Esther, Penelope, and Angela reached home at just about what they thought
must be tea-time. They came in the way they had gone out, through the
garden door. In the garden path they saw Poppy's new watering-can lying.
They expected to see Poppy too, but she did not appear, and the garden
seemed quite empty. She must have gone indoors, they concluded, and
Esther began to feel very compunctious for having left her alone so long.
With this feeling on her she hurried in to find her little sister,
but the house seemed quiet and empty too. They ran up to their own rooms.
No one was there. They came down and looked in the sitting-rooms,
Esther with a sudden fear that Poppy might be at some mischief; but both
rooms were quite empty. They next ran out and tapped at the kitchen door.
"Come in," said Anna cheerfully. She liked to have the children about
her.
"Is Poppy here?" asked Esther.
"Miss Poppy! No, miss. I haven't seen her since she went out with you."
"She hasn't been with us. We have been on the moor ever since, and she
must have stayed in the garden, but I can't see her there now. We saw her
little can in the path, that was all, and I can't find her in the house
anywhere. I thought perhaps she was here with you."
Anna looked anxious. "Have you been all over the house, miss?"
"I have been in our rooms and the dining-room and drawing-room, and we
have all called her, but we can't find her."
"I'd look again, miss, if I was you; look in the missus's room, and mine
too, if you like. I'd come with you, but I can't leave my bread for a few
minutes."
"Oh, we will find her," said Esther cheerfully, and they ran off again.
She was back in a short while, though, and not quite so cheerful. Just as
she reached the kitchen Ephraim came in at the other door.
"Who hev been meddlin' with my new turnip-bed?" he demanded. He did not
see Esther.
"What's the matter with your turnip-bed?" asked Anna shortly. She was
just lifting her loaves out of the oven, and it was a critical moment;
besides, Anna was always 'short' with Ephraim; she had a theory that it was
good for him.
"Why, it's in such a mess as you never saw in your life; anybody'd think
there'd been a month's rain emptied over it, and all the hens in Dorsham
scratching it over, and me only sowed the seeds this morning and left it
as tidy as ever you see a bed, only so long ago as dinner-time."
Anna, looking up, caught sight of Esther. "Have 'ee found her, missie?"
she asked, taking no further notice of Ephraim.
"No," said Esther anxiously, "she isn't in the house, I'm sure."
Anna always grew cross when she was frightened. "Here," she cried,
turning sharply on Ephraim, "never mind your old turnip-bed. You just
take and look for Miss Poppy; she's the youngest of our young ladies, a
little bit of a thing, and she's lost, so you'd best go and look for her
this very minute. Look in the garden first of all. Time enough to worry
about an old garden bed when the children's all safe."
Esther, in spite of her growing trouble, could not help laughing, their
speech sounded so odd and funny, and Ephraim's face was such a picture of
offended dignity.
Penelope meanwhile, without saying a word to any one, had gone down to the
garden again, and out on to the moor. She had a feeling that Poppy might
be out there somewhere. Very likely she had gone in search of them and
missed them.
Esther, not knowing this, followed Ephraim. "She couldn't come to any
harm, even if she opened the door and got out, could she?" she asked
eagerly.
Ephraim shook his head with ponderous gravity. "I wouldn't go for to say
so much as that," he said soberly, "there's wild beastes about in plenty
on these here moors."
"Wild beasts!" Esther almost screamed with horror at the thought.
She pictured her poor little Poppy flying shrieking before a cruel wolf,
frightened nearly to death, calling for help, for her sisters--and no one
near to save her. Beyond that she dared not let her imagination go.
She felt sick and almost fainting. "Do you mean wolves and bears, and--
and--"
"Well, no," said Ephraim slowly, as he searched a bed of young carrots as
though he thought Poppy might by chance have got under the feathery
leaves. "I won't say there are any of them there kinds exactly, but wild
cattle, and 'osses, and sheep; there's plenty 'nough of they about, and
they'm 'most so bad."
Esther's heart was relieved. ''Osses and cattle' seemed so very mild
after what she had pictured.
"I think we'd better go and look on the moor," she said impatiently, as
Ephraim showed every sign of making a prolonged search amongst the
sea-kale pots, taking the cover off each one in turn. Almost reluctantly
he followed her. In the path there still stood Poppy's little
watering-can. Esther's eyes filled with tears as she caught sight of it.
Ephraim saw it too, and picked it up.
"Perhaps we'd better take this here along as a clue," he said, looking
very wise.
Esther could not see what possible use it could be, or how it could help
them, but she consented in order to hurry him along; so off they went,
Ephraim carrying the tiny can. But hardly had they stepped through the
doorway than they saw that their search was ended. Poppy, led by
Penelope, was coming down the hill towards them.
"There she is! oh, there she is!" cried Esther, and flew up to meet them,
Ephraim following.
On getting outside, Penelope had, by good fortune, at first followed
almost exactly in Poppy's footsteps. By stopping to search every bush and
boulder she had got somewhat out of her way, but, as she was stooping to
look under a large clump of broom and gorse not so very far from where her
little sister lay asleep, something white fluttering about had caught her
eye. It was Poppy's pinafore, dried now by the breeze. A moment later
she caught sight of Poppy's shoes standing alone, without any wearer in
them. The sight of her little sister's clothes lying about the moor in
this fashion turned Penelope perfectly sick and cold with a horrible,
indescribable fear. With feet weighted with terror, and quivering limbs,
she hurried to the spot, and dropped on her knees half senseless by her
sister's body. A moment later all her terrors fled, replaced by a
wonderful ecstasy of thankfulness and joy. Poppy stirred, turned in her
sleep, and showed a dirty but rosy face to her frightened sister. In her
relief Penelope, with a shout of happiness, flung her arms about her and
hugged her.
Suddenly awakened, Poppy sat up and looked about her in a dazed way; then
her eyes fell on her muddy pinafore and boots, and a hot blush spread over
her baby face.
"I didn't mean to make my pinny dirty," she said anxiously, "but I
_touldn't_ help it; there was such a _lot_ of seed, and I _had_ to water
it, and the silly water would run out over the can, though I was _ever_
and _ever_ so careful."
"But how did you come to be lying here, darling?" said Pen, drawing her
little sister closer into her arms. In her relief she was quite unable to
scold her for the fright she had given them. "We left you in the garden.
You shouldn't have come out here alone. We thought you were lost, and we
were awfully frightened!"
Poppy sat up very erect. She suddenly felt herself very important and
interesting. "I wanted to find you and Essie. I was 'fraid to see Cousin
Charlotte with my dirty pinny on; and I came out here and you weren't
anywhere, and then I was _so_ tired I lay down. Oh, it took me such a
long time, but Mrs. Vercoe said it was _beautiful_ parsley. Do you think
it is beginning to grow yet, Pen?"
"I don't know," said Pen absently; "we must make haste back, now, to let
them know you are safe. You see, if you go getting lost, Cousin Charlotte
won't let us come out on the moor alone. Come along," raising her sister,
after putting on her shoes for her.
For a moment Poppy looked troubled, but quickly cheered up. "I don't fink
Cousin Charlotte will be cross when she knows," she said confidently.
"Knows what?" asked Penelope curiously.
"My secret," said Poppy solemnly. "I'll tell you if you'll promise not to
tell any one else." But at that moment all confidences were stopped by
the appearance of Esther and Ephraim.
Poppy accepted Esther's rapturous greeting calmly. She, of course, did
not realise yet the state of alarm they had all been in on her account;
her whole attention was absorbed by the sight of a strange man in
possession of her precious watering-can. It was too much for her to pass
unnoticed.
"That's my tan, please, I fink," she said politely but firmly, and Ephraim
felt his wisdom in bringing this means of identification had been fully
justified.
Happy and triumphant the whole party returned to the house, to be received
by Anna with open arms and a face beaming with joy. What did it matter if
Poppy's apron was covered with mud, and her frock and boots and hands the
same? Instead of being treated as a culprit, she was made a heroine of,
and appreciated the difference.
When Anna had finished crooning over her, and the story of the discovery
had been repeated more than once, she was taken upstairs by Esther, and
washed and changed, so that by the time Miss Ashe returned, instead of the
bedraggled, dirty little maiden of an hour before, she saw only a
perfectly neat and spotless one, and had no suspicion of all that had
taken place during her absence.
Ephraim came into the hall to speak to his mistress just as Poppy came
down the stairs.
"Well, Ephraim, how far did you get with your morning's work? Did you get
the turnip-seed planted?"
"Well, yes, ma'am, I did," said Ephraim slowly. "I made a nice bed for it
right there under the lew wall there in the far corner. But--well,
whatever has come to it since, it passes me to know; when I went away that
there bed was so smooth and tidy as my hand; when I comes back to it--
well, ma'am, you honestly might have knocked me flat with a feather, that
there newly made bed was--well, 'twas more like a mud-heap than anything
you ever saw in your life, ma'am, and trampled--well, out of all shape and
semblance. I neer see'd the likes of it in my life. So soon as it's
dried I'll have to go and do it all again, and have a second sowing, but
it'll be a day or so before it's fit to touch; 'tisn't no use to trust to
that first crop--it's my belief it's all ruined."
Poppy drew up suddenly on her way to the dining-room. Her face had grown
very red, her hands were working nervously. "You--oh, you mustn't disturb
it, please," she gasped. "I--I've planted some thing, and it mustn't be
disturbed, it's _very good_ seed, and I watered it to make it grow
quickly--it--it did look rather muddy, but--but it'll soon dry."
Ephraim stared in dumb bewilderment. Miss Ashe looked from him to the
child and back again, scarcely taking in the situation. She looked again
at Ephraim, but getting no help from him, she turned to Poppy.
"What do you mean, darling? Have you been sowing seeds?"
"Yes," said Poppy, but with marked hesitation. "You shall know soon, but
it's a secret now, and I mustn't tell, only I was afraid he,"--nodding at
Ephraim--"would dig them all up again."
"But, Poppy dear, you shouldn't have done it without asking permission;
you see you might do considerable damage by taking a piece of ground like
that, not knowing whether there is anything in it or not. As it is, you
see, you have spoilt all my turnips. If we hadn't found it out in good
time, we should have been left without any for the whole season.
Don't you see, dear, how important it is?"
The importance of it was so apparent, and what she had done appeared so
overwhelmingly naughty, it seemed to Poppy as though all joy and happiness
had gone out of her life for ever. It was dreadful, intolerable.
In trying to help Cousin Charlotte as Esther had wished, she had done harm
instead of good. Her beautiful secret was over, and instead of being a
help she had been a naughty, foolish little girl, whom these strange new
people would wish they had never seen, while every one else would laugh
when they heard the story. She felt herself covered with shame and
disgrace; she was humiliated and miserable; her little lip quivered
piteously, her eyes filled, and she was too tired and hurt to fight
against her woe.
Miss Charlotte's kind eyes saw the humiliation in the pretty, tired little
face, and held out her hand. "Never mind, dear; as it happens there is no
harm done; Ephraim shall choose another spot for the turnips, and you
shall have that piece of ground for your own garden. It would never do to
destroy a second lot of seeds by digging the bed all over again.
Good evening, Ephraim, I'll see you to-morrow."
So, thanks to Cousin Charlotte, Poppy was saved the disgrace of having
cried before Ephraim; her tears did not fall; she winked them away, and
her lip grew steadier. The thought restored her spirits, but her great
pleasure in her scheme was dashed.
"And I sowed the parsley on purpose for Tousin Charlotte, only 'twas to be
a secret," she confided to Esther as she was being put to bed that night,
"to help her, like you said. She could have some to use, and I was going
to sell most of it and give the money to her."
Esther did not smile; indeed her eyes were misty as she took her little
sister on her lap and kissed her on the top of her head. "It will be all
right, dear," she said, "and--and you are the first of us to begin to do
something useful; it was splendid of you to think of it. I wish I knew
what I could do," she added wistfully, her cheek resting on Poppy's curls.
"I'll try and fink of something for you," said Poppy gravely. "P'r'aps by
the morning I'll have finked of something _very_ nice--then won't you be
glad?"
But she fell asleep before she had come to any satisfactory conclusion,
and Esther, downstairs, in spite of her busy brain and sober face, was
equally unsuccessful. She was still thinking when she got up to say
'good-night' and kiss Miss Charlotte. But Miss Charlotte did not bid her
good-night at once; instead, she asked her to wait a few moments.
"I wanted to have a little talk, dear, now we are alone," she said, with
her pretty smile.
Penelope and Angela had already gone to bed.
Esther sat down again, wondering what was coming.
"I have been thinking," said Miss Charlotte, laying down her pen and
coming to sit by Esther, "I have been thinking over our plans, dear, and I
have come to the conclusion that I might superintend your studies myself,
for a time at any rate."
Esther looked up quickly, her pleasure showing in her eyes. "Oh, that
_would_ be nice, Cousin Charlotte," she cried. "I do want to learn so
much, but--but you have such a lot to do already, and we are _very_
backward, and I am so--so stupid."
"I don't think you are that, dear," said Miss Charlotte gently, and her
words, quiet though they were, brought deep pleasure to Esther.
"I think we might manage it," she went on cheerfully. "Of course I have
many calls on my time, and I shall not be able to give you all the
attention I should like to; but we can but do our best, and this seems the
best plan I can think of. I cannot very well manage to have a governess
to you, and there is no school nearer than Gorley, and that is not only
four miles away, but a school I do not approve of. So, at any rate, we
will try this plan for the present."
Esther got up and stood by Miss Charlotte, her colour coming and going,
her fingers playing nervously with her pinafore. "I--I think you are too
good to us, Cousin Charlotte," she said huskily, speechless almost with
nervousness, but determined to say something of what was in her heart.
"I--I don't know how to thank you, but I _do_ want to, and--and--"
Cousin Charlotte's arm was round her, drawing her to her. "We can never
be _too_ good to one another, dear; and what are we here for but to help
each other over hard places, to try to make each other's lives easier?
I am only thankful to have this opportunity of doing good. I was growing
narrow and selfish all by myself. I think you were sent to rouse me."
"Oh, Cousin Charlotte, I want to help too," cried Esther wistfully.
"I do want to be useful, but I don't know how. Will you tell me?
Nothing ever seems to happen to me; I never get a chance of helping
people."
"Opportunities, small or great, occur every day, dear," said Miss
Charlotte; "it is the little opportunity we must look out for, the small
things that we must do. Big ones come sometimes, but little ones every
day; if you look for them you will find them. We will help each other,
dear. Now we will say good-night. You are tired with your long day in
the open air. We will not begin lessons until Monday, there will be so
much else to do and arrange. Good-night, my love," and with a warm kiss
they parted.
Esther went up to her room with a great glow of happiness at her heart.
For the first time in her life she had met some one who understood her;
at least, some one who could draw out the good side of her, and not the
bad. Esther did not understand what it was, but she felt a difference,
and she undressed and said her prayers with Cousin Charlotte's words still
ringing in her ears: "We can never be _too_ good to one another, dear; and
what are we here for but to help each other over hard places?"
She prayed very especially that she might be shown how to do her share in
helping others. Like Poppy, she lay down, determined to think and think,
hoping that perhaps by morning she would have thought of some way of
helping Cousin Charlotte; and, more successful than Poppy, before even she
fell asleep an idea had come. Quite suddenly there came back to her Miss
Ashe's remark, that 'it was not convenient then to have a governess.'
"It must be on account of the expense," thought Esther, with sudden
inspiration. "She talked of getting another servant; but I am sure, if
she can't afford a governess she can't afford a servant; and I do believe
we could do without one, if I helped quite a lot, as I did at home.
And I can. I did all right there. I will ask her to let me try.
Oh!"--enthusiastically, as the idea took a firmer hold on her--"I _hope_
she will. She _must_--and I am sure Anna would be glad."
Too excited and pleased to sleep, Esther slipped from her bed, crept to
the window, and looked out. A bright moon lighted up the moor opposite
and the river below, until she could see the old brown boulders quite
plainly; birds called to each other across the distance, and far away a
cow lowed monotonously for its calf. Esther stood and gazed and listened
with uplifted heart, yearning for something, she knew not what, something
higher and better to be and do.
"Oh, I am so glad we came here!" she murmured, "so glad! I am sure it
will be easy to be good here, and I do so want to be good! I wish I
hadn't been so horrid to mother sometimes, and--and now I can't ever be
anything else, to her." And there came back to her mind her mother's
words, "I am sure your Aunt Julia would not have Esther if she knew how
bad her temper had become," and her eyes filled with tears at the
recollection.
"I will try," she whispered. "I will try that no one else shall ever say
that of me--and I will write to mother, and tell her I am sorry."
And it was a very grave and serious Esther who fell asleep at last.