The Woodleighs of Amscote ... Illustrated

Chapter I. He

broad sunshine lay on the glebe land of Amscote Rec tory, in Berkshire, one afternoon in August, when a little party of five were congregated in a corner of a field, under the shade of some big elms, taking tea. Taking tea, I say, but that phrase can hardly be applied to the refreshment in which Mooney, the pony, and Laddie, the collie dog, were being indulged. The former showed a great appreciation of the bread and the sugar, and the latter greatly enjoyed sharing his young mistress's bread and butter, from which he got a bite as often as she did ; and he was the most elegant of dogs when he put up his fore-paws carefully on the rickety little rustic table and drank milk from a saucer. I might have said a party of six ; for there was a pert little robin, who knew all about these tea takings in the shady corner, and expected his share with the rest.

Not but what he would have pre ferred a fine fat caterpillar; but he was a social little bird, and liked to be noticed by his friends. He had made their acquaintance some two months before, when he was quite young and fluffy-looking, with only just a touch of tawny on the breast ; but now he was a full-grown bird, with a fine crimson waistcoat and as neat a little figure as any robin could wish to have. He knew all the ins and outs of those tall elm-trees in the shady corner, and had discovered quite the best place for a bird's-eye view of the tea-table, where he could see all that was going on, and hop down conveniently on the table for a crumb. " Come along, Bobby dear," said Frances Wood leigh to him as he hopped about in the elm boughs, trying to attract attention ; "this is our last tea together, Bobby ; we shall have to go away from these nice old trees, and I'm afraid we couldn't persuade you to come with us."

"Oh, dear!" said May Woodleigh, "I wish I might take Laddie. I 'd go without my dinner every day rather than part from him," and she hugged the dog, who was by her side. "And I'm sure I'd go without mine," said their brother Percy, " if I might take Mooney." "Don't be silly, children," said Frances, who was the eldestof the three; "you know you couldn't live without your dinners, and we shall not be able to afford to keep a dog or a pony. It would be cruel to keep them if we cannot feed them properly, and we ought to be thankful we have found such good homes for them." "But I'm not thankful," said May, pouting, " I 'm too miserable to be thankful ; I would give anything in the world to keep my dear doggie." Laddie, hearing his mistress speak in so melan choly a tone, lifted up his brown eyes so pathetically that May could only comfort him by giving him a whole slice of bread and butter, which, to judge by the expression on the dog's face, was very poor comfort after all, for he seemed to understand that something unusual was about to happen.

May was twelve years old, and had scarcely yet realised the trouble that had come on the family ; Percy was fourteen, and, like most boys of that age, was so full of spirit that trouble touched him lightly; but Frances was seventeen, and, being the eldest, had been for many years her mother's companion, so that she was thoughtful even beyond her age. Their father, the Rev. Charles Woodleigh, the Rector of Amscote, had died about three months before this story opens, leaving no property beyond a life insurance which would bring his widow about a hundred a year. There were those who blamed him for not having made a better provision for his family instead of spending his money on the parish, but Mrs. Woodleigh would not hear a word of blame attached to him. She had joined him in his parish work, and she was contented to know that the money had been well spent.

In two days they were to leave the pleasant Berkshire rectory, which had been the only home of Percy and May, for they were born there, and Frances could not recollect any other home. It was not only that they had lost their father, and had to leave their comfortable home, but they must separate from many friends and interests that were dear to them. Mr. Woodleigh's whole heart and soul had been in his parish. He had been a true pastor of his flock, and left no one uncared for. His family joined in his work, and thus they had become endeared to many in the neighbourhood. If any old man or woman were ill, it was " Parson Woodleigh " that was first sent for, and not the doctor. If any of the young folk seemed inclined to give their parents trouble, then Parson Woodleigh was wanted to admonish them.

Even when the lads and lasses talked of marrying, they always thought it right to consult Parson Woodleigh. So, when the good man died, it was as if the whole parish had lost its father and best friend. Some of the richer neigh bours, who had been sparing enough with their money for the Rector's good works, shook their heads when he died, and said it was his duty to have provided for his children before his parish. Mr. Woodleigh, however, seems to have thought otherwise. No doubt he would have been happier could he have been certain that, in case of his death, his wife and family would be able to live in comfort ; but at the same time he knew that they would not starve, and he knew also that the children had been brought up not only to help themselves, but to help others, so he had no fear.

But if the Rector left his family poor in money, he left them rich in sympathy ; and if the blessings of poor people are of any value, then the Woodleighs were rich indeed, for they would carry away with them the good wishes of all the parish. When tea had been poured out for the last time under the big elm-trees, and Mooney had gone to his stable, and Laddie to his kennel, and Bobby was singing his evening hymn right at the top of a tall pear-tree near the house, Mrs. Woodleigh called her children together to say a few words to them. She had put off speaking to them about their new home from day to day, because she found it difficult to restrain her tears when she alluded to the changes that must take place. She felt that a great deal of courage would be wanted from all of them for their new life, and she was determined to speak hopefully and courageously in alluding to it.

To Frances she had already told her plans, and the younger ones had thus learnt something of them. At sunset on that August evening they all assembled in the pretty drawing-room of Amscote Rectory. " Let me come and sit in your lap, Francey," said May, who, being the youngest, was perhaps just a little bit spoiled. She was rather out of spirits at having to part with Laddie, and she was also fearful, as she whispered to Percy when entering the room, that " mother had something very serious to say." "You are a spoilt child," said Percy. "It's so nice to be spoilt," said May, "and we 're not going to begin to be severe till we get to the new house, are we, mother dear ? " " My dear child, we 're not going to be severe to one another. We can always love each other, however poor we are. Don't take such silly ideas into your head, darling.

We are all going to be very happy, and do the very best we can, and think of papa always, and live just as he would have us live. Would you like to hear about the new house, and what Uncle Woodleigh has done for us ? I daresay Frances has told you." " Oh, she hasn't told us half, or quarter, mother ; do tell us all about it, and about Percy's school ! " "Well, dear, your Uncle Woodleigh has got Percy on the foundation of Thistleworth College, and, as we must live in the neighbourhood, he has offered me a house rent-free, which will be a great help to us. It is only a little cottage, but he tells me there is a nice bit of garden, which might be made very pretty. You must not be disappointed or downhearted at seeing the place look rather bad when you arrive, for it has not been tenanted for some time, but you must look forward to the pleasure of putting it to rights."

" Can't old John go and put the garden in order for us first ? " said May. " No, dear, we cannot afford a gardener now; we must do it all ourselves. Percy must be head gardener, and you must help." " Oh ! what fun ! " said May, clapping her hands. "And you must help indoors also," continued her mother, " as we shall keep no servants." " Oh ! how funny it will all be ! " said May. " I shall sweep, and Francey shall work, and we '11 wear big white aprons, shan't we ? " "Yes, dear," said Mrs. Woodleigh, smiling, "you will really have to wear aprons. I am afraid you think it is only a joke at present, but if you lift up that ottoman lid, dear, you '11 see the aprons all ready. Frances and I have been busy at them." " Oh ! mother dear ! " said May, running to the box and pulling some out ; " what fun it will be to wear one !

I must try one on. Why it 's too big, it must be Francey's " " Or mine," said Mrs. Woodleigh, laughing. " Yours ! Do you mean to cook and sweep, mother ? " " Yes, my child, why shouldn't I ? " " Oh ! here 's mine," said May, putting on one that fitted her. " And shall I have an apron for gardening ? said Percy. " You big silly ! " said May ; " gardeners don't wear aprons ; you'll have to wear corduroys." " No, my dear," said their mother, " we can't afford a new suit for gardening purposes. Percy must wear out his old clothes in the garden. But I want you, dears, to think of it all seriously, and make up your minds to work in real earnest. At first it may seem amusing to you, but when the novelty wears off you will probably begin to wish you had servants, and you may perhaps be fretful and peevish at having to do dirty work when you would rather be doing something pleasant.

I know Frances will always do her share cheerfully, and never complain, whatever she may feel, but I am afraid you, May dear, may be tempted some times to let the others do your work, and then you will become selfish." "Oh, no! mother dear, I'll do every bit I ought, and more too." " Well, child, we '11 see when the time comes." " I shall be able to light the fire in the morning and boil the kettle," said Percy, " because I've so often done that in Ashley woods when we had our tea there." " I hope there '11 be no occasion for that," said his mother. "I shall try to get a strong girl to come in for the morning to do tbe rough work. I daresay we shall have no difficulty about that." " Well, I think it will all be very delightful," said May, dancing round the room in her coarse apron, and then going up to a mirror to look at herself.

" And I shall give up lessons, I suppose, as there '11 be no time for them," she continued. " Oh, dear, no," said Mrs. Woodleigh ; " we shall devote rather less time in the morning to lessons, and must give up some of the afternoon to them." Mrs. Woodleigh had educated her daughters herself, and had been accustomed to spend her mornings in the schoolroom. Percy had attended at the national school with the village children, for Mr. Woodleigh looked well after the school himself, and had an efficient master, and he considered that Percy could learn as much there in ordinary subjects as anywhere ; and the higher branches he himself undertook. " Then there tvitt be a lot to do, mother," said May; "I thought I should give up lessons." May was not fond of her books, though she had so loving a teacher.

She was fond of out-of-door life, and knew a great deal more than most girls of her age of birds and insects and animal life generally, and also of vegetable life, for there was scarcely a wild flower in Berkshire that she did not know, and she could tell you not only the names of trees, but their habits. She had an instinctive love for everything natural, and her father had nurtured and encouraged this love, and supplied her with information on natural subjects whenever she was in want of it. So she could tell you a great deal more about the ways and doings of blackbirds and robins, her favourite birds, than she could of the multiplication table ; but, unfor tunately, the multiplication table is considered more essential to success in life than any amount of ornithological knowledge. If you were to walk round the garden with May Woodleigh you would probably learn something from her ; but if you suddenly asked her what was nine times seven, I fear she would become very much confused, and take a very long time to answer ; and if you were to ask her what was eleven times eleven, I am quite sure she would not be able to make a guess anywhere near the right number.

" And when will our new life begin ? " said May in a subdued tone, when she found that the multiplication table and other small troubles were still to be part of her daily tasks. " In less than a week, dear. You must go round and say ' Good-bye ' to every one to-morrow, and on the next day you and Percy will go up to London to an old friend of mine, and Frances and I will follow soon after. We shall then go altogether in a day or two to the new house, which is called ' Rosebank.' " " Oh, what a pretty name ! I suppose it 's covered with roses ! " " No, child ; don't you remember I told you that it has been untenanted for a long time ; and your uncle tells me it 's like a wilderness." " Oh, I '11 soon put it to rights! " said Percy in a manly way, as if he didn't mean to let any diffi culties stand in his way.

" I suppose school doesn't commence yet, mother ?" " Not till September the sixteenth, so that you '11 have more than a month." " That 's capital. I shall be able to help you in the house, for it wants a man to knock down the carpets and put up the curtains and things. It 's such rough work for women." He evidently thought he was man enough for the work. " Bless your heart, my boy," said his mother, " I 'm sure you '11 be a real help to us." "Of course I shall," he said cheerily; and he went and laid his hand on his mother's shoulder as though he wished to show he meant to take care of her. Mrs. Woodleigh was overcome by the boy's kindness, and Frances, seeing this, told the children she thought they had better leave their mother as it was near their bed-time. CHAPTER H. «« >^WwS ' ERE we are, mother," said Percy, C^lWjh'v as tra™ Waterloo tffijkFlf^ <^rew UP at Thistle worth Station.

(^psg^ " Shall I look after the luggage ? " ]fe29 "Yes' my W» do, and I'll iSv» inquire which way we turn for j Kosebank." "It isn't half as pretty as dear old Berkshire," said May. " Well, it is the country, anyhow," said Frances, "and I see plenty of trees and fields, and they look so fresh and cool after dusty, hot London." Having asked her way and arranged for the luggage to be sent after them, Mrs. Woodleigh and her children left the station. "First turning to the right by the side of the post-office, and then to the left at the bottom of the road," said Mrs. Woodleigh, repeating her instructions for Percy's benefit. " All right, here 's the post-office and grocer's as well; and he calls himself Stilton, and has tha B royal arms over his door," said Percy. " I wonder how he managed it ; I suppose one of the Queen's kitchen-maids once bought an ounce of tea there."

" Oh, here 's a grand house ! " said May, as they reached the end of the road. "Just look, mother, and it 's called ' Grampian Hall.' " " ' Upon the Grampian hills my father feeds his fleck,' " began Percy. " Be quiet, you silly boy," said his mother ; " what an ugly house it is ! such a mass of cement. Who could have designed such a place ? Surely no one used to country life." " Now, then, turn round to the left," said Percy. " Oh, this is pretty ! " said Frances ; " what a nice quiet road, with the river on one side and all those willows hanging over, and a row of lime trees on the other." " Why, look, there are the vans," shouted Percy, " but I can't see any house ; come along, May ! " and the two rushed on first, followed more leisurely by Mrs. Woodleigh and Frances. After passing the high walls that enclosed the gardens of Grampian Hall, they came to a fence with a laurel hedge inside, and through this they caught the first glimpse of their future home.

" It looks a pretty little place, but it sadly wants some creepers to cover it," said Mrs. Woodleigh. " That's a beautiful deodara on the little lawn in front ; it 's higher than the cottage, and hides some of its bareness, doesn't it ? " said Frances. " Yes, and I 'm thankful to see so many trees about. But what a dreadful wilderness the garden is ; there seems to have been some building pulled down at the side of the house ! Just look at all the bricks and mortar lying about," said Mrs. Woodleigh ; " but come, we must go in, the men are waiting to commence unloading tho vans." Percy and May had rushed all over the cottage and garden in a very few minutes, and declared it was " very jolly." The house stood back some thirty feet from the road, and the laurel hedge within the fence and the lime trees without formed a very pleasant screen of foliage.

On the opposite side of the road ran the little River Holme, with some fine willows on the farther bank ; and beyond, orchards and market gardens; in fact, the greater part of the land round Thistleworth and Onslow consisted of market gardens, the entire produce of which went up to the London markets. To the right of the cottage was a meadow, a wooden fence separating it from the garden, while on the left was the high wall shutting in Grampian Hall. There was a break of about forty feet in the centre of this wall, which was filled in with a rustic b2 paling, thereby giving to the inmates of Grampian Hall a view of some fine trees in the Rosebank garden, and also of the meadow beyond. This meadow had been purchased by the owner of the Hall, who had also made many attempts to get the piece of ground on which the cottage stood, but Mr. Woodleigh had refused to sell it.

This piece of ground and the meadow formed a square of about an acre, and whoever had originally bought the half had persuaded the owner to divide it corner ways, so that the Rosebank garden was, as the owner of the Hall said with some indignation, wedged right into the middle of his property. The young people at the Hall had been in the habit of getting over the rustic fence, and crossing the Rosebank garden to get to the meadow, the cottage having been unoccupied for more than a year; and they were now quite angry to think that for the future they must go through the stable gates, which were at the end of the high wall next to the laurel hedge enclosing the cottage garden, pass along in front of it, and go in at the gate to the meadow which faced the river. Not only had they made use of the garden as a means of passage to the meadow, but they had the run of it, as it were, and had been accustomed to have all manner of games in it, and had shown but little respect for the trees, several of which were considerably damaged.

It was probable that it had been originally a very pretty garden, but all traces of flower beds and lawn and paths were obliterated, and nothing could be seen but a tangled mass of weeds, with brickbats and crocks and other debris of some building which a former tenant had put up and pulled down again. Percy looked rather ruefully at all this, but there was no time to think much about it on this first day, for the house had to be made comfortable first, and Percy felt that his help would be very necessary. Only part of the furniture had come from Berkshire, for the cottage was not half the size of Amscote Rectory. The rest was to be sold, and from the sale Mrs. Woodleigh expected to receive such a sum as would materially help her in her straitened circumstances. Mr. Woodleigh had commissioned the people who kept the keys of Rosebank to get the house thoroughly cleansed before his sister-in-law entered it, and to have some trustworthy person ready to receive her on the day she entered.

She found a tidy old woman there named Mrs. Ricketts, who curtsied low as she unlocked the gate to the new mistress, and expressed herself ready to b3 of use in any way. The house door was at the side, and when Mrs. Woodleigh entered she found herself in a good square lobby ; on the right was the staircase, on the left the door to the drawing-room, and facing her the dining-room, behind which were the little kitchen and scullery. Above, there were four bed rooms and a bath-room. " Well, dear," said Mrs. Woodleigh to Frances, " it 's small, but I think we shall be able to make it look pretty." " I 'm sure we shall, mother, and I 'm so glad there 's this opening between the two sitting-rooms ; were it not for that we should have felt so shut in after our nice big rooms at the Rectory." " I say, mother," said Percy, " isn't it jolly to have this little greenhouse, and to be able to walk down into it from the dining-room ?

When it 's full of flowers it '11 look splendid." " Yes, dear, and I shall expect you to keep it very gay ; we can get plenty of flowers from Amscote, you know," said Mrs. Woodleigh. By three o'clock the vans were unloaded, and then everybody set to work to get things as straight as possible before night. Mrs. Ricketts was busy in the kitchen unpack ing all the hampers of crockery and cooking utensils ; Mrs. Woodleigh and Frances getting the bed-rooms into order, and Percy arranging the furniture in the two sitting-rooms, and May, in her apron, looking very important and rushing from one room to the other, very anxious to help everybody. " Oh, Percy," she said, bounding into the dining room, "you've made it look quite comfortable already ; can 't I help you a bit ? " " Yes, you might be unpacking those books and just laying them on the shelves, and then I can get that great box out of the room."

May began her task, but soon got tired of it. " Oh, what a lot there are ; can't I do some thing else ? I 'm so tired of this," said May. " No; you 've begun and you must finish now," said Percy, " it 's no use leaving things half done, you know." " I 'm so hungry, aren't you, Percy ?" " Yes, that I am, and when you 've finished those books, we '11 see if we can't lay the table and unpack that hamper of things we brought from town." Some little time after, Mrs. Woodleigh and Frances came downstairs, having made the bed rooms tolerably comfortable for the night. "Why, my boy, this is capital, and you 've even got the table laid — after a fashion ; but I expect we 're all too tired and too hungry to be very par ticular," said Mrs. Woodleigh, laughing. "Where are the plates, Percy ? " said Frances; " and you 've put the cheese into a vegetable dish."

" Oh, never mind, Mrs. Ricketts gave it me, and I didn't see what it was, you know, and I'm so hungry ; do let 's begin." Their London friends had packed a hamper with cold chickens, a ham, a piece of cheese, bis cuits, tea and coffee, and various other necessaries, to all of which the Woodleighs did justice after their hard day's work. " Now I must just have a few words with Mrs. Ricketts, and hear if she knows any young girl who will come in for an hour or two every morning," said Mrs. Woodleigh, and she went into the kitchen. "I've got things as right as might be, mum, seeing as how I didn't know where you 'd like 'em for to go," said Mrs. Ricketts. " Yes, it looks quite nice and home-like already; and now, can you tell me of any respectable young girl who would come in every morning from seven to two o'clock, or longer if required ?

" " Well, let me think, mum ! Why, there 's Mrs. Markham's family, down my way, she 's got several girls she has, some out and some learning. There 's Mary, a good strong girl, she goes every evening up to the 'all here to help the cook, mum, which the cook is own sister to Mrs. Markham, don't you mum, and so she takes her in to learn ; but she don't get no wage, mum, only a bit of kitchen-stuff and some victuals, which there 's always plenty there, you know, mum, and an old gownd or two from the cook sometimes, which, as there's a family of seven, is, as I says, a godsend. I 'm sure she 'd be glad to earn a shilling or two." " Well, Mrs. Ricketts, could you send her round here to-morrow morning, and tben I can see if she 's likely to suit me and is willing to come ? " said Mrs. Woodleigh.

" Yes, to be sure, mum, 1 11 see her to-night and tell her to come ; her mother's cottage is close to mine, just hard by in Linkfield Lane." " Thank you, Mrs. Ricketts, very much. We won't keep you any longer now ; we 're all tired, and shall be glad to get to bed." Percy made a great show of bolting and locking all the doors and seeing all safe, and it was still quite early when the new inmates of Rosebank were all in dreamland. The next morning Mary Markham came, and Mrs. Woodleigh, being pleased with her appearance, engaged her to come daily from seven till two o'clock, and do just the rough work of the house. Before setting to work for the day, Mrs. Wood leigh walked round the garden with her children. " What a shameful state it's in, mother, isn't it?" said Percy. " Yes, my boy, about as bad as it could possibly be ; there 's only one thing to be said, and that is, we can lay it out as we like ; the trees are a great blessing.

Only fancy if it had been a piece of new ground, without a tree or shrub," said Mrs. Woodleigh. " Oh, that would have been horrible ! " said Percy. " Aren't these three trees handsome, mother ? " said Frances, walking towards the group by the fence of Grampian Hall. " Yes, they 're fine old elms, and how pleasant it will be to sit under them with our work and books in the afternoon ; but, dear me ! I 'd no idea we could see that house so plainly, and they can see nearly all over our garden from their upper windows ; we must try and shut ourselves in as much as possible," said Mrs. Woodleigh. " There are three young ladies on the verandah watching us," said May. "Yes, I see," said Mrs. Woodleigh, moving away. " Come along and let us set to work at the carpets, and see how we can best manage to make them fit."