Wild Heather

"John," said Lady Carrington, "here is little Heather."

"How do you do, my dear – how do you do?" said Sir John.

He came forward as he spoke and wrung my hand, looking into my eyes with a curious mingling of affection and amusement.

"Ah!" he said; "you have grown a good bit since that wonderful night long ago, eh, Heather?"

"I am grown up," I answered, trying to speak proudly, and yet feeling, all of a sudden, quite inclined to cry.

"Yes, of course, you're grown up," responded Sir John, and then his wife introduced the strange gentleman to me. His name was Captain Carbury, but when the Carringtons spoke to him they addressed him as "Vernon." He had a nice, frank manner, and it was he who was deputed to take me into the next room to lunch.

"I have heard a lot about you," he said. "The Carringtons have been quite keen about you. They've been wondering what day you would arrive, and making up all sorts of stories about what you'd look like, and your life in the past and what your life in the future will be."

"Heather, you must not mind Vernon, he always talks nonsense," said Lady Carrington. "Will you have clear or thick soup, dear? We always help ourselves at lunch, it makes the meal so much less formal."

I said I would have thick soup, and Captain Carbury took clear. He looked at me again once or twice, and I thought that his expression was somewhat quizzical, but, all the same, I liked him.

I had made in the course of my life a little gallery of heroes; they were of all sorts and descriptions. In that gallery my father held the foremost place, he was the soldier par excellence, the hero above all other heroes. Then there were splendid persons whose names were mentioned in history. The great Duke of Marlborough was one, and Sir Walter Raleigh, and King Edward the First, and King Henry the Fourth. And there were minor lights, great men, too, in their way, statesmen and ambassadors and discoverers of new worlds. But besides the historical personages, there were those few whom I knew personally. Amongst these was one of the many "Jonases" who had lived with Aunt Penelope, and who was admitted into a somewhat dark and shadowy part of my gallery.

He was a very ugly Jonas, and slightly – quite slightly – deformed; that is, one shoulder was hitched up a good bit higher than the other. In consequence, he never felt happy or comfortable in buttons, and used to coax me to let him play with me in the garden in the dress he wore at home, which was loose and unwieldy, but, nevertheless, fitted that misshapen, poor shoulder. Aunt Penelope had been very angry with him for not appearing in his buttons costume, and she was not the least concerned when he told her that it made his shoulder ache; she was more determined than ever that he should wear his livery, and never be seen out of it while in her employ. He told me, that poor Buttons, that he would have to wear it, notwithstanding the pain, for the very little money he earned helped his mother at home. It was after he said this, and after I found out that what he said was true, that I put him into my gallery of heroes. He never knew that he was there. He became ill quite suddenly of some sort of inflammation of the spine, and was taken away to the hospital to die. I wanted very badly to see him when I heard he was so ill, but Aunt Penelope would not hear of it. Then I gave her a message for him.

"Tell him, if you are going yourself," I said, "that he is in my gallery of heroes. He will know what it means."

But Aunt Penelope forgot to give the message, so that poor Jonas never knew.

But I had other heroes also. There was a pale young curate, like the celebrated curate in the song, and my heart went out to him – my girlish heart – in full measure, and I put him into my gallery right away; there I gave him a foremost place, although I never spoke to him in my young life, and I don't think, as far as I remember, that his eyes ever met mine.

And now last, but by no means least, I put Captain Carbury into my gallery of heroes, and as I did so I felt my heart beating with pleasure, and I looked full up into my hero's face and smiled at him with such a look of contentment, admiration, and satisfaction that he smiled back again.

"What a nice child you are," he said. "I wonder what you are thinking about?"

Some visitors had now come in and had joined Sir John and Lady Carrington in the drawing-room, and Captain Carbury and I were alone.

"You ought to be very proud," I said, lowering my voice to meet his.

"What about?" he asked.

"Why, this," I answered; "I have done you a tremendous honour."

"Have you, indeed? I can assure you I am pleased and – quite flattered. But do tell me what it is."

"I have just put you, Captain Carbury, into my gallery of heroes."

"You have put me into what?" said the young man. He sat down by my side and lowered his voice. "You have put me into what, Miss Grayson?"

"I have a gallery," I said, "and it is full of heroes. It, of course, lives in my imagination. You have just gone in; those who go in never come out again. There are a great many people in my gallery."

"Oh, but I say, this is interesting, and quite fascinating. Please tell me who else holds that place of vantage."

I mentioned the Duke of Marlborough and Sir Walter Raleigh and a few of the heroes of old, but I said nothing about father, nor about the pale curate, although I did mention Jonas.

"Who is Jonas?" asked Captain Carbury.

"Jonas is no longer in this world. When he was here he was a very great hero."

"But what was he? Army, navy, church, or what?"

"Oh, nothing of the sort," I answered; "he was only our Buttons, and he had one shoulder much higher than the other. I put him in because he bore the pain of his livery so bravely. You see, he had to wear his livery, or Aunt Penelope would have dismissed him. He wore it because he wanted the money to help his mother. I call him a real hero – don't you?"

"I do. And what have I done, may I ask, to be such a privileged person?"

"You haven't done much yet," I answered, "but I think you can do a great deal. For instance, if there was a big war against England, I think you'd fight and probably get your V.C."

"Bless you, child, you talk very nicely. Do you know, I have never met a little girl who talked like this before. I hope we shall see much more of each other, Miss Grayson."

"I hope we shall," I answered.

"I come here a good deal," continued Captain Carbury. "I am a sort of cousin of Lady Carrington's, and she always treats me as though I were her son. There are no people in the world like the Carringtons. By the way, you must be excited, coming up to town just in time for your – "

"In time for what?" I asked.

"Is it possible you don't know?" he said. And he looked full at me with his dark and serious eyes. Just then Lady Carrington came up.

"I am going to take Heather away now for a little time," she said. "Thank you so much, Vernon, for trying to entertain her. We will expect you to dinner this evening – no, I'm afraid Heather won't be here; she will be much occupied for the next few days."

"Well, good-bye, Miss Heather, and thank you so much for putting me into the gallery," said the Captain, and then he left the room.

"He is a very nice man," I said, when he had gone and I was back in the drawing-room. "Do you know many men as nice as Captain Carbury, Lady Carrington?"

"No, I do not," said Lady Carrington, not laughing at my remark, as some women would have done, but pondering over it. "He is one of the best – that is all I can say about him."

I looked across the room. The visitors had gone; Sir John had taken his leave; Captain Carbury was no longer there.

"I want to ask you a question," I said, looking full up into Lady Carrington's face. "Captain Carbury said something to me."

"Yes, dear child. What?"

"He supposed I was glad or excited or something, at being in time for – and then he stopped. Please, Lady Carrington – I see you know it by your eyes – what is it I am in time for?"

"I was going to speak to you about that," said Lady Carrington, with extreme gravity.

"Please do," I said.

She took my hand and pressed it between both her own.

"Sir John and I," she said, "have never been blessed with a little daughter of our very own, so we want you, as much as your father and mother can spare you, to come and be with us. We want you morning, noon, and night – any day or any hour."

"My father and mother!" I said, raising my voice to a shriek. "Lady Carrington, who are you talking about?"