They all sang and played by instinct, and Aunt Amy gave them a lesson each every evening, and as the evenings became longer, and winter crept towards them with "stealthy steps and slow," they settled down to a regular course of study.

Bertie devoted most of his time to music; Eddie to reading up his French and German--for he found both those languages would be very useful to him in the City; while Agnes was busy over her drawing-board, tracing designs for Christmas and Easter cards. She declared she was not going to be the only drone in the hive, and bade fair to be successful later on, for two of her little cards had already been accepted by a great City publishing firm. When Mr. Murray dropped in of an evening he used to have a long look from one to the other of their cheerful, contented faces, and then he would have a little private conversation with himself in a corner.

"They're too happy," he would mutter, "too content, too well occupied.

Good fortune would only spoil them now. I'll wait and watch a little longer; and yet, people who bear poverty with such equanimity should bear the accession of riches with humility; still, I'll wait a little.

My old friend's children are bearing their probation bravely." For to Mr. Murray Mrs. Clair's income seemed absolute poverty: he paid some of his own servants nearly as much; and the great City merchant was learning, for the first time, that it is not the actual amount of income one has, but the way it's spent, that const.i.tutes poverty and wealth.

CHAPTER XVIII.--THE FORTUNE FOUND.

Mr. Gregory did not consent to Bertie Rivers leaving Gore House with a very good grace, and he bitterly resented the interest Mr. Murray took in both boys. He wished to keep them entirely under his own control--as, indeed, he had the power to do, being their sole guardian since Mr.

Clair's death; but, on the other hand, he was not in a position to refuse Mr. Murray a trifling favour, as he had just begged a very heavy one from him. Things had been going on very badly in Mincing Lane for some time, and Mr. Gregory had been peculiarly unfortunate in his business transactions: he kept on losing large sums of money without in the least retrenching his expenditure, and at length it became painfully clear, even to himself, that nothing short of a large sum of ready money could save him from failure and disgrace and ruin, and that there was only one man in London who could and would a.s.sist him--for Mr. Gregory was more respected than liked by his brother merchants. Mr. Murray was willing to do all that he wanted, on certain conditions. First of all, he wished Mr. Gregory to give up the guardianship of Eddie and Bertie Rivers, and that their uncle willingly consented to, for he feared that when Eddie came of age there might be some awkward questions to answer about the management--or rather, mismanagement--of the property, if he were called to give an account of his stewardship. Then Mr. Gregory, Mr.

Murray said, was too extravagant: he should curtail his expenses, and live according to his income: cut down his establishment, and put the boys to some profession or work of some sort, for he declared he had no intention that his honestly and hard-earned money should be squandered in unnecessary luxury. Mr. Gregory agreed to all Mr. Murray's conditions, and at the time meant fully to perform his promises, but the immediate pressure of his difficulties being removed, he went on in much the same way, and Mr. Murray, who was observing closely, resolved never again to advance money to maintain such senseless extravagance.

Though old Mr. Murray had quite made up his mind what he would do for Eddie and Bertie Rivers, he determined to make sure first that they deserved his kindness. It was good to see Mrs. Clair's cheerful face, and hear her pleasant voice, as she recounted many instances of the children's kindness and consideration: Bertie's hearty resolution not to be daunted by anything; Eddie's supreme patience at the office and steady work at home; and the untiring efforts of little Agnes to add her mite to the general fund, though of course she often failed to dispose of her cards, some of which, nevertheless, were adapting themselves to other circ.u.mstances, and forming a very handsome screen to keep the draughts from Aunt Amy's chair.

"We are not only living within our income, but saving something for the proverbial 'rainy day,'" Mrs. Clair said one evening, when Mr. Murray dropped in. "We have been here only three months, and have done ever so much better than I expected, thanks to your good advice; and we are all ever so much happier than I ever hoped to be again, which shows that sorrow is but a short-lived suffering if we do not nurse and cherish it.

And then Eddie is so polite and attentive to every one now, and he used to be so proud and haughty. I really can't understand the change in him."

"'Sweet are the uses of adversity,'" Mr. Murray quoted, with a peculiar smile. "There was talent and good sense in Eddie after all, though I sometimes half doubted it. Some day he will see the wisdom of his choice, and be glad to feel that he laboured with his hands to do the thing that is right."

Winter came and went; spring broadened into summer; and still the boys worked on bravely: Bertie at Mr. Gregory's office, Eddie at the timber-yard, Agnes working pretty crewel mats and toilet-covers, by way of change from painting; and Mrs. Clair, loving, guiding, counselling them all. The fund for the "rainy day" had increased remarkably, so that when November, "chill and drear," came round again, the boys were able to have new warm overcoats and thick gloves, and even Agnes was armed against the sudden changes of weather by a nice soft fur cape, and the whole winter months pa.s.sed so pleasantly, that they were all astonished when Christmas was, so to speak, at the door.

One day, towards the middle of December, Mr. Murray came bustling in, his whole face full of importance.

"Mrs. Clair, I've called to ask you all to spend Christmas with me at a country house. I'm a lonely old man, with no near relations and few friends; but I like young people about me whose hearts are gay and green, even though circ.u.mstances may have aged their heads a little. I like the boys; I like the demure little maiden; I like you. Will you all come and cheer up a lonely old man for a week?"

"I shall be delighted indeed, Mr. Murray; and I can answer for each one of the children, if the boys can only get so long a holiday. It's such a very, very long time since I've really been in the country."

"Then promise to meet me at twelve o'clock at Paddington Station on Christmas Eve: promise me, Mrs. Clair; I'll make it all right for the boys. Just say you will come. I wanted to ask you all last Christmas; I'm glad I did not now."

"I will come with pleasure and grat.i.tude," Mrs. Clair replied, "if you can make it right for the boys."

"I'll see to that. Remember, twelve o'clock on Christmas Eve--twelve sharp, Paddington!" and then Mr. Murray vanished, his face puckered up out of all recognition.

The probation of Eddie and Bertie Rivers had lasted a whole year, and Mr. Murray was more than satisfied with them. He meant to keep their destination a little secret, and so fairly ran away before Mrs. Clair could ask any questions.

It wanted just two weeks to Christmas when Mr. Murray gave his instructions, and during most of the waking hours of that time the children spoke of little else. Bertie endeavoured to explain and describe the grandeur and magnificence of Mr. Murray's town house, and of course his country mansion would be still more splendid.

"I hope there will be plenty of frost," he said, with a very grave glance at the sky, just as if the state of the sky in London ever could be an index to what the weather might be anywhere else, "for there's sure to be a pond, or mere, or something to skate on."

Eddie sighed as he thought of the beautiful lake at Riversdale, and then said he hoped Mr. Murray might have some ponies, as he was longing for a good canter.

Agnes wanted some pretty places to sketch, and Aunt Amy declared she would give anything to see a good farm and poultry-yard again, just as they had at home.

"You may be sure Mr. Murray will have everything," Bertie said, confidently; "and a Christmas-tree too, with lots of presents: he always did give us splendid things," remembering the steam-engine. "Oh! I say, auntie, we're bound to have a glorious time;" and Bertie tossed his hat in the air, and skilfully caught it coming down--a habit of his when unusually excited.

At the appointed time Mrs. Clair and the children arrived at Paddington Station, and there they found Mr. Murray pacing up and down, "just like a lion in a cage," Bertie whispered irreverently. He paid the cabman while they got out, and then hurried them across the platform and into a first-cla.s.s carriage that he had engaged; the door was shut with a loud bang, and in another moment the engine whistled shrilly, and the train went out of the station. Mr. Murray held all their tickets in his hand, and in such a way that even Bertie's keen eyes could not detect their destination, but as they got completely into the country the places seemed strangely familiar. At last Eddie drew nearer Bertie, and took his hand. "Look, Bert! that's Linkworth Station; the next will be Riversdale," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh! I do hope we shall not stop there!" Even as he spoke the train seemed to slacken speed again. The engine shrieked, and stopped at dear old Riversdale.

Mr. Murray sprang out briskly, and a.s.sisted Mrs. Clair; the others followed; and in a few moments they were all driving along the familiar road towards the old home of the Rivers's. As the carriage turned in at the lodge gate, Bertie cried out, unable to restrain himself, "Oh! Aunt Amy, we're _really_ going home to Riversdale. Hurrah!"

Eddie was perfectly silent: he could not trust himself to speak. Little Agnes clung to her aunt, whose eyes were full of tears, and Mr. Murray chatted away briskly about the weather, the beauty of the country in its winter mantle--everything, in fact, but their destination. They arrived at the hall door, where several of the old servants were waiting, amongst them Mittens, the housekeeper, who kissed the children individually and collectively, and laughed and cried at the same time.

"Come in! come in!" Mr. Murray cried, leading the way to the library; "it's too cold to stand about. And now, children, how do you like your old home?" he added, as they all stood silent and confused round the blazing wood fire. Then he suddenly grew very serious, and turning to Mrs. Clair, placed his hand on her arm. "This was your father's house; now, through the variations of fortune, it is mine, Mrs. Clair; but one day it will belong to one of those boys: I won't say which; but Eddie is the elder, and I think he will deserve to be heir of Riversdale. Bertie I know I can trust. Meantime, Mrs. Clair, it is your home, and the little maiden's, and Eddie's. If he cares to continue his artistic profession, he can have a master here to conduct his studies. If he is worthy, he shall have Riversdale on his twenty-first birthday free from all inc.u.mbrance; till then, Mrs. Clair, the home is yours, and I know how happy Eddie will be with you. As for Bertie, he belongs to me for the present; he is not to return to Mr. Gregory, and will try how he likes Murray and Co. instead. Now I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a glad new year, and welcome back to Riversdale."

It was a long speech for Mr. Murray, especially as they were all clinging to him, sobbing, laughing, trying in vain to thank him; but he broke away from them, rushing to the dining-room, where luncheon was waiting, and laughing heartily at their surprise and pleasure. Then he installed Mrs. Clair formally as mistress, treated Eddie with a good deal of consideration as the heir-apparent, and looked at Bertie for approval.

"I think it is better than waiting till I got rich in Mincing Lane, sir," he replied, his eyes sparkling. "I don't believe Uncle Gregory's office is the real road to fortune, after all."

"The Road to Fortune, boy, is honesty and industry, not anybody's office," Mr. Murray said, gently. "However, you will have a try at mine, and then, like regular City men, we'll come down from Sat.u.r.day till Monday, if they will have us. We can't afford to give up work yet, can we?"

"No, sir; and I shouldn't care to."

"That's right, Bertie. Work is worship: that's one of Eddie's favourite author's sayings."

"I've learned the truth of it, Mr. Murray," Eddie said gravely, "and in future I shall practise it, and, I hope, prove to you that your great kindness has not been wasted on us. If I had never left Riversdale and become acquainted with so many troubles and sorrows, I never could feel as happy as I am now."

And in that happiness we will leave Eddie and Bertie Rivers, trusting that all who bear adversity so well may find fortune as kind and friends as true.

THE END.

HEDWIG'S CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.

Supposing you had two brothers and two sisters, a father, a mother, and no money, how would you get Christmas presents for them all? That is what Hedwig wanted to know. You see, she was the eldest of the family, and felt it her duty to look after the others; and in this case it so happened that looking after them meant getting them Christmas presents.

You can't think what a trouble this was to little Hedwig. The worst of it was, she couldn't ask her mother's advice. It must be kept a dark secret. At last the twenty-fourth of December arrived, and in the evening the gifts must all be ready, and Hedwig had not one.

When evening came, however, Hedwig's presents were there, and I will tell you how she managed it.

Little Hedwig was a German girl. She lived in a small village in the north of Germany. Her father and mother had not very much money. They could buy black bread and meat for their children, but there was little money left for playthings. Though they were not rich, they were a happy family; and if they had not toys they had one another, and that was quite enough.

Hedwig was a busy little girl; there were so many things she could do for mother. The baby always was happy with his big sister, and his big sister was very fond of him.

On the morning of the day before Christmas, Hedwig got up earlier than usual. She dressed baby, gave him his breakfast, and then, putting on her things, asked what she should buy in the town.

"Now, Hedwig, get all the things carefully; take the big basket to carry everything; and be sure not to forget to take the soup to Aunt Molly."

These were her mother's last words.

"All right, mother, dear; I will be back in good time," said Hedwig, and, shutting the door, downstairs she ran and out into the street.

"Now, then," she said to herself, as she pushed her way bravely along, "presents I must have; but how I am to get them I really don't know.

Auntie is sure to give me a groschen (a penny) for bringing the soup, and that will buy a cake for Karl and a cake for baby. But then there are mother, father, and the twins. Mother and father might share a present, but how about the twins?"

The twins certainly were rather a trouble. They were six years old, just four years younger than Hedwig, and insisted on having everything alike.

It was a very cold day and a long walk from the village to the town; but Hedwig, trotting along in her warm cloak and hood, was so busy thinking of her presents that she was not cold. Just as she was entering the town gates, she met her playmate Anna. Hedwig was very pleased, and determined to tell her dear friend all her troubles.