Chapter Thirteen.Strawberries and Cream.Summer, which had seemed very long in coming to Dennis and Maisie, had at last made up its mind, and was really here, bringing all its best pleasures and most beautiful things to look at and enjoy. It was really hot weather, so that it was possible almost to live out of doors, and to have tea in the garden as a matter of course. Hot enough always to wear cotton frocks and holland suits, and sun-bonnets and broad straw hats, to do very few lessons, and to be out quite late in the evening. The roses were in bloom, the fields smelt sweet with new-mown hay, the strawberries were ripe: it was glorious June weather.But at Upwell, though it was quite as hot, it was not by any means so beautiful. There the narrow dusty streets were stifling; the sun’s fierce rays beat down on the houses all day, and when night came, it brought no coolness or relief, and there seemed no air to breathe. It was not so bad for the people who could get away from the town when their work was done, into the fields and lanes for a while; but there were some who were old or sick and could not move, and amongst these was poor Becky. She got thinner and whiter and weaker as the hot days followed each other, and though she was very patient, and always ready to say, “Better, thank you,” with a smile, when her visitors asked how she was, she did not really feel better at all.But though this was the case, she was not unhappy, and the days were seldom long and weary as they used to be, for she now had three friends who paid her constant visits—Philippa, Maisie, and Dennis. To expect their coming, to think of all they had said, and how they had looked, were such new pleasures that Becky was now more than contented with her lot. Some day she was going to get well, and run about again, and perhaps dance to the organ in the street; meanwhile she had her kitten, and she had her friends; it was all much better than it used to be. Amongst the three, she perhaps looked forward the least to seeing Philippa, who never came without an offering of some kind—a picture-book, or something nice to eat. Philippa tried hard to please, but there was always a little condescension in her manner, from which her cousins were quite free.Maisie and Dennis seldom brought any present but a bunch of flowers, or a few strawberries, yet they seemed to leave behind them many other pleasant things to think of, which lasted until they came again. So Becky, in spite of aches and pains, thought herself very lucky just now, and would indeed have been surprised to know that there were still luckier days waiting for her not very far off.For, meeting Dr Price in Upwell one day, Aunt Katharine stopped to speak to him, and asked what he thought of Becky, and whether she would soon get stronger. Dr Price shook his head.“I can’t do much more for her,” he said, “all the while she has to stop in that stuffy room and get no fresh air. She ought to be out all day this weather. A month in the country would give her a chance.”A month in the country! Aunt Katharine drove home full of thought, and instead of stopping at Fieldside, went straight on to the Manor Farm. Could Mrs Solace tell her, she asked, after describing Becky’s condition in a moving manner, of any suitable place in the village where the child could be lodged for a while? Now, if Mrs Solace had a weakness, it was to nurse and pet up anything ailing or delicate, and restore it to health. She did wonders with weakly chickens, invalid cows, and other creatures on the farm requiring care and comfort.“Why shouldn’t the child come here, Miss Chester?” she asked at once.“Well, of course,” replied Aunt Katharine, inwardly rejoiced at her success, “if you don’t mind the trouble—”No trouble at all, Mrs Solace declared, with her large beaming smile. There would be new milk for her, and fresh air, and the garden to sit in, and the beasts to amuse her; and she’d be better off than anywhere in the village. As to Andrew—certainly there had been a time when Andrew wouldn’t have wished to encourage the Tuvvys, but that was over and done with. Tuvvy was as steady as you please now, and a valuable workman, and they’d be pleased to do anything for his child. Before Aunt Katharine left, the very hour and day of Becky’s arrival were fixed. She was to come back in one of Mr Solace’s wagons, which had to carry a load to Upwell station.“She’ll travel easiest so,” said Mrs Solace, “because she can lie flat; and there’s a tilt to the cart, so she’ll be well shaded from the sun.”In this way, a few days later, Becky performed the journey between Upwell and Fieldside, not without a little fear and trembling at going so far into the wide world. When the moment came, it was hard to leave the dim room, the uneasy couch, the things she knew so well; and the look of the bright sunshine outside dazzled her unaccustomed eyes and made her blink. She had, however, two great comforts. Dan had begged a day’s holiday that he might see her safely to the Manor Farm, and Mrs Solace had invited the grey kitten to come also. With these two friends to support her, Becky felt some courage, and after all, although she did not know Mr or Mrs Solace, there would be father at work quite near, and visits from the children at Fieldside.Mr Solace’s big wagon seemed to fill Market Street. The four iron-grey horses tossed all their gleaming brass medals with a jingling sound, as they stamped impatiently at the flies and gnats.“We’ll not have a heavy load home along, anyway,” said George the carter, as he lifted Becky and her little bundle carefully on to the mattress in the wagon, “and you’ll ride like a queen.”When she was comfortably settled, with Dan by her side holding the kitten in a hamper, the journey began. Not a hurried or discomposing one, for the grey horses, knowing that there was plenty of time before them, never changed their pace from a stately walk the whole way. So the wagon rolled majestically along through the noisy streets, out into the quiet open country, and carried Becky towards new scenes and fresh faces. The children at Fieldside had entreated permission to go and receive her on her arrival, but this Aunt Katharine would not allow.“She will be tired, and perhaps rather shy at coming amongst strangers,” she said; “the fewer people she sees at first the better. Leave her to Mrs Solace.”So Dennis and Maisie had to content themselves with seeing the wagon pass through the village, and knowing that Becky was in it. The next day Tuvvy stopped on his way home to say that she was not much tired, and doing finely, and Mrs Solace would be glad if Miss Maisie and Master Dennis would call in to see her. It was most provoking after this, that quite suddenly, following weeks of fine bright weather, the rain began, and would not leave off. Day after day one steady downpour: streaming window-panes, great puddles in the garden paths, grey sky, and wet green leaves.“Isn’tit unlucky for Becky?” said Maisie, looking out of the play-room window at the dreary dripping scene. “She won’t be able to go out at all.”“It’s unlucky for every one,” answered Dennis. “Mr Solace doesn’t want rain with nearly all his hay down.”Maisie’s eyes were fixed on the grass-plot beneath the window, where a company of starlings were busily engaged digging for worms and grubs.“It isn’t unlucky for quite every one,” she remarked; “the birds like it.”“But the worms don’t,” added Dennis quickly.Maisie was silent. She had a tender heart, but she disliked worms very much, and was always filled with disgust and fear when she dug them up in her little garden. She could not feel quite so sorry for them as she did for other things in trouble.“There’s one good thing,” resumed Dennis, after a little silence, “itcan’tgo on raining much longer, because of Mrs Solace’s strawberry party. It’s certain to clear up in time for that.”Maisie agreed. “But,” she added with a sigh, “that’s a whole week off, and I do so want to see how Becky and the kitten are getting on.”Mrs Solace’s strawberry party was a yearly entertainment which she always gave in June, just when the strawberries were ripe, and the children considered it the very best party in the summer. Others might be grander: at the vicarage, for instance, there was always a band, and at the Broadbents’ there were glee-singers and ices; but when all attractions had been counted up, the Manor Farm still remained the place which pleased them most. Every one went to Mrs Solace’s party, and came away with a feeling that they had spent a pleasant time. The vicar and his sister never missed it; Aunt Katharine and the children, the Broadbents, and others owning farms near Fieldside—even Dr Price, who was shy of gatherings in general—all met and talked to each other with smiling faces in the pretty old garden at the Manor Farm. Tea, with heaped-up dishes of strawberries, and a plentiful supply of cream, stood ready on little tables under the veranda, so that people could help themselves when and how they liked. Nothing could be more simple than Mrs Solace’s preparations, and yet her party was always successful. She asked every one, paying no attention at all to family quarrels or the niceties of social position amongst the neighbouring farmers, and yet there were no haughty looks. Even the Broadbents, who were always prepared to be a little superior to every one, laid aside their elegant exclusiveness, and descended to the common ground of unaffected good-nature and enjoyment.Perhaps one of the great reasons that made the party so pleasant was, that you might, as Dennis had said, always count on having a fine day. However wet or dull or cold it had been, the weather was sure to clear, and the sun to shine, for Mrs Solace, just on that special occasion, so that the children had grown to expect it as a matter of course. And yet another reason lay in the simple kindliness and good-will of Mrs Solace herself. The genial warmth of her welcome spread itself abroad and influenced her guests, much as the bountiful rays of the sun turned all the flowers and fruit to colour and sweetness in her garden. Sour looks, stiff manners, and peevish remarks seemed out of place, and as impossible on that day as cold winds, a cloudy sky, or unripe strawberries.Mrs Solace had her usual luck this year: by the time the day of the party came, the rain was over and gone, and the sun was shining so brightly, that clouds and greyness were quite forgotten.Philippa had come over from Haughton to go with her cousins; and the children, who always thought Aunt Katharine started much too late, begged that they might walk over earlier alone.“We want to have a good long time with Becky, you see,” said Maisie; “and we shan’t be in any one’s way.”When they arrived, therefore, at the door in the long grey wall which skirted the Manor Farm garden, they felt sure they were the very first guests, and walked slowly towards the house, expecting to meet Becky at every turn; for after a whole week at the farm, she surely ought to be running about as if there were nothing the matter with her!But there was no Becky, nor any one else to be seen in the garden. The flowers and the bees had it all to themselves, and were blooming and buzzing away as happily as possible, with no one to notice them. After the rain, all the blossoms looked as bright and fresh as though they had just put on new clothes to do honour to Mrs Solace’s party; and, indeed, they always seemed to enjoy their lives, and to bloom more abundantly here than anywhere else.Aunt Katharine was proud of her garden, and took a great deal of pains to make her flowers do well; but with all her best efforts, they did not flourish like these, and yet there was so little trouble taken about them. They grew very much how they would and where they would. When they got too thick, they were weeded out; and when one sort died, it was renewed in exactly the same place year after year. Some which were left entirely to their own way, like the snapdragons, seemed to thrive best of all. These thrust themselves into the crevices of the old wall, waved in triumph along the top of it, and had sown themselves industriously at the sides of the garden paths, reaching out their velvety, glowing mouths from the most unexpected places, for the dusty-legged humble bees to dive into.Certainly the bees had a fine time of it in the Manor garden, and plenty of sweetness to choose from, amongst the herbs, roses, and pinks which were mixed up together with the vegetables. These were separated by a wall from the lawn and flower-garden, and when the farmhouse came in view, the children saw that they were not the first visitors after all, for there were figures moving about under the deep veranda, and soon they were able to make out Becky sitting in a big wicker-chair with a cushion at her back.“And she’s got on my pink sun-bonnet that Aunt Katharine sent her,” said Maisie.All the way along they had been talking of Becky, and felt that they had a great deal to ask her about her journey, and what she thought of the Manor Farm; but now that they were here, and had shaken hands with her, a sudden silence fell on them all. Somehow Becky in her new surroundings struck them as a sort of stranger, and they stood round her, looking shyly at each other, without finding anything to say. This did not suit Philippa.“Come and show me where the strawberry beds are,” she said to Dennis, and when they had run away together, Maisie drew up a chair and sat down by Becky’s side.“How do you like being here?” she asked.Becky had a faint tinge of colour in her face now, like a China rose washed in the rain; her dark eyes looked brighter, and when she smiled, something that would soon be a dimple showed in her cheek.“Very well, thank you,” she answered. “I can walk a bit now. This morning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I’m goin’ to try and get up to the big tree.”“Very well” might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm to unaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the term to express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content.From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched the arrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes, and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn.“It’s like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern,” said Maisie; “we’re in the shadow and they’re in the light. Now I’ll tell you who they are. Here’s Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian.”Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make many excuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent.“He’s such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn’t he, girls? I said this morning, ‘Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon, and leave things to your bailiff for once.’ But no. ‘The master’s eye,’ he says, ‘does more work than both his hands.’”“Well, he’s in the right there,” said Mr Solace good-humouredly.“That’s little Miss Chester, isn’t it?” she went on, her sharp eye catching sight of the children, “and her cousin, Miss Trevor? How delicate she looks, poor child!” She nodded and smiled graciously.“No, that’s not Miss Trevor,” replied Mr Solace; “that’s my wheelwright’s little girl. She’s been ill, and she’s stopping here for change of air. My wife’s going to nurse her up a bit.”“Soodd!” remarked Mrs Broadbent, as she and her daughters moved on into the garden. “I really do think Mrs Solace might draw the linesomewhere.”“There’s Mr Hurst,” continued Maisie; “he’s our vicar, you know; and the little lady with white hair and a big hat is his sister, who lives with him. And he’s talking to your doctor, Dr Price. I wish he was our doctor, but we’re never ill, so it doesn’t matter much. I like Dr Price, ever since he told me about the kitten, only I wish he wouldn’t keep such cruel dogs. Whereisthe kitten? Didn’t you bring her?”There was a little lump on Becky’s knees covered up by her pinafore. She lifted a corner of it, and showed the grey kitten snugly asleep, curled up like a ball.“I was afraid so many strange folk would scare her,” she said.The garden was soon full of the sound of voices and laughter, and alive with many-coloured figures. Preparations for tea began to appear in the veranda, and presently Dennis and Philippa came slowly back with heated faces, each bearing a cabbage-leaf full of strawberries.“Philippa will say that they have bigger ones at Haughton,” said Dennis; “so I was determined to find the very biggest I could. Now just look here, Philippa!” He spread out his cabbage-leaf exultingly. “The Manor Farm’sfamousfor its strawberries; there’s nothing like them for miles round. Yours at Haughton are all very well, but the very largest would be squinny beside these.”Philippa had plenty to say on the subject as usual, and she carried on a lively dispute with Dennis as to the merits of the strawberries, until the children’s tea was brought out, and placed on a little table all to themselves.During their meal, they could watch the other guests, who came in and out from the garden to rest from the glare of the sun, or to taste the strawberries and cream and other good things provided for them. They all talked and laughed a great deal, and their talk was almost entirely about strawberries and cream. One preferred strawberries alone; another considered cream such a great improvement; a third found the mixture unwholesome, but the fruit alone, beneficial. Lilian Broadbent sauntered in, very much overcome with the heat, and threw herself languidly into the wicker-chair which an attentive young farmer hastened to bring.“That is the one they want her to marry,” whispered Dennis, who knew every one’s affairs.Would she have some strawberries? With or without cream? Did she take sugar? Would she have them prepared for her? After a careless assent had been given to all these questions, Miss Broadbent thought that on the whole strawberries tasted better picked for one’s self, only the very thought of stooping in the sun made her head ache. While her admirer suggested ways of overcoming this difficulty, Aunt Katharine and Mr Solace came in, and talked gravely of crops, and then the portly figures of Mrs Solace and Dr Price approached, and stopped to look at the little party of children.“Your patient does you credit, Mrs Solace,” said the doctor. “She looks better already. She’ll soon be out of my hands, if she goes on at this rate.”Mrs Solace smiled at Becky with the same sort of comfortable pride as when she looked at a remarkably fine brood of turkeys.“She’s picking up a bit,” she said; “but it’s early days yet. We’ll see how she looks after she’s been here a month. I shouldn’t wonder if she gets as hearty as Miss Maisie yonder.—Have you told Miss Maisie, Becky, what we’re going to make of you, when you get quite strong and well?”Becky looked shyly down at her plate. It was impossible to answer with so many people waiting to hear.“Well, well, she’ll tell you presently, I daresay,” said Mrs Solace, as she moved away with Dr Price’s huge figure plunging along beside her.“What did Mrs Solace mean?” asked Maisie eagerly, when they were out of hearing.“It’s about the chickens,” said Becky. “I like ’em ever so much, and Mrs Solace said this morning that some day she’d ask mother to let me come and bide here and look after ’em; but I’ve got to get strong, and grow a bit first.”“Well!” exclaimed Dennis enviously, “youarein luck!”“I should earn wages, like Dan,” said Becky.“I only wish I had the chance of working on the farm,” said Dennis; “but Aunt Katharine says I must go to school, and all sorts of things, first.”“What would you like to be, if you could?” asked Philippa.Dennis mashed up his strawberries thoughtfully.“Wheelwrightbest,” he answered; “only that wouldn’t have anything to do with the animals. I should like to be the pig-man very well; but it’s no use saying what I should like, because I shan’t have the chance.”“How nice it will be,” said Maisie to Becky, as she set a saucer of cream carefully on the ground for the kitten, “when you and the grey kitten are settled here. Isn’t it odd that she should have the very best home of the three, after all? We never thought it would turn out so.”“And she was the meanest and smallest of all the kittens,” said Dennis.“But,” added Maisie, “Philippa and I have quite settled that she’s the nicest of them, because she’s been the greatest comfort.”And now, while the sun shines, and there are happy voices and smiles all around, it is a good moment for us to say farewell to Dennis and Maisie, Philippa and Becky, and to wish them prosperity. We have seen a little part of their lives, and can only guess what shall befall them further; but we know that life cannot be all sunshine and strawberry parties, and that grey skies and dull moments will come to each as time goes on. The best thing we can wish for them, therefore, is that they may be happy whether the sun shines or the rain falls in their way through the world: and this they can surely be, if their hearts are warm and their hands are willing to love and serve others, both in sadness and joy.The End.
Summer, which had seemed very long in coming to Dennis and Maisie, had at last made up its mind, and was really here, bringing all its best pleasures and most beautiful things to look at and enjoy. It was really hot weather, so that it was possible almost to live out of doors, and to have tea in the garden as a matter of course. Hot enough always to wear cotton frocks and holland suits, and sun-bonnets and broad straw hats, to do very few lessons, and to be out quite late in the evening. The roses were in bloom, the fields smelt sweet with new-mown hay, the strawberries were ripe: it was glorious June weather.
But at Upwell, though it was quite as hot, it was not by any means so beautiful. There the narrow dusty streets were stifling; the sun’s fierce rays beat down on the houses all day, and when night came, it brought no coolness or relief, and there seemed no air to breathe. It was not so bad for the people who could get away from the town when their work was done, into the fields and lanes for a while; but there were some who were old or sick and could not move, and amongst these was poor Becky. She got thinner and whiter and weaker as the hot days followed each other, and though she was very patient, and always ready to say, “Better, thank you,” with a smile, when her visitors asked how she was, she did not really feel better at all.
But though this was the case, she was not unhappy, and the days were seldom long and weary as they used to be, for she now had three friends who paid her constant visits—Philippa, Maisie, and Dennis. To expect their coming, to think of all they had said, and how they had looked, were such new pleasures that Becky was now more than contented with her lot. Some day she was going to get well, and run about again, and perhaps dance to the organ in the street; meanwhile she had her kitten, and she had her friends; it was all much better than it used to be. Amongst the three, she perhaps looked forward the least to seeing Philippa, who never came without an offering of some kind—a picture-book, or something nice to eat. Philippa tried hard to please, but there was always a little condescension in her manner, from which her cousins were quite free.
Maisie and Dennis seldom brought any present but a bunch of flowers, or a few strawberries, yet they seemed to leave behind them many other pleasant things to think of, which lasted until they came again. So Becky, in spite of aches and pains, thought herself very lucky just now, and would indeed have been surprised to know that there were still luckier days waiting for her not very far off.
For, meeting Dr Price in Upwell one day, Aunt Katharine stopped to speak to him, and asked what he thought of Becky, and whether she would soon get stronger. Dr Price shook his head.
“I can’t do much more for her,” he said, “all the while she has to stop in that stuffy room and get no fresh air. She ought to be out all day this weather. A month in the country would give her a chance.”
A month in the country! Aunt Katharine drove home full of thought, and instead of stopping at Fieldside, went straight on to the Manor Farm. Could Mrs Solace tell her, she asked, after describing Becky’s condition in a moving manner, of any suitable place in the village where the child could be lodged for a while? Now, if Mrs Solace had a weakness, it was to nurse and pet up anything ailing or delicate, and restore it to health. She did wonders with weakly chickens, invalid cows, and other creatures on the farm requiring care and comfort.
“Why shouldn’t the child come here, Miss Chester?” she asked at once.
“Well, of course,” replied Aunt Katharine, inwardly rejoiced at her success, “if you don’t mind the trouble—”
No trouble at all, Mrs Solace declared, with her large beaming smile. There would be new milk for her, and fresh air, and the garden to sit in, and the beasts to amuse her; and she’d be better off than anywhere in the village. As to Andrew—certainly there had been a time when Andrew wouldn’t have wished to encourage the Tuvvys, but that was over and done with. Tuvvy was as steady as you please now, and a valuable workman, and they’d be pleased to do anything for his child. Before Aunt Katharine left, the very hour and day of Becky’s arrival were fixed. She was to come back in one of Mr Solace’s wagons, which had to carry a load to Upwell station.
“She’ll travel easiest so,” said Mrs Solace, “because she can lie flat; and there’s a tilt to the cart, so she’ll be well shaded from the sun.”
In this way, a few days later, Becky performed the journey between Upwell and Fieldside, not without a little fear and trembling at going so far into the wide world. When the moment came, it was hard to leave the dim room, the uneasy couch, the things she knew so well; and the look of the bright sunshine outside dazzled her unaccustomed eyes and made her blink. She had, however, two great comforts. Dan had begged a day’s holiday that he might see her safely to the Manor Farm, and Mrs Solace had invited the grey kitten to come also. With these two friends to support her, Becky felt some courage, and after all, although she did not know Mr or Mrs Solace, there would be father at work quite near, and visits from the children at Fieldside.
Mr Solace’s big wagon seemed to fill Market Street. The four iron-grey horses tossed all their gleaming brass medals with a jingling sound, as they stamped impatiently at the flies and gnats.
“We’ll not have a heavy load home along, anyway,” said George the carter, as he lifted Becky and her little bundle carefully on to the mattress in the wagon, “and you’ll ride like a queen.”
When she was comfortably settled, with Dan by her side holding the kitten in a hamper, the journey began. Not a hurried or discomposing one, for the grey horses, knowing that there was plenty of time before them, never changed their pace from a stately walk the whole way. So the wagon rolled majestically along through the noisy streets, out into the quiet open country, and carried Becky towards new scenes and fresh faces. The children at Fieldside had entreated permission to go and receive her on her arrival, but this Aunt Katharine would not allow.
“She will be tired, and perhaps rather shy at coming amongst strangers,” she said; “the fewer people she sees at first the better. Leave her to Mrs Solace.”
So Dennis and Maisie had to content themselves with seeing the wagon pass through the village, and knowing that Becky was in it. The next day Tuvvy stopped on his way home to say that she was not much tired, and doing finely, and Mrs Solace would be glad if Miss Maisie and Master Dennis would call in to see her. It was most provoking after this, that quite suddenly, following weeks of fine bright weather, the rain began, and would not leave off. Day after day one steady downpour: streaming window-panes, great puddles in the garden paths, grey sky, and wet green leaves.
“Isn’tit unlucky for Becky?” said Maisie, looking out of the play-room window at the dreary dripping scene. “She won’t be able to go out at all.”
“It’s unlucky for every one,” answered Dennis. “Mr Solace doesn’t want rain with nearly all his hay down.”
Maisie’s eyes were fixed on the grass-plot beneath the window, where a company of starlings were busily engaged digging for worms and grubs.
“It isn’t unlucky for quite every one,” she remarked; “the birds like it.”
“But the worms don’t,” added Dennis quickly.
Maisie was silent. She had a tender heart, but she disliked worms very much, and was always filled with disgust and fear when she dug them up in her little garden. She could not feel quite so sorry for them as she did for other things in trouble.
“There’s one good thing,” resumed Dennis, after a little silence, “itcan’tgo on raining much longer, because of Mrs Solace’s strawberry party. It’s certain to clear up in time for that.”
Maisie agreed. “But,” she added with a sigh, “that’s a whole week off, and I do so want to see how Becky and the kitten are getting on.”
Mrs Solace’s strawberry party was a yearly entertainment which she always gave in June, just when the strawberries were ripe, and the children considered it the very best party in the summer. Others might be grander: at the vicarage, for instance, there was always a band, and at the Broadbents’ there were glee-singers and ices; but when all attractions had been counted up, the Manor Farm still remained the place which pleased them most. Every one went to Mrs Solace’s party, and came away with a feeling that they had spent a pleasant time. The vicar and his sister never missed it; Aunt Katharine and the children, the Broadbents, and others owning farms near Fieldside—even Dr Price, who was shy of gatherings in general—all met and talked to each other with smiling faces in the pretty old garden at the Manor Farm. Tea, with heaped-up dishes of strawberries, and a plentiful supply of cream, stood ready on little tables under the veranda, so that people could help themselves when and how they liked. Nothing could be more simple than Mrs Solace’s preparations, and yet her party was always successful. She asked every one, paying no attention at all to family quarrels or the niceties of social position amongst the neighbouring farmers, and yet there were no haughty looks. Even the Broadbents, who were always prepared to be a little superior to every one, laid aside their elegant exclusiveness, and descended to the common ground of unaffected good-nature and enjoyment.
Perhaps one of the great reasons that made the party so pleasant was, that you might, as Dennis had said, always count on having a fine day. However wet or dull or cold it had been, the weather was sure to clear, and the sun to shine, for Mrs Solace, just on that special occasion, so that the children had grown to expect it as a matter of course. And yet another reason lay in the simple kindliness and good-will of Mrs Solace herself. The genial warmth of her welcome spread itself abroad and influenced her guests, much as the bountiful rays of the sun turned all the flowers and fruit to colour and sweetness in her garden. Sour looks, stiff manners, and peevish remarks seemed out of place, and as impossible on that day as cold winds, a cloudy sky, or unripe strawberries.
Mrs Solace had her usual luck this year: by the time the day of the party came, the rain was over and gone, and the sun was shining so brightly, that clouds and greyness were quite forgotten.
Philippa had come over from Haughton to go with her cousins; and the children, who always thought Aunt Katharine started much too late, begged that they might walk over earlier alone.
“We want to have a good long time with Becky, you see,” said Maisie; “and we shan’t be in any one’s way.”
When they arrived, therefore, at the door in the long grey wall which skirted the Manor Farm garden, they felt sure they were the very first guests, and walked slowly towards the house, expecting to meet Becky at every turn; for after a whole week at the farm, she surely ought to be running about as if there were nothing the matter with her!
But there was no Becky, nor any one else to be seen in the garden. The flowers and the bees had it all to themselves, and were blooming and buzzing away as happily as possible, with no one to notice them. After the rain, all the blossoms looked as bright and fresh as though they had just put on new clothes to do honour to Mrs Solace’s party; and, indeed, they always seemed to enjoy their lives, and to bloom more abundantly here than anywhere else.
Aunt Katharine was proud of her garden, and took a great deal of pains to make her flowers do well; but with all her best efforts, they did not flourish like these, and yet there was so little trouble taken about them. They grew very much how they would and where they would. When they got too thick, they were weeded out; and when one sort died, it was renewed in exactly the same place year after year. Some which were left entirely to their own way, like the snapdragons, seemed to thrive best of all. These thrust themselves into the crevices of the old wall, waved in triumph along the top of it, and had sown themselves industriously at the sides of the garden paths, reaching out their velvety, glowing mouths from the most unexpected places, for the dusty-legged humble bees to dive into.
Certainly the bees had a fine time of it in the Manor garden, and plenty of sweetness to choose from, amongst the herbs, roses, and pinks which were mixed up together with the vegetables. These were separated by a wall from the lawn and flower-garden, and when the farmhouse came in view, the children saw that they were not the first visitors after all, for there were figures moving about under the deep veranda, and soon they were able to make out Becky sitting in a big wicker-chair with a cushion at her back.
“And she’s got on my pink sun-bonnet that Aunt Katharine sent her,” said Maisie.
All the way along they had been talking of Becky, and felt that they had a great deal to ask her about her journey, and what she thought of the Manor Farm; but now that they were here, and had shaken hands with her, a sudden silence fell on them all. Somehow Becky in her new surroundings struck them as a sort of stranger, and they stood round her, looking shyly at each other, without finding anything to say. This did not suit Philippa.
“Come and show me where the strawberry beds are,” she said to Dennis, and when they had run away together, Maisie drew up a chair and sat down by Becky’s side.
“How do you like being here?” she asked.
Becky had a faint tinge of colour in her face now, like a China rose washed in the rain; her dark eyes looked brighter, and when she smiled, something that would soon be a dimple showed in her cheek.
“Very well, thank you,” she answered. “I can walk a bit now. This morning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I’m goin’ to try and get up to the big tree.”
“Very well” might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm to unaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the term to express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content.
From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched the arrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes, and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn.
“It’s like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern,” said Maisie; “we’re in the shadow and they’re in the light. Now I’ll tell you who they are. Here’s Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian.”
Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make many excuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent.
“He’s such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn’t he, girls? I said this morning, ‘Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon, and leave things to your bailiff for once.’ But no. ‘The master’s eye,’ he says, ‘does more work than both his hands.’”
“Well, he’s in the right there,” said Mr Solace good-humouredly.
“That’s little Miss Chester, isn’t it?” she went on, her sharp eye catching sight of the children, “and her cousin, Miss Trevor? How delicate she looks, poor child!” She nodded and smiled graciously.
“No, that’s not Miss Trevor,” replied Mr Solace; “that’s my wheelwright’s little girl. She’s been ill, and she’s stopping here for change of air. My wife’s going to nurse her up a bit.”
“Soodd!” remarked Mrs Broadbent, as she and her daughters moved on into the garden. “I really do think Mrs Solace might draw the linesomewhere.”
“There’s Mr Hurst,” continued Maisie; “he’s our vicar, you know; and the little lady with white hair and a big hat is his sister, who lives with him. And he’s talking to your doctor, Dr Price. I wish he was our doctor, but we’re never ill, so it doesn’t matter much. I like Dr Price, ever since he told me about the kitten, only I wish he wouldn’t keep such cruel dogs. Whereisthe kitten? Didn’t you bring her?”
There was a little lump on Becky’s knees covered up by her pinafore. She lifted a corner of it, and showed the grey kitten snugly asleep, curled up like a ball.
“I was afraid so many strange folk would scare her,” she said.
The garden was soon full of the sound of voices and laughter, and alive with many-coloured figures. Preparations for tea began to appear in the veranda, and presently Dennis and Philippa came slowly back with heated faces, each bearing a cabbage-leaf full of strawberries.
“Philippa will say that they have bigger ones at Haughton,” said Dennis; “so I was determined to find the very biggest I could. Now just look here, Philippa!” He spread out his cabbage-leaf exultingly. “The Manor Farm’sfamousfor its strawberries; there’s nothing like them for miles round. Yours at Haughton are all very well, but the very largest would be squinny beside these.”
Philippa had plenty to say on the subject as usual, and she carried on a lively dispute with Dennis as to the merits of the strawberries, until the children’s tea was brought out, and placed on a little table all to themselves.
During their meal, they could watch the other guests, who came in and out from the garden to rest from the glare of the sun, or to taste the strawberries and cream and other good things provided for them. They all talked and laughed a great deal, and their talk was almost entirely about strawberries and cream. One preferred strawberries alone; another considered cream such a great improvement; a third found the mixture unwholesome, but the fruit alone, beneficial. Lilian Broadbent sauntered in, very much overcome with the heat, and threw herself languidly into the wicker-chair which an attentive young farmer hastened to bring.
“That is the one they want her to marry,” whispered Dennis, who knew every one’s affairs.
Would she have some strawberries? With or without cream? Did she take sugar? Would she have them prepared for her? After a careless assent had been given to all these questions, Miss Broadbent thought that on the whole strawberries tasted better picked for one’s self, only the very thought of stooping in the sun made her head ache. While her admirer suggested ways of overcoming this difficulty, Aunt Katharine and Mr Solace came in, and talked gravely of crops, and then the portly figures of Mrs Solace and Dr Price approached, and stopped to look at the little party of children.
“Your patient does you credit, Mrs Solace,” said the doctor. “She looks better already. She’ll soon be out of my hands, if she goes on at this rate.”
Mrs Solace smiled at Becky with the same sort of comfortable pride as when she looked at a remarkably fine brood of turkeys.
“She’s picking up a bit,” she said; “but it’s early days yet. We’ll see how she looks after she’s been here a month. I shouldn’t wonder if she gets as hearty as Miss Maisie yonder.—Have you told Miss Maisie, Becky, what we’re going to make of you, when you get quite strong and well?”
Becky looked shyly down at her plate. It was impossible to answer with so many people waiting to hear.
“Well, well, she’ll tell you presently, I daresay,” said Mrs Solace, as she moved away with Dr Price’s huge figure plunging along beside her.
“What did Mrs Solace mean?” asked Maisie eagerly, when they were out of hearing.
“It’s about the chickens,” said Becky. “I like ’em ever so much, and Mrs Solace said this morning that some day she’d ask mother to let me come and bide here and look after ’em; but I’ve got to get strong, and grow a bit first.”
“Well!” exclaimed Dennis enviously, “youarein luck!”
“I should earn wages, like Dan,” said Becky.
“I only wish I had the chance of working on the farm,” said Dennis; “but Aunt Katharine says I must go to school, and all sorts of things, first.”
“What would you like to be, if you could?” asked Philippa.
Dennis mashed up his strawberries thoughtfully.
“Wheelwrightbest,” he answered; “only that wouldn’t have anything to do with the animals. I should like to be the pig-man very well; but it’s no use saying what I should like, because I shan’t have the chance.”
“How nice it will be,” said Maisie to Becky, as she set a saucer of cream carefully on the ground for the kitten, “when you and the grey kitten are settled here. Isn’t it odd that she should have the very best home of the three, after all? We never thought it would turn out so.”
“And she was the meanest and smallest of all the kittens,” said Dennis.
“But,” added Maisie, “Philippa and I have quite settled that she’s the nicest of them, because she’s been the greatest comfort.”
And now, while the sun shines, and there are happy voices and smiles all around, it is a good moment for us to say farewell to Dennis and Maisie, Philippa and Becky, and to wish them prosperity. We have seen a little part of their lives, and can only guess what shall befall them further; but we know that life cannot be all sunshine and strawberry parties, and that grey skies and dull moments will come to each as time goes on. The best thing we can wish for them, therefore, is that they may be happy whether the sun shines or the rain falls in their way through the world: and this they can surely be, if their hearts are warm and their hands are willing to love and serve others, both in sadness and joy.
|Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13|