The Old Pincushion Part 7

'To be sure,' he said. 'Not a mile from Ty-gwyn. A pretty place it is, and many a time I've seen Master David when he used to be there as a boy.'

'And a sad pity it shouldn't be his own now he's a man,' said the other old farmer, by way of making amends for the speech which had so nearly given offence to Master David's children.

'Mr. Wynne-Carr will never live there. He has a fine place already.

'Twill be a pity to see Ty-gwyn let to strangers.'

In this opinion, it is needless to say, Neville and Kathleen thoroughly concurred. Kathleen began to look upon their two old fellow-travellers more indulgently, and to allow to herself that there might be decent people to be met with in a third-cla.s.s carriage. But they had not time for much more conversation before the train began to slacken in preparation for coming to a stand-still in Frewern Bay station.

Neville's head was poked out of the window long before this, of course.

He had never seen his aunt since he was a baby, and could not possibly have recognised her, but he expected to identify her somehow. And in a little country station this is not so difficult. But he looked in vain.

There was n.o.body who could by any possibility be supposed to be Miss Clotilda Powys. And he drew his head in again, for the train had quite stopped by now, and it was time to be getting Kathleen out and to be seeing after her luggage.

'Do you see her?' asked Kathie, as he handed her down.

Neville shook his head.

'It's raining so awfully,' he said. 'She may be in the waiting-room'--for the station was only a half covered-in one--'or, she may not have come herself on account of the weather, and may have sent some one. I'll see in a minute. Just you get under shelter while I look after the luggage.'

But when the luggage was got, and the train had moved on again, leaving the little station all but deserted, the two children looked round in bewilderment and perplexity. It was too evident that no one had come to meet them. What was to be done? The terribly heavy rain seemed to make it much worse, and above all, the information the old farmer had given them as to the distance of Ty-gwyn from the station. It was impossible, quite impossible to think of waiting; but yet again, where were they to get the fly, or how were they to pay it if they did get one?

'I have only five s.h.i.+llings over our fares,' said Neville. 'Mr. Fanshaw thought it was quite enough, as we were sure to be met. And I should not like Aunt Clotilda to have to pay any extra for us when we know she has so little.'

'But we can't stay here all night,' said Kathleen impatiently; which was certainly true enough. 'And it's her own fault for not coming to meet us. Neville, you must do something.'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Neville looked round in a sort of despair. There were two or three vehicles still standing just outside the gate of the station. A cart or two, and a queer sort of canvas-hooded van, into which the porter was hoisting some parcels, though it seemed already pretty full of sacks of flour or grain of some kind. Neville opened his umbrella and went to where these carts were standing, looking about him for some promising sort of person to apply to in his distress.

'Can you tell me,' he began to the porter, but the porter was shouting in Welsh to the man in the van, and did not hear him. Neville thought he had better wait a minute, and he stood still, s.h.i.+vering with cold and vexation, the rain pouring down as surely never before rain had poured.

Suddenly a voice beside him made him turn round; it was that of the old farmer, who had till now been engaged in the stationmaster's room, talking about the horse which was coming the next day.

'Is the lady not come? Is there no one to meet you?' he asked.

'No, indeed,' said Neville, 'and I don't know _what_ to do.'

The old man looked sorry and perplexed, but Neville's face brightened at having found a friend. Just then the porter emerged again from the van.

'Hi, John Williams!' the farmer called out, and then followed some colloquy in Welsh, amid which Neville distinguished the words 'Hafod'

and 'Ty-gwyn.'

The farmer turned to the boy.

'This is the Hafod carrier,' he said. 'He is going there now. He is very full, but he says as it is for Ty-gwyn he will make a push and take you and the young lady. But he can't take your boxes, not to-day. Still, it's a chance to get him to take yoursel's, and if you can make s.h.i.+ft to do till to-morrow'--

'Of course,' said Neville; 'it's the only thing to do, and thank you very much indeed, Mr.'--

'John Davis, sir, John Davis of Dol-bach, if you please.'

'Mr. Davis,' continued Neville. 'Kathie,'--for by this time Kathie's anxiety had drawn her out into the rain too,--'you hear?' And he rapidly explained the state of matters.

'If it hadn't been for Mr. Davis, the carrier wouldn't have taken us.'

'No,' said the farmer, looking pleased. 'I can't say as I think he would.'

But Kathleen could not join in thanking him. She was tired and cross, and not a little annoyed at having to make their appearance at Ty-gwyn in such ignominious fas.h.i.+on.

'It's really a _shame_ of Aunt Clotilda,' she said. 'I do wish we hadn't come. I hate Wales already.'

CHAPTER VI.

THE WHITE HOUSE AT LAST.

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eville and the old farmer and the carrier all helped Kathleen up into the van, where John Williams had made her as comfortable a place as he could on the bench that was fixed at one end, with some of the sacks to lean against, and some to put her feet upon. Neville undid his railway rug and wrapped it round her, for the rain had made the air very chilly.

The trunks were given into the charge of the porter to be fetched the next day, as Miss Clotilda might direct, and with repeated thanks from Neville to the old farmer, and a cordial shake of the hand at parting, off they set.

At another time, on a fine day perhaps, and not at the end of a tiring railway journey, Kathleen might have found it amusing. And as a rule, she was far merrier and high-spirited than Neville, though, to see them now, one would scarcely have believed it. But Neville had learnt to think of others more than of himself. _There_ was the difference.

Kathleen could be bright and laughing when all went well with her, but it never occurred to her that it may be a duty to be cheerful and even merry when one is _not_ inclined to be so, so she just yielded to her feelings of fatigue and depression, and sat silently in her place, thinking herself, to tell the truth, very good indeed not to grumble aloud. Neville did his best. _He_ was tired too--tired and cold, for he had given his rug to Kathie, and hungry, perhaps hungrier than Kathie, for she had had the lion's share of their dinner. He was anxious and uneasy as well,--blaming himself for not having decided to wait till Friday, by which day there would have been time for an answer from their aunt,--blaming himself vaguely for the whole affair, which he felt from first to last had been his doing. And he was afraid as to what might yet be before them. It seemed impossible that Miss Clotilda should not have got the letter fixing for Wednesday. So what could be the matter? Had she fallen ill? Had Mr. Wynne-Carr suddenly changed his mind, and turned her out of the house? What might they not find when they got to Ty-gwyn?

If, indeed, they ever got there! It did not seem very like it just then, certainly. They were going up a hill at a foot's pace, and they seemed to have been doing so, with very rare intervals, ever since they left the station. How the van lurched and jolted! and, oh, how it did rain!

'Kathleen,' said Neville timidly.

'Well,' she replied, in a very unpromising tone. It was so dark in the depths of the van--and, indeed, it was getting dusk outside already--that they could scarcely see each other's faces.

'I'm so very sorry for you, Kathie,' Neville went on. 'I'm afraid it's somehow my fault.'

'It's no good saying that now,' Kathleen replied, and her voice sounded a little mollified. 'Of course it isn't your fault. It's all Aunt Clotilda. Neville, I'm sure she can't be nice. If she had had anything to gain by hiding it, I declare I should have believed she herself had hidden the will--or burnt it, or something. Just _fancy_ her letting us--her brother's own children--arrive like this! I daresay it was just selfishness, because it was such a bad day, that kept her from coming.'

'Oh, Kathie!' said Neville. He felt sure in his heart that Miss Clotilda was not the least like what Kathleen said, but in her present humour he knew that it was worse than useless to contradict or even disagree with his sister. 'I wish there was something to eat,' he said. 'If we could but have had some tea at the station, but there was no sort of refreshment-room.'

'Wales is horrid,' said Kathleen, with great emphasis. 'If papa had got that place I should have made him sell it.'

'I do wish the man would drive a little faster,' said Neville, rather with a view to changing the subject, as he could not agree with Kathie.

The wish in this case proved father to the deed. Scarcely had the words pa.s.sed his lips when, with a crack of his whip and some mysterious communication to his horse in Welsh, Mr. John Williams's van began to move forward at what, in comparison with their former rate of progression, seemed to the children break-neck speed. For a minute or so their spirits rose.

'We've got up the hill now, I suppose,' said Neville cheerily. 'If we go on like this we'll soon be there.'

But an exclamation from Kathie--'Oh, Neville! I shall die if we go on like this. It does shake me, and knock me about so. I'm all black and blue already!'--made him change.

'I'm _so_ sorry, Kathie,' he repeated. 'Stay; is there nothing I can put on the seat to make it softer? Or supposing you sit right down among the sacks? I do think that would be better.'

It did seem so for a little while. But, after all, there was not much need for the precautions. Scarcely was Kathie settled among the sacks when the jogging and rattling came to an untimely end, and the slow grind and creak began again. Another hill, doubtless. Alas! it was so--another and yet another; the bits of level road seemed so few and far between, that long before the end of the journey Kathie would have borne the jolts and the bruises with philosophy, just for the sake of feeling they were getting over the ground.