Chapter V: Ralph's Dinner Party

IT was a lovely day, and the road through the remains of the great forest had never looked more beautiful. Some hawthorn blossoms still lingered in the hedges, and under the trees the ground was blue with wild hyacinths. Here and there a delicate tuft of stellaria, or a carpet-like patch of the pale blue speedwell, varied the colouring, and wild roses of wonderful size and beauty, some of quite a deep crimson, waved in the soft warm breeze. Over all this, the green light coming through the trees shed its own peculiar beauty.

Ralph was not insensible to the loveliness of the scene, though he could not have talked about it. He walked on and on, looking up every glade that opened upon him; but not seeing the children, was just about to turn back when a merry shout of laughter met his ear. The ground rose suddenly on the left side of the road, and it was from that side the sound came. Ralph easily crossed the low wall, climbed the steep bank, and looked round.

A little way back from the road a tree had been felled, or had fallen, and it was now nearly buried in ferns and bluebells. On the trunk of this tree, face to face, with their feet tucked up under them, sat the two children; a small basket lay between them, and each of them had a large piece of bread in one hand. Ollie had a bunch of watercress in the other, and the girl a cup without any handle. She was in the act of making a beautiful bow to Ollie, and Ralph heard the words,—

"So I conclude by wishing you many happy returns of the day, Mr. Oliver Garland; and I drink your health, sir, once more."

Ollie laughed—such gleeful music as his laugh was!

"Thank you, Mam'selle Garland; you are very polite. That was a beautiful speech, Ruthie. I can't make speeches—not in English at least, and you will not let me talk French."

"No; for you must learn to speak English always. It vexes people to talk to them so that they don't understand."

"Mrs. Cricklade was vexed, certainly," replied Ollie. "Ruthie, if you had plenty of money, what present would you give me to-day?"

"A pair of shoes," was the prompt reply.

"No, no, you stupid Ruthie," the boy cried, with another laugh. "If you had plenty of money, you would have bought me new shoes when that great hole came," peeping at his foot as he spoke. "Something for pleasure, Ruthie."

"Should you like a book—with coloured pictures, of course?"

"Yes; but I would rather have a knife with two blades in it."

"Very well," said Ruth, "I would give you a knife with two blades in it; and you, Ollie, would cut yourself badly before night; so it is as well for your sake that I have not plenty of money."

How long Ralph would have stood watching them—he had never noticed children much before, not even his own son—I do not know; but at this moment Ollie caught sight of him.

"Ruthie, here is a man," said he.

"Oh! It is the gentleman who sent me the money," cried Ruth, springing up, and running to Ralph's side with glowing cheeks and brilliant eyes.

"I never saw you again, sir, to thank you. It was very kind of you; I felt so rich!"

"Not rich enough," said Ralph, with a grave smile, "to buy a knife with two blades."

"No," she answered, smiling; "and this is poor Ollie's birthday. He is seven years old to-day, and he begged me to come out here instead of going to church. I don't think," she added, in a low tone, "that Ollie cares much about going to church yet. So we put our dinner in a basket, and we found watercress; and it has been so pleasant."

"I came this way to look for you," said Ralph. "I went to your lodgings, and saw Mrs. Cricklade," he added, looking at Ruth.

"Yes," she said, answering the look frankly. "Oh, but it is a pity! She is always so on Sunday. And yet she is such a kind woman, sir."

"I want to talk to you," Ralph said, slowly. He was pondering a grave question. The children's dinner had consisted, he perceived, of bread and watercress. Now he had at home a certain meat-pie, which was his usual Sunday dinner, because he could buy it on Saturday, ready baked, and just warm it up in his little oven on Sunday. Generally, he left enough for his Monday's dinner too, and he never had meat on any other day. Still, he felt inclined to bring the children home, and to give them a good dinner and a cup of tea.

"I will!" thought he. "The poor little creatures." Then he said aloud, "Will you come home with me, both of you? Come and dine with me."

"Thank you, sir, but we have had our dinner," said Ruth.

"Ruthie, I could eat another dinner quite well," said Ollie from his perch on the tree.

"Then come along," said Ralph.

Ruth looked embarrassed for a moment, but he added, "Do come, it is not very far," and I suppose his kind intentions were plainer from his manner than from his words for she smiled, ran back to the tree and packed up the remains of the feast (the cress and the cup, for the bread was all gone), took a huge bunch of flowers from behind a bush, and professed herself ready to set out.

"Where do you live, sir?" inquired Ollie, perching his hat on the top of such a mass of black curls that the hat seemed quite unnecessary. "Ruthie, give me the basket, it is not too heavy for me now, you know."

"I live in Lady Mabel's Rest," said Mr. Trulock.

"Sir," said Ruth, "is there any one there named Garland?"

"No, child. Not one."

"So the man at the gate said when I asked him; but he seemed so cross that I almost thought he might have said it to get rid of us."

"Mrs. Cricklade told me that you expected to find some relatives in Fairford."

"Yes; one at all events—our grandfather. But I can find no one of the name at all. There don't seem to be any Garlands in Fairford."

"What has been done to discover them?" asked Ralph.

"Mrs. Cricklade got the clerk to look in some books that are kept in the church, and they said if any Garlands had been married, or baptized, or buried in Fairford, it would be written in those books."

"And a very stupid book that must be," interrupted Ollie, gravely.

"And Mrs. Cricklade spoke to Mr. Needham, the lawyer, and to one or two old people, and to the police; and she says when the rector comes home she will speak to him too."

"Well, we'll ask leave to look over the list of the people who have lived in Lady Mabel's Rest for the last twenty years; and then when we have had our dinner, we will have a talk and see what more may be done."

By this time they had reached the open road, and in a few minutes more they arrived at the gate of the Rest. Ollie asked rather nervously if the man at the gate would surely let them out again; but Ruth was delighted with the orderly look, the gardens and neat houses.

Mrs. Short was sunning herself at her open window, having just eaten her dinner, and very like a large tortoiseshell cat she looked, as she sat blinking in her easy chair, half asleep. But she was wide awake in a moment when she saw Ralph and his two companions; in fact, having perceived that Ralph did not return home as usual after church, she had stationed herself in the window to watch for him, and to discover, if possible, why he had so far departed from his usual custom.

"Bless us all! Two young beggars, as I'm a living woman! And he carrying a posy as big as a broom! Why, neighbour! Mr. Trulock,—I say, don't be in such a hurry; where ever did you pick up them two little beggars?"

"We are not beggars," cried Ollie, indignantly. "We didn't ask for anything."

"These are friends of mine who are going to dine with me," said Ralph, while Ruth quieted Ollie.

"Friends!" squeaked Mrs. Short. "I didn't know you had any friends here—not such young ones as that, at least. Who are they? What's their name?"

Ralph had by this time got the key into the lock of his door, and opening it for the children to pass in, he said:

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Short, but I'm in haste, and a little hard of hearing, as you know;" and in he went, shutting the door behind him.

"Nasty, crusty creetur' he ever was and ever will be! Says he's in haste, no—but likes to keep a body wondering. But I'll know who he's got with him before I'm very much older."

She rolled herself off her arm-chair, and waddled to the hall door; down her own garden and up that belonging to Ralph in less time than one could reasonably have expected her to take. Her knock was heard by the trio in Ralph's kitchen. Ralph went to the window—then strode to the door.

"Oh, Mr. Trulock, it's not often you have company," began Mrs. Short, in her oiliest voice, "and so I says to myself, 'So short of china and sich as he is, very like he hasn't a plate a piece for 'em,' so I came to offer a loan (I know you'll be careful) of anything you may require. Now ain't I a good-natured neighbour?"

"Thank you, but I have all I want," said Ralph. "Good morning, ma'am," and again the door closed.

Mrs. Short retired, fuming.

When Ralph returned to his kitchen, Ruth and Ollie had taken off their hats and were standing before the little oven, from which there came forth a most appetising smell. Ralph began to look about for plates, etc., but before he could bring them to the table, Ruth came up to him and said with a smile:

"May I set the table, sir?"

"Do, child. I am tired, and shall be glad to sit down."

He watched the child from his corner. Ollie, after a moment's hesitation, came and climbed upon his knee. Poor Ralph felt a strange thrill at his heart. Poor Fred! Poor lost Fred! How often, when he was a handsome little fellow with fair curls, had he climbed up just as Ollie did, and laid his head where Ollie laid his now! If the boy had had fair hair, Ralph would have broken down.

Ruth looked about presently and said,—

"Where do you keep your table-cloths, sir?"

"I have none, Ruth."

"And a very good plan too," said Ollie; "then if one spills things it does not so much matter;" and Ollie nodded his head gravely, like one who has made up his mind.

Ruth said nothing, though her prejudices were decidedly in favour of table-cloths; but she looked at the table, which was stained and soiled. She got a cloth and some water in a quiet, business-like way, washed the table, dried it, laid the knives and forks in order, and then carefully heated the plates with hot water. Ralph felt a curious pleasure in watching her, she moved so quietly and was so handy-like Annie. Then she said, "May I take the dinner out of the oven, sir?"

"You'll burn yourself, I'm afraid," said Ralph.

The girl laughed—a little comfortable chuckle of amusement—at such a foolish notion. She opened the oven and peeped in, and in half a second the pie was safe on the table.

"I knew it was a pie!" said Ollie, triumphantly.

Ralph brought out bread, and filled a jug with water; they all sat down, and very soon the pie-dish only remained to witness that there had been a pie!

"Now, Ruth," said Ralph Trulock, when dinner was quite over, "I want to have a little talk with you. I want you to tell me all about yourself and your father, for perhaps I may be able to help you to find out your people; but to do that I must know all about you. We must lose no time; for when winter comes what are you to do?"

"Winter's such a long, long way off," said Ollie. "What is the good of thinking of it yet? Don't fret, Ruthie!" and he stroked her cheek with his little brown hand.

"No, Ollie, I won't fret; but Mr. Trulock will help us, perhaps, to find our grandfather. May Ollie go and play in the garden, sir? he'll like that better than sitting quiet."

Ralph assented, and the boy went off quite happy. He had seen a lot of daisies in the ill-kept grass, and was soon at work making a daisy chain.

"If we talk about father, Ollie would cry," Ruth said. "He is so little, that if I don't talk, he forgets; and so I pretend to forget too. But I cannot help thinking very often how sorry father would be that we should be so poor, and that Ollie should not go to school any more. I have talked to Mrs. Cricklade, but though she is kind, she does not help me—she does not always understand. But I am sure, sir, that you will know what to do; and I am very, very grateful to you," she added, earnestly. She had such a pretty voice, low and gentle; Ralph felt more drawn to her every moment.

"Your father brought you to Southampton, Mrs. Cricklade told me," he said. "But, Ruth, do you tell me the whole story—all you know about yourself."

"We came from Canada first. I think I was born there, and I know my mother died there, though I don't remember it. I only remember father, even when I was quite young,—younger than Ollie is now. Father did everything for me; we were very poor, I think."

"That was in Canada?" asked Ralph.

"Yes, in Montreal. Father was in an office, but he was very badly paid, because he was a bad accountant. Then he got a letter. I remember that day well, because he was so pleased. He told me that when he was coming to Canada, the ship was wrecked, and many of the passengers lost. He could swim well, and when he had got my mother on shore, he went back and saved others—among them a young Frenchman, who must have been drowned but for him, because he couldn't swim at all. This young gentleman was very grateful, and he promised that when he became his father's partner, he would do something for father if he wanted help. So he wrote for him to go to Bordeaux."

"And you went? Was Ollie born then?"

"Oh no!" Ruth said, opening her eyes wide. "Why, this was years and years ago! Father was caretaker of the great stores; we lived in rooms in the stores. And he married Ollie's mother, and I loved her very much. But she only lived a little while, she died when Ollie was a baby. She told me she gave Ollie to me, and that I must take care of him."

"Had she any relatives in Bordeaux?"

"She was an orphan; I don't think she had any relatives at all."

"Then you were father's little housekeeper?" said Ralph.

"Yes, but we had a servant. Ah, we were very happy; only father never was merry, you know. He said—"

"Well, child, go on."

"But you didn't know him, so you may think he had done something wrong. Nov, father couldn't have done anything really wrong. But he used to tell me that he deserved all his sorrows, and that the reason we were so poor was that he was saving money to pay some one; and 'then,' he said, 'I may be forgiven.'"

"Did he ever mention the name of his creditor?"

"No, never, sir. Well, one day father came home looking quite unhappy and excited. He said to me, 'Pack up all your clothes, and Ollie's and mine, in the big American trunk; for we must go to England, and perhaps we may never come back here again.' I asked why; but he said I would not understand, but that he had heard something which made him want to go to his father. I remember he said, 'I will wait no longer; surely he will forgive me now.' And he wrote cards to put on the trunk, and we came to Southampton in a ship belonging to the firm."

"And the address he wrote was to Southampton?"

"No, no, to Fairford, —shire."

"And at Southampton, he was taken ill, Mrs. Cricklade told me."

"Yes; but the doctor said he must have been ill a long time. He seemed to me just the same until in the night (the ship had sailed for Bordeaux again, and he had been on board getting some things we had forgotten) I found him standing beside my bed. 'Get up, Ruthie,' he said, 'but don't wake the boy;' and he stooped and kissed Ollie. 'I don't feel well,' he said, and went back to his room. I got up quickly and ran to him. He was lying on the bed, his face was grey-looking and not as usual. I rang the bell, and they sent for a doctor and gave him brandy. It was all of no use. He was in such pain—pain in his heart, he said, that he could hardly breathe, and very soon we found that he could not speak. He tried so hard, and tried to write too."

"I have the paper still, but there are no plain words on it. He said, 'Fairford'; and I said; 'I am to go there with Ollie,' and he seemed content. Then he said, 'My father!' and I said I would go to him. But he began about something else; he said, 'You lock,' and I thought he meant lock the box, because he had a small box with some money in it; so I locked it, but I'm afraid that was not what he wanted done, for though the doctor was begging him to be quiet, he sat up suddenly and tried again to speak—and then—then he was dead."

Quiet tears ran down her cheeks, and the old man, all unused as he was to such offices, took her little hand in his and dried her eyes with his handkerchief.

"I must not cry," Ruth sobbed out, "or it will fret Ollie. They gave me all the money that was left after paying every one, and a servant from the hotel came part of the way with us. But I could not find my grandfather; and what I shall do I don't know."

"The first thing to do, Ruth, is to write to the firm in Bordeaux. They may be able to explain, perhaps, or there may be letters for your father lying there at this moment."

"I don't know; Monsieur Oliver is away, and old Monsieur Mordan never liked father, though he had saved his only son. He would not give him a holiday. Father had to give up his place. Another man came the day before we left."

"Still, no doubt he will tell us if he knows anything that can help us. And we will put an advertisement in the newspaper, to find your grandfather. We can write that now."

He got paper and pencil, and began to write:

"'The children of—' What was your father's Christian name, Ruth?"

"Frederick, sir."

"'The children of Frederick Garland, late of Bordeaux, who died suddenly at Southampton on the —. What day of the month, Ruth?"

"The thirty-first."

"The thirty-first of March last, are at Fairford, —shire, and are anxious to communicate with their grandfather. Do you know his Christian name?"

"No, sir, I never heard it."

"'Mr. Garland,' then, 'whom they expected to find in Fairford. Apply to Mr. Ralph Trulock, Lady Mabel's Rest, Fairford.' There, I'll pay for this, Ruth, so you need not think about it."

"Pay for it! Do you pay for things being put in the paper? I never knew that. Thank you, sir. And will you write for me to Monsieur Mordan?"

"I will; give me his address now."

"'Oliver Mordan, Esq.,' you must not say Monsieur, mind, for he is an Englishman by birth, and hates to be mistaken for a Frenchman. I have heard father say that he fancied one reason of Monsieur Mordan's dislike to him was that when he first came to Bordeaux, he thought Monsieur was a Frenchman. Monsieur Oliver did not mind—his mother was a Frenchwoman."

Mr. Trulock wrote the address, which Ruth had to spell for him, and then he said,—

"Now we will have tea."

"Won't you let me get it ready, while you sit quiet and rest? And may I wash the dinner things?"

Ralph had no objection, for it must be confessed that these constant washings and arrangings were a great burden to him. It was very pleasant to sit there and watch the neat-handed little maid as she polished and rubbed, and set everything straight and tidy.

"Now I will call Ollie, for if we don't mind, we shall be late for evening church," said Ruth. She ran to the door, and came back looking a little alarmed.

"Oh, Mr. Trulock, Ollie is not there. Nor is he anywhere inside the wall, for I looked well all about."

Ralph came to the door, looked out, meditated, and men remarked,—

"Don't be frightened, Ruth; I suspect I know where he is. I ought to have remembered she was sure to pounce upon him."

He walked off, with anxious Ruth beside him, and knocked at Mrs. Short's door. On the steps lay a broken daisy chain.