Read Ebook: Sweet Content by Molesworth Mrs Rainey W William Illustrator

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Ebook has 79 lines and 8566 words, and 2 pages

"Tom, dear," she began, a little nervously, "we have a great deal to tell you."

But papa's first words took away all our fears.

"No, darling," he said. I liked to hear him call mamma "darling"; he did not often do so, for he is not at all what is called "demonstrative."

"This is comfortable," said papa; "it's worth having a cold journey to come home like this, especially when--when one has good news, too, to bring back."

I started at this.

"Oh, papa," I said, "is it about the Whytes?--is it all right?"

"I think so. I quite believe so," he replied. "I had a most cheerful note from Captain Whyte this morning written from his aunt's house. We were together in London yesterday. He came to my hotel with Mary, on his way to Mrs Fetherston's, little thinking of your stealing a march on us! Indeed, it was a good deal my idea--the taking Mary to show that she was herself, and not--"

"I know you have," said papa, gravely. "I would have spared it you if I could; but yet, Connie--"

"I deserved it," I said, "and I wouldn't have minded its being twice as bad as it was yesterday, if it was to put things right. And the old lady was really kind, papa, at the end."

"Captain Whyte told me all," he said. "I don't think any of them dared to hope in the least that things would turn out so well. They are all going up to town to-morrow--all, that is to say, except the three little fellows. Mrs Fetherston is not one to do things by halves, I fancy. The saddest part of the whole is poor Hugo Whyte's precarious state."

"Have you seen him?" mamma asked.

"Yes," papa replied. "I called on him the day I went up to speak about Captain Whyte's idea of bringing Mary. He is very, very ill. I don't think they quite realise how ill he is. Perhaps, however, it is just as well. He may have a little breathing-time now he is happier and cheered by having them all about him; he may live a few months in comparative comfort. That is the best I can hope for."

"It is a comfort to think that his last days will be cheered and happy," said mamma, softly.

But I could not help crying again just a little, at night when I was alone, when I thought of Major Whyte's face, and that I could never hope to see him well and strong and bright like papa and Captain Whyte.

"Connie, dearest," said mamma, "how can you fancy such things? You will see, dear, it will be all right."

But I was very unhappy all that evening.

"Your loving

"Evey."

"He sent his love and good-bye to you," Yvonne said; "`little Connie Percy' he called you. And I heard him say, `but for her, things might not have been as they are.' Yes, he was quite happy. Do you know," she went on in a very low voice, "years and years ago Uncle Hugo was going to be married to somebody very nice and sweet, and she died. Mother told us--I think it was that that made him so gentle and kind, though he was very brave too."

The children gave no thought to the difference Major Whyte's death would make to them all in the end. I think Captain Whyte told papa all, but I never heard or thought about it till the change actually came. That was two years after Major Whyte's death, when poor old Mrs Fetherston died too. She felt the shock of his death very much, for though he had not been originally her favourite nephew, no one could have lived with him without learning to love him. She had grown dependent on him, too, for helping her to manage things. Altogether it was a great blow, though now, fortunately, as things were, she had Captain Whyte instead, and for the rest of her life she did indeed cling to him and his wife, and to them all. But she never came down to Elmwood again. She stayed on at Southerwold, where she went immediately after Major Whyte's death, and one or the other, or more of the Yew Trees family were always with her. So I never saw her again, though now and then there was a talk of her coming to the Yew Trees.

These two years were very happy. The Whytes, though they still lived very simply, were free from anxiety about the future, and instead of this making them selfish, it only made them the kinder. All children, I suppose, live a good deal in the present. I don't think I understood this till the great change came, which made such a difference to me. I had thought, I suppose, that things would always go on much the same.

But one day--it was only six months ago--Captain and Mrs Whyte, who had both been at Southerwold for nearly a week, telegraphed to papa, that old Mrs Fetherston had died; it was rather sudden at the last; and in the telegram they asked him to go to the Yew Trees to tell the children. I had seen them only the evening before, when there was no expectation of such a thing.

"Give them my love, papa," I said, as he was starting, "and tell them I am very sorry."

"She was very much softened of late," said mamma, but she spoke rather absently.

Mamma looked at me very tenderly.

I stared at her. It was very silly of me not to have thought of it before, but I just hadn't. Then I burst into tears, and hid my face on mamma's shoulder.

"You must try not to be selfish, darling," she whispered. "Try to be my own Sweet Content, and trust."

"It has got so suddenly hot," said Yvonne, in her funny, practical way, "that we couldn't stand our winter things; so we routed these out. They do very well, don't they? I suppose we shall get new ones this year. There isn't any difficulty now about such things, you see, Connie," she added smiling.

"How pretty your jacket is, Connie," said Mary, admiringly. "Do let us ask mother to get us ones something like it, Evey."

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