Daddy's Girl

CHAPTER XIII

It was the last week in July when Mrs. Ogilvie took possession of Silverbel. She had ordered furniture in her usual reckless fashion, going to the different shops where she knew she could obtain credit. The house, already beautiful, looked quite lovely when decorated by the skilful hands which arranged draperies and put furniture into the most advantageous positions.

Sibyl’s room, just over the front porch, was really worthy of her. It was a bower of whiteness and innocence. It had lattice windows which looked out on to the lovely grounds. Climbing roses peeped in through the narrow panes, and sent their sweet fragrance to greet the child when the windows were open and she put her head out.

Sibyl thought more than ever of her father as she took possession of the lovely room at Silverbel. What a beautiful world it was! and what a happy little girl she, Sibyl, thought herself in possessing such perfect parents. Her prayers became now passionate thanks. She had got so much that it seemed unkind to ask Lord Jesus for one thing more. Of course, He was making the mine full of gold, and He was making her father very, very rich, and everyone, everyone she knew was soon to be happy.

Lady Helen Douglas came to stay at Silverbel, and this seemed to give an added touch to the child’s sense of enjoyment, for Lady Helen had at last, in a shy half whisper, told the eager little listener that she did love Mr. Rochester, and, further, that they were only waiting to proclaim their engagement to the world until the happy time when Sibyl’s father came back.

“For Jim,” continued Lady Helen, “will take shares in the Lombard Deeps, and as soon as ever he does this we can afford to marry. But you must not speak of this, Sibyl. I have only confided in you because you have been our very good friend all along.”

Sibyl longed to write off at once to her father to hurry up matters with regard to the gold mine.

“Of course, it is full of gold, quite full,” thought the child; “but I hope father will write, or, better still, come home quickly and tell us all about it.”

She began to count the days now to her father’s return, and was altogether in such a happy mood that it was delightful to be in her presence or to see her joyful face.

Sibyl was nearly beside herself with delight at having exchanged her dull town life for this happy country one. She quickly made friends with the poor people in the nearest village, who were all attracted by her bright ways and pretty face. Her mother also gave her a small part of the garden to do what she liked with, and when she was not digging industriously, or riding her pony, or talking to Lady Helen, or engaged in her lessons, she followed her mother about like a faithful little dog.

Mrs. Ogilvie was so pleased and contented with her purchase that she was wonderfully amiable. She often now sat in the long evenings with Sibyl by her side, and listened without impatience to the child’s rhapsodies about her father. Mrs. Ogilvie would also be glad when Philip returned. But just now her thought of all thoughts was centred on the bazaar. This bazaar was to clinch her position as a country lady. All the neighbors round were expected to attend, and already she was busy drawing up programmes of the coming festivities, and arranging with a great firm in London for the special marquee, which was to grace her lawn right down to the river’s edge.

The bazaar was expected to last for quite three days, and, during that time, a spirited band would play, and there would be various entertainments of all sorts and descriptions. Little boats, with colored flags and awnings, were to be in requisition on the brink of the river, and people should pay heavily for the privilege of occupying these boats.

Mrs. Ogilvie clapped her hands almost childishly when this last brilliant idea came to her, and Sibyl thought that it was worthy of mother, and entered into the scheme with childish enthusiasm.

The third week in August was finally decided as the best week for the bazaar, and those friends who were not going abroad promised to stay at Silverbel for the occasion.

Some weeks after Mrs. Ogilvie had taken possession of Silverbel, Mr. Acland called to see her.

“We have had no cable yet from your husband,” he said, “and the rumors continue to be ominous. I wish with all my heart we could silence them. I, myself, believe in the Lombard Deeps, for Grayleigh is the last man to lend his name or become chairman of a company which has not brilliant prospects; but I can see that even he is a little anxious.”

“Oh, pray don’t croak,” was Mrs. Ogilvie’s response and then she once again likened Mr. Acland to the raven.

“You are a bird of ill-omen,” she said, shaking her finger playfully in his face.

He frowned as she addressed him; he could not see the witticism of her remark.

“When people are perfectly happy and know nothing whatever with regard to business, what is the good of coming and telling these dismalities?” she continued. “I am nothing but a poor little feminine creature, trying to do good, and to make myself happy in an innocent way. Why will you come and croak? I know Philip quite well enough to be certain that he would not have set foot on this expedition if he had not been satisfied in advance that the mine was a good one.”

“That is my own impression,” said Mr. Acland, thoughtfully; “but don’t forget you are expected to complete the purchase of Silverbel by the end of October.”

“Oh! Philip will be back before then,” answered Mrs. Ogilvie in a light and cheerful tone. “Any day now we may get a cablegram. Well, sweetheart, and what are you doing here?”

Sibyl had entered the room, and was leaning against the window frame.

“Any day we may expect what to happen, mother darling?” she asked.

“We may expect a cable from father to say he is coming back again.”

“Oh! do you think so? Oh, I am so happy!”

Sibyl skipped lightly out of the room. She ran across the sunny, radiant garden, and presently found herself in a sort of wilderness which she had appropriated, and where she played at all sorts of solitary games. In that wilderness she imagined herself at times a lonely traveler, at other times a merchant carrying goodly pearls, at other times a bandit engaged in feats of plunder. All possible scenes in history or imagination that she understood did the child try to enact in the wilderness. But she went there now with no intention of posing in any imaginary part. She went there because her heart was full.

“Oh, Lord Jesus, it is so beautiful of you,” she said, and she looked up as she spoke full at the blue sky. “I can scarcely believe that my ownest father will very soon be back again; it is quite too beautiful.”

A few days after this, and toward the end of the first week in August, Sibyl was one day playing as usual in the grounds when the sound of carriage wheels attracted her attention. She ran down to see who was arriving, and a shout of delight came from her when she saw Lord Grayleigh coming down the drive. He called the coachman to stop and put out his head.

“Jump into the carriage, Sib, I have not seen you for some time. When are you going to pay me another visit at Grayleigh Manor?”

“Oh, some time, but not at present,” replied Sibyl. “I am too happy with mother here to think of going away. Isn’t Silverbel sweet, Lord Grayleigh?”

“Charming,” replied Grayleigh. “Is your mother in, little woman?”

“I think so. She is very incited about the bazaar. Are you coming to the bazaar?”

“I don’t know, I will tell you presently.”

Sibyl laid her little hand in Lord Grayleigh’s. He gave it a squeeze, and she clasped it confidingly.

“Do you know that I am so monstrous happy I scarcely know what to do,” she said.

“Because you have got a pretty new place?”

“No, no, nothing of that sort. It’s ’cos father is coming back afore long! He will cable, whatever that means, and soon afterward he’ll come. I’m always thanking Lord Jesus about it. Isn’t it good of Him to send my ownest father back so soon?”

Lord Grayleigh made no answer, unless an uneasy movement of his feet signified a sense of discomfort. The carriage drew up at the porch and he alighted. Sibyl skipped out after him.

“Shall I find mother for you?” she said. “Oh, there she is on the lawn. Darlingest mother, she can think of nothing at present but the bazaar, when all the big-wigs are to be present. You’re a big-wig, aren’t you? I asked nurse what big-wigs were, and she said people with handles. Mother said they were people in a good social position. I remember the words so well ’cos I couldn’t understand ’em, but when I asked Miss Winstead to ’splain, she said mother meant ladies and gentlemen, and when I asked her to tell me what ladies and gentlemen was, she said people who behaved nicely. Now isn’t it all very puzzling, ’cos the person who I think behaves nicest of all is our footman, Watson. He has lovely manners and splendid impulses; and perhaps the next nicest is dear Mrs. Holman, and she keeps a toy-shop in a back street. But when I asked mother if Watson and Mrs. Holman were big-wigs, she said I spoked awful nonsense. What do you think, Lord Grayleigh? Please do try to ’splain.”

Lord Grayleigh had laughed during Sibyl’s long speech. He now laid his hand on her arm.

“A big-wig is quite an ugly word,” he said, “but a lady or a gentleman, you will find them in all ranks of life.”

“You haven’t ’splained a bit,” said the little girl. “Mother wants big-wigs at her bazaar; you are one, so will you come?”

“I will answer that question after I have seen your mother.”

Lord Grayleigh crossed the lawn, and Sibyl, feeling dissatisfied, turned away.

“He doesn’t look quite happy,” she thought; “I’m sorry he is coming to take up mother’s time. Mother promised, and it’s most ’portant, to ride with me this evening. It’s on account of poor Dan Scott it is so ’portant. Oh, I do hope she won’t forget. Perhaps Miss Winstead would come if mother can’t. I promised poor Dan a basket of apples, and also that I’d go and sit with him, and mother said he should cert’nly have the apples, and that she and I would ride over with them. He broke his arm a week ago, poor fellow! poor little Dan! I’ll go and find Miss Winstead. If mother can’t come, she must.”

Sibyl ran off in search of her governess, and Lord Grayleigh and Mrs. Ogilvie, in deep conversation, paced up and down the lawn.

“You didn’t hear by the last mail?” was Lord Grayleigh’s query.

“No, I have not heard for two mails. I cannot account for his silence.”

“He is probably up country,” was Lord Grayleigh’s answer. “I thought before cabling that I would come and inquire of you.”

“I have not heard,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “Of course things are all right, and Philip was never much of a correspondent. It probably means, Lord Grayleigh, that he has completed his report, and is coming back. I shall be glad, for I want him to be here some time before October, in order to see about paying the rest of the money for our new place. What do you think of Silverbel?”

“Oh, quite charming,” said Lord Grayleigh, in that kind of tone which clearly implied that he was not thinking about his answer.

“I am anxious, of course, to complete the purchase,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie.

“Indeed!” Lord Grayleigh raised his brows.

“Mr. Acland lent me two thousand pounds to pay the deposit,” continued the lady, “but we must complete by the end of October. When my husband comes back rich, he will be able to do so. He will come back rich, won’t he?” Here she looked up appealingly at Lord Grayleigh.

“He will come back rich, or we shall have the deluge,” he replied, oracularly. “Don’t be uneasy. As you have not heard I shall cable. I shall wire to Brisbane, which I fancy is his headquarters.”

“Perhaps,” answered Mrs. Ogilvie, in an abstracted tone. “By the way, if you are going back to town, may I make use of your carriage? There are several things I want to order for my bazaar. It is to be in about a fortnight now. You will remember that you are one of the patrons.”

“Certainly,” he answered; “at what date is the bazaar to be held?”

She named the arranged date, and he entered it in a gold-mounted engagement book.

“I shall stay in town to-night,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie. “Just wait for me a moment, and I will get on my hat.”

Soon afterward the two were driving back to the railway station. Mrs. Ogilvie had forgotten all about her engagement to Sibyl. Sibyl saw her go off with a feeling of deep disappointment, for Miss Winstead had a headache, and declined to ride with the little girl. Dan Scott must wait in vain for his apples. But should he wait? Sibyl wondered.

She went down in a discontented way to a distant part of the grounds. She was not feeling at all happy now. It was all very well to have a heart bubbling over with good-nature and kindly impulses; but when those impulses were flung back on herself, then the little girl felt that latent naughtiness which was certainly an integral part of her character. She saw Dan Scott’s old grandfather digging weeds in the back garden. Dan Scott was one of the gardener’s boys. He was a bright, cheery-faced little fellow, with sloe-black eyes and tight-curling hair, and a winsome smile and white teeth. Sibyl had made friends with him at once, and when he ceased to appear on the scenes a week back, she was full of consternation, for Dan had fallen from a tree, and broken his arm rather badly. He had been feverish also, and could not come to attend to his usual work. His old grandfather had at first rated the lad for having got into this trouble, but then he had pitied him.

Sibyl the day before had promised old Scott that she and her mother would ride to Dan’s cottage and present him with a basket of early apples. There were some ripening now on the trees, long in shape, golden in color, and full of delicious juice.

Sibyl had investigated these apples on her own account, and pronounced them very good, and had thought that a basket of the fruit would delight Dan. She had spoken to her mother on the subject, and her mother, in the height of good-humor, had promised that the apples should be gathered, and the little girl and she would ride down a lovely country lane to Dan’s cottage. They were to start about six o’clock, would ride under the shade of some spreading beech trees, and come back in the cool of the evening.

The whole plan was delightful, and Sibyl had been thinking about it all day. Now her mother had gone off to town, and most clearly had forgotten her promise to the child.

“Well, Missy,” said old Scott as he dug his spade deep down into the soil; “don’t stand just there, Missy, you’ll get the earth all over you.”

Sibyl moved to a respectful distance.

“How is Dan?” she asked, after a pause.

“A-wrastling with his pain,” answered Scott, a frown coming between his brows.

“Is he expecting me and mother with the beautiful apples?” asked Sibyl, in a somewhat anxious tone.

“Is he expecting you, Missy?” answered the old man, raising his beetling brows and fixing his black eyes on the child. “Is he a-counting the hours? Do ducks swim, Missy, and do little sick boys a-smothered up in bed in small close rooms want apples and little ladies to visit ’em or not? You said you’d go, Missy, and Dan he’s counting the minutes.”

“Of course I’ll go,” replied Sibyl, but she looked anxious and distrait. Then she added, “I will go if I possibly can.”