Martin Luther - "The Small Catechism of Martin Luther"

Unkown - "The Popular Science Monthly Volume LXXXVI July to September, 1915"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): Habakkuk"

Edgar B. P. Darlington - "The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings"

The Young Step Mother

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Young Step Mother




Gilbert became the most talkative as they drew near home, and was the
first to spring out and open the hall door, displaying his two
sisters harnessed tandem-fashion with packthread, and driven at full
speed by little Maurice, armed with the veritable carriage whip! The
next moment it was thrown down, with a rapturous shout, and Maurice
was lost to everything but his brother!

'Oh! girls, how could you let him serve you so?' began the horrified
Albinia. 'Sophy will be laid up for a week!'

'Never mind,' said Sophy, dropping on a chair. 'Poor little fellow,
he wished it so much!'

'I tried to stop her, mamma,' said Lucy, 'but she will do as Maurice
pleases.'

'See, this is the way they will spoil my boy, the instant my back is
turned!' said Albinia. 'What's the use of all I can do with him, if
every one else will go and be his bond-slave! I do believe Sophy
would let him kill her, if he asked her!'

'It is no real kindness,' said Mr. Kendal. 'Their good-nature ought
not to go beyond reason.'

The elder Maurice could hardly help shrugging his shoulders. Well
did he know that Mr. Kendal would have joined the team if such had
been the will of that sovereign in scarlet merino, who stood with one
hand in Gilbert's, and the whip in the other.

'Come here, Maurice,' quoth Albinia; 'put down the whip,' and she
extracted it from his grasp, with grave resolution, against which he
made no struggle, gave it to Lucy to be put away, and seated him on
her knee. 'Now listen, Maurice; poor sister Sophy is tired, and you
are never to make a horse of her. Do you hear?'

'Yes,' said Maurice, fidgeting.

'Mind, if ever you make a horse of Sophy, mamma will put you into the
black cupboard. You understand?'

'Sophy shan't be horse,' said Maurice. 'Sophy naughty, lazy horse.
Boy has Gibbie--'

'There's gratitude,' said Mr. Ferrars, as 'Boy' slid off his mamma's
knee, stood on tiptoe to pull the door open, and ran after Gilbert to
grandmamma's room.

'Yes,' said Albinia, 'no one is grateful for services beyond all
reason. So, Sophy, mind, into the cupboard he goes, the very next
time you are so silly as to be a horse.'

'To punish which of them?' asked her brother.

'Sophy knows,' said Albinia.

Sophy was too miserable to smile. Sarah Anne Drury had been calling,
and on hearing of Gilbert's indisposition, had favoured them with
'mamma's remarks,' and when Mrs. Kendal was blamed, Sophy had
indignantly told Sarah Anne that she knew nothing about it, and had
no business to interfere. Then followed the accusation, that Mrs.
Kendal had set the whole family against their old friends, and Sophy
had found all her own besetting sins charged upon her step-mother.

'My dear!' said Albinia, 'don't you know that if a royal tiger were
to eat up your cousin John in India, the Drurys would say Mrs. Kendal
always let the tigers run about loose! Nor am I sure that your
faults are not my fault. I helped you to be more exclusive and
intolerant, and I am sure I tried your temper, when I did not know
what was the matter with you--'

'No--no,' said the choked voice. It would have been an immense
comfort to cry, or even to be able to return the kiss; but she was a
great deal too wretched to be capable of any demonstration;
physically exhausted by being driven about by Maurice; mentally worn
out by the attempts to be amiable, which had degenerated into
wrangling, full of remorse for having made light of her brother's
illness, and, for that reason, persuaded that she was to be punished
by seeing it become fatal. Not a word of all this did she say, but,
dejected and silent, she spent the evening in a lonely corner of the
drawing-room, while her brother, in the full pleasure of returning
home, and greatly enjoying his invalid privileges, was discussing the
projected improvements.

Talking at last brought back his cough with real violence, and he was
sent to bed; Albinia went up with him to see that his fire burnt. He
set Mr. Ferrars's drawing of the alms-houses over his mantelshelf.
'I shall nail it up to-morrow,' he said. 'I always wanted a picture
here, and that's a jolly one to look to.'

'It would be a beautiful beginning,' she said. 'I think your life
would go the better for it, Gibbie.'

'I suppose old nurse would be too grand for one,' he said, 'but I
should like to have her so near! And you must mind and keep old Mrs.
Baker out of the Union for it. And that famous old blind sailor! I
shall put him up a bench to sit in the sun, and spin his yarns on,
and tell him to think himself at Greenwich.'

Albinia went down, only afraid that his being so very good was a
dangerous symptom.

Sophy was far from well in the morning, and Albinia kept her
upstairs, and sent her godfather to make her a visit. He always did
her good; he knew how to probe deeply, and help her to speak, and he
gave her advice with more experience than his sister, and more
encouragement than her father.

Sophy said little, but her eyes had a softened look.

'One good thing about Sophy,' said he afterwards to his sister, 'is,
that she will never talk her feelings to death.'

'That reserve is my great pain. I don't get at the real being once
in six months.'

'So much the better for people living together.'

'Well, I was thinking that you and I are a great deal more intimate
and confidential when we meet now, than we used to be when we were
always together.'

'People can't be often confidential from the innermost when they live
together,' said Maurice.

'Since I have been a Kendal, such has been my experience.'

'It was the same before, only we concealed it by an upper surface of
chatter,' said Maurice. '"As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth a man the
countenance of his friend;" but if the mutual sharpening went on
without intermission, both irons would wear away, and no work would
be done. Aren't you coming with me? Edmund is going to drive me to
Woodside to meet the pony-carriage from home.'

'I wish I could; but you see what happens when I go out pleasuring!'

'Well, you can take one element of mischief with you--that imp,
Maurice.'

'Ye--es. Papa would like it, if you do.'

'I should like you to come on worse terms.'

'Very well, then; and Sophy is safe; I had already asked Genevieve to
come and read to her this afternoon. If Gilbert can spare me, I will
go.'

Gilbert did not want her, and begged Lucy not to think of staying
indoors on his account. He was presently left in solitary possession
of the drawing-room, whereupon he rose, settled his brown locks at
the glass, arranged his tie, brushed his cuffs, leisurely walked
upstairs, and tapped at the door of the morning-room, meekly asking,
'May I come in?' with a cough at each end of the sentence.

'Oh! Gilbert!' cried his anxious sister, starting up. 'Are you come
to see me?' and she would have wheeled round her father's arm-chair
for him, but Genevieve was beforehand with her, and he sank into it,
saying pathetically, 'Ah! thank you, Miss Durant; you are come to a
perfect hospital. Oh! this is too much,' as she further gave him a
footstool. 'Oh! no, thank you, Sophy,' for she would have handed
Genevieve her own pillow for his further support; 'this is
delightful!' reclining pathetically in his chair. 'This is not like
Traversham.'

'Where they would not believe he was ill!' said Sophy.

'I hope he does not look so very ill,' said Genevieve, cheerfully,
but this rather hurt the feelings of both; the one said, 'Oh! but he
is terribly pale,' the other coughed, and said, 'Looks are
deceitful.'

'That is the very reason,' said Genevieve. 'You don't look deceitful
enough to be so ill--so ill as Miss Sophie fears; now you are at
home, and well cared for, you will soon be well.'

'Care would have prevented it all,' said Sophy.

'And not brought me home!' said Gilbert. 'Home is home on any terms.
No one there had the least idea a fellow could ever be unwell or out
of spirits!'

'Ah! you must have been ill,' cried his sister, 'you who never used
to be miserable!'

Gilbert gave a sigh. 'They were such mere boys,' he said.

'Monsieur votre Precepteur?' asked Genevieve.

'Ah! he was otherwise occupied!'

'There is some mystery beneath,' said Genevieve, turning to Sophy,
who exclaimed abruptly, 'Oh! is he in love?'

'Sophy goes to the point,' said Gilbert, smiling, the picture of
languid comfort; 'but I own there are suspicious circumstances. He
always has a photograph in his pocket, and Price has seen him looking
at it.'

'Ah! depend upon it, Miss Sophy, it is all a romance of these young
gentlemen,' said Genevieve, turning to her with a droll provoking air
of confidence; 'ce pauvre Monsieur had the portrait of his sister!'

'Catch me carrying Sophy's face in my waistcoat pocket, cried
Gilbert, forgetting his languor.

'Speak for yourself, Mr. Gilbert,' laughed Genevieve.

'And he writes letters every day, and wont let any of us put them
into the post for him; but we know the direction begins with Miss--'

'Oh! the curious boys!' cried Genevieve. 'If I could only hint to
this poor tutor to let them read Miss Downton on one!'

'I assure you,' cried Gilbert, 'Price has laid a bet that she's an
heiress with forty thousand pounds and red hair.'

'Mr. Price is an impertinent! I hope you will inform me how he looks
when he is the loser.'

'But he has seen her! He met Mr. Downton last Christmas in Regent
Street, in a swell carriage, with a lady with such carrots, he
thought her bonnet was on fire; and Mr. Downton never saw Price,
though he bowed to him, and you know nobody would marry a woman with
red hair unless she was an heiress.'

'Miss Sophy,' whispered Genevieve, 'prepare for a red-haired
sister-in-law. I predict that every one of the pupils of the respectable
Mr. Downton will marry ladies with lively chestnut locks.'

'What, you think me so mercenary, Genevieve?' said Gilbert.

'I only hope to see this school-boy logic well revenged!' said
Genevieve. 'Mrs. Price shall have locks of orange red, and for Mrs.
Gilbert Kendal--ah! we will content ourselves with her having a paler
shade--sandy gold.'

'No,' said Gilbert, speaking slowly, turning round his eyes. 'I
could tell you what Mrs. G. Kendal's hair will be--'

Genevieve let this drop, and said, 'You do not want me: good-bye,
Miss Sophie.'

'Going! why, you came to read to me, Genevieve,' exclaimed Sophy.

'Ah! I beg your pardon, I have been interrupting you all this time,'
cried Gilbert; 'I never meant to disturb you. Pray let me listen.'

And Genevieve read while Gilbert resumed his reclining attitude, with
half-closed eyes, listening to the sweet intonations and pretty
refined accent of the ancien regime.

Sophy enjoyed this exceedingly, she made it her especial occupation
to take care of Gilbert, and enter into his fireside amusements.
This indisposition had drawn the two nearer together, and essentially
unlike as they were, their two characters seemed to be fitting well
one into the other. His sentiment accorded with her strain of
romance, and they read poetry and had discussions as they sat over
the fire, growing constantly into greater intimacy and confidence.
Sophy waited on him, and watched him perpetually, and her assiduity
was imparting a softness and warmth quite new to her, while the
constant occupation kept affronts and vexations out of her sight, and
made her amiable.

Gilbert's health improved, though with vicissitudes that enforced the
necessity of prudence. Rash when well, and desponding at each
renewal of illness, he was not easy to manage, but he was always so
gentle, grateful, and obliging, that he endeared himself to the whole
household. It was no novelty for him to be devoted to his step-mother
and his little brother, but he was likewise very kind to Lucy,
and spent much time in helping in her pursuits; he was becoming
companionable to his father, and could play at chess sufficiently
well to be a worthy antagonist in Mr. Kendal's scientific and
interminable games. He would likewise play at backgammon with
grandmamma, and could entertain her for hours together by listening
to her long stories of the old Bayford world. He was a favourite in
her little society, and would often take a hand at cards to make up a
rubber, nay, even when not absolutely required, he was very apt to
bestow his countenance upon the little parties, where he had the
pleasure of being treated as a great man, and which, at least, had
the advantage of making a variation in his imprisonment during the
east winds.

Madame Belmarche and her daughter and grandchild were sometimes of
the party, and on these occasions, Sophy always claimed Genevieve,
and usually succeeded in carrying her off when Gilbert would often
join them. Their books and prints were a great treat to her; Gilbert
had a beautiful illustrated copy of Longfellow's poems, and the
engravings and 'Evangeline' were their enjoyment; Gilbert regularly
proffering the loan of the book, and she as regularly refusing it,
and turning a deaf ear to gentle insinuations of the pleasure of
knowing that an book of his was in her hands. Gilbert had never had
much of the schoolboy manner, and he was adopting a gentle, pathetic
tone, at which Albinia was apt to laugh, but in her absence was often
verged upon tendresse, especially with Genevieve. She, however, by
her perfect simplicity and lively banter, always nipped the bud of
his sentiment, she had known him from a child, and never lost the
sense of being his elder, treating him somewhat as a boy to be played
with. Perfectly aware of her own position, her demeanour, frank and
gracious as it was, had something in it which kept in check other
Bayford youths less gentlemanlike than Gilbert Kendal. If she never
forgot that she was dancing-master's daughter, she never let any one
else forget that she was a lady.

When the building began, Gilbert had a wholesome occupation, saving
his father some trouble and--not quite so much expense by overlooking
the workmen. Mr. Kendal was glad to be spared giving orders and
speaking to people, and would always rather be overcharged than be at
the pains of bargaining or inquiring. 'It was Gilbert's own house,'
he said, 'and it was good for the boy to take an interest in it, and
not to be too much interfered with.' So the bay window and the
conservatory were some degrees grander than Mr. Ferrars had proposed
but all was excused by the pleasure and experience they afforded
Gilbert, and it was very droll to see Maurice following him about
after the workmen, watching them most knowingly, and deep in mischief
at every opportunity. Once he had been up to his knees in a tempting
blancmanger-like lake of lime, many times had he hammered or cut his
fingers, and once his legs had gone through the new drawing-room
ceiling, where he hung by the petticoats screaming till rescued by
his brother. The room was under these auspices finished, and was a
very successful affair--the conservatory, in which the hall
terminated, and into which a side door of the drawing-room opened,
gave a bright fragrant, flowery air to the whole house; and the low
fireplace and comfortable fan-shaped fender made the room very
cheerful. Fresh delicately-tinted furniture, chosen con amore by the
London aunts, had made the apartment very unlike old Willow-Lawn, and
Albinia had so much enjoyed setting it off to the best advantage,
that she sent word to Winifred that she was really becoming a
furniture fancier.

It was a very pretty paper, and some choice prints hung on it, but
Albinia and Sophy had laid violent hands on all the best-looking
books, and kept them for the equipment of one of the walls. The rest
were disposed, for Mr. Kendal's delectation, in the old drawing-room,
henceforth to be named the library. Lucy thought it sounded better,
and he was quite as willing as Albinia was that the name of study
should be extinct. Meantime Mr. Downton had verified the boys'
prediction by writing to announce that he was about to marry and give
up pupils.

Gilbert was past seventeen, and it was time to decide on his
profession. Albinia had virtuously abstained from any hint adverse
to the house of Kendal and Kendal, for she knew it hurt her husband's
feelings to hear any disparagement of the country where he had spent
some of his happiest years. He was fond of his cousins, and knew
that they would give his son a safe and happy home, and he believed
that the climate was exactly what his health needed.

Sophy fired at the idea. Her constant study of the subject and her
vivid imagination had taken the place of memory, which could supply
nothing but the glow of colouring and the dazzling haze which
enveloped all the forms that she would fain believe that she
remembered. She and her father would discuss Indian scenery as if
they had been only absent from it a year, she envied Gilbert his
return thither, but owned that it was the next thing to going
herself, and was already beginning to amass a hoard of English gifts
for the old ayahs and bearers who still lived in her recollection, in
preparation for the visit which on his first holiday her brother must
pay to her birthplace and first home.

Gilbert, however, took no part in this enthusiasm, he made no
opposition, but showed no alacrity; and at last his father asked
Albinia whether she knew of any objection on his part, or any design
which he might be unwilling to put forward. With a beating heart she
avowed her cherished scheme.

'Is this his own proposal?' asked Mr. Kendal.

'No; he has never spoken of it, but your plan has always seemed so
decided that perhaps he thinks he has no choice.'

'That is not what I wish,' said his father. 'If his inclinations be
otherwise, he has only to speak, and I will consider.'

'Shall I sound him?' suggested Albinia, dreading the timidity that
always stood between the boy and his father.

'Do not inspire him with the wish and then imagine it his own,' said
Mr. Kendal; and then thinking he had spoken sternly, added 'I know
you would be the last to wish him to take holy orders inconsiderately,
but you have such power over him, that I question whether he would
know his wishes from yours.'

Albinia began to disavow the desire of actuating him.

'You would not intend it, but he would catch the desire from you, and
I own I would rather he were not inspired with it. If he now should
express it, I should fear it was the unconscious effort to escape
from India. If it had been his brother Edmund, I would have made any
sacrifice, but I do not think Gilbert has the energy or force of
character I should wish to see in a clergyman, nor do I feel willing
to risk him at the university.'

'Oh! Edmund, why will you distrust Oxford? Why will you not believe
what I know through Maurice and his friends?'

'If my poor boy had either the disposition or the discipline of your
brother, I should not feel the same doubt.'

'Maurice had no discipline except at school and when William licked
him,' cried Albinia. 'You know he was but eleven years old when my
father died, and my aunts spoilt us without mitigation.'

'I said the disposition,' repeated Mr. Kendal; 'I can see nothing in
Gilbert marking him for a clergyman, and I think him susceptible to
the temptations that you cannot deny to exist at any college. Nor
would I desire to see him fixed here, until he has seen something of
life and of business, for which this bank affords the greatest
facilities with the least amount of temptation. He would also be
doing something for his own support; and with the life-interests upon
his property, he must be dependent on his own exertions, unless I
were to do more for him than would be right by the other children.'

'Then I am to say nothing to him?'

'I will speak to him myself. He is quite old enough to understand
his prospects and decide for himself.'

'But, Edmund,' cried Albinia, with sudden vehemence, 'you are not
sacrificing Gilbert for Maurice's sake?'

She had more nearly displeased him than she had ever done before,
though he looked up quietly, saying, 'Certainly not. I am not
sacrificing Gilbert, and I should do the same if Maurice were not in
existence.'

She was too much ashamed of her foolish fancy to say more, and she
cooled into candour sufficient to perceive that he was wise in
distrusting her tact where her preference was so strong. But she
foresaw that Gilbert would shrink and falter before his father, and
that the conference would lead to no discovery of his views, and she
was not surprised when her husband told her that he could not
understand the boy, and believed that the truth was, that he would
like to do nothing at all. It had ended by Mr. Kendal, in a sort of
despair, undertaking to write to his cousin John for a statement of
what would be required, after which the decision was to be made.

Meantime Mr. Kendal advised Gilbert to attend to arithmetic and
book-keeping, and offered to instruct him in his long-forgotten
Hindostanee. Sophy learnt all these with all her heart, but Gilbert
always had a pain in his chest if he sat still at any kind of study!




CHAPTER XV.



Colonel Bury was the most open-hearted old bachelor in the country.
His imagination never could conceive the possibility of everybody not
being glad to meet everybody, his house could never be too full, his
dinner-parties of 'a few friends' overflowed the dining-room, and his
'nobody' meant always at least six bodies. Every season was fertile
in occasions of gathering old and young together to be made happy,
and little Mary Ferrars, at five years old, had told her mamma that
'the Colonel's parties made her quite dissipated.'

One bright summer day, his beaming face appeared at Willow-Lawn with
a peremptory invitation. His nephew and heir had newly married a
friend of Albinia's girlhood, and was about to pay his wedding visit.
Too happy to keep his guests to himself, the Colonel had fixed the
next Thursday for a fete, and wanted all the world to come to it--the
Kendals, every one of them--if they could only sleep there--but
Albinia brought him to confession that he had promised to lodge five
people more than the house would hold; and the aunts were at the
parsonage, where nobody ventured to crowd their servants.

But there was a moon--and though Mr. Kendal would not allow that she
was the harvest moon, the hospitable Colonel dilated on her as if she
had been bed, board, and lodging, and he did not find much difficulty
in his persuasions.

Few invitations ever gave more delight; Albinia appreciated a holiday
to the utmost, and the whole family was happy at Sophy's chance of at
length seeing Fairmead, and taking part in a little gaiety. And if
Mr. Kendal's expectations of pleasure were less high, he submitted
very well, smiled benignantly at the felicity around him, and was not
once seen to shudder.

Sarah Anne Drury had been invited to enliven grandmamma, and every
one augured a beautiful day and perfect enjoyment. The morning was
beautiful, but alas! Sophy was hors de combat, far too unwell to
think of making one of the party. She bore the disappointment
magnanimously, and even the pity. Every one was sorry, and Gilbert
wanted her to go and wait at Fairmead Parsonage for the chance of
improving, promising to come and fetch her for any part of the
entertainment; and her father told her that he had looked to her as
his chief companion while the gay people were taking their pleasure.
No one was uncomfortably generous enough to offer to stay at home
with her; but Lucy suggested asking Genevieve to come and take care
of her.

'Nay,' said Sophy, 'it would be much better if she were to go in my
stead.'

Gilbert and Lucy both uttered an exclamation; and Sophy added, 'She
would have so much more enjoyment than I could! Oh, it would quite
make up for my missing it!'

'My dear,' said grandmamma, 'you don't know what you are talking of.
It would be taking such a liberty.'

'There need be no scruples on that score,' said Albinia; 'the Colonel
would only thank me if I brought him half Bayford.'

'Then,' cried Sophy, 'you think we may ask her? Oh, I should like to
run up myself;'--and a look of congratulation and gratitude passed
between her and her brother.

'No, indeed, you must not, let me go,' said Lucy, 'I'll just finish
this cup of tea--'

'My dear, my dear,' interposed Mrs. Meadows, 'pray consider. She is
a very good little girl in her way, but it is only giving her a taste
for things out of her station'

'Oh! don't say that, dear grandmamma,' interposed Albinia, 'one good
festival does carry one so much better through days of toil!'

'Ah, well! my dear, you will do as you think proper; but considering
who the poor child is, I should call it no kindness to bring her
forward in company.'

Something passed between the indignant Gilbert and Sophy about French
counts and marquises, but Lucy managed much better. 'Dear me,
grandmamma, nobody wishes to bring her forward. She will only play
with the children, and see the fireworks, and no one will speak to
her.'

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