Oh, how happy we were. Ruth made tea for us, and I sat in my favorite low chair. The children scrambled up on Giles" knee, and he peeped at me between their eager faces; but I was quite content to let them engross him; it was pleasure enough for me to watch them.
"Why, how grand you look, Essie!" Dot said at last. "Your fingers are twinkling with green and white stones, and your dress rustles like old Mrs. Jameson"s."
""And she shall walk in silk attire, And silver have to spare,""
sang Giles. "Never mind Dot, Esther. Your brave attire suits you well."
"She looks very nice," put in Ruth, softly; "but she is our dear old Esther all the same."
"Nonsense, auntie," exclaimed Flurry, in her sharp little voice. "She is not Esther any longer; she is my dear new mammy." At which we all laughed.
I was always mammy to Flurry, though my other darlings called me mother; for before many years were over I had Dots of my own--dear little fat Winnie, her brother Harold, and baby Geoffrey--to whom Ruth was always "auntie," or "little auntie," as my mischievous Harold called her.
As the years pa.s.sed on there were changes at Eltham Cottage--some of them sad and some of them pleasant, after the bitter-sweet fashions of life.
The first great sorrow of my married life was dear mother"s death. She failed a little after Harold"s birth, and, to my great grief, she never saw my baby boy, Geoffrey. A few months before he came into the world she sank peacefully and painlessly to rest.
Fred came up to the funeral, and stayed with Allan; he had grown a long beard, and looked very manly and handsome. His pictures were never accepted by the hanging committee; and after a few years he grew tired of his desultory work, and thankfully accepted a post Giles had procured for him in the Colonies. After this he found his place in life, and settled down, and when we last heard from him he was on the eve of marriage with a Canadian girl. He sent us her photograph, and both Giles and I approved of the open, candid face and smiling brown eyes, and thought Fred had done well for himself.
Allan was a long time making his choice; but at last it fell on our new vicar"s daughter, Emily Sherbourne; for, three years after our marriage, Mr. Smedley had been attacked by sudden illness, which carried him off.
How pleased I was when Allan told me that he and Emmie had settled it between them. She was such a sweet girl; not pretty, but with a lovable, gentle face, and she had such simple kindly manners, so different from the girls of the present day, who hide their good womanly hearts under such abrupt loud ways. Emily, or, as we always called her, Emmie, was not clever, but she suited Allan to a nicety. She was wonderfully amiable, and bore his little irritabilities with the most placid good humor; nothing put her out, and she believed in him with a credulity that amused Allan largely; but he was very proud of her, and they made the happiest couple in the world, with the exception of Giles and me.
Carrie lost her lameness, after all; but not until she had been up to London and had undergone skillful treatment under the care of a very skillful physician. I shall always remember Dot"s joy when she took her first walk without her crutches. She came down to the Cedars with Jack, now a fine well-grown girl, and I shall never forget her sweet April face of smiles and tears.
"How good G.o.d has been to me, Essie," she whispered, as we sat together under the cedar tree, while Jack ran off for her usual romp with Winnie and Harold. "I have just had to lie quiet until I learned the lesson He wanted me to learn years ago, and now He is making me so happy, and giving me back my work."
It was just so; Carrie had come out of her painful ordeal strengthened and disciplined, and fit to teach others. No longer the weak, dreamy girl who stretched out over-eager hands for the work G.o.d in His wise providence withheld from her, she had emerged from her enforced retirement a bright helpful woman, who carried about her a secret fund of joy, of which no earthly circ.u.mstances could deprive her.
"My sweet sister Charity," Allan called her, and the poor of Milnthorpe had reason to bless her; for early and late she labored among them, tending the sick and dying, working often at Allan"s side among his poorer patients.
At home she was Uncle Geoffrey"s comfort, and a most sweet companion for him and Jack. As for Dot, he lived almost entirely at the Cedars. Giles had grown very fond of him, and we neither of us could spare him. They say he will always be a cripple; but what does that matter, when he spends day after day so happily in the little room Giles has fitted up for him?
We believe, after all, Dot will be an artist. He has taken a lifelike portrait of my Harold that has delighted Giles, and he vows that he shall have all the advantages he can give him; for Giles is very rich--so rich that I almost tremble at the thought of our responsibilities; only I know my husband is a faithful steward, and makes a good use of his talents.
Carrie is his almoner, and sometimes I work with her. There are some almshouses which Giles is building in which I take great interest, and where I mean to visit the old people, with Winnie trotting by my side.
Just now Giles came in heated and tired. "What, little wife, still scribbling?"
"Wait a moment, dear Giles," I replied. "I have just finished."
And so I have--the few scanty recollections of Esther Cameron"s life.
THE END.