What the wind did
Date: 2023-12-19T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: What the wind did

Author: Amy Le Feuvre

Release date: December 19, 2023 [eBook #72454]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Fleming H. Revell Company

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT THE WIND DID ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

THE WIND WHIRLED THE UMBRELLA IN THE AIR.

What The Wind Did

BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

AUTHOR OF

"Probable Sons," "Teddy's Button," "The Odd One," Etc.

NEW YORK    CHICAGO    TORONTO

Fleming H. Revell Company

Publishers of Evangelical Literature

Copyright, 1899
by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. NOT INTRODUCED

II. HIS STORY TOLD

III. HIS STORY INTERRUPTED

IV. OLD FRIENDS

V. HIS STORY FINISHED

What The Wind Did

CHAPTER I

NOT INTRODUCED

HE was only a clerk in a country bank. Morning by morning punctually at half-past nine, he would leave his lodgings in the quiet village street, and take his twenty minutes' walk along the straight high road that led to his destination. His clothes were shabby, but one glance at his bright resolute face and clear frank blue eyes revealed a fresh young spirit, as yet undaunted and untainted by contact with evil: and he walked with a spring and vigor envied by many a passer-by.

It was a wild wet morning in March when first he met her. He had been away for a week's holiday, and as he left his own doorstep, he saw a little figure do the same from the lodgings over the way. He watched her struggle on in front of him for some minutes, wondering how such a small creature could grapple with such a large umbrella, and he purposely slackened his pace to see the result.

The wind has no pity for weakness, and with a wild shriek of fiendish delight, it bore down upon the frail little body. Seizing the umbrella in its clutches, it whirled it into the air, whilst it made such a furious onslaught on the little waterproof cloak, that the owner of it staggered, lost her balance, and fell headlong to the ground, a bag of books discarding its contents in all directions.

"Is it a walking doll or a baby?" muttered the young fellow as for a moment the flying garments round the prostrate little figure made it difficult to tell which end to hoist uppermost.

But when he had successfully set the little damsel on her feet, his face softened with a wondering pity, as he met the gaze of one of the sweetest children's faces that he had ever seen.

It was not the beauty of it that attracted him so much, as the wistfulness of the large grey eyes fringed with long curled lashes, and the subdued and sensitive little mouth.

Such a tiny white face it was, and the dark tumbled curls that framed it, seemed to make it whiter in contrast. The lips began to quiver and the eyes till up with tears; but as he waited for the inevitable childish wail to follow, he was astonished to see the tiny gloves brushed across the face, and the child stand erect with an unsteady smile.

"I won't cry," she said, looking at him gravely. "Will you catch my umbrella?"

And when that somewhat difficult feat was accomplished, he found that she had picked up her books, and with a pursed up determined mouth was marching steadily forward again.

"I will hold the umbrella over you," he said; "we are going the same way. How far have you to walk? Are you going to school? It is too rough a morning for you to be out."

"That's what mother thought, but Becca said 'no'—that rough days made things hardy, and I must learn to endure. And I haven't missed a day since I began to go to school."

"What do you learn? Your A B C?"

"No," the child responded gravely; "I can read, but there seems a lot to learn, doesn't there? I never knew the world was so big till I went to school. How long did you take to learn the world?"

"I never learnt it at school," the young man said with a smile.

"Becca says it's what I shall have to learn. She says jography is knowing the places in the world, and history is knowing the people in the world, and sums is knowing how to do business in the world, and music is knowing how to amuse people in the world."

"Your Becca must be a character. Is she your sister?"

"Oh no, she is older than mother. She's our nurse, I think, though we don't call her 'nurse.' She nursed me when I was a baby, and now she nurses mother when she is ill. Becca does everything, and mother and I do what she tells us."

"And it is Becca who turns you out for a mile walk on a stormy morning like this!"

"Yes," said the child, softly. "Becca says if you begin a thing you must go on with it. And you see, I shall have to learn as quick as I can, for I mean to be a governess and make money for mother!"

"Good Heavens!" was the ejaculation. "You ought to be in the nursery, instead of talking about making money!"

There was silence after this. The little maiden stole furtive glances up at her new friend through her long eyelashes, wondering if he were displeased with her. She had hard work to keep pace with his rapid strides, and presently heaved a deep sigh.

"I would like my umbrella again, please!"

"Eh? What? Ah, I see! I am going too fast for you; but I have plenty of time, so take your own pace. How long have you been living opposite to me?"

"We came here a week yesterday from London. Mrs. Stock, my schoolmistress, used to be mother's governess. She lets me come to her school without paying much. I like her, but the other girls are afraid of her. I'm afraid of the girls. I don't like children, I think."

"Who do you like?"

"I like babies and dolls. You can hold them in your arms, and they don't tease you. Don't you like babies?"

"I hate them. I believe I'm frightened of them."

A clear rippling laugh broke from the child.

"You are so funny! What is your name? I don't know what to call you."

"Rufus Tracy. Now I must know yours."

"Greta Clay is mine. My proper name is Margaret, but mother has always called me Greta, and Becca does too."

They chatted on between the gusts of wind and rain, and the walk seemed to be half the distance to little Greta. She was deposited on the school doorstep, and Rufus went to his desk in the bank, wondering at his sudden interest in the welfare of this quaint old-fashioned child. He began to picture her in prosperous circumstances, growing into a slim, graceful girl; the white-pinched face filling out, and a healthy bloom making her into a sparkling beauty. And then he laughed at himself.

"Why should I feel such concern about her! She will swell the number of women workers, and twenty years hence will have a care-worn brow with sharp features, and shortsighted eyes. A down-trodden governess, with all her hopes and aspirations within the four walls of a grim schoolroom! May God help her then, poor little soul!"

As he retraced his steps along the solitary high road later in the day, he found his mind still reverting to her; and when he reached his room, he instinctively moved across to the window, and gazed upon the opposite house with fresh interest in his eyes. As his room was in the upper story he was able to look down upon a firelight scene, which for the moment proved most attractive. On a couch near the fire lay an invalid. Even at that distance he seemed to see her gentleness and frailty, and kneeling by her side was the little figure he had befriended on his way to business that morning. The firelight shone on her curls, and by her animated gestures and movements, he concluded she was giving her mother an account of her adventure. A third figure in the background was moving to and fro, placing a tea-tray on the table, then lighting a lamp which revealed the bareness and poverty of the room as the flickering firelight failed to do; and then, coming toward the window with a brisk pull the blind was lowered, and the picture for the time was blotted out.

Rufus Tracy gave a sigh, then pulled out his pipe, and sitting down by the fire, awaited his evening meal impatiently.

The next morning dawned bright and fair. Wind and rain were evils of the past, and as he again wended his way to town, he whistled and sang to himself from sheer exuberance of spirit.

It was not long before he descried the little figure ahead.

"Hullo!" he called out cheerily as he came up to her. "How are you this morning?"

The child looked round with a frightened, flushed face, then raising her chin in the air, she walked steadily on as if he had not spoken.

"Have I frightened you?" he asked, with amusement.

There was no reply. The grey eyes were blinking nervously, but the face and figure retained its erectness.

"Come, come Greta, you mustn't snub me. What have I done that you will not speak to me?"

Still no signs of relenting. Rufus whistled perplexedly, then, with a laugh, exclaimed:

"I bet that old tartar has told you not to speak to me; now, hasn't she?"

He bent down to look into the flushed face, and noted the determination of the firmly-closed lips, but not a word could he get from her, till at last when she reached the school, in desperation he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"I promise not to speak to you again till you give me leave, if you will only tell me why you are dumb this morning."

Then Greta, from her advantage of a flight of stone steps between herself and him, turned and looked at him.

Her eyes were rapidly filling with tears, but shaking the glittering drops from her long lashes, she spoke with perfect self-control.

"Becca says it's not proper to talk to strange gentlemen without an introduction." And she turned her back upon him and walked in at the open door.

Half vexed, half amused, Rufus went on to his work, muttering as he did so, "I am not going to take my dismissal so easily."

CHAPTER II

HIS STORY TOLD

THE following day was Saturday, when as a rule Rufus went off in the afternoon for a long tramp with one of his fellow-clerks. But he declined all such proposals made to him before he left the bank, and after an early dinner at his lodgings, he arrayed himself in his best suit of clothes, and marched boldly across to call on his opposite neighbors.

A sharp knock at the door brought a slatternly maidservant.

"Is Mrs. Clay at home? I should like to see her. Will you take in my card?"

The girl looked bewildered, and then showed him into the front sitting-room, where Greta was seated by her mother's couch reading aloud.

Her little face at once brightened with smiles.

"Mother, here is the gentleman who was so good to me and held the umbrella."

Mrs. Clay looked up and gave the young man a gentle welcome. Before long he was quite at home, carrying on an animated conversation with mother and daughter. He was making Greta laugh with a reminiscence of his boyish days, when the door opened suddenly and the redoubtable "Becca" appeared.

She was a tall plain-featured woman, with a not unkindly face; but her manner was severity itself, when she saw the intruder, and timid Mrs. Clay looked perturbed and frightened at once.

"It is Mr. Tracy who lives opposite, Rebecca. He has taken such a kindly interest in Greta that I have told him we shall be glad to see him at any time."

Rebecca folded her arms and looked defiantly at the audacious young man.

"My mistress is not well enough to receive visitors. I fear this interview will be too exciting for her."

Rufus rose at once.

"I am very sorry if I have fatigued you, Mrs. Clay. I trust your nurse will forgive me. But now you know me and my antecedents, you will not prohibit your little girl from speaking to me when we pass each other on the road?"

"NOW, BECCA, DON'T BE CROSS."

"Certainly not," murmured Mrs. Clay, looking appealingly at her maid.

Greta sprang up from her seat, and putting her hand coaxingly upon Rebecca's arm said softly:

"Now, Becca, don't be cross. Mother and I are friends with Mr. Tracy, will you be friends too?"

"I assure you I am respectable," said Rufus, the humor of the situation bringing a mischievous sparkle to his eyes. "I am not a housebreaker in disguise, nor have I any sinister designs on your mistress or her daughter. Will it ease your mind if I tell you I am the son of a clergyman, and that it is only lately I have come to this neighborhood; I am a lonely young man in want of friends. Shall I promise never to enter this house again unless I am invited to do so? I only wish to continue an acquaintance with my little friend here!"

"Miss Greta is in no want of such unequal friendship," said Rebecca sternly.

"May I style myself her protector then, from all the perils of that solitary walk?"

"Perils! Fiddlesticks! Miss Greta must learn to take care of herself."

Rufus thought discretion was the better part of valor, so he bowed himself out, quietly resolving not to be worsted by a woman.

And Monday morning found the little maiden and young man walking cheerfully and contentedly into town together.

"Becca is very kind, but she doesn't think like mother," said the child, shrewdly, "and as she manages us, mother tries to think like her. Becca says there are only two sorts of people in the world. Those born to be helped, and those born to help them. And Becca says I am born to help people."

"I wonder which sort I am?" laughed Rufus. "You are a walking dictionary of Rebecca's wisdom. How do you remember all her sage remarks? She is bringing you up a veritable little Spartan."

"What is a Spartan?"

"A very unpleasantly proper child who never lets her feelings get the better of her. Do you think your mother would let you come to tea with me to-morrow night?"

Greta's eyes sparkled at the thought, then fell at the remembrance of "Becca."

"I'll try to let Becca make me come, but she—she doesn't like you—she says young men think they are the lords of creation, but they are slaves of self-will. I'll tell you what she says to-morrow morning."

Rebecca was won over, and punctually at five o'clock the next evening, the little maiden stood on the doorstep opposite her own, and enquired in a trembling voice for Mr. Rufus Tracy.

She was shown up to his room, and came into it with a radiant face. It was not a luxuriously furnished apartment, nor yet a very tidy one, but Greta was charmed with the novelty of a bachelor's den. The smell of tobacco and the row of pipes on the mantelpiece puzzled her sorely.

"Why do you smoke?" she asked, presently, as perched on a horse-hair sofa, she watched the stout landlady bring in the tea-tray. "Does it warm your mouth? My mouth never feels cold."

"It keeps me in a good temper," was the laughing reply.

"Would it keep me from feeling cross when the girls tease me at school?"

Her questions ceased when she came to the tea-table. She thought she had never seen such a grand tea. Hot steak and fried potatoes, shrimps and watercress, sardines and cheese, and a currant cake. Was there ever such plentiful fare for two people only?

And Rufus watching the little thin white face flush pink with excitement, wondered if Rebecca was as chary with her food as with her smiles.

"This is my dinner," he said, "and I have a hearty appetite, so you must follow my example."

"But I have had my dinner," said the child, "I always have it at school, and I never have anything but bread and butter and milk and water for tea. Sometimes Becca lets me make toast, but she says it takes too much butter for me to have often."

Tea passed off delightfully; afterward Greta was shown photographs and pictures, and then the two drifted off into talk, until under the spell of the child's sympathetic eyes, Rufus found himself telling her his history.

"Once there were two boys who lost their father when quite young; and their mother brought them up with the longing desire in her heart, that they might prove great men, and bring honor and glory to their name."

"What does that mean?" asked Greta, with interest.

"Do something grand or noble to make their mother proud of them, and win themselves fame in the world. The eldest one she meant to be a clergyman, so she sent him to Oxford, and thought of the time when she might see him made a bishop. The younger one went into the army, and he got on very fairly well, for he was sent out to India and distinguished himself when only a corporal. But the eldest son, alas! turned out a failure. He wasn't cut out for a clergyman: he hated the idea of it, and at last left college and told his mother it was waste of money to keep him there. She was bitterly disappointed and very angry—justly or unjustly we will not say. She told him that if he would not take up the profession which was open to him, he must not expect her to keep him at home in idleness, and she said she would have nothing more to do with him if he refused to carry out her wishes. So one day when they were talking about it, he told her he would go away. And he packed up his portmanteau, and left his home, and after a great struggle to keep himself alive on what used barely to clothe him, he found an opening in a little country bank, and when he got work he began to get happy again. It was only in the evenings he sometimes had sad thoughts about his mother; and so he was glad when one day fortune threw across his path a little white-faced sprite. He thought he would ask her to tea sometimes to cheer him up, and one night she came."

"What was she like?" asked Greta, eagerly. "How was she dressed?"

"She had a little tiny face with two big eyes, which always seemed looking away into the future with big thoughts behind them. I think she was dressed in a white pinafore, and a blue sash, and she had a blue bow amongst her curls. She looked sometimes as wise as Solomon, and sometimes like a doll or baby. She had a trick of nursing her chin in her hands, and of giving an important little shake to her head as she spoke."

"She was dressed just like me," observed Greta, thoughtfully; then she added:

"Do finish the story. Did the mother come one day and take her son home again? And did they live happily ever after?"

"Ah, that I don't know. The story is not finished."

"Who made it up? Is it a true story?"

"Yes, it is a true one."

"Oh, do let me make an end to it, may I? I do tell stories to mother when Becca is out."

"Go ahead, then."

And lounging back in his easy chair with his pipe in his mouth, Rufus watched the expressive little face in the firelight.

"This poor son got sadder and sadder without his mother, and the little spirit—was it? No—sprite—she used to wipe his tears away and try to comfort him, but she couldn't, and so one day she flew away to his mother and whispered in her ear all about her poor, sad son. And the mother—she sat up straight in her chair, and she said, 'Tell him I'll come to him when he is ill,' so the sprite flew back, but she couldn't make the son ill though she tried hard. She put pins and stones in his coffee and tea; she pushed him downstairs to break his leg; she poured a can of cold water over him when he wasn't looking, but it was no good. And then she remembered it was God who made people ill, so she prayed to Him, and God sent the son some scarlet fever. Then he was very ill, and the doctor said he must die, so the sprite flew to his mother, and she came, and the son put his arms round her neck, and said, 'Mother, I'll be a clergyman now,' and then God made him better, and he went home and lived happily ever after."

"And what about the sprite?"

"Oh, she went back to the buttercups—she lived in one. A sprite is a fairy, isn't it?"

"This one was not. I will finish the story. She grew up to be a beautiful lady, and the son married her. Isn't that a proper ending? He took her to a beautiful home, and they lived happily ever after."

Greta shook her head.

"Becca says married people are the worst off people in all the world. She says everybody's troubles begin when they marry."

Rufus laughed scoffingly.

"Becca is an old maid. They all talk like that. Ask her one day if anybody has asked her to marry them, and see what she says."

"Becca says life is an effort when you aren't married, but when you are, it's a battle!"

The child delivered Rebecca's sentiments with such emphasis and gravity that Rufus laughed again.

"We'll leave Rebecca, I don't find her interesting. Talk of something else."

Greta looked up at him thoughtfully.

"Are you earning your living?" she asked.

"Yes; I am managing it first-rate, and saving a little as I go along. You don't know what a screw I have become."

"Who are you saving it for? Your mother?"

Rufus smiled a little bitterly.

"My mother is very comfortable. She wants nothing that I can give her."

"Are you saving it for God?"

Rufus looked startled; then he laughed.

"You're the funniest little mortal I have ever come across! For whom should I save money if not for myself? Haven't I the best right to it? Isn't it mine for good and all? I am my own master, and I intend to be. My life is what I shall choose to make it. I am not going to rust in this country town for long; it is only the first step in the ladder. You wait till I am a rich man, Greta, and then you will know the worth of my savings!"

"I thought people who saved money for themselves were called misers," said Greta, with a puzzled look; "and Becca says we live for other people, not ourselves!"

"Hang Rebecca!"

Rufus's tone was irritable; then seeing he had frightened the child, he went on—

"I am saving my money for my future wife, Greta. I shall spend it on a nice house for her, and make her happy and comfortable for the rest of her life."

"Where is she?"

"I don't quite know. Somewhere in the world, I suppose; but I haven't met her yet."

They chatted on, and Greta went home that night with fresh thoughts and ideas circulating through her busy brain.

"That dragon is training her to be a cold-blooded prig!" was Rufus's mental ejaculation. "And yet how pretty the little mite looks as she repeats her nurse's denunciations!"

As spring came, and following it the summer, many were the expeditions that Rufus made with his little friend; and his happy, light-hearted buoyancy infected the old-fashioned little maiden to such a degree that her mother hardly knew her sometimes when her merry laugh rang through the house.

"I think," Rufus said to Greta one Saturday afternoon as he lay in the depths of a bluebell wood and watched her careering round the bushes after a butterfly, "that we have mutually benefited and improved each other by our 'unequal friendship,' as Becca terms it. I have made you younger, and you have made me older. There was room for improvement in both of us!"

Greta stopped her play and regarded him seriously.

"I don't quite understand you; but Becca says I'm getting a romp."

"And I am becoming a prig," responded Rufus, a laughing light in his dark eyes as he spoke; "but your wise speeches are making me think. Imagine my musings in such a heavenly scene as this, to be upon life, and how to use it without wasting it! Come along, we will have a game of hide-and-seek!"

There were times when, as he said, the little, old-fashioned maiden startled him by her earnest views of life; and though her remarks were often only repetitions of Becca's theories, they were none the less sapient and convincing.

CHAPTER III

HIS STORY INTERRUPTED

GRETA'S MEDITATIONS.

ONE Sunday morning Greta tripped across to Rufus to ask him to take her to church.

"Mother isn't well, and Becca is going to stay at home with her. I don't like going alone: may I go with you?"

"I wasn't thinking of going this morning," Rufus responded; "it is too lovely a day to be cooped up within four walls; but I'll come with you, if you like."

She waited till he had donned his Sunday coat, and then trotted contentedly by his side up the country lane leading to the old village church.

"Do you like going to church?" she asked, presently.

"I don't know that I do. One goes from force of habit generally. It is a mere form to me."

"What is a form? A wooden seat without a back, isn't it? You don't like the seats, I s'pose?"

Rufus laughed.

"What takes you to church, Greta?"

Greta's face assumed a sweet, serious air.

"To meet God," she replied, softly. "It's rather a long time to sit still, but I like to sing and listen to the organ; and in the sermon I look about for God."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, I like to look up high in the roof till I fancy He is looking down; and when I seem to know He is there, I just speak to Him a little in a whisper, you know. I don't mean say my prayers; but I tell Him little things that Becca wouldn't call proper if I put them in my prayers."

"What kind of things?"

Greta did not answer for a moment, and Rufus, looking down upon the sweet little face felt an awe as he realized that this tiny child had no difficulty in holding communion with the Almighty God, the Creator of the Universe.

When she spoke again, it was in very sober accents.

"We have had a death in our family to-day."

Rufus looked startled.

"Not any near relation, I hope?"

"He was a very dear friend—Peter—my canary. He was ill yesterday, but I thought he was sulky. He wouldn't eat his food, and this morning I found him quite dead at the bottom of his cage. I cried dreadfully, for I loved him next best to our cat 'Toodles.' Peter was so good; he would always sing to me when I chirped to him, even if it wasn't a sunny day, and it must be difficult to sing when one is dull, and it is raining and people are very grave round one. I'm sure Peter was a bird who tried to live for others, and please them and cheer them up. Mother often used to say, 'I wonder what makes him so happy?' Becca says you can often sing yourself into a good humor, if you try, but I've never heard her sing."

"I should not think she carries her precepts into practice," said Rufus, with a grim smile. "You wouldn't call her a person whose aim in life was to please other people and cheer them up!"

"Well," said Greta, gravely; "she told me once you mustn't go by outside looks. Some people are born into the world with grave faces, and some with sunny ones, and you can't alter your looks. It is the heart, she says, and your motives and pinnacles that are the important thing!"

"Motives and principles," murmured Rufus, smiling.

Greta did not notice his correction, and went on: "I suppose there are hardly any people who only live to please themselves, are there, Mr. Tracy?"

"A good many, I think. And after all, why should we not? If we are single men and women with no family ties, who is there to think of except ourselves?"

"I thought God told us in the Bible we weren't to do it," said Greta a little shyly. "Becca is always saying it to me—'For none of us liveth to himself.'"

"Oh, well, if we gauged our life by the Bible, I suppose the world would be a different place," said Rufus, lightly. "Is that your motto, Greta? I fancy your training is leading you that way."

"No, I'm always wanting to please myself, but I do try to help Becca dust our room and wash up the things instead of playing with Toodles first. When I grow up I shall find it quite easy to live for others, shan't I? It's only when you want to play or have a run, instead of sitting still that it's so difficult; I s'pose all children can't help being naughty sometimes, but of course grown-up people never are."

Rufus flicked off some heads of dandelions with his cane without replying. The child continued with a quick change of thought, "I'm going just to tell God in church to-day about Peter. Do you think He will feel sorry?"

"I should think so," replied Rufus, absently, and having reached the church by this time, the conversation was at an end, but the young man was occupied with more serious thoughts than usual during the service.

It was not long after this, that Rufus was sent on a confidential mission to London by his chief. He departed suddenly, and thought it would only be an absence of a couple of days, but three weeks elapsed before he was able to return.

He looked out for his little friend on her way to school the next morning, but was astonished to see no sign of her. The house opposite seemed silent and deserted. As he sat down to dinner in the evening he asked his landlady if she had seen anything of her.

"Oh, sir! I was about to tell yer! The poor lady died awful sudden two days after you left. She allays had bin a sufferer, but they didn't think the end so near. And the nurse and child left a week arter the funeral. She allays were a proud stuck up creature was that nurse—and kep' it wonderful close where she was agoin' to, and what she was agoin' to do! Why, Mrs. Green, she says to me herself, that she had her head nearly snapped off, when she asked the most innercent question about the poor little lamb! And she's to be pitied the little dear with such a tartar a carryin' her off, and she not allowed to come across and even wish me good-bye! And I seed her little white sad face as they were druv off in a cab, and she rekernized me and blew me a kiss with a ghost of a smile. Bliss her little heart! We shall miss her trottin' across, sir, shan't us?"

"Was Mrs. Clay buried here?" asked Rufus, too bewildered at first to take it all in.

"Yes, sir, in the village churchyard. Our clergyman were backward and forward a good bit at the time. There didn't seem no friends nor relatives at the funeral—just a gentleman in black who looked very stern and 'aughty; but he left d'rectly arterward, and he might 'a' bin the lawyer, though I did hear she had nought to leave, poor lady, and it's my belief they was pressed for hunger at the time, from what Mrs. Green have told me!"

Rufus dismissed his landlady rather abruptly. To the lonely young fellow, the little child had come as a ray of sunshine; not only bringing a fresh interest into his life, but awakening better feelings and creating higher aims in his soul by her simple faith in God and His Word. He felt bereft without her, and recalled his last conversation with her on the road to school.

"You will be back next Saturday, won't you, Mr. Tracy? And we will go to the woods and take our tea with us. I shall feel quite funny walking to school alone again."

"Will you miss me, Greta?"

She had looked up at him with a serious smile. "I shall not always have you, shall I? When I get bigger and go away from here, I shall be accustomed to walk alone. Becca says it is only the weak sickly trees that want props, a healthy one can grow alone. She says I must go through life without props. Do you think you're a kind of prop, Mr. Tracy? If you are, I think props are very nice, but when I am grown-up I suppose I shan't want you."

"I hope you will never cast off old friends, Greta."

And then the soft eyes had filled with tears, and she slipped her tiny hand into his.

"I've never had such a friend like you, so good and big and strong, and I'll never forget you if I am a hundred years old, but you won't be long away, will you? And you'll come back very soon."

And now—when should they meet again? Had they already drifted apart in the wide world, and would the sweet, old-fashioned child become only a pleasant memory of a little bit of the road in his life's journey?

With these thoughts he wandered out in the summer dusk to the little village churchyard.

He had no difficulty in recognizing the grave: a fresh mound of earth at the foot of an old yew tree, with some faded bluebells placed in the centre was all that was left to mark the last resting-place of poor Mrs. Clay. Rufus stooped and gently detached one of the little faded bluebells. He knew the dell in the wood that they came from, and pictured a lonely little figure in a black frock stealing away under the thickly hanging trees, to sob out her desolation amongst her favorite flowers.

"Poor little mite, fatherless and motherless, and only that she-dragon with a face and heart of stone, to turn to for sympathy or comfort. I wonder what will become of her! Will her future life continue to be one of such dreary hardship and stern surroundings at that to which she has always been accustomed!"

Then with a sigh and a smile he placed the bluebell in his pocketbook with the muttered words, "Good-bye to my first courtship! We have drifted apart as suddenly as we met!"

CHAPTER IV

OLD FRIENDS

FIFTEEN years after.

A London drawing-room on a bright spring afternoon. It was Lady Chatterton's at home day, and the room was fairly filled with well-dressed men and women; the hostess moving in and out amongst them with that nameless charm of tone and manner that made her so popular in society.

Standing by the entrance door were two men, one a fresh arrival, who looked around him with amused curiosity.

"I am not a society man," he was saying to his friend; "and it always strikes me at these kind of gatherings what an awful waste of time it is. I am not at home amongst perfumed silks and satins."

"Nonsense, man! Now you are known as old Sir Peter's heir, you will be made welcome anywhere. Dozens of these young ladies will be charmed to make your acquaintance."

"Who is that girl in grey by the window?" asked the former speaker, rather abruptly.

"She is Lady Chatterton's niece. Fresh at it, as you see. This is the beginning of her first season. I took her into dinner last night, and I assure you her conversation was original in the extreme. She has very serious views of life, and credits all these men and women of fashion with the same noble sentiments as herself. Would you like to be introduced? Come along."

A moment after, and Rufus Tracy was by the side of a tall graceful girl, who turned at once and spoke to him in sweet, measured tones. She was strikingly beautiful, with delicately-cut features, and soft dark eyes that seemed to view her surroundings somewhat wistfully, as if seeking for something that she had not found. She was perfectly self-possessed and at ease amidst the throng; yet her thoughts seemed far-away, and she answered Rufus's two or three casual remarks so absently that he could not help smiling.

"Are you in town for long?" he asked.

Then she looked at him gravely.

"I am leaving it to-morrow."

"So soon? Then you are only a bird of passage. I don't expect you care about town, do you? I hate it."

"I think I like it. There is so much to see and hear—so much to interest one; but I am going to stay with an old aunt who lives in the country. She wants me at once."

"I wonder Lady Chatterton can spare you."

The girl smiled. "I am afraid she is not pleased about it, as it alters all her plans for me. But my aunt, Mrs. Warren, is old and lonely, and now very unwell, so, of course, her claims come first."

"Rather hard lines for you."

"Oh, no. I would rather be with those who really need me. There is no self-denial in it. Derbyshire is a lovely county, and I shall enjoy the change. I shall not be far from Haddon Hall."

Rufus looked interested at once.

"Why, that is very near to my place," he said. "Perhaps we shall meet again; for I am on my way there now."

She shook her head.

"My Aunt Catherine lives very quietly, and does not go into society—she is too much of an invalid."

Conversation turned into other channels, but all the time she was speaking Rufus was strangely conscious that he had met her before. Where had he seen those wistful dreamy eyes, and those resolute yet delicately sensitive curves about lips and chin? He left Lady Chatterton's that afternoon, perplexed and puzzled, yet deeply interested in her niece.

A fortnight later, he was striding over a Derbyshire moor with his dogs, when he suddenly was conscious of a girlish figure in front of him. She was vainly trying to detach some golden bloom from the prickly gorse, and he watched her ineffectual efforts with some interest. As he came up, she turned her head, and he recognized her at once as the one who had lately been so much in his thoughts.

"Are you by yourself?" he asked, after their first greetings had been exchanged.

"Yes," she said, brightly; "my aunt rests in the afternoon, and then is my opportunity for a good brisk walk. Isn't this a glorious moor?"

He smiled. "It is too dreary for me. Rather a change from the London streets, isn't it?"

"It is a very pleasant change. I am not going to pose as a martyr, though Lady Chatterton did regard me in that light, I think."

"Do you always put the claims of others before your own?" asked Rufus, lightly. "I wonder if you are one of the people born to help others?"

She looked at him with an odd expression, and knitted her brows into a reflective frown, as she said quietly—

"I think we are all born to do that."

"I was told once," Rufus said, "that there were only two sorts of people in the world: those born to be helped, and those born to help them. I have often thought of it since, and wondered in which class I am ranked."

The girl looked at him with half-parted lips, then gazed away over the moor with her most dreamy air.

"That saying was one I was accustomed to hear when quite a tiny child," she said, slowly; "I was brought up to believe that I was to go through life as a protector and helper of others. I have never lost some of my childish aspirations. I have a strange feeling when I meet any fresh acquaintance—'Now, what can I do to help you?' And though I found quite early in life that there were people waiting to protect and help me, I can never forget the revelation it was to me."

Rufus looked steadfastly into the sweet face by him, and then asked rather emphatically—

"And to whom do you owe such an original training?"

"To a very old and valued nurse."

"Named 'Becca'?"

She started; then a flash of recognition lit up her soft eyes.

"Can you be—? I think you must be the Mr. Tracy that brought such sunshine into my childish days. Now I know why I have felt so strangely at home with you from the first moment you spoke to me."

A RECOGNITION.

Her face was radiant, and Rufus said with slight embarrassment, "I can hardly believe I am speaking to the identical little Greta, and yet you are strangely the same in voice and manner. I often wondered if I should ever meet my child-friend again; how long ago it seems!"

There was much to ask and explain. Greta's story was simply told.

"At my mother's death her relations came forward at once. She had offended them by marrying my father, who was a struggling country doctor; and after his death she was too proud to go to them for help. Rebecca wrote to my aunt, Lady Chatterton, the day after my mother was taken from us; and she responded as soon as she was able, for she was abroad at the time. Rebecca and I went to her town house, and from there I was sent to a boarding-school. I used to spend my holidays alternately with Lady Chatterton and Mrs. Warren, with whom I am staying now. But my home is now supposed to be with Lady Chatterton."

"Your vocation in life is not that to which you used to look forward," said Rufus, with a smile.

"I sometimes wish it were," was the quiet response. "I have a longing to be up and doing. And yet I suppose we are never placed in any sphere where we cannot be a help to some one."

"The maxims of the redoubtable Becca are still with you!"

Greta's face was full of grave sweetness as she answered, "Rebecca took most of her maxims from the oldest book in the world, and taught me to do the same."

"And little Greta passed the teaching on to a thoughtless young man," Rufus said, an earnest, far-away look coming into his eyes. "I have to thank that little child for putting before me higher aims and motives than those of merely accumulating wealth and making a position in the world for myself."

There was silence for a moment, then Rufus said in a lighter tone, "And now let me tell you my story. You remember my circumstances? I shall never forget the interest you took as a tiny child in the fate of the boy who left home because he could not carry out his mother's wishes."

"I remember," said Greta, a soft color coming into her cheeks, "I used at that time to think of him as some unknown hero, and it was only long afterward that I associated him with yourself. Your circumstances, like mine, have surely changed?"

"Yes; I only stayed a couple of years at that bank, and then I went abroad as manager of a foreign branch. I got acquainted at Cairo with an eccentric old bachelor, Sir Peter Vivian, and to my amazement last year, when he died, I found he had made me his heir, and left me his property down here."

"And your mother?" questioned Greta, with some hesitation.

Rufus's face grew dark and stern as he said, shortly—

"I have not seen her for sixteen years. She has been travelling abroad."

"Does she know of your good fortune?"

"Yes; she wrote to congratulate me, and gave me an invitation forthwith to go and see her."

"And you did not do so?"

"Why should I? Prosperity brings many friends, and then it is one least cares about them."

Greta looked pained at the bitterness of tone.

"She is your mother," she said, softly; and seeing it was a painful subject she turned to talk of other things.

A short time after, Rufus was walking homeward with knitted brows and determined, closed lips. Yet a softened smile came over his face as he entered his own gate, and he muttered under his breath, "My little Greta! I will win her and no other!"

CHAPTER V

HIS STORY FINISHED

IT was not long before Rufus called upon Mrs. Warren, who was a gentle, fragile old lady, and reminded him much of Greta's mother. She assured him he would always be welcome at her house, and he was soon a constant visitor there.

"Greta is a capital nurse," Mrs. Warren said to him one day. "She makes me more comfortable than any one else, and I fear I am selfish in keeping her from London gaiety, but I do not think it will be for very long."

"You will be better soon," the young man said, cheerfully.

But Mrs. Warren shook her head.

And Greta hastened to say, "Aunt Catherine, you know I love to be with you, so don't talk of keeping me from gaiety."

"How is it," Rufus said one day, as they walked across the moor together, "that duty and right is such a strong principle with you? Do you put it all down to your early training? I don't believe your own wants or wishes are ever consulted. I am longing to hear you say, 'I like, I want, I shall have,' but I listen in vain for the words."

"I don't think I ever do want anything different to what I have," Greta replied, laughing. "You see I am so happily circumstanced!"

"Is there nothing that you wish for? Are you perfectly content to live your life exactly as it is at present?" demanded Rufus, a little eagerly.

"Yes, as it is," was the quiet reply. "I know, of course, that changes will come—they must; but I have given over my life into another's keeping, and He is managing it for me."

"You are too good for this world," responded Rufus, gloomily.

But Greta's clear laugh reassured him. "Does that speech sound priggish? I do not mean I am beyond all earthly desires. I have one very strong one, and I am hoping it may be granted one day."

"May I hear what it is?"

Rufus's face was turned toward her expectantly; and for a moment, Greta's soft eyes met his steadily, then she looked away, and her words fell upon his ear with slow emphasis.

"It is that you should be reconciled to your mother."

There was silence for some minutes between them.

At last he said, slowly:

"Do you care so much?"

"It saddens me," she responded. "Family quarrels seem such a terrible thing, and coldness between a mother and son so unnatural. Why should you refuse to be reconciled when the first overture comes from her?"

"One can't forget," he said; "the past is always before me."

"Yes, but that fact should make us careful of the present, should it not? You will not like in years to come to remember that you refused to see your mother. Don't laugh if I give you a remark of Rebecca's. 'People must have sad memories through life, but they need not have remorseful ones!'"

Rufus smiled. "What has become of Rebecca, is she still living?" he asked, trying to turn the conversation.

"Yes, she lives with a brother in London, and when I feel in want of advice I always turn to her. I have written to tell her of our meeting each other again."

"And how has she taken it?"

A pretty blush came to Greta's cheeks, and she replied with her light laugh:

"You know she always considered our acquaintance rather an improper one. She accused me of picking up a strange young man on the road, and I never shall forget the feeling of shame that came over me when she added that only a very bold and forward child could have done it."

"But I think it was quite the other way. I think it was I who picked you up, wasn't it?"

And then they both laughed at the remembrance of that stormy morning in March.

Only a few weeks later to this Mrs. Warren was suddenly taken worse, and after a week's prolonged suffering passed quietly away; Greta being with her to the last. Lady Chatterton came down from town, and after the funeral took Greta back with her, so for a time Rufus and the latter drifted apart. He heard that she had gone abroad with her aunt; then that she was visiting in Scotland; but when he gathered that the family were again in town, he left Derbyshire, and anxiously and expectantly made his appearance again in London society.

And it was at another social gathering that he next saw her.

She looked tired and sad, though her face brightened at the sight of him.

"I cannot stand town life," she confided to him with something of her old childish manner. "I thought I should like it so much at one time, but I have been so disappointed. I feel I want to breathe physically and mentally, and if I were a free agent I would run away from it all."

"And why don't you?"

"My aunt needs me. She is getting old, and says I make the house brighter. She has had a lonely life, for my uncle is so busy with politics that he is hardly ever with her; so it would be cruel to leave her. You see I have learned to grumble; but your face brought back that sweet Derbyshire moor. Have you left it for long?"

"I don't know," was the blunt reply.

"I am so glad to see you in town," Greta went on a little eagerly. "I have wished so much to meet you. Can you come to tea with us to-morrow afternoon? My aunt is having a few friends, and she will be delighted to see you."

"I will come with the greatest pleasure."

And Rufus went away feeling this eager welcome was more than he expected.

The next afternoon found him at Lady Chatterton's. Greta greeted him brightly, but seemed nervous and ill at ease. There were a good many guests, and her time was naturally absorbed in entertaining them. Rufus could hardly get a word with her, and was about to depart rather gloomily when she came up to him.

"Mr. Tracy," she said, softly laying her hand on his arm, "I want you to come with me into the other room and be introduced to a great friend of mine—a very great friend of mine she is—and—and I want you to promise to be your true self with her."

Greta's light touch thrilled through him; and though he wondered at her words, he followed her obediently into the smaller drawing-room.

A grey-haired woman seated by the window turned round at their approach; and Rufus found himself face to face with his mother.

Greta stole away; she knew from the softening lines about the young man's face as he looked at the one who had been his boyhood's ideal of all that was good and beautiful, that his pride was now being placed in the background, and a deep content crept into her heart.

Later on Mrs. Tracy came forward, leaning on the arm of her son.

"Greta, my dear, I am going home. Will you bid adieu to Lady Chatterton for me? I am a little upset, as you can imagine, but Rufus is going with me."

Mrs. Tracy's eyes were tearful, and Greta watched mother and son depart with wistful eyes.

She did not see Rufus for several days, and then he called, finding her alone in the drawing-room.

"I can never thank you enough," he said, with feeling, "for what you have done. I look back now and see that it was my headstrong will, my obstinate pride and bitter words, that were the cause of our estrangement, and that led to my leaving home. I have harbored wrong thoughts, and suppressed all right feeling for years, and I do not deserve to have all this put straight now."

"And is your mother going to Derbyshire with you?"

"Very shortly."

"How happy you will be together."

The words escaped her involuntarily.

Rufus drew a step nearer her.

"Greta, don't you know that I shall never be happy without you there?"

Greta was silent; but a pink flush stole over her cheeks. He went on in a nervous, hurried tone—

"Do you remember our story long ago; how the little sprite made peace between mother and son? Do you remember the end of the story?"

Greta looked out of the window as she answered—

"She went back to the buttercups, did she not?"

"That was your ending, not mine."

"I think it was a very nice ending."

"But not the fact."

Silence again, broken by such earnest pleading that Rufus gained the day, and with a simple, childlike grace, Greta looked up and placed her hand in his.

"And now take me to your mother."

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Table of Contents

- What The Wind Did
- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE