CHAPTER XV.

JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY.

Her voice was like music to my heart. With Jessie on one side of me, and my mother on the other, there was not a cloud on my life, nor room for one. I sat between them, now patting my mother's hand, now turning restlessly to Jessie, and looking at her in delight. But the change in the aspect of things was so sudden and unexpected, that it would not have much amazed me to see Jessie melt into thin air. This must have been expressed in my face, for Jessie, who was a skilful interpreter of expression, whispered,

'It is true; I have really come back.'

'I was doubting,' I said, in a similar low tone, 'whether I was asleep or awake.'

'Don't speak loud,' she said mockingly, 'don't look at me too hard, and don't blow on me, or you will find that you're only dreaming. Shall I pinch you?'

'No; I am awake, I know. This is the most famous thing that ever happened.'

'You were sorry when I went away, then?'

'I can't tell you how sorry; but you are not going away again?'

'I suppose not; I have no place to go to.'

There was a change in her manner; she was more thoughtful and sedate than usual, and her face was pale; but I noted these signs only in a casual way. To be certain that everything was right, I went out of the room to see if her box had been brought back. It was in its old place in my mother's bedroom. My mother had followed me.

'So you are happy again, my dear,' she said, as we stood, like lovers, with our arms around each other's waist.

'I _am_ glad, mother,' I replied, pressing her fondly to me; 'and so are you too, I know. But tell me how it all happened.'

'There is very little to tell, dear child. I was as surprised as you were. I was having tea when your uncle and Jessie came in suddenly; it gave me quite a turn, for Jessie, as you see, is in mourning.' (I had not noticed it, and I wondered at my blindness.) 'Your uncle looked worn and anxious, and they were both very tired, as if they had come a long distance. "I have not quite deserted you, you see," your uncle said. I told him how glad I was he had returned, and how anxious we had been about him. "And Jessie, too," I said. "I was afraid I was not to see her again." "You will see a great deal of her for the future," said your uncle; "she will live with us now. She must sleep with you, as there is no other room in the house for her." And that is positively all I have to tell, Chris, except that Jessie has been very quiet all the evening, and only showed her old spirits when your knock was heard at the street-door.'

'And Jessie has told you nothing, mother?'

'Nothing, dear child; and I have not asked.'

'You don't even know whom she is in mourning for?'

'No, my dear.'

Jessie was displaying more of her old spirits when my mother and I went downstairs; as we entered the room she was saying to uncle Bryan,

'I wish you would tell me what I _am_ to call you. I can't call you Bryan, and I don't like Mr. Carey. I could invent a name certainly, if I wanted to be spiteful.'

'What name?' he asked, in his rough manner.

'Never mind. You'd like to know, so that you could bark and fight. What _shall_ I call you?'

'Call me what you please,' he answered.

'Well, then, I shall call you uncle Bryan, as Chris does; I daresay I shall get used to it in time.'

Soon after this point was settled I found an opportunity to touch Jessie's black dress, and to press her hand sympathisingly. She understood the meaning of the action, and her lips quivered; she did not speak another word until she went to bed. The events of the evening had for a time driven from my head news which I had to tell, and which I knew would be received with pleasure. My errand-running days were over. My employer, whose name was Eden, satisfied with the manner in which I had performed my duties, had placed me on the footing of a regular apprentice, and I was to learn the art of wood-engraving in all its branches. A fair career was therefore open to me. It is needless for me to say how these glad tidings rejoiced my dear mother.

'Mr. Eden,' I said, 'has often asked to see my little sketches, and has been pleased with them, I think. He told me that he commenced in the same way himself, and he has given me every encouragement. He says that in three years I shall be able to earn good wages. Who knows? I may have a business of my own one day.'

And you have only yourself to thank for it, my dear child; said my mother, casting looks of pride around.

'No, mother; you are wrong. I have kept the best bit to the last. Mr. Eden has spoken of you a good many times--he has often seen you, you know, when you came for me of an evening--and I have told him all about you. When he called me into his office this afternoon, he said that I had you to thank for this promotion, and that I was to tell you so, with his compliments.'

'Why, my dear!' exclaimed my mother; Mr. Eden has never spoken one word to me.'

'But he has seen you,' interrupted uncle Bryan, the tone and meaning of his words being strangely at variance, and that is enough. Mr. Eden is right, Chris. Whatever good fortune comes to you in life, you have only one person in the world to thank for it.'

'I think so too, uncle.' His words softened me towards him, and I went to his side, and said gratefully, 'You have been very good to me, sir, also.'

'Psha!' he said, with an impatient movement of his head. 'Emma, if you will fill my pipe for me, I will smoke it.'

The pipe we had presented to him on his birthday had not yet been used, and my mother took it from the mantelshelf, filled it, and handed it to him. He received it with a kind of growl, implying that he had been conquered unawares, but he smoked it with much inward contentment nevertheless.

I was so excitedly happy when I went to bed that I was as long getting to sleep as I was on the night of Jessie's sudden disappearance. Here and there life is dotted with sunny spots, the light of which is but rarely entirely darkened, and had Jessie never returned, she might have dwelt in my mind as one of these; or--so surrounded with romance was her appearance and disappearance--I might have grown to wonder whether she was a creation of my fancy, or had really belonged to my life. But now that she was among us again, and was going to live with us, I felt as if a bright clear stream were flowing within me, invigorating and gladdening my pulses--a sweet refreshing stream within the range of which sadness or melancholy could find no place. Reason became the slave of creative thought, and within my heart flowers were blooming, the beautiful forms and colours of which could never wither and fade. Jessie had struck the key-note of my certain belief when she said, 'And now we are going to live happily together for ever afterwards.'

Curious as I was to know why she had returned to us in mourning, I held my tongue, out of respect for my mother's wish that we should ask no questions. Jessie's quieter mood soon wore away; little by little she introduced colour into her dress, and in three months she was out of mourning. I fancied now and then, as these alterations in her dress were made, that her manner towards uncle Bryan indicated an expectation that he would speak to her on the subject. But he made no remark, and noticed her the least when most she invited notice.

She changed the entire aspect of our house. It belonged to her to brighten, apparently without conscious effort, everything which came in contact with her. The contrast between her and my mother was very great. My mother's tastes, like her nature, were quiet and unassuming. Her hair was always plainly done, and, within my experience, she had never worn cap or flower; her dress was always of one sober tint; and her pale face and almost noiseless step were in keeping with these. If she had had the slightest reason to suppose that by placing a flower in her hair, and wearing a bit of bright ribbon, or by any other innocently-attractive device, she could have given me or uncle Bryan pleasure, she would have done so instantly; but, out of her entire disregard of self, no such thought ever entered her mind. Now Jessie was fond of flowers and ribbons, and was gifted with the rare faculty of knowing where a bit of colour, and what colour, would prove most attractive. From the most simple means she produced the most exquisite results. Her box was a perfect Pandora's box in its inexhaustible supply of adornments, and she was continually surprising us with something new, or something which she made to look like new. And she was by no means disposed to hide her light under a bushel. Everything she did must be admired, and if admiration did not come spontaneously, she was very prompt in asking or even begging for it. It was amusing to watch the tricksy efforts by which she strove to attract attention to anything she was wearing for the first time, however trifling it might be, or to the slightest change in the arrangement of her dress. Then, when her object was attained, she would ask, 'And do you really like it? Are you sure now?' or 'Would it look better so?' or 'What do you think of its being this way--or that?' I was the person whom she consulted most frequently; but I could see nothing to find fault with, and could never suggest any improvement; whereas uncle Bryan would shrug his shoulders, and mutter disparaging remarks, which never failed to provoke warm replies from Jessie. Then he would smile caustically, and hit her hard with words still more spiteful, or retire into his shell, according to his humour.

'We will have a world made especially for you, young lady,' he said--whenever he was disposed to be bitter, he called her young lady'--'a world full of ribbons and flounces and flowers and silk dresses and satin shoes, and everything else you crave for.'

'That would be nice,' she observed complacently.

'And you shall live in it all alone, so that your title to these nice things shall not be disputed.'

'That wouldn't do,' she answered promptly; 'what is the use of having nice things unless you get people to admire them?'

'We will have people made to order for you, then; people who shall be always admiring you and praising you and flattering you.' He rung changes on this theme for five minutes or so, and when he paused, she made a grimace, as if she had been compelled to swallow a dose of medicine. But this kind of warfare did not alter her nature. She coaxed my mother to buy a pair of pretty ornaments for the mantelshelf; she coaxed uncle Bryan--how she managed it, heaven only knows! but she was cunning, and she must have entrapped him in an unguarded moment--to allow her to buy a piece of oil-cloth for the table, and she herself chose the pattern; and in many other ways she made it apparent that a new spirit was at work in our household. She made the bedroom in which she and my mother slept the prettiest room in the house; pictures were hung or pasted on the wall; her own especial looking-glass was set in a framework of white muslin, daintily edged with blue ribbon. 'Blue is my favourite colour,' she said, as she stood, the fairest object there, pointing out to me some trifling improvement; 'it suits my complexion.' It is not difficult to understand how popular she soon became in the neighbourhood; admiring eyes followed her whenever she appeared in the narrow streets round about, and I would not have changed places with an emperor when I walked out with her by my side. If any one quality in her could have made her more precious to me, it was her feeling towards my mother.

'No one can help loving her,' said Jessie to me, in one of our confidential conversations. 'Is she ever angry with any one?'

'I think not,' I replied. 'Where another person would be angry, she is sorry. There isn't another mother in the world like mine.'

'Would you like me to be like her? Would it be better for me, do you think?'

I like you as you are, Jessie; I shouldn't like you to alter. There are different kinds of good people, you know.'

'I am not good.'

'Nonsense! you not good!'

'Your mother is, Chris; she never goes to bed without kneeling down and saying her prayers.'

'I know it, Jessie. And you?'

'Oh, I often forget--always when I go to bed before her. When we go together, I kneel down, and shut my eyes; but I don't say anything. I see things.'

On one occasion Jessie met me at the street-door when I came home from work, and led me with an air of importance into the sitting-room, where my mother sat in a new dress and a cap with ribbons in it. My mother blushed as I looked at her.

'She _would_ make me do it, Chris,' she said apologetically.

'Now doesn't she look prettier so?' asked Jessie.

There was no denying it; I had never seen my mother look so attractive, and I kissed her and told her so.

'That makes it all right,' cried Jessie, clapping her hands. 'All the time I was persuading her, she said, "What will Chris say?" and, "Will not Chris think it strange?"'

And Jessie pretended that something was wrong with the cap, and spread out a ribbon here and a ribbon there, and fluttered about my mother in the prettiest way, and then fell back to admire her handiwork.

'I want a new nightcap,' growled uncle Bryan, adding with a sarcastic laugh, 'but the ribbons in it must suit my complexion.'

The next night Jessie gravely presented him with a nightcap gaily decorated with ribbons. 'It will become you beautifully,' she said, with a demure look. When he crossed lances with her, he was generally vanquished.

Jessie explained to me the philosophy of all this.

'I like everything about me to look nice,' she said; 'what else are things for? Everybody ought to be nice to everybody. What are people sent into the world for, I should like to know--to make each other comfortable or miserable?'

I subscribed most heartily to this rosewater philosophy. Certainly, if Jessie had had her way, there would have been no heartaches in the world; no poverty, no sickness, no rags, no rainy days. The sun would have been eternally shining where she moved, and everything around her would have been eternally bright. The world would have been a garden, and she the prettiest flower in it.

In the mean time I was making rapid progress in my business. My great ambition was to become a good draughtsman; and I had learnt all that could be learnt in the school of art, which I had attended regularly for some time.

'Now sketch from nature,' the master said; 'I can do nothing more for you. You have a talent for caricature, but before that can be properly developed, you must learn figure drawing from the life.'

These words fired me, and I commenced my studies in this direction with my mother, who was always ready to stand in any uncomfortable position for any length of time, while I laboured to reproduce her. Perhaps I would come suddenly into the room while she was stooping over the fire, or standing on tiptoe to reach something from the top shelf of the cupboard. 'Stand still, mother,' I would cry; 'don't move!' And the dear mother would stand as immovable as a statue until I released her; and then, dropping her arms, or rising from her stooping posture, with a sigh of relief which she could not suppress, she would fall into ecstasies with my work, whether it were good or bad. Uncle Bryan was a capital study for me, and would smile cynically when I produced any especially ill-favoured sketch of his face or figure. It was but natural that I should make the most careful studies of Jessie; and she, not at all unwilling, posed for me half a dozen times a week, until my desk was filled with sketches of her in scores of graceful attitudes and positions. Her face was my principal study; and I sketched it with so many different expressions upon it, that before long I knew it by heart, and could see it with my eyes shut--smiling, or pouting, or looking demurely at me. Jessie inspected every scrap of my work, and very promptly tore into pieces anything that did not please her, saying she did not want any ugly likenesses of herself lying about. I made studies of her eyes, her lips, her ears, her hands; and we passed a great deal of time together in this way, to our mutual satisfaction. We were allowed full liberty; but I sometimes detected uncle Bryan observing us with a curiously pondering expression on his face. This did not trouble me however.