The Carroll Girls Part 27

"Laugh before breakfast, cry before night," murmured Poppy in a very weary voice; but when Esther had given her a nice warm bath, and tucked her away in her little bed for a rest, her spirits had recovered. "She didn't say 'keep on crying,' did she, Essie? So perhaps I have cried enough, and it's all over. Oh my! what lovely things Anna must be cooking," sniffing in the savoury odours which were finding their way from the kitchen.

"I wonder what they are. _I_ am going to have some of _everything_, because it's my birthday," and then the little heroine of the day dropped off into a dreamless sleep, while Esther turned over their scanty stock of clothing to try to find something worthy of the occasion.

When Poppy awoke the scent of hot jams and spicy cakes, and all sorts of other good things, was stronger than ever, reminding her, the moment she opened her eyes, what day it was, and what was before her. She jumped up in bed with a start. "Oh, I haven't slept too long, have I? Esther, is it very late? Do help me to dress quick!"

"It is all right," said Esther, in a calm, rea.s.suring tone. "I am ready, and now I can attend to you. It is only four o'clock. There is plenty of time. I wouldn't have let you sleep too long, dear."

"But supposing you had slept too, and we had all slept!" Poppy's eyes grew very large and round at the mere thought of so dreadful a possibility.

"Oh my!" said Esther calmly, as she put the last finishing touches to her hair, "wouldn't it have been dreadful! Don't let's think about it."

Esther had put on her best frock and an old muslin fichu about her shoulders. The fichu was one her mother had thrown away long ago, and Esther had rescued. It was old, but it looked quite pretty and picturesque over her plain red frock. Poppy was better off than the others. She owned a little soft, white silk frock, which still looked festive and partyfied, in spite of frequent washings and not too careful ironings. Her pretty dark hair Esther tied with her own best rose-pink hair-ribbon. "Now if I had only got a sash for you, dear, your frock would look lovely."

"Never mind," said Poppy cheerfully. "I will wear my locket." From her jewel-case, as she called it, she took carefully a thread-like gold chain and a tiny old-fashioned gold locket; it had an anchor on one side and held two photographs. Poppy did not know whose photographs they were, and no one had ever been able to tell her, but she would not have had them removed for any consideration whatever. The other contents of her jewel-case were a large green malachite brooch in the shape of a Maltese cross, a tiny silver pig, and a broken gold safety-pin; but no child ever possessed treasures more greatly prized.

Before the toilette was complete Penelope and Angela came in, looking very neat and nice, and then an anxious consultation was held as to whether they ought to go down or wait until the bell rang. They compromised by going half-way and sitting on the stairs. The last few minutes did seem very long, for they were ravenous again by that time; but so prompt was Anna that before the clock began to strike the hour she came to the kitchen door, and had just begun to make a terrific clanging with the bell when they ran through from the inner hall.

"Well! 'tis a compliment, sure enough," she said, with a beaming smile, "when folks comes and waits outside for the doors to open. Come along in then, my dears. 'Tis all ready."

Anna was in her best frock with her Band of Hope scarf on, and looked flushed and pleased, and no wonder, for the kitchen looked beautiful.

It was decorated with no fewer than twenty nosegays of flowers, arranged on the dressers and mantelpiece and every available s.p.a.ce in jugs and pots and vases of every description; while on the table were bread and b.u.t.ter, 'splits' spread with jam and cream, seed-cakes, currant-cakes, an apple tart covered with cream, on a plate, and _the_ birthday cake. Oh! how good it all smelt and looked.

Anna took her seat at the head of the table before the tea-tray, with the heroine of the day on her right hand and Esther on her left.

"I hope you've all got good appet.i.tes," she said, as she handed them their cups.

"Oh yes," they said meekly, but thought, as they looked at each other, it was as well Anna did not know how good, and why.

"You look tired, I think," she went on. "You've been out too long, perhaps; but your tea will refreshen you."

Esther thought if Anna only knew all they had been through since she saw them last she would not wonder at their looking tired. She did long to pour out all their adventures to her. She would have been so interested and sympathetic, and it would have been such a relief to have talked it all over with some one older than themselves, and thus have thrown off the fear of a chance word or hint escaping one or the other of them. Once or twice the tale almost got beyond the tip of her tongue; but she thought of the curtailed freedom which might follow, so held her peace.

The others were, for a time, completely absorbed by the meal.

Never greater compliment was paid to any feast. Very soon there was not a dish on the table but what showed gaps. The 'splits' vanished in no time; the apple tart looked quite shabby. Anna was kept quite busy helping them to one thing after another. At first she fairly beamed with delight; but by and by she began to look a little perplexed.

"I suppose it _is_ a long time since you had your lunches," she said reflectively, "and the air do give one a appet.i.te. P'r'aps you hadn't better have any more tart, Miss Poppy, dear. Hadn't you better try a bit of plain bread and b.u.t.ter?" She did not like to say much, but she really began to grow quite troubled at the size of their appet.i.tes.

Before they had finished their tea Ephraim came to the door. He had tidied for the evening, but had come back with a message for Miss Charlotte.

"Oh, _do_ ask him in," pleaded Poppy earnestly. "Anna, do. It would seem so unkind to let him see us having such a _lovely_ tea and not offer him any."

"I shouldn't think he'd want any," said Anna, with seeming reluctance; but she called out to him, "Come inside, Ephraim, and close that door.

You'm keeping the young ladies in a draught. Miss Poppy wants to know if you can stay and have some of her birthday tea. You'm welcome to if you can."

Ephraim seemed able, and even glad, to stay. "I wanted to see Miss Poppy," he said. "I've got something for her, as that there furrin chap down to Edless was bringing along. I met un at the gate and told un I'd take it in for him as I was coming in," and he laid a neat white parcel on the table beside the astonished little maid.

"For me!" she cried, looking all round the table, wide-eyed with excitement. "Are you _sure_ it's for me, Ephraim?" she asked, as she began to undo the pretty ribbons which tied the parcel--rose-colour ribbons like that in her hair. The excitement of all very nearly equalled hers, and when she lifted out of the soft white paper a beautiful silk-fringed sash of the same shade, they all shrieked with joy.

"The very, very, very thing I was wanting for you just now!" cried Esther.

"Oh, how lovely! It is from Mademoiselle. How kind and beautiful of her."

Poppy handed the sash round for inspection, while she read the little note enclosed.

"It is not poppy-colour, but will my dear little market-woman accept it from a grateful customer with much love and every good wish for many happy returns of the day?"

Their excitement was so great they could not eat another mouthful, somewhat to Anna's relief, for she had really grown quite anxious lest they should make themselves ill.

Ephraim's appet.i.te almost rivalled theirs, but at last even he had done, the table was cleared, and s.p.a.ce made for games to begin. It was then that Ephraim came out in a new and unexpected light, for if any one had told Anna or the children that he could be a leading spirit in games and jokes, and riddles and such-like, they would have refused to believe it; but he proved it beyond all doubt or denial, for the next hour or two flew by with shrieks of laughter and endless fun, and Ephraim was the leader of it all.

"Anna," said Poppy, as she was being put to bed that night, "don't you like Ephraim now better than you did?"

Anna refused to own to any such weakness, but she blushed a little as she denied it.

"P'r'aps," said Angela, in a half-absent way as she brushed out her hair in Poppy's room, "p'r'aps Anna likes him so much already she can't like him better if she tries"; and Anna blushed as though Angela's chance shot had reached home.

CHAPTER XVII.

To Penelope the weeks that followed the great day were very sorrowful ones. Miss Row apparently could not forgive her. Day after day she waited, hoping for a message bidding her come to renew her lessons; but no message came, and Penelope grew sick with disappointment and grief that she should have given such offence to her good friend. She went to Cousin Charlotte about it--she had told her at once the story of how they had given offence--but Cousin Charlotte only shook her head.

"I think you cannot do anything, dear, but go and apologise if you feel you spoke rudely; but--well, to tell you the truth, Penelope, Miss Row has a most unfortunate temper. She was born with it, and she was never taught to check it, and now it is too late. I tell you this as a warning, child."

Penelope did go to Cold Harbour to apologise. She thought she would feel happier if she did; but there she only met with another blow. Miss Row had gone away, and no one knew when she would come back. Returning more dejected than ever, she looked in at the church on her way home. If she could have practised a little it would have comforted her, but the organ was locked. Miss Row had probably left the key with some one, but Penelope felt she could not ask for it, as Miss Row had not said anything to her about it; so everything seemed at a standstill and full of gloom.

Esther, meantime, was spending what were perhaps the happiest weeks she had ever known. She went to Mademoiselle Leperier three times a week to sit with her and read to her and do little things she needed done, and in return Mademoiselle gave her lessons and talked to her in French, so that very soon Esther began to feel she was becoming quite proficient in the language. So the visits were a double and a treble joy to her.

She loved to be with Mademoiselle in the dear little brown house where all was so quiet and peaceful, and nothing rubbed her the wrong way; or to stroll about the moor together. She loved to learn, and, perhaps best of all, she loved to be of use and feel she was some help. Such pleasant walks they had, and such long talks as they strolled slowly about, or sat in the sunny sweet garden, looking over the great empty s.p.a.ce where nature dwelt alone, or in the cosy little parlour, fragrant always with the scent of flowers and the pot-pourri with which the old blue bowls and teapots were filled. One of Esther's self-appointed duties was to keep the vases always fresh and sweet.

The days were very full and happy now for Esther. She had quite a number of duties at Moor Cottage, duties that were now left entirely to her, and for which she was held responsible. She worked hard at her studies with Cousin Charlotte, and she was still to some extent 'little mother' to Poppy, so her mind and her time were very much occupied. This perhaps made her a little blind to Penelope's distress, yet poor Penelope's distress was very complete and apparent, for Miss Row had been away for months, and never once in all that time had she sent a word to her little pupil. The truth was she was so absorbed, as was her habit, in the people and things she was amongst that she quite forgot all else.

It was Angela who felt most distressed by Penelope's trouble, and most sympathetic; and Angela it was who, on one of her rare visits to Edless, told the tale to Mademoiselle Leperier.

"Poor child, poor child," sighed Mademoiselle sympathetically, and asked many questions until she drew from Angela all details, even to what Mr. Somerset had said about her voice. "Ah!" she said. "It ought not to be neglected, it ought not to be neglected. It will soon be too late."

She said no more then; but when Angela and Esther were leaving she sent a message to Penelope. "Tell her to come to me to-morrow. We may be able perhaps to do something that will fill up the waiting time."

Angela returned home in a high state of joy, which was scarcely damped by Esther's silence during the first part of their walk, or her vexed remark, "I do think you should know better than pour out all the family troubles to Mademoiselle. I wonder you didn't ask her to teach--" but she stopped before she finished what she had been going to say. "You three never go there but what you make me wish you hadn't."

"But I haven't done anything, Esther. Mademoiselle asked how Pen was, and when I told her she was very unhappy about something she asked me why, and what it was, and I had to tell her; and then she just asked me all about it, and I--I told her. I couldn't help it--could I? I couldn't say I wouldn't."

"Penelope isn't very unhappy, nothing to make such a fuss about," grumbled Esther. "When _I_ am unhappy no one takes any notice of me. I don't see anything wrong with her."

"Oh, don't you? I do. She is always so quiet, not like she used to be.

She frets so about having vexed Miss Row, and not going on with her music."

"If Miss Row had acted so to me I should have too much pride to grieve.

Why doesn't Penelope ask Mr. Jeffry to lend her the key of the organ?

He would in a moment."