The Carroll Girls Part 30

The bedrooms, all but Mr. and Mrs. Carroll's, were very tiny. One was so small it would only hold one little bed.

"But where is the fourth chick to roost?" asked their father anxiously.

"You don't expect one to sit up while the other sleeps, I hope?" laughing.

But Cousin Charlotte, to whom he spoke, did not laugh back. "I--I wondered," she said, looking up at him very wistfully, as though she knew she was asking a great deal--"I wondered, Ronald, if you would spare me one, at--at least until I have got used to losing them all. I know it is a good deal to ask you, but--I shall be so very lonely--" poor Cousin Charlotte's voice quavered--"and as your house is so small I wondered if you would let me still keep my Esther?"

Esther started, and a sense of disappointment made her heart sink.

Remembering her mother's dislike of housekeeping, and her incapacity, Esther had all this time been picturing herself as housekeeper and real mistress of this dear little home, presiding over the kitchen and the neat little maid and generally distinguishing herself as cook and housewife.

She had known, of course, that there was only room for three of them there, but she had, somehow, thought of Angela as being the one to remain with Cousin Charlotte, because, perhaps, of her fowls, and her position as mistress of the poultry yards.

For the first few moments, therefore, when she heard Cousin Charlotte's request, she felt a deep pang of disappointment. "But mother will need me here," she was just about to say, when there rushed over her the memory of all Cousin Charlotte had done for them, her goodness and patience, her generosity and unselfishness, and now her loneliness,--and all her feelings changed.

"She is my right hand," Cousin Charlotte went on pathetically. "I do not know what I should do without her now!"

Then how glad Esther was that she had not spoken, and oh! the joy and pride that filled her heart, the deep, deep happiness of knowing that she had been of real use and comfort, that some one really needed her.

With only a little effort she put aside all her feeling about the new home, and determined, if her parents consented, to go blithely with Cousin Charlotte, and never, never, never let her know of that moment's unwillingness.

Consent was given, of course. How could they refuse to spare one to her who had taken them all and made her home theirs when they had no other, and had loved and cared for them, and guided them so well and faithfully without hope of reward?

Mr. Carroll was only too happy to be able to do something in return.

"I think it will be good for Penelope, too, to have a few housekeeping duties," said Cousin Charlotte, smiling as she laid her gentle hand on Pen's shoulder. "It will help to balance the dreamy side of her--at any rate until Angela grows older; while Angela--well, Angela is a born housekeeper and farmer combined, and I prophesy that within a year or so she will be keeping the house and all of you in such order and comfort as to be a pattern to the country round."

Angela's face grew radiant. "I'd love to," she said joyously; "but I wish--the only thing I wish is that we could all live together.

I don't want to leave you, Cousin Charlotte, yet I want to be with--you understand, don't you?"

Yes, Cousin Charlotte understood. They all felt the same; but when the three had left their old home for the new one it was only, as one might say, to live in two houses instead of one, for never a day pa.s.sed but what they were down at Miss Charlotte's, and so the change was not such a wrench as all had feared. Miss Charlotte insisted on continuing to teach them all--at any rate, she said, until they were obliged to go away to school.

Mademoiselle Leperier, who actually went to call on Mrs. Carroll, declared her health and spirits were so much improved by the new interest the children had provided her with that she begged to be allowed to give them all lessons in French, and singing, too.

"I foresee that I shall have no housekeeper after all," said Mrs. Carroll with a sigh, "but I suppose I shall manage somehow, and the children are being educated, which is something. One must think of them first, I suppose."

Esther felt a pang of doubt when she heard the words. Ought she not, after all, to give up her happy home with Cousin Charlotte, where by this time she had completely settled down, and come up to take care of her mother? She would see but little of Mademoiselle if she did, she saw that plainly, and there would be very little time for study, but there was her father to think of, and his comfort.

But when she laid her doubts before her father and Cousin Charlotte, they bade her put them out of her head. She tried to, though she doubted their advice; and it was only years later, when she was a well-educated, cultured woman, full of interests and good aims, that she understood the wisdom of Cousin Charlotte's plan in taking her away, at least until her education was complete, from where she would have become little but a household drudge, worked beyond her strength, her talents, her greatest interests undeveloped, her temper irritated and ruined as it was when first she came to Dorsham; and she felt deeply grateful for the understanding and loving care which had surrounded her at so critical a time.

CHAPTER XIX.

Five years have gone by since Mr. and Mrs. Carroll returned from Canada to the little house on the moor which they have never left, or desired to leave, since.

Mr. Carroll's health suffered severely from the long strain and the rigour of his life abroad, and he was never again fit for hard work.

But grandpapa Carroll, recognising the brave fight he had made, forgave him the misfortunes he had met with earlier and altered his will, so that when he died, not long after Mr. Carroll's return, the little family, though still obliged to be economical, and not above being glad of the girls' little earnings, were placed beyond all want.

Esther still lived with Cousin Charlotte, the prop and mainstay of the house, for Anna had married Ephraim and moved into the cottage next door to Mrs. Bennett's. Angela, pulling her bow at a venture on that birthday night, so long ago now, had hit the truth when she said that Anna could not think better of Ephraim after that evening because she thought so well of him already. A truth Ephraim found out for himself in time, though it took him two years longer to do so.

Finding it was no use waiting to speak until he found her in a gentle mood he spoke out then and there, and no one could decide whether Anna was most astonished at being asked or Ephraim at being accepted. However, when once the need for concealment of her true feelings was over Anna's manner to Ephraim changed so markedly that Ephraim often stopped to wonder if the woman he had married could possibly be the one who had led him such a life before. Love can work miracles, Ephraim found, and came to the conclusion that whether she was the same or not he was quite content.

It was a great blow to Miss Charlotte to lose her Anna, but more than one nice little maiden was only too anxious to come to 'a place' where the last servant had stayed twenty years; and Esther, and the fortunate maid chosen to fill Anna's shoes, combined to prevent Miss Charlotte feeling her loss too deeply.

Esther's hands had grown very full as time had gone on, and the fuller they grew the happier she was. Slowly and almost imperceptibly Miss Charlotte gave up more and more of her work, and took life easily, feeling she could leave all to her Esther, and know that all was well.

Angela's hens were moved to Four Winds, and Esther took over the responsibility of the poultry yard as well as the house and the kitchen and the new maid. But in the midst of all her duties she contrived to give a good deal of her time to her dearly loved Mademoiselle, for Mademoiselle was failing, and those who loved her best knew that not for very much longer would they have the joy of her presence.

Penelope was away in London, studying with all her heart and strength, for in the sweet pure air of the moor her voice had developed beyond everyone's expectation, and Mademoiselle Leperier never rested until she had been sent to study under a distinguished master. The question as to ways and means had been a very serious one, but while it was being anxiously discussed, and almost abandoned in despair, Miss Row came forward, and with unwonted delicacy asked to be allowed to play the part of fairy G.o.dmother to her favourite.

"I shall only be laying out a little to buy myself a big return some day,"

she pleaded. "If you will let me have a share in Penelope's success the kindness will be all on your part."

So Penelope went away from their midst to stirring scenes of life and work, weeping at leaving her beloved moor, and vowing to return as soon and as often as might be,--a vow she never forgot.

Angela's dream in time was realised too. Her dream poultry farm became a real one, and the most successful in the country. Very slowly at first she added penny to penny, then shilling to shilling, then pound to pound, until at last, instead of building more hens' houses, she bought a cow.

It was an experiment, and one those about doubted the success of; but Angela never doubted, and presently another cow was added to her stock, and soon after that they all moved to a small farm, where Poppy had to become the little housewife, for Angela's time was quite taken up with her dairy.

Poppy's market-gardening scheme never got beyond the bed of parsley.

With that one success she decided to be satisfied. "It was a most wonderful pennyworth," she often remarked, "for it brought me quite a lot of money, and Mademoiselle as a friend, and nothing could have been better than that."

"Nothing," said Esther softly. "Life is very wonderful, Poppy dear, isn't it?"

"Very," answered Poppy sagely, with a serious shake of her curly head.

One last scene before we bid them all good-bye!

It is Easter time once more. In the orchards and woods the daffodils are bowing their golden heads, as though awed by the beauty of the pear-blossom spreading between them and the glorious blue sky.

The hedges are starred with primroses, daisies, and king-cups, the air is sweet with the scent of flowers and the fresh earth. Everything seems br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with sunshine and happiness and joy of living. Easter is in the heart of all things animate and inanimate.

Up in 'the Castle' the four girls are gathered as of old, but with one big gap in their circle. Guard, dear old Guard, will never accompany them more in their wanderings. He sleeps his last long sleep in the breast of the moor he loved so well. Yet he is with them in spirit and thought, for he lies buried close beside 'the Castle,' and they feel he is near them whenever they go there.

Easter is in their hearts, too, for Penelope is home for her holidays and Angela has just returned from a much-dreaded duty visit to Aunt Julia, and their joy at being together again is intense.

Penelope lies in her old att.i.tude, flat on the moor, one cheek pressed close to its breast, her eyes gazing in a perfect rapture of delight over the length and breadth of it.

"I _almost_ think," she says softly, "it is worth going away to have the joy of coming home again; to step out of that dear little station, and then to turn the corner and see--this," waving her hand in a wide sweep.

"Oh, girls, shall you ever forget the first time we came, and how we dreaded it, and how shy we were, and frightened--"

"Until we saw Cousin Charlotte," chimed in Esther. "I never felt frightened after that."

"And do you remember," burst in Angela, "our dear little rooms, and how lovely it all looked when we came that night, and dear old Guard,"--her voice wavered and dropped--"came out to meet us, and Anna?"

"And I was so troubled about our clothes because we were so shabby, and-- but it never seemed to matter much. Cousin Charlotte made everything come right. Isn't it wonderful, all that has happened just through mother's writing to Cousin Charlotte, and Cousin Charlotte being able to take us!"

"Wonderful," said Penelope softly; and back to her mind as through a vague dream came a vision of a child lying amidst the long coa.r.s.e gra.s.s of an untidy garden, with b.u.t.terflies, yellow and white and brown, flitting about over her head, while through her mind as she watched them pa.s.sed visions and dreams of the future, and vague wonderings as to what it would bring.

"And this is what it has brought," she thought to herself. "I shall not be afraid to take the next step now. G.o.d has been so good to us."