A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING.
"The way was long, the wind was cold."
Soon after auntie's visit summer really began to come. It was very
pleasant while it lasted, but this year it was a very short summer, and
the winter that came after was a very severe one, and made many people
ill. It did not make Carrots ill, nor Floss, nor any of the Desart
children, for they were all strong, but it was very bad for their
mother. As the winter went on, she seemed to get weaker and weaker;
there were very few days on which she could go out, and if the spring
had not been an early and very mild one, I hardly think her strength
would have lasted.
But with the finer weather she seemed to get better again. The children
were of course very glad, but still they had not felt frightened by her
illness. It had come on so slowly and gradually that they had got
accustomed to it, as children do. They thought it was just the cold
wintry weather that had made her ill, and that when the spring came she
would get better. And when the spring came and she _did_ get better,
they were perfectly satisfied and happy.
By the end of _this_ summer Carrots was seven years old--no longer in
the least a baby, though he was not tall for his age. He could read, of
course, perfectly, and write a little. Now and then he wrote little
letters to Sybil in answer to hers, for she was very particular about
getting answers. She was only just beginning to learn to write, and
sometimes when she got tired of working away at real "A's" and "B's" and
"C's" in her letters, she would dash off into a lot of "scribble," which
she said was "children's writing," and "if Carrots didn't know what it
meant he must be very stupid, as he was a child too."
Carrots _didn't_ know what it meant, but he never liked to say so, and I
dare say it did not much matter. But _his_ letters to Sybil were quite
real. Any one could have understood them.
Long ago Floss and he had bought their hoops. They were quite "old
friends" now. They had bought them at the toy-shop, just as they had
planned, and, curiously enough when their mamma and nurse counted up how
much was owing to them for the sugar, it came to _exactly_ the price of
the hoops.
But I must tell you what happened just about the time Carrots had his
seventh birthday. The summer was nearly over again and already the cold
winds, of which there were so many at Sandyshore, were beginning to be
felt. Floss noticed that her mother very seldom went out now, and even
in the house she generally had to wrap herself up in a shawl.
"Mamma, I hope the cold weather isn't going to make you ill again?"
Floss said, one day when she and Carrots came in from a race on the
sands, all hot and rosy with running.
"I don't know, dear," said her mother with a little sigh.
"I wish you could run about like us. That would make you _so_ hot," said
Carrots.
Mrs. Desart smiled. Just then her glance happened to fall on Floss's
boots. "My dear child," she said, "those boots are really not fit to go
out with. There's a great hole at the side of one of them."
"I know, mamma," said Floss, "but they're going to be mended. Nurse
thinks they'll do a good while longer, if they're mended. I hope they
will, for I know you always have so many new things to get when winter
begins to come--haven't you, mamma?"
Mrs. Desart sighed again.
"I should have liked all your things to be so nice," she said, more as
if speaking to herself than to Floss, "but it can't be helped."
Something in her tone caught Floss's attention.
"Why, mamma?" she asked, "why did you want our things to be so nice?"
"Because, dears, you may be going away from home," replied Mrs. Desart.
Floss and Carrots stared with astonishment. "Going away from home,"
Floss repeated, utterly unable to say more. Carrots could say nothing at
all, he could _only_ stare.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Desart, "I had meant to tell you about it before,
but I have kept putting it off--" she stopped and seemed to hesitate.
"Why, mamma?" said Floss again. "Don't you like us to go? Are you coming
with us, mamma?"
"Are we going to auntie's?" said Carrots.
His asking this seemed to please his mother.
"You would like to go to auntie's, wouldn't you, Carrots?" she said.
Carrots stroked his mother's shawl up and down two or three times before
he answered.
"I'd like to go if you would come too," he said at last, "but I think I
would rather stay at home, thank you, if you can't come."
Mrs. Desart's eyes filled with tears. "Poor little Carrots!" she said,
softly smoothing his curls with her hand. "But if it would please me for
Floss and you to go without me?" she said.
"I'll go if you want me to go, mamma," said Carrots.
"I must explain a little," said Mrs. Desart, and then she went on to
tell the children how it was. The doctor had said she must not risk
another winter at Sandyshore, and it had been arranged for her to go to
a warmer climate. Cecil and Louise were to go with her; Captain Desart
would be with them as much as he possibly could, and Maurice was to live
at school. And what concerned the two little ones almost more than
anything, _nurse_ was to go too! "I must have some one kind and sensible
with me, in case, in case--" and again Mrs. Desart hesitated.
"In case you were very tired with travelling, or if you were to get a
bad cold again; somebody who could make nice white wine whey and things
like that," said Floss, who was of a practical turn of mind, "oh yes,
mamma, I quite understand."
"Though nurse is getting old, she has been so much accustomed to
travelling, too," said Mrs. Desart, "and we are going a long way--to
Algeria; Floss, do you know where that is?"
"Over the sea!" said Floss, "I wish we might come too, mamma, Carrots
and I," she exclaimed. "You will be _so_ far away."
"But you will be with auntie, and you know how kind auntie is," said
her mother, forcing herself to speak cheerfully. "And it is such a
pretty place where auntie lives."
"Is the sea there?" said Carrots.
"No, but the hills are," answered Mrs. Desart with a smile. "I am quite
sure you will like it." And she went on to tell them so much about
auntie's pretty home that for a little they almost forgot everything but
the pleasant part of the change that was to come so soon.
And it did come very soon. It seemed but a few days from the afternoon
they had first heard about it all, when Floss and Carrots found
themselves early one morning at the little railway station with their
father, waiting for the train.
Captain Desart was to travel with them for the first hour, to take them
to the "junction" where they were to change and get into a train which
would take them straight to Whitefriars, near which was auntie's house.
You will laugh, children, I dare say, and think Floss and Carrots very
countrified and ignorant when I tell you that they had never been a long
railway journey before. Never, that is to say, that they could
_remember_--for their parents had come to Sandyshore when Floss was a
baby, and Carrots, as you know, had been born there.
So you can hardly fancy what a wonderful event this journey was to them.
Their little hearts were very full at first after parting with their
mother, and sisters, and nurse, and all that made the Cove House home to
them.
And their mamma had kissed them so _many_ times, as if she could not
really say good-bye, though she was not generally a very petting or
kissing mamma, but rather quiet and grave.
And nurse had the tears in her eyes, and Louise had them pouring down
her face, and Cecil had _her_ face squeezed up in a sort of way that
Floss knew meant she was determined she would not cry. Floss felt
troubled in a way she could not understand, and I think Carrots did too.
They had a feeling that the bigger people knew of more reason for sorrow
than had been told to them, and yet they could not imagine what it could
be. And after all, to _them_ the parting for even four or five months
was almost as great a trouble as they could understand! only they were
going to "auntie's!"
"And we will try to be so good, dear mamma," said Floss, bravely choking
down her tears. "We will try to get on with our lessons, too, and write
you nice letters. And--and--" here a sob or two _would_ make its way, "I
can't help crying a little; but I'm sure we shall be very happy, won't
we Carrots?"
"If mamma wants us to be happy, we'll _try_, won't we Floss?" said
Carrots. He wiped the tears on his mother's cheeks with his own little
pocket handkerchief and looked up in her face piteously. "Please don't
cry, poor mamma," he said; "we _will_ be good and happy."
Then their father came in and hurried them off, and the farewells were
over--that part of them, at least, for the saying goodbye to Captain
Desart at the junction was rather hard too.
And at last Floss and Carrots find themselves at the height of their
ambition--alone in a railway carriage travelling to auntie's! But they
do not seem so delighted as they used to fancy they would; they do not
jump about and laugh and chatter in their overflowing pleasure--they sit
quite still, side by side, holding each other's hands and with little
quiet grave faces.
"Things never come the same as people fancy," said Floss at last. "We
never thought we should go to auntie's because poor mamma was ill, did
we Carrots?"
"No, we never did," said Carrots. "But mamma will soon get better,
won't she, Floss, at that nice warm place?"
"Oh yes, of course she will," said Floss. "But it's a long way away
Carrots, and I never thought going to auntie's would be like this."
"No," agreed Carrots again, "we never did."
"I'm so sorry to leave them all, aren't you, Carrots?" said Floss, her
voice trembling a little.
"Yes," said Carrots; "and Floss, I'm very sorry, too, to leave the sea.
I never left the sea before, you know."
"But the _sea_ won't miss you," said Floss, "and poor mamma and nursie
and all of them _will_ miss us. That's what I keep thinking of."
"When should we eat our dinner, Floss?" said Carrots, with an instinct
that it would be as well to change the subject.
"Not just yet. When we've gone about half way would do; and papa said
that great big place, Millingham, would be about half way."
"But if there were any other people to get into the carriage?" said
Carrots.
"Well, it wouldn't matter," said Floss. "People must eat when they are
travelling."
"But wouldn't we have to ask them to have some too?" suggested Carrots.
"I don't know," said Floss; "I never thought of that. Perhaps it _would_
be polite. But there are only eight sandwiches, Carrots; eight
sandwiches and four sponge cakes and a packet of Albert biscuits. I hope
a great many people won't get in."
No one got in at the next station. Only the guard put his head in at the
door, as Captain Desart had asked him to do, to see how the little pair
were getting on. Carrots had thoughts of offering _him_ a sandwich, but
he disappeared before there was time to do so, which Floss thought very
fortunate when she heard of Carrots' intention. "For you see," she said,
"if we began offering them to him, we would have to do it at every
station, and if there are eight stations before Whitefriars, all our
sandwiches would be gone."
"He might have a biscuit for a change," said Carrots, submissive, but
scarcely convinced. "He is a nice man, Floss--he calls us 'Well, sir,'
and 'Miss.' Do you think papa told him to say 'Well, sir,' and 'Miss?'"
But before Floss had time to answer they had stopped again, and this
time some one did get into their carriage. The new-comer was a small,
neat, oldish lady. She looked rather grim at first, but after a while
she grew decidedly friendly, and no wonder; for at Millingham Floss and
Carrots unpacked their little basket of provisions, and I don't think
the grimmest of maiden ladies could have remained grim after the
politeness with which the children treated her.
They selected the nicest looking sandwich, putting it on an Albert
biscuit by way of a plate, and then, at a sign from Floss, Carrots
clambered down from his seat and gravely offered it to the lady.
"I'm sorry there's no mustard, if you like mustard," said Floss; "but
Carrots and I don't like it, and--and--I suppose nurse didn't think of
anyone else."
The oldish lady looked at the children for a moment before she replied.
"I am very much obliged to you," she said at last, "but I think I won't
take a sandwich, as I had luncheon before I left home. But if you will
allow me I will have a biscuit. I am very fond of biscuits."
"I'm so glad," said Floss, hospitably. "Now, Carrots," she said in a
lower voice, "you eat two sandwiches and I'll eat two, and we'll each
have one sponge cake. And that'll do for dinner. We'll eat the rest in
about an hour and pretend we're having tea early."
The lady asked them a good many questions after this, and told them they
were such well-behaved children, she would not mind travelling all the
way to Whitefriars with them. Floss blushed a little at this; it made
her feel shy to be praised to her face, but still no doubt the lady
meant it kindly, and they were rather sorry when she left them, some
stations before they got to Whitefriars. Their old friend the guard left
them here, too, but he popped his head in for the last time to say that
he was going to speak for them to "him that was coming on now." And
Floss thanked him, though she had not the least idea what he meant.
But there must have been some mistake about it, for the new guard never
came near them, and when, at the last stoppage before Whitefriars,
another man threw the door open and demanded "tickets," Floss felt too
startled by his rough manner to ask him what they were longing to know,
how far they still had to go. But he took away the tickets. "So we can't
have very far to go," said Floss. "Papa said they would take away the
tickets a little before we got to Whitefriars."
"Will auntie be at the station?" said Carrots.
"Yes, I'm sure she will," said Floss. "Auntie and Sybil too, perhaps.
Carrots, I do believe we're there; the train's stopping."
And in another minute they found themselves in a nice clean-looking
station with several people standing about on the platform, evidently
waiting for the train.
The children looked out eagerly. There were two or three ladies, one
little girl, and a few other people--but no auntie, no Sybil!
"P'raps this isn't the place," said Carrots.
"Please, is this Whitefriars?" inquired Floss of a porter who just then
threw open the door.
"Whitefriars, yes miss. Any luggage?"
"Oh yes," said Floss anxiously, "a great deal It's in one of the luggage
carriages, and it's marked with our name."
The man smiled. "Will you come with me, missie, and show me which it is,
and I'll get it all right for you."
"Oh, thank you," said Floss, gathering together their cloaks and
baskets, and preparing to descend.
"What a _kind_ man," whispered Carrots; and when the porter lifted him
out of the carriage he took hold of his hand and ran along beside him as
fast as his little legs could keep up.
Floss felt quite bewildered at first, when she saw the heaps and heaps
of luggage lying on the platform, all labelled "Whitefriars." It seemed
to her that everybody must have been travelling to Whitefriars to-day!
But by degrees it was claimed and melted away, and the kind porter, to
whom she had already pointed out their "great deal"--one portmanteau,
one bag, and a small tin hat-box--soon picked it up and stood waiting
for further orders.
"Where am I to take it to, please miss?" he said. "Is there no one here
to meet you?"
"I don't think so, I don't know what to do," said Floss, looking sadly
troubled again. In the excitement of finding the luggage she had
forgotten this new difficulty, but now it returned in full force.
"Have you far to go?" said the man.
"Oh no," said Floss, "auntie's house is near here, I know."
"Then perhaps little master and you had better walk on, and send for the
luggage afterwards?" suggested the man, never doubting from Floss's
manner that the children were accustomed to the place, and knew their
way.
"Yes, I suppose so," said Floss uncertainly.
"Or shall I fetch you a fly from the _Blue Boar_?" said the man. "The
station flies has all drove off."
"No, thank you; I don't think I have enough money for that," said Floss,
feeling in her pocket for her purse, which she knew contained only her
father's parting gift of half-a-crown, a sixpence with a hole in, and
three pennies of Carrots'! "Your auntie says she will get you
_everything_ you want, so I need not give you any money with you," their
mother had said. Floss had no idea what a fly from the _Blue Boar_ would
cost, but it _sounded_ very grand, and she hardly dared to risk it.
"Well, I daresay you'll be safest to walk," said the porter, rather
afraid of getting himself into a scrape if he fetched the children a fly
without proper authority, and feeling uncertain, from their very plain
and rather "countrified" appearance, if their friends belonged to the
fly patronising class or not. "I'll keep the luggage safe till it's
sent for--no fear," and with a friendly nod he marched off with their
possessions.
Holding Carrots by the hand, Floss made her way out of the station. For
about a quarter of a mile the road ran straight before them and they
trudged along contentedly enough. But after awhile they came to a point
where two roads met, one leading to the little watering-place (for the
station was some way from the town), the other out into the country. And
for the first time it struck Floss that she did not know the way. She
looked about her in perplexity.
"It cannot be far," she said; "mamma always said auntie lived _near_
Whitefriars. But I wish I knew which way to go."
Carrots had no suggestion to offer. To make matters worse, it began to
rain--a cold, sleety, late October rain; the children had no umbrella,
and were already tired and hungry. I think it was much to their credit
that they did not lose heart altogether.
Just as Floss was making up her mind to take the turn leading in the
distance to terraces of houses and gardens and other signs of
civilisation, there came, jogging along the road on a cart-horse, a
farmer's boy. Joyful sight! Floss plucked up heart.
"Can you tell me, please," she called out, "which is the way to
Greenmays?"
The farmer's boy turned his thumb in the direction of the country road.
"Yonder," he shouted, without stopping in his jog, "straight on past the
church, and down lane to left."
"Is it far?" asked Floss, but the boy did not seem to hear.
There was nothing for it but to go on with their trudge. The rain was
not heavy but very piercingly cold, and the daylight was beginning to
fade. Two or three hot tears at last forced their way down Floss's
cheeks, but she wiped them quickly away, before Carrots could see them.
Carrots said nothing, but Floss knew he was getting tired by the way he
kept lagging behind, every now and then giving a little run to get up to
Floss again.
"I shouldn't mind so much, Floss," he said at last, "if it would be home
when we get there, and if we were to find mamma and nurse and tea in our
own nursery waiting for us."
This was altogether too much for Floss. For a moment or two she could
not speak, she was choked with sobs. "Oh, how I do wish poor mamma
hadn't got ill," she said at last.
"Poor Flossie, dear Flossie," said Carrots, pulling down her face to
kiss in spite of the rain and the dark and the cold and everything. "I
didn't mean to make you cry. And auntie will be very kind when we get
there, won't she, Floss?"
"Oh yes," said Floss, trying to speak cheerfully, though in her secret
heart there was a little misgiving. It did not look very kind not to
have sent to meet them at the station, and even without this, Floss,
though she had not said so, had felt a little shy and frightened at the
thought of meeting auntie and the strange uncle, and even Sybil again.
It was nearly two years since the visit to Sandyshore, and two years is
a lifetime to a child--it seemed to Floss like going altogether among
strangers. She clasped her little brother's hand tighter as these
feelings passed through her mind. "It won't be so bad for Carrots," she
reflected; "any way he will have me."
They seemed to have walked a very weary way when at last the church, of
which the farmer's boy had spoken, came in sight--very dimly in sight,
for the daylight was fast dying away. Floss would have passed the church
without noticing it, but the road divided in two just at this place,
and she was obliged to think which way to go. Then the boy's directions
came into her mind.
"To the left past the church, didn't he say, Carrots?" she said.
"'Down lane to left,' he said," replied Carrots.
"Then it _must_ be this way," said Floss, and on they trudged.
In a few minutes they came to large gates, on one side of which stood a
pretty little house, but such a little house, hardly bigger than a
cottage.
"Is that auntie's house?" said Carrots.
"I'm afraid it's too little to be auntie's house," said Floss. "I wish
it was. I would _much_ rather auntie lived in a cottage."
"Just like Mrs. White's," said Carrots.
Floss could not help laughing at him; it had left off raining and her
spirits were rising a little.
"Look Carrots," she said, "there is a light in the cottage window. We'd
better knock at the door and ask if it is auntie's house. It's getting
rather like a fairy story, isn't it Carrots? Fancy if somebody calls out
'Pull the string and the latch will open.'"
"But that would be the wolf, Floss," said Carrots, pressing closer to
his sister.
It was no wolf, but a nice, tidy-looking woman with a white cap and a
baby in her arms who opened the door, and stood staring at the two
little wayfarers in bewilderment. Floss grew afraid that she was angry.
"I'm very sorry--I mean I beg your pardon," she began. "I didn't know
this was your house. We thought perhaps it was auntie's. Can you tell
me, please, where Greenmays is?"
"This _is_ Greenmays," said the woman. Floss stared: the door opened
right into the kitchen, it couldn't be auntie's house.
"This is the lodge," continued the woman. "If it's someone at the big
house you're wanting, you must just go straight up the drive. I'd show
you the way," she went on, "but my husband's up at the stables and it's
too cold for baby. You seem wet and tired, you do--have you come far?"
"Yes," said Floss, wearily, "_very_ far. We thought auntie would meet us
at the station, but there wasn't anybody."
"They must be kin to the housekeeper, surely," thought the woman. And
yet something indescribable in Floss's manner, and in the clear,
well-bred tones of her small, childish voice, prevented her asking if
this was so. "I wish I could go with you to the house," she repeated,
curiosity and kindliness alike prompting her, "but," she added, looking
doubtfully at the sleeping child in her arms, "I'm afeared for baby."
"Oh, it doesn't matter, thank you," said Floss, "we can find the way, I
daresay. Good evening," and taking Carrots by the hand, she turned to
go.
"Good evening," said little Carrots also.
"Good evening, and I hope you'll find your auntie in," said the woman.
And for a few minutes she stood at the door straining her eyes after the
two forlorn little figures till she could distinguish them no longer in
the darkness of the trees bordering the avenue. "Who can they be?" she
said to herself. "Such a pretty spoken, old-fashioned little pair I
never did see!"