Salome. Marshall Emma

"I want you, auntie, to go out lodging-hunting to-morrow for me. It is for Emily Wilton and her children. They are almost penniless, and it is necessary that they should leave Maplestone at once, for the creditors are in possession of the place. Shall I wake him?" Mrs. Wilton asked, as Aunt Betha turned her head towards Guy's bed.

      "No, I think not; he is really sound now. But, oh, I am so sorry for those poor children; I am indeed."

      "It is a pitiable case, and I don't see myself the wisdom of bringing them to Roxburgh. However, as Loftus wishes it to be done, I must look for the lodgings, or get you to look for them. I think down by St. Luke's Church is the most likely locality, or behind Connaught Crescent. They want four bed-rooms and two sitting-rooms for two pounds a week."

      "I fear we shall not succeed at that price; but I will go directly after breakfast to-morrow, – if Susan can be trusted here. Guy must be kept quiet till after his luncheon, and the children are so apt to rush in."

      "Poor little man!" the mother repeated. "He has but small enjoyment in his life; but we shall see him a strong man yet. Oh, those boys!" And Mrs. Wilton hastily left the nursery as sounds of boisterous mirth ascended from the boys' study, a small room on the ground floor where they got through their evening preparations. Three vociferous young voices were raised at their highest pitch, while Edith's shrill treble was heard.

      Down went Mrs. Wilton, and at the sound of her footstep there was a lull.

      "Edith, have I not forbidden you to interrupt your brothers at their work? Go up to bed immediately."

      "Mamma," sobbed Edith, – "mamma, it is all Ralph's fault. He says – he says that Uncle Arthur's children are all paupers, and that if papa – if – "

      "She is such a baby," Ralph exclaimed; "she says pauper is a bad word."

      "Yes," laughed Cyril, "the silly baby. I believe she thinks pauper is swearing."

      "No, she does not," said Digby, the eldest of the three brothers. "No, poor little thing. It is a shame to tease her as you have done. Come on upstairs, Edith. I will take you," and Digby took his little sister by the hand and was leading her away when his mother interposed.

      "Don't encourage her in naughtiness, Digby. She is very disobedient to come here at all. – Now, Edith."

      Poor Edith obeyed at once, sobbing out, "I only said I was glad we were not so poor as our cousins; and they all laughed at me – at least Ralph and Cyril did – and said if papa died – "

      "That will do, Edith. You are not to go down to disturb your brothers again. The next time I find you in this room of an evening, I shall punish you severely. Run away to bed. Aunt Betha ought to have called you by this time; and what can Sarah be thinking of?"

      Then Mrs. Wilton kissed her little girl, and returned to the drawing-room, where Louise was reading by the bright gaslight.

      "You have four burners lighted, Louise. It is quite unnecessary," and Mrs. Wilton's height made it easy for her to turn down two of the burners in the glass chandelier.

      "What a noise the boys have been making downstairs!" Louise said. "I am sure I hope we shall not have them here all the holidays. Are we not going to Torquay or Ilfracombe?"

      "Decidedly not en masse," Mrs. Wilton said. "Lodgings by the sea are so fearfully expensive."

      "Well," said Louise, "I think it is very dull staying in Roxburgh all the summer, and the boys are so tiresome. If we had only a proper tennis-court; playing in the square is so disagreeable."

      "You are very discontented, Louise," said her mother. "Pray, do not grumble any more."

      Mrs. Wilton sat down to write a letter, and no more was said till Kate came in with Digby. They were great friends, and Digby was the generally acknowledged good-temper of the family. I am afraid it was too much the motto of each of the doctor's children, "Every one for himself." There could not be said to be one really unselfish person of that household. But Digby and Kate had more thought for others than the rest of the brothers and sisters, and were naturally better tempered and contented.

      "Are you going to look for lodgings for Aunt Emily, mother?" Digby asked.

      Mrs. Wilton looked up from her writing as if the idea were a new one to her.

      "No, my dear, I shall not have time to do so. I am engaged to take Louise and Kate to a tennis-party at Cawfield to-morrow."

      "Digby, I wish you would not sit on that sofa. Look what you have done to the cover."

      Digby changed his seat from the sofa to a straw chair, one of those half-circular ones with cushions which creak at every movement.

      "O Digby, do pray be quiet," said Louise irritably. "It does fidget me to hear that noise."

      "You will be an old maid to a certainty, Louise," said her brother, "if you are so cantankerous, – another Aunt Betha, only not half as good. – Come on, Kate; let us have a game of backgammon."

      "Not in here!" exclaimed Louise. "I hate the rattling of the dice. Pray go into the back drawing-room."

      "Yes, let us go there," said Kate, "in peace."

      "Peace! There is none in this house," said Digby as he followed Kate, who jumped up on a chair to light the gas, and came down with a thud on the floor, when she had achieved her object, which shook the glass-drops of both chandeliers ominously.

      "I say, Kate, what a clumsy elephant you are. You'll bring down the chandelier and a torrent of abuse from a certain person at the same time."

      "Where are Ralph and Cyril?" Kate asked.

      "Downstairs. We have all been 'preparing a lesson,' doing a holiday task. Such humbug, as if fellows of our age ought not to dine late."

      "Well, the Barrington boys always have school-room tea."

      "They are younger. Ned isn't fifteen, and I am sixteen."

      "No, not quite; not till next week," Kate said. "You are younger than Raymond. Are you not sorry for them at Maplestone?"

      "Awfully," said Digby; "and I think every one so unfeeling. You girls ought to be in mourning."

      "Mamma said it would be too expensive," said Kate; "but then she never expected they would all come here and see us. I believe she is going to get up something if they do come; but they may not get lodgings. Isn't it odd, Digby, to think of our visit to Maplestone a year and a half ago, when we felt them so much better off than we were, and envied the house and the gardens, and the ponies and the carriages? And Raymond talked so much of his swell Eton friends; and Reginald was at Rugby; and you grumbled because you could not go to school, but had to be a day boy at the college here."

      "Yes, I remember," said Digby. "And how pretty Ada looked when she went to church on Sunday. And that quiet one, they say, is clever, with the queer name."

      "Salome! ah, yes," said Kate. "She was odd – so dreamy, and unlike other girls. Dear me, it is very sad for them all. I wish they were not coming here all the same, for I know they will be disappointed; and Roxburgh is not a place to be poor in. I am sick of all the talking about who this person is, and where they come from, and what they wear; and that 'residents' can't know 'lodgers' for fear of getting mixed up with what is not quite the thing. I do hate it," said Kate vehemently; "and yet what is one to do?"

      "Play backgammon now," said Digby; "and go to bed and forget it. With slow holidays like these, one had better lie there half the day."

      "Pray don't be late to-morrow, Digby; it does make such a fuss. Now then – sixes as a start. What luck for me!"

      So the cousins in Edinburgh Terrace talked of the cousins at Maplestone. So small a part of the lives of others do griefs and sorrows make. That evening, while Digby and Kate were so lightly discussing the coming of Ada and Raymond, of Aunt Emily and Reginald, Salome was standing in the fading light by her father's grave in the quiet churchyard of Maplestone, with some freshly-gathered flowers in her hand, and crying as if her heart would break!

      CHAPTER IV

      LOOKING FOR LODGINGS

      UNT