ROSE COTTAGE

A Story

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

Author of "Polly's Father," "Little Gem," &c.

London:

GALL AND INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE;

AND EDINBURGH.

PRINTED AND BOUND BY GALL AND INGLIS LUTTON PLACE EDINBURGH

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I. THE NEW ARRIVALS.

II. "WE DIDN'T MEAN."

III. JIM GETS WORK.

IV. THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

V. A REQUEST.

VI. THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TREAT.

VII. THE ACCIDENT.

VIII. A GREAT CHANGE.

ROSE COTTAGE

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW ARRIVALS.

SUNLEIGH was a beautifully situated little village lying between two hills, with a rippling stream flowing close by through fertile meadow lands, now golden with daffodils. In the most sheltered hedges, white violets and primroses were peeping through beds of moss, and ferns were unfolding their tender green fronds to the welcome warmth of the kindly March sun.

Yet, it felt keenly still in the shade, and Marian Morris, the vicar's only daughter, drew her fur boa closer around her throat as she walked up the village street, pausing for a moment at the baker's, and then passing on to Mrs. Mugford's establishment, the post-office and general shop of the place.

One could buy almost anything at Mrs. Mugford's—drapery, grocery, stationery, ironmongery, and, in fact, nearly every commodity one was likely to require. Whilst making her purchases, Miss Morris was entertained by Mrs. Mugford with all the latest village news.

The owner of the village shop was a large, red-faced woman, with bright brown eyes like a robin's, and sleek, neatly banded iron-grey hair. She was a bit of a gossip, it is true, but a very kindly one. Never was there a case of distress in the parish that did not reach her ears, and receive a sympathetic hearing, and such help as she could give.

"I have new neighbours," she told Miss Morris, nodding towards a pretty thatched cottage on the opposite side of the street. "Rose Cottage has been taken by a family called Lethbridge—father, mother, and four children. They moved in only yesterday."

"Lethbridge!" said Miss Morris thoughtfully. "I don't think I know the name."

"No, miss. They come from a distance. The man was groom in some gentleman's stables, I hear."

"Has he work in the village, then?" in interested tones.

"Mr. Talbot at the Hall has engaged him as under stableman. The wife's a sickly-looking, pale-faced poor body; but there are two sturdy boys, a little girl and a baby. I went across last night to see if there was anything I could do for them, but Mrs. Lethbridge didn't ask me in," she added in slightly aggrieved accents.

"Perhaps she wants to get her new home in good order before seeing strangers," suggested Miss Morris, smiling, for she guessed Mrs. Mugford would have liked to have found out more about her neighbours.

"Yes, miss, I daresay. I'm glad to see Rose Cottage inhabited, anyway. I think an unoccupied house looks so depressing. What else can I do for you, miss?"

"That's all I want to-day, thank you, Mrs. Mugford; good afternoon."

With a nod and a smile, Miss Morris stepped into the street again, just as the door of Rose Cottage opened, and a pale-faced woman came out with a baby in her arms, and a little girl of about eight years old at her side. The woman looked weary, but as she glanced at the vicar's daughter, an expression of interest crossed her face. Acting on the impulse of the moment, Marian went across the road.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "You are Mrs. Lethbridge, are you not? I am Marian Morris, the vicar's daughter, and I have now heard that you have come to live in our village. I hope you will soon feel at home. I always think Rose Cottage so very pretty."

"Yes, miss," with a slight flush, and a somewhat timid smile.

"What a dear little girl!" Marian exclaimed in sudden admiration, as a pair of blue eyes were raised to meet hers, and a delicately-tinted face, crowned with a mass of golden curls, became suddenly illuminated with a sweet smile. "What is your name, little one?"

"Molly, please, miss."

"Will you give me a kiss, little Molly?"

No answer, except the same smile, wholly sweet, but with a certain appealing weakness in it that went straight to Marian's kind heart. She bent down and kissed the child, and then turned to the mother who was watching her earnestly.

"Our Molly is not quite like other children, miss," Mrs. Lethbridge said, with a break in her voice. "We sometimes think she is not right here," indicating her forehead with a quick motion of her hand.

Marian felt shocked. She looked again at the little girl, and was conscious of a somewhat vacant expression in the clear, blue eyes that had escaped her notice at first.

"She is not very bad," the mother continued hastily; "but she can't learn. We have to send her to school; but she doesn't remember anything. She's an affectionate, obedient child, but strange—very. It does seem hard she should be different to other children," in slightly aggrieved tones; "the only girl, too! My boys are right in mind and body; but Molly—why, she don't know more now than a child of five years old ought, and she's eight."

"God has given you a heavy trouble to bear," Marian said, sympathetically.

"He has, indeed, miss. Sometimes I wonder what will become of Molly when she grows up. If anything happened to her father or me, whatever would she do?"

"Her Father in heaven would provide for her, Mrs. Lethbridge."

The poor mother brushed the back of one work-hardened hand across her eyes, and tried to smile.

"We didn't notice anything wrong with her until a year or so ago," she said, encouraged by the kindly interest on Marian's face to continue the conversation. "We thought her backward-like; and James—that's my husband—don't like to think she isn't like other children even now, he's that fond of her."

"I can understand it. Perhaps her mind will strengthen as she grows older. She is in God's hands, and He will take care of her. You must always remember that."

Mrs. Lethbridge made no answer, but she sighed, and the tears welled up into her eyes again. She began to sway the baby to and fro on her arm. He was a bright looking child, and he crowed merrily, and laughed in his mother's face.

"Will you please step inside, miss?" Mrs. Lethbridge asked.

"Not to-day, thank you; but I will come to see you soon, when you are really settled in your new home, and make the acquaintance of your other children."

"The boys are gone to school, miss. I sent them at once to keep them out of mischief."

Marian laughed, and at that moment Molly, who had wandered a few steps down the street, returned to her mother's side, and stood looking up at her new acquaintance, with her sweet, wavering smile.

"She seems very happy!" Marian said, softly, to Mrs. Lethbridge.

"Yes, miss; there's one comfort, she's always happy. She never cries, or is cross and fretty like some children."

"That is a great blessing, is it not?"

"It is, indeed, miss."

After a little more conversation, the vicar's daughter passed on her way down the street, leaving Mrs. Lethbridge gazing after her with a look of interest and approval on her face.

Presently the boys returned from school, and their mother went in to prepare their tea, placing the baby in Molly's arms to nurse.

The little girl sat on the doorstep in the sunshine. Baby was heavy, but she held him firmly. The village children, curious at the sight of a strange face, paused outside Rose Cottage to stare at Molly, but she did not mind, only smiled at them in her usual friendly fashion.

One little girl spoke to her at length, asking—

"What's your name, eh?"

"Molly," still smiling.

"What else?" Then, receiving no answer, "Where do you come from?"

Still no answer, except a shake of the golden head.

"I believe she's silly!" cried out one sharp-looking little girl, whereupon there was a general laugh, which Mrs. Lethbridge heard. She came out, and immediately dispersed the children.

But the sharp young eyes had noticed something unusual about Molly, and when, a few days later, she appeared at the village school, the children, with the thoughtlessness of youth, were ready to tease her unmercifully. They called her "crazy Molly," but they soon found she was not resentful in the least, and to all their laughs and taunts she listened in silence, only sometimes her sweet, weak smile faded into an expression of astonishment and pain.

CHAPTER II.

"WE DIDN'T MEAN."

"I AM ashamed of you all!"

It was Marian Morris' clear voice, raised in accents of indignation as she came upon a group of children in the street, surrounding Molly Lethbridge, who was on her way home from school.

The vicar's daughter had arrived upon the scene in time to see one pull Molly's hair, another hustle her roughly, whilst the others were laughing with great enjoyment. In one moment Marian had pushed her way to Molly's side, and had taken her hand in a protecting clasp, whilst the child looked up at her with troubled, wistful eyes.

"Shame on you to tease and worry one who cannot protect herself; to take delight in tormenting one whom God has made weaker than yourselves! Do you forget that He sees you, that He hears every jeering laugh, every mocking word?"

The children scuttled away hastily, leaving Molly alone with her friend. Still holding the child by the hand Marian took her home.

Rose Cottage looked as pretty as usual outside, but inside, everything was poverty-stricken. Marian was not surprised, for she had learnt that the money James Lethbridge should have given to his wife was spent mostly at the "White Hart," as the village inn was named. He had lost his former situation through his drunken habits, and seemed in the way of losing his new post if he continued the life he was leading.

The baby was asleep in the cradle, and Mrs. Lethbridge was engaged in ironing. She dusted a chair, and offered it to her visitor, who begged her to continue her occupation.

"I have brought Molly home," Marian explained, as she sat down. "The children were teasing her. I fear they make her unhappy."

The mother glanced sadly at her little daughter, who had gone to the cradle, and was now imprinting a tender kiss on the baby's rosy cheek.

"It seems a pity you are bound to send her to school," Marian continued, "for she learns but little, I think you told me?"

"Almost nothing, miss; she knows her letters, and that's about all. But, of course, she must go to school. I should be glad enough to keep her at home to mind baby. I expect the children will leave off teasing her when they find she doesn't mind."

"I think she does mind, but she is evidently not resentful. You don't send her to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, do you?"

"No, miss; I'm not bound to send her there, you see."

"I think it is a pity she should not go. But perhaps you teach her on Sundays at home?"

The mother shook her head, and looked a trifle ashamed as she said, hastily—

"I've no time to spare, and it's so difficult to make her understand, and she asks such questions! Of course, I make her say her prayers every night."

Molly was still standing by the cradle, rocking it gently.

Marian spoke to her—

"Molly, will you come here, dear?"

The child moved to her side, and stood looking up into her face, expectantly.

"You love baby very much, do you not, Molly?"

A nod in response.

"And who else do you love?"

"Father," after a moment's anxious thought.

"Anyone else, my dear?"

"Mother and the boys," the blue eyes glancing at the figure at the table busily plying the iron.

"There is someone else surely, Molly?"

"You, miss."

Marian bent down, and impulsively kissed the little upturned face as she whispered—

"Don't you love Jesus, darling? Don't you?"

"No, miss."

"She doesn't understand," Mrs. Lethbridge put in hastily.

"I see she does not, but I think one could teach her. Will you let her come to Sunday-school, Mrs. Lethbridge, if I manage to take her in my class? I will call for her every Sunday."

"Oh, miss, how truly good of you to think of it! I should be that glad." Mrs. Lethbridge put down her iron, and, sinking into a chair, burst into tears.

Marian went to her side, and laid her hand sympathetically on the poor woman's heaving shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, gently. "I fear something is wrong. I think it helps one to bear a trouble if one can speak of it, and perhaps I could assist you in some way."

"I am very foolish," Mrs. Lethbridge said, as she hastily dried her eyes, "but I have a lot to try me, and a deal to put up with. I know I've not taught Molly all she ought to know; but after she was born, things went very wrong with us. My husband took to drink, and neglected his home for bad companions; and that has made me feel wicked and bitter; and many has been the time that I've thought God has forsaken us!"

"Oh, dear," Marian cried, "just when you want Him for your friend so much! You know, Jesus promised never to forsake His people!"

"Yes, miss; but sometimes I haven't been able to think it."

"It is God's own promise, Mrs. Lethbridge. If we ask Him, He will help us to bear our troubles; you must cast yours all on Him, for He careth for you."

"When I hear you speak, miss, I seem to feel it is all true; but when you're gone and my husband returns the worse for drink, and swears at the children and me, maybe I shall doubt again. He is not a bad man when he's sober; but that isn't often towards the end of the day," she said bitterly.

"You must ask God to show him his sin. Pray for him."

"I don't believe it would be any good, miss."

"Try," earnestly, "do try. Will you promise me?"

"Yes, I will," in brighter tones.

"And I'll call for Molly next Sunday. Please let her be ready by two o'clock."

"Thank you, miss. I do feel very grateful to you for taking such an interest in her. Oh, here come the boys."

They were fine, healthy little fellows, and their mother's eyes rested on them with loving pride. The elder was Jim, and the younger Dick, she explained.

Marian discovered two pennies in her pocket, which she presented to them to spend as they thought fit, and a further search found another penny for Molly. Mrs. Lethbridge smiled her gratitude, and Marian laughed as the children ran out of the cottage, and across the road to the shop to invest their money in sweets.

"I never mind so long as Molly is with the boys," the mother explained; "they think a deal of their sister."

"That is as it should be," Marian responded. "Well, Mrs. Lethbridge, I must be going now. I'm afraid I've been hindering you in your work."

"I'm glad you should, miss. I was that miserable when you came in; and now, I declare, what with your kind thought for my little maid, and all you've said to me, I feel a different woman!"

As she left the cottage Marian glanced across to Mrs. Mugford's shop, and saw Molly and her brothers making their purchases, the boys holding an animated conversation with Mrs. Mugford herself. Marian smiled, knowing well that the kind woman would give the children good worth for their pennies.

On her way home she encountered some of the children she had surprised teasing Molly an hour before, and stopped to speak a few words of remonstrance about their behaviour. She saw by their flushed cheeks and bowed heads that they were ashamed of themselves; and when she told them how they ought to protect one whom God had made unable to protect herself, instead of mocking her, a bright little girl, who had been one of the ringleaders of Molly's tormentors, said, with real penitence in her voice:—

"We didn't mean to be unkind, Miss Morris. It was only fun, and we didn't think. I'll stand up for crazy Molly, and never laugh at her again!"

CHAPTER III.

JIM GETS WORK.

IT had been March when the Lethbridge family arrived at Rose Cottage. And by the time the June roses bloomed around its walls, the villagers had lost all curiosity about the new-comers, for the simple reason that they knew all there was to know about them. The mother was a quiet, hardworking woman everyone agreed, and did the best she possibly could for her home; whereas the father was a drinker, and it was a wonder, everyone said, that Mr. Talbot retained him in his service. Then people began to whisper that James Lethbridge did a little night poaching by setting wires for rabbits—but that was only a whisper as yet.

Scantily clothed and fed though they were, the Lethbridge children flourished. The boys were nice little fellows, and when Mrs. Mugford engaged Jim to deliver her customers' purchases out of school hours, everyone said his good fortune was no more than he deserved.

With what pleasure the boy presented his mother with his first week's earnings, and with what pride she received the money!

"Why, Jim," she said, quite brightly, a happy smile lighting up her thin, worn face, "you'll soon be a man. Fancy you able to help me like this!"

"When I'm a man, mother," the boy answered fondly, "I'll work for you so that you won't need to slave like you do now. I mean to save my money, and grow rich. It must be grand to be rich, I think."

"Money doesn't always bring happiness, Jim. When I was in service as a girl, I lived with some very rich people, and they were most miserable—never helped others, or gave to the poor. Of course, all rich folks ain't like that."

"Miss Morris, for instance, mother?"

"Oh, I don't think she's at all well off, Jim. I've heard tell that the vicar has as much as he can do to make both ends meet."

"Why, mother, I thought he must be rich! And Miss Morris somehow looks rich, don't you think?"

Mrs. Lethbridge smiled at her little son's astonishment, and, after a few moment's thought, she said—

"Well, Jim, perhaps you're right in one way. I think, somehow, Miss Morris does look rich, and I'll tell you why I believe it is. She is rich in love, for where is there one in the parish who doesn't bless her for her sweet ways, and love her dearly? I think she's one of those the vicar preached about last Sunday, who lay up for themselves treasures in heaven, and that's what gives her that happy, contented look that makes one think she's got everything she wants."

"Maybe that's it," Jim agreed.

The other children had gone to bed, and Mrs. Lethbridge and her elder son were alone. They had their frugal supper, and, glancing at the clock, the mother saw it was nearly ten.

"I think you had better go to bed, my boy," she remarked, "for you must be very tired, I know."

"Shan't I wait up with you till father comes, mother?"

"No; it will be more than an hour before then. He is sure to be late," she added with a sigh.

"It's a shame," Jim grumbled, "that father should keep you waiting for him like this, when he's only amusing himself at the 'White Hart,' and he'll stay there till they turn him out at eleven o'clock. He's always the last to go. Do let me sit up with you for company, mother."

"No, Jim," with decision in her tones, "I shall be a great deal happier to know you're in bed resting. Remember, one hour's sleep before twelve, is better than two after, and boys like you should have long nights."

"Ain't you very tired, mother?"

"Well, a little, my dear. Kiss me now, like a good lad, and be off to bed."

Jim complied, somewhat reluctantly, and then stole softly upstairs, so as not to awaken the sleeping children, and into the little room he shared with his brother.

He really was more tired than he had ever been in his short life before. He was but a small boy, and Mrs. Mugford's baskets of groceries and other commodities had weighed heavily. His arms and shoulders ached, but there was an exultant feeling in his brave young heart that he had had his start in life, and that he must work hard to help his mother. He was not long undressing, then he knelt down by the side of his bed to say his prayers, to ask God to bless all those he loved, and make him a good boy. He could hardly keep his eyes open, and scarcely a moment after his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.

The next morning he awoke rather later than usual, to find his brother had already arisen. His arms were stiff, and he felt still tired, but after a good wash, he was considerably refreshed, and, quickly dressing, went downstairs.