Chapter II

by William Somerset Maugham

　　It was a week later. Philip was sitting on the floor in the drawing-roomat Miss Watkin's house in Onslow gardens. He was an only child and used toamusing himself. The room was filled with massive furniture, and on eachof the sofas were three big cushions. There was a cushion too in eacharm-chair. All these he had taken and, with the help of the gilt routchairs, light and easy to move, had made an elaborate cave in which hecould hide himself from the Red Indians who were lurking behind thecurtains. He put his ear to the floor and listened to the herd ofbuffaloes that raced across the prairie. Presently, hearing the door open,he held his breath so that he might not be discovered; but a violent handpiled away a chair and the cushions fell down."You naughty boy, Miss Watkin will be cross with you.""Hulloa, Emma!" he said.The nurse bent down and kissed him, then began to shake out the cushions,and put them back in their places."Am I to come home?" he asked. "Yes, I've come to fetch you.""You've got a new dress on."It was in eighteen-eighty-five, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was ofblack velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt hadthree large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. Shehesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she couldnot give the answer she had prepared."Aren't you going to ask how your mamma is?" she said at length."Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"Now she was ready."Your mamma is quite well and happy.""Oh, I am glad.""Your mamma's gone away. You won't ever see her any more." Philip did notknow what she meant."Why not?""Your mamma's in heaven."She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not quite understand, criedtoo. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with fair hair and large features.She came from Devonshire and, notwithstanding her many years of service inLondon, had never lost the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased heremotion, and she pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely thepity of that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quiteunselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to strangers.But in a little while she pulled herself together."Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you," she said. "Go and saygood-bye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home.""I don't want to say good-bye," he answered, instinctively anxious to hidehis tears."Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was waiting for him in the hall.He heard the sound of voices in the study behind the dining-room. Hepaused. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends,and it seemed to him--he was nine years old--that if he went in they wouldbe sorry for him."I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin.""I think you'd better," said Emma."Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma knocked at the doorand walked in. He heard her speak."Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you, miss."There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and Philip limped in.Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red face and dyed hair. Inthose days to dye the hair excited comment, and Philip had heard muchgossip at home when his godmother's changed colour. She lived with anelder sister, who had resigned herself contentedly to old age. Two ladies,whom Philip did not know, were calling, and they looked at him curiously."My poor child," said Miss Watkin, opening her arms.She began to cry. Philip understood now why she had not been in toluncheon and why she wore a black dress. She could not speak."I've got to go home," said Philip, at last.He disengaged himself from Miss Watkin's arms, and she kissed him again.Then he went to her sister and bade her good-bye too. One of the strangeladies asked if she might kiss him, and he gravely gave her permission.Though crying, he keenly enjoyed the sensation he was causing; he wouldhave been glad to stay a little longer to be made much of, but felt theyexpected him to go, so he said that Emma was waiting for him. He went outof the room. Emma had gone downstairs to speak with a friend in thebasement, and he waited for her on the landing. He heard HenriettaWatkin's voice."His mother was my greatest friend. I can't bear to think that she'sdead.""You oughtn't to have gone to the funeral, Henrietta," said her sister. "Iknew it would upset you."Then one of the strangers spoke."Poor little boy, it's dreadful to think of him quite alone in the world.I see he limps.""Yes, he's got a club-foot. It was such a grief to his mother."Then Emma came back. They called a hansom, and she told the driver whereto go.