"Who is the honest man?
He who doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour and himself most true,
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin or wrench from giving all his due."
_G. Herbert_.
Joshua Snell had by no means forgotten his little friend Lilac. There
were indeed many occasions in his solitary life when he missed her a
great deal, and felt that his days were duller. For on her way to and
from school she had been used to pay him frequent visits, if only for a
few moments at a time, dust his room, clean the murky little window, and
bring him a bunch of flowers or a dish of gossip.
In this way she was a link between him and the small world of Danecross
down below; and in spite of his literary pursuits Joshua by no means
despised news of his neighbour's affairs, though he often received it
with a look of indifference. Besides this, her visits gave him an
opportunity for talking, which was a great pleasure to him, and one in
which he was seldom able to indulge, except on Saturdays when he
travelled down to the bar of the "Three Bells" for an hour's
conversation. He was also fond of Lilac for her own sake, and anxious
to know if she were comfortable and happy in her new home.
He soon began, therefore, to look out eagerly for her as he sat at work;
but no little figure appeared, and he said to himself, "I shall see her
o' Sunday at church." But this expectation was also disappointed, and
he learned from Bella Greenways that Lilac and Agnetta were to go in the
evenings, it was more convenient. Joshua could not do that; it had been
his settled habit for years to stay at home on Sunday evening, and it
was impossible to alter it. So it came to pass that a whole month went
by and he had not seen her once. Then he said to himself, "If so be as
they won't let her come to me, I reckon I must go and see her." And he
locked up his cottage one evening and set out for the farm. Joshua was
a welcome guest everywhere, in spite of his poverty and lowly station;
even at the Greenways', who held their heads so high, and did not "mix",
as Bella called it, with the "poor people." This was partly because of
his learning, which in itself gave him a position apart, and also
because he had a certain dignity of character which comes of
self-respect and simplicity wherever they are found. Mrs Greenways was
indeed a little afraid of him, and as anxious to make the best of
herself in his presence as she was in that of her rector and landlord,
Mr Leigh.
"Why, you're quite a stranger, Mr Snell," she said when he appeared on
this occasion. "Now sit down, do, and rest yourself, and have a glass
of something or a cup of tea."
Joshua being comfortably settled with a mug of cider at his elbow she
continued:
"Greenways is over at Lenham, and Peter's out on the farm somewheres,
but I expect they'll be in soon."
The cobbler waited for some mention of Lilac, but as none came he
proceeded to make polite enquiries about other matters, such as the
crops and the live stock, and the chances of good weather for the hay.
He would not ask for her yet, he thought, because it might look as
though he had no other reason for coming.
"And how did you do with your ducks this season, Mrs Greenways, ma'am?"
he said.
"Why, badly," replied Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone; "I never knew
such onlucky broods. A cow got into the orchard and trampled down one.
Fifteen as likely ducklings as you'd wish to see. And the rats scared
off a hen just as she'd hatched out; and we lost a whole lot more with
the cramp."
"H'm, h'm, h'm," said the cobbler sympathisingly, "that was bad, that
was. And you ought to do well with your poultry in a fine place like
this too."
"Well, we don't," said Mrs Greenways, rather shortly; "and that's all
about it."
"They want a lot of care, poultry does," said Joshua reflectively; "a
lot of care. I know a little what belongs to the work of a farm. Years
afore I came to these parts I used to live on one."
"Then p'r'aps you know what a heart-breaking, back-breaking, wearing-out
life it is," burst out poor Mrs Greenways. "All plague an' no profit,
that's what it is. It's drive, drive, drive, morning, noon, and night,
and all to be done over again the next day. You're never through with
it."
"Ah! I dessay," said Joshua soothingly; "but there's your daughters
now. They take summat off your hands, I s'pose? And that reminds me.
There's little White Lilac, as we used to call her,--you find her a
handy sort of lass, don't you?"
"She's well enough in her way," said Mrs Greenways. "I don't never
regret giving her a home, and I know my duty to Greenways' niece; but as
for use--she's a child, Mr Snell, and a weakly little thing too, as
looks hardly fit to hold a broom."
"Well, well, well," said Joshua, "every little helps, and I expect
you'll find her more use than you think for. Even a child is known by
its doings, as Solomon says."
Mrs Greenways interposed hastily, for she feared the beginning of what
she called Joshua's "preachments."
"You'd like to have seen her, maybe; but she's gone with Agnetta to the
Vicarage to take some eggs. Mrs Leigh likes to see the gals now and
then."
Joshua made his visit as long as he could in the hope of Lilac's return,
but she did not appear, and at last he could wait no longer.
"Well, I'll go and have a look round for Peter," he said; "and p'r'aps
you'll send Lilac up one day to see me. She was always a favourite of
mine, was Lilac White. And I'd a deal of respect for her poor mother
too. Any day as suits your convenience."
"Oh, she can come any day as for that, Mr Snell," replied Mrs
Greenways with a little toss of her head. "It doesn't make no differ in
a house whether a child like that goes or stays. She's plenty of time
on her hands."
"That's settled then, ma'am," said Joshua, "and I shall be looking to
see her soon."
He made his farewell, leaving Mrs Greenways not a little annoyed that
no mention had been made of Agnetta in this invitation.
"Not that she'd go," she said to herself, "but he might a asked her as
well as that little bit of a Lilac."
It was quite a long time before she found it possible to allow Lilac to
make this visit, for although she was small and useless and made no
differ in the house, there were a wonderful number of things for her to
do. Lilac's work increased; other people beside Mrs Greenways
discovered the advantage of her willing hands, and were glad to put some
of their own business into them.
Thus the care of the poultry, which had been shuffled off Bella's
shoulders on to Agnetta, now descended from her to Lilac, the number of
eggs brought in much increasing in consequence. Lilac liked this part
of her daily task; she was proud to discover the retired corners and
lurking-places of the hens, and fill her basket with the brown and pink
eggs. Day by day she took more interest in her feathered family, and
began to find distinguishing marks of character or appearance in each,
she even made plans to defeat the inroads of the rats by coaxing her
charges to lay their eggs in the barn, where they were more secure.
"Hens is sillier than most things," said Ben, when she confided her
difficulties to him; "what they've done once they'll do allers, it's no
good fightin' with 'em." He consented, however, to nail some boards
over the worst holes in the barn, and by degrees, after infinite
patience, Lilac succeeded in making some of the hens desert their old
haunts and use their new abode. All this was encouraging. And about
this time a new interest indoors arose which made her life at Orchards
Farm less lonely, and was indeed an event of some importance to her. It
happened in this way. Ever since her arrival she had watched the
proceedings of Molly in the dairy with great attention. She had asked
questions about the butter-making until Molly was tired of answering,
and had often begged to be allowed to help. This was never refused,
although Molly opened her eyes wide at the length of time she took to
clean and rinse and scour, and by degrees she was trusted with a good
deal of the work. The day came when she implored to be allowed to do it
all--just for once. Molly hesitated; she had as usual a hundred other
things to do and would be thankful for the help, but was such a bit of a
thing to be trusted? On the whole, from her experience of Lilac she
concluded that she was.
"You won't let on to the missus as how you did it?" she said. And this
being faithfully promised, Lilac was left in quiet possession of the
dairy. She felt almost as excited about that batch of butter as if her
life depended on it. Suppose it should fail? "But there!" she said to
herself, "I won't think of that; I will make it do," and she set to work
courageously. And now her habits of care and neatness and thoroughness
formed in past years came to her service, as well as her close
observation of Molly. Nothing was hurried in the process, every small
detail earnestly attended to, and at last trembling with excitement and
triumph she saw the result of her labours. The butter was a complete
success. As she stood in the cool dark dairy with the firm golden pats
before her, each bearing the sharply-cut impression of the stamp, Lilac
clasped her hands with delight. She had not known such a proud moment
in all her life, except on the day when she had been Queen. And this
was a different sort of pride, for it was joy in her own handiwork--
something she herself had done with no one to help her. "Oh," she said
to herself, "if Mother could but see that, how rare an' pleased she'd
be!" Maybe she did, but how silent it was without her voice to say
"Well done", and how blank without her face to smile on her child's
success.
There was no one to sympathise but Molly, who came in presently with
loud exclamations of surprise.
"So you've got through? Lor'-a-mussy, what a handy little thing it is!
And you won't ever let on to missus or any of 'em?"
Lilac never did "let on." She kept Molly's secret faithfully, and saw
her butter packed up and driven off to Lenham without saying a word.
And from this time forward the making up of the butter, and sometimes
the whole process, was left in her hands. It was not easy work, for all
the things she had to use were too large and heavy for her small hands,
and she had to stand on a stool to turn the handle of the big churn.
But she liked it, and what she lacked in strength she made up in zeal;
it was far more interesting than scrubbing floors and scouring
saucepans. Molly, too, was much satisfied with this new arrangement,
for the dairy had always brought her more scolding from her mistress
than any part of her work, and all now went on much more smoothly.
Lilac wondered sometimes that her aunt never seemed to notice how much
she was in the dairy, or called her away to do other things; she always
spoke as if it were Molly alone who made the butter. In truth Mrs
Greenways knew all about it, and was very content to let matters go on
as they were; but something within her, that old jealousy of Lilac and
her mother, made it impossible for her to praise her niece for her
services. She could not do it without deepening the contrast between
her own daughters and Lilac, which she felt, but would not acknowledge
even to herself. So Lilac got no praise and no thanks for what she did,
and though she found satisfaction in turning out the butter well for its
own sake, this was not quite enough. A very small word or look would
have contented her. Once when her uncle said: "The butter's good this
week," she thought her aunt must speak, and glanced eagerly at her, but
Mrs Greenways turned her head another way and no words come. Lilac
felt hurt and disappointed.
It was a busier time than usual at the farm just now, though there was
always plenty for everyone to do. It was hay harvest and there were
extra hands at work, extra cooking to do, and many journeys to be made
to and from the hayfield. Lilac was on the run from morning till night,
and even Bella and Agnetta were obliged to bestir themselves a little.
In the big field beyond the orchard where the grass had stood so tall
and waved its flowery heads so proudly, it was now lying low on the
ground in the bright hot sun. The sky was cloudless, and the farmer's
brow had cleared a little too, for he had a splendid crop and every
chance of getting it in well.
"To-morrow's Lenham fete," said Agnetta to Lilac one evening.
"It's a pity but what you can go," answered Lilac.
"We are going," said Agnetta triumphantly, "spite of Peter and Father
being so contrary; and we ain't a-going to walk there neither!"
"How are you goin' to get there, then?" asked Lilac.
"Mr Buckle, he's goin' to drive us over in his gig," said Agnetta. "My
I shan't we cut a dash? Bella, she's goin' to wear her black silk done
up. We've washed it with beer and it rustles beautiful just like a new
one. And she's got a hat turned up on one side and trimmed with
Gobelin."
"What's that?" asked Lilac, very much interested.
"It's the new blue, silly," answered Agnetta disdainfully. Then she
added: "My new parasol's got lace all round it, ever so deep. I expect
we shall be about the most stylish girls there. Won't Charlotte Smith
stare!"
"I s'pose it's summat like a fair, isn't it?" asked Lilac.
"Lor', no!" exclaimed Agnetta; "not a bit. Not near so vulgar. There's
a balloon, and a promnarde, and fireworks in the evening."
All these things sounded mysteriously splendid to Lilac's unaccustomed
ears. She did not know what any of them meant, but they seemed all the
more attractive.
"You've got to be so sober and old-fashioned like," continued Agnetta,
"that I s'pose you wouldn't care to go even if you could, would you?
You'd rather stop at home and work."
"I'd like to go," answered Lilac; "but Molly couldn't never get through
with the work to-morrow if we was all to go. There's a whole lot to
do."
"Oh, of course you couldn't go," said Agnetta loftily. "Bella and me's
different. We're on a different footing."
Agnetta had heard her mother use this expression, and though she would
have been puzzled to explain it, it gave her an agreeable sense of
superiority to her cousin.
In spite of soberness and gravity, Lilac felt not a little envious the
next day when Mr Buckle drove up in his high gig to fetch her cousins
to the fete. She could hear the exclamations of surprise and admiration
which fell from Mrs Greenways as they appeared ready to start.
"Well," she said with uplifted hands, "you do know how to give your
things a bit of style. That I _will_ say."
Bella had spent days of toil in preparing for this occasion, and the
result was now so perfect in her eyes that it was well worth the labour.
The silk skirt crackled and rustled and glistened with every movement;
the new hat was perched on her head with all its ribbons and flowers
nodding. She was now engaged in painfully forcing on a pair of
lemon-coloured gloves, but suddenly there was the sound of a crack, and
her smile changed to a look of dismay.
"There!" she exclaimed, "if it hasn't gone, right across the thumb."
"Lor', what a pity," said her mother. "Well, you can't stop to mend it;
you must keep one hand closed, and it'll never show."
Agnetta now appeared. She was dressed in the Sunday blue, with Bella's
silver locket round her neck and a bangle on her wrist. But the glory
of her attire was the new parasol; it was so large and was trimmed with
such a wealth of cotton lace, that the eye was at once attracted to it,
and in fact when she bore it aloft her short square figure walking along
beneath it became quite a secondary object.
Lilac watched the departure from the dairy window, which, overgrown with
creepers, made a dark frame for the brightly-coloured picture. There
was Mr Buckle, a young farmer of the neighbourhood, in a light-grey
suit with a blue satin tie and a rose in his buttonhole. There was
Bella, her face covered with self-satisfied smiles, mounting to his
side. There was Agnetta carrying the new parasol high in the air with
all its lace fluttering. How gay and happy they all looked! Mrs
Greenways stood nodding at the window. She had meant to go out to the
gate, but Bella had checked her. "Lor', Ma," she said, "don't you come
out with that great apron on--you're a perfect guy."
When the start was really made, and her cousins were whirled off to the
unknown delights of Lenham, leaving only a cloud of dust behind them,
Lilac breathed a little sigh. The sun was so bright, the breeze blew so
softly, the sky was so blue--it was the very day for a holiday. She
would have liked to go too, instead of having a hard day's work before
her.
"Where's Lilac?" called out Mrs Greenways in her high-pitched worried
voice. "What on earth's got that child? Here's everything to do and no
one to do it. Ah! there you are," as Lilac ran out from the dairy.
"Now, you haven't got no time to moon about to-day. You must stir
yourself and help all you can."
"Bees is swarmin'!" said Ben, thrusting his head in at the kitchen door,
and immediately disappearing again.
"Bother the bees!" exclaimed Mrs Greenways crossly. But on Molly the
news had a different effect. It was counted lucky to be present at the
housing of a new swarm. She at once left her occupation, seized a
saucepan and an iron spoon, and regardless of her mistress rushed out
into the garden, making a hideous clatter as she went. "There now, look
at that!" said Mrs Greenways with a heated face. "She's off for
goodness knows how long, and a batch of loaves burning in the oven, and
your uncle wanting his tea sent down into the field. Why ever should
they want to go swarmin' now in that contrairy way?"
She opened the oven door and took out the bread as she spoke.
"Now, don't you go running off, Lilac," she continued. "There's enough
of 'em out there to settle all the bees as ever was. You get your
uncle's tea and take it out, and Peter's too. They won't neither of 'em
be in till supper. Hurry now."
The last words were added simply from habit, for she had soon discovered
that it was impossible to hurry Lilac. What she did was well and
thoroughly done, but not even the example which surrounded her at
Orchards Farm could make her in a bustle. The whole habit of her life
was too strong within her to be altered. Mrs Greenways glanced at her
a little impatiently as she steadily made the tea, poured it into a tin
can, and cut thick hunches of bread and butter. "I could a done it
myself in, half the time," she thought; but she was obliged to confess
that Lilac's preparations if slow were always sure, and that she never
forgot anything.
Lilac tilted her sunbonnet well forward and set out, walking slowly so
as not to spill the tea. How blazing the sun was, though it was now
nearly four o'clock. In the distance she could see the end of her
journey, the big bare field beyond the orchard full of busy figures. As
she passed the kitchen garden, Molly, rushing back from her encounter
with the bees, almost ran against her.
"There was two on 'em," she cried, her good-natured face shining with
triumph and the heat of her exertions; "and we've housed 'em both
beautiful. Lor'! ain't it hot?"
She stood with her iron weapons hanging down on each side, quite ready
for a chat to delay her return to the house. Molly was always
cheerfully ready to undertake any work that was not strictly her own.
Lilac felt sorry, as they went on their several ways, to think of the
scolding that was waiting for her; but it was wasted pity, for Molly's
shoulders were broad, and a scolding more or less made no manner of
difference to them.
There were all sorts and sizes of people at work in the hayfield as
Lilac passed through it. Machines had not yet come into use at
Danecross, so that the services of men, women, and children were much in
request at this busy time. The farmer, remembering the motto, was
determined to make his hay while the sun shone, and had collected hands
from all parts of the neighbourhood. Lilac knew most of them, and
passed along exchanging greetings, to where her uncle sat on his grey
cob at the end of the field. He was talking to Peter, who stood by him
with a wooden pitchfork in his hand.
Lilac thought that her uncle's face looked unusually good-tempered as
she handed up his meal to him. He sat there eating and drinking, and
continued his conversation with his son.
"Well, and what d'ye think of Buckle's offer for the colt?"
"Pity we can't sell him," answered Peter.
"_Can't_ sell him!" repeated the farmer; "I'm not so sure about that.
Maybe he'd go sound now. He doesn't show no signs of lameness."
"Wouldn't last a month on the roads," said Peter.
The farmer's face clouded a little. "Well," he said hesitatingly,
"that's Buckle's business. He can look him over, and if he don't see
nothing wrong--"
"We hadn't ought to sell him," said Peter in exactly the same voice.
"He's not fit for the roads. Take him off soft ground and he'd go queer
in a week."
"He might or he mightn't," said the farmer impatiently; "all I know is I
want the cash. It'd just pay that bill of Jones's, as is always
bothering for his money. I declare I hate going into Lenham for fear of
meeting that chap."
Peter had begun to toss the hay near him with his pitchfork. He did not
look at his father or change his expression, but he said again:
"Knowing what we do, we hadn't ought to sell him."
The farmer struck his stirrup-iron so hard with his stick that even the
steady grey pony was startled.
"I wish," he said with an oath, "that you'd never found it out then.
I'd like to be square and straight about the horse as well as anyone.
I've always liked best to be straight, but I'm too hard up to be so
particular as that comes to. It's easy enough," he added moodily, "for
a man to be honest with his pockets full of money."
"I could get the same price for None-so-pretty," said Peter after a long
pause. "Mrs Grey wants her--over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a
month ago."
"I'll not have her sold," said the farmer quickly. "What's the good of
selling her? She's useful to us, and the colt isn't."
"She ain't not exactly so _useful_ to us as the other cows," said Peter.
"She's more of a fancy."
"Well, she's yours," answered the farmer sullenly. "You can do as you
like with her of course; but I'm not going to be off my bargain with
Buckle whatever you do."
He shook his reins and jogged slowly away to another part of the field,
while Peter fell steadily to work again with his pitchfork. Lilac was
packing the things that had been used into her basket, and glanced at
him now and then with her thoughts full of what she had just heard. Her
opinion of Peter had changed very much lately. She had found, since her
first conversation with him, that in many things he was not stupid but
wise. He knew for instance a great deal about all the animals on the
farm, their ways and habits, and how to treat them when they were ill.
There were some matters to be sure in which he was laughably simple, and
might be deceived by a child, but there were others on which everyone
valued his opinion. His father certainly deferred to him in anything
connected with the live stock, and when Peter had discovered a grave
defect in the colt he did not dream of disputing it. So Lilac's feeling
of pity began to change into something like respect, and she was sure
too that Peter was anxious to show her kindness, though the expression
of it was difficult to him. Since the day when he had gone away from
her so suddenly, frightened by her tears, they had had several talks
together, although the speech was mostly on Lilac's side. She shrank
from him no longer, and sometimes when the real Peter came up from the
depths where he lay hidden, and showed a glimpse of himself through the
dull mask, she thought him scarcely ugly.
Would he sell None-so-pretty? She knew what it would cost him, for
since Ben's history she had observed the close affection between them.
There were not so many people fond of Peter that he could afford to lose
even the love of a cow--and yet he would rather do it than let the colt
be sold!
As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her
preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and
left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said:
"I'm sorry about None-so-pretty."
Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red
face with his handkerchief.
"Thank yer," he answered; "so am I."
"Is it _certain sure_ you'll sell her?" asked Lilac.
Peter nodded. "She'll have a good home yonder," he said; "a rare fuss
they'll make with her."
"She'll miss you though," said Lilac, shaking her head.
"Well," answered Peter, "I shouldn't wonder if she did look out for me a
bit just at first. I've always been foolish over her since she was
ill."
"But if Uncle sells the colt I s'pose you won't sell her, will you?"
continued Lilac.
"He _won't_ sell him," was Peter's decided answer, as he turned to his
work again.
Now, nothing could have been more determined than Mr Greenways' manner
as he rode away, but yet when Lilac heard Peter speak so firmly she felt
he must be right. The colt would not be sold and None-so-pretty would
have to go in his place. She returned to the farm more than ever
impressed by Peter's power. Quiet, dull Peter who seemed hardly able to
put two sentences together, and had never an answer ready for his
sisters' sharp speeches.
That evening when Bella and Agnetta returned from Lenham, Lilac was at
the gate. She had been watching for them eagerly, for she was anxious
to hear all about the grand things they had seen, and hoped they would
be inclined to talk about it. As they were saying goodbye to Mr Buckle
with a great many smiles and giggles, the farmer came out.
"Stop a bit, Buckle," he said, "I want a word with you about the colt.
I've changed my mind since the morning."
Lilac heard no more as she followed her cousins into the house; but
there was no need. Peter had been right.
During supper nothing was spoken of but the fete--the balloon, the band,
the fireworks, and the dresses, Charlotte Smith's in particular. Lilac
was intensely interested, and it was trying after the meal was over to
have to help Molly in taking away the dishes, and lose so much of the
conversation. This business over she drew near Agnetta and made an
attempt to learn more, but in vain. Agnetta was in her loftiest mood,
and though she was full of private jokes with Bella, she turned away
coldly from her cousin. They had evidently some subject of the deepest
importance to talk of which needed constant whispers, titters from
Bella, and even playful slaps now and then. Lilac could hear nothing
but "He says--She says," and then a burst of laughter, and "go along
with yer nonsense." It was dull to be left out of it all, and she
wished more than ever that she had gone to the fete too.
"Lilac," said her aunt, "just run and fetch your uncle's slippers."
She was already on her way when the farmer took his pipe out of his
mouth and looked round. He had been moody and cross all supper-time,
and now he glanced angrily at his two daughters as they sat whispering
in the corner.
"It's someone else's turn to run, it seems to me," he said; "Lilac's
been at it all day. You go, Agnetta." And as Agnetta left the room
with an injured shrug, he continued:
"Seems too as if Lilac had all the work and none of the fun. You'd like
an outing as well as any of 'em--wouldn't you, my maid?"
Lilac did not know what to make of such unexpected kindness. As a rule
her uncle seemed hardly to know that she was in the house. She did not
answer, for she was very much afraid of him, but she looked appealingly
at her aunt.
"I'm sure, Greenways," said the latter in an offended tone, "you needn't
talk as if the child was put upon. And your own niece, and an orphan
besides. I know my duty better. And as for holidays and fetes and
such, 'tisn't nateral to suppose as how Lilac would want to go to 'em
after the judgment as happened to her directly after the last one.
Leastways, not yet awhile. There'd be something ondacent in it, to my
thinking."
"Well, there! it doesn't need so much talking," replied the farmer.
"I'm not wanting her to go to fetes. But there's Mr Snell--he was
asking for her yesterday when I met him. Let her go tomorrow and spend
the day with him."
"If there is a busier day than another, it's Thursday," said Mrs
Greenways fretfully.
"Why, as to that, she's only a child, and makes no differ in the house,
as you always say," remarked the farmer; "anyhow, I mean her to go
to-morrow, and that's all about it."
Lilac went to bed that night with a heart full of gratitude for her
uncle's kindness, and delight at the promised visit; but her last
thought before she slept was: "I'm sorry as how None-so-pretty has got
to be sold."