The Carroll Girls Part 17

"But I could never sing before so many people, Cousin Charlotte," said Angela. "I wouldn't mind so much if it was only just ourselves, but I am sure I couldn't sing before strangers."

"Then, dear, it will be good for you in another way. You must learn to get over your self-consciousness. You must not imagine the eyes of every one are on you. You must try to forget all about yourself. Remember that every one there has a lot else to think about, and that you are only one little person amongst a number." Cousin Charlotte laid her hand on Angela's to take away any seeming severity from her words.

"I know Miss Row is always trying to make up a choir, and she has such difficulty. You would be doing her a real kindness if you help her; and I know you would like to do that," with a smile at Esther.

Esther sighed. "Yes," she said hesitatingly. "But--but can't one ever do things just in the way one likes, Cousin Charlotte? There are lots of kind things I should love to do."

"We may choose, generally, whether we will do a thing or not, or whether we will do it in our way, or the way that is mapped out for us.

But usually if we choose our own, it is ourselves we please, and not the person we are doing it for. But this we can always do, dearie--if we have to do a thing we do not like, we can teach ourselves to like to do it."

"It sounds like a riddle," said Penelope.

"It very often is," said Miss Charlotte. "But am sure you will all grow to love your singing and your choir when the first shyness is over, and then you will be glad you gave in, and did not choose your own way.

And of one thing you may be quite sure: if, as you think, you have no voices, Miss Row will soon tell you so, and you will not be bothered any more about having to sing."

But, after all, somehow it did not seem to them that that was what they wanted.

CHAPTER XI.

To the girls' relief they were not expected to appear at the very next choir practice. Miss Charlotte had a talk with her friend, which tempered her enthusiasm with common sense, with the result that the children had their voices tried and two or three lessons given them before they were expected to appear in public, with the result that poor Poppy, the only one who really longed to be in the choir, was the only one denied that honour. All their voices were p.r.o.nounced quite good. But Poppy was too young; it would strain her voice, she was told, and to her chagrin she had to sit in an ordinary pew with Miss Ashe while the others sat in what Poppy called the 'dear little' choir stalls in the chancel.

But, to show her defiance of this objectionable, and, as she thought, unnecessary care for her voice, she sang always at the top of it.

It happened often that she did not know the right words, but she always managed to pick up the tune quickly, and with just one sentence to repeat over and over again, she got along to her own satisfaction, at any rate convinced in her own mind that it would not be very long before they would be glad to _ask_ her to come into the choir.

So the days flew by and the summer slipped away; autumn had gone and winter, almost, before they realised it, so full were their days with their lessons and their singing, their housework and gardening, walks on the moor, and games and play. By degrees, as Miss Charlotte had foretold, each had made a little niche for herself. Esther had obtained almost complete charge of the drawing-room--no one else dusted it or arranged a flower in it. Penelope sometimes tried to find room in it for one of her pet plants, but unless permission was asked, and Esther chose the place where it might stand, the treasure was certain to be found 'in the way.'

She dusted their own bedrooms, too, and helped to make the beds, and did lots of other little duties; and at Christmas, to her great delight, Miss Charlotte had given her the much-longed-for sleeves and ap.r.o.ns.

Angela had become, meantime, almost sole mistress of the hens and the eggs. She had begun by just collecting the eggs, and washing and marking them, and she did her work so well that no one else ever thought of troubling about them; and before very long, to her enormous pride, she was given the task of packing them for market. And oh! the joy of it! the pleasure she took in laying the rich brown and creamy-white eggs in cosy nests in the sweet-smelling hay; her pride in their appearance! The only flaw in her happiness was the fact that she could not carry the basket and dispose of the contents herself to the customers. She pictured herself turning back the snow-white cloth from the top of the basket, and counting out her beloved treasures one by one.

After that she began to feed the fowls, and keep account of the corn that was used, and the number of eggs that were laid. Anna consulted her quite gravely about the house sc.r.a.ps.

Perhaps, though, the very happiest day of all her life, at any rate the proudest, was that on which Fluffikins laid her first egg. Angela, when she saw it and the little hen strutting up and down before the nest in which it lay, stood in a kind of speechless ecstasy, much as a young author when his first work has been accepted, or an artist before his first completed picture. Then she held out her arms to the proud Fluffikins, who mounted to her shoulder, clucking happily; and, rubbing their cheeks against one another, they gazed ecstatically at the precious egg.

"Oh, Fluff, I _am_ so sorry to take it from you," she cried, "but I _must_ show it to Cousin Charlotte. Fluff, you darling, do go on and lay lots more. I want one every day, then you shall sit on some, and hatch out some dear little baby chicks of your very own; and you shall live with me till you are an old, old bird, Fluffikins darling, and no one shall dare to--to--" she hesitated to name the dreadful word 'kill,'--"shall interfere with you. You are what they call the 'founder' of my fortune, you precious bird."

She did not take the egg in to show to Miss Charlotte after all.

She thought of another plan. She took it in and showed it to Anna, and to the girls, who gazed at it and marvelled at its beauty, but Miss Charlotte was not to see it until it appeared on her plate at tea, with an inscription on it to say whose it was.

It hurt Angela very much to deprive poor Fluffikins of her treasure, but, while she was not looking, she slipped another new, warm egg in the nest in its place, and hoped the dear bird would not see through the fraud; and Miss Charlotte did deserve the honour, after all her goodness to Fluff and her mistress; in fact they were pledged to it.

Cousin Charlotte could not suppress a slight start of surprise when she saw the black-speckled thing in the egg-cup on her plate; but she was as pleased as the girls could wish when she read, 'My and Fluff's first egg for you,' and a.s.sured them, as she ate it under their united gaze, that she had never in her life tasted a better one.

Poppy had const.i.tuted herself every one's hand-maiden and handy-maiden.

If she were allowed to have a duster and dust-brush and help Esther, her cup of joy was full, but she was just as pleased to run to the post, or to the shops, or to help Ephraim gather windfalls in the orchard, dig potatoes, or a.s.sist Anna in any way she was allowed to. And now that her parsley bed was really in full growth, in spite of its troubled beginning, she was very full of happy importance. To be asked if she could spare a pennyworth of parsley filled her with pleasure for days.

"I never saw anything like it," she would say seriously, shaking her little purse the while. "It only cost me a penny, and I've made fourpence by it already. I wonder every one doesn't grow parsley."

"If they did, dear, there would be no one to sell to," Cousin Charlotte explained.

Of them all Penelope did least to help. She had her flowers--quite a collection of them now. "But she doesn't do anything with them,"

complained Esther one day.

"They make the house pretty," urged Angela, always ready to defend her room-mate, "and they make our room so sweet and pretty."

"But she should try to sell them," argued Esther, "or--or do something.

She seems to have forgotten all about helping Cousin Charlotte."

"She doesn't get much time," pleaded Angela, "by the time her lessons are done, and her organ lesson, and the practice, and her reading--she always reads for an hour a day, sometimes more. And--and there isn't any one here to sell flowers to--"

At that moment Penelope herself dashed in on them, her eyes dancing, her face glowing. "Oh, girls, what _do_ you think?" she cried, as she flung her music-case on to one chair, her hat on another, and herself on a third.

"What?" asked Esther, as she picked up the music-case and straightened the cushion it had knocked over.

"Oh, _do_ tell, do tell quick," urged Angela.

"Well!" sitting up and clasping her hands tight in an ecstasy of pleasure, "you know Miss Row has friends staying with her."

"Yes; but I don't see much in that to be excited about," said Esther.

"Well, one of them is called Mr. Somerset, and he is a musician, and he-- he heard me sing. Miss Row made me sing on purpose. I was awfully frightened, but I got through all right, and--and what _do_ you think he said?"

Esther felt the old demon jealousy clutching at her heart at once.

"I don't know, I'm sure," she said coldly. "Do tell if you are going to, Penelope. I am too busy to wait."

"Oh, what?" gasped Angela, with eager, questioning eyes.

"He said,"--in an impressive, almost awed voice--"he said I had the promise of a very fine voice, and--and no expense ought to be spared in training it!" Penelope repeated the words slowly, like one in a dream.

"Oh, Pen!" Angela gasped, almost speechless with delight, "did he really?"

Pen nodded.

"What nonsense!" said Esther, in a strained voice, quite unlike her usual tones.

Angela turned on her reproachfully. "Essie, aren't you glad?"

"Of course I am," snapped Esther shortly; "but it is so silly to put such things into people's heads when there _is_ no money. I suppose he thinks we all ought to give up everything for this, and--and never thinks that the rest of us might like to--to have lessons--"

Esther really did not mean a tenth of the hard things she was saying, and she hated herself for saying them, but that wretched temper of hers got the upper hand of her again. She knew she was being mean and unkind, and it added to her vexation; but she had not the strength of will to get the better of it. In her calmer moments she longed to be one of those who could rise above such mean jealousies, and be unselfish and brave and strong, but when the trial came she succ.u.mbed.

Penelope was too lost in happy dreams, though, to heed or be hurt by Esther's remarks.

"Of course I can't have it trained, but all the same I _am_ glad I have a nice voice," she said in a happy, dreamy voice. "Fancy me, _me_, with a beautiful voice! Isn't it strange? Doesn't it seem as though it can't be true? Oh, I _am_ so happy!"

"I always loved to hear you sing, dear," said Angela, seating herself on the ground at Penelope's feet and hugging her sister's knees.