The Carroll Girls Part 5

They flew to it to look out, and there before them lay the river winding in and out on its crooked course, and beyond it the moor stretching away, as far as the eye could see, to where, in the distance, it melted into the sky. The beauty of it so fascinated them that it was not until later they noticed all the remaining charms of the room--the little white bookcase full of books, the chairs on either side of the windows, the two white chests of drawers, one for each of them, and provided with a key, too, and the charming blue carpet on the floor.

"I hope we don't do any harm," said Esther nervously. To her, accustomed to the shabby bare rooms at home, ill-kept and untidy, it looked almost too dainty and pretty to use.

"I am quite sure you will not," said Miss Ashe, who appeared to have no fears. "Now this is the sunniest side of the house, and I think, perhaps, the Poppy ought to have the sun."

Poppy laughed. The idea pleased her, and, as though to claim possession, threw her hat on to one of the chairs.

"Now, come along, or tea will be ready before we are." Out they trooped excitedly, each delighted in her own particular way. "That is my room,"

said Miss Ashe, touching the next door, which was closed. "My window looks towards the station, along the road we came just now." She did not say she had given up the pretty room they had just quitted, in order that they might have the sunshine.

At the back of the square gallery she threw open another door. "This is your other room," she said; and Penelope, who was standing by her, gave one long, low cry of pleasure, and was across the room in a moment.

"Oh!" she gasped, "oh my!" She could not find words to express the feelings which rushed over her as her eyes fell on the view without--the pretty garden full of flowers, enclosed within a stone wall, and beyond that the old brown moor stretching far and wide in every direction, until it broke like a brown sea about the foot of the distant hills. Here and there were lesser tors and piles of rock, and little footpaths through the heather, and pools which gleamed with a cold light in the light of the evening sky. It was wild, weird, fascinating.

"I think you, at any rate, should have this room," said Miss Ashe, smiling, well pleased at Penelope's delight. The rest of the children were looking interestedly about them. "As this has a colder aspect I thought it should be made to look warmer," Miss Ashe explained; and indeed the warm red carpet, and the dark-red roses nestling against deep-green leaves on the walls, gave it a very cosy, comfortable look.

Esther felt soothed and calmed already. The air of comfort and neatness, the good taste that met them on all sides, gave her such a sense of pleasure and ease as she had never known before. This was just how things should look, how she had always wanted them to look, and had never been able to get them to, or make the others understand.

"How do you think you will manage?" said Miss Ashe, turning to Esther.

"Don't you think you and the baby here had better be together in the other room, so that you may be able to help her a little? I have only the one servant yet, so we must manage to do as best we can for the time.

I think these two," laying a hand on Angela and Penelope, "had better stay here;" a plan they all heartily agreed with. Then, after providing them with brushes and combs until they could unpack their own, Miss Ashe went away, and left them to prepare themselves for tea.

And here, perhaps, it would be as well to give you some idea of what the four little Carrolls were like at this time, for one's first question generally, on hearing any one spoken of, is, "Is she pretty?" or, "What is she like?" and quite naturally, too, for people only seem real to us when we are able to picture them in our own minds as they really are.

Well, Esther Carroll at this time was a tall, thin girl, with a grave face and fine expressive grey eyes. She was not pretty, but she would have been what is generally described as 'nice-looking' if her face had not been almost always spoilt by her worried, cross expression. She was a tall, graceful girl, with a good carriage, well-shaped hands and feet, a good complexion, and an abundance of long light-brown hair. She took great pains that her hair should look well-kept and glossy, and it hung long, straight, and gleaming, to below her waist.

Penelope was shorter and broader, altogether a more portly little person, with a clever face, dreamy, questioning grey eyes, and a nose which was decidedly a snub--a fact there was no getting over, though Penelope often tried. Her hair, which was short and curly, was not so golden as Esther's; it had deeper, redder tints in it.

Angela was more like Esther in appearance than either of the others.

She was a lanky, overgrown little person at nine years of age, but her long, shapely feet and hands gave promise of a graceful woman by and by.

She had long, fair hair like Esther's too, but Angela's had a beautiful wave in it. Her eyes, blue and soft, and appealing as her warm affectionate nature, looked out of a beautiful child-like face, full of gentleness and love.

Then came the Poppy, the pet and plaything and ruler of them all, a little round, dark-haired, brown-eyed contrast to the others, who demanded love and got it, giving it in return when she chose, and that was not always to those who asked most loudly for it.

Fearless, outspoken, and quick, Poppy had none of Penelope's dreaminess, or Esther's anxiousness, or Angela's timidity. She was eminently a practical little person, with deep thoughts and plans of her own, and a will to carry them through.

They had had a rough, uncared-for upbringing, which had made Esther perhaps a little masterful and grown-up in her ways and ideas, and Penelope, somewhat careless, had not checked Angela's nervousness or Poppy's independence, but they were all honest and truthful, and full of good instincts; and as they stood looking out of the windows of their new home at the new strange world beyond, each in her own way was determining to make the best of her new life, and be good.

But they dared not linger at the windows.

"Tea may be ready even now, and Cousin Charlotte is perhaps a very particular and punctual person," said Esther, and taking Poppy by the hand they started to go down. But at the top of the stairs they found Penelope and Angela debating and looking about them nervously.

"Ought we to go down, or ought we to wait till we are called?" asked Angela, turning to Esther, with relief at leaving it to some one else to decide. "Would it be rude to seem in a hurry, or to keep Miss Charlotte waiting?"

Esther could throw no light on the dreadful problem, there were so many things to think of. If they went down they would not know where to go, and if they stayed in their rooms Cousin Charlotte might wait and wait for them, thinking they were not ready.

"Anyhow, we can't stand here," whispered Penelope. "It will look as though we are listening and prying. Let's go back to our rooms--and yet-- oh dear, Cousin Charlotte may be down there now, at this very moment, getting angry with us and thinking how long we take getting ready, and we don't really."

Esther's temper suddenly gave way. "I do wish one knew what to do, always," she said crossly. "But mother never taught us things like this-- yet we are expected to know--"

"P'r'aps it doesn't really matter," whispered Angela, who could not bear to hear her mother spoken harshly of.

"Oh yes, it does," snapped Esther. "It makes all the difference."

"P'r'aps they'll ring a bell when tea is ready," chimed in Poppy, with sudden inspiration, "then we will know." And sure enough at that moment a bell did ring down below, and settled the difficulty. In their relief Penelope and Angela started off with a rush.

"Oh, girls, don't hurry so," cried Esther nervously. "It looks so bad, as though we had been waiting."

So the impetuous ones slackened their pace, and four very demure little maidens entered the dining-room a moment later in a manner as decorous and restrained as the most polite could wish.

And what a charming scene it was that met their eyes--one that all the four appreciated to the full: a long, low room with a French window standing wide open to the garden just a step or two below. On the evening breeze wafted in the scent of mignonette and flowers, and the low sleepy clucking of the hens, about to go to roost. Near the window stood the table, with a silver kettle boiling merrily on its stand, and fruit and flowers and pretty china in abundance, all looking as dainty and tempting as heart could desire. There was an abundance too of more substantial fare, eggs and fish, and jam and cream, a tart, and a big home-made loaf; and the scent of the flowers and the tea all mingled together in a most appetising whole.

To the children it all seemed wonderful, exquisite; and for the first time they realised how hungry they were. Penelope's eyes wandered through the window to the flower-beds outside.

"Oh, what a lovely garden!" she cried, struck at once by the beauty of its well-kept air, and the cared-for look of everything. Then she grew silent as her thoughts flew back with tender pity to the old beloved untidy Framley garden, and she felt a twinge of remorse that she had not tried to do something with it--it might perhaps have been made to look like this.

Then, at a word from Miss Ashe, they turned away from the window to the tea-table.

While the children were taking their places she made the tea.

"Now," she said, as she drew the cosy over the teapot, "which of you will say grace?"

The four looked from one to the other dismayed. Esther and Penelope's cheeks flamed hotly, Angela looked puzzled. Poppy alone spoke.

"What is 'grace'?" she asked innocently.

Miss Ashe grasped the situation in a moment, and, though her heart sank a little in dismay at their ignorance, she showed no sign. "It is a little prayer we say before a meal, to ask G.o.d's blessing on what He has given us, and we say one again at the end to thank Him for it."

"We never say anything at home," said Poppy, with childlike candour.

"What do you say, Cousin Charlotte?"

"Put your hands together, dear, and bow your head, and you shall hear.

It is very simple; you will be able to say it too in a day or so.

Now," bowing her head reverently, "For what we are about to receive, O Lord make us truly thankful. Amen." Then Miss Ashe raised her head, and the children followed suit.

"I've read in some of my books of people who said grace," said Angela, "but I didn't know that people really did it."

Cousin Charlotte's face was very grave. "A great many do, and a great many more do not, but every one should. Don't you yourselves feel that you want to, dears? You say 'Thank you!' to any one who gives you even the least little trifle. You have just said 'Thank you!' to me for the cup of tea I handed you; then surely much more should you say it to the good G.o.d who gives you everything. Don't you see, darling?"

"Yes, I see," said Penelope soberly. "I wish I had thought of it before.

How ungrateful we must seem to G.o.d! I wonder He goes on being good to people if they never seem grateful."

"G.o.d is so tender, and loving, and forgiving. He does not punish us because we are ungrateful, and forget Him; but, though what is done in ignorance is excusable, when we know and yet forget Him we are committing a sinful and ungrateful act."

Poppy sat drinking in eagerly all that was said. "I'll try to remember, Cousin Charlotte," she said seriously. And Cousin Charlotte smiled, and blinked her eyes rather hard for a moment and laid one hand on Poppy's tiny hand resting on the table by her. Then the meal began in earnest.

And oh what a meal it was! The children were wildly hungry, and the new fare was so tempting compared with what they had been accustomed to at home. Then, when it was over, and that was not very quickly, and grace had been said, they all strolled out through the open window and down the steps to the sweet-scented garden, where they wandered about until it was time to go in and unpack their boxes, and put Poppy to bed.

It was great fun unpacking and laying away their things in the places meant for them, though there was so little to lay away it looked quite lost in the deep drawers and cupboards. Esther felt horribly ashamed as she wondered what Miss Ashe and Anna would think when they came and saw them. At the same time it was great fun running from room to room to look for missing articles. One of Poppy's shoes was in one box, and the other in the one Penelope was unpacking in her room. Then no nightgowns could be found until, after a long search, they were discovered at the very bottom of one of the boxes underneath the toys they had insisted on bringing.

"I don't think the boots ought to have been put in last," said Esther gravely. "Your old boots were right on top of my best hat, and the crown has been doubled right in. Look, Pen."