Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > To The West > This page
To The West, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 3. My New Friends |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER THREE. MY NEW FRIENDS Poor Esau and I had had a hard time at the office, for it seemed that my patient forbearing way of receiving all the fault-finding made Mr Dempster go home at night to invent unpleasant things to say, till, as I had listened, it had seemed as if my blood boiled, and a hot sensation came into my throat. All this had greatly increased by the Saturday afternoon, and had set me thinking that there was something in what Esau said, and that I should be better anywhere than where I was. But on the Sunday afternoon, as I walked up the sunny road to Kentish Town, and turned down a side street of small old-looking houses, each with its bit of garden and flowers, everything looked so bright and pleasant, even there, that my spirits began to rise; and all the more from the fact that at one of the cottage-like places with its porch and flowers, there were three cages outside, two of whose inmates, a lark and a canary, were singing loudly and making the place ring. It is curious how a musical sound takes one back to the past. In an instant as I walked on, I was seeing the bright river down at home, with the boat gliding along, the roach and dace flashing away to right and left, the chub scurrying from under the willows, the water-weeds and white buttercups brushing against the sides, and the lark singing high overhead in the blue sky. London and its smoke were gone, and the houses to right and left had no existence for me then, till I was suddenly brought back to the present by a hand being laid on my shoulder, and a familiar voice saying-- "Mr Gordon! Had you forgotten the address? You have passed the house!" As these words were uttered a hand grasped mine very warmly, and I was looking in the thin, worn, pleasant features of Mr John Dempster, which seemed far brighter than when I saw him at the office. "Very, very glad to see you, my dear young friend," he cried, taking my arm. "My wife and I have been looking forward to this day; she is very eager to make your acquaintance." To my surprise he led me back to the little house where the birds were singing, and I could not help glancing at him wonderingly, for I had fully expected to find him living in a state of poverty, whereas everything looked neat and good and plain. "Give me your hat," he said, as we stood in the passage. "That's right. Now in here. Alexes, my dear, this is my young friend, Mr Gordon." "I am very glad you have come," said a sweet, musical voice; and my hand was taken by a graceful-looking lady, who must once have been very beautiful. "You are hot and tired. Come and sit down here." I felt hot and uncomfortable, everything was so different from what I had expected; for the room was not in the least shabby, and the tea-things placed ready added to the pleasant home-like aspect of the place. "You have not walked?" said Mr John Dempster. "Oh, yes," I replied. "From--where?" I told him. "Camberwell? And I was so unreasonable as to ask you to come all this way." I did not know how it was, but I somehow felt as if I had come to visit some very old friends, and in quite a short time we were chatting confidentially about our affairs. They soon knew all about my own home, and my life since I left school so suddenly; and on my side I learned that Mrs John Dempster had had a very serious illness, but was recovering slowly, and that they were contemplating going abroad, the doctors having said that she must not stay in our damp climate for another winter. I learned, too, that, as Mr John Dempster said, when things came to the worst they improved. It had been so here, for the night after his visit to his cousin in the city, a letter had come from Mrs John Dempster's brother, who was in the North-west--wherever that might be--and their temporary troubles were at an end. That would have been a delightfully pleasant meal but for one thing. No allusion was made to the visit to the city, and though I sat trembling, for fear they should both begin to thank me for my offer, not a word was said. The tea was simple. The flowers on the table and in the window smelled sweetly, and the birds sang, while there was something about Mrs John that fascinated me, and set me thinking about the happy old days at home. The one unpleasantly was the conduct of the little maid they kept. She was a round rosy-faced girl of about fifteen, I suppose, but dressed in every respect, cap and apron and all, like a woman of five-and-twenty. In fact she looked like a small-sized woman with very hard-looking shiny dark eyes. Upon her first entrance into the room bearing a bright tin kettle, for the moment I thought that as she looked so fierce, it was she who uttered little snorts, hisses, and sputtering noises. But of course it was only the kettle, for she merely looked at me angrily and gave a defiant sniff. As the evening went on, I found that this was Maria, and it soon became evident that Maria did not like me, but looked upon me as a kind of intruder, of whom she was as jealous as a girl of her class could be. Pleasant evenings always pass too rapidly, and it was so here; I could not believe it when the hands of the little clock on the chimney-piece pointed to nine, and I rose to go. "How soon it seems!" sighed Mrs John. "Well, Mayne,"--it had soon come to that--"you must call and see us again very soon--while we are here," she added, slowly. "Ah, and who knows but what he may come when we are far away!" said Mr John. "The world is only a small place after all." "Where should you go?" I said, earnestly. "I would come if I could." "Possibly to Canada," said Mr John. "But there, we are not gone yet. You will not feel lonely, dear, if I walk a little way with our visitor?" She gave him a very gentle smile, and as I held out my hand, she drew me to her and kissed me. I could not say "Good-bye" then, for there was a strange choking feeling in my throat which made me hurry away, and the last thing I heard as I went out was the sharp banging and locking of the little gate, followed by another defiant sniff. "Come and see us as often as you can, Mayne," said my new friend at parting. "We never had any children, and it is a pleasure to us to have young people about us, for since my misfortunes we have lived very much to ourselves. In fact, my dear wife's health has made it necessary that she should be much alone." "But she is getting better, sir?" "Oh, rapidly now; and if I can get her abroad--Ah, we must talk about this another time. Goodnight." "Good-night." It was like the opening out of a new life to me, and I walked back to Camberwell as if the distance was nothing, thinking as I was all the time about the conversation, of Mrs John's sweet, patient face, and the constantly attentive manner of Mr John, every action of his being repaid by a grateful smile. "I wonder," I thought, "how it is possible that Mr Dempster and Mr John could be cousins;" and then I went on thinking about the interview at the office when Mr Dempster was so harsh. This kept my attention till I reached the Deans', and then I walked straight in to find Mrs Dean making believe to read, while Esau was bending his head slowly in a swaying motion nearer and nearer to the candle every moment. In fact I believe if I had not arrived as I did, Esau's hair would have been singed so as to need no cutting for some time. As it was, he leaped up at a touch. "Oh, here you are!" he said. "If you hadn't come I believe I should soon have dropped asleep." _ |
||