always gave in June, just when the strawberries were ripe, and the
children considered it the very best party in the summer. Others might
be grander: at the vicarage, for instance, there was always a band, and
at the Broadbents' there were glee-singers and ices; but when all
attractions had been counted up, the Manor Farm still remained the place
which pleased them most. Every one went to Mrs Solace's party, and came
away with a feeling that they had spent a pleasant time. The vicar and
his sister never missed it; Aunt Katharine and the children, the
Broadbents, and others owning farms near Fieldside--even Dr Price, who
was shy of gatherings in general--all met and talked to each other with
smiling faces in the pretty old garden at the Manor Farm. Tea, with
heaped-up dishes of strawberries, and a plentiful supply of cream, stood
ready on little tables under the veranda, so that people could help
themselves when and how they liked. Nothing could be more simple than
Mrs Solace's preparations, and yet her party was always successful. She
asked every one, paying no attention at all to family quarrels or the
niceties of social position amongst the neighbouring farmers, and yet
there were no haughty looks. Even the Broadbents, who were always
prepared to be a little superior to every one, laid aside their elegant
exclusiveness, and descended to the common ground of unaffected
good-nature and enjoyment.
Perhaps one of the great reasons that made the party so pleasant was,
that you might, as Dennis had said, always count on having a fine day.
However wet or dull or cold it had been, the weather was sure to clear,
and the sun to shine, for Mrs Solace, just on that special occasion, so
that the children had grown to expect it as a matter of course. And yet
another reason lay in the simple kindliness and good-will of Mrs Solace
herself. The genial warmth of her welcome spread itself abroad and
influenced her guests, much as the bountiful rays of the sun turned all
the flowers and fruit to colour and sweetness in her garden. Sour
looks, stiff manners, and peevish remarks seemed out of place, and as
impossible on that day as cold winds, a cloudy sky, or unripe
strawberries.
Mrs Solace had her usual luck this year: by the time the day of the
party came, the rain was over and gone, and the sun was shining so
brightly, that clouds and greyness were quite forgotten.
Philippa had come over from Haughton to go with her cousins; and the
children, who always thought Aunt Katharine started much too late,
begged that they might walk over earlier alone.
"We want to have a good long time with Becky, you see," said Maisie;
"and we shan't be in any one's way."
When they arrived, therefore, at the door in the long grey wall which
skirted the Manor Farm garden, they felt sure they were the very first
guests, and walked slowly towards the house, expecting to meet Becky at
every turn; for after a whole week at the farm, she surely ought to be
running about as if there were nothing the matter with her!
But there was no Becky, nor any one else to be seen in the garden. The
flowers and the bees had it all to themselves, and were blooming and
buzzing away as happily as possible, with no one to notice them. After
the rain, all the blossoms looked as bright and fresh as though they had
just put on new clothes to do honour to Mrs Solace's party; and, indeed,
they always seemed to enjoy their lives, and to bloom more abundantly
here than anywhere else.
Aunt Katharine was proud of her garden, and took a great deal of pains
to make her flowers do well; but with all her best efforts, they did not
flourish like these, and yet there was so little trouble taken about
them. They grew very much how they would and where they would. When
they got too thick, they were weeded out; and when one sort died, it was
renewed in exactly the same place year after year. Some which were left
entirely to their own way, like the snapdragons, seemed to thrive best
of all. These thrust themselves into the crevices of the old wall,
waved in triumph along the top of it, and had sown themselves
industriously at the sides of the garden paths, reaching out their
velvety, glowing mouths from the most unexpected places, for the
dusty-legged humble bees to dive into.
Certainly the bees had a fine time of it in the Manor garden, and plenty
of sweetness to choose from, amongst the herbs, roses, and pinks which
were mixed up together with the vegetables. These were separated by a
wall from the lawn and flower-garden, and when the farmhouse came in
view, the children saw that they were not the first visitors after all,
for there were figures moving about under the deep veranda, and soon
they were able to make out Becky sitting in a big wicker-chair with a
cushion at her back.
"And she's got on my pink sun-bonnet that Aunt Katharine sent her," said
Maisie.
All the way along they had been talking of Becky, and felt that they had
a great deal to ask her about her journey, and what she thought of the
Manor Farm; but now that they were here, and had shaken hands with her,
a sudden silence fell on them all. Somehow Becky in her new
surroundings struck them as a sort of stranger, and they stood round
her, looking shyly at each other, without finding anything to say. This
did not suit Philippa.
"Come and show me where the strawberry beds are," she said to Dennis,
and when they had run away together, Maisie drew up a chair and sat down
by Becky's side.
"How do you like being here?" she asked.
Becky had a faint tinge of colour in her face now, like a China rose
washed in the rain; her dark eyes looked brighter, and when she smiled,
something that would soon be a dimple showed in her cheek.
"Very well, thank you," she answered. "I can walk a bit now. This
morning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I'm goin' to
try and get up to the big tree."
"Very well" might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm to
unaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the term
to express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content.
From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched the
arrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes,
and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn.
"It's like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern," said Maisie;
"we're in the shadow and they're in the light. Now I'll tell you who
they are. Here's Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian."
Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make many
excuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent.
"He's such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn't he, girls?
I said this morning, `Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon,
and leave things to your bailiff for once.' But no. `The master's
eye,' he says, `does more work than both his hands.'"
"Well, he's in the right there," said Mr Solace good-humouredly.
"That's little Miss Chester, isn't it?" she went on, her sharp eye
catching sight of the children, "and her cousin, Miss Trevor? How
delicate she looks, poor child!" She nodded and smiled graciously.
"No, that's not Miss Trevor," replied Mr Solace; "that's my
wheelwright's little girl. She's been ill, and she's stopping here for
change of air. My wife's going to nurse her up a bit."
"So _odd_!" remarked Mrs Broadbent, as she and her daughters moved on
into the garden. "I really do think Mrs Solace might draw the line
_somewhere_."
"There's Mr Hurst," continued Maisie; "he's our vicar, you know; and the
little lady with white hair and a big hat is his sister, who lives with
him. And he's talking to your doctor, Dr Price. I wish he was our
doctor, but we're never ill, so it doesn't matter much. I like Dr
Price, ever since he told me about the kitten, only I wish he wouldn't
keep such cruel dogs. Where _is_ the kitten? Didn't you bring her?"
There was a little lump on Becky's knees covered up by her pinafore.
She lifted a corner of it, and showed the grey kitten snugly asleep,
curled up like a ball.
"I was afraid so many strange folk would scare her," she said.
The garden was soon full of the sound of voices and laughter, and alive
with many-coloured figures. Preparations for tea began to appear in the
veranda, and presently Dennis and Philippa came slowly back with heated
faces, each bearing a cabbage-leaf full of strawberries.
"Philippa will say that they have bigger ones at Haughton," said Dennis;
"so I was determined to find the very biggest I could. Now just look
here, Philippa!" He spread out his cabbage-leaf exultingly. "The Manor
Farm's _famous_ for its strawberries; there's nothing like them for
miles round. Yours at Haughton are all very well, but the very largest
would be squinny beside these."
Philippa had plenty to say on the subject as usual, and she carried on a
lively dispute with Dennis as to the merits of the strawberries, until
the children's tea was brought out, and placed on a little table all to
themselves.
During their meal, they could watch the other guests, who came in and
out from the garden to rest from the glare of the sun, or to taste the
strawberries and cream and other good things provided for them. They
all talked and laughed a great deal, and their talk was almost entirely
about strawberries and cream. One preferred strawberries alone; another
considered cream such a great improvement; a third found the mixture
unwholesome, but the fruit alone, beneficial. Lilian Broadbent
sauntered in, very much overcome with the heat, and threw herself
languidly into the wicker-chair which an attentive young farmer hastened
to bring.
"That is the one they want her to marry," whispered Dennis, who knew
every one's affairs.
Would she have some strawberries? With or without cream? Did she take
sugar? Would she have them prepared for her? After a careless assent
had been given to all these questions, Miss Broadbent thought that on
the whole strawberries tasted better picked for one's self, only the
very thought of stooping in the sun made her head ache. While her
admirer suggested ways of overcoming this difficulty, Aunt Katharine and
Mr Solace came in, and talked gravely of crops, and then the portly
figures of Mrs Solace and Dr Price approached, and stopped to look at
the little party of children.
"Your patient does you credit, Mrs Solace," said the doctor. "She looks
better already. She'll soon be out of my hands, if she goes on at this
rate."
Mrs Solace smiled at Becky with the same sort of comfortable pride as
when she looked at a remarkably fine brood of turkeys.
"She's picking up a bit," she said; "but it's early days yet. We'll see
how she looks after she's been here a month. I shouldn't wonder if she
gets as hearty as Miss Maisie yonder.--Have you told Miss Maisie, Becky,
what we're going to make of you, when you get quite strong and well?"
Becky looked shyly down at her plate. It was impossible to answer with
so many people waiting to hear.
"Well, well, she'll tell you presently, I daresay," said Mrs Solace, as
she moved away with Dr Price's huge figure plunging along beside her.
"What did Mrs Solace mean?" asked Maisie eagerly, when they were out of
hearing.
"It's about the chickens," said Becky. "I like 'em ever so much, and
Mrs Solace said this morning that some day she'd ask mother to let me
come and bide here and look after 'em; but I've got to get strong, and
grow a bit first."
"Well!" exclaimed Dennis enviously, "you _are_ in luck!"
"I should earn wages, like Dan," said Becky.
"I only wish I had the chance of working on the farm," said Dennis; "but
Aunt Katharine says I must go to school, and all sorts of things,
first."
"What would you like to be, if you could?" asked Philippa.
Dennis mashed up his strawberries thoughtfully.
"Wheelwright _best_," he answered; "only that wouldn't have anything to
do with the animals. I should like to be the pig-man very well; but
it's no use saying what I should like, because I shan't have the
chance."
"How nice it will be," said Maisie to Becky, as she set a saucer of
cream carefully on the ground for the kitten, "when you and the grey
kitten are settled here. Isn't it odd that she should have the very
best home of the three, after all? We never thought it would turn out
so."
"And she was the meanest and smallest of all the kittens," said Dennis.
"But," added Maisie, "Philippa and I have quite settled that she's the
nicest of them, because she's been the greatest comfort."
And now, while the sun shines, and there are happy voices and smiles all
around, it is a good moment for us to say farewell to Dennis and Maisie,
Philippa and Becky, and to wish them prosperity. We have seen a little
part of their lives, and can only guess what shall befall them further;
but we know that life cannot be all sunshine and strawberry parties, and
that grey skies and dull moments will come to each as time goes on. The
best thing we can wish for them, therefore, is that they may be happy
whether the sun shines or the rain falls in their way through the world:
and this they can surely be, if their hearts are warm and their hands
are willing to love and serve others, both in sadness and joy.
THE END.