WHAT AUNT MAGGIE SUGGESTED.
Bella was right,--there really was a difference already, and, best of all,
the difference continued. Never again could any one say that the Henders'
garden was neglected and untidy. As of old, William Hender worked there
every evening, but now he usually had one or more of his children with
him, and the garden in time became a perfect picture.
Bella had another and a larger piece of ground given her, in which to grow
flowers, and, as her father often remarked, she must have had the true
flower-lover's hand, for she had only to put in roots or seeds or cuttings
of any kind, for them to grow and blossom their best, and throughout the
spring, summer, and autumn her garden was a picture.
A year passed by, and Charlie's strawberry bed had yielded its first crop,
and Tom's vegetables had provided more than one meal for the family, and,
of course, had tasted better than any others that were ever grown.
Over the wall at the back of Margery's garden the fairy rose had grown
rapidly, covering the old stones with clusters of snowy blossoms.
The whole of Margery's garden was well stocked by this time, for night
after night mysterious plants had been placed there,--planted, as she
firmly believed, by the fairies, who had 'been telled by God' to take it
to her because she had been good; and that must have been the reason,
she felt sure, for whenever she was very good, some new flower always
appeared.
Another winter passed over the little household, a happy one, on the
whole, in spite of stormy scenes at times with Aunt Emma, sharp words and
sharp answers. The boys, as they grew older, found it harder to bear with
her short, cold answers, her sharp commands, and constant snubbings of
them in almost everything they said and did. Bella, who had never quite
recovered from the shock of the scene when her aunt had beaten her so
unmercifully, had an anxious time trying to stave off quarrels between
them, and soften harsh words and pert answers, which might lead to them.
Bella had never forgotten that dreadful Monday, nor had she ever forgotten
the talk with Aunt Maggie after, and the aim she had set before herself to
do her best to make the house more comfortable and happy, and more what
her mother would have made it had she been alive. She often failed, very
often, in fact, and often despaired, but she never quite gave in, or, if
she did, it was for a little while only.
There were many hills to climb on the road she had chosen, but there were
many pleasant valleys too, and if sometimes her feet faltered and
stumbled, and she felt weary and disheartened, and looked at the next hill
hopelessly, feeling that she never could mount it, there were also happy
hours, and sweet flowers and sunshine to cheer her, and sometimes there
was such a feeling of hope and joy over all as made her heart sing and her
spirits dance. For the house really was tidier and less neglected, her
father came home regularly now, and was with them more, and she herself
had something to do, some object in life, some work that she could do
herself, and take a pride in.
Thus it was, when the spring came that was to bring such changes to their
lives, such steep hills to climb that they wondered sometimes if there was
any valley beyond, where they could rest a little, or any sunshine
anywhere, so heavy were the shadows.
Bella's flower-beds were a picture that year, and her herb-bed too, with
its great sprays of curly parsley, and bushes of mint and thyme, sage and
borage. In fact, all the garden was a goodly sight, and no one would have
recognised it for the garden of a year ago. There were rows of peas and
beans, just coming to perfection, and every other kind of vegetable that
space could be found for. The fruit bushes were laden with promise of
supplies in store, and already Miss Hender was making jam of the rhubarb,
which filled up one corner of the garden with its handsome great leaves.
"It does seem a pity sometimes that I can't do more with all my flowers,"
said Bella one day. She had carried a glorious bunch of sweet peas and a
basket of vegetables to Mrs. Langley. "I give away a good many, but most
people have their own, and don't really want any more, and they just grow
and flower and fade, and nobody but ourselves see them. Aunt Emma won't
let me bring in more than one little bunch at a time, so they just waste,
and it does seem a pity when there's a lot, and all so pretty."
Mrs. Langley looked at her lovely nosegay thoughtfully. "Child," she said
at last, "why don't you do up some bunches, and carry them into Norton on
a market day, or any other day, and try to sell them? Why, I've known my
missis, when I was in service, give shillings for flowers no better than
you bring me day after day, and not as fresh and strong either, by a long
way."
"Sell my--flowers!" The suggestion, coming so suddenly, made Bella gasp.
"Oh, but, Aunt Maggie, how could I? I should have to go to people's
houses and ask them to buy, shouldn't I? I don't believe I'd ever be able
to make up my mind to." Bella looked alarmed at the mere idea, but though
alarmed she was also pleased with the daring suggestion, and her cheeks
grew rosy red with excitement. Mrs. Langley nodded thoughtfully, but she
did not reply at once. With many girls she would not have approved of
such a plan, but she thought Bella could be trusted.
"Yes," she said at last, "I think you could be trusted, child, not to grow
bold and rude and pushing, even if you had to ask people to buy your
flowers. You might, perhaps, be able to arrange with a florist to take
all you had every week. Of course, he would want to make a profit, so you
wouldn't get so much for them, but you would be saved a good deal of time
and trouble, maybe."
"Oh, but, Aunt Maggie, do you think I could? Do you think I should ever
sell any?"
Bella was still half bewildered by the suddenness and boldness of the new
proposal. There were so many sides to it, too, pleasant and unpleasant.
It would be splendid, she thought, to be able to turn her garden to
account, and to feel her lovely flowers were not wasted. It would be
splendid, too, to be able to put her money each week in her money-box.
She had been longing for some time past to be able to buy a glass frame to
protect some of her seedlings through the winter,--and who knew but what
her flowers would make this possible for her? The thought thrilled her.
On the other hand, she did shrink shyly from the prospect of going up to
people and asking them to buy, and also from the thought of what her
father and Aunt Emma would say. She mentioned this last thought to Aunt
Maggie.
"If you would really like me to," said Mrs. Langley, "I will speak of it
to your father before you do, and then, if he falls in with the plan, he
can talk to your aunt about it. You see, Bella, child, there is another
thing to bear in mind. You are nearly fourteen now, and before very long
you'll have to be thinking about earning your living, and you'll have to
go to service, or think of some way of earning it at home."
"I've been thinking of that, Aunt Maggie;" and a moment later she added
sadly, "and if I went to service I'd have to leave all my flowers."
"Of course you would, dear. It would be a great loss to you, wouldn't
it?"
"Oh," sighed Bella, realising for a moment how great a loss it would be,
"I don't believe I could ever bear it."
Aunt Maggie smiled sadly. "You could, dear. You will have far harder
trials than that to bear, I am afraid, or you will be more than
fortunate," and she added after a moment's silence, "We can make our
garden wherever we are, and plant our seeds, and raise our flowers."
"Not in service, Aunt Maggie?" cried Bella, incredulously, "they wouldn't
give me a bit of ground, would they, anywhere I went?"
Mrs. Langley smiled. "They might in some places where the servant makes
it her home, and the mistress tries to make it a real home to her, they
let her have a little bit of ground to call her own. But I was thinking,
dear, of another kind of garden,--the garden of life, where we can sow
good seed or bad, and raise flowers, where we and others have to tread.
Flowers of patience and honesty, good-temper, willingness, and
cheerfulness. They are very precious flowers to most people, for few get
many such along the way they have to tread; and a sunny smile or a cheery
word, or a kind act will often lighten the whole of a dull, hard day.
Don't ever forget to grow those flowers, my dear, or to shed sunshine
wherever God may order you to dwell."
"Does God order that, Aunt Maggie? Does He tell people where they must
go? and shall I have to do as He tells me, and go where He sends me?"
"Yes, dear, and you can trust Him. He will only send you where you are
needed, and where it is best for you to be."
Bella went home in a very, very thoughtful mood that night. "I wonder
where God is going to send me, and what work He has for me to do?"
The idea filled her mind until, as she reached home, the thought suddenly
rushed into her head, "I wonder what father will say, when he hears what
Aunt Maggie wants to talk to him about!"
What her father did say when first the plan was mooted, was a downright
"No! I can keep my children as long as I can work, and Bella can find
enough to do at home."
"Yes, I know," answered Aunt Maggie gently, when he had repeated this more
than once, and each time more emphatically. "And what about the time when
you can't work, William? or, if anything was to happen to you?
Do you think it is right or fair to bring up children without any
knowledge that'll earn them a decent, respectable living?"
William Hender had no answer ready, and sat trying in vain to find one.
"If she were to begin in a small way, such as I'm suggesting, who knows
but what, in time, she might work up a little business, and be able to
make quite a nice little living out of her flowers and things? She has a
wonderful gift for raising them and understanding them, and it does seem a
sin not to make use of it. Don't you think so?"
William Hender nodded thoughtfully; this new way of looking at things
impressed him. He was proud, too, of Bella's skill with her garden, and
his thoughts flew beyond the present to the future, where in his mind's
eye he saw a tidy little shop well stocked with fruit and flowers and
vegetables, and Bella the prosperous owner of it all, and his heart
swelled with pride.
"You are right, Maggie," he said, as he rose to go. "You always are, I
think. I'll talk to Emma about it, and I'll look about me the next time I
go to Norton, and see if there's any shop there that'll be likely to take
her flowers. It might be better for her to sell them that way.
Good-night."
Bella's heart beat fast and furious when she heard that her father
approved of the scheme, and when the children were told about it they all
flew into a state of wild excitement. Of course they all wanted to be
market-gardeners at once. "Why can't we all go shares in a stall in
Norton Market?" cried Tom. "Bella can sell flowers and herbs, and me
vegetables, and Charlie fruit, and Margery----"
"Fairy roses," said Margery eagerly. She always called her flowers that
had come so mysteriously 'fairy flowers.'
"I was in Norton Market-house once," went on Tom, "and oh, it's a fine
place!"
Norton, their nearest and largest market-town, was five miles off, and as
there was no railway to it, and they had no cart to take them, a visit to
the town was one of the rarest treats they knew.
When the first excitement had worn off, and Aunt Emma had been talked to
and won over, and all that remained to be done was for their father to go
to Norton and look out for a florist, matters seemed to go no further.
He was at work on every day of the week except Saturday afternoons, and
then there was always so much to be done at home he never seemed able to
spare the time. Five miles to Norton and five miles back was a long
distance to cover, with no other means of covering it than one's own two
feet, or a chance 'lift'; and he kept on putting the matter off.
"All my sweet-peas are passing," sighed Bella, when another Saturday had
come and gone, and her father had not again spoken of going to Norton.
"Tom, I've a good mind to go myself next Saturday, and take some flowers,
and try to sell them. Will you come with me? Do you think you could walk
so far?"
Tom was indignant at this reflection on his manliness. "Walk it! I should
rather think so! I can if you can, anyhow!"
"It's a good long way," said Bella reflectively; "p'raps we could get a
lift home. I wonder if Aunt Emma will let us go? Oh, Tom, I wish she
would. I shall hate it at first, but it does seem a pity to waste all my
flowers, and I do want to earn some money to buy a hotbed and some more
seeds; there's ever so many kinds I want to get."
To their great surprise, Aunt Emma agreed quite willingly to the scheme as
soon as she was told of it. She saw nothing to object to in it, she said,
and it never entered her head to think that the walk might be too long for
either of them. "If Saturday turns out wet or rough, you needn't go,"
she said cheerfully.
"I should have to if I'd got customers waiting," thought Bella; but she did
not argue the point; she was thankful to have won the permission she
wanted, and too fearful of losing it, to run any risks.
How the four children lived through the excitement of the next few days
they scarcely knew. For Charlie and Margery there was disappointment
mingled with the excitement,--disappointment that they could not go too;
but there was much that was thrilling, even for those who stayed at home,
and they were promised that they should walk out along the road to meet
the others at about the time they would be expected back.
Tom, on the whole, got the most enjoyment out of it all, because for Bella
there was a good deal of nervous dread mingled with the excitement and
pleasure.
"I do hope I meet with nice customers," she said to Aunt Maggie the day
before, when she went down to ask her to help her re-trim her rather
shabby Sunday hat for her. "I hope they don't speak sharp when they say
they don't want any flowers."
"You generally find folks speak to you as you speak to them," said Aunt
Maggie consolingly. "If you are civil, you will most likely meet with
civility from others. Look, I've got a large shallow basket here that I
thought would do nicely to hold your flowers and show them off prettily.
The cover will help to keep them fresh. You'll have to be up early to
gather them, child. And do give them a drink of water before you start.
You'll find they'll last fresh twice as long. In fact, I believe it would
be even better to gather them the evening before, and let them stand in
water all night, then you would only have to arrange them in bunches
before you start."
Bella thanked her delightedly, and ran off home with her new basket and
her old hat, feeling as proud and pleased as any child in the land.
That night she went to bed early, but scarcely a wink did she sleep, and
glad enough she was when the old grandfather's clock in the kitchen at
last struck four. She got up then, and very quietly began to dress
herself, after which she called Tom. It was early, but not too early,
considering all that they had to do. For this once, at any rate, the
flowers had to be gathered and arranged in bunches and given a drink.
Bella and Tom had to dress themselves in their best, and make themselves
look as neat and nice as possible, and walk the five miles and be in
Norton in good time, for Aunt Maggie had told them that the ladies of the
place would most probably be the best and most pleasant customers, and
that as a rule they went out to do their shopping as soon as they could
after breakfast.
"You ought to be there by ten at he latest," she had said, and Bella
promised not to be later.