"Now then, Anna," said Miss Ashe at last, "we really must show these poor
children their rooms, and let them wash and refresh themselves before tea;
they must be longing to, and I am sure they are famished--aren't you,
children?"
They remembered their 'tea' at three o'clock, and blushed; but that really
did seem hours ago now, and they honestly were very hungry again.
Perhaps the moor air had something to answer for already.
"Well, come along," said Miss Ashe, while, murmuring something about hot
water, she bustled off to the kitchen. "No, Guard, you must wait down
here," said his mistress, as he rose to follow them; and with his feet on
the bottom stair he stood still, gazing after them longingly, but without
attempting to follow.
At the right of the hall was an archway, and going up a step and through
this, the children found themselves in another little hall, with doors on
two sides of it, and a staircase at the back, all completely cut off from
the view from the front door. The stairs were so wide and shallow they
tripped as they followed Miss Ashe up them. At the top they found
themselves in a little gallery which ran all round with several doors
opening into it.
"Now, my chicks," said Miss Charlotte, throwing open the first door they
came to, "you must settle amongst yourselves which two shall share a room,
and which room you will have."
The children, greatly excited, poured after her into what they all thought
the sweetest, loveliest bedroom they had ever seen in their lives--which
it certainly was. The walls were covered with a pretty creamy paper
festooned all over with bunches of pink-tipped daisies tied together with
blue ribbons; two little white beds, with snowy curtains and quilts, stood
with a table between them. But most fascinating of all was the long, low,
lattice-window with its white dimity curtains, and frill across the top.
They flew to it to look out, and there before them lay the river winding
in and out on its crooked course, and beyond it the moor stretching away,
as far as the eye could see, to where, in the distance, it melted into the
sky. The beauty of it so fascinated them that it was not until later they
noticed all the remaining charms of the room--the little white bookcase
full of books, the chairs on either side of the windows, the two white
chests of drawers, one for each of them, and provided with a key, too,
and the charming blue carpet on the floor.
"I hope we don't do any harm," said Esther nervously. To her, accustomed
to the shabby bare rooms at home, ill-kept and untidy, it looked almost
too dainty and pretty to use.
"I am quite sure you will not," said Miss Ashe, who appeared to have no
fears. "Now this is the sunniest side of the house, and I think, perhaps,
the Poppy ought to have the sun."
Poppy laughed. The idea pleased her, and, as though to claim possession,
threw her hat on to one of the chairs.
"Now, come along, or tea will be ready before we are." Out they trooped
excitedly, each delighted in her own particular way. "That is my room,"
said Miss Ashe, touching the next door, which was closed. "My window
looks towards the station, along the road we came just now." She did not
say she had given up the pretty room they had just quitted, in order that
they might have the sunshine.
At the back of the square gallery she threw open another door. "This is
your other room," she said; and Penelope, who was standing by her, gave
one long, low cry of pleasure, and was across the room in a moment.
"Oh!" she gasped, "oh my!" She could not find words to express the
feelings which rushed over her as her eyes fell on the view without--the
pretty garden full of flowers, enclosed within a stone wall, and beyond
that the old brown moor stretching far and wide in every direction, until
it broke like a brown sea about the foot of the distant hills. Here and
there were lesser tors and piles of rock, and little footpaths through the
heather, and pools which gleamed with a cold light in the light of the
evening sky. It was wild, weird, fascinating.
"I think you, at any rate, should have this room," said Miss Ashe,
smiling, well pleased at Penelope's delight. The rest of the children
were looking interestedly about them. "As this has a colder aspect I
thought it should be made to look warmer," Miss Ashe explained; and indeed
the warm red carpet, and the dark-red roses nestling against deep-green
leaves on the walls, gave it a very cosy, comfortable look.
Esther felt soothed and calmed already. The air of comfort and neatness,
the good taste that met them on all sides, gave her such a sense of
pleasure and ease as she had never known before. This was just how things
should look, how she had always wanted them to look, and had never been
able to get them to, or make the others understand.
"How do you think you will manage?" said Miss Ashe, turning to Esther.
"Don't you think you and the baby here had better be together in the other
room, so that you may be able to help her a little? I have only the one
servant yet, so we must manage to do as best we can for the time.
I think these two," laying a hand on Angela and Penelope, "had better stay
here;" a plan they all heartily agreed with. Then, after providing them
with brushes and combs until they could unpack their own, Miss Ashe went
away, and left them to prepare themselves for tea.
And here, perhaps, it would be as well to give you some idea of what the
four little Carrolls were like at this time, for one's first question
generally, on hearing any one spoken of, is, "Is she pretty?" or, "What is
she like?" and quite naturally, too, for people only seem real to us when
we are able to picture them in our own minds as they really are.
Well, Esther Carroll at this time was a tall, thin girl, with a grave face
and fine expressive grey eyes. She was not pretty, but she would have
been what is generally described as 'nice-looking' if her face had not
been almost always spoilt by her worried, cross expression. She was a
tall, graceful girl, with a good carriage, well-shaped hands and feet, a
good complexion, and an abundance of long light-brown hair. She took
great pains that her hair should look well-kept and glossy, and it hung
long, straight, and gleaming, to below her waist.
Penelope was shorter and broader, altogether a more portly little person,
with a clever face, dreamy, questioning grey eyes, and a nose which was
decidedly a snub--a fact there was no getting over, though Penelope often
tried. Her hair, which was short and curly, was not so golden as
Esther's; it had deeper, redder tints in it.
Angela was more like Esther in appearance than either of the others.
She was a lanky, overgrown little person at nine years of age, but her
long, shapely feet and hands gave promise of a graceful woman by and by.
She had long, fair hair like Esther's too, but Angela's had a beautiful
wave in it. Her eyes, blue and soft, and appealing as her warm
affectionate nature, looked out of a beautiful child-like face, full of
gentleness and love.
Then came the Poppy, the pet and plaything and ruler of them all,
a little round, dark-haired, brown-eyed contrast to the others,
who demanded love and got it, giving it in return when she chose,
and that was not always to those who asked most loudly for it.
Fearless, outspoken, and quick, Poppy had none of Penelope's dreaminess,
or Esther's anxiousness, or Angela's timidity. She was eminently a
practical little person, with deep thoughts and plans of her own, and a
will to carry them through.
They had had a rough, uncared-for upbringing, which had made Esther
perhaps a little masterful and grown-up in her ways and ideas,
and Penelope, somewhat careless, had not checked Angela's nervousness or
Poppy's independence, but they were all honest and truthful, and full of
good instincts; and as they stood looking out of the windows of their new
home at the new strange world beyond, each in her own way was determining
to make the best of her new life, and be good.
But they dared not linger at the windows.
"Tea may be ready even now, and Cousin Charlotte is perhaps a very
particular and punctual person," said Esther, and taking Poppy by the hand
they started to go down. But at the top of the stairs they found Penelope
and Angela debating and looking about them nervously.
"Ought we to go down, or ought we to wait till we are called?" asked
Angela, turning to Esther, with relief at leaving it to some one else to
decide. "Would it be rude to seem in a hurry, or to keep Miss Charlotte
waiting?"
Esther could throw no light on the dreadful problem, there were so many
things to think of. If they went down they would not know where to go,
and if they stayed in their rooms Cousin Charlotte might wait and wait for
them, thinking they were not ready.
"Anyhow, we can't stand here," whispered Penelope. "It will look as
though we are listening and prying. Let's go back to our rooms--and yet--
oh dear, Cousin Charlotte may be down there now, at this very moment,
getting angry with us and thinking how long we take getting ready, and we
don't really."
Esther's temper suddenly gave way. "I do wish one knew what to do,
always," she said crossly. "But mother never taught us things like this--
yet we are expected to know--"
"P'r'aps it doesn't really matter," whispered Angela, who could not bear
to hear her mother spoken harshly of.
"Oh yes, it does," snapped Esther. "It makes all the difference."
"P'r'aps they'll ring a bell when tea is ready," chimed in Poppy, with
sudden inspiration, "then we will know." And sure enough at that moment a
bell did ring down below, and settled the difficulty. In their relief
Penelope and Angela started off with a rush.
"Oh, girls, don't hurry so," cried Esther nervously. "It looks so bad, as
though we had been waiting."
So the impetuous ones slackened their pace, and four very demure little
maidens entered the dining-room a moment later in a manner as decorous and
restrained as the most polite could wish.
And what a charming scene it was that met their eyes--one that all the
four appreciated to the full: a long, low room with a French window
standing wide open to the garden just a step or two below. On the evening
breeze wafted in the scent of mignonette and flowers, and the low sleepy
clucking of the hens, about to go to roost. Near the window stood the
table, with a silver kettle boiling merrily on its stand, and fruit and
flowers and pretty china in abundance, all looking as dainty and tempting
as heart could desire. There was an abundance too of more substantial
fare, eggs and fish, and jam and cream, a tart, and a big home-made loaf;
and the scent of the flowers and the tea all mingled together in a most
appetising whole.
To the children it all seemed wonderful, exquisite; and for the first time
they realised how hungry they were. Penelope's eyes wandered through the
window to the flower-beds outside.
"Oh, what a lovely garden!" she cried, struck at once by the beauty of its
well-kept air, and the cared-for look of everything. Then she grew silent
as her thoughts flew back with tender pity to the old beloved untidy
Framley garden, and she felt a twinge of remorse that she had not tried to
do something with it--it might perhaps have been made to look like this.
Then, at a word from Miss Ashe, they turned away from the window to the
tea-table.
While the children were taking their places she made the tea.
"Now," she said, as she drew the cosy over the teapot, "which of you will
say grace?"
The four looked from one to the other dismayed. Esther and Penelope's
cheeks flamed hotly, Angela looked puzzled. Poppy alone spoke.
"What is 'grace'?" she asked innocently.
Miss Ashe grasped the situation in a moment, and, though her heart sank a
little in dismay at their ignorance, she showed no sign. "It is a little
prayer we say before a meal, to ask God's blessing on what He has given
us, and we say one again at the end to thank Him for it."
"We never say anything at home," said Poppy, with childlike candour.
"What do you say, Cousin Charlotte?"
"Put your hands together, dear, and bow your head, and you shall hear.
It is very simple; you will be able to say it too in a day or so.
Now," bowing her head reverently, "For what we are about to receive, O
Lord make us truly thankful. Amen." Then Miss Ashe raised her head, and
the children followed suit.
"I've read in some of my books of people who said grace," said Angela,
"but I didn't know that people really did it."
Cousin Charlotte's face was very grave. "A great many do, and a great
many more do not, but every one should. Don't you yourselves feel that
you want to, dears? You say 'Thank you!' to any one who gives you even
the least little trifle. You have just said 'Thank you!' to me for the
cup of tea I handed you; then surely much more should you say it to the
good God who gives you everything. Don't you see, darling?"
"Yes, I see," said Penelope soberly. "I wish I had thought of it before.
How ungrateful we must seem to God! I wonder He goes on being good to
people if they never seem grateful."
"God is so tender, and loving, and forgiving. He does not punish us
because we are ungrateful, and forget Him; but, though what is done in
ignorance is excusable, when we know and yet forget Him we are committing
a sinful and ungrateful act."
Poppy sat drinking in eagerly all that was said. "I'll try to remember,
Cousin Charlotte," she said seriously. And Cousin Charlotte smiled, and
blinked her eyes rather hard for a moment and laid one hand on Poppy's
tiny hand resting on the table by her. Then the meal began in earnest.
And oh what a meal it was! The children were wildly hungry, and the new
fare was so tempting compared with what they had been accustomed to at
home. Then, when it was over, and that was not very quickly, and grace
had been said, they all strolled out through the open window and down the
steps to the sweet-scented garden, where they wandered about until it was
time to go in and unpack their boxes, and put Poppy to bed.
It was great fun unpacking and laying away their things in the places
meant for them, though there was so little to lay away it looked quite
lost in the deep drawers and cupboards. Esther felt horribly ashamed as
she wondered what Miss Ashe and Anna would think when they came and saw
them. At the same time it was great fun running from room to room to look
for missing articles. One of Poppy's shoes was in one box, and the other
in the one Penelope was unpacking in her room. Then no nightgowns could
be found until, after a long search, they were discovered at the very
bottom of one of the boxes underneath the toys they had insisted on
bringing.
"I don't think the boots ought to have been put in last," said Esther
gravely. "Your old boots were right on top of my best hat, and the crown
has been doubled right in. Look, Pen."
Penelope looked at it with serious consideration.
"What a pity! I believe," she added, after vainly trying again and again
to make the crown stay up, "I believe you will have to pretend this is how
it ought to be."
The Carroll children had had so little in the way of hats and clothes, and
so seldom a pretty thing, they thought very little about dress, so the
catastrophe did not affect them as it would have vainer children; and, in
any case, their minds were too full now of other things to have much time
to spare for trouble.
That night as soon as they were in bed they fell asleep, and slept like
tops; their long day had tired them out, and the moor air made them
sleepy, so sleepy that when morning came they slept on and on, in spite of
the sun shining outside, and the birds calling, and the voices of the men
and boys shouting 'Good mornin'!' 'Bootiful day,' to each other as they
went on their way to their work.
When Esther did awaken at last it was to find Anna knocking at her door,
and calling, "Time to get up, young ladies; it is half-past seven, and
breakfast will be ready at half-past eight. Are you awake, missie?"
"Come in," called Esther in a very sleepy tone, stretching herself
luxuriously in her comfortable bed. They had rarely known the luxury of
being called--never, certainly, of having hot water brought them.
Anna opened the door, and her big person filled the aperture. When she
caught sight of Poppy's dark head so still and quiet on the pillow, she
came further in. "Well, I never!" she breathed softly, as she gently
placed down the can of hot water, "how sound she do sleep, the pretty
dear; it do seem a shame to wake her. P'r'aps she'd better 'bide on for a
bit, and rest herself."
"Oh no," said Esther, rousing herself. "Poppy is all right, she is a
dreadful sleepy-head. Poppy!" she called, raising herself on one elbow,
"Poppy! Wake up! It will soon be breakfast time, and Cousin Charlotte
will be awfully angry if you are late."
"Ah, now, it do seem crool to frighten her like that," said Anna, half
smiling, half troubled.
Poppy stirred herself, opened her dark eyes, and then, recognising her new
surroundings, sat bolt upright in bed, looking about her with deep
interest, but no sign of alarm or fear.
"I couldn't think where I was, just at first," she exclaimed in a sleepy
voice. "It's Tousin Charlotte's. Is it time to get up? Oh how lovely!
Now we've got all day to go and look at where we are."
She was out of bed at once, dancing about on her little white toes, her
short curls all tumbled about her pretty flushed face.
"Now I'm going on to call your sisters," said Anna. "The bath water is
all ready, missie; you've only got to turn the tap to get it just to your
liking. You know where the bathroom is, don't you?"
"Bags I bath first!" shouted Poppy, who, all the while Anna had been
speaking had been edging nearer and nearer the door; and with a triumphant
laugh she had flown along the corridor and shut herself in before any one
could stop her.
Esther felt distinctly aggravated. She had considered herself obliged by
politeness to remain in bed and give Anna her undivided attention while
she was talking, and now Poppy, troubled by no such scruples, had taken
this mean advantage. She would really have to be kept in better order,
and taught to behave. Anna went away to call the others.
"Well, she hasn't got any towels, or sponge, or anything," said Esther,
looking about the room. "Serve her right, she deserves--oh dear! I forgot
the water would be hot; she's sure to scald herself, Or do something mad
with the taps or the water. I _must_ go and see to her."
At home the bathroom had had no bolt or lock on the door, and she would
have gained admission at once by simply storming it. But here, as yet,
she felt constrained to do things in a more gentle manner. So she crept
softly along the corridor and tapped at the door lightly. "Poppy," she
pleaded in an anxious whisper, "Poppy, do open the door, and let me get
the bath ready for you. I am sure you will scald yourself, or swamp the
house. _Do_ let me in, dear; just think how angry Cousin Charlotte would
be if any accident were to happen."
But no answer came to her pleading. "Poppy," more seriously, "do you hear
me! Let me in at once, as I tell you." But the only response was a
mighty rush of water and a great splashing, and Esther retreated,
defeated, to nurse her wrath and await Miss Poppy's return.
"I do hope the children won't behave like savages," she muttered angrily,
"and so disgrace us all." And a few moments later she had cause to echo
this wish, for with a good deal of rattle and noise the bathroom door was
flung open, and Poppy, having discovered nothing to dry herself with, flew
dripping back to her bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footmarks all along
the speckless carpets.
It really was enough to make Esther very cross, and it did, and Miss Poppy
was rubbed dry with more vigour than she at all appreciated, a vigour
which was not lessened by a rush from the other bedroom and the capture of
the bathroom by Penelope. Esther felt very injured. As eldest she
considered she had the first right. On her way back again, Penelope,
unconscious of the state of feeling in the blue bedroom, unceremoniously
opened their door and popped her head in. "How are you?" she asked, her
face all beaming with smiles.
"I don't know how I am, but I know how I shall be," said Esther tartly.
"I shall be late, and it won't be my fault."
To Penelope this seemed a matter too trifling to think of.
"Isn't everything jolly?" she breathed loudly, remembering suddenly that
Miss Charlotte was in the next room. "I couldn't think where I was when I
woke up, it was so funny--"
"Go and dress," said Esther, "or you--oh, it really is too bad!" she
exclaimed abruptly as a soft swish along the corridor and the click of a
latch told her that she had been again forestalled, and Angela was now in
possession of the bathroom. "I ought to go first, because I am the
eldest, and Poppy last because she is the youngest."
Poppy chuckled, "_I_ was first and _you'll_ be last, to-day," she said
aggravatingly.
"I didn't know it mattered, as long as we all got washed," said Penelope,
and finding the atmosphere uncongenial, began edging away.
"It matters very much," said Esther with dignity. "I have to dress Poppy,
and tidy the room. If I am dressed first I can--" but Penelope had melted
away, and Poppy was kneeling by her bed, saying her prayers. Esther could
have cried with annoyance.
She was ready in time after all, but barely. She was just fastening her
frock when the bell rang, and her waistband she put on as she went down
the stairs. A frown still rested on her face and she felt very cross.
She had not said her prayers, and she had not been able to put her room
tidy as she meant to, and she felt that her first morning, that she had
thought would have been so lovely, was quite spoilt.