Chapter XI: Granny Surprises Billy

"I'M come to tea, mother," announced Mrs. Dingle, one hot August afternoon, as she entered the kitchen at Rowley Cottage, where Mrs. Brown stood ironing at a table near the open window. "I shan't be in your way, shall I? Here, you rest a bit, and let me take on your irons."

"No, thank you," Mrs. Brown answered. "You were never a good hand at ironing starchery, Elizabeth, and I can't bear to see it done badly. I'm doing Billy's collars—such a lot there are! This hot weather a collar rarely lasts him more than a day."

"I suppose he makes a lot of extra work for you," remarked Mrs. Dingle, seating herself and taking off her hat.

"You suppose?" said her mother tartly. "As if you didn't know, when you've a boy of your own! By the way, I believe May and Harold are about here somewhere."

"They're in the garden—I've been there. They're helping net the plum-trees. Billy's a born gardener, his grandfather says."

Mrs. Brown nodded.

"To give him his due, he's been a great help during the fruit-picking," she allowed. "All his spare time out of school hours during the summer he's spent in the garden, and now it's holidays he's there from morning till night. Did he show you his marrow—the one he is going to cut for the show?"

"Yes. It's a beauty. Harold has one quite as large, though."

There was a brief silence, then Mrs. Dingle said—

"Mother, have you noticed any alteration in May lately? No? Oh, I have, and her father too! She's far less dreamy and more interested in things in general than she used to be. The other day we were surprised to find she's really beginning to learn to read."

"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown incredulously.

"Yes, mother; yes, indeed! It seems it was Billy who taught her her letters. Don't you remember how much time she spent with him after his illness?"

"Of course! But I never paid much attention to them—they used to sit on the settle by the fire, looking at the pictures in some story books he has and talking in whispers. And he taught her then? Yes? Well, I never!"

"She can read short words now," Mrs. Dingle said, with a tremble of joyfulness in her voice. "Fancy! Oh, I think it's marvellous—marvellous! It's been such a trouble to John and me that our little maid should be so different from others."

"I always said she was only backward!" cried Mrs. Brown triumphantly.

Mrs. Dingle nodded.

"Mr. Singleton says if you can interest her in anything she can learn all about it quicker than most children," she said eagerly; "but if you can't it's impossible to teach her or to chain her attention. She got interested in Billy's books because there are such wonderful stories in them, and that made her want to learn to read. Then Billy began to teach her—he says it wasn't so very difficult; but I don't think he quite realises what a great matter it is—that it shows our darling's intellect is less clouded than we thought. Oh, mother, I don't feel now that I shall fear for the child any more! Her school-teacher's most hopeful about her, and I—oh, I'm grateful to God from the bottom of my heart!"

Mrs. Brown changed her iron for a hotter one, and went on ironing silently.

"I feel we owe a great deal to Billy," Mrs. Dingle proceeded, "because he's been so good to May. From the first she took to him. He's always been patient with her and never laughed at her quaint ways. Harold's always saying, 'Don't talk so silly, May!'—not that he means to be unkind, but because he gets impatient with her. Oh, I see Billy's companionship has been a great thing for May! John sees it too. And you do, don't you, mother?"

Mrs. Brown nodded.

"I'm not sorry now we had to have him here," she admitted, then added: "As boys go, he's better than most; and I'll say this for him, he never answers me back."

"He's a dear boy!" declared Mrs. Dingle. "I often think how his poor mother must have loved him. Ah, here is May!"

The little girl was looking in at the window.

"The boys want to know if it's nearly teatime," she said.

"Yes," replied her grandmother; "by the time they've been in and washed their hands tea will be ready."

May disappeared, returning ten minutes later with her grandfather and the boys. Mrs. Brown had cleared away her ironing things and was putting the last touches to the tea-table whilst she kept an eye on her daughter, who was measuring the tea into the tea-pot.

"That will do, Elizabeth," she said.

"All right, mother," Mrs. Dingle answered; "I haven't put one more spoonful than you told me to."

"Elizabeth's a capital tea-maker," William Brown remarked, smiling; "she could always put more tea in a spoon without over-filling it than anyone I ever knew."

At that everyone laughed, even Mrs. Brown. So the meal began merrily and went on in the same happy way.

The conversation was mostly about the flower, fruit, and vegetable show which was to be held in the Vicarage grounds that day week. There was to be a prize for the prettiest bunch of wild flowers, for which May intended to compete. Billy said he would help her gather the flowers, but she shook her head.

"No one must help me," she said, "or it wouldn't be fair."

"Our marrows will grow a lot more in a week," remarked Billy. "I do hope one of us will get the prize, Harold."

"You mean you hope you will get it," laughed Harold.

"I meant what I said," Billy replied. "Grandfer says your marrow is a better shape than mine," he continued, "and that will be taken into consideration. I went around and looked at all the marrows in the allotment gardens yesterday, and there wasn't one to beat yours, though I did see one that came near doing it."

"Yes, I know," Harold answered; "it belongs to a man called Gibbs."

"Is that the Gibbs who was had up for poaching last winter?" inquired Mrs. Brown. "Yes. I should have thought he was too idle to have a garden."

"He doesn't keep it in good condition," Harold explained; "it's generally full of weeds; but, somehow, he's managed to grow good marrows this year, and he's mighty proud of them."

Shortly after tea Mrs. Dingle went home, accompanied by her children and Billy.

William Brown was expecting a business letter from Exeter, and, as there was no second postal delivery at Ashleigh during the day, and feeling sure the letter would be at the post office, he had asked Billy to fetch it. The Exeter letter was there, and one, bearing a London postmark, also addressed to "Mr. William Brown." Billy took the two letters straight back to Rowley Cottage, and gave them to his grandfather in the garden.

William Brown read the letter he had expected first, then opened the other, and glanced through it quickly. It seemed to be of a startling nature, for he turned very red and uttered an exclamation of amazement. Then he read the letter a second time, very slowly and carefully, his face exceedingly grave. After that he thought a while.

"Why, Billy," he said at length, "you never told me your mother had an uncle in Scotland."

"I didn't know she had," Billy answered; "that is, I remember her telling me she had an uncle, but she'd lost sight of him and didn't know if he was living or dead. I think she said he was a sea captain."

"Exactly. This letter is from the master of the Institution where you stopped in London. He'd had a letter from a Captain Foster, who says he's your mother's uncle. Captain Foster, who has left the sea and is now living in Glasgow, has only lately learnt of your mother's sad death, and he and his wife, who are a childless couple, are willing to give you a home and do the best they can for you. It's a good offer, Billy, but—well, I don't want to part with you, my boy."

"And I don't want to leave you, Grandfer!" cried Billy. "I—I—oh, it's not to be thought of, is it?"

"I don't know," William Brown said doubtfully; "maybe this Captain Foster can do more for you than I can. Dear me, this is most upsetting! I think I'd better go in and tell Maria, and hear what she has to say."

Left alone, the little boy perched himself on the edge of a wheel-barrow to consider the situation. Would he, indeed, be called upon to leave the home he had learnt to love? The thought that he might be wrung his heart.

"If it rests with Granny I shall have to go," he told himself sadly; "she will be only too glad to get rid of me—she never wanted me here."

His eyes filled with tears as he looked around the garden. How he loved it! What happy days he had spent here with Grandfer and May! He had been looking forward to many more such happy days, but now, perhaps, he would be sent far away. Suddenly he jumped off the wheel-barrow, and hurried towards the house. He would not be kept in suspense; he would find out what was to become of him at once.

Arrived at the back door Billy stopped, his heart sinking despairingly. From the kitchen came the sound of Mrs. Brown's voice, loud and indignant.

"Oh, dear, she's in a temper," thought the little boy. "Perhaps I'd better keep out of her sight."

But he was so anxious that he could not help lingering to listen. Then he had a most wonderful surprise.

"Nonsense!" he heard Mrs. Brown exclaim, "Perfect nonsense! What can he do for Billy more than we can? There's nothing for you to be so upset about that I can see! Write to the man yourself and tell him 'No!' You've the first claim on the boy, for you're his grandfather. There's no reason why we should give him up to any relation of his mother's now."

Billy's heart gave a bound of joy. Then Granny was against sending him away! It was amazing, but true. He rushed into the kitchen, his eyes a-sparkle, his face aglow with delight. Mrs. Brown appealed to him immediately.

"You don't want to leave us, child, do you?" she asked.

"No!" Billy cried; "No, no, no! I—I, oh, the thought of it was dreadful!"

"It was," William Brown agreed. "I was only putting it to you, Maria, that this Captain Foster might be able to do more for Billy than I can, and—"

"And I tell you I don't believe it!" interrupted his wife. "Billy's cut out for a gardener, and he's in his right place. I daresay this Captain Foster would want to send him to sea. You write and tell him we can't give the boy up."

"Oh, Granny!" cried Billy. He made a rush at Mrs. Brown, and, clasping her around the neck, kissed her. "I thought you'd be pleased to be rid of me," he said, "but you really want me to stay. Oh, I am glad—I am glad!"

Mrs. Brown gave a rather embarrassed laugh. She made no answer, but her face softened, and her eyes were a little dim as she returned the little boy's kiss.

"Now I know what to do," William Brown remarked, adding: "We shall all sleep the better for having decided this matter to-night."