Aunt Judith | Page 4

(the name by which he was generally called)
was Winnie's favourite brother, and she almost idolized the big, kindly
fellow, on whom the other members of the family showered ridicule
and contempt. He was a bluff, outspoken lad, with a brave, true heart as
tender and pitiful as a woman's; but, lacking both the capacity for and
inclination to study, he by no means proved a brilliant scholar, and thus
brought down on himself the censure of his masters and the heavy
displeasure of his father. "Hard words break no bones. I daresay I shall
manage through the world somehow," he would say after having
received some cutting remark from an elder brother or sister; and
Winnie, always his stanch friend and advocate, would nod her sunny
head and prophesy confidently, "We shall be proud of you yet, Dick."
In the meantime they sauntered along, swinging their books and
chatting gaily, till a turn in the road brought them to a quiet square
where handsome dwelling-houses faced each other in sombre grandeur.
"No. 3 Victoria Square--this way, miss," said Dick, mounting the steps
and ringing the bell violently.
"What a boy you are!" laughed Winnie, following, and giving her
brother's rough coat a mischievous pull. "Whenever will you learn

sense, Dick?" Then the door opened, and with glad young hearts
brother and sister entered their comfortable home.
CHAPTER II.
AUNT JUDITH.
The October night closed in dark and wild. The wind, rising in fierce
gusts, swept along the streets with relentless fury, whirling the cans on
the roofs of the houses, and whistling down the chimneys with
relentless roar; passers-by drew up the collars of their coats and bent
their faces under the pitiless blast; while the rain, falling with its
monotonous splash, splash, added to the gloom and rawness of the
night.
Up and down the platform of one of the principal stations in the town a
lady paced, every now and then peering into the murky darkness, or
waylaying a passing porter to ask when the down-train was due. She
was tall and slender, but the huge bonnet and thick veil which she wore
so effectually concealed her face that it was impossible to make out
whether she was young or old.
At last a whistle and the loud ringing of the bell proclaimed that the
train was close at hand, and in all the glory of its powerful mechanism
the great locomotive swept into the busy station. The lady, stepping
nearer the edge of the platform, gazed into the windows of the carriages
as the train passed, slackening speed; then with a quick gesture of
recognition went forward and turned the handle of one of the doors at
which a young girl was standing looking wistfully on the many faces
hurrying by. "Nellie Latimer, I am sure," she said in a kind voice; "'tis a
dreary night to bid you welcome. I am your Aunt Judith, dear," and
assisting the girl out of the carriage, she lifted her veil for a single
moment and laid a kiss on the fresh, young cheek. "What have you in
the way of luggage? One trunk. Well, stand here while I go and find it,"
saying which she glided away and was lost to view in the bustling
crowd. In a few moments she returned, followed by a porter bearing the
modest, black box; and bidding the young traveller come with her, left

the platform, hailed a cab, and was soon driving with her tired charge
along the wet streets.
Aunt Judith gazed at the lonely little figure sitting so quietly facing her,
and mentally deciding that, wearied out and home-sick, the child would
naturally be disinclined for conversation, she leaned back on the
carriage cushion and fell into a long train of thought.
Nellie Latimer was thankful for the silence. She had left her home early
that morning for the purpose of wintering in town with her aunts, and,
as it was the first flight from the parental nest, her heart was sore with
grief and longing. She was the eldest daughter of Dr. Latimer, a poor
country practitioner, whose practice brought him too limited an income
with which to meet the expenses of the large family of hardy boys and
girls growing up around him. He had sent Nellie to the village school,
and when she had mastered all the knowledge to be gleaned there,
endeavoured to instruct her himself; but he could ill spare the time, and
so hailed with feelings of the deepest gratitude a letter from his eldest
sister offering to take Nellie and give her all the advantages of a town
education, "Let the child come, John," she wrote in her simple, kindly
style; "she will help to brighten the hearts of three old maids, and a