"A stone that is fit for the wall will not be left in the way."--_Old
Proverb_.
As the door closed on Lilac, the news burst forth from Mrs Greenways in
such a torrent that it was difficult at first to follow, but at length
she managed to make clear to her astonished hearers all that had passed
between herself and Mrs Leigh. It was this: A lady staying at the
Rectory had seen Lilac at the concert, and asked whom she was.
Whereupon, hearing her history and her present occupation at Orchards
Farm, she made the following suggestion. She wanted a second dairymaid,
and was greatly pleased with Lilac's appearance and neat dress. Would
Mrs Leigh find out whether her friends would like her to take such a
situation? She would give her good wages, and raise them if she found
her satisfactory. "It's a great opportunity for a child like Lilac,"
Mrs Leigh had said to Mrs Greenways; "but I really think from what I
hear of her that she is quite fit to take such a place."
"Well, as to that," said Mr Greenways slowly when his wife paused for
breath, "I suppose she is. If she can manage the dairy alone here, she
can do it with someone over her there."
"Now I wonder who _could_ 'a told Mrs Leigh that Lilac made our
butter," said Mrs Greenways; "somehow or other that child gets round
everyone with her quiet ways."
"Most likely that interfering old Joshua Snell," said Bella, "or Peter
maybe, or Ben. They all think no end of Lilac."
"Well, I don't see myself what they find in her," said Mrs Greenways;
"though she's a good child enough and useful in her way. I should miss
her now I expect; though, of course," with a glance at her husband, "she
wouldn't leave us, not so long as we wanted her."
"That's for _her_ to say," said the farmer. "I'm not going to take a
chance like that out of her mouth. She's a good little gal and a credit
to her mother, and it's only fair and right she should choose for
herself. Go or stay, I won't have a word said to her. 'Tain't every
child of her age as has an offer like that, and she's deserved it."
"And who taught her all she knows?" said Mrs Greenways wrathfully.
"Who gave her a home when she wanted one, and fed and kep' her? And now
as she's just beginning to be a bit of use, she's to take herself off at
the first chance! I haven't common patience with you, Greenways, when
you talk like that. It's all very well for you; and I s'pose you're
ready to pay for a dairymaid in her place. But I know this: If Lilac's
got a drop of gratitude in her, and a bit of proper feeling, she'll
think first of what she owes to her only relations living."
"Well, you ought to 'a told her how useful she was if you wanted her to
know it," said Mr Greenways. "You've always gone on the other tack and
told her she was no good at all. I shouldn't blame her if she wanted to
try if she could please other folks better."
There was so much truth in this, that in spite of Mrs Greenways' anger
it sank deeply into her mind. Why had she not made more of Lilac? What
should she do, if the child, with the consent of her uncle and
encouraged by Mrs Leigh, were to choose to leave the farm? It was not
unlikely, for although she had not been actively unkind to Lilac she had
never tried to make her happy at the farm; her jealousy had prevented
that. And then, the money--that would be a great temptation; and the
offer of it seemed to raise Lilac's value enormously. In short, now
that someone else wanted her, and was willing to pay for her services,
she became twice as important in Mrs Greenways' eyes. One by one the
various duties rose before her which Lilac fulfilled, and which would be
left undone if she went away. She sat silent for a few minutes in moody
thought.
"I didn't say nothing certain to Mrs Leigh," she remarked at length,
"but I did mention as how we'd never had any thought of Lilac taking
service, no more nor Agnetta or Bella."
"Lor', Ma!" said Bella, "the ideer!"
"All the same," said the farmer, "when we first took Lilac we said we'd
keep her till she was old enough for a place. The child's made herself
of use, and you don't want to part with her. That's the long and the
short of it. But I stand by what I say. She shall settle it as she
likes. She shall go to Mrs Leigh and hear about it, and then no one
shan't say a word to her, for or against. When's she got to decide?"
"In a week," answered his wife. "But you're doing wrong, Greenways, you
hadn't ought to put it on the child's shoulders; it's us as ought to
decide for her, us as are in the place of her father and mother. She's
too young to know what's for her good."
"I stand by what I say," repeated the farmer, and he slapped the table
with his hand. Mrs Greenways knew then that it was useless to oppose
him further, and the conversation came to an end.
Now, when the matter was made known to Lilac, it seemed more like a
dream than anything real. She had become so used to remain in the
background, and go quietly on at her business without notice, that she
could not at first believe in the great position offered to her. She
was considered worth so much money a year! It was wonderful.
After she had seen Mrs Leigh, and heard that it really was true and no
dream, another feeling began to take the place of wonder, and that was
perplexity. The choice, they told her, was to remain in her own hands,
and no one would interfere with it. What would be best? To go or stay?
It was very difficult, almost impossible, to decide. Never in her
short life had she yet been obliged to choose in any matter; there had
always been a necessity which she had obeyed: "Do this," "Go there."
The habit of obedience was strong within her, but it was very hard to be
suddenly called to act for herself. And the worst of it was that no one
would help her; even Mrs Leigh only said: "I shan't persuade you one
way or the other, Lilac, I shall leave it to you and your relations to
consider." Uncle Joshua had no counsel either. "You must put one
against the other and decide for yourself, my maid," he said; "there'll
be ups and downs wherever you go." She studied her aunt's face
wistfully, and found no help there. Mrs Greenways kept complete and
gloomy silence on the question.
Thrown back upon herself, Lilac's perplexity grew with each day. If she
went to sleep with her mind a little settled to one side of the matter,
she woke up next morning to see many more advantages on the other. To
leave Orchards Farm, and the village, and all the faces she had known
since she could remember anything, and go to strangers! That would be
dreadful. But then, there was the money to be thought of, and perhaps
she might find the strangers kinder than her own relations. "It's like
weighing out the butter," she said to herself; "first one side up and
then t'other." If only someone would say you _must_ go, or you _must_
stay.
During this week of uncertainty many things at the farm looked
pleasanter than they had ever done before, and she was surprised at the
interest everyone in the village took in her new prospects. They all
had something to say about them, and though this did not help her
decision but rather hindered it, she was pleased to find that they cared
so much for her.
"And so you're goin' away," said poor Mrs Wishing, fluttering into the
farm one day and finding Lilac alone. "Seems as if I was to lose the
on'y friend I've got. But I dunno. There was your poor mother, she was
took, and now I shan't see you no more. 'Tain't as I see you often, but
I know you might drop in anywhen and there's comfort in that. Lor'! I
shouldn't be standing here now if you hadn't come in that night--I was
pretty nigh gone home that time. Might a been better p'r'aps for me and
Dan'l too if I had. But you meant it kind."
"Maybe I shan't go away after all," said Lilac soothingly.
"You're one of the lucky ones," continued Mrs Wishing. "I allers said
that. Fust you get taken into a beautiful home like this, and then you
get a place as a gal twice your age would jump at. Some gets all the
ups and some gets all the downs. But _I_ dunno!"
She went on her way with a weary hitch of the basket on her arm, and a
pull at her thin shawl. Then Bella's voice sounded beseechingly on the
stairs:
"Oh, _do_ come here a minute, Lilac."
Bella was generally to be found in her bedroom just now, stitching away
at various elegancies of costume. She turned to her cousin as she
entered, and said with a puzzled frown:
"I'm in ever such a fix with this skirt. I can't drape it like the
picture do what I will, it hangs anyhow. And Agnetta can't manage it
either."
Agnetta stood by, her face heated with fruitless labour, and her mouth
full of pins.
Lilac examined the skirt gravely.
"You haven't got enough stuff in it," she said. "You'll have to do it
up some other way."
"Pin it up somehow, then, and see what you can do," said Bella. "I'm
sick and tired of it."
Lilac was not quite without experience in such things, for she had often
helped her cousins with their dressmaking, and she now succeeded after a
few trials in looping up the skirt to Bella's satisfaction.
"_That's_ off my mind, thank goodness!" she exclaimed. "You're a
neat-fingered little thing; I don't know what we shall do without you."
It was a small piece of praise, but coming from Bella it sounded great.
Lilac's affairs, her probable departure from the farm and how she would
be much missed there, were much talked of in the village just now. The
news even reached Lenham, carried by the active legs and eager tongue of
Mrs Pinhorn, who, with many significant nods, as of one who could tell
more if she chose, gave Mr Benson to understand that he might shortly
find a difference in the butter. It was not for _her_ to speak, with
Ben working at the farm since a boy, but--So even the great and
important Mr Benson was prepared to be interested in Lilac's choice.
She often wondered, as day after day went by so quickly and left her
still undecided, what her mother would have advised her to do. But
then, if her mother had been alive, all this would not have happened.
She tried nevertheless to imagine what she would have said about it, and
to remember past words which might be of help to her now. "Stand on
your own feet and don't be beholden to anyone." Certainly by taking
this situation she would follow that advice, and child though she was,
she knew it might be the beginning of greater things. If she filled
this place well she might in time get another, and be worth even more
money. But then, could she leave the farm? the home which had sheltered
her when she had been left alone in the world. Who would take her
place? No one could deny now that she would leave a blank which must be
filled up. She could hardly bear to think of a stranger standing in her
accustomed spot in the dairy, handling the butter, looking out of the
little ivy-grown window, taking charge of the poultry. "They'll feed
'em different, maybe," she thought; "and they won't get half the eggs, I
know they won't." How hard it would be, too, to leave the faces she had
known from childhood, all so familiar, and some of them so dear: not
human faces alone, but all sorts of kind and friendly ones, belonging to
the dumb animals, as she called them. She would miss the beasts sorely,
and they would miss her: the cows she was learning to milk, the great
horses who jingled their medals and bowed their heads so gently as she
stood on tiptoe to feed them, the clever old donkey who could unfasten
any gate and let all the animals out of a field: the pigs, even the
sheep, who were silliest of all, knew her well and showed pleasure at
her coming. She looked with affection, too, at the bare little attic,
out of whose window she had gazed so often with eyes full of tears at
the white walls of her old home on the hillside. How hard it had been
to leave it, and now it made her almost as sad to think of going away
from the farm.
But then--there was the money, and although Mrs Leigh said nothing in
favour of her going to this new place, Lilac had a feeling that she
really wished it, and would be disappointed if she gave it up. Everyone
said it was such a chance!
It was not altogether a fancy on Lilac's part that everyone at the farm
looked at her kindly just now, for the idea of losing her made them
suddenly conscious that she would be very much missed. Mrs Greenways
watched her with anxiety, and there was a new softness in her way of
speaking; her old friends, Molly and Ben, were eager in showing their
goodwill, and Agnetta, in spite of the approaching excitement of Bella's
wedding, found time to enquire many times during the day if Lilac "had
made up her mind."
"Of course you meant to go from the first," she said at length. "Well,
I don't blame you, but you might 'a said so to an old friend like me."
The only person at the farm who was sincerely indifferent to Lilac's
choice was Bella.
"It won't make any matter to me whether you're here or there," she said
candidly; "but there's no doubt it'll make a difference to Ma. There's
some as would call it demeaning to go out to service, but I don't look
at it like that. Of course if it was me or Agnetta it wouldn't be
thought of; but I agree with Pa that it's right you should choose for
yourself."
So no one helped Lilac, and the days passed and the last one came, while
she was still as far as ever from deciding. Escaping from the chatter
and noises inside the house she went out towards evening into the garden
for a little peace and quietness. She wanted to be alone and think it
over for the last time; after that she would go to Mrs Leigh and tell
her what she meant to do, and then all the worry would be over. She
strolled absently along, with the same tiresome question in her mind,
through the untidy bushy garden, past Peter's flower bed, gay with
chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies, until she came to the row of
beehives, silent, deserted-looking dwellings now with only one or two
languid inhabitants to be seen crawling torpidly about the entrances.
Lilac sat down on the cherry-tree stump opposite them, and, for a moment
leaving the old subject, her mind went back to the spring evening when
Peter had cut the bunch of flowers for her, and let the bees crawl over
his fingers. She smiled to herself as she remembered how suddenly he
had gone away without giving her the nosegay at all. Poor Peter! she
understood him better now. As she thought this there was a click of the
gate leading into the field, she turned her head, and there was Peter
himself coming towards her with his dog Sober at his heels.
During this past week Peter as well as Lilac had been turning things
over a great deal in his mind. Not that he was troubled by uncertainty,
for he felt sure from the first that she would go away from the farm.
And it was best she should. From outward ill-treatment he could have
defended her: he was strong in the arm, but with his tongue he was
weaker than a child. Many a time he had sat in silence when hard or
unkind speeches had been cast at her, but none the less he had felt it
sorely. After the concert, when she had sung as pretty as a bird, how
they had flouted her. It was a hard thing surely, and it was best she
should go away to folks as would value her better. But he felt also
that he must tell her he was sorry. That was a trial and a difficulty.
How should he frame it? Though he could talk more easily to Lilac than
anyone else in the world, speech was still terribly hard, and when he
suddenly came upon her this evening his first instinct was to turn and
go back. Sober, however, pricked his ears and ran forward when he saw a
friend, and this example encouraged Peter.
"As like as not," he said to himself, "I shall say summat quite
different the minute I begin, but I'll have a try at it;" so he went on.
There was a touch of frost in the air, and the few remaining leaves, so
few that you could count them, were falling every minute or so gently
from the trees. A scarlet one from the cherry tree overhead had dropped
into Lilac's lap, and lay there, a bright red spot on her white
pinafore. As Peter's eye fell on it it occurred to him to say gruffly:
"The leaves is nearly all gone."
"Pretty nigh," said Lilac, looking up into the bare branches of the
cherry tree. "We'll soon have winter now."
There was silence. Peter took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with
his coat sleeve.
"There's lots will be sorry when you go," he burst out suddenly. "The
beasts'll miss you above a bit."
Lilac did not answer. She saw that he wanted to say something more, and
knew that it was best not to confuse his mind by remarks.
"Not but what," he went on, "you're in the right. Why should you work
for nothing here and get no thanks? You're worth your wages, and there
you'll get 'em. There's justice in that. Only--the farm'll be
different."
"There's only the dairy," said Lilac. "Someone else'll have to do that
if I go. And I should miss the beasts too."
She put her hand on Sober's rough head as he sat by her.
"It's a queer thing," said Peter after another pause, "what a lot I get
in my head sometimes and yet I can't speak it out. You remember about
the brownie, and me saying the farm was pleasanter and that? Well, what
I want to say now is, that when you're gone all that'll be gone--mostly.
It'll be like winter after summer. Anyone as could use language could
say a deal about that, but I can't. I don't want you to stay, but I've
had it in my mind to tell you that I shall miss you as well as the
beasts--above a bit. That's all."
Sober now seemed to think he must add something to his master's speech,
for he raised one paw, placed it on Lilac's knee, and gazed with a sort
of solemn entreaty into her face. She knew at once what he wanted, for
though he could not "use language" any more than Peter, he was quite
able to make his meaning clear. In the course of many years' faithful
attention to business he had become rheumatic, and this paw, in
particular was swollen and stiff at the joint. Lilac had found that it
gave him ease to rub it, and Sober had got into the habit of calling her
attention to it in this way at all times and seasons. Now as she took
it in her hand and looked into his wise affectionate eyes, it suddenly
struck her that here were two people who would really miss her, and want
her if she were far away. No one would rub Sober's paw, no one would
take much notice of her other dumb friend, Peter. She could not leave
them. She placed the dog's foot gently on the ground and stood up.
"I'm not going away," she said, "I'm going to bide. And I shall go
straight in and tell Aunt, and then it'll be settled."
Indoors, meanwhile, the same subject had been discussed between
different people. In the living room, where tea was ready on the table,
Mrs Greenways and her two daughters waited the coming of the farmer,
Agnetta eyeing a pot of her favourite strawberry jam rather impatiently,
and Bella, tired with her stitching, leaning languidly back in her chair
with folded arms.
"Lilac ain't said nothing to either of you, I s'pose?" began Mrs
Greenways.
"I know she means to go, though," said Agnetta.
"Well, I must look about for a girl for the dairy, I s'pose," said Mrs
Greenways sadly. "I won't give it to Molly again. And a nice set they
are, giggling flighty things with nothing but their ribbons and their
sweethearts in their heads."
"Lor'! Ma, don't fret," said Bella consolingly; "you got along without
Lilac before, and you'll get along without her again."
"I shan't ever replace her," continued her mother in the same dejected
voice; "she doesn't care for ribbons, and she's not old enough for
sweethearts. I do think it's not acting right of Mrs Leigh to go and
entice her away."
"If here isn't Mr Snell coming in alonger Pa," said Agnetta, craning
her neck to see out of the window. "He's sure to stay to tea." She
immediately drew her chair up to the table and helped herself largely to
jam.
"And of all evenings in the week I wish he hadn't chosen this," said
Mrs Greenways. "Poking and meddling in other folks' concerns. Now
mind this, girls,--don't you let on as if I wanted to keep Lilac, or was
sorry she's going. Do you hear?"
It did not at first appear, however, that this warning was necessary,
for Joshua said no word of Lilac or her affairs; he seemed fully
occupied in drinking a great deal of tea and discussing the events of
the neighbourhood with the farmer, and it was not till the end of his
meal that he looked round the table enquiringly, and asked the dreaded
question.
"And what's Lilac settled to do about going?"
"You know as much about that as we do, Mr Snell," replied Mrs
Greenways loftily.
"There's no doubt," continued the cobbler, fixing his eye upon her, "as
how Mrs Leigh's friend is going to get a prize in Lilac White. She's
only a child, as you once said, ma'am, but I know what her upbringing
was: `As the twig is bent, the tree's inclined'. There's the making of
a thorough good servant in her. Well worth her wages she'll be."
"She's been worth more to us already than ever I knew of, or counted on,
till lately," put in the farmer. "Just now, I met Benson, and says he:
`You're losing your dairymaid by what I hear, and I can but wish you as
good a one.'"
"That's not so easy," said Joshua, shaking his head. "Good workers
don't grow on every bush. It's a pity, too, just when your butter was
getting back its name."
"I'd half a mind," said the farmer, "to offer the child wages to stop,
but then I thought it wouldn't be acting fair. She ought to have the
chance of bettering herself in a place like that. If she goes she's
bound to rise, and if she stays she won't, for I can't afford to give
her much."
"And what's your opinion, ma'am?" asked Joshua politely of Mrs
Greenways.
"Oh, it isn't worth hearing, Mr Snell," she replied with a bitter
laugh; "its too old-fashioned for these days. I should 'a thought Lilac
owed summat to us, but my husband don't seem to take no count of that at
all. Not that it matters to me."
As she spoke, with the colour rising in her face and a voice very near
tears, the door opened and Lilac came quickly in. The conversation
stopped suddenly, all eyes were fixed on her; perhaps never since she
had been Queen had her presence caused so much attention: even Agnetta
paused in her repast, and looked curiously round to see what she would
do or say.
Without giving a glance at anyone else in the room, Lilac walked
straight up to where Mrs Greenways sat at the head of the table:
"Aunt," she said rather breathlessly, "I've come to say as I've made up
my mind."
Mrs Greenways straightened herself to receive the blow. She knew what
was coming, and it was hard to be humiliated in the presence of the
cobbler, yet she would put a brave face upon it. With a great effort
she managed to say carelessly:
"It don't matter just now, Lilac. Sit down and get your tea."
But Mr Greenways quite spoilt the effect of this speech.
"No, no," he called out. "Let her speak. Let's hear what she's got to
say. Here's Mr Snell'd like to hear it too. Speak out, Lilac."
Thus encouraged, Lilac turned a little towards her uncle and Joshua.
"I've made up my mind as I'd rather bide here, please," she said.
The teapot fell from Mrs Greenways' hands with such a crash on the tray
that all the cups rattled, the air of indifference which she had
struggled to keep up vanished, her whole face softened, and as she
looked at the modest little figure standing at her side tears of relief
came into her eyes. Uncle Joshua and her old feelings of jealousy and
pride were forgotten for the moment as she laid her broad hand kindly on
the child's shoulder:
"You're a good gal, Lilac, and you shan't repent your choice," she said;
"take my word, you shan't."
"And that's your own will, is it, Lilac?" said her uncle. "And you've
thought it well over, and you won't want to be altering it again?"
"No, Uncle," said Lilac. "I'm quite sure now." Her aunt's kind manner
made her feel more firmly settled than before.
"It's a harassing thing is a choice," said Mr Greenways. "I know what
it is myself with the roots and seeds. Well, I won't deny that I'm glad
you're going to stop, but I hope you've done the best for yourself, my
maid."
"Lor', Greenways, don't worry the child," interrupted his wife, who had
recovered her usual manner. "She knows her own mind, and I'm glad she's
shown so much sense. You sit down and get your tea, Lilac, and let's be
comfortable and no more about it."
Lilac slipped into the empty place between the cobbler and Agnetta,
rather abashed at so much notice. Agnetta pushed the pot of jam towards
her.
"I'm glad you're going to stop," she said. "Have some jam."
Joshua had not spoken since Lilac's entrance, but Mrs Greenways, eyeing
him nervously, felt sure he was preparing to "preachify." She went on
talking very fast and loud in the hope of checking this eloquence, but
in vain; Joshua, after a few short coughs, stood upright and looked
round the table.
"Friends," he said, "I knew Lilac's mother well, and I call to mind this
evening what she often said to me: `I want my child to grow up
self-respecting and independent. I want to teach her to stand alone and
not to be a burden on anyone.' And then, poor soul, she died sudden,
and the child was left on your hands. And she couldn't but be a burden
at first, seeing how young she was and how little she knew. And now
look at it! How it's all changed. 'Tain't long ago, and she isn't much
bigger to speak of, and yet she's got to be something as you value and
don't want to part with. She's made her own place, and she stands firm
in it on her own feet, and no one would fill it as well. It's wonderful
that is, how small things may help big ones. Look at it!" said Joshua,
spreading out the palms of his hands. "You take a little weak child
into your house and think she's of no count at all, either to help or to
hinder; she's so small and the place is so big you hardly know she's
there. And then one day you wake up to find that she's gone quietly on
doing her best, and learning to do better, until she's come to be one of
the most useful people on the farm. Because for why? It's her mother's
toil and trouble finding their fruit; we oughtn't to forget that. When
folks are dead and gone it's hard on 'em not to call to mind what we owe
'em. They sowed and we reap. Lilac's come to be what she is because
her mother was what she was, and I expect Mary White's proud and pleased
enough to see how her child's valued this day. And so I wish the farm
luck, and all of you luck, and we'll all be glad to think as we're not
going to lose our little bit of White Lilac as is growing up amongst
us."
Lilac's eyes had been fixed shyly on her plate. It was like being Queen
a second time to have everyone looking at her and talking of her. As
Joshua finished there was a sound at the door of gruff assent, and she
looked round. It came from Peter, who stood there with all his features
stretched into a wide smile of pleasure.
"They're all glad I'm going to bide," she said to herself, "and so am
I."