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diff --git a/31173.txt b/31173.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aef0769 --- /dev/null +++ b/31173.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7189 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Anxious Audrey, by Mabel Quiller-Couch + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Anxious Audrey + +Author: Mabel Quiller-Couch + +Release Date: February 3, 2010 [EBook #31173] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANXIOUS AUDREY *** + + + + +Produced by Lionel Sear + + + + + + + + + +ANXIOUS AUDREY. + +By + +MABEL QUILLER-COUCH. + +Author of 'A Waif and a Welcome,' 'Troublesome Ursula,' 'Zach and Debby,' +'In Cornwall's Wonderland,' Etc. + + +ILLUSTRATED BY HELEN JACOBS. + + +LONDON: SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE +Northumberland Avenue, W.C. +BRIGHTON: 129, North Street. + + +[Illustration: When, though, it came to carrying up the chest of drawers, +they all had to give a hand.] + + +CHAPTER I. + + + "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, + The field-mouse has gone to her nest; + The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, + And the birds and the bees are at rest." + +Mr. Carlyle, standing outside the nursery door, stayed a moment until the +sweet low voice had reached the end of the verse, then, turning the handle +very gently, entered the room on tiptoe. + +Faith looked up with a smile, but with a warning finger held out, while in +a lower and more crooning voice she began the next verse: + + "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, + The glow-worm is lighting her lamp----" + +"Oh, dear!" as two round blue eyes looked up at her, full of sleepy +wickedness, "She is as wide awake when I began! Baby, you are not a nice +little girl and I shan't be able to go on loving you if you don't go to +sleep soon." + +The blue eyes, wandering from Faith's reproving face, fell on her father, +and with a croon of delight a pair of plump dimpled arms was held out +pleadingly. "Dad! Dad!" cooed the baby voice coaxingly, and the arms were +not held out in vain. + +Faith handed over her heavy, lovable burden with a mingled sigh of relief +and hopelessness. "This is all wrong, you know, father," with a weary +little laugh, "a well brought up baby should be sound asleep by this +time--but how is one to make her sleep if she absolutely refuses to?" + +Mr. Carlyle looked down at his little daughter snuggling so happily in his +arms. "I don't know, dear," he said helplessly. "I suppose we aren't +very good nurses. Perhaps we are not stern enough. I am sorry I came in +just then, she might have gone off if I hadn't, but I wanted to speak to +you particularly; there is a great deal I want to discuss. How is your +mother? I haven't been in to see her. I saw that her room was dark, +so I thought she was probably asleep." + +"I expect she is. She seemed very sleepy when I gave her her cornflour at +seven. I haven't been able to go to her since, baby has been so +restless." + +"Isn't she well?" + +"Oh, yes, she is well, but while I was down making the cornflour I had to +leave her with Tom and Debby, and they got playing, of course, and excited +her so much she can't go to sleep." + +"Couldn't Mary have made the cornflour or have looked after baby for the +time?" + +"No, she was ironing, and she doesn't know yet just how mother likes it." + +"Oh! but can't you come down, dear, until this minx is slumbering?" + +Faith looked at the grate where a few cinders only lay grey and lifeless +at the bottom; then she looked at her father with a mischievous twinkle in +her pretty brown eyes. "I can't unless we take baby too," she said. +"Of course it is very wrong and a real nurse would faint at such +behaviour, but, shall we, daddy? It is cold up here, and lonely--and, +oh! I am so hungry and quite hoarse with singing lullabies." + +"Poor child! Come downstairs and we will not think about what real nurses +would say. This little person is really so sleepy she will hardly realise +what has happened." + +Faith's eyes sparkled. "We mustn't let Tom and Debby know, or they will +be down too. If we go very softly perhaps they won't hear, they were +nearly asleep when I looked in at them just now. I hope baby won't give a +yell on the stairs." + +"I will try to prevent her. Now then, come along." + +Baby Joan, as though she understood all about it, and what was expected of +her, smiled up at them knowingly, but she did not make a sound, not even +when they paused at her mother's bedroom door and looked in. + +The firelight shining on the invalid's face showed that she was sleeping +peacefully, so they tiptoed away again and reached the hall without having +disturbed anyone. In the dining-room the lamp was lighted, but so badly +that it smelt horribly; the fire was out and the room was cold and +cheerless. + +"Oh dear," sighed Faith, "no coal here, either," and dashed away to the +kitchen in search of some. "Mary doesn't seem able to remember that fires +go out if there is nothing to put on them," she laughed, as she struggled +back panting under the weight of a scuttle of coal and an armful of logs. +"But we shall be all right soon," she added as she knelt before the grate +and began building up a fire. "I do love wood and a pair of bellows, +don't you, daddy!" blowing away hard at hot embers. But Mr. Carlyle did +not answer her. Instead he asked with rather an anxious note in his +voice, "Does Mary find she has too much to do?" + +Faith sat back on her heels and eyed the kindling sticks with a well +pleased air. "No-o, I don't think so, daddy. There might be too much--if +she did it," with a little laugh, "but she says she likes being where +there are no other servants, and plenty of life. In her last place there +were three or four servants and only an old lady to look after, and Mary +says the quietness was awful. Nothing ever happened but the quarrels of +the servants amongst themselves." + +"I suppose they were so occupied with their quarrels that Mary had not +time to learn how to do things--nicely?" Mr. Carlyle's eyes glanced sadly +about the untidy room and then at the ill-laid supper table. + +Faith looked up at him in mild surprise; it had never occurred to her that +there was anything lacking in the care of the house. Her glance followed +his and rested on the supper table too. + +"Oh, daddy, I believe you have had nothing since dinner. You must be +frightfully hungry, I know you must, and the dinner was so badly cooked-- +oh, poor daddy! Why didn't you come home to tea?" + +"I had barely finished my round of calls in time to keep an appointment +Dr. Gray had made with me. He wanted," he added more slowly, his face +growing grave and troubled, "to talk to me about your mother." + +Faith looked up quickly at him, her large eyes full of anxiety, her heart +throbbing heavily. Then there was more trouble in store, more anxiety! +She had felt it for days in her inmost heart, but had not had the courage +to put her fears into words. "Is mother--worse?" her voice faltered and +broke. + +Mr. Carlyle, gazing, absorbed and troubled, into the fire, did not see her +blanched cheeks and the dread that filled her eyes. He had no suspicion +of the awful fear which had haunted her every waking moment, and even +her dreams, or he would not have kept her in suspense while his thoughts +ran on to plans for the future. + +"No, dear," he said at last, "no dear, she is not worse, but the doctor +says it will be a long time before she is well again--well enough to walk +about and take up her old life. For a year, poor dear, she must lie on a +sofa, and live the life of an invalid. If she does, he says, she will +become her old strong self again in a year or two, but if she----" + +"Oh, but she will, of course she will, that will be easy enough." +In the intensity of her relief, Faith spoke so gaily that her father +looked up at her in surprise, her tone and words sounded almost heartless. + +"Easy! It will be a long and trying ordeal for her. Faith--just think of +it, a whole year in one room! You don't realise." + +"Oh yes I do, daddy, but we will manage beautifully. I will look after +the house and the children, and--and see that mother isn't worried at all, +and she can read and write, and--and oh, father, father, I am so glad--I +don't know what to do!" and without any warning Faith broke down and began +to sob. + +"Glad!" For a moment Mr. Carlyle looked at his little daughter as though +he feared she must be mad instead of glad. She spoke as though his news +had come as a relief. Relief from what? Then quite suddenly the truth +broke upon him. + +"Oh, you poor little woman! What have you been thinking? What have you +been fearing, Faith dear--tell me. Did you think----?" + +Faith nodded. "Yes--yes--I thought," but she could not put her dread into +words. + +"You feared we might be going to lose her altogether. Oh, you poor child. +My poor little girl. Why didn't you tell me?" + +"I couldn't, daddy." + +Mr. Carlyle drew her to him. "No wonder my news came to you as a relief," +he said softly, "instead of as the shock I feared. Why, Faith, how you +are trembling. You look ready to faint too. Look here, I believe you are +tired and famished. Come and have some supper. What have we got? +Something tempting?" + +With either arm encircling a daughter, the vicar turned to survey the +supper table, but at sight of it his face fell a little. Neither the +food, nor the way in which it was placed before them would have tempted +any but the most healthy, even ravenous appetite. Mary, the only maid +they could afford to keep, was more willing than able. The china and +silver had certainly been washed, but they were smeared and unpolished, +the cloth was wrinkled and all askew, the food was dumped down anyhow. + +Fortunately for her own comfort, but unfortunately for the good of the +house, Faith was not troubled by appearances. Her eyes did not notice +details, the details which mean so much, for her home had always been in +more or less of a muddle. There were so many of them, Audrey, Faith, Tom, +Deborah and baby Joan. Five of them ransacking and romping all over the +house, until granny had come and taken Audrey away to live with her. + +They had always been in a muddle, but they had always been happy, and they +loved their home so dearly that, whatever it was like, it was right in +their eyes--excepting, perhaps, in Audrey's. And even if their clothes +were shabby--well, shabby clothes were much less of a worry than smart +ones; and if their food was plain, and not very daintily served, there was +always enough, and there was plenty of fun and laughter as sauce for it. + +Mr. Carlyle, who had grown up in a well-ordered home where everything was +as neat and well-cared-for as things could be, did realise that there was +much that was lacking in his own home; but whatever he may have suffered +from the disorder, he never complained. His mother had had means, three +good servants, and only one child to make the home untidy; whereas his +young wife, who had been brought up in an Orphan School, had never known +real home life until her marriage, had only small means, several young +babies, and only one ignorant servant to help her. + +Audrey and Faith, as they grew out of babyhood, helped to dust the rooms, +run errands, and look after the younger children, but they had only the +vaguest notions as to how homes should be kept, or meals served, or the +hundred and one other little things which make all the difference between +a well-kept house and an ill-kept one, and they were quite content with +things as they were. + +At least Faith was. Audrey often had misgivings that all was not as it +should be, and yearned for something more orderly, dainty, and neat; for +prettier clothes and prettier manners. And then Granny Carlyle had come +on a visit, and had offered to take one of her many grandchildren to live +with her--for a time, at any rate. And, to the joy of Audrey, and the +relief of the others, she was chosen and they were not; and, with all her +few possessions packed in her mother's old portmanteau, she had gone off +to enjoy all the things that she considered best worth having--a large +comfortable home in a town, new clothes, school, tempting food, daintily +cooked meals, and peace and quiet in which she could read and write +undisturbed. For though Audrey resembled her father's mother in many +ways, she had also inherited her mother's taste for writing and reading. +That was four years ago, when Audrey was eleven and Faith ten, and Deborah +and Tom five and four respectively. Baby Joan, aged eighteen months, +Audrey had not yet seen. + +Thoughts of his eldest daughter were uppermost in Mr. Carlyle's mind as he +glanced from the unappetising remains of a joint lying on a dish on which +it had already appeared twice, to the scrap of dry cheese and the +unpolished knife lying beside it. + +"I--I am afraid that is all there is, father. Won't it do?" Faith looked +at him with troubled eyes. "Shall I tell Mary to cook you some eggs?" + +"No, no. What is here will do very well for me, but you--wouldn't you +prefer eggs--or----" + +"Oh no, thank you, I am so hungry I can eat anything," said Faith +cheerfully. "Father, Joan is asleep, can't we tuck her up snugly on the +sofa while we are having our supper? She would be certain to wake up if I +took her upstairs to her cot." + +"Of course she would. If you will make her a nice little nest on the sofa +I will pop her into it so gently she will not know she has been moved. +There now, wasn't that clever!" + +Faith again held up a warning finger, but Joan only stretched her limbs a +little in her new nest, and forthwith dropped asleep again. + +With a smile of triumph at each other the two nurses turned away to the +supper-table, and Mr. Carlyle said grace, and with her deep relief at the +news about her mother still glowing in her heart, Faith joined in with a +deeper sense of real gratitude than she had known before. + +"Daddy," she said presently, "you said you wanted to talk to me. +Was it about mother?" + +"Yes, dear, and--and other things too. I have been thinking matters over +since I left the doctor, and I have come to the conclusion that I must +send and have Audrey home." + +"Audrey home! Oh, how jolly!" Faith's eyes lighted with pleasure. +"That will be lovely. But," with sudden misgiving, "why must she come +home, daddy?" + +"Well, for one thing, your mother will need companionship--more than you +can give her with the children taking up so much of your time. +And, for another, it will be a relief to your mother to know that Audrey +is here looking after things. We don't want a stranger, and, indeed, +I can't afford to have anyone extra in just now. We have had so much +illness and such heavy expenses. After four years with your grandmother, +Audrey should be quite capable. She always had a sensible head on her +shoulders and for certain granny has given her a good training." + +"Ye-es," said Faith musingly, "I--I wonder how she will like coming away. +I believe she will not like it at all." But Faith kept that last thought +to herself. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Old Mrs. Carlyle, or 'Granny Carlyle' it would be politer, perhaps, to +call her, lived at Farbridge, which was a whole sixty miles from the +little village where her only son was vicar. + +Granny Carlyle had been born in Farbridge, married, and spent all her life +there, and hoped, so she often declared, to remain there to the end of her +days. And there seemed no reason why she should not attain her wish. + +Farbridge was a large country-town, with wide streets, good shops, and a +park. To Audrey Carlyle, when first she went there, it appeared a +splendid place; she felt sure none of the big cities of the world could +outdo it, even if they equalled it. The park, with its close-cut grass, +its trees and flower-beds, asphalt paths, and green-painted seats, was to +her one of the beauty spots of England. + +"Oh, it does look lovely," she sighed happily, as she gazed at it. +"After the untidy old moor at home, it looks beautiful, granny." + +"It is certainly different," agreed granny, with a twinkle in her eyes. +Nevertheless she was well pleased. "I am bound to say I am no lover of +the depths of the country. When I walk I like to walk in comfort, and to +feel that there is no risk of my twisting my ankle in a rabbit-hole, or by +tumbling over a tussock." She was glad that Audrey shared her taste, +but she was not quite sure that the taste was a good one. + +Granny Carlyle's house, 'Parkview,' solid, double-fronted, handsome, stood +on the opposite side of the roadway, facing the park. As Audrey sat at +meals in the dining-room, she looked across at the prim patches of green +grass, intersected by black paths, the whole outlined by gay, trim +flower-beds. Two of the patches of green had large trees in the middle, +with wooden seats encircling their trunks; on several of the other patches +were green seats with backs to them; the backs were all towards +'Parkview,' so that those who rested on them might be able to enjoy the +view, for, though the railway-station stood on the opposite side of the +road which ran along the lower side of the park, the tree-clad hills rose +high beyond that again, and showed over the low roof of the little +station, and if the hills happened to be covered with mist, why, there was +the park itself to look at. + +On that March morning when, just as Audrey and her granny sat down to +breakfast, Mr. Carlyle's letter came, the park was quite gay with people, +even though it was early, for, after a long spell of wet weather, the sun +was shining quite warmly, and everyone was glad to be out of doors again. + +Audrey thought it all looked more beautiful than ever that morning. +If she could have done just as she liked, she would have gone out there +herself, taking a book with her to read. But she knew that her +grandmother would not allow that, so she did not let herself dwell on it. + +"Isn't it lovely!" she remarked again enthusiastically. She had said +exactly the same thing three times already without receiving any reply, +but this time she noticed it, and, withdrawing her eyes from the +fascinating scene without, looked instead at her granny for an +explanation. Apparently there was no reason why Mrs. Carlyle should not +have answered. She was only turning over the lumps of sugar in the +sugar-basin, trying to find a small one, yet Audrey felt certain that +there was something unusual in the air, that something out of the common +had happened, and something not very pleasant either. Granny looked grave +and troubled, and at the same time annoyed. However, there was nothing +for Audrey to do but to go on with her breakfast, for she knew that her +grandmother did not like to be questioned, and, after all, it might only +be that the laundress had torn a sheet, or that the boot-boy had been rude +to the cook. Granny was always greatly upset if people did not do their +duty. + +It was not until they had nearly finished breakfast that Audrey knew what +was really the matter. + +"I have had a letter this morning from your father, Audrey." + +"Oh," said Audrey, absently, "have you, granny?" She was not deeply +interested, and at that moment one of her schoolfellows went by with a new +hat on, a light blue one, with a white 'bottle-brush' bobbing about on it, +and she found that much more absorbing. "How is mother?" she asked, when +the 'bottle-brush' had bobbed out of sight. + +"Don't be staring out of window, child, while I am talking to you. +I want your undivided attention." + +Audrey coloured, and looked not too well pleased, but she only said, +"I did not know you wanted me." + +"Well, I do. I have some important news for you." + +"Yes, granny," with increased interest, for this sounded very thrilling. + +"Your father wants you at home." + +Mrs. Carlyle, having brooded over the news for more than an hour, did not +realise how startling it might be to her grand-daughter to have it blurted +out in this abrupt fashion. Audrey's colour faded, leaving her quite +white. "Is mother worse?" she gasped. "Granny, please tell me quickly." + +Mrs. Carlyle realised the mistake she had made, and roused herself. +"Oh, no, dear. Your mother is better--a little, I mean, and she is +stronger, but her doctor says she must lead an invalid's life, lie down, +and not walk about, or exert herself, for a whole year, and your father +says they need you at home. They need your help, and your mother will be +glad of your companionship." + +The relief from her first dreadful fear was so great that Audrey's spirits +rose high. Change is always exciting too, and to feel that one is needed +is very pleasant; it makes one feel grown-up and important. + +"When am I to go, granny? Soon, I suppose? Am I to keep house?" +Audrey's face was very bright as she turned it to her grandmother. +"Oh! but I shall have to leave school, shan't I, granny?" Her face fell +at that thought, and her granny said to herself, with a little pang of +pain, "She is more sorry to leave school than she is to leave me." + +"Of course you will have to leave your school," she said tartly. +"You could hardly come sixty miles in the morning, and home again at +night. You might as well live here for all the company you would be to +your mother. Think before you speak, Audrey; it would save you from +saying many foolish things." + +"Then shan't I go to school?" + +"I don't know what arrangements your father will make; he doesn't go into +every detail in this letter. Perhaps he will get a governess for you all; +perhaps you will have to teach the younger ones." + +"Oh!" Audrey did not care for that prospect. She was not fond of +children, they made a house untidy and noisy, and required so much +attention. All the same, though, it was very nice to be going home as +mistress of the house, and companion to her mother. Perhaps her mother +would help her with her story-writing. It would be grand if she could +write stories and sell them, and earn enough money to buy her own clothes. +Granny Carlyle did not approve of her writing, or reading either. +Indeed, there was scarcely a book in the house. + +Audrey recovered her spirits as she remembered the books and papers at +home; they seemed to overflow and spread all over the house. + +"I shall have my own bookcase, and keep my own books in it, away from the +children," she thought to herself. "I hope I have a bedroom to myself. +Oh, I must!" But the little doubt she could not get rid of sobered her +again. She thought of her pretty bedroom upstairs, how lovely the comfort +and peace of it had seemed to her after the bare ugly room at home, which +she had shared with Faith. + +"Granny, do you think I shall have a room to myself at home?" she asked +anxiously. "I shall hate sharing one with Faith!" + +"I daresay Faith will not relish sharing one with you," remarked granny, +severely, "if she has to." + +"But she is so untidy, and after having had such a nice one all to myself, +I shall miss it dreadfully." + +"I wonder if you will miss me," exclaimed Granny sharply, and for the +first time Audrey thought of her grandmother, and her feelings. + +"Why, of course I shall, granny, and everything here. I expect I shall +often wish I was back again." But it was not until the last day came, and +she sat at breakfast for the last time in the handsome, comfortable +dining-room, that she fully realised the pain of parting. + +She was looking across to the sun-bathed park, at the children already at +play there, and the 'grownups' sitting on the seats gazing at the view, or +reading their papers, when the thought came to her that to-morrow, and the +next day, and all the days that followed, they would be there, but she +would not see them. She would be miles away from that dear peaceful spot, +with only a rough country road to look out on, and the desolate-looking +moor in the distance. And with the same the shrill whistle of a departing +train cut the air, and the melancholy of it, and of the day, and of all +that was to happen, poured over Audrey, until the pain seemed almost more +than she could bear. + +"Oh, granny, I don't want to go away," she cried. "I don't want to go. +I can't bear leaving you, and--and everything. I want to stay with you +always." + +Oddly enough, at the sight of Audrey's sorrow, some of the sadness which +had weighed on her granny's heart for days was lifted from it, and, though +it was their last day, she felt happier. "Then the child does care, +she does feel leaving me, she has some deep affections! I knew she had," +thought the lonely old grandmother with a sense of triumph over the doubts +which had troubled her. She put out her hand and patted Audrey's. +"I am so--" she almost, in her relief, said "I am so glad!" +"I would like you to stay, dear, but I feel it is your duty to go, and +mine to spare you." + +"May I come back, granny, when the year is up?" pleaded Audrey, keeping +back her tears by remembering that her eyes would be red for her journey. +"It would be lovely to think that this day twelve-months I shall be seeing +it all again." + +"If your father and mother can spare you, and you still wish to come, +I shall be very glad to have you, and your room will be waiting for you." + +That was comforting, but the thought of leaving that pretty, beloved room +for a whole year set the tears flowing again. "Oh, I mustn't cry, +I mustn't," she said to herself fiercely. "Everybody at the station will +see, and everyone in the train, too." But, as her eyes wandered from one +to another of the familiar things, the pretty cups and saucers, the silver +coffeepot, the funny old tall cosy that granny used, and all the rest of +them, the sense of loss and parting again became too much for her, +and this time the tears flowed without thought of appearances. + +"I think I love things more than people," she said to herself, as she +stood in her bedroom putting on her hat and coat; and she stooped and +kissed the two old foreign shells on the mantelpiece with a sudden feeling +of sympathy. They must have travelled so far from their home, and would +never, never go back. She leaned out of the window for the last time, and +took a long look at the well-filled garden, and at the flat country +beyond, and the river shining in the sunlight. + +The sight of the river and the hills brought her some comfort. They had +been there so long, and would be there unchanged whenever she came back. +"And I am coming! I am coming! I _will_ come!" she cried passionately. + +A knock sounded at her door. "Mistress wants to know if you are ready, +miss," said Phipps, granny's maid, who had been with her for +five-and-twenty years. "The sandwiches and milk are ready for you in the +dining-room, Miss Audrey. The train leaves in half an hour." + +"I will be down in a minute," said Audrey, in a choked voice. She hoped +desperately that Phipps would go away and leave her alone to say her last +good-bye to her room. But Phipps showed no such intention. + +"I'll fasten up the bag, and bring it down, miss," and she laid hands on +the straps and began to secure them in a manner which gave Audrey no hope. +"I'm sorry to be doing up luggage for you to go away altogether, +Miss Audrey. We shall all miss you," she said kindly. "The house will +seem dreadfully dull and empty. I think you had better come down and have +something to eat, or the mistress will be worrying. She likes to be at +the station in good time." + +Audrey hurried out of her room for the last time, without a backward +glance, for her heart was too full to talk. + +Once out in the sunshine, though, and walking across the park with her +grandmother, some of her unhappiness lightened. It was all so familiar, +so exactly as it always was, so calm and unchanged, it seemed impossible +that she could be going away from it all for more than a very little +while. There were several things, too, that could not fail to cheer her. +In her rug-strap were two new umbrellas, one for herself and one for +Faith. Her own had a white handle, and Faith's a green one. In her trunk +was a new coat for Faith, and a present for each and all from granny, +while in the new dark-blue hand-bag that she carried was a dark-blue +purse, and in the purse were a half-crown for Faith, and a new shilling +each for Debby and Tom. + +"To do what they like with," said granny, as she popped in the coins, +"but granny hopes that they will like to put them in their money-boxes." + +On the platform, when they got there, they found Audrey's neat green trunk +and portmanteau, with the rug-strap lying on top, and a porter mounting +guard over them. Audrey was very proud of her luggage when she travelled, +it looked so neat and nice, all green alike, and all with her initials, +'A. M. C.', in white. Granny had bought it all for her when they went for +their first annual visit to Torquay. Her old boxes, which she had taken +with her from home, had been sent to a Jumble Sale. + +They were, after all, so early for the train that the last few moments +were rather painfully long and trying for them both. Granny bespoke a +corner seat, and ordered a foot-Warmer, and they had walked the whole +length of the platform until granny, at last, was weary, and still the +train had not come. At last Mrs. Carlyle, in her anxiety to fill up the +time, even went to the bookstall and bought some magazines for Audrey to +take with her. She did not approve of magazines as a rule. Audrey did, +though, and was overjoyed at having them; but while she was trying to get +a peep at the contents there came the sound of a shrill whistle, then a +rattle and a roar, and the train thundered down on the little station, and +drew up. + +After that it was all soon ended. A good-bye, a kiss, a promise to write, +and a "be sure and let me know how your mother goes on. I shall count on +you to send me bulletins frequently, your father is so busy. Good-bye, +dear, good-bye--keep away from the door," and the engine, puffing a little +louder, and a little louder, moved on its way again. Neither Mrs. Carlyle +nor Audrey were sorry when the strain was over. It had to be; the pain +lay in that; a few minutes more or less of each other's company was but +little pleasure when the life they had enjoyed together was ended. + +For a while after the engine steamed out, and the last glimpse of the +station was gone from Audrey's sight, she felt utterly miserable, and the +tears would have their way. She loved her grandmother very much, and she +loved living with her, and, for the moment, at any rate, she was not +charmed with the thought of life at home, the noisy children, the plain +food, the shabby clothes, and even shabbier house. Tears trickled down +her cheeks, and one actually dropped on the new blue bag. "Oh, dear!" +exclaimed Audrey, vexedly, "I expect there will always be a mark!" + +The engine began to slow down before stopping at the next station. + +"Oh, dear," cried Audrey again, "I expect I look an object!" She jumped +up and tried to see herself in the strip of looking-glass conveniently +placed along the back of the opposite seat. "What a bother it is that one +can't cry without getting to look so----" She subsided on to her seat +hastily, leaving her thought unfinished, and pulled her hat down over her +eyes, turned her back on the platform end of her carriage and gazed +fixedly out of the opposite window, for a whole party of people had caught +sight of her nice empty carriage, and were making for it. + +"There are heaps of room here, mother, and such a nice carriage too!" said +a boy's voice eagerly. + +Audrey could not help looking round, but she pretended it was to pick up +one of her magazines, and, being still afraid that her eyes and nose were +red, she continued to pretend to be absorbed in the contents. She was so +vexed with the newcomers for invading her carriage that she would not have +looked at them--so she told herself--even if her eyes had not been red; +but, if she refused to look, she could not refuse to hear, and she soon +knew that there were two girls of the party, as well as the boy and his +mother; and that their voices were pretty and refined. They were all so +happy and jolly, too, that, in spite of her vexation, Audrey could not +help growing interested and amused, and, finally, even rather glad of +their company. It had certainly been rather melancholy, travelling with +nothing but one's sad thoughts for company. + +She felt, too, rather than saw, that they in their turn were interested in +her, and were inclined to be friendly, and once again she experienced a +thrill of satisfaction that she was so well dressed, and that all her +belongings were so good and so dainty. + +Before very long she grew tired of her self-imposed task of reading. +It seemed so silly to be continually holding open the pages and casting +her eyes over and over them without taking in a word. It gave one a crick +in the neck too, keeping it bent so long, and, after all, the people in +the carriage were so much more interesting than the people in the stories. +If she could hold her head out of the window a little while and blow away +the last signs of weeping, she would be able, she thought, to look about +her. She threw aside her magazine, took off her hat, and, lowering her +window, thrust her head out. The sun turned her red hair to a golden +radiance about her; the wind, catching the heavy locks, blew them out like +fluttering red-gold pennons. All the Carlyles had red hair of varying +shades and natures. Audrey's was long and heavy, with a pretty wave in +it. Faith's was shorter, darker, and curly. Tom's curled tightly over +his head, a fiery mat of curls. Deborah's, finest and silkiest of all, +hung in soft auburn waves to her waist. Baby Joan's fluffy curls were the +colour of newly-spun silk. + +Audrey was not thinking of her hair, but of her tear-disfigured face, +until, in half turning round from the window, she caught sight of herself +in the strip of mirror, and of two large smuts ornamenting her brow and +her nose! After that she thought of them, and of how ridiculous she must +look, and she glanced quickly with shamed eyes at her companions. + +They were looking at her, but there was not the ghost of a laugh on either +of their faces; indeed, on one there was gentle concern. + +"That cinder is so close to your eye; may I flick it off for you?" asked +the taller of the two girls, springing to her feet. "If you had tried to +do it yourself you might have sent it into your eye," she explained, when +she had done, "and then sometimes they take hours to get out again." + +"Thank you very much," said Audrey, gratefully, then suddenly grew so shy +that she subsided into her corner without another word. She made a big +effort, though, to recover; it seemed so ungracious, so rude, to receive a +kindness in so _gauche_ a fashion. She took up some of her magazines. +"Would you--would you like to look at these?" she asked, holding them out +towards the elder girl, and at the same time colouring with embarrassment +and with pleasure. + +"Oh, thank you!" the three spoke with one voice. "We would love to, but-- +have you done with them all for the time?" asked Irene, the elder girl. +"Wouldn't you like one for yourself? Daphne and I could look at one +together." + +Audrey shook her head. "No, thank you. I have looked through them, and I +have a book here if I want to read." + +"Perhaps you would take some lunch with us instead?" suggested the mother, +looking up from her paper with a smile. "Keith, before you begin to +devour _The Boys' Own_, lift up the lunch-basket for me, and I will unpack +it. We don't stop again for some time, so we can feel sure of not being +disturbed." + +Audrey was really not hungry, but more for the pleasure of joining the +happy party than because she wanted anything, she accepted the kind offer, +and was always afterwards thankful that she did, for it was the jolliest, +pleasantest meal she had ever had in her life. Almost before it was begun +all stiffness and shyness had vanished, and if Audrey had ever resented +her travelling companions coming, she had quite forgotten it. + +"I shall be sorry when the journey is over," she said with a sigh, as she +lay back weary with laughter. "I never had such a jolly one!" + +"Have you far to go?" + +"Not so very, very much farther," she said, half ruefully. "I am going to +Moor End, but I have to get out at Kingfield, and change." + +"Oh, how funny! We get out at Kingfield too, but we are going on to +Abbot's Field. That is the same line as yours, isn't it?" + +"Yes, Abbot's Field is a station further on." + +"What an extraordinary thing! Was ever anything so strange!" Daphne, the +younger girl, was overcome with excitement at the coincidence. "I wonder +if we shall see you sometimes! We might each walk half-way and meet. +Wouldn't it be fun! Are you going to stay long?" + +"Oh, yes, for a year, most likely. It is my home." + +"Oh!" They all looked puzzled. Most people lived at home always; they +did not come on a twelve-months' visit, or speak in quite that tone about +their home-coming. But Audrey offered no explanations, and they were too +polite to ask for any. + +"Oh," said Daphne again. "Well, I don't suppose we shall be at Abbot's +Field as long as that. We are going to stay with grandpapa, Mr. Vivian. +He lives at 'The Orchard.' Do you know him?" + +Audrey shook her head. "I--I don't remember the people round about Moor +End--at least, not very well. I have been living with my granny for four +years!" + +All the laughter and joy had died out of her heart, and from her face. +She was visibly embarrassed. She thought of her home, the shabbiness and +untidiness of it as it used to be, and she did not expect it to be much +better now, even though Faith was four years older, and she felt a shamed +shrinking from letting these strangers see it. She had spoken the truth +when she said she did not know Mr. Vivian, but she did remember that +'The Orchard' was a large place, and the house one of the finest in the +neighbourhood. + +She hoped, she hoped, oh, so fervently, that they would never come over to +Moor End to look her up; that they would not ask her her name, or where +she lived. If they knew her father was the vicar, they would be coming +over to hear him preach, and then she would not be able to avoid +introducing them, and then they would see and know all! + +A shade of embarrassment hung over the rest of the journey. Audrey was +uncomfortable. She was ashamed and nervous, and troubled at her own lack +of frankness. She was also, fortunately, ashamed of being ashamed, +but she had yet to learn how to rise above herself; to know what are the +things she should feel shame for. + +It was almost a relief to her when at last the train drew up at Kingfield, +and they all had to change carriages; for no one could help feeling that +little shade of embarrassment. And she was even more glad when the +porter, who looked after her luggage for her, put her into a carriage +apart from the Vivians, for now she felt she could escape the necessity of +introducing to them whoever might be at the station to meet her at Moor +End. Indeed, it was just possible that they might not see if anyone met +her. + +Yet, when the feeling of relief entered her heart, all other joy went out +of it, for she did love her father, she did love them all, and it hurt her +to feel ashamed. She liked her new friends too, so much, and wanted them +to like her. Tears rose in her eyes as the truth came home to her that +she was being false to those who loved her, and to those who had been so +kind to her--and all for what? + +She did not answer the question, but stood up and stared out of the +window, that those within the carriage might not see her face. And so Mr. +Carlyle, Deborah and Tom saw her as the train drew up, and her father's +heart rejoiced at her--as he thought--anxiety to catch the first glimpse +of them after their long separation. + +"Has it been a very long and dreary journey, dear?" he asked, as he put +his arm round her shoulders and kissed her. "Did you have company, or +have you had to come all the way alone?" + +"I had very nice company, part of the way," she answered, and blushed +hotly, as, glancing out under the brim of her hat, she caught sight of +Keith Vivian and Irene hanging out of their window looking at her. +"Perhaps I had better get a porter and see about my luggage," she added +hastily. It was very tiresome that they should have to wait on the +platform until the train went out, before they were allowed to cross the +line by the footway. But it always was so on the down platform of the +little Moor End station. + +To Tom and Debby one of their greatest treats was to stand and see the +engine puff in and puff out on its way again. Audrey grew quite cross +with the eager and shabby little pair who would stand so prominently +forward, and stare so hard. With a hoot and a puff and a snort the engine +moved slowly on, and the Vivians' carriage drew nearer. Daphne was at the +window now, as well as Irene and Keith, their hands waving wildly in +farewell greeting. + +"Good-bye! Good-bye!" they called out, as cheerfully as though they had +not noticed the cloud which had fallen on the end of their happy journey. +"Perhaps we shall see you----" the rattle drowned the end of their +greeting, and saved Audrey the necessity of replying. + +"Oh! oh! Audrey, you pushed right in front of me. I couldn't see a thing, +and your elbow bumped me in the eye!" + +Audrey stepped back quickly; she blushed and looked embarrassed. She had +not meant to bump her little sister in the eye, but she had meant to get +in front of her and hide from view her shabby frock and patched boots. +She had done it deliberately. + +"I am very sorry, Debby, if I hurt you," she said stiffly, "but you do make +a fuss about a trifle!" + +"Debby doesn't," contradicted Tom, fierce in his favourite sister's +defence, "Debby has more pluck than--than----" + +"Tom, boy, come here," interposed Mr. Carlyle quietly. "You and Debby can +carry this rug-strap between you, can't you?" + +"Were those your travelling-companions?" he asked interestedly turning to +Audrey as the little pair, their indignation forgotten, trotted homewards +proudly with their burden. + +"Yes," answered Audrey briefly. She said no more, she felt she could not, +but she knew that the shadow which had fallen on her own pleasure, had +fallen also on others. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Between Moor End vicarage and the road stretched a long narrow strip of +garden, at least, a strip of ill-kept grass and some shabby bushes. +A wall divided the garden from the road, a wall so low that garden, house, +and all, were exposed to the view of every passer-by. The strip of grass +was the children's play place, for the garden behind the house was divided +up into beds of carrots, cabbages, turnips, potatoes and all manner of +other things, so that there was no room left for a good game. + +Not only was there no room, but old Job Toms, who came once or twice a +week to 'do' the vegetable garden, threatened such dire punishment to +anyone who made a footmark on one of his beloved beds, that the children +were almost afraid to step inside the gate. + +However, the front garden made up for it, there were no beds there--at +least none to worry about. There had been two down by the gate at one +time, but there was nothing in them now, and the children were allowed to +do just as they liked there. They had the added joy too of seeing +everyone who passed along the road and everyone who came to the house. + +Deborah and Tom had been playing there when their father called them to +know if they would like to go with him to the station; and their toys were +lying about just as they had left them when they flew away to wash their +hands and brush their hair. + +Audrey glancing over the wall, eager for a first sight of her home after +all the long time she had been absent from it, saw an old pair of kitchen +bellows, numberless scraps of paper, a broken battledore, a shabby straw +hat, and three grubby, battered dolls perched up against an old tub, which +had once contained flowers, but had long since ceased to do so. + +The sight would have jarred on most, but to eyes accustomed to the +primness of Granny Carlyle's house it was ugly and unsightly in the +extreme. To Audrey, tired, irritable, already depressed, the sight was as +jarring as it possibly could be. "Was this really home? Was this the +sort of thing she would have to endure for twelve long, weary months?" +A great gloom weighed upon her. She walked in without a word, her heart +full to bursting. + +The look of the house was not more cheering than the garden. In three of +the four bedroom windows facing her, the low blinds sagged in the middle +and fell away from the sides. In the fourth window alone were the +curtains clean and neat, this was the room which was being got ready for +Audrey. Over the top of the low blind Faith's head suddenly appeared, +and Faith's face beamed out a welcome. + +"There is your sister," said Mr. Carlyle, more cheerfully than he had +spoken since they left the station. "I expect she is putting finishing +touches to your room. Come down," he called up to the open window, +but Faith was already coming over the stairs with a rush. + +"You have come!" she cried excitedly, hopping over two pairs of shoes and +a rattle which strewed the hall floor, "the train must have been very +punctual. I was hurrying to clear another shelf in my cupboard for +Audrey." + +Audrey's heart sank even lower. Then she was expected to share a room +with Faith. "Couldn't I--need I disturb--couldn't I have another room," +she stammered. "It--it seems too bad to turn you out." + +"Oh, you aren't turning me out," laughed Faith. "We have the old nursery +for our room, it is so nice and large; there is heaps of room too for +Joan's cot to stand beside my bed. I have cleared two shelves in the +wardrobe by tipping everything out on to my bed. I must find somewhere to +put it all before I go to bed, or I shall have to sleep on the floor--but +we shall both settle down in time. Come and see mother, Audrey, she is +longing to see you." + +"How is she," asked Audrey, as they mounted the stairs together. +"Is she really very ill?" + +"No--not what you would call very ill. She was last year, and she will +never be really well again unless she rests for a whole year." + +"It's an awfully long time, isn't it?" said Audrey dejectedly. "When does +it count from? From when she was so ill, or--or from when father wrote +for me to come home?" She was already calculating in how many weeks time +she would be able to get away, and back to Farbridge and granny. + +Faith looked at her sister, her soft brown eyes full of mild surprise. + +"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose Dr. Gray can tell to a few weeks, or +even months. A lot depends on how quiet she keeps. He said that perhaps +by next spring or summer she would be quite well again, and able to go +about." + +"Oh!" Audrey's face fell, but before she could say anything more, +Faith opened a door and in another moment Audrey was in her mother's arms. + +"Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so glad to see you. I hardly realised what a +great big daughter I possessed. How you have grown, Audrey, and how nice +you look, darling. You are going to be tall, like your father, and you +have his features." Audrey's face brightened, fond as she was of her +mother, it was her father she wished to resemble. Faith had her mother's +short tip-tilted nose and big brown eyes, and Audrey had many times envied +her the latter, but if she herself had her father's straight nose and +aristocratic features, she felt she would not grudge Faith her pretty +eyes. Faith was short too--as her mother was--a soft, sweet dumpling of a +girl. Audrey admired tall people. + +She glanced about her mother's room interestedly and with a happier face. +Here, at any rate, all was comfortable and orderly. The litter that lay +about was the litter of books and papers, which was what Audrey liked. +Perhaps things would not, after all, be as bad as at first they seemed. + +"I expect, dear, you would like to take off your hat and coat and have +some tea. You must be tired and hungry." Mrs. Carlyle loosened her arm +from round her daughter, but reluctantly. "Well," she said, looking after +her as she left the room with Faith; "you have your father's features, but +you have my mane, I see. Shocking, isn't it, to have six red-headed +people in one house!" + +"Six red-headed tempers too," laughed Faith, "no five--you haven't a +temper, mummy. Come along, Audrey." She hurried along the narrow +corridor and opened a door at the other end, "There--that is our room-- +won't it be jolly? I am sorry it is so untidy now, but it will be lovely +when we have settled in, won't it?" + +Audrey glanced about her, speechless, "How--how small and--and +old-fashioned the room looks," she said at last. "At granny's they are so +high, and they look so light and bright. Where am I to put all my things? +You see I have rather a lot of clothes." + +"Have you?" said Faith wistfully, "well it's lucky that I haven't. +I will give you another drawer in my chest of drawers. Now I must run +down to baby. Mary is cooking, and there is only Debby to look after her. +Will you come down when you are ready? It will soon be tea-time, and I +want you to see baby. Oh, Audrey, she is such a darling. You'll be sure +to love her. Doesn't it seem odd that you have never seen her--your very +own sister!" + +"Yes," said Audrey, but without eagerness. "I wish though that she had +been a boy. We were too many girls before." + +Faith went downstairs with a shadow on her bright spirits. Why was it +that nothing seemed quite right? Perhaps she had expected too much. +Somehow she had a feeling that Audrey was not pleased with anything, +nor comfortable. She could give her another drawer or two and more room +in the cupboard, but she could not change the long, low rooms to high, +light ones, nor her baby sister into a brother. + +"And I don't want to!" she cried as she met the young person in question +crawling along the hall to meet her. + +"Fay! Fay! Fay!" cried Joan joyfully, and chuckled with delight at sight +of her. + +Faith caught her up in her arms and hugged her. "Oh, Joan, you darling-- +but what about your clean pinny that I had put on on purpose to make you +look nice when your new big sister saw you for the first time?" + +But Joan only caught Faith's curls in her two plump little hands, and drew +her face down until she could rub her own soft baby face against it. + +A few minutes later Audrey came out of her room, she had made herself as +tidy as she could without hot water to wash with, or a brush or comb. +Her own were not unpacked, and Faith's were nowhere to be seen. +As she descended the stairs a strong smell of cooking poured up to meet +her. "Sausages," she thought to herself, "what a funny time of day to +have them." She was so hungry though, she could forgive the appearance of +such a dish at such an hour. + +In the dining-room Tom and Debby were trundling a small tin train across +the table from side to side, trying to avoid collisions with forks and +spoons and cups and saucers, et cetera, by moving such things away. +Faith was playing on the hearthrug with Joan. "Look, Audrey," she cried +as her eldest sister entered, "this is baby! isn't she a darling!" + +Audrey looked down at the sweet little upturned face, at the big, velvety, +violet eyes fixed so earnestly on herself. "Oh, you are a darling," she +cried impulsively. "Will you come to me, Joan dear?" But Joan was shy at +first and shrank back against Faith, though her eyes still scanned +Audrey's face with interest. A moment later there was a crash against the +door followed by a rattle of plates and dishes, diverting everyone's +attention. Audrey swung round with a cry of alarm. She was not +accustomed yet to the ways of the household. + +"It is only Mary bringing in the dishes and things," remarked Faith +placidly, "she always bumps the door with her tray." Audrey wondered what +granny would say if any one so treated the doors at 'Parkview.' +She wondered too, when she saw her, what granny would think of Mary; +round-faced, untidy, good-tempered Mary, with her crumpled apron, torn +dress and untidy head. Audrey did not know then how patient, willing and +hard-working Mary was. She only saw an untidy head with hair and cap +falling over one ear, a red face and smutty hands, and wondered how her +father, who followed her into the room could look at her and not send her +away to make herself neat, or give her notice on the spot. + +Granny would not allow her to come into the room looking so untidy, and +oh! what would Phipps think of her? + +She did not know then that poor Mary did more hard work in one day than +prim Phipps did in four; did it willingly too, and for far less reward. + +"Tea's ready, miss," Mary announced loudly. "Master Tom, you'll have to +pick up your toys now; and look at the litter you've made the table in! +Miss Faith, shall I hold baby while you have your tea? I'll rompsy with +her a bit, and that'll tire her out and make her sleepy." + +"Oh, thank you, Mary, she will love that." Faith handed her precious +burthen over to the grimy, willing hands without a vestige of the shudder +which ran up and down Audrey's spine at the sight of them. + +"Oh! oh! sausages for tea! sausages for tea!" Debby and Tom pausing in +their entrancing game realised for the first time the unusual luxury +spread before them. "Sausages _and_ jam too! That's 'cause Audrey has +come. Faith, may we have some too? Are we always going to have sausages +for tea now? Oh, I am glad Audrey's come home. Don't you love sausages, +Audrey?" + +Debby looked up at her sister with eager, happy eyes. + +"Yes--rather--I mean yes, I do." Audrey was glancing about her for a +table-napkin. Mr. Carlyle saw and understood. + +"Faith, dear. Audrey would like a table-napkin. Can you get her one?" + +"Never mind," said Audrey, "it really doesn't matter." But Faith had +already flown. When she came back again it was with a troubled face and a +very ragged piece of damask in her hand. + +"I know we have some better ones somewhere," she said, "but I can't think +where they have got to. I can't find anything but this." + +"Oh, don't bother," pleaded Audrey, embarrassed by the trouble she was +causing. + +Mr. Carlyle sighed softly, but not so that Faith could hear. "I think we +shall have to put you in charge of the linen-cupboard," he said, smiling +down at his elder daughter, and Audrey's face brightened. She loved +granny's nice neat linen cupboard, with its neat piles of towels and +pillow-cases, sheets and tablecloths all in such beautiful order. + +She picked up her knife and fork to begin her meal, trying not to see that +the knife had not been cleaned, but when she felt the handle of her fork +sticky in her clasp her patience gave out, she could not eat with dirty +messy things, and she would not. With a face like a thunder-cloud she +laid down both again, "I don't think I will have any, thank you," she said +huskily. "I--I----" She was so thoroughly put out she could scarcely +speak, for she really was very hungry and she really wanted her tea. + +Her father, with a very concerned face, laid down his own knife and fork +and looked at her anxiously. "Perhaps it was not a very wise choice to +have made for you after a journey," he said, "would you rather have some +cold meat, dear?" + +"No, thank you, it is very nice, but--but----" + +"You would rather have some bread and butter." + +She would not at all prefer bread and butter, at that moment she felt she +hated it, she was so hungry and longed for the savoury sausage and potato. +It was not the food she objected to but what she had to eat it with. +After the fuss, though, about the table-napkin she had not the courage to +speak out. So she sat and ate bread and jam sulkily, and almost choked +over her tea and refused to smile at anyone or at anything that was said. + +In her heart she wondered how she could ever endure the hopeless muddle, +the dirt and untidiness, for fifty-two long weeks. "Three hundred and +sixty-five days of it!" she thought angrily, "and I haven't lived through +one yet! Oh, I must write to granny and beg her to let me come back to +her again. They must manage without me here, I simply cannot bear it." + +Again a shadow fell on the happiness of all. Mr. Carlyle, looking at his +eldest daughter's downcast face, wondered if he had done right by her; not +so much in having her home now, as in ever letting her go away. Was she +going to be the comfort to her mother, and the help to the younger ones +that he had hoped she would, after her four years of training; or had the +years simply taught her to be selfish, and to love luxury? + +Faith, too, felt unusually depressed. She was accustomed to feeling tired +in body, but to-night she felt tired in spirit also. Debby and Tom, +instead of rejoicing that they had a big sister to make home happier, +felt as though they had a stranger amongst them, who disapproved of +everything. + +In her heart of hearts Audrey knew it too. She felt that she was being +disagreeable, that so far she had given no one cause to be glad that she +had come home; and, once her first anger had subsided, the feeling added +greatly to her sadness. She longed to be able to get away by herself for +a while; but in that busy house she knew there was but little chance of +solitude. + +"I must have a room to myself, I must! I must!" she thought desperately, +"if it is only an attic. Somewhere where I can put my books and desk." +Suddenly she remembered that the house had attics, some of which were not +used--at least, two were unused when she lived at home. Her heart gave a +great leap of excitement. If one were still empty, could not she have it? +She felt she could put up with everything else, if she might but have one +place of her very own. + +She longed to ask about it at once, and set her mind at rest, but second +thoughts showed her that it would be too selfish, too ungracious to be +inquiring about a room for herself on the very first evening of her +home-coming, especially after the nursery--an extra large room--had been +given up to them that they might be happy and comfortable. + +She would wait a day or two, she decided, and then make the suggestion to +Faith. Faith would agree, she was sure, if she thought it would give +pleasure. She was always so easy-going and good-tempered; so ready to +fall in with any plan for making others happy. + +Audrey's spirits brightened, and the brightness showed in her face. +Her father, watching her anxiously, saw that the cloud had lifted, and +thought that perhaps after all it might only have come from +over-tiredness, and a very natural sorrow at leaving her grandmother and +her home of four years. + +"I have taken your boxes upstairs," he said, laying his hand caressingly +on her shoulder, "you will be able to unpack after tea if you like." + +Audrey looked up at him with the brightest look he had yet seen on her +face. + +"Oh, thank you, father, so much, I will go up and unpack at once, if I +may, there are presents in my big box for everyone." + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Audrey had already unpacked a book for her father, a soft down cushion for +her mother, and a pretty pinafore for Baby Joan. + +"This is for--oh no, this is a pair of shoes for Debby--oh Debby, Debby, +how dare you!" Audrey's face and voice and manner changed in a flash from +sweet graciousness to hot anger. "Just look at the mess you have made, +and your heel is on the brim of my best hat. Oh, how clumsy you are!" + +Deborah was sitting right in the middle of Audrey's bed, and Tom on +Faith's. Faith herself sat on the floor, gazing entranced at her sister's +pretty belongings. In one hand she held a smart new patent leather shoe, +in the other a pretty bedroom slipper. "What is Debby doing?" she asked +absently. "Oh, Audrey, you have three--no, four pairs of house shoes! +How----" + +But Audrey was not in the mood to listen to a recital of her own +blessings. "Deborah couldn't sit on a chair, or the floor, but must +actually clamber on to my bed, with her boots on too! Just look at the +mess she has made my white quilt in! It--it looks as though it had been +slept on by--by a muddy dog." + +Faith, roused by the wrath in her sister's voice, put aside the shoes, and +looked up. "Debby," she said reprovingly, "you shouldn't. You know +Audrey wants the bed to put her things on. Why couldn't you sit on the +floor beside me?" + +"I couldn't see all the things when I was down so low," explained Deborah, +in an aggrieved voice. + +"I have a good mind not to give you your presents at all," stormed Audrey. +"I am sure granny wouldn't wish me to, if she knew how naughty you were." + +"I don't want your old presents, you can keep them yourself," retorted +Debby hotly, scrambling off the bed hurriedly, and dragging off a +collection of gloves and laces with her. Her face was red and angry too, +but tears were very near the surface. + +Faith held out her arm, "Come and sit beside me, dear, and we will put on +your new shoes, to see if they fit." + +"I don't care if they fit or not, I don't want them! I wouldn't wear them +if they did. Audrey had better keep them for herself--disagreeable old +thing," and Debby, mortified and indignant, marched out of the room, +banging the door behind her. + +Faith's face grew troubled. The child had been so happy a moment before. +"She did not know," she murmured apologetically. "She didn't know she was +doing wrong, they always sit on my bed. Tom, you had better come off, my +quilt is a clean one too." + +In the silence that followed, Audrey grew uncomfortable. They had all +been so excited and happy a moment before, and now the room was full of +gloom. No one took any further interest in her box and what it contained. +She knew that she had been only right and Debby very naughty, that +children with dusty boots should not sit in the middle of clean white +quilts; but perhaps she could have spoken more gently. The children did +not know they were doing wrong. + +Tom swung himself off the bed, and marched towards the door. +Audrey looked at his stormy face nervously. "This is for you," she said, +holding a tempting-looking parcel towards him. + +For a moment he hesitated, evidently unwilling to accept it from her, +but his better instincts prevailed. "Thank you," he said, but coldly, and +laying it down without looking at it, he turned to Faith. "I am going to +look for Debby," he said, and went out of the room. + +"What dreadful tempers!" Audrey, mortified by Tom's snub, grew angry +again. "They ought to be sent away to school, to a very strict school. +They would be taught, then, how to behave themselves!" + +"They aren't really bad," pleaded Faith wistfully. "I think they were +hurt, you see Debby didn't know she was naughty, and--and they hardly know +you yet. They would not mind so much if they did." + +"Well, I think their tempers are dreadful, and their manners too." +In her annoyance Audrey could not help speaking out the hard thoughts that +were in her heart. + +"All red-haired people have hot tempers, they say," quoted Faith quietly, +"I know I have." + +"Oh, well, I am glad I haven't." + +"You! oh!" Faith glanced up at her sister with a comical little smile, +but she said no more. + +"This is yours," said Audrey glumly, dragging a large parcel from her box. +"It is a blue coat like mine. Granny thought you might want one." + +"Want one! I should think I did!" Faith sprang to her feet in a tumult +of excitement. "Oh, Audrey, I haven't had a new coat for three years, and +mine is so shabby and so small for me. How kind of granny to send me such +a beautiful present. I wish she was here now. I do so want to thank +her!" + +Audrey stared at her sister, wide-eyed with astonishment. Not had a new +coat for three years! Why, that was nearly as long as she herself had +been away, and she had had one every winter and summer. Poor Faith! +no wonder she looked so shabby. It was not entirely from her own +carelessness then. + +But Faith, blissfully unconscious of the thoughts passing through her +sister's mind, had torn off the wrapper from the parcel, and was already +slipping her arm into her new treasure. "Doesn't it look nice," she +cried, pirouetting before the glass. "I must go and show it to mother and +father, and the children," and she danced away to her mother's room, and +even to the kitchen to show Mary. + +Audrey remained where she was, gazing thoughtfully down into her trunk. +She suddenly felt ashamed that she should possess so much, while Faith, +who worked so hard, possessed so little. She thought of all the dresses +lying in her box at that moment, the soft grey cashmere, the dark blue +serge, the green tweed, the new blue muslin, and the cotton ones, white, +blue, and green. + +"I wish my dresses would fit Faith. I would give her one--unless she has +enough already--and I don't suppose she has." She was still standing in +the same spot, and still thinking, when Faith danced into the room again. + +"Oh, Audrey, they all think it beautiful, and daddy says he hopes I will +be able to have a new hat this summer." Then catching sight of her +sister's grave face. "How are you getting on? Can you find room for all +your things? You can have all my pegs but one--one will be enough for +me." + +"Haven't you many frocks?" asked Audrey. She spoke a little gruffly, +but it was from shyness, and the thought of what she was about to do. + +"I have this one," said Faith cheerfully, "this is my best--and an old one +I wear in the mornings. I was to have had a new one, but the roof had to +be mended, and it cost an awful lot. I wish this skirt was blue instead +of brown, it would look so nice with my new blue coat, wouldn't it?" + +"I have a blue skirt that you can have. I have two, a blue serge and a +blue cloth. You shall have the blue cloth, it is rather short for me, +so it ought to do nicely for you." + +Faith could hardly believe her ears. "Oh, Audrey!" she gasped, "do you +really mean it; but why should you give up your things? You may want +them, and I don't mind being shabbier than you are. I don't really. +You see the eldest is always the best-dressed." + +"But I mind," cried Audrey. "I can't go about nicely dressed, and you +in--in rags almost." + +She did not mean to speak ungraciously, she did not mean exactly what her +words conveyed, she was embarrassed by Faith's overwhelming gratitude, +and her exaggerated idea of her--Audrey's--generosity. Something made her +feel mean and petty. "You can wear your own blouses with it, so there +will be no trouble about the fit." + +"I shall be able to have a new blouse soon," said Faith blithely. +"I am saving up to get some muslin. Miss Babbs has got some new in. +Oh, it is so pretty, and only sixpence a yard. It will only take three +yards, and when I have got it, Miss Babbs says she will cut it out for me, +and help me make it. Isn't it kind of her! I have a shilling towards +it." + +"Oh!" Audrey made a dart at the bed where her bag, and a host of other +things, lay in the utmost confusion. "I had quite forgotten," she said, +diving in the bag for her purse, "granny sent half-a-crown to you, and a +shilling each to Debby and Tom." + +Faith's eyes grew rounder than ever. "I never knew such a lovely day as +this. Why, it is like a very nice birthday!" she cried, overwhelmed with +happiness. "Oh, Audrey, I can get my muslin now, and--and perhaps I can +make my blouse by Sunday! Will you come to Miss Babbs' with me to-morrow +to choose it?" + +Miss Babbs' shop was of the useful kind so often met with in villages. +The kind of shop where you seem able to buy everything that is needed, +and many that are pretty, such as the blouse muslin on which Faith had set +her heart. She was so afraid that it would be gone before she could get +some of it, that she rushed off as soon as breakfast was over, carrying +the greater part of her family with her. + +"I would have liked that white one with the blue spots," she said, eyeing +that particular roll wistfully, "but it would always be needing washing." + +"Why don't you have this," suggested Audrey, pointing to a dark blue with +a spot on it of the same colour, "with little white cuffs and a collar; it +would look awfully well with your blue coat and skirt." + +"Oh, so it would," cried Faith eagerly, "please give me three yards of +that, Miss Babbs. What good taste you have, Audrey! Other people always +choose prettier things for me than I should choose for myself." + +Deborah pulled at her sleeve anxiously. "Fay--Fay, I want to get +something for mother," she whispered in a tone that could be heard all +over the shop, "and I want to get something for daddy, and Joan, and +Mary." + +"Oh!" said Faith, and forgot all about her own purchases. "You must get +something for yourself too, darling." + +"I don't want anything--look Fay! wouldn't Mary like a pair of those?" +Her eyes were riveted on a boxful of cotton gloves, bright yellow, black, +and white, marked fourpence three-farthings. + +"She'd love a pair," said Faith with conviction. "She would like a yellow +pair to wear with her new brown frock." She wished it was as easy to find +something for all the others. + +"Joan would like a ball, and mother--oh, why not get mother some oranges. +She is so fond of fruit." + +Debby was gazing enraptured at a shelf of china with a view on each piece. +"Oh, Fay, I would like to give daddy a cup and saucer, may I?" + +"Of course, darling, if you have money enough; he would like it ever so +much." But the cups and saucers cost eightpence, and Debby's means would +not run to that. + +Tom came to her rescue, "I know, we will get it for daddy between us, +that'll be fourpence each, you shall give him the cup if you like, Deb." + +"No, I shan't," said Debby decisively, "we'll give half a cup and half a +saucer each. Let me see, fourpence and fourpence three-farthings is +nearly ninepence, a penny for Joan's ball, that only leaves +twopence-farthing for mummy. Do you think she will feel hurt?" turning a +grave face to Faith. + +"Hurt! of course not!" + +"I know," shouted Tom, "I'll save on Mary. I'll get her two sticks of +peppermint rock, she loves it--then I'll be able to get a mug for mother, +then if you give her oranges, and father doesn't have anything but his cup +and saucer, that'll be about fair." + +"I know what we'll do," said Debby, after long and deep thinking. +"We'll put our things together, shall we, Tom? and not say which is from +which." + +Coming out of the shop nearly an hour later, with their arms full of +parcels, they ran almost into the arms of a tall grey-haired gentleman. +Debby gave a shout of delight. "Dr. Gray, oh, Dr. Gray," she cried +excitedly, "I've spent a whole shilling, but look what a lot of things +I've got." In her efforts to try and hug them and him too, she dropped +some of them. + +"I see you have bought a ball for someone," he laughed, rescuing it from +the gutter. "Is that for me?" + +"For you!" Debby chuckled hilariously at first, then her face grew +suddenly serious. She had not bought anything for this lifelong friend, +and she felt mean. "Would you like one," she asked anxiously, "'cause you +shall have it, if you would!" + +"Bless the child!" cried the doctor, picking her up unceremoniously and +kissing her. "I haven't time for play. You give it to the lucky person +you bought it for." + +"That's Joan." + +"Very well. When I want a game and have time, I will come up and play +with Joan. What else have you got there?" + +"Oranges for mother--oranges and a ball aren't easy to carry together, and +I've got gloves for Mary, and a cup for daddy--at least, _we_ have, me and +Tom." + +"My eye! you have been making Miss Babbs' fortune this morning! Where is +the cup? In the crown of your hat?" + +"No, forchinately Faith is carrying that, or it would have been broken." + +"That is fortunate indeed." At the mention of Faith, the doctor turned to +the elder sisters. "Ah, Miss Audrey," he cried, clasping her hand warmly, +"it is nice to see you home again! I began to think you had deserted us +for good. But you have come back at last to look after them all! +Well they needed an elder sister's help; it was time you came." + +Audrey smiled and blushed prettily. "I want to be useful," she said, and +genuinely meant it. "When I have been here a little while I shall know +better what I can do." + +She mistook the doctor's meaning. She did not realise that he meant that +her mother needed companionship and care; and Faith some help with the +heavy burden which weighed down her young shoulders. She thought he +referred to the house and the garden, and the muddle which reigned in +both. And she walked home with her head held high. People should soon +see that she, at any rate, knew how things should be done. + +"Debby," she said sharply, as they passed through the garden on their way +home. "When you have taken in your parcels do come out and pick up that +old hat, and those dreadful old dolls, and carry them all up to your own +room. They make the garden look dreadfully untidy." + +Debby stood still in the path, her oranges dropping one by one, unheeded, +through the bottom of the bag. Those dreadful old dolls! She could +scarcely believe her ears. Her precious babies, her Dorothy, and Gladys +and Dinah Isabella, called 'dreadful old dolls.' The colour mounted in +her cheeks, and the tears in her eyes. + +"They are not old!" she cried indignantly, "and they are not--not +dreadful--they are lovely, they are darlings, and they have _got_ to stay +out of doors, they have been ill." + +"Rubbish!" snapped Audrey irritably. "You don't care in the least how +untidy you make the place look. I wonder you aren't ashamed for anyone to +come here." She did not see, nor would she have cared if she had seen, +the quivering of Debby's lips, the hurt feeling in her eyes. + +Faith was torn two ways; full of pity for her little sister she yet felt +she must uphold the authority of the eldest one. "Debby dear," she said, +"your old hat, at any rate, oughtn't to be lying here, and just think how +horrid it will be if slugs and snails get into it. It is time your dolls +came in and had a bath, isn't it? They have been out all night. +Tom, pick up that paper, will you, dear? You know daddy dislikes to see +paper lying about." + +"I forgot," said Tom, "we were playing shops when daddy called out and +asked if we would like to go to the station." + +"But that was yesterday," said Audrey coldly, "I saw it lying there when I +came, it looked dreadful, it caught my eye at once. There has been plenty +of time to pick it up since, and you should have done it." + +The look of sullen rebellion came again to Tom's face. "Daddy didn't tell +me to, or Faith. I suppose Audrey thinks she can boss us as much as she +likes," he whispered angrily to Debby, "'cause she is the eldest. +I wish she had stayed at granny's for ever and ever." + +Faith walked on at her sister's side, looking grave and troubled. +From time to time she glanced with anxious eyes at Audrey's face. +She could see that she was annoyed, and irritated. + +"I--I expect we seem rather untidy to you, after granny's," she remarked +at last. She spoke apologetically, yet she was longing for a word of +understanding sympathy. "With mother's illness, and--and little children, +and no nurse to look after them, it has been so difficult to keep it all +nice." + +But Audrey only gave a snort of contempt. She had no sympathy to offer. +"Nice!" she said sarcastically; "from the look of the place I shouldn't +have thought anyone had tried. It is more like a pigsty than anything +else. And the children haven't any manners at all," she added, quite +losing sight of her own, and longing only to hurt someone. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Audrey had been at home two weeks, but, she wrote to her granny, +"it seems like two months, and such long ones. Mother seems to be going +on very well, but nothing else does. Everything else seems all wrong. +The house is so shabby and untidy, and no one seems to try to keep it +neat. I am _always_ telling them about it, and then they turn round and +say I am nagging. Oh, granny, I shall be so glad when next year comes, +and I can come back to you. I miss you dreadfully." + +What she really missed was her comfort, and the little luxuries her +grandmother had surrounded her with as a matter of course. "I am going to +try to have a room to myself, I simply can't bear things as they are. +With love, your affectionate grandchild, Audrey." + +Having sealed and directed her letter, Audrey rose, crept softly out of +the bedroom, and up the steep stairs to the attics. She really was going +to see about getting one for herself. If the empty one was at all +suitable she was going straight to her mother to ask if she might have it. +If it was not suitable! She did not let her mind dwell on such a +possibility, it would be too dreadful to bear--after all the hopes she had +built up. + +She had shared the room with Faith and Joan for a fortnight, and she +simply could not stand it any longer. The children seemed to forget that +it was not their nursery still, and spent half their time there. +She had never been able to put out her writing-case and work-basket, +or her books and ornaments, for there was no room. Nor would she have +done so if there had been, for the children would have been always +handling them, and spoiling them all. + +And now, even while she was writing, Debby had upset the water-jug all +over the floor, and Joan had danced all over the beds; and really it was +more than Audrey could endure any longer. + +"I can't be expected to," she said to herself, as she mounted the attic +stairs, "anything would be better than that muddle." + +The attic on the extreme left was a box-room, she knew, and the one in the +middle was the servant's room, so she opened the third door. The box-room +faced the east; the servant's room looked out over the front garden and +the road; the third one--Audrey's--looked out to the west, and down over +the village and the church, to where the hill wound up and up to the +heather-clad moor. + +As she opened the door the room felt close and musty, but a flood of +sunshine poured in through the closed window, to welcome her. "Oh, how +jolly! I must have this! I must! I must! I could make a splendid room +of it." + +She went over and threw up the window wide, then faced about and examined +the place more closely. "There is heaps of room, and I am sure I could +make it ever so nice. The bed could stand there, and the chest of drawers +facing the window, and--oh, I could have a real writing table by the +window. I could do real work if I had this all nice and quiet to myself, +with my things about--and this view to look out at! I shall go and ask +mother this very minute!" and with cheeks pink with excitement she tore +down the bare stairs and along the corridor as though she was afraid she +would lose her chance if she waited a moment. + +But at her mother's door she found her father standing, talking to Dr. +Gray. The doctor looked round at her with a little frown on his brow, +and put up his finger for silence. "Your mother is trying to sleep," +he said rather sharply. "She had a bad night. Will you try and keep the +house as quiet as possible, Miss Audrey, please?" + +Audrey's face clouded. She was disappointed at not being able to put her +request to her mother, and she was annoyed at being reproved. +Audrey never could endure reproof. + +"I will try," she answered glumly; "but it is almost impossible to get +quiet here. The children are so noisy, and they never do what they are +told." + +Mr. Carlyle sighed. Dr. Gray's eyebrows lifted a little. "They are very +imitative," he said. "If you explain to them how necessary it is, +for their mother's sake, and set them the example, I will answer for it +that they will be good." + +But Audrey only tossed her head, and retired to her bedroom. + +Presently, after what seemed a long time, Faith came up, carrying Joan, +asleep in her arms. She looked tired and hot. "She has dropped off at +last," she panted, "I am going to put her in her cot. I think it is the +warm weather that makes her so restless. She hasn't slept for hours." + +Audrey did not reply. She sat on the chair beside her bed, and watched +her sister lay the sleeping child carefully on her pillow, without +disturbing her; then draw the blanket carefully over her. + +That done to her satisfaction, Faith flung herself on her own bed with a +sigh of content. "Oh!" she sighed, "how lovely it is to lie down. +I am so tired, and my head aches so--and my feet." + +The warm days had come in suddenly; though it was only April they seemed +to have stepped from winter right into summer, and everyone felt it. + +Audrey looked at her sister with disapproving eyes. "A nice sight your +bed will be, when you get off it, and look at mine. Joan did that. +With that great slop on the floor, too, the room isn't fit to look at." + +"I should think this heat would soon dry up anything," said Faith +placidly, "no floor could stay wet long, even if one wanted it to." +She turned over, and stretched her aching limbs contentedly. "If my bed +is untidy, I must tidy it again--that is all. I am so dead tired I must +lie down somewhere. Where have you been? In with mother?" + +"No. I was here part of the time, trying to write to granny, and--and +then I went up to the attics. Faith, I do want to have that west attic +for my very own. It would make a jolly bedroom. I am going to ask mother +if I may. I should think she would let me when she knows how much I want +it." + +"Do you?" Faith opened her tired eyes, and looked at her sister wistfully. +"You don't care for being here with me?" + +Audrey looked somewhat embarrassed. "It--it isn't that--but I do want a +room to myself, where--where the children won't be always bursting in and +banging the place about. You see, I have been accustomed to having my own +room, and my things about, all the time I was with granny. It--it seems +senseless, too, doesn't it? for three of us to sleep in one room, and +leave that one up there standing empty." + +"But Joan only sleeps here because mother mustn't be disturbed at night." + +"I know, but she makes three sleeping here. Do you think mother and +father would mind my having the attic?" + +"Oh, no--not if you want it so much. It makes more work for the servant +to have another room to clean, and one so high up too." + +"Oh, I will keep it clean, and--and all that sort of thing. I wonder when +mother will be awake? I want to go and ask her." + +"I don't know. Not for a long while yet, I hope, for Dr. Gray gave her a +sleeping draught. But you need not bother mother about it, ask father, it +will be just the same. He is in his study." + +Audrey was on her feet in a moment. "Shall I? Do you think he will +understand as well as mother would? You see, I really need a quiet place +where I can work in peace. Do you think father would let me have the +attic?" + +"Oh, yes, father will let you have it." Faith turned her head on her +pillow with a weary sigh. "Audrey, will you draw down the blind? +My head is simply splitting." + +"All right. I will go down to father this very minute, then I must see +about getting it cleaned out, and--oh, I wonder if I could possibly get it +ready to sleep there to-night!" + +"To-night!" In spite of her pain, Faith opened her eyes wide with +surprise. "But there is no furniture there, no--no anything. What a +hurry you are in, Audrey." She felt a little hurt, and the hurt sounded +in her voice; but Audrey did not hear, she was already on her way to the +study. + +Faith got off the bed, drew down the blind herself, then clambered on to +her bed again; but there was no pleasure in the rest now. +She was conscious all the time that she was crushing the pillows and the +quilt and spoiling the look of everything. "I wish I had a rug and a +cushion, that I could lie on the floor. It seems wrong to be lying here." +However, as she was there, she thought she might as well stay, and +presently she dozed, until Audrey's return woke her. + +"Father says I may have the attic," she announced bluntly, but she was not +as exuberant about it as Faith had expected her to be. Without saying +anything more, she went to a drawer and took out a large apron. + +"Are you going to begin at once?" asked Faith, sitting erect in her +excitement. + +"I may as well. What is the use of waiting?" + +"I was only thinking of the heat--and the noise. We shall have to be so +awfully careful not to disturb mother. What did daddy say, Audrey?" + +"Oh," he said: "'Yes, certainly,'" a pause. + +"Was that all?" + +"No, he--he seemed to think I was going to take Debby with me--as you had +Joan; but I might as well stay here as do that! Better, in fact. +If Debby thought the attic was as much hers as mine, I should have no +peace in my life. I should never be able to keep her out." + +Faith got slowly off the bed. "I don't suppose Debby would care to go, +either," she said quietly. "I will have her in here with me. There will +be plenty of room, and I shall be able to keep an eye on her." + +"Yes--that's a capital idea," Audrey's face brightened. "She will love +being here with you and Joan. Now I am going down to get a brush and some +dusters. I shall first of all sweep out the attic. I am going to have it +as nice and clean and pretty as ever I can get it." + +"I will come and help you," said Faith with as much energy as she could +muster. She was very hot and tired still, and her head ached as badly as +ever. + +When Mary heard what Audrey wanted the brushes for, she came too, to lend +a hand. She even washed the floor, to take up any loose dust, and "make +it sweet," as she said. "It dries as fast as I wash it," she added, +"it is that hot up here to-day, and such a breeze blows in." +Good-tempered Mary also cleaned the window, and put up a pair of holland +curtains--the best that could be found. + +"They will do for the time," said Audrey, somewhat scornfully. "I shall +make myself a pretty pair as soon as I can, and embroider roses on them. +I think I will write to granny, and ask her to send me the materials. +Granny has some sweet ones. She cuts out great sprays of flowers from +cretonne, and applique's them on to Bolton sheeting. You have no idea how +sweet they look." + +"I wish we had some for the drawing-room," sighed Faith, "the curtains +there are too shabby for words." + +Debby and Joan had drifted up by this time, and were allowed to help, and +Joan sat on the floor contentedly playing with the hammer. When she had +put up the curtains, Mary helped Faith to unscrew the bed and carry it up, +and screw it together again, the mattress she carried in her strong arms +as easily as though it were Joan; while Tom and Deborah staggered up with +the pillows, sheets, and blankets. + +When, though, it came to carrying up the chest of drawers, they all had to +give a hand. It was so clumsy, and slipped through their hands so +persistently that more than once they all sat down suddenly on the stairs +with the chest on top of them. By that time they had all begun to giggle, +and that made matters worse, for it took away all the strength they had. +Audrey's new room was growing quite ship-shape, but every other duty in +the house was at a standstill, everything else was forgotten, and time was +lost count of. + +"Audrey! Faith! Mary! Where are you all? Do you know that it is +half-past one?" + +Mr. Carlyle's voice broke in on their laughter so peremptorily and +unexpectedly, that Audrey and Faith above, and Mary below, lost their hold +of the clumsy bit of furniture, and let it slip backwards. + +"Is dinner nearly--I say, girls, do be careful. If that thing were to +fall on Mary it might injure her seriously--and what should we do without +her?" With a strong grasp he seized and raised their cumbersome load, +while Mary, red, embarrassed, laughing, dishevelled, struggled out from +underneath. She was not really hurt, but she was dismayed at the thought +of the time, and the work which lay neglected. + +"Half-past one!" she gasped, "and I've got all the dinner to get." +Faith had already flown downstairs. + +"And I have to be at the Cemetery at half-past two," said Mr. Carlyle +gravely, but not unkindly. Mary was only seventeen, and, after all, young +things did enjoy anything out of the routine, he knew. But such a lack of +all sense of responsibility was serious, especially in a house where there +was an invalid, and young children. + +"And what about your mistress's lunch?" he asked, when they had succeeded +in getting the chest of drawers safely into the attic. Mary, overcome +with remorse, flew down to the kitchen without a word. + +Mr. Carlyle turned to Audrey. "Had you forgotten your mother?" he asked +in a voice full of reproach. + +Audrey coloured with shame. "I--I--yes, I had, father. I didn't know it +was so late--the time flew so. + +"It does, when we are occupied with anything that pleases us. But it was +your duty to know how the time was going. You reminded me to-day that you +were the eldest, and that, therefore, certain privileges were due to you. +You must remember, dear, that with certain privileges, certain +responsibilities are yours too." + +"I am very sorry, father. When I--when I am settled in--I will try to see +to things better." + +"That's right. I hope the having a room of your very own will not prove a +temptation to you to shirk your duty; that your privileges will not block +your view of your duties. Come down now, and help Mary, in return for all +the help she has given you." + +"Yes, father. I will as soon as I have washed my hands." + +It took her so long though to find soap and nailbrush, and a towel, and a +brush and comb, that when, at last, she did get down to the kitchen she +found Faith just leaving it with a cup of hot beef tea on a tray, and a +plate of stewed fruit and custard. Joan sat on the floor, this time happy +with the bellows, while Mary chopped cold potatoes as fast as she could in +the frying-pan over the gas ring. + +"If I can only get something ready for the master to have, I don't mind," +she gasped, pausing for a moment. "There is plenty of cold beef, that is +one comfort, and some stewed fruit; but I did mean to have had a hot +dinner, and have kept the cold meat for supper." + +"Never mind, that will be all right. It is lucky we had it." +Audrey's ideas as to what was suitable for dinner, and what should only be +had for suppers, had undergone a sharp and swift change. She resented a +little Mary's tone of proprietorship, but she decided that it would be +wiser to await another opportunity to tell Mary that it was for her, +Audrey, to arrange what they should have for this meal and that. + +She took up a magazine which was lying on the table. "There doesn't seem +to be anything for me to do," she said, contentedly dropping into a chair. +She was very glad, for she was very tired. "Oh, dear! how my legs ache. +I feel as though I don't want to do a thing more to-day." + +Mary looked at Audrey once or twice with disapproval, as she sat lazily +turning over the pages. She hardly liked to say what was in her mind, for +she was a little in awe of her master's eldest daughter, who seemed to +know so much better than anyone else how things should be done, and to +have been accustomed to everything so much grander than they were at the +Vicarage. + +Loyalty to Faith, though, gave her courage. Faith, so good-tempered and +willing, at the beck and call of everyone. If Audrey was tired, so were +they all--and with working for her, too--and Faith was feeling quite sick +with the pain in her head. + +"There is the cloth to lay, miss," she said, reluctantly. "I haven't been +able to do that yet. Miss Faith said she would, but she is feeling so +bad----" + +"Oh, isn't the cloth laid!" in a disappointed voice, "then I suppose," +reluctantly, "I had better do it. Where do you keep it, Mary, and where +shall I find the glasses, and the table napkins, and the silver?" + +Mary stopped and showed her, running back between whiles to attend to the +potatoes. Audrey laid the cloth, and turned to the plate-basket. +"I suppose I ought to polish each fork and spoon as I lay it," she +thought, ruefully, "it all looks smeary; but, I can't bother. I am too +tired to-day. The things shouldn't be put away smeary," she added +crossly, "it is only leaving the work for someone else to do." + +When she had finished laying the silver, she went out to the kitchen again +and collected the glasses. Every one had the smeary look that glasses +have if they have been wiped with a damp, and not too clean, cloth. + +At the sight of them she exclaimed with impatience: "Oh, bother the +things!" she cried irritably, "I can't stay to wipe them all, I am tired +out." She was putting them on the table when her father came into the +room. "That is right, dear, I am glad you are showing Mary how things +should be done. She is very young, and has had no proper training. +Example is everything with Mary, she is very imitative; but poor little +Faith has had too much on her hands to be able to attend to the +daintinesses of life." + +Audrey coloured, but not, as her father thought, with pleasure. + +"Example!" That was what Dr. Gray had said. How tiresome it was of +people to keep on about example, and how difficult it made life! +It was so much more difficult to do things oneself, than to tell people +how they should be done. + +In a gust of impatient anger she caught up the glasses again. "I wish I +could teach Mary to wash tumblers properly," she said crossly, +"and silver. There is not one thing fit to use----" + +"Well, can't you? If you showed her the way once or twice I am sure she +would learn. She is very anxious to improve herself." + +The hot words on Audrey's lips died away, but not the anger in her heart, +as she dashed out to the kitchen again. "I want some hot water," +she demanded peremptorily, "every tumbler needs washing, Mary," she said +sharply, "there isn't one fit to use." + +Mary's face fell. "There isn't any hot water, miss, the fire has gone +clean out." + +"Then it's the only thing that is clean," said Audrey rudely. + +Mary's eyes flashed. "Serves me right for not tending to my own work, +and leaving others to tend to theirs," she retorted. She was tired, hot, +and thoroughly put out by the upset of the morning, and while she was +doing all she knew to make up for her fault, out came Audrey nagging at +her. "Another time I'll know better than start moving furniture and +washing floors late in the morning, when I ought to be getting my dinner +forward." + +"That didn't prevent your washing the glasses properly last night, did +it?" snapped Audrey. "If you did things properly once, they wouldn't need +doing a second time." + +Mary lost her temper entirely. "It is easy for them to talk as don't do +anything," she muttered sullenly; "it's them that work that knows----" + +Fortunately Faith came into the kitchen at that moment, bringing word that +someone had knocked twice at the front door, and Mary departed hurriedly. +But though her coming checked any further hot words, it could not drive +away the recollection of what Mary had said. + +"It's easy for them to talk as don't do anything." Was that what Mary +thought of her? Did others think the same? Was that the character she +had earned? The words rang in her ears, the mortification bit deep. +It was hateful to be so spoken to by a little ignorant country servant; +but the sharpest sting lay in the knowledge that Mary was right. No one +knew, and Audrey would not have liked anyone to know how she loathed doing +the things that she blamed others for not doing. + +"What is the matter?" asked Faith, "can't you find something you want?" + +"The glasses aren't clean, and there is no hot water to wash them with. +I suppose it is my fault for taking Mary away to help with my room. +I didn't think--I didn't know----" + +"Oh, that's all right," said Faith cheerfully, "wash them in cold water. +Here, give them to me, and I will do it." + +But Audrey's eyes had been opened, and for the time, at any rate, she saw +some things very clearly. "No," she said promptly, "if you can wash them +in cold water, I can. You sit down and rest, and talk to me. You must be +dead tired," and Faith obeyed, wondering. + +That night Audrey, in a state of great delight, slept in her new room. +It was very warm certainly, so close up under the roof, but it was as +clean and neat as a new pin--all the untidiness was left behind in Faith's +room. Audrey never gave a thought to the muddle and discomfort there. +When she closed her door behind her for the night her heart was full of +nothing but pleasure and pride in her new possession. She went to the +open window, and looked out on the moonlit world below, on the pretty +cottages, the old church nestling at the foot of the hill, at the wide, +white road, winding up and up in the misty distance until she could not +see where it ended. For the first time the beauty of the spot where her +home stood, and the love of it, entered her heart. + +"If only--if only," she thought, "if we were not so poor, and could have +pretty things; if only it was more beautiful, more dainty, I could love it +very much." + +But, as yet, she had not the eyes to see, nor the heart to feel that her +home possessed beauties beyond all others--the most precious beauties of +all--love, sympathy, cheerfulness under poverty, patience with each +other's faults, and, above all others, a great unselfishness. + +Nor was it yet brought home to her that those smaller beauties that it +lacked, the daintiness, neatness, the order that she so yearned for, it +rested with her to supply. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Perhaps, after all, Audrey's move to the attic was a good one. +She herself was certainly happier, and the others were happier too, for to +feel that someone is always discontented and miserable, is very +depressing, and to know that someone is finding fault with everything one +does, is apt to make one irritable and faultfinding too. + +In her new room Audrey found a great interest. She did all she could to +make it pretty--it was the only part of the house that she did try to make +pretty. On her writing-table she had always a vase of fresh flowers, and +another on her dressing-table, and a jar of tall ferns in the grate. +All that was easy enough to manage, but she found it rather a trial to +have to make her own bed every day, and keep her room swept and dusted. + +Living with her granny, where everything was done for her, and the +housework went on with the regularity of machinery, and without any share +in it, or interest in it, on Audrey's part, she had grown up with a +knowledge only of how things should look when done, but without the +faintest idea of how to do them, or of the trouble it cost to make things +nice, and keep them so. It had never occurred to her that to keep +furniture brightly polished, and brass and silver too, windows gleaming, +and window curtains spotless, meant constant care on somebody's part, +and hard work too. She was beginning, though, to learn the value now of +many things that she had taken for granted before. + +"If one did all that needs doing about a house," she said, excusingly to +herself, "one would have no time for anything else, and I do want to +write. If I could sell my stories I could help father tremendously, and +that is far more important than dusting and cooking, and looking after the +children. Faith can do that, she has no taste for writing. When lessons +begin I shall have less time than ever for it, so I really must do all I +can now." And fired with enthusiasm and importance, she shut herself up +more and more in her attic, and Faith was left to look after her mother, +and the children, and the house, pretty much as she was before; and if the +muddle did not grow greater, it certainly did not grow less under Audrey's +rule. + +"If you want to keep this house tidy you must always be tidying it," +she grumbled, and to be always tidying it was certainly the last thing she +wished or intended. So, as long as her own attic was neat and fragrant, +she closed her eyes to the rest and was, apparently, content to let things +go on as she found them. + +"Audrey, will you sit with mother this evening while I go to church?" +Faith opened her sister's door nervously, and the face which appeared +round it was decidedly apologetic. She was always afraid that she might +be interrupting Audrey at a critical point in the story she was writing, +and she generally was too. + +This May Sunday was an exception though. Audrey did not write stories on +Sundays, she only thought about them. Occasionally she wrote a letter to +her granny, or to a school friend. She was thinking of a story now, when +Faith disturbed her, a very sentimental one, as she sat by her bedroom +window and gazed at the road winding up to the moor. 'He'--the lover--was +striding along it with set jaws and haggard eyes, while 'she'--the +heroine--sat at just such a window as Audrey's own, and gazed after him +through tear-filled eyes. And Audrey was just trying to decide whether +'she' should wave a relenting handkerchief and call him back, or watch him +depart for ever and die of a broken heart, when Faith popped her head in. + +"Very well," she said, and sighed. + +"And will you get her a glass of milk at seven? She must not have it +later or she will have indigestion all night----" + +"Oh, I know all about that, of course." Faith so often forgot that she, +Audrey, was the eldest,--and mistress of the house for the time. + +"And will you read to her----" + +"Oh there is no need to do that, mother and I can always find plenty to +talk about, we have so many tastes alike----" + +"She likes to have the Evening Service read to her, and the hymns and the +lessons. The numbers of the hymns are on a slip of paper on the +mantelpiece. I will go now and see that Tom and Debby are getting ready." + +"All right." It never occurred to Audrey to go and see to them for Faith, +while she got herself ready. + +"Oh, and Audrey, Joan is in bed, but will you go in and look at her after +I have gone to see that she is covered up? she throws off----" + +"Oh yes, of course, I'll attend to everything. Don't worry so." + +"Thank you. I will see to the supper when I come back. Mary is out +to-night." + +"Oh, is she! What a bother. Never mind, I'll look after things and sit +with mother. I want to talk to her about a story I am going to write." + +"Oh, Audrey, how lovely!" Faith gazed at her sister with eyes full of +wistful admiration. "I wish I could hear about it too." + +"Oh, you wouldn't understand." Nevertheless, Audrey was very well pleased +with her sister's appreciation. + +"But I could listen, and try to. Will you have done before I come home?" + +"Oh yes, of course." + +Tom began to shout from down below and Faith started off at a run. +"He can't find his hat and I promised to help him look for it," she added +hastily. + +"Faith," Audrey called after her, "don't say anything to anybody else +about my story," she added in a lower tone as she leaned over the stairs. +"Don't tell father, or the children, or--or Mary. I don't want anyone to +know anything about it until I have sold some--at least, only mother and +you." + +Faith nodded back brightly, immensely pleased at being trusted with the +mighty secret. She was very proud of Audrey and thought her cleverness +quite remarkable. + +Mrs. Carlyle was proud of her daughter too, and pleased that, at any rate, +one of her children inherited her talent for writing. At least her +taste--she hoped that in time it would prove a talent. And for nearly an +hour she patiently listened and advised. + +"You must not be too sure of yourself yet, dear," she said at last, a +somewhat weary note in her voice. "You must be content to read and +practise for a long time yet----" + +"But mother, I am sure I could write a story as good as one I read a few +days ago--there was simply nothing in it." + +"But Audrey, you surely would not be content to write a story only as good +as a very poor one! Your aim should be to write one better than a very +good one." + +"To begin with, mother! I couldn't do that to begin with--and oh, I do +want to see one in print!" + +Mrs. Carlyle sighed. She was very tired. "I thought you wanted my +advice, dear," she said gently. "Now, will you read me the Psalms, +please. My books have been waiting such a long time for you to begin. +They will be home from church before we have read the lessons, I am +afraid. Oh, I am afraid I must trouble you to get me my glass of milk +now, before we begin. I shall not be able to take it if I leave it any +later. I wonder if Joan is all right? I have not heard her call, have +you?" + +Audrey jumped up hurriedly and ran into the next room. + +Baby Joan was asleep, but with the bed-clothes kicked back and all her +little body exposed to the night breeze from the open window. + +"Oh dear," sighed Audrey impatiently, "I think children do things on +purpose to annoy one." She was cross because she was really alarmed. +Joan was very cold, she must have been lying uncovered for nearly an hour. +"She really deserved a whipping." Audrey covered the little body up +warmly and hurried back to her mother's room with her tale of woe. +She had quite forgotten the glass of milk. + +Mrs. Carlyle did not grow irritable as she listened, though she had every +reason to be, but she was greatly worried. "I should have reminded you to +go in and see that she was all right," she said, full of self-reproach. +"Isn't it dreadful to think that if Faith goes out we can none of us be +trusted to take care of anything properly!" She did not again remind +Audrey of the glass of milk. + +Audrey did not relish the reproach. She was always a little sore about +Faith's pre-eminence in the house. "You see it isn't my work," she said +shortly, "if it had been I expect I should not have forgotten. +It is frightfully hard to remember other people's little odds and ends of +work when they happen to be out." + +"Did not Faith ask you to look after baby while she was away?" + +"Yes--but----" + +"Then it was your work, Audrey." + +"Oh, well, I am very sorry. I quite forgot, but I expect Joan will be all +right. Now I will read to you, mother. Which hymn would you like?" + +Mrs. Carlyle's mind at that moment was not in tune for any reading. +She was troubled about her baby girl, and almost more troubled about her +big girl. Her heart was heavy, her head ached, she felt tired too, and +faint. + +Audrey also was out of humour with herself and everything. She was +disappointed in her mother's advice about her writing. She was angry with +herself for failing in her duty, she was nervous about Joan, and over and +above all she was disappointed in her Sunday. It did not seem like a +Sunday--the happy beautiful day that comes bringing sunshine to the heart +and sweetness and peace to the home, giving to all strength and courage to +take up the burden of daily work again, and go singing on one's way. + +Audrey had been late for prayers in the morning, and Debby had annoyed her +on her way to church by appearing with a hole in her stocking; while at +dinnertime she had been so annoyed by the sight of finger-marks on her +tumbler, that she had neither given thanks for her food nor returned them. + +The afternoon which she had longed to give up to reading she had had to +devote to the Sunday School. She did not like children, and she detested +teaching, "but, of course, if you very much dislike a thing you are bound +to have it thrust on you, and if you love a thing very much, well, that is +quite enough to prevent your being able to have it." She cried bitterly +in the solitude of her own room. She went to the school and she took her +class, but neither pupils nor teacher benefited by the lessons. To the +children she was cold and unsympathetic. She took no interest in them or +their doings; and they in their turn did not like her. And, more than +that, they judged other teachers by her. + +"If that's what Sunday School teachers is like, you don't catch me coming +again," declared Millie Pope, who had been coaxed by a friend into coming +for the first time. "If being good makes you as sharp and sour as she +is--well, I don't want to be good." + +Audrey had not heard the remarks that were made, but she felt that she had +been a failure, and her heart was heavy. She was vexed and sorry, and +annoyed with herself and everything, for she knew that she had not done +her best, that she had failed in her duty. And she knew as well as though +they had told her that the children had not liked her. + +Oh, it had been a failure, that May Sunday. The birds had sung their +blithest, the hedges were white with hawthorn, the air sweet with the +scent of flowers, the sun had shone all day--and yet it had been a grey +Sunday, begun badly, continued badly, ending badly--because the right +spirit was lacking. + +"Would you like me to read to you now, mother?" she asked again, +but doubtfully. Something told her that the time was past, that the sweet +calm pleasure was not to be caught now. And before Mrs. Carlyle could +answer her, footsteps sounded in the garden, and Faith, followed by Debby +and Tom, came rushing up the stairs. + +"Oh, we have had such a lovely time," but Faith catching sight of her +mother's wan face, stopped abruptly. "Aren't you feeling so well, mummy? +--are you faint? Have you had anything since we have been gone?" + +Audrey sprang up with a cry of dismay and flew from the room. "It is too +late now, dear," said the invalid feebly, but Audrey did not hear her. + +"It is too late now," called Faith, rushing after her. "I will make her +some Benger----" Their footsteps and voices died away. + +"Oh, what a pity!" sighed Deborah, "we've got such a lot to tell, and we +wanted you to be well enough to listen, mother." + +"We've had quite an advencher," cried Tom, his eyes wide with excitement, +"and father asked them to supper----" + +"But you mustn't tell," interrupted Debby reprovingly, "not till Faith +comes. It wouldn't be fair--and Audrey too, 'cause it's Audrey that knows +them." + +Mrs. Carlyle beckoned Debby to her side. "Run down, darling, and tell +Faith not to make me any Benger, it takes so long, and I don't want her to +stay now. I will have some jelly instead, and a slice of bread. Tell her +to come quickly, and Audrey too. I am longing to hear about your +'advencher.'" + +Mrs. Carlyle kissed her little daughter very tenderly. She loved to have +them come to her with all their little joys and woes. It was one of the +chief pleasures of her slowly returning health. + +In a very short time Debby came racing back again, a plate in her hand +with a slice of bread on it. "It's all right," she cried triumphantly, +"it hasn't fell'd, I put my thumb on it so's it shouldn't!" + +Mrs. Carlyle smiled to herself. "I hope it was a nice clean thumb," she +said gently. "Another time, dear, it will be better to walk more slowly, +for you should never put your finger on another person's food." + +"Oh!" Debby looked disappointed. "But it was such a safe way, mummy, it +never fell'd once. Audrey and Faith were so slow. Faith was dusting a +tray and Audrey was turning out all the drawers looking for a tray-cloth +to put on it, and--and I couldn't wait. I wanted you to hear all about +who we've seen--oh, here they are at last!" + +They had evidently been successful in finding a cloth of some kind, for +Audrey came in carrying a neatly laid tray, with a plate of jelly on it, +a spoon, and a table-napkin; while Faith walked behind, her face beaming +with triumph. + +"Doesn't that look tempting, mother?" + +"Indeed it does! and what a luxury to have the table-napkin remembered. +Is that Audrey's doing?" + +"Yes--and oh, Audrey, I've been longing all this time to tell you. +What _do_ you think--we've met some friends of yours. There were +strangers in church--I didn't know them, but father and Debby and Tom +did--at least they recognised them, and after service was over they were +standing about in the churchyard as if they were looking for someone--and +it was you! And who do you think they were?" + +Audrey groaned. "What do you mean?" she asked irritably. "Who was me? +and who was looking for what? and how should I know who anyone was if you +don't explain? Can't you tell all about it so that anyone can understand +you?" + +Faith put a restraint upon herself and began again. "I mean it was you +that the strangers were looking for. They are called Vivian--they are the +grandchildren of Mr. Vivian at Abbot's Field. You know, mummy," turning +to her mother. "They said they travelled with Audrey the day she came +home. Why didn't you tell us, Audrey?" + +"Perhaps Audrey did not know who they were," suggested Mrs. Carlyle +gently, seeing that Audrey looked confused and remained silent. + +Audrey grew red and uncomfortable, but made no reply. + +"They said they saw daddy and me and Tom on the platform," burst in Debby, +breaking an awkward pause. "They didn't know he was the vicar, but they +came over to try and see you at church, and then they saw daddy, and then +they looked round and saw me and Tom, and Faith--of course they didn't +know Faith, but they guessed she was another of us because of her red +hair. And they waited until we came out of church to speak to us--they +wanted to inquire for Audrey." + +"And oh, they are so nice, mother dear," chimed in Faith excitedly. +"You will love them. They are coming here to see you." + +"I am so glad, dear, it will be nice for you to have companions. Did you +not know who they were, Audrey, and where they were going to stay?" + +Audrey nodded. She was looking embarrassed, troubled and vexed. +"Yes, mother, at least, they said they were going to stay with a Mr. +Vivian, but--but I did not know him--and I--I didn't know them----" + +"Did you like them, dear?" + +"Yes, but I only saw them for a little while, of course. We did not +travel all the way together. They weren't with me when daddy met me." +She spoke quickly, hurrying out a jumble of excuses. + +"They are so jolly and friendly one could not help liking them," cried +Faith enthusiastically. + +"Daddy asked them to come back with us to supper," chimed in Tom, +"and they did wish they could, but they had to walk the three miles home +and their mother would be anxious about them if they were late." + +"Their mother! Was their mother with them, Audrey, when you travelled +together?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, what must she think of us," cried poor Mrs. Carlyle, really +distressed. "Such near neighbours, and to have taken no notice of them +all these weeks. We knew her husband quite well before he married----" + +"But they are coming to see us, mummy," cried Debby consolingly. +"They are coming one day very soon. They said so." + +Audrey nearly groaned. She thought of the ragged garden, the shabby +house; the ill-cooked, untidily served meals--and she felt she could have +cried. "Why couldn't they have stayed at home? Why must they come +tearing over to Moor End? and oh, what must they think of her for never +having mentioned them to her people, after their kindness and friendliness +too, in inviting her over to see them! Oh dear, how wrong everything in +this world did go!" + +"Are you not pleased, Audrey? Don't you want to see them again?" +Mrs. Carlyle inquired anxiously. + +"Oh, yes--oh, yes, mother, I should like to see them if--if we had a nice +place to ask them to, but they must be rich, they probably have +everything, and 'The Orchard' is such a big house.----" + +"You--you were not ashamed of us--of your home, were you, Audrey?" +The words and the tone went to Audrey's heart like a knife twisted in a +wound. She would have given all she possessed to be able to say 'no' with +all her heart and soul. But she could not. Nor could she tell a lie. +So she stood there, silent and ashamed, and grieved to her heart by the +knowledge of the pain she was inflicting. + +No one spoke to break the horrible silence which fell on the room. +With all their pleasure gone, Faith and the little ones crept quietly +away, and, after a moment, Audrey, not knowing what else to do, turned and +followed them. She longed for some word, some sign from her mother, but +none came. It was too soon to ask for her forgiveness yet. It was too +much to ask, for it would be only asking for comfort for herself, it would +not lessen the pain she had given to others. Nothing could do that, +nothing, at least, but time, and never-ceasing effort on her part. + +With a heart as heavy as lead, she crept slowly down the stairs. +In the hall Faith met her, Faith with eyes sparkling with an anger Audrey +had never seen in them before. + +"Oh, how could you!" she cried, her voice trembling with indignation, +"how could you be so cruel! And why are you ashamed of us, because we are +poor? because we are shabby? and untidy? If it is because we are untidy, +why don't you show us how to do better, why don't you help? If it is +because we are poor, and everything is shabby--it isn't our fault. +We would have everything fresh and beautiful if we could. I don't mind, +for myself, what you say or think--but oh, Audrey, how could you hurt +mother so; how could you; how could you?" + +The anger died suddenly out of Faith's eyes, washed away by tears. + +"I am so awfully, awfully sorry," said Audrey, the pain in her heart +sounding in her voice. + +"But you--you didn't mean it!" Faith asked, but in more gentle tone. +"You didn't mean it?" + +"I--I did," stammered Audrey, with quivering lip, "but--I don't now. +I myself am the only thing I am ashamed of now," and bursting into tears +she flew upstairs again and shut herself in her attic. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Almost before her eyes were open the next morning, Audrey felt as though +some big black weight lay upon her, as though something very dreadful had +happened. And then gradually sleep cleared from her brain, and +recollection came back. + +She had been petty, mean, and everyone knew it, everyone must despise her. +She had hurt her own mother, she had hurt them all. She had shown them +that she was ashamed of them--and why? Not because they had done anything +wrong, or despicable, but because they were poor and were obliged to live +in a shabby house, shabbily furnished! + +"Oh, I can never live it down," she thought miserably. "I can never make +them forget, and think well of me again!" She buried her face in her +pillow and groaned aloud. She wished wildly for all sort of impossible +things to happen, that she could put miles and miles, and oceans and +continents between herself and everybody--or that she could wipe out all +recollection of her foolishness from everyone's mind, or never, never have +to meet the Vivians again. + +There is no way, though, of blotting out in a moment our wrongdoing, +our foolishness, our mistakes. They cannot be wiped off, as a sum off a +slate, nor the results, nor the memory of them. There is nothing to be +done but to face the consequences bravely, to live them down hour by hour; +so, profiting by the lesson thus learnt, that in time those about us will +find it hard to believe that we ever were so foolish, or wicked. +Through genuine repentance and sorrow only can we expiate our faults, +and Audrey had sense enough to know this. + +"I have just got to live through it," she sighed miserably, "but oh, I +wish I hadn't hurt mother so." + +As she was passing her mother's bedroom door on her way downstairs, a +sudden impulse made her knock. + +"Come in," said the sweet kind voice; but as she turned the handle +Audrey's courage nearly failed her. "Oh, it's nothing," she began, and +was turning away when fortunately the thought came to her--how glad she +would be after, if she were brave now, and did what she came in to do. +"It will be a beginning," she told herself feverishly, "I shall be much +happier after," and allowing herself no more time for thought, she marched +bravely in and up to the bed. + +"Mother," she said, and the tears rushed to her eyes again. "I want you +to try to forget--please, _please_. It was all a mistake. I was all--all +wrong. I am so sorry." + +"My dear, I know, I understand." Her mother threw her arms round her, and +drew her gently down beside her. "I know how these things happen, if we +are not always loyal in thought and in deed. I have failed often, Audrey +dear, so I understand. But we will both forget, darling." And then +Audrey broke down entirely. "Mother, I can never forget, I can never +forgive myself, but I will try never to be so mean again, never. +I am going to begin to-day to do better. I really mean to." + +"We all will, we will begin by trying to understand each other, shall we? +Try to be more patient, and to see how things seem to others. Don't you +think a good motto for us all would be 'others first.'" + +"I don't think Faith needs that motto, mother," said Audrey wistfully, +which was a great admission for her, and the first step on the new road +she meant to tread. + +"Oh yes, she does, dear. We all do, some more, some less." + +"Well, I am one who needs it very much more," and Audrey smiled ruefully +as she raised herself. "Now I am going down to see what I can do to help. +I will begin by laying her breakfast-tray as nicely and temptingly as ever +I can," she thought, as she hurried away. She felt so lighthearted she +wanted to do something for everyone, to make all feel as happy as she did +herself. But alas, alas! when she got downstairs her happiness received a +check. Joan was ill. + +In the kitchen Audrey found Faith seated by the kitchen fire with Joan +upon her lap. Joan drowsy and feverish, and fretful. Faith anxious and +pale. + +"I believe she is ill," said Faith, looking up at her with eyes full of +alarm, "she has been so restless all night. I wonder what can be the +matter. I have been so careful about her food, and I don't see how she +can have got a cold." + +Joan turned uneasily, and began to whimper, Mary came over and looked +anxiously at the flushed baby face. "She's feverish, Miss Faith, she's +got a cold somehow. She is so hot, and it seems to hurt her to move." + +With a swift shock of fear Audrey remembered what had happened the +previous evening--the little thinly-clad body lying outside the +bed-clothes, exposed to the draught from the open window. She coloured +guiltily, but for a moment she hesitated to speak. It was so dreadful to +have to heap more blame upon herself--to have to make everyone think more +hardly of her, just when she had begun to try to make them think better. +But once again she conquered herself, and so took another step, and a long +one, along the new but stony road she had set out to tread. + +Faith looked grave as she listened. She adored her baby sister, and she +found it hard not to blame Audrey. "I ought not to have gone away," she +began irritably, but stopped, as it struck her what a self-righteous and +conceited thing it was that she was saying. "I had better put her back to +bed again, I expect," she concluded, more gently. + +"I suppose so," agreed Audrey doubtfully. She did not in the least know +what to do in a case of illness. Mary came to the rescue. Mary had lots +of brothers and sisters at home, and had had a good deal of experience. + +"I shouldn't, miss," she said, "in this summer weather it is so hard to +keep them covered up, and restless as Miss Joan is, she wouldn't have the +bedclothes over her more'n a minute at a time. I'd give her a nice deep +hot bath here by the fire, and then wrap her up in a big shawl, and keep +her by the fire. It'll be hot for anybody that's holding her, but I +believe it'll drive the chill out of her quicker than anything." + +"I'll do anything to get her well again," said Faith eagerly. So a bath +was made ready--all the water that was needed for breakfast was used for +it, but that was a trifling matter, and Mary's advice was followed to the +letter. + +"Now I'll get her some hot milk," said Mary, as she arranged the last wrap +around the little patient, and put the cookery book under Faith's feet for +a footstool. + +"Oh!" gasped Faith, "don't make up too big a fire, Mary, or I shall really +explode!" + +Audrey, ashamed and sorry, moved about unobtrusively trying to do what she +could; but it was mortifying to her to find how little she could do. +At last it occurred to her to go upstairs and see if Tom and Debby wanted +any help in the fastening of strings and buttons, and the brushing of +hair. + +"Oh dear," she sighed, "you have only one button left on your frock, +Debby, and the string of your apron is broken. Can't you put on another?" + +"They've all only got one string, you will find a safety pin somewhere, +I have it pinned gen'rally." + +"Oh! well, I will mend them for you when I've got time." + +"Faith said she would when she'd got time, but when she'd got time she +hadn't got any tape, and when we remembered to buy some tape we couldn't +find a bodkin. Where does one buy bodkins, Audrey?" + +"I don't know, but I have two in my work-box. I will put in the tapes for +you. Now run down while I turn out the beds. Oh no, come here," as the +pair went dashing away, "come and fold up your nightgowns, you should +never leave them lying on the floor like that. Who do you think is going +to fold them for you? I believe you never think of the trouble you give." + +Tom and Debby went back patiently, and picking up their offending +garments, struggled with them valiantly. But, however careful they were, +it seemed as though one sleeve would hang out, or the folds would go +crooked, simply for the purpose of aggravating two impatient little +people. + +"I wish we didn't have sleeves," sighed Deborah. + +"Let's cut them off," cried Tom, and in a spirit of mischief, picked up a +pair of scissors and pretended to cut the sleeve. + +He was only pretending, but Audrey misunderstood, and, with a sharp slap +on the hands, sent the scissors skimming across the floor. + +The unexpectedness of the blow, the pain, and the indignity, roused Tom to +real anger, and for a few moments there was an ugly scene. Debby cried, +Tom raged, and Audrey scolded. "You can fold the old thing yourself," +cried Tom, flinging out of the room. Audrey dragged him back. + +"I shall not, you shall do it yourself if you have to stay here all day. +I shall speak to father about your behaviour, and I do think you might +have tried to behave decently and not have made such a noise when Joan is +ill, and we want her to sleep. You think of no one but yourselves--you +two." + +"Joan ill! You might have told us before. How were we to know? and--and +you were making more noise than anybody, and--and it was all your fault in +the beginning," cried Tom. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself Audrey, +you are the eldest, and--and you knew Joan was ill." + +Debby was less angry, and more concerned. "Where is Joan?" she asked +anxiously. "Is she in bed?" + +"She is in the kitchen by the fire, so don't go there making a noise too. +You had better play in the garden, and do be as quiet as you can." + +"I am going to see mother first," retorted Debby, "we always do when we +are dressed. Mummy likes us to. And we don't make a noise if we _know_ +we mustn't. If you had only told us Joan was ill----" + +But Audrey was already half-way down the stairs, on her way to the +kitchen. "Children are such worries," she sighed. "Now I will get +mother's breakfast." + +In the kitchen she found Faith sitting patiently by the fire, she was +scarlet with the heat, and very weary, but there was a look of relief in +her eyes. "She is sleeping so comfortably," she whispered. "That shows +that she is in less pain, doesn't it?" + +"I should think so. You look awfully hot." + +"Hot! I am roasting, I feel quite faint every now and then, but I don't +mind anything if it is doing Joan good." + +"Can't you put her down? Make her up a bed on a chair or something, can't +you?" + +"No. She rouses at once if I try to put her out of my arms. I would +rather hold her. It doesn't matter about being hot. I shall cool down +again some day." + +Audrey picked up a tray. "I am going to get mother's breakfast," she +announced. "I want to make it look nice. Mary, can you wipe this tray +for me, it has something sticky on it." + +Mary put down her saucepan of milk and went away with the tray in her +hand. "I s'pose it must have touched something," she said cheerfully. + +"Yes, evidently--and you couldn't have washed it properly. It has made my +hands sticky too." It really was aggravating, for she had only just +washed them. "Where can I find a clean tray-cloth, Mary?" + +"In the drawer of the press, miss." + +Audrey's face wore an expression of deep disdain as she turned over the +collection of things in the untidy drawer. "I can't see anything fit to +use," she said irritably. "Where are the clean ones kept, Mary?" + +"We have only two, miss, one is in the wash, the other you've got in your +hand. It is a bit crumpled, I am afraid." + +"If we've got so few, it's a pity not to take more care of those we have," +grumbled Audrey, "this really is not fit to use, but I suppose I must." +When she began to collect the china, the cup, as usual, had a smear on it, +and the plate was not clean. "I had better wash it all, I suppose, as +usual!" she thought impatiently, and banged open the tea-towel drawer with +such force that Joan started out of her sleep. + +"I'd have got the tray ready, if you'd left it, Miss Audrey," said Mary +shortly. + +"I wanted to make it look nice and tempting." + +Poor Faith grew to look harassed and miserable. Whatever happened, she +did not want a collision between Audrey and Mary. Mary was rough, and not +thorough, but she was good-tempered, hard-working, and ready to turn her +hand to anything. + +Mr. Carlyle came into the kitchen. "Is breakfast nearly ready?" he asked, +"it is nine o'clock, and I have a full day before me--why, Baby! what is +the matter?" He stood looking down at his two flushed daughters, while +Faith explained. "But I think she is better," she concluded eagerly, +"look, daddy, she is smiling at you! If we are careful all day, I daresay +she will be well to-morrow." + +"And do you intend to sit by that fire all day with her! Why, you will be +a cinder." + +Faith laughed, "I am rather hot, but it has done her good, I am sure--at +least the hot bath and the heat has. Mary thought of it, wasn't it clever +of her?" + +"I will take her presently, Miss Faith, while you have your breakfast," +said Mary, much gratified by the little compliment. + +Mr. Carlyle went over to where Audrey stood arranging a few flowers on her +mother's tray. "How dainty!" he said approvingly, "your mother will +appreciate that, dear. She loves pretty, dainty things about her. +I am going over to Abbot's Field to-day," he added, "and I thought I would +call on Mrs. Vivian, and the old gentleman. Will you come with me, to +represent your mother? I think it would be rather pleasant, don't you?" + +Audrey coloured with embarrassment. To her the prospect did not seem at +all pleasant. "I--I am afraid I can't, father. I have a lot to do at +home." + +Her mind was full of plans for tidying house and garden, and making +everything more presentable. It was a big undertaking, she knew, but she +was full of zeal. + +Her father looked disappointed. "Oh well, then, I must go alone. +I thought you would like to meet the young people again--and I think they +still expect you--they were so anxious to see you. But never mind, I will +tell them that you are busy, but are hoping to see them over here one day +very soon. I had better fix a day; will Thursday do?" + +"Thursday! so soon!" The suggestion filled her with dismay, but she kept +her dismay to herself. "Yes, father, I think so," she said feebly, and +lifting up the tray went slowly with it to her mother's room. Debby was +sitting on the bed, chattering quite happily, all the temper forgotten. + +"Oh, how pretty," she cried, as she caught sight of the breakfast tray. + +"Oh, how tempting," said Mrs. Carlyle, smiling her appreciation, +"the sight of it gives me quite an appetite." + +"Do you always do trays like that?" asked Tom, "or is it a birthday?" + +"Yes, always. No, it is not a birthday. It is the right way, that's +all." + +"When I am ill in bed, will you bring up my breakfast to me on a tray with +a white cloth, and a flower, and a dear little dainty teapot of my own?" +asked Debby eagerly. + +"Yes," laughed Audrey, "but don't try to be ill on purpose." + +"I think I will wait until the new governess comes," said Debby gravely. +She could not endure the thought of lessons, and of being shut up for ever +so many hours a day. + +As soon as breakfast was over Audrey stepped out at the front door, and +surveyed the garden. "It is the first thing they will see," she thought +despondingly, as, with the expected guests in her mind, she looked from +the ragged grass to the unswept path, and thence to the untrimmed bushes. +"I wish I could get Job Toms to cut the grass. I must ask father to order +him to." + +Faith on her way back to the kitchen and Joan, saw Audrey in the garden +and joined her. "I wish we had flower beds on either side of the path," +said Audrey, "they would look so pretty, but I suppose the children would +always walk on them." + +"They wouldn't if they were told not to," declared Faith, always ready to +champion the little imps. "What a jolly idea, Audrey. If Joan wasn't ill +I'd come out this minute and begin to make them. It wouldn't take very +long." + +"Oh yes, it would, to make them properly. We ought to have a real +gardener to do it, and then we should want dozens of bedding plants, we +should have to have something to start with. But all that would cost very +nearly a sovereign, I expect." + +"I hadn't thought of having bedding plants," said Faith, disappointedly. +"Of course we couldn't spend money on plants. I was thinking of roots, +and seeds, and cuttings. The people in the village would gladly give us +a lot. Mrs. Pope offered me young sunflower seedlings only a week or two +ago, and Miss Babbs is always offering me phloxes, and wallflowers, and +things. We could soon fill up the beds, I am sure, and with things that +would come up year after year by themselves. Let's each make a bed for +ourselves, shall we, Audrey, and each do our own in our own way. It would +make the garden look ever so much nicer." + +"I couldn't, and if I can't, you can't, at least you oughtn't to. +It would look too silly to have a bed on only one side. The garden would +look like a pig with one ear." + +"It would be a very pretty pig," laughed Faith, "at least its one ear +would." + +"Anyhow, we couldn't get it done by Thursday, and what I wanted was to try +and get the place looking nicer by the time the Vivians come. Now I am +going in to see if I can do anything to the drawing-room." + +"Oh!" Faith's face grew grave. "Do you think we need use the +drawing-room? Won't the dining-room do? You see we have taken some of +the nicest things from there for mother's room--to make that as nice as +possible. The curtains, and the carpet." + +"Whatever are we going to do!" cried Audrey in genuine dismay. +"It really is too dreadful. Father oughtn't to ask people here if we +haven't a room fit to ask them into. You see we _must_ use the +drawing-room." + +"What for?" + +"Why, for tea, of course, for one thing." + +"Oh!" cried Faith, "don't let's have a dotted-around-the-room tea! +The children make such a mess with their crumbs, they can't help it, and +they are sure to upset their cups, and drop their plates--and we shall be +in one big worry all the time. They hate those teas, and so do I! +Let's have a nice comfortable one in the dining-room, and sit up to +table." + +"And spend all the rest of the time there too, I suppose?" sarcastically. + +Faith looked pained. "Well, I don't suppose they would mind very much if +we did, as long as we were all jolly and happy. They seemed so kind and +friendly, and not a bit stuck up." + +"Oh," cried Audrey impatiently, "you seem to think anything will do, +as long as you are happy and jolly. You don't realise what other people +are accustomed to, and expect." + +"I think I am glad I don't," said Faith gravely, "it only seems to worry +one." + +"I do wish you would keep your blind straight in your bedroom," retorted +Audrey irritably, "no house could possibly look nice with the blinds all +anyhow, as ours are." + +"Um, yes, they do look bad, we ought to have sticks for them, tape is +always getting loose. Audrey," eagerly, "suppose we take our tea up on +the moor, and have a kind of picnic, when the Vivians come. Wouldn't that +be rather jolly?" + +Audrey's face brightened. "Yes, that might be a good plan. They would +not be in the house much then." + +"Mother would want to see them." + +"Would she? Oh, well, she could. I'd like them to know mother--and her +room is quite presentable. We shall have to get some nice cakes. +I wonder if we have any baskets that will do to carry the things in? +And oh! I do hope that Mary will wash the cups and saucers properly that +day. She is so horribly careless, one can't trust her the least little +bit. I always have to look at my cup before I drink, to see if it is +clean." + +Faith looked at her with troubled eyes. "The best plan would be to wash +them all yourself that day," she suggested, "then you would be sure they +would be all right, and have quite a load off your mind. You can easily +offer to wash the dishes and things for Mary, because she will have extra +work to do, and then you can put aside those that we shall want in the +afternoon. I will go and look out the baskets by and by. Do remind me if +I forget. Oh, I must hurry in now, poor Mary is sitting by the fire all +this time holding Joan, she will be roasted alive." + +Audrey made no reply to her sister's suggestion. She liked things to be +dainty, and clean, but she did not like the task of making them so; and to +expect her to wash the dishes herself was really rather too much! + +The head of a house did not expect to have to do the work herself. +Her part was to tell others what to do, and see that they did it. +At least that was her opinion. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The next two or three days simply raced by, in what, to Audrey, seemed a +hopeless struggle against all odds. It certainly was a struggle, but not +quite a hopeless one, for by the time Thursday dawned bright and +beautiful, a day to cheer even the most uncheerful, many small changes had +been wrought in the Vicarage and in the garden. And Audrey had brought +them about. Not by herself, certainly, but by the simple process of +worrying others until they did what she wanted done. + +It is only fair, though, to admit that hers had been the ruling spirit. +If it had not been for her, none of the improvements would have been made. + +Mary had cleaned all the windows, Faith had, somehow, managed to get rods, +and had straightened all the blinds. By offering a ha'penny to the one +who swept and raked the garden paths most thoroughly, the garden path was +swept and raked until the weeds and the soiled gravel had been turned over +and buried out of sight, and with no worse damage than a bump on Tom's +forehead, where the handle of the rake had struck him, and some tears on +Debby's part because she had lost the prize. + +Job Toms too had even been coaxed into bringing a scythe and cutting the +grass. + +"It would look quite nice if Faith had not made that silly bed all along +that side," Audrey admitted. + +This was Faith's reward for getting up early, and slaving through the +whole of a long hot day to remove the worn turf from a narrow strip of the +lawn, the whole length of the path, and dig over the moist brown earth +beneath. "I would do the other side too," she said, generously, when she +displayed her handiwork, "only I really believe my eyes would drop out if +I stooped any more. You see I'd only the trowel to do it with." + +"I suppose that is why you have made such a mess, and the bed is all +crooked. You should have left it for a gardener to do," said Audrey, +ungraciously. "Of course, the turf should have been chopped down, and the +whole thing done properly. It would have been better not to have touched +it, if you couldn't do it properly." + +"Don't you like it?" asked Faith, disappointedly. + +"Well, it spoils the look of the place, doesn't it? And just when I had +got it made almost fit to look at, for once. I daresay it might be quite +pretty if the bed was full of flowers," she added, in a less caustic +tone, "as I suppose it will be some day. As it is--well, you must admit +it looks a hopeless botch, doesn't it?" + +Faith did not reply. There was no need to, and she felt that she could +not. Instead, she walked away and down to the village, where she had many +friends, and a little later returned with a collection of roots and +cuttings and seedlings, which would have taken another person hours to +plant properly, but which Faith got into the ground somehow in less than +one. She had been too dead beat to get water and put round their roots, +and it never occurred to Audrey to do so for her; so the poor things hung +wilting and dejected-looking in the early morning sunshine, and only added +to the unsightliness of Faith's new border. + +On Thursday morning early, Tom, strolling round the garden to walk off a +little of his excitement, noticed the poor drooping, dying things, and was +filled with pity. Tiptoeing back to the house again for a can of water, +he gave them all a drink. Deborah, coming out a few minutes later, found +him standing, can in hand, rather wet about the feet and legs, gazing +thoughtfully at Faith's new garden. + +"I've got an idea," he whispered mysteriously, "such a jolly one! +Have you any money?" + +"I've got a penny. Daddy gave it to me yesterday." + +"I've got two ha'pennies, the one Audrey gave me, and one I had before. +Let's go down to Miss Babbs' and buy two penny packets of flower seeds, +and sow them, and not say anything about it. Then when they come up +everybody'll be surprised." + +Debby was enchanted. She loved s'prises, and this was such a pretty one. +She loved, too, to back Tom up in anything he suggested. + +Miss Babbs was only just taking down her shutters when her early customers +arrived, so Tom was able to help her. At least, he thought he helped, and +Miss Babbs would not have undeceived him for the world--even though she +could have done the work herself in half the time, and with less than half +the trouble. + +But an even harder task than taking down the shutters, was that of +deciding which of all that glorious collection of penny packets should be +theirs. Such poppies! such lupins! nasturtiums of such glorious colours +were pictured on each. + +"I want them all!" replied Debby. "Wouldn't the garden look lovely, and +wouldn't Faith be excited!" + +"Why, you'd have a flower show all on your own, Miss Debby," laughed Miss +Babbs, "and all for five shillings. I don't call it dear, do you?" + +"Five shillings!" gasped Debby, "could I have all those for five +shillings? I've got ten in the bank----" + +"Best keep it there," advised Miss Babbs, sagely. She was rather alarmed +by the spirit she had roused. "You never know what may 'appen." + +Tom pulled Debby's apron. "Don't be silly," he said in her ear, "the +flowers would all be gone by Christmas, and you know we are saving for +a----" he ended his sentence by a regular fusilade of mysterious nods and +winks. + +"Donkey!" ejaculated Debby, innocently completing his sentence for him. +"So we are. I had forgotten. I'll take one packet, please, Miss Babbs; +and I'd like lupins, please, they are _so_ beautiful." + +"And I'll have mignonette, please, 'cause mother loves it, and Faith too. +Won't they be glad when it comes up! Do you think mother will be able to +smell it from her room?" + +"More than likely," said Miss Babbs, encouragingly. "It's wonderful +strong when it's a good sort like this." + +In the box where all the packets of seeds lay shuffled together, some +stray seeds rolled about loose, as though looking for nice soft earth in +which to bury themselves. + +"Now these seeds must have come from somewhere," cried Miss Babbs, when +she caught sight of them, "and somebody or other'll be 'cusing me of +giving short weight, and a pretty fine thing that'll be! I never knew +nothing so aggravating as what seeds is, they'll worm their way out of +anything. Here Master Tom," as she chased and captured some, "take 'em +home and plant 'em. Miss Debby, you 'old out your 'and too. I don't know +what they are, but they're sure to be something. Those two are +sunflowers, and that's a 'sturtium. I do know those, and there's a few +sweet peas." + +"Oh!" gasped Debby, her face beaming. "Oh, Miss Babbs, how very kind you +are!" and she held up her beaming little face to kiss the prim but +tenderhearted woman who had been her lifelong friend. "Faith has made a +new flower bed," she explained, "she has made it all by herself, but she +hasn't very much in it yet. So we wanted to put some seeds in it without +her knowing anything about it, so's she would have a s'prise. Now she'll +have lots of s'prises. She'll think it's the piskies, won't she?" + +"Two-legged piskies, I guess," laughed Miss Babbs, knowingly, and the +children were too polite to remind her that piskies never had more. +"When your peas come up, Miss Deborah, you come along to me, and I will +give you some fine little sticks for them." + +"Oh, thank you!" cried Debby, and in the excitement they both ran off +still clutching their pennies, and had to go back again with them. + +They had spent so much time over their purchases, that they had only just +got their seeds planted by the time the breakfast bell rang. Their great +fear was that Faith might have seen them, and would ask them what they had +been doing; but Faith had been so busy dressing Joan, and helping Mary in +the kitchen, she had had no time to look out of the window. + +Audrey, though, came full upon them as they came in with their hands +earthy, and their pinafores wet, and Audrey was irritable because she was +so nervous and anxious. + +"I do think you children might have kept yourselves decently clean until +breakfast time," she snapped, crossly. "But I am sure you must try to see +how much trouble you can give. Whatever have you been doing? Something +you oughtn't to, of course." She stood glowering darkly down at them, and +the two bright little faces lost their brightness. + +"We've been--'tending to Faith's new flower-bed," said Tom, sturdily, +"the plants would have died if we hadn't watered them." + +"Faith's flower-bed? It isn't Faith's any more than it is mine, +or--or----" + +The two looked at each other in consternation. If they had known that, +they would not have spent their precious pennies in buying seeds for it. +Tom's annoyance found vent in words. "If it was yours, why didn't you +give it some water, then?" he demanded. + +Audrey made no reply. "If you don't behave yourselves, you won't be +allowed to go to the picnic this afternoon," she said sternly, as she +walked away to the dining-room, leaving two mortified, angry little hearts +behind her. + +"I don't want to go to her old picnic," stormed Tom in his bedroom, as he +scrubbed his earthy hands. + +"Oh, yes, you do--it isn't Audrey's picnic," urged Debby anxiously, +"it is all of ours. It is daddy's really, and--and I shall have to go, +Tom, and I can't go without you, there wouldn't be anybody to talk to. +Say you'll come, Tom, do. There's going to be a cake with cherries and +nuts on it, and one with jam--and Faith would be so mis'rubble if you +didn't come." + +"All right," Tom assented, with a lordly air, "I'll come, just to show +Audrey the picnic isn't hers, nor the moon neither. Don't worry." + +The Vivians were to arrive soon after lunch, and not return until the +seven o'clock train in the evening. + +"I suppose I had better go and meet them," said Audrey, at dinner-time, +"as they were my friends first." + +"And as I have met them twice since then, I think I will go too," said Mr. +Carlyle, laughingly. "I have to be at one of the cottages near the +station this afternoon, so I will manage to be at the station by time +their train comes in." + +"Then I shall have time to make Joan tidy, and change my frock before they +get here," said Faith quietly, as she helped the now quite recovered Joan +to spoon up her pudding. Tom and Debby did not speak, but they exchanged +glances which would have told a tale to anyone who had intercepted them; +and as soon as they were allowed to leave the table, they strolled in a +casual way to the back door, and through the yard. Then suddenly they +started as though they had been stung, and raced away as fast as their +legs would go. + +"I wish I hadn't forgotten to take off my overall," panted Debby, as they +reached the station. + +A little country station does not afford many good hiding places. +In common with most of its kind, Moor End had only the ticket office, +station master's office, and one bare little general waiting-room, the +door of which always stood invitingly open. For a second the pair stood +pondering deeply, then marched up boldly, and knocking in an airy fashion +at the station master's door, opened it hurriedly and marched in. + +"We have come to have a little talk with you, Mr. Tripp," said Debby, with +her most insinuating smile. "It is such a long time since we saw you. +Tom, unfasten my overall at the back, please, and I will carry it over my +arm. It is very hot to-day," she added, by way of explanation to her +host. + +"It is, missie, and you look hot too, Have you been running?" + +"Ye-es--we did run a--a little." + +"Ah! and not long had your dinner, I'll be bound. Running on one's dinner +is always hot work, and apt to cause a good bit of pain sometimes." + +"We didn't run on it--we ran after it," said Debby, crushingly. + +"Well, anyway, miss, you didn't have to run _for_ it," and the old man +chuckled at his own joke. Tom and Debby, though, refused to smile, they +felt that they were being laughed at, and they resented it. + +"We ran," explained Tom, formally, "because we--we wanted to get here +before the next train comes in. You--you are so busy when there's a train +in, that there is no chance of talking to you." + +"Ay, ay, sir," agreed Mr. Tripp, with a twinkle in his eye, "sometimes I +have one passenger getting out here, sometimes I have as many as four! +Market days there's a reg'lar crowd coming and going." + +"Well, you'll have three, at least, by the next train," said Tom, +knowingly. + +"O--ho! and you have come to meet them, I suppose. A sort of a pleasant +little surprise for them. I thought you'd come to have a little chat with +me!" + +"So we have--both. Father's coming too, and our eldest sister." + +"I see, but you came on ahead. You didn't wait for them." A knock at the +door broke in on the conversation. Tom and Debby grew very red, and +looked slightly nervous. + +"Tripp, can I speak to you a minute?" Round the door came the vicar's +head. + +"Oh--h! I beg your pardon, you are engaged. Hullo! Why, you young +scapegraces, what are you doing here, taking up Mr. Tripp's time, and--and +filling up his office!" + +The two scarlet faces lost their nervous look, and became wreathed in +smiles. When daddy spoke like that, all was well. + +"The train is signalled, sir," said the station master, and led the way +out to the platform. At that same moment Audrey came sailing down the +road, hurrying as fast as she could, with dignity. She was looking as +dainty and fresh as a flower in her clean white frock. She wore a pretty +sun hat, trimmed with blue ribbon, and the scarf hung around her neck +exactly matched it. Her long hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a +black bow. + +"Oh, doesn't Audrey look pretty!" Debby's enthusiastic admiration died +away in a sigh as she looked down over her untidy self, and, for the first +time in her life, she felt ashamed of her appearance. + +"I--I wished I'd stayed to wash my hands," she whispered nervously to +Tom, "and had put on my hat, it would have covered up my hair--I never +brushed it." + +"Oh, you are all right," responded Tom, consolingly "just button up your +shoes." + +"I can't, the buttons are off. Oh! and you haven't got on any tie! +Oh, Tom, what will they think?" + +"Well--I couldn't find it. I looked and looked. Here's the engine. +Oh, Deb, doesn't she look fine?" + +"Splendid," said Deborah, but only half-heartedly. She was so sorry Tom +had not a tie on, and that she had not made herself look as nice as Audrey +did. And when there stepped out of the train two trim figures in spotless +blue cotton frocks, and a boy in an equally spotless grey flannel suit, +Debby could not face them, but turned and raced off the platform and up +the street as fast as her legs could take her. Too fast, indeed, for her +slippers, for they dropped off very soon, and she hadn't time to stop and +pick them up. It was easier to run along in stockinged feet, than in +shoes that slopped off at the heels with every step she took. It was +rather painful work, though, and Debby was glad when she reached the +shelter of home. + +"Oh, Faith!" she cried, almost falling into the room. "They have come, +and they are so--so tidy, and pretty! They have on blue frocks, and big +hats with cornflowers on them; and, oh, please do try and make me look +tidy and pretty too!" + +Faith was standing before the glass, tying up her hair. She had been +taking unusual pains with her appearance to-day, and she was rather late-- +which was not unusual. Joan, looking a perfect darling in her little long +white frock, was sitting on the bed, playing with reels of cotton. + +"Where are your shoes?" asked Faith, looking in dismay at Debby's +much-darned stockings. + +"I lost them--down the village. They fell off when I was running. +Somebody will bring them back all right," she added, consolingly, +"they've got my name inside." + +It was Irene Vivian who brought them back. "Your brother said they were +yours," she smiled, as she handed the shabby brown shoes to the blushing +Debby. + +"I am so sorry," said Debby, apologetically. "Tom should have carried +them. You see, I'd lost the buttons, and they dropped off when I was +running. I--I couldn't stay to go back, I was in--in rather a hurry." + +She took the shoes, and was putting them on as they were. "I'm going to +wear them to-day, 'cause they're comfortabler than my best ones, and the +heather and brambles and things would scratch up my best ones," she added, +confidentially. "I am going up on the moor to tea--we are all going. +All except Joan." Has Audrey told you? + +"I am glad of that, only I'd like Joan to go too. But you can't walk +comfortably without any buttons on your shoes. If you could find me two, +and a needle and cotton, and a thimble, I would sew them on for you. +Oh, here is a work-basket. I will take what I want from here. Shall I?" + +"Oh, oh!" gasped Debby, "that is Audrey's. I don't think we had better +touch that--she is dreadfully particular. She gen'rally keeps it up in +her room; but she brought her best things down here to-day, 'cause you +were coming." + +"How kind of her," said Irene. She felt somewhat embarrassed by these +confidences. "And I am sure then she would not mind my using her +work-basket. I won't hurt it the least little bit in the world." + +She looked round for Audrey, to ask her permission, but she could not see +her, and helped herself to a thimble, and needle and cotton. It never +entered her head that there could be any reason why she should not do so. +Mr. Carlyle had gone off to collect the baskets, Audrey had run upstairs +to see if her mother was ready and able to see the guests for a little +while before the start. Faith was showing Joan to Daphne. The two boys, +very anxious in their first shyness to have something to do, had followed +Mr. Carlyle. + +When Audrey came down, Irene was putting the finishing stitches to the +second shoe. Audrey looked shocked and displeased. "Oh, Debby, how dare +you!" she cried, scarcely knowing, in her indignation, what she was +saying. + +"You should say 'how dare you' to me," laughed Irene, as she returned the +thimble and needle to their places. "I asked if I might sew on Debby's +buttons, and I used your basket. I hope you don't mind. I haven't done +any harm, I think." + +Audrey did mind, but she could hardly say so. "I never did know such +children," she cried, trying to conceal her vexation. Debby's shoes were +decidedly shabby, yet she could not have displayed them more thoroughly. +It almost seemed as though she took a pride in their shabbiness. +"They never seem able to keep a button on for two days together. I really +think they pull them off on purpose." + +"Oh, Audrey! I don't, you know I don't. I told you days ago that one was +off, and the other one was loose--and then the loose one came off too." + +Irene strolled over and looked out of the window. "What a jolly garden," +she said, anxious to put an end to the discussion. "I wish we had a large +plain piece of grass like that. At grandfather's the turf is all cut up +with flower-beds, and one can hardly step for ornamental flower pots--and +things. We three never seem able to do anything without damaging +something." + +Audrey's face cleared a little. "Well, we haven't too many flower beds," +she laughed. "In fact, one can hardly call ours a garden. The children +play there, and, of course, that spoils it. But, of course, they must +have somewhere to play." She had put on her best company manner and +grandmotherly speech. "Will you come up now to see mother? Then I think +we ought to start. No, Debby, you must stay down, we don't want you." +Debby's face fell, but Irene looked back with a smile, which made up for +the hurt. + +It was a great satisfaction to Audrey that her mother, and her mother's +room, were both so dainty and pretty, as she ushered Irene and Daphne in. +It was the first satisfaction she had felt that day, so far. + +"I have been longing to see you," said Mrs. Carlyle, warmly, kissing them +both, "ever since I heard you were so near. I used to know your father +when he was a boy, and I am so glad that his children and mine should have +met. I hope you will become real friends, dear." + +"I hope so," said Irene, her face alight with pleasure. "Did you really +know father? I am so glad. Abbot's Field seems so like home, for he told +us so much about it, and he loved it so." + +"Mrs. Carlyle," broke in Daphne, "did you guess who we were when Audrey +told you who she had travelled home with? We told her where we lived; +but we didn't know then who she was." + +Audrey blushed painfully, and waited in dread of her mother's reply. + +"I--no, dear, not then. I was rather ill when Audrey came home. +I did not realise." + +"I--I think we had better start now." Audrey got up from her chair, and +went to the door hurriedly. She was so nervous she felt she could not +bear any more. "The nicest part of the afternoon will be gone if we don't +go." + +Daphne sprang to her feet, but Irene rose more reluctantly. "Will you be +alone while we are away?" she asked, lingering by Mrs. Carlyle's sofa. +"It seems so selfish to go away and leave you. I wish I could be with +you--or you with us." + +Mrs. Carlyle looked up at her with shining eyes. "I would love a picnic +on the moor above all things," she said. "Another summer, perhaps, if you +are here, we will all go. I shall look forward to that, Irene, as eagerly +as if I were a child. Perhaps Joan will be able to go too--the big baby +and the little one!" + +"Oh, I hope so," said Irene, her beautiful eyes glowing, "and I hope we +shall be here. We want mother to take a house somewhere near, we love +this part better than any--Coming, Audrey, coming!" She stooped and +kissed the invalid affectionately. "Is there anything I can do for you +before I go? Is the window as you like it? Do you want a book or +anything handed to you?" While she spoke she was spreading the rug smooth +over the invalid's feet. + +"Yes, dear, please if you will pass me that book and lower the blind a +little, I shall be able to read myself to sleep." + +"Irene! Irene! are you coming?" a voice called up the stairs again. + +"Run, dear, I must not keep you any longer. I am so comfortable now, with +everything put right." + +"Good-bye then for the time," said Irene, smiling back brightly as she +stood at the door. + +"Good-bye, little nurse. Try to enjoy yourself, dear; and thank you for +all you have done for me." + +But, though she was so comfortable and 'had everything she wanted,' +Mrs. Carlyle did not fall asleep for a long while after the girls had left +her, but lay gazing thoughtfully before her, and more than once tears +shone in her eyes and fell on to her pillow. + +"They are such darlings, too," she murmured at last, rousing herself with +a little shake, as though trying to shake off her thoughts. "They are +such dear children, it is wicked to wish them other than they are, +yet sympathy is very sweet; and--and understanding makes life very, very +pleasant." + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +"Debby! Tom! Are you ready? It is time to start." Dead silence. + +"Audrey, ask Mary if she knows where they are, will you, please?" + +Audrey walked away reluctantly. The whole party had collected just where +they could look right into the kitchen directly the door was open; and one +of the last things Audrey wanted, under the circumstances, was to open the +door, for she knew, only too well, the state the kitchen was in. +Instead of being neat and spotless, a place of gleaming copper and silvery +shining steel, of snowy wood and polished china, such as she would have +loved to display, it was all a hopeless muddle and confusion, a regular +'Troy Town' of a kitchen. + +Perhaps she hoped she could make Mary hear without actually opening the +door; but it was a forlorn hope. Mary was generally afflicted with deep +deafness if one particularly wanted her hearing to be acute. She was now. +Audrey called again and again in vain. + +"Open the door," suggested Mr. Carlyle, "she is probably rattling pans and +dishes and can't hear anything beyond." + +"Put your head in and shout," suggested Faith, and Daphne and Keith +laughed. + +Audrey had to do it. She knew that if she did not Faith would--and when +Faith opened a door--well, all there was to see one saw. In a gust of +anger she turned the handle and opened the door as little as she could. +Oh how she longed for one of the exquisitely neat Dutch kitchens so often +seen in pictures. + +"Mary!" she called in impatiently, "wherever are you? Do you know what +has become of the children?" + +Mary heard at last, and hurrying forward to reply, spread the door as +hospitably wide as it would go, and stood outlined against a background of +dirty pots and pans, a table piled with unwashed dishes, and a litter of +torn paper everywhere. She had been so busy packing the baskets for tea +that her own work had got more behind than usual. + +"I saw them going out of the garden carrying a basket each," she said +slowly, eyeing the while with the keenest interest the visitors whom she +now saw for the first time. "I thought you had sent them on ahead, +perhaps, Miss Audrey." + +Mr. Carlyle counted again the baskets on the table. "There are four here. +Isn't that the lot?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir." Mary looked puzzled. "Then I don't know what they were +carrying. I didn't pay much heed, but I'm sure they were carrying some, +and heavy ones too." + +"Some nonsense or other that they have thought of, I suppose," sighed +Audrey wearily, and hurried away. Mary would not close that door as long +as they stood there, so the only thing to do was to take the guests away. + +"I expect they have gone on to try and find a specially nice spot to have +tea in," suggested Faith. "They are always busy about something and they +love to give us surprises. Don't you think we had better follow them?" + +Mr. Carlyle laughed. "As likely as not they have taken up a load of their +toys to help to make a pleasant afternoon for us. Now, can you young +people carry two of these baskets between you, if I carry the other two?" + +"I can take both," cried Keith eagerly, "it is easier to carry two than +one." But the girls would listen to no such argument. + +"Oh no, no," laughed Faith, "we have some strong sticks on purpose to +sling them on, then two of us will carry a basket between us. I have been +longing to try it, it seems such an easy way." + +But Keith, though longing to help, was not inclined for a _tete-a-tete_ +with one of his own sisters, and was shy of facing one with one of these +strangers. "I know," he cried, with sudden inspiration, "I'll walk in the +middle with the end of a stick in either hand and you four can take it in +turns to carry the other ends." No one having anything to say against +this plan they proceeded, Faith grasping one stick and Irene the other, +while the baskets swung between in a fashion that would have turned the +milk to butter had there been any in them to turn. Behind the trio walked +Audrey and Daphne, dainty and decorous enough to give an air to any party. + +Upon the moor, meanwhile, Debby and Tom sat triumphant but exhausted. + +"Won't they be s'prised!" panted Debby. "Won't it be fun. Oh, Tom, I +must take them out, they are crying so." The first only of her remarks +applied to her family. She untied the lid of her basket and, lifting the +cover, peeped in. "Oh, Tom," her voice growing shrill with alarm, +"Snowdrop is stepping on Nigger's head, and--oh! Rudolph looks as though +he is quite dead!" Her voice had risen to a cry of horror. + +"Haul them out then," cried Tom brusquely. "What are you waiting for!" +He was nearly as alarmed as Debby, but not for worlds would he have shown +it. "I expect he is only asleep or shamming." + +With shaking hands Debby, awed into silence for the moment, lifted out +first a tiny black kitten, then a white one, and last of all a black and +white one, and laid them on the short warm grass beside her. Nigger and +Snowdrop began to sprawl about at once, revelling in their freedom. +The black and white Rudolph opened a pair of watery blue eyes, gazed +sleepily about him, and fell asleep again with every sign of satisfaction. + +"He's all right," cried Tom, relieved, yet annoyed at having been for a +moment alarmed. "He's a greedy little pig; he can't keep awake because he +eats so much. Now, look out, I am going to let out Nibbler." + +"Oh!" gasped Debby, still busy with her pets, "won't they love it! +Wait a sec., Tom, till I'm looking. Snowdrop you shall all go back into +the basket this minute if you don't stop yelling! You are only doing it +to annoy. Now I am ready. Don't lift him; just open the cover and let +him hop out by himself. We'll see what he does. Oh-h-h, he won't eat my +kittens, will he?" + +"Nibbler isn't a cannibal, he's a rabbit," declared Nibbler's owner +indignantly. "Now, look out!" He opened the lid slowly, and Nibbler +sniffed the air rapturously. + +"Oh, doesn't he love it! Look at his dear little nose wriggling with joy. +Oh Tom! do look at him waggling his ears!" Debby's voice grew shrill +again with excitement. Nibbler hopped out of the basket and her joy +became intense. + +For a moment, as though bewildered by the space, the sunshine, and the +breeze, the great rabbit sat and stared about him; then suddenly old +instincts came crowding back upon his rabbit brain, He saw furze and +bracken, and rabbits' burrows all about him, he felt the turf under his +feet, and life calling to him--and he followed the call! + +When, a little later, the rest of the party arrived, they found three +forlorn kittens tumbling helplessly over each other, and squealing loudly +with fright, while in the distance two little blue-clad figures dashed +desperately from one clump of bracken to another, and with tears running +down their faces, shouting frantically "Nibbler, Nibbler, oh darling, do +come here, you will be killed if you stay out here all night; Nibbler, +Nibbler!" + +It did not take the family long to grasp what had happened. "They will +break their hearts if they lose him," cried Faith, almost as distracted as +the children. "We shall never get them to go home and leave him behind. +They will stay all night searching for him." + +"I will go and help them," said Keith at once. "What colour is he?" + +"White and tan, nothing uncommon, but we all love him." + +Audrey felt very cross. "One can always count on those children to spoil +every plan we make," she muttered to herself vexedly; "they deserve to be +whipped and sent home to bed, tiresome little torments!" + +All of the party but herself had hurried away to join in the search, and +she was left standing alone by the baskets. + +"Well, there is no need for me to go fagging round too, and someone ought +to stay by the things, or they might be stolen. One never knows if there +are tramps about." + +She seated herself comfortably on the grass with her back against a basket +and waited. It never occurred to her to unpack the baskets and begin to +arrange the tea-table, nor to take up the frightened kittens and try to +stop their cries. She just sat there revelling in the sunshine and the +breeze, and the scent of the furze-blossom. It was so beautiful that she +almost forgot everything unpleasant or worrying. In the distance she +caught sight of a man on horseback galloping across the moor, and began to +weave a story of bearers of secret tidings, plots and enemies, in which +the distant horseman was the hero and she the heroine, and she had just +reached, in her own mind, a village wedding and little girls strewing in +the path of a noble one-armed hero and a bride, white as a lily save for +her crown of burnished hair, when Irene returned, and with a little sigh +of weariness dropped on the ground beside her. + +"We can't find him," she sighed, "and those poor babies are breaking their +hearts. What can we do?" Irene was really distressed, but Audrey, with +her eyes fixed on the horseman, and her thoughts on the story she might +write, had none left for sympathy with two children and a lost rabbit. + +"Oh, he is quite old," she cried involuntarily. The rider was near enough +now for her to see that his hair was grey and--oh, horror, that he had a +beard! + +Irene looked up in surprise. "Who?" she inquired, "Nibbler?" Then her +eyes followed Audrey's, and with a cry of delight and surprise she sprang +to her feet. "Why, it's grandfather!" and ran forward to meet him. + +Audrey was glad that she did so--she was glad to be alone for one moment, +in which to recover herself. Oh how thankful she was that no one could +read her thoughts, how thankful that no one knew what she had been +thinking. She saw the rider dismount and greet Irene, she saw Irene tuck +her arm contentedly through his arm and lead him forward; and she had +scarcely recovered from her confusion when Irene brought him up to her +saying, "This is my grandfather, Audrey." + +"Grandfather, you have heard us talk of Audrey, the girl we travelled down +with the day we came to you. Mr. Carlyle and all the rest are looking for +the children's rabbit. The poor dears brought him out to share the picnic +and he has hopped off on his own account. Now you must stay here and talk +to Audrey while I go and look for him just over there. I think we haven't +looked in that clump of ferns yet." + +Mr. Vivian slipped the rein from off his arm and left his horse free to +crop the grass. "He will be safe," he said reassuringly, "he will not go +far from me. Peter is more dependable than the rabbit Irene was speaking +of." + +Peter moved away a few paces, and his master seated himself on the grass +near Audrey and the baskets and the kittens. "What sort of a rabbit is +it?" he asked, "and which way did he go?" + +"I don't know which way he went," said Audrey, "he was gone when we +reached here. The children were very naughty, they started off by +themselves, unknown to anyone, with a basket of kittens and a rabbit. +There are the kittens. They have been making that dreadful noise ever +since we came." + +"Poor little creatures! they are frightened, they want to be taken up and +held." + +"They would spoil my clean frock," said Audrey hesitating. + +Mr. Vivian picked up the three little squealing things and held them in +his own arms. Their cries soon changed to a contented note. "They can't +hurt my old coat," he remarked with a smile, "not that I'd mind much if +they did, poor little beggars." + +Audrey felt vexed and ashamed and could think of no reply to make. +For a moment silence fell, broken only by the singing of the birds all +around them. + +Close to them and to Peter was a large clump of bracken on which Mr. +Vivian's eyes rested lazily. Suddenly he deposited his three little +charges on the ground again, "What was the colour of your rabbit?" he +asked in a lowered tone. + +"White and light brown," said Audrey, "quite a common kind. It wasn't a +valuable one, but the children----" + +"If you get up very gently and go round to that side of the clump of +ferns," Mr. Vivian broke in hastily, "I think we shall get the gentleman. +I feel pretty sure he is in there. I saw something big move when Peter +stepped close. Now then, stoop down on that side and grab him if he runs +out, and I will be on the look out for him here." + +There was no need though for Audrey to grab, for the poor frightened +creature only stared up bewildered when Mr. Vivian opened the ferns above +its head, and with one sure grasp lifted it up and into his arm. + +"Now," he said, as pleased almost as Debby and Tom themselves could be, +"I'll pop my gentleman into his basket while I hurry on to tell the news, +and relieve those poor little aching hearts." + +Surprise at his presence, or awe of his rugged face and grey hairs were +entirely swallowed up in the joy his news brought them. To the three +Carlyle children he was a complete stranger, but they took him to their +hearts then and there. + +"We will give you the very, very nicest tea we can possibly give you," +cried Faith enthusiastically, when each in turn and all together had +poured out their thanks. "I hope you are longing for some, for we want to +give you something that you want very much." + +"I did not know I was," laughed the old gentleman, "but now you have +mentioned it I find it is _the_ one thing I want." + +Tom and Debby ran on ahead to rejoice over their newly-recovered darling, +the rest trooped back more slowly. Audrey seeing them coming got up and +began to bustle around. She felt a little ashamed of herself, and very +anxious to wipe out the not very pleasing impression she felt sure she had +made on their visitor. She got out the table cloth and spread it on the +ground. + +"First of all," suggested Faith, "we had better build up the fire and put +the kettle on. It takes rather long sometimes." + +"I'll get some sticks," volunteered Keith. "Come along, Tom, we'll +provide the wood; that shall be our job." + +"I want to go too," cried Debby, "but the kittens are asleep, and I can't +possibly disturb them, can I?" + +"Run along," said Mr. Vivian kindly, "I will mind your kittens for you, +they know me, and we will be as happy as kings together." + +"I wish," Audrey remarked, "that we had some methylated spirits and a +stove. It is ever so much quicker and not nearly so messy." + +"But it isn't as much fun," consoled Irene, "and the tea tastes so nice +when the water is boiled over sticks and furze. Don't you think so?" + +"I don't know. I don't see that it can make any difference. But I think +it is a dreadful bother trying to get enough for everyone. The fire +always goes out or the----" + +"Audrey," called out Faith, "where is the kettle? Daphne and I will go to +the cottage to get it filled." + +"I haven't the kettle," said Audrey. "I haven't seen it. Isn't it in the +basket over by you? Don't say you have come without it?" + +"I am afraid we have," said Faith reluctantly, after looking in vain in +all directions. "What can we do? Do you think the woman at the cottage +would lend us one?" + +"If she did she would be sure to say we had damaged it. If it sprang a +leak at the end of six months she would be sure to think it was our +fault." Poor Audrey felt and looked thoroughly vexed. Everything so far +that day had gone wrong, and she had wanted it to be so different. +What she could not see was that nothing had gone wrong seriously, and a +little good temper and a sense of humour could not only have carried her +through triumphantly, but have turned most of the predicaments to fun. + +Keith came up with a bundle of sticks in his arms and heard the tale of +woe. "Oh, that's nothing," he said with a promptness that was most +consoling. "I will ask grandfather to lend me Peter and we'll trot back +and get a kettle in a flash." + +But Mr. Vivian preferred to go himself. "And I'll take young Tom with +me," he said. "He can run in and explain to the maid and get the kettle +in half the time Keith or I could. We should have to explain who we were +and by what right we came and demanded the family tea-kettle." + +Audrey demurred, blushing at the mere idea, and she blushed again when, +Peter and his two riders returning, she saw Mr. Vivian waving the old +kettle triumphantly. + +"Oh," she cried impatiently, "I did think Mary would have had the sense to +wrap it up!" + +"I wouldn't let her. I told her not to do anything more than tie a piece +of paper round its smutty sides. Now, while we are mounted, don't you +think it would be a good plan for us to ride over to the cottage and get +the kettle filled? I like to be useful," as all protested against his +taking this trouble. "You see, I feel that if I do something for it I +shall be able to ask boldly for a second cup of tea." And the old +gentleman rode away laughing, as full of enjoyment as any of them. + +Now at last things promised to go right. In a very short time the kettle, +filled with water, was hanging over a blazing fire of sticks and furze, +and Mr. Vivian had ridden away to borrow a pitcherful of water in case the +kettle required to be filled again, as it almost certainly would. +A new site was chosen for the tea-table and the cloth was spread. +Daphne brought sprigs of heather and grasses and green ferns to decorate +the table with. Keith, with Tom helping him, worked like a Trojan at +stoking the fire, and Audrey was glad that someone else undertook that +smutty, eye-smarting business, or her hands and her dress would have been +as grubby as theirs probably, before she had done. + +Irene was taking cups and saucers, plates and dishes from Faith as she +unpacked them, and arranging them on the table. + +"But you are the guests," said Audrey presently, "you mustn't bother about +helping. Faith and I ought to do all that." + +"Oh, but I love to. Do you mind?" Irene looked round, a swift delicate +colour mounting to her cheeks. + +"Mind!" Audrey knew as well as possible that she could never have +arranged such a dainty, alluring-looking tea table, as was every minute +growing in attractiveness before her eyes. She knew how it should look +when done, but Irene knew how to do it. Audrey did think though that she +would like to be of some use. She was feeling rather snubbed and very +much out of things. + +Irene saw it and drew back a little. "I am afraid--I did not mean to--to +be bossy," she added, colouring again more warmly. "I only wanted to +help," and she pushed towards Audrey the box of cakes she had been +unpacking. "I suppose it comes from being the eldest. Everyone seems to +expect the eldest to do things, and--and so I have got into the way of +doing them as a matter of course. I am awfully sorry, Audrey, it was a +great cheek of me." + +But Audrey scarcely heard what she was saying, for she was thinking that +no one went to her to have things done for them. No one seemed to expect +anything of her. + +"I suppose they think I am not able--but, at any rate, I can take cakes +out of a box and arrange them on a plate." And while trying her hardest +to make the dishes look as attractive as possible she grew less unhappy +and more in tune with everything. + +"Oh, how pretty," said Faith, coming to her with the teapot in one hand +and a packet of tea in the other. "Audrey, will you measure out the tea. +I don't know a bit how much to put in for such a lot of us." + +Here was something expected of her, at any rate. She should have felt +elated at being again appealed to, but she only looked vaguely from Faith +to Irene and back again. "Neither do I," she confessed at last. + +Irene counted heads on her fingers. "Nine," she reckoned, "two real +kiddies, two ex-kiddies,"--fixing her eyes on Keith and Daphne. +Daphne threw a tuft of heather at her, "one--two--three----" + +"Flappers," interrupted Keith derisively. + +"Grown-ups," finished Irene, ignoring him, "and two real grown-ups who +like their tea strong. I should think half-a-dozen teaspoonsful would do. +If we haven't tea enough to go round, Keith and Daphne shall drink hot +water; it will be so good for their complexion." + +"What gratitude! after we have slaved so over the fire and boiling the +kettle and all," cried Keith indignantly. + +"What is the 'all'? Don't say that you have boiled anything more than the +water." + +But the discussion was put an end to by the kettle, which boiled over at +that moment, and the tea was made as Irene had decreed. + +Then at last the whole party gathered round the table; the kittens, +revived by milk, played happily together on the grass. Nibbler sulked in +his basket and took sly bites at a handful of dandelion leaves when he +thought that no one was noticing him; but everyone else was happy, hungry, +and content. The fresh air gave them all such appetites that everything +they had to eat and drink seemed to be doubly good; the same beautiful air +and the sunshine sent their spirits soaring, and set everyone in the mood +to laugh and joke. All stiffness and shyness had so completely vanished +that the visitors already seemed like old friends rather than new ones; +and Audrey was just thinking how very happy life might be, even at home in +Moor End, when, in a pause in the chatter, a sharp pitiful cry floated +across the stillness to them. + +Debby was on her feet in a moment. "It is one of the kittens," she cried +anxiously. "Oh, what has happened? I am sure one is hurt." + +Everyone's eyes searched the ground around them. Snowdrop was seen at +once, and Nigger was close by. Suddenly Keith started to run, Debby tore +after him, the same fear possessing them both. A little way off Peter +stood cropping the grass, a few paces behind him Rudolph lay on the turf +bleeding and very still--his inquisitiveness had led him too far at last. +In inspecting Peter's hoofs he had got under one and so ended his +curiosity for ever. + +[Illustration: 'TEA ON THE MOORS.'] + +Keith reached him first, and by the time poor, panting, white-faced Debby +drew near he had covered the little lifeless body with his handkerchief. +"He is dead," he said gently, going to meet her and lead her away. +"Poor little chap--he must have been killed at once. Come away, Debby +dear, don't look at him." And he stood with his arm around her shaking +shoulders while her first anguished sobs broke from her. + +"Don't cry so, Debby," he urged her; consoling her more by his tone than +his words, "be brave, old girl. He--he--poor little chap--he--won't +suffer any more. He--won't have to be given away now." Keith found it +very hard to find anything comforting to say. In fact, he would have been +glad to have been somewhere quite alone, that he might have shed a few +tears unobserved, himself. "Anyhow, he enjoyed his life--as long--as it +lasted. You made him awfully happy." + +"But he had only had six weeks and two days," sobbed Debby, "and I loved +him best of all, he was so ugly, and people laughed at him. Oh, why +couldn't he have stayed where I put him! Oh, Rudolph, you dear naughty +darling, I loved you so." + +Keith clasped her closer, "Never mind, old girl; don't cry, Debby." +Debby's face was bowed on his other arm. Suddenly she stretched out a +groping arm. "Handkerchief please, I--I lost mine." + +"I--I am awfully sorry, but mine is spread over Rudolph." + +"Never mind, don't take it away from him." Debby's tears flew fast again. +"But I wish I knew where mine was, it's--it's rather awkward." + +At that moment, though, the rest of the family came up, and Audrey, who, +true to a habit taught her by her grandmother, always carried two, +provided the little mourner with the much-needed handkerchief. + +But though she provided for her wants Audrey was thoroughly vexed and +upset with the little mourner. It seemed to her that the two children +really did go out of their way to spoil everyone's enjoyment. + +Her eye fell on Tom standing close beside her. "It all comes of your +naughtiness in the first place," she said irritably, "if you hadn't +brought all these animals up here we might all have had some pleasure, and +Rudolph would have been alive and happy. Now you and Debby have the +satisfaction of knowing that by your behaviour you have spoilt the day for +everyone, and killed a poor little helpless kitten." + +Audrey was not observant or she would have noticed her little brother's +white face and quivering lips. If she had been sympathetic she would have +understood that the sorrow which filled his heart was doubled, trebled, by +the knowledge that his act--innocent little joke though it was, was at the +bottom of the tragedy--but Audrey understood neither. She was annoyed and +she wanted to hurt. + +Mr. Carlyle, who, if he had not heard all, had seen more than Audrey was +capable of seeing, went over and put his arm around his little son's +shoulders protectingly. He knew what the boy was enduring--that he was +learning in that hour a lesson which would remain with him all his life. + +"If we could all of us foresee the consequences of what we do," he said, +"we should be saved from doing many a wrong and foolish thing. If we +could look ahead and see the effect of what we say, we would often bite +our tongues rather than utter the words trembling on them. When I was a +little boy, my mother taught me some verses which I hardly understood at +the time, but they have often come back to my mind since, whenever I have +felt inclined to blame other people. I will tell them to you, that you +may remember too. + + "'Happy are they, and only they, + Who from His precepts never stray. + Who know what's right, nor only so, + But always practice what they know.' + +"But always practise what they know," Mr. Carlyle reflected thoughtfully. +"I wonder which of us do that?" + +Audrey coloured deeply, and found no words to say. Thoughts came crowding +on her mind, remembrance of many things left undone, of many complainings +of others, of duties neglected, of selfishness--known to no one but +herself--and her heart grew shamed and very humble. How many times since +she had come home had she not preached what she did not practise? + +"But," went on Mr. Carlyle sadly, "I love better the words of a more +kindly singer, one who shows us not only the mountain-top, but helps us up +the steep, rough path to it: + + "'If you would help to make the wrong things right, + Begin at home, there lies a life-time's toil. + Weed your own garden fair for all men's sight, + Before you plan to till another's soil.' + +"Shall we try to do that, my Audrey, you, and little Tom, and I? +I think we should be happier: + + "'If you are sighing for a lofty work, + If great ambitions dominate your mind, + Just watch yourself, and see you do not shirk + The common little ways of being kind.'" + +With his other arm around her the trio strolled away across the moor. +"We all need kindness so much, and forbearance. In this world we cannot +get on without them. Shall we start fresh from to-day, Audrey?" + +Audrey looked at her father through tear-filled eyes, her lips were +quivering. "Oh father, father, I want to--but I don't know how." + +"There is only one way, dear. By constant striving against our failing, +and by constant prayer. We cannot succeed by ourselves, we should only +meet with certain failure. But if we place our hand in God's hand we know +that though we may stumble and totter many times, we cannot fail +entirely." + +A few minutes later she was kneeling beside Debby, where she still lay +sobbing heartbrokenly. + +"Debby dear, I have picked some heath and some dear little ferns. +If Keith will help me, we will make such a pretty grave for poor little +Rudolph, up here on the moor. Would you like that?" + +For a moment Debby looked at her in speechless surprise. "Could it be +cross Audrey speaking so gently?" Then her arms were flung out and around +her eldest sister's neck, "Oh, Audrey," she cried, "oh Audrey, I am so +glad you care too. Though he wasn't--_very_ pretty, he was such a +darling, and I do, I want everyone to feel sorry that he is dead--but I +thought you didn't." + +And Audrey returned the embrace. "I do Debby dear, I do. I can't tell +you how dreadfully sorry I am." + +When, an hour later, the whole party turned their faces homeward, one of +Debby's hands was clasped in Audrey's, the other in Keith's. Audrey +carried the sleeping Snowdrop and Keith the sleeping Nigger; while up on +the now desolate looking moorland, little Rudolph lay sleeping in the soft +brown earth beneath a clump of waving bracken. So short a life his had +been, so tragic and swift an end, but the hand-clasp of the sisters showed +that his little life had not been lived in vain. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +A few days later Mr. Carlyle was upon the moor again, but this time +everything was very different. There was no happy party, no picnic, no +sunshine nor soft breeze. + +Instead, there lay about him one unbroken stretch of desolation, above him +a sky almost frightening in its aspect, with its banked-up masses of black +and copper clouds, over which the lightning ran like streams of liquid +fire. + +He had been to visit a parishioner in a cottage at the farthest corner of +his parish, and while there the storm, which had been threatening all day, +had broken with a violence such as he had never known before. For nearly +two hours he had remained a prisoner in the little lonely house, which had +seemed merely a fragile toy, to be their only shelter from the floods of +rain, the deafening thunder, the flaming, darting lightning. Again and +again it had seemed as though the roof and walls must crack and fall about +them, or the rain come through and wash them from their shelter. + +But those who had built the sturdy little house had built well, if +roughly, and the stone walls stood as though they were one solid block of +stone, the rain beat on the roof, but streamed off it, not a drop came +through. The little deep-set windows stared at the flashing lightning as +though with a patient unconcern, until at last the storm seemed to grow +tired of its sport, and swept away to find other victims. + +In spite of the fact that the ground was like a sponge, that the little +cart-track, which was the only approach to the house, was filled up with +water, and that rain still fell, Mr. Carlyle made his way to the highest +point of the moor to look about him. It was not often he could see so +fine a sight, such a storm-swept sky, such curious lights and shadows. + +Before the gusty wind the black clouds were rolling heavily away to the +west, where Abbot's Field lay. Mr. Carlyle's face grew anxious as he +looked at the dense mass of fiery blackness, and the heavy mist, which +seemed to envelop the place as with something evil. Every now and again +the black clouds appeared to open and show something of the glory and +radiance behind them, a radiance which human eye would not look upon. +Then close on the flashes came the crackling and booming thunder again, +only more distant now. + +"I hope the Vivians are not nervous," he murmured. "I am afraid King's +Abbot is having it even more severely than Moor End." + +Moor End stood at the edge of the extreme end of King's Moor. +Abbot's Field, the larger village, lay two or three miles further along +the edge, while behind both the great moor rolled away and away to the +south, desolate, barren, until it reached the sea and the little villages +scattered along the coast. + +Mr. Carlyle turned and looked at the rolling stretches of grey-green land +all round him. Besides himself, and that one tiny dwelling, there was not +a sign of human life to be seen. Overhead the storm still threatened and +grumbled; below, the man and the house stood powerless, but undaunted. +Far away to the south the sun shone out brightly through a rift in the +clouds. "Always God's promise somewhere. God's sign to us that He +cares." + +Suddenly, out of the inky murkiness to the west a horse came galloping +swiftly. In such a scene of desolate solitude, the sight of any living +creature came as a surprise, and held one's gaze. Mr. Carlyle watched the +creature fascinatedly. "Frightened, I suppose, poor beast," he muttered +sympathetically. "Whomever it belongs to should have taken it in; they +must have seen the storm coming. Oh!" his words broke off suddenly, for, +as the horse drew near, he could see that it had on a bridle and a +saddle--a lady's saddle too! + +"It must have thrown its rider," he cried anxiously, and pondered +helplessly what he could do. How was he to catch the frightened creature +without frightening it more, and where, in all that expanse, was he to +begin to look for the fallen rider? Then suddenly it came to him that +there was something familiar about the horse. + +"Peter!" he called, "Peter! Peter! Peter!" He tried to imitate the note +and voice Peter's master had used on the day of the picnic. "Peter, good +boy, come here." The horse's ears twitched. He had heard him, and his +pace slackened. He was really a friendly, tame creature, but a specially +violent clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning which had shot +across his eyes, had, for the moment, given him such a shock that he had +lost his usually sober senses, and flown panic-stricken from the +neighbourhood of such horrors. He was not accustomed either to a +side-saddle, nor to so gentle a hand upon his mouth. + +Already, though, his fears were vanishing, and he was longing for the +sound of a human voice and the grip of a hand on his bridle. + +"Peter! Peter!" Mr. Carlyle called again. Peter turned swiftly in answer +to the call, caught his hoof in the dangling bridle, and fell heavily on +the soft, wet turf. + +This gave the Vicar his chance. Peter was soon on his feet again, but his +bridle was gripped firmly enough now. + +"Peter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." Peter was. He stood beside +his captor shamed, shaken, genuinely distressed. "I wish you could show +me where you dropped your rider, Peter." Peter only flapped his ears, and +threw up his head. + +Mr. Carlyle got on his back, in order to get a wider view. "I suppose he +has come from his home; perhaps I had better go in that direction." + +Peter seemed to agree with this decision, and, with apparently recovered +spirits, walked on willingly. The Vicar's spirits, though, did not +recover so lightly. His eyes swept the moor anxiously, but in vain, and +his fears increased, for a rider who had been not much hurt would surely +appear soon, coming in search of her horse. If she did not appear it +might forebode the very worst of disasters. For more than half an hour +they searched, but vainly, then suddenly, far ahead of him, almost out of +the ground it seemed, a small white fluttering something appeared, and he +quickened Peter's pace to a gallop. + +It was Irene who had been Peter's rider, Irene who, recovering from the +shock and blow of the fall, had struggled up, and waved her handkerchief +in the desperate hope of attracting someone. + +She was scratched, bruised and bleeding, and wet to the skin; but her +concern was all for Peter, and her one feeling was joy at seeing him alive +and sound. "Oh, I am so glad!" she cried in a rapture of relief. +"Oh, I am so glad--I could never have gone home and faced grandfather if +anything had happened to Peter." Then suddenly she broke down and burst +into tears. "Oh, I am so thankful," she sobbed. "I have been nearly +crazy with fear!" + +"But, my poor child, what about yourself? Peter is all right, but you are +hurt--your face is bleeding, you--you----" He could not tell her what a +pitiable little object she was. One of her eyes was swelled, and fast +discolouring; on her forehead a great lump stood out, scratches decorated +her cheek, from which the blood still oozed. + +"I--fell on my face," she explained brokenly, "near a bramble bush. +I think I have hurt my arm too." Against the increasing pallor the +scratches stood out horribly. She was on the point of collapsing again, +when Mr. Carlyle picked her up without a word, and seated her on Peter's +back. "Try to keep up," he said encouragingly; "hold on to the pummels; +I will manage Peter. And try not to think about the accident; give all +your attention to holding on; we will go to that cottage over there, and +get you some water. They have a pony-cart there, too, I will borrow it +and drive you to the Vicarage as quickly as I can. You certainly can't +walk, and you can't go all the way to Abbot's Field until you are better. +But we will take care of you, Irene. Don't cry any more, my child. +You will feel better soon, and you have very much to be thankful for." + +"I know, I know!" gasped Irene. "I don't know how to be thankful enough; +we might have been killed on the spot. Oh, that lightning! It was +_awful_, perfectly awful. There seemed to be fire all round us, nothing +but fire!" She buried her face in her hands, as though to shut out the +sight. "It looked as though some awful fiery furnace had opened before +us, it was like the place of torment----" + +"But God's protecting love was about you. His arm was shielding you." + +"I know," said Irene softly, "and that was my only hope. I remember +saying, 'From lightning and tempest, and from sudden death, good Lord, +deliver us,' and then I think I must have fainted, for I knew nothing more +until I felt the rain on my face, and the thunder crashing overhead, and +my first thought was----" she broke off in sudden shy confusion, and +a faint flush rose to her cheeks. + +"May not I know, Irene, what your first thought was, when you woke and +found yourself still in this world? was it that God had spared you yet, +that you might do more work for Him?" + +"That was it!" she cried eagerly; "that was my thought--'God has not taken +me--He must have something for me to do, and--and----'" + +"You mean that, God helping you, you would do it?" + +Irene looked away; again the colour rushed into her pallid cheeks. + +"Yes," she whispered softly, but could say no more. + +"By His help, and in His Name." Mr. Carlyle's hand shook a little as he +clasped hers. "Thanks be to Him," he added, with deep feeling. +"Irene, my child, never forget this afternoon, nor the vow you have +taken." + +"I will try never to," said Irene humbly, and then the cottage was +reached, and the Vicar lifted her down, and led her into shelter. + +After that, matters were soon arranged. One of the big boys at the +cottage was to take Peter home, and deliver him over safely, and he was to +take a note of explanation and reassurance, and a request for clothes for +Irene, which he would bring by train, and then take home the pony and cart +which the Vicar was borrowing to transport the poor little patient to the +Vicarage. + +Irene did not demur at anything. She could only smile the gratitude she +felt; after her last outburst she had become exhausted. When lifted into +the cart she half sat, half lay in the bottom of it, rolled in blankets, +seemingly only half conscious of what was happening. + +When the little cart at last drew up at the Vicarage, Audrey was standing +at the door looking out. The rain had ceased by that time, and the air +was laden with a sweet freshness which told that the storm had passed. +When she saw the cart draw up, she thought only that her father had had a +lift homewards--as they had hoped he would. Then she saw that he was +holding the reins, and was apparently alone in the cart, and at the same +moment he caught sight of her and beckoned to her vigorously. + +"I have Irene Vivian here," he said. "She has met with an accident. +Hold the pony's head, dear, while I lift her out, and carry her into the +house. We must get a room ready, and get her to bed as soon as possible, +with hot blankets and bottles. You will know what to do, Audrey." + +Audrey did not. She did not know in the least what to do. She should +have felt flattered by her father's confidence in her, but she only felt +ashamed. + +And the spare room, where Irene must go! It was she knew, in a state of +neglect and confusion. In her anxiety to speak to Faith and Mary, Audrey +almost let the pony go, and ran into the house. + +Fortunately, though, when Irene was safely deposited on the ground, stiff +and bruised though she was, she could, she declared, walk through the +garden to the house. "I am not so faint now; I feel better already. +Oh, Audrey, I am so sorry to come and give you so much trouble. I am sure +I shall be able to get home when--when I have rested. I am nearly all +right." + +But when she, with the same, reeled and almost fell, Mr. Carlyle picked +her up bodily, and carried her quickly into the house. "You are not to +talk any more," he commanded peremptorily, "but you are to remember that +you are no bother to us whatever, that we are only too pleased to have +you, and the more you give us to do, the better we shall be pleased." +Then, catching sight of her troubled face as he laid her on the sofa in +the dining-room, "Some day we may want your help, and I should not +hesitate to ask you for it, Irene, because I should know that it would be +a joy to you to give it. Will you believe the same of us, my child?" + +Irene looked up at him gratefully. "Oh, yes, yes," she cried, but her +glance travelled swiftly from him to Audrey, wanting her assurance too. + +"Of course we are very glad to have you," Audrey answered, meeting the +eager eyes; but her voice lacked that ring of genuineness which means more +than any other; the ring which sounded so clearly in her father's. +She knew it, and was sorry; but she could not help it. There was that to +be said for Audrey--she was honest. She could not feign a pleasure she +did not feel; and she had yet to learn to feel the pleasure which comes +with trying to make others happy. + +"You couldn't help it," she added lamely; "don't worry about it, Irene," +but that seemed only to make matters worse. Irene's face showed that, and +her own heart told her so. + +Oh, how she longed to be one of the happy-go-lucky, don't-care people, +like Faith, who felt nothing but gladness at welcoming people, and were +quite unconcerned as to what they were welcoming them to! It was really +her care for her visitor's comfort which lay at the bottom of her +seemingly cold welcome, her over-anxiety that everything should be as nice +as she was accustomed to. + +"No, I couldn't help it. But--I think I ought to go home presently. +I can manage to, I can really, and mother would be so glad." + +Tears came into her eyes. She was feeling so shaken and faint, and in +such pain all over, she seemed to lose grip on herself. A sudden longing +to be petted and made much of, swept over her. Fortunately at that moment +Faith came rushing in. + +"What has happened?" she cried anxiously. "I have only just heard that +there has been an accident.--Oh, Irene! you poor darling, you do look bad. +Here, lean back, and let me arrange the cushions more comfortably. +Oh, your poor face, how it must hurt you. Wouldn't it be more comfortable +if I bathed it with warm water?" + +"We have got to get the spare room ready as quickly as possible," said +Audrey, briskly, rousing herself to action. "She is wet through, she must +go to bed as soon as she can." + +"Here? Irene is going to stay here? Oh, how lovely! I am awfully sorry +for you, Irene, but, oh, I am so glad." Faith's face was one beam of +welcome. No thought of their unpreparedness troubled her. + +"Well, Irene won't be glad, unless we hurry and get a room fit for her to +go into," Audrey retorted sharply. "She must be cold and miserable." + +"Oh, we will soon get the room straight; she can go into mine if she +likes." + +"She must have peace and quiet," said Audrey dryly, "and she ought to have +a hot bath at once. Granny always made me have one if I got wet; it takes +the pain and stiffness out of one's bones." + +Faith lifted up one of the poor scratched hands, and looked at it. +"We sometimes have mustard in our baths," she said mischievously, "when we +have colds, but I don't think we will give Irene mustard in hers now!" + +Irene chuckled faintly, though she could not help shuddering. +Faith's welcome had raised her spirits considerably. "A hot bath +_without_ mustard would be lovely, if it isn't inconvenient. My clothes +are soaked through, and I am growing so chilly----" + +"Inconvenient!" cried Faith, scornfully, "as though it could be! +You ought to be in it by this time, though. Come along at once, or a nice +cold you will have, and while you are bathing we will get the bed made, +and all the hot-water bottles and hot bricks and things we can find, to +put in it!" + +"Thank you, but don't cook me," groaned Irene. "When I have had my bath I +shall be so hot, I shall be able to warm the bottles instead of the +bottles warming me." + +Audrey hurried away to begin the preparations, though she had very little +idea of what to do. She wanted to be alone, and busy, to try and work off +her vexation. Why could not she have welcomed poor bruised, hurt Irene, +as Faith had done! She had followed her mood of the moment, thinking only +of herself, and she had made an impression, left a feeling, that she would +never now be able to wipe away. Oh, it was unendurable to feel so mean, +so unlovable, when--when she really did not mean to be either, when she +wanted to be so different! At the door of the spare bedroom she turned, +and walked swiftly down the stairs again to the dining-room. + +"Irene," she said, her voice trembling a little with shyness at her first +effort, "I think my nightdresses would fit you best. Would you like a +nun's veiling one, or a cotton? I will get one aired by the time you are +ready for it." + +Faith looked at her sister admiringly, almost enviously. She would have +found it very difficult to have provided Irene with the necessary garment, +for she had but three to her name, and all were more or less buttonless +and torn. If the younger Carlyles had nightgowns enough to go round, they +thought themselves fortunate; to have different ones for summer and winter +was a luxury they never dreamed of. "Oh--and, Audrey," Faith cried +eagerly, "do lend Irene your pretty dressing-gown too." + +"I was going to," responded Audrey stiffly--Faith never gave one a chance +to be gracious--"if you had given me----" She drew herself up sharply, +with a genuine effort to master her vexation. + +"I will run up and see about getting the bath ready," said Faith. +"It won't take more than ten minutes. Irene, use my room if you will, +until your own is ready. Audrey, you will help her to take off her wet +boots and stockings, won't you? I'll call Mary to come and make the bed." + +Within an hour Irene lay in the bed, rolled up in a blanket, with a +hot-water bottle at her back, and a hot brick at her feet, for, after all, +there was only one bottle in the house that did not leak, and that was +Audrey's. She was very hot, but she felt revived and cheerful. + +Faith came into the room with a cup of steaming tea, and some +bread-and-butter on a tray. She had profited by Audrey's example +sufficiently to remember to put a tray-cloth over it, and to try to make +it look dainty. Irene turned a hot but grateful face towards her. +"How good you all are to me!" she said. + +Audrey was standing by the fire, looking from the creeping flames to the +dust upon the mantelpiece. She wished Mary had dusted the room a little. +It did not occur to her that Mary could not possibly have found the time; +that she had been flying round ever since Irene's arrival making the bed, +lighting the fire, pushing furniture into place, putting up curtains, and +filling the hot-water bottle; that since then she had spread Irene's +clothes to dry, and had made her tea. + +"This room is dreadfully dusty," she said at last, feeling that she must +apologise for it. "I am very, very sorry, Irene." + +"Oh, don't worry about me," said Irene cheerfully. "You leave it until I +get up again. I will dust all the house for you then, out of sheer +gratitude." + +Audrey did not reply, but with heightened colour she walked away, and +returned a few minutes later with a duster in her hand. She had always +thought she hated dusting, but after all there was, she decided, as she +nearly completed her task, some pleasure in it. It was nice to see things +grow clean and bright under her hand, and it was such a relief to have the +work done, instead of waiting and waiting for someone else to do it, +waiting vainly, too, as a rule! And when, a little later, Mrs. Vivian was +shown into the room, Audrey felt an even greater pleasure in knowing that +all was neat and spotless for her to see. + +The relief and the satisfaction brought a glow to her face, and warmth to +her manner, such as she seldom showed. For almost the first time in her +life she escaped the irritation of seeing them left undone by others, and +knew the pleasure of doing things for oneself. As she softly left the +room she felt happier than she had all day. Irene, in her nest of +blankets, looked up at her mother with eyes full of remorse, mingled with +pleasure. + +"Poor child! are you in great pain?" Mrs. Vivian leaned down over her +daughter and kissed her. She was so agitated she could scarcely speak. +Irene drew her left arm out from the blankets, and threw it round her +mother's neck. + +"Oh, mother, mother, I deserve it all! I deserve ever so much more. +I--I ought to be whipped and kept on bread-and-water." + +A ghost of a smile flickered over Mrs. Vivian's white face. "We will +forgive you this time, but oh, Irene, when I saw Peter being led in +riderless I--I----" + +Irene drew her mother down to her again. "Mother darling, it shall be a +lesson to me. I will never, never go against your wishes again. +When I woke up--I think I must have fainted--and knew where I was, and all +that had happened, and when I realised that God had spared my life instead +of punishing me--oh, mother, I promised Him that I would dedicate the rest +of it to Him, and to you." + +With a low cry of deep joy Mrs. Vivian clasped her little daughter in her +arms, her emotion too great for words. And so they remained, heart to +heart, cheek to cheek, talking in soft, low tones, talk too sacred and +precious for other ears to hear, until at last they were brought back to +everyday things by a gentle knock at the door. + +"May we come in?" asked Audrey, opening it a little way. "We have brought +you some tea, Mrs. Vivian. We thought you might be tired." + +"Oh, how kind!" Mrs. Vivian looked up at her gratefully. "I feel as +though I should enjoy a cup of tea, as I never have in my life before." +With her relief at finding Irene's injuries so comparatively slight and +with her heart full of the deep, almost sacred joy their talk had brought +to her, the paleness had vanished from her cheeks, and the happiness in +her heart glowed in her pretty, kind eyes. + +"Audrey dear, do you think it would be possible for your mother to see me +for a little while? I want so much to thank her for all the kindness you +are all showing to my bad girl. And as it seems that she will have to +stay here for a day or so, I want to ask her to make an exchange, and +spare me one of you in Irene's place." + +"Oh!" Audrey's heart leaped with pleasure. A visit to 'The Orchard' would +be lovely--to have servants, horses and carriages, gardens, and all the +comforts and luxuries she loved so much; what joy! And she had nice +clothes, too, and everything suitable for such a visit. But Mrs. Vivian, +little dreaming of the thoughts rushing through Audrey's head, brought her +castles tumbling to the ground. + +"I know I must not ask for you, for you have not long been home, and you +cannot be spared, but I thought, perhaps, Faith would come, or the little +ones--it might be a change for them, and would make a little less work for +you here." + +She looked at Audrey inquiringly. For a second there was silence, then +"I am afraid Faith could not be spared--either," Audrey answered in a tone +Mrs. Vivian could not understand, it seemed to hold both shame and +triumph. "She--she is really more useful than I am--much more," she added +emphatically, as though to press home the stab she was dealing herself. + +A wave of hot colour poured into her cheeks, then ebbed away, but the glow +in her heart remained, for she had once more conquered herself. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Never in their lives before had Debby and Tom been thrown into such a +state of such rapturous joy and excitement as when they heard of the +invitation which had been accepted for them, and never, never had they +been called upon to face so bitter a disappointment as that which befell +them before the week was out, when news came to the Vicarage that the +visit must be postponed indefinitely, for measles had broken out at +'The Orchard.' One maid was down with it, and Daphne was, they feared, +sickening. And if Daphne developed it, Keith was almost certain to follow +suit. + +"It is almost too dreadful to be borne!" cried Debby tragically, meaning +the disappointment, not the measles. "Don't you think it is only a bad +dream, and we'll wake up presently?" + +Tom shook his head gloomily. "I'm awake right enough," he said, "so are +you." + +"I wish I wasn't; I'd never been asked away before, in all my life, and +there would have been the train, and the donkey cart when we got there, +and a s-s-swing in the orchard. Oh, Faith, isn't it dreadful, that such +things can happen, and all because of measles--as if measles are anything +to make a fuss about." + +"Some people make such a fuss about a little thing," scoffed Tom, +"I wouldn't have minded going and catching them. I've got to have them +some time, I s'pose, so I might as well have had them there as at home-- +better, too!" + +"I doubt if Mrs. Vivian would have thought so," said Faith. "Cheer up, +both of you, and try not to mind. Perhaps Mrs. Vivian will ask you again +some day, and you see you can't go, neither can Irene, so we shall have +her here for a long time yet--and won't that be jolly!" + +When Audrey had first heard the news she had breathed a sigh of relief and +sympathy. Relief, when she thought of the scanty, shabby little outfits +which were all they had to take with them. Sympathy with their +disappointment. She knew what it was to feel the latter. + +Irene was frankly dismayed. To land oneself suddenly on new friends for a +day or two was bad enough, but to be told that you must not return home +for some weeks--indeed, for no one knew how long--was most embarrassing. + +"I am so sorry," she said apologetically to Mrs. Carlyle, "I expect mother +will arrange for me to go somewhere as soon as possible, I--I hope it +won't be very inconvenient my staying here until I hear." + +Mrs. Carlyle smiled at her affectionately. "Inconvenient! Irene, dear, +how could it be. We should simply rejoice to have you as long as you can +stay--that is, of course, if you would like to. The Vicar wrote to your +mother at once to know if we might keep you during the time, and we are +waiting to hear." + +"Like to! Oh, Mrs. Carlyle, how good you are to me! I would like it +better than anything," she cried enthusiastically, bending down to give +the invalid a warm kiss. Then, turning swiftly, she caught up Baby Joan +and danced with her round the room. "Oh, isn't it perfectly lovely, Joan +darling. I am going to stay with you, Joany Carlyle, for weeks, instead +of going to strangers. If you were only half as pleased as I am you would +clap your hands and sing." + +"She would if she understood," laughed Mrs. Carlyle. "I would too, if I +could." + +Irene stood still suddenly in the middle of her pirouetting. "Would you? +Would you, really?" she exclaimed; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes +shone. "Are you really sure I shall not be a bother?" + +"Indeed, indeed, I love to have you here, darling." There was no +mistaking the meaning in Mrs. Carlyle's voice. "It is like letting +sunshine into the house. We all love having you--and it is so good for +the girls. They have no real companions here." + +When, a few minutes later, Irene went downstairs and into the garden, her +face was grave, but her eyes still glowed. "Sunshine!" Mrs. Carlyle had +called her. She was like sunshine in the house. What a glorious thing to +have said of one--and she had done nothing to deserve it either. Well, +here was her chance. She had not been in the Vicarage those few days +without learning that there was a lot to be done, and few to do it. +Here was her opportunity! + +Faith was in the garden looking at the flower bed. "I can't understand +it," she said, in a puzzled voice, as Irene drew dear, "there seem to be +seedlings, or something, coming up all over it. They look like real +flowers, don't they? Or do you think they are weeds? If they are, they +ought to be pulled up, but I don't like to until I know." + +"Oh no, let them stay. I am sure they aren't weeds, Faith. Look at +those, they are sweet peas, I am certain they are, and this is young +mignonette." + +Faith's face was as puzzled as her voice. "It is a most extraordinary +thing about this bed," she said soberly, "I made it, and then Audrey +didn't like it because we hadn't any nice bedding plants for it, so I put +in a few things that I had given me, phloxes and sunflowers, and +wallflowers, and--oh, I forget quite what, but I forgot all about watering +them, and I thought they were dead, but they aren't. They pulled through +somehow; I never planted any seeds, though, I am quite sure. Yet the bed +is getting to look quite full! I think the fairies must have come at +night, and sown them!" + +"Or the brownies," suggested Irene. "We won't watch for them, then +perhaps they will plant some more. They stop working if they are +watched!" she laughed. + +"Well, it's brownies, or something, and I want to thank them," said Faith +gratefully, if ungrammatically. "I want to dreadfully. What are you +smiling at, Irene?" + +"Was I smiling? Oh Fay, I can't help it, I am so happy. Your father and +mother have asked my mother to let me stay here with you until the measles +have gone. Isn't it lovely of them!" + +"Have they? Have they really?" Faith's face was a picture of glad +surprise. "Oh, Irene, how lovely! how jolly! They hadn't said a word to +us. I expect they knew how disappointed we should be, if your mother said +'no.' But she mustn't say 'no '! She _must_ let you stay. It will be +perfectly lovely having you here." And she threw her arms round Irene's +waist and hugged her. "Oh, I am so glad," she sighed, "I don't know what +to do!" + +"Keith and Daphne will be wild with envy," said Irene, returning the hug. +"Poor dears, they will have a dull time, I am afraid." + +"We will write them letters, to cheer them up, shall we? and send them all +sorts of things--for fun." + +Audrey came out and joined them, "Mother has told me," she said. +"Oh, Irene, I am so delighted." Her pleasure shone in her face, and her +speaking eyes. Irene already knew the worst there was to know of the +shabbiness of the home, and Audrey's heart was at rest. "I think, though, +you ought to come in now, and lie down, you know you are not really well +yet." + +"You must give me something to do then, sewing, or darning, or something. +I simply could not lie still doing nothing. I am too excited. Haven't +you some stockings that need mending? We always have a basketful at +home." + +"I took the basket up to mother a day or two ago," said Audrey. +"We didn't get them done, somehow, so mother said she would try what she +could do. But don't bother about work, Irene. Lie down and read, I am +going up to my room to work for a little while." + +"And I must put Joan in her cot for her morning nap," said Faith, taking +that little person from Irene's arms. + +Audrey strolled away to her beloved attic, Faith to her bedroom, and Irene +was left alone to go to her bedroom, or the dining-room, as she pleased. +For a few seconds she lay on the sofa in the dining-room, thinking; then +suddenly she got up, and went softly up the stairs to Mrs. Carlyle's room. + +"Come in," said the gentle voice, in answer to her knock. "Oh, Irene, is +that you. Are you come up to sit with me? How nice?" The invalid's face +brightened perceptibly. + +"I came for the stocking basket," said Irene. "I am ordered to keep +still, but I simply can't while I am so excited. I feel I want to be +doing something to work it off me. Would you mind if I sat here with you +for a little while, Mrs. Carlyle, and did some darning?" + +"It would be the greatest pleasure to me, dear. I was longing for someone +to talk to. I tried to mend some of the stockings myself, but I only +managed to do one pair for Debby to put on. My eyes ached so. One seems +to twist them if one tries to do fine work when lying down." + +"Of course one does. Mrs. Carlyle," eagerly, "will you let the stocking +basket be my charge while I am here? I love to have a big pile of work to +do, and make my way through it. Would it bother you if I worked up here +sometimes?" + +"Not in the least, dear child. There is nothing I should enjoy more. +I often long for company, but ours is a busy household. With only one +servant, it takes the girls all their time to keep the house in order." + +Irene stooped low over the stocking-basket, lest her face should reveal +anything. + +"Of course it is too much for them," Mrs. Carlyle went on anxiously, +"and we shall have to have in extra help when the holidays are over, and +their new governess comes. They can't possibly do their lessons and the +housework as well. Next year I hope to be about again, and able to take +some of the load off their shoulders, but," with a little sigh, "next year +is a long way off." + +"I wish I could help," said Irene. "I love housework, and keeping things +nice. I am longing for the time when we shall have a house again. +Mrs. Carlyle, have you any dark blue darning wool that I can mend Tom's +stockings with?" + +"No, dear, I have not, I have taken up that pair ever so many times and +put them down again because I had no wool to mend them with." + +Irene thrust her hand in, "Um!" Someone had not been so particular, she +thought, as her eye fell on a brown darn on the heel, and a black one at +the back of the leg. + +"Irene, don't you think you could drop the formal name, and call me +'Aunt Kitty'? I wish you would, dear. I have no nieces or nephews of my +own, and I have always longed to be 'aunt' to someone." + +"Why, of course I will, I should love to, Aunt Kitty--don't you have a +glass of milk about this time? Shall I ask for it for you?" + +"Thank you--I think they must have forgotten it." She did not add that +five days out of every seven the glass of milk was forgotten either +entirely, or until it was so close on dinner-time that she could not take +it. + +"I won't bother Mary to bring it, I will go and get it, if you don't mind +my going into the kitchen?" + +Mrs. Carlyle was of the same happy, easy-going nature as Faith, and minded +nothing of that sort. Even if she had known the state of muddle the +kitchen was in, she would not have been troubled by Irene's going into it. + +But though the muddle was there, as usual, and worse than usual, Irene did +not see it. The shock she received when she opened the kitchen door, +drove everything else from her thoughts, and it was not until some time +later that she had eyes for the kitchen itself. + +In the middle of the floor sat Mary, propped against the table leg, while +on either side of her knelt Audrey and Faith, trying to staunch the blood +which flowed freely from Mary's hand. Mary's face was as white as chalk, +her eyes nearly popping out of her head with alarm. Audrey and Faith +looked almost as frightened. + +When Irene appeared on the scene they turned their faces to her in evident +relief. "Oh, Irene, Mary has cut her poor hand fearfully, and--and it +will not stop bleeding, and we don't know what to do, we have been here +ever so long, and it isn't stopping a bit. Do you think we ought to send +for Doctor Gray?" + +"I shouldn't think so," said Irene reassuringly, "not if it is an ordinary +cut. Let me see it, may I?" + +"Oh, no, you mustn't look at it. You will faint!" + +"I don't faint from that kind of thing, I am used to it. We are always +damaging ourselves, and I doctor them all. Anyhow, I know that Mary ought +not to hold her hand down like that,"--gently raising it to check the +flow--"it will bleed for hours if she does. Have you any soft rag?" + +"Plenty, I should think," Audrey replied sarcastically, "but I don't know +where to find any." Irene, looking at her closely for the first time, saw +that she was white to the lips, and trembling. + +"Look here," she said quickly, "I came down for a glass of milk for your +mother, and some biscuits, will you take them up to her? She will be +waiting, and wondering what has become of me. Then you stay with her and +talk to her. Don't tell her what has happened--simply say that I am busy. +Don't come down again, Audrey, you will be fainting if you stay here, and +we can manage by ourselves. Don't cry, Mary, it will be all right. +I am sure it will." + +"I--I believe I've taken a bit of my finger right off," sobbed Mary. +"I am sure I have, p'raps it's gone. Do look, miss." + +"Oh no, it isn't gone. Don't scream so, Mary, you will frighten Mrs. +Carlyle and make her very ill. Now just be as plucky as ever you can +while I dress it. Faith, where can I find some rag?" + +"Oh, I don't know," groaned Faith. "Irene, do you think a piece of her +finger has really come off?" + +"No!" Irene, who had been examining the wound, spoke almost impatiently. +"The cut is a deep one, but it will be all right in a few days. Do try +and find some rag or bandage, Faith. I want to bind it up as tightly as +possible to stop the bleeding. If you haven't any I will get one of my +handkerchiefs." + +Faith, much relieved in her mind, ran off hurriedly. Mary's sobs became +quieter, but as she grew less frightened about herself, she grew more +worried about her work. + +"Whatever shall I do!" she wailed, "there's the dinner to get, and I've +got to make cake to-day! Oh, what can I do! We'll have to have in a +woman, and see what that costs!" + +Poor Mary's innocent words brought Irene's wandering thoughts to a +standstill. Mary's concern for her master's purse touched her, and filled +her with a deep respect for the simple, loyal, country girl. + +"Oh, but we need not do that, Mary," she said kindly, "you will be able to +use your other hand quite well, and this one too, for some things. +Of course, you can't make cake, but I can. I often made it at home; and I +can cook the dinner too, if you will tell me what you want." + +"Oh! but Miss Irene, I couldn't let you!" Mary was so taken aback she +forgot all about the cut hand, and let Irene bathe it without once +wincing. "Oh, miss! I--I couldn't. The master wouldn't like it, and-- +and----" + +"The master need not know anything about it, at least, not until it is +done, then I will ask him if he approves of his new cook. I expect he +will say he prefers his old one! Now Mary--you are not to say anything +about it. I love cooking, and I want to practise, and I think it will be +the greatest fun." + +Faith came dashing in with an old pillow-case in her hand. "You will have +to use some of this, I am afraid. I know there is a heap of real rag +somewhere, but I can't stay to look any further. Joan has pulled over the +water-jug and drenched herself to the skin. I must fly!" + +Irene looked at Mary, and Mary looked at the pillowcase. "Seems a pity to +tear that up," she said anxiously, "it wants a bit of mending, but it is +one of the best. If you will wait a minute, miss, I think I know where I +can put my hand on a piece," and Mary scrambled to her feet, forgetful of +her faintness. + +"Law me! 'tisn't nothing to have made such a fuss about, after all," she +remarked shamefacedly, as Irene bathed the cut in clean cold water, +"I thought for certain the top of my finger was lying round on the floor +somewhere, and the thought of it made me feel that ill." + +"Well, don't think about it any more," laughed Irene, as she deftly tore +up strips of linen, "it is too horrid. Tell me now if I am binding your +finger too tightly. There! Isn't that neat! I daresay a doctor or a +nurse would laugh at it, but if it answers the purpose, that is all that +really matters, isn't it? Now I am going to make you a sling." + +"But I can't use it if it is in a sling, miss." + +"No, that is just why I am going to give you one. I want you to keep your +hand up, at any rate for an hour or two, to prevent its beginning to bleed +again. There, I am sure that looks like a First-Aid professional sling. +Now, when I have washed, I want you to tell me what you were going to cook +for dinner to-day." + +"There's a round of beef to roast, miss, and fruit to stew, and a milk +pudding to make." + +"That is easy enough, I feel I would like something more difficult. +I daresay, though, I shall find it enough, by the time I have done! +Do you have a suet pudding with the beef?" + +"No-o, miss, we--we haven't had one lately. I believe they used to, but-- +well, I don't seem able to make them proper, so I never tries now." + +"Well, I daresay everyone would like one--the children will, for certain. +I'll show you how I have made them at home, then you will be able to do it +another time. My mother taught me." + +"Nobody never taught me," said Mary, apologetically, "I just had to pick +things up as I could." + +"Don't they teach you at school?" + +"Oh no, miss. I learnt a lot about hygiene, and how to draw an apple, but +I was never no good with a pencil--and what good would it do me if I could +draw apples? Mother said, 'better fit they taught me how to peel one +properly.'" + +Irene laughed. "Well, it does seem that it would have done you more good +to have learnt how to grow them, or how to cook them! Now, to begin! +First of all I am going to wash the breakfast things, or we shall have no +room to move." + +Mary looked really shocked. "Oh no, miss! You mustn't. Just think about +your 'ands." + +"I am thinking about my hands," said Irene cheerfully. "Did you ever hear +about the Thanksgiving of the Hands, Mary?" + +Mary, looking puzzled, shook her head. + +"Well, if you feel very, very glad and grateful for something, you can +show your gratitude and your gladness through your hands." + +"Oh, music!" said Mary, with sudden inspiration. + +"No, it is something that everyone's hands can do. It is just making them +do some little service as a thanksgiving. I am very, very glad, Mary, +that your accident is no worse than it is, and I am very, very grateful to +Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle and all of them, and to you too, Mary, for being so +kind to me, but most of all I am grateful to God for sparing my life that +day, and for sending Mr. Carlyle to me that day, and giving me such kind +friends when I needed them so badly, and I feel I can never give thanks +enough--except through my hands. So, the more I have to do the better I +am pleased. Do you understand, Mary?" + +"Yes, miss," said Mary huskily, and to Irene's surprise there were tears +in her eyes. "I--I've often felt like that, miss, but I--never could say +it, and I--I never met anyone else who did. But what about me, miss? +I am sure I ought to be grateful for having you come to help me like this, +yet I don't seem to be doing anything." + +"But you will--you are always doing something, Mary. Now you can tell me +where the things are kept--the soap and the dish-pan, and the dishcloth." + +"And I can put the things away in their places," said Mary, somewhat +comforted. + +Audrey, after being banished from the kitchen, sat with her mother for a +little while, but her thoughts were so pre-occupied, and she sat so long +gazing abstractedly out of window, evidently hearing nothing that was +said, that presently Mrs. Carlyle gave up trying to talk to her, and +gradually fell asleep. Recalled to herself by the sound of the deep, +regular breathing, Audrey rose, and tiptoeing softly from the room made +her way swiftly to her beloved attic. + +Faith, after a busy half-hour spent in mopping up water from the floor, +and changing Joan's wet clothes, popped that young person into her cot to +take her long-delayed nap, and laid her own weary body on her own little +bed beside her. + +"I _must_ rest for just a few minutes," she sighed, "and then I will go +down and see how Mary's hand is getting on." She picked up from the table +beside the bed, the alluring book she was in the middle of. + +It certainly was a very jolly story, perfectly fascinating, but somehow +she could not get on with it. She read a few lines, and then the next +thing she knew, she was finishing it off in her own brain. She tried +again and the same thing happened, then at last when she was trying to +read the end of the paragraph she had begun so many times, her eyelids +dropped before she could even find it, the book slipped from her hand and +fell forward on her face, and she had not the strength to hold it up +again. + +The clang of the dinner-bell was the next thing she was conscious of, and +then the savoury smell of cooking. Then she opened her eyes and saw Joan +sitting up in her cot, playing with the book she herself had dropped. + +Faith sprang off her bed, lifted Joan out of hers, and, untidy as she was, +hurried down the stairs. Suddenly the remembrance of Mary's injured hand +and the scene in the kitchen came back to her. "I suppose it is all +right, as she has got the dinner ready. Oh, Irene!" + +Irene came running up the stairs, looking flushed and hurried, but very +well pleased. She had a big apron on over her cotton frock, and as she +came along she was turning down her sleeves. + +"I've got to wash my hands and tidy my hair, and I mustn't keep you +waiting," she said as she whisked past. "I won't be more than a moment." + +Audrey, descending from her attic, joined the little group. Her head was +full of what she had been writing, and it took her a second or two to +realise things. + +"Oh, Irene, I hope you haven't been dull. I never meant to leave you +alone so long, but I was working, and--and forgot. How hot you look. +What have you been doing?" + +"I am rather. I have been cooking. Oh, I have had a lovely time. Do run +down and look at my pudding--but I must fly, or everything will be cold!" +and Irene whisked away and into her bedroom. + +Audrey and Faith did not rush down at once to look at Irene's pudding. +They looked at each other instead, and in the eyes of each dawned a look +of shame and remorse. + +"I quite forgot," gasped Faith. "I never remembered," gasped Audrey, +"was Mary--couldn't Mary?" + +But Faith had flown, leaving Joan to toddle after her. In the hall she +met Mary hurrying to the dining-room with a big dish. Her hand was bound +up, but was out of the sling, and she looked quite gay and cheerful. + +"Oh, Mary!" she said, following her into the room, "I never thought about +your not being able to manage, I _am_ so sorry. It is not much use to be +sorry now, though, is it?" + +"No," said Mary, laughing, "it isn't, Miss Faith--but it's all right, Miss +Irene helped me. Oh, she is a clever young lady, Miss Faith, and so nice, +she--she will wash dishes, and make cake, and sweep the kitchen, or--or +anything, and be a lady all the time!" + +"Cook! Can Miss Irene cook?" + +"I should think she can, miss. It's a long time since we had a dinner so +nice, or--or my kitchen either," added Mary honestly, as she hurried out +to it again. "You come and look, Miss Faith. She's washed away all the +dishes and has made the place look like a little palace." + +"Washed the dishes!" Audrey groaned in bitterness of spirit, as she and +Faith followed Mary out. In spite of dinner having just been cooked +there, Audrey saw at a glance that this was the kitchen of her dreams--the +neat, clean kitchen she had longed for, but had never attempted to create. + +Mary looked at them both, her face glowing. Irene's interest and +encouragement had quite inspired her; and her practical help had shown her +the way. Every one of her few chance words, too, had gone home. + +"'I can't bear to see a kitchen littered with dirty dishes, can you, +Mary?' she said to me. I hadn't thought about it before, but when it was +put to me like that I felt all of a sudden that I couldn't bear to see it +either. 'And the longer they are left the nastier they are, aren't they?' +she said, and that's true too, Miss Faith. 'The kettle is boiling, and we +can have some nice hot soapy water. We will see how soon we can get +everything cleared away,' she says, and up she turns her sleeves, and-- +well, she washed all those things as well as I could myself, and better. +Look at the shine on them, Miss Faith." + +"I am looking," said Faith; but it was something else that she saw the +shining of. The shining of a brave spirit, and a warm heart--of an +example that she never forgot. + +"Miss Irene wouldn't let me do more than put the things back in their +places, 'cause of my hand." + +Without another word Audrey turned and walked away. The shame in her +heart burned in her cheeks, and in her eyes. "And I--I talk, and do +nothing. I tell other people what they ought to do--Irene helps them do +it." And through her mind passed the thought; "What kind of dinner would +they all have had, if they had to rely on her? What would the kitchen +have been like at that moment, if it had been left to her?" + +Debby came rushing out of the dining-room tempestuously. "Have you made +yourself ready for dinner?" asked Audrey, laying a detaining hand on her. + +"Yes, yes, ever so long ago. We are waiting for you. There is the nicest +pudding for dinner that we have had for ever so long, but daddy says we +mustn't begin it till you all come. Oh, _do_ make haste." + +Irene came flying down the stairs. "I am so sorry to be so long," she +cried apologetically, "the string of my apron got into a knot, and I +really began to think I should have to wear it at dinner." + +"I am late, and have no excuse," thought Audrey dejectedly. "I never have +one." + +"I shall be glad to see anyone, no matter what they are wearing," said Mr. +Carlyle, coming to the door. "Who is that talking of kitchen aprons?" + +Irene looked at him with merry eyes laughing above her flushed cheeks. +"Please, sir, it's the new cook," she said, dropping him a curtsey. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +"Ugh! how horrid they feel! I think that is the very worst part of +dish-washing, don't you, Irene?" + +Audrey sat in a kitchen chair with her hands held out stiffly before her. +She had just washed all the beautiful things, and Irene had wiped them. +Now, after wiping out the dish-pan, and spreading the dish-cloth to dry, +she had sat down while she dried her hands on the runner. She was tired, +and her feet ached; the weather was hot, and she had been busy ever since +she had got up. + +For more than a fortnight now, she and Irene had inaugurated a new state +of affairs at the Vicarage, and, to her surprise, she found that she was +growing to enjoy the work. She certainly enjoyed the results, and felt +proud of them. And, oh, how proud and happy she was when her father +remarked on the improvement. + +There were disagreeables too; there was no denying the fact. And one of +them was the uncomfortable roughness of her hands. + +"Rub them with salt," advised Irene, briskly, as she hung the shining jugs +and cups on their hooks on the dressers. "Then rub some cold cream or +glycerine into them." + +"But I don't keep a chemist's shop," laughed Audrey. "I have only a +little glycerine." + +"Well, that is splendid if it suits you. Rub some into your hands while +they are wet, and then rinse it off again. When I have my own little +house I shall have a shelf put up close to where I wash my dishes, and +vases, and things----" + +"Close by the tap, and the sink, and the draining-board," interrupted +Audrey, eyeing their own. + +"Yes, close by, and I shall keep on it a bottle of glycerine, a cake of +pumice soap, some lemon and glycerine mixed, and--oh, one or two other +things that I shall think of presently. And every time I wash my hands I +shall rub in a little glycerine--then my skin will keep quite nice. +Of course, I shall have a whole array of gloves to put on when I do dirty +work. I shall have silver-cleaning gloves, black-leading gloves, dusting +gloves, and gardening gloves." + +"How will you get them? Buy them?" + +"Oh, no. I shall use my own old ones, and I shall beg some of +grandfather. One can easily get old gloves. I have begun to collect some +already." + +"I can't, they are almost as hard to get as new ones. You see, we wear +ours, just every-day wear, until they are past being good for anything. +And father never wears any, except woolly ones in very cold weather, +and they are too thick and clumsy for housework." + +"Um, yes. I will send you some of grandfather's. He uses a lot, he rides +so much. When I have my house----" + +Audrey laughed. "That wonderful house of yours! How perfect it will be!" + +"It will be a perfect dear; but I don't want it to be perfect in any other +way--not at first, I mean. I want to make it so. Well, as I was saying +when you rudely interrupted me by scoffing--when I have a house of my own, +you shall come to stay with me, and you shall have breakfast in bed every +morning; and you shall not touch a duster, or wash a dish, or make a bed. +Oh, Audrey! it is going to be such a dear little gem of a place, with +large sunny windows opening on to the garden, and a balcony outside each +bedroom." + +"How lovely!" sighed Audrey. "I wish you had it now. I'd love to be +sitting in one of your balconies, looking down at your flowers. +Of course, you would have crowds of flowers?" + +"Oh, crowds--and apple-blossom, and honeysuckle, and pear and cherry +trees." + +"I would sit there and read, and write and write. Oh, Irene, I think I +should go crazy with delight." + +"No, you would not," laughed Irene. "When I saw you getting so I would +come and put a wet dishcloth in your hands, and bang a wash-bowl behind +you. That would bring you down to sober earth again." + +Audrey groaned, and laughed. "I wonder when, or if ever, you will have +your little paradise," she questioned wistfully. + +"Oh, I shall have it, but not for rather a long time yet. At least, I am +afraid it will be a long time. You see, I have to work for it first, and +I don't leave off lessons for another year yet. Then I am going to study +Domestic Science, and then I shall begin to earn money. You see, I have +got to earn enough to buy my cottage, before I can have it." + +Audrey groaned again. "Why, you will be ninety, and I shall be +eighty-nine--far too old to sit on a balcony--it will be too risky. +And if you are still energetic enough to bang your wash-bowl, I shall be +too deaf to hear it." + +"Indeed, I shall not be ninety. I am going to try hard to be a lecturer, +and I shall get quite a lot of money, and grandfather says he will sell me +the cottage--he has got _the very one_ I want--for a hundred pounds, as +soon as I am twenty-one. Won't it be lovely, Audrey?" + +"Lovely!" sighed Audrey. "Oh, Irene, how splendid to have something like +that to work for." + +"It is. Why don't you do the same? It makes life seem so splendid, so +interesting and beautiful. You try it too, Audrey." + +"Oh, but I couldn't," said Audrey, wistfully, "there is so much to do +here----" + +"But at the end of the twelve months, when you go back to your +grandmother?" + +"Granny would not hear of it. She can't bear the idea of girls--women-- +working like that, lecturing, I mean. She doesn't mind their being +governesses, if they have to, but they must not be anything else." +Audrey paused for a moment. "I am not going back to granny, though," she +added softly. + +"What?" Irene really gasped with astonishment. "I thought--oh, Audrey, +won't you be very unhappy? You loved it so. I thought you were counting +the days." + +"So I was, but I am not now. I am going to stay here. Mother needs me +more--and there is so much to do. And I know it will be better for mother +not to have hard work to do, even when she is quite well again; and if +Faith and I take care of the house and the children, mother will be able +to go on with her writing. She loves it, and it is such a help." + +Irene stood leaning against the kitchen table, gazing thoughtfully before +her. "I think it is fine of you, Audrey," she said earnestly. "You are +right; but it is fine of you." + +Audrey coloured hotly with pleasure, but: "No it is not," was all she +said, "it is only what you would do." + +"But I love the work, you don't. I do not want to do any other--you long +to, I know." + +Audrey groaned. "Oh, Irene, I simply ache with longing to write. +I have stories and stories in my brain, and I feel sometimes as though my +head will burst if I don't write them down. I would sit up all night, or +get up very, very early in the morning to write them, but I am always so +sleepy, I can't keep my eyes open. I tried once or twice, but I found I +was only putting down nonsense." + +"There is one thing," said Irene comfortingly, "you are very young--there +is plenty of time. Perhaps when Mrs. Carlyle is better, and you have done +with schooling, you will be able to have more time." + +"But it is now--now, that I want it," cried Audrey, springing to her feet. +"Oh, I must tell you, Irene. Do you remember those magazines granny +bought me, and I lent to you in the train that day?" Irene nodded. +"Well, in one--_The Girl's World_--there was a prize of three guineas +offered for the best original Christmas play for children to act." +Audrey hesitated a moment, and coloured again beneath Irene's now eager +eyes. + +"Yes, yes," said Irene. + +"Well,"--Audrey in her nervousness was twisting the kitchen 'runner' into +cables, and binding her arms up with it--"I began to write one for it. +I--I longed to so--I had to. I wanted to write the play, and I wanted to +earn the money. Oh, I wanted it ever so badly--to help father." + +"Well?" Irene gasped breathlessly, "are you doing it?" + +"I began it--but I have had to drop it. I wrote the first scene--I had +just finished it that day Mary cut her finger, and you cooked the dinner. +But I have scarcely touched it since. One wants a good long time at it; +five minutes now and then are no good. But there has been so much else to +do, and now I feel--I feel quite guilty if I try to get more." + +"Poor Audrey!" Irene murmured sympathetically. "I am sure you oughtn't to +feel guilty. If one feels as strongly about any kind of work as you do, +I think it shows that one is meant to do it. Don't you?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Audrey, with a little puzzled, weary sigh. +She rose to her feet, hung up the 'runner,' and drew towards her a big +basket of peas that Job Toms had brought in from the garden. "I think +this is what I am meant to do, and, after all, it is--well, I daresay it +helps just as much as the prize-money would, even if I were lucky enough +to get it." + +Irene did not answer, but began shelling peas too. She worked in an +abstracted manner though, and was evidently lost in thought. + +"Audrey," she said at last, "I am sure you ought to compete for that +prize, and I can't see why you can't have a nice long quiet afternoon +every day of the week." + +"I do then! On Fridays I have to prepare my Sunday School lesson----" + +"Well, every other day then." + +"I take the children out while Faith sits with mother, or I sit with +mother." + +"Well, I will take the children out, or play with them indoors. I would +love to; and you can have a clear two or three hours every afternoon. +Do take them, Audrey, for your writing. When I have gone home it may not +be so easy. Oh, Audrey, how grand it sounds. And some day, when it is +finished, we will all act it--wouldn't that be perfectly splendid?" + +Audrey's face was alight with excitement; her grey eyes glowed. + +"But," she objected, "but----" She hesitated again. "It will probably be +no good--a poor, silly thing----" + +"You can't possibly tell until you have written it," said Irene, silencing +her nervous doubts. "There--there are nine peas in a pod for you, for +luck." + +"There is no luck in that sort of thing." + +"There is for the person who buys them; nine nice fat round peas, instead +of three and a dwarf!" + +Mary came in with her bucket and kneeler. "Those steps do pay for a bit +of extra doing," she remarked, complacently. "Since I've been able to +give more time to them, they've improved ever so. You've no idea, Miss +Irene." + +"Oh, yes I have," laughed Irene. "We have more than an idea, haven't we, +Audrey? The steps catch our eye every time we pass, they have improved +so. Why, there are Faith and the children back from their walk. Oh, my, +how we have been gossiping." + +Faith and the children came strolling in at the back door. + +"We came through the kitchen garden," said Faith, "and I have been talking +to Jobey Toms, and what _do_ you think? He has actually remembered at +last that there is another garden, and 'it ain't no credit to nobody.' I +told him that everyone had noticed that for a long time past, and hurt his +feelings dreadfully. At least, he said I had. Anyhow, he is going to +keep the grass cut and the bushes trimmed, and he is actually going to +make a flower bed on the other side of the path." + +"Whatever is the meaning of it?" gasped Audrey, looking almost alarmed. + +Faith laughed. "I think someone has been twitting him about the way he +keeps it, or rather, doesn't keep it. He began to me about it directly he +saw me. 'I can't put up with that there front garden no longer,' he said, +'a one-eyed thing. I am going to make it look more fitty by the time the +missus is able to come out and see it, or--or I dunno what she'll think of +me for 'lowing it to go on looking such a sight. I'm going to cut a bed +t'other side of the path, Miss Faith, and make a 'erbashus border.' +I nearly tumbled down in the path, I had such a shock." + +"I did not know Jobey knew what a herbaceous border is," said Audrey. + +Faith chuckled. "He doesn't. He thinks it is another name for a +herb-bed. He has got hold of the idea from someone, poor old man. +He told me he had been talking to John Parkins, 'what's come 'ome from Sir +Samuel Smithers's place, where he's 'ead gardener, and John 'e don't seem +able to talk of nothin' but his 'erbashus borders, just as if we 'adn't +never 'eard of 'em before. Why, I 'ad a 'erb-bed before ever 'e was born, +and for 'im to be telling me what mould to use! I never! I soon let 'im +see I wasn't goin' to be taught by no youngsters, even if they did grow +their 'erbs by the 'alf mile.'" Faith imitated the old man's speech and +indignation to the life. "''Alf a mile of 'erbashus border, 'e said 'e'd +laid out--and expected me to believe 'im, I s'pose! I says to un, says I: +'I s'pose your Sir Samuel's a bit of a market gardener,' says I. +He pretended to laugh, but I could see 'e didn't like it, and I stopped +his bragging, anyway. These fellows, they go away for a bit, and they +come back talking that big there's no 'olding with 'em. But, any'ow, we +can do with a bit more 'erb, and we're goin' to 'ave it, Miss Faith, and +when he comes 'ome next time I warrant I'll show 'im a bed of parsley +as'll take the consate out of 'un!'" + +Audrey's laughter changed to a cry of dismay. "What _can_ we do? We +don't want a herb-bed from the front door to the gate. It is useful, +perhaps, but it is not pretty, and as sure as fate, Jobey would plant +chibbles and spring onions too. He calls them ''erbs,' and loves the +taste of them himself above all others." + +"We can't explain to him that herbaceous borders and herb-beds are not the +same," said Faith. "For one thing, he would not believe that we knew +anything about it; but if he did believe it, he would be so mortified he +would never get over it." + +"Perhaps," suggested Irene, "we could lead him on from lamb-mint to +lemon-thyme, and from lemon-thyme to rosemary and lavender--tell him +rosemary is good for the hair." + +"Job cares nothing about hair," said Audrey hopelessly, "it is so long +since he had any he has forgotten what it is like not to be bald. I think +it is too bad that after neglecting the garden all these years he should +go and do a thing like that. I have always longed for a bed full of +bright flowers; so has mother." + +Debby and Tom exchanged glances. "Don't you worry, Audrey. Let Jobey +make his bed, perhaps the Brownies will come along at night, and fill it +with seeds." + +"He would only pull them up, as soon as they showed above ground." + +"Oh, no, he wouldn't, he'd think they were young herbs--until it was too +late. Then we'd get father to let them stay." Debby was quite hopeful. + +"No," burst in Tom eagerly, "I know what we'll do. We'll tell him to +leave them 'cause mother likes them. He'd do anything for mother." + +Audrey went to the cupboard, and took down a tumbler. "I am going to take +up mother's glass of milk now," she said. There was a new note in her +voice, a new light in her eye. Irene's encouragement had filled her heart +and brain again with the joy of creating something with her own hand and +pen; with the hope of helping others in the way in which help was so +greatly needed--and by her own work too. But what added most of all to +her new pleasure in her work--though she was not yet old enough to realise +it--was the zest of contrast, and the happy, satisfying feeling that the +time and the opportunity were her own, and not being taken at the expense +of others. + +"Audrey, I will take up the milk to mother. You look tired already." + +"I am rather," sighed Audrey, "and I haven't half done yet. Irene and I +are going to make cakes." + +Faith seized the tray with the tumbler on it, and, anxious to help, dashed +upstairs with it. By the time she reached her mother's room a +considerable quantity of the milk was spilled over the nice clean +tray-cloth. + +"Oh, bother!" she cried impatiently, as, in opening the door, she upset a +lot more, "it is such nonsense having tray-cloths and all those faddy +things. If I had brought it in my hand, without any tray at all, it +wouldn't have mattered." + +"Would it not? What do you think I drink milk for, Faith?" + +"Why for nourishment, of course. To make you strong." + +"Well then, does it not matter if you deprive me of a third of my +nourishment, of my strength?" + +"Oh, mother!" Faith looked shocked, "of course it does." + +"And, apart from that, if you had brought it in your hand, and spilled it, +you would have ruined the stair carpets, and you know how very, very hard +it would be to get new ones." + +"Oh! I hadn't thought of that. I suppose that is why one uses trays. +The cloth doesn't matter--that will wash--but I am very sorry I wasted the +milk, mother." + +"But, darling, the cloth does matter. Everything matters in some way. +Someone will have to wash, and starch, and iron it--all extra work--and +someone will have to pay for the soap, and the starch, and the fire for +heating the water, and the irons. Don't you see, dear, what big +consequences our tiniest actions often have?" + +Faith sighed. "I wonder if I shall ever learn to be careful," she said, +hopelessly. + +"Not until you really want to, dear." + +"I do want to, mummy. I do! I do!" + +"You think you do. Well, to realise that you are not so, is a step +forward," and with a soft laugh Mrs. Carlyle put her arm around her little +daughter, and drew her to her. "Dear, each of us has a hill to climb, and +there has to be a first step; but if we do not quickly take another step +forward, we are very apt to slip to the bottom again. If we want to reach +the top we _must_ keep on going." + +"Mother, I shall bring you your glass of milk every day, and I shall try +to bring it more nicely each time. Then, perhaps, I shall remember to +take the next step. Now I must run away to look for Joan." + +Once again Mrs. Carlyle drew her closer. "My good little Faith," she said +softly, "Joan's little second mother. What would she or I have done, +darling, without you to take care of us?" And her eyes were misty with +tears as she lay back on her cushions. + +Faith's eyes were dim, too, as she went softly on her way. "But second +mothers have to be always setting good examples, just as real mothers +have," she thought. And, by way of beginning, she set about making her +bedroom as neat as a new pin. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +The last day for sending in the 'Plays' was July 31st. That was now but a +fortnight off, and Audrey, in a state of feverish nervousness, had +completed her last clean copy. She had worked hard each afternoon, and +conscientiously, only to be filled at the last with despair and +despondence. She had read, re-read, written and re-written it, until she +knew every word by heart, and all seemed stale, dull, and trivial. + +Irene, coming up to her room one afternoon, had found her with flushed +cheeks and swelled eyelids, and despair plainly visible in every line of +her face and form. + +"It is no good," she groaned. "I shall not send it. I couldn't send +anything so dull and foolish. They will only laugh." + +"That is what you want them to do, isn't it?" asked Irene, cheerfully. + +"Not the kind of laughter I mean. Oh, Irene, it is miserably bad." + +Irene shook her head. "I simply don't believe it. You have been through +it so often, you can't judge. Will you let me read it? I will tell you +quite honestly how it strikes me." + +Audrey coloured, but she looked grateful. "If you would care to, but I am +ashamed for anyone to see it. And, oh, I _am_ so disappointed, and, oh," +throwing herself wearily on her bed, "oh, so tired of it. The mere sight +of it almost makes me ill." + +"Poor old girl, you are tired and over-anxious. Is this it?" pointing to +a little heap of MS. on Audrey's writing-table in the window. + +"Yes." + +"May I read the old one, too? The first copy you finished, I mean, before +you began to alter it." + +Audrey opened her desk and took out another heap of paper, tumbled, +scribbled over, and evidently much used. + +"Now I am going to shut myself up in my room, and," with a laugh and a nod +at the despairing author, "I want no-one to come near me until I show +myself again." + +"Very well," said Audrey, "but I shall not come near you then. I shall be +much too nervous." + +"Then I will come to you and stalk you down. Look here, Audrey, don't +shut yourself up here all the afternoon. You have no writing to do now. +Take my advice, and go for a good long walk, and try not to think about +the play, or--or anything connected with it. Keep your heart up, old +girl. I am sure it is good, even if it won't be the best." + +Audrey sighed heavily. She had long since given up hoping that it might +be the best, or even second best, or third. To be 'Commended' was an +honour she had ceased to hope for. She had written and re-written, and +altered and corrected, until all the freshness and originality were gone, +and the whole was becoming stiff and stilted, and she was incapable of +seeing whether she was improving or spoiling it. + +It was with a distinct sense of relief that she gave in to Irene's +suggestion, and handed it over to her for her opinion. + +And, as soon as Irene was gone, she took her second piece of advice and +went out for a walk. By going quietly down the back-stairs to the +back-door she escaped from the house unnoticed; then by going through the +vegetable garden she got into a little lane which skirted the village, +one end of it leading to the moor, the other to the high road to +Abbot's Field. Her one idea was to escape meeting anyone. She felt in no +mood for talk. She could not force herself to play with the children, or +to chatter to the old village people, who would all be at their doors just +now, anxious to see someone with whom to gossip. She meant to go up to +the moor, where she could be sure of solitude. The air and the peace up +there always did her good. The sight of a figure coming towards her made +her turn the other way, though. She felt she could not meet anyone, and +be pleasant and sociable. She was sorry, for she loved the moor better +than any place. However, this other way there was the shade of the trees +and the hedges, she consoled herself. And she walked on, well content +through the silence and solitude of the hot summer afternoon. + +Well content, at last, until suddenly she saw a well-remembered horse and +rider coming along the road towards her. + +Audrey was vexed. She wanted only to walk and think, and walk and think. +But, though she would have found it difficult to realise, it was best for +her that the break should come. She had already walked two miles, and, +oblivious of everything but her thoughts, and of every thought but one-- +her play--was as full of nerves, and hopes and fears, as though she had +stayed at home. + +Mr. Vivian's sturdy common-sense was as good for her as a tonic. +At sight of her he reined up Peter and dismounted. "Miss Audrey," he +cried, "it is the greatest treat in the world to see you. I have scarcely +seen a friend to speak to for weeks. And I was tired to death of my own +company. No, I will not shake hands, and we will keep the width of Peter +between us, though I am really safer than nine persons out of ten, +for I have lived in such an atmosphere of disinfectants I must be +saturated through and through. I honestly believe I could not catch a +measle, or any other disease, if I wanted to." + +"I am not afraid," said Audrey, stroking Peter's soft nose. "How are you +all? Are you all out of quarantine?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" Audrey's face fell, and her tone was not one of congratulation. + +"You don't seem quite as pleased as we are, Miss Audrey." + +Audrey laughed and blushed. "I am--I am, really," she said, looking up at +him with an apologetic smile. "But I am afraid I was selfish. I was +thinking of Irene. You will want her home now, of course, and--well, I do +not like to think of her going. I--we shall miss her horribly." + +Mr. Vivian had slipped the reins over his shoulder, and was searching his +pockets. "I have a letter here for your mother and father. I was on my +way to deliver it. We don't want to part you, but of course we want +Irene. We have missed her sadly." + +"It has been lovely having her," said Audrey softly. In her overwrought +state, she felt inclined to cry at the mere thought of losing her. +Indeed, she felt so stupid, so miserable, so tongue-tied, she could not +stand there any longer lest the sharp-eyed old gentleman should see the +tears in her eyes. What a weak, silly baby she was! + +She turned away abruptly as though to resume her walk. "Oh, you are not +going yet.--I forgot, of course you were walking away from home. +I just wondered----" + +She had intended to, for she was tired, and it would be tea-time before +she got home, if she did not hurry. But her longing was to go in any +direction but his. + +"I--I am soon," she said lamely, forcing down her feelings and her tears. +"Did you want me to do anything?" + +"I just wondered if you would take this note to your parents for me. +I have to go to the mill first, and be at the station by five o'clock, and +I am afraid I shall hardly do it." + +"Of course I will. I beg your pardon. I did not understand." + +The old gentleman's kind eyes looked at her very keenly as he handed her +the letter. "You don't look very well, Miss Audrey; I hope you aren't +going in for measles too! Or have you been working too hard, taking care +of Irene? You look tired." + +Audrey smiled back at the face so full of sympathy and kindly concern. +"I don't think I am really tired," she said, speaking as brightly as she +could, "and I am quite sure I am not going in for measles, and I certainly +haven't been doing too much for Irene. I have walked rather far, that is +all, and it is dreadfully hot, isn't it? I think I will go home now, +after all. It must be nearly tea-time." + +Tea was laid and waiting for her by the time she reached home. But before +she noticed that, her eyes had sought Irene's face, as though she expected +to read her verdict there. + +Irene's face was beaming. "Splendid," she whispered, reassuringly. +Audrey felt as though a great load had been lifted off her heart. +"I will just run up and take off my hat and shoes," she said, more gaily +than she had spoken for a long time. Irene followed her to her room. +"I couldn't wait," she panted, as she reached the top stair. "Oh, Audrey, +I do like it; it is lovely. I am sure it--will be one of the best." +She wound up with sudden caution, remembering that it would be cruel to +raise her hopes too high. "But do send the first one--the untidy one. +Copy that one out just as it is; it is ever so much the better of the two. +You have tried to improve and improve it until you have improved most of +the fun out of it. Now I must fly down to tea. I am so excited, I hardly +know what I am doing." + +But her excitement was nothing compared with Audrey's. She, in her joy, +forgot everything--Mr. Vivian, the letter, the news he had brought, and +never remembered either again until some time later, when Mr. Carlyle came +in. + +"I met your grandfather at the station, Irene," he said at once. +"He told me----" + +Audrey leaped out of her chair. "Oh, I had _quite_ forgotten," she cried +remorsefully. "I am so sorry. I had a letter----" and she darted away and +up the stairs, leaving them all startled and wondering. "I don't seem +able to think of anybody or anything but that play," she thought. +"I shall be glad when I have seen the last of it." + +When she went down again she fancied Irene looked at her reproachfully. +"How was grandfather looking?" she was asking Mr. Carlyle, "and the +others--did he say how they were?" + +Audrey felt more and more ashamed. Irene had been so good to her, and +this was her return. + +"Yes, he said they were all perfectly well now, and they are all going to +Ilfracombe for a long change, as soon as they can arrange matters." + +Irene clapped her hands ecstatically. "Keith and Daphne will love that, +and mother too. Ilfracombe suits her so well. Will they want me to go +with them?" + +Mr. Carlyle smiled ruefully. "I am afraid so. Where is the letter, +Audrey. Have you taken it to your mother?" + +"Yes, father, and she wants you." + +Mr. Carlyle rose, picked up Baby Joan, and went upstairs with her in his +arms, leaving Audrey to tell her tale, and make her apologies to Irene. + +Faith came in presently from the garden, where, rather late in the day, +she had been tying up the sweet peas and sunflowers Debby and Tom had +planted. "Oh, dear, I don't like weather quite as hot as this; it makes +one so dreadfully tired," she sighed wearily, as she stretched herself +full-length upon the shabby sofa. "Has anyone seen Joan? I ought to be +giving her her supper." + +Irene looked at her attentively. "Let me give her her supper, and put her +to bed to-night, Fay. I would love to. Do let me. She will be quite +good with me now." + +Faith stirred lazily and half rose. "Oh no--we shall leave everything to +you soon, Irene. I can do it quite well. I am not so very tired, really; +only hot and limp." + +She was very pale, though, and Irene noticed for the first time how white +her lips were, and how dark the marks under her eyes. She got up, and, +going over to the sofa, pressed Faith back on to the cushions again. +"Do let me, Faith," she pleaded, "please. You see, I shall not be able +to many times more." And Faith, anxious to give what pleasure she could, +let her have her way. + +Irene, satisfied, folded her work, and departed. Faith sank down +contentedly, and fell into a doze. Audrey sat for a while, wondering what +she should do next. "I think I will go up and work at that manuscript, +as long as the daylight lasts," she decided; "the sooner it is done the +better," and crept softly out of the room, so as not to disturb Faith. +But halfway up the stairs she met Irene dashing down like a wild thing. + +"Oh, Audrey," she cried, "come quickly! Where is Faith? and, oh, I want +Debby and Tom too. Such news! Oh, do call them. Mr. Carlyle wants you +all." But the end of her sentence came in broken gasps as she tripped +over the mat and disappeared into the dining-room. + +A moment later three flying figures dashed up breathlessly, with Faith +panting on more slowly in the rear. "What has happened?" she gasped. +"What is it all about?" + +"I don't know," cried Audrey, "but it can't be anything bad." And they +hurried after the others into their mother's room. + +Mrs. Carlyle was sitting up on her couch looking happy and excited. +Mr. Carlyle looked pleased too, but a little grave. + +"Irene, dear, you tell them, will you?" said Mrs. Carlyle, eagerly. +And Irene told, and what she told seemed to them all too wonderful to be +true. Mrs. Vivian had taken a furnished house at Ilfracombe for two +months, a house much larger than she needed for her own brood, and she +begged Mrs. Carlyle to let her have her brood too for three or four weeks, +"to fill the house up comfortably." + +It was so wonderful, so unlooked-for, such an undreamed-of event in their +lives, that for a second an awed silence filled the room. Then came a +long-drawn "O-o-oh-h-h!" of sheer amaze and delight; and the spell was +broken. + +"Is it really, truly true!" gasped Debby, "or is it only a 'let's +pretend'?" + +"It is a really--truly true, Debby darling," cried Irene, seizing her in +her arms and lifting her high enough to kiss her. + +"Wants _all_ of us?" gasped Audrey, incredulously. "What,_ all five_!" + +"' All--if you can spare them,'" read Mr. Carlyle, turning to the precious +letter once more. + +"But you can't spare them," said Faith, suddenly sitting down on a chair +at her mother's side. Then, with a little gulp, and a little laugh, +"You can't spare me, mummy, you know you can't. We will send off Audrey +to be nursemaid to the babies, and--and you and I will have a nice quiet +time at home alone!" Her lip quivered just for a moment, but her big +brown eyes, full of a strained look of excitement, glanced from one to the +other with half-laughing defiance, as though daring them to say her nay. + +Audrey's spirits dropped from fever-heat to several degrees below zero. +For one moment the prospect had been so beautiful, so ideal. A change, a +holiday, a journey, the sea, servants, comforts--no more dishwashing or +cooking. Oh, it was unbearably enticing. But almost with the same she +realised that none of these were for her. Faith was to go, if no one else +went. A glance at Faith's face made that quite plain. Yes, Faith must +go; and she, Audrey, must stay at home. And so she told her when, after +all the rest of the household was asleep, she crept down in her +dressing-gown to Faith's room. Fearing to knock, she had entered the room +with no more warning than a gentle rattle of the handle. But her warning +was lost on Faith who, hot night though it was, was lying with her head +buried under the bed-clothes, to deaden the sound of her sobs. + +"Faith! What is the matter? tell me. Oh, what is it? do tell me!" + +At the touch of Audrey's hand, Faith had thrust her head up suddenly. + +"Oh, I was afraid it was father! I mean, I was afraid he had heard me." + +"What is the matter?" asked Audrey, her voice full of anxiety. +"Oh, Faith, do tell me. Perhaps I can help." + +"It--it isn't about not going to Ilfracombe," declared Faith stoutly. +"Audrey, I don't want to go, I would rather not. You must go. I really +want to stay at home." + +"Why?" + +"Because I do." + +"That is no reason. You need a change and a holiday more than any of us, +and you know you would love it. You must go." + +"I can't." + +"But why?" + +"I am too tired. I don't want the fag of it all." + +"But you will be less tired if you do go. The change will do you heaps of +good, and it will not be a fag. I will pack for you." + +Finding herself thus cornered, Faith's usually sweet temper gave way. +"I haven't anything to pack," she snapped impatiently, "nor anything to +pack in. I can't go. I can't possibly go. I haven't any clothes. +Don't worry me so, Audrey." + +Audrey showed no resentment. "Oh," she said, thoughtfully. "Oh, I see. +Well, we won't bother about that now. But, Faith, I do want you to go. +I came down on purpose to ask you to. I want you to go as--as a favour to +me. I will tell you why. I want to stay at home, I--I mean I can't go +away just now, for I want to finish some writing very, very particularly," +and she breathed in Faith's ear the precious secret about her 'play.' + +Her ruse answered perfectly. + +"_You_ have _written_ a play!" Faith sat erect in her bed, all her +tiredness, all her depression gone. "A real play! Oh, Audrey, do you +mean it? How clever you are! Of course I'll go and take the children, to +leave you here in peace to finish it. I don't care how shabby my clothes +are!" + +Audrey winced. She would have liked--or, rather, it would have been +pleasant--if Faith--and all--could just have realised her self-sacrifice-- +how much it cost her to stand aside, and give up so great a pleasure. + +"Oh, I could----" she began, but, to her lasting joy, recovered herself in +a moment, and never finished her sentence. + +"Audrey, will you let me read it, some day?" Faith's eyes were full of +appeal. + +Audrey coloured. "Some day, perhaps," she said shyly. "Now I must go to +bed." + +"Thank you," said Faith simply. "Oh, Audrey, I _am_ so happy!" +She turned her pale face to the window, her eyes to the stars in the +blue-black sky. "I am so happy that I feel I must get out and say my +prayers again. A few minutes ago everything seemed black and dreary, but +now----" + +"I will say mine too," said Audrey gently, "before I go." And the two +sisters knelt down side by side in the darkness, and said their prayers +again together, 'because they were so happy,' with the happiness which +comes of giving up something for one another. + +The next morning Audrey got up early, and, going to the box-room, dragged +out from their coverings her pretty green box and portmanteau. Then she +went back to her room, and from her cupboards and drawers she collected a +pair of house-shoes and a pair of boots, gloves, stockings, a soft grey +cashmere dress that she had a little grown out of, and a Leghorn hat, +which, she knew, had long filled Faith's heart with envy. All these she +popped into the trunk. + +"There is something towards going away," she said, as she dragged the +boxes into Faith's bedroom; "the dress is as good as new, but I have grown +so, and--and I will lend you my writing-case, and a nice hairbrush." +And before Faith had recovered herself sufficiently to speak, Audrey had +darted away again and locked herself in her own room. + +The sacrifice had cost her more than anyone would ever know. The thought +of the lost holiday, and such a holiday, was hard to bear, and a great +longing for the sea was tugging at her heart-strings until the pain of it +was almost unendurable. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +Audrey finished her clean copy of her play and posted it on the very day +the family departed for Ilfracombe. But she did not tell Faith so. +Faith must still believe that Audrey wanted nothing so much as a peaceful +time at home for her work. + +"And now I shall have to wait three whole weeks before I hear anything," +she thought dolefully, as she hurried home from the post office and into +the house by way of the back door, before any of the others were down. + +She was rather surprised and disappointed that she felt none of the +thrills and delight she had expected to feel when she at last sent off her +first piece of work to try its fortune. Indeed, she felt nothing but a +painful consciousness of its faults, which was very depressing. + +And still more depressing was it to feel that she would not have Irene +there to talk things over with, and get encouragement from. Those three +long weeks of waiting she would have to live through alone, without anyone +to confide her anxieties to, or to give her fresh hope. + +Under the circumstances it was not easy, all things considered, to keep up +a smiling face, and live up to the joyful excitement of the five +travellers. And as she left the station with her father, after the train +with its fluttering array of hands and handkerchiefs had glided away out +of sight round the sunny curve, she had hard work to keep the tears out of +her eyes, and the bitterness out of her heart. + +Mr. Carlyle had to go and pay some calls in the village, so Audrey walked +home alone; and very, very much alone she felt, after the lively +companionship of the last month. The garden, when she reached it, wore a +new air of desolation, and when she caught sight of one of Debby's dolls +lying forgotten on the grass, she picked it up and hugged it +sympathetically, out of pity for its loneliness. The silence in the house +and out was just as oppressive. Audrey, still holding Debby's old doll, +hurried through the silent hall and up the stairs to her room, and +dropping on the seat by the window, she leaned her head over the ledge. +Now, at last, she might give way to her feelings and sob out some of the +pent-up misery in her heart. + +"But--mother--she will be expecting me." The thought came to her more +swiftly than the tears forced their way through her lids. It was nearly +lunch time too, and there was no one but herself to get it. + +"Oh, dear," sighed Audrey, "there is not even time to be miserable!" +But that thought made her laugh, and she ran downstairs to Mary. + +Mary had evidently shed a few tears, but she was already cheering herself +up with plans for the homecoming. + +"At first it seemed that melancholy and quiet, Miss Audrey, I felt I'd +never be able to bear it, speshully when I remembered that Miss Irene +wouldn't be coming back any more. It's like losing one of ourselves, +isn't it, miss? And when I think of that dear baby gone so far,"--the +tears welled up in Mary's eyes--"and there'll be no rompseying with her +to-night before she goes to bed--well, I can't 'elp it. I may be silly, +but I can't 'elp it, though there, she's happy enough, I daresay, with her +little bucket and spade and all, and she won't miss us 'alf as much as +we'll miss 'er!" + +"Yes, baby will love it, Mary, they all will. We have got to cheer +ourselves up by thinking of how happy they all are. And they will come +back looking so well and strong. We shall get more accustomed to the +quietness in a day or two, and the time will soon pass." + +"Oh my, yes, miss! The time won't 'ang when once I begin to get my 'and +in. It won't be long enough for all I'm going to do by time they come +back. I am going to have their rooms as nice as nice can be; and I'm +going to paint Master Tom's barrow, and I'm going to make a rabbit 'utch +for Miss Debby and mend her dolls' pram----" + +"But Mary, what about your holiday. You must have that while the house is +so empty. I must speak to mother about it." + +"Oh, I don't want any holiday, Miss Audrey." Mary's voice was quite +decisive. "I mean, I don't want to go away. I haven't got any money to +waste, and holidays do cost more'n they are worth. Leastways, mine do, +for I'm so home-sick all the time, I'm only longing for them to be over. +It seems waste, doesn't it, miss?" + +"It does," agreed Audrey gravely, "but I suppose you have the joy of +coming back, and you appreciate home all the more for having been away." + +"Well, miss, it seems rather a lot to pay, for only just that. And a lot +to bear too, when you are 'appy enough already. What I do want to go to +is our own treat, when it comes, and I'd like to go to the sea for a day." + +"Well, I am sure you can, Mary. I will speak to mother and father about +it." + +Audrey was busily collecting the things for her mother's lunch-tray. +She had to make her an omelette, and she felt nervous about it, for +hitherto Irene had helped her, and Mary was not capable of doing so. + +As soon as it was ready she hurried upstairs with the tray. She had not +seen her mother yet since they had all departed, and she had suddenly +begun to wonder how she was bearing it. + +"Of course I ought to have run in at once to see her," she thought +remorsefully, "but I did feel miserable." + +Mrs. Carlyle was lying propped up on her cushions with Debby's kittens +beside her. "Well, darling," she said, looking up with a glad smile of +welcome, "how did they all go off, I am longing to know. I have been +picturing their enjoyment of everything they see and do on the journey, +and their joy when they first catch sight of the sea." + +"Oh dear," sighed Audrey, "everyone is thinking of their happiness. +I can only think how miserable it is without them; and I should have +thought you would have felt it even more than I do, mother." + +"Perhaps it is that I have had more experience, dear, I seem to live again +my own first visit to the sea; and time does not seem so long to one when +one is older either, and it passes only too soon. I feel too full of +gratitude to feel miserable, I had been thinking for such a long time +about a change of air for them, and worrying myself because it seemed +absolutely out of the question. Then quite suddenly the way was opened +and all was made possible without my help or interference. One could sing +thanksgiving all day long one has so many blessings to be thankful for." + +"I shouldn't have thought you felt that, mother, shut up here week after +week as you are; with nothing to look out at but the garden and the road." +Audrey strolled over to the window, "and such a garden too!" she added +sarcastically. + +Mrs. Carlyle glanced out at it and sighed. "I often wish,"--she said, but +did not finish her sentence. + +"What do you often wish, mother?" + +"I often long for the time when I shall be able to go out there again and +help to keep it nice. If I ever am permitted to," she added in a lower +tone. + +"Well, at any rate I can," cried Audrey, with an effort to recover her +spirits. Here was something more waiting for her to do. It was hard that +her mother, having a garden to look on, should have only this neglected +place with but one spot of brightness in it--the bed that Faith had made +and Debby and Tom had sown with seeds. + +Job Toms' herbaceous border was but a melancholy spectacle as yet. He had +sown parsley and put in roots of mint and sage; and then, in Job's own +way, had left the things to look after themselves, to grow or not to grow +as they could or would. + +Here was a task to set herself. She would get that bed, and Faith's too, +as pretty as she could. Faith would be so delighted when she came home +and saw it, and they would be able to vie with each other in keeping them +nice, for mother's sake. If Jobey objected, well, he must go on +objecting, and they would try and make him understand, without hurting his +feelings, that a herbaceous border and a herb bed were not one and the +same things. + +Audrey's spirits went up with a bound. + + "Are you awfully tired with what is called 'Gay'? + Weary, discouraged, and sick, + I'll tell you the loveliest game in the world-- + Do something for somebody quick! + Do something for somebody quick!" + +She sang blithely and felt in her heart that there was nothing like it for +lifting a load off one's spirits. + +"Mother dear," she said, when her mother had eaten her omelette, and laid +aside her knife and fork, "I have been talking to Mary about her holiday. +I thought she ought to have it while the house is so empty, but she does +not want to go. She only wants one day for the Sunday School treat and +one to spend by the sea." + +"Yes, dear, of course she can. She must, she so thoroughly deserves it. +And Audrey, I have another plan that I want to talk to you about. +Don't you think it would be nice to ask granny to come and stay with us +while the house is quiet?" + +"Granny!" For a moment Audrey's heart leaped with pleasure, then it sank. +Even with all the improvements they had wrought in the house, and the +meals, and the way they were served, everything seemed very different from +what granny was accustomed to at home. What would she do without her +comforts! Audrey's mental eye ran over the carpets, the bed and table +linen; even the best was as shabby as that which granny, at home, +condemned and put aside. + +"Are you ashamed for her to see our poverty?" asked Mrs. Carlyle in her +patient, gentle voice, and Audrey coloured at finding her thoughts thus +read. + +"Darling, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Granny knows what our means +are, and she must realise what heavy expenses we have to meet, so she +should not expect us to be anything but shabby. She would understand that +with five children things need replacing more often, and that there is +less to replace them with." + +"Oh, I know, mother, I know. But granny had only one little boy, and a +very well behaved one, and I think she couldn't realise how five of us +knock the things about." + +"But don't you think she would be so glad to see her one little boy, that +she would overlook that?" + +Audrey still looked doubtful. + +"Think of it in this way, dear. Suppose we missed this opportunity, and +suppose dear granny died before we invited her here. Do you think we +should ever cease to feel remorseful? And don't you think she would +rather be asked to come, and made to feel that we wanted her, than remain +unasked because our home is shabby? Try by all means in one's power to +have things as neat and nice and comfortable as possible, but don't let us +put outward show before kind feeling." + +Audrey listened eagerly. She had learnt one great lesson--not to trust +entirely to her own opinion and she was very, very anxious to learn what +was right, and to do it. + +Mrs. Carlyle looked at her smiling. "Don't you think it is often a help +to ask oneself, 'what would I like others to do to me? What would I +myself prefer?'" But Audrey coloured painfully, as the thought of her own +return home came back to her. How entirely she had lost sight of the love +and the welcome in her care about external appearances. She was silent so +long that her mother looked at her anxiously more than once. + +"I think you are very tired, aren't you, dear?" + +"Oh no, mother." + +"Perhaps you need a holiday. Would you like to go back with granny to +Farbridge for a week or two?" + +"Oh no, mother, no I don't want any holiday. I don't want anything to do +but stay here. Oh, mother." Her secret hovered on the tip of her tongue, +her longing to confide in her mother almost overcame all her other +feelings, but she checked herself. "Oh mother," she added lamely, +"I want to do so much but--but----" + +A voice came calling up the stairs, "Audrey, Audrey, are you coming to +give me my dinner, or am I to dine alone?" Mr. Carlyle put his head in +round the door. "Don't you think the remnant of the crew should cling +together?" Then kissing his wife and lifting away her tray, he drew +Audrey's hand through his arm and made for the door. + +"Audrey will tell you of the plans we have been hatching," Mrs. Carlyle +called after them. "Come up here when you have finished your dinner and +tell me what you think about them." + +"Mother thought that now would be a good time to ask granny here to stay," +said Audrey. + +"Did she!" Mr. Carlyle looked up with almost boyish pleasure on his face. +Audrey was surprised. She had not dreamed that he would care so much. + +"That really looks as though your mother felt a little stronger. +Don't you think so?" he added, and looked at her with such eager +questioning eyes, she had not the heart to say that mother never thought +of herself when she was planning happiness for others. She really was +better though, and stronger. She herself said so, and the doctor said so. +She could do several little things now that she could not have done a few +months ago. + +"I am sorry granny will not see the children," her father was saying when +her thoughts came back to him again. "She has never seen Joan yet. +But your mother and she will have a more quiet time for talks together +than they have ever had, and I am glad of that. We must try and make her +as comfortable as we can, Audrey." + +"Yes, daddy, we will," she said, but not very hopefully. + +The meal ended, she got up from the table and strolled over to the window. +As her eyes fell on the herb bed once more she remembered all her plans +for making it a pleasant sight for her mother to look out on. She thought +of her other plans too. Of all the writing she had meant to do while the +work in the house was slacker, and here were all her plans upset, and a +fresh load laid upon her shoulders. + +Across her thoughts came Irene's voice, and a fragment of their merry +talks. "I know I shall never paint a big picture, nor write any great +books, nor be a pioneer of any kind; but I know I can help to make a few +people happier, and it is grand to feel that there is something one _can_ +do. Something that is of use. I always feel as though people were my +little children, and I've got to mother them." + +With her eyes fixed on the herb bed, Audrey first felt the responsibility +of controlling her own words and temper. "I know I can help to make a few +people happier." It rested with her to make or mar the pleasure of her +grandmother's visit. By letting her feelings have their own way she could +spoil everyone's pleasure. By putting her own feelings aside, and +thinking only of others, she could, to a large extent, make their +pleasure. + +"How odd things are," she sighed aloud. "No one is of very great +importance, yet everyone matters to someone----" + +"To lots of someones as a rule," said her father, rising and joining her +at the window. "And that is one of the most serious and most blessed +facts of life. I think that almost the saddest thing human beings can +feel is that no one is the better or the happier for their existence." + +"But can we help it, father? If I had no relations, nor anyone belonging +to me----" + +"You would still have all the world to 'mother,' Audrey. There is always +someone, close at hand too, needing help and sympathy. Always bear that +in mind, my child wherever you may be. Now I am going up to talk to your +mother. I think we had better ask granny to come next week." + +"Next week!" thought Audrey. "At any rate then I shall have no time to +worry about my play or anything else before granny comes, whatever I may +do after." + +"Oh Mary," she sighed as she took a turn at the ironing while she told her +the news, and Mary washed the dinner things, "I am dreadfully nervous. +I wish we had a cook and a parlourmaid, and I wish we were able to buy all +the best things that can be got. Granny does so like to have nice food +and nice everything. She has always been accustomed to it." + +But Mary, never having seen her master's mother, much less lived with her, +was not so filled with fears as was Audrey herself. + +"Well, miss, we'll do our best--and we can't do more. And after all, +people don't come to stay with you for what you can give them, but because +they want to see you." + +And with that thought Audrey tried to allay her nervous fears, and face +the coming visit with only happy anticipations. + +Old Mrs. Carlyle tried to face the coming visit with happy anticipations +only; but, with a lively recollection of her last visit to her son's home +still impressed on her mind, she could not help it if her feelings this +time were a little mixed. Her longing though to see her son and his wife, +and her favourite grand-daughter, overcame every other; and the warmly +affectionate terms in which they invited her, sent a glow to her lonely +old heart. + +"There is something better than comfort," she thought to herself, +"and some things that means cannot buy. I wish Audrey had her dear +father's affectionate nature," she added wistfully, for she had never +forgotten the lack of feeling Audrey had shown when the summons came which +was to break up their happy life together. + +Granny Carlyle came, and though her visit was but a short one, she learnt +many things while it lasted. One was that her son's home was more +comfortable but more shabby than she had thought. Another was that +poverty and the need to work had developed in Audrey a stronger character +and a sweeter nature than comfort and plenty could ever have done. +The grandmother noticed the change in her almost as soon as she alighted +at Moor End station. + +Audrey had not only grown in inches, but, though older-looking, she was +yet younger. She was less self-conscious, but more self-reliant; less +concerned for herself, and more for others. When they reached the +Vicarage, and the luggage had been deposited in the hall, Audrey picked +out the special cap-basket and ran up at once with it to her granny's +room. + +"I knew you would want this, the first thing," she said cheerfully, +"and Mary has put hot water ready for you; the can is under the bath +towel. And tea will be ready when you are, granny. It will be in +mother's room, we thought you would like it there." + +And as Mrs. Carlyle came out of her bedroom to go to her daughter-in-law's +room she met Audrey flying up the stairs with a rack of dry toast on a +tray. "I remembered that you used to eat toast always for tea, granny, so +I thought you might still. Oh, granny, it is so nice to see you in your +pretty caps again, it seems so--so natural." + +It also seemed to her, though, that granny had grown to look much older in +the last three months, and thinner, or was it only that she had been away +from her, and amongst younger people. + +With a sudden sense of sadness, Audrey thrust her arm affectionately +through her grandmother's arm. "Mother is longing so to see you," she +said, with a sort of longing on her to make her granny feel that they all +loved her. Her mother's words came back to her hauntingly, "Don't you +think granny would rather be asked to come to us, and be made to feel that +we want her, than remain unasked, because our home is shabby?" + +Then Mr. Carlyle appeared, and taking granny by the other arm, they all +entered the invalid's room together. + +When she had started for her visit Mrs. Carlyle had wondered how she would +get through a whole week without the comforts and the peace she was +accustomed to. At the end of ten days she sighed that she could not stay +longer. "If I hadn't invited a friend to pay me a visit," she said, +"I should be very tempted to stay the fortnight. I have enjoyed myself so +much, dear Kitty, and feel better for the change." And both Audrey and +her mother felt very very happy, for they were both of them aware that +granny had not enjoyed her former visit. She had not hesitated to say so. + +During the ten days granny, too, had done her share in making happiness. +"Gracious me, child," she cried, when she saw the carpetless floor in the +drawing-room, "I did not know that it was as bad as this. I have so much +furniture at home I can scarcely move for it, and two carpets sewn up with +camphor, to keep the moths and mice away, I will send them both as soon as +I get back, and--a few other things that may be useful." + +She hesitated for a moment, then, with her old severe manner, "I don't +want to be prying, Audrey, as you know, but how are you off for china--odd +plates for the kitchen, and cups and saucers and things." + +"Not very well, granny. We aren't well off in any kind of china. If the +children had been at home we should not have had enough of anything to go +round," she added, with a rueful little laugh. And though granny looked +shocked for a moment, and felt so, she was obliged to laugh too. + +"Oh!" she said. "Well, I will pop in some useful odds and ends, so that +when I come again on purpose to see the children, we shall have a plate +each, and not have to share a cup." + +But, though they little thought it then, poor Granny Carlyle was never to +come again. And none of those she loved best could feel thankful enough +that they had had that pleasant time which had brought them all closer +together than they had ever been before, and had left not only one happy +lifelong memory, but many. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +"I think I would like to go for a walk, daddy, if you are going home, and +will see that mother is all right." + +"Yes, I will take care of mother. Are you very tired, dear? I am afraid +you must be, you have worked very hard looking after us all so well." + +Audrey smiled up at her father, but it was rather a wistful smile. +"No, I am not exactly tired, but I feel as if I wanted a walk." + +"I expect you do, you have been shut up in the house so much. +Well, I will hurry home now; and you will be back in time for tea?" + +Audrey nodded, and, with a sigh of contentment, turned up the winding road +which would presently lead her out on the moor. + +Granny Carlyle's visit was over, and it was as she and her father were +turning away from the station after seeing her off, that there had come to +her suddenly a great desire to be alone, to be out on the great, wide, +open, silent moor, where she could think and think without fear of +interruption. + +At home there was so little time for thought, and she had so many things +to think about. Only yesterday granny had said: "Well, Audrey, and are +you coming back to me when the year is up?" And Audrey, shocked at the +thrill of dismay the mere suggestion sent through her, had tried to tell +her as gently and kindly as possible, that she could not be spared from +home, at any rate, until Joan was some years older. + +"Even when mother gets about again, she will not be fit for hard work," +she explained hurriedly, "and, of course, there is a lot of hard work. +Father says we can't possibly keep another servant, for there will soon be +the governess to pay, as well as Mary and Job Toms." + +"I know, child, I know," granny answered, almost sadly. "I scarcely +expected to be able to have you." And Audrey, feeling a little +uncomfortable lest she should have even suspected her changed feelings, +had again been struck by her aged and fragile look, the weariness in her +eyes, and in her voice, and had been troubled by it. + +It had troubled her, too, ever since, but she did not know what she could +do. Indeed, she knew that she could not do anything, and that was saddest +of all. + +Up on the moor she threw herself down on a bed of heather, and with only +the bees, and the larks, and the little westerly breeze for company, tried +to think the matter out. And soon the breeze blew some of her worries +away, and the sun and the birds' songs between them so raised her spirits +that she found courage to face things more hopefully and trustfully. +"I can't alter things," she sighed, "I can only do the best I know, or +what seems best." + +Presently remembrance of her play came back to her. For the last week or +two she had been so busy, and her mind so occupied with other things, +she had really not had time to worry about it, and now: "There are only +three days more to wait!" she cried. "Only three days more. I wonder how +I shall first know? Will they write? or shall I see it in the papers? +or--or what? And how shall I bear it--if--if, whichever way it is?" + +But, in spite of herself, her mind wandered on, picturing what she would +do with her money. Should she send away for one of those pretty, cool, +cotton rest-gowns for her mother, that she longed so for. They were often +advertised, it would be quite easy to get one. She would still have a +good deal left for other things. Or should she give the money to her +father for a new great coat? His old one was fearfully shabby. +It would take the whole of her money, but it would be lovely when winter +came, to know that he was not cold. Oh! but she did want to get some new +curtains, or sheets, and--and Faith was dreadfully in need of a rain coat, +and: "Oh, dear!" she cried, rousing out of her day-dream, "and, after all, +I shall probably not even have a five-shilling consolation prize! +How silly I am to let myself think of it. It is enough to prevent its +coming." + +She got on to her feet, and shook herself, to shake the dried grass and +heather from her skirt and her long hair--to shake off her foolishness +too. Well, five shillings would be useful. It would buy mother some +fruit, and wool for socks for father. "I wish though I could forget all +about it. I wish something would happen to drive it out of my head +again." And already something was happening--was on its way to her. + +A letter had come for her while she was out, a letter from Irene. + +"I can see that it is from Ilfracombe," said her mother as she handed it +to her. "Open it quickly, dear, I have been longing for you to come home +and tell me what it says about them all." + +But Audrey's eyes were already devouring the pages. "Oh!" she gasped, +"oh, how lovely! How perfectly lovely!" + +If there is one thing more aggravating than another, it is to hear someone +exclaiming over a letter, without giving a clue as to the cause of the +excitement. + +"Audrey! Audrey, darling, don't tease me any more." + +Audrey looked up, ashamed of her selfishness. Her mother's cheeks were +flushed with excitement. "Oh, mummy, I am so sorry," she cried, +repentantly. + +"Never mind, dear. I could see that the news, whatever it was, was +pleasant." + +"Oh, mother, it is lovely, perfectly--perfectly glorious. What do you +think? They are actually coming here to live--no, not in this house," +laughing, "but in Moor End. Irene says that her grandfather has bought +the Mill House for them, and they hope to have it done up and ready for +them to move into before winter sets in. Won't it be lovely? Oh, mother, +aren't you glad?" + +Mrs. Carlyle was more than glad. She was thankful. Her mind was relieved +of a care which had increased as the days sped on. Now her girls would +have companionship, and with friends whose influence and example would be +all for good. Tom, too, would have a companion. And, perhaps, who knows, +they could share their lessons too. Mrs. Carlyle's thoughts flew on; but +her thoughts were all for her children. She had not yet considered what +it would mean to herself,--the companionship, the kind friends at hand in +case of need. + +"You are very, very glad about it, aren't you, dear?" she asked, her heart +and her eyes full of sympathy with her child's gladness. + +"Glad! Oh, mother. I was never so happy in my life. It seems now as +though everything is just perfect!" + +"And granny? Have you given up wanting to go back to her, dear?" + +A shadow fell on Audrey's happiness. "Granny was speaking about it," +she said hurriedly, "only yesterday, and I told her I could not come. +I thought I was--I felt I ought to stay here, even after you are well +again, for there is a lot to do, and--and, mother--you don't think I must +go back, do you?" + +Her voice was full of anxiety. She had little dreamed at one time that +she would ever be overjoyed at being told she could not do so; but now. +Her eyes sought her mother's face anxiously. She longed to hear her say +reassuringly that there was not the slightest need, that she could not be +spared. + +But for a moment Mrs. Carlyle did not answer at all, and when she did she +spoke slowly and hesitatingly. "I hardly know, dear, what to say. +As she is at present, there is no actual need, and I am glad, for I don't +know what we should do without you here. But, well, I feel I could not +grudge her one--when I have so many, and she is so lonely. You could be +such a comfort to her, Audrey." + +Audrey's face grew white and hard. "Of course," she thought bitterly, +"it was only for her to feel happy for life to seem jollier and more full +of happy prospects than ever before, and she must be dragged away from it +all." + +If she had been asked what, above all else, she would have chosen, she +would have asked for just this: that Irene should come to live close by; +and she was really coming. Better still, they were all of them coming, +and life, for one brief moment, had seemed full of sunshine. "So, of +course, a black and heavy cloud must come up, and shut the sunshine out, +and darken all her happiness," she told herself dramatically. + +"Audrey, dear. Don't look so unhappy, so--so disappointed. We will not +anticipate. No one knows what the future may bring. It is seldom exactly +what we hope, or dread; and if we just go on trustfully day by day, taking +all the happiness God sends us, and ready bravely to face the clouds. +We know that He will make the sunshine show through. He wants His +children to be happy, not miserable." + +"I--don't know," said Audrey, doubtingly. "It seems that if ever I want a +thing very much it is taken away, or I am not allowed----" + +"Audrey, darling, do not say such things. Do not let yourself ever think +it. Do you honestly believe that the great God above demeans Himself and +His Majesty and Might to annoy one of His children? That He plans to +torment you? My dear, dear child, don't get into that bitter, wicked way +of talking. It is so wrong--so insulting to your Heavenly Father. +It is so ruining to your own character, and your happiness. The mistake +that we make, Audrey, is that we want to choose our own way, and follow +it--not His. That we think we can see better than He what is for the +best, and what our future should be. + +"Now, let no imaginary cloud in the future overshadow the sunshine of +to-day. Enjoy the happiness that is sent to you, and, if the call to duty +elsewhere comes, obey it as all good soldiers of Christ should." + +Audrey was on her knees by her mother's side, her face buried in her lap. +"Oh, mother, mother!" she cried remorsefully, "I am not a good soldier--I +am a coward. I never want to obey--unless--it pleases me to." + +"You did not want to come here when the summons came, did you, dear?" + +Audrey shook her head. "No, mummy," she admitted reluctantly. "When I +came I counted the days until I could go back again." + +"But you are happy here? You are glad now?" + +"Oh, yes, yes," cried poor Audrey. + +"You would not be happy, though, if you stayed on here, refusing to go to +granny. You would be in the place you want to be, you would be near your +friends, and be doing the things you want to do; but you would not be +happy. You would enjoy nothing." + +"Is one only happy if one does one's duty?" queried Audrey faintly. + +"Yes, little soldier. That is why you have been so happy here since----" + +"Since Irene showed me what my duty was," said Audrey softly. She rose to +her feet, kissed her mother fondly, and for a moment stood by her side +silent, and very still. + +"I--I will try," she said at last, "I will try, but--but----" Her voice +broke. + +Mrs. Carlyle put her arm about her, and held her very close. "That will +do, darling. That is all God asks of any of us--just to try and shoulder +bravely the duties He lays on us." + + +It was just three days later that Audrey heard the news so longed for, yet +so dreaded. By the early post that morning there came several letters, +and one of them for her. + +When she opened it, and unfolded the sheet of paper it held, a cheque +dropped out and into her lap. A cheque for three guineas! + +For a moment Audrey held it, staring at it incredulously. Then she had +won a prize! The first prize, too! Her play had not been utter rubbish, +but the best! The best!! + +The blood rushed over her face and neck, dyeing both scarlet; her hands +trembled, her heart beat suffocatingly. She turned to the letter, but for +a moment she could see nothing. Then gradually her sight cleared, and she +read: "The Editor of _The Girl's World_ has much pleasure in informing +Miss Audrey Carlyle that her play has been adjudged the best of all those +sent in; and encloses a cheque for three guineas. The Editor would be +glad to have a copy of Miss Carlyle's latest photograph, to print in our +next number." + +Audrey read no more. With her face glowing with happiness, her red mane +flying behind her, she rushed up the stairs to her mother's room. At last +she could tell her secret. + +Sure of her mother's interest and sympathy she burst into the room with +only the faintest apology of a tap at the door. Her father was there too, +standing by the bed with a letter in his hand. + +"Oh, mother! What do you think!" Audrey's voice broke off suddenly, for +her mother's eyes when she looked at her were full of tears. + +"Oh, what has happened? Father--mother--what has happened? Not--an +accident?" + +Her thoughts flew at once to her brothers and sisters. "Not----!" +She could not finish the awful question. She turned so white and faint +that her father stepped across the room, and taking her in his arms, +guided her to a chair by the open window. "No, no, dear, not, thank God, +as bad as that. A letter has come from Dr. Norman to say that yesterday +granny fainted, and was unconscious a long time. She recovered, but--he +wants me to come as soon as possible, he is afraid--her condition may be +serious." + +"I am never to be allowed any great happiness," said Audrey in her heart. +"If something good comes my way, something bad comes with it." +Even through her anxiety the thought would come, adding bitterness to her +trouble. The letter and cheque she held slipped from her fingers to the +floor. She would not even tell her news, she thought bitterly. +Perhaps if she showed that she did not care, Fate would find no pleasure +in being so cruel to her. + +"Do you want me to go too?" she asked. She knew that her voice was hard +and unsympathetic, but she felt, at that moment, as though she could not +help it. + +"No, not now, dear." The gentleness of her mother's voice brought a lump +to Audrey's throat. "Your father will go first, and see how things are. +They may need a trained nurse, or--well, we don't know; but, oh, Audrey, +Audrey, the bitter part is that we haven't the money to take him there. +We dare not draw any more from the Bank until some has been paid in, and +that cannot be for a few days yet. What can we do? There is no one we +can appeal to, no one we can confide in. If Mr. Vivian were only +here----" + +But Audrey, instead of answering, was groping on the floor. Tears were in +her eyes, shame and remorse again filled her heart. After all, God was +giving her a greater opportunity, a more perfect way, of using her money, +than any she had dreamed of. + +"Father," she said shyly, "I have just had this," holding out the two +slips of paper. "I came up to tell you and mother, but--but----" +The varying emotions of the morning, the joyful surprise, the excitement, +the shock which had turned her faint, the drop from the height of her +happiness to the depths of bitterness and sorrow, proved too much for +Audrey, and, dropping on her knees beside her mother's bed, she burst into +tears. + +She felt her mother's gentle hand on her head, she felt her father raise +her in his arms. She heard her father, as he kissed her forehead, murmur, +"My blessed child, my God-send." She heard her mother say, with a catch +in her voice, "My Audrey, what should we do without you!" + +But all Audrey could do was to sob brokenly. "No, no, no, I don't deserve +it, don't, please don't. You don't know----" + +"I do know," whispered her father kindly, as he held her. "You felt +aggrieved, hurt; you came up in the full flush of your happiness, +and found us filled with selfish sorrow, wrapped in our own cares. +You thought all your pleasure in your success was spoilt. I thought only +of my trouble. Really, God was giving us both our opportunity. +Doubling your happiness, and teaching me a lesson in Faith." + +"And me," said Mrs. Carlyle softly, "that under us are always His +supporting arms." + +That afternoon Mr. Carlyle left for Farbridge, but Audrey's summons did +not come for a while yet. + +Granny Carlyle rallied considerably, and they all began to hope that she +might be spared to them yet. But it was only a temporary rally; and Faith +and the little ones had been home but a few days when a telegram came from +Farbridge, asking that Audrey might come at once, and, instead of starting +for Ilfracombe for a week or two's stay before the Vivians left there too, +Audrey went on a very, very different visit, one that none knew the end +of, for old Mrs. Carlyle was in that state that she might live for years, +or for only a few weeks or days. + +Never, in all her life after, did Audrey forget that journey on that hot +August day. The sun poured in at the window on her, the smuts came in in +showers, the compartment felt like an oven, and the hot air was heavy with +the mingled odours of blistering paint, coal smoke, and tar. At every +station at which they stopped the engine panted like an exhausted thing. +The sight of beds of scarlet geraniums glowing in the sun ever after +brought back to Audrey the sights, sounds, and sensations of that hot +summer afternoon. + +But at last the journey was over, and Audrey, feeling almost as though she +was walking in a dream, crossed the well-remembered park--where the only +change was that the grass was now burnt brown, and summer flowers took the +place of the tulips and daffodils she had left behind her--and entered +once more the orderly, roomy house which was so little changed that she +might have gone out from it only the day before, except that now the +moving spirit was gone, and the silence was not restful, as of old, but +oppressive. + +Phipps met her, with tears in her eyes. "Perhaps you would like to go to +your room first, Miss Audrey. Are you very hot and tired, miss?" + +"I think I am," said Audrey wearily, "but that is nothing. How is granny +now, Phipps?" + +But Phipps only shook her head, and the tears brimmed over. "I can't say +she is any better, Miss Audrey, and--and I won't say she is worse, I can't +bring myself to," and Phipps began to sob aloud. + +"Poor Phipps!" said Audrey in a choky voice. "Is she as bad as that!" +She knew what it all meant for Phipps. If Granny Carlyle died, her home +of forty years was gone from her. For the first time in her life Audrey +realised what we all come to realise as we grow older--that the +sorrowfulness of death is not with those who go, but with those who are +left behind. + +"I shall lose everything," sobbed Phipps, "everything I care for. +My dear mistress, my home--everything, and I shall never be happy in +another." + +"Oh, poor Phipps!" cried Audrey, genuinely troubled. What could one do or +say to comfort such sorrow! But her sympathy comforted Phipps a little, +and she cheered up somewhat. + +"If you will come down when you are ready, miss, I will have tea waiting +for you," she said as she left the room, "and after tea the mistress would +like to see you." + +But, tired and exhausted though she was, Audrey could only make a pretence +of taking the meal. To be sitting alone in that big room, which she had +hitherto never known without her granny, and feeling that in all +probability she would never, never see her there again, was sufficient in +itself to destroy any appetite she had. Her thoughts, too, were full of +the coming interview. What could she say and do? Would granny be much +changed? These and a dozen other questions hammered at her brain as she +poured herself out a cup of tea. How she had once longed to be allowed to +pour tea from that silver tea-pot, and pick up the sugar with those dainty +little tongs, which granny would never allow her to touch. What a proud +day it would be, so she used to think, when she might! But now--now that +the day had come, she found no pride or pleasure in it, only a sort of +shrinking. It seemed to her to be taking advantage of granny's +helplessness--that she had no right. She was haunted by the sight of +granny's fragile, delicate hand clasping that handle, and delicately +turning over the lumps of sugar to find one of a suitable size. + +"Would she be much changed?" Her thoughts flew again to the coming +interview, which she so dreaded. + +Yet, after all, though sad, it was very quiet and simple. Granny lay flat +in her bed, looking much as usual, save that the face surrounded by the +night-cap frill was thinner, and gentler, perhaps, and more kind. + +"Come round to the other side, dear," she said softly, as Audrey +approached her, and only then did Audrey realise that granny's right arm +and side were helpless. + +She was very white as she stooped down to kiss her grandmother, and her +lips trembled. + +"It is all right, dear; don't you grieve about me," granny whispered. +She was so weak she could not speak very well. "I am quite ready-- +anxious--to go. I am very glad you came to me, Audrey; you have made me +very happy." + +Audrey knelt down by the bed, holding her granny's hand in both hers. +"I--oh, granny, I wish I had never left you!" She pressed the fragile +hand against her cheek caressingly. "I--I didn't want to go. +I shall have home and the others always, and you only for a little while." +Her sobs choked her. + +"Dear, you do not know--no one knows--how long you may have each other, +and it was your duty to go. Your mother was ill, and needed you; I was +well, and had many to take care of me. I did not want to let you go, but +I was glad afterwards, when I saw you again, I knew it had been best for +you. Keep to the path you have set your feet on so bravely, dear." + +Granny's voice died away. She was too tired to talk any more. +"To-morrow," she gasped; "send nurse--now." + +So Audrey, with another lingering kiss, crept softly away, to spend the +long lonely evening among the shadows in the great drawing-room, where +everything seemed to speak to her of her granny. Here was her work-table, +with her work neatly folded, as she had left it. Here was her book with a +folded piece of paper in it for a marker. She could not bear it any +longer. In her own room the pain might be less cruel. + +Audrey sobbed herself to sleep that night, but before that she had made +one more resolution, with her prayers. In all the days to come, God +helping her, she would 'Leave no tender word unsaid.' She would strive +hard that these bitter memories, this reproach, should never again be +hers. + + "Out of sight and out of reach they go. + These dear familiar friends who loved us so, + And sitting in the shadows they have left, + Alone with loneliness, and sore bereft, + We think, with vain regret, of some kind word + That once we might have said, and they have heard." + +Audrey did not know those lines then, but they expressed the thoughts +which haunted her in those days, even in her dreams. + +Early the next morning, after her breakfast, Phipps came to ask her to go +to her granny's room as soon as convenient. + +"I will go now. How is she, Phipps? Do you think she is any better, +just a shade better?" + +But Phipps only shook her head, and hurried out of the room with her head +bowed. Poor Audrey! Phipps had dashed all the hopes which had risen +afresh with the morning, and sent her to the sick-room unnerved and full +of fears. + +But face to face with her granny, so calm and placid and content, fears +seemed wicked, out of place. + +"Audrey, dear, before I have my sleep I want to say something to you in +case, later, I may not be able to. When I am gone there are certain +things which I wish you children to have. The lawyer knows--it is all +written down--but I wanted to tell you myself. I want to ask you--and to +ask the others through you--when you wear them to wear them not as +ornaments only, but as reminders; will you, dear Audrey? As reminders +to--to give your sympathy and love, while it can help, not only at the +hour of parting. That is where I have failed. I see it now, and ask +God's pardon." For a moment there was silence in the quiet room; a tear +fell from the dying eyes. Audrey's were falling fast. + +Presently the weak voice began again. "To you, Audrey, I have given my +pearl brooch, and the ring your grandfather gave me as my engagement-ring. +You will value it, will you not, dear? I wish you not to wear the ring +until you are eighteen. I was just eighteen when he gave it to me. +To Faith I am giving my ruby cross and brooch--Faith with her warm heart +glowing with kindness towards the world, always reminds me of rubies. +Tom is to have his grandfather's watch and chain, and Debby is to have +mine. To Baby I have given my string of pearls." Her voice had grown +more and more feeble, and now for a moment died away. But very soon she +spoke again. It was as though she felt she had not much time, and could +not waste a moment of it. "To you, dear, I leave my work-table, too; you +loved it so when you were very little. Do you remember?" + +Audrey smiled as the memory came back to her of the joy with which she had +turned it out, and dusted and rearranged it daily. But her smile changed +to tears. "Granny, granny, you must get well, and use it again yourself. +There is your work in it now, waiting to be finished." + +A little flicker of pain passed over granny's face. "I shall never finish +it now," she whispered. "Whenever the end comes, one leaves many things +undone. Some do not matter so very much. It is the thought of the things +that do matter--neglected--those we might have helped, that stab one to +the heart." + +With a deep sigh she turned her face on her pillow. Audrey, kneeling +beside her, holding her hand, presently laid it gently down, thinking that +she had gone to sleep, and, stepping softly to a chair by the window, sat +down to wait for her to wake and speak again. + +Over in the park the children were playing gaily; the elder folk were +already seated on the seats with books or newspaper, or sewing. +How familiar it all was, how dear! Minute after minute passed, while +Audrey, with her eyes fixed on the distant hills, turned over and over in +her mind those last words her grandmother had spoken. How they rang in +her ears, as warning bells! By and by the nurse came in. + +"Granny is having such a lovely sleep," said Audrey happily. But the +nurse, already at the bedside, did not return her smile. Her eyes were on +the face on the pillow, her hand on the frail hand lying where Audrey had +laid it down. + +"She is," she said at last, very softly--"She was. She has had such a +beautiful wakening, dear. She has passed through the Valley of Shadows, +and is safe on the other side." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +A year had passed since Granny Carlyle went to her rest and Audrey +returned to the Vicarage to take up her duties there again. + +Another summer has come and gone, for it is September now, but a September +so warm and sunny and beautiful that, if it were not for the changing +tints on the trees, one might well imagine it was still June. + +In the Vicarage garden the 'herb bed' had developed into a handsome +herbaceous border, varied by patches here and there of feathery parsley, +a bush of sage, a clump of lemon-thyme, and mint. Job Toms had retired +again to his kitchen-garden, for "he didn't hold with messing up flowers +and herbs together, and nothing wasn't going to make him believe but what +planting poppies next to parsley was bad for the parsley. Poppies was +p'ison, so he'd been always led to believe, and he didn't believe in +p'isonous things being planted 'mongst what folks was asked to eat." + +So Audrey and Faith and the children had taken the beds in their charge, +and in aiming at showing Job what a beautiful, if not useful, thing a +herbaceous border could be, they had laboured hard, and were now reaping +their reward. + +Occasionally, as a great favour, the old man could be coaxed into cutting +the grass--as to-day, for instance, which was a great day in the family +history, for it was Mrs. Carlyle's birthday; and not only that, but she +was to go to the Mill House to tea. Her first real 'outing' for two long +years at least. + +To her husband and children, and even to Mary and Job, to have 'mother' +about amongst them again was a cause for such rejoicing that they hardly +knew how to express it. + +Early in the morning Debby and Tom were up and knocking at Miss Babbs's +shop door before Miss Babbs was fully dressed or had raked the ashes out +of her kitchen stove. + +"Why, Master Tom," she cried, somewhat ruffled by the importunate +hammering on her new paint. "Shops ain't supposed to be open till the +shutters is down." + +"I will take them down for you," offered Tom, blandly. + +"I don't want them took down yet, thank you, sir. Why I haven't had time +even to light my kitchen fire yet----" + +"I'll light your kitchen fire, Babbs dear," said Debby, quite undisturbed +by Miss Babbs's wrath. "I'll have it burning like anything by the time +you've got your hair on." + +Miss Babbs backed away into the dark shop. "I don't want any help, thank +you, Miss Deborah," she said, stiffly. "If you'll come again in an hour's +time, when the shop is open, I'll be ready to serve you." + +"Babby dear, don't be cross," pleaded Deborah. "It's mother's birthday, +and we want some flags to decorate the garden, 'cause she's coming out +to-day for the first time." + +Debby's tone was pathetic in the extreme. Her expression and her words +went straight to Miss Babbs's heart, and brought the tears to her eyes. +"Oh, my dear children, you don't say so! Oh, I _am_ glad! Whoever'd have +thought it. Come right in--not that I believe I've a flag left, unless +'tis Coronation ones. Come in and shut the door, Master Tom. We don't +want all Moor End dropping in, before I'm dressed for the day, and my +place tidy. No, never mind the shutters, Master Tom, we'll leave them up +for a bit. I'll carry the box into the parlour for you, and you can turn +it out for yourselves, while I light my fire, or I shall be I don't know +where all day." + +Tom and Debby, expressing their thanks as they went, groped their way +delightedly past barrels of potatoes, soap-boxes, and goods of many kinds. +The sacks looked quite alarming in the dimness, the barrels as though they +might have held all manner of mysterious dangers. The air was heavy with +the mingled smell of onions, bacon, scented soap, leather, and groceries. + +"Oh, I _must_ keep a shop when I grow up," whispered Debby. "Miss Babbs, +when you retire will you sell your business to me? I've got three pounds +in the bank already, and I'll save every penny,"--but her plans came to an +end in a hamper, into which she plunged head first. + +"Babbs isn't going to retire," grunted Tom, as he dragged his sister out. +"Don't talk rubbish, Deb." + +Miss Babbs staggered out into the light parlour with a large wooden box, +and dumped it down on the table before her customers. "There's bandana +handkerchiefs on top," she panted, "but there may be a flag or so under." + +"The quickest way will be to turn the box upside down, and begin at the +bottom," suggested Tom, as soon as Miss Babbs had retired to her kitchen-- +and suited the action to the word. + +"Here's one!" cried Debby eagerly, and unfolded a flag with 'God Save our +King and Queen' on it, and portraits of their Majesties. + +"And here's one of 'God Bless our Sunday School,'" cried Tom. "Oh, look, +there are three of them. If we nail them upside down they will look all +right. They'll be flags, anyhow." + +"It's an insult to hang a flag upside down," corrected Debby, severely. + +"All right, I don't mind. Here's a Union Jack, that's jolly, though they +are rather a worry to hang. I never can remember which way they should +go. Not that anyone in Moor End would know if they were right way up or +not." + +"Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves," retorted Debby, "and it's +time they were taught." She had lately been reading an article on the +subject and her opinions were very strong with regard to the ignorance +shown by so many. "One Coronation, one Union Jack," she counted, "three +Sunday School--that's five altogether. We ought to have one more to make +the money up to sixpence. I'll have a red and white handkerchief, it will +come in afterwards for Jobey for Christmas." + +When, by and by, Mrs. Carlyle passed downstairs to go out through the +garden to the carriage Mr. Vivian had sent to drive her to the Mill House, +she found the banisters festooned with rings of coloured paper, and the +garden ablaze with paper roses and flags. From every tree fluttered a +flag, more or less inappropriate, and on every bush and plant, poppy and +rose, sage and phlox, laurel and sweet briar, blossomed roses of a size +and colour to make a florist's heart rejoice--had they been real. +Suspended across the gateway hung an old white sheet, with 'Many happy +returns,' in red letters, sewn on crookedly. + +Smiles and tears fought for mastery in her heart. "It is all meant for +you, mummy," explained Debby, eagerly. "You must pretend what is on the +Coronation flag is 'God save our Mother,' and on the Sunday School ones +'God bless our Mother.' Can you pretend like that, mummy? I can." + +"Yes, darling, for it is no pretence. He has saved me, and blessed me," +she said softly. + +The carriage was to drive slowly through the village that the heroine of +the day might see it all again, and note all the changes which had taken +place during her long seclusion. Joan was to go with her to share the +novelty of a drive. But the other four and their father formed a guard of +honour, and marched beside them, or behind. Mary was to share in the +outing too. As soon as she had tidied herself and put things straight, +she was to hand the care of the house over to Job Toms, and go to the Mill +House as early as she could, which was only a few minutes later than her +mistress. + +The slow drive turned into a veritable triumphal progress. Everyone +rejoiced to see the Vicar's wife amongst them again, every heart in the +village shared in the joy of the Vicar and his family. Miss Babbs was out +at her shop door, waving her best lace handkerchief. The old sexton's +wife ran into the road in order to present a bunch of the best flowers in +her garden. All stood out at their doors with welcoming smiles and glad +greetings. + +By the time they reached the Mill House, Mrs. Carlyle was almost borne +down with the weight of love and tenderness which had been poured out upon +her--but, oh! so happy, so glad, so grateful. + +At the Mill House, where all were out awaiting her. Mrs. Vivian soon +carried her off to her own little room. "You are to rest here quite +alone," she said firmly. "I shall not allow anyone to see you for half an +hour--unless, perhaps, it is your husband or Audrey." + +Mrs. Carlyle looked up at her with grateful eyes, and a brave smile on her +pale, happy face. "You understand," she said gently. "I would like to be +quite alone just for a little. Oh, I feel so--unworthy, and so--so rich +beyond my deserts. I must ask for help to--to try to merit some of all I +have." + +Downstairs in the long low dining-room, the table was prepared for tea. +Daphne had decorated room and table with autumn leaves, and ferns, and +flowers. In the centre stood a handsome birthday cake of Irene's making +and decorating, and surrounding it was dish after dish of tartlets, and +cakes, and other things such as made the children gaze at the clock +anxiously, fully assured that it had stopped. + +"It _must_ be five o'clock, or six," sighed Tom. "I am sure it is three +or four hours since dinner-time." + +"I didn't eat any dinner," announced Daphne, "when I saw what Irene had +made, I thought I would wait. You see, it was a boiled mutton dinner, and +I can't bear boiled mutton." + +"Some of the things you saw are for supper," laughed Irene, "so I am +afraid you have a long time to wait yet." + +Daphne's face fell. "Four hours more! Never mind, I don't want the time +to hurry past--though it will." + +Faith, the same happy, bright-faced Faith, strolled up to the window, one +hand tucked affectionately through old Mr. Vivian's arm, the other leading +Joan. In the sunshine her hair glowed like a halo round her head; on the +bosom of her white dress glowed her ruby cross. Her frock was only of the +cheapest soft muslin, but it was sound and neat, her shoes had all their +buttons on, her stockings were guiltless of darns of another colour. +In her pretty brown eyes love beamed on all, and happiness. + +"Who would like a donkey ride?" called out Mr. Vivian. "Tom, Daphne, are +you coming? Debby, where's my little Debby?" + +Debby was never far from Tom, nor from Mr. Vivian when she could be with +him. + +"Audrey, are you coming too?" + +"I don't know," said Audrey, smiling. "I want to go with you, and I want +to be here in case mother needs me." + +"And I want you," said Irene, in the midst of bustling round. "I want you +very particularly." + +"The truth is," said Mr. Vivian, his kind old eyes resting on her very +tenderly, "we all need you. We can't get on without you. Never mind, +wait for your mother, child. She needs you most of all." And with a wave +of the hand they left. + +Audrey went outside and rested on a seat in the sunshine. On the roof +Keith's pigeons sat cooing amiably; the mingled sweetness of 'cherry-pie' +and mignonette filled the warm air. Daphne's cat Snowdrop, once Debby's +kitten, lay stretched out comfortably on the warm, red-tiled path. + +How beautiful it all was, how peaceful. Audrey sitting lost in almost a +rapture of enjoyment, did not hear soft footsteps approaching, until Irene +dropped on to the seat beside her. + +"Audrey," she said eagerly, "I do want a few minutes alone with you. +There is something--very special--I want to talk to you about." + +Audrey looked round interestedly. "Well?" she said. "You know Christmas +is not so very far off." + +Audrey laughed lightly. "Christmas! Just imagine being able to think of +Christmas--winter--on a day like this!" + +"I am not thinking of winter, only of Christmas--and our party." + +"A Christmas party? Oh, Irene!" + +"Yes. I must tell you quickly, or someone may come. Mother suggested it +only this morning--that we have a party, and--and act your play!" + +Irene looked at her triumphantly, her pretty eyes bright with excitement. + +"My play? Oh!" Audrey blushed scarlet. She seemed quite overcome. + +"Irene, Irene," called her mother from within the house, and Irene sprang +to her feet. "Think about it," she said, lightly touching Audrey's hot +cheek with her finger, "think of the fun of the rehearsals, and all the +rest." + +"Think about it!" There was little need to tell Audrey to do that. +She thought and thought, and at first she felt she could never face it +all; then, by degrees, the idea grew less distasteful, more pleasant, then +at last she laughed. + +"A penny for your thoughts, Audrey," a sweet soft voice broke the silence, +and brought Audrey back from a happy future to the blissful present. +Looking up she saw her mother leaning on Irene's arm. + +"I couldn't sell them," she said, laughing and springing to her feet, +"they were too, too lovely, but not nearly as lovely, mother, as seeing +you here and walking about." + +Mrs. Carlyle sank on to the seat with a happy sigh. "I can hardly believe +I am myself," she said, smiling. "I am almost afraid I shall wake up and +find it is all a dream--as I have done so often." + +"Oh, this is no dream," laughed Irene, "it is all very real. Look at +those bad sparrows, fighting over a piece of bread. Listen to the pigeons +calling for their tea, and look at my bed of verbenas, all raised from +seeds by my very own hand. It is only Audrey who dreams. Audrey, will +you give us your thoughts, as they are not to be bought?" + +"Yes," said Audrey, her grey eyes shining bright with happiness. +"I am thinking that in all the world there is nothing so beautiful as +home, no happiness so great as----" + +"As that which comes from helping others," said Mrs. Carlyle softly, and +drawing her dearly loved daughter to her. "Oh, my dear, how blessed I am +in my children, and in their friends;--my children too," she added softly, +as she drew Irene to her, and kissed first one and then the other. + +Mrs. Vivian came to the door and looked out, smiling at them. + +"Will you come now? Tea is ready," she called cheerfully. And, with one +supporting her on either side, Mrs. Carlyle went in to the house to cut +her birthday cake. + + +THE END. + + + +[Transcriber's note: + +Chapter III + + 'and the mudde which reigned in both' + +corrected to: + + 'and the muddle which reigned in both' + + +Chapter IX + + 'innocent little oke' + +corected to: + + 'innocent little joke'] + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Anxious Audrey, by Mabel Quiller-Couch + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANXIOUS AUDREY *** + +***** This file should be named 31173.txt or 31173.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/1/7/31173/ + +Produced by Lionel Sear + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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