White Lilac; or the Queen of the May Part 18

It was getting late. Without looking at the clock she knew that her holiday would soon be over, because through Joshua's little window there came a bright sun beam which was never there till after five. She tied on her bonnet, prepared a choice morsel of chicken for Mrs Wishing, and set out on her further journey after a short farewell to the cobbler.

Joshua never liked saying goodbye, and did it so gruffly that it might have sounded sulky to the ear of a stranger, but Lilac knew better. She had a "goodish step" before her, as she called it to herself, and if she were to get back to the farm before dusk she must make haste. So she hurried on, and soon in the distance appeared the two little white cottages side by side, perched on the edge of the steep down. The one in which she had lived with her mother was empty, and as she got close to it and stopped to look over the paling into the small strip of garden, she felt sorry to see how forlorn and deserted it looked. It had always been so trim and neat, and its white hearthstone and open door had invited the pa.s.ser-by to enter. Now the window shutters were fastened, the door was locked, the straggling flowers and vegetables were mixed up with tall weeds and nettles--it was all lifeless and cold.

It was a pity. Mother would not have liked to see it. Lilac pushed her hand through the palings and managed to pick some sweet-peas which were trailing themselves helplessly about for want of support, then she went on to the next gate. Poor Mrs Wishing was very lonely now that her only neighbour was gone; very few people pa.s.sed over that way or came up so far from Danecross. Sometimes when Dan'l had a job on in the woods he was away for days and she saw no one at all, unless she was able to get to the cobbler's cottage, and that was seldom. Lilac knocked gently at the half-open door, and hearing no answer went in.

Mrs Wishing was there, sitting asleep in a chair by the hearth with her head hanging uncomfortably on one side; her dress was untidy, her hair rough, and her face white and pinched. Lilac cast one glance at her and then looked round the room. There were some white ashes on the hearth, a kettle hanging over them by its chain, and at Mrs Wishing's elbow stood an earthenware teapot, from which came a faint sickly smell; and when Lilac saw that she nodded to herself, for she knew what it meant.

The next moment the sleeper opened her large grey eyes and gazed vacantly at her visitor.

"It's me," said Lilac. "It's Lilac White."

Mrs Wishing still gazed without speaking; there was an unearthly flickering light in her eyes. At last she muttered indistinctly:

"You're just like her."

Not in the least alarmed or surprised at this condition, Lilac glanced at the teapot and said reproachfully:

"You've been drinking poppy tea, and you promised Mother you wouldn't do it no more."

Mrs Wishing struggled feebly against the drowsiness which overpowered her, and murmured apologetically:

"I didn't go to do it, but it seemed as if I couldn't bear the pain."

Lilac set down her basket, and opened the door of a cupboard near the chimney corner.

"Where's your kindlin's?" she asked. "I'll make you a cup of real tea, and that'll waken you up a bit. And Uncle Joshua's sent you a morsel of chicken."

"Ha'n't got no kindlin's and no tea," murmured Mrs Wishing. "Give me a drink o' water from the jug yonder."

No tea! That was an unheard-of thing. As Lilac brought the water she said indignantly:

"Where's Mr Wishing then? He hadn't ought to go and leave you like this without a bit or a drop in the house."

Mrs Wishing seemed a little refreshed by the water and was able to speak more distinctly. She sat up in her chair and made a few listless attempts to fasten up her hair and put herself to rights.

"'Tain't Dan'l's fault this time," she said; "he's up in the woods felling trees for a week. They're sleeping out till the job's done. He did leave me money, and I meant to go down to the shop. But then I took bad and I couldn't crawl so far, and n.o.body didn't pa.s.s."

"And hadn't you got nothing in the house?" asked Lilac.

"Only a crust a' bread, and I didn't seem to fancy it. I craved so for a cup a' tea. And I had some dried poppy heads by me. So I held out as long as I could, and n.o.body didn't come. And this morning I used my kindlin's and made the tea. And when I drank it I fell into a blessed sleep, and I saw lots of angels, and their harps was sounding beautiful in my head all the time. When I was a gal there was a hymn--it was about angels and golden crownds and harps, but I can't put it rightly together now. So then I woke and there was you, and I thought you was a sperrit. Seems a pity to wake up from a dream like that. But _I_ dunno."

She let her head fall wearily back as she finished. Lilac was not in the least interested by the vision. She was accustomed to hear of Mrs Wishing's angels and harps, and her mind was now entirely occupied by earthly matters.

"What you want is summat to eat and drink," she said, "and I shall just have to run back to Uncle Joshua's for some bread and tea. But first I'll get a few sticks and make you a blaze to keep you comp'ny."

Mrs Wishing's eyes rested an her like those of a child who is being comforted and taken care of, as having collected a few sticks she knelt on the hearth and fanned them into a blaze with her pinafore.

"You couldn't bide a little?" she said doubtfully, as Lilac turned towards the door.

"I'll be back in no time," said Lilac, "and then you shall have a nice supper, and you mustn't take no more of this," pointing to the teapot.

"You know you promised Mother."

"I didn't _go to_," repeated Mrs Wishing submissively; "but it seemed as if I couldn't bear the gnawing in my inside."

It did not take long for Lilac, filled with compa.s.sion for her old friend, to run back to the cobbler's cottage; but there she was delayed a little, for Joshua had questions to ask, although he was ready and eager to fill her basket with food. The return was slower, for it was all uphill and her burden made a difference to her speed, so that it was long past sunset when she reached Mrs Wishing for the second time.

Then, after coaxing her to eat and drink, Lilac had to help her upstairs and put her to bed like a child, and finally to sit by her side and talk soothingly to her until she dropped into a deep sleep. Her duties over, and everything put ready to. Mrs Wishing's hand for the next morning, she now had time to notice that it was quite dusk, and that the first stars were twinkling in the sky. With a sudden start she remembered her aunt's words: "Be back afore dusk," and clasped her hands in dismay. It was no use to hurry now, for however quickly she went the farm would certainly be closed for the night before she reached it. Should she stay where she was till the morning? No, it would be better to take the chance of finding someone up to let her in. Mrs Wishing would be all right now that Joshua knew about her; "and anyway, I'm glad I came,"

said Lilac to herself, "even if Aunt does scold a bit."

With this thought to console her, she stepped out into the cool summer night, and began her homeward journey. It was not very dark, for it was midsummer--near Saint Barnabas Day, when there is scarcely any night at all--

"Barnaby Bright All day and no night!"

Lilac had often heard her mother say that rhyme, and she remembered it now. It was all very, very still, so that all manner of sounds too low to have been noticed amongst the noises of the day were now plainly to be heard. A soft wind went whispering and sighing to itself in the trees overhead, carrying with it the sweetness of the hayfields and the honeysuckle in the hedges, owls hooted mysteriously, and the frogs croaked in some distant pond. Creatures never seen in the daytime were now awake and busy. As Lilac ran along, the bats whirred close past her face, and she saw in the gra.s.s by the wayside the steady little light of the glow-worms. It was certainly very late; there was hardly a glimmer of hope that anyone would be up at the farm. It was equally certain that, if there were, a scolding waited for Lilac. Either way it was bad, she thought. She wanted to go to bed, for she was very tired, but she did not want to be scolded to-night; she could bear that better in the morning. When she reached the house, therefore, and found it all silent and dark, with no light in any window and no sound of any movement, she hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. But presently, as she stood there forlornly, with only the sky overhead full of stars blinking their cold bright eyes at her, she began to long to creep in somewhere and rest. Her limbs ached, her head felt heavy, and her hard little bed seemed a luxury well worth the expense of a scolding. Should she venture to knock at the door? She had almost determined on this bold step, when quite suddenly a happy idea came to her. There would perhaps be some door open in the outbuildings, either in the loft or the barn or the stables, where she could get in and find shelter for the night. It was worth trying at any rate. With renewed hope she ran across the strawyard and tried the great iron ring in the stable door.

It was not locked. Here were shelter and rest at last, and no one to scold!

She crept in, and was just closing the heavy door when towards her, across the rickyard, came the figure of a man. His head was bent so that she could not see his face, but she thought from his lumbering walk that it must be Peter, and in a moment it flashed across her mind that he had just got back from Cuddingham. While she stood hesitating just within the door the man came quite close, and before she could call out the key rattled in the lock and heavy footsteps tramped away again.

Then it was Peter. But surely he must have seen her, and if so why had he locked her in? Anyhow here she was for the night, and the next thing to do was to find a bed. She groped her way past the stalls of the three Pleasants, whose dwelling she had invaded, to the upright ladder which led to the loft. The horses were all lying down after their hard day's work, and only one of them turned his great head with a rattle of his halter, to see who this small intruder could be. Lilac clambered up the ladder and was soon in the dark fragrant-smelling loft above, where the trusses of hay and straw were mysteriously grouped under the low thick beams. There was no lack of a soft warm nest here, and the close neighbourhood of the Pleasants made it feel secure and friendly; nothing could possibly be better. She took off her shoes, curled herself up cosily in the hay, and shut her weary eyes. Presently she opened them drowsily again, and then discovered that her lodging was shared by a companion, for on the rafters just above her head, her single eye gleaming in the darkness, sat Peter's cat Tib. Lilac called to her, but she took no notice and did not move, having her own affairs to conduct at that time of night. Lilac watched her dreamily for a little while, and then her thoughts wandered on to Peter and became more and more confused. He got mixed up with Joshua, and the cactus and None-so-pretty and heaps of white flowers. "The common things are the best things," she seemed to hear over and over again. Then quite suddenly she was in Mrs Wishing's cottage, and the loft was filled with the heavy sickly smell of poppy tea: it was so strong that it made her feel giddy and her eyelids seemed pressed down by a firm hand. After that she remembered nothing more that night.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE CREDIT OF THE FARM.

"Many littles make a mickle."--_Scotch Proverb_.

She was awakened the next morning by trampling noises in the stable below, and starting up could not at first make out where she was. The sun was shining through a rift in the loft door, Tib was gone, c.o.c.ks were crowing outside, all the world was up and busy. She could hear Ben's gruff voice and the clanking of chains and harness, and soon he and the three horses had left the stable and gone out to their day's work. It must be late, therefore, and she must lose no time in presenting herself at the house. Perhaps it might be possible, she thought, to get up to her attic without seeing anyone, and tidy herself a bit first; she should then have more courage to face her aunt, for at present with her rough hair and pieces of hay and straw clinging to her clothes, she felt like some little stray wanderer. She approached the house cautiously and peeped in at the back door before entering, to see who was in the kitchen. Bella was there talking to Molly, whose broad red face was thrust eagerly forward as though she were listening to something interesting. They were indeed so deeply engaged that Lilac felt sure they would not notice her, and she took courage and went in.

"It's a mercy she wasn't killed," Molly was saying. "She's no light weight to fall, isn't the missus."

"It's completely upset me," said Bella in a faint voice, with one hand on her heart. "I tremble all over still."

"And to think," said Molly, "as it was only yesterday I said to myself, 'I'll darn that carpet before I'm an hour older'."

"Well, it's a pity you didn't," said Bella sharply; "just like your careless ways."

Molly shook her head.

"'Twasn't to _be_," she said. "'Twasn't for nothing that I spilt the salt twice, and dreamt of water."

"The doctor says it's a bad sprain," continued Bella; "and it's likely she'll be laid up for a month. Perfect rest's the only thing."

"_I_ had a cousin," said Molly triumphantly, "what had a similar accident. A heavy woman she was, like the missus in build. Information set in with _her_ and she died almost immediate."

Lilac did not wait to hear more; she made her escape safely to her attic, and soon afterwards found Agnetta and learnt from her the history of the accident. Mrs Greenways had had a bad fall; she had caught her foot in a hole in the carpet and twisted her ankle, and the doctor said it was a wonder she had not broken any bones. Everyone in the house had so much to say, and was so excited about this misfortune, that Lilac's little adventure was pa.s.sed over without notice, and the scolding she had dreaded did not come at all. Poor Mrs Greenways had other things to think of as she lay groaning on the sofa, partly with pain and partly at the prospect before her. To be laid up a month! It was easy for the doctor to talk, but what would become of things? Who would look after Molly? Who would see to the dairy? It would all go to rack and ruin, and she must lie here idle and look on. Her husband stood by trying to give comfort, but every word he said only seemed to make matters worse.

"Why, there's Bella now," he suggested; "she ought to be able to take your place for a bit."

"And that just shows how much you know about the indoors work, Greenways," said his wife fretfully; "to talk of Bella! Why, I'd as soon trust the dairy to Peter's cat as Bella--partikler now she's got that young Buckle in her head. She don't know cream from b.u.t.termilk."

"Why, then, you must just leave the b.u.t.ter to Molly as usual, and let the girls see after the rest," said Mr Greenways soothingly.