Chapter Seven.Orchards Farm.“For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love.”—Bacon.“I like this one best,” said Lilac.She was looking in at the shed where Ben was milking the cows at Orchards Farm.Inside it was dusky and cool. There was a sweet smell of hay and new milk, and it was very quiet, the silence only disturbed when an impatient cow stamped her foot or swished her tail at the flies, and was reproved by Ben’s deep-toned, “Woa then, stand still.” But outside it was very different, for the afternoon sun was still hot and dazzling, and all the farmyard creatures were conversing cheerfully together in many keys and voices. A tall white cock had perched himself tiptoe on a gate, crowing in a shrilly triumphant manner, the ducks were quacking in a sociable chorus, and Chummy, the great black sow, lying stretched on her side in the sun, kept up an undertone of deeply comfortable grunts.Lilac leant against the doorpost, now looking in at Ben and his cows, and now at the sunshiny strawyard. She felt tired and languid, as she very often did at the end of the day, although the work at Orchards Farm was no harder than she had always been used to at home. There, however, it had been done in peace and quietness, here all was hurry and confusion. It was a new and distracting thing to live in the midst of wrangling disputes, to be called here, shouted after there, to do bits of everyone’s business, and to be scolded for leaving undone what she had never been told to do. Altogether a heavy change from her old peaceful life, and she could not settle her mind to it with any comfort. “’Tain’t the work, it’s the worry I mind,” she said once to Agnetta; but Agnetta only stared and laughed. There was no consolation at all to be found in her, and all Lilac’s hopes concerning her were disappointed as time went on. She was the same and Orchards Farm was the same as they had been in the old days when Lilac had worshipped them from a distance; but somehow, seen quite near this glory vanished, and though the stylish Sunday frocks and bangles remained, they were worth nothing compared to a little sympathy and kindness. Alas! these were not to be had. Lilac must stand on her own feet now, as her mother had told her: everyone was too full of their own troubles and interests and enjoyments to have any thought for her. What could she need beyond a roof over her head, food to eat, and clothes to wear? Mrs Greenways and all the neighbours thought her a lucky child, and told her so very often; but Lilac did not feel lucky, she felt sad and very lonely. After one or two attempts to talk to Agnetta, she resolved, however, to keep her troubles to herself, for Agnetta did not “understand.” Who was there now to understand? None in the wide world but Uncle Joshua, and from him she felt as far distant as though he were in another country. She became in this way, as time went on, more silent, graver, and more what her cousins called “old-fashioned”; and though at heart she was far more childlike than they, she went about her work with serious application like one of twice her years. Mrs Greenways did not disapprove of this, and though she lost no occasion of impressing upon Lilac her smallness and uselessness, she soon began to find her valuable in the house: it was a new thing to have someone there who was steady and thorough in her work, and might be depended on to do it without constant reproof. She was satisfied, too, that Lilac had quite got over her grief, and did not seem to miss her mother so much as might have been expected. It would be troublesome to see the child fret and pine, and as no sign of this appeared she concluded it was not there. Mrs Greenways was accustomed to the sort of sorrow which shows itself in violent tears and complaints, and she would have been surprised if she could have known how Lilac’s lonely little heart ached sometimes for the sound of her mother’s voice or the sight of her face; how at night, when she was shut safely into her attic, she would stretch out her arms towards the cottage on the hill, and long vainly for the days to come back which she had not loved half well enough while they were passing. But no one knew this, and amidst the turmoil and bustle of the day no one guessed how lonely she was or thought of her much in any way. She was only little Lilac White, an orphan who had been fortunate enough to get a good home. So she lived her own life, solitary, although surrounded by people; and while she worked her mind was full of her mother’s memory—sometimes she even seemed to hear her words again, and to see her smile of pleasure when she had done anything particularly well. She was careful, therefore, not to relax her efforts in the least, and though she got no praise for the thoroughness of her work, it was a little bit of comfort at the end of the day to think that she had “pleased Mother.”It began soon to be a pleasure, too, when work was finished, to go out amongst the creatures in the farmyard. Here she forgot her troubles and her loneliness for a little while, and made many satisfactory friendships in which there were no disappointments. True, there was plenty of noise and bustle here as well as indoors, and family quarrels were not wanting amongst the poultry; but unlike the sharp speeches of Bella and Agnetta they left no bad feeling behind, and were soon settled by a few pecks and flaps. Lilac was sure of a welcome when she appeared at the gate to distribute the small offerings she had collected for her various friends during the day; bits of bread, sugar, or crusts—nothing came amiss, and even the great lazy Chummy would waddle slowly across to her from the other end of the yard. By degrees Lilac began to look forward to the end of the day, when she should meet these friends, and found great comfort in the thought that they expected her and looked out for her coming. Especially she liked to be present at milking-time, and as often as she possibly could she stole out of the house at this hour to spend a few quiet moments with Ben and his cows.On this particular afternoon she saw that there was one among them she had not noticed before—a little cream-coloured Alderney, with slender black legs and dark eyes.“I like that one best of all,” she said, pointing to it.Ben’s voice sounded hollow as he answered, and seemed to come out of the middle of the cow, for his head was pressed firmly against her side.“Ah, she’s a sort of a little fancy coo, she is,” he said; “she belongs to the young master. He thinks a lot of her. ‘We’ll call this one None-so-pretty,’ says he, when he brung her home.”“Why does it belong to him,” asked Lilac, “more than the other cows?”“Well, it were like this ’ere,” said Ben, who was fond of company and always willing to talk. “This is how it wur. None-so-pretty she caught cold when she’d bin here a couple of weeks, and the master he sent for coo-doctor. And coo-doctor come and says: ‘She’s in a pretty plight,’ says he; ‘information of the lungs she’s got, and you’ll never get her through it. A little dillicut scrap of a animal like that,’ he says; ’she ain’t not to say fit for this part of the country! An’ so he goes away, and the coo gets worse, so as it’s a misery to see her.”Ben stopped so long in his story to quiet None-so-pretty, who wanted to kick over the pail, that Lilac had to put another question.“How did she get well?”“It wur along of the young master,” answered Ben, “as sat up with her a week o’ nights, and poured her drink down her throat, and poletissed her chest, and cockered her up like as if she’d bin a human Christian. And he brung her through. Like a skilliton she wur at fust, but she picked up after a bit and got saucy again. An’ ever sin that she’ll foller him and rub her head agin’ him, and come to his whistle like a dog. An’ so the old master, he says: ‘The little cow’s yer own now, Peter, to do as you like with,’ he says; ‘no one else’d a had the patience to bring her through. An’ if you’ll take my advice you’ll sell her, for she’ll never be much good to us.’”“But Peter wouldn’t sell her, I suppose?” asked Lilac eagerly.“No fear,” replied Ben’s muffled voice; “he’s martal fond of None-so-pretty.”Lilac looked with great interest at the little cow. An odd pair of friends—she and Peter—and as unlike as they could possibly be, for None-so-pretty was as graceful and slender in her proportions as he was clumsy and awkward-limbed. It was a good thing that there was someone to admire and like Peter, even if it were only a cow; for Lilac had not been a month at the farm without beginning to feel a little pity for him. He was uncouth and stupid, to be sure, but it was hard, she thought, that he should be so incessantly worried and jeered at. From the moment he entered the house to the moment he left it, there was something wrong in what he said or did. If he sat down on the settle and wearily stretched out his long legs, someone was sure to tumble over them: “Peter, how stupid you are!” If he opened his mouth to speak he said something laughable, and if to eat, there was something vulgar in his manners which called down a sharp reproof from Bella, who considered herself a model of refinement and good taste. He took all this in unmoved silence, and seldom said a word except to talk to his father on farming matters; but Lilac, looking on from her quiet corner, often felt sorry for him, as she would have done to see any large, patient animal ill-treated and unable to complain.“Anyhow,” she said to herself as she stood with her eyes fixed on None-so-pretty after Ben had done his story, “if he is common he’s kind.”Her reflections were disturbed by Ben’s voice making another remark, which came from the side of a large red cow named Cherry:“There’s not a better lot of coos, nor richer milk than what they give, this side Lenham.” Lilac made no answer.“An’ if so be as the dairy wur properly worked they’d most pay the rent of this ’ere farm, with the poultry thrown in.”Lilac glanced at the various feathered families outside; they were supposed to be Bella’s charge, she knew, but she generally gave them over to Agnetta, who looked after them when she was inclined, and often forgot to search for the eggs altogether.“They wants care,” continued Ben, “as well as most things. I don’t name no names, but the young broods had ought to be better looked after in the spring. And they’re worth it. There’s ducks now—chancy things is early ducks, but they pay well. Git ’em hatched out early. Feed ’em often. Keep ’em warm and dry at fust. Let ’em go into the water at the right time. Kill ’em and send ’em up to Lunnon, and there you are—a good profit. Why, you’ll git 15 shillings the couple for ducklings in March! That’s not a price to sneeze at, that isn’t. I name no names,” he repeated mysteriously, “but them as don’t choose to take the pains can’t expect the profit.”At supper that night Lilac remembered this conversation with Ben, and examined Peter’s countenance curiously as he sat opposite to her with his whole being apparently engrossed by the meal. She could not, however, discover any kind or pleasant expression upon it. If it were there at all, it was unable to struggle through the thick dull mask spread over it. Bella meanwhile had news to tell. She had heard at Dimbleby’s that afternoon that there was to be a grand fête in Lenham next week. Fireworks and a balloon, and perhaps dancing and a band. Charlotte Smith said it would be splendid, and she was going to have a new hat on purpose.“Well, I haven’t got no money to throw away on new hats and suchlike,” said Mrs Greenways, “but I s’pose you and Agnetta’ll want to go too.”“How’ll we get over there?” asked Bella, looking fixedly at Peter, who did not raise his eyes from his plate. Mrs Greenways turned her glance in the same direction, and said presently:“Well, perhaps Peter he could drive you over in the spring cart.”“Hay harvest,” muttered Peter, deep down in his mug; “couldn’t spare time.”“Oh, bother,” said Bella. “Then we must do with Ben.”“Couldn’t spare him neither,” was Peter’s answer. “Heavy crop. Want all the hands we can get.”Bella pouted and Agnetta looked on the edge of tears. Mrs Greenways, anxious to settle matters comfortably, made another suggestion.“Well, you must just drive yourselves then, Bella. The white horse is quiet. I’ve drove him often.”“Couldn’t spare the horse neither,” said Peter, “nor yet the cart,” and having finished both his meal and the subject he got up and went out of the room.The farmer, roused by the sound of the dispute from a nap in the window seat, now enquired what was going on, and was told of the difficulty.“What’s to prevent ’em walking?” he asked; “it’s only five miles. If they’re too proud to walk they’d better stop at home,” and then he too left the room.“You don’t catchmewalking!” exclaimed Bella; “if I can’t drive I shan’t go at all. Getting all hot and dusty, and Charlotte Smith driving past us on the road with her head held up ever so high.”“No more shan’t I,” said Agnetta, with a toss of her head.“Well, there, we’ll see if we can’t manage somehow,” said Mrs Greenways coaxingly. “If the weather’s good for the hay harvest your father’ll be in a good temper, and we’ll see what we can do. Lilac!” she added, turning sharply to her niece, “Molly’s left out some bits of washing in the orchard, jest you run and fetch ’em in.”Lilac picked up her sunbonnet and went out, glancing at Agnetta to see if she were coming too, but she did not move. It was a cool, still evening after a very hot day, and all the flowers in the garden were holding up their drooping heads again, and giving out their sweetest scent as if in thankfulness for the change. There were a great many in bloom now, for it was June, more than a whole month since that happy, miserable day when Lilac had been Queen, and as she passed Peter’s own little bit of ground she stopped to look admiringly at them. They seemed to grow here better than in other places—with a willing luxuriance as though in return for the affection and care which was evidently spent on them. Pansies, columbines, white-fringed pinks, and sweet-peas all mixed up together, and yet keeping a certain order and not allowed to intrude upon each other. Lilac passed on through a little gate which led into the kitchen garden, and as she did so became aware that the owner of the flowers was quite near. She paused and considered within herself as to whether she should speak to him. He was sitting on the stump of a cherry tree, which had been cut down to a convenient height from the ground; on this was placed a square piece of turf, so that it formed a cushion, and was evidently a customary seat. Near him was a row of beehives, under a slanting thatch, and their busy inhabitants, returning in numbers from their day’s labour, hummed and buzzed around him, much to the annoyance of Sober, the old sheep dog, who lay stretched at his feet. Tib, the ugly cat, had taken up a discreet position at a little distance from the hives, and sat very wide awake, with the only eye she possessed on the alert for any stray game that might pass that way.Neither Peter nor his companions saw Lilac; they all appeared absorbed in their own reflections, and the former had fixed his gaze vacantly on the copse beyond the orchard. A little while ago she would have passed quickly on without a moment’s hesitation, but now she felt a sort of sympathy with Peter. She was lonely, and he was lonely; besides, he had been kind to None-so-pretty. So presently she made a little rustle, which roused Sober from his slumbers. He raised his head, and finding that it was a friend wagged his bushy tail and resumed his former position; but this roused Peter too, and he slowly turned his eyes upon Lilac and stared silently. Knowing that it would be useless to wait for him to speak, she said timidly:“How pretty your pinks grow!”Peter got up from his seat and looked seriously over the railing at the pinks.“They’re well enough,” he said; “but the slugs and snails torment ’em so.”“I think they’re as pretty as can be,” said Lilac; “and that sweet you can smell ’em ever so far. We had some up yonder,” she added, with a nod towards the hills, “but they never had such blooms as yours.”“Maybe you’d like a posy,” said Peter, suddenly blurting out the words with a great effort.Receiving a delighted answer in the affirmative he fumbled for some time in his pocket, and having at last produced a large clasp knife bent over his flower bed.The conversation having got on so far, Lilac felt encouraged to continue it, and looked round her for a subject.“This is a nice, pretty corner to sit in,” she said; “but don’t the bees terrify you?”Peter straightened himself up with the flowers he had cut in one hand, and stared in surprise.“The bees!” he repeated.He strode up to the hives, took up a handful of bees and let them crawl about him, which they did without any sign of anger.“Why ever don’t they sting yer?” asked Lilac, shrinking away.“They know I like ’em,” answered Peter, returning to his flowers. “They know a lot, bees do.”“I s’pose they’re used to see you sitting here?” said Lilac.Peter nodded. “They’re rare good comp’ny too,” he said, “when you can follow their carryings on, and know what they’re up to.”Lilac watched him thoughtfully as his large hand moved carefully amongst the flowers, cutting the best blossoms and adding them to the nosegay, which now began to take the shape of a large fan.While he had been talking of the bees his face had lost its dullness; he had not looked stupid at all, and scarcely ugly. She would try and make him speak again.“The blossoms is over now,” she remarked, looking at the trees in the orchard; “but there’s been a rare sight of ’em this year.”“There has so,” answered Peter. “It’ll be a fine season for the fruit if so be as we get sun to ripen it. The birds is the worst,” he went on. “I’ve seen them old jaypies come out of the woods yonder as thick as thieves into the orchard. I don’t seem to care about shootin’ ’em, and scarecrows is no good.”What a long sentence for Peter!“Do they now?” said Lilac sympathisingly. “An’ I s’pose,” stroking Tib on the head, “they don’t mind Tib neither?”“Not they,” said Peter, with something approaching a chuckle. “They’re altogether too many forher.”“She’s not aprettycat,” said Lilac doubtfully.“Well, n–no,” said Peter, turning round to look at Tib with some regret in his tone. “She ain’t not to say exactly pretty, but she’s a rare one for rats. Ain’t ye, Tib?”As if in reply Tib rose, fixed her front claws in the ground, and stretched her long lean body. She was not pretty, the most favourable judge could not have called her so. Her coat was harsh and wiry, her head small and mean, with ears torn and scarred in many battles. Her one eye, fiercely green, seemed to glare in an unnaturally piercing manner, but this was only because she was always on the lookout for her enemies—the rats. To complete her forlorn appearance she had only half a tail, and it was from this loss that her friendship with Peter dated, for he had rescued her from a trap.He seemed now to feel that her character needed defence, for he went on after a pause:“She’ll sit an’ watch for ’em to come out of the ricks by the hour, without ever tasting food. Better nor any tarrier she is at it.”“Ben says the rats is awful bad,” said Lilac. “They’re that bold they’ll steal the eggs, and scare off the hens when they’re setting.”“They do that,” replied Peter, shaking his head. “The poultry wants seeing to badly; but Bella she don’t seem to take to it, nor yet Agnetta, and our hands is full outside.”“I like the chickens and ducks and things,” said Lilac. “I wish Aunt’d let me take ’em in hand.”Peter reared himself up from his bent position, and holding the big nosegay in one hand looked gravely down at his cousin.It was a good long distance from his height to Lilac, and she seemed wonderfully small and slender and delicately coloured as she stood there in her straight black frock and long pinafore. She had taken off her sun bonnet, so that her little white face with all the hair fastened back from it was plainly to be seen. It struck Peter as strange that such a small creature should talk of taking any more work “in hand” besides what she had to do already.“You hadn’t ought to do hard work,” he said at length; “you haven’t got the strength.”“I don’t mind the work,” said Lilac, drawing up her little figure. “I’m stronger nor what I look. ’Taint the work as I mind—” She stopped, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.Peter saw them with the greatest alarm. Somehow with his usual stupidity he had made his cousin cry. All he could do now was to take himself away as quickly as possible. He went up to Sober and touched him gently with his foot.“Come along, old chap,” he said. “We’ve got to look after the lambs yonder.”Without another word or a glance at Lilac he rolled away through the orchard with the dog at his heels, his great shoulders plunging along through the trees, and Lilac’s gay bunch of flowers swinging in one hand. He had quite forgotten to give it to her.She looked after him in surprise, with the tears still in her eyes. Then a smile came.“He’s a funny one surely,” she said to herself. “Why ever did he make off like that?”There was no one to answer except Tib, who had jumped up into a tree and looked down at her with the most complete indifference.“Anyway, he means to be kind,” concluded Lilac, “and it’s a shame to flout him as they do, so it is.”
“For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love.”—Bacon.
“For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love.”—Bacon.
“I like this one best,” said Lilac.
She was looking in at the shed where Ben was milking the cows at Orchards Farm.
Inside it was dusky and cool. There was a sweet smell of hay and new milk, and it was very quiet, the silence only disturbed when an impatient cow stamped her foot or swished her tail at the flies, and was reproved by Ben’s deep-toned, “Woa then, stand still.” But outside it was very different, for the afternoon sun was still hot and dazzling, and all the farmyard creatures were conversing cheerfully together in many keys and voices. A tall white cock had perched himself tiptoe on a gate, crowing in a shrilly triumphant manner, the ducks were quacking in a sociable chorus, and Chummy, the great black sow, lying stretched on her side in the sun, kept up an undertone of deeply comfortable grunts.
Lilac leant against the doorpost, now looking in at Ben and his cows, and now at the sunshiny strawyard. She felt tired and languid, as she very often did at the end of the day, although the work at Orchards Farm was no harder than she had always been used to at home. There, however, it had been done in peace and quietness, here all was hurry and confusion. It was a new and distracting thing to live in the midst of wrangling disputes, to be called here, shouted after there, to do bits of everyone’s business, and to be scolded for leaving undone what she had never been told to do. Altogether a heavy change from her old peaceful life, and she could not settle her mind to it with any comfort. “’Tain’t the work, it’s the worry I mind,” she said once to Agnetta; but Agnetta only stared and laughed. There was no consolation at all to be found in her, and all Lilac’s hopes concerning her were disappointed as time went on. She was the same and Orchards Farm was the same as they had been in the old days when Lilac had worshipped them from a distance; but somehow, seen quite near this glory vanished, and though the stylish Sunday frocks and bangles remained, they were worth nothing compared to a little sympathy and kindness. Alas! these were not to be had. Lilac must stand on her own feet now, as her mother had told her: everyone was too full of their own troubles and interests and enjoyments to have any thought for her. What could she need beyond a roof over her head, food to eat, and clothes to wear? Mrs Greenways and all the neighbours thought her a lucky child, and told her so very often; but Lilac did not feel lucky, she felt sad and very lonely. After one or two attempts to talk to Agnetta, she resolved, however, to keep her troubles to herself, for Agnetta did not “understand.” Who was there now to understand? None in the wide world but Uncle Joshua, and from him she felt as far distant as though he were in another country. She became in this way, as time went on, more silent, graver, and more what her cousins called “old-fashioned”; and though at heart she was far more childlike than they, she went about her work with serious application like one of twice her years. Mrs Greenways did not disapprove of this, and though she lost no occasion of impressing upon Lilac her smallness and uselessness, she soon began to find her valuable in the house: it was a new thing to have someone there who was steady and thorough in her work, and might be depended on to do it without constant reproof. She was satisfied, too, that Lilac had quite got over her grief, and did not seem to miss her mother so much as might have been expected. It would be troublesome to see the child fret and pine, and as no sign of this appeared she concluded it was not there. Mrs Greenways was accustomed to the sort of sorrow which shows itself in violent tears and complaints, and she would have been surprised if she could have known how Lilac’s lonely little heart ached sometimes for the sound of her mother’s voice or the sight of her face; how at night, when she was shut safely into her attic, she would stretch out her arms towards the cottage on the hill, and long vainly for the days to come back which she had not loved half well enough while they were passing. But no one knew this, and amidst the turmoil and bustle of the day no one guessed how lonely she was or thought of her much in any way. She was only little Lilac White, an orphan who had been fortunate enough to get a good home. So she lived her own life, solitary, although surrounded by people; and while she worked her mind was full of her mother’s memory—sometimes she even seemed to hear her words again, and to see her smile of pleasure when she had done anything particularly well. She was careful, therefore, not to relax her efforts in the least, and though she got no praise for the thoroughness of her work, it was a little bit of comfort at the end of the day to think that she had “pleased Mother.”
It began soon to be a pleasure, too, when work was finished, to go out amongst the creatures in the farmyard. Here she forgot her troubles and her loneliness for a little while, and made many satisfactory friendships in which there were no disappointments. True, there was plenty of noise and bustle here as well as indoors, and family quarrels were not wanting amongst the poultry; but unlike the sharp speeches of Bella and Agnetta they left no bad feeling behind, and were soon settled by a few pecks and flaps. Lilac was sure of a welcome when she appeared at the gate to distribute the small offerings she had collected for her various friends during the day; bits of bread, sugar, or crusts—nothing came amiss, and even the great lazy Chummy would waddle slowly across to her from the other end of the yard. By degrees Lilac began to look forward to the end of the day, when she should meet these friends, and found great comfort in the thought that they expected her and looked out for her coming. Especially she liked to be present at milking-time, and as often as she possibly could she stole out of the house at this hour to spend a few quiet moments with Ben and his cows.
On this particular afternoon she saw that there was one among them she had not noticed before—a little cream-coloured Alderney, with slender black legs and dark eyes.
“I like that one best of all,” she said, pointing to it.
Ben’s voice sounded hollow as he answered, and seemed to come out of the middle of the cow, for his head was pressed firmly against her side.
“Ah, she’s a sort of a little fancy coo, she is,” he said; “she belongs to the young master. He thinks a lot of her. ‘We’ll call this one None-so-pretty,’ says he, when he brung her home.”
“Why does it belong to him,” asked Lilac, “more than the other cows?”
“Well, it were like this ’ere,” said Ben, who was fond of company and always willing to talk. “This is how it wur. None-so-pretty she caught cold when she’d bin here a couple of weeks, and the master he sent for coo-doctor. And coo-doctor come and says: ‘She’s in a pretty plight,’ says he; ‘information of the lungs she’s got, and you’ll never get her through it. A little dillicut scrap of a animal like that,’ he says; ’she ain’t not to say fit for this part of the country! An’ so he goes away, and the coo gets worse, so as it’s a misery to see her.”
Ben stopped so long in his story to quiet None-so-pretty, who wanted to kick over the pail, that Lilac had to put another question.
“How did she get well?”
“It wur along of the young master,” answered Ben, “as sat up with her a week o’ nights, and poured her drink down her throat, and poletissed her chest, and cockered her up like as if she’d bin a human Christian. And he brung her through. Like a skilliton she wur at fust, but she picked up after a bit and got saucy again. An’ ever sin that she’ll foller him and rub her head agin’ him, and come to his whistle like a dog. An’ so the old master, he says: ‘The little cow’s yer own now, Peter, to do as you like with,’ he says; ‘no one else’d a had the patience to bring her through. An’ if you’ll take my advice you’ll sell her, for she’ll never be much good to us.’”
“But Peter wouldn’t sell her, I suppose?” asked Lilac eagerly.
“No fear,” replied Ben’s muffled voice; “he’s martal fond of None-so-pretty.”
Lilac looked with great interest at the little cow. An odd pair of friends—she and Peter—and as unlike as they could possibly be, for None-so-pretty was as graceful and slender in her proportions as he was clumsy and awkward-limbed. It was a good thing that there was someone to admire and like Peter, even if it were only a cow; for Lilac had not been a month at the farm without beginning to feel a little pity for him. He was uncouth and stupid, to be sure, but it was hard, she thought, that he should be so incessantly worried and jeered at. From the moment he entered the house to the moment he left it, there was something wrong in what he said or did. If he sat down on the settle and wearily stretched out his long legs, someone was sure to tumble over them: “Peter, how stupid you are!” If he opened his mouth to speak he said something laughable, and if to eat, there was something vulgar in his manners which called down a sharp reproof from Bella, who considered herself a model of refinement and good taste. He took all this in unmoved silence, and seldom said a word except to talk to his father on farming matters; but Lilac, looking on from her quiet corner, often felt sorry for him, as she would have done to see any large, patient animal ill-treated and unable to complain.
“Anyhow,” she said to herself as she stood with her eyes fixed on None-so-pretty after Ben had done his story, “if he is common he’s kind.”
Her reflections were disturbed by Ben’s voice making another remark, which came from the side of a large red cow named Cherry:
“There’s not a better lot of coos, nor richer milk than what they give, this side Lenham.” Lilac made no answer.
“An’ if so be as the dairy wur properly worked they’d most pay the rent of this ’ere farm, with the poultry thrown in.”
Lilac glanced at the various feathered families outside; they were supposed to be Bella’s charge, she knew, but she generally gave them over to Agnetta, who looked after them when she was inclined, and often forgot to search for the eggs altogether.
“They wants care,” continued Ben, “as well as most things. I don’t name no names, but the young broods had ought to be better looked after in the spring. And they’re worth it. There’s ducks now—chancy things is early ducks, but they pay well. Git ’em hatched out early. Feed ’em often. Keep ’em warm and dry at fust. Let ’em go into the water at the right time. Kill ’em and send ’em up to Lunnon, and there you are—a good profit. Why, you’ll git 15 shillings the couple for ducklings in March! That’s not a price to sneeze at, that isn’t. I name no names,” he repeated mysteriously, “but them as don’t choose to take the pains can’t expect the profit.”
At supper that night Lilac remembered this conversation with Ben, and examined Peter’s countenance curiously as he sat opposite to her with his whole being apparently engrossed by the meal. She could not, however, discover any kind or pleasant expression upon it. If it were there at all, it was unable to struggle through the thick dull mask spread over it. Bella meanwhile had news to tell. She had heard at Dimbleby’s that afternoon that there was to be a grand fête in Lenham next week. Fireworks and a balloon, and perhaps dancing and a band. Charlotte Smith said it would be splendid, and she was going to have a new hat on purpose.
“Well, I haven’t got no money to throw away on new hats and suchlike,” said Mrs Greenways, “but I s’pose you and Agnetta’ll want to go too.”
“How’ll we get over there?” asked Bella, looking fixedly at Peter, who did not raise his eyes from his plate. Mrs Greenways turned her glance in the same direction, and said presently:
“Well, perhaps Peter he could drive you over in the spring cart.”
“Hay harvest,” muttered Peter, deep down in his mug; “couldn’t spare time.”
“Oh, bother,” said Bella. “Then we must do with Ben.”
“Couldn’t spare him neither,” was Peter’s answer. “Heavy crop. Want all the hands we can get.”
Bella pouted and Agnetta looked on the edge of tears. Mrs Greenways, anxious to settle matters comfortably, made another suggestion.
“Well, you must just drive yourselves then, Bella. The white horse is quiet. I’ve drove him often.”
“Couldn’t spare the horse neither,” said Peter, “nor yet the cart,” and having finished both his meal and the subject he got up and went out of the room.
The farmer, roused by the sound of the dispute from a nap in the window seat, now enquired what was going on, and was told of the difficulty.
“What’s to prevent ’em walking?” he asked; “it’s only five miles. If they’re too proud to walk they’d better stop at home,” and then he too left the room.
“You don’t catchmewalking!” exclaimed Bella; “if I can’t drive I shan’t go at all. Getting all hot and dusty, and Charlotte Smith driving past us on the road with her head held up ever so high.”
“No more shan’t I,” said Agnetta, with a toss of her head.
“Well, there, we’ll see if we can’t manage somehow,” said Mrs Greenways coaxingly. “If the weather’s good for the hay harvest your father’ll be in a good temper, and we’ll see what we can do. Lilac!” she added, turning sharply to her niece, “Molly’s left out some bits of washing in the orchard, jest you run and fetch ’em in.”
Lilac picked up her sunbonnet and went out, glancing at Agnetta to see if she were coming too, but she did not move. It was a cool, still evening after a very hot day, and all the flowers in the garden were holding up their drooping heads again, and giving out their sweetest scent as if in thankfulness for the change. There were a great many in bloom now, for it was June, more than a whole month since that happy, miserable day when Lilac had been Queen, and as she passed Peter’s own little bit of ground she stopped to look admiringly at them. They seemed to grow here better than in other places—with a willing luxuriance as though in return for the affection and care which was evidently spent on them. Pansies, columbines, white-fringed pinks, and sweet-peas all mixed up together, and yet keeping a certain order and not allowed to intrude upon each other. Lilac passed on through a little gate which led into the kitchen garden, and as she did so became aware that the owner of the flowers was quite near. She paused and considered within herself as to whether she should speak to him. He was sitting on the stump of a cherry tree, which had been cut down to a convenient height from the ground; on this was placed a square piece of turf, so that it formed a cushion, and was evidently a customary seat. Near him was a row of beehives, under a slanting thatch, and their busy inhabitants, returning in numbers from their day’s labour, hummed and buzzed around him, much to the annoyance of Sober, the old sheep dog, who lay stretched at his feet. Tib, the ugly cat, had taken up a discreet position at a little distance from the hives, and sat very wide awake, with the only eye she possessed on the alert for any stray game that might pass that way.
Neither Peter nor his companions saw Lilac; they all appeared absorbed in their own reflections, and the former had fixed his gaze vacantly on the copse beyond the orchard. A little while ago she would have passed quickly on without a moment’s hesitation, but now she felt a sort of sympathy with Peter. She was lonely, and he was lonely; besides, he had been kind to None-so-pretty. So presently she made a little rustle, which roused Sober from his slumbers. He raised his head, and finding that it was a friend wagged his bushy tail and resumed his former position; but this roused Peter too, and he slowly turned his eyes upon Lilac and stared silently. Knowing that it would be useless to wait for him to speak, she said timidly:
“How pretty your pinks grow!”
Peter got up from his seat and looked seriously over the railing at the pinks.
“They’re well enough,” he said; “but the slugs and snails torment ’em so.”
“I think they’re as pretty as can be,” said Lilac; “and that sweet you can smell ’em ever so far. We had some up yonder,” she added, with a nod towards the hills, “but they never had such blooms as yours.”
“Maybe you’d like a posy,” said Peter, suddenly blurting out the words with a great effort.
Receiving a delighted answer in the affirmative he fumbled for some time in his pocket, and having at last produced a large clasp knife bent over his flower bed.
The conversation having got on so far, Lilac felt encouraged to continue it, and looked round her for a subject.
“This is a nice, pretty corner to sit in,” she said; “but don’t the bees terrify you?”
Peter straightened himself up with the flowers he had cut in one hand, and stared in surprise.
“The bees!” he repeated.
He strode up to the hives, took up a handful of bees and let them crawl about him, which they did without any sign of anger.
“Why ever don’t they sting yer?” asked Lilac, shrinking away.
“They know I like ’em,” answered Peter, returning to his flowers. “They know a lot, bees do.”
“I s’pose they’re used to see you sitting here?” said Lilac.
Peter nodded. “They’re rare good comp’ny too,” he said, “when you can follow their carryings on, and know what they’re up to.”
Lilac watched him thoughtfully as his large hand moved carefully amongst the flowers, cutting the best blossoms and adding them to the nosegay, which now began to take the shape of a large fan.
While he had been talking of the bees his face had lost its dullness; he had not looked stupid at all, and scarcely ugly. She would try and make him speak again.
“The blossoms is over now,” she remarked, looking at the trees in the orchard; “but there’s been a rare sight of ’em this year.”
“There has so,” answered Peter. “It’ll be a fine season for the fruit if so be as we get sun to ripen it. The birds is the worst,” he went on. “I’ve seen them old jaypies come out of the woods yonder as thick as thieves into the orchard. I don’t seem to care about shootin’ ’em, and scarecrows is no good.”
What a long sentence for Peter!
“Do they now?” said Lilac sympathisingly. “An’ I s’pose,” stroking Tib on the head, “they don’t mind Tib neither?”
“Not they,” said Peter, with something approaching a chuckle. “They’re altogether too many forher.”
“She’s not aprettycat,” said Lilac doubtfully.
“Well, n–no,” said Peter, turning round to look at Tib with some regret in his tone. “She ain’t not to say exactly pretty, but she’s a rare one for rats. Ain’t ye, Tib?”
As if in reply Tib rose, fixed her front claws in the ground, and stretched her long lean body. She was not pretty, the most favourable judge could not have called her so. Her coat was harsh and wiry, her head small and mean, with ears torn and scarred in many battles. Her one eye, fiercely green, seemed to glare in an unnaturally piercing manner, but this was only because she was always on the lookout for her enemies—the rats. To complete her forlorn appearance she had only half a tail, and it was from this loss that her friendship with Peter dated, for he had rescued her from a trap.
He seemed now to feel that her character needed defence, for he went on after a pause:
“She’ll sit an’ watch for ’em to come out of the ricks by the hour, without ever tasting food. Better nor any tarrier she is at it.”
“Ben says the rats is awful bad,” said Lilac. “They’re that bold they’ll steal the eggs, and scare off the hens when they’re setting.”
“They do that,” replied Peter, shaking his head. “The poultry wants seeing to badly; but Bella she don’t seem to take to it, nor yet Agnetta, and our hands is full outside.”
“I like the chickens and ducks and things,” said Lilac. “I wish Aunt’d let me take ’em in hand.”
Peter reared himself up from his bent position, and holding the big nosegay in one hand looked gravely down at his cousin.
It was a good long distance from his height to Lilac, and she seemed wonderfully small and slender and delicately coloured as she stood there in her straight black frock and long pinafore. She had taken off her sun bonnet, so that her little white face with all the hair fastened back from it was plainly to be seen. It struck Peter as strange that such a small creature should talk of taking any more work “in hand” besides what she had to do already.
“You hadn’t ought to do hard work,” he said at length; “you haven’t got the strength.”
“I don’t mind the work,” said Lilac, drawing up her little figure. “I’m stronger nor what I look. ’Taint the work as I mind—” She stopped, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.
Peter saw them with the greatest alarm. Somehow with his usual stupidity he had made his cousin cry. All he could do now was to take himself away as quickly as possible. He went up to Sober and touched him gently with his foot.
“Come along, old chap,” he said. “We’ve got to look after the lambs yonder.”
Without another word or a glance at Lilac he rolled away through the orchard with the dog at his heels, his great shoulders plunging along through the trees, and Lilac’s gay bunch of flowers swinging in one hand. He had quite forgotten to give it to her.
She looked after him in surprise, with the tears still in her eyes. Then a smile came.
“He’s a funny one surely,” she said to herself. “Why ever did he make off like that?”
There was no one to answer except Tib, who had jumped up into a tree and looked down at her with the most complete indifference.
“Anyway, he means to be kind,” concluded Lilac, “and it’s a shame to flout him as they do, so it is.”
Chapter Eight.Only a Child!“Who is the honest man?He who doth still and strongly good pursue,To God, his neighbour and himself most true,Whom neither force nor fawning canUnpin or wrench from giving all his due.”G. Herbert.Joshua Snell had by no means forgotten his little friend Lilac. There were indeed many occasions in his solitary life when he missed her a great deal, and felt that his days were duller. For on her way to and from school she had been used to pay him frequent visits, if only for a few moments at a time, dust his room, clean the murky little window, and bring him a bunch of flowers or a dish of gossip.In this way she was a link between him and the small world of Danecross down below; and in spite of his literary pursuits Joshua by no means despised news of his neighbour’s affairs, though he often received it with a look of indifference. Besides this, her visits gave him an opportunity for talking, which was a great pleasure to him, and one in which he was seldom able to indulge, except on Saturdays when he travelled down to the bar of the “Three Bells” for an hour’s conversation. He was also fond of Lilac for her own sake, and anxious to know if she were comfortable and happy in her new home.He soon began, therefore, to look out eagerly for her as he sat at work; but no little figure appeared, and he said to himself, “I shall see her o’ Sunday at church.” But this expectation was also disappointed, and he learned from Bella Greenways that Lilac and Agnetta were to go in the evenings, it was more convenient. Joshua could not do that; it had been his settled habit for years to stay at home on Sunday evening, and it was impossible to alter it. So it came to pass that a whole month went by and he had not seen her once. Then he said to himself, “If so be as they won’t let her come to me, I reckon I must go and see her.” And he locked up his cottage one evening and set out for the farm. Joshua was a welcome guest everywhere, in spite of his poverty and lowly station; even at the Greenways’, who held their heads so high, and did not “mix”, as Bella called it, with the “poor people.” This was partly because of his learning, which in itself gave him a position apart, and also because he had a certain dignity of character which comes of self-respect and simplicity wherever they are found. Mrs Greenways was indeed a little afraid of him, and as anxious to make the best of herself in his presence as she was in that of her rector and landlord, Mr Leigh.“Why, you’re quite a stranger, Mr Snell,” she said when he appeared on this occasion. “Now sit down, do, and rest yourself, and have a glass of something or a cup of tea.”Joshua being comfortably settled with a mug of cider at his elbow she continued:“Greenways is over at Lenham, and Peter’s out on the farm somewheres, but I expect they’ll be in soon.”The cobbler waited for some mention of Lilac, but as none came he proceeded to make polite enquiries about other matters, such as the crops and the live stock, and the chances of good weather for the hay. He would not ask for her yet, he thought, because it might look as though he had no other reason for coming.“And how did you do with your ducks this season, Mrs Greenways, ma’am?” he said.“Why, badly,” replied Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone; “I never knew such onlucky broods. A cow got into the orchard and trampled down one. Fifteen as likely ducklings as you’d wish to see. And the rats scared off a hen just as she’d hatched out; and we lost a whole lot more with the cramp.”“H’m, h’m, h’m,” said the cobbler sympathisingly, “that was bad, that was. And you ought to do well with your poultry in a fine place like this too.”“Well, we don’t,” said Mrs Greenways, rather shortly; “and that’s all about it.”“They want a lot of care, poultry does,” said Joshua reflectively; “a lot of care. I know a little what belongs to the work of a farm. Years afore I came to these parts I used to live on one.”“Then p’r’aps you know what a heart-breaking, back-breaking, wearing-out life it is,” burst out poor Mrs Greenways. “All plague an’ no profit, that’s what it is. It’s drive, drive, drive, morning, noon, and night, and all to be done over again the next day. You’re never through with it.”“Ah! I dessay,” said Joshua soothingly; “but there’s your daughters now. They take summat off your hands, I s’pose? And that reminds me. There’s little White Lilac, as we used to call her,—you find her a handy sort of lass, don’t you?”“She’s well enough in her way,” said Mrs Greenways. “I don’t never regret giving her a home, and I know my duty to Greenways’ niece; but as for use—she’s a child, Mr Snell, and a weakly little thing too, as looks hardly fit to hold a broom.”“Well, well, well,” said Joshua, “every little helps, and I expect you’ll find her more use than you think for. Even a child is known by its doings, as Solomon says.”Mrs Greenways interposed hastily, for she feared the beginning of what she called Joshua’s “preachments.”“You’d like to have seen her, maybe; but she’s gone with Agnetta to the Vicarage to take some eggs. Mrs Leigh likes to see the gals now and then.”Joshua made his visit as long as he could in the hope of Lilac’s return, but she did not appear, and at last he could wait no longer.“Well, I’ll go and have a look round for Peter,” he said; “and p’r’aps you’ll send Lilac up one day to see me. She was always a favourite of mine, was Lilac White. And I’d a deal of respect for her poor mother too. Any day as suits your convenience.”“Oh, she can come any day as for that, Mr Snell,” replied Mrs Greenways with a little toss of her head. “It doesn’t make no differ in a house whether a child like that goes or stays. She’s plenty of time on her hands.”“That’s settled then, ma’am,” said Joshua, “and I shall be looking to see her soon.”He made his farewell, leaving Mrs Greenways not a little annoyed that no mention had been made of Agnetta in this invitation.“Not that she’d go,” she said to herself, “but he might a asked her as well as that little bit of a Lilac.”It was quite a long time before she found it possible to allow Lilac to make this visit, for although she was small and useless and made no differ in the house, there were a wonderful number of things for her to do. Lilac’s work increased; other people beside Mrs Greenways discovered the advantage of her willing hands, and were glad to put some of their own business into them.Thus the care of the poultry, which had been shuffled off Bella’s shoulders on to Agnetta, now descended from her to Lilac, the number of eggs brought in much increasing in consequence. Lilac liked this part of her daily task; she was proud to discover the retired corners and lurking-places of the hens, and fill her basket with the brown and pink eggs. Day by day she took more interest in her feathered family, and began to find distinguishing marks of character or appearance in each, she even made plans to defeat the inroads of the rats by coaxing her charges to lay their eggs in the barn, where they were more secure. “Hens is sillier than most things,” said Ben, when she confided her difficulties to him; “what they’ve done once they’ll do allers, it’s no good fightin’ with ’em.” He consented, however, to nail some boards over the worst holes in the barn, and by degrees, after infinite patience, Lilac succeeded in making some of the hens desert their old haunts and use their new abode. All this was encouraging. And about this time a new interest indoors arose which made her life at Orchards Farm less lonely, and was indeed an event of some importance to her. It happened in this way. Ever since her arrival she had watched the proceedings of Molly in the dairy with great attention. She had asked questions about the butter-making until Molly was tired of answering, and had often begged to be allowed to help. This was never refused, although Molly opened her eyes wide at the length of time she took to clean and rinse and scour, and by degrees she was trusted with a good deal of the work. The day came when she implored to be allowed to do it all—just for once. Molly hesitated; she had as usual a hundred other things to do and would be thankful for the help, but was such a bit of a thing to be trusted? On the whole, from her experience of Lilac she concluded that she was.“You won’t let on to the missus as how you did it?” she said. And this being faithfully promised, Lilac was left in quiet possession of the dairy. She felt almost as excited about that batch of butter as if her life depended on it. Suppose it should fail? “But there!” she said to herself, “I won’t think of that; I will make it do,” and she set to work courageously. And now her habits of care and neatness and thoroughness formed in past years came to her service, as well as her close observation of Molly. Nothing was hurried in the process, every small detail earnestly attended to, and at last trembling with excitement and triumph she saw the result of her labours. The butter was a complete success. As she stood in the cool dark dairy with the firm golden pats before her, each bearing the sharply-cut impression of the stamp, Lilac clasped her hands with delight. She had not known such a proud moment in all her life, except on the day when she had been Queen. And this was a different sort of pride, for it was joy in her own handiwork—something she herself had done with no one to help her. “Oh,” she said to herself, “if Mother could but see that, how rare an’ pleased she’d be!” Maybe she did, but how silent it was without her voice to say “Well done”, and how blank without her face to smile on her child’s success.There was no one to sympathise but Molly, who came in presently with loud exclamations of surprise.“So you’ve got through? Lor’-a-mussy, what a handy little thing it is! And you won’t ever let on to missus or any of ’em?”Lilac never did “let on.” She kept Molly’s secret faithfully, and saw her butter packed up and driven off to Lenham without saying a word. And from this time forward the making up of the butter, and sometimes the whole process, was left in her hands. It was not easy work, for all the things she had to use were too large and heavy for her small hands, and she had to stand on a stool to turn the handle of the big churn. But she liked it, and what she lacked in strength she made up in zeal; it was far more interesting than scrubbing floors and scouring saucepans. Molly, too, was much satisfied with this new arrangement, for the dairy had always brought her more scolding from her mistress than any part of her work, and all now went on much more smoothly. Lilac wondered sometimes that her aunt never seemed to notice how much she was in the dairy, or called her away to do other things; she always spoke as if it were Molly alone who made the butter. In truth Mrs Greenways knew all about it, and was very content to let matters go on as they were; but something within her, that old jealousy of Lilac and her mother, made it impossible for her to praise her niece for her services. She could not do it without deepening the contrast between her own daughters and Lilac, which she felt, but would not acknowledge even to herself. So Lilac got no praise and no thanks for what she did, and though she found satisfaction in turning out the butter well for its own sake, this was not quite enough. A very small word or look would have contented her. Once when her uncle said: “The butter’s good this week,” she thought her aunt must speak, and glanced eagerly at her, but Mrs Greenways turned her head another way and no words come. Lilac felt hurt and disappointed.It was a busier time than usual at the farm just now, though there was always plenty for everyone to do. It was hay harvest and there were extra hands at work, extra cooking to do, and many journeys to be made to and from the hayfield. Lilac was on the run from morning till night, and even Bella and Agnetta were obliged to bestir themselves a little. In the big field beyond the orchard where the grass had stood so tall and waved its flowery heads so proudly, it was now lying low on the ground in the bright hot sun. The sky was cloudless, and the farmer’s brow had cleared a little too, for he had a splendid crop and every chance of getting it in well.“To-morrow’s Lenham fête,” said Agnetta to Lilac one evening.“It’s a pity but what you can go,” answered Lilac.“We are going,” said Agnetta triumphantly, “spite of Peter and Father being so contrary; and we ain’t a-going to walk there neither!”“How are you goin’ to get there, then?” asked Lilac.“Mr Buckle, he’s goin’ to drive us over in his gig,” said Agnetta. “My I shan’t we cut a dash? Bella, she’s goin’ to wear her black silk done up. We’ve washed it with beer and it rustles beautiful just like a new one. And she’s got a hat turned up on one side and trimmed with Gobelin.”“What’s that?” asked Lilac, very much interested.“It’s the new blue, silly,” answered Agnetta disdainfully. Then she added: “My new parasol’s got lace all round it, ever so deep. I expect we shall be about the most stylish girls there. Won’t Charlotte Smith stare!”“I s’pose it’s summat like a fair, isn’t it?” asked Lilac.“Lor’, no!” exclaimed Agnetta; “not a bit. Not near so vulgar. There’s a balloon, and a promnarde, and fireworks in the evening.”All these things sounded mysteriously splendid to Lilac’s unaccustomed ears. She did not know what any of them meant, but they seemed all the more attractive.“You’ve got to be so sober and old-fashioned like,” continued Agnetta, “that I s’pose you wouldn’t care to go even if you could, would you? You’d rather stop at home and work.”“I’d like to go,” answered Lilac; “but Molly couldn’t never get through with the work to-morrow if we was all to go. There’s a whole lot to do.”“Oh, of course you couldn’t go,” said Agnetta loftily. “Bella and me’s different. We’re on a different footing.”Agnetta had heard her mother use this expression, and though she would have been puzzled to explain it, it gave her an agreeable sense of superiority to her cousin.In spite of soberness and gravity, Lilac felt not a little envious the next day when Mr Buckle drove up in his high gig to fetch her cousins to the fête. She could hear the exclamations of surprise and admiration which fell from Mrs Greenways as they appeared ready to start.“Well,” she said with uplifted hands, “you do know how to give your things a bit of style. That Iwillsay.”Bella had spent days of toil in preparing for this occasion, and the result was now so perfect in her eyes that it was well worth the labour. The silk skirt crackled and rustled and glistened with every movement; the new hat was perched on her head with all its ribbons and flowers nodding. She was now engaged in painfully forcing on a pair of lemon-coloured gloves, but suddenly there was the sound of a crack, and her smile changed to a look of dismay.“There!” she exclaimed, “if it hasn’t gone, right across the thumb.”“Lor’, what a pity,” said her mother. “Well, you can’t stop to mend it; you must keep one hand closed, and it’ll never show.”Agnetta now appeared. She was dressed in the Sunday blue, with Bella’s silver locket round her neck and a bangle on her wrist. But the glory of her attire was the new parasol; it was so large and was trimmed with such a wealth of cotton lace, that the eye was at once attracted to it, and in fact when she bore it aloft her short square figure walking along beneath it became quite a secondary object.Lilac watched the departure from the dairy window, which, overgrown with creepers, made a dark frame for the brightly-coloured picture. There was Mr Buckle, a young farmer of the neighbourhood, in a light-grey suit with a blue satin tie and a rose in his buttonhole. There was Bella, her face covered with self-satisfied smiles, mounting to his side. There was Agnetta carrying the new parasol high in the air with all its lace fluttering. How gay and happy they all looked! Mrs Greenways stood nodding at the window. She had meant to go out to the gate, but Bella had checked her. “Lor’, Ma,” she said, “don’t you come out with that great apron on—you’re a perfect guy.”When the start was really made, and her cousins were whirled off to the unknown delights of Lenham, leaving only a cloud of dust behind them, Lilac breathed a little sigh. The sun was so bright, the breeze blew so softly, the sky was so blue—it was the very day for a holiday. She would have liked to go too, instead of having a hard day’s work before her.“Where’s Lilac?” called out Mrs Greenways in her high-pitched worried voice. “What on earth’s got that child? Here’s everything to do and no one to do it. Ah! there you are,” as Lilac ran out from the dairy. “Now, you haven’t got no time to moon about to-day. You must stir yourself and help all you can.”“Bees is swarmin’!” said Ben, thrusting his head in at the kitchen door, and immediately disappearing again.“Bother the bees!” exclaimed Mrs Greenways crossly. But on Molly the news had a different effect. It was counted lucky to be present at the housing of a new swarm. She at once left her occupation, seized a saucepan and an iron spoon, and regardless of her mistress rushed out into the garden, making a hideous clatter as she went. “There now, look at that!” said Mrs Greenways with a heated face. “She’s off for goodness knows how long, and a batch of loaves burning in the oven, and your uncle wanting his tea sent down into the field. Why ever should they want to go swarmin’ now in that contrairy way?”She opened the oven door and took out the bread as she spoke.“Now, don’t you go running off, Lilac,” she continued. “There’s enough of ’em out there to settle all the bees as ever was. You get your uncle’s tea and take it out, and Peter’s too. They won’t neither of ’em be in till supper. Hurry now.”The last words were added simply from habit, for she had soon discovered that it was impossible to hurry Lilac. What she did was well and thoroughly done, but not even the example which surrounded her at Orchards Farm could make her in a bustle. The whole habit of her life was too strong within her to be altered. Mrs Greenways glanced at her a little impatiently as she steadily made the tea, poured it into a tin can, and cut thick hunches of bread and butter. “I could a done it myself in, half the time,” she thought; but she was obliged to confess that Lilac’s preparations if slow were always sure, and that she never forgot anything.Lilac tilted her sunbonnet well forward and set out, walking slowly so as not to spill the tea. How blazing the sun was, though it was now nearly four o’clock. In the distance she could see the end of her journey, the big bare field beyond the orchard full of busy figures. As she passed the kitchen garden, Molly, rushing back from her encounter with the bees, almost ran against her.“There was two on ’em,” she cried, her good-natured face shining with triumph and the heat of her exertions; “and we’ve housed ’em both beautiful. Lor’! ain’t it hot?”She stood with her iron weapons hanging down on each side, quite ready for a chat to delay her return to the house. Molly was always cheerfully ready to undertake any work that was not strictly her own. Lilac felt sorry, as they went on their several ways, to think of the scolding that was waiting for her; but it was wasted pity, for Molly’s shoulders were broad, and a scolding more or less made no manner of difference to them.There were all sorts and sizes of people at work in the hayfield as Lilac passed through it. Machines had not yet come into use at Danecross, so that the services of men, women, and children were much in request at this busy time. The farmer, remembering the motto, was determined to make his hay while the sun shone, and had collected hands from all parts of the neighbourhood. Lilac knew most of them, and passed along exchanging greetings, to where her uncle sat on his grey cob at the end of the field. He was talking to Peter, who stood by him with a wooden pitchfork in his hand.Lilac thought that her uncle’s face looked unusually good-tempered as she handed up his meal to him. He sat there eating and drinking, and continued his conversation with his son.“Well, and what d’ye think of Buckle’s offer for the colt?”“Pity we can’t sell him,” answered Peter.“Can’tsell him!” repeated the farmer; “I’m not so sure about that. Maybe he’d go sound now. He doesn’t show no signs of lameness.”“Wouldn’t last a month on the roads,” said Peter.The farmer’s face clouded a little. “Well,” he said hesitatingly, “that’s Buckle’s business. He can look him over, and if he don’t see nothing wrong—”“We hadn’t ought to sell him,” said Peter in exactly the same voice. “He’s not fit for the roads. Take him off soft ground and he’d go queer in a week.”“He might or he mightn’t,” said the farmer impatiently; “all I know is I want the cash. It’d just pay that bill of Jones’s, as is always bothering for his money. I declare I hate going into Lenham for fear of meeting that chap.”Peter had begun to toss the hay near him with his pitchfork. He did not look at his father or change his expression, but he said again:“Knowing what we do, we hadn’t ought to sell him.”The farmer struck his stirrup-iron so hard with his stick that even the steady grey pony was startled.“I wish,” he said with an oath, “that you’d never found it out then. I’d like to be square and straight about the horse as well as anyone. I’ve always liked best to be straight, but I’m too hard up to be so particular as that comes to. It’s easy enough,” he added moodily, “for a man to be honest with his pockets full of money.”“I could get the same price for None-so-pretty,” said Peter after a long pause. “Mrs Grey wants her—over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a month ago.”“I’ll not have her sold,” said the farmer quickly. “What’s the good of selling her? She’s useful to us, and the colt isn’t.”“She ain’t not exactly sousefulto us as the other cows,” said Peter. “She’s more of a fancy.”“Well, she’s yours,” answered the farmer sullenly. “You can do as you like with her of course; but I’m not going to be off my bargain with Buckle whatever you do.”He shook his reins and jogged slowly away to another part of the field, while Peter fell steadily to work again with his pitchfork. Lilac was packing the things that had been used into her basket, and glanced at him now and then with her thoughts full of what she had just heard. Her opinion of Peter had changed very much lately. She had found, since her first conversation with him, that in many things he was not stupid but wise. He knew for instance a great deal about all the animals on the farm, their ways and habits, and how to treat them when they were ill. There were some matters to be sure in which he was laughably simple, and might be deceived by a child, but there were others on which everyone valued his opinion. His father certainly deferred to him in anything connected with the live stock, and when Peter had discovered a grave defect in the colt he did not dream of disputing it. So Lilac’s feeling of pity began to change into something like respect, and she was sure too that Peter was anxious to show her kindness, though the expression of it was difficult to him. Since the day when he had gone away from her so suddenly, frightened by her tears, they had had several talks together, although the speech was mostly on Lilac’s side. She shrank from him no longer, and sometimes when the real Peter came up from the depths where he lay hidden, and showed a glimpse of himself through the dull mask, she thought him scarcely ugly.Would he sell None-so-pretty? She knew what it would cost him, for since Ben’s history she had observed the close affection between them. There were not so many people fond of Peter that he could afford to lose even the love of a cow—and yet he would rather do it than let the colt be sold!As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said:“I’m sorry about None-so-pretty.”Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red face with his handkerchief.“Thank yer,” he answered; “so am I.”“Is itcertain sureyou’ll sell her?” asked Lilac.Peter nodded. “She’ll have a good home yonder,” he said; “a rare fuss they’ll make with her.”“She’ll miss you though,” said Lilac, shaking her head.“Well,” answered Peter, “I shouldn’t wonder if she did look out for me a bit just at first. I’ve always been foolish over her since she was ill.”“But if Uncle sells the colt I s’pose you won’t sell her, will you?” continued Lilac.“Hewon’tsell him,” was Peter’s decided answer, as he turned to his work again.Now, nothing could have been more determined than Mr Greenways’ manner as he rode away, but yet when Lilac heard Peter speak so firmly she felt he must be right. The colt would not be sold and None-so-pretty would have to go in his place. She returned to the farm more than ever impressed by Peter’s power. Quiet, dull Peter who seemed hardly able to put two sentences together, and had never an answer ready for his sisters’ sharp speeches.That evening when Bella and Agnetta returned from Lenham, Lilac was at the gate. She had been watching for them eagerly, for she was anxious to hear all about the grand things they had seen, and hoped they would be inclined to talk about it. As they were saying goodbye to Mr Buckle with a great many smiles and giggles, the farmer came out.“Stop a bit, Buckle,” he said, “I want a word with you about the colt. I’ve changed my mind since the morning.”Lilac heard no more as she followed her cousins into the house; but there was no need. Peter had been right.During supper nothing was spoken of but the fête—the balloon, the band, the fireworks, and the dresses, Charlotte Smith’s in particular. Lilac was intensely interested, and it was trying after the meal was over to have to help Molly in taking away the dishes, and lose so much of the conversation. This business over she drew near Agnetta and made an attempt to learn more, but in vain. Agnetta was in her loftiest mood, and though she was full of private jokes with Bella, she turned away coldly from her cousin. They had evidently some subject of the deepest importance to talk of which needed constant whispers, titters from Bella, and even playful slaps now and then. Lilac could hear nothing but “He says—She says,” and then a burst of laughter, and “go along with yer nonsense.” It was dull to be left out of it all, and she wished more than ever that she had gone to the fête too.“Lilac,” said her aunt, “just run and fetch your uncle’s slippers.”She was already on her way when the farmer took his pipe out of his mouth and looked round. He had been moody and cross all supper-time, and now he glanced angrily at his two daughters as they sat whispering in the corner.“It’s someone else’s turn to run, it seems to me,” he said; “Lilac’s been at it all day. You go, Agnetta.” And as Agnetta left the room with an injured shrug, he continued:“Seems too as if Lilac had all the work and none of the fun. You’d like an outing as well as any of ’em—wouldn’t you, my maid?”Lilac did not know what to make of such unexpected kindness. As a rule her uncle seemed hardly to know that she was in the house. She did not answer, for she was very much afraid of him, but she looked appealingly at her aunt.“I’m sure, Greenways,” said the latter in an offended tone, “you needn’t talk as if the child was put upon. And your own niece, and an orphan besides. I know my duty better. And as for holidays and fêtes and such, ’tisn’t nateral to suppose as how Lilac would want to go to ’em after the judgment as happened to her directly after the last one. Leastways, not yet awhile. There’d be something ondacent in it, to my thinking.”“Well, there! it doesn’t need so much talking,” replied the farmer. “I’m not wanting her to go to fêtes. But there’s Mr Snell—he was asking for her yesterday when I met him. Let her go tomorrow and spend the day with him.”“If there is a busier day than another, it’s Thursday,” said Mrs Greenways fretfully.“Why, as to that, she’s only a child, and makes no differ in the house, as you always say,” remarked the farmer; “anyhow, I mean her to go to-morrow, and that’s all about it.”Lilac went to bed that night with a heart full of gratitude for her uncle’s kindness, and delight at the promised visit; but her last thought before she slept was: “I’m sorry as how None-so-pretty has got to be sold.”
“Who is the honest man?He who doth still and strongly good pursue,To God, his neighbour and himself most true,Whom neither force nor fawning canUnpin or wrench from giving all his due.”G. Herbert.
“Who is the honest man?He who doth still and strongly good pursue,To God, his neighbour and himself most true,Whom neither force nor fawning canUnpin or wrench from giving all his due.”G. Herbert.
Joshua Snell had by no means forgotten his little friend Lilac. There were indeed many occasions in his solitary life when he missed her a great deal, and felt that his days were duller. For on her way to and from school she had been used to pay him frequent visits, if only for a few moments at a time, dust his room, clean the murky little window, and bring him a bunch of flowers or a dish of gossip.
In this way she was a link between him and the small world of Danecross down below; and in spite of his literary pursuits Joshua by no means despised news of his neighbour’s affairs, though he often received it with a look of indifference. Besides this, her visits gave him an opportunity for talking, which was a great pleasure to him, and one in which he was seldom able to indulge, except on Saturdays when he travelled down to the bar of the “Three Bells” for an hour’s conversation. He was also fond of Lilac for her own sake, and anxious to know if she were comfortable and happy in her new home.
He soon began, therefore, to look out eagerly for her as he sat at work; but no little figure appeared, and he said to himself, “I shall see her o’ Sunday at church.” But this expectation was also disappointed, and he learned from Bella Greenways that Lilac and Agnetta were to go in the evenings, it was more convenient. Joshua could not do that; it had been his settled habit for years to stay at home on Sunday evening, and it was impossible to alter it. So it came to pass that a whole month went by and he had not seen her once. Then he said to himself, “If so be as they won’t let her come to me, I reckon I must go and see her.” And he locked up his cottage one evening and set out for the farm. Joshua was a welcome guest everywhere, in spite of his poverty and lowly station; even at the Greenways’, who held their heads so high, and did not “mix”, as Bella called it, with the “poor people.” This was partly because of his learning, which in itself gave him a position apart, and also because he had a certain dignity of character which comes of self-respect and simplicity wherever they are found. Mrs Greenways was indeed a little afraid of him, and as anxious to make the best of herself in his presence as she was in that of her rector and landlord, Mr Leigh.
“Why, you’re quite a stranger, Mr Snell,” she said when he appeared on this occasion. “Now sit down, do, and rest yourself, and have a glass of something or a cup of tea.”
Joshua being comfortably settled with a mug of cider at his elbow she continued:
“Greenways is over at Lenham, and Peter’s out on the farm somewheres, but I expect they’ll be in soon.”
The cobbler waited for some mention of Lilac, but as none came he proceeded to make polite enquiries about other matters, such as the crops and the live stock, and the chances of good weather for the hay. He would not ask for her yet, he thought, because it might look as though he had no other reason for coming.
“And how did you do with your ducks this season, Mrs Greenways, ma’am?” he said.
“Why, badly,” replied Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone; “I never knew such onlucky broods. A cow got into the orchard and trampled down one. Fifteen as likely ducklings as you’d wish to see. And the rats scared off a hen just as she’d hatched out; and we lost a whole lot more with the cramp.”
“H’m, h’m, h’m,” said the cobbler sympathisingly, “that was bad, that was. And you ought to do well with your poultry in a fine place like this too.”
“Well, we don’t,” said Mrs Greenways, rather shortly; “and that’s all about it.”
“They want a lot of care, poultry does,” said Joshua reflectively; “a lot of care. I know a little what belongs to the work of a farm. Years afore I came to these parts I used to live on one.”
“Then p’r’aps you know what a heart-breaking, back-breaking, wearing-out life it is,” burst out poor Mrs Greenways. “All plague an’ no profit, that’s what it is. It’s drive, drive, drive, morning, noon, and night, and all to be done over again the next day. You’re never through with it.”
“Ah! I dessay,” said Joshua soothingly; “but there’s your daughters now. They take summat off your hands, I s’pose? And that reminds me. There’s little White Lilac, as we used to call her,—you find her a handy sort of lass, don’t you?”
“She’s well enough in her way,” said Mrs Greenways. “I don’t never regret giving her a home, and I know my duty to Greenways’ niece; but as for use—she’s a child, Mr Snell, and a weakly little thing too, as looks hardly fit to hold a broom.”
“Well, well, well,” said Joshua, “every little helps, and I expect you’ll find her more use than you think for. Even a child is known by its doings, as Solomon says.”
Mrs Greenways interposed hastily, for she feared the beginning of what she called Joshua’s “preachments.”
“You’d like to have seen her, maybe; but she’s gone with Agnetta to the Vicarage to take some eggs. Mrs Leigh likes to see the gals now and then.”
Joshua made his visit as long as he could in the hope of Lilac’s return, but she did not appear, and at last he could wait no longer.
“Well, I’ll go and have a look round for Peter,” he said; “and p’r’aps you’ll send Lilac up one day to see me. She was always a favourite of mine, was Lilac White. And I’d a deal of respect for her poor mother too. Any day as suits your convenience.”
“Oh, she can come any day as for that, Mr Snell,” replied Mrs Greenways with a little toss of her head. “It doesn’t make no differ in a house whether a child like that goes or stays. She’s plenty of time on her hands.”
“That’s settled then, ma’am,” said Joshua, “and I shall be looking to see her soon.”
He made his farewell, leaving Mrs Greenways not a little annoyed that no mention had been made of Agnetta in this invitation.
“Not that she’d go,” she said to herself, “but he might a asked her as well as that little bit of a Lilac.”
It was quite a long time before she found it possible to allow Lilac to make this visit, for although she was small and useless and made no differ in the house, there were a wonderful number of things for her to do. Lilac’s work increased; other people beside Mrs Greenways discovered the advantage of her willing hands, and were glad to put some of their own business into them.
Thus the care of the poultry, which had been shuffled off Bella’s shoulders on to Agnetta, now descended from her to Lilac, the number of eggs brought in much increasing in consequence. Lilac liked this part of her daily task; she was proud to discover the retired corners and lurking-places of the hens, and fill her basket with the brown and pink eggs. Day by day she took more interest in her feathered family, and began to find distinguishing marks of character or appearance in each, she even made plans to defeat the inroads of the rats by coaxing her charges to lay their eggs in the barn, where they were more secure. “Hens is sillier than most things,” said Ben, when she confided her difficulties to him; “what they’ve done once they’ll do allers, it’s no good fightin’ with ’em.” He consented, however, to nail some boards over the worst holes in the barn, and by degrees, after infinite patience, Lilac succeeded in making some of the hens desert their old haunts and use their new abode. All this was encouraging. And about this time a new interest indoors arose which made her life at Orchards Farm less lonely, and was indeed an event of some importance to her. It happened in this way. Ever since her arrival she had watched the proceedings of Molly in the dairy with great attention. She had asked questions about the butter-making until Molly was tired of answering, and had often begged to be allowed to help. This was never refused, although Molly opened her eyes wide at the length of time she took to clean and rinse and scour, and by degrees she was trusted with a good deal of the work. The day came when she implored to be allowed to do it all—just for once. Molly hesitated; she had as usual a hundred other things to do and would be thankful for the help, but was such a bit of a thing to be trusted? On the whole, from her experience of Lilac she concluded that she was.
“You won’t let on to the missus as how you did it?” she said. And this being faithfully promised, Lilac was left in quiet possession of the dairy. She felt almost as excited about that batch of butter as if her life depended on it. Suppose it should fail? “But there!” she said to herself, “I won’t think of that; I will make it do,” and she set to work courageously. And now her habits of care and neatness and thoroughness formed in past years came to her service, as well as her close observation of Molly. Nothing was hurried in the process, every small detail earnestly attended to, and at last trembling with excitement and triumph she saw the result of her labours. The butter was a complete success. As she stood in the cool dark dairy with the firm golden pats before her, each bearing the sharply-cut impression of the stamp, Lilac clasped her hands with delight. She had not known such a proud moment in all her life, except on the day when she had been Queen. And this was a different sort of pride, for it was joy in her own handiwork—something she herself had done with no one to help her. “Oh,” she said to herself, “if Mother could but see that, how rare an’ pleased she’d be!” Maybe she did, but how silent it was without her voice to say “Well done”, and how blank without her face to smile on her child’s success.
There was no one to sympathise but Molly, who came in presently with loud exclamations of surprise.
“So you’ve got through? Lor’-a-mussy, what a handy little thing it is! And you won’t ever let on to missus or any of ’em?”
Lilac never did “let on.” She kept Molly’s secret faithfully, and saw her butter packed up and driven off to Lenham without saying a word. And from this time forward the making up of the butter, and sometimes the whole process, was left in her hands. It was not easy work, for all the things she had to use were too large and heavy for her small hands, and she had to stand on a stool to turn the handle of the big churn. But she liked it, and what she lacked in strength she made up in zeal; it was far more interesting than scrubbing floors and scouring saucepans. Molly, too, was much satisfied with this new arrangement, for the dairy had always brought her more scolding from her mistress than any part of her work, and all now went on much more smoothly. Lilac wondered sometimes that her aunt never seemed to notice how much she was in the dairy, or called her away to do other things; she always spoke as if it were Molly alone who made the butter. In truth Mrs Greenways knew all about it, and was very content to let matters go on as they were; but something within her, that old jealousy of Lilac and her mother, made it impossible for her to praise her niece for her services. She could not do it without deepening the contrast between her own daughters and Lilac, which she felt, but would not acknowledge even to herself. So Lilac got no praise and no thanks for what she did, and though she found satisfaction in turning out the butter well for its own sake, this was not quite enough. A very small word or look would have contented her. Once when her uncle said: “The butter’s good this week,” she thought her aunt must speak, and glanced eagerly at her, but Mrs Greenways turned her head another way and no words come. Lilac felt hurt and disappointed.
It was a busier time than usual at the farm just now, though there was always plenty for everyone to do. It was hay harvest and there were extra hands at work, extra cooking to do, and many journeys to be made to and from the hayfield. Lilac was on the run from morning till night, and even Bella and Agnetta were obliged to bestir themselves a little. In the big field beyond the orchard where the grass had stood so tall and waved its flowery heads so proudly, it was now lying low on the ground in the bright hot sun. The sky was cloudless, and the farmer’s brow had cleared a little too, for he had a splendid crop and every chance of getting it in well.
“To-morrow’s Lenham fête,” said Agnetta to Lilac one evening.
“It’s a pity but what you can go,” answered Lilac.
“We are going,” said Agnetta triumphantly, “spite of Peter and Father being so contrary; and we ain’t a-going to walk there neither!”
“How are you goin’ to get there, then?” asked Lilac.
“Mr Buckle, he’s goin’ to drive us over in his gig,” said Agnetta. “My I shan’t we cut a dash? Bella, she’s goin’ to wear her black silk done up. We’ve washed it with beer and it rustles beautiful just like a new one. And she’s got a hat turned up on one side and trimmed with Gobelin.”
“What’s that?” asked Lilac, very much interested.
“It’s the new blue, silly,” answered Agnetta disdainfully. Then she added: “My new parasol’s got lace all round it, ever so deep. I expect we shall be about the most stylish girls there. Won’t Charlotte Smith stare!”
“I s’pose it’s summat like a fair, isn’t it?” asked Lilac.
“Lor’, no!” exclaimed Agnetta; “not a bit. Not near so vulgar. There’s a balloon, and a promnarde, and fireworks in the evening.”
All these things sounded mysteriously splendid to Lilac’s unaccustomed ears. She did not know what any of them meant, but they seemed all the more attractive.
“You’ve got to be so sober and old-fashioned like,” continued Agnetta, “that I s’pose you wouldn’t care to go even if you could, would you? You’d rather stop at home and work.”
“I’d like to go,” answered Lilac; “but Molly couldn’t never get through with the work to-morrow if we was all to go. There’s a whole lot to do.”
“Oh, of course you couldn’t go,” said Agnetta loftily. “Bella and me’s different. We’re on a different footing.”
Agnetta had heard her mother use this expression, and though she would have been puzzled to explain it, it gave her an agreeable sense of superiority to her cousin.
In spite of soberness and gravity, Lilac felt not a little envious the next day when Mr Buckle drove up in his high gig to fetch her cousins to the fête. She could hear the exclamations of surprise and admiration which fell from Mrs Greenways as they appeared ready to start.
“Well,” she said with uplifted hands, “you do know how to give your things a bit of style. That Iwillsay.”
Bella had spent days of toil in preparing for this occasion, and the result was now so perfect in her eyes that it was well worth the labour. The silk skirt crackled and rustled and glistened with every movement; the new hat was perched on her head with all its ribbons and flowers nodding. She was now engaged in painfully forcing on a pair of lemon-coloured gloves, but suddenly there was the sound of a crack, and her smile changed to a look of dismay.
“There!” she exclaimed, “if it hasn’t gone, right across the thumb.”
“Lor’, what a pity,” said her mother. “Well, you can’t stop to mend it; you must keep one hand closed, and it’ll never show.”
Agnetta now appeared. She was dressed in the Sunday blue, with Bella’s silver locket round her neck and a bangle on her wrist. But the glory of her attire was the new parasol; it was so large and was trimmed with such a wealth of cotton lace, that the eye was at once attracted to it, and in fact when she bore it aloft her short square figure walking along beneath it became quite a secondary object.
Lilac watched the departure from the dairy window, which, overgrown with creepers, made a dark frame for the brightly-coloured picture. There was Mr Buckle, a young farmer of the neighbourhood, in a light-grey suit with a blue satin tie and a rose in his buttonhole. There was Bella, her face covered with self-satisfied smiles, mounting to his side. There was Agnetta carrying the new parasol high in the air with all its lace fluttering. How gay and happy they all looked! Mrs Greenways stood nodding at the window. She had meant to go out to the gate, but Bella had checked her. “Lor’, Ma,” she said, “don’t you come out with that great apron on—you’re a perfect guy.”
When the start was really made, and her cousins were whirled off to the unknown delights of Lenham, leaving only a cloud of dust behind them, Lilac breathed a little sigh. The sun was so bright, the breeze blew so softly, the sky was so blue—it was the very day for a holiday. She would have liked to go too, instead of having a hard day’s work before her.
“Where’s Lilac?” called out Mrs Greenways in her high-pitched worried voice. “What on earth’s got that child? Here’s everything to do and no one to do it. Ah! there you are,” as Lilac ran out from the dairy. “Now, you haven’t got no time to moon about to-day. You must stir yourself and help all you can.”
“Bees is swarmin’!” said Ben, thrusting his head in at the kitchen door, and immediately disappearing again.
“Bother the bees!” exclaimed Mrs Greenways crossly. But on Molly the news had a different effect. It was counted lucky to be present at the housing of a new swarm. She at once left her occupation, seized a saucepan and an iron spoon, and regardless of her mistress rushed out into the garden, making a hideous clatter as she went. “There now, look at that!” said Mrs Greenways with a heated face. “She’s off for goodness knows how long, and a batch of loaves burning in the oven, and your uncle wanting his tea sent down into the field. Why ever should they want to go swarmin’ now in that contrairy way?”
She opened the oven door and took out the bread as she spoke.
“Now, don’t you go running off, Lilac,” she continued. “There’s enough of ’em out there to settle all the bees as ever was. You get your uncle’s tea and take it out, and Peter’s too. They won’t neither of ’em be in till supper. Hurry now.”
The last words were added simply from habit, for she had soon discovered that it was impossible to hurry Lilac. What she did was well and thoroughly done, but not even the example which surrounded her at Orchards Farm could make her in a bustle. The whole habit of her life was too strong within her to be altered. Mrs Greenways glanced at her a little impatiently as she steadily made the tea, poured it into a tin can, and cut thick hunches of bread and butter. “I could a done it myself in, half the time,” she thought; but she was obliged to confess that Lilac’s preparations if slow were always sure, and that she never forgot anything.
Lilac tilted her sunbonnet well forward and set out, walking slowly so as not to spill the tea. How blazing the sun was, though it was now nearly four o’clock. In the distance she could see the end of her journey, the big bare field beyond the orchard full of busy figures. As she passed the kitchen garden, Molly, rushing back from her encounter with the bees, almost ran against her.
“There was two on ’em,” she cried, her good-natured face shining with triumph and the heat of her exertions; “and we’ve housed ’em both beautiful. Lor’! ain’t it hot?”
She stood with her iron weapons hanging down on each side, quite ready for a chat to delay her return to the house. Molly was always cheerfully ready to undertake any work that was not strictly her own. Lilac felt sorry, as they went on their several ways, to think of the scolding that was waiting for her; but it was wasted pity, for Molly’s shoulders were broad, and a scolding more or less made no manner of difference to them.
There were all sorts and sizes of people at work in the hayfield as Lilac passed through it. Machines had not yet come into use at Danecross, so that the services of men, women, and children were much in request at this busy time. The farmer, remembering the motto, was determined to make his hay while the sun shone, and had collected hands from all parts of the neighbourhood. Lilac knew most of them, and passed along exchanging greetings, to where her uncle sat on his grey cob at the end of the field. He was talking to Peter, who stood by him with a wooden pitchfork in his hand.
Lilac thought that her uncle’s face looked unusually good-tempered as she handed up his meal to him. He sat there eating and drinking, and continued his conversation with his son.
“Well, and what d’ye think of Buckle’s offer for the colt?”
“Pity we can’t sell him,” answered Peter.
“Can’tsell him!” repeated the farmer; “I’m not so sure about that. Maybe he’d go sound now. He doesn’t show no signs of lameness.”
“Wouldn’t last a month on the roads,” said Peter.
The farmer’s face clouded a little. “Well,” he said hesitatingly, “that’s Buckle’s business. He can look him over, and if he don’t see nothing wrong—”
“We hadn’t ought to sell him,” said Peter in exactly the same voice. “He’s not fit for the roads. Take him off soft ground and he’d go queer in a week.”
“He might or he mightn’t,” said the farmer impatiently; “all I know is I want the cash. It’d just pay that bill of Jones’s, as is always bothering for his money. I declare I hate going into Lenham for fear of meeting that chap.”
Peter had begun to toss the hay near him with his pitchfork. He did not look at his father or change his expression, but he said again:
“Knowing what we do, we hadn’t ought to sell him.”
The farmer struck his stirrup-iron so hard with his stick that even the steady grey pony was startled.
“I wish,” he said with an oath, “that you’d never found it out then. I’d like to be square and straight about the horse as well as anyone. I’ve always liked best to be straight, but I’m too hard up to be so particular as that comes to. It’s easy enough,” he added moodily, “for a man to be honest with his pockets full of money.”
“I could get the same price for None-so-pretty,” said Peter after a long pause. “Mrs Grey wants her—over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a month ago.”
“I’ll not have her sold,” said the farmer quickly. “What’s the good of selling her? She’s useful to us, and the colt isn’t.”
“She ain’t not exactly sousefulto us as the other cows,” said Peter. “She’s more of a fancy.”
“Well, she’s yours,” answered the farmer sullenly. “You can do as you like with her of course; but I’m not going to be off my bargain with Buckle whatever you do.”
He shook his reins and jogged slowly away to another part of the field, while Peter fell steadily to work again with his pitchfork. Lilac was packing the things that had been used into her basket, and glanced at him now and then with her thoughts full of what she had just heard. Her opinion of Peter had changed very much lately. She had found, since her first conversation with him, that in many things he was not stupid but wise. He knew for instance a great deal about all the animals on the farm, their ways and habits, and how to treat them when they were ill. There were some matters to be sure in which he was laughably simple, and might be deceived by a child, but there were others on which everyone valued his opinion. His father certainly deferred to him in anything connected with the live stock, and when Peter had discovered a grave defect in the colt he did not dream of disputing it. So Lilac’s feeling of pity began to change into something like respect, and she was sure too that Peter was anxious to show her kindness, though the expression of it was difficult to him. Since the day when he had gone away from her so suddenly, frightened by her tears, they had had several talks together, although the speech was mostly on Lilac’s side. She shrank from him no longer, and sometimes when the real Peter came up from the depths where he lay hidden, and showed a glimpse of himself through the dull mask, she thought him scarcely ugly.
Would he sell None-so-pretty? She knew what it would cost him, for since Ben’s history she had observed the close affection between them. There were not so many people fond of Peter that he could afford to lose even the love of a cow—and yet he would rather do it than let the colt be sold!
As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said:
“I’m sorry about None-so-pretty.”
Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red face with his handkerchief.
“Thank yer,” he answered; “so am I.”
“Is itcertain sureyou’ll sell her?” asked Lilac.
Peter nodded. “She’ll have a good home yonder,” he said; “a rare fuss they’ll make with her.”
“She’ll miss you though,” said Lilac, shaking her head.
“Well,” answered Peter, “I shouldn’t wonder if she did look out for me a bit just at first. I’ve always been foolish over her since she was ill.”
“But if Uncle sells the colt I s’pose you won’t sell her, will you?” continued Lilac.
“Hewon’tsell him,” was Peter’s decided answer, as he turned to his work again.
Now, nothing could have been more determined than Mr Greenways’ manner as he rode away, but yet when Lilac heard Peter speak so firmly she felt he must be right. The colt would not be sold and None-so-pretty would have to go in his place. She returned to the farm more than ever impressed by Peter’s power. Quiet, dull Peter who seemed hardly able to put two sentences together, and had never an answer ready for his sisters’ sharp speeches.
That evening when Bella and Agnetta returned from Lenham, Lilac was at the gate. She had been watching for them eagerly, for she was anxious to hear all about the grand things they had seen, and hoped they would be inclined to talk about it. As they were saying goodbye to Mr Buckle with a great many smiles and giggles, the farmer came out.
“Stop a bit, Buckle,” he said, “I want a word with you about the colt. I’ve changed my mind since the morning.”
Lilac heard no more as she followed her cousins into the house; but there was no need. Peter had been right.
During supper nothing was spoken of but the fête—the balloon, the band, the fireworks, and the dresses, Charlotte Smith’s in particular. Lilac was intensely interested, and it was trying after the meal was over to have to help Molly in taking away the dishes, and lose so much of the conversation. This business over she drew near Agnetta and made an attempt to learn more, but in vain. Agnetta was in her loftiest mood, and though she was full of private jokes with Bella, she turned away coldly from her cousin. They had evidently some subject of the deepest importance to talk of which needed constant whispers, titters from Bella, and even playful slaps now and then. Lilac could hear nothing but “He says—She says,” and then a burst of laughter, and “go along with yer nonsense.” It was dull to be left out of it all, and she wished more than ever that she had gone to the fête too.
“Lilac,” said her aunt, “just run and fetch your uncle’s slippers.”
She was already on her way when the farmer took his pipe out of his mouth and looked round. He had been moody and cross all supper-time, and now he glanced angrily at his two daughters as they sat whispering in the corner.
“It’s someone else’s turn to run, it seems to me,” he said; “Lilac’s been at it all day. You go, Agnetta.” And as Agnetta left the room with an injured shrug, he continued:
“Seems too as if Lilac had all the work and none of the fun. You’d like an outing as well as any of ’em—wouldn’t you, my maid?”
Lilac did not know what to make of such unexpected kindness. As a rule her uncle seemed hardly to know that she was in the house. She did not answer, for she was very much afraid of him, but she looked appealingly at her aunt.
“I’m sure, Greenways,” said the latter in an offended tone, “you needn’t talk as if the child was put upon. And your own niece, and an orphan besides. I know my duty better. And as for holidays and fêtes and such, ’tisn’t nateral to suppose as how Lilac would want to go to ’em after the judgment as happened to her directly after the last one. Leastways, not yet awhile. There’d be something ondacent in it, to my thinking.”
“Well, there! it doesn’t need so much talking,” replied the farmer. “I’m not wanting her to go to fêtes. But there’s Mr Snell—he was asking for her yesterday when I met him. Let her go tomorrow and spend the day with him.”
“If there is a busier day than another, it’s Thursday,” said Mrs Greenways fretfully.
“Why, as to that, she’s only a child, and makes no differ in the house, as you always say,” remarked the farmer; “anyhow, I mean her to go to-morrow, and that’s all about it.”
Lilac went to bed that night with a heart full of gratitude for her uncle’s kindness, and delight at the promised visit; but her last thought before she slept was: “I’m sorry as how None-so-pretty has got to be sold.”