TRYING TO MAKE BOTH ENDS MEET.
Things go on quietly enough for some time, but as each day comes
round it is pretty sure to bring with it some little trial and
vexation; trifling in itself perhaps, but none the less wearying to
the three girls, who with hopeful hearts are striving laboriously to
cut and contrive in order to get the utmost out of every halfpenny.
Honor has shown from the first an almost dogged determination to have
nothing brought into the house that cannot be paid for at once.
"We know to a farthing what our income is," she says quietly and
firmly; "and what we cannot afford to have we must learn to do
without."
Nevertheless it goes to the girl's heart when, having had to draw
perhaps from the little sum set aside for the week's living for some
other incidental expense, she has to say, "No meat to-day, girls and
boys; we must make our dinners from potatoes and bread and butter."
"And very good fare too," some will say perhaps; but for girls and
boys who have been brought up in the lap of luxury, and who in their
sudden transition from affluence to well-nigh poverty have retained
their usual healthy appetites, it is a little trying it must surely
be allowed. To Doris and Honor the fact of having to deny themselves
meat, and sometimes other things which are almost necessaries, is no
great trial so long as they can somehow or other make both ends meet;
but it does pain them to see that Molly's and Dick's faces are no
longer so round and plump as formerly, and that little Daisy pushes
away her plate of untempting food from before her sometimes,
plaintively saying she is "not hungry to-day." The novelty of the
situation having worn off also to a great extent, the spirits of
Doris and Molly especially flag visibly at times; and while Doris
sighs over her work with a generally listless air, Molly grows
despondent, and even a little cross, as she goes about her daily
duties. Poor Honor makes brave and determined efforts to preserve
both her cheerfulness and her temper for the sake of all, but there
are two little upright lines between her straight brows which tell of
constant care and anxious thought; and many a quiet tear is shed
when, tired in body and anxious in mind, the girl finds herself alone
in her room with no one to witness her giving way to her overwrought
feelings.
Still, there are gleams of brightness in the new life, and many an
act of kindness is shown to the girls by the neighbouring families;
on all of whom the Merivales have been most thoroughly impressed by
the brothers Talboys. The first to call are the clergyman and his
wife, and they prove to be affable, kindly-disposed people. Then
most of the families round about call on Mrs. Merivale also, and do
their best to cheer the girls with accounts of what goes on during
the summer months, saying kindly that they hope they will look
forward to plenty of games of tennis with their own daughters.
But although every one promises to remember their wishes to obtain
teaching, and to do his or her best in the matter, no pupils come for
Molly; and although Honor takes up her painting again with renewed
ardour, nobody seems to require lessons in that either.
The brothers Talboys hold many a serious conversation over the trials
and difficulties of their young friends, as they call them; but
beyond sending them some game from time to time, or something from
their own poultry-yard, dairy, or garden, they do not see their way
to helping them much without running the risk of hurting their
feelings.
One morning the old gentlemen are leaning over a gate looking
admiringly at their sleek Alderneys grazing in the distance, when
suddenly down the lane behind them come Daisy and Bobby hand in hand.
During the short time that the family has been settled at the
Rookery, these two children, and especially Daisy, have taken a firm
hold on the warm hearts of the two old brothers. Their blind
devotion to the latter would bid fair, indeed, to turn the head of
any less good and demure little maiden than Daisy, for she can hardly
express a wish in their hearing which is not gratified; and when the
children go to tea at the Rosery--which event occurs once a week, if
not oftener--the recklessness of their two frolicsome hosts in the
matter of cakes, jam, cream, &c., defies description.
The brothers no sooner now see the children approaching than they
pounce upon them instantly, and after duly inquiring after every one
at home, Mr. Ned unfastens the gate, and taking Daisy by the hand
leads her away into the field.
"I know you would like to come and speak to White-star," he says;
"they are both going to be milked in a few minutes, and if you like
you shall stay and see them, and have a drink of nice new milk too.
What are we to do for a tumbler though, eh?"
"I'll run and fetch one, sir," pipes up little Bobby, who is
perfectly at home in all the arrangements of the Rosery, both in and
out of the house, "or shall I run to the dairy and ask Susan to bring
something?"
"Yes, yes, my boy, that would be better, for you might fall down and
cut yourself. Here, wait a minute, Master Bob, a piece of cake would
not come amiss with the milk, I take it, eh? Go and ask Mrs. Edwards
to put some cake, several large slices, into a little basket for you;
and then we will all have lunch out here together."
[Illustration: DAISY AND THE MR. TALBOYS VISIT WHITESTAR.]
"And give White-star some," cries Daisy excitedly.
"Oh, certainly, give White-star some," repeats Mr. Ned approvingly;
"it would be a poor return after giving us her milk not to offer her
any refreshment herself. I am not certain, however, that she would
not prefer some nice fresh grass even to plum-cake if you were to
pluck it and offer it to her. Ah! I thought so!" as the little girl
goes fearlessly up to the placid-looking animal, her hands full of
sweet-smelling grass. White-star stoops her head, gravely inspecting
Daisy at first, then she puts her soft velvety nose into the child's
hands and gently gathers up the contents into her mouth.
"It seems to me," says Mr. Ben, folding his hands over his stick and
looking at the gentle pair--"it seems to me that White-star has a
great deal to say to this little maid. What say you, Brother Ned?
Now I shouldn't be the least surprised if she is thinking how much
she would like you to have a lot of her good milk every day to fatten
up your cheeks a little, don't you think so, Brother Ned?"
"I was thinking the very same thing myself," answers Mr. Ned, nodding
approval of his brother's idea. "Oh! here comes Susan with the pail
and the glasses, and here is Master Bob also heavily laden with the
cake and the milking-stool. Now then, the first drink for the lady
of course."
"And so it is your birthday to-morrow," suddenly remarks Mr. Ned
after a longish pause, during which undivided attention is given to
the milk and cake.
"Yes," says Daisy gravely nodding; "who told you?"
"Master Bob there. And he told me, moreover, what present he is
going to give you, and I can assure you it will be--well, to use the
young gentleman's own words--a regular stunner."
"Oh!" cries Daisy, "_do_ tell me, Mr. Talboys."
"Oh, I couldn't think of such a thing. And why, bless my soul, it is
getting quite late, Brother Ben; if we are to see these little folks
home I think we had better be starting."
And so after a time the quartette appears at the Rookery, and the
children are handed over to Honor, who has seen them coming through
the gate. It is an everyday occurrence now this finding of the
children with the two Mr. Talboys. If they are missing for any
length of time, someone says, "Oh, they are up at the Rosery, of
course;" and after a time sure enough they arrive either in charge of
Priscilla, the parlour-maid, or with the old gentlemen themselves.