The Rectory Children | Page 3

tired waiting. I do
so want to show you the cloaks and hats, and can you give me a bit to
make Amy's frock? She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no
frock.'
'I will try to find you a scrap of something when I go upstairs,' mother
replied. 'But just now I must see about getting tea ready. Father is tired
already, and he has a good deal to do this evening still. Yes, you have
made the cloaks very nice, and the little hats too. I'll turn up the gas so
as to see better.'

Celestina gave in without a murmur to waiting till after tea for the piece
of stuff she longed for so ardently, and she set to work in a neat, handy
way to help her mother with the tea-table. They understood each other
perfectly, these two, though few words of endearment passed between
them, and caresses were rare. People were somewhat colder in manner
at that time than nowadays perhaps; much petting of children was not
thought good for them, and especially in the case of an only child,
parents had great fear of 'spoiling.' But no one who looked at Mrs.
Fairchild's sweet face as her eyes rested lovingly on her little girl could
have doubted for a moment her intense affection. She had a very sweet
face; Celestina thought there never could be anybody prettier than
mother, and I don't know that she was far wrong. If she ever thought of
herself at all--of her looks especially--it was to hope that some day she
might grow up to be 'like mother.'
Tea was ready--neatly arranged on the table, though all was of the
plainest, a little carefully-made toast to tempt father's uncertain appetite
the only approach to luxury--when Mr. Fairchild came in and sat down
in the one arm-chair rather wearily. He was a tall thin man, and he
stooped a good deal. He had a kindly though rather nervous and
careworn face and bright intelligent eyes.
'Redding is full of news as usual,' he said, as Mrs. Fairchild handed him
his tea. 'He is a good-natured man, but I wish he wouldn't talk quite so
much.'
'He had some excuse for talking this evening,' said Celestina's mother;
'it is news of importance for every one at Seacove, and of course it
must affect Mr. Redding a good deal. I shall be glad if the new
clergyman is more hearty about improving the music.'
Celestina so far had heard without taking in the drift of the
conversation, but at the last words she pricked up her ears.
'Is there going to be a new clergyman--is old Dr. Bunton going away,
mother?' she asked eagerly, though the moment after she reddened
slightly, not at all sure that she was not going to be told that 'little girls
should not ask questions.' But both Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild were

interested in the subject--I think for once they forgot that Celestina was
only 'a little girl.'
'Yes,' the mother replied; 'he is giving up at last. That has been known
for some weeks, but it is only to-day that it has been known who is to
succeed him. Mr. Vane, that is the name, is it not?' she added, turning
to her husband.
'The Reverend Bernard Vane, at present vicar of St. Cyprian's,
somewhere in the west end of London--that is Redding's description of
him,' Mr. Fairchild replied. 'I don't know how a fashionable London
clergyman will settle down at Seacove, nor what his reasons are for
coming here, I'm sure. I hope the change will be for good.'
But his tone showed that he was not at all certain that it would prove
so.
'Is he married?' asked Celestina's mother. 'Oh yes, by the bye, I
remember Mr. Redding spoke of children, but old Captain Deal came
in just as he was telling more and I could not hear the rest.'
'There are several children and Mrs. Vane a youngish lady still, he said.
The old Rectory will want some overhauling before they come to it, I
should say,' remarked Mr. Fairchild. 'It must be nigh upon forty years
since Dr. Bunton came there, and there's not much been done in the
way of repairs, save a little whitewashing now and then. The doctor and
Mrs. Bunton haven't needed much just by themselves--but a family's
different; they'll be needing nurseries and schoolrooms and what not,
especially if they have been used to grand London ways.'
Celestina had been turning her bright brown eyes from one parent to
another in turn as they spoke.
'Is London much grander than Seacove?' she asked. 'I thought the
Rectory was such a fine house.'
Mrs. Fairchild smiled.

'It might be made very nice. There's plenty of room any