Chapter XV: Under the Arbutus Tree

"MOLLY, what have I done to offend Doris?" asked Felicia of her younger cousin one Saturday afternoon a few weeks later. "She treats me as though I had injured her in some way; haven't you noticed it?"

"Yes," admitted Molly reluctantly; "it's very unkind of her, and foolish too, but Doris is like that."

"Like what?" demanded Felicia in bewilderment. "Do tell me what you mean, for I haven't the least idea what I have done to annoy her. I'm sure I wouldn't put her out if I could help it."

The two little girls—devoted friends they were now—had established themselves on the seat under the arbutus tree in the Priory garden, with Lion stretched at their feet, asleep. Doris had been asked to accompany her sister, but she had declined to do so; she had enough of Felicia's society on working days, she had said, without wanting to spend the weekly holiday with her, too.

"I think she is jealous of you, Felicia," Molly said gravely, with a sigh and a troubled expression creeping into her clear eyes.

"Oh, Molly! Because you and I are such great friends?"

"Well, partly that, perhaps, and because Uncle Guy has taken such a fancy to you. Mother says she's very glad he has, and grandfather's pleased, but I'm sure Doris is jealous; and—and she was so put out when she heard grandfather had driven you to T—. Doris is like that, you know; she's jealous of me, too, if she thinks any one likes me better than her. Don't you worry about it."

"Oh, but I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Felicia. "If I had known she would have liked that drive with grandfather so much, I would have asked him to take her instead of me. Did she see much of Uncle Guy before I came?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then why should she mind?"

"Of course there's no real reason why she should, but she does. Mother says jealous people are never reasonable. Never mind her—if she likes to keep herself to herself we'll let her. She'll have a dull afternoon at the Vicarage, for Miss Barton's gone out with mother, and father's gone to watch the village lads play cricket. Why, Felicia, surely that's Uncle Guy standing at the front door!"

"Yes, and he sees us. I believe he's coming here. He spent quite a long while in the garden yesterday, and afterwards he said he thought it had done him good. Shall we go and meet him?" And springing to her feet, Felicia ran across the lawn and caught her uncle by the hand. "Come and sit under the arbutus tree with Molly and me, Uncle Guy," she said coaxingly; "it's so cool and pleasant there."

"So I thought," he replied with a smile. "I've been watching you two from my sitting-room window, wondering what you've been talking about so seriously. I suppose you have a great many secrets—eh? Well, Molly, how's the world serving you? Very well? That's good hearing. Oh, I'm to sit between you, am I?"

"Yes, do," Molly rejoined, thinking what a nice face her uncle had when he smiled, and what a pity it was he did not always look so good-tempered. "Are you comfortable? Shall I fetch some cushions?"

"No, no, I'm all right; my back's on its best behaviour to-day. But I'm afraid I've interrupted a confidential talk—eh, Molly? Where is Doris, by the way?"

"She preferred to remain at home," Molly answered, with a touch of reserve in her tone, whilst Felicia looked embarrassed—two facts, neither of which passed unnoticed by their uncle, though he did not remark upon them.

"I wonder if Mrs. Price would send out our tea to us here," he suggested presently; "run indoors and ask her, Felicia." Then, as the little girl sped across the lawn, he turned to Molly and inquired: "Why wouldn't Doris come with you this afternoon? Doesn't she like her cousin?"

"Well, no, I suppose she doesn't," Molly was obliged to admit.

"Why not?"

Molly hesitated, and glanced at her uncle anxiously, doubtful of the wisdom of taking him into her confidence.

"I'm not sure I ought to tell you," she said at length; "but—but Doris is very jealous of Felicia, because every one likes her—not only you and grandfather, but mother, and father, and Miss Barton, too. Doris says she cannot think what we all see in her to make us like her so much, and she is always talking about her mother having been a 'nobody,' and saying that Felicia is deceptive. She isn't! Doris says she makes believe to be religious to please father, but I'm sure that's not true. Oh, Uncle Guy, you won't tell any one this, will you?"

"Certainly I will not. So Doris thinks Felicia's religion is a pretence?"

Molly nodded.

"And you don't think so?"

"No, Uncle Guy. It's real."

"Yes, it's real—to her; I believe it's a great comfort and source of happiness to her. She brought a very sore heart to the Priory, poor little girl! I am pleased she has a friend in you, Molly."

"I'm so glad you like her, too," Molly declared earnestly.

"Then you are not jealous of her?"

"Oh, Uncle Guy, no!"

"You need not be. It is very cruel to begrudge her a few pleasures after what her life must have been in the past; perhaps if Doris knew the privations her cousin has suffered, she would not be jealous of her because she has fallen upon better days."

"She does know," Molly admitted with a sigh. "Oh, here comes Felicia! Please don't let her guess we've been talking about her, Uncle Guy."

Felicia was now crossing the lawn, carrying a wicker tea-table, whilst Ann White followed, bearing a tray with the tea-things. Just at that moment Mr. Renford came up the carriage drive, and catching sight of the group under the arbutus tree made towards it.

"That's right, grandfather, come and have some tea!" cried Molly. "There's no room for you on the seat, but I'll get you a chair," and she flew into the house and fetched one for him.

"This is pleasanter than indoors—eh, Guy?" said Mr. Renford.

His son assented; and then the question arose which of the little girls should pour out the tea.

"You, Felicia, because you live here," said Molly, generously willing to give up what she considered a post of honour.

"No, you, Molly, because you're the elder," Felicia replied; "oh, yes, please do!"

And seeing her cousin really wished it, Molly officiated at the tea-table, and felt very important and happy as mistress of the ceremonies.

"There are several gipsies' caravans on the common outside the village," Mr. Renford announced by-and-by. "I noticed some gipsy women selling brushes and tinware at the cottages; I must warn the servants not to encourage them here. I hope they won't stay long in the district, for I'm not partial to gipsies."

"Oh, I think they're rather nice!" said Molly; "such a dear little gipsy boy came to the back door of the Vicarage yesterday to beg a drink of water. I was in the kitchen at the time, and cook gave him a glass of milk. He was so grateful. And when I was out in the evening with father, we met two gipsy men, and they spoke very civilly. But I did not know they had encamped on the common. How I should like to see the inside of a caravan, shouldn't you, Felicia?"

"Yes," assented Felicia eagerly; "couldn't we walk to the common by-and-by, and have a look at the caravans?"

"Certainly not," said Mr. Renford decisively; "I forbid you to go near the common, for the less one has to do with gipsies the better. I have a shrewd suspicion that they sup off game from my preserves every night, for they have several lurchers with them, I notice; and lurchers, as a rule, are not kept to do nothing—they earn their living, you may depend. Gipsies are always thieves."

"Isn't that rather a sweeping assertion?" Mr. Guy asked carelessly.

"Well, perhaps it is," his father admitted; "but I mistrust them. I suppose they are waiting about to attend some fair in the neighbourhood."

Mr. Renford did not inquire why Doris was not with her sister, and both Molly and Felicia were relieved that he did not. A very pleasant, two hours were passed under the arbutus tree, and when Molly returned to the Vicarage she could talk of nothing but the happy afternoon she had spent.

"And I poured out the tea," she told Doris; "Felicia made me. Wasn't that nice of her? If you had been there, of course you would have done it. It was silly of you to stay away; you missed such an enjoyable time. Uncle Guy was as nice as anyone possibly could be, and he looks so much better and brighter than he did a few weeks ago; and grandfather was in splendid spirits, too, only he seemed rather put out because some gipsies have encamped on the common. Felicia wanted to go and look at the caravans, but he forbade her to do so."

"Did grandfather inquire for me?" asked Doris.

"No, he never mentioned your name."

"Oh!" Doris looked decidedly piqued. "I daresay you didn't miss me?" she said half-questioningly.

"Not much," Molly responded frankly. "How foolish you are, Doris," she proceeded; "why need you be jealous of Felicia? She feels nothing but goodwill for you. As Uncle Guy says, it is very cruel to begrudge her a few pleasures after what her life must have been in the past—"

"You have been talking to Uncle Guy about me?" Doris broke in. "Oh, how—how mean of you!"

"I could not help it. He questioned me, and you know he is very sharp and puts two and two together. It's your fault for not going with me this afternoon. I expect you've had a dull time at home, haven't you?"

Doris was obliged to admit that she had, for, except for the servants, she had had the house to herself, and time had hung heavily on her hands. She had grown rather ashamed of her jealous temper during the hours she had spent in solitude; and now acknowledged to herself that she had shown herself very small-minded. She determined she would be nicer and less reserved to Felicia for the future, or perhaps Uncle Guy would take her to task upon the point, and she certainly did not desire that.

"I wonder why he likes her so much," she mused; "I know he does like her by the sound of his voice when he speaks of 'our little ditch flower,' as he always calls her. I don't suppose he ever shows his temper to her."

There Doris was wrong, for Felicia had witnessed several exhibitions of poor Uncle Guy's temper since the evening Lion had upset the table and broken the Venetian vase; but she was learning to have patience with him, and was, all unknowingly, gaining a greater influence over him on that account.