Aunt Jane's Nieces
"
CHAPTER VI.
THE BOY.
Leaving the mistress of Elmhurst among her flowers, Silas Watson
walked slowly and thoughtfully along the paths until he reached the
extreme left wing of the rambling old mansion. Here, half hidden by
tangled vines of climbing roses, he came to a flight of steps leading
to an iron-railed balcony, and beyond this was a narrow stairway to
the rooms in the upper part of the wing.
Miss Merrick, however ungenerous she might have been to others, had
always maintained Elmhurst in a fairly lavish manner. There were
plenty of servants to look after the house and gardens, and there were
good horses in the stables. Whenever her health permitted she dined in
state each evening in the great dining-room, solitary and dignified,
unless on rare occasions her one familiar, Silas Watson, occupied the
seat opposite her. "The boy," as he was contemptuously called, was
never permitted to enter this room. Indeed, it would be difficult to
define exactly Kenneth Forbes' position at Elmhurst. He had lived
there ever since his mother's death, when, a silent and unattractive
lad of eight, Mr. Watson had brought him to Jane Merrick and insisted
upon her providing a home for Tom Bradley's orphaned nephew.
She accepted the obligation reluctantly enough, giving the child a
small room in the left wing, as far removed from her own apartments as
possible, and transferring all details of his care to Misery Agnew,
the old housekeeper. Misery endeavored to "do her duty" by the boy,
but appreciating the scant courtesy with which he was treated by her
mistress, it is not surprising the old woman regarded him merely as a
dependent and left him mostly to his own devices.
Kenneth, even in his first days at Elmhurst, knew that his presence
was disagreeable to Miss Jane, and as the years dragged on he grew shy
and retiring, longing to break away from his unpleasant surroundings,
but knowing of no other place where he would be more welcome. His only
real friend was the lawyer, who neglected no opportunity to visit the
boy and chat with him, in his cheery manner.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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