Mr. Clarke’s house was one of a long row of small modern homes recently built along the edge of Wandsworth Park. The pleasant little house had a small garden in front and a miniature lawn in back. The Clarkes had only lived there for two years. Before that the family had lived over their grocery store in a busy part of town. But, with business increasing, the rooms were needed for storage, so the family had moved to their new home near Wandsworth Park.
Breathing the fresher air near the park made for a more wholesome atmosphere than living over the shop. It was beneficial to all, especially to little Jessie who got sick so easily. Indeed, it was principally for her sake that they now lived so far from the shop.
It was nearly a half-hour walk to their father’s store from “Ferndale” — the name of their trim little home. Ethel and Jessie had begged their parents to call it by this name. They spent many happy hours planting ferns in a rock garden they were making. “We just want to make the name right,” Ethel declared.
The girls were, as a rule, early risers, and the morning after the big event, they were both up and dressed before the neighboring church clock struck seven. Ethel was determined to see the baby before going to school. So, watching until Mrs. Carter, the nurse, went downstairs for an early cup of tea, she slipped into her mother’s room unobserved. Her mother, disturbed most of the night by the baby’s cries, was now sleeping so soundly that she did not hear the door open as Ethel entered and approached the bed, gazing down at her tired, pale face.
Seeing her face, Ethel suddenly realized how inexpressibly dear her mother was to her and what a dreadful loss it would be if she were deprived of her love and care. The very thought almost made her heart stand still. Fearing to disturb her, she softly turned aside to view the new treasure.
The blinds were drawn down, but through an opening at the side, one long bright ray of the early morning sun streamed through. The golden light passed right across baby’s cradle, touching the little downy, almost bare, white head, which in some way had become uncovered. Ethel gazed spellbound.
One thought filled her mind — she would love and shield her little brother. As the eldest, it would naturally be her right to do so, and she purposed in her heart always to care for him. What took place later would show how well she was able to keep that promise.
Softly she kissed her little brother. Then, she resisted the impulse to disturb her mother and brother, by waking them to show them how she felt. Instead she quietly left the room and went downstairs.
Isn’t it strange that Jessie, the passive one, could be aroused to show so much excitement over the new little one, while Ethel, naturally so full of vivacity, could calmly contemplate the new treasure? Perhaps the solemn thought of what baby would be to her as he grew up caused the change in Ethel. It never occurred to her that anything might happen to him.
At the breakfast table the subject of a name for the baby came up again. Mr. Clarke, in his joking way, asked them if they knew what the boy’s name was.
“What boy, Papa?” asked Ethel.
“Why, there’s only one in this house, unless you take me for another,” laughed Mr. Clarke.
“Oh, we want to know what baby’s name is going to be,” both girls exclaimed at once.
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday, Jessie?” said her father.
“You said, ‘Jumbo.’ ”
Everybody laughed. Even Mrs. Carter couldn’t keep a serious face.
“No, but really, Papa, please tell us. We want to tell the girls at school. They are sure to ask,” begged Ethel.
“And you are sure to tell them. Why don’t you give Jessie a chance?” said Mr. Clarke.
Jessie colored, but her sister looked up brightly, and said, “She has as much opportunity as I have to talk to others, but she always is a brown mouse. Mother says so.”
“Well, since you are so terribly anxious to know, I will tell you.” Then he paused to watch their excitement grow. Finally, he said, “We are going to call him Stanley.”
“Stanley!” echoed the girls. “Why, we don’t know anyone of that name.”
“So much the better,” said their father; “it will be more uncommon.”
“But why Stanley?” asked Ethel.
“Because your mother and I like the name. It reminds us of a great missionary-explorer by that name. He was a good man and we hope your brother will grow up and do as he has done,” explained Mr. Clarke.
On the way to school that morning they were eagerly questioned as to the baby’s name. Ethel brought it out boldly, and with no small amount of pride.
“Stanley! Why there’s no one in your family of that name, is there?” asked one of the bigger girls.
“No! but father and mother like it, and it’s after the great African traveler.”
The two sisters thought of their brother’s name many times that day. Once Jessie caught herself writing it in her dictation book. She quickly erased it before Miss Bland could see it. She knew that would mean being kept in to learn a column of spelling, a punishment she had received before for disfiguring her notebook.
When Ethel and Jessie reached home that afternoon, a visitor, their father’s oldest sister, was sitting in the dining room. Miss Clarke, tall, gaunt and stern, was not a favorite at Ferndale. She rarely condescended to call, though only living on the other side of London.
When her brother first introduced his young wife to his sister, she had openly criticized her. Coldness had sprung up. Her sister-in-law kept aloof and avoided Mrs. Clarke for another reason — Mrs. Clarke was a Christian. In her early married life, she had sought to show her husband’s sister the only thing worth living for, no matter how pleasant one’s circumstances might be. She had been repulsed almost rudely for setting herself (so Miss Clarke said) above her relations. She would have nothing to do with such things. While Mrs. Clarke had snared John, she would not catch her with such teaching.
It was true that Dora Hamilton, before she became Mrs. Clarke, had spoken to John Clarke, the young man who worked for her father, about the things that are eternal. He had embraced the truth of the “old, old story,” and had turned to God, confessing the Lord Jesus as his Saviour. Sarah Clarke sneered at the change in her brother, but could not interfere.
Ethel, too, had offended her. One day while she was still very young she had lisped out, “Me no like auntie; old cross.” Her aunt had never forgiven the childish remark. While Jessie hadn’t antagonized her, there was no love lost between either child and their aunt. Mr. Clarke had sent word announcing the important event, and Miss Clarke had taken it upon herself, as her duty, to call and see the baby, and possibly name him.
“Why, Aunt, who would have thought of seeing you!” was Ethel’s exclamation on going into the dining room. “How do you do?” and, going up to her, ventured a kiss. But her aunt was not to be won that way.
“I called to see your brother. Go tell the nurse, I wish to go upstairs,” was the cold reply.
Mr. Clarke had not yet returned from business and Mary, the good-tempered maid, had shown the lady into the warm dining room, to wait for her master’s return. The wind was cold, but it seemed Miss Clarke had made the room colder by her very presence, so chilly was her greeting.
“I’ll go and see, Aunt Sarah,” responded Ethel to the statement that she wanted to go upstairs.
As soon as the door had closed, Miss Clarke turned to Jessie, saying, “I have been thinking that, as your mother will find you in the way when she comes downstairs, you may come and stay the Easter holidays with me. Of course, you must be very quiet. You are most of the time — not like your noisy sister — and you can help me with my needlework, for I don’t agree with children being out too much.”
All this was said in a cold, patronizing way, expecting her niece to receive with gratitude such an unexpected offer. She was totally unprepared for Jessie’s reply.
“I’d rather not come, thank you, Aunt. Mother and Ethel want me, and baby will too.”
“Oh, very well,” retorted Miss Clarke. “I am sure I don’t want you.”
Poor Jessie colored up. She saw how offended her aunt was. Thankfully the door opened, and Ethel, followed by Mrs. Carter, entered the room.
“I am sorry, ma’am, Mrs. Clarke is unable to see you today. She is not feeling well, so I can’t allow visitors yet.”
“I suppose I can see the baby. Or is he feeling bad, too?” snapped the ill-pleased lady.
“Yes, certainly. I will fetch him,” responded the nurse, surprised at the tone and manner of the visitor. During her absence, Miss Clarke rigidly kept her glance off the children, and they, feeling the awkwardness of the situation, were greatly relieved to see their father come in.
“Well, Sarah, what has brought you here?” he said, giving her a hearty hand shake.
“The train, of course,” said his sister, although she might have truthfully said the baby.
“Well, I’m glad to see you. Why, it’s months since you’ve called.”
The nurse’s entrance with the baby put a stop to the conversation that might have proved anything but agreeable.
Aunt Sarah examined the new arrival and declared with disapproval, “What a tiny little fellow, and fair too. Boys and men have no right to be blonds. Besides all the Clarkes are dark.”
“Well, Sarah,” responded her brother, “he’s none the worse for being fair.”
“I don’t know so much about that. I hope he will not grow up effeminate,” replied Miss Clarke who looked anything but that herself. “Have you thought of a name for him? Of course he’ll be called after our family. I should think John or William.”
Ethel and Jessie looked at each other, but their father smiled.
“We’ve decided on something more aristocratic than that. What do you say to Jumbo?”
“Don’t be foolish, John,” she chided. “I never heard anything so absurd.”
“No? Well, we are going to call him Stanley. What do you think of that name?”
Miss Clarke’s face, even more than her response, expressed what she thought of the name. “Perfectly ridiculous to call a child such an outlandish name. You might have consulted me.” As she spoke she looked across at Ethel and Jessie, who were trying hard not to smile.
Just then, Mary knocked at the door, with the question, “Shall I bring the tea in, sir?”
At that welcome sound, Mr. Clarke’s face relaxed. “We are quite ready for it, Mary.” As the tray of homemade cakes, hot toast and tea arrived, Miss Clarke became a little more sociable. But it was far from a happy meal, for she remained strongly opposed to the baby’s name. Finally she left, leaving anything but a pleasant memory behind.
“Just think,” said Jessie to Ethel, “she thought I should like to go and stay with her. Why I wouldn’t go away for anything now, when we’ve this darling baby to play with.” And Ethel quite agreed with her.