Read Ebook: What the wind did by Le Feuvre Amy

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Ebook has 312 lines and 11806 words, and 7 pages

CHAPTER

What The Wind Did

NOT INTRODUCED

HE was only a clerk in a country bank. Morning by morning punctually at half-past nine, he would leave his lodgings in the quiet village street, and take his twenty minutes' walk along the straight high road that led to his destination. His clothes were shabby, but one glance at his bright resolute face and clear frank blue eyes revealed a fresh young spirit, as yet undaunted and untainted by contact with evil: and he walked with a spring and vigor envied by many a passer-by.

It was a wild wet morning in March when first he met her. He had been away for a week's holiday, and as he left his own doorstep, he saw a little figure do the same from the lodgings over the way. He watched her struggle on in front of him for some minutes, wondering how such a small creature could grapple with such a large umbrella, and he purposely slackened his pace to see the result.

The wind has no pity for weakness, and with a wild shriek of fiendish delight, it bore down upon the frail little body. Seizing the umbrella in its clutches, it whirled it into the air, whilst it made such a furious onslaught on the little waterproof cloak, that the owner of it staggered, lost her balance, and fell headlong to the ground, a bag of books discarding its contents in all directions.

"Is it a walking doll or a baby?" muttered the young fellow as for a moment the flying garments round the prostrate little figure made it difficult to tell which end to hoist uppermost.

But when he had successfully set the little damsel on her feet, his face softened with a wondering pity, as he met the gaze of one of the sweetest children's faces that he had ever seen.

It was not the beauty of it that attracted him so much, as the wistfulness of the large grey eyes fringed with long curled lashes, and the subdued and sensitive little mouth.

Such a tiny white face it was, and the dark tumbled curls that framed it, seemed to make it whiter in contrast. The lips began to quiver and the eyes till up with tears; but as he waited for the inevitable childish wail to follow, he was astonished to see the tiny gloves brushed across the face, and the child stand erect with an unsteady smile.

"I won't cry," she said, looking at him gravely. "Will you catch my umbrella?"

And when that somewhat difficult feat was accomplished, he found that she had picked up her books, and with a pursed up determined mouth was marching steadily forward again.

"I will hold the umbrella over you," he said; "we are going the same way. How far have you to walk? Are you going to school? It is too rough a morning for you to be out."

"That's what mother thought, but Becca said 'no'--that rough days made things hardy, and I must learn to endure. And I haven't missed a day since I began to go to school."

"What do you learn? Your A B C?"

"No," the child responded gravely; "I can read, but there seems a lot to learn, doesn't there? I never knew the world was so big till I went to school. How long did you take to learn the world?"

"I never learnt it at school," the young man said with a smile.

"Becca says it's what I shall have to learn. She says jography is knowing the places in the world, and history is knowing the people in the world, and sums is knowing how to do business in the world, and music is knowing how to amuse people in the world."

"Your Becca must be a character. Is she your sister?"

"Oh no, she is older than mother. She's our nurse, I think, though we don't call her 'nurse.' She nursed me when I was a baby, and now she nurses mother when she is ill. Becca does everything, and mother and I do what she tells us."

"And it is Becca who turns you out for a mile walk on a stormy morning like this!"

"Yes," said the child, softly. "Becca says if you begin a thing you must go on with it. And you see, I shall have to learn as quick as I can, for I mean to be a governess and make money for mother!"

"Good Heavens!" was the ejaculation. "You ought to be in the nursery, instead of talking about making money!"

There was silence after this. The little maiden stole furtive glances up at her new friend through her long eyelashes, wondering if he were displeased with her. She had hard work to keep pace with his rapid strides, and presently heaved a deep sigh.

"I would like my umbrella again, please!"

"Eh? What? Ah, I see! I am going too fast for you; but I have plenty of time, so take your own pace. How long have you been living opposite to me?"

"We came here a week yesterday from London. Mrs. Stock, my schoolmistress, used to be mother's governess. She lets me come to her school without paying much. I like her, but the other girls are afraid of her. I'm afraid of the girls. I don't like children, I think."

"Who do you like?"

"I like babies and dolls. You can hold them in your arms, and they don't tease you. Don't you like babies?"

"I hate them. I believe I'm frightened of them."

A clear rippling laugh broke from the child.

"You are so funny! What is your name? I don't know what to call you."

"Rufus Tracy. Now I must know yours."

"Greta Clay is mine. My proper name is Margaret, but mother has always called me Greta, and Becca does too."

They chatted on between the gusts of wind and rain, and the walk seemed to be half the distance to little Greta. She was deposited on the school doorstep, and Rufus went to his desk in the bank, wondering at his sudden interest in the welfare of this quaint old-fashioned child. He began to picture her in prosperous circumstances, growing into a slim, graceful girl; the white-pinched face filling out, and a healthy bloom making her into a sparkling beauty. And then he laughed at himself.

"Why should I feel such concern about her! She will swell the number of women workers, and twenty years hence will have a care-worn brow with sharp features, and shortsighted eyes. A down-trodden governess, with all her hopes and aspirations within the four walls of a grim schoolroom! May God help her then, poor little soul!"

As he retraced his steps along the solitary high road later in the day, he found his mind still reverting to her; and when he reached his room, he instinctively moved across to the window, and gazed upon the opposite house with fresh interest in his eyes. As his room was in the upper story he was able to look down upon a firelight scene, which for the moment proved most attractive. On a couch near the fire lay an invalid. Even at that distance he seemed to see her gentleness and frailty, and kneeling by her side was the little figure he had befriended on his way to business that morning. The firelight shone on her curls, and by her animated gestures and movements, he concluded she was giving her mother an account of her adventure. A third figure in the background was moving to and fro, placing a tea-tray on the table, then lighting a lamp which revealed the bareness and poverty of the room as the flickering firelight failed to do; and then, coming toward the window with a brisk pull the blind was lowered, and the picture for the time was blotted out.

Rufus Tracy gave a sigh, then pulled out his pipe, and sitting down by the fire, awaited his evening meal impatiently.

The next morning dawned bright and fair. Wind and rain were evils of the past, and as he again wended his way to town, he whistled and sang to himself from sheer exuberance of spirit.

It was not long before he descried the little figure ahead.

"Hullo!" he called out cheerily as he came up to her. "How are you this morning?"

The child looked round with a frightened, flushed face, then raising her chin in the air, she walked steadily on as if he had not spoken.

"Have I frightened you?" he asked, with amusement.

There was no reply. The grey eyes were blinking nervously, but the face and figure retained its erectness.

"Come, come Greta, you mustn't snub me. What have I done that you will not speak to me?"

Still no signs of relenting. Rufus whistled perplexedly, then, with a laugh, exclaimed:

"I bet that old tartar has told you not to speak to me; now, hasn't she?"

He bent down to look into the flushed face, and noted the determination of the firmly-closed lips, but not a word could he get from her, till at last when she reached the school, in desperation he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"I promise not to speak to you again till you give me leave, if you will only tell me why you are dumb this morning."

Then Greta, from her advantage of a flight of stone steps between herself and him, turned and looked at him.

Her eyes were rapidly filling with tears, but shaking the glittering drops from her long lashes, she spoke with perfect self-control.

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