Chapter 2

Itwasaweeklater.Philipwassittingonthefloorinthedrawing-roomatMissWatkin’shouseinOnslowgardens.Hewasanonlychildandusedtoamusinghimself.Theroomwasfilledwithmassivefurniture,andoneachofthesofaswerethreebigcushions.Therewasacushiontooineacharm-chair.Allthesehehadtakenand,withthehelpofthegiltroutchairs,lightandeasytomove,hadmadeanelaboratecaveinwhichhecouldhidehimselffromtheRedIndianswhowerelurkingbehindthecurtains.Heputhiseartothefloorandlistenedtotheherdofbuffaloesthatracedacrosstheprairie.Presently,hearingthedooropen,heheldhisbreathsothathemightnotbediscovered;butaviolenthandpulledawayachairandthecushionsfelldown.

“Younaughtyboy,MissWatkinWILLbecrosswithyou.”

“Hulloa,Emma!”hesaid.

Thenursebentdownandkissedhim,thenbegantoshakeoutthecushions,andputthembackintheirplaces.

“AmItocomehome?”heasked.“Yes,I’vecometofetchyou.”

“You’vegotanewdresson.”

Itwasineighteen-eighty-five,andsheworeabustle.Hergownwasofblackvelvet,withtightsleevesand

slopingshoulders,andtheskirthadthreelargeflounces.Sheworeablackbonnetwithvelvetstrings.Shehesitated.Thequestionshehadexpecteddidnotcome,andsoshecouldnotgivetheanswershehadprepared.

“Aren’tyougoingtoaskhowyourmammais?”shesaidatlength.

“Oh,Iforgot.Howismamma?”

Nowshewasready.

“Yourmammaisquitewellandhappy.”

“Oh,Iamglad.”

“Yourmamma’sgoneaway.Youwon’teverseeheranymore.”Philipdidnotknowwhatshemeant.

“Whynot?”

“Yourmamma’sinheaven.”

Shebegantocry,andPhilip,thoughhedidnotquiteunderstand,criedtoo.Emmawasatall,big-bonedwoman,withfairhairandlargefeatures.ShecamefromDevonshireand,notwithstandinghermanyyearsofserviceinLondon,hadneverlostthebreadthofheraccent.Hertearsincreasedheremotion,andshepressedthelittleboytoherheart.Shefeltvaguelythepityofthatchilddeprivedoftheonlyloveintheworldthatisquiteunselfish.Itseemeddreadfulthathemustbehandedovertostrangers.Butinalittlewhileshepulledherselftogether.

“YourUncleWilliamiswaitingintoseeyou,”shesaid.“Goandsaygood-byetoMissWatkin,andwe’llgohome.”

“Idon’twanttosaygood-bye,”heanswered,instinctivelyanxioustohidehistears.

“Verywell,runupstairsandgetyourhat.”

Hefetchedit,andwhenhecamedownEmmawaswaitingforhiminthehall.Heheardthesoundofvoicesinthestudybehindthedining-room.Hepaused.HeknewthatMissWatkinandhersisterweretalkingtofriends,anditseemedtohim—hewasnineyearsold—thatifhewentintheywouldbesorryforhim.

“IthinkI’llgoandsaygood-byetoMissWatkin.”

“Ithinkyou’dbetter,”saidEmma.

“GoinandtellthemI’mcoming,”hesaid.

Hewishedtomakethemostofhisopportunity.Emmaknockedatthedoorandwalkedin.Heheardherspeak.

“MasterPhilipwantstosaygood-byetoyou,miss.”

Therewasasuddenhushoftheconversation,andPhiliplimpedin.HenriettaWatkinwasastoutwoman,witharedfaceanddyedhair.Inthosedaystodyethehairexcitedcomment,andPhiliphadheardmuchgossipathomewhenhisgodmother’schangedcolour.Shelivedwithaneldersister,whohadresignedherselfcontentedlytooldage.Twoladies,whomPhilipdidnotknow,werecalling,andtheylookedathimcuriously.

“Mypoorchild,”saidMissWatkin,openingherarms.

Shebegantocry.Philipunderstoodnowwhyshehadnotbeenintoluncheonandwhysheworeablackdress.Shecouldnotspeak.

“I’vegottogohome,”saidPhilip,atlast.

HedisengagedhimselffromMissWatkin’sarms,andshekissedhimagain.Thenhewenttohersisterandbadehergood-byetoo.Oneofthestrangeladiesaskedifshemightkisshim,andhegravelygaveherpermission.Thoughcrying,hekeenlyenjoyedthesensationhewascausing;hewouldhavebeengladtostayalittlelongertobemademuchof,butfelttheyexpectedhimtogo,sohesaidthatEmmawaswaitingforhim.Hewentoutoftheroom.Emmahadgonedownstairstospeakwithafriendinthebasement,andhewaitedforheronthelanding.HeheardHenriettaWatkin’svoice.

“Hismotherwasmygreatestfriend.Ican’tbeartothinkthatshe’sdead.”

“Yououghtn’ttohavegonetothefuneral,Henrietta,”saidhersister.“Iknewitwouldupsetyou.”

Thenoneofthestrangersspoke.

“Poorlittleboy,it’sdreadfultothinkofhimquitealoneintheworld.Iseehelimps.”

“Yes,he’sgotaclub-foot.Itwassuchagrieftohismother.”

ThenEmmacameback.Theycalledahansom,andshetoldthedriverwheretogo.