CHAPTER XXV.

HONOR ANSWERS AN ADVERTISEMENT.

When Doris gets home she finds them all seated at dinner, partaking of the pea-soup, which appears to be popular. Honor and Molly seem to be rather elated about something concerning themselves, and Doris is inclined to be put out at the scant attention they give to the account of her adventure in the wood.

Only Dick and Mrs. Merivale appear at all interested in her story; the former beginning without loss of time to tease his sister about her "knight of the woods." When there is once more a little quiet, it transpires that the postman has arrived in Doris's absence, and besides bringing letters for Mrs. Merivale and Molly, from Hugh Horton, telling them of his having obtained his commission, and of the probability of his leaving soon for Ireland after all, there is one for Doris from her aunt, and also a newspaper with an advertisement marked with a large cross in red ink, to which Lady Woodhouse begs Honor will give her particular attention.

This is to the effect that persons with any knowledge of painting can easily earn a pound weekly, by painting on tin--the latest novelty in art, and greatly in demand. Then the advertisement goes on to say that by applying at a certain place in the town, those desirous of taking up this very remunerative employment can be instructed in this branch of art in two lessons, at one-and-six each.

"So you see I have made up my mind to go and inquire about it all this very afternoon if I can get away," says Honor folding up the paper. "Just think, if I can earn a pound a week, what a difference it will make to us! With that and what Molly makes by her teaching, we shall really be getting along quite famously. O, and that reminds me: have you told Doris about your probable new pupil, Molly?"

"No, but I was just going to. It seems that some new people have taken the house opposite the Vicarage, and Mr. Bolton has spoken to them about me. There are several children, I believe, and he seems to think that if I get the eldest girl on well (if I have her at all, that is) I may have the others when they are old enough. I fancy they are not very aristocratic sort of people: retired bakers or something, but they have lots of money, so I shall hope to get good terms. I shall have to bring all the dignity I can muster to the fore, I expect, for Mr. Bolton said in his quaint, quiet way that he was 'afraid they were not very good children from all he heard;' so if he confesses to that much you may depend upon it they are pretty bad. I am going to call on Mrs. Hallam, that is the bakeress's name" ("_Molly!_" exclaims her mother), "to-morrow," continues that young lady unmoved, "so then I shall know all about them. O, by the by, Hugh says he shall very likely run down to-morrow afternoon. What does aunt say, Doris?"

"Aunt?" says Doris, who has been absently looking out of the window. "Oh, she tells me she may want me to join her next week; but uncle's business is still a little uncertain, so it may not be till the week after. She has sent me five pounds to get myself a few new things. Kind of her, isn't it?"

"O, you lucky girl!" exclaims Molly. "How I wish someone would give me five pounds to rig myself out with!"

"You will be _earning_ as many soon, Molly, and that will be better," says Doris with a little flush. "If I were not such a poor useless creature I might be at home doing something too, instead of going away from everybody for ages!" and to everyone's surprise the girl suddenly bursts into tears.

The general consternation caused by this unexpected end to the conversation does not prevent plenty of loving sympathy being shown towards Doris. Poor little light-hearted Doris! who, though overwhelmed with joy at first at the prospect of travelling, now discovers down in the depths of her soft little heart a feeling which amounts to nothing less than dismay, now that she is brought face to face with the fact that before many more days have passed over her head she will have to say good-bye to the mother, sisters, and brothers from whom she has never before been separated beyond a week or two.

Molly comes to the rescue presently with one of her short, practical remarks, having first suppressed Dick, whom she--not Doris fortunately--has heard to mutter something to the effect that his sister "is fretting because she will never see her 'knight' again."

"Well now, cheer up, my girl," she says briskly. "Eighteen months or even a couple of years will slip round and carry you with them before you have time to look about; and just think what an awfully jolly time we shall all have when you come home again! Now," proceeding coolly to tuck up her frock and pin it behind her, "who's coming with me to help Becky clear away the dinner things and prevent her smashing them all? O, dear me, Dick, how you do worry! _Do_ go out; there's a good boy. Now, Honor, if you want to catch that next train you had better be off to dress. We will leave mother and Daisy to rest quietly together, and Doris will come with me, won't you?"

Thus running on she carries her sister off with her, and it is not long before plenty of laughter is heard from the regions of the kitchen, Becky having retired into the depths of the wood-cellar to black Honor's boots.

No. 3 Prospect Road, which is the address given in the advertisement, does not look a very flourishing sort of place in Honor's idea. There are a few little insignificant pictures in the window, chiefly water-colour and crayon drawings, very indifferently executed; a portrait of a severe-looking lady, half of it very dark, half restored presumably to its former state; some frames, looking rather the worse for wear; and a few artists' colours scattered about indiscriminately. Behind these a dirty-red curtain is drawn, giving a sort of private air to the interior of the shop.

Honor had expected to see some imposing studio, where perhaps photography was carried on also, and it is with a feeling of disappointment that she turns the handle of the door, after having looked once more at the advertisement to make sure she has made no mistake.

As the girl enters the shop, a fat little man emerges from behind some lumber which is piled up at the other end, and coming forward and rubbing his hands begins to talk very quickly, with a strong German accent. Gesticulating and chattering the whole time, Mr. Nathan (that being this gentleman's name) proceeds to show Honor some specimens of the painting on tin, which are certainly very pretty. Some, about a foot square, representing charming little winter scenes, consisting merely of a foreground of snow, innumerable firs, a frozen stream with a rustic bridge, a church, through the windows of which a comfortable-looking red light streams, and a background of peaky snow-clad hills. Others represent waterfalls, with the usual surroundings, and others are simple rustic scenes.

Now, Honor is quick enough to see that beyond the knowledge of preparing the tin for the application of the colours, there is no instruction needed at all; at least for herself, and in the course of conversation she is more than once led to suspect that she knows more about painting than Mr. Nathan himself. So she plainly tells the man that the two lessons mentioned in the advertisement will not be required in her case, and that if he will supply her with the tin, and tell her the secret of the preparation, that will be all she needs, finishing up with the inquiry of how many little pictures he expects her to do for the stated pound a week.

"I have everything else that I require," says Honor, anxious to conclude the bargain. "You will see by these that I know something about painting;" and with very pardonable pride she places before the astonished little man several sketches which her former master, who was no mean artist, had pronounced "excellent."

Mr. Nathan looks with supreme and undisguised astonishment first at the sketches and then at Honor. Then he pulls himself together, and with many "hums" and "haws" and waves of the hands he says, "But pardon me, my dear young lady, will you be so obliging as to look once again at my advertisement, which I fear you do not rightly comprehend?--or stay, I have a paper here;" and running his dirty, fat forefinger down one of the columns he at length stops and points out to Honor the words, "One pound a week may be earned," &c. &c. "You see, mees, it does not say I myself will give one pound. I give two lessons, one-and-six each; then my pupils paint the views, four, six, what they please, and I put them in my window and on my counter, so; then customers will come, and one will say 'I will buy this,' and another 'I will buy that.' And sometimes many are sold, and sometimes also _none_. It depends much"--with a little shrug--"on the merit of the painting, without doubt; and therefore, my dear young lady, yours would sell well, _ve-ry_ well, I should say. The commission I charge is not much, and--" But here Honor, who begins to see through the old impostor, interrupts him, and moving towards the door says, "Thank you, I think it is useless to continue the conversation. I understood from your advertisement that you could offer employment for which you would give certain payment. But it seems to me," she adds with justifiable warmth, "that the only _certain_ part in the matter is the fact that your possible pupils would be paying _you_ for the two lessons, which I notice are made rather a point of in the advertisement. Good-afternoon!" And poor Honor, trembling with suppressed indignation and disappointment, hurries out of the shop and is out of sight before the old man can recover from his astonishment. Thoroughly disgusted and discouraged by the result of her expedition to the town, poor Honor gets back to the station with all possible speed, and before long is safely ensconced in a corner of a third-class carriage, where, finding herself alone, she indulges in a good cry, which somewhat relieves her feelings; though she cannot, poor girl, forget the dreadful fact that the three shillings expended on her fare there and back have been utterly wasted and thrown away. She has dried her eyes again, and is trying, with her usual common sense, to reconcile herself to the loss, which cannot now be helped, when suddenly, just as the train is about to start, the door of the compartment is flung wide open, and a stout little elderly gentleman shoots past her right to the end of the seat opposite, while a good-natured-looking porter, who is standing on the step closing the door, says, touching his cap, "There weren't no time for the 'firsts,' sir; they be right at the other end." "Thank you, thank you," gasps the old gentleman, sitting up and straightening his hat, "this will do very nicely, very nicely indeed. Dear me, now, what a fortunate, I may say providential thing, that my brother was not with me! Why, bless my soul, if it's not Miss Honor!" And leaning forward Mr. Edward Talboys, for he it is, seizes the girl's two hands and shakes them up and down in such a kind, affectionate manner that Honor, still feeling a little hysterical, has hard work to keep her tears from rising again. "And now," says Mr. Ned, who, though he appears not to do so, notices the girl's pale cheeks and swollen eyelids--"now, you must tell me where you have been and what you have been doing. Wait a minute, I mean to have a guess. You have been, perhaps, to see your kind old friend Mrs. Horton? or perhaps that very excellent old gentleman Mr. Dobson--no, Hobson, who came down with you when you paid your first visit to the Rookery?" Honor smiles and shakes her head. "Then perhaps," says the old gentleman, with his head on one side, "you have been doing a little shopping?"

"No, not shopping, Mr. Talboys," says the girl with a tremulous voice; and then, longing for a little sympathy, she tells the whole history of the advertisement from beginning to end.

Mr. Ned works himself into a regular heat over the story, and for some time Honor scarcely knows which predominates--indignation at the man or pity for herself. First he is for taking the next train back again and giving Mr. Nathan "a good round piece of his mind," as he expresses it. Then he calms down a little, and shaking his head solemnly, says, "A hoax, my dear--nothing but a rascally hoax to extort money. You may see the advertisements every day in some form or another. The paper is full of them. Now, if only you had come and asked our advice about it. But dear me, how should a young girl like you know that there are such cheating rogues in the world!" Then, after a few more remarks of a similar character, Mr. Talboys leans back in his seat for a while quite lost in thought, and it is not until they are nearing the little station of Edendale that he rouses himself again.

He startles Honor, who has also been wrapped up in her own thoughts, by suddenly leaning forward and saying, "Now, can you find time, my dear, to run up to us to-morrow morning--any time, any time after breakfast that is convenient to yourself, you know? I am inclined to be interested in this painting on tin of which you have been telling me, and I should like to know more about it. I should like my brother Ben to hear something about it too. With his artistic taste, I am sure he will be deeply interested in the subject. Now, what time would you like to fix, Miss Honor,--shall we say eleven? Are you _quite_ sure that will be convenient?" Honor satisfying Mr. Talboys on this point, they part outside the station gates; and while the old gentleman trots off to the village on some suddenly-remembered business, Honor, with a heart lightened and cheered by his kindness and sympathy, goes her way towards home.