LOVEDAY GOES VISITING
But though she began her packing at once, and went on with it most
industriously for the two following days, yet, when Thursday morning
came, she was not, according to her own accounts, nearly ready.
There really was a great deal to be done. First of all she had to
find a basket in which to pack her cat, “Mrs. Peters,” and her three
kittens, for until that was done she could not make any other plans or
attend to anything else.
Fortunately, however, she found at once a nice shiny hat-box, with a
leather handle and a lock and key, which would just hold the Peters
family, for the kittens were quite tiny. “I will pack all my white
flannel petticoats in the bottom of it,” she said to herself, “for they
will be nice for Mrs. Peters and the kittens to lie on, and it will be
a good thing to get the petticoats in out of the way.”
So in went the petticoats, and then the kittens, but Mrs. Peters was
out, and had to be waited for. She came in, though, in such good time
that she and her family and the petticoats were packed and locked and
strapped up long before Loveday’s dinner-time came; and what would
have been the end of the poor kittens and their mother if their own
dinner-time had not come very soon, and Nurse had not come in search of
them to feed them, no one can imagine, for the box had no ventilation
holes, and the lid shut down quite close.
If Mrs. Peters and the kittens suffered, though, Loveday suffered too;
for Nurse was so angry when she saw the petticoats in the box with the
cats, that she ordered Loveday to sit down and pick off from them every
single hair that the cats had left behind, and they had left so many
that to Loveday it seemed a marvel that they were not all quite bald.
She did not get rid of quite all the hairs, though, for by tea-time
her eyes were so swelled and smarting with crying, she was excused the
rest, after promising never, never to do such a thing again.
“Don’t you think, dear, that you had better leave Mrs. Peters and her
family behind?” suggested her mother, when Loveday, after ransacking
the whole house, had found a basket to take the place of the hat-box.
“Oh no!” cried Loveday; “Mrs. Peters would fret dreadfully for me.”
“Do you think she would, dear, now she has her little ones to interest
her?”
“Oh yes, I am sure she would. You see she would have no one to talk to
her.”
“I would talk to her,” said mother, “and make much of her,” and looking
rather grave, “you see there is a great deal of water at Porthcallis,
and the kittens are so very young. If they escaped from you or their
mother, and got down on the sands and a wave came in, and----”
“Can kittens swim?” asked Loveday, looking very anxious.
“No, dear; such baby things, too, would be too frightened to do
anything. I really think it would be kinder to leave them at home with
Nurse and me, and Priscilla would be glad, too, to have them to watch
and play with when she gets better. She will be rather lonely and dull
without you, you know.”
“So she will,” sighed Loveday, “but of course I shall come home at once
if Prissy wants me.”
“You must breathe in all the sea air you can, and grow strong and rosy,
and you must collect all the pretty shells you can find, for Priscilla,
and then, perhaps--but remember it is only _perhaps_--when Priscilla
and Geoffrey are well enough we may all come down to Porthcallis for a
holiday with you.”
“Oh, how lovely!” cried Loveday, dancing and clapping her hands with
joy. “I shall like going ever so much better now than I did.” She went
over and leaned on her mother, and looked up into her face. “I--I
didn’t want to go before you said that,” she confided to her in a half
whisper, “at least not very much; but I do now, and I will get all the
shells I can for Prissy, and I will get to know my way everywhere so
as to be able to lead you all about when you come. And now,” bustling
away, “I am going to take out all my toys to see which of them I shall
pack;” and off she ran. In a moment or two, though, she was back again.
“Mother, don’t you think I ought to take one of my toys, or one of
Prissy’s, to Aaron Lobb? I don’t expect he has very many, and little
boys and girls always like to have something brought to them when
people come on a visit.”
“Yes, certainly, dear. Take one of your own--something you think a boy
would like.”
Loveday thought for a moment. “I fink I’ll take him the big monkey. It
is very ugly, but boys like ugly things;” and off she ran again, and
this time really reached the nursery, where Mrs. Peters and her family
were frantically clawing at the basket in their longing to get outside
it.
Loveday untied the lid and let them all out. “You are not to go after
all,” she said. “I hope you won’t be dis’pointed, but mother finks
Prissy may want you, and, after all, the fish at Porthcallis isn’t
better than any other, and there’s a _dreadful_ lot of water.”
Whether Mrs. Peters understood the change of plan or not, who can say?
But it is a fact that she lay down purring with happiness, and, drawing
all her children about her, talked to them for a long time.
Three days later, about noon, Loveday and Mrs. Carlyon started. It
was not a very long journey by train--an engine soon covers fifteen
miles; and the afternoon sun was still shining bright and hot when
they stepped out on the platform of the little bare country station,
which was not very far from Mrs. Lobb’s cottage. Though one could not
actually see the sea from the platform, one felt that it was close by,
for one could smell it in the air, and on stormy days one could hear
it; and, though I don’t know how it came there, there certainly was
sea-sand all about the platform, which made it look and feel as though
the sea certainly must reach that far sometimes.
It was all very open and breezy, and there seemed to be an endless
amount of air and space, and sea and sand, and sky and everything.
Loveday almost wished there was not quite so much; it made her feel so
small, and rather forlorn. But she had not much time to think about
it, for things kept on happening. There were no omnibuses or cabs or
anything to take them anywhere.
“How are we going to get my box to Bessie’s house?” she asked anxiously.
A man with a wheelbarrow had come up, and was standing by them.
“I’ll take the box, little lady,” he said, touching his hat and smiling
at her. “For the rest, hereabouts, we mostly goes on Shanks’s mare.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Loveday.
Mrs. Carlyon explained to the man where she wanted him to take the box,
and paid him; and when he had gone, and she had gathered up the little
things she wished to carry herself, she and Loveday started to follow.
Outside the station, Loveday stopped and looked about her.
“Come along, darling,” said mother rather impatiently. “What are you
looking for? This is the way. I want to go to one or two shops first.”
“I was looking for Shanks and his mare,” she explained, “to take us to
Bessie’s.”
[Illustration: “‘I’LL TAKE THOMAS,’ SHE SAID.”]
“I don’t think the station-master need have laughed like that,” she
said indignantly, as, a moment later, they walked quickly away.
“Everybody makes mistakes, and we don’t call legs by such silly names
at home, and--and one _can’t_ know _everything_. Even grown-ups don’t
know everything, but they do laugh at such silly things. _I_ don’t see
anything funny in it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do, dear. But look! here is a fine shop,” said
Mrs. Carlyon, drawing up before a window full of toys, and china, and
a few books, and some boxes of chocolates, and a long string of tin
buckets all painted different colours. “We will go in, shall we? I want
to get you a spade and bucket.”
“Oh, thank you!” gasped Loveday. “How lovely!” and she forgot in a
moment all her troubles and the trying habit grown-ups have of laughing
at nothing.
Some of the buckets had names painted on their sides.
“Have you one with ‘Loveday’ on it?” she asked eagerly of the woman who
came out to serve them.
“Oh no, miss,” said the woman, shaking her head. “I never heard of no
such name as that before. I’ve got one with ‘Thomas’ on it, and ‘Ada,’
and ‘Susan.’”
Loveday hesitated a moment; then, “I’ll take ‘Thomas,’” she said. “You
see,” she explained to her mother when they got outside, “if I had
chosen ‘Ada’ or ‘Susan,’ people would have thought it was my own real
name, but they can’t think I am called ‘Thomas.’”
“I don’t suppose people have much time for thinking about little girls
and the names on their buckets,” said Mrs. Carlyon quietly.
“No, not people, mummy, but boys and girls have. They have lots of
time, and they notice everything.”
Armed with her spade and her scarlet bucket, Loveday walked on quite
cheerfully to Bessie’s house. From the station it had looked quite
close, only just across a green, and along a strip of level road and
a little bit of beach, and there you were. But the country just there
was flat and deceptive; the road wound and curved, and they found it
quite a longish walk by the time they had passed the green and followed
the windings of the road, and crossed the stretch of sands. But there
they were at last, and there was Bessie out to welcome them, and Aaron,
too, though he disappeared behind his mother’s skirts as soon as the
strangers came really close.
Loveday thought him a very funny little boy, and not at all pretty.
He had very round red cheeks, and a snub nose, and big dark eyes; his
hair was dark, too, and quite straight, and cut very close to his head.
Loveday looked at him with the greatest interest and curiosity. He was
very different from what she had expected; for one thing, he was older
and more manly.
“He is like a boy, not a baby,” she said to herself, and felt a little
disappointed.
She had thought she was to have had a play-fellow whom she could have
“mothered” and managed a little. But she soon found out her mistake.
Aaron Lobb was not at all a baby, nor did he think himself one or allow
others to do so. He was a sturdy little fellow, and full of a knowledge
of the sea and the tides, and boats, and shells, and fishing, which to
Loveday seemed simply amazing, and clever beyond words.
When they had all talked a little, Bessie led the way into the house,
and Loveday thought it was the most interesting, funny, and charming
house she had ever seen in her life. It stood back from the beach,
close under the towering cliff, and was a long low house, only one
storey high, with big windows, and a porch over the door, and a
verandah on each side of the door, and it was painted white, all but
the window-frames and the doors, and they were green.
Bessie explained that it had been built by a gentleman who lived in a
big house on the top of the cliff. He had had it built years ago for
his boatman to live in, “and there is the path he had made for the man
to go up and down by to the big house.”
Loveday looked, and saw a dear little winding path going up and up,
with here and there a flight of little steps where the cliff was
particularly steep, and all the way there was a strong hand-rail to
prevent one’s falling over.
“Does your husband take charge of the boats for the gentleman now?”
asked Mrs. Carlyon.
“Oh no, ma’am,” said Bessie, shaking her head and looking very grave.
“He doesn’t keep one now, poor gentleman! His only son was drowned one
day out there, right in front of his windows, and Mr. Winter--he--he
saw it, and--and it pretty nearly drove him out of his mind. The next
day he sent down to Button--Button was his man--and ordered every boat
to be broke up, and he got rid of Button--not ’cause ’twas his fault,
but ’cause he couldn’t abide the sight of anything that had to do with
that dreadful day. He was going to have this little place pulled down
too, but my husband begged and prayed him not to, houses here being so
scarce there’s no getting one. And Mr. Winter, he gave in. You see,
ma’am, he’d had the little place built low like this, and right back
under the cliff, so’s it shouldn’t be seen from the house, so he was
never worried by the sight of it, and after the accident he wouldn’t be
likely to, for he had the blinds on that side of the house that faced
the sea drawn down, and he dared anybody ever to raise them again in
his lifetime.”
Loveday was very much impressed by this sad story. She seemed to see
the poor father sitting lonely and sad in his dark house, while his
only son lay for ever at the bottom of the cruel sea, which stretched
before his very eyes. There were tears in Mrs. Carlyon’s eyes as
she listened, and quite a sadness lay for the moment over the whole
scene as they followed Bessie into the bungalow. It was quite a large
bungalow, and so well built and nicely finished inside. On one side
of the little entrance was a cosy, spotlessly clean kitchen-parlour,
with scullery behind it, and beyond that was Bessie’s bedroom; both had
windows looking out to sea, and Bessie’s room had a little door at the
end, by which she could get in and out without having to go through
the kitchen. On the other side of the entrance was a nice little room,
which had been built, said Bessie, for the young gentleman and his
friends to have a meal in, or sit in, and behind it were two little
rooms which had been built for dressing-rooms or bedrooms, for him to
change in if he came home wet, or to sleep in if he was going to start
very early on a fishing expedition, or come home late.
The front room, which looked out to sea, Bessie had made her parlour,
while the others were two dear little bedrooms, one of which was now
Aaron’s, while the other was to be Loveday’s.
Loveday’s eyes sparkled when she saw hers. It had a wooden bed in
it--such a curious-looking one, for it had been a four-poster, but,
as it wouldn’t go into any room in the bungalow, they had had to cut
the top off, so that now it seemed to have two sets of legs, the
four it stood on and four that stood up in the air. The window was
hung with curtains of blossom-white muslin, and the looking-glass
and dressing-table and bed were all hung with the same. So snowy and
soft and billowy it looked, the little room might almost have been
filled with white clouds or foam. The woodwork was painted white, and
the walls were white too, but for a frieze around the top, whereon
white-sailed ships scudded along over a glorious blue-green sea, while
gulls hovered and swooped, or stood stiffly on the bright green grass
on the cliff-top.
Loveday was enchanted. “Oh, I wish Prissy could see it too!” she cried,
and that was the only flaw in her great delight.