Chapter III: Visitors at Lowercoombe Farm

"MARY, there's some one knocking at the door!"

It was old Mr. Norris who spoke. He was seated with his Bible open upon his knee, in his favourite corner of the settle.

"Coming, father!" his daughter's voice responded from the dairy. And in another moment Mrs. Maple hurried into the kitchen and opened the door to little Una Manners and her nurse, Nanny Gray, who were standing directly outside.

Nanny was a cherry-cheeked, middle-aged woman, whose open countenance expressed a kindly disposition and an even temper.

"Good morning, ma'am," she said to Mrs. Maple, who knew at once who her visitors must be. "We have called to know if you can supply us with milk and butter. We live at Coombe Villa. This," indicating her with a smiling nod, "is little Miss Manners, my master's only child."

"Pray come in," Mrs. Maple responded hospitably. "I guessed at once who you were, because in a country place like this, one soon gets to hear all about strangers who come into the district."

They entered the kitchen at Mrs. Maple's invitation, and Una glanced curiously at the old man on the settle, who turned his eyes upon her and regarded her gravely.

"Father," said Mrs. Maple, "this is the little lady who has come to live at Coombe Villa, and this is Mrs.—"

"Gray," Nanny said as she shook hands with Mr. Norris. "I hope you are quite well, sir?"

"Quite, thank you," he answered. "And how do you like this part of the world, little Missy?" he asked, turning his attention to Una.

"Oh, so much!" she replied promptly. "I love the country, and it is so very beautiful here! May I sit down with you on that long seat? I never saw one like it before!"

"It is a settle," the old man informed her, with a smile that somewhat softened the hard lines of his face.

"It is very comfortable," the little girl remarked, "and so cosy, with its high back!"

"I take it you do not know much about country life and country things?" he hazarded. "Perhaps you have always lived in town?"

"Yes, in London mostly; but I have been to Paris and Rome, and to many foreign places, with my father."

"Have you, indeed? You are quite a traveller, then. Now I have never been to London in my life. I always held no good came of running about."

Una looked puzzled at this view of the subject. She glanced at the old man's face with bright, interested eyes, and then she caught sight of his open Bible.

"What have you been reading about this morning?" she enquired.

"About the Israelites and the Philistines," he answered briefly, surprised at her question.

"Is that your favourite part?" she next asked.

"I don't know that I have a favourite part. It's all good reading, because it's God's Word."

"Yes, of course it is; but I think I like the New Testament best, for it is all about Jesus, you see. I have the Bible that used to belong to mother. Father gave it to me as soon as I could read. My mother is dead, you know; she died soon after I was born."

"How long since was that?"

"Eight years ago."

"Ah, then you are not quite so old as our Bessie, but very nearly."

"Are Nellie and Bessie your grandchildren?"

"Yes. They call me 'Granfer,'" the old man explained, smiling.

"Do they? What a funny name, but I think I like it! I don't believe I've got a grandfather; I wish I had," Una said thoughtfully and regretfully. "I suppose you love Nellie and Bessie very much, don't you?" she added.

"Certainly; they are both of them good children. You have already made their acquaintance, I hear?"

"Yes, and I should like so much to be friends with them if they will let me. Do you think their mother will let them come to Coombe Villa sometimes?" she asked, glancing at Mrs. Maple, who was by that time deep in conversation with Nanny.

"I have no doubt that she will. I hope your father will like this neighbourhood. I suppose he is a Londoner?"

Mr. Norris was a very curious old man, who liked to be well informed about his neighbours, for he took a lively interest in every one.

"Father was not born in London," Una explained. "He has often told me he was brought up in the country, and he knows all about country things—animals, and birds, and flowers! Oh, no, father is not a Londoner!"

There was a moment's brief silence, during which Una regarded the old man earnestly, her soft, dark eyes fixed on his somewhat grim face with eager interest.

"I wonder if you would think me very rude if I asked you a question?" she enquired presently in doubtful tones.

"That would depend what the question was," he answered cautiously, but with an amused twinkle in his eyes which the little girl was quick to notice.

"It is only that I should like to know how old you are," she said frankly; "that is, if you are quite sure you do not mind telling me!"

"I am seventy-nine. Ah, that is a great age, little lady!"

"It is indeed!" she agreed. "Seventy-nine! But a great many of the Bible people lived much longer than that! You must be very wise, Mr.—, I don't know your name. Should you mind if I called you Granfer, like Nellie and Bessie do?"

"No," he answered, in evident surprise, "I do not mind; but perhaps your father would not like it, my dear?"

"Oh, yes, he will! Father always likes what I like if it's right; and if it's wrong, he tells me, and then, of course, I don't like it any longer!"

Mr. Norris smiled amusedly at this somewhat involved explanation.

"You are very fond of your father, I suppose?" he remarked enquiringly.

"I love him better than any one else in the whole wide world! He's so good and kind, and so clever! You should see what beautiful pictures he paints!"

"Is your father an artist?" Mr. Norris asked with keen interest.

"Yes. He paints landscapes, and people give him lots and lots of money for them. Last year he had a lovely picture in the Royal Academy, and after it was hung, he took me to see it; and do you know there was such a crowd round father's picture that he had to lift me up to look!"

Una spoke with loving pride, but without a thought of boastfulness.

"I suppose you know a great many artists?" questioned the old man anxiously. "Did you ever meet one called Norris?"

The little girl shook her head, wondering at her companion's suddenly agitated manner, for he alternately clasped and unclasped his hands, whilst his brows were knitted, and his lips were tremulous.

"Ah!" he muttered, "it would not be likely!"

"No," said Una, "I don't know any one called that. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not exactly. He is my son!"

The child lifted a pair of puzzled eyes to the old man's countenance, and, as if in reply to their questioning look, he continued:

"My only son! I've not seen him for fifteen years—ay, fifteen long years! Maybe he's dead by now!"

"Was he lost?" she enquired softly.

"Ay, lost!"

"But how could that be?"

He made no reply, and Una felt with the quick, true instinct of childhood that he did not wish to be questioned further, so she sat very quiet for a few minutes. At last she said:

"Perhaps you will find him again some day! I suppose you pray to God about him, don't you?"

At that moment Nanny broke in upon their conversation.

"Come, Miss Una," she said, "we must be going, for I know we must be taking Mrs. Maple away from her household duties!"

"I am ready," Una replied as she rose to her feet; then she turned to Mrs. Maple and asked coaxingly: "May I see the little lamb whose mother died?"

"Surely, my dear," was the ready answer. "Father, will you show them the lamb, or shall I?"

"I will, Mary."

The old man arose, and after a few farewell words to Mrs. Maple, Nanny and Una followed him into the yard. He led the way to an outhouse, and on opening the door the little lamb skipped out. It was quite tame, and Una was delighted to pat its curly back and stroke the inquisitive nose it pushed into her hand.

It was with difficulty that Nanny at last bore her young charge away, insisting that she really must go home.

After their departure, Mr. Norris returned to his daughter, and found her eager to talk of their visitors.

"Mr. Manners is an artist!" she exclaimed. "Mrs. Gray—Nanny as they call her at Coombe Villa—has been telling me all about him. She says he is a very popular, successful man, a good father, and a kind master. He lost his young wife soon after little Miss Una was born. Doesn't she seem a sweet little thing?"

"Yes," the old man agreed, smiling, "she does. She asked if she might call me Granfer."

"What a strange idea! I heard her chattering away to you; she is not in the least shy!"

Mr. Norris sat down in his accustomed seat again, whilst his daughter flitted in and out of the kitchen. He was thinking how Una had said: "I suppose you pray to God about him, don't you?" And realising for the first time that though he called himself a Christian, he had harboured angry, bitter thoughts against his only son for fifteen long years, had spoken of him with hard words, had blamed him as undutiful, and had never once mentioned his name to the great Father of all.

Granfer turned over the leaves of his Bible with a trembling hand, and finding the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, slowly read the parable of the Prodigal Son; then he closed the Holy Book, and his heart was uplifted in a fervent prayer that he might be allowed to see his only son, David, once again.