Chapter Five.

Chapter Five.May Day.“But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,For I’m to be Queen of the May, mother, I’m to be Queen of the May!”—Tennyson.Agnetta had been quite wrong in saying that Lilac had any idea of being Queen. At the school that afternoon, when amidst breathless silence the Mistress had counted up the votes and said: “Lilac White is chosen Queen”, it had been such a surprise to her that she had stood as though in a dream. Her companions nudged her on either side. “It’s you that’s Queen,” they whispered; and at length she awoke to the wonderful fact that it was not Agnetta or anyone else who had the most votes, but she herself, Lilac White. She was Queen! Looking round, still half-puzzled to believe such a wonderful thing, she saw a great many pleased faces, and heard Mrs Leigh say: “I think you have chosen very well, and I am glad Lilac will be Queen this year.” It was, then, really true. “How pleased Mother’ll be!” was her first thought; but her second was not so pleasant, for her eye fell on Agnetta. It was the only sullen face there; disappointment and vexation were written upon it, and there was no answering glance of sympathy from the downcast eyes. Lilac was an impulsive child, and affection for her friend made her forget everything else for the moment. She left her place, went up to Mrs Leigh, who was talking to the schoolmistress, and held one arm out straight in front of her.“Well, Lilac,” said Mrs Leigh kindly, “what is it?”“Please, ma’am,” said Lilac, dropping a curtsy, “if they don’t mind, I’d rather Agnetta Greenways was Queen.”“Oh, that’s quite out of the question,” said Mrs Leigh decidedly; “when the Queen’s been once chosen it can’t be altered. Why, I should have thought you would have been pleased.”Lilac hung her head, and went back to her place rather abashed. She was pleased, and she did not like Mrs Leigh to think she did not care. Her whole heart was full of delight at receiving such an honour, but at the same time it was hard for Agnetta, who had so set her mind on being Queen. If only she could be Queen too! That being impossible, Lilac had done her best in offering to give it up, and it was disappointing to find that her friend, far from being grateful, was cross and sulky with her and quite out of temper. When the other children crowded round Lilac with pleased faces Agnetta held back, and had not one kind word to say, but refusing an advances flung herself away from her companions and rushed home full of wrath. Lilac looked after her wistfully; it hurt her to think that Agnetta could behave so. “After all,” she said to herself, “I couldn’t help them choosing me, and I did offer to give it up.”Everyone else was glad that she was Queen, and ready with a smile and a nod when they met her. If Agnetta had only been pleased too Lilac’s happiness would have been perfect, but that was just the one thing wanting. However, even with this drawback there was a great deal of pleasure to look forward to, and when she went to the Rectory to have the white dress fitted on she was almost as excited as though it was really a royal robe.“It’s a pity about the fringe, Lilac,” said Miss Ellen as she pinned and arranged the long train; “it’s not nearly so becoming.” Then seeing the excited face suddenly downcast she added: “Never mind; I dare say the crown will partly hide it.”Her arrangements finished, she called her sister, and they both surveyed Lilac gravely, who, a little abashed by such business-like observation, stood before them shyly in her straight white gown, with the train fastened on her shoulders.“I think she’ll do very nicely,” said Miss Alice, “when she gets the flowers on. They make all the difference. What will she wear?”Miss Ellen’s opinion was decided on that point. “It ought to be white lilac, and plenty of it,” she said, “nothing would suit the Queen so well.” Then came a difficulty: there was none nearer than Cuddingham. Could it be got in time?Lilac was doubtful, for Cuddingham was a long way off, but she promised to do her best, and Miss Ellen’s last words to her were:“Bring moon daisies if you can’t get it, but remember I should like white lilac much the best.”Lilac herself thought the moon daisies would be prettier, with their bright yellow middles; but Miss Ellen’s word was law, and as she had set her heart on white lilac, some way of going to Cuddingham must be found since it was too far to walk. There were only two days now to the great event, and during them Lilac did her best to make her wants known everywhere. In vain, however. No one was going to or coming from that place; always the same disappointing answers:“Cuddingham! No, thank goodness; I was there last week. I don’t want to see that hill again yet a while.” Or, “Well now, if I’d known yesterday I might a suited you.” And so on.Lilac began to despair. She thought of Orchards Farm, but she had not courage to ask any favour there while Agnetta was so vexed with her. Even Uncle Joshua, who had always helped her at need, had nothing to suggest now, and did not even seem to think it of much importance. He dropped in to see Mrs White on the evening before May Day, and with her usual faith in him Lilac at once began to place her difficulty before him. But for once he was not ready to listen, and she was obliged to wait impatiently while he carried on a long conversation with her mother. They had a great deal to talk of, and it was most uninteresting to Lilac, for it was all about things of the past in which she had had no share. She might have liked it at another time, but just now she was full of the present, and she became more and more impatient as Uncle Joshua went on. He had to call back the first celebration of May Day which he “minded”, and the smallest event connected with it; and when he had done Mrs White took up the tale, dwelling specially on Jem’s musical talent, and how he had been the very soul of the drum-and-fife band.“They’re all at sixes and sevens now, to my thinking,” she said. “Jem, he kep’ ’em together and made ’em do their best.”“Aye, that’s where it is,” said the cobbler with an approving nod; “that’s what we’ve all on us got to do.”His eye rested as he spoke on Lilac’s eager face, and seizing the opportunity of a pause she rushed in with what she had so much on her mind:“Oh, Uncle Joshua! to-morrow’s the day, and I can’t get no white lilac for Miss Ellen to make my garland with. What shall I do?”But Joshua was in a moralising mood, and though Lilac’s question gave him another subject to discourse on, he was more bent on hearing himself talk than in getting over her difficulty. He raised one finger and began to speak slowly, and when Mrs White saw that, she paused with the kettle in her hand and stood quite still to listen. Joshua was going to say something “good.”“It don’t matter a bit,” he said, “what you make your garland of. Flowers is all perishin’ things and they’ll be dead next day, and wear what you will, they won’t make you into a real Queen. But there’s things as will always make folks bow down when they see ’em, May Day or no May Day, and them’s the things you ought to seek for, early and late till you find ’em. You take a lot of pains to get flowers to deck your outsides, but you don’t care much for the plants I’m thinking of; you leave ’em to chance, and so sometimes they’re choked out by the weeds. An’ yet they’re worth takin’ trouble for, and if you once get ’em to take root and grow they’re fit to crown the finest Queen as ever was; and they won’t die either, but the more you use ’em the fresher and sweeter they’ll be. There’s Love now; you can’t understand anyone, not the smallest child, without that. There’s Truth; you can’t do anything with folks unless they trust you. There’s Obedience; you can’t rule till you know how to serve. There’s three plants for you, and there’s a whole lot more, but that’s enough for you to bear in mind, and I must be going along.”Joshua departed much satisfied with his eloquence, leaving Mrs White equally impressed.“Lor’!” she exclaimed, “there’s a gifted man. It’s every bit as good as being in church to hear him. And I hope, Lilac, as how you’ll lay it to heart and mind it when you get to be a woman.”But Lilac did not feel in the least inclined to lay it to heart. She was vexed with Uncle Joshua, who had not been the least help in her perplexity; for once he had failed her, and she was glad he had gone away so that she could think over a plan for to-morrow. It was of no use evidently to reckon on white lilac any longer, the only thing to be done now was to get up very early the next morning and pick the best moon daisies she could find for Miss Ellen. This determination was so strong within her when she fell asleep, that she woke with a sudden start next morning as the daylight was just creeping through her lattice. Had she overslept herself? No, it was beautifully early, it must be an hour at least before her usual time. She dressed herself quickly and quietly, so as not to disturb her mother in the next room, and then pushing open her tiny window gave an anxious look at the weather. Would it be fine? At present a thin misty grey veil was spread over everything, but she could see the village below, which looked fast, fast asleep, with no smoke from its chimneys and nothing stirring. There was such a stillness everywhere that it seemed wrong to make a noise, as though you were in church. And the birds felt it too, for they twittered in a subdued manner, keeping back their full burst of song to greet someone who would come presently. Lilac knew who that was. She knew as well as the birds that very soon the sun would thrust away the misty veil and show his beaming face to the valley. It would be fine. It was May Day, and she was Queen!She drew a deep breath of delight, went downstairs on tiptoe, found a basket and a knife, tied on her bonnet, and unlatched the door; but there she stopped short, checked on the threshold by a sight so surprising that for a moment she could not move. For at her feet, on the doorstep, lying there purely white as though it had fallen from the clouds, was a great mass of white lilac. There were branches and branches of it, so that the air was filled with its gentle delicate scent, and it was so fresh that all its leaves were moist with dew. Someone had been up earlier even than herself. The question was—who?Uncle Joshua of course; he had not failed after all, though how even such a very clever man could have got to Cuddingham and back since last night was more than Lilac could tell. That did not matter. There it was, and what a fine lot of it! “He must have brought away nigh a whole bush,” she said to herself. “Miss Ellen will be rare and pleased, surely.” She gathered up the sweet-smelling boughs at last, and put them into one of her mother’s washing-baskets. There was no need to pick moon daisies now, and as she swept and dusted the room and lit the fire she gave many looks of admiration at her treasure, and many grateful thoughts to Uncle Joshua. Mrs White also had no doubt that he had managed it somehow; and she was so moved by the fact of his kindness, and by Lilac being Queen, and by a hundred past memories, that her usual composure left her, and she threw her apron over her head and had a good cry.“There!” she said when it was over, “I can’t think what makes me so silly. But Jem he would a been proud to have seen you—he always liked the laylocks.”But now came the question as to how it was to be carried down the hill to the school room. Lilac could not lift the great basket, and it was at last found best to pile up the branches in her long white pinafore, which she held by the two corners. When all was ready she looked seriously across the fragrant burden, which reached up to her chin, and said:“You’ll be sure and be up there in time, won’t you, Mother, or you won’t see me crowned?”“No fear,” said Mrs White as she held the gate open. “Mind and walk steady or you’ll drop some, and you can’t pick it up if you do.”Lilac nodded. She was almost too excited to speak. If it felt like this to be Queen of the May, she wondered what it must be like to be a real Queen!It was a glorious morning. The mist had gone, the sun had come, and all the birds were singing their best tunes to welcome him. To Lilac they sounded more than usually gay, as though they were telling each other all sorts of pleasant things. “The sun is here—it is May Day—Lilac is Queen.” All the trees too, as they bent in the breeze, seemed to talk together with busy murmurs and whisperings: they tossed their heads and threw up their hands as if in surprise at some news, and then bowed low and gracefully before her, for what they had heard was—“Lilac White is Queen!”Her heart danced so to listen to them that it was quite difficult to keep her feet to a measured step, but when she reached the turn of the hill something made her feel that she must look back. She turned slowly round. There was Mother waving her hand at the gate. When they next met it would be up in the woods, and Lilac would wear crown and garland. She could not wave her hand or even nod in return, but she made a sort of little curtsy and went on her way.At the bottom of the hill she met Mrs Wishing, who, bent nearly double by a heavy bundle, was crawling up from the village.“Well, you look happy anyhow, Lilac White,” she said mournfully. “And you haven’t forgotten to bring enough flowers with you either.”“I can’t stop,” said Lilac, “I’ve got to go and put these on Father first. It’s so far for Mother to come.”She gave a movement of her chin towards the primrose wreath which Mrs White had added at the last moment to the heap of flowers.“Ah! well,” sighed Mrs Wishing, “in the midst of life we are in death. I haven’t much heart for junketing myself, but I shall be up yonder this afternoon if I’m spared.”Lilac passed quickly on, nodding and smiling in return to the greetings which met her. At the door of the shop stood Mr Dimbleby, his face heavier than usual with importance, and a little farther on she saw her Uncle Greenways’ wagon and team waiting in charge of Ben, who leant lazily against one of the horses. Mr Greenways always lent a wagon on May Day so that the very old people and small children might drive up the worst part of the hill. Certainly it was there in plenty of time, for it would not be wanted till the afternoon; but it is always well not to be hurried on such occasions, and many of the people had to walk from outlying hamlets.Lilac laid her primroses on her father’s grave, and turned back towards the school-house just as the clock struck twelve. There were now many other little figures hurrying in the same direction with businesslike step, and all carrying flowers. Primroses, daisies, buttercups, cowslips, and honeysuckle were to be seen, but there was nothing half so beautiful as the heap of white lilac. Agnetta saw it as she passed into the school room, and gave an astonished stare and a sniff of displeasure: she had only brought a basket of small daisies, and had taken no trouble about them, so that her offering was not noticed or praised at all. Then Lilac advanced, and dropping her little curtsy stood silently in front of Miss Ellen and Miss Alice holding out her pinafore to its widest extent. There were exclamations of admiration and surprise from everyone, and Agnetta stamped her foot with vexation to hear them.“It’sexquisite!” said Miss Ellen at last. “Where did you get such a beautiful lot of it?”“Please, ma’am, I don’t know,” said Lilac. “I found it on the doorstep.”Agnetta’s wrath grew higher every moment. No one paid her any attention, and here was her insignificant cousin Lilac the centre of everyone’s interest. She overheard a whisper of Miss Alice’s: “She’ll make far the loveliest Queen we’ve ever had.”What could it be they admired in Lilac? Agnetta stood with a pout on her lips, idle, while all round the busy work and chatter went on.“Now, Agnetta,” said Miss Ellen, bustling up to her, “there’s plenty to do. Get me some twine and some wire, and if you’re very careful you may help me with the Queen’s sceptre.”It was a hateful office, but there was no help for it, and Agnetta had to humble herself in the Queen’s service for the rest of the morning. To kneel on the floor, pick off small sprays from the bunches of lilac, and hand them up to Miss Ellen as she wove them into garland and sceptre. While she did it her heart was hot within her, and she felt that she hated her cousin. The work went on quickly but very silently inside the schoolroom. There was no time to talk, for the masses of flowers which covered table, benches, and floor had all to be changed into wreaths and garlands before one o’clock, for the Queen and her court. Outside it was not so quiet. An eager group had gathered there long ago, composed of the drum-and-fife band, which broke out now and then into fragments of tunes, the boy with the maypole on his shoulder, and bearers of sundry bright flags and banners. To these the time seemed endless, and they did their best to shorten it by jokes and laughter; it was only the close neighbourhood of the schoolmaster which prevented the boldest from climbing up to the high window and hanging on by his hands to see how matters were going on within. But at last the latch clicked, the door opened wide: there stood the smiling little white Queen with her gaily dressed court crowding at her back. There was a murmur of admiration, and the band, gazing open-mouthed, almost forgot to strike up “God save the Queen.” For there was something different about this Queen to any they had seen before. She was so delicately white, so like a flower herself, that looking out from the blossoms which surrounded her she might have been the spirit of a lilac bush suddenly made visible. The white lilac covered her dress in delicate sprays, it bordered the edge of her long train, it twined up the tall sceptre in her hand, it was woven into the crown which was carried after her. At present the Queen’s head was bare, for she would not be crowned till she reached her throne in the woods.Then the procession began its march, band playing, banners fluttering bravely in the wind, through the village first, so that all those who could not get up the hill might come to their doors and windows to admire. Then leaving the highroad it came to the steep ascent, and here the wind blowing more freshly almost caught away the Queen’s train from the grasp of her two little pages. The band, in spite of gallant struggles, became short of breath, so that the music was wild and uncertain; and the smaller courtiers straggled behind unable to keep up with the rest.It made its way, however, notwithstanding these difficulties, and from the top of the hill where crowds of people had now gathered it was watched by eager and interested eyes. First it looked in the distance like a struggling piece of patchwork on the hillside, then it took shape and they could make out the maypole and the flags, then, nearer still, the sounds of the three tunes which the band played over and over again were wafted to their ears, and at last the small white figure of the Queen herself could plainly be distinguished from the rest. It did not take long after this to reach level ground, and as the procession moved along with recovered breath and dignity to the music of “God save the Queen”, it was followed by admiring remarks from all sides:“See my Johnnie! Him in the pink cap. Bless his ’art, how fine he looks!” Or “There’s Polly Ann with the wreath of daisies!”“Well now,” said Mrs Pinhorn, “I will say Lilac looks as peart and neat as a little bit of waxworks.”“She wants colour, to my thinking,” said Mrs Greenways, to whom this was addressed.The Greenways stood a little aloof from the general crowd, dressed with great elegance. Bella rather looked down on the whole affair. “It’s so mixed,” she said; “but we have to go, because Papa don’t wish to offend Mr Leigh.”“I call that a real pretty sight,” said Joshua Snell, turning to his neighbour, who happened to be Peter Greenways. “They’ve dressed her up very fitting in all them lilac blooms. But wherever did they get such a sight of ’em?”Peter had been forced into a shiny black suit of clothes, a stiff collar, and a bright blue necktie, that he might not disgrace the stylish appearance of his mother and sisters. In this attire he felt even less at his ease than usual, and his arms hung before him as helplessly as those of a stuffed figure. Perhaps it was owing to this state of discomfort that he made no other answer to Joshua’s remark than a nervous grin.“I don’t see the Widder White anywheres,” continued Joshua, looking round; “but there’s such a throng one can’t tell who’s who.”Lilac, too, had been looking in vain for her mother amongst the groups of people she had passed through, and as she took her seat on the hawthorn-covered throne she gazed wistfully to right and left. No, Mother was not there. Plenty of well-known faces, but not the one she wanted most to see.“Shepromisedto be in time,” she said to herself, “and now she’ll miss the crowning.” It was a dreadful pity, for Lilac could only be Queen once in her life, and it seemed to take away the best part of the pleasure for Mother not to be there. She had been looking forward to it for so long. What could have kept her away? The Queen’s eyes filled with tears of disappointment, and through them the form of Peter Greenways seemed to loom unnaturally large, his face redder than ever above his blue neckcloth, his mouth and eyes wide open. Lilac checked her tears and remembered her exalted position. She must not cry now; but directly the crowning and the dance were over she resolved to search for her mother, and if she were not there to go home and see what had prevented her coming.This determination enabled her to bear her honours with becoming dignity, and to put aside her private anxiety for the time like other royal personages. She danced round the maypole with her court, and led the May-Day song as gaily as if her pleasure had been quite perfect. But it was not; for all the while she was wondering what could possibly have become of her mother.At last, her public duties over, the Queen found herself at liberty. The crowd had dispersed now, and was broken up into little knots of people chatting together and waiting for the next excitement—tea-time.Through these Lilac passed with always the same question: “Have you seen Mother?” Sometimes in the distance she fancied she saw a shawl of a pattern she knew well, but having pursued it, it turned out to belong to someone quite different. She had just made up her mind to go home, when one of her companions ran up to her with an excited face:“Come along,” she cried; “they’re just agoin’ to start the races.”Lilac hesitated. “I can’t,” she said; “I’ve got to go and look after Mother.”“Well, it’ll be on your way,” said the other; “and you needn’t stop no longer nor you like. Come along.”She seized Lilac’s arm and they ran on together to the flat piece of ground on the edge of the wood, where the races were to take place. The steep side of the down descended abruptly from this, and Lilac knew that by taking that way, which was quite an easy one to her active feet, she could very quickly reach home. So she stayed to look first at one race and then at another, and they all proved so amusing that the more she saw the more she wanted to see, though she still said to herself: “I’ll go after this one.” She was laughing at the struggling efforts of the boys in a sack race, when suddenly, amidst the noise of cheers and shouting which surrounded her, she heard her own name spoken in an urgent entreating voice: “Lilac—Lilac White!”“Who is it wants me!” she said, starting up and trying to force her way through the crowd. “I’m here; what is it?” The people stood back to let her pass.“It’s Mrs Leigh wants you,” said a woman. “She’s standing back yonder.”It was strange to see Mrs Leigh’s beaming face look so grave and troubled, and it gave Lilac a sense of fear when she reached her.“Is Mother here, ma’am?” was her first question. “Does she want me, please?”Mrs Leigh did not answer quite at once, then she said very seriously:“Your mother is at home, Lilac. You must go with me at once. She is ill.”Self-reproach darted through Lilac’s heart. Why had she put off going home? But she must do the best she could now, and she said at once:“Hadn’t I best send someone for the doctor first, ma’am?”“He is there,” answered Mrs Leigh. “He was sent for some time ago; Daniel Wishing went.”The next thing was to get back to Mother as quickly as possible, and Lilac turned without hesitation to the way she had meant to take—straight down the side of the hill. But Mrs Leigh stopped aghast.“You’re not going down there, surely?” she said.“It’s as nigh again as going round, ma’am,” said Lilac eagerly; “and it’s not to say difficult if you do it sideways.”Mrs Leigh still hesitated. It was very steep; the smooth turf was slippery. There was not even a shrub or anything to cling to, and a slip would certainly end in an awkward tumble. At another time she would have turned from it with horror, but she looked at Lilac’s upturned anxious face and was touched with pity.“After all,” she said, grasping her umbrella courageously, “if you can help me a little, perhaps it won’t be so bad as it looks.”So they started, hand in hand, Lilac a little in front carefully leading the way; but she was soon sorry that they had not gone round by the road. This was a short distance for herself, but it proved a long one now that she had Mrs Leigh with her. A slip, a stop, a slide, another stop—it was a very slow progress indeed. As they went jerking along the flowers fell off Lilac’s dress one by one and left a white track behind her. She had taken off her crown and held it in her hand; its blossoms were drooping already, and its leaves folded up and limp. How short a time it was since they had been fresh and fair, and she had marched up the hill so bravely, full of delight. Now, poor little discrowned Queen, she was leaving her kingdom of mirth and laughter behind her with every step, and coming nearer to the shadowy valley where sadness waited. After many a sigh and gasp Mrs Leigh and her guide reached the bottom in safety. They were on comparatively level ground now, with gently sloping fields in front of them and the sharp shoulder of the hill rising at their back. There, within a stone’s throw stood the Wishings’ cottage, and a little farther on Lilac’s own home. How quiet, how very still it all looked! Now and then there floated in the calm air a shout or a sudden burst of laughter from the distant merry-makers, but here, below, it was all utterly silent. The two little white cottages had no light in their windows, no smoke from their chimneys, no sign of life anywhere.“Mother’s let the fire out,” said Lilac.Mrs Leigh came to a sudden standstill. “Lilac,” she said, “my poor child—”Lilac looked up frightened and bewildered. Mrs Leigh’s eyes were full of tears, and she could hardly speak. She took Lilac’s hand in hers and held it tightly. “My poor child,” she repeated.“Oh, please, ma’am,” cried Lilac, “let’s be quick and go to Mother. What ails her?”“Nothing ails her,” said Mrs Leigh solemnly; “nothing will ever ail her any more. You must be brave for her sake, and remember that she loves you still; but you will not hear her speak again on earth.”The revels on the hill broke up sooner than usual that night, and those who had to pass the cottage on their way home trod softly and hushed their children’s laughter. For ill news travels fast, and before nightfall there was no one who did not know that the Widow White was dead.And thus Lilac’s May-Day reign held in its short space the greatest happiness and the greatest sorrow of her life. Joy and smiles and freshly-blooming flowers in the morning; sadness and tears and a withered crown at night.

“But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,For I’m to be Queen of the May, mother, I’m to be Queen of the May!”—Tennyson.

“But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,For I’m to be Queen of the May, mother, I’m to be Queen of the May!”—Tennyson.

Agnetta had been quite wrong in saying that Lilac had any idea of being Queen. At the school that afternoon, when amidst breathless silence the Mistress had counted up the votes and said: “Lilac White is chosen Queen”, it had been such a surprise to her that she had stood as though in a dream. Her companions nudged her on either side. “It’s you that’s Queen,” they whispered; and at length she awoke to the wonderful fact that it was not Agnetta or anyone else who had the most votes, but she herself, Lilac White. She was Queen! Looking round, still half-puzzled to believe such a wonderful thing, she saw a great many pleased faces, and heard Mrs Leigh say: “I think you have chosen very well, and I am glad Lilac will be Queen this year.” It was, then, really true. “How pleased Mother’ll be!” was her first thought; but her second was not so pleasant, for her eye fell on Agnetta. It was the only sullen face there; disappointment and vexation were written upon it, and there was no answering glance of sympathy from the downcast eyes. Lilac was an impulsive child, and affection for her friend made her forget everything else for the moment. She left her place, went up to Mrs Leigh, who was talking to the schoolmistress, and held one arm out straight in front of her.

“Well, Lilac,” said Mrs Leigh kindly, “what is it?”

“Please, ma’am,” said Lilac, dropping a curtsy, “if they don’t mind, I’d rather Agnetta Greenways was Queen.”

“Oh, that’s quite out of the question,” said Mrs Leigh decidedly; “when the Queen’s been once chosen it can’t be altered. Why, I should have thought you would have been pleased.”

Lilac hung her head, and went back to her place rather abashed. She was pleased, and she did not like Mrs Leigh to think she did not care. Her whole heart was full of delight at receiving such an honour, but at the same time it was hard for Agnetta, who had so set her mind on being Queen. If only she could be Queen too! That being impossible, Lilac had done her best in offering to give it up, and it was disappointing to find that her friend, far from being grateful, was cross and sulky with her and quite out of temper. When the other children crowded round Lilac with pleased faces Agnetta held back, and had not one kind word to say, but refusing an advances flung herself away from her companions and rushed home full of wrath. Lilac looked after her wistfully; it hurt her to think that Agnetta could behave so. “After all,” she said to herself, “I couldn’t help them choosing me, and I did offer to give it up.”

Everyone else was glad that she was Queen, and ready with a smile and a nod when they met her. If Agnetta had only been pleased too Lilac’s happiness would have been perfect, but that was just the one thing wanting. However, even with this drawback there was a great deal of pleasure to look forward to, and when she went to the Rectory to have the white dress fitted on she was almost as excited as though it was really a royal robe.

“It’s a pity about the fringe, Lilac,” said Miss Ellen as she pinned and arranged the long train; “it’s not nearly so becoming.” Then seeing the excited face suddenly downcast she added: “Never mind; I dare say the crown will partly hide it.”

Her arrangements finished, she called her sister, and they both surveyed Lilac gravely, who, a little abashed by such business-like observation, stood before them shyly in her straight white gown, with the train fastened on her shoulders.

“I think she’ll do very nicely,” said Miss Alice, “when she gets the flowers on. They make all the difference. What will she wear?”

Miss Ellen’s opinion was decided on that point. “It ought to be white lilac, and plenty of it,” she said, “nothing would suit the Queen so well.” Then came a difficulty: there was none nearer than Cuddingham. Could it be got in time?

Lilac was doubtful, for Cuddingham was a long way off, but she promised to do her best, and Miss Ellen’s last words to her were:

“Bring moon daisies if you can’t get it, but remember I should like white lilac much the best.”

Lilac herself thought the moon daisies would be prettier, with their bright yellow middles; but Miss Ellen’s word was law, and as she had set her heart on white lilac, some way of going to Cuddingham must be found since it was too far to walk. There were only two days now to the great event, and during them Lilac did her best to make her wants known everywhere. In vain, however. No one was going to or coming from that place; always the same disappointing answers:

“Cuddingham! No, thank goodness; I was there last week. I don’t want to see that hill again yet a while.” Or, “Well now, if I’d known yesterday I might a suited you.” And so on.

Lilac began to despair. She thought of Orchards Farm, but she had not courage to ask any favour there while Agnetta was so vexed with her. Even Uncle Joshua, who had always helped her at need, had nothing to suggest now, and did not even seem to think it of much importance. He dropped in to see Mrs White on the evening before May Day, and with her usual faith in him Lilac at once began to place her difficulty before him. But for once he was not ready to listen, and she was obliged to wait impatiently while he carried on a long conversation with her mother. They had a great deal to talk of, and it was most uninteresting to Lilac, for it was all about things of the past in which she had had no share. She might have liked it at another time, but just now she was full of the present, and she became more and more impatient as Uncle Joshua went on. He had to call back the first celebration of May Day which he “minded”, and the smallest event connected with it; and when he had done Mrs White took up the tale, dwelling specially on Jem’s musical talent, and how he had been the very soul of the drum-and-fife band.

“They’re all at sixes and sevens now, to my thinking,” she said. “Jem, he kep’ ’em together and made ’em do their best.”

“Aye, that’s where it is,” said the cobbler with an approving nod; “that’s what we’ve all on us got to do.”

His eye rested as he spoke on Lilac’s eager face, and seizing the opportunity of a pause she rushed in with what she had so much on her mind:

“Oh, Uncle Joshua! to-morrow’s the day, and I can’t get no white lilac for Miss Ellen to make my garland with. What shall I do?”

But Joshua was in a moralising mood, and though Lilac’s question gave him another subject to discourse on, he was more bent on hearing himself talk than in getting over her difficulty. He raised one finger and began to speak slowly, and when Mrs White saw that, she paused with the kettle in her hand and stood quite still to listen. Joshua was going to say something “good.”

“It don’t matter a bit,” he said, “what you make your garland of. Flowers is all perishin’ things and they’ll be dead next day, and wear what you will, they won’t make you into a real Queen. But there’s things as will always make folks bow down when they see ’em, May Day or no May Day, and them’s the things you ought to seek for, early and late till you find ’em. You take a lot of pains to get flowers to deck your outsides, but you don’t care much for the plants I’m thinking of; you leave ’em to chance, and so sometimes they’re choked out by the weeds. An’ yet they’re worth takin’ trouble for, and if you once get ’em to take root and grow they’re fit to crown the finest Queen as ever was; and they won’t die either, but the more you use ’em the fresher and sweeter they’ll be. There’s Love now; you can’t understand anyone, not the smallest child, without that. There’s Truth; you can’t do anything with folks unless they trust you. There’s Obedience; you can’t rule till you know how to serve. There’s three plants for you, and there’s a whole lot more, but that’s enough for you to bear in mind, and I must be going along.”

Joshua departed much satisfied with his eloquence, leaving Mrs White equally impressed.

“Lor’!” she exclaimed, “there’s a gifted man. It’s every bit as good as being in church to hear him. And I hope, Lilac, as how you’ll lay it to heart and mind it when you get to be a woman.”

But Lilac did not feel in the least inclined to lay it to heart. She was vexed with Uncle Joshua, who had not been the least help in her perplexity; for once he had failed her, and she was glad he had gone away so that she could think over a plan for to-morrow. It was of no use evidently to reckon on white lilac any longer, the only thing to be done now was to get up very early the next morning and pick the best moon daisies she could find for Miss Ellen. This determination was so strong within her when she fell asleep, that she woke with a sudden start next morning as the daylight was just creeping through her lattice. Had she overslept herself? No, it was beautifully early, it must be an hour at least before her usual time. She dressed herself quickly and quietly, so as not to disturb her mother in the next room, and then pushing open her tiny window gave an anxious look at the weather. Would it be fine? At present a thin misty grey veil was spread over everything, but she could see the village below, which looked fast, fast asleep, with no smoke from its chimneys and nothing stirring. There was such a stillness everywhere that it seemed wrong to make a noise, as though you were in church. And the birds felt it too, for they twittered in a subdued manner, keeping back their full burst of song to greet someone who would come presently. Lilac knew who that was. She knew as well as the birds that very soon the sun would thrust away the misty veil and show his beaming face to the valley. It would be fine. It was May Day, and she was Queen!

She drew a deep breath of delight, went downstairs on tiptoe, found a basket and a knife, tied on her bonnet, and unlatched the door; but there she stopped short, checked on the threshold by a sight so surprising that for a moment she could not move. For at her feet, on the doorstep, lying there purely white as though it had fallen from the clouds, was a great mass of white lilac. There were branches and branches of it, so that the air was filled with its gentle delicate scent, and it was so fresh that all its leaves were moist with dew. Someone had been up earlier even than herself. The question was—who?

Uncle Joshua of course; he had not failed after all, though how even such a very clever man could have got to Cuddingham and back since last night was more than Lilac could tell. That did not matter. There it was, and what a fine lot of it! “He must have brought away nigh a whole bush,” she said to herself. “Miss Ellen will be rare and pleased, surely.” She gathered up the sweet-smelling boughs at last, and put them into one of her mother’s washing-baskets. There was no need to pick moon daisies now, and as she swept and dusted the room and lit the fire she gave many looks of admiration at her treasure, and many grateful thoughts to Uncle Joshua. Mrs White also had no doubt that he had managed it somehow; and she was so moved by the fact of his kindness, and by Lilac being Queen, and by a hundred past memories, that her usual composure left her, and she threw her apron over her head and had a good cry.

“There!” she said when it was over, “I can’t think what makes me so silly. But Jem he would a been proud to have seen you—he always liked the laylocks.”

But now came the question as to how it was to be carried down the hill to the school room. Lilac could not lift the great basket, and it was at last found best to pile up the branches in her long white pinafore, which she held by the two corners. When all was ready she looked seriously across the fragrant burden, which reached up to her chin, and said:

“You’ll be sure and be up there in time, won’t you, Mother, or you won’t see me crowned?”

“No fear,” said Mrs White as she held the gate open. “Mind and walk steady or you’ll drop some, and you can’t pick it up if you do.”

Lilac nodded. She was almost too excited to speak. If it felt like this to be Queen of the May, she wondered what it must be like to be a real Queen!

It was a glorious morning. The mist had gone, the sun had come, and all the birds were singing their best tunes to welcome him. To Lilac they sounded more than usually gay, as though they were telling each other all sorts of pleasant things. “The sun is here—it is May Day—Lilac is Queen.” All the trees too, as they bent in the breeze, seemed to talk together with busy murmurs and whisperings: they tossed their heads and threw up their hands as if in surprise at some news, and then bowed low and gracefully before her, for what they had heard was—“Lilac White is Queen!”

Her heart danced so to listen to them that it was quite difficult to keep her feet to a measured step, but when she reached the turn of the hill something made her feel that she must look back. She turned slowly round. There was Mother waving her hand at the gate. When they next met it would be up in the woods, and Lilac would wear crown and garland. She could not wave her hand or even nod in return, but she made a sort of little curtsy and went on her way.

At the bottom of the hill she met Mrs Wishing, who, bent nearly double by a heavy bundle, was crawling up from the village.

“Well, you look happy anyhow, Lilac White,” she said mournfully. “And you haven’t forgotten to bring enough flowers with you either.”

“I can’t stop,” said Lilac, “I’ve got to go and put these on Father first. It’s so far for Mother to come.”

She gave a movement of her chin towards the primrose wreath which Mrs White had added at the last moment to the heap of flowers.

“Ah! well,” sighed Mrs Wishing, “in the midst of life we are in death. I haven’t much heart for junketing myself, but I shall be up yonder this afternoon if I’m spared.”

Lilac passed quickly on, nodding and smiling in return to the greetings which met her. At the door of the shop stood Mr Dimbleby, his face heavier than usual with importance, and a little farther on she saw her Uncle Greenways’ wagon and team waiting in charge of Ben, who leant lazily against one of the horses. Mr Greenways always lent a wagon on May Day so that the very old people and small children might drive up the worst part of the hill. Certainly it was there in plenty of time, for it would not be wanted till the afternoon; but it is always well not to be hurried on such occasions, and many of the people had to walk from outlying hamlets.

Lilac laid her primroses on her father’s grave, and turned back towards the school-house just as the clock struck twelve. There were now many other little figures hurrying in the same direction with businesslike step, and all carrying flowers. Primroses, daisies, buttercups, cowslips, and honeysuckle were to be seen, but there was nothing half so beautiful as the heap of white lilac. Agnetta saw it as she passed into the school room, and gave an astonished stare and a sniff of displeasure: she had only brought a basket of small daisies, and had taken no trouble about them, so that her offering was not noticed or praised at all. Then Lilac advanced, and dropping her little curtsy stood silently in front of Miss Ellen and Miss Alice holding out her pinafore to its widest extent. There were exclamations of admiration and surprise from everyone, and Agnetta stamped her foot with vexation to hear them.

“It’sexquisite!” said Miss Ellen at last. “Where did you get such a beautiful lot of it?”

“Please, ma’am, I don’t know,” said Lilac. “I found it on the doorstep.”

Agnetta’s wrath grew higher every moment. No one paid her any attention, and here was her insignificant cousin Lilac the centre of everyone’s interest. She overheard a whisper of Miss Alice’s: “She’ll make far the loveliest Queen we’ve ever had.”

What could it be they admired in Lilac? Agnetta stood with a pout on her lips, idle, while all round the busy work and chatter went on.

“Now, Agnetta,” said Miss Ellen, bustling up to her, “there’s plenty to do. Get me some twine and some wire, and if you’re very careful you may help me with the Queen’s sceptre.”

It was a hateful office, but there was no help for it, and Agnetta had to humble herself in the Queen’s service for the rest of the morning. To kneel on the floor, pick off small sprays from the bunches of lilac, and hand them up to Miss Ellen as she wove them into garland and sceptre. While she did it her heart was hot within her, and she felt that she hated her cousin. The work went on quickly but very silently inside the schoolroom. There was no time to talk, for the masses of flowers which covered table, benches, and floor had all to be changed into wreaths and garlands before one o’clock, for the Queen and her court. Outside it was not so quiet. An eager group had gathered there long ago, composed of the drum-and-fife band, which broke out now and then into fragments of tunes, the boy with the maypole on his shoulder, and bearers of sundry bright flags and banners. To these the time seemed endless, and they did their best to shorten it by jokes and laughter; it was only the close neighbourhood of the schoolmaster which prevented the boldest from climbing up to the high window and hanging on by his hands to see how matters were going on within. But at last the latch clicked, the door opened wide: there stood the smiling little white Queen with her gaily dressed court crowding at her back. There was a murmur of admiration, and the band, gazing open-mouthed, almost forgot to strike up “God save the Queen.” For there was something different about this Queen to any they had seen before. She was so delicately white, so like a flower herself, that looking out from the blossoms which surrounded her she might have been the spirit of a lilac bush suddenly made visible. The white lilac covered her dress in delicate sprays, it bordered the edge of her long train, it twined up the tall sceptre in her hand, it was woven into the crown which was carried after her. At present the Queen’s head was bare, for she would not be crowned till she reached her throne in the woods.

Then the procession began its march, band playing, banners fluttering bravely in the wind, through the village first, so that all those who could not get up the hill might come to their doors and windows to admire. Then leaving the highroad it came to the steep ascent, and here the wind blowing more freshly almost caught away the Queen’s train from the grasp of her two little pages. The band, in spite of gallant struggles, became short of breath, so that the music was wild and uncertain; and the smaller courtiers straggled behind unable to keep up with the rest.

It made its way, however, notwithstanding these difficulties, and from the top of the hill where crowds of people had now gathered it was watched by eager and interested eyes. First it looked in the distance like a struggling piece of patchwork on the hillside, then it took shape and they could make out the maypole and the flags, then, nearer still, the sounds of the three tunes which the band played over and over again were wafted to their ears, and at last the small white figure of the Queen herself could plainly be distinguished from the rest. It did not take long after this to reach level ground, and as the procession moved along with recovered breath and dignity to the music of “God save the Queen”, it was followed by admiring remarks from all sides:

“See my Johnnie! Him in the pink cap. Bless his ’art, how fine he looks!” Or “There’s Polly Ann with the wreath of daisies!”

“Well now,” said Mrs Pinhorn, “I will say Lilac looks as peart and neat as a little bit of waxworks.”

“She wants colour, to my thinking,” said Mrs Greenways, to whom this was addressed.

The Greenways stood a little aloof from the general crowd, dressed with great elegance. Bella rather looked down on the whole affair. “It’s so mixed,” she said; “but we have to go, because Papa don’t wish to offend Mr Leigh.”

“I call that a real pretty sight,” said Joshua Snell, turning to his neighbour, who happened to be Peter Greenways. “They’ve dressed her up very fitting in all them lilac blooms. But wherever did they get such a sight of ’em?”

Peter had been forced into a shiny black suit of clothes, a stiff collar, and a bright blue necktie, that he might not disgrace the stylish appearance of his mother and sisters. In this attire he felt even less at his ease than usual, and his arms hung before him as helplessly as those of a stuffed figure. Perhaps it was owing to this state of discomfort that he made no other answer to Joshua’s remark than a nervous grin.

“I don’t see the Widder White anywheres,” continued Joshua, looking round; “but there’s such a throng one can’t tell who’s who.”

Lilac, too, had been looking in vain for her mother amongst the groups of people she had passed through, and as she took her seat on the hawthorn-covered throne she gazed wistfully to right and left. No, Mother was not there. Plenty of well-known faces, but not the one she wanted most to see.

“Shepromisedto be in time,” she said to herself, “and now she’ll miss the crowning.” It was a dreadful pity, for Lilac could only be Queen once in her life, and it seemed to take away the best part of the pleasure for Mother not to be there. She had been looking forward to it for so long. What could have kept her away? The Queen’s eyes filled with tears of disappointment, and through them the form of Peter Greenways seemed to loom unnaturally large, his face redder than ever above his blue neckcloth, his mouth and eyes wide open. Lilac checked her tears and remembered her exalted position. She must not cry now; but directly the crowning and the dance were over she resolved to search for her mother, and if she were not there to go home and see what had prevented her coming.

This determination enabled her to bear her honours with becoming dignity, and to put aside her private anxiety for the time like other royal personages. She danced round the maypole with her court, and led the May-Day song as gaily as if her pleasure had been quite perfect. But it was not; for all the while she was wondering what could possibly have become of her mother.

At last, her public duties over, the Queen found herself at liberty. The crowd had dispersed now, and was broken up into little knots of people chatting together and waiting for the next excitement—tea-time.

Through these Lilac passed with always the same question: “Have you seen Mother?” Sometimes in the distance she fancied she saw a shawl of a pattern she knew well, but having pursued it, it turned out to belong to someone quite different. She had just made up her mind to go home, when one of her companions ran up to her with an excited face:

“Come along,” she cried; “they’re just agoin’ to start the races.”

Lilac hesitated. “I can’t,” she said; “I’ve got to go and look after Mother.”

“Well, it’ll be on your way,” said the other; “and you needn’t stop no longer nor you like. Come along.”

She seized Lilac’s arm and they ran on together to the flat piece of ground on the edge of the wood, where the races were to take place. The steep side of the down descended abruptly from this, and Lilac knew that by taking that way, which was quite an easy one to her active feet, she could very quickly reach home. So she stayed to look first at one race and then at another, and they all proved so amusing that the more she saw the more she wanted to see, though she still said to herself: “I’ll go after this one.” She was laughing at the struggling efforts of the boys in a sack race, when suddenly, amidst the noise of cheers and shouting which surrounded her, she heard her own name spoken in an urgent entreating voice: “Lilac—Lilac White!”

“Who is it wants me!” she said, starting up and trying to force her way through the crowd. “I’m here; what is it?” The people stood back to let her pass.

“It’s Mrs Leigh wants you,” said a woman. “She’s standing back yonder.”

It was strange to see Mrs Leigh’s beaming face look so grave and troubled, and it gave Lilac a sense of fear when she reached her.

“Is Mother here, ma’am?” was her first question. “Does she want me, please?”

Mrs Leigh did not answer quite at once, then she said very seriously:

“Your mother is at home, Lilac. You must go with me at once. She is ill.”

Self-reproach darted through Lilac’s heart. Why had she put off going home? But she must do the best she could now, and she said at once:

“Hadn’t I best send someone for the doctor first, ma’am?”

“He is there,” answered Mrs Leigh. “He was sent for some time ago; Daniel Wishing went.”

The next thing was to get back to Mother as quickly as possible, and Lilac turned without hesitation to the way she had meant to take—straight down the side of the hill. But Mrs Leigh stopped aghast.

“You’re not going down there, surely?” she said.

“It’s as nigh again as going round, ma’am,” said Lilac eagerly; “and it’s not to say difficult if you do it sideways.”

Mrs Leigh still hesitated. It was very steep; the smooth turf was slippery. There was not even a shrub or anything to cling to, and a slip would certainly end in an awkward tumble. At another time she would have turned from it with horror, but she looked at Lilac’s upturned anxious face and was touched with pity.

“After all,” she said, grasping her umbrella courageously, “if you can help me a little, perhaps it won’t be so bad as it looks.”

So they started, hand in hand, Lilac a little in front carefully leading the way; but she was soon sorry that they had not gone round by the road. This was a short distance for herself, but it proved a long one now that she had Mrs Leigh with her. A slip, a stop, a slide, another stop—it was a very slow progress indeed. As they went jerking along the flowers fell off Lilac’s dress one by one and left a white track behind her. She had taken off her crown and held it in her hand; its blossoms were drooping already, and its leaves folded up and limp. How short a time it was since they had been fresh and fair, and she had marched up the hill so bravely, full of delight. Now, poor little discrowned Queen, she was leaving her kingdom of mirth and laughter behind her with every step, and coming nearer to the shadowy valley where sadness waited. After many a sigh and gasp Mrs Leigh and her guide reached the bottom in safety. They were on comparatively level ground now, with gently sloping fields in front of them and the sharp shoulder of the hill rising at their back. There, within a stone’s throw stood the Wishings’ cottage, and a little farther on Lilac’s own home. How quiet, how very still it all looked! Now and then there floated in the calm air a shout or a sudden burst of laughter from the distant merry-makers, but here, below, it was all utterly silent. The two little white cottages had no light in their windows, no smoke from their chimneys, no sign of life anywhere.

“Mother’s let the fire out,” said Lilac.

Mrs Leigh came to a sudden standstill. “Lilac,” she said, “my poor child—”

Lilac looked up frightened and bewildered. Mrs Leigh’s eyes were full of tears, and she could hardly speak. She took Lilac’s hand in hers and held it tightly. “My poor child,” she repeated.

“Oh, please, ma’am,” cried Lilac, “let’s be quick and go to Mother. What ails her?”

“Nothing ails her,” said Mrs Leigh solemnly; “nothing will ever ail her any more. You must be brave for her sake, and remember that she loves you still; but you will not hear her speak again on earth.”

The revels on the hill broke up sooner than usual that night, and those who had to pass the cottage on their way home trod softly and hushed their children’s laughter. For ill news travels fast, and before nightfall there was no one who did not know that the Widow White was dead.

And thus Lilac’s May-Day reign held in its short space the greatest happiness and the greatest sorrow of her life. Joy and smiles and freshly-blooming flowers in the morning; sadness and tears and a withered crown at night.

Chapter Six.Alone.“The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?”—Proverbs.A few days after this Lilac sat on her little stool in her accustomed corner, listening in a dreamy way to the muffled voices of Mrs Pinhorn and Mrs Wishing. They spoke low, not because they did not wish her to hear, but because, having just come from her mother’s funeral, they felt it befitted the occasion. As they talked they stitched busily at some “black” which they were helping her to make, only pausing now and then to glance round at her as though she were some strange animal, shake their heads, and sigh heavily. Lilac had not cried much since her mother’s death, and was supposed by the neighbours to be taking it wonderful easy-like. For the twentieth time Mrs Wishing was entering slowly and fully into every detail connected with it—of all the doctor had said of its having been caused by heart disease, of all she had said herself, of all Mr Leigh had said; and if she paused a moment Mrs Pinhorn at once asked another question. For it was Mrs Wishing, who, running in as usual to borrow something, had found Mrs White on May morning sitting peacefully in her chair, quite dead.“And it do strike so mournful,” she repeated, “to think of the child junketing up on the hill, and May Queen an’ all, an’ that poor soul an alone.”“It’s a thing one doesn’t rightly understand, that is,” said Mrs Pinhorn, “why both Lilac’s parents should have been took so sudden.” She gave a sharp glance round the room—“I suppose,” she added, “the Greenways’ll have the sticks. There’s a goodish few, and well kep’. Mary White was always one for storing her things.”“I never heard of no other kin,” said Mrs Wishing.“Lilac’s lucky to get a home like Orchards Farm. But there! Some is born lucky.”The conversation continued in the same strain until Mrs Wishing discovered that she must go home and get Dan’l’s supper ready.“An’ it’s time I was starting too,” added Mrs Pinhorn. “I’ve got a goodish bit to walk.”They both looked hesitatingly at Lilac.“You’ll come alonger me and sleep, won’t you, dearie?” said Mrs Wishing coaxingly. “It’s lonesome for you here.”But Lilac shook her head. “I’d rather bide here, thank you,” was all she said; and after trying many forms of persuasion the two women left her unwillingly and took their way.Lilac stood at the open door and watched them out of sight, but she was not thinking of them at all, though she still seemed to hear Mrs Wishing’s words: “It’s lonesome for you here.” Her head felt strange and dizzy, almost as though she had been stunned, and it was stranger still to find that she could not cry although Mother was dead. She knew it very well, everyone had talked of it to her. Mr Leigh had spoken very kind, and Mrs Leigh had given her a black frock, and all the neighbours at the church that morning had groaned and cried and pitied her; but Lilac herself had hardly shed a tear, though she felt it was expected of her, and saw that people were surprised to see her so quiet. She tried every now and then to get it into her head, and to understand it, but she could not. It seemed to be someone else that folks spoke of, and not Mother. As she stood by the open door, each thing her eye rested on seemed to have something to do with her and to promise her return. There was the hill she had toiled up so often: surely she would come again with a tired footstep, but always a smile for Lilac. There was the little garden and the sweet-peas she had sown, just showing green above the earth: would she never see them bloom? There on the window sill were her knitting-pins and a half-finished stocking: was it possible that Lilac would never hear them click again in her busy fingers? There, most familiar object of all, was the clothes line. Lilac could almost fancy she saw her mother’s straight active figure, as she had done scores of times, stretching up her arms to fasten the clothes with wooden pegs, her skirt tucked up, her arms bare, her sunbonnet tilted over her eyes. No—it was quite impossible to feel that she would really never come back; it seemed much more likely that by and by she would walk in at the door and sit down by the window in her high-backed Windsor chair, and take up the unfinished knitting. As Lilac was thinking thus, a figure did really appear at the top of the hill, a short square figure with a gaily trimmed hat on its head—her cousin Agnetta.For the first time in all her life Agnetta was feeling not superior to Lilac as usual, but shy of her. She did not know what to say to her nor even whether she should be welcome, for she was conscious of having been very ill-tempered lately. Now that Lilac was in trouble, cast down from her high position as Queen, she no longer felt angry with her, and would even have liked to make herself pleasant—if she could. As she came near, however, and stood staring at her cousin, she felt that somehow there was a great difference in her, something which she could not understand. There was a look in Lilac’s small white face which made it impossible to speak to her in the old patronising tone; it was as though she had been somewhere and seen something to which Agnetta was a stranger, and which could never be explained to her. It made her uncomfortable, and almost afraid to say anything; and yet, she remembered, Lilac was very low down in the world now—there was less reason than ever to stand in awe of her. She was only poor little Lilac White, with nothing in the world she could call her own, an orphan, and dependent for a home on Agnetta’s father. So after these reflections she took courage and spoke: “Mamma said I was to tell you that she’ll be up to-morrow morning to look at the furniture, and you must be ready in the afternoon to come down alonger Ben when he brings the cart.”Lilac nodded, and the two girls stood silently on the doorstep for a moment; then Agnetta spoke again:“I s’pose you’re glad you’re coming to live at the farm, ain’t ye?”“No,” answered Lilac, “I don’t know as I be. I’d rather bide here.”Agnetta had recovered her courage with her voice. She stepped uninvited past Lilac into the room and cast a curious look round.“Lor’!” she said, “don’t it look mournful! I should think you’d be glad to get away.”Lilac did not answer.“What’s this?” asked Agnetta, pouncing on the needlework which the two women had left on the table.“It’s a frock for me,” said Lilac. “Mrs Leigh give it to me.”Agnetta held the skirt out at arm’s length and looked at it critically.“Well!” she exclaimed with some scorn in her voice, “I should a thought you’d a had it made different now.”“Different?” said Lilac enquiringly.“Why, there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it cut more stylish, is there, now there’s no one to mind?”No one to mind! Lilac looked at her cousin with dazed eyes for a moment, as if she hardly understood—then she took the stuff out of her hand.“I’ll never have ’em made different,” she cried with a sudden flash in her eyes; “I never, never will.” And then to Agnetta’s great surprise she suddenly burst into tears.Agnetta stood staring at her, puzzled. She was sorry, only what had made Lilac cry just now when she had been quite calm hitherto?“Don’t take on so,” she ventured to say presently; “and you’ll spoil your black. It’ll stain dreadful.”But Lilac took no more notice than if she had not been there, and soon, feeling that she could do nothing, Agnetta left her and took her way home. She had accomplished something by her visit, though she did not know it, for she had made Lilac feel now that it really was true. Mother would not come back. She was alone in the world. There was no one, as Agnetta had said, “to mind.”She began to understand it now, and the clearer it was the harder it was to bear. So she bowed her head on the table, amongst the black stuff in spite of Agnetta’s caution, and cried on. And presently another thing, which she had not realised till now, stood out plainly before her. She was to go away to-morrow and live at Orchards Farm. Orchards Farm, which she had always fancied the most beautiful place in the world, and beside which her own home had seemed poor and small! Now all that had changed, and the more she thought of it the more she felt that she did not want to leave the cottage. It had suddenly become dear and precious; for all the things in it, even the meanest and smallest, seemed full of her mother’s voice and presence. Orchards Farm was a strange country now, with nothing in it that her mother had loved or that loved her, and to go there would be like going still farther from her. Raising her eyes she looked round at the familiar room, at her mother’s chair, at her own little stool, at the plants in the window. They all seemed to say: “Don’t go, Lilac. It is better to stay here.” Must she go? Then suddenly she caught sight of the lilac crown lying dusty and withered in a corner. It reminded her of a friend. “I’ll ask Uncle Joshua,” she said to herself; “I’ll go early to-morrow morning and ask him.He’llknow.”Joshua had a very decided opinion on the question placed before him next day: Could Lilac live alone at the cottage and take in the washing as her mother used to do?“I can reach the line quite easy if I stand on a stool,” she said anxiously; “and Mrs Wishing, she’d help me wring.”“Bless you, my maid,” he said, “you’re not old enough to make a living, or strong enough, or wise enough yet. The proper place for you is your Uncle Greenways’ house, till such time as you come to be older.”“Mother, she always said, ‘Don’t be beholden to no one. Stand on your own feet.’ That’s what she said ever so often,” faltered Lilac.The cobbler smiled as he looked at the slight little figure. “Well, you must wait a bit. If Mother could speak to you now, she’d say as I do. And you won’t be no farther from her at the farm; wherever and whenever you think of her and mind what she said, and how she liked you to act, that’s her voice talking to you still. You listen and do as she bids, and that’ll make her happier and you too.”Joshua set to work again with feverish haste as he finished. He did not like parting with Lilac, and it was difficult to say goodbye. She lingered, looking wistfully at him.“You’ll come and see me down yonder, won’t you, Uncle Joshua?”“Why, surely, surely,” replied Joshua hastily; “and you’ll come and see me. It ain’t so far after all. Bless me!” he added with a testy glance at the dusty pane in front of him, “what ails the window this morning? It don’t give no light whatever.”In a moment Lilac had fetched a duster and rubbed the little window bright and clear. It was a small office she had often performed for the cobbler.“It wasn’t, not to say very dirty,” she said; “but you’ll have to do it yourself next time, Uncle Joshua.”When she got back to the cottage, she felt a little comforted by the cobbler’s words, although he had not fallen in with her plan. What could she do at once, she wondered, that would please her mother? She looked round the room. It had a forlorn appearance. The doorstep, trodden by so many feet lately, was muddy, there was dust on the furniture, and the floor had not been swept for days. Mother certainly would not like that, and Lilac felt she could not leave it so another minute. With new energy she seized broom, brushes, and pail and went to work, going carefully into all the corners, and doing everything just as she had been taught. Very soon it all looked like itself again, bright and orderly, and with a sigh of satisfaction she went upstairs to put herself “straight” before her aunt came.When there another idea struck her, for the moment she looked at the glass she remembered how Mother had hated the fringe. Surely she could brush it back now that her hair had grown longer. No, brush as hard as she would it fell obstinately over her forehead again. But Lilac was not to be conquered. She scraped it back once more, and tied a piece of ribbon firmly round her head; then she nodded triumphantly at herself in the glass. It was ugly, but anyhow it was neat.She had just finished this arrangement when a noise in the room below warned her of Mrs Greenways’ approach, and running downstairs she found her seated breathless in the high-backed chair. One foot was stretched out appealingly in front of her, and she was so fatigued that at first she could only nod speechlessly at Lilac.“I’m fairly spent,” she said at last, “with that terr’ble hill. I can’t wonder myself that your poor mother was taken so sudden with her heart, though she was always a spare figure.”Lilac said nothing; the old feeling came back to her that it was someone else and not Mother who was spoken of.Mrs Greenways looked thoughtfully round the room; her eye rested on each piece of furniture in turn. “They’re good solid things, and well kept,” she said. “I will say for Mary White as she knew how to keep her things. We can do with a good many of ’em at the farm,” she went on after a pause; “but I don’t want to be cluttered up with furniture, and the rest we must sell as it stands.”Lilac’s heart sank. She could not bear to think of any of Mother’s things being sold, but she was too much in awe of her aunt to say anything.“So I’ve come up this morning,” pursued Mrs Greenways, producing an old envelope and a stumpy pencil; “just to jot down what I want to keep. And when I’ve done here, and fetched my breath a little, I’ll go upstairs and have a look round.”Mrs Greenways made her list, and then with a businesslike air tied pieces of tape on all the things she had chosen. Lilac saw with dismay that her own little stool and the high-backed chair were left out. It was almost like leaving two old friends behind.“Have you packed your clothes?” asked Mrs Greenways.“No, Aunt, not yet,” said Lilac.“Well, I shall have to send Ben up with the cart this afternoon for your box, so you may as well come alonger him. And mind this, Lilac. Don’t you go bringin’ any litter and rubbish with you. Jest your clothes and no more, and your Bible and Prayer Book. And now I’ll go upstairs.”Mrs Greenways went upstairs, followed meekly by Lilac. She watched passively while her aunt punched all the mattresses, placed a searching finger beneath every sheet and blanket, sat down in the chairs, and finally examined every article of Mrs White’s wardrobe. “’Tain’t any of it much good to me,” she said, holding up a cotton gown to the light. “They’re all cut so antiquated, and she was never anything of a figure. You may as well keep ’em, Lilac, and they’ll come in for you later.”It made Lilac’s heart ache sorely to see her mother’s clothes in Mrs Greenways’ hands turned about and talked over. There was one gown in particular, with a blue spot. Mrs White had worn it on that last May morning when she had stood at the gate, and it seemed almost a part of her. When her aunt dropped it carelessly on the ground after her last remark, Lilac picked it up and held it closely to her.“And her Sunday bonnet now,” continued Mrs Greenways discontentedly. “All the ribbons is fresh and it’s a good straw, but I don’t suppose I shall look anything but a scarecrow in it.”She perched it on her head as she spoke, and turned about before the glass.“’Tain’t so bad,” she murmured, with a glance at Lilac for approval. There was no answer; for to her great surprise Mrs Greenways found that her niece had hidden her face in the blue cotton gown she held to her breast, and was sobbing quietly.Mrs Greenways was a kind-hearted woman in spite of her coarse nature. She could not exactly see what had made Lilac cry just now, but she went up to her and spoke soothingly.“There, there,” she said, “it’s natural to take on, but you’ll be better soon, when you get down to the farm alonger Agnetta. You must think of all you’ve got to be thankful for. And now I should relish a cup o’ tea, for I started away early; so we’ll go down and you’ll get it for me, I dessay. I brought a little in my pocket in case you should be out of it. I shouldn’t wonder if Bella was able to give this a bit of style,”—taking off the bonnet. “She’s wonderful clever with her fingers.”Mrs Greenways drank her tea, made Lilac take some and eat some bread and butter, which she wished to refuse but dared not.“Now you feel better, don’t you?” she said good-naturedly. “And before I start off home, Lilac, I’ve got a word to say, and that is that I hope you’re proper and thankful for all your uncle’s going to do for you.”“Yes, Aunt,” said Lilac.“If it wasn’t for him, you know, there’d only be the house for you to go to. Just think o’ that! What a disgrace it ’ud be! It’s a great expense to have an extry mouth to feed and a growing girl to clothe in these bad times, but we must put up with it.”“I can work, Aunt,” said Lilac. “I can do lots of things.”“Well, I hope you’ll do what you can,” replied Mrs Greenways. “Because, as you haven’t a penny of your own, you ought to do summat in return for your uncle’s charity. That’s only fair and right, isn’t it?”Her mother’s words came into Lilac’s mind: “Don’t be beholden to no one.”“I don’t mind work, Aunt,” she repeated more boldly. “I’d rather work. Mother, she always taught me to.”“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Mrs Greenways. “Because, now you’re left so desolate, you’ve got nothing to look to but your own hands and feet. But as to being any help—you’re small and young, you see, and you can’t be anything but a burden to us for years to come.”A burden! That was a new idea to Lilac.“And so,” finished Mrs Greenways, rising, “I hope as how you’ll be a good gal, and grateful, and always remember that if it wasn’t for us you’d be on the parish, instead of at Orchards Farm.”She made her way out of the door, and stopped at the garden gate to call back over her shoulder:“Mind and bring no rubbish along with you. Nothing but clothes.”Lilac’s tears dropped fast into the painted deal box as she packed her small stock of clothes. But she felt that she must not wait to cry; she must be ready by the time Ben came, and her aunt’s visit had been so long that it was already late. When she had finished she went downstairs to take a last look round. There stood all the well-known pieces of furniture, dumb, yet full of speech; they had seen and heard so much that was dear to her, that it seemed cruel to leave them to strangers. Above all she looked wistfully at a small twisted cactus in a pot standing on the window ledge. Mrs White had been fond of it, and had given it much care and attention. Might she venture to take it with her? How pleased Mother had been, she remembered, when the cactus had once rewarded her by producing two bright-red blossoms. That was long ago, and it had never done anything so brilliant again. Content with its one effort it had since remained unadorned, yet as it stood there, with its fat green leaves and little bunches of prickles, it had the air of saying to itself, “I have done it once, and if I liked I could do it a second time.” Even now as she bent tenderly over it Lilac thought she could make out the faint beginning of a bud.“I do wish I could take it,” she said to herself. “If it was only in bloom maybe they’d like it.”But the cactus was very far from blooming, and perhaps had no intention of doing so; in its present condition it would certainly be considered “rubbish” at Orchards Farm.Lilac turned from it with a sigh, and glancing through the window was startled to see that the cart with Ben sitting in it was already at the gate. Ben looked as though he might have been waiting there for some hours, and was content to wait for any length of time. She ran out in alarm.“Oh, Ben!” she cried, “I never heard you. Have you been here long?”“Not I,” said Ben; “on’y just come. Missus she give orders as how I was to fetch down some cheers alonger you, so as to lighten the next load a bit.”By the time he had slowly stacked the chairs together, and disposed them round Lilac’s box in the cart, which cost him much painful thought, there was not much room left.“Now then, missie,” he said at length, “that’s the lot, ain’t it?”“Where am I to sit, Ben?” asked Lilac doubtfully. Ben took off his hat to scratch his head. He had a perfectly round, foolish face, with short dust-coloured whiskers.“That’s so,” he said. “I clean forgot you was to go too.”A corner was at last found amongst the chairs, and Ben having hoisted himself on to the shaft they started slowly on their way. Lilac kept her eyes fixed on the cottage until a turn of the road hid it from her sight. It was just there she had turned to look at Mother on May Day. What a long, long time ago, and what a different Lilac she felt now! Grave and old, with all manner of cares and troubles waiting for her, and no one to mind if she were glad or sorry. No one to want her much or to be pleased at her coming. A burden instead of a blessing. She clung to the hope that Agnetta at least would not think her so, but would welcome her to her new home and be kind to her; but she was the only one of whom she thought without shrinking. Her aunt and uncle, Bella and Peter, above all the last, were people to be afraid of.“Here’s the young master,” said Ben, suddenly turning his face round to look at her. “He be coming up to fetch the rest of the sticks.”Lilac peeped out through the various legs of chairs which surrounded her; towards her, crawling slowly up the hill, came a wagon drawn by three iron-grey horses, and by their side a broad-shouldered, lumbering figure. It was her Cousin Peter. Of course it was Peter, she thought impatiently, turning her head away. No one else would walk up the hill instead of riding in the empty wagon. The descent now becoming easier Ben whipped up his horse, and they soon jolted past Peter and his team.“There’s been a sight o’ deaths lately in the village,” he resumed cheerfully, having once broken the silence. “I dunno as I can ever call to mind so many. The bell’s forever agoin’. It’s downright mournful.”He was kindly disposed towards Lilac, and having hit upon this lucky means of entertaining her he dwelt on it for the rest of the way, fortunately requiring no answering remarks. It seemed long before they reached the farm, and Lilac was cramped and tired in her uneasy position when they had at last driven in at the yard gate. There was no one to be seen; but presently Molly, the servant girl, having spied the arrival from the back kitchen, came and stood at the door. When she discovered Lilac almost hidden by the chairs, she hastened out and held up a broad red hand to help her down from the cart.“You’ve brought yer house on yer back like a hoddy-dod,” she said with a grin.Lilac clambered down with difficulty, and stood by the side of the cart uncertain where to go. A forlorn little figure in her straight black frock, clasping her mother’s large old cotton umbrella. She wished she could see Agnetta, but she did not appear. Soon her aunt and Bella came into the yard, but their attention was immediately fixed on the chairs, which Ben had now unloaded and placed in a long row by Lilac’s side.“Where were they to go?” asked Molly.In the living-room, Mrs Greenways thought, where they were short of chairs.“In the bedrooms,” said Bella contemptuously. “Common-looking things like them.”“We could do with ’em in the kitchen,” added Molly.The dispute continued for some time, but in the end Bella carried the day, and Mrs Greenways found time to notice the newcomer.“Well, here you are, Lilac,” she said. “Come along in, and Agnetta shall show where you’ve got to sleep.”Agnetta led the way up the steep stairs to the top of the house. She had rather a condescending manner as she threw open the door of a small attic in the roof.“This is it,” she said; “and Mamma says you’ve got to keep it clean yerself.”“I’d rather,” said Lilac hastily. “I’ve always been used to.”She looked round the room. It was very like her old one at the cottage, and its sloping ceiling and bare white walls seemed familiar and homelike; it was a comfort, too, to see that its tiny window looked towards the hills. As she observed all this she took off her bonnet, and was immediately startled by a loud laugh from Agnetta.“Well!” she exclaimed, “You have made a pretty guy of yourself.”Lilac put her hand quickly up to her head.“Oh, I forgot—my hair,” she said.“Whatever made you do it?” asked Agnetta, planting herself full in front of her cousin and staring at her.“It’s neater,” said Lilac, avoiding the hard gaze. “I shall wear it so till it gets longer. I’m not agoin’ to have a fringe no more.”“Well!” repeated Agnetta, lost in astonishment; then she added:“You do look comical! Just like a general servant. If I was you I’d wear a cap!”With this parting thrust she clattered downstairs giggling. So this was Lilac’s welcome. She went to the window, leant her arms on the broad sill, and looked forlornly up at the hill. There was not a single person who wanted her here, or who had taken the trouble to say a kind word. How could she bear to live here always?“Li-lack!” shrieked a voice up the stairs, “you’re to come to tea.”Through the meal that followed Lilac sat shyly silent, feeling that every morsel choked her, and listening to the clatter of voices and teacups round her but hardly hearing any words. The farmer had noticed her presence by a nod, and then resumed his newspaper. He meant to do his duty by Mary’s girl until she was old enough to go to service, but no one could expect him to be glad of her arrival. Another useless member of the family to support, where there were already too many. Peter was not there at first, but when the meal was nearly over Lilac heard the wagon roll heavily into the yard, and soon afterwards its master came almost as heavily into the room and took his place at the table. When there he eat largely and silently, taking huge draughts of tea out of a great mug. This was one of his many vulgarities, which Bella deplored but could not alter, for he required so much tea that a cup was a ridiculous and useless thing to him, and had to be filled so often that it gave a great deal of trouble—in this therefore he was allowed to have his way.When Lilac got into her attic that night she found that her deal box had been carried up and placed in one corner, and as she began to undress in the half-light she caught sight of something else which certainly had not been there before. Something standing in the window twisted and prickly, but to her most pleasant to look upon. Could it really be the cactus? She went up to it, half afraid to find that she was mistaken. No, it was not fancy, the cactus was there, and Lilac was so pleased to see its ugly friendly face that tears came into her eyes. She had found a little bit of kindness at last at Orchards Farm, and it no longer felt quite so cold and strange. Peter no doubt had brought the plant down from the cottage, but who had told him to do it? Her aunt, or Agnetta, or perhaps after all it was Uncle Joshua as usual.Whoever it was Lilac felt very grateful, and went to sleep comforted with the thought that there was something in the room which had lived her old life and known her mother’s care, though it was only a cactus plant.

“The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?”—Proverbs.

“The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?”—Proverbs.

A few days after this Lilac sat on her little stool in her accustomed corner, listening in a dreamy way to the muffled voices of Mrs Pinhorn and Mrs Wishing. They spoke low, not because they did not wish her to hear, but because, having just come from her mother’s funeral, they felt it befitted the occasion. As they talked they stitched busily at some “black” which they were helping her to make, only pausing now and then to glance round at her as though she were some strange animal, shake their heads, and sigh heavily. Lilac had not cried much since her mother’s death, and was supposed by the neighbours to be taking it wonderful easy-like. For the twentieth time Mrs Wishing was entering slowly and fully into every detail connected with it—of all the doctor had said of its having been caused by heart disease, of all she had said herself, of all Mr Leigh had said; and if she paused a moment Mrs Pinhorn at once asked another question. For it was Mrs Wishing, who, running in as usual to borrow something, had found Mrs White on May morning sitting peacefully in her chair, quite dead.

“And it do strike so mournful,” she repeated, “to think of the child junketing up on the hill, and May Queen an’ all, an’ that poor soul an alone.”

“It’s a thing one doesn’t rightly understand, that is,” said Mrs Pinhorn, “why both Lilac’s parents should have been took so sudden.” She gave a sharp glance round the room—“I suppose,” she added, “the Greenways’ll have the sticks. There’s a goodish few, and well kep’. Mary White was always one for storing her things.”

“I never heard of no other kin,” said Mrs Wishing.

“Lilac’s lucky to get a home like Orchards Farm. But there! Some is born lucky.”

The conversation continued in the same strain until Mrs Wishing discovered that she must go home and get Dan’l’s supper ready.

“An’ it’s time I was starting too,” added Mrs Pinhorn. “I’ve got a goodish bit to walk.”

They both looked hesitatingly at Lilac.

“You’ll come alonger me and sleep, won’t you, dearie?” said Mrs Wishing coaxingly. “It’s lonesome for you here.”

But Lilac shook her head. “I’d rather bide here, thank you,” was all she said; and after trying many forms of persuasion the two women left her unwillingly and took their way.

Lilac stood at the open door and watched them out of sight, but she was not thinking of them at all, though she still seemed to hear Mrs Wishing’s words: “It’s lonesome for you here.” Her head felt strange and dizzy, almost as though she had been stunned, and it was stranger still to find that she could not cry although Mother was dead. She knew it very well, everyone had talked of it to her. Mr Leigh had spoken very kind, and Mrs Leigh had given her a black frock, and all the neighbours at the church that morning had groaned and cried and pitied her; but Lilac herself had hardly shed a tear, though she felt it was expected of her, and saw that people were surprised to see her so quiet. She tried every now and then to get it into her head, and to understand it, but she could not. It seemed to be someone else that folks spoke of, and not Mother. As she stood by the open door, each thing her eye rested on seemed to have something to do with her and to promise her return. There was the hill she had toiled up so often: surely she would come again with a tired footstep, but always a smile for Lilac. There was the little garden and the sweet-peas she had sown, just showing green above the earth: would she never see them bloom? There on the window sill were her knitting-pins and a half-finished stocking: was it possible that Lilac would never hear them click again in her busy fingers? There, most familiar object of all, was the clothes line. Lilac could almost fancy she saw her mother’s straight active figure, as she had done scores of times, stretching up her arms to fasten the clothes with wooden pegs, her skirt tucked up, her arms bare, her sunbonnet tilted over her eyes. No—it was quite impossible to feel that she would really never come back; it seemed much more likely that by and by she would walk in at the door and sit down by the window in her high-backed Windsor chair, and take up the unfinished knitting. As Lilac was thinking thus, a figure did really appear at the top of the hill, a short square figure with a gaily trimmed hat on its head—her cousin Agnetta.

For the first time in all her life Agnetta was feeling not superior to Lilac as usual, but shy of her. She did not know what to say to her nor even whether she should be welcome, for she was conscious of having been very ill-tempered lately. Now that Lilac was in trouble, cast down from her high position as Queen, she no longer felt angry with her, and would even have liked to make herself pleasant—if she could. As she came near, however, and stood staring at her cousin, she felt that somehow there was a great difference in her, something which she could not understand. There was a look in Lilac’s small white face which made it impossible to speak to her in the old patronising tone; it was as though she had been somewhere and seen something to which Agnetta was a stranger, and which could never be explained to her. It made her uncomfortable, and almost afraid to say anything; and yet, she remembered, Lilac was very low down in the world now—there was less reason than ever to stand in awe of her. She was only poor little Lilac White, with nothing in the world she could call her own, an orphan, and dependent for a home on Agnetta’s father. So after these reflections she took courage and spoke: “Mamma said I was to tell you that she’ll be up to-morrow morning to look at the furniture, and you must be ready in the afternoon to come down alonger Ben when he brings the cart.”

Lilac nodded, and the two girls stood silently on the doorstep for a moment; then Agnetta spoke again:

“I s’pose you’re glad you’re coming to live at the farm, ain’t ye?”

“No,” answered Lilac, “I don’t know as I be. I’d rather bide here.”

Agnetta had recovered her courage with her voice. She stepped uninvited past Lilac into the room and cast a curious look round.

“Lor’!” she said, “don’t it look mournful! I should think you’d be glad to get away.”

Lilac did not answer.

“What’s this?” asked Agnetta, pouncing on the needlework which the two women had left on the table.

“It’s a frock for me,” said Lilac. “Mrs Leigh give it to me.”

Agnetta held the skirt out at arm’s length and looked at it critically.

“Well!” she exclaimed with some scorn in her voice, “I should a thought you’d a had it made different now.”

“Different?” said Lilac enquiringly.

“Why, there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it cut more stylish, is there, now there’s no one to mind?”

No one to mind! Lilac looked at her cousin with dazed eyes for a moment, as if she hardly understood—then she took the stuff out of her hand.

“I’ll never have ’em made different,” she cried with a sudden flash in her eyes; “I never, never will.” And then to Agnetta’s great surprise she suddenly burst into tears.

Agnetta stood staring at her, puzzled. She was sorry, only what had made Lilac cry just now when she had been quite calm hitherto?

“Don’t take on so,” she ventured to say presently; “and you’ll spoil your black. It’ll stain dreadful.”

But Lilac took no more notice than if she had not been there, and soon, feeling that she could do nothing, Agnetta left her and took her way home. She had accomplished something by her visit, though she did not know it, for she had made Lilac feel now that it really was true. Mother would not come back. She was alone in the world. There was no one, as Agnetta had said, “to mind.”

She began to understand it now, and the clearer it was the harder it was to bear. So she bowed her head on the table, amongst the black stuff in spite of Agnetta’s caution, and cried on. And presently another thing, which she had not realised till now, stood out plainly before her. She was to go away to-morrow and live at Orchards Farm. Orchards Farm, which she had always fancied the most beautiful place in the world, and beside which her own home had seemed poor and small! Now all that had changed, and the more she thought of it the more she felt that she did not want to leave the cottage. It had suddenly become dear and precious; for all the things in it, even the meanest and smallest, seemed full of her mother’s voice and presence. Orchards Farm was a strange country now, with nothing in it that her mother had loved or that loved her, and to go there would be like going still farther from her. Raising her eyes she looked round at the familiar room, at her mother’s chair, at her own little stool, at the plants in the window. They all seemed to say: “Don’t go, Lilac. It is better to stay here.” Must she go? Then suddenly she caught sight of the lilac crown lying dusty and withered in a corner. It reminded her of a friend. “I’ll ask Uncle Joshua,” she said to herself; “I’ll go early to-morrow morning and ask him.He’llknow.”

Joshua had a very decided opinion on the question placed before him next day: Could Lilac live alone at the cottage and take in the washing as her mother used to do?

“I can reach the line quite easy if I stand on a stool,” she said anxiously; “and Mrs Wishing, she’d help me wring.”

“Bless you, my maid,” he said, “you’re not old enough to make a living, or strong enough, or wise enough yet. The proper place for you is your Uncle Greenways’ house, till such time as you come to be older.”

“Mother, she always said, ‘Don’t be beholden to no one. Stand on your own feet.’ That’s what she said ever so often,” faltered Lilac.

The cobbler smiled as he looked at the slight little figure. “Well, you must wait a bit. If Mother could speak to you now, she’d say as I do. And you won’t be no farther from her at the farm; wherever and whenever you think of her and mind what she said, and how she liked you to act, that’s her voice talking to you still. You listen and do as she bids, and that’ll make her happier and you too.”

Joshua set to work again with feverish haste as he finished. He did not like parting with Lilac, and it was difficult to say goodbye. She lingered, looking wistfully at him.

“You’ll come and see me down yonder, won’t you, Uncle Joshua?”

“Why, surely, surely,” replied Joshua hastily; “and you’ll come and see me. It ain’t so far after all. Bless me!” he added with a testy glance at the dusty pane in front of him, “what ails the window this morning? It don’t give no light whatever.”

In a moment Lilac had fetched a duster and rubbed the little window bright and clear. It was a small office she had often performed for the cobbler.

“It wasn’t, not to say very dirty,” she said; “but you’ll have to do it yourself next time, Uncle Joshua.”

When she got back to the cottage, she felt a little comforted by the cobbler’s words, although he had not fallen in with her plan. What could she do at once, she wondered, that would please her mother? She looked round the room. It had a forlorn appearance. The doorstep, trodden by so many feet lately, was muddy, there was dust on the furniture, and the floor had not been swept for days. Mother certainly would not like that, and Lilac felt she could not leave it so another minute. With new energy she seized broom, brushes, and pail and went to work, going carefully into all the corners, and doing everything just as she had been taught. Very soon it all looked like itself again, bright and orderly, and with a sigh of satisfaction she went upstairs to put herself “straight” before her aunt came.

When there another idea struck her, for the moment she looked at the glass she remembered how Mother had hated the fringe. Surely she could brush it back now that her hair had grown longer. No, brush as hard as she would it fell obstinately over her forehead again. But Lilac was not to be conquered. She scraped it back once more, and tied a piece of ribbon firmly round her head; then she nodded triumphantly at herself in the glass. It was ugly, but anyhow it was neat.

She had just finished this arrangement when a noise in the room below warned her of Mrs Greenways’ approach, and running downstairs she found her seated breathless in the high-backed chair. One foot was stretched out appealingly in front of her, and she was so fatigued that at first she could only nod speechlessly at Lilac.

“I’m fairly spent,” she said at last, “with that terr’ble hill. I can’t wonder myself that your poor mother was taken so sudden with her heart, though she was always a spare figure.”

Lilac said nothing; the old feeling came back to her that it was someone else and not Mother who was spoken of.

Mrs Greenways looked thoughtfully round the room; her eye rested on each piece of furniture in turn. “They’re good solid things, and well kept,” she said. “I will say for Mary White as she knew how to keep her things. We can do with a good many of ’em at the farm,” she went on after a pause; “but I don’t want to be cluttered up with furniture, and the rest we must sell as it stands.”

Lilac’s heart sank. She could not bear to think of any of Mother’s things being sold, but she was too much in awe of her aunt to say anything.

“So I’ve come up this morning,” pursued Mrs Greenways, producing an old envelope and a stumpy pencil; “just to jot down what I want to keep. And when I’ve done here, and fetched my breath a little, I’ll go upstairs and have a look round.”

Mrs Greenways made her list, and then with a businesslike air tied pieces of tape on all the things she had chosen. Lilac saw with dismay that her own little stool and the high-backed chair were left out. It was almost like leaving two old friends behind.

“Have you packed your clothes?” asked Mrs Greenways.

“No, Aunt, not yet,” said Lilac.

“Well, I shall have to send Ben up with the cart this afternoon for your box, so you may as well come alonger him. And mind this, Lilac. Don’t you go bringin’ any litter and rubbish with you. Jest your clothes and no more, and your Bible and Prayer Book. And now I’ll go upstairs.”

Mrs Greenways went upstairs, followed meekly by Lilac. She watched passively while her aunt punched all the mattresses, placed a searching finger beneath every sheet and blanket, sat down in the chairs, and finally examined every article of Mrs White’s wardrobe. “’Tain’t any of it much good to me,” she said, holding up a cotton gown to the light. “They’re all cut so antiquated, and she was never anything of a figure. You may as well keep ’em, Lilac, and they’ll come in for you later.”

It made Lilac’s heart ache sorely to see her mother’s clothes in Mrs Greenways’ hands turned about and talked over. There was one gown in particular, with a blue spot. Mrs White had worn it on that last May morning when she had stood at the gate, and it seemed almost a part of her. When her aunt dropped it carelessly on the ground after her last remark, Lilac picked it up and held it closely to her.

“And her Sunday bonnet now,” continued Mrs Greenways discontentedly. “All the ribbons is fresh and it’s a good straw, but I don’t suppose I shall look anything but a scarecrow in it.”

She perched it on her head as she spoke, and turned about before the glass.

“’Tain’t so bad,” she murmured, with a glance at Lilac for approval. There was no answer; for to her great surprise Mrs Greenways found that her niece had hidden her face in the blue cotton gown she held to her breast, and was sobbing quietly.

Mrs Greenways was a kind-hearted woman in spite of her coarse nature. She could not exactly see what had made Lilac cry just now, but she went up to her and spoke soothingly.

“There, there,” she said, “it’s natural to take on, but you’ll be better soon, when you get down to the farm alonger Agnetta. You must think of all you’ve got to be thankful for. And now I should relish a cup o’ tea, for I started away early; so we’ll go down and you’ll get it for me, I dessay. I brought a little in my pocket in case you should be out of it. I shouldn’t wonder if Bella was able to give this a bit of style,”—taking off the bonnet. “She’s wonderful clever with her fingers.”

Mrs Greenways drank her tea, made Lilac take some and eat some bread and butter, which she wished to refuse but dared not.

“Now you feel better, don’t you?” she said good-naturedly. “And before I start off home, Lilac, I’ve got a word to say, and that is that I hope you’re proper and thankful for all your uncle’s going to do for you.”

“Yes, Aunt,” said Lilac.

“If it wasn’t for him, you know, there’d only be the house for you to go to. Just think o’ that! What a disgrace it ’ud be! It’s a great expense to have an extry mouth to feed and a growing girl to clothe in these bad times, but we must put up with it.”

“I can work, Aunt,” said Lilac. “I can do lots of things.”

“Well, I hope you’ll do what you can,” replied Mrs Greenways. “Because, as you haven’t a penny of your own, you ought to do summat in return for your uncle’s charity. That’s only fair and right, isn’t it?”

Her mother’s words came into Lilac’s mind: “Don’t be beholden to no one.”

“I don’t mind work, Aunt,” she repeated more boldly. “I’d rather work. Mother, she always taught me to.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Mrs Greenways. “Because, now you’re left so desolate, you’ve got nothing to look to but your own hands and feet. But as to being any help—you’re small and young, you see, and you can’t be anything but a burden to us for years to come.”

A burden! That was a new idea to Lilac.

“And so,” finished Mrs Greenways, rising, “I hope as how you’ll be a good gal, and grateful, and always remember that if it wasn’t for us you’d be on the parish, instead of at Orchards Farm.”

She made her way out of the door, and stopped at the garden gate to call back over her shoulder:

“Mind and bring no rubbish along with you. Nothing but clothes.”

Lilac’s tears dropped fast into the painted deal box as she packed her small stock of clothes. But she felt that she must not wait to cry; she must be ready by the time Ben came, and her aunt’s visit had been so long that it was already late. When she had finished she went downstairs to take a last look round. There stood all the well-known pieces of furniture, dumb, yet full of speech; they had seen and heard so much that was dear to her, that it seemed cruel to leave them to strangers. Above all she looked wistfully at a small twisted cactus in a pot standing on the window ledge. Mrs White had been fond of it, and had given it much care and attention. Might she venture to take it with her? How pleased Mother had been, she remembered, when the cactus had once rewarded her by producing two bright-red blossoms. That was long ago, and it had never done anything so brilliant again. Content with its one effort it had since remained unadorned, yet as it stood there, with its fat green leaves and little bunches of prickles, it had the air of saying to itself, “I have done it once, and if I liked I could do it a second time.” Even now as she bent tenderly over it Lilac thought she could make out the faint beginning of a bud.

“I do wish I could take it,” she said to herself. “If it was only in bloom maybe they’d like it.”

But the cactus was very far from blooming, and perhaps had no intention of doing so; in its present condition it would certainly be considered “rubbish” at Orchards Farm.

Lilac turned from it with a sigh, and glancing through the window was startled to see that the cart with Ben sitting in it was already at the gate. Ben looked as though he might have been waiting there for some hours, and was content to wait for any length of time. She ran out in alarm.

“Oh, Ben!” she cried, “I never heard you. Have you been here long?”

“Not I,” said Ben; “on’y just come. Missus she give orders as how I was to fetch down some cheers alonger you, so as to lighten the next load a bit.”

By the time he had slowly stacked the chairs together, and disposed them round Lilac’s box in the cart, which cost him much painful thought, there was not much room left.

“Now then, missie,” he said at length, “that’s the lot, ain’t it?”

“Where am I to sit, Ben?” asked Lilac doubtfully. Ben took off his hat to scratch his head. He had a perfectly round, foolish face, with short dust-coloured whiskers.

“That’s so,” he said. “I clean forgot you was to go too.”

A corner was at last found amongst the chairs, and Ben having hoisted himself on to the shaft they started slowly on their way. Lilac kept her eyes fixed on the cottage until a turn of the road hid it from her sight. It was just there she had turned to look at Mother on May Day. What a long, long time ago, and what a different Lilac she felt now! Grave and old, with all manner of cares and troubles waiting for her, and no one to mind if she were glad or sorry. No one to want her much or to be pleased at her coming. A burden instead of a blessing. She clung to the hope that Agnetta at least would not think her so, but would welcome her to her new home and be kind to her; but she was the only one of whom she thought without shrinking. Her aunt and uncle, Bella and Peter, above all the last, were people to be afraid of.

“Here’s the young master,” said Ben, suddenly turning his face round to look at her. “He be coming up to fetch the rest of the sticks.”

Lilac peeped out through the various legs of chairs which surrounded her; towards her, crawling slowly up the hill, came a wagon drawn by three iron-grey horses, and by their side a broad-shouldered, lumbering figure. It was her Cousin Peter. Of course it was Peter, she thought impatiently, turning her head away. No one else would walk up the hill instead of riding in the empty wagon. The descent now becoming easier Ben whipped up his horse, and they soon jolted past Peter and his team.

“There’s been a sight o’ deaths lately in the village,” he resumed cheerfully, having once broken the silence. “I dunno as I can ever call to mind so many. The bell’s forever agoin’. It’s downright mournful.”

He was kindly disposed towards Lilac, and having hit upon this lucky means of entertaining her he dwelt on it for the rest of the way, fortunately requiring no answering remarks. It seemed long before they reached the farm, and Lilac was cramped and tired in her uneasy position when they had at last driven in at the yard gate. There was no one to be seen; but presently Molly, the servant girl, having spied the arrival from the back kitchen, came and stood at the door. When she discovered Lilac almost hidden by the chairs, she hastened out and held up a broad red hand to help her down from the cart.

“You’ve brought yer house on yer back like a hoddy-dod,” she said with a grin.

Lilac clambered down with difficulty, and stood by the side of the cart uncertain where to go. A forlorn little figure in her straight black frock, clasping her mother’s large old cotton umbrella. She wished she could see Agnetta, but she did not appear. Soon her aunt and Bella came into the yard, but their attention was immediately fixed on the chairs, which Ben had now unloaded and placed in a long row by Lilac’s side.

“Where were they to go?” asked Molly.

In the living-room, Mrs Greenways thought, where they were short of chairs.

“In the bedrooms,” said Bella contemptuously. “Common-looking things like them.”

“We could do with ’em in the kitchen,” added Molly.

The dispute continued for some time, but in the end Bella carried the day, and Mrs Greenways found time to notice the newcomer.

“Well, here you are, Lilac,” she said. “Come along in, and Agnetta shall show where you’ve got to sleep.”

Agnetta led the way up the steep stairs to the top of the house. She had rather a condescending manner as she threw open the door of a small attic in the roof.

“This is it,” she said; “and Mamma says you’ve got to keep it clean yerself.”

“I’d rather,” said Lilac hastily. “I’ve always been used to.”

She looked round the room. It was very like her old one at the cottage, and its sloping ceiling and bare white walls seemed familiar and homelike; it was a comfort, too, to see that its tiny window looked towards the hills. As she observed all this she took off her bonnet, and was immediately startled by a loud laugh from Agnetta.

“Well!” she exclaimed, “You have made a pretty guy of yourself.”

Lilac put her hand quickly up to her head.

“Oh, I forgot—my hair,” she said.

“Whatever made you do it?” asked Agnetta, planting herself full in front of her cousin and staring at her.

“It’s neater,” said Lilac, avoiding the hard gaze. “I shall wear it so till it gets longer. I’m not agoin’ to have a fringe no more.”

“Well!” repeated Agnetta, lost in astonishment; then she added:

“You do look comical! Just like a general servant. If I was you I’d wear a cap!”

With this parting thrust she clattered downstairs giggling. So this was Lilac’s welcome. She went to the window, leant her arms on the broad sill, and looked forlornly up at the hill. There was not a single person who wanted her here, or who had taken the trouble to say a kind word. How could she bear to live here always?

“Li-lack!” shrieked a voice up the stairs, “you’re to come to tea.”

Through the meal that followed Lilac sat shyly silent, feeling that every morsel choked her, and listening to the clatter of voices and teacups round her but hardly hearing any words. The farmer had noticed her presence by a nod, and then resumed his newspaper. He meant to do his duty by Mary’s girl until she was old enough to go to service, but no one could expect him to be glad of her arrival. Another useless member of the family to support, where there were already too many. Peter was not there at first, but when the meal was nearly over Lilac heard the wagon roll heavily into the yard, and soon afterwards its master came almost as heavily into the room and took his place at the table. When there he eat largely and silently, taking huge draughts of tea out of a great mug. This was one of his many vulgarities, which Bella deplored but could not alter, for he required so much tea that a cup was a ridiculous and useless thing to him, and had to be filled so often that it gave a great deal of trouble—in this therefore he was allowed to have his way.

When Lilac got into her attic that night she found that her deal box had been carried up and placed in one corner, and as she began to undress in the half-light she caught sight of something else which certainly had not been there before. Something standing in the window twisted and prickly, but to her most pleasant to look upon. Could it really be the cactus? She went up to it, half afraid to find that she was mistaken. No, it was not fancy, the cactus was there, and Lilac was so pleased to see its ugly friendly face that tears came into her eyes. She had found a little bit of kindness at last at Orchards Farm, and it no longer felt quite so cold and strange. Peter no doubt had brought the plant down from the cottage, but who had told him to do it? Her aunt, or Agnetta, or perhaps after all it was Uncle Joshua as usual.

Whoever it was Lilac felt very grateful, and went to sleep comforted with the thought that there was something in the room which had lived her old life and known her mother’s care, though it was only a cactus plant.

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