“If the boy turns out to be a true descendant of Rupert’s, and if he is blessed with good physical health, I shall feel a great load off my mind.”
Miss Katharine smiled in reply.
“God grant the little boy may be the heir,” she said; “but, Griselda, I don’t like the tone of the mother’s letters.”
CHAPTER IV. – A SPARTAN BOY
“Philip?”
“Yes, mother.”
“You quite understand that you have got to be a very good little boy?”
“Oh, yes, mother, I understand.”
“It’s a big, grand place – it’s what is described as an ancient place, and dates back hundreds and hundreds of years, and you, you – why, what is the matter, Philip?”
“Is it antediluvian?” asked Philip, jumping up from his seat opposite his mother in the railway carriage. “Oh, I do hope and trust it’s antediluvian!”
“How you do puzzle me with your queer words, Philip. Antediluvian! – that means before the Flood. Oh, no, Avonsyde wasn’t in existence before the Flood; but still it is very old, and the ladies who live there are extremely grand people. You haven’t been accustomed to living in a great ancient house, and you haven’t been accustomed to the manner of such grand ancient ladies as the Misses Griselda and Katharine Lovel, and I do trust – I do hope you will behave properly.”
“Hullo! There’s a spider up in that window,” interrupted the boy. “I must try to catch him. There! he has run into his hole. Oh, mother, mother, look! there’s a windmill! See, it’s going round so fast! And, I say, isn’t that a jolly river? I want to fish and to shoot when I get to the grand place. I don’t care what else I do if only I have plenty of fishing and shooting.”
Philip Lovel’s mother knit her brows. She was a tall, fashionably dressed woman, with a pale face, a somewhat peevish expression, and a habit of drawing her eyebrows together until they nearly met.
“Philip, you must attend to me,” she said, drawing the little boy down to stand quietly by her side. “I have got you a whole trunkful of nice gentlemanly clothes, and I have spent a heap of money over you, and you must – yes, you must please the old ladies. Why, Phil, if this scheme fails we shall starve.”
“Oh, don’t, mother, don’t!” said little Phil, looking full up into his mother’s face, and revealing as he did so two sensitive and beautiful brown eyes, the only redeeming features in a very plain little countenance. “Don’t cry, mother! I’ll be a good boy, of course. Now, may I go back and see if that spider has come out of his hole?”
“No, Philip, never mind the spider. I have you all to myself, and we shall be at Avonsyde in less than an hour. I want to impress it upon you, so that you may keep it well in your memory what you are to do. Now, are you listening to me, Phil?”
“I am trying to,” answered Philip. “I do hope, mother, you won’t tell me too many things, for I never can remember anything for more than a minute at a time.”
Philip smiled and looked up saucily, but Mrs. Lovel was far too much absorbed in what she was about to say to return his smiling glance.
“Philip, I trained you badly,” she began. “You were let run wild; you were let do pretty much as you liked; you weren’t at all particularly obedient. Now, I don’t at all want the Miss Lovels to find that out. You are never to tell how you helped Betty with the cakes, and you are never to tell about polishing your own boots, and you are not to let out for a moment how you and I did our own gardening. If you speak of Betty you must call her your nurse; and if you speak of Jim, who was such a troublesome boy, you can mention him as the gardener, and not say that he was only twelve years old.”
“What a lot of lies I’m to tell,” said Philip, opening his eyes wider and wider. “Go on, mother – what else am I to do?”
Mrs. Lovel gave the little speaker a shake.
“Philip, what an exasperating child you are! Of course you are not to be so wicked as to attempt to tell lies. Oh, what a bad boy you are even to think of such a thing! I only want you to be a nice, gentlemanly little boy and not to speak of vulgar things, and of course it is very vulgar to allude to a maid-of-all-work like Betty and to cleaning one’s own boots; but as to lies – what do you mean, sir? Oh, there, the train is slackening speed. We’ll soon be at the station, and the carriage was to meet us. Remember, Philip, always be on your best behavior at Avonsyde! Don’t speak unless you are spoken to, and always be on the lookout to please the old ladies. There are two little girls, I believe; but they are not of the slightest consequence. Dear, dear, I feel quite trembling! I hope – I trust all will go well! Philip, dear, you have not felt that pain in your side all day, have you?”
“No, mother; I have not felt it for days. I am much better really.”
“I don’t want you to speak of it, love. I am most anxious that the ladies should consider you a strong boy. The doctors say you are almost certain to get over the pain; and when the Miss Lovels appoint you their heir it will be time enough to mention it. If the pain comes on very badly you will keep it to yourself – won’t you, Phil? You won’t groan or scream or anything of that sort; and you can always run up to my room and I can give you the drops. Oh, Phil, Phil, if this scheme fails we shall simply starve!”
Philip, with his queer, old-fashioned face, looked full at his mother.
“I’ll be a Spartan boy and bear the pain,” he said. “I don’t care a bit about being rich or having a big place; but I don’t want you to starve, mother. Oh, I say, there’s that jolly little spider again!”
When the London express halted at last at the small country station, Philip was gazing in ecstasy at a marvelous complication of web and dust, at one or two entrapped flies, and at a very malicious but clever spider. His mother was shaking out her draperies, composing her features, and wondering – wondering hard how a very bold scheme would prosper.
“Jump down, Phil. Here we are!” she called to her boy.
The child, an active, lithe little fellow, obeyed her. Not a trace of anxiety could be discerned on his small face. In truth, he had forgotten Avonsyde in the far more absorbing interest of the spider.
“I am glad to welcome you, Mrs. Lovel!” said Miss Griselda as she came forward to greet the new-comers. She was standing in the old hall, and the light from a western window of rich old stained glass fell in slanting hues on a very eager and interested group. Behind Miss Griselda stood her shadow, Miss Katharine, and Rachel’s bold dark face and Kitty’s sunny one could be seen still further in the background. Rachel pretended not to be the least interested in the arrival of the strangers, nevertheless her bright eyes looked singularly alert. Kitty did not attempt to hide the very keen interest she took in the little boy who was so nearly her own age, and who was to be so greatly honored as to sleep in the tower room. Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine wore their richest black silks and some of their most valuable lace; for surely this was the real heir, and they intended to give him a befitting reception. The old housekeeper and one or two other servants might have been seen peeping in the distance; they were incredulous, but curious. Mrs. Lovel took in the whole scene at a glance; the aspect of affairs pleased her and her versatile spirits rose. She took Philip’s little hand in hers and led him up to Miss Griselda.
“This,” she said in a gentle and humble voice – “this is my little boy.”
“Philip Lovel,” responded Miss Griselda, “look up at me, child – full in the face. Ah! you have got the Lovel eyes. How do you do, my dear? Welcome to Avonsyde!”
“Welcome to Avonsyde!” repeated Miss Katharine, looking anxiously from the fashionably dressed mother to the precocious boy. “Are you very tired, my dear? You look so pale.”
Phil glanced from one old lady’s face to the other. His mother felt herself shaking. She saw at once that he had forgotten their conversation