Chapter IX

Trials and Pleasures

Before Philip had fully recovered his health and strength, his uncle’s family had left the rectory and returned to their city home. The house was quiet enough then, and Aunt Delia feared that the boy would pine for his young cousins; but it hardly seemed as if he missed them. Although as long as they had stayed they had been objects of intense interest and admiration to him, it was almost a relief to have them go. The secret of this was the consciousness of his own ignorance which had been forced upon Philip by his cousin Marion’s silly desire to exhibit her own superior wisdom and accomplishments. The foolish girl had shown in so many ways her contempt for her cousin’s lack of education that the boy was quite unhappy in her presence, and the sight of a book caused him the most painful embarrassment. Aunt Delia, too kind herself to think her niece capable of wounding her cousin’s feelings, was but dimly conscious of the poor boy’s trouble of mind; indeed, she had been so anxious that Philip’s health should be firmly established that she had purposely delayed making any suggestions as to his settling down to study, and the rector had quite agreed to the wisdom of this delay. It was not until after the Nortons had gone that the dear old lady discovered the trouble which was preying on the mind of the sensitive child, whom she already loved as though he had been her own son.

Stepping into his room, one day, with a handsome volume of illustrated natural history, the dear old lady put it in his hands with the announcement that it was full of nice pictures.

He took it with a grateful smile, but tears which he could not control rushed to his eyes.

“What is it, dearie, what is it?” exclaimed kind Aunt Delia in amazement, taking him in her arms as if he had been a baby. “Is my boy fretting for his cousins? Poor fellow, it is lonely for you here with only the old folks.”

“No, no, no,” denied Philip emphatically, “I want no one but you. I never was used to young folks anyway.”

“Poor boy!” said Aunt Delia, kissing his pale, sad little face. “But you love your little cousins?”

“Oh, yes,” was the reply in a half whisper, as if it was almost irreverent to confess to such a feeling toward creatures so superior.

“Well, a year seems long to look forward to, but it soon passes by; and before we know it next summer will come, and then we shall have the girls again.”

Philip did not look as if the prospect gave him joy, and his aunt saw with puzzled surprise that it was so. She would like to have asked him why, but there was an odd, unchildlike reserve about him which she felt a delicacy in attempting to penetrate. To relieve what seemed like embarrassment upon his part, she dropped the subject and again turned to the book, which had not yet been opened.

“See,” she said, “here are lions and tigers, and all sorts of things that boys love to look at.” To her surprise, Philip pushed the book away and suddenly threw his arms around his aunt’s neck and buried his face on her shoulder.

“Oh, Aunt Delia!” he whispered; “I am so ashamed--a great boy like me, and not able to read.”

And then Aunt Delia saw it all in a flash--the boy’s shy reserve with his cousins, his embarrassment which at times had puzzled and distressed her.

“My dear boy!” she cried; “and it has troubled you so much that you are a year or two behind the other children! My poor foolish Philip!”

“It has made me wish many a time that I had never been born, or that my mother had taken me with her when she died,” murmured Philip, his hand still on his aunt’s shoulder.

“But, my dear, it is so easily remedied, this terrible ignorance which has made you so unhappy. Your uncle and I have only been waiting until you should be quite well and strong. But we will not wait another day. You shall have a governess as soon as we can find one who will be willing to undertake the education of such a silly, stupid boy,” and she pinched his flushed cheek with playful affection.

But Philip was not entirely reassured.

“A governess!” he said doubtfully. “Oh, but that will be another person to find out how ignorant I am!”

“But how else in the world will you ever learn?” asked Aunt Delia, smiling; “and besides I thought you wanted to study music, and the governess can give you lessons on the piano as well, you know.”

The expression of doubt on Philip’s face cleared instantly and he smiled radiantly. “Oh, Aunt Delia,” he cried, “it seems almost too good to be true! Do you suppose I shall ever be able to play like--like Marion?” And Aunt Delia smiled, but wisely said nothing. Only that same evening she nodded sagely when her husband remarked: “My dear, that boy has certainly a most remarkable talent for music.”

And so, indeed, he had, as well as what might be called an extraordinary musical memory. He remembered every tune he had heard his cousin play, and there was not one, even among the most difficult, that he did not pick out upon the old piano. Hesitatingly at first, with his head bent in the bird-like way that Lillie had noticed, his fingers would wander over the keys, touching the notes of the remembered air, then striking them with more assurance, and finally weaving around the familiar tune strangely sweet strains and chords. Listening to him sometimes, in the long twilight, Aunt Delia would find herself wiping the dimness from her glasses, and wondering at the strange power his untaught playing had to move her as no other music ever did.

Philip dearly loved to have her for a listener, for he knew his playing gave her pleasure, and his deep gratitude for her goodness to him made him rejoice that there was even one thing he could do to gratify her. They grew very confidential in the quiet hours they spent together, and Aunt Delia explored her memory for half-forgotten stories of her own youth, and once she was led on by the boy’s rapt interest in all she said to speak of the dear little children the Lord had blessed her with for a short time in her early married life, and then taken to Himself. Philip wept with her when she told of her sorrow and loneliness, and when she kissed him and called him the blessing of her old age, his heart swelled with proud pleasure at the thought of being any comfort to one so dear.

It had been a thoughtful suggestion of the rector’s that Philip should learn to read under his aunt’s guidance until a suitable teacher could be found, and from the time of Aunt Delia’s promise to teach him his health improved with wonderful rapidity, and the perseverance with which he devoted himself to the task of learning to read seemed to do him no harm, although his ambition led him to spend every spare moment over his books. He was so eager to learn that Aunt Delia went on in spite of her previous decision to teach him only to read, and, almost before she realized that she was doing it, found herself instructing her enthusiastic pupil in writing and most of the studies that are given to boys of his age.

He was so charmed with his own progress, and so radiantly happy to be able to read nearly as well as his cousin Lillie the books that she used to read to him, that he half forgot his dread of the impending governess with whom he was threatened.

She came at last, but there was nothing about her to frighten the most timid child that ever lived. She was the daughter of an old friend of the family, who, dying in a state of almost destitution, had left his daughters with no capital but good health and fine education for their future support. The elder of them had written to ask Dr. Norton’s advice about the steps to be taken to secure positions for herself and sister; and he, after consulting with Aunt Delia, at once offered the situation of governess to his nephew to whichever of the young ladies should decide to accept it.

The younger sister it was who came, and so far from wearing the expression of being a terror of evil-doers, her poor, shy, frightened face and timid manner showed so much embarrassment and fear of strangers that Philip felt himself quite brave by comparison, and, instead of shrinking away from her, actually found himself making shy little attempts to make her feel at home.

Her diffidence wore off after a few days, and then Miss Acton, the new governess, won all hearts by her gentle, lovable ways.

Fortunately for Philip, Miss Acton had had a fine musical education, and she took perfect delight in her scholar’s application and talent.

“He is something wonderful,” she said to Mrs. Seldon after her first quarter’s lessons. “I can really teach him nothing except the technicalities of piano-playing. His interpretations of certain passages surprise me, and I believe that he will some day become a truly great musician.”

He made great progress, too, with his lessons, spurred on by his desire to be able to read well before the return of his young cousins. When the sunshine out-of-doors was particularly inviting, and when Dash was showing his sympathy with his young master’s impatience by scratching and whining at the door, Miss Acton had only to say, “I wonder if Marion will think you have improved in your reading, Philip,” to make him go at his task again with redoubled energy.

Dash did not approve of Philip’s studious habits. Miss Acton had tried excluding him from the school-room altogether, but he was so unhappy and would whine so piteously outside the door that she was obliged to allow him to return on a promise of good behavior. Philip, too, had impressed upon him the necessity of preserving order in the school-room, and he soon came to understand that when a person held a book he did not wish to be disturbed. One morning Miss Acton was slightly indisposed, and as there were to be no lessons that day Philip wandered into the garden after breakfast, instead of going as usual directly to the school-room. Dash of course followed closely at his heels, but he seemed to think that something was wrong, and several times he would walk slowly toward the house, looking back as much as to say, “Why don’t you follow me? It’s school-time, you know, Philip.” But Philip paid no attention, and at last Dash trotted into the house and up the stairs in a business-like manner. Philip had just time to notice his absence, and wonder at it, when he returned, carrying something in his mouth which he brought and laid at Philip’s feet, barking joyously as though pleased at his own cleverness. Philip stooped to pick up the object which had been dropped, and discovered that it was his copy-book, which Dash had fetched from his desk in the school-room.

Miss Acton was much amused when she learned of the occurrence, and declared that hereafter Dash should be encouraged to remain during the lessons. “I am sure,” she said, “that if he could only hold a pen he would be able to write as well as Philip; and at any rate such a dog is a valuable mentor for my pupil.”