” for just at that moment the elder brother luckily made his appearance, “how glad I am to see you! Now we are all together,” she added with a glance round the well-filled table, “and when one can say that, one should not feel there is much to complain of – should we, dear Reginald?” and she turned to Mr Fortescue, beside whom she was sitting.

“No indeed,” he replied heartily. “You and gloomy feelings certainly couldn’t live together, Aunt Margaret – could they, eh, Jasper, my boy? what do you think about it?” for Jasper was listening with all his ears and a pleased smile on his face, while he fondled his precious stephanotis.

“How they do spoil that child,” Leila whispered to Christabel.

“Yes,” was the reply in the same tone; “it looks as if it would be worse than ever now she’s come.” Then, as they had all finished tea, Mrs Fortescue took the traveller upstairs to her room.

“Mumsey, darlin’,” said Jasper, as she passed him, “mayn’t we help you to rerange the flowers?”

“Not to-night, dear. It’s too late, and it would upset the drawing-room. But I’ll tell you what – listen, Leila and Chrissie – you may all do them to-morrow morning, as early as you like. I will send them down to the cellar for the night, and I will look out the biggest glasses and vases we have. I am so glad I kept several, though I didn’t expect to have so much to fill them with.”

“As early as you like,” Chrissie repeated to herself. “That’ll just suit me. I love doing flowers if I’m not interfered with. And there’s not much fear of Lell turning out of bed early if I don’t hurry her up,” for, in spite of all orders to the contrary, Leila was still naughty enough often to read in bed at night with a candle lighted on a little table by her side, which, naturally, did not make her very wakeful in the morning. And Chrissie, though she had threatened more than once to tell their mother of this dangerous disobedience, took care that evening to offer no objection to it, for the selfish and unsisterly reason that I have spoken of.

Aunt Margaret was tired, notwithstanding her good spirits, and not sorry to go to bed early. As she was on her way to her room, Mrs Fortescue accompanying her, she glanced up the higher staircase.

“Let us say good-night again to the children,” she said. “I hear Leila and Chrissie talking, so they cannot be in bed yet, and I have not yet seen their room,” and as in that little house there was never far to go, Mrs Fortescue readily consented.

“Leila, Chrissie,” she said, “Aunt Margaret has come to say good-night to you in your own domain,” and they came forward to be kissed again. On the whole, things were not so desperately untidy as was often the case, and their visitor glanced round approvingly.

“Yes, it is really a nice room,” she said. “Poor dears, they must miss Nurse. Still you are big girls now and will be pleased to be independent,” and she did not notice that there was only a very vaguely murmured reply. “Let me have one peep at Jasper,” she went on. “It is so long since I have seen the dear little fellow asleep, and I remember how sweet he used to look.”

Mrs Fortescue lighted a candle in Roland’s room, out of which Jasper’s opened – Roland was still downstairs with his father, – and carefully shading it from the little sleeper’s eyes, led the way in. The child was fast, very fast asleep – he looked prettier than when awake, for slumber brought a rosy flush to his face, as a rule paler than one would have wished to see it.

And to-night he looked particularly well and happy, for he was smiling, and murmured some words as his mother bent over him, which at first puzzled her – “the growin’ ones,” he said, “it must be somefin’ growin’.”

“What can he be dreaming about?” she whispered to her aunt, and then her eye caught sight of the probable cause of Jasper’s pleasant fancies. It was the sprig of stephanotis, carefully tied to a bar at the head of his little cot, so that the sweet perfume was doubtless wafted to him as he lay.

“I know,” exclaimed Aunt Margaret. “Dear little fellow – it is something about the plants that I said were coming by goods train to-morrow. How glad I am that Morris thought of them!”

She was right, though it was not till long afterwards that Jasper told his dream, which in time to come, as his ideas grew and developed, seemed to him almost, simple as it was, to have been a kind of allegory. And for fear I should forget about it as our story goes on, I may as well tell it to you now.

He dreamt that he was walking up a rather steep hill; it was grassy and pleasant to step on, but still he felt a little tired and wondered how much farther he would have to go. Where he was going, or why, he could not clearly understand; he only knew that go on he must, and all the time, in his hand, he carried his sweetly scented flower. Then, suddenly, he became aware that, on his journey, whatever was the reason and object of it, he was not alone – numbers and numbers of other children were pressing on in the same direction. They did not speak to him or to each other, every one seemed full of the same eagerness to get to the top of the hill; and soon the explanation of this grew plain to him, for a breath, more than a voice, passed through the crowd of little travellers, murmuring —

“The gates, the gates of the beautiful garden.” And lifting his eyes he saw, now but a short way off, great gates of silvery trellis-work, through which he could already catch glimpses of stretches of exquisite lawns, and glorious trees, and smooth winding paths, bordered by plants and flowers of indescribable loveliness. He seemed to himself to give a bound of delight, for something told him that he and all his companions were coming there by invitation, and in another moment or two the crowd of children had reached the top of the hill and were standing in front of the gates. And then Jasper noticed another thing – each child was carrying a flower, or a plant – many, like himself, a cut-off branch or blossom only; some, and the faces of these had a different expression from that of the others, flowerpots filled with earth in which the plant was happily alive and growing. They were not all of equal size or beauty; several were very tiny, nothing but a few green leaves perhaps; some, what one would carelessly call “quite common” little things – a daisy root or a small nest of violets, of which only one timid head was as yet to be seen. But all these had roots, and were growing! Then glancing at the other children, who like himself carried only a single blossom, he saw an anxious look on their faces, and to his distress he perceived that these flowers were drooping and beginning to fade and wither, and he was just turning to examine his own, when he heard an eager cry – and looking up, he saw a figure coming down the garden and opening the gate at one side, not widely, but enough to let one child through at a time.

Jasper pressed forward – the new-comer was all dressed in white – the face was more beautiful than any face not seen in dreams.

“It’s an angel,” thought Jasper, and some words he had heard or read of came into his mind.

”‘The garden of Paradise,’ that must be it,” he thought dreamily.

And then he looked again and more anxiously, for he saw that by no means every child was allowed to enter – and of those who with saddened or disappointed faces turned back, every one was the bearer of a single blossom only, a poor, already-fading flower!

The angel’s face was grave as he slowly shook his head, when Jasper himself drew near.

“I cannot, my child, I cannot,” he said; “you must bring a different offering;” and Jasper, on the point of tears, replied —

“I didn’t know – I didn’t know. What shall I do?”

And the angel smiled and said —

“No, my darling, you did not know. But you can come again and bring a living plant. All have to learn. Many of those you now see entering did not know the first time they came. Take courage – your growing plant is ready for you.”

And then it was, I think, that he smiled in his sleep and whispered, “It must be a growin’ one.”

Yet for a moment or two he stood by the silver gate and watched, for he felt the angel wanted him to do so. And some things surprised him. The most beautiful plants were not always carried by the prettiest or most attractive children. Some of their bearers were sadly poor-looking – one, above all, a little cripple in shabby clothes, who could scarcely hobble in – but oh, what a glorious wealth of snow-white lilies he carried, and how his face shone with delight at the gate-keeper’s approving smile. And once inside – for Jasper gazed longingly after him – how was it? – such things come to us in dreams, and are they not the shadow of the true? – the shining seemed to clothe the stunted figure as with a garment, till he stood there erect and beautiful – a very angel himself. And murmuring, “P’raps he’ll be the one at the gate the next time I come,” Jasper awoke.

But it was not yet even midnight, so, as the scent of his flower – poor little flower, faithful to the last, though it had to wither – reached his but half-awakened senses, the boy smiled again, and this time went off into dreamless slumber.

Chapter Eight

A Catastrophe

Chrissie, as I think you will remember, was not given to sleeping late. Indeed, laziness of any kind was not a weak point of hers.

And on the morning after Aunt Margaret’s arrival, she woke, as she had gone to sleep determined to do, even earlier than usual. It was only just beginning to be faintly light. She lay still for some little time, for it was as yet too dark to see what o’clock it was, and if she had struck a light it might have roused Leila – the last thing she wished to do.

But before long, some slight sounds overhead gave notice that the two servants, who, being young country-bred girls, had not yet lost their good habit of early rising, were getting up. Then, even in that quiet side-street, came sounds of the great world of London being awake again – a church clock struck six, a milk cart or two rattled by, and farther off in the distance was faintly heard the rumbling of heavier carts and waggons.

“I suppose it’s no good my getting up till the servants are down, and till it’s lighter,” thought the little girl. “I’ll try to keep still till it strikes the half-hour, or at least till I can see the figures on the bee-clock. But it’s awfully tiresome. I can’t understand Lelly liking to stay in bed.”

And never did a half-hour pass more slowly for an impatient child than did this one. Still, Chrissie kept to her resolution; she could be both sensible and self-controlled when it suited her.

But by seven o’clock she was fully dressed, though there had been no question of a bath, seeing that Harriet only brought the hot water at half-past, and I fear the amount of washing that she had stealthily performed with cold water and a basin only, had better not be inquired into. All the same, she felt decidedly proud of her good management when she found herself quietly slipping downstairs, leaving Leila still peacefully slumbering.

It was not a very cold morning and it had quite left off raining. Still, it felt very chilly as she entered the drawing-room, where Harriet had just opened the windows.

“Miss Chrissie!” she exclaimed with a start.

“Is there anything the matter?”

“Of course not. I’ve got up early to do the flowers. Mother said I might. So go and fetch them at once, and bring the glasses to put them in, and a big can of water.”

Harriet hesitated.

“Couldn’t you wait, Miss, just till I’ve brushed and swept up and done the fire? I’ve to get the room right quickly, you see, to be ready for the old lady.”

”‘Wait’!” repeated Christabel, “of course I can’t. And you’re very rude, Harriet, to speak of the ‘old lady’ like that. Can’t you say ‘Miss Fortescue’?”

“I’m sure I beg pardon,” Harriet replied, and feeling rather ashamed of her unintended disrespect, she dared not object further, and hurried off as Chrissie had ordered.

But with the young lady spreading out flowers and glasses and water-cans all over the floor, it was clearly impossible to go on sweeping. Furthermore, Chrissie made her shut the window, so all the poor girl could attend to, and that not without difficulty, was the fireplace.

Little cared Chrissie. She went on sorting and selecting, cleverly enough, it must be owned, and some of the glasses were looking pretty and graceful, when a sound made her glance at the door. There stood Jasper, Harriet by this time having fled in despair.

“What do you want?” said Chrissie sharply. She was already getting a little tired of her task, for she had been at it for three-quarters of an hour.

“Oh Chrissie, Lelly is so cross,” he said. “She heard me goin’ down and she called me. She’s nearly dressed and she’s comin’ immediately. And I’m afraid she’s very vexed. And the room is in such a mess,” and, child though he was, he gazed round in consternation.

It was quite true – the mess was appalling. For it was not in Chrissie’s nature to do anything with method, and Leila’s greater neatness would have been a help in the morning’s work. But even worse was to follow; for almost before Chrissie had taken in what Jasper was saying, Leila, for once, in her indignation, as hasty as her sister, dashed into the room, upsetting as she did so, one of the big cans of water brought by Harriet, and, sadder still, one of the already arranged vases, breaking it into pieces – the water streaming out to mingle with the pool already forming, the poor flowers pitched about in all directions.

Christabel flew at her, trying to push her out of the room.

“You horrid girl,” she said, “you clumsy creature.”

“It’s you that’s horrid,” returned Leila. “Worse than horrid. How could you be so mean and sneaky? Why didn’t you wake me? Mother meant us to do them together. It’s all your fault. I shall tell Mother – it isn’t mine a bit. Let go of me,” but Chrissie only pushed her the more fiercely.

And this was the sight, these were the sounds, that met poor Mrs Fortescue as, unheard by the furious children, she stood in the doorway, – room in chaos, the pretty carpet, chosen newly on purpose to brighten the look of things, soaking – dark with water – the bits of glass and poor flowers all strewed about, and, worst of all, two little girls, crimson with anger, struggling together and hurling out ugly words of reproach and rage.

They started however – Chrissie releasing Leila, who stood silent and motionless – when they heard their mother’s voice.

“Aunt Margaret’s first morning. And I trusted you both to help me,” she said, as she turned away.

She was so bitterly disappointed that I really think there were tears in her eyes as she hurried down the passage in search of Harriet and cloths to wipe up the pools and streams of water. But before she got to the top of the staircase leading down to the basement, she almost ran across a small figure, whose face was hardly to be seen amid the pile of things he was carrying.

“I’ve been to get cloths and sponges to dry it all up, Mummy,” he said breathlessly, “and a pail to squeeze it into, and Harriet’s comin’,” and sure enough the housemaid’s head just then emerged at the top of the kitchen staircase.

“Master Jasper, Master Jasper,” she gasped, “you can’t carry all that;” and certainly he did look very comical, with his intensely grave face peeping out above his load.

“My poor Brownie,” said his mother, “my good fairy – what would I do without you?” and somehow she could not help a little laugh.

Jasper gazed at her in surprise, but then feeling that he was the master of the situation, he hurried off again. “Come quick, Mumsey,” he said, “p’raps we can stop any more of the carpet getting wet, if we’re quick,” and, followed by Harriet, they hurried into the drawing-room.

Leila and Christabel, by this time sobered and ashamed, though feeling, I fear, very far from friendly to each other, were on their knees in different parts of the floor – Leila picking up the fragments of broken glass; Chrissie rescuing the poor scattered flowers. Neither spoke, and their mother said coldly —

“Go upstairs. You are only in the way here. Come down at once when you hear the breakfast gong.”

Then Chrissie burst out —

“It’s not fair. It was all Leila. She knocked over the things, and I’d got up early on purpose.”

“Chrissie,” said her mother, and the one word silenced her again – “I cannot trust you together, I see,” Mrs Fortescue went on. “Go up to your room, Leila, and you, Chrissie, stay in the dining-room.”

Then with Harriet’s help – Jasper carefully collecting the flowers – some sort of order was by degrees brought about; the dangerous pieces of glass swept up, and the carpet dried as far as was possible. But it was necessary to leave the window open, and it was plain that some hours must pass before the room could be occupied.

“Make as large a fire as you can, to help to dry the floor, Harriet,” said Mrs Fortescue, and then she took Jasper’s hand and left the room. “Oh dear, oh dear!” she could not help murmuring, “it does seem too bad – Aunt Margaret’s first morning,” and a little squeeze of her fingers told her of Jasper’s sympathy.

“I’m sure Lelly and Chrissie is really werry sorry,” he said, “and Auntie is so kind, Mumsey.”

Kind indeed she was. For a few minutes later, when she came downstairs and it had to be explained to her that a woeful catastrophe had occurred, she declared that it would be a very good thing for her not to be tempted to loiter in the drawing-room that morning, “for I really must unpack and arrange my things upstairs. I suppose lessons have not begun regularly yet,” she went on, “so may Leila and Chrissie help me a little?” and she glanced at them as she spoke. Leila looked down, Chrissie grew scarlet.

“Ah,” thought Aunt Margaret, “I fear what has happened was not all an accident. Poor children – it would have been kinder to them in the end if they had been less indulged. We have all been to blame in the matter. Still, it is never too late to mend, and I must do my part.”

But from now, her eyes, loving though they were, watched things more closely and anxiously.

Neither of the little girls ventured to reply, but Mrs Fortescue, glancing at them, could not keep back a start.

“Chrissie,” she said, “have you looked at yourself this morning? Do you know that your face is simply – well, to speak plainly, dirty, and your hair ‘Like a crow’s nest,’ as my old nurse used to say? I hope Daddy won’t notice it.”