It often happens that a big shock which pulls us up with a sharp jerk on
the road we are travelling will show us the danger of the way before us,
and teach us to walk warily all our days. So it was with Esther.
The shock and horror, and the awful fear she endured that afternoon,
showed her, as nothing else could, the way she was going. I do not for a
moment mean to say that she conquered her unfortunate temper all at once,
and became perfectly good and gentle and free from all jealousy from that
moment. That would have been impossible to any one, certainly to a child
of such strong feelings, so reserved and sensitive, so full of failings as
Esther. But she did try, and if she failed she did her best to conquer
next time, and only those who have tried too know how hard that is.
Others helped her a little without her knowledge. Penelope tried to
restrain herself in a half unconscious habit she had got into of putting
herself before her shyer elder sister.
Mademoiselle was careful, too, to show her how much she valued her, and to
try not to wound her sensitive, loving heart; so was Cousin Charlotte.
And Esther, on her part, taught herself the lesson that one person can
love two without loving either the less.
So when Penelope was at last able to creep about again, and Guard seemed
as hale and hearty as ever, a new era of peace and happiness dawned for
Moor Cottage, and never could there have been a happier, busier, more
united little household than that was.
The summer went by like a golden flash, so it seemed to the children,
so full was every day of work and play, picnics, lessons, walks,
gardening, and a dozen other occupations. No matter what the weather, or
how busy she was, Esther never failed to go to Mademoiselle Leperier's
three times a week, and twice a week Penelope went for her singing lesson.
Penelope was having French lessons of Mademoiselle too, and she and Esther
studied together.
Miss Row came back from her journeyings, and, entirely oblivious
apparently of all that had passed, sent for Penelope to recommence her
organ lessons, and was quite annoyed that she had not kept up her
practising. But at this Miss Ashe's gentle spirit rose, and she talked to
Miss Row so frankly and seriously that that eccentric lady became very
repentant, and to make up for her unkindness promised Penelope the post of
organist, at a salary of twenty-five pounds a year, as soon as ever she
was capable of filling it.
To Penelope this was success indeed, and as soon as her arm was strong
enough to bear it she practised with an assiduity which promised that the
time was not so very far distant when she would be fitted to take over her
appointment.
Angela, before that summer was over, acquired three more chicks and a
fowls' house of her own, and already saw visions of herself presiding over
a farm--which should adjoin Moor Cottage--well stocked with fowls and
ducks, geese and turkeys, cows and pigs, horses and dogs.
"And I shall write out to daddy and mother to come home," she would say
triumphantly. For Angela never grew reconciled to the thought of her
parents' exile. "It must be so sad and lonely and uncomfortable out
there," she would say. "Mother might find it dull here, but she would
have lots of books to read, and that would make her happy."
"I should live wiv you, shouldn't I, Angela?" Poppy inquired eagerly.
"Oh yes, we should all live together."
"But what about Cousin Charlotte? I am sure she would be _very_ unhappy
wivout us; so would Anna." Poppy found matters very difficult of
arrangement, owing to her incapacity to live in two places at the same
time. "I shouldn't like to leave Cousin Charlotte and Anna and Guard and
Ephraim."
"I should stay with Cousin Charlotte," said Esther one day, when the
matter was under discussion. "You see, there would be so many of you, you
wouldn't want me, but Cousin Charlotte would, and we should be next door,
so it would be almost the same."
But all these premature plans were thrown that autumn into confusion by a
letter from Canada. Instead of waiting to be sent for by his prosperous
daughters Mr. Carroll wrote to say he had made up his mind to come.
"Your cousin cannot reconcile herself to the life here," he wrote, "and
says she can never be happy here; and as I am not doing well enough to
warrant me in staying on in spite of her objections, I am thinking of
selling out and coming home with her very soon. For the time, to give me
an opportunity to look about me, I can think of no better plan than to
come near you, my dear cousin, if a small house can be found for us.
I cannot describe to you my longing to see my children again, nor with
what pleasure I am filled at the prospect of coming home, even though I
have to write myself down a failure here."
Then he went on to thank her in most grateful and feeling terms for her
goodness to his children, terms which drew tears from the gentle little
lady's eyes and set her to wondering what she could do really to help this
almost unknown cousin and his children.
When she told the children the news their excitement was great; but when,
a week later, came another letter, asking, if there was a cottage at
Dorsham or close by to be found, that it should be taken for them, if it
would possibly do, their excitement grew intense.
"Oh, if only I had my farm!" cried Angela, and she went out and looked at
the ground, as though expecting the foundations might have already begun
to show.
But no cottage was to be found next door or in Dorsham. There were not
very many all told, and those there were were always full, so that if one
family wanted to change they had to wait until another was in the same
mind, and then just walk in to each other's houses. But up at Four Winds
there was a square, sturdy cottage built expressly, one would think, to
defy those winds that blew over the village. It was the only one, but all
the four girls agreed that it would be just the very thing. It had a
sitting-room and kitchen and scullery and three bedrooms, tiny rooms all
of them, but to the children it was one of the most fascinating little
places ever built; and when stocked with the simple furniture Miss
Charlotte had had instructions to purchase it really did look a dear, cosy
little house.
And such it seemed to the weary travellers when they arrived, the father
tired, disappointed with his last attempt, and bowed under a burden of
care, but so glad to see his children again that nothing else seemed to
matter. Such it seemed, too, to the mother, so disgusted with the
roughness and want of comforts in the life she had been leading lately
that everything seemed luxurious and replete with comfort.
Cousin Charlotte and the girls had certainly done their best to make the
place look homelike, and Anna had helped to clean it from top to bottom,
to lay carpets, hang curtains, and polish everything that could be
polished, so that it really was in a perfect state of order and
cleanliness.
It was in the spring that the travellers finally reached Four Winds, just
when the brooks were beginning to run with a cheerful note, and the scent
of wet moss and primroses to fill the air.
As they drove from the station on the memorable day of their arrival
Mr. Carroll drew in the sweet fresh breeze as though it were the breath of
life to him, and almost shouted with pleasure at the sight of the catkins
on the nut-bushes, and the 'goslings' on the willows, and the
yellowhammers and thrushes hopping in the hedges.
They got down for a moment at Moor Cottage to see the children's home, and
be introduced to Anna and Guard.
"You noble old fellow, you saved my girls' lives," said Mr. Carroll,
patting the dear old dog's rough head; and Guard wagged his tail and
looked as pleased as though he quite understood.
Then Mrs. Carroll and Miss Ashe mounted the quaint old carriage again,
and drove slowly on with the luggage, while Mr. Carroll and his girls,
and, of course, Guard, walked on behind. The elder girls were a little
shy and constrained just at first, perhaps, and Angela was silent with
happiness. If she talked much she should weep, she felt; but she showed
her father her hens and hen-house before they started on again.
"And in time I shall have a whole farm, father," she said seriously,
"and then I want you to come to live with me on it, and we will have all
kinds of animals."
"A capital idea," said Mr. Carroll gravely, without a trace of a smile as
he looked at the very modest beginning so much was to spring from.
But, if the others were silent Poppy, when once her tongue was loosened,
made up for it, and she trotted along by her father's side, holding his
hand, and chattering to him as freely as though he had never been away.
The greatest joy of all though was when they reached the new cottage,
and displayed their arrangements there--the sitting-room, with its
easy-chairs, and table spread with dainty white cloth, shining tea-things,
and some of Anna's nicest cakes. A fire was burning in the grate, making
it warm and cheerful for the strangers. Upstairs the simply furnished
bedrooms looked equally attractive and spotlessly clean, and then last of
all came the cheerful, cosy little kitchen, looking a perfect picture,
with its bright tin and copper and china reflecting the firelight on all
sides; and where, oh crowning delight, sat the neatest of neat little
maid-servants, her rosy cheeks growing rosier and rosier as her new master
and mistress and all the young ladies trooped in. She rose and curtseyed
when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Carroll, for she was a well-trained country
child, not yet contaminated by the modern 'Board-school manners.'
So she curtseyed civilly, and stood while her master and mistress were
present; and when Mr. Carroll asked her her name, she answered,
"Grace, if you please, sir," and blushed again; and when he said,
"Well, Grace, so you have come to help us. I hope we shall all be very
happy and comfortable together," she curtseyed and said, "Yes, thank you,
sir. I'll try my best."
The bedrooms, all but Mr. and Mrs. Carroll's, were very tiny. One was so
small it would only hold one little bed.
"But where is the fourth chick to roost?" asked their father anxiously.
"You don't expect one to sit up while the other sleeps, I hope?" laughing.
But Cousin Charlotte, to whom he spoke, did not laugh back. "I--I
wondered," she said, looking up at him very wistfully, as though she knew
she was asking a great deal--"I wondered, Ronald, if you would spare me
one, at--at least until I have got used to losing them all. I know it is
a good deal to ask you, but--I shall be so very lonely--" poor Cousin
Charlotte's voice quavered--"and as your house is so small I wondered if
you would let me still keep my Esther?"
Esther started, and a sense of disappointment made her heart sink.
Remembering her mother's dislike of housekeeping, and her incapacity,
Esther had all this time been picturing herself as housekeeper and real
mistress of this dear little home, presiding over the kitchen and the neat
little maid and generally distinguishing herself as cook and housewife.
She had known, of course, that there was only room for three of them
there, but she had, somehow, thought of Angela as being the one to remain
with Cousin Charlotte, because, perhaps, of her fowls, and her position as
mistress of the poultry yards.
For the first few moments, therefore, when she heard Cousin Charlotte's
request, she felt a deep pang of disappointment. "But mother will need me
here," she was just about to say, when there rushed over her the memory of
all Cousin Charlotte had done for them, her goodness and patience,
her generosity and unselfishness, and now her loneliness,--and all her
feelings changed.
"She is my right hand," Cousin Charlotte went on pathetically. "I do not
know what I should do without her now!"
Then how glad Esther was that she had not spoken, and oh! the joy and
pride that filled her heart, the deep, deep happiness of knowing that she
had been of real use and comfort, that some one really needed her.
With only a little effort she put aside all her feeling about the new
home, and determined, if her parents consented, to go blithely with Cousin
Charlotte, and never, never, never let her know of that moment's
unwillingness.
Consent was given, of course. How could they refuse to spare one to her
who had taken them all and made her home theirs when they had no other,
and had loved and cared for them, and guided them so well and faithfully
without hope of reward?
Mr. Carroll was only too happy to be able to do something in return.
"I think it will be good for Penelope, too, to have a few housekeeping
duties," said Cousin Charlotte, smiling as she laid her gentle hand on
Pen's shoulder. "It will help to balance the dreamy side of her--at any
rate until Angela grows older; while Angela--well, Angela is a born
housekeeper and farmer combined, and I prophesy that within a year or so
she will be keeping the house and all of you in such order and comfort as
to be a pattern to the country round."
Angela's face grew radiant. "I'd love to," she said joyously; "but I
wish--the only thing I wish is that we could all live together.
I don't want to leave you, Cousin Charlotte, yet I want to be with--you
understand, don't you?"
Yes, Cousin Charlotte understood. They all felt the same; but when the
three had left their old home for the new one it was only, as one might
say, to live in two houses instead of one, for never a day passed but what
they were down at Miss Charlotte's, and so the change was not such a
wrench as all had feared. Miss Charlotte insisted on continuing to teach
them all--at any rate, she said, until they were obliged to go away to
school.
Mademoiselle Leperier, who actually went to call on Mrs. Carroll, declared
her health and spirits were so much improved by the new interest the
children had provided her with that she begged to be allowed to give them
all lessons in French, and singing, too.
"I foresee that I shall have no housekeeper after all," said Mrs. Carroll
with a sigh, "but I suppose I shall manage somehow, and the children are
being educated, which is something. One must think of them first, I
suppose."
Esther felt a pang of doubt when she heard the words. Ought she not,
after all, to give up her happy home with Cousin Charlotte, where by this
time she had completely settled down, and come up to take care of her
mother? She would see but little of Mademoiselle if she did, she saw that
plainly, and there would be very little time for study, but there was her
father to think of, and his comfort.
But when she laid her doubts before her father and Cousin Charlotte,
they bade her put them out of her head. She tried to, though she doubted
their advice; and it was only years later, when she was a well-educated,
cultured woman, full of interests and good aims, that she understood the
wisdom of Cousin Charlotte's plan in taking her away, at least until her
education was complete, from where she would have become little but a
household drudge, worked beyond her strength, her talents, her greatest
interests undeveloped, her temper irritated and ruined as it was when
first she came to Dorsham; and she felt deeply grateful for the
understanding and loving care which had surrounded her at so critical a
time.