The Carroll Girls Part 22

"It is something for your room." But Poppy was equally delighted with the little blue pincushion, with her name, 'Poppy,' outlined in bright new pins. "It is stuffed with tiny, soft, beautiful feathers from our own hens," explained Angela. "I've been saving them, and Anna baked them for me."

They all agreed that it was a perfectly lovely birthday morning, one of the nicest they had ever known, and when the presents had been examined and discussed, Anna's pretty writing-paper came in for a long examination.

"I like mine best," said Esther, and all agreed they each preferred their own.

"Mine ought to have had poppies on it," said their little namesake; "but I do like roses best."

"Anna gave you the roses because the rose is the queen of flowers, and you are the queen of the day, I expect."

Then Anna came in to call them, and at the sight of the four figures in the bed immediately collapsed on to a seat by the door, and laughed and laughed until they laughed too from the infection of it.

"We'd best stop ourselves," she said presently, rising, and trying to make her face very grave. "Laugh before breakfast, cry before night, they do say; and we don't want no tears this day, do we?"

"Oh no," they all agreed, and tried very hard to draw long serious faces at once; but it was difficult on a birthday, and holiday, with the sun shining, and the birds singing, and tea in the kitchen in prospect.

When Poppy presently danced singing down to breakfast, she found by her plate another present--a pretty scarlet housewife from Cousin Charlotte, containing a little pair of scissors, a silver thimble, a case of needles, a stiletto, a bodkin, and two of the tiniest reels of silk she had ever seen. When the case was closed it looked like a dear little red hand-bag.

There was a letter, too, from Canada from father, for the mail happened to come in that very day. Such a nice letter it was--so full of love for his little daughter, and longing to see her, and all of them. "Sometimes I feel I cannot bear this exile from my little ones any longer," he wrote.

"If I do run away from here and return, will you help to make a home for your old father and mother? or will you want to remain with Cousin Charlotte always? Give her my love and grateful thanks for all her kindness to my chicks."

Angela cried a little over this letter. "I don't believe father is a bit happy out there," she said. "I do wish he would come home and live here, and mother too. It would be so jolly, and I'm sure they would love it."

A little cloud of sadness rested on them for a while, but for Poppy's sake they put away all sad thoughts, and began to make all kinds of nice plans for the day, and before very long they were all as merry as grigs.

Cousin Charlotte was really very pleased when she heard of Anna's invitation.

"I wish you were coming too," cried Esther, "then it would be all quite perfect,--oh, and there's Ephraim. I do think Anna ought to invite him too--don't you, Cousin Charlotte?"

"You had better ask her," said Miss Ashe with a smile. But Anna did not smile when they put the question to her. "Me ask Ephraim!" she cried indignantly. "Me ask him! No, my dears, 'tain't likely as I shall ask him to tea in my kitchen, so he needn't expect it," and she bustled away, sniffing and snorting in a perfect fury of disgust apparently. Why she should show such scorn and contempt of poor Ephraim no one could ever understand; but some very wise, sharp-eyed people had been known to say that she over-acted her contempt for all men, and Ephraim in particular, and that really--well, they even went so far as to say she had so warm a spot in her heart for him, she was always afraid some one would find it out.

But, if it was so, she acted so well that neither Ephraim nor the children ever suspected it was acting.

Having made their suggestion, and not met with the success they had expected, they turned their thoughts next to the spending of their morning. With one consent they agreed it was to be spent on the moor.

"I will wear my watch," said Esther, "and we will see how far we can get; but we will come back to 'the castle' for lunch, won't we?"

All agreed joyfully; and Miss Charlotte's permission having been obtained, Anna packed them two n.o.ble baskets of provisions, and gave them a can of milk. Poppy was loth to go away and leave her new treasures, and debated long whether she would not carry her book or her cactus with her--one would be so nice to read on the way, and the sunshine would be so good for the plant; but on the others pointing out to her that she would not be away so very long, she finally agreed to leave both in Anna's care.

"Don't you think," said Penelope, when at last, after many wanderings this way and that, they reached the castle, and she had dropped her basket and thrown herself on the ground beside it--"don't you think we might leave the baskets and can here? It will be ever so much nicer not to have to carry them all the way, and I should think they would be quite safe if we hide them very carefully."

All agreed at once that it was a splendid idea, and quite safe, for they scarcely ever saw any one on the moor but themselves; and the baskets were heavy, and the milk was apt to slop, and it would be much nicer to go on with free hands.

"We will try a new way to-day, shall we?" cried Penelope; and they bore away to the right instead of keeping straight on up the slope, wandering hither and thither, it is true, but still bearing in the same direction, until presently they came out by the station.

A train was just coming in, and they stopped to watch it--a great delight to them always, for the coming and going of the trains was one of the greatest excitements of their lives. They never expected to see any one they knew; but the sight of the people in it, even if they did not get out, afforded them interest and food for talk, wondering where they were going, and whether they wanted to go or not, and making up all sorts of tales about them and the people they were going to. An engine is always fascinating, too.

To-day, though, was quite an unusual day. First Anne Roth got out, and then Miss Row and her guest Mr. Somerset. Anne left the platform first, and was walking briskly away when he caught sight of the children, and came up to them smiling and bowing.

"How is Mademoiselle?" asked Esther, who never forgot her inquiries.

"Not very well, m'amzelle," Anne answered sadly. "I think she is suffering, and her spirits are low. If m'amzelle could find time to come and cheer her, she would be glad, I know, and it would do her much good."

He glanced at the others; but they had learned that Esther disliked any encroachment on what she considered her rights.

"Oh, yes, I will come," she answered gladly. "I will come to-morrow.

I cannot to-day, for it is my little sister's birthday, and we have had an invitation to tea; but I will come to-morrow, and I will bring a book.

Perhaps Mademoiselle would like to be read to."

"I am sure she would," agreed Anne. "Thank you, m'amzelle. _Bon jour_ "; and with a bow which included them all, Anne hurried on.

As he went Miss Row was rapidly approaching the spot where the children stood. She looked with curious, suspicious eyes after Anne, and then at the children.

"Who is your friend?" she asked with frank curiosity..

"That is Anne Roth, Mademoiselle Leperier's man," said Esther, not without a touch of importance in tone and manner. "Mademoiselle Leperier is a friend of mine," she added. She still felt a little sore that Miss Row had pa.s.sed her over for Penelope, and she was not sorry to let her know she had friends who could appreciate her.

Mr. Somerset had been teasing Poppy in the meantime, and laughing with the others.

"What a pretty name," said Miss Row, who was very curious and wanted to find out more; but she already knew enough of Esther to understand that she must not let her curiosity be apparent.

"Yes, it is," agreed Esther, by her little vanity falling easily into the trap laid for her; "and she is so pretty, too, and she had such a lovely voice once. She was a very famous singer years ago, but she never sings now--"

Then remembering, she stopped suddenly in her chatter, colouring hotly with anger with herself, and embarra.s.sment, as she glanced round and saw all eyes fixed on her. It seemed to her that every one was listening to her indiscreet, foolish talk. Mr. Somerset had ceased playing with Poppy, and was listening with particular interest.

"Mademoiselle Leperier," he cried, drawing nearer. "You don't mean to say she is in the neighbourhood! You never told me," turning to Miss Row, "what a celebrity you had in your midst. I should so much like to meet her--quite an interesting personality. I have always wanted to know her.

Don't you know her story?" And in a few brief, cold words he gave the outline of the bitter tragedy of the singer's life.

Esther chafed and boiled with anger against them, and resentment and rage with herself. She realised to the fall now what she had done. She had destroyed Mademoiselle Leperier's peace and seclusion. She had laid her open to curiosity and unwelcome visitors, and--and she might even have driven her from that neighbourhood, and Mademoiselle would know it was her fault, and blame her, and never like her again.

Oh! it was bitter to think that she had done it, she who loved Mademoiselle so, and knew and understood her, who meant to have been such a comfort to her. Poor Esther was heartbroken as she realised it all.

Something must be done, she determined. She must do something to undo some of the mischief. She could not let things go on like this; it was too dreadful.

They turned to her full of inquiries. Where did Mademoiselle Leperier live? What did she look like? Who lived with her? etc. etc.

Esther set her lips tight. They should get no more out of her.

In the first place she could decline to tell them where Mademoiselle lived. If they determined to find out, she must find some means of preventing their going.

When Miss Row had asked three or four questions and got no answer, she began to grow annoyed. "What is the matter with you, child?

Why don't you speak when you are spoken to? Don't you know how rude it is?"

"Yes, I do know," said Esther, in a very trembling voice, "and I am very sorry, but I am not going to tell any one anything more about Mademoiselle. I--I ought not to have said anything. I promised her I wouldn't. I am _very_ sorry I did--"

"Dear me! dear me! how important we are!" cried Miss Row, whose temper was far from being one of the best. "Let me inform you that we all knew of Mademoiselle Leperier before you were born, and Mr. Somerset knew her personally--"

Mr. Somerset stepped forward, colouring a little. "I--I am afraid I can hardly claim that much," he said hastily. "She was so great and so sought after, and--and so exclusive, it was difficult to get to know her-- unless,"--with a smirk--"one were a celebrity too."

Miss Row looked at him as crossly as she had at Esther. She hated to find herself mistaken at all.

"But I thought," he went on hastily, "I would very much like to see this celebrity of a past generation, the heroine of such a romance, in her--ah --in her retirement. Perhaps she would not be so exclusive now.

A chat with her would be most interesting--such valuable 'copy.' I really must try to accomplish it. Shall we call, dear Miss Row? I am sure you and she would be mutually pleased."

Esther's feelings became too much for her. She did not know what 'copy'