ONE CHRISTMAS TIME

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

AUTHOR OF

"THE HERMIT'S CAVE," "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD," ETC.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY ETHEL WOOLMER

LONDON

NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY

BROAD SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER

NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE

[All rights reserved]

PRINTED BY

SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE

LONDON

CHAPTER I

IN THE FARM-KITCHEN

IT was spring. The bright March sun in a cloudless blue sky was shining into the kitchen of Lowercoombe Farm, upon the spotless china on the dresser, the glistening tin ware on the mantelpiece, and the old copper warming pan hanging from its accustomed nail against the wall. The farm-house kitchen was a pleasant place: the stone floor was kept scrupulously clean, and the large deal table was as white as scrubbing could make it, whilst the oak settles by the fire-place and the few chairs placed at equal distances around the room shone with the constant application of 'elbow-grease,' as the housewives call rubbing and polishing. On the hearth burnt a large wood fire, over which in an iron crock simmered a savoury stew which Mrs. Maple, the farmer's wife, who was engaged in getting up her husband's shirts at the table, put down her iron to stir occasionally.

The mistress of Lowercoombe was a comely, middle-aged woman, with a pleasant, ruddy face, and bright blue eyes that were in the habit of looking kindly upon every one and everything. Her husband often said that if she could find no good to say of people they must be either very disagreeable or very wicked, for his wife had a way of finding out folks' good qualities, and always tried to think the best of those who crossed her path in life.

Now, as she held up the last of the shirts at arm's length to survey her work better, she heard a footstep approaching the kitchen door, which opened straight into the yard, and in another moment her father, who had made his home at Lowercoombe since her marriage to the farmer, entered, and going to the fire-place, sat down in a corner of the settle.

He was a tall old man of nearly eighty, with a pair of shrewd dark eyes and a stern face. Jabez Norris was known as honourable and upright, but was considered a hard man. Many years ago he had turned his only son, David, then a lad of eighteen, out of his house, because he wished to become an artist, instead of following in his father's footsteps, and being a farmer. From that day to this, Mr. Norris had never seen nor heard of his son, but whether this was a trouble to the old man or not nobody knew, for he rarely mentioned David to any one, and even his favourite daughter, with whom he lived, and who had loved her brother dearly, spoke of him but seldom.

"Are you tired, father?" asked Mrs. Maple in her bright, cheerful tones. "I always think these days of early spring are trying!"

"Ay, ay, to folks of my age, no doubt. I'm beginning to feel the weight of years, Mary!"

"You are a wonderful man for your age, father; every one says so."

"I'm not complaining, but at my time of life, I must expect to be failing. It is a lovely day, but, as you say, trying. Summer in the sun, and winter in the shade!"

"It's time for Nellie and Bessie to be home from school," Mrs. Maple remarked, adroitly changing the conversation as she glanced at the grandfather's clock that ticked loudly in a corner of the kitchen.

Nellie and Bessie were her two little daughters, aged respectively eleven and nine. Mr. Norris was very proud and fond of them both, and his stern face softened at the mention of their names.

"How fast they do grow!" he exclaimed. "Why, they'll be women almost directly. Nellie is like her father, but I don't think Bessie takes after either you or your husband, Mary!"

"No," Mrs. Maple answered; then she added, in a lower tone, "but I know who she is like, though!"

"Who's that?" enquired the old man with a sharp glance at his daughter.

"Why, David, to be sure! Every one remarks the likeness! She has his soft brown eyes, and his winning manner, and her very voice seems to have an echo of his!"

Mr. Norris was silent, his eyes fixed on the flames which leaped and danced on the hearth. His daughter plucked up her courage and continued:

"Have you forgotten what day it is, father? The third of March! David's birthday! I wonder where he is now! I would give a great deal to know! An only son, and brother, and to think we have neither seen nor heard of him for fifteen years!"

"That is his fault, Mary!"

"I don't know about that! You were hard on him, father, and told him never to show his face at home again, and he took you at your word!"

"It is his pride that has kept him silent!" the old man exclaimed angrily. "It is to be hoped that your Bessie does not take after him in disposition as well as in appearance, or you'll have trouble with her yet!"

"Oh, father, how can you speak like that when she's such a good child?" the mother cried in reproachful accents. "She has never given me a moment's anxiety! But, speaking of David, I do wonder what has become of him, and whether he is married or not!"

At that moment two pairs of light footsteps were heard in the yard, and Nellie and Bessie entered, rosy with struggling against the March wind.

"Well, children," their mother said in greeting, as she turned her bright face with its welcoming smile upon them, "are your appetites ready for dinner?"

"Oh, yes!" they both answered, and Nellie went to the hearth and peeped into the crock, remarking:

"How good it smells!"

Bessie sat down on the settle by her grandfather's side and slipped her little, warm fingers into his cold palm.

"How grave you look, Granfer!" she exclaimed, calling him by the name she and her sister had given him. "What have you and mother been talking about?" she added coaxingly.

"About some one you never saw—your Uncle David!" the old man responded, much to the surprise of his daughter, who had never known him mention their uncle to the children before.

"Oh, I've heard of him!" Bessie cried. "He wanted to be an artist, and he went away and never came back again! He used always to be painting pictures, didn't he, Granfer?"

"Yes; neglecting his work and idling his time! He cared nothing for the farm, but was for ever with a pencil or a paint-brush in his hand!"

"Painting was his talent," Mrs. Maple remarked quietly.

"Then I suppose God gave it to him," Bessie said thoughtfully. "It wouldn't have been right if he had not been an artist, would it, Granfer?"

"What do you mean, child?"

"I think I understand," Mrs. Maple interposed, seeing her little daughter hardly knew how to explain. "You mean that if your uncle David had not used the talent God had given him, he would have been like the man in the parable who hid his talent in the earth!"

"Yes," Bessie said eagerly, "he ought to have used it, and instead he put it away so that it was no good to any one!"

Mrs. Maple glanced at her father somewhat anxiously. He was looking at Bessie attentively and gravely, but not as though he was angry.

"So you think my son was perfectly right in disobeying me," he said. "I wanted him to be a farmer, and he would not!"

"He knew he could never be a good farmer," Mrs. Maple put in quietly. "We must be just, father!"

"Ay; but I don't forget how he defied me."

"What became of him?" asked Nellie. "Do you think he has become rich, Granfer?"

The old man laughed disagreeably.

"I never heard of a rich artist yet!" he declared.

"Oh, but, Granfer, sometimes artists make a lot of money; they do really!" Nellie cried eagerly. "They are not all poor, you know. The girls at school the other day were speaking of a great artist who was introduced to Queen Victoria!"

"It has sometimes crossed my mind that David may have been successful," Mrs. Maple said thoughtfully. "I'm sure I hope he has! I wish we knew something about him—poor David!" and she sighed regretfully. There were tears in her kind blue eyes as she spoke of her brother, for she had treasured the memory of his handsome boyish face and winning ways in her heart for many a long year; and, rich or poor, if he had returned at any time he would have found his sister's love the same.

"Don't you wish Uncle David would come home, Granfer?" Bessie asked softly. "I do!"

"Yes, I should like to see him once more," the old man acknowledged, "for though he defied me, he is my only son."

His eyes rested thoughtfully and wistfully upon Bessie's face; and as he saw the likeness to that other countenance that had passed out of his sight in anger, more than fifteen years before, he sighed regretfully too, and his daughter caught the murmured words:

"Perhaps I was to blame as well as the boy. As the child says, it was his one talent! I wish David would come home!"

CHAPTER II

NEW NEIGHBOURS

NOT five minutes' walk from Lowercoombe Farm, situated a little back from the high road, was a large-sized, detached cottage called Coombe Villa, standing in its own grounds. It had been unoccupied for some months, but one day towards the end of March, as Nellie and Bessie Maple went by on their way to school, they noticed a large furniture van drawn up in front of the garden gate, and several men engaged in carrying different articles of household furniture into the cottage. They paused a moment to watch, and then ran on to make up for lost time, wondering who the new inhabitants of Coombe Villa were, and wishing they knew all about them.

On their return journey they found the van had gone, and an old man was sweeping up the straw and litter that strewed the garden path, whilst a maidservant stood at one of the open windows looking out.

The children went home in some excitement to inform their mother that Coombe Villa was occupied again; and during the time the family was seated at dinner the conversation was mostly about the newcomers.

"The cottage has been taken by a Mr. Manners," the farmer said. "I was told so in the village this morning—in fact, Mr. Manners was pointed out to me, and a fine-looking gentleman, he seemed, with a pleasant face. They tell me he is a widower with an only child, a little girl of about the same age as our Bessie, I should think."

"Oh, have you seen her?" the children enquired with great interest.

"Yes; she was with her father this morning. They had evidently been shopping in the village, for they were laden with parcels. They look nice people, but of course one cannot always judge by appearances."

Nellie and Bessie were very curious about their new neighbours, and felt the advent of strangers to the parish to be an exciting event, for, like most country children, they rarely saw a face they did not know, unless on the few occasions when they went with their parents to the nearest market town. So they peeped into the garden of Coombe Villa every time they passed, in the hope of seeing the little girl, but nearly a week elapsed before they caught sight of her. On that occasion she was at play with a black and white fox-terrier, and laughing merrily as the dog frisked around her delighted with the game.

She stood inside the gate looking through the bars as Nellie and Bessie came within view, and when she met their eager glances she smiled a little shyly, and said: "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" they echoed, and passed on slowly.

Once they looked back, and perceived the little girl gazing after them with her face full of lively interest. Next morning she was there again—this time evidently watching for them. She greeted them in the same manner as before, adding quickly:

"Oh, please, do stop a minute!"

They paused, and there was a moment's silence; then the little stranger asked:

"Are you going to school?"

"Yes," Nellie answered.

"I thought so. I don't go to school, because father teaches me. You pass here every day, don't you? Have you far to go?"

"About a mile—that is not far when the weather is fine, but it seems a long way in the winter if it is rainy or snowy. We live at Lowercoombe Farm."

"That is the house down in the valley, isn't it? Is your father a farmer?"

"Yes."

"How nice! I should like to be a farmer if I were a man, and keep lots of horses, and dogs, and cows!"

"And sheep, and pigs, and poultry," added Nellie, laughing, "but it's hard work looking after them all!"

"I suppose it is. My name is Una Manners—what is yours?"

"I am called Nellie—Nellie Maple," the elder little girl explained, "and she," pointing to her sister, "is Bessie!"

"I think Nellie and Bessie are pretty names! Oh, are you going already? Can't you stay and talk to me a little longer?"

"We should like to, but we should be late for school if we did, and that would never do," Nellie replied, "but perhaps we shall see you another day!"

"Very likely. I will be on the look-out for you. This is my dog 'Crack.' Are you fond of dogs?"

"Oh, yes," both children answered; and Bessie added: "We have a dear old sheep-dog called 'Rags.'"

"I should like to see him! Oh, must you really go now? Good-bye!"

The little girls ran off and were soon out of sight. Una, after watching them till they disappeared, opened the gate, and strolled into the road. As she went along she gathered a bunch of primroses and a few white violets to take home to her father.

Presently she heard a sheep-dog barking, and coming to a gateway saw a man crossing the field towards her, bearing in his arms a little white lamb that bleated pitifully, whilst a rough old English sheep-dog rushed towards her growling and snarling.

Una drew back hastily with a cry of alarm, and Crack, who was close at her heels, gave a sharp, indignant bark. The man called to his dog, and the well-trained animal returned obediently to his side, looking up into his master's face for further instructions.

"Don't be frightened, Missy," said the farmer, for it was Mr. Maple himself. "Rags will not hurt you; but he saw you were a stranger, and he was wondering what you were doing here!"

Una smiled, reassured, and as Rags came up to her again, fixing his brown eyes on her face as though to ascertain if she was to be trusted or not, she extended her little white hand to him. The big dog sniffed at it for a moment in doubt, then he gave it a friendly lick, while Crack walked round him inquisitively.

"There now!" exclaimed the farmer laughing. "Rags has quite made up his mind to like you, and he'll know you when he sees you again. He's very fond of children; my little maids can do anything with him; and he's really very good-tempered, although he looks so fierce. Ah, dogs know those who understand them."

"Are Nellie and Bessie your little girls?" Una enquired. "Then you must be the farmer at Lowercoombe Farm?"

"Yes," he answered, "but how did you come to know that?"

"I was talking to your little girls just now," she explained. "They pass our house on their way to school. I live at Coombe Villa with my father and Nanny—she's my nurse. We have another servant named Polly, but she has not been with us long. Nanny has lived with us ever since I was born. What are you going to do with that dear little lamb?"

"Why, I am going to take it home to my wife to see if she can't rear it up by hand. The poor creature has lost its mother."

"Oh, dear, how sad!" cried Una. "Do you think it will live?"

"I hope so. We shall do our best for it, anyway. You must pay us a visit, little Missy, one of these days, to see for yourself how the lamb is doing. Will you?"

"Oh, yes, if father will let me, and I know he will! How kind of you to ask me!"

"My wife and children will be pleased to see you, I know," the farmer continued; "you'll be very welcome."

"And Rags?" said Una, smiling as she put her hand on the dog's shaggy back, "you will be pleased to see me too, won't you, Rags?"

"You are fond of animals, I can see," remarked Mr. Maple.

"Oh, yes!" she answered readily, "so is father! He says he cannot think how any one can serve animals badly! It's so unchristian, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is, Missy, though I never thought of it in that light before!"

"Don't you remember what God says: 'Every beast of the forest is Mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of the mountains, and the wild beasts of the field are Mine.' Animals belong to God just as much as we do, don't they?"

The farmer nodded, looking with interest at the bright, animated face of the child. She put up her hand, and softly caressed the curly fleece of the motherless lamb.

"Dear little thing!" she murmured, "I do hope it will live! How will your wife manage to feed it?"

"She puts the finger of a kid glove on to the spout of a tea-pot, and lets the lambs who lose their mothers take the milk that way. She's reared many like that, and it's wonderful how soon the little creatures get to know her."

With a cheery "Good morning," the farmer turned his footsteps homewards, followed by Rags; and Una calling to Crack, who was rat hunting in the hedge, ran back along the road towards Coombe Villa.

She found her father at the garden gate looking for her, and immediately began to tell him about the farmer and his dog and the little lamb, to all of which he listened with an amused smile. Then she spoke of her interview with Nellie and Bessie.

"I may go to the farm one day, may I not, father?" she asked coaxingly.

"We will see about it, my dear; I dare say you may. Perhaps the little girls may mention the matter to you; and if they do, I have not the least objection to your going. I hear the Maples are nice people, and much respected in the district, and I dare say the children will be good companions for you. The folks at Lowercoombe Farm are our nearest neighbours, and I should wish to be on good terms with them."

"Oh, yes, father! See what beautiful flowers I have gathered for your studio! Are not the violets sweet?"

"Very," Mr. Manners answered; "I think they are my favourite flowers, for they always remind me of your dear mother. It was Spring when she died, and some white violets that I gave her one day were the last flowers she noticed, I remember."

He sighed, and the shadow of a deep grief crossed his face as he mentioned his dead wife. Una gave his hand a little, sympathetic squeeze, and he looked down at her with a tender, loving smile as he whispered:

"Little comforter! You always understand!"

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!"