Katie had a well-worn, well-known little workbox,
which, in years now long past; had been given to her
either by Alaric or Harry. Doubtless she had
now work-boxes grander both in appearance and size;
but, nevertheless, whether from habit or from choice,
her custom was, in her daily needlework, to use this
old friend. Often and often had Charley played
with it many wicked pranks. Once, while Katie
had as yet no pretension to be grown up, he had put
a snail into it, and had incurred her severe displeasure.
He had stuffed it full of acorns, and been rewarded
by being pelted with them round the lawn; and had
filled it with nuts, for which he had not found it
so difficult to obtain pardon. He knew every
hole and corner in it! he was intimate with all her
little feminine nicknacks—her silver thimble,
her scissors, her bit of wax, and the yard-measure,
which twisted itself in and out of an ivory cottage—he
knew them all, as well as though they were his own;
and he knew also where the workbox stood.
He closed the door behind him, and then, with his
quickest motion, raised the lid and put within the
box, just under the bit of work on which she was employed,
a light small paper parcel. It contained the
purse which she had worked for him, and had given
to him with such sweet affection at the Chiswick flower-show.
CHAPTER XXXI
HOW APOLLO SAVED THE NAVVY
About the middle of November, the Woodwards went to
Torquay, and remained there till the following May.
Norman went with them to see them properly settled
in their new lodgings, and visited them at Christmas,
and once again during their stay there. He then
went down to fetch them home, and when they all returned,
informed Charley, with whom he was still living, that
he was engaged to Linda. It was arranged, he
said, that they were to be married in August.
On the whole, the journey to Torquay was considered
to have been successful. Katie’s health
had been the only object in going there, and the main
consideration while they remained. She returned,
if not well, at any rate not worse. She had got
through the winter, and her lungs were still pronounced
to be free from those dreadful signs of decay, the
name of which has broken so many mothers’ hearts,
and sent dismay into the breasts of so many fathers.
During her sojourn at Torquay she had grown much, and,
as is often the case with those who grow quickly, she
had become weak and thin. People at Torquay are
always weak and thin, and Mrs. Woodward had not, therefore,
been greatly frightened at this. Her spirits,
though by no means such as they had been in former
days, had improved, she had occupied herself more than
she had done during the last two months at Hampton,
and had, at least so Mrs. Woodward fondly flattered
herself, ceased to be always thinking of Charley Tudor.
It was quite clear that she had firmly made up her
mind to some certain line of conduct with reference
to him; she never mentioned his name, nor was it mentioned
in her hearing by either her mother or sister during
their stay at Torquay. When Norman came down,
she always found some opportunity of inquiring from
him as to Charley’s health and welfare; but she
did this in a manner which showed that she had succeeded
in placing her feelings wonderfully under control.
Copyrights
The Three Clerks from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
