AN INVITATION TO THE HALL
"REALLY Lady Melville is very kind," said Granny, opening a note which
had been brought her one morning; "she wants the three children to
spend this afternoon at the Hall."
The little girls clapped their hands with delight.
"Sir George didn't forget us. He said he would ask us."
"And shall we stay to tea?"
"And wear our best frocks?"
Aunt Alice laughed at their excitement.
"Yes, wear your best frocks and best manners, and do us credit," she
said, but Granny added quietly:
"I used to be told that there were no best manners, for the best ought
to be the only ones ever used by us."
It was a bright sunny afternoon, when the little girls set out. It was
cold weather still, and they wore their navy serge coats and skirts
with white muslin blouses underneath. As Granny watched them go out of
the white gate, she said to Aunt Alice:
"I shall break my heart if we have to send them to the village school,
they look such gentle little creatures. I always say that breeding
tells, and if we are poor, we own some ancestors worth having!"
"Oh, mother dear, I am afraid birth is not of much value nowadays,"
said Aunt Alice laughing; "they will have to be working women when they
grow up; we must not forget that."
Charity and Hope walked along with shining faces. Faith was more sober.
She had a kind of feeling that she was not really wanted, only included
with the others; and she was a little shy of people whom she had never
seen. But the joy of walking through green fields, and of seeing for
the first time in her life some tiny calves and foals, and of coming
across some cowslips, quite compensated for the little forlorn feeling
in her heart. Their Aunt Alice had pointed out the big house on the
hill, and told them exactly how to reach it. Three fields had to be
crossed, then they kept to a green lane, reached some cross roads, took
the turning towards the right and arrived at some big iron gates in a
stone wall, and a pretty lodge by the side.
They walked in at the gates, and up an avenue of chestnuts.
"It feels like coming to a fairy palace," said Charity; "it all seems
just like a story book, doesn't it?"
The old stone house looked very quiet and still when they reached it.
There was a wide flight of stone steps to go up and then a big stone
porch to be crossed. Charity was reaching up on tiptoe to ring the
great door bell, when the door opened and Sir George came suddenly out.
"Hullo!" he said cheerily. "You're in the nick of time! Which is the
one who loves horses? Golden hair, isn't it? Come along with me, I'm
just off to the stables, and I'll take you with me. Here, Pitman, take
these young ladies to the drawing-room."
Hope followed Sir George delightedly whilst Charity and Faith were
taken by an old butler across a big hall into a beautiful room
with five or six windows, full of china and all kinds of valuable
curiosities. A bright fire was burning, and in a chintz-covered easy
chair by the side of it, sat Lady Melville, a book in her hand. She
smiled sweetly at the children when she saw them:
"I have heard about you," she said. "Aren't there three of you?"
"Yes," said Charity. "But Hope has gone to see the horses with Sir
George. I am Charity and this is Faith. Hope is the middle one of us."
"What pretty names!" said Lady Melville. She shook hands with Charity,
but she drew Faith by both hands towards her and kissed her. "It is
very kind of you to come and see us," she said; "for this is a dull
house when my boys are away. Which is the one who loves books?"
"I do," said Charity, flushing.
Then Lady Melville rang the bell, and when her maid appeared she sent
them upstairs with her to take off their hats and coats.
"It is only three o'clock," she said, "so we have a long day in front
of us. When you have got rid of your walking things, perhaps Charity
would like to go into the library and have a look at some of the books
there; and Faith can come and talk to me."
Both little girls liked this arrangement. Faith thought it would be
very easy to talk to such a sweet kind lady, and Charity was wild to
get at the books.
They were awed by the big staircase and the many rooms they passed; but
Lacy, the maid, was very pleasant to them.
"Her ladyship ought to have a little daughter of her own," she said;
"it's wonderful how she dotes on girls. Because she has only boys, I
suppose. That's the way of the world."
Then she showed them a beautiful oil painting in the corridor, a
portrait of two rosy-faced, happy boys, in white cricketing flannels.
"That was painted a year ago. The artist stayed in the house whilst he
did it. The tallest is Master Lionel, and the youngest Master Fairfax."
"I wish we had brothers," said Charity, "or that one of us had been a
boy. I think I should like to have been the boy."
Then they were taken into a big bedroom, and Lacy smoothed their hair;
and when they were ready, took them downstairs again. They passed the
library on the way to the drawing-room, and Faith, as she peeped in,
and saw the books which lined the walls from the floor to the ceiling,
wondered how Charity dared take any one of them from their places. They
looked as if they had been built into the walls to stay. But Charity's
eyes sparkled.
"Can I look at any book I like?" she said.
Lacy shrugged her shoulders.
"If Sir George has given you leave, you can. This is his room. But I'll
show you the books Master Fairfax likes. Master Lionel is no reader.
Sir George has a shelf for them over here."
She took Charity to a corner of the room, and Charity sat down upon the
floor at once, and began to take the books out of the shelves.
Then Faith was taken on to the drawing-room, where she found Lady
Melville working at a lace pillow.
"I have put my book by," she said to Faith, with her sweet smile,
"because we are going to talk together. I am not very strong just now,
so I cannot walk about much, and when I am tired of reading, I make
lace. I have a class in the village for making it, and some of the
village girls are learning very quickly."
Faith sat down upon a little chair by Lady Melville's side and watched
the bobbins flying to and fro between her white fingers with the
greatest interest.
"Now tell me how you like your little cottage, and all about
yourselves. Do you like coming to the country?"
"Oh, so very much!"
Faith clasped her small hands tightly in her quaint fashion.
"I didn't know," she said, looking up at Lady Melville with her soft
brown eyes, "that it would be quite so beautiful. Mrs. Cox didn't like
the country, she said, because there was nobody to talk to, but we have
found lots of people already. Do you know a nice old man called Timothy
who looks after sheep? He is a friend of mine."
"Yes, he was very ill last winter, and I went to see him more than
once. I felt sorry for him living all by himself, and nobody to take
care of him."
"But he doesn't live quite alone," said Faith softly. "He has the
Comforter living with him. He told me so, and when he sits by the fire
in the dark, he feels very close to Him, he told me."
Lady Melville looked at Faith very tenderly.
"Did he tell you that, dear?"
"Yes, he told me all about Him. Because he thought it would be a good
thing if He lives with me. I don't know if He will come, but I've
begun to ask Him in my prayers. Timothy says that tears bring Him very
quickly, but we're so happy that I haven't had much to cry about yet. I
expect He is waiting till I really want Him."
"I hope you won't find much to cry about here," said Lady Melville in a
bright tone. "Tell me how you amuse yourselves. Are you fond of dolls?"
Faith smiled.
"Yes, I love mine. She's called Violet, but Hope has cut her arms
and legs dreadfully, and sewed them up again, playing at operations.
Charity doesn't care for dolls; she says they aren't alive, but I feel
Violet is, when we're alone together. I dare say she seems stupid to
people who don't know her, but she's all my own, and I understand her."
"Yes, that makes all the difference," said Lady Melville. Then Faith
found herself telling her all about their life in London, and the
school they went to, and how the girls laughed at their names, and how
they hoped they would not have to go to the village school here.
"Aunt Alice doesn't like teaching lessons," said Faith, shaking her
curly head, "so we don't know what will come to us. We have got to
learn to be clever, Aunt Alice says, because when we grow up we must
work for our living; but being clever is very difficult, and I don't
think I shall ever learn it."
"What do you want to do when you grow up?" asked Lady Melville.
Faith's face grew downcast.
"I'm 'fraid I don' know. Aunt Alice says 'time enough yet' and
'something will come.' Charity and Hope have quite settled themselves.
I think I'd rather be a mother with about ten little children, all
girls, and mostly babies, that I could nurse. But Hope says that is
silly, for you can't earn money when you're nursing babies!"
"Oh, yes, you can," said Lady Melville, touched by this old-fashioned,
anxious-faced child; "you can be nurse in a hospital for sick babies,
or you can be a governess and look after little children, or a nurse in
a private house, or you can help in a holiday home or a convalescent
home. If you love little children, you will find lots of places open to
you when you grow up."
"Without my being very clever?" questioned Faith.
"Yes," said Lady Melville, "and perhaps you won't have to earn any
money at all. Perhaps you will have a husband who will do it for you."
"I am rather frightened of men," confessed Faith, "except Timothy. I'm
not a bit frightened of him."
Lady Melville laughed.
"Now we won't think any more of your grown-up life, but of how you are
going to enjoy yourself in the country. And I am going to think of this
problem of lessons. I know a very nice girl about five miles from here.
She used to be a teacher in a big London High School, but she wasn't
very strong, and had to come to the country to live. She takes care of
her invalid mother, but I believe she would be able to cycle over to
you, and give you some lessons every morning. Would you like that? I
think I must talk to your Granny about it."
Faith was not sure whether she would like it. And in a moment she
looked up into Lady Melville's face rather coaxingly.
"You won't hurry about it too fast, will you, please? For Aunt Alice
says we can have holidays till she thinks of something, and it is so
lovely not having lessons. The children in Heaven don't have lessons,
do they? I do so often wish I was playing with them."
"I don't know, I am sure," said Lady Melville, trying to look very
grave; "sometimes I think all the lessons we have failed to learn on
earth will be finished in Heaven."
"Oh, dear me!" sighed Faith; and then Lady Melville laughed so brightly
that Faith laughed too.
And at that minute Sir George put his head in at the door.
"We've done the stables," he said, "but after lunch there is going to
be a riding lesson up and down the drive, and the pony wants to see
which young lady sticks on his back in best style. Where is Carrots?"
Faith laughed gleefully.
"That's what she's always called at school. She's reading all your
books in the book-room."
"I must have a look at her."
Sir George disappeared.
"Do you think you could find a name for me?" questioned Faith
wistfully. "We do hate our names so?"
"Oh, I think it's the sweetest little name!" said Lady Melville. "I
should be very proud of it if I had it. I think I should try to live up
to it."
"How?" asked Faith.
"Well, what does it mean?"
"Tell me."
"Faith is the belief or trust we have in anyone. Who do you trust most?"
Faith thought hard.
"Granny, and Aunt Alice."
"Nobody else?"
Faith nodded.
"Yes, God."
"Then, darling, if you have faith in God, you have everything that you
need in this world and in the next. Never doubt God, He will never
fail, it is only our faith that fails. And you are called Faith, so you
can always remind yourself by your name of the faith you must have in
God."
"And the Comforter," said Faith very softly to herself. She did not
quite understand Lady Melville's words, but she understood when she
grew bigger.
There was no more quiet talk, for tea was brought in, and Sir George
came back, leading by the hand both Charity and Hope, who looked
perfectly radiant.
And then they had a very merry tea. Sir George delighted Faith by
calling her "Curly."
From that time the little girls were always called "Carrots,"
"Goldenhair," and "Curly," and they tried very hard to make everyone
else use those names. After tea, the pony came round, and each one of
them in turn had a ride on him. Hope proved to be the most fearless
rider. Faith tried to enjoy it, but she had to fight with her fears,
and she was relieved when her turn was over.
When half-past six came, three very happy children walked back over the
fields home. Their tongues went fast.
Charity had found an old book of Grecian fables and stories which
perfectly entranced her. She told the others of some of them as she
walked along.
"And Sir George says I can come to his library any day I like and read
there."
"And I can ride the pony every day if I like," said Hope. "Oh, isn't it
a glorious place with so many dogs and horses?"
"I like the horse," said Charity. "I mean to get rich when I grow up. I
shall make myself rich like other people do. I shall save every penny
I earn and put it into the bank and buy a house like Sir George's, and
have a big library and books just like his."
"But you always said you would keep a book shop."
"I shan't now. I shall have a library."
"I liked the house," said little Faith, "at least it was too big and
grand for me, but I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would, for
Lady Melville was so nice. I loved her best. I should like to live with
her always, with her and with old Timothy!"
"That's just like you," said Charity a little contemptuously, "you're
always for people instead of things!"
"Well, I don't care. I do love them better. I like Lady Melville better
than a book!"
Faith could speak scornfully sometimes. Hope put in her word. Charity
and Faith often quarrelled, and she made peace between them.
"And I think animals are the nicest things in the world," she said. "I
shall have lots of ponies and dogs when I grow up."
Then the cottage was reached, and Granny and Aunt Alice were told of
the delightful time they had had.
"I knew they would enjoy themselves," said Granny; "Sir George always
had a weak spot in his heart for children even as a boy; and his wife
seems just as kind."
"Lady Melville said she was coming to see you in a day or two," said
Faith; "she knows somebody who may be able to teach us lessons!"
"Ah, that will be first-rate," said Aunt Alice; "if she can help me
with that difficulty, I shall be deeply grateful."
The little girls looked at each other. They did not think that they
agreed with their Aunt.
They helped Granny by running errands to the village, and each one had
her own duties about the house. Charity helped her Aunt to wash up
after each meal; Hope dusted all the rooms; and Faith cleaned the brass
door handles, and taps, and kept them bright. But they had a great deal
of time for play, and whenever it was fine, Aunt Alice encouraged them
to be out of doors.
One afternoon Faith was coming back from the village. She had been to
the post office to get some stamps, and she was just turning the corner
of the road when she saw on a wide piece of grass that edged it a gipsy
van. An old horse and a donkey were grazing by the side of it. Now, if
there was anything that the little girls really loved, it was a caravan
of any sort. They all thought that if they lived in one they would be
as happy as the day was long. And Faith's eyes brightened as she came
near. Then she saw a little bare-footed boy standing in the road, and
crying as if his heart would break.
Faith could not pass him without asking him what was the matter. And
then he pointed to a broken jug of milk in the road.
"It was Mother's milk," he sobbed, "and Dad is away, and she's ill, and
I've no money for more."
"Don't cry, dear," said Faith. "I've got two pennies in my pocket.
Could you get some more milk with them?"
He looked at her with his sharp little eyes, but seized the pennies she
held out to him, and taking hold of a tin can on the grass, he tore
back along the road as fast as he could go.
Faith stood still admiring the van, which was painted green, and had
white muslin curtains at the small windows tied with blue ribbon. Then
she heard a weak voice calling:
"Dan! Dan!"
And acting on the impulse of the moment Faith climbed up the steps of
the van and looked inside:
"Your little boy will soon be here; he had an accident with the milk,
and he's gone to fetch some more."
A woman raised her head from a narrow bed which seemed to take up
nearly all the space inside. A little boy of about two sat on the floor
munching an orange.
The woman had dark hair and flushed cheeks.
"I'm so thirsty," she moaned, "and oh, so miserable! Who are you?"