Kitty Trenire Part 31

Once they all went to Newquay to visit Aunt Pike and Anna, and spent a long, glorious day on the beautiful sands, paddling in and out of the rock pools in search of rare sea-weeds, and anemones, and sh.e.l.ls.

"I didn't know your aunt was so old," said Pamela later, when she and Kitty were talking over the events of the day. "You did not tell me she was."

"No," said Kitty thoughtfully, "I didn't think she was. I noticed it to-day myself, but I never did before. She does look quite old, doesn't she?" appealing to Pamela, as though still doubting her own eyes.

"I don't think she looked so last term. She seemed quite altered to-day somehow, so small and shrivelled, or something."

But other interests soon drove the matter from Kitty's mind, and she thought no more about it until Mrs. Pike and Anna returned to Gorlay a few days before the end of the holidays to see to Dan's and Kitty's outfits, and by that time Kitty was far too miserable at the prospect of returning to school to give more than a pa.s.sing thought to her aunt's changed appearance.

Anna was quite strong again, though her old nervous, restless manner had not left her, and she still had the same difficulty in meeting one's eyes fairly and squarely.

"Your cousin looks as though she had something on her mind," said Pamela. "Do you think she has?"

"I don't know," said Kitty; "at least I don't think it would trouble her much if she had. She didn't really enjoy herself at Newquay. She says she is very glad to be home again, and I should think she would be too,"

added poor homesick Kitty. "I am sure I should get well here quicker than anywhere," and Pamela agreed.

"I think it was nonsense of Dan to say it was worth while to go away to have the pleasure of coming home," she moaned when the last day came.

"I am sure _nothing_ could make up to me for the misery of going, and I think it is worse the second time than the first."

Poor Kitty's woe was so great that at last her father was driven to expostulate. "Kitty dear, do try to be brave," he pleaded. "I am not very well, and I cannot bear to see you so unhappy. You make it very hard for others, dear, by taking your trials so hardly."

Kitty looked and felt very much ashamed. "I hadn't thought of that,"

she said; "but, father, it is really very hard to bear. You don't know how miserable I feel."

"How will you bear greater troubles when they come, as they are sure to?"

"There couldn't be greater ones," said foolish Kitty.

"My dear, my dear, don't say such things. This is, after all, but a short temporary parting, when we could all come together if needs be.

There are some that last a lifetime," he added sadly, and Kitty knew he was thinking of her dead mother. A few moments later he spoke more cheerfully. "I am going up with you to-morrow," he said. "Perhaps that will comfort you a little."

Kitty looked delighted, but Dr. Trenire did not tell her that when he had left her at her school he was going to consult a doctor about his own health; for he intended to let no one know that he was bound on such an errand until he had heard the verdict, and only then if it was absolutely necessary.

However, the consultation proved that it was absolutely necessary, and a few days later the following letter reached Kitty:--

"My Dearest Kitty,--I have to send you some news which is not good, but you must not think it very bad. A few days ago I was told by a medical man that I must take a long holiday and a sea voyage as soon as possible, and he dared me to stay away less than three months. I am obeying him because I want to feel stronger than I have lately, and I do not believe in asking a clever man's advice and then refusing to act upon it. So I am getting a _loc.u.m tenens_ here for a time, and as soon as I have introduced him to my patients I shall start on a cruise somewhere. I have not yet decided where. But before I go I shall certainly come and spend a day with you, my dear, to talk things over.

I will write to Miss Pidsley and arrange it all. Your aunt will look after Betty and Tony very carefully, as you know, while I am away, and they have promised me to be happy and good, so that I may not be worried about them. They are a good little pair, on the whole, and I feel quite satisfied about Tony at any rate.

"You must promise not to fret or worry about my health or my absence.

The doctor told me to keep as free from anxieties as possible, so, if you want to help me--and I know you will--you must be as happy and do as well at school as you possibly can--that will help me more than anything--and write to me letters full of smiles. I know you know how to, and I shall count on hearing frequently. In about three months'

time I hope we may all be journeying home together to keep our summer holidays. I shall be back in time, I promise you, and will arrange so that I can meet you and Dan.

"I shall be writing again in a day or two.--

"Your affectionate Father."

When first she opened this letter and mastered its contents, Kitty turned cold and faint with the shock it brought her. At once her imagination pictured her father ill, dying, or going away from them all and dying at sea.

"He's more ill than he will say, I know," she moaned. "Father never tells the worst. O father! Father! and I am not even at home to be with him. If I could see him I should know; but here I am in prison, and-- and I can't know what is happening at home!" and Kitty collapsed on her bed, sobbing pitifully.

"Katherine! Katherine! what is the matter, child?" Miss Pidsley, hearing sounds of grief, opened the door and looked in, then she walked in and closed it behind her.

"I have had such dreadful news," moaned Kitty. "Father is very ill-- I know he is worse than he says--and I am not there, and--and I am here a prisoner. Read what he says, Miss Pidsley."

Miss Pidsley laid her strong hand on Kitty's trembling arm. "Dear, you must know that if your father wanted you, or thought it necessary that you should be home, that he would send for you, and you could go at once, so do not feel yourself a prisoner." Then she read the letter slowly and carefully through.

"Isn't it dreadful?" sighed Kitty, looking up at her as she laid the letter down.

"It is a trouble for you certainly, dear," said Miss Pidsley. "But I think you have every reason to hope that your father may soon be well and strong again, and in the meantime I see he has given you plenty to do for him. Don't let him know that you are not able or willing to do what he asks you to."

"What has he asked me to do?" cried Kitty, starting up eager to begin then and there.

Miss Pidsley held out the letter, and pointed out one particular paragraph. "If you want to help me--and I know you will--you must be as happy and do as well at school as you possibly can. That will help me more than anything."

"But that can't really help him, and--and it is so difficult." Kitty looked up into Miss Pidsley's face very dolefully.

"But it does help, dear, more than you can imagine. Nothing would worry your father more than to feel you were unhappy. Do try, for his sake.

You can't refuse his request, can you?"

"No," said Kitty mournfully, "I can't. I--I will try, but--it is very hard to begin at once, isn't it? One is frightened and unhappy before one knows one is going to be, and then it is so hard to forget it again and try to feel brave and happy, and all that sort of thing; and oh, it does seem so dreadful that father should be ill, and have to go away from us. I can hardly believe it."

"You must try not to think of it in that way, dear, but think that he has been ill for some time without being able to do anything to make himself well again, and that now he is about to be cured, and if he has rest and change and an easy mind every day will see him a little stronger and happier. He has worked hard and long, and often, probably, when he has been feeling quite unfit; but now he is going to have a real rest, and to enjoy himself. It is good to think of, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," cried Kitty, much more cheerfully, "and I hope he will get off soon, for I know he will get no rest while he is in Gorlay. I have never known father have a holiday."

"Then let us all try to make it a really happy one now," said Miss Pidsley, and she went away leaving Kitty much comforted.

Three days later Dr. Trenire came up to say "good-bye," and at the end of a long, pleasant day together, happy in spite of the parting before them, Kitty bade him "good-bye" with a brave and smiling face, and sent him back to Gorlay cheered and comforted, and with at least one care less on his mind; for in his heart he had been dreading that day, because of Kitty's grief at parting.

CHAPTER XIX.

BETTY'S ESCAPADE.

June had come, a brilliantly fine June, and overpoweringly hot.

Wind-swept, treeless Gorlay lay shadeless and panting under the blazing sun, and the dwellers there determined that they preferred the cutting winds and driving rains to which they were better accustomed.

Dr. Trenire had gone, and Betty and Tony had been inconsolable.

The "loc.u.m," Dr. Yearsley, had come, and Jabez had long since announced that he had no great opinion of him, coming as he did from one of the northern counties.

"I don't say but what he may be a nice enough gentleman," he said; "but coming from so far up along it stands to reason he can't know nothing of we or our ailments. I s'pose the master had his reasons for choosing him, but it do seem a pity."

Aunt Pike did not approve of the newcomer, but for another reason.

"He was so foolish about the children," she complained. "It is very nice to say you are fond of them, but it is perfectly absurd to make so much of them; it only encourages them to be forward and opinionated, and puts them out of their place." And to balance all this Aunt Pike herself became a little more strict than usual, and very cross. It may have been that she felt the heat very trying, and perhaps was not very well, but there was no doubt that she was very irritable and particular at that time--more so than she used to be--and nothing that the children did was, in her eyes, right.

Anna was irritable too, but there was much excuse for her, for having had pneumonia in the winter, and measles in the spring, her mother was determined that she should not have bronchitis, or rheumatism, or pneumonia again in the summer, and through that overpoweringly hot weather poor Anna was condemned to go about clothed in a fas.h.i.+on which might have been agreeable in the Highlands in January, but in Gorlay in the summer was really overwhelming, and kept poor Anna constantly in a state bordering on heat apoplexy, or exhaustion and collapse.