"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 fete 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 catch _me_ walking!" 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 for _her_."
"She's not a _pretty_ cat," 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."