CHAPTER II.

KATIE.

THE young Marlowes built up not only a snow-man, but a house of snow. Not that they finished it that day, but they began it in an empty corner of the rick-yard. When it grew too dark for even Hugh to declare that it was still quite light, and that they were all very lazy to talk of going in, the party ran off, warm with hard work and hungry as hunters. Frank and Hugh reached the porch first, and there waited for the two elders, who came ploughing through the snow, Lucy carrying little Paul, and Jem mounted on Harry's back.

"There 'll be more snow to-night," said Frank gleefully. "Look how grey and low the sky is."

"That's for a thaw," said Hugh. "We shall never finish the house, you'll see. Well, I never was so hungry in my life! Polly, if you trot into the parlour with your boots in that state, mother will be glad to see you, no doubt!"

Polly turned and scampered upstairs, followed by the rest with shouts and calls, and presently they all came down again with well-brushed hair, clean hands, clean shoes, and splendid appetites. Bread-and-cheese disappeared before them almost as if they had been made of snow, and the rosy young faces were so many suns.

Mr. Marlowe—the master, as he was usually called—sat at one end of the big table, and his pleasant-looking wife at the other. Beside her sat old Jasper, for whom a nice bowl of good soup was provided; but he did not take much of it this evening, and looked very grave and thoughtful. For a long time a kind of quiet indifference had been growing on the old man, but to-night every trace of this had disappeared, and he looked at the children from time to time with somewhat sad affection. They had been cautioned not to speak before him of the snow, or of their games in the garden and rick-yard, but he began the subject himself.

"You've been making a snow-man, boys. I saw him from my window."

"Yes, and a house, too," cried little Jem—"such a lovely house as it will be, with a window and a roof; only Hugh says it is going to thaw. Will it thaw to-night, Uncle Jasper?"

The elders looked a little anxious, but Jasper answered calmly—

"Not to-night, I hope, Jemmy. Now, if you've all had your supper, come and sit by the fire. I've a story to tell you—a story of the snow."

"A story!" said Lucy. "Why, that's nice, uncle. It will be like old times again. I always loved your stories."

"Old times?" Jasper repeated. "No, Lucy, it may never be like old times any more."

Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe glanced at each other, and the master said—

"You must not put yourself about, Uncle Jasper. You'll maybe do yourself harm."

"My mind is made up to it," the old man said. "I've been wrong this long time. I'll lay down my pride now, God helping me."

He rose, and Lucy ran to help him to his warm corner by the fire.

"Ah, little Lucy!" he muttered. "Maybe this is the last time."

The girl looked startled, but said nothing.

Uncle Jasper had until lately been a wonderful "story-teller," so the young people were not surprised, though much pleased, at his offering to tell them one now. The table was cleared, and then each took his favourite seat—Paul perched on his father's knee, Jem nestled close to his mother on a low stool, Harry and Frank together on an old-fashioned settle, and Hugh lying on his back on the rug. Lucy and her mother had their needlework, and the master had a book; but he did not open it, for he was somewhat curious, as well as anxious, wondering whether Jasper's long-kept secret were really about to be told, and wondering, too, if it were well for the children to hear it.

"Uncle Jasper," said he, "shall I send the boys to bed? Would you rather I did?"

"Why, he promised us a story!" cried little Paul, looking up.

"No; I wish them to hear. 'Twill be a lesson for them."

"Now I know 'twill be a stupid story," muttered Hugh. "Stories to do you good I hate! I shall go to sleep," and he closed his eyes.

"It's a long story," said old Jasper; "I shall hardly get through it to-night; but, if I'm spared, I'll tell it all—before the thaw. It happened when I was fifteen, and that is eighty years ago."

"My stars!" exclaimed Hugh, who was not asleep just yet.

"But I must begin even earlier than that, if I am to make my story plain—and I want to tell it all, plain and true. Well, this house and farm of Marlowe Hay belonged to Hugh Marlowe, whose name you've all seen on the monument over our pew in church. He was the last of the old Marlowes to whom this place had belonged for many generations. He married young, and his wife never had a child until they had been years and years married, and then she had a little girl, and died soon afterwards. He never married again, and so he got on in life; and being by nature a masterful man, and rough in his ways, he got to be more so, of course, with only farm-servants about him, and a child whom he spoiled a good bit. Well, at last he had a bad illness—a kind of rheumatic-fever—and he never was quite the same man again. And constant pain makes even good-tempered people crusty sometimes.

"However, he began to think that he ought to settle his worldly affairs. He was very rich, for his station in life; he could leave his daughter a good portion, even if he left Marlowe Hay away from her; and he bethought himself that he would like to adopt an heir who could take his name, and in due time marry Katie, if all went well. He had two cousins, and they were both married and had families: one was Mrs. Franks, and the other was Mrs. Helps. Mrs. Helps was my mother; she was a widow, and I was the only boy, and the youngest of the family. I remember the day his letter came as if it had been only yesterday—ay, maybe better."

"Why, Uncle Jasper! Your name is Marlowe," cried Frank.

"I've always borne that name—but my own right name was Helps. The letter was welcome enough, to my mother. I had been a sickly child, and, with my bad foot, would never be fit for much; and she was poor. She read me the letter. I was then twelve, and had never done a day's work in my life—I had been too often bad with my foot. But now my foot was well—it has never troubled me since, indeed—and I was running idle about the streets, making friends and learning habits that were not good for me. I got a taste for bad company, which you will see led me into harm afterwards."

"Were you lame then, Uncle Jasper?" inquired little Jemmy.

"Yes, even lamer than I am now; though, of course, I was stronger too. The letter said that Hugh Marlowe meant to adopt two boys. Harry Franks was to be one, and, if my mother liked, I should be the other. He said he knew that I had been a sickly child, but was better now, and the country life would make a man of me. He would provide for both boys; one should be his heir, and the other take place as a younger son; but both should be fairly provided for, even if he did not like either of them enough to leave Marlowe Hay to him.

"Says my poor mother, 'You're a handsome boy, Jasper, far handsomer than Ellen Franks's boy; but, then, he's an active, strong fellow, you know. Still, you're twice as clever as he, and if you use your brains, you'll be the heir. You'll have to be cautious, though, and make everybody fond of you; but I trust to you to use your brains and oust that big yellow-haired lad before long.'

"Now, I'm very sure my mother would never have said all this if she had known how I would take it all up, quite seriously,—I am sure of that. I knew Harry Franks a little. I had met him more than once, and liked him. And if I had been let alone, maybe Harry would have led me right—I might have been a different boy, and never had this story to tell at all."

"But who was Harry Franks?" asked young Harry Marlowe. "Were there three boys? You know I have heard about Hugh Marlowe adopting my grandfather before—but surely he was Harry Marlowe?"

"Mr. Marlowe said in his letter that both boys—if he liked them—were to take his name, and be in all respects as his own sons."

"So our name is really Franks," cried the boys. "How 'very' queer!"

"No, no; your name is Marlowe," said the old man testily. "Mr. Marlowe gave Harry his name. Well, where was I? Oh ay—I was sent off from Rochdale, where we lived, to Devonshire, and my mother took great pains to get me ready quickly, because she wished me to be 'first in the field,' she said. Not a word did Hugh Marlowe say in his letter about his daughter. So when I arrived here—it was in May, and the orchard was a sight the like of which I had never seen before—I was finely surprised when in the porch I met a little lass, with her hair hanging over her eyes and her lap full of flowers—such a pretty little lass! She stood in the porch with the house door open behind her—and says she,—

"'Are you one of my new brothers?'

"'I don't know,' said I. 'Who are you?'

"'I'm Katie Marlowe, of course—what a fool you must be! I shan't like 'you,' at all events. Why do you walk lame?'

"By this time the old man who had met me at the end of the lane—I came by coach, you know—had come into the porch, and he said,—

"'That's bad manners, Miss Kate. Take the lad to your father.'

"'Take him yourself,' says she, with a toss of her head that set her wild curls flying till her head looked something like my mother's mop when she twirled it; and she ran off into the house.

"'I mun take the powny round,' said old Jacob. 'You follow after she, lad; the master's in the parlour.'

"So I went in. I heard Katie's voice saying,—

"'He's lame, father—he has a crooked foot.'

"And then I pushed the door open and went in. Old Hugh Marlowe—I thought him wondrous old then, but I might have a son older than he was, at my present age—he was sitting in this very chair, over by the window yonder.

"And he said, 'Come here, boy.'

"So I went up to him.

"'A cripple!' says he. 'I ought to have been told of it. Which are you, now—Harry Franks or Jasper Helps?'

"Jasper Helps, sir,' said I; 'and I am not a cripple, indeed. I had something the matter with my foot, and it grew crooked; but I am well of it this long time.'

"'Ah, well!' said he. 'The deed is done now, and it was not your fault, so you shall have your chance fairly. Dost thou like him, Katie?'

"'No,' says Katie, 'I don't! I didn't ask you to catch any brothers for me—I did very well without any, and I don't like this one a bit.'

"'You'll have to put up with him,' he answered, with a laugh; 'and mind now, lassie, none of your tantrums before him. He'd think thee a wild savage if he saw thee dancing with rage as I saw thee this morning!'

"Well, we were soon friendly enough, the child and I. Ah, if I had only come here with no hidden thought in my mind, how happy I might have been! For Mr. Marlowe was not unkind, though rough in his manner, and if I hadn't been in such a hurry to please him, he'd have liked me better. I think he partly saw through me, but he never allowed it to make him unkind to me. And the little lass was one that any one must have loved, in spite of her wild ways and her bit of a temper. For she had a temper—many a red cheek and hot ear did her little hand give me, and she must be obeyed in all things. Well, a boy should be ready to give up to a girl, particularly a big boy to a little girl, and if I had done it without any secret plan, it would have been all right enough. But my whole aim was to make her so fond of me before Harry came, that she should think nothing of him.

"It was a fortnight, I think, before Harry came, and I believe he had been waiting to know when I was to go, that we might travel together. Katie and I were here, in this parlour, at our supper, when the door opened and in came Harry. And if you want to know what he looked like, just look at Frank; he's the most like him of any of you—more like him than his own son ever was. Only Harry looked grave and a trifle shy.

"'I am Harry Franks, sir,' said he to Mr. Marlowe, 'and my mother desires her best respects.'

"'Oh ho! So you're Harry, are you? Harry Marlowe from this time, mind you, boy. You're like your mother, and she was as honest-faced a lass as I ever saw. Show us your feet—ah! All right. You're welcome, Harry. Katie, you little goose, don't frown so—here's another playfellow for you.'

"But Katie had seen me turn red when her father said that about Harry's feet, and she only puckered her pretty forehead into a frown more than before, and made answer—

"'I shan't play with him. I don't like him. I like Jasper—I like his foot! I hate that great, big, yellow-haired boy! Send him away, father.'

"I felt full of triumph and satisfaction; but Mr. Marlowe only laughed and said—

"'All right, lassie; we'll see if you're of the same mind ten years hence. Never mind her, Harry; she said she hated Jasper when he first came, and she soon couldn't get on without him—she'll take to you soon enough.'

"With that, Katie got up and walked round the table to where Harry had taken a seat, and gave him a hearty box on the ear.

"'That's the way I shall take to him,' said she.

"Harry looked surprised, and then laughed and said, 'It is well for me that you have but a small hand, Cousin Katie.'

"'Don't call me cousin!' said Katie. 'Jasper may; but you must call me "Miss" Katie.'

"'Nonsense, girl!' said Mr. Marlowe. 'I'll have nothing of that kind here. Let me hear no more folly of this sort.'

"Katie knew better than to be saucy when her father spoke like that, so we finished our supper in silence; and then Mr. Marlowe sent Harry and me to our room, for Harry was falling asleep, he was so tired, and I might as well go too. Sleepy as he was, I saw Harry kneel down and say his prayers before he undressed, and when he was in bed, (we had the room over the porch), he said, 'Good night, Jasper. I hope we shall be good friends.'

"'We can't!' said I. 'We are rivals.'

"Harry stared at me. 'I don't understand,' said he; 'but maybe I shall when I am not so sleepy.' And he was sound asleep in a minute.

"I lay thinking, 'I was a fool to say that! I must keep friendly with him, for it is plain enough that Mr. Marlowe will be on his side.' Ah, dear! how plain it all comes back to me!"

"Indeed," said the master, "it's simply wonderful how you remember so well; and hearing it here, where it all happened, makes it better than a printed book. But, for all that, sir, we must not sit up all night—Jem and Paul are asleep, and it is getting late. You must go on with it to-morrow night, Uncle Jasper—that is, if you're inclined to do so; for you must remember that not one of us wants to hear another word, unless you wish to say it."

"Go to the door," said old Jasper, "and tell me is it freezing."

The master looked surprised; but, laying Paul on his mother's lap, he went out into the hall. Coming back, he said—

"Snowing hard and freezing too, uncle."

"Very good—then I can wait. I need not finish till the thaw comes."

The boys were looking at him in great surprise, for his strange manner almost frightened them.

He looked at them, and seemed to wake up.

"Go to bed, lads," he said, "and think over what I've told you, for I want you to remember this story as long as you live. Now answer me, boys. So far as we have gone, what was my fault, do you think? Speak out, mind—I want to hear your real thoughts."

"I don't think you had 'done' anything wrong," said Frank; "only thought it."

"And you, Hugh?"

"I couldn't say," answered Hugh gruffly.

"Was it that you were selfish, uncle?" said young Harry. "Was it wrong to want all for yourself?"

"What do you say, Lucy?" said old Jasper, turning to his favourite.

"It was very long ago," Lucy said, "and you are so different now that I can't quite believe that this boy ever was really you. But—was it that he was not quite true and honest?"

"I think it was," he said. "I think Lucy is right. Good night, children—I am tired with so much talking."

He left the room, leaning on the master, who always helped him to undress.

"Mother," said Harry, "is it all true?"

"I am sure it is; but I never heard the whole story before. I declare it is like a story in a book."

"Only, when a story is in a book one can read the whole of it," said Hugh, "and I know we shall never hear any more of this. He'll forget it, or he'll change his mind; and it's too bad, for, in spite of being for our good, I like the story—though I think he was a young sneak. And Katie was our grandmother, wasn't she?"

"Great-grandmother, to you. Your father's grandmother—he remembers her well. Off to bed now, boys, and mind you get up when the bell rings in the morning."

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