Black, White and Gray Part 24

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM.

Summer, which had seemed very long in coming to Dennis and Maisie, had at last made up its mind, and was really here, bringing all its best pleasures and most beautiful things to look at and enjoy. It was really hot weather, so that it was possible almost to live out of doors, and to have tea in the garden as a matter of course. Hot enough always to wear cotton frocks and holland suits, and sun-bonnets and broad straw hats, to do very few lessons, and to be out quite late in the evening. The roses were in bloom, the fields smelt sweet with new-mown hay, the strawberries were ripe: it was glorious June weather.

But at Upwell, though it was quite as hot, it was not by any means so beautiful. There the narrow dusty streets were stifling; the sun's fierce rays beat down on the houses all day, and when night came, it brought no coolness or relief, and there seemed no air to breathe. It was not so bad for the people who could get away from the town when their work was done, into the fields and lanes for a while; but there were some who were old or sick and could not move, and amongst these was poor Becky. She got thinner and whiter and weaker as the hot days followed each other, and though she was very patient, and always ready to say, "Better, thank you," with a smile, when her visitors asked how she was, she did not really feel better at all.

But though this was the case, she was not unhappy, and the days were seldom long and weary as they used to be, for she now had three friends who paid her constant visits--Philippa, Maisie, and Dennis. To expect their coming, to think of all they had said, and how they had looked, were such new pleasures that Becky was now more than contented with her lot. Some day she was going to get well, and run about again, and perhaps dance to the organ in the street; meanwhile she had her kitten, and she had her friends; it was all much better than it used to be.

Amongst the three, she perhaps looked forward the least to seeing Philippa, who never came without an offering of some kind--a picture-book, or something nice to eat. Philippa tried hard to please, but there was always a little condescension in her manner, from which her cousins were quite free.

Maisie and Dennis seldom brought any present but a bunch of flowers, or a few strawberries, yet they seemed to leave behind them many other pleasant things to think of, which lasted until they came again. So Becky, in spite of aches and pains, thought herself very lucky just now, and would indeed have been surprised to know that there were still luckier days waiting for her not very far off.

For, meeting Dr Price in Upwell one day, Aunt Katharine stopped to speak to him, and asked what he thought of Becky, and whether she would soon get stronger. Dr Price shook his head.

"I can't do much more for her," he said, "all the while she has to stop in that stuffy room and get no fresh air. She ought to be out all day this weather. A month in the country would give her a chance."

A month in the country! Aunt Katharine drove home full of thought, and instead of stopping at Fieldside, went straight on to the Manor Farm.

Could Mrs Solace tell her, she asked, after describing Becky's condition in a moving manner, of any suitable place in the village where the child could be lodged for a while? Now, if Mrs Solace had a weakness, it was to nurse and pet up anything ailing or delicate, and restore it to health. She did wonders with weakly chickens, invalid cows, and other creatures on the farm requiring care and comfort.

"Why shouldn't the child come here, Miss Chester?" she asked at once.

"Well, of course," replied Aunt Katharine, inwardly rejoiced at her success, "if you don't mind the trouble--"

No trouble at all, Mrs Solace declared, with her large beaming smile.

There would be new milk for her, and fresh air, and the garden to sit in, and the beasts to amuse her; and she'd be better off than anywhere in the village. As to Andrew--certainly there had been a time when Andrew wouldn't have wished to encourage the Tuvvys, but that was over and done with. Tuvvy was as steady as you please now, and a valuable workman, and they'd be pleased to do anything for his child. Before Aunt Katharine left, the very hour and day of Becky's arrival were fixed. She was to come back in one of Mr Solace's wagons, which had to carry a load to Upwell station.

"She'll travel easiest so," said Mrs Solace, "because she can lie flat; and there's a tilt to the cart, so she'll be well shaded from the sun."

In this way, a few days later, Becky performed the journey between Upwell and Fieldside, not without a little fear and trembling at going so far into the wide world. When the moment came, it was hard to leave the dim room, the uneasy couch, the things she knew so well; and the look of the bright sunshine outside dazzled her unaccustomed eyes and made her blink. She had, however, two great comforts. Dan had begged a day's holiday that he might see her safely to the Manor Farm, and Mrs Solace had invited the grey kitten to come also. With these two friends to support her, Becky felt some courage, and after all, although she did not know Mr or Mrs Solace, there would be father at work quite near, and visits from the children at Fieldside.

Mr Solace's big wagon seemed to fill Market Street. The four iron-grey horses tossed all their gleaming bra.s.s medals with a jingling sound, as they stamped impatiently at the flies and gnats.

"We'll not have a heavy load home along, anyway," said George the carter, as he lifted Becky and her little bundle carefully on to the mattress in the wagon, "and you'll ride like a queen."

When she was comfortably settled, with Dan by her side holding the kitten in a hamper, the journey began. Not a hurried or discomposing one, for the grey horses, knowing that there was plenty of time before them, never changed their pace from a stately walk the whole way. So the wagon rolled majestically along through the noisy streets, out into the quiet open country, and carried Becky towards new scenes and fresh faces. The children at Fieldside had entreated permission to go and receive her on her arrival, but this Aunt Katharine would not allow.

"She will be tired, and perhaps rather shy at coming amongst strangers,"

she said; "the fewer people she sees at first the better. Leave her to Mrs Solace."

So Dennis and Maisie had to content themselves with seeing the wagon pa.s.s through the village, and knowing that Becky was in it. The next day Tuvvy stopped on his way home to say that she was not much tired, and doing finely, and Mrs Solace would be glad if Miss Maisie and Master Dennis would call in to see her. It was most provoking after this, that quite suddenly, following weeks of fine bright weather, the rain began, and would not leave off. Day after day one steady downpour: streaming window-panes, great puddles in the garden paths, grey sky, and wet green leaves.

"_Isn't_ it unlucky for Becky?" said Maisie, looking out of the play-room window at the dreary dripping scene. "She won't be able to go out at all."

"It's unlucky for every one," answered Dennis. "Mr Solace doesn't want rain with nearly all his hay down."

Maisie's eyes were fixed on the gra.s.s-plot beneath the window, where a company of starlings were busily engaged digging for worms and grubs.

"It isn't unlucky for quite every one," she remarked; "the birds like it."

"But the worms don't," added Dennis quickly.

Maisie was silent. She had a tender heart, but she disliked worms very much, and was always filled with disgust and fear when she dug them up in her little garden. She could not feel quite so sorry for them as she did for other things in trouble.

"There's one good thing," resumed Dennis, after a little silence, "it _can't_ go on raining much longer, because of Mrs Solace's strawberry party. It's certain to clear up in time for that."

Maisie agreed. "But," she added with a sigh, "that's a whole week off, and I do so want to see how Becky and the kitten are getting on."

Mrs Solace's strawberry party was a yearly entertainment which she always gave in June, just when the strawberries were ripe, and the children considered it the very best party in the summer. Others might be grander: at the vicarage, for instance, there was always a band, and at the Broadbents' there were glee-singers and ices; but when all attractions had been counted up, the Manor Farm still remained the place which pleased them most. Every one went to Mrs Solace's party, and came away with a feeling that they had spent a pleasant time. The vicar and his sister never missed it; Aunt Katharine and the children, the Broadbents, and others owning farms near Fieldside--even Dr Price, who was shy of gatherings in general--all met and talked to each other with smiling faces in the pretty old garden at the Manor Farm. Tea, with heaped-up dishes of strawberries, and a plentiful supply of cream, stood ready on little tables under the veranda, so that people could help themselves when and how they liked. Nothing could be more simple than Mrs Solace's preparations, and yet her party was always successful. She asked every one, paying no attention at all to family quarrels or the niceties of social position amongst the neighbouring farmers, and yet there were no haughty looks. Even the Broadbents, who were always prepared to be a little superior to every one, laid aside their elegant exclusiveness, and descended to the common ground of unaffected good-nature and enjoyment.

Perhaps one of the great reasons that made the party so pleasant was, that you might, as Dennis had said, always count on having a fine day.

However wet or dull or cold it had been, the weather was sure to clear, and the sun to shine, for Mrs Solace, just on that special occasion, so that the children had grown to expect it as a matter of course. And yet another reason lay in the simple kindliness and good-will of Mrs Solace herself. The genial warmth of her welcome spread itself abroad and influenced her guests, much as the bountiful rays of the sun turned all the flowers and fruit to colour and sweetness in her garden. Sour looks, stiff manners, and peevish remarks seemed out of place, and as impossible on that day as cold winds, a cloudy sky, or unripe strawberries.

Mrs Solace had her usual luck this year: by the time the day of the party came, the rain was over and gone, and the sun was shining so brightly, that clouds and greyness were quite forgotten.

Philippa had come over from Haughton to go with her cousins; and the children, who always thought Aunt Katharine started much too late, begged that they might walk over earlier alone.

"We want to have a good long time with Becky, you see," said Maisie; "and we shan't be in any one's way."

When they arrived, therefore, at the door in the long grey wall which skirted the Manor Farm garden, they felt sure they were the very first guests, and walked slowly towards the house, expecting to meet Becky at every turn; for after a whole week at the farm, she surely ought to be running about as if there were nothing the matter with her!

But there was no Becky, nor any one else to be seen in the garden. The flowers and the bees had it all to themselves, and were blooming and buzzing away as happily as possible, with no one to notice them. After the rain, all the blossoms looked as bright and fresh as though they had just put on new clothes to do honour to Mrs Solace's party; and, indeed, they always seemed to enjoy their lives, and to bloom more abundantly here than anywhere else.

Aunt Katharine was proud of her garden, and took a great deal of pains to make her flowers do well; but with all her best efforts, they did not flourish like these, and yet there was so little trouble taken about them. They grew very much how they would and where they would. When they got too thick, they were weeded out; and when one sort died, it was renewed in exactly the same place year after year. Some which were left entirely to their own way, like the snapdragons, seemed to thrive best of all. These thrust themselves into the crevices of the old wall, waved in triumph along the top of it, and had sown themselves industriously at the sides of the garden paths, reaching out their velvety, glowing mouths from the most unexpected places, for the dusty-legged humble bees to dive into.

Certainly the bees had a fine time of it in the Manor garden, and plenty of sweetness to choose from, amongst the herbs, roses, and pinks which were mixed up together with the vegetables. These were separated by a wall from the lawn and flower-garden, and when the farmhouse came in view, the children saw that they were not the first visitors after all, for there were figures moving about under the deep veranda, and soon they were able to make out Becky sitting in a big wicker-chair with a cushion at her back.

"And she's got on my pink sun-bonnet that Aunt Katharine sent her," said Maisie.

All the way along they had been talking of Becky, and felt that they had a great deal to ask her about her journey, and what she thought of the Manor Farm; but now that they were here, and had shaken hands with her, a sudden silence fell on them all. Somehow Becky in her new surroundings struck them as a sort of stranger, and they stood round her, looking shyly at each other, without finding anything to say. This did not suit Philippa.

"Come and show me where the strawberry beds are," she said to Dennis, and when they had run away together, Maisie drew up a chair and sat down by Becky's side.

"How do you like being here?" she asked.

Becky had a faint tinge of colour in her face now, like a China rose washed in the rain; her dark eyes looked brighter, and when she smiled, something that would soon be a dimple showed in her cheek.

"Very well, thank you," she answered. "I can walk a bit now. This morning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I'm goin' to try and get up to the big tree."

"Very well" might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm to unaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the term to express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content.

From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched the arrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes, and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn.

"It's like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern," said Maisie; "we're in the shadow and they're in the light. Now I'll tell you who they are. Here's Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian."

Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make many excuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent.

"He's such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn't he, girls?

I said this morning, 'Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon, and leave things to your bailiff for once.' But no. 'The master's eye,' he says, 'does more work than both his hands.'"