On Tuesday afternoon Molly returned home--to the home which was
already strange, and what Warwickshire people would call "unked,"
to her. New paint, new paper, new colours; grim servants dressed
in their best, and objecting to every change--from their master's
marriage to the new oilcloth in the hall, "which tripped 'em up, and
threw 'em down, and was cold to the feet, and smelt just abominable."
All these complaints Molly had to listen to, and it was not a
cheerful preparation for the reception which she already felt to be
so formidable.
The sound of their carriage-wheels was heard at last, and Molly went
to the front door to meet them. Her father got out first, and took
her hand and held it while he helped his bride to alight. Then he
kissed her fondly, and passed her on to his wife; but her veil was so
securely (and becomingly) fastened down, that it was some time before
Mrs. Gibson could get her lips clear to greet her new daughter. Then
there was luggage to be seen about; and both the travellers were
occupied in this, while Molly stood by trembling with excitement,
unable to help, and only conscious of Betty's rather cross looks, as
heavy box after heavy box jammed up the passage.
"Molly, my dear, show--your mamma to her room!"
Mr. Gibson had hesitated, because the question of the name by
which Molly was to call her new relation had never occurred to him
before. The colour flashed into Molly's face. Was she to call her
"mamma?"--the name long appropriated in her mind to some one else--to
her own dead mother. The rebellious heart rose against it, but she
said nothing. She led the way upstairs, Mrs. Gibson turning round,
from time to time, with some fresh direction as to which bag or trunk
she needed most. She hardly spoke to Molly till they were both in
the newly-furnished bedroom, where a small fire had been lighted by
Molly's orders.
"Now, my love, we can embrace each other in peace. O dear, how tired
I am!"--(after the embrace had been accomplished). "My spirits are so
easily affected with fatigue; but your dear papa has been kindness
itself. Dear! what an old-fashioned bed! And what a-- But it doesn't
signify. By-and-by we'll renovate the house--won't we, my dear? And
you'll be my little maid to-night, and help me to arrange a few
things, for I'm just worn out with the day's journey."
"I've ordered a sort of tea-dinner to be ready for you," said Molly.
"Shall I go and tell them to send it in?"