There was a mixture of dignity and simplicity in the reception which Mrs. Falconer gave her son's friend which did not fail to strike him.

"We sup at nine o'clock, sir," she said, "we dine at one, and take tea at five. Thus it is to the first of these meals that I would bid you welcome, as it is close upon eight o'clock now. Will you follow me to your room?--which I hope you will find comfortable."

"I am sure I shall," said Mr. Arundel, warmly. "It is very good of you, madam, to invite me to Fair Acres."

These few words had pa.s.sed in the hall; and the tap of Piers' crutches was heard approaching, while Nip and Pip came bustling about the new-comers, their short tails vibrating as if they were screwed on with a wire!

"This is our youngest child, sir--Piers," Mrs. Falconer said.

"Where is Joyce, mother?" Piers asked.

"Your sister is behind; our chaise pa.s.sed her close to the gate."

"Why did not you come with her?" Piers asked, bluntly.

"Because I was not allowed to do so," Mr. Arundel said, good-temperedly.

"I can tell you what you will be glad to hear, that your sister did not forget your sparrow-hawk."

Melville, who had after all been wrangling with the postboy about his gratuity in a somewhat undignified manner, now came into the hall as his father and Joyce appeared from a door under the wide staircase.

"Well," said the squire, "you seem holding a counsel here; I hope it is peace, not war. Come, Melville, show your friend to his room."

Considering how greatly the squire had been annoyed by his son's driving out in the post-chaise, he spoke kindly and pleasantly; but Melville was already a.s.suming his grand airs.

"Here, Arundel," he said, "I will take you to your room: first door on the left, I suppose?"

"You will allow me to do as I have done all my life, Melville," said his mother. "I always go with my guests to their chambers, to see they are comfortable. Now, Mr. A_run_del."

To Melville's horror, his mother put the accent on the second syllable.

And as she tripped away--for her figure was still light and supple--he whispered: "He won't know who she means. Tell her, pray, not to say A_run_del."

Joyce was indignant about the proceedings of the whole day, and she said:

"If you think it becoming to correct your mother, do it yourself." Then, going up to her father, she put her hand through his arm. "Come and see the last brood of chickens with me and Piers. They are lovely, dear dad."

Melville turned away with a satirical smile on his lips, thinking it was impossible to do anything with Joyce: she was content to let things remain as they were.

Meantime his friend was conducted to the "best room" Mrs. Falconer had to offer--a s.p.a.cious square room, with a large four-post bed, hung with white dimity, and so high that a pair of steps by which to climb into it did not seem out of place.

The window was rather small for the size of the room, and the frames thick, but roses and honeysuckle hung their wreaths round it and perfumed the air.

Mrs. Falconer showed Mr. Arundel the high chest of drawers, and pointed to a hanging-closet, one of the top panels of which was gla.s.s, so that it might have a dim light from the room.

"I hope you will be comfortable," she said; "the sheets are well aired, and so were the mattresses and beds, by the fire. I never trust to servants, but see to those things myself. We sup at nine o'clock; and if you want anything please pull the bell."

"You are very kind," Mr. Arundel said. "I hope my visit is not inconvenient."

"Oh, no; the boys are coming home from school to-morrow. Three boys make some difference in a house; but I dare say you will be out a great deal with my son Melville." A scarcely perceptible sigh accompanied the words, and then Mrs. Falconer vanished; on the stairs she met Melville.

"I say, mother, what have you got for supper? I hope there will be something that Arundel can eat. And, by the bye, mother, his name is _Ar_undel, not Ar_un_del."

"Oh, is it, indeed! I don't know that it matters what a man is called.

As to the supper, there's a round of beef, and a pie, and a baked custard, and plenty of bread and cheese."

"I wish you could have some made dish to-morrow. Big joints are all very well for a pack of hungry schoolboys."

Mrs. Falconer did not reply sharply, as she did sometimes. She turned and preceded Melville to his room, which was at the other end of the long pa.s.sage or corridor, which ran across the house, dividing it into two parts, front and back. Melville followed her, and a.s.sumed a careless and indifferent air, throwing himself on the deep window-seat and giving a prolonged yawn.

A pack of cards lay on the drawers, with a dicebox.

"We had high words last night, Melville," his mother began; "and I was sorry----"

"Don't scold or preach any more; I am sick of it. If you'll get my father to let me travel, I'll come back in two years and settle into quite the country-gentleman; but you can't expect a fellow to bury himself here at my age with a set of rustics."

"I have heard all this before," his mother said, in a sad voice, very unlike her usual sharp tones. "What I want to ask is this: you have brought your friend here without so much as consulting your father or me. I ask a plain question, is he a well-behaved man and fit to be the a.s.sociate of your sister and young brothers?"

"Fit to a.s.sociate with them! His mother is an Honourable, his grandfather was a peer. Fit to a.s.sociate with us, indeed, who are nothing but a pack of farmers!"

"So you said last evening. I don't care a fig for lords and ladies; nor princes either, for that matter: but this I say--if your friend teaches my boys to gamble and drink, and is not to be trusted with your sister, but may talk all kinds of rubbish to her, and you know it, you'll repent bringing him here to your latest day. I must just trust you, Melville, and if you say he is a well-behaved young man, well, I will believe you, and he is welcome to stay here."

"My good mother, you have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. The fact is Gilbert Arundel is a trifle _too_ good. He has a sort of mission to reform _me_. He has helped me out of sc.r.a.pes and--well, I owe him something; and so, as he is of high family, I asked him to come here, as we don't catch such folks often at Fair Acres. He said he would like a week in the country, and he is looking after some place in Bristol, which is handy; so I asked him to come on here. Now are you satisfied?"

"I know looks don't go for much," Mrs. Falconer said, "but I do like his looks very much; and his manners, too."

Mrs. Falconer hesitated, and seemed uncertain what she should say next.

She was not given to much demonstration of affection at any time, but her mother's heart yearned over this shallow-pated, self-indulgent son of hers. It seemed but yesterday that he was seated on her knee and throwing his arms round her neck in his innocent childhood. But yesterday! and yet what a gulf lay between that time and this!

She could not have told why, or what innermost chord was touched, but certain it is that she drew nearer Melville, and putting her hand on his forehead, and brushing back the stiff curls, which were persuaded by pomade to lie in regular order on his head, she kissed him fondly.

"Oh! Melville," she said, "my son, my son, you know how dearly I love you. Do give up all your extravagant ways and high notions, and be a comfort to your father and me, and set your young brothers a good example."

Even Melville was a little touched.

"Yes," he said, kissing his mother in return, "yes, if you will let me off for a year, I will settle down and walk behind the plough, if you wish it then. Will that satisfy you?"

She kissed him again, and saying, "I will see what I can do with father about your travelling," she resumed her accustomed brisk manner and left him.

In spite of the large joint, and the big pie, the supper pa.s.sed off pleasantly, for Gilbert Arundel listened to all the squire had to say, and showed an interest in agriculture and farming, and won golden opinions in consequence.

Before the meal was over Mr. and Mrs. Falconer were both wondering how it was that their son and their guest could be friends; except by the law of contrast, a friendship between them seemed so impossible.

The school boys arrived the next day; the first acre of gra.s.s was cut, and the weather remained perfect. On the third day there was tea in the hay-field, and every one, from the squire downwards, was in high spirits. No one could resist Gilbert Arundel. His were the free, unrestrained good manners of the true gentleman, who can accommodate himself to every circ.u.mstance, and is neither too fine nor too fastidious for anything, which comes in his way.

Ralph, who was the grave-eyed student of the brothers, could not resist Gilbert's genial interest in his history of his success at the school at Exeter, where he was pursuing his education at one of the academies for young gentlemen, which are now a thing of the past.

Bunny and Harry buried him in the hay and nearly smothered him, and Piers found abundant cause for liking him in the attention he gave to the peculiarities of an insect which he had found under one of the hayc.o.c.ks. Melville was lazily indifferent to what was pa.s.sing, but he liked to lie full length under a spreading oak by the hedge, and have his tea brought to him in a large mug with a coppery coloured, brilliant surface which blazed in the light and concentrated the rays in a mimic sun on its outer side.

What Mrs. Falconer called 'harvest-cakes' were freely dispersed with cider and mead, and the fields of Fair Acres had never seen a happier party collected at hay-making time than met there on this June day.