the raes' young governess was very glad to teach josephine, for the arrangement meant a considerable increase to her salary. mrs. cummings had a small annuity, so small indeed that it was only with the greatest care and aided by her daughter's earnings that it was possible to make both ends meet; therefore some extra money was most acceptable.
mrs. cummings was a sad-faced woman, who always spoke and looked as though life had served her badly, the truth being that she remembered her sorrows and forgot her blessings. she did most of the work of the little house which she and her daughter occupied at midbury, but she did not do it uncomplainingly. she was a trying woman to live with, for she persistently looked on the dark side of things. thus it was that when, one chilly afternoon, she and her daughter sat taking their tea together in their cosy little parlour and she heard that josephine basset had received a letter from captain basset, from france, she shook her head mournfully and said—
"ah, poor child, poor child! to think that that letter may be his last!"
"we won't think anything of the kind, mother," was the quick rejoinder; "it's wrong to anticipate trouble."
"if any one belonging to me was at the front, i shouldn't have a minute's peace of mind, margaret!" mrs. cummings declared solemnly.
margaret cummings knew this was true. her mother's fretting, worrying disposition had always been something to contend against.
"fortunately josephine is not like you, mother," she answered; "although i have not seen a great deal of her yet, i have discovered that she has a very brave spirit. she has been taught to be fearless. i think her father must be a very fine character, judging from what she has told me of him—she likes nothing better than to talk of him, i find."
"you are evidently pleased with your new pupil," remarked mrs. cummings. "how does she get on with the raes?"
"she and may are good friends, but i am not sure that donald altogether likes her. she is too outspoken to please him, i fancy. you know he has been accustomed to tyrannize over his sister, and josephine shows her disapproval of that very plainly. the other day he made may cry—he often does—and then josephine gave him to understand what she thought of his conduct."
"what did he say?"
"not a word at first. he grew crimson and glared at her, but was too angry to answer. may dried her eyes quickly, and said, 'oh, he didn't mean to be unkind!' 'what did he mean then?' josephine asked indignantly; 'it was cowardly of him to make you cry!' at that donald found his voice. 'i'm not a coward,' he said, 'and i dare you to say it!' 'i dare say anything that's true,' josephine replied, 'and i shouldn't see any one bully another without interfering, i hope!'
"i thought i ought to interfere then; so i told them not to wrangle, and no more was said. but i am sure donald has not forgiven josephine for standing up for his sister, and i believe may is secretly vexed with her for having spoken to donald as she did."
there was a brief silence, then the young governess continued—
"josephine is teaching may to knit. they have suggested that on wet afternoons when we cannot go for walks we should work for the soldiers, and i have agreed to the plan. miss basset has offered to supply us with whatever materials we want. yesterday, by the way, she and donald drove into the town and paid a visit to the wounded at the hospital."
"she did not go empty-handed, i expect?"
"oh, no! she took a large basket filled with dainties; and after her visit she went and bought some good warm blankets and had them sent to the hospital—the matron had said they were wanted."
"how nice it must be to be well off so as to be able to make gifts like that!" exclaimed mrs. cummings. "when i read in the newspapers all our poor soldiers have gone through i long to be in the position to do something for them. but you and i have no money to spend, margaret."
"very little, anyway," her daughter replied.
"i looked through my wardrobe to-day to see if there was anything i could spare for the belgians," mrs. cummings said, sighing, "but really, most of my dresses are threadbare."
"i know, i know!" the young governess interposed hurriedly. "never mind, dear! don't make a trouble of that!"
the next afternoon she returned from the glen with a big parcel in her arms, and an unusually bright expression on her face.
"i've brought home some wool," she said, as her mother looked at her inquiringly, "miss basset said i might—she has bought such a lot. i told her you and i would be very glad to have some work to do for the soldiers during the winter evenings, and she said she would gladly supply the wool for us to use. see, here's some for making scarves! isn't it beautifully soft and warm? now, are you pleased i have brought it or not?"
"pleased, of course!" mrs. cummings answered promptly. she felt the wool, and expressed herself satisfied with the quality. "we'll wind it the first thing after tea," she said, "and set to work at once."
this they did whilst they talked of the war and of all those in whom they were interested who were serving their country; and mrs. cummings forgot her own grievances and plied her knitting needles faster and faster as she discussed the gravity of the situation in france and flanders.
meanwhile, at the glen, donald, in his favourite chair by the schoolroom fire, was discontentedly watching his sister and josephine, who, having finished their lessons for the morrow, had taken up their knitting.
"i wonder how long it will be before you two will tire of being so industrious," he remarked disagreeably by and by; then, receiving no answer, he added: "they're knitting in the kitchen, too."
may nodded. "aunt ann has told the servants she'll keep them supplied with wool," she said, "they're ever so pleased!"
"i've told father what we're all doing," said josephine, "i've written him such a long letter in answer to his."
"i suppose you've told him about everything and every one?" donald suggested.
"oh, yes!" josephine assented. she smiled at the boy as she spoke, then looked grave as she added: "i've told him how greatly disappointed you are that you won't be able to be a soldier when you're a man."
"humph!" grunted donald.
"you don't mind my having told him, do you?" asked josephine.
"no," the boy answered. "but what else did you say about me?" he inquired suspiciously.
"oh, nothing much!"
"i thought you might have said you considered me a coward!"
josephine flushed.
"no," she replied, "i did not."
she paused a minute, then continued: "i see you are thinking of what i said the other day when you were so unkind to may, but—"
"oh, don't go back to that!" broke in may. "why need you have done so, donald? i'm sure josephine didn't mean what she said."
josephine glanced at her in astonishment.
"i did mean it," she declared; "it was true."
there was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then the door opened to admit mr. basset.
"josephine," he said, "i promised to show you my moths; would you like to see them this evening?"
"oh, please!" josephine cried, putting down her work and springing to her feet.
she followed her uncle downstairs to his study, where he placed her in a chair before the cabinet, the shallow drawers of which held every species of english moth. it was a wonderful collection, the result of much patience and labour, for mr. basset had found each specimen himself.
"i never guessed that there were so many different sorts of butterflies," josephine said, as she bent over the last drawer, "and, oh, how beautiful most of them are! look at those tiny ones! what a lovely colour!—the palest lilac!"
"they are not uncommon in this district," mr. basset answered; "you may see them on any fine summer's day on kilber down, hovering around flowers which are so like them in size and colour that you have to look closely to distinguish between butterflies and flowers."
"how wonderful!—wonderful that they should be so like the flowers, i mean."
"a wise provision of nature for their protection," smiled mr. basset. then, as josephine was silent, he asked: "of what are you thinking?"
"of how much god cares for everything he has made," she answered gravely; "i shall keep a look out for those pretty lilac butterflies when summer comes, if all's well."
mr. basset put back the last drawer into its place and locked the cabinet. that done, he sat down and began to talk of his nephew; he had heard from him, too.
"i was pleased with the tone of his letter, my dear," he remarked, "it was so cheerful. yes, it was the letter of a brave man. i must not read it to you, for it was of a private nature, but i should like to tell you one thing he said which impressed me very much, and that was that we must remember that whatever happened to him it was all right. we must try to feel that."
josephine nodded, but her eyes filled with tears. mr. basset put a kind arm around her, and kissed her affectionately.
"your father must be very proud of his brave little daughter!" he said.
"i'm not half so brave as you think!" josephine told him; "sometimes i'm so—so frightened for father. not always, only sometimes. i can't help it. a sort of panic comes over me. i want to fight, the good fight of faith! it's seemed easy till lately, but now, oh, it's so difficult! and yet i know god is watching over father—that he loves him—oh, a hundred times better than i do, and knows what's best for him, but—but—oh, uncle john, this wicked, terrible war! why does god allow it?"
mr. basset shook his head. "that is a mystery which we cannot solve," he said; "perhaps it will be plain to us when we no longer see through a glass darkly, but in the clear light of the world to come. we cannot judge now what the effects of the war will be—"
he broke off suddenly as the door opened and may entered, her pretty face aglow with excitement.
"oh, josephine!" she cried, "here's news you'll be interested in! what do you think has happened? mrs. rumbelow has heard from her son! he's come back to england from canada with the canadian contingent, and now he's in training on salisbury plain!"
"how do you know?" asked josephine. "did you hear from jane?"
"yes. she's been to see her aunt this evening, and has just got back. young rumbelow has written to his mother, saying how sorry he is for all the trouble he's caused her, and that he'd have written to her before if he hadn't been ashamed to. jane has read the letter. in it he said, 'i've come back to turn over a new leaf, and try to blot out the past.' jane says she hopes he means it. anyway, it's a great joy to poor old mrs. rumbelow to have heard from him at last."
"he was a sad scapegrace," said mr. basset reflectively; "he was caught poaching on several occasions, and on the last the magistrates would not let him off with a fine, but sent him to prison. when he came out he took himself off—to canada it was supposed. repentant is he? humph!"
"don't you think he is?" asked josephine.
mr. basset looked doubtful.
"there may have been good in him which was never brought out," he said; "i cannot say. anyway, i am glad his mother has heard from him at last."
"perhaps he will get leave and come to see her," said josephine; "oh, he will be sure to, i think!"
"jane says she hopes if he does he will behave himself," remarked may.
"then doesn't she believe he means to turn over a new leaf?" inquired josephine.
"she says she doesn't know what to believe," may answered gravely; "she has a very poor opinion of her cousin, i'm afraid."
"and not without reason," said mr. basset. "however, let us hope dick rumbelow—yes, his name's dick, i remember—has really written what he feels. i think the better of him for having obeyed his king and country's call. i dare say he will not make a bad soldier. if he should really be sorry for his past misdeeds—should really be meaning to turn over a new leaf—"
"oh, i hope he is!" interposed josephine eagerly; "oh, uncle john, let us hope he is! god may have changed his heart, mayn't he?"
"certainly, my dear," mr. basset answered. "well, well, time will show—time will show."
