CHAPTER III

A Pair of Robins

THERE were three houses the windows of which looked into the old churchyard. Audrey and her aunt lived in one, Stephen and his father in another, but the third had long been empty. The windows were covered with dust, and the spiders and beetles had taken possession of it, just as they had done of the old church. However, to the children's astonishment, when they came back from watching the swallows on Stephen's birthday, they saw that the window of the empty house had been thrown wide open.

"Who can be inside? Dare you go and look, Audrey?"

"Yes, I'm not afraid," said the child; and leaving Stephen sitting on a flat tombstone, she went up to the window and peeped in.

"Who did you see?" said the little boy, when she came back.

"I saw nobody but a mouse," said Audrey, "a little grey mouse, sitting in the corner and eating a bit of bread; but the floor is all washed and clean, and the cobwebs are gone, and I saw a letter lying on the window-sill."

"Who can be there?" said Stephen. "We must watch and see."

They had not long to wait, for that very afternoon a man's face appeared at the window. He was a tall man, dressed in black, quite a gentleman, Audrey thought him. He was an old man, for his hair was very white, and he stooped a little; but he was very active in spite of his age, and his bright dark eyes seemed to be taking in all he saw at a glance. He only looked out for a minute, but as Audrey and Stephen crept nearer, they saw that he was very busy. He put down a bright-coloured carpet on the floor, and brought in a large, leather easy-chair and a little round table, and placed these close to the window, and he hung a canary in its cage just over the casement. Then he nailed up white muslin curtains, and Audrey and Stephen thought the old house looked very pretty, and were glad that some one had come to live in it.

"Will he live by himself, Stephen, do you think?" said Audrey.

But before Stephen had time to answer, Aunt Cordelia's voice was heard calling—

"Now, Audrey, tea-time! What about your pinafore?"

The pinafore was quite clean this time, and Audrey went in with a light heart; and as a reward for keeping clear of dirt, she was allowed to play with Stephen again after tea. She was eager to get out, that she might catch another glimpse of her old man, as she called him; but she found the shutters closed, and she and Stephen could only watch the flickering of the bright light inside.

"He's got a fire," said Stephen; "look at the smoke coming up out of the chimney."

"And he's got a lamp, too," said Audrey. "Look, you can see it through the crack in this shutter."

[Illustration: "THERE'S SOME ONE SITTING IN THE WINDOW!" HE SAID.]

"Listen—" said Stephen. "What is he doing?"

The sound of hammering came again and again from the room, the window of which looked into the churchyard.

"He's putting up his pictures," said Audrey. "How pretty it will look in the morning!"

There was, however, no time for her to peep at it before school; but when she came home at twelve o'clock, she found Stephen full of excitement.

"There's some one sitting in the window, and I can't make out who it is," he said. "I can see something white, and it moves, but it isn't the old man's head; it's too white for that."

"Why don't you go and look?" said Audrey.

"I daren't," said Stephen; "I waited for you, Audrey."

The little girl went on tip-toe and peeped in.

"It's an old woman, Stephen," she reported, when she came back to him. "Such a pretty old woman, and she is sitting in that arm-chair, knitting, and she is smiling to herself as she knits. I wonder what she is thinking about that makes her smile. Come and look, Stephie."

Very, very quietly the two children crept to the window and peeped in.

"Is any one there?" said a pleasant voice.

But the children were so startled when she spoke, that they ran away and hid behind the bushes, and it was some time before they dared to venture again near the window.

"Is any one there?" said the kindly voice of the old woman. "I am sure I hear some little feet outside."

"Yes, ma'am," said Audrey; "it's me and Stephen."

"You and Stephen, is it?" said the old woman. "And what are you and Stephen like?"

Instead of answering, the two children put their heads in at the window.

How pretty it was inside that room! The walls were covered with pictures and photographs and coloured texts, a fire was burning in the grate, and in front of it lay a tortoiseshell cat fast asleep; the chimney-piece was adorned with stuffed birds and vases filled with grass, and on the round table was a large bunch of wallflowers, which filled the whole room with sweetness.

"Now then, what are you and Stephen like?" said the old woman, smiling again.

"Can't you see us, ma'am?" said Audrey.

"No, I can't see you," said the old woman quietly; "I'm blind."

"Oh dear, what a pity!" said little Stephen.

"No, not a pity," said the old woman, "not a pity, because the good Lord sees best; we must never say it's a pity."

"Can't you see anything?" said Audrey.

"Not a glimmer," said the old woman, "it is all dark now; but I can feel the warm sunshine, thank God, and I can smell these sweet flowers, and I can hear your bonny voices."

"I'm so sorry for you," said little Stephen, "so very, very sorry!"

"God bless you, my dear child!" said the old woman, and a tear rolled down her cheek and fell upon her knitting. "And now tell me who you are, and what you are like."

"I'm Audrey, please, ma'am," said the little girl, "and he's Stephen, and he's as good as my brother, only he isn't my brother—are you, Stephie? And he's got shaky legs, and he can't walk far; but he plays with me among the graves—don't you, Stephie?"

"And now, Stephen, what is Audrey like?" asked the old woman.

"She's got yellow hair," said little Stephen, "and she's nice!" And then he turned shy, and would say no more.

"Now," said the old woman, "you must often come and talk to me as I sit in my window, and you must tell me all you are doing. I know what to call you, but you must know what to call me. My name is Mrs. Robin, and you shall call me Granny Robin. I have some little grandchildren, but they live over the sea in America, so you must take their place."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Audrey. "Thank you, Granny Robin, I mean," she added, laughing.

That was the beginning of a great friendship between the two children and the new-comers. Mr. Robin had been a schoolmaster, and for many years had worked hard and lived carefully, so that in his old age he had saved enough to retire, and to take the old house, and make a comfortable home in it for himself and for his wife.

The rent was low, for few liked to take a house the windows of which looked out upon graves, but the schoolmaster made no objection to the churchyard. There were green trees in it, which would remind him of the pretty village where he had lived so long, and he did not mind the graves: he would soon be lying in one himself, and it was well to be reminded of it, he said. And as for his wife, she could not see the graves, but she could hear the twittering of the swallows that built under the eaves of the deserted church, and she could smell the lilac on the bush close to her window, and it would be a quiet and pleasant home for her until the Lord called her.

The only fear that the schoolmaster had had in choosing his new home had been lest his wife would miss the company to which she had been accustomed in the village where they were so well known. She had a large and loving heart, and there were very few in the village who did not come to her for sympathy both in joy and in sorrow. She knew the history of every one, and, one by one, they dropped in to tell her all that was going on in the village—countless little events which would have been of small interest to others, but which were of great interest to Mrs. Robin.

She sat at her knitting when the neighbours had gone, thinking over what she had heard, and carrying the sorrows of others, as she ever carried her own, to the throne of grace.

But Mr. Robin need not have feared for his wife. She had a happy, contented spirit. It is true she had felt sad at leaving her happy country home, but new interests were already springing up in the one to which she felt the Lord had brought her. Little Stephen with his shaky legs, and Audrey with her motherly care over him, had already won Granny Robin's heart, and the children from that time spent a very large part of their playtime in talking to their new friend, as she sat at her window knitting.