HE growth of that picture was a source of endless wonder and delight to little Allumette. Her naïve remarks amused the ladies vastly, and the child became, perhaps, more of a pet with them all than was quite advisable, considering the circumstances of the case.
To live in an atmosphere of warmth and colour; to be spoken to kindly and gently; to hear and see only pleasant things from morning till night, all this was a perfect delight to the little one, and she throve and blossomed out in the genial influence in a way that was wonderful to watch.
She was not admitted to the house itself, only to the studio by the little garden door; and she had that sense of native refinement which hindered her from taking liberties, or trading upon the kindness of the ladies.
To watch them with their books or needlework, to hear Miss Madge sing and play upon the studio piano, or to sit on a little stool beside one or the other, learning little lessons which they would teach her, constituted such pleasure that she never desired anything more; and even the sitting still for the picture was no trouble to the child. There was always something pretty to look at, and Miss Madge was often practising her music, and that always filled the child’s whole soul with delight.
Her horizon was widening every day. Madge had discovered that she was very anxious to be able to read nicely, and thought she could not do better than devote some of her leisure in teaching her. And she got big-print fairy stories, which entranced Allumette and lured her along the path of learning faster than her teacher had dared to hope; and when left alone in the studio, the child would pore over one of these charming volumes, till she began to read the letterpress quite easily. Then young Mrs. Clayton had lessons to give her of a different sort.
“The poor mite is almost a little heathen,” she had said to her husband a few days after the experiment of the little model had begun. “She seems to know nothing of religion, except what she has picked up from an old cobbler and his wife, who read the Bible in her hearing sometimes, and tell her a few elementary truths, which she has got jumbled up in a very odd way. I must try and teach her a little better. Don’t you think it would be a good plan, Bertram?”
“Yes, I think that kind of knowledge never comes except as a blessing,” answered her husband gravely; “but have a care, Eva, and keep an eye over the sisters, that they do not spoil the poor little thing, making her life harder to her when she goes back to it. I am not quite sure that the experiment is not rather a dangerous one to Allumette. She will be so happy here, and the life of the streets will come so hardly afterwards!”
“Perhaps we could think of something better for her afterwards,” said Eva.
“Possibly; but those things are more easily said than done. However, we must see what turns up. Only be careful all of you with the child. Too much petting and softness will not be really good for her. But teach her all you can; learning will never come amiss to her wherever her future lot may be cast.”
And so Eva Clayton began giving the little waif of the streets simple Bible lessons every day, in which the child came to apprehend the mystery of Christ’s redeeming love, and to believe that He loved her and was taking care of her, and wanted her to be a faithful little follower of His, that some day she might live with Him in His beautiful kingdom for ever and ever.
It was easy for Allumette to believe in this love and care now. She would look up at Mrs. Clayton with shining eyes and say—
“I think it must have been Jesus who sent me here. I shall always love Him for that.”
On Sundays she was taken to church by the gardener’s wife, who had made her a neat little frock and had soon taught her to wear the shoes and stockings provided by the ladies. Truth to tell, Allumette preferred running barefoot, as she was used to in the streets, although she had some old shoes and had put them on to come down here. But the footgear provided for her was so much more comfortable than what she had been used to that she soon grew reconciled to it, and she realised that it would not be at all proper to go about barefoot here.
She did not understand the services on Sunday, but she loved the sound of the organ and the glow of light through the painted windows. Her behaviour was irreproachable, and afterwards Mrs. Clayton would try and explain to her the meaning of what she had heard and seen, so that the child had food for much thought and reflection.
On Sundays too she always saw her “gentleman,” as she always called Mr. Clayton in her thoughts. He would come into the studio and ask her what she had been learning in the week, and soon Allumette had a little bit of poetry or a few verses from the Bible ready to repeat to him. He generally had some little gift for her in return, and these were the red-letter days in her calendar above all others.
The picture was finished in due course; and when the tea-party was given in the studio, and all the artist’s friends were asked to come and see it, Allumette was permitted to be present, to hand round cakes and bread and butter; and people patted her head and asked if she were a little model, and one lady took a great deal of notice of her, and presently got Cora into a corner and began eagerly talking to her.
“If you would only do me some illustrations for the book I am writing, and use that child as the model for my little heroine, I should like it so much! I could easily arrange with the editor about the illustrations; and she has exactly the face I want. Do you think you could manage it for me, Cora?”
The girl’s face lighted eagerly.
“Oh, Mrs. Maberley—I should love it! I have often longed to do illustrating; and to illustrate one of your books would be delightful! I will keep the child a few more weeks, and you shall tell me just what you would like each picture to be. She is a dear little model, and I shall like keeping her. I have quite a number of studies I have taken when she has been having lessons from Eva and Madge. I will get my portfolio and show you.”
The pencil sketches, dashed off impromptu, delighted Mrs. Maberley. There was Allumette sitting beside Eva’s couch with her eyes fixed on the lady’s face in eager attention; Allumette curled up in a corner with a book, her curls falling over her face; Allumette standing beside the piano, with a rapt expression of wonder and pleasure.
“It will be charming!” cried Mrs. Maberley, delighted. “I shall bring the story to read to you one day, and we will settle on the pictures. Some of these would almost do as they stand. You have quite a gift for drawing children, Cora.”
Allumette heard nothing of all this, which was passing in one corner of the studio; but she was deeply interested in another little scene going on elsewhere. She had noticed a little while before that Mr. Clayton, when he came in to show himself at his sister’s reception, brought with him two gentlemen (there were not many gentlemen in the room as compared with the number of the ladies), and the quick eyes of the child observed that Miss Madge’s face flushed a rosy red at the sight of them, and that almost at once one of the strangers came over towards where she stood at the tea-table, and seemed disposed to remain there.
She had made him useful, handing cups about for a time, after which he had come back to her side, and they were talking eagerly together.
Allumette had been dipping deep into fairy lore, and knew all about what princes and princesses did; and how the prince came and told the lady that he loved her, and that by-and-by they went off together and lived happily ever afterwards. Miss Madge had told her that in a different sort of way people did that still. Indeed Allumette had watched with the keenest excitement a wedding party from the next house, in which Miss Madge had played the part of bridesmaid. It had given Allumette quite a different idea about marriage from any she had had before, and she had heard the servants talking and saying that they supposed soon they would lose one of their young ladies, and wondering whether it would be Miss Cora or Miss Madge who would be first to go.
Somehow all this came back to the child’s mind as she saw the gentleman standing beside Miss Madge and talking to her.
“You know you have promised, Madge,” he said, in a rather louder tone. “You will not disappoint us?”
And Madge laughed as she made answer—
“Oh, yes, we will be as good as our word; we will pay a visit to Brooklands by-and-by. We shall all be glad of a change when the hot weather comes; for Hampstead is after all only a make-believe at country—and one likes the real thing sometimes.”
“I hope the country is not all the attraction!” said the young man, bending an intent look upon Madge’s blushing face.
“Don’t fish for compliments, sir,” she replied, in her bright, saucy way. “You won’t get change of that sort out of me!”
“I don’t want compliments,” said the young man in a very low voice; “you know very well what I do want, Madge.”
Later on little Allumette heard from the gardener’s wife who the gentleman was.
“His name is Mr. Arthur Brook, and he’s the only son of a baronet, and they have a beautiful place in the country, where the young ladies sometimes stay. He and Mr. Clayton were at college together, and have always been great friends; and we all think that he wants Miss Madge for his wife. And a bonny one she will make him, if she ever decides to have him; and I think he is worthy of her, which I wouldn’t say for many!”
It was all very interesting to little Allumette, who henceforth regarded Madge even more as a fairy princess, who would one day be carried off to live in a grand house or castle of her own.
Mr. Brook came rather often to the house during the next weeks whilst Allumette remained to serve as a model for the set of illustrations; and one day Madge came into the studio half laughing and half crying, and flinging herself on her knees beside Cora she cried out——
“Kiss me, darling, and tell me you don’t mind! I have given Arthur my promise at last!”
And then Cora threw down her brush, and the sisters clung rather close together; for they were deeply attached, and though both had felt that the separation would come, it seemed rather strange to both when the thing had finally been settled.
However, Miss Madge was very happy during the next days, Allumette thought, though both the sisters were a little preoccupied; and the drawings were relegated to a secondary place.
Besides, there was commotion in the house of another sort, for young Mrs. Clayton was taken ill, and the doctors advised that she should be taken into the country as soon as possible; and so there was a great deal of discussion and talk; and by-and-by Allumette heard that the three ladies were going to stay near Brooklands, which was the home of Mr. Arthur Brook, who was to marry Miss Madge some time during the year.
“I must finish my drawings quickly, little Allumette,” said Cora, next time the child was called in for a sitting, “for I shall be going away very soon; and we have let the house to some friends, who want it very much.”
And then it suddenly came into the child’s mind that this beautiful holiday was over. She would have to go back to her match-selling in the streets; and for a time there would not be even her gentleman coming and going, for Mr. Clayton had been called away on some important business latterly, and though he had come home for a few days when his wife was ill, he had gone away again, and might be detained some little while.
Great tears gathered slowly in the child’s eyes. She tried to keep furtively brushing them away, but they would not be altogether hidden, and when Madge came dancing in she saw them there and guessed their source.
“But we won’t forget you, little Allumette,” she said kindly, “I have thought sometimes about you. I’ve got some plans in my head. Allumette, have you ever seen the country—the real country, where the fields are full of buttercups and daisies, and there are woods and birds and cows and farms?”—and Madge plunged into a description of the sights and sounds of rural country life, whilst Allumette listened with a rapt expression that was instantly caught and transferred to paper by the delighted Cora.
“Well, Allumette, if you have not seen such things, you shall some day. I shall look out for a nice farmhouse or cottage, where the woman will take you in for a few weeks, and some day I shall send for you, and you shall come down in the train and have a real good holiday, and go on cultivating those roses in your cheeks which we are teaching to bloom there now. Will that make up to you for going back to the streets for a little while?”
The child’s face was answer enough. With such a prospect in view she dreaded nothing, could bear with courage and equanimity the life of the dusty streets. So through the last days she kept a brave face, and when she saw the beautiful picture-books and the clothes she had had given her made up into a parcel for her to take home, it seemed like an earnest of those joys that were to come.
Tears swam in her eyes as she said good-bye, and was led away by the gardener’s wife who was to take her back; but she held them bravely in check, saying to herself—
“I shall see them again, I shall see them again. Miss Madge said she would not forget.”
