"...Find out men's wants and will
And meet them there, all earthly joys grow less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses."
_George Herbert_.
Lilac could hardly believe her own good fortune when nothing happened
the next morning to prevent her visit, not even a cross word nor a
complaint from her aunt, who seemed to have forgotten her objections of
last night and to be quite pleased that she should go. Mrs Greenways
put a small basket into her hand before she started, into which she had
packed a chicken, a pot of honey, and a pat of fresh butter.
"There," she said, "that's a little something from Orchards Farm, tell
him. The chick's our own rearing, and the honey's from Peter's bees,
and the butter's fresh this morning."
She nodded and smiled good-naturedly; Joshua should see there was no
stint at the farm. "Be back afore dusk," she called after Lilac as she
watched her from the gate.
So there was nothing to spoil the holiday or to damp Lilac's enjoyment
in any way, and she felt almost as merry as she used to be before she
came to live in the valley, and had begun to have cares and troubles.
For one whole day she was going to be White Lilac again, with no
anxieties about the butter; she would hear no peevish voices or
wrangling disputes, she would have kindness and smiles and sunshine all
round her, and the blue sky above. In this happy mood everything along
the well-known road had new beauties, and when she turned up the hill
and felt the keener air blow against her face, it was like the greeting
of an old friend. The very flowers in the tall overgrown hedges were
different to those which grew in the valley, and much sweeter; she
pulled sprays of them as she went along until she had a large straggling
bunch to carry as well as her basket, and so at last entered Joshua's
cottage with both hands full.
"Now, Uncle Joshua," she said, when the first greetings over he had
settled to his work again, "I've come to dinner with you, and I've
brought it along with me, and until it's ready you're not to look once
into the kitchen. You couldn't never guess what it is, so you needn't
try; and you mustn't smell it more nor you can help while it's cooking."
It was a proud moment for Lilac when, the fowl being roasted to a turn,
the table nicely laid, and the bunch of flowers put exactly in the
middle, she led the cobbler up to the feast. Even if Joshua had smelt
the fowl he concealed it very well, and his whole face expressed the
utmost astonishment, while Lilac watched him in an ecstasy of delight.
"My word!" he exclaimed, "its fit for a king. I feel," looking down at
his clothes, "as if I ought to have on my Sunday best."
Lilac was almost too excited to eat anything herself, and presently,
when she saw Joshua pause after his first mouthful, she enquired
anxiously:
"Isn't it good, Uncle?"
"Fact is," he answered, "it's _too_ good. I don't really feel as how I
ought to eat such dillicate food. Not being ill, or weak, or anyway
picksome in my appetite."
"I made sure you'd say that," said Lilac triumphantly; "and I just made
up my mind I'd cook it without telling what it was. You've got to eat
it now, Uncle Joshua. You couldn't never be so ungrateful as to let it
spoil."
"There's Mrs Wishing now," said Joshua, stilt hesitating, "a sickly
ailing body as 'ud relish a morsel like this."
It was not until Lilac had set his mind at rest by promising to take
some of the fowl to Mrs Wishing before she returned, that he was able
to abandon himself to thorough enjoyment. Lilac knew then by his
silence that her little feast was heartily appreciated, and she would
not disturb him by a word, although there were many things she wanted to
say. But at last Joshua had finished.
"A fatter fowl nor a finer, nor a better cooked one couldn't be," he
said, as he laid down his knife and fork. "Not a bit o' dryness in the
bird: juicy all through and as sweet as a nut."
Ready now for a little conversation, he puffed thoughtfully at his pipe
while Lilac stood near washing the dishes and plates.
"It's thirty years ago," he said, speaking in a jerky voice so as not to
interfere with the comfort of his pipe, "since I had a fowl for dinner--
and I mind very well when it was. It was my wedding-day. Away up in
the north it was, and parson gave the feast."
"Was that when you used to play the clar'net in church, Uncle?" asked
Lilac.
Joshua nodded.
"We was a clar'net and a fiddle and a bass viol," he said reflectively.
"Never kept time--the bass viol didn't. Couldn't never get it into his
head. He wasn't never any shakes of a player--and he was a good feller
too."
"Did they play at your wedding?" asked Lilac.
"They did that," he answered; "in church and likewise after the
ceremony. Lor'! to hear how the bass viol did tag behind in
_Rockingham_. I can hear him now. 'Twas like two solos being played,
as one might say. No unity at all. I never hear that tune now but what
it carries me back to my wedding-day and the bass viol; and the taste of
that fowl's done the same thing. It's a most pecooliar thing, is the
memory."
Lilac liked to hear Joshua talk about old days, but she was eager too to
tell her own news. There was so much that he did not know: all about
hay-harvest, and her butter-making, about Lenham fete, and her cousins,
and, finally, all about None-so-pretty and Peter. "I do think," she
added, "as how I like him best of any of 'em, for all they say he's so
common."
"Common or uncommon, they'd do badly without him," muttered Joshua.
"He's the very prop and pillar of the place, is Peter; if a wall's
strong enough to hold the roof up, you don't ask if it's made of marble
or stone."
"Are common things bad things?" asked Lilac suddenly.
Joshua took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at her in some
surprise.
"Common things--eh?" he repeated.
"Yes, Uncle," said Lilac hesitatingly, and trying to think of how to
make it clear. But she could only add:
"They call the pigs common too."
"Well, as to pigs," said Joshua, "I wish they was commoner still. I
don't despise a bit of bacon myself. I call that a good thing anyhow.
When one comes to look at it," he continued after a few puffs at his
pipe, "the best things of all is common. The things as is under our
feet and nigh to our hand and easy to be got. There's the flowers now--
the common ones which grow so low as any child can pick 'em in the
fields, daisies and such. There's the blue sky as we can all see, poor
as well as rich. There's rain and sunshine and air and a heap else as
belongs to all alike, and which we couldn't do without. The common
things is the best things, don't you make any mistake about that.
There's your own name now--Lilac. It's a common bush lilac is; it grows
every bit as well in a little bit of garden nigh the road as in a grand
park, and it hasn't no rare colours to take the eye. And yet on a
sunshiny day after rain the folks passing'll say, `Whatever is it as
smells so beautiful?' Why it's just the common lilac bush. You ought
to be like that in a manner of speaking--not to try and act clever and
smart so as to make folks stare, but to be good-tempered and peaceful
and loving, so as they say when you leave 'em, `What made the place so
pleasant? Why, it was Lilac White. She ain't anything out of the
common, but we miss her now she's gone--'"
The frequent mention of her name reminded Lilac of something she wanted
to say, and she broke in suddenly:
"Why, I've never thought to thank you, Uncle, for all that bloom you got
me on May Day. What a long way back it do seem!"
Joshua looked perplexed.
"What's the child talking on?" he said. "I didn't get no flowers."
"Whoever in all the world could it a been then?" said Lilac slowly.
"You're sure you haven't forgotten, Uncle Joshua?"
"Sartain sure!"
"You didn't ask no one to get it?"
"Never mentioned a word to a livin' bein'." Lilac stared thoughtfully
at the cobbler, who had now gone back to his little shed and was hard at
work.
"P'r'aps, then," she said, "'twarn't you neither who sent Mother's
cactus down to the farm?"
"Similarly," replied he, "it certainly was _not_; so you've got more
friends than you reckoned for, you see."
Lilac stood in the doorway, her bonnet dangling in one hand, her eyes
fixed absently on Joshua's brown fingers.
"I made sure," she said, "as how it was you. I couldn't think as there
was anybody else to mind."
It was getting late. Without looking at the clock she knew that her
holiday would soon be over, because through Joshua's little window there
came a bright sun beam which was never there till after five. She tied
on her bonnet, prepared a choice morsel of chicken for Mrs Wishing, and
set out on her further journey after a short farewell to the cobbler.
Joshua never liked saying goodbye, and did it so gruffly that it might
have sounded sulky to the ear of a stranger, but Lilac knew better. She
had a "goodish step" before her, as she called it to herself, and if she
were to get back to the farm before dusk she must make haste. So she
hurried on, and soon in the distance appeared the two little white
cottages side by side, perched on the edge of the steep down. The one
in which she had lived with her mother was empty, and as she got close
to it and stopped to look over the paling into the small strip of
garden, she felt sorry to see how forlorn and deserted it looked. It
had always been so trim and neat, and its white hearthstone and open
door had invited the passer-by to enter. Now the window shutters were
fastened, the door was locked, the straggling flowers and vegetables
were mixed up with tall weeds and nettles--it was all lifeless and cold.
It was a pity. Mother would not have liked to see it. Lilac pushed
her hand through the palings and managed to pick some sweet-peas which
were trailing themselves helplessly about for want of support, then she
went on to the next gate. Poor Mrs Wishing was very lonely now that
her only neighbour was gone; very few people passed over that way or
came up so far from Danecross. Sometimes when Dan'l had a job on in the
woods he was away for days and she saw no one at all, unless she was
able to get to the cobbler's cottage, and that was seldom. Lilac
knocked gently at the half-open door, and hearing no answer went in.
Mrs Wishing was there, sitting asleep in a chair by the hearth with her
head hanging uncomfortably on one side; her dress was untidy, her hair
rough, and her face white and pinched. Lilac cast one glance at her and
then looked round the room. There were some white ashes on the hearth,
a kettle hanging over them by its chain, and at Mrs Wishing's elbow
stood an earthenware teapot, from which came a faint sickly smell; and
when Lilac saw that she nodded to herself, for she knew what it meant.
The next moment the sleeper opened her large grey eyes and gazed
vacantly at her visitor.
"It's me," said Lilac. "It's Lilac White."
Mrs Wishing still gazed without speaking; there was an unearthly
flickering light in her eyes. At last she muttered indistinctly:
"You're just like her."
Not in the least alarmed or surprised at this condition, Lilac glanced
at the teapot and said reproachfully:
"You've been drinking poppy tea, and you promised Mother you wouldn't do
it no more."
Mrs Wishing struggled feebly against the drowsiness which overpowered
her, and murmured apologetically:
"I didn't go to do it, but it seemed as if I couldn't bear the pain."
Lilac set down her basket, and opened the door of a cupboard near the
chimney corner.
"Where's your kindlin's?" she asked. "I'll make you a cup of real tea,
and that'll waken you up a bit. And Uncle Joshua's sent you a morsel of
chicken."
"Ha'n't got no kindlin's and no tea," murmured Mrs Wishing. "Give me a
drink o' water from the jug yonder."
No tea! That was an unheard-of thing. As Lilac brought the water she
said indignantly:
"Where's Mr Wishing then? He hadn't ought to go and leave you like
this without a bit or a drop in the house."
Mrs Wishing seemed a little refreshed by the water and was able to
speak more distinctly. She sat up in her chair and made a few listless
attempts to fasten up her hair and put herself to rights.
"'Tain't Dan'l's fault this time," she said; "he's up in the woods
felling trees for a week. They're sleeping out till the job's done. He
did leave me money, and I meant to go down to the shop. But then I took
bad and I couldn't crawl so far, and nobody didn't pass."
"And hadn't you got nothing in the house?" asked Lilac.
"Only a crust a' bread, and I didn't seem to fancy it. I craved so for
a cup a' tea. And I had some dried poppy heads by me. So I held out as
long as I could, and nobody didn't come. And this morning I used my
kindlin's and made the tea. And when I drank it I fell into a blessed
sleep, and I saw lots of angels, and their harps was sounding beautiful
in my head all the time. When I was a gal there was a hymn--it was
about angels and golden crownds and harps, but I can't put it rightly
together now. So then I woke and there was you, and I thought you was a
sperrit. Seems a pity to wake up from a dream like that. But _I_
dunno."
She let her head fall wearily back as she finished. Lilac was not in
the least interested by the vision. She was accustomed to hear of Mrs
Wishing's angels and harps, and her mind was now entirely occupied by
earthly matters.
"What you want is summat to eat and drink," she said, "and I shall just
have to run back to Uncle Joshua's for some bread and tea. But first
I'll get a few sticks and make you a blaze to keep you comp'ny."
Mrs Wishing's eyes rested an her like those of a child who is being
comforted and taken care of, as having collected a few sticks she knelt
on the hearth and fanned them into a blaze with her pinafore.
"You couldn't bide a little?" she said doubtfully, as Lilac turned
towards the door.
"I'll be back in no time," said Lilac, "and then you shall have a nice
supper, and you mustn't take no more of this," pointing to the teapot.
"You know you promised Mother."
"I didn't _go to_," repeated Mrs Wishing submissively; "but it seemed
as if I couldn't bear the gnawing in my inside."
It did not take long for Lilac, filled with compassion for her old
friend, to run back to the cobbler's cottage; but there she was delayed
a little, for Joshua had questions to ask, although he was ready and
eager to fill her basket with food. The return was slower, for it was
all uphill and her burden made a difference to her speed, so that it was
long past sunset when she reached Mrs Wishing for the second time.
Then, after coaxing her to eat and drink, Lilac had to help her upstairs
and put her to bed like a child, and finally to sit by her side and talk
soothingly to her until she dropped into a deep sleep. Her duties over,
and everything put ready to. Mrs Wishing's hand for the next morning,
she now had time to notice that it was quite dusk, and that the first
stars were twinkling in the sky. With a sudden start she remembered her
aunt's words: "Be back afore dusk," and clasped her hands in dismay. It
was no use to hurry now, for however quickly she went the farm would
certainly be closed for the night before she reached it. Should she
stay where she was till the morning? No, it would be better to take the
chance of finding someone up to let her in. Mrs Wishing would be all
right now that Joshua knew about her; "and anyway, I'm glad I came,"
said Lilac to herself, "even if Aunt does scold a bit."
With this thought to console her, she stepped out into the cool summer
night, and began her homeward journey. It was not very dark, for it was
midsummer--near Saint Barnabas Day, when there is scarcely any night at
all--
"Barnaby Bright
All day and no night!"
Lilac had often heard her mother say that rhyme, and she remembered it
now. It was all very, very still, so that all manner of sounds too low
to have been noticed amongst the noises of the day were now plainly to
be heard. A soft wind went whispering and sighing to itself in the
trees overhead, carrying with it the sweetness of the hayfields and the
honeysuckle in the hedges, owls hooted mysteriously, and the frogs
croaked in some distant pond. Creatures never seen in the daytime were
now awake and busy. As Lilac ran along, the bats whirred close past her
face, and she saw in the grass by the wayside the steady little light of
the glow-worms. It was certainly very late; there was hardly a glimmer
of hope that anyone would be up at the farm. It was equally certain
that, if there were, a scolding waited for Lilac. Either way it was
bad, she thought. She wanted to go to bed, for she was very tired, but
she did not want to be scolded to-night; she could bear that better in
the morning. When she reached the house, therefore, and found it all
silent and dark, with no light in any window and no sound of any
movement, she hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. But presently,
as she stood there forlornly, with only the sky overhead full of stars
blinking their cold bright eyes at her, she began to long to creep in
somewhere and rest. Her limbs ached, her head felt heavy, and her hard
little bed seemed a luxury well worth the expense of a scolding. Should
she venture to knock at the door? She had almost determined on this
bold step, when quite suddenly a happy idea came to her. There would
perhaps be some door open in the outbuildings, either in the loft or the
barn or the stables, where she could get in and find shelter for the
night. It was worth trying at any rate. With renewed hope she ran
across the strawyard and tried the great iron ring in the stable door.
It was not locked. Here were shelter and rest at last, and no one to
scold!
She crept in, and was just closing the heavy door when towards her,
across the rickyard, came the figure of a man. His head was bent so
that she could not see his face, but she thought from his lumbering walk
that it must be Peter, and in a moment it flashed across her mind that
he had just got back from Cuddingham. While she stood hesitating just
within the door the man came quite close, and before she could call out
the key rattled in the lock and heavy footsteps tramped away again.
Then it was Peter. But surely he must have seen her, and if so why had
he locked her in? Anyhow here she was for the night, and the next thing
to do was to find a bed. She groped her way past the stalls of the
three Pleasants, whose dwelling she had invaded, to the upright ladder
which led to the loft. The horses were all lying down after their hard
day's work, and only one of them turned his great head with a rattle of
his halter, to see who this small intruder could be. Lilac clambered up
the ladder and was soon in the dark fragrant-smelling loft above, where
the trusses of hay and straw were mysteriously grouped under the low
thick beams. There was no lack of a soft warm nest here, and the close
neighbourhood of the Pleasants made it feel secure and friendly; nothing
could possibly be better. She took off her shoes, curled herself up
cosily in the hay, and shut her weary eyes. Presently she opened them
drowsily again, and then discovered that her lodging was shared by a
companion, for on the rafters just above her head, her single eye
gleaming in the darkness, sat Peter's cat Tib. Lilac called to her, but
she took no notice and did not move, having her own affairs to conduct
at that time of night. Lilac watched her dreamily for a little while,
and then her thoughts wandered on to Peter and became more and more
confused. He got mixed up with Joshua, and the cactus and
None-so-pretty and heaps of white flowers. "The common things are the
best things," she seemed to hear over and over again. Then quite
suddenly she was in Mrs Wishing's cottage, and the loft was filled with
the heavy sickly smell of poppy tea: it was so strong that it made her
feel giddy and her eyelids seemed pressed down by a firm hand. After
that she remembered nothing more that night.