Quicksilver is a Webnovel created by George Manville Fenn.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“Yes; and master’s took him into the drawing-room.”
“Oh! very well,” said Mrs Millett tartly. “Master’s master, and he has a right to do what he likes; but if there’s anything I can’t abear in a house it’s a boy in b.u.t.tons. They’re limbs, that’s what they are; regular young imps.”
“Going to keep a page!” said Maria, whose eyes looked a little less round.
“Why, of course, girl; and it’s all stuff.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Maria thoughtfully. “There’s the coal-scuttles to fill, and the door-bell to answer, a deal more than I like.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Millett, snipping off a piece of ribbon viciously; “I know. That boy to find every time you want ’em done, and a deal less trouble to do ’em yourself. I can’t abear boys.”
While this conversation was going on in the housekeeper’s room, something of a very different kind was in progress in the drawing-room, where the daughter looked up from the letter she was writing, and gazed wonderingly at the boy. For her father pushed the little fellow in before him, and said: “There!” in a satisfied tone, and looked from one to the other.
“Why, papa!” said Helen, after looking pleasantly at the boy.
“Yes, my dear, that’s him. There he is. From this hour my experiment begins.”
“With this boy?” said Helen.
“Yes, my dear, shake hands with him, and make him at home.”
The doctor’s sweet lady-like daughter held out her hand to the boy, who was staring about him at everything with wondering delight, till he caught sight of an admirably drawn water-colour portrait of the doctor, the work of Helen herself, duly framed and hung upon the wall.
The boy burst into a hearty laugh, and turned to Helen, running to her now, and putting his hand in hers. “Look there,” he cried, pointing with his left hand; “that’s the old chap’s picture. Ain’t it like him!”
The doctor frowned, and Helen looked troubled, even though it was a compliment to her skill; and for a few moments there was a painful silence in the room.
This was however broken by the boy, who lifted Helen’s hand up and down, and said in a parrot-like way–
“How do you do?”
Helen’s face rippled over with smiles, and the boy’s brightened, and he too smiled in a way that made him look frank, handsome, and singularly attractive.
“Oh, I say, you are pretty,” he said. “Ten times as pretty as Miss Hippetts on Sundays.”
“Hah! yes. Never mind about Miss Hippetts. And look here, my man, Mr Hippetts said that you were anything but a good boy, and your schoolmaster said the same.”
“Yes; everybody knows that I am a reg’lar bad boy. The worst boy in the whole school.”
Helen Grayson’s face contracted.
“Oh, you are, are you!” said the doctor drily.
“Yes, Mr Sibery told everybody so.”
“Well, then, now, sir, you will have to be a very good boy.”
“All right, sir.”
“And behave yourself very nicely.”
“But, I say: am I going to stop here, sir?”
“Yes; always.”
“What, in this room?”
“Yes.”
“And ain’t I to go back to the House to have my crumbs!”
“To have your what?”
“Breakfa.s.ses and dinners, sir?”
“No, you will have your meals here.”
“But I shall have to go back to sleep along with the other boys?”
“No, you will sleep here; you will live here altogether now.”
“What! along of you and her?” cried the boy excitedly.
“Yes, always, unless you go to a good school.”
“But live here along o’ you, in this beautiful house with this nice lady, and that gal with a round face.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ri-i-kee!” cried the boy in a shrill, piercing voice; and, to the astonishment of the doctor and his daughter, he made a bound, and then, with wonderful skill and rapidity, began turning the wheel, as it is called, going over and over on hands and feet, completely round the room.
“Here, stop, sir, stop!” cried the doctor, half-angry and half-amused.
“I can do it t’other way too,” cried the boy; and, as he had turned before commencing upon his left hand, he began with his right, and completed the circuit of the room in the opposite direction.
“There!” he cried, as he stopped before the doctor and his daughter, flushed and proud. “There isn’t a chap in the House can do it as quick as I can. Mr Sibery caught me one day, and didn’t I get the cane!”
There was such an air of innocent pride displayed by the boy, that after for the moment feeling annoyed, Helen Grayson sat back in her chair and laughed as much at the boy as at her father’s puzzled look, of surprise.
“That’s nothing!” cried the boy, as he saw Helen’s smiles. “Look here.”
He ducked down and placed his head on the hearthrug, his hands on either side in front, and threw his heels in the air, to the great endangerment of the chimney ornaments.
“Get down, sir! get down!” cried the doctor. “I mean, get up.”
“It don’t hurt,” cried the boy, “stand on my head longer than you will for a penny.”
“Will you get up, sir!”