Spring Flowers
IT was a beautiful morning, towards the end of March, as Miss
Goodwin, suitably equipped for gardening in a short skirt, shady hat,
and thick gloves, bent over the diamond-shaped flower-beds cut in the
grass plot in front of her house, and carefully hoed the rich mould
between clumps of daffodils and various other spring flowers.
March, which had come in with blustering winds, was going out like
the proverbial lamb. The air was balmy, and sweet with the delicate
scent of hyacinths, and violets; and the gentle rain which had fallen
during the night had washed all traces of dust from the budding
foliage of trees and shrubs; whilst, save for a few fleecy clouds
in the far distance, the sky was one great curtain of blue. It was
what Miss Goodwin mentally called a "growing day;" the whole world
seemed—astir with young life; and the sparrows twittered noisily
beneath the eaves of the roof of the house, where they were busily
preparing nurseries for the reception of their broods.
Miss Goodwin's back was towards the garden gate, so she did not see
a little girl and boy coming down the road from Haresdown Hill; but
they caught sight of her as they were passing the house; and as they
were unobserved, paused to look at the pretty garden with its show
of gay flowers, and the small figure so busily at work.
"Oh, what a lovely place!" whispered the little girl. "I think
I never saw such beautiful flowers growing before, did you, Gerald?
But what a queer old lady! I suppose she lives here. Do look at her
white stockings and elastic-side boots!"
At that moment Miss Goodwin glanced around, becoming suddenly
conscious that she was being watched, and perceived the children.
She guessed who they must be, the great niece and nephew of the new
owner of Haresdown House, who had arrived only the preceding night;
and as she knew all about them, she jumped to the conclusion that
they must know all about her.
Angel and Gerald were moving away with flaming cheeks, ashamed at
having been caught staring, and afraid the old lady would consider
them very rude, when she hastened to the gate and called to them
to stop.
"Oh, wait a minute!" she cried. "How do you do, my dears? I am very
glad to see you, very glad. I cannot shake hands because, as you
perceive, my gardening gloves are earthy; you must take the will
for the deed."
They paused, and looked in astonishment at the withered face beneath
the big, shady hat; there was a distinctly friendly light in the old
lady's blue eyes, and she nodded and smiled in a most genial fashion.
"How is your father?" she continued affably. "Was he much tired after
his journey yesterday? I heard he had been very ill; but I trust
he will soon be set up in health."
"He was very tired last night," Angel answered, "and he is rather
tired this morning, but Uncle Edward said he bore the journey
very well, considering how ill he has been."
"Ah, he will soon get well in this beautiful air!" Miss Goodwin
declared. "You have always lived in London, have you not?"
"Yes, always!" they answered.
"Ah, I was never there in my life; I have always lived at Wreyford.
In London they tell me you might not know your next-door neighbours!
I should not like that." And she shook her head decidedly.
"We did not know our next-door neighbours," Angel admitted with a
smile.
"Really? How strange! I know every one in Wreyford, and every one
knows me. Now, which of you is the elder?"
"I am," the little girl answered, thinking the old lady was very fond
of asking questions, "although Gerald is so much taller than I am."
"Gerald, is he called? And you? What is your name?"
"Angelica."
"But we always call her Angel," Gerald explained; "Angelica, is such
a mouthful."
"Angel is a very sweet name, to my mind," Miss Goodwin said gravely.
"Are you on your way to the town?"
"Yes," Angel assented. She hesitated, and then said apologetically,
"I hope you did not think us very rude for stopping, and looking in
at the gate. We were admiring your pretty house, and beautiful
garden; we never saw such lovely flowers growing before!"
"Come in, and I will give you some with great pleasure," Miss Goodwin
said, with an inviting smile as she opened the gate for them
to enter. "I did not think you rude at all. You are fond of flowers?"
"Oh yes!" they both replied eagerly; and Angel added, "Father loves
them too."
Suspended from Miss Goodwin's waist was a chatelaine, from which she
detached a pair of scissors, and proceeded to cut some of her finest
blooms.
"I am going to make a nosegay for your father," she informed
the children, "because he is an invalid, and sick folks like to have
little attentions paid them."
"Oh, he will be so pleased!" Angel cried, her eyes shining
with gratitude, "How very kind of you!"
"Kind? Not at all! It is always a pleasure to me to give flowers
to those who appreciate them. Some people do not care for flowers;
once I heard them called useless. Useless! Would God have created
them if not for some good purpose? He knew the longing of our souls
for beauty. Look at these wind flowers—anemones they are really
notice how delicately they are made! And these daffodils—golden
glories, I call them. Do you see how the tender green of the stalks
is softly shaded off over the backs of the blooms? Here are
wallflowers; we will have some of these for our posy because of their
scent."
"Their colours are lovely, too," Angel said; "but are we to have all
these flowers for father? Oh, how good of you! What pretty variegated
grass!"
"It is called lady's grass or ladies' ribbons," Miss Goodwin told
her, as she added a few strands to the bunch of flowers, and then
tied all the stalks together with a piece of bass which she produced
from the capacious pocket of the big, gardening apron she wore
to protect her gown. "I am glad you like my garden," she proceeded,
her blue eyes sparkling with pride as she noted the admiring glances
the children were casting on every side; "will you come in and look
at my house?"
"It is very kind of you to ask us," Angel replied, "but we must not
stay any longer, for we have some errands to do for Uncle Edward
in the town."
"Come again another day," said the old lady hospitably, as she placed
the nosegay in the little girl's hand. "Pray give the flowers to your
father with my compliments, and say I hope to have the pleasure
of calling on him and Mr. Bailey before long."
"Who shall we say sent them?" asked Gerald, thinking this was
a capital opportunity of finding out the name of their new
acquaintance.
Miss Goodwin did not perceive the drift of his question, though she
looked a trifle surprised as she answered—
"Why, say I sent them, of course!"
The children exchanged amused glances; then, after a moment's
hesitation, Angel explained the situation.
"You see, we do not know who you are," she said. "Won't you, please,
tell us your name?"
"You don't know who I am!" the old lady cried in amazement. "Well,
I never! And I have lived in Wreyford all my life!"
"But we only came last night," Angel reminded her, "and we don't know
any one in Wreyford yet, except the Mickles; I know them because
I went to their house when I spent a week here with Uncle Edward
before Christmas, but I did not see you then. Father will like
to know who sent him these lovely flowers!"
"I am called Goodwin—Anna Goodwin—Miss Anna Goodwin," the little lady
informed them with a slight stress upon the "miss." "I knew
Mr. Bailey when he was a boy, and I knew your grandfather too! Well,
if you really must go, good-bye! Come and see me again soon."
They promised, and took their departure with their faces wreathed
in smiles, whilst Miss Goodwin watched them out of sight, and then
returned to her gardening. When they passed Myrtle Villa on their way
back to Haresdown House, after having executed their errands in the
town, the quaint little figure of the gardener had disappeared.
So far Angel had kept possession of the flowers, occasionally lifting
them to her face to enjoy their fragrance; but as they commenced
the ascent of Haresdown Hill, Gerald said—
"I say, Angel, I think it's about time I had a turn at carrying those
flowers. You've had them all the way!"
"I didn't know you wanted to carry them," Angel responded quickly,
as she willingly delivered them up to her brother.
He had had no desire to do so, but it had suddenly occurred to him
that he would like to be the one to present the bouquet to their
father; and in his eagerness to be the first to reach home, he got
a few steps in advance of his sister.
"Wait for me, Gerald!" she cried. "How fast you are going!"
She was rather breathless, for she was unaccustomed to walking much,
and the hill tried her. But Gerald, instead of waiting, only laughed,
and hastened on ahead. They were now within sight of Haresdown House,
which, situated on the slope of the hill, was bathed in sunshine; and
with new blinds and curtained windows presented a very different
appearance to that it had done when Angel had first seen it
four months previously.
Suddenly Gerald commenced to run, and before Angel had reached the
garden gate, he had disappeared under the porch into the house.
She thought it was rather unkind of him to leave her, and tears rose
to her eyes because she had so much wanted to witness her father's
look when he caught sight of the nosegay, and now she would be too
late for that; but the next moment she told herself how very foolish
she must be, for Gerald could not have thought she would be
disappointed.
She entered the house very soberly, and turned immediately into the
dining-room, a long, low apartment, in which were two windows
reaching to the ground. Mr. Willis lay on a sofa close to one of the
windows, through which the sun was streaming and Gerald had already
given him the flowers.
"Come here, Angel," Mr. Willis said as his little daughter appeared,
"and tell me what good fairy sent me these. Gerald says they are a
present from a lady!"
"So they are," Angel replied, her face brightening as she met her
father's smiling gaze. "Are they not beautiful?"
"Most beautiful! And freshly gathered, I see. Then the scent—
how fragrant! Wall-flowers! Hyacinths! Anemones! Scarlet japonica!
How marvellously well the colours blend! And daffodils too!"
"That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty."
"Surely you must have met with some very kind-hearted person to get
all these!"
"Oh, father, I wish you could have seen her, she was so funny!"
Gerald exclaimed, laughing merrily at the remembrance of Miss
Goodwin's quaint figure. "Such a queer little woman she looked
with an odd, old face, and wearing a short frock, and a big apron!"
"And she has the kindest, bluest eyes I ever saw," Angel cried
eagerly; "and a bright, clear voice—like a silver bell! She said
we were to come and see her often; and she's going to call on you and
Uncle Edward. Her name is Miss Anna Goodwin, and she lives in a dear
little house called Myrtle Villa, at the bottom of the hill—we passed
it as we drove from the station last night, only, of course,
you wouldn't notice it in the dark."
"I am sure she must be a charming old lady," Mr. Willis said
earnestly; "but what made her think of sending these flowers to me?"
he asked, looking puzzled.
"Oh, because you are an invalid! She seemed to know all about us,
and was quite surprised when we told her we did not know what she
was called." And Angel repeated almost word for word the conversation
they had held with Miss Goodwin.
"Well, I feel most grateful to her," Mr. Willis said, when his little
daughter had finished her tale, "and I hope she will keep her word,
and come to see me. Now, in what can I arrange my flowers?"
He glanced around the room, which was comfortably and substantially
furnished; but there were no vases or jars to be seen. Angel went
to the kitchen, and explained their need to the housekeeper,
Mrs. Vallance, who told her to look into the china cupboard, and take
whatever she wanted. Accordingly, she selected a big blue bowl,
finding nothing more suitable, and returned with it to the dining
room. Mr. Willis declared it was just the thing he required, and when
he had arranged the flowers in it to his satisfaction, had it placed
on a small table close by the side of his sofa.
The children were delighted to see how much brighter their father
was looking; his voice was more cheerful, and he spoke hopefully of a
speedy recovery.
When Mr. Bailey came in from the back garden, where he had been
giving directions to a gardener the story of Angel and Gerald's
interview with Miss Goodwin had to be told again.
"Goodwin—Goodwin," he repeated thoughtfully, "why, of course
I remember there was a Miss Goodwin in Wreyford! Is it possible
she is still alive? She must be a great age!"
"She said she used to know you, and grandfather too," Gerald said;
"and I should think she is awfully old, her face is covered
with wrinkles, and her hair is perfectly white."
"Then I dare say it is the same Miss Goodwin. Where does she live?
At Myrtle Villa? Of course I ought to have remembered! To think that
she should be still alive!" And Mr. Bailey looked quite excited.
"She must be a dear old soul, I am sure!" Mr. Willis exclaimed.
"I only hope she did not rob her garden of all its flowers!"
"Oh no, there were plenty left," Angel assured him; "you could hardly
see where those were gathered. And she seemed so pleased to cut them
for you."
"I wish she knew what pleasure they are giving me; I must tell her
if she calls. I feel as if I have made a friend in Wreyford, though I
have never met her yet." And the smile which lit up Mr. Willis' face
as he spoke was full of gratification.
Angel met her uncle's eyes saw that he too had noticed how much
brighter the invalid was looking; but neither realized how much the
little old maid's spontaneous act of kindness had to do with his
better spirits; perhaps he did not realize it himself, although his
eyes constantly wandered to the flowers in their fresh, spring
beauty, and he repeated many times ere the day was done, "It was very
good of her to send them to me."