CHAPTER I

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BULBS AND BLOSSOMS

by

AMY LE FEUVRE

Author of

"Probable Sons", "Teddy's Button", etc

Illustrated by Eveline Lance

[Illustration: (_See page 23._)]

[Illustration: Rise up, for, lo, the winter is past.]

London

The Religious Tract Society

56 Paternoster Row &

65 St Pauls Churchyard

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I

The Ugly Flower Pots

[Illustration: I]

It was five o'clock in the afternoon. Miss Hunter, a tall,

dignified-looking woman, was presiding at the afternoon tea-table in the

drawing-room of Chatts Chase. Miss Amabel Hunter stood at the window in

a rather muddy riding-habit, and she was speaking in her sharp, short

tones to her twin sister Hester, who lay back in the depths of a large

armchair, a novel open in her lap. Sitting by the cheery wood fire was

the youngest of the sisters, a frail and delicate invalid. She was

turning her face anxiously towards the speaker, and now put in her word

very gently.

'We only thought, Amabel, that it would have comforted the poor children

if you had returned with them in the brougham. An aunt would naturally

have been more acceptable to them than a strange maid.'

'But I tell you, Sibyl, they are with their own nurse, and Graham will

be far more likely to put them all at ease than I should. They will hear

that "Miss 'Unter, is the missis, and lets every one know she is. Miss

'Ester keeps the maids on their legs all day long because she won't use

hers. Miss H'Amabel does the sporting gent, and is never indoors except

to meals; while Miss Sibyl--well, there, she is not much 'count in the

fam'ly, for she can't say bo to a goose, and doesn't mind how people put

on her!"'

'You saw the children, I suppose?' questioned Miss Hunter gravely.

'Of course I did. I rode down to the station for that express purpose.

They are two skinny, puny little monkeys, enveloped in bundles of wraps.

I packed them all up comfortably in the carriage, and rode on to tell

you of their arrival. I don't seem to have done the right thing, as

usual; but that is always the way. Here is the carriage lumbering up the

drive. Now you had all better go out on the steps and overwhelm them

with kisses and caresses. Only may I ask that they should be taken

straight up to their nursery, and not brought in here?'

'One would think, to hear you talk, that you hated children,' murmured

Miss Sibyl; 'it is a good thing that Percy and his wife cannot hear

you.'

Miss Hunter left the room at once, and curiosity drew Sibyl and Hester

after her, to see the little nephew and niece who had been sent to them

from India from their only brother.

The four Miss Hunters lived very comfortably together, though they were

all, with the exception of Sibyl, rather self-willed, opinionated women.

All of them being well over forty, and grey hairs plentiful between

them, they had earned the distinction of being looked upon as 'old

maids,' and some wag having one day obliterated the 'h' in Chatts Chase,

the house was now familiarly called 'Pussy's Chase.' This did not

disturb the good ladies when it came to their ears, for they had large

souls, a keen sense of humour, and too much interest in life to be

fretted by village gossip.

They were now full of plans and purposes regarding the two small

children about to be placed in their charge, and no two visitors could

have caused more excitement and preparation in the quiet household than

did this little couple from India.

'Well,' asked Miss Amabel, as, after a great deal of bustle and talk in

the hall, the sisters came back to the drawing-room, 'and what are your

impressions of the kids?'

'Poor little mites!' said Miss Sibyl; 'they seem so very white and

sickly in appearance, that we were quite astonished at the way they

scampered upstairs. I am thankful they were sent back in charge of an

English nurse. Those ayahs are always so unsatisfactory.'

Before many days the children astonished their aunts still more by their

agility and ingenuity in mischief of all sorts. Roland, a fair,

curly-haired little fellow of seven, led his smaller sister Olive into

every kind of audacious escapade. Their spirits were unflagging, though

at times their frail-looking little bodies seemed to droop under their

activity.

Miss Hunter came upon little Olive one afternoon sitting on the stairs

in a breathless, exhausted state, and Roland was remonstrating with her.

'You've only run up twenty-five times, Olive, and you're tired already;

it's a mile race, and you _must_ go on.'

'She must do nothing of the sort, Roland,' said Miss Hunter sternly. 'I

will not let you tear up and down stairs all day in this fashion. What

do you mean by it?'

'We can't be idle, auntie,' said Roland, shaking his curls back, and

speaking with decision. 'Nurse has the toothache, and won't take us out.

Father says people can be idle very easily, and put it down to the

climate, and "idle hands find mischief," he says, and father is never

idle. If we don't run up and down stairs, where can we run? We like the

stairs best, because we never have stairs in India.'

[Illustration]

'Send them into the garden, Marion,' called out Miss Amabel, from the

garden door; 'I am going to the stables, and then I will look after

them.'

Little Olive jumped up.

'Oh, let us go out, auntie, and see the pretty flowers.'

'You must be very good children then. Go quietly upstairs, and ask nurse

to wrap you up well, as it is rather cold out.'

And then Miss Hunter, who found children rather a perplexing problem,

walked back to her book and her fireside, and thought no more about

them.

Roland and Olive danced out of doors a little time after, in delight at

finding themselves unattended.

'Now,' said Roland peremptorily, 'we're going for a walk, Olive, and you

are not to get tired. And we'll go and find those big iron gates first

of all; they're down this road.'

Down the avenue trotted the children; it was fully half a mile long, and

the thick shrubberies on either side rather alarmed the little girl.

'You're _quite_ sure there isn't a tiger in the bushes?' she asked

repeatedly.

And Roland in superior tones replied,--

'I've told you the English people caught all their tigers long ago, and

put them in a garden in London. Father told me so.'

'And what's outside the big gates, Roly--a jungle?'

'No, I think the trains are. I want to go and see them. Come on!'

They reached the gates, but found them shut, and as Roland was exerting

all his strength to open them, an old man stepped out of the pretty

little lodge close by.

'Why, where be ye off to, little master?' he asked with a beaming smile.

'Isn't your nurse with you this afternoon?'

'No; we're taking a walk. Open the gates, please.'

But this the old man did not seem willing to do.

'Won't ye come into my little parlour here, and pay me a visit? My

niece, Jane, is away to market to-day, and I be very lonely. Old Bob has

a lot of pretty things in his room.'

[Illustration]

Roland hesitated, but when Olive with sparkling eyes ran in at the open

door, he followed, saying,--

'We always like to pay visits, so if you're a good and nice man we'll

come in. Mother only likes us to talk to very nice people; but I s'pose

every one in England is nice, because they're white, and it's only the

blacks that don't know better.'

[Illustration]

The old man laughed, and his quaint, old-fashioned room, with a cheery

fire and bright coloured prints round the walls, delighted his little

guests.

'What are those ugly pots in your window without any flowers?' asked

Roland presently.

Old Bob gave a little sigh and a smile.

'Ah, you've hit upon my greatest treasures,' he said. 'You won't call

them ugly pots when Easter comes.'

'What is Easter?' asked both the children.

'The happiest time in the whole year to me,' said Bob, shaking his

head; 'but another day I'll tell you the tale of those pots--not

to-day.'

'And have you got a garden?' asked Roland eagerly. 'Olive and me love

flowers, but England doesn't seem to have any out of doors.'

'Come and see my garden,' said the old man proudly; 'it's the joy of my

life, next to them there "ugly pots"!'

He led the way to the back of the house, where was a good-sized cottage

garden; but the children's faces fell considerably when they saw the

barren desolation, for Bob had no evergreen shrubs, and only some rows

of cabbages and broccoli showed signs of life.

'It's all brown earth and dead things--no flowers at all!' they

exclaimed.

'But this is the wrong time o' year,' Bob said apologetically; 'there be

heaps o' beautiful stuff all under the earth, awaitin' to come up in

their time.'

'But why don't you make them come up now? What's the good of a garden

without flowers? In India we have lovely flowers.'

'Winter is a-comin' on, my dears; you won't see my pretty flowers just

yet. They're fast asleep bidin' their time; no frost or cold can touch

'em--bidin' their time!'

Bob's face looked wistful as he gazed at his empty flower beds.

'What's winter?' asked Olive curiously.

'Bless the little dear, has she never known a winter? 'Tis the dreary

dark time of waitin', the sunless, joyless bit o' all the year, when

the singin' birds fly away, the butterflies and flowers die, and the

very trees sigh and moan in their bareness and decay. 'Tis an empty bit

o' life, when all that makes life sweet falls to pieces and fades away.'

This was not quite intelligible to the children; but they shivered a

little at the gloom in the old man's tone, and Olive's blue eyes filled

with tears.

'I don't want to stay here in winter,' she said; 'let's go back to

India, Roly!'

Roland stood with knitted brows considering.

'Who makes the winter?' he asked. 'Does the devil? Because God only

makes beautiful things, doesn't He?'

Old Bob raised his hat, and looked up into the grey autumnal sky with a

smile.

[Illustration]

'Nay, little master, the devil wouldn't have wished to give us such a

lesson as winter teaches us. 'Tis God Almighty in His love that gives us

winter, to try our faith and patience, and teach us hope's lessons. If

we had no winter, we should have no Easter, and 'tis well worth the

waitin' for!'

'And does everything die in winter?' asked Roland in a mournful voice.

His question was unanswered, for Miss Amabel appeared on the scene.

'Oh, you children!' she exclaimed breathlessly. 'What a chase I have had

after you! If I had known you were in such safe quarters, I would have

spared myself the trouble of looking for you. Have they been here long,

Bob?'

'Nigh on a quarter o' an hour, Miss Amabel. They was for going out at

the gate, but I 'ticed 'em in to my place.'

'Much obliged to you. Now, chicks, remember this, you're never to go

outside those gates alone. Come back to the house with me, and say

good-bye to Bob.'

Olive lifted up her little face to be kissed by the old man, and Roland

held out his hand.

'Good-bye, Mr. Bob. We will come and see you again, and you will tell us

about your ugly pots.'

Then as they walked up the avenue by the side of their aunt, Roland said

to her, pointing to the leafless trees above them,--

'We don't have ugly trees like that in India. Why don't you cut them all

down? They're quite dead, aren't they?'

'No, indeed,' replied Miss Amabel briskly; 'they'll all come to life

again next spring.'

'Is spring Easter that Mr. Bob was telling us about?'

'Yes, Easter comes in spring.'

'And does everything dead come to life in spring?'

'A good many things in the garden do,' said Miss Amabel carelessly.

'Why does God make winter in England, and not in India? Is He angry with

the people in England?'

'Bless the boy! What a curiosity-box! Keep your questions for Aunt

Sibyl--she will appreciate them. And as for winter, I couldn't do

without it, for there would be no hunting then, and I should feel half

my enjoyment gone in life.'

'Do you like winter, Aunt Am'bel?' asked Olive.

'Yes, I love it; and so will you when you become hardy and rosy, like

English boys and girls!'

The children looked very doubtful at this statement, but did not dispute

it.

[Illustration]