"Girls," said Esther solemnly, as she hurried down the garden to where
they were sitting, "I've got a lot to talk about. Let's go somewhere
where we can be quiet."
There was a door in one wall of the garden, which led out directly on to
the moor. Penelope had already discovered this, and at once led her
sisters through it. At no great distance up the slope was a large group
of rocks, which afforded them seats and shelter; it had other advantages,
too, for from it they could look along the winding road, or down on the
river and the cottages. Here the four of them ensconced themselves, with
Guard beside them, and the three looked eagerly at their eldest sister.
"What is it?" asked Penelope.
"It isn't bad news from mother, is it?" gasped Angela, with a frightened
face.
Esther sat looking very grave and absorbed, yet eager. "There is so much
to say I hardly know where to begin," she said at last, and the excitement
of the others increased.
"Begin anywhere," urged Poppy, who was not noted for her patience, and the
others echoed her suggestion.
Methodical Esther, though, began at the beginning, and at great length
told her story. The others listened with interest, but only Angela
sympathised with Esther entirely. Penelope and Poppy were impressed,
but they did not feel her peculiar horror of the situation as Angela did,
nor her sensitive pride and shame. They grew more alert, though, when
she, having finished her story of the letter, said gravely, "Girls, we've
all got to do something, and I'll tell you what we've got to do."
"What?" they demanded in one breath.
"Well, we've got to save Cousin Charlotte all we can, and not cost a penny
more than we can help."
"Must I only eat a very little teeny tiny bit?" asked Poppy gravely.
Esther laughed.
"Oh no, dear, you must eat as much as you want, or Cousin Charlotte will
be angry. But we must manage so that she won't have to have another
servant, and if we all help Anna and do a lot of the work, I don't think
she need. We managed with only Lydia at home. But what I want most of
all is to try and earn some money so as to be able to give it to Cousin
Charlotte for what we cost her. But I can't think of _any_ way, can you?
Do let's try and think of something," she ended anxiously. "I am sure I
would if I only knew how. I wish we weren't all so small."
"I saw a littler girl than me selling bootlaces once," said Poppy eagerly.
"I could do that."
They all laughed, and the laugh inspirited them; the four faces grew
bright and eager, the four brains went to work busily, and the maddest,
wildest schemes chased each other through those little heads.
At dinner Miss Ashe was struck by the air of gravity which hung over them.
She feared they must be tired or homesick, or suffering from the change of
air, and grew quite troubled. They disclaimed all three when questioned,
and spoke quite cheerfully when spoken to, and apparently were quite well;
it seemed to be more an abstraction that enveloped them than depression.
Poppy at last gave a clue to their feelings. "We are finding," she said,
looking at Miss Charlotte, as though she felt some explanation were
necessary; but catching Esther's warning glance she said no more.
"We must not let Cousin Charlotte know," Esther had said. "She is so kind
she would not like us to worry, so we won't say anything about it to her
if we can help."
"We'll s'prise her," Poppy had cried gleefully; so, catching Esther's eye,
she remembered, and grew silent again, leaving Cousin Charlotte more
puzzled than ever.
"I wonder," said Miss Charlotte, as they rose from the table, "I wonder if
you children would mind going to Mrs. Bennett's for me for some rice.
Anna tells me she has run out of it. You haven't seen our shops yet, have
you?"
"Shops! Oh no, we didn't know there were any." And off they ran
delightedly and put on their hats at once. Esther took her purse with her
too. She wanted to change the sovereign; she was so dreadfully afraid of
losing it, and several silver and copper coins seemed safer than one small
gold one.
Mrs. Bennett's shop was not difficult to find. Just beyond Miss Ashe's
house, round a bend in the road, they found themselves in what was called
'the street.' There were at least a dozen cottages close together;
a little further on were two or three more, and up the hill were scattered
others, at greater distances apart. The children were perfectly
delighted. Here was life and interest in plenty, and Moor Cottage was not
so lonely as they had imagined.
The shops were in two of the first group of cottages they came to, and
here was more delight--a perfect feast. Such fascinating windows they
had, so full of all sorts of interesting things, and all at such
reasonable prices too, or so it seemed to the children.
Mrs. Bennett's held groceries and drapery, and boots and writing-paper,
kettles and saucepans, little china images and 'surprise' packets.
Mrs. Vercoe's held ironmongery and drapery, and dolls and groceries,
sweets and toys of various sorts, bread, cakes and books. Mrs. Bennett
sold china too, and glass, some homely medicines, and hoops and thimbles
and skipping-ropes. Mrs. Vercoe included cheese and bacon, rope and
twine, and baskets.
Of the two they were most drawn to Mrs. Vercoe's. Her stock appealed to
them more. But as they had been told to go to Mrs. Bennett, thither they
went; and Mrs. Bennett, who kept the post office too, sold Esther some
stamps and changed her sovereign for her, and while they gazed fascinated
about her shop, she gazed at them with frank curiosity. But nothing she
could say could draw them into conversation. For some reason, they could
not have said what, they did not like her. It may have been that she
'talked fine,' as her neighbours said, and minced her words in a somewhat
affected way, or that she seemed very inquisitive, or that her rather cold
manner unconsciously offended them. The children could not have explained
why it was, but fascinating though the shop was, they hurried away from it
and crossed the road to Mrs. Vercoe's.
Mrs. Vercoe's window was certainly more enticing to them than Mrs.
Bennett's. A prolonged and critical gaze showed them not only all the
things already mentioned, but dear little rough red pitchers which would
hold just half a pint, and a larger size which would hold a pint; packets
of flower-seeds with gay pictures on the outside, and only a penny each;
the pitchers were only a penny and twopence; there were the dearest little
watering-cans too, and fancy handkerchiefs with a nursery rhyme round the
border, and funny little books, with roughly done pictures in the
brightest of colours, and money-boxes, some like little houses, others
representing miniature letter-boxes.
Angela longed and longed for a pitcher. Poppy wanted a penny
watering-can, painted bright red inside, and green out. Penelope wanted a
book and some sweets, and Esther a money-box, that she might begin to save
at once.
"_Do_ let's go inside," whispered Penelope. "There may be lots of other
things inside."
"But wouldn't it look rude to come out of one shop and go right into
another?" asked Esther, who was really as interested as Penelope.
"Can't we walk on a little way, and then on our way back go in as though
we had just seen something we wanted?" suggested Angela, who was an adept
at trying to spare people's feelings. "P'r'aps Mrs. Bennett won't be in
her shop by that time."
They all agreed to this, and sauntered on with a simulated air of
unconcern. They walked on past all the cottages, keeping to the wide
granite road which led with many windings up and up a hill beyond the
village. How far they went they had no idea, but by and by they heard a
clock strike in the distance.
"I do believe we have come to a town, or something," said Penelope
excitedly. "There isn't a church or a big clock in Dorsham, only a
chapel. Let's go on and see."
But Esther checked her enthusiasm. "We had better not stay away too long,
or Cousin Charlotte may be frightened, and we want to stop at Mrs.
Vercoe's before we go home. Let's go there now, shall we?"
The suggestion was seconded with alacrity. But if they thought that their
little manoeuvrings were going to blind Mrs. Bennett, or spare her
feelings, they made a mistake. They had yet to learn that no single thing
happened in Dorsham 'street,' no single person went up it or down, without
the fact being known sooner or later--generally on the instant--to every
dweller therein; and for four strangers, newly come to live in the place,
to expect to escape notice was absurd.
The only result of their plan was to attract more attention to themselves;
but of this they were happily unconscious, and once inside the little,
low, dim, crowded place, their joy seemed unbounded. If Mrs. Bennett had
repelled them, plump, jolly-looking Mrs. Vercoe, with her round rosy face
and kindly, smiling eyes, attracted them at once.
"Well, my dears," she said warmly, "and what can I do for you to-day?"
There was a delicious smell of hot cake pervading the place, and Mrs.
Vercoe herself had come out streaked with flour, and carrying a big black
'sheath' full of new currant cakes and buns.
"I--I hardly know," said Esther. "There are such lots of nice things
here," she added politely. "Do you mind if we look about for a few
minutes first?"
"Look about to your heart's content, my dear," she said genially.
"Well, little missie," to Poppy, "'tis nice to see so many young ladies
about Dorsham; 'tis what we ain't over-blessed with. I'm afraid you'll
find it dull without any little companions; 'tis very quiet here, not that
I'm complaining," she added hastily, afraid of seeming disloyal to her
native place. "And what do 'ee think of our village?" she asked, seeing
Penelope's eyes fixed interestedly on her. "Fine and lonely I reckon it
looks to strangers, but 'tis airy," with a little laugh, "and bootiful air
too. Makes 'ee hungry, I expect, missie, don't it? Could 'ee eat a new
bun now?"
Penelope was about to decline, thinking it would be correct to do so,
but her finer natural instinct told her that it might be politer to
accept, and in response to Mrs. Vercoe's bidding she helped herself.
The old dame delightedly invited them all to do the same. Angela and
Poppy accepted; Esther held back with shy reluctance.
"Oh no, thank you," she said. "We are so many."
"Well, they'm only farden buns," said Mrs. Vercoe, with a little chuckle;
"but p'r'aps you'd rather have one of these," and she held out to Esther
an apple. Esther felt more embarrassed than ever. Mrs. Vercoe seemed to
think she had declined the bun because she wanted something better.
"Oh no, thank you," she said, with a great effort. "I like the buns very
much, but I am not hungry. We had dinner just before we came out."
Mrs. Vercoe laid the apple down without saying any more; but Esther
thought she looked rather hurt, and felt that it would have been more
tactful to have taken it. To break the awkward pause which followed, she
plunged into business.
"Please how much each are those little pitchers?" she asked hastily.
"Tuppence, missie," said Mrs. Vercoe, as pleasantly as ever, to Esther's
great relief. "And the littler ones are a penny."
"May I have one of the tiny ones?" whispered Angela eagerly.
"It was for you I wanted it," said Esther, who would have liked one for
herself, too. "Aren't they dears!"
"I must look 'ee out a perfect one," said Mrs. Vercoe, tapping up one
after another and rapping them with her knuckles. "They'm terrible things
for getting chipped. There, I think those are all right."
Angela, in a high state of delight, chose the one she thought the
prettiest. Poppy, meanwhile, was tugging at Esther's skirt. She had been
very quiet for some time, absorbed in a boxful of the packets of
flower-seeds, with gay pictures outside.
"Esther, may I have a packet of seeds? and one of those dear dinkey little
watering-cans? May I, Essie? Do say 'yes,' please do."
Poppy was not only fascinated, but she was possessed by a sudden,
brilliant idea which the packets of seeds had suggested. She could not
rest until Esther had consented, and she could not keep from dancing with
excitement as she bent over the box, trying to make a selection.
"Bless her pretty face," cried Mrs. Vercoe, much amused. The old lady was
as delighted with her customers as though they were spending pounds
instead of pennies. Penelope, meanwhile, was perched on a corner of a
sugar-box, absorbed in one of the funny little books which were lying in a
pile on the counter, and was quite oblivious of all that was going on
around her.
Esther paid for Poppy's purchases. "And will you take for the book, too,
please," she said, as she held out a shilling. "The book my sister is
reading." She blushed as she spoke, for she was shocked at Penelope's
behaviour.
But Mrs. Vercoe would not hear of it. "Why no, my dear; 'tisn't likely
she'd be wanting to buy it now she mostly knows what's in it.
You'd rather have another, wouldn't you, missie? and it don't make no
manner of diff'rence to me."
Penelope looked up with a start, and blushed too, but an end to the
discussion was put by Poppy, who came up very excitedly with a packet of
parsley seed in her hand. It was not one of those with a picture on the
outside, but a larger, plainer packet.
"Please, how much is this?" she asked eagerly.
"Ah, you wouldn't like that, dearie, that isn't pretty. It's parsley.
Very good parsley it is, but it don't have no pretty flowers."
"I know," said Poppy, nodding her head vigorously. "How much does it
cost?"
"A penny."
"Well, I'll take it, please, instead of the other," and she held out her
hand for the packet as though she was afraid of having it wrested from
her.
Mrs. Vercoe held it while her eyes searched Esther's face. It seemed to
her such an extraordinary choice for a tiny child to make. She was
reluctant to let her have it. "Hadn't she better have the one she chose
first?" she asked anxiously. But Esther was accustomed to her sister's
vagaries.
"No, thank you. I expect she would rather have this. Perhaps she thinks
she gets more."
Poppy smiled, and pursed her lips, and hugged her secret to herself
delightedly.
Then, having paid for Penelope's book, and bought some sweets for them
all, Esther led her little troop out of the shop and home.
Miss Ashe was out when the children returned, so they strolled into the
garden to amuse themselves as best they could. But the garden was too
neat and well-tended to allow of much in the way of games, so very soon
they wandered further, and escaped on to the moor, Penelope with her new
book, Esther with another book and the sweets, Angela carrying her beloved
pitcher. Guard followed them devotedly.
Poppy, though, decided to remain behind. She did not say so; nor did
they, so busy were they with their plans, at first notice her absence.
Miss Ashe's garden was a large one. In Dorsham land was of little value,
and one could have almost as much as one chose, if one took the trouble to
enclose it. The Moor Cottage garden was large enough to allow of its
being divided up into several small ones, the dividing being done chiefly
to provide shelter from the storms which so often swept over the moor,
though the strong stout walls provided excellent space for fruit-trees.
Poppy, when she saw she was alone, walked quickly from one part of the
garden to another, looking about her eagerly, her watering-can in her
hand, her packet of seeds in her pocket. No one else was about. Anna was
in the kitchen, she heard her voice there, singing hymns; Ephraim, whom
she was most afraid of meeting, was away, apparently. Probably he had
gone to Gorley with Miss Charlotte's broken glasses. Having made quite
sure that she had the place to herself, Poppy carefully deposited her can
on the ground, and ran to a corner where she had seen some tools stacked.
There were a spade, a large fork, a rake, and a little fork. Poppy seized
the spade, but after she had struggled with it a few yards and tumbled
down twice, she exchanged it for the little fork.
Close by where she had dropped her can was a neat square bed of nice
earth, all beautifully sifted and raked over. This pleased her critical
eye immensely. With the fork she made several little holes not far from
the edge, then she got out her packet of seeds and opened it.
"What _lots_!" she cried delightedly, and proceeded to place carefully one
seed in each hole. But the seeds she planted seemed not to lessen the
number in the packet in the least. "I must make another row," she
murmured, and carefully covering in the first holes, she stepped on the
bed and made some more.
When she had made a third row and filled them in she sighed a little.
Before she had finished she had had to commandeer the whole of the bed,
and was weary and confused. There seemed to be nothing but footprints all
over it, and where the seed was, or how to make the earth look nice and
smooth again so that no one should guess her secret, she was puzzled to
know. She could have cried with weariness, but she bravely kept back her
tears with the thought of the splendid thing she had done, and the delight
and surprise there would be when her secret came to light. While she was
standing looking in some dismay at the trampled bed, she remembered the
rake standing in the corner.
It was heavy, so heavy she could hardly carry it, and far too clumsy for
her to wield properly, but she worked bravely, and tried to forget her
aches; she had not a very critical eye either, and soon the bed, to her
eyes, looked quite neat and tidy. Then came the crowning moment. At the
water-tap, which stood over a butt sunk in the ground by one of the paths,
she filled her new water-can, and proceeded to give her seeds a good
watering.
This was joy indeed, pure joy. The can poured splendidly, Poppy was
delighted. She had to run many times to the tap to get water enough for
the whole bed, and by the time it was done to her satisfaction her
pinafore was well soaked, and she herself was almost too weary to stand.
Her task was perfected, but when she looked down over herself, at her
mud-clogged shoes, her dripping clothes, her begrimed hands, and realised
what she would have to go through in the way of questioning and scolding,
her spirits sank altogether. Cousin Charlotte or Anna she dared not face.
Her only resource was to try to find Esther, or the others. They would
scold too, but she knew them and their scoldings; they were not very bad,
and were soon over. With the aid of the fork she managed to lift the
latch of the garden door, and stepped out on the great wide waste; but in
all the length and breadth of it, as far as her eyes could see, she caught
no glimpse of the others. They were nowhere in sight, and the moor looked
big, and lonely, and frightening.
Poppy felt very forlorn, and miserable, and homesick, standing there in
that great waste; and under the weight of her troubles her lip began to
quiver, though she did her best to steady it. She dared not go indoors,
and she was too weary to go in search of the others, so she crept up the
slope to the nearest rocks large enough to hide her, determined to sit
there and wait until she saw the others coming home, when she would call
to them. She slipped off her pinafore, spread it on the ground to dry,
and with much care and trouble cleaned first her hands and then her boots
on the short coarse grass, after which, utterly weary, she lay down
herself and knew no more.