She gave up talking in despair, and by the time the young gentlemen had
tired themselves into quiescence, and began to eat the provisions, both
ladies were glad to be allowed a little silence.
Coming over the last hill, Conrade roused at his mother's summons
to look out at "home," and every word between them showed how fondly
Avonmouth had been remembered far away.
"The sea!" said Fanny, leaning forwards to catch sight of the long grey
line; "it is hard to believe we have been on it so long, this seems so
much more my own."
"Yes," cried Rachel, "you are come to your own home, for us to take care
of you."
"I take care of mamma! Major Keith said so," indignantly exclaimed
Conrade.
"There's plenty of care for you both to take," said Fanny, half-smiling,
half-sobbing. "The Major says I need not be a poor creature, and I will
try. But I am afraid I shall be on all your hands."
Both boys drummed on her knee in wrath at her presuming to call herself
a poor creature--Conrade glaring at Rachel as if to accuse her of the
calumny.
"See the church," said Lady Temple, glad to divert the storm, and
eagerly looking at the slender spire surmounting the bell-turret of a
small building in early-decorated style, new, but somewhat stained by
sea-wind, without having as yet acquired the tender tints of time. "How
beautiful!" was her cry. "You were beginning the collection for it when
I went away! How we used to wish for it."
"Yes, we did," said Rachel, with a significant sigh; but her cousin had
no time to attend, for they were turning in a pepper-box lodge. The boys
were told that they were arrived, and they were at the door of a sort
of overgrown Swiss cottage, where Mrs. Curtis and Grace stood ready to
receive them.
There was a confusion of embraces, fondlings, and tears, as Fanny clung
to the aunt who had been a mother to her--perhaps a more tender one than
the ruling, managing spirit, whom she had hardly known in her childhood;
but it was only for a moment, for Wilfred shrieked out in an access of
shyness at Grace's attempt to make acquaintance with him; Francis was
demanding, "Where's the orderly?" and Conrade looking brimful of wrath
at any one who made his mother cry. Moreover, the fly had arrived,
and the remainder had to be produced, named, and kissed--Conrade and
Francis, Leoline and Hubert, Wilfred and Cyril, and little Stephana the
baby. Really the names were a study in themselves, and the cousins felt
as if it would be hopeless to endeavour to apply them.