THE LITTLE HERB-BED.
For some days after that unhappy Monday Bella and her aunt scarcely
exchanged a word. It was not that Bella was sulky, or bore malice in her
heart; it was chiefly that she felt embarrassed and awkward still.
Indeed, they both felt so. That scene seemed to be for ever between them,
and neither could forget it.
It was holiday time, too, so there was no school to take Bella away from
her home, and as she did not like to ask Miss Hender to give her something
to do, she wandered about, idle and unhappy, not knowing how to fill her
days. Consequently she wandered more than once down the lane to Mrs.
Langley's little cottage. The peace and the cheerfulness of that little
home drew her irresistibly.
"Oh! if only our house was like this!" she exclaimed one day. "So quiet,
and tidy, and clean. I should like to live in a little house like this
all by myself when I grow up."
Mrs. Langley looked at her with a shade of sadness in her gentle brown
eyes. "My dear, don't say that! It isn't from choice, you know, that I
live alone, and it is terribly lonely sometimes. If I had been allowed to
have my way, my home would have been as full and noisy as ever yours is;
but God saw fit to take them all first, and leave me to follow in His own
good time. I expect He has work for me to do first; in fact, I know He
has, for He has some special work for each of us, though we don't
understand at the time what it is."
Bella felt vexed with herself, as soon as ever the words had left her
lips, for she knew quite well the story of the tragedy that had left that
home empty--of the fatal epidemic that had taken from it the husband and
four children, and left the poor mother alone and heart-broken.
Before she could say anything Mrs. Langley's last words arrested her
attention.
"Has He got special work for me?" she asked eagerly, her interest
swallowing up her shyness for once. "Oh no, He couldn't have, I am so
young, and I don't see that there's anything I can do. I only wish there
was," she added hopelessly. "I don't seem to be wanted anywhere, and I
haven't got any money, and----"
"Don't you make that mistake, dear. It isn't money that's most wanted,
it is the wish and the will. Children can do a very great deal, and you
especially have many fine opportunities right at your hand, in your own
home."
"But Aunt Emma does everything, and she won't let me help."
"I think she would, dear, if you went to work in the right way.
Either ask her boldly to give you some part of the work to do, for you
would like to help, and you feel you are old enough now; or bide your
time, and do all the little things you can, without making any fuss or
display. Then, if you do them well, you will find that in time they are
left to your care to do always. Even if your aunt will not let you do
that much, surely there is plenty to be done outside the house.
Your garden is not kept as it was in your mother's time."
"Father doesn't stay at home in the evenings now, like he used to," said
Bella, sadly.
"Well, can't you coax him to? Can't you help to make his home more
cheerful and comfortable? All this is part of the work God has for you to
do, Bella. It seems to me a lot. Can't you show an interest in the
garden, and ask your father to help you to make it neat and nice again?
I think he would; I am sure he would."
Bella sat with a very thoughtful face, but not such a hopelessly depressed
one as she had been wearing. Suddenly, so it seemed to her, a bright
light had been flashed upon the road she had to travel, and so many things
stood out that she had not seen before, so many hills to climb, so many
pleasant valleys to cross, that for a moment she felt awed and silenced.
It was cheering and bracing to feel that she was needed, that, after all,
there was work for her to do. Lots of work!
"And then there are the boys and Margery. You have many duties to them,
dear. They have no mother, and you are left to take her place, as far as
you can, and make their lives happy, and teach them to be good. Oh, there
is so much for you to do, child. I almost envy you, there is so much."
Bella looked up with shining eyes and a flush on her cheeks.
"Aunt Maggie, I came to-day to ask if you would help me to get a little
place. I felt as if I couldn't go on living at home as it is now.
It is so uncomfortable, and I thought I would like to go out in service.
I know I am very young, but----"
Mrs. Langley was looking at her with a grave face, but very kindly eyes.
"I know how you felt, dear; but it seems to me plain enough that your
place is at home. You see, you're the eldest, and the others are but
little things, and if you want Margery to know anything about her dear
mother, you must teach her, and 'tis you must help to train her up to be
what her mother would have wished her to be."
Bella's bright, eager eyes filled with tears. "I wish mother was here,"
she cried, "it's all so different now, and so miserable!"
"I know, I know; but, child, you must try and remember how it would have
grieved your poor mother, if she could know that her children's home was
unhappy, and then tell yourself that it is going to be your work to make
it different--to make it what she would wish it to be."
Bella's tears gradually ceased. "But how can I begin, and when?" she
asked hopelessly.
"Begin to-day, and with the first chance you see. Be content to begin
with little things in a little way. Don't expect to make great changes,
and set all right at once. You have to take these words as your motto,
'Patience, Pluck, and Perseverance.'"
Bella's face brightened. It cheered her heart to feel that she could do
something, and do, too, what her mother would have had her do. It was
with less reluctance than usual that she got up to go back to her home.
"I often wish, Aunt Maggie," she said affectionately, "that I could live
with you, but it would never do, would it?"
"I often wish so, too, dear. Good-bye now. Run home quickly, you may be
wanted."
Bella ran up the lane with a very much lighter heart than she usually
bore. She was fired with the thought of her new endeavours, and anxious
to begin. She would keep her eyes always open to see things that she
could do,--and almost as the thought was passing through her mind her
chance came, for as she opened her own gate she saw that the fowl-house
door was standing wide, and that the hens were scattered all over the
garden, scratching up the beds.
"Tom promised to put a nail in the latch of that door," she sighed, "and
he has never done it." Then the thought flashed through her mind that
here was a beginning! Here she could help. By the aid of a long
pea-stick she collected the greedy hens and drove them all into their run
again, and fastened them in securely; but it took her some time.
"Wherever have you been?" demanded Aunt Emma coldly; "here's tea-time
nearly, and you've been out all the afternoon."
"I was down at Aunt Maggie's part of the time, and when I got back I found
the hens all out and all over the garden, and I drove them in and shut
them up."
"Oh!" Aunt Emma was visibly mollified. If there was one thing she
disliked more than another, it was struggling with stupid, obstinate hens,
as she called them, and she was really thankful now that she had been
spared the task of getting them out of the garden. In her relief at this
she forgot her annoyance at Bella's having been down at Mrs. Langley's.
"If there's time before tea I'll go and put the nail in the latch,", said
Bella, "for it won't stay shut very long, unless the latch is mended."
The hammer, though, was not to be found, and the only nail was a crooked
one, so the latch-mending was put off till after tea. The children came
in from the orchard, and went to the pump to wash their hands and faces.
Bella spread the cloth and arranged the cups and plates and mugs.
As a rule, she put them down in any haphazard fashion, but to-day she did
try to arrange the things nicely.
Miss Hender was busily taking out cake and cutting bread and butter.
Bella knew it would be of no use to offer to do either of these, but she
did ask if she might put some water in the teapot to warm it, and, to her
astonishment, her aunt said, "Yes, you may if you like."
The meal would have been a very silent one if it had not been for the
children, but with their chatter it passed off pleasantly enough, and when
it was over they all made a hunt for the lost hammer and another nail, and
then trooped out with Bella, to mend the latch of the hen-house door.
"That's easy enough," exclaimed Tom, as he watched Bella; "I could have
done that."
"Then why didn't you?" retorted his sister. "That bit of latch has been
hanging loose for weeks, and the hens were always getting out."
"I didn't think about it. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think about it, either," admitted Bella; "but I am going to try
and remember things better. Tom, if you want a job, there's one of the
palings of the pigsty broken away. If it isn't mended, the pig'll break
it away more, and get out, and there's no knowing what trouble we shall
have. You can mend that, I'm sure."
Tom, well pleased, went off at once. It made him feel manly to be doing
real work. Charlie, of course, followed his brother. Bella was strolling
back through the untidy garden with Margery by her side, when a sudden
thought sent her hurrying back to the house.
"Aunt Emma, can I help you wash up the tea-things?"
She put her question rather nervously, and her cheeks were rosy red, but
she had broken through her shy reserve, and was glad of it.
Miss Hender was standing at the table with a pan of water in front of her.
"I've nearly finished," she said shortly, in her usual ungenial tone, but
added, a moment later, "leastways I soon shall have."
Bella had seen that although several cups and plates were washed, none of
them were wiped, so she took up the tea-cloth lying on the table, and
began to dry the things and put them away. She was very anxious to do it
all carefully and well, so that her aunt might have no cause for
complaining.
It almost seemed as though Miss Hender did not want to find fault if she
could help it, for when Bella hung the cups on the wrong hooks on the
dressers, she only said, "I don't know that it matters;" which was so
unlike her usual self that Bella marvelled.
"I s'pose you didn't see any sage in the garden when you were there just
now?" she asked presently. "I wanted some sage and onions to cook for
supper, and I don't believe we've got either. There doesn't seem to be
scarcely anything in the garden."
"I'll go and see," said Bella, "but I don't believe there's any."
She walked down the rambling old garden, and all over it, and looked in
all directions, but not a leaf of sage or any other herb could she see.
The herb-bed was empty and trampled flat, a few onions lay ungathered in
the onion-bed, and there were some potatoes, but that was all, except some
gooseberry bushes and roots of rhubarb.
When Bella remembered what their garden used to be, and all that they used
to get out of it, she, young though she was, was startled. She was more
than startled, she was shocked too, for if this was the state of things
now, what were they going to do for vegetables all the rest of the year?
There was nothing to come on for the winter, no carrots or turnips, no
onions or cabbages, leeks or celery,--and they used to have all in
abundance. The difference between care and neglect, thrift and waste,
plenty and want, were brought home to her very plainly at that moment.
She had always been so much with her father and mother and other grown-up
people, that she understood as well as a woman how much they depended on
the garden for food.
Tom and Charlie came up and joined her, wondering what she was looking at
so solemnly.
"What's wrong?" they asked. "What are you looking for?"
"Sage," said Bella, gravely, "and there isn't a bit; there isn't anything.
Whatever we shall do all the winter, I don't know."
"Where's the herb-bed?" asked Tom.
"Here, we're looking at it. Mother used to keep it nice and full, she
used to see how many kinds of herbs she could grow. Oh, you remember,
Tom, don't you?"
"Yes," said Tom; "she had thyme and lemon-thyme, parsley, and sage, and
endive and borage, and--oh, I forget. She used to make me say them over,
and tell her which was which. I wish we'd taken more care of it," he
added, with sudden shame for his neglect.
A brilliant idea flashed into Bella's mind, filling her with pleasure,
"Oh!" she cried, excitedly, "I know what I'll do, I'll make it nice again,
I'll take care of it, and plant herbs in it, just as mother used to do.
Where's the fork, Tom? I want to begin."
"I'll get it, but let me help. Let me dig it over the first time; shall
I, Bella?"
Bella agreed, but reluctantly. She wanted to do it all herself.
"I wonder where I can get parsley seed, and all the rest of it.
Oh, I know, Aunt Maggie will give me a little sage-bush, she has lots; and
p'raps she'll be able to give me some lemon-thyme too!" and away she ran
through the garden and out of the gate and down May Lane as fleet as a
hare.
Miss Hender saw her dash past the house, and pressed her lips tightly
together. "Forgotten all about what I sent her for, of course," she said
sourly. "I thought that new broom was sweeping too clean."
When Bella returned in about ten minutes' time, carrying a basket full of
roots, and a sage-bush on the top, her aunt came to the door to greet her.
"How about that sage I asked you to look for?" she began, but when her eye
fell on the basket the rest of her scolding died away,--"Oh, so you've got
some. Well, it isn't too late," she stammered, trying not to look
foolish, and to speak graciously. It was Bella's turn to colour now.
She had completely forgotten all about her aunt and the supper.
"There wasn't a bit, Aunt Emma, and--and I forgot to come in and tell you,
but I am going to plant some fresh things in the herb-bed. Tom's digging
it over, and I am going to look after it. I asked Aunt Maggie to give me
a root or two, and you can have some of the sage leaves before I plant it;
but "--and she put down her basket, and began to grope in the bottom of
it--"Aunt Maggie sent you a bottle of dried sage, and one of parsley.
She dried them herself. She said if you hadn't got any at any time, they
might be useful,"; and she put the two little bottles into her aunt's hand
with great joy, looking up at her to read her approval in her face.
But Miss Hender's face showed nothing of the sort. "I don't believe in
such new-fangled notions," she said ungraciously; "here, give me a bit of
that," breaking off a sprig of sage, "I want something that's fit to eat,
and has got some goodness left in it!"
The light and pleasure died out of Bella's face. It always hurt her to
hear her Aunt Maggie, or anything of Aunt Maggie's, spoken contemptuously
of, and sudden anger at such petty spitefulness swelled up in her heart,
for it was petty of her aunt, and it was spiteful, and Bella knew it.
Indeed, every one knew it, but no one dared say anything to the foolish
woman, for fear of making matters worse.
In her pleasure, though, at the sight of the work Tom had done in her
absence, Bella recovered herself, and this time she did not forget her
aunt or the supper, but coming upon a few onions she gathered them into
her basket and sent them in by Margery.
By the time Miss Hender came to the door again to call them all in to
supper and bed, the sage bushes and thyme, the roots of mint and borage,
were standing sturdily erect in the newly-turned bed, which was neatly
outlined by large stones. Bella went to bed that night very tired and
very happy, and dreamed of her mother.
While the children lay asleep, their father, coming home late and taking a
turn round his neglected garden while he finished his pipe, drew up before
the little herb-bed with almost a startled look on his face. He stood
there minute after minute, gazing at the newly-turned earth and the sturdy
little bushes showing out so clearly in the moonlight; the one neat and
hopeful spot in the whole untidy waste, it seemed almost to speak
reproachingly to him.
What his thoughts were no one knew, but he sighed deeply more than once,
and when at last he moved away his pipe had gone out, though it was not
empty.