Philip Winwood. Robert Neilson Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ indeed. Your being here, then, means that you are now an orphan?"

      "Yes, sir," was the boy's only answer, and he lowered his eyes toward his kitten, and so sad and lonely an expression came into his face that no wonder Mrs. Faringfield whispered again, "Poor lad," and even Madge and little Tom looked solemn.

      "Well, boy, something must be done about you, that's certain," said Mr. Faringfield. "You have no money, my daughter says. Spent all you had for cakes and kickshaws in the towns where the stage-coach stopped, I'll warrant."

      The boy smiled. "The riding made me hungry sir," said he. "I'd have saved my extra shilling if I'd known how it was going to be."

      "But is there nothing coming to you in Philadelphia? Did your mother leave nothing?"

      "Everything was sold at auction to pay our debts—it took the books and our furniture and all, to do that."

      "The books?"

      "We kept a book-shop, sir. My father left it to us. He was a bookseller, but he was a gentleman and an Oxford man."

      "And he didn't make a fortune at the book trade, eh?"

      "No, sir. I've heard people say he would rather read his books than sell them."

      "From your studious look I should say you took after him."

      "I do like to read, sir," the lad admitted quietly, smiling again.

      Here Madge put in, with the very belated query:

      "What's your name?"

      "Philip Winwood," the boy answered, looking at her pleasantly.

      "Well, Master Winwood," said Madge's father, "we shall have to take you in overnight, at least, and then see what's to be done."

      At this Mrs. Faringfield said hastily, with a touch of alarm:

      "But, my dear, is it quite safe? The child might—might have the measles or something, you know."

      Madge tittered openly, and Philip Winwood looked puzzled. Mr. Faringfield answered:

      "One can see he is a healthy lad, and cleanly, though he is tired and dusty from his journey. He may occupy the end garret room. 'Tis an odd travelling companion you carry, my boy. Did you bring the cat from Philadelphia?"

      "Yes, sir; my mother was fond of it, and I didn't like to leave it behind."

      The kitten drew back from the stately gentleman's attempt to tap its nose with his finger, and evinced a desire to make the acquaintance of his wife, toward whom it put forth its head as far as possible out of its basket, beginning the while to purr.

      "Look, mamma, it wants to come to you," cried little Tom, delighted.

      "Cats and dogs always make friends quicker with handsome people," said Philip Winwood, with no other intent than merely to utter a fact, of which those who observe the lower animals are well aware.

      "There, my dear," said Mr. Faringfield, "there's a compliment for you at my expense."

      The lady, who had laughed to conceal her pleasure at so innocent a tribute, now freely caressed the kitten; of which she had been shy before, as if it also might have the measles.

      "Well, Philip," she said, a moment later, "come in, and feel that you are at home. You'll have just time to wash, and brush the dust off, before supper. He shall occupy the second spare chamber, William," she added, turning to her husband. "How could you think of sending so nice and good-looking a lad to the garret? Leave your travelling-bag here, child; the servants shall carry it in for you."

      "This is so kind of you, ma'am, and sir," said Philip, with a lump in his throat; and able to speak his gratitude the less, because he felt it the more.

      "I am the one you ought to thank," said Madge archly, thus calling forth a reproving "Margaret!" from her mother, and an embarrassed smile—part amusement, part thanks, part admiration—from Philip. The smile so pleased Madge, that she gave one in return and then actually dropped her eyes.

      I saw with a pang that the newcomer was already in love with her, and I knew that the novelty of his adoration would make her oblivious of my existence for at least a week to come. But I bore him no malice, and as the Faringfields turned toward the rear veranda of the house, I said:

      "Come and play with me whenever you like. That's where I live, next door. My name is Herbert Russell, but they call me Bert, for short."

      "Thank you," said Winwood, and was just about to go down the garden walk between Madge and little Tom, when the whole party was stopped by a faint boo-hooing, in a soft and timid voice, a short distance up the street.

      "'Tis Fanny," cried Mrs. Faringfield, affrightedly, and ran out from the garden to the street.

      "Ned has been bullying her," said Madge, anger suddenly firing her pretty face. And she, too, was in the street in a moment, followed by all of us, Philip Winwood joining with a ready boyish curiosity and interest in what concerned his new acquaintances.

      Sure enough, it was Fanny Faringfield, Madge's younger sister, coming along the street, her knuckles in her eyes, the tears streaming down her face; and behind her, with his fists in his coat pockets, and his cruel, sneering laugh on his bold, handsome face, came Ned, the eldest of the four Faringfield young ones. He and Fanny were returning from a children's afternoon tea-party at the Wilmots' house in William Street, from which entertainment Madge had stayed away because she had had another quarrel with Ned, whom she, with her self-love and high spirit, had early learned to hate for his hectoring and domineering nature. I shared Madge's feeling there, and was usually at daggers drawn with Ned Faringfield; for I never would take any man's browbeating. Doubtless my own quickness of temper was somewhat to blame. I know that it got me into many fights, and had, in fact, kept me too from that afternoon's tea, I being then not on speaking terms with one of the Wilmot boys. As for Madge's detestation of Ned, she made up for it by her love of little Tom, who then and always deserved it. Tom was a true, kind, honest, manly fellow, from his cradle to that sad night outside the Kingsbridge tavern. Madge loved Fanny too, but less wholly. As for Fanny, dear girl, she loved them all, even Ned, to whom she rendered homage and obedience; and to save whom from their father's hard wrath, she now, at sight of us all issuing from the gateway, suddenly stopped crying and tried to look as if nothing were the matter.

      Ned, seeing his father, paled and hesitated; but the next moment came swaggering on, his face showing a curious succession of fear, defiance, cringing, and a crafty hope of lying out of his offence.

      It was, of course, the very thing Fanny did to shield him, that certainly betrayed him; and when I knew from her sudden change of conduct that he was indeed to blame, I would gladly have attacked him, despite that he was twelve years old and I but ten. But I dared not move in the presence of our elders, and moreover I saw at once Ned's father would deal with him to our complete satisfaction.

      "Go to your room, sir," said Mr. Faringfield, in his sternest tone, looking his anger out of eyes as hard as steel. This meant for Master Ned no supper, and probably much worse.

      "Please, sir, I didn't do anything," answered Ned, with ill-feigned surprise. "She fell and hurt her arm."

      Fanny did not deny this, but she was no liar, and could not confirm it. So СКАЧАТЬ