THE NEW MAMMA.
Illustrationn Tuesday Molly returned home—to the home which was already strange, and what Warwickshire people would call "unked," to her. New paint, new paper, new colours; in their best, and to every change—from their master's marriage to the new in the hall, "which 'em up, and 'em down, and was cold to the feet, and just abominable." All these Molly had to to, and it was not a for the which she already to be so formidable.
The of their carriage-wheels was at last, and Molly to the door to meet them. Her father got out first, and took her hand and it while he helped his to alight. Then he her fondly, and passed her on to his wife; but her was so (and becomingly) down, that it was some time Mrs. Gibson her clear to her new daughter. Then there was to be about; and the travellers were in this, while Molly by with excitement, unable to help, and only of Betty's looks, as box after box up the passage.
"Molly, my dear, show—your to her room!"
Mr. Gibson had hesitated, the question of the name by which Molly was to call her new relation had to him before. The colour into Molly's face. Was she to call her "mamma?"—the name long in her mind to some one else—to her own mother. The rose against it, but she said nothing. She the way upstairs, Mrs. Gibson round, from time to time, with some fresh direction as to which or she needed most. She spoke to Molly till they were in the newly-furnished bedroom, where a small fire had been by Molly's orders.
"Now, my love, we can each other in peace. O dear, how I am!"—(after the had been accomplished). "My are so easily with fatigue; but your dear papa has been itself. Dear! what an old-fashioned bed! And what a— But it doesn't signify. By-and-by we'll the house—won't we, my dear? And you'll be my little to-night, and help me to a things, for I'm just out with the day's journey."
"I've ordered a of tea-dinner to be for you," said Molly. "Shall I go and tell them to send it in?"
"I'm not sure if I can go again to-night. It would be very to have a little table in here, and in my dressing-gown by this fire. But, to be sure, there's your dear papa? I don't think he would eat anything if I were not there. One must not think about oneself, you know. Yes, I'll come in a of an hour."
But Mr. Gibson had a note him, with an to an old patient, ill; and, a of food while his was being saddled, he had to at once his old of attention to his above everything.
As soon as Mrs. Gibson that he was not likely to miss her presence—he had a very of and cold meat in solitude, so her about his in her were not well founded—she to have her in her own room; and Molly, not to tell the of this whim, had to up a table, which, small, was too for her; and all the choice of the meal, which she had taken great pains to on the table, as she had such done at Hamley, with fruit and flowers that had that been sent in from great houses where Mr. Gibson was and valued. How Molly had her an hour or two before! How it as, at last from Mrs. Gibson's conversation, she in to cold tea and the of the chicken! No one to look at her preparations, and her deft-handedness and taste! She had that her father would be by it, and then he had it. She had meant her as an of good-will to her stepmother, who now was her to have the taken away, and Miss Gibson to her bedroom.
Molly her meal, and again.
"I so lonely, darling, in this house; do come and be with me, and help me to unpack. I think your dear papa might have put off his visit to Mr. Craven Smith for just this one evening."
"Mr. Craven Smith couldn't put off his dying," said Molly, bluntly.
"You girl!" said Mrs. Gibson, with a laugh. "But if this Mr. Smith is dying, as you say, what's the use of your father's going off to him in such a hurry? Does he any legacy, or anything of that kind?"
Molly her to prevent herself from saying something disagreeable. She only answered,—
"I don't know that he is dying. The man said so; and papa can sometimes do something to make the last easier. At any rate, it's always a to the family to have him."
"What knowledge of death you have learned for a girl of your age! Really, if I had all these of your father's profession, I if I have myself to have him!"
"He doesn't make the or the death; he his best against them. I call it a very thing to think of what he or to do. And you will think so, too, when you see how he is for, and how people welcome him!"
"Well, don't let us talk any more of such things, to-night! I think I shall go to at once, I am so tired, if you will only by me till I sleepy, darling. If you will talk to me, the of your voice will soon send me off."
Molly got a book, and read her to sleep, that to the of up a of speech.
Then she and into the dining-room, where the fire was gone out; neglected by the servants, to mark their at their new mistress's having had her tea in her own room. Molly managed to light it, however, her father came home, and and re-arranged some food for him. Then she again on the hearth-rug, into the fire in a reverie, which had of about it to the to from her eyes. But she jumped up, and herself into at the of her father's step.
"How is Mr. Craven Smith?" said she.
"Dead. He just me. He was one of my on to Hollingford."
Mr. Gibson in the arm-chair for him, and his hands at the fire, neither to need food talk, as he over a train of recollections. Then he himself from his sadness, and looking the room, he said enough,—
"And where's the new mamma?"
"She was tired, and to early. Oh, papa! must I call her 'mamma?'"
"I should like it," he, with a of the brows.
Molly was silent. She put a cup of tea near him; he it, and it, and then he to the subject.
"Why shouldn't you call her 'mamma?' I'm sure she means to do the of a mother to you. We all may make mistakes, and her may not be all at once our ways; but at any let us start with a family us."
What would Roger say was right?—that was the question that rose to Molly's mind. She had always spoken of her father's new wife as Mrs. Gibson, and had once out at Miss Brownings with a that she would call her "mamma." She did not to her new relation by their that evening. She silence, though she her father was an answer. At last he gave up his expectation, and to another subject; told about their journey, questioned her as to the Hamleys, the Brownings, Lady Harriet, and the they had passed together at the Manor-house. But there was a and in his manner, and in hers a and of mind. All at once she said,—
"Papa, I will call her 'mamma!'"
He took her hand, and it tight; but for an or two he did not speak. Then he said,—
"You won't be sorry for it, Molly, when you come to as Craven Smith did to-night."
For some time the and of the two were to Molly's ears, then they spread to her father's, who, to Molly's dismay, work with them.
"You don't like Mrs. Gibson's her so often, don't you? You've been spoilt, I'm afraid; but if you don't to my wife's desires, you have the in your own hands, you know."
What the to give after such a speech as that? Betty told Molly she was going to leave, in as a manner as she possibly assume the girl she had and been about for the last sixteen years. Molly had her nurse as a in the house; she would almost as soon have of her father's to the relationship them; and here was Betty talking over her next place should be in town or country. But a great of this was hardness. In a week or two Betty was in of at the of her nursling, and would have and answered all the in the house once every of an hour. Even Mr. Gibson's was touched by the of the old servant, which itself to him every time he came across her by her voice and her eyes.
One day he said to Molly, "I wish you'd ask your if Betty might not stay, if she a proper apology, and all that of thing."
"I don't much think it will be of any use," said Molly, in a voice. "I know she is writing, or has written, about some under-housemaid at the Towers."
"Well!—all I want is peace and a quantity of when I come home. I see of at other people's houses. After all, Betty has been with us sixteen years—a of service of the world. But the woman may be elsewhere. Do as you like about mamma; only if she agrees, I shall be willing."
So Molly her hand at making a to that to Mrs. Gibson. Her told her she would be unsuccessful; but surely was in so soft a tone.
"My dear girl, I should have of sending an old away,—one who has had the of you from your birth, or nearly so. I not have had the to do it. She might have for for me, if she had only to all my wishes; and I am not unreasonable, am I? But, you see, she complained; and when your dear papa spoke to her, she gave warning; and it is against my to take an from a who has warning."
"She is so sorry," Molly; "she says she will do anything you wish, and to all your orders, if she may only stay."
"But, sweet one, you to that I cannot go against my principles, much I may be sorry for Betty. She should not have way to ill-temper. As I said before, although I liked her, and her a most servant, by having had no for so long, I should have with her—at least, I think I should—as long as I could. Now I have all but Maria, who was under-housemaid at the Towers, so don't let me any more of Betty's sorrow, or else's sorrow, for I'm sure, what with your dear papa's sad and other things, I'm low."
Molly was for a moment or two.
"Have you Maria?" asked she.
"No—I said 'all but engaged.' Sometimes one would think you did not things, dear Molly!" Mrs. Gibson, petulantly. "Maria is in a place where they don't give her as much as she deserves. Perhaps they can't it, things! I'm always sorry for poverty, and would speak of those who are not rich; but I have offered her two more than she at present, so I think she'll leave. At any rate, if they her wages, I shall my offer in proportion; so I think I'm sure to her. Such a girl!—always in a on a salver!"
"Poor Betty!" said Molly, softly.
"Poor old soul! I she'll profit by the lesson, I'm sure," out Mrs. Gibson; "but it's a we hadn't Maria the families to call."
Mrs. Gibson had been by the of so many calls "from families." Her husband was much respected; and many ladies from halls, courts, and houses, who had by his services themselves and their families, it right to pay his new wife the attention of a call when they into Hollingford to shop. The of into which these calls Mrs. Gibson Mr. Gibson's comfort. It was to be hot, savoury-smelling from the to the dining-room at the very time when high-born ladies, with of refinement, might be calling. Still more was the accident which in of Betty's to open the door to a footman's ran-tan, which her to set the the dirty plates right in his mistress's way, as she through the of the hall; and then the men, the dining-room enough, but with long-repressed giggle, or no longer their to practical joking, no who might be in the passage when they their exit. The by Mrs. Gibson for all these was a late dinner. The for the men, as she to her husband, might be sent into the surgery. A cold for herself and Molly would not the house, and she would always take to have some little for him. He acceded, but unwillingly, for it was an on the of a lifetime, and he as if he should be able to his with this new-fangled of a six o'clock dinner.
"Don't any for me, my dear; bread-and-cheese is the of my diet, like it was that of the old woman's."
"I know nothing of your old woman," his wife; "but I cannot allow to come the kitchen."
"Then I'll eat it there," said he. "It's close to the stable-yard, and if I come in in a I can it in a moment."
"Really, Mr. Gibson, it is to your and manners with your tastes. You look such a gentleman, as dear Lady Cumnor used to say."
Then the cook left; also an old servant, though not so old a one as Betty. The cook did not like the trouble of late dinners; and, being a Methodist, she on religious to trying any of Mrs. Gibson's new for French dishes. It was not scriptural, she said. There was a of mention of food in the Bible; but it was of sheep dressed, which meant mutton, and of wine, and of bread-and-milk, and and raisins, of calves, a good well-browned of veal, and such like; but it had always gone against her to cook swine-flesh and make pork-pies, and now if she was to be set to cook after the fashion of the Papists, she'd sooner give it all up together. So the cook in Betty's track, and Mr. Gibson had to satisfy his healthy English on badly-made omelettes, rissoles, vol-au-vents, croquets, and timbales; being sure what he was eating.
He had up his mind his marriage to in trifles, and be in things. But the of opinion about every day, and were more than if they had related to of more consequence. Molly her father's looks as well as she her alphabet; his wife did not; and being an person, when her own were upon another person's humour, out how he was by all the small daily which he to her will or her whims. He allowed himself to put any into shape, in his own mind; he himself of his wife's good qualities, and himself by they should work together as time rolled on; but he was very angry at a great-uncle of Mr. Coxe's, who, after taking no notice of his red-headed nephew for years, sent for him, after the old man had from a attack of illness, and him his heir, on condition that his great-nephew with him the of his life. This had almost directly after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson's return from their wedding journey, and once or twice since that time Mr. Gibson had himself why the old Benson not have up his mind sooner, and so have his house of the presence of the lover. To do Mr. Coxe justice, in the very last he had as a with Mr. Gibson he said, with awkwardness, that the new in which he should be might make some with to Mr. Gibson's opinion on—
"Not at all," said Mr. Gibson, quickly. "You are of you too to know your own minds; and if my was to be in love, she should have to her on the of an old man's death. I say he'll you after all. He may do, and then you'd be off than ever. No! go away, and all this nonsense; and when you've done, come and see us!"
So Mr. Coxe away, with an of in his heart; and Mr. Gibson had to an old promise to a farmer in the a year or two before, and to take the second son of Mr. Browne in Coxe's place. He was to be the last of the of pupils, and as he was more than a year than Molly, Mr. Gibson that there would be no of the Coxe romance.
