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diff --git a/old/51228-0.txt b/old/51228-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ceca5fc..0000000 --- a/old/51228-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8207 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Flower-Patch Among the Hills, by Flora Klickmann - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Flower-Patch Among the Hills - -Author: Flora Klickmann - -Release Date: February 16, 2016 [EBook #51228] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER-PATCH AMONG THE HILLS *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - -[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic -text is surrounded by _underscores_.] - - - The Flower-Patch - Among the Hills - -[Illustration: _Flora Klickmann_] - - - - -The Flower-Patch Among the Hills - - By - FLORA KLICKMANN - - Editor of - “The Girl’s Own Paper and Woman’s Magazine” - - - NEW YORK - Frederick A. Stokes Company - Publishers - - - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY - WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, - STAMFORD STREET, LONDON, S.E. - - - - - Dedicated to - My Husband - - - - - There twice a day the Severn fills; - The salt sea-water passes by, - And hushes half the babbling Wye, - And makes a silence in the hills. - _In Memoriam._ - - - - -I - -Just to Explain - - -I. Who Everybody is - -Virginia and her sister Ursula are my most intimate friends. -Virginia—really quite a harmless girl—imagines she has a scientific -bias. Ursula—domesticated to the backbone—led a strenuous life in the -pursuit of experimental psychology, till she switched off to wash -hospital saucepans. - -It will be so obvious that I scarcely need add: What little common -sense the trio possesses is centred in ME. - -Abigail is my housemaid; her title to fame is the fact that she is the -only servant I have ever been able to induce to remain more than a -fortnight at one stretch in the country. The others, including those -who are orphans, always have a parent who suddenly breaks its leg—after -they have been about ten days away—and wires for them to come home at -once. - -The cook has discovered a number of cousins in the Naval Division at -the Crystal Palace (detachments of which pass my London house hourly, -while many units partake of my cake and lemonade), and, of course, you -can’t neglect your relatives in war time. - -“You never know whether that’ll be the last time you’ll see them,” she -says, waving a tearful tea-towel at all and sundry who march past. -Naturally, _she_ doesn’t care to be away from town for many days at a -time. - -The parlourmaid was interested in a member of the L.C.C. Fire Brigade, -when he enlisted, and incidentally married someone else—unfortunately -the very week she was away with me. This has given her a marked -distaste for the simple pleasures of rural life. - -Abigail is unengaged. “What I ask is: What better off are you if you -are?” she inquires of space. “Take my sister, now, with eight children, -and——” But as I am not taking anyone with eight children just now, the -sister’s biography is neither here nor there. - -Abigail is a willing, kindhearted girl. Also she has a mania for trying -to arrange every single household ornament in pairs. She would be -invaluable to anyone outfitting a Noah’s Ark. - - * * * * * - -As for the other people who walk through these pages, they do not -appertain exclusively to one district. I have had two cottages, one -beyond Godalming, in Surrey, the other high up among the hills that -border the river Wye. Some of the country folk live in the one village, -some in the other; but the scenery, the little wild things, and the -garden are all related to the cottage that overlooks Tintern Abbey. - - -II. Why the Cottage is - -I took a cottage in the country on a day when I had got to the fag-end -of the very last straw, and felt I could not endure for another minute -the screech of the trains, the honking of motors, the clanging of -bells, the clatter of milk-carts, the grind-and-screel of electric -cars, the ever-ringing telephone, the rattle and roar of the general -traffic, the all-pervading odour of petrol, and the many other horrors -that make both day and night hideous in our great city, and reduce the -workers to nervous wreckage. - -The cottage has been so arranged that not one solitary thing within its -walls shall bear any relation to the city left far behind; and nothing -is allowed to remind the occupants of the business rush, the social -scramble, and the electric-light-type of existence that have become -integral parts of modern life in towns. - -Here, to keep my idle hands from mischief, I made me a Flower-patch. - - -III. Why this Book is - -I was viciously prodding up bindweed out of the cottage garden, with -the steel kitchen poker, when the telegraph boy opened the gate. - -Unhinging my back, and inducing it into the upright with painful care, -I read a message from my office to the effect that there was some hitch -in regard to the American copyright of a certain article I had passed -for press before leaving; this would necessitate it being thrown out of -the magazine that month. Would I wire back what should go in its place, -as the machines were at a standstill? - -Under ordinary circumstances I should merely have waved a hand, and -instantly a suitable substitute would have been on the machines with -scarcely a perceptible pause—that is, if I had been in London. But such -is the witchery of the Flower-patch, that no sooner do I get inside the -gate than I forget every mortal thing connected with my office. And try -how I would, I couldn’t recall what possible articles I had already in -hand that would make exactly six pages and a quarter—the length of the -one held over. - -And because I could think of nothing else on the spur of the moment, I -threw down the poker (it was red-rust, alas, when I chanced upon it a -week later) and went indoors and wrote about the cottage and the hills. - -When it was published in the magazine, readers very kindly wrote by -the bagful begging for a continuation. It has been continuing—with -perennial requests for more—for some time now. This only shows how -generously tolerant of editors are the readers of periodical literature. - -Virginia merely sniffs, “What won’t people buy!” - -I don’t think she need have put it so baldly as that. - - * * * * * - -If by some miraculous chance there should be any profits from the sale -of this book, I intend to devote them to the purchase of a cow (or hen, -if it doesn’t run to a cow), to aid the national larder. I shall call -it “the Memorial Cow,” in memory of those who have been good enough to -assist in its purchase. - -Should any reader wish to have the cow (or hen) named specially after -him—or her—self this could doubtless be arranged. Particulars on -application to the publisher. - - - - -II - -About Getting There - - -WE always consider that emancipation takes place at one exact spot on -the Great Western Railway; the only difficulty is that Virginia and I -never agree as to which is the exact spot. - -Virginia insists that the air suddenly changes just beyond Chepstow -Station, where we change from the London and South Wales main line to -the local train that, two or three times a day (week-days only), runs -through our particular Valley, like a small boy’s toy affair. - -This train, which makes up in black smoke for what it lacks of other -dignity, steams out of the main line junction with an important snort -and rumble; over the bridge it goes, and the stranger would imagine -it was well under way. But no; it then comes to a standstill at the -point where the main line and the Valley line meet, in order that -the gentleman who lives—we presume—in the signal-box (but who is -always standing on the railway line when we see him) may hand to our -engine-driver a metal staff—some sort of a key, they tell me, which is -said to unlock the single railway line. I don’t pretend to understand -the process myself. I only know that our engine-driver looks lovingly -at it as though it were the apple of his eye (I’ve craned my head out -of the window, that’s how I know), and clasps it to his chest, until he -gets to the first station on the Valley line, where he hands it over to -the station-master, who, in turn, gives him another one, to which he -clings just as pathetically. - -In this leisurely way we proceed up the Valley. - -It wouldn’t have any deep significance, but for the fact that Virginia -maintains it is the first key that unlocks the imprisoned Ego within -her, and sets her soul free from the trammels and shackles and cobwebs -and chains, hampering, warping, and enmeshing her, that have been -riveted by the blighting tendencies of London (and a lot more to the -same effect). She says she feels the fetters burst directly that -key is handed over, for she knows then that the train is beyond the -possibility of making a mistake, and getting back on to the London main -line again instead of the single pair of Valley rails. - -Then it is that the air becomes fresher than ever. The primroses that -grow all up the rocks, just beyond the signal-box, are very much finer -than those on the junction side; the Sweet Betsey (alias red valerian) -starts to drape the ledges with rosy-crimson as soon as the signalman -walks back up the wooden steps to his cabin. And Virginia herself -becomes a different being, though opinions are painfully divided as to -whether the change is for the better or for the worse. - -She says she feels just like the Lord Mayor, or the Speaker in the -House of Commons, with a myrmidon going on ahead of her bearing the -mace. - -We just let her talk on when she gets lightheaded like this. After all, -this Rod of Office which the engine-driver cherishes is what Virginia -waits for through four hours of express train—six if you go by a -slow one. And the spot where he receives it on the line is where she -develops a beatific smile of wondrous amiability. - -For me, the chains snap a little further on. - -After the driver has received his Key of Office the train meanders -peacefully through west country orchards, placid meadows, and -tawny-gold cornfields; past grey-brown haystacks; past little cottages, -each with its pig-sty and scratting hens, and a clothes-line displaying -pinafores and sundry other garments only mentioned _sotto voce_ in the -paper pattern section of ladies’ papers. Small, hatless, yellow-haired -children, gathering daisies or cowslips in adjoining fields, wave at us -as we go by. - -Then the engine braces itself for a mighty effort, and gives a -business-like shriek on its whistle (this is the great exploit of the -whole journey) as it plunges into a very long, dark, clattering tunnel, -cut through solid rock. Here we sit in the breathless darkness for -several minutes, to emerge finally upon scenery so unlike that we left -behind at the entrance to the tunnel as to suggest that we had entered -another country. - -Gone are the cornfields, the gentle undulations, gone the farms and -cottages, the hayricks and barns. Almost in sheer precipices the rocks -rise up from the rushing winding river in the valley below, clothed -from summit to base with forest trees. The train, now an insignificant -atom on the face of Nature, puffs vigorously along a ledge cut half-way -up the face of these giant hills. - -From the windows on one side of the train you look down upon a world of -rocks, trees and water, to the Horse Shoe bend, where the river turns -and twists and doubles back on itself again. Not a house is in sight. - -The windows on the other side show more grey rocks rising up out of -sight, with trees growing where you would scarcely think they could -find root-hold, much less food to live and thrive on. And where it is -bare stone, and there are no trees, the scarred and jagged surface of -the rocks—due to far-away earth-rends and more modern rock-slides—is -lovingly swathed and festooned with trails of Travellers’ Joy and ivy -and bryony; while ferns and foxgloves, wild strawberries and Mother of -Millions flourish on the narrow ledges, and sprout out from sheltered -crannies—such a mist of delicate loveliness veiling all that is grim -and cold and hard. - -Even the wooden posts, from which wire is stretched to fence off the -railway company’s land from the adjoining woods, are entirely covered -with a living mosaic of small-leaved ivy, patterned, with no two -scrolls alike, in a way that human hand could never copy. - -Below there is always the river, that swirls and rushes noisily at -low tide over its weirs. A heron stands motionless on a grey-green -moss-covered boulder near the bank. He looks up at the little train; -but it is too far away to worry him. He, and a kite circling high -overhead, are the only signs of life to be seen as one passes along. -Yet the whole earth is teeming with small folk, furred and feathered; -the rarest of butterflies are glinting over the rocks; the otter is -hiding down in the river-pools; and from time to time a salmon leaps -into the air, a flash, a streak of silver, and a series of eddying -ripples—that is all. - -This is the spot where, for me, a new life begins; where unconsciously -I draw my breath with a deep intake, and suddenly feel the past -slipping from me; the noise and din, the sordidness and care of the -city fade into the background and become nothing more substantial than -some remote nightmare. - -Here in this Valley of Peace and Quietness my dreams become realities. -And best of all, here God seems to lay His Hand on tired heart and -tired brain; and I find myself saying, “This is the rest wherewith ye -may cause the weary to rest, and this is the refreshing.” - - * * * * * - -We had just witnessed the presentation of the first key. As usual, -Virginia and I had been arguing—no, that isn’t the right word; I never -argue; I merely discuss things intelligently. At any rate, we had been -exchanging views (that differed) as to the exact place where we noticed -the great change come over ourselves in particular, and things in -general. As we didn’t get any nearer a final settlement we appealed to -Ursula, who was sitting silent, with a far-away look in her eyes, as of -one engaged in bridging space and measuring the stars. - -She came back to earth, however, at our question, and said she was -absolutely sure the moment of _her_ great transformation was when -she got hold of a cup of proper domestic tea, as distinct from the -indigestive railway variety. Indeed, for the past few minutes she had -been entirely absorbed in the mental contemplation of the meal she -hoped Abigail would soon be preparing. Even then she could smell the -sizzling ham and the frying eggs and the buttered toast we should have -on arrival. - -We were in the sulphurous depths of the tunnel at the moment. Naturally -I was hurt. As I said to her, I knew my board was frugal, and my viands -simple, modest, unaffected and unassuming, but at least they didn’t -smell like _that_! - -Fortunately she hadn’t much time to explain what she did and what she -didn’t mean, for we came out of the tunnel into the panorama of hills -and silence; no one ever talks much just here, save the braying type of -tourist. - -Besides, there is the “Abbey” to watch for. No matter how many times -you may see that, you always wait expectantly for the moment when you -catch the first glimpse of the wonderful grey ruin. - -The abbey-makers of the olden days not only knew how to build, but they -also knew how to “place” their beautiful structures. And the setting of -our Abbey is as nearly perfect as anything can be in this world. - -The steep hills recede a little bit just at one bend of the river, -leaving room for a broad green meadow between the water and the -uprising steeps. Here the Abbey was placed: a babbling river in the -foreground, dark larch-covered hills in the background. Surely it is -no fanciful exaggeration to think that the beauty all around them must -have influenced the men who raised that wonderful poem in stone! - -I would like to take you into the Abbey and show you the beautiful -views that can be seen from every ruined window, each one a framed -picture in itself; the spray of oak-leaves carved on one piece of -stone, the live snapdragons growing out of buttresses, the graceful -spring of each slender arch, the perfect proportions of the whole -building, for, despite the cruel wreckage it suffered in the past, it -is still the most lovely Gothic ruin in England. - -But to-day we can’t stay. - -The train hurries on, through another short tunnel, over a bridge -spanning the river and a talkative weir, and then into our station. - -In the summer there is a good deal of bustle in this station, which -is the haunt of many tourists. I am told that five out of every -ten visitors are from the United States. No American thinks of -“doing” England without seeing our valley, which is famous for its -scenery and its ruins. Thus you always find a number of women in -trim “shirt-waists,” and wearing large chiffon veils on the top of -their hats at angles quite unknown to the English woman, sitting on -the platform about train time, writing the usual budget of picture -postcards. - -But we aren’t “foreigners” (as the natives style everyone who doesn’t -belong to their village). That is one of the many charms of arriving -at this station. Here no one regards us merely as passengers who -can’t find their luggage; or, passengers who have changed where they -had no business to; or, passengers who expect the local porter to -know by heart all the railway connections and times of return trains -throughout the British Isles. Neither are we among the people who -look suspiciously at every wagonette driver, certain that he is going -to overcharge, and uncertain as to which is likely to overcharge the -least. We have no anxieties concerning the truth of the advertised -merits of the various hotels, and apartments to let, in the village. - -We “belong.” - -There is a sense of home-coming in our arrival. The porters actually -rush forward to help with our luggage, and the station-master raises -his cap. - -Old Bob—who occupies the doubly proud position of being the only one -among the fly proprietors who displays a pair of steeds attached to his -vehicle, while he is also the one who usually drives what he describes -as “the e-light-y”—is waiting with his wagonette (and pair, don’t -forget) and a cart for the luggage. - -It really is comforting to be claimed by someone at the end of a -journey, if it be but the wagonette driver. I feel so solitary, -such an orphan, when I chance to arrive alone at some strange place -in quest of a holiday, possibly unknown to a single person but the -landlady-to-be. Don’t you know the sinking feeling that comes over -you as you look round upon the crowds of people, some scrambling in, -and some scrambling out of the train; every face a blank so far as you -are concerned? No one to trouble whether you ever get any further, or -whether you remain in that jostling turmoil for ever. - -You almost wish you could get into the train and go back to town again; -you reflect that there at least the butcher knows you, and the people -next door, and the crossing-sweeper at the corner. - -You revive after having some tea, but it is possible to spend a very -doleful, homesick quarter of an hour between the time you get out of -the train and the time you sit down to a meal in some strange room, -whose painful unlikeness to the ones you live in accentuates your -loneliness. - -But that never happens to us in our Valley. Before we have got out of -our compartment, Abigail is already on the platform and holding a levee -consisting of two porters, the signalman, the assistant engine-driver -from a goods train in the siding, and old Bob’s nephew, who drives the -cart. All lend a hand as she proceeds to marshal the luggage, and with -a peremptory wave of her umbrella, directs its disposal. - - * * * * * - -Of course there really isn’t much luggage. That is one of the -advantages of retreating to your own secluded cottage; being off -the beaten track as we are, there is no necessity to take many -“toilettes”—either demi or semi—or a large variety of lounge robes, -or matinées, or boudoir negligées, or rest frocks, or tea-gowns, or -cocoa-coats, or evening wraps built of chiffon, and really necessary, -handy things of that sort. All we take with us is just a few clothes to -wear. - -On one occasion Virginia did bring down a long “article” (I don’t -know what else to call it) composed of about ten yards of white net, -embroidered here and there with large beads, an artificial rose sewn -on to one corner of the curtain-like thing, a gilt-metal fringe -suggestive of shoelace tags all around the edges. She couldn’t quite -understand how she came by it, she said. She remembered an energetic -ultra-elegant shop-assistant, somewhere, displaying it before her, -with the information that it was a “slumber swirl,” and assuring her, -condescendingly, that it was the very latest, and absolutely sweet, and -just the thing for outdoors in the summer. Virginia said she agreed -with her, she was sure; knowing her own sweet and plastic disposition, -she would certainly have agreed with her; she was thankful to say she -wasn’t one of those people who perpetually disagree with other people. -But—she had no recollection of having attached her name and address to -the wisp, much less of having paid for it! Still, the energetic damsel -had sent it home—and here it was! - -Ursula, after one glance at the confection, hastily turned her eyes -away and announced that, for her part, she didn’t consider it—well, -quite adequate! - -Her sister explained that it wasn’t supposed to be worn _that_ way; -and she arranged herself with closed eyes on the sofa to show us how -it would look when draped over her—head and all—as she rested in the -hammock. It took a lot of adjusting so as to avoid getting some knobbly -bead motif just under her ear, and to prevent the shoe-lace tags -attacking the under-side of the face. And when she had at last found a -spot of unembellished net on which to lay her rose-leaf cheek, she was -afraid to move for fear of splitting the frail net. - -Ursula merely snorted. - -When next I saw the “slumber swirl,” part of it had been converted into -a meat-safe of irreproachable moral character, Ursula having utilised -the frame of our getting-worn-out one for the purpose. - - * * * * * - -No; our luggage is only trifling, and only consists of just what we -need. Abigail takes mine and her own to Paddington in a bus, which also -picks up the luggage of the other two girls _en route_. Individually, -the details do not seem much, but I confess, when I see it dumped all -together on the platform, the aggregate looks somewhat nondescript. - -There will be four large hat-boxes (or five if Abigail brings more than -one); anything from three to seven trunks; Abigail’s collapsible straw -basket; a bundle of umbrellas and sunshades; the dog, in his travelling -basket; a chip basket containing pots of mysterious seedlings Virginia -has been specially raising in town (which usually get upset once or -twice on the way, and have been known to turn out docks). There is -sure to be a cardboard box for one of Abigail’s best Jap silk Sunday -frocks that she doesn’t want to get crushed; a string bag containing -Abigail’s novels and snippety weeklies, her crochet, a few oranges, two -bananas, some chocolate, and whatever other refreshment she will need -on the journey; a brown-paper parcel holding a few articles of wearing -apparel, also belonging to Abigail, that she only remembered at the -last minute, and cook did up for her. - -Then Ursula is sure to bring some contribution to the larder—perhaps -tomatoes and a cake. Naturally, there is our lunch basket; and I, -personally, never feel complete unless I have my leather dispatch-box -beside me. I also take a suit-case containing my mackintosh—in case -it rains when I arrive—books and papers which I never read, knitting, -and similar necessities for the journey; it is also useful as a final -receptacle for oddments I omitted to pack elsewhere. Virginia and -Ursula bring similar suit-cases, for similar reasons. - -Sometimes Abigail springs surprises on us at the last minute. “Whatever -have you there?” I asked one day, as she joined us on the Paddington -platform, a jangling parcel in one hand that sounded like a badly -cracked bell, and a large protrusion—silent, fortunately—embraced in -the other arm. - -“Oh, this is just a new zinc pail” (shaking the musical packet), “we -need an extra one; and I’ve put in a little iron shovel, as I want one -for my kitchen scuttle: and there’s a nutmeg grater too; the one down -there is getting rusty. And _this_” (nodding towards her chest) “is an -enamel washing-up bowl. Our big one down there leaks.” - -And she proceeded serenely on her way to the accompaniment of iron -shovel clink-clanging against zinc pail, with the nutmeg-grater -tintinnabulating cheerfully in a higher key—and evidently pleased at -the public interest she was arousing. - -Not that her surprises are always so useful. On one occasion I noticed -she had brought two collapsible straw baskets, but concluded she had -some very special new frocks for the flower show. The porter disposed -of the luggage—while Abigail was looking the bookstall over. When she -returned and found both baskets missing, she rushed to the guard’s van. -Soon things were being dragged out again, Abigail excitedly urging -haste. The guard helped, Abigail assisting with much conversation. - -Eventually she lugged one basket up to her own compartment, scorning -the help of the penitent porter. As she passed my compartment, a -heartrending “mee-au” came from the basket. - -“What in the world—!!—!!!” I began. - -“It’s only Angelina,” Abigail explained. “She hasn’t seemed well -lately. I thought a change of air might do her good. Only it gave me a -bit of a fright when I found they’d put her in the van, thinking she -was luggage!” - -(Incidentally, Angelina is _my_ cat.) - -Being my own place and not someone else’s we are going to, it -occasionally happens that there are items of furnishing that need to -go down, a mirror, for instance, that is too large to pack in a trunk. -Strictly speaking, the railway company might be within their rights -if they argued that such things could not legitimately be called -passenger’s luggage; but Virginia said, with regard to the mirror—4 -feet × 2—that if they objected to take it, she should tell them every -woman is entitled to carry a mirror among her personal luggage. - -Fortunately no one so far has objected to any of the details of our -_impedimenta_, so long as the excess charges are promptly paid. We -usually go down with the same guard. I tell him what the contraband -is. He carries the parcel off majestically, assuring me that his one -eye won’t leave it all the way down, no matter where the other may be -focused; and he begs me to have no anxiety as to its safety. I haven’t. -I know from long experience that the guards and officials on the G.W.R. -have elevated politeness and courtesy from a mere duty to a fine art. - -Sometimes I almost wish they wouldn’t take quite such care of our -things! There was the brown pitcher, for instance. I had been wanting -a very large one for fetching the water from the spring outside the -cottage gate. Of course, I know you can get big enamel jugs (painted -duck-egg blue, or anything else in the art line that you fancy); -but the latter seems so strident, so townified, so newly-rich, so -over-dressed, when you see them beside our moss-grown wooden spout, -where the mountain spring splashes down into a stony hollow, among -ferns and long mosses. The sturdy but humble brown pitcher tones in -better with the pale yellow sand in the bottom of the hollow, the -browns and greys and greens of the stones and growing things all round. -The very water falls into it with a mellow musical sound, instead of -the hollow tinny ring that the enamelled creature gives forth. - -But I couldn’t see one in the village shop as big as I required. -Ursula, however, ran against the very thing unexpectedly in town. The -only difficulty was the packing, so she decided to carry it just as it -was. Virginia expressed a sincere hope that she would at least tie a -pale blue bow on the handle. - -She got it safely as far as Paddington, but here an iron pillar -suddenly ran alongside and torpedoed the pitcher—so she said—knocking a -small but very business-like hole clean through its bulging side. Then -the question arose: What was she to do with the remnants? The train -was due to start in two minutes, so she hadn’t time to inquire for the -station dust-bin. - -Virginia suggested that she should try to induce the bookstall boy to -accept it as payment for a packet of milk chocolate; failing that, -she had better put an advertisement in the paper offering a wonderful -specimen of antique Roman pottery in exchange for a sable motoring -coat, or a cartload of white mice. - -What she did do was to leave it tidily on the nearest seat, with the -intention of bestowing sixpence on the first porter she could waylay if -he would make himself responsible for its after career. But apparently -every employee at Paddington Station had enlisted. - -The whistle was blown, and the train started to move slowly, just as -the vigilant eye of the guard fell upon the disabled crock. His face -lighted up. He seized it, rushed to the moving compartment containing -Ursula. “Madam,” he gasped, “you have forgotten this,” and he thrust it -into her arms. - -She didn’t dare try to leave it behind any more! - - * * * * * - -Then there was the fish. It was on an occasion when Virginia was -coming down by herself, and thus lacked the restraining, and more -practical, hand of Ursula. Now, as I have already hinted, Virginia is -an intelligent girl. She can tell you exactly how many million tons of -certain chemicals could be excavated from the very bottom of Vesuvius -(if only they could manage to put the fire out, of course), and how, -if these million tons were applied to the land in Mars, as artificial -manure, the wheat crop they would produce in one year—if only you could -raise their temperature a few hundred degrees, and this could easily be -done if you transfer—by wireless—the heat that isn’t needed in Vesuvius -to Mars (or is it the moon?), where they do want it—why, then—(where -was I?)—Oh, yes, the wheat crop they would harvest per annum would be -sufficient to feed the whole of the inhabitants of this planet of ours, -and several others thrown in, for—I forgot how many dozen years. - -Yes, she is a very bright girl, just as well informed on any other -subject you like to mention—excepting fish! There she draws a woeful -blank: she has no more notion how to tell fresh fish at sight than a -baby! - -Still, she is generous in her intentions, and as no one ever thinks -of journeying to the cottage without taking something in the eatable -line—it is only right to take a little present when you go to stay with -friends, isn’t it?—Virginia cast about as to what she could bring. Game -has no attraction—we have plenty of that. Fish, on the contrary, is a -rarity. Although our river is full, we seldom see fish at the cottage, -excepting a very over-due variety that a man peddles round occasionally. - -So she decided on fish—alas! And hastened into the first fishmonger’s -she saw and ordered a dozen pairs of soles. She maintains that wasn’t -what she meant to ask for. It was oysters she wanted to bestow on me, -and she went in with the definite intention of purchasing a dozen -oysters. At that moment, however, her mind was somewhat pre-occupied -with a scientific invention she was thinking out, whereby no woman need -ever again handle a broom or carpet-sweeper or anything of that kind. - -It was a simple device, consisting of a vacuum between the layers -of leather on the bottom of the shoe, and some sort of a suction -arrangement whereby you drew up the dust from the carpet (or wherever -you walked) just by stepping on it. You would clear as you go, and -instead of a person trailing dirt up and down the stairs by walking -straight in from the garden and up to the top attic, they would really -be giving the stair carpet what would be equal to a good brushing. - -Moreover, not only would spring cleaning be banished for ever—when her -invention was perfected—but your shoes would never more need mending. -The dust collected in the shoe, being subject to so many cubic inches -of pressure due to the person standing on top of the shoe, would become -so compressed and self-adhesive as to offer a direct resistance to the -friction set up between boot and alien matter trodden upon, equal to -the inverse ratio of—I haven’t the faintest notion what! But I dare say -you can follow her line of argument. She herself says she is always -lucid and concise. - -At any rate, I remember she said that it was terribly hard to be the -mother of a huge family of boys, who not only trailed dust and dirt -into the house at all times and seasons, but also wore out innumerable -pairs of boots into the bargain. Whereupon I reminded her that neither -of us need worry personally about that just yet! - -She agreed, but said that did not alter her desire to benefit her day -and generation, and to rid the world of “the Burden of the Broom.” -And she was meditating on this, and thinking of all the leather we -had wasted by letting it wear off the bottoms of our boots, when -she saw the fish shop, and though she _thought_ a dozen “oysters,” -what she _said_ was a dozen “pairs of soles”—and, of course, I would -recognise that the mistake wasn’t her fault; it was entirely due to the -psychological action of the subconscious something that connected soles -with boots, etc. - -Anyhow, the result was that she paid cheerfully for such a collection -of fish as I hope I may never see again. And how happy that fishmonger -must have been, when the transaction was completed, only those who got -a whiff of the fish can estimate. - -Virginia admitted that she thought the price seemed a lot for a dozen -oysters (soles were two shillings a pound at the time), and the bag -seemed heavy. Also, she confessed that it was a trifle more than she -had intended to spend on a present for me at that moment, though she, -being a real lady, would have been the last to mention it if I hadn’t. -No, she hadn’t thought to look at what he put in; she merely told him -to pack them up very securely, as she was going on a long railway -journey. She didn’t know they were soles till she glanced at the bill -in the train. She consoled me with the information that fish has the -most wonderful phosphorescent properties, invaluable in the case of -brain-fag; and she should see that I ate it all! - -After a few miles of the journey the soles grew a little noisy in the -rack. You don’t want to look a gift-horse in the mouth—truth to tell, I -didn’t want to look at that particular gift at all. But I had to open -both windows. - -At our first stop, Reading, when the guard came to the door and -politely inquired, “Are you ladies all right? Can I get you anything?” -I asked him if he would be so good as to take charge of the big rush -bag. I suggested that he could tie it on to the back buffer at the very -end of the train. I assured him it was nothing that would hurt. But he -only smiled, and said he had plenty of room in his own compartment; the -basket would be quite safe there, no one would touch it. I could quite -believe it! - -When he came down the platform at Swindon he looked very pale and out -of sorts, I thought. Conscience-stricken, I pressed a shilling into -his hand, and begged him to get himself a good cup of tea. He said he -would, and certainly seemed to have revived when next he passed. - -We got it home, eventually, without Abigail detecting it—I wanted to -save Virginia’s face before the handmaiden—as we took the basket, -wrapped up in my mackintosh, in the wagonette with us, Abigail -following behind in the luggage-cart. She did say later, however, that -she wished that pedlar and his awful kippers and bloaters could be -suppressed by law. He had evidently just been round, she said, and she -could smell his wretched fish all the way as she drove up. We didn’t -tell her what we had hidden in the old barn. - -We buried them darkly at dead of night. The only soft spot we could -find, that admitted of a good-sized trench being dug without much -trouble, was the moist earth beside the brook in the lower orchard. - -Next morning, at breakfast-time, when the small dog ran in to greet us, -his nose and paws showed signs of active service as he joyfully dabbed -brown mud on the front of our fresh print frocks, and waggled his tail -with the air of a dog who is conscious of heroic achievements. Abigail -followed him with the bacon-dish, which, in her excitement, she tried -to balance on the top of the coffee-pot. - -“You’d never believe what a high tide there has been in the brook!” -she began. “A spring tide, I should think. It’s washed up hundreds and -hundreds and _hundreds_ of large fish on to the bank. Never saw such -a thing in my life before. First I knew of it was slipping on one on -the kitchen hearthrug. Dandie had brought one in—wanted me to grill -it for his breakfast, I suppose! Then I found he’d carried one up to -the mat outside your bedroom door, and just dropped a few others here -and there about the house. So I went out to see where he got ’em from. -Judging by the smell, they must have lain there for weeks. Wish I’d -been here with a net at the time. I’ve never caught a live fish in my -life, though I’ve often tried to fish in the pond on Peckham Rye.” - -Naturally we expressed great interest, and suggested immediate -cremation in the kitchener. - -Later on, the handy man was decidedly sceptical. His grandfeyther had -once caught a trout in that brook (only he gave long biographical, -geographical and historical details, which proved that it wasn’t that -brook at all); but he hadn’t a-seed any hisself a-coming down. - -Abigail scornfully pointed out that high tides came _up_, and these -fish had been washed _up_ from the river, which is 700 feet below; and -she flapped one as evidence before his astonished eyes. - -Seeing is believing in our village! - -To this day Abigail’s tales, to cook and co. and her friends at home, -of how she goes out and catches soles as large as plaice in our own -brook, and boils them for supper, equal any fish stories ever told! - - * * * * * - -But to return to the luggage and ourselves, which I left waiting at our -little station. - -While the luggage is being stowed into the vehicles, we take stock of -the platform, that seems to fancy itself the pivot of the universe! -Everybody that is going away scrambles into the train with precipitate -haste, as though they were trying to catch a train on the Tube, or a -sprinting motor-bus in the Strand! although they know quite well that -the peaceful old engine—already twenty-five minutes behind time—won’t -think of stirring again until it has had a ten minutes’ nap! - -Those who have just arrived seem equally in a hurry to get somewhere -else, and they try to squeeze three thick out of the small station -gate—only to plant themselves in the path just outside for a long -gossip with the first person they see. - -There are women with empty baskets returning from market, and women -seeing off friends, each carrying a huge “bookey” of flowers, built -up in the approved style, from the back: first a big background -rhubarb leaf, or something equally green and spacious, then some -striped variegated grass—gardeners’ garters, we call it; also some -southernwood—better known as Old Man’s Beard; tall flowers like -foxgloves, phlox, Japanese anemones, early dahlias and sunflowers -follow; the shorter stems of pinks, calceolarias, sweet williams and -roses are the next in succession; finishing off with some gorgeous -pansies and a very fat cabbage rose with a short stem (that persists -in tumbling out), a piece of sweetbriar, and a few silver and gold -everlasting flowers down low in the front. If you have a geranium in -your window, etiquette demands that you add the best spray—as a special -offering—to the bunch, telling your friend all about the way you got -that geranium cutting, and the trouble you had to rear it. - -You know the sort of complacent well-packed bunches that are the -result of this combination. Not artistic, of course, according to town -standards, but, all the same, they are dears; and I always feel I want -every one I see. - -The station itself is a flower garden. And even in the space outside, -where the motor-cars await the rich, and the wagonettes and carts await -the nearly-poor, primroses and violets and cowslips and bluebells grow -thick on the banks. - -Naturally the arrival of the train is a matter of local importance, and -if you happen to be near the station about train-time you go in and sit -on the platform just to see who comes or goes. - -And how well everybody looks, and sturdy, and brown, after the pale -anæmic faces we have left in town! You think how happy they must all -be here in the fresh air and the sunshine. So they ought to be, and so -most of them could be, if only they kept a look-out for happiness, and -seized all that came their way. But human nature the world over seems -to love to contemplate the tragic, or at least to pity itself! The -result is that every other person you meet in our village will tell you -a tale of woe as highly-coloured as anything you hear in town. - -“How do you do?” I inquired, last time I arrived, of a comfortable -healthy-looking woman, who had just been seeing her daughter off by -train. Her husband is a steady man, in regular work. She owns the -cottage she lives in, and a pig, and has no difficulty in supplying the -wants of her family, which are few. - -“Oh, I’m not up to much, m’m,” she began. “Things is so hard nowadays, -and no one gives _we_ a bit o’ help. There’s that Jane Price, _she_ got -a pound of tea, and a hundudweight of coal, and a red flannel petticut, -from the lady of the manor at Christmas, and _she_ be a widder with -on’y her children. But _I_ on’y got some tea and a petticut (not a nice -colour red neither), no coal nor nothing, and thur I’ve got _he_ to -keep as well as the children, and in course I need it wuss’n her do!” - -Further along the platform I spoke to the wife of a small farmer, a -healthy soul, with nothing much to worry her. But she didn’t intend to -be behindhand with trouble! Other people found plenty to moan about; -she wasn’t to be outdone. - -“You’ve heard of the awful time I’m having with my husband? Fell down -in the wood and broke his leg in four places! Suffers terrible, he -does.” - -I expressed sympathy, and asked how long he had been in bed. - -“Oh, he isn’t in bed; can’t spare the time to lay up, with the -haymaking just on. He’s cutting the five-acre field to-day. He gets -about, but he has an abundation of pain at nights. Yes, you’re right. -Very active he is, there’s no keeping him still. He’ll walk to his own -funeral, _he_ will.” - -Actually the man had a touch of rheumatism! - - * * * * * - -Finally we are settled in the fly, piled up with the lighter luggage, -while Abigail and old Bob’s nephew follow in the cart. - -To the stranger who has never been in our Valley before, the drive to -the Cottage is a thing of wonder; to those of us who do the journey -many times in the course of the year new beauties are always revealing -themselves, and the whole scene seems more lovely each time we look -upon it, if that be possible. - -The station is on the river level, down in the green depths of -the Valley. But you cannot go many yards on level ground, as the -hills on either side of the river are steep, with nothing but the -narrowest footpath in places, between their precipitous sides and the -fast-rushing water. In many cases the cottage-gardens on the hill-side -have to be kept up with walls of stone—as one sees the vineyards built -up on steep hill-sides in vine-growing districts—otherwise the rains -and swollen brooks would wash the earth down, in the winter, into the -river below. - -The horses start the ascent as soon as they leave the station, and pass -through the small village, which shows a curious medley in the way of -architecture. In the wall of an old cow-house there is a Gothic window, -built probably with stones taken from the ruined Abbey; all the windows -of one cottage bear an ecclesiastical stamp. Before the beautiful ruin -was carefully guarded as it is now, people must have gone and helped -themselves as they pleased to carved stonework and any fragment that -they could make use of; and thus you may find an exquisite bit of -carved stone in a most ordinary three-roomed dwelling. Some of the -cottages and barns may have been part of the Abbey property; at any -rate one comes on architectural surprises in the most unexpected places. - -But even though in this district man’s handiwork has achieved wondrous -things, it is the work of Nature that claims the attention. - -The Abbey seems a huge pile when you stand under its roofless walls; -but once you start to ascend the hills, everything takes on new -proportions. No longer are you shut in by two high green hill-walls, -the higher you go the smaller become the hills that are nearest to you, -as they reveal far greater giants behind them. The blue Welsh mountains -rise up, still further beyond again. - -Below, the river winds and loses itself, seeming to come to an abrupt -end against a barrier of dark green slopes; but it evidently finds -a way out, for it is seen further on in the far distance, a silver, -gleaming band, still winding, and still guarded by mountains that now -are tinged with the purply-blue tone that Nature uses for her distant -effects. - -The lanes through which we pass are miracles of loveliness, with -their ferns and flowers and birds and butterflies. But I think one’s -overwhelming thought is of the grandeur of the distances. One is always -looking away to the far-off, to the farms and small homesteads dotted -at rare intervals on far heights and among the forests; to the peaks -beyond peaks; to the light playing on miles of birch and oak; to the -shadowy coombes where hills drop down into other valleys. - -I have always noticed, when I am bringing anyone for the first time -from the station to my house, that, though I point out the roadside -springs and waterfalls, the glory of the hedges, the rose-coloured -honeysuckle that grows over one cottage, smothering roof, chimneys -and all, the visitors do not expend so much admiration on any of this, -it is always the inexplicable mystery of the hills that holds them. -Every five minutes takes one higher, and reveals a further panorama. -Beautiful as are the lesser things, lovely as is the old ruined Abbey, -the human and the near seem to slip away from you as you look across -the deep chasm where the river lies below, to the vastness on the -other side. There is a power, a force born of great heights and great -spaces, that cannot be explained, but is surely felt by all who have -not mortgaged their soul to mammon. There was a depth of mystic meaning -in the words of the shepherd poet, even in the world’s young days, when -he wrote: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh -my help.” - -It takes you about an hour to drive up to the cottage, and by this time -the lane has grown so narrow—and so bumpy!—that you marvel the horses -have ever got you there at all. But when you have reached the little -white gate you stand and look in silence. A new touch is added to the -landscape. You are now high enough to look over the tops of some of the -intervening hills, and there away beyond, between a dip in the hills, -you see a gleaming band of silver, the waters of the Channel. - -Some people consider no scenery perfect unless there is a railway in -the foreground to take them back to town as soon as possible. Some -artists always want a touch of scarlet to complete any picture. Myself, -I always think a glimpse of water is needed to make a beautiful view -absolutely satisfying. At my cottage I am doubly blessed! I can see the -river in the Valley below, and beyond there is the Channel, towards -which that river is ever hurrying. - -During the drive up, the small white dog with brown ears, sits on the -box seat, dividing his time between shrieking Billingsgate insults -to every local dog (I blush for his manners. And he looks so refined -too!) and licking old Bob’s face. Not that he has any particular -affection for our driver, but he gets quite hysterical when he sees -the countryside and scents the rabbits; and old Bob is the handiest -recipient for his overwhelming gratitude. A few dogs trail after us -through the village, telling him—and one another—what they will do when -they get hold of him; but they fall back when it comes to the hill; -and our own treasure looks triumphantly ahead for new dogs to revile; -deluding himself with the idea that he has slain all behind him, and -left their corpses in the road! Occasionally he ceases to be a bullying -war-dog, and becomes almost human; then he suddenly looks round at -us, wags his tail all he knows how, and gives a little whimper that -plainly says, “Isn’t it good to be here again!” And we all agree. - -It _is_ good to see the hills, and the valleys, the sturdy trees, and -the tender little ferns growing out of the walls. Best of all, it is -good to see the small white gate, and the red-tiled roof, and the blue -smoke curling up, oh, so peacefully, from the cottage chimney. It is -good to see the flowers smothering the walls and the garden beds; and -very good to greet one’s own furniture again, one’s own rooms, one’s -own familiar things—no matter how humble they may be. - -For months we have clean forgotten that the living-room window -requires two thumps if it is to be got open; yet without a moment’s -hesitation Ursula pulls off her gloves the moment we enter the door, -makes straight for the window, and gives it the requisite couple of -vigorous bangs, so as to let in the evening scent of the honeysuckle -that is thick about the porch. For months, it may be, we have forgotten -entirely that the lid of the biggest brown teapot has a knack of -tumbling off into the teacup, unless it is held on while one pours. -And yet, the moment I take up that teapot again, instinctively my hand -grips the lid. - -There is an indefinable spirit of welcome in all these little familiar -things—so commonplace and feeble and stupid they would seem to -outsiders; yet to us they imply that “we belong.” It is part of the -all-pervading rest that we find among these hills, that we go on from -just where we left off last time. We don’t have to start afresh, or -get acquainted with the place, or learn anything new. There is a great -charm in returning to familiar scenes that is missed by those who are -always rushing off on some new quest. True, they may find interest in -another direction; but I think with most of us—excepting when we are -very young and very inexperienced—the homing instinct is strong. - -I have laid my battered brain on pillows in some of the largest hotels -in the world; but I have never known in any of them the peaceful rest -that is to be found in the cottage bedroom, despite its sloping roof. -I’m not saying that there is nothing whatever to disturb one there—all -too often Mr. and Mrs. Starling (several of them) persist in building -under the tiles just above my head, and the various families demand -breakfast at 3.30. Yet I even get to sleep through this. - -There is one thing, however, that always wakes me and calls me in -a most peremptory manner to get up, and that is the return of the -swallows one morning in April or May, when the sites are being chosen -for the new nests under the eaves. It is such a sweet little chatter, -such a bubbling over of comment and advice and reminiscence, as they -get their first beakful of mud, and start to lay the foundation-stone -of the nest. - -What do they say? I often wonder. They seem to talk the whole time, -and explain to each other the excellent residential qualities of their -various positions. One thing I am sure they say—and they twitter it -over and over again—I know they mean it, though I don’t understand -their language; for the homing instinct is strong in them, as it is in -all of Nature’s children; and as I listen to them in the early morning, -I can almost hear their words, “Isn’t it good to be here again?” - - - - -III - -At the Sign of the Rosemary Bush - - -WHEN the cottage was originally built—about one hundred and thirty -years ago—it was probably just two rooms upstairs, one going out of the -other, and a kitchen and scullery downstairs. In the intervening years, -however, one owner has added on a couple of rooms on one side, and -another has put on two more and a pantry round the corner, and so on, -till it is difficult to say exactly what type of dwelling it really is. - -There is a proper front door somewhere about the place, only no one -ever seems to find it; the path leading to it from the main gate -unobtrusively hides itself among the fir-trees, wandering round at the -rear of the house, and under some low apple-trees—of course, no one -who wasn’t familiar with the geography of the estate would think of -exploring such an out-of-the-way, narrow, grass-grown trail. No, they -would naturally follow along the irregularly-flagged broad path that is -kept by the handy man fairly free from weeds (except some little ferns -that will peep up at the edge, no matter what he does to them, and a -saucy white violet that has planted itself right in the very middle of -the walk and blooms vigorously). - -Along this path most people go, whether they carry their best sunshade, -a bead bag and a silver card-case, or are merely delivering two -half-pounds of butter done up in dock leaves, and a cream-coloured duck -wrapped up in a coarse white tea-cloth with his liver tucked under -his wing, a big bunch of fresh sage stuck in his mouth—“and, please, -mother’s put in a couple o’ onions in case you didn’t happen to have -none.” - -This broad path leads to a corner in the architectural conglomeration -where there are two doors at right angles—one moderately respectable -and one smaller and shabbier. If you carry a silver card-case, you -knock at the respectable-looking door—which promptly admits you into -the scullery: if you are merely someone anxious to dispose of a few -eggs or wanting to borrow a little flour, you knock more humbly at the -shabby door—to find you are battering at the coal-house. - -Abigail deals with callers according to their status: the silver -card-cases are invited, in dulcet tones, to retrace their steps along -the broad path and take the narrow one to the front door. Sometimes -they do exactly as they are told; but more often, alas! they espy yet -another door, which they promptly make for, and this one precipitates -them right into the living-room and on top of me, no matter what I may -be doing. - -Inside the cottage it is a similar jumble. You think you have found the -living-room all right, when you come in from the garden, only to pull -up in a large pantry, like a small room, with shelves full of delicious -mysteries in glass jars and jampots and pickle bottles. - -You open a door in the living-room, thinking it is the one leading out -into the back hall, to find yourself confronted with a very steep and -narrow stone staircase, which is one way of getting upstairs! Of course -you get used to it all in a few days, and eventually cease to tumble -down over the odd step that is obligingly placed here and there in dark -spots, wherever the floor level changes in the halls or landings. But -to those who are not native-born it is a wee bit confusing at first. - - * * * * * - -The living-room was originally the kitchen. It has a large fireplace -with an oven, and wide hobs whereon you can stand a kettle or anything -else you want to keep hot. It has a crane, too—only we daren’t cook our -dinner in a pot suspended from it, because I don’t want Abigail to give -notice. We have therefore to content ourselves with giving the crane an -occasional swing. - -The mantelpiece—of oak that is black with age—has two shelves, the -upper one projecting beyond the lower, which has a frill of chintz -beneath. Higher up still there is an ancient rack for holding a couple -of guns, and there are cupboards on each side, also of black oak, that -must have been put there when the house was built. - -But I think the thing that delights my heart above everything else in -this room is the huge dresser. - -When you start with a room like this—I forgot to mention that there are -oak rafters, with hooks for home-fed hams—it is easy to make it cosy. -The big wooden settle keeps off draughts, some chairs that belonged to -my great-grandparents are far more comfortable than anything I could -buy nowadays, with the wood worn to that smooth polish that can only be -attained by generations of handling. - -The oak dower chest is heavily carved, though its iron hinges and -locks suggest a prison door for solidity and size; still it is a handy -receptacle for the miscellaneous collection of MSS. and papers that -haunts me wherever I go! - -I do not expect everybody to admire this style of room. There was one -caller (who came out of sheer curiosity) who, after gazing around the -living-room, with manifest disapproval, at last said, “You really could -make this into quite a nice little drawing-room if you had those old -rafters and beams done away with, and a proper ceiling put. Then you -could easily have a nice tiled modern stove in place of that dreadfully -old-fashioned fireplace, with those great hobs. And if you moved the -dresser into the kitchen, and——” So she went on, winding up with the -encouraging assurance, “And you would hardly know the place when you -had got it all done.” - -With one voice we said we could quite believe it. - -People so often fail to realise that both a country cottage decked out -in imitation of a town villa, and a town villa decked out in imitation -of a country cottage, are equally unsatisfying. In each case the fake -and insincerity of the schemes jar. - - * * * * * - -If it isn’t bothering you too much, I should like you to look at -the ornaments—these, as much as anything else, give the room its -“unlikeness” to anything you see in the city. Here is a lovely fat -fish in a glass case among reeds and grasses. On the walls are antlers -of the fallow deer. Then there is a framed sampler, and likewise some -wonderful needlework of a bygone age when needlework was an art. - -On the mantelpiece shelves are china cottages and castles, an old china -mill with a wonderful mill stream, on which are china ducks, each the -size of the mill-wheel! Then Red Riding Hood, in a little sprigged -pinafore, carrying a dear little basket, and patting affectionately -a most engaging, friendly-looking wolf, is always admired. Timothy’s -grandmother (a dignified-looking matron), teaching little Timothy out -of the Bible, is a relic from the days when Scriptural subjects were -among the ornaments found in most households. “Going to Market” and -“Returning from Market” are a choice pair of china subjects, showing -the lady riding behind her husband on a prancing steed that would do -credit to Rotten Row. - -Mary and her little Lamb is one of the prettiest in the collection, -only she lost one of her arms over fifty years ago! There are various -cows and sheep (some with blue ribbons round the neck), and other -quaint china oddities. - -Then there is a beautiful hen sitting on a most symmetrically woven -(china) straw nest packed full of eggs (each one, in proportion to the -hen, is the size of an ostrich egg). The hen (eggs and all) can be -lifted up, using her head, poor thing, as the handle, and then you find -she is the cover to an oval dish. I always intend—should any members of -our Royal Family get stranded on these hills, and drop in unexpectedly -to tea—to serve them with a poached egg in this identical dish. - -And you must not overlook the shining brass candlesticks, some tall and -stately, some squat, with square trays and extinguishers, that have -been winking and glinting in the light for a century now—and are still -shining; nor the brass and horn lantern hanging from a beam. A lantern -is an absolute necessity on these rugged hills when there is no moon. - -How friendly the old brass things are! Just look at the warming-pan -with its bright sun-face. I have no doubt modern radiators and -hot-water pipes are a boon to those who do not mind headaches and -dried-up air—but do they _look_ as warm and comforting as the gleaming -warming-pan? - -That reminds me of the first time Abigail came down from London. She -looked at the warming-pan with interest, as she had never seen one -before. The weather was cold, and hot-water bottles were the order of -the night in town. - -When I returned from an evening stroll with some guests, she met me -with an anxious face. “If you please, miss, will you kindly show me -how you keep the water inside that warming-pan? I can’t get it to stay -inside nohow when I start to lift it!” - - * * * * * - -I wonder if you have ever seen a dresser like this one? The oak -shelves forming the upper part are built into a deep recess in the -wall, one above the other, up to the rafters, and all set back in the -thickness of the wall—and you can see how thick these walls are from -the window-ledge, which is fifteen inches deep. But they need to be -solid, for the winter storms that thrash across these hills show scant -consideration for present-day building methods; and a modern “bijou -bungalow” would probably be found scattered about the next parish, if -it ever lived long enough to get its roof on! - -The dresser is closely hung with jugs and mugs and cups, willow-pattern -plates and dishes make a good deal of white and blue against the walls, -which are a full buttercup yellow, while a collection of ancient china -teapots, with some square willow-pattern vegetable dishes and a tall -Stilton cheese dish with two big sunflowers on it, occupy the wider -ledge at the bottom. - -Here are some uncommon specimens of lustre jugs. This is a rare lustre -mug, brown with green bars outside, and a purple band inside. A lustre -pepper-box stands on one of the dresser ledges, and salt-cellars of -glass, so heavy as to suggest paper-weights. - -Do you know the fascination of old English mugs? On this dresser -they range from a tiny mug in Rockingham ware, only an inch and a -half high, to noble things that suggest long draughts of home-made -herb beer! There are mugs with bunches of flowers on them, others -with conventional bands or designs, some with landscapes, some with -butterflies, some with words of wisdom to be imbibed by the youthful -along with the milk. - -Jugs, again, are most alluring, once you get a mania for them! One of -my jugs is of brown earthenware, smothered with a raised design showing -a trailing grape-vine, with big bunches of grapes here and there. Two -other jugs that belonged to a bygone ancestress are apparently made of -a white stone wall, with the most natural-looking ivy creeping up it -and displaying bunches of berries. Jug-makers of the past gave so much -interest to their goods by reason of this raised work, instead of being -content to transfer a flat design as they do now. One white jug has -off-standing deer around it, grazing among trees. Another has a hunt in -full progress, horses and riders, dogs and all—though it always hurts -me to see the running hare. - -A real, proper dresser is a useful bit of furniture, provided it -has plenty of hooks. It holds such a quantity of things. I have all -sorts of odd cups and saucers on mine, relics of past treasures that -have somehow survived the hand of the hired washer-up; little bits -that remind me of all sorts of pleasant things, such as tea-services -my mother had when I was little, some that have belonged to other -relatives. - -In passing, I may say that a dresser of this sort is a great incentive -to good works. Many a relation, on looking at it, has said, “_I_ have -an old jug that belonged to your great, no, your great-great-aunt; I -shall give it to you, as you like things of that sort.” - -Or another time it will be: “_What_ a collection of odd cups! Good -gracious, if a little thing like _that_ amuses you, I’ll turn out a lot -I have stored away somewhere, glad to get rid of them; it only annoys -me to look at them, as it reminds me how all the rest of the set got -smashed. You can have them and welcome.” - -There has been a good deal of this sort of “give and take” about the -furnishing of this cottage. And it is so much more interesting to me -as the owner to know the history of the various items, than if I had -merely bought antiques by the houseful, as I have known some people do. -In the latter case, a room is so apt to look like nothing but an old -curiosity shop; as it is, the things all seem to “belong,” just as much -as we do. - - * * * * * - -But I mustn’t weary you with a catalogue of household furnishings, -though I know, if you could actually _see_ the china and the little -bedrooms, with white, washable handwork everywhere, and wonderful old -patchwork and knitted quilts, you would love it all. The Bird room is -the general favourite, with its unique crochet; there are swallows -flying across the curtain-tops, swans sailing among bulrushes on the -washstand splash, wild geese flying above the tree-tops at another -window, ducks swimming sedately along towel-ends, more swallows (in -cross-stitch this time) on a table-cover, parrots (in darned filet) -on the dressing-table cloth, while seagulls float along a frieze, a -glass case of rare birds is over the mantelpiece, and a large wool-work -pheasant, balancing itself ingeniously on the top of a small basket of -grapes, and endeavouring to look as though it were quite its natural -habitat, is framed, and hangs on the wall. I don’t think the far-back -relative who worked it had much of an eye for proportion, however! - -On the mantelpiece stands a sedate row of china fowls, a marble -fountain basin in the centre, with white pigeons basking around the -edge. - - * * * * * - -Just one other room you must look into—the sitting-room, because I -want you to see my dolls’ things. Yes, I know it sounds imbecile, but -I never had a dolls’ house. When I was young, the rest of us were -brothers, and it wasn’t considered economical, therefore, to present -a toy that would only be serviceable to one out of the bunch. Besides -which, in those days children didn’t immediately get what they stamped -for. So I had to go without the thing I yearned for above all others. -But you may be sure I took care of what dolls’ things did chance to -come my way. - -Dolls themselves were very scarce, but I had several sets of dolls’ -tea-things, given by discerning aunts, and here they are, in a funny -old glass cupboard in the corner of the sitting-room. One is a very -small set, with teeny pink rosebuds on it; another is a larger set, -that my small friends drank tea out of (and occasionally smashed a cup -for me). There are two dinner services, one in plain white—a round soup -tureen, a gravy boat, a square vegetable dish, with some remaining -plates and dishes; the other a gorgeous affair, with Dickens scenes on -each plate—one dozen meat and six soup plates, with dishes and tureens -galore, and oh! such lovely china soup and sauce ladles, all _en suite_. - -These dolls’ things seem to affect people in different ways. Some look -at them with eyes that go back to their own childhood, and memories -that recall similar treasures that they wanted when they, too, were -little, and did—or did not—get. Such people know exactly why I value -these things. They handle them lovingly, but don’t say much. - -But there are others who gaze at the dolls’ china (and the little -wooden animals, and the glass slipper I was certain Cinderella wore, -and the china grand piano, and the dolls’ brass fender, and all the -other oddments), and then look at me in blank astonishment. It is -evidently incomprehensible to them that any sane woman, in these days -of strenuous intellectuality, can hoard such childish rubbish. And I am -powerless to explain my reasons. - -Occasionally, however, light breaks across one of these amazed -countenances, and a woman will suddenly exclaim: “_I_ have part of a -dolls’ dinner service somewhere in the attic at home, I believe. I -shall get it out, and put it in _my_ china cabinet. It looks quite -smart, doesn’t it?” - -To which I reply: “Yes; and I hear they are going to be _much_ worn -this season.” - - * * * * * - -All the decorations in the house are on the most homely lines, one room -has each deep window-ledge filled with seashells and coral. If you want -silver boxes and cut-glass scent-bottles in the bedroom, you must bring -them yourself. _We_ think the wooden dressing-table looks all that -can be desired, clothed in a blue-glazed lining petticoat, with white -dotted muslin on top. And who could want a silver-backed hand-glass, -when they have the chance of using one that has its back encrusted with -small seashells! - -There are plenty of pictures all over the house, many of them without -frames. Haulage is an expensive matter on these hills, and we always -take this into consideration. Several of the rooms have friezes made of -brown paper, to which have been affixed a series of coloured plates. -The charm of this arrangement is that you can take down the old frieze -and put up a new one—or stick a fresh picture over some old one—as -often as you please. - -All pictures, however, show beautiful views of outdoor scenery: -heather-clad hills, flowering gardens, snow-covered peaks, and rolling -waves. Whether they are original paintings that famous artists have -given me, or plates from art magazines, they are all views of large -spaces, and induce big, restful thoughts. - -Some cards that hang on the bedroom walls have been singled out again -and again by my friends for special commendation. I happened to see -them one day when I was going round the Book Saloon of the R.T.S. in -St. Paul’s Churchyard. One special favourite has these lines on it -(possibly you know them?):— - -GOOD NIGHT. - - Sleep sweet within this quiet room, - Oh thou! whoe’er thou art, - And let no mournful yesterday - Disturb thy peaceful heart; - Nor let to-morrow scare thy rest - With dreams of coming ill; - Thy Maker is thy changeless friend, - His love surrounds thee still. - Forget thyself and all the world, - Put out each feverish light; - The stars are watching overhead, - Sleep sweet, Good Night, Good Night. - -Another, bought the same day, is entitled:— - -A QUIET RESTING PLACE. - - And so I find it well to come - For deeper rest to this still room; - For here the habit of the soul - Feels less the outer world’s control, - And from the silence multiplied - By these still forms on every side, - The world that time and sense has known - Falls off and leaves us God alone. - -For the Flower room, Canon Langbridge’s delightful book, _Restful -Thoughts for Dusty Ways_, supplied me with a verse:— - -HEAVEN COVERS ALL. - - When the world’s weight is on thy mind, - And all its black-winged fears affright, - Think how the daisy draws her blind, - And sleeps without a light. - -And for the Bird room, I have on the wall W. C. Bryant’s beautiful -poem, “Lines to a Waterfowl.” You will remember these verses:— - - There is a Power whose care - Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, - The desert and illimitable air— - Lone wandering, but not lost. - - He who, from zone to zone, - Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, - In the long way that I must tread alone - Will lead my steps aright. - -On more than one occasion visitors have thanked me for having left them -these goodnight thoughts. - -Of course, being a cottage in the midst of a flower-patch, we never run -short of flowers, and you find plenty indoors. When they are in bloom, -however, I always like to put a bunch of white moss rose-buds (one of -my favourite flowers) in a blue mug on a visitor’s dressing-table. - -But whatever the flowers, it is our custom to welcome all guests with -rosemary, for I have discovered that the scent of it (even the sight -of it) is a certain cure for the divers maladies caused by overdoses -of unsatisfactory dressmakers, cooks who give notice every month, -much boredom in crowded unventilated drawing-rooms, and all the many -varieties of restlessness that have been invented to help women to kill -time. It has also been known to prove efficacious in cases of people -prone to overwork. - -At any rate, if you come to visit me you will find a vase with sprigs -of rosemary on the deep window-ledge in your room; and few of my -friends go away without taking a slip from the gnarled bush by the door -to plant in less congenial surroundings. - -I believe Shakespeare said that rosemary typifies remembrance; Virginia -unblushingly improves on Shakespeare by insisting that it means the -remembrance of peace. - - - - -IV - -Miss Quirker—Incidentally - - -EVERY visit to the cottage seems prefaced with a scramble. Either the -work at the office suddenly does itself up in a tangle, or the domestic -arrangements show signs of incipient paralysis, which it takes all my -available energy to avert, or else it is people who inflict themselves -upon me when I’m at my final gasp without a moment, or a single company -smile, to spare for anybody. And of all the three forms of irritation, -the uninvited people are the worst; for they always seem to absorb the -last bit of vitality left me, which I had hoped would just carry me -over the journey. - -There is Miss Quirker, for instance. You don’t know Miss Quirker? How I -envy you! - -I can best describe her as a lady well over forty (or more), who -apparently hasn’t anything at all to do, and who does it thoroughly -well. She has a couple of very decided and conspicuous gifts—one is the -ability to waste the time and dissipate the amiable qualities of every -individual whose path she crosses; and the other is a positive genius -for saying the wrong thing. - -I was near the window writing for all I was worth, when she knocked at -the door and inquired for me, adding, “I see she is busy writing, but -if you tell her who it is, I know she’ll see _me_.” Of course I had to -see her. - -She entered the room with a kittenish little rush and scuffle, that is -by no means the happiest form of affectation for a tall, largely-built -woman, well over forty (or more). - -“Ah! I’ve found you in at last” (with a roguish wag of a stiff finger -in a size too small glove). “I was determined to see you, dear, though -Abigail always looks so forbidding at the door. I met Miss Virginia -shopping just now, and I asked if you were at home. She said you were -_frightfully_ busy, nearly off your head with work, as you were leaving -town the first thing in the morning. So I said at once: Then of course -I must go round and call on her this very afternoon. - -“She said she wasn’t sure that you’d be in if I did, but I said I -should chance it—it’s such an age since we’ve met—why, not since your -engagement was announced! Now, just give me an account of yourself, and -tell me all about everything. - -“I would have asked Miss Virginia, but I never think she is at all -cordial, or perhaps I should say—sympathetic. Indeed, I don’t think she -really knew me at first. I was right in her path, yet she seemed to -look through me! But I took a seat next to her at the lace counter, -and spoke to her. By the way, is she deaf? It was so strange that she -didn’t seem to hear a quarter of the questions I asked her about you, -so I really got next to _no_ information from her. It was so funny -sometimes that I almost laughed—I’ve _such_ a sense of humour, you -know. For instance, when I asked her what she thought of your _fiancé_ -(you know you’ve never introduced me to him yet!) and was it her idea -of a suitable match, and was he tall or short, she replied: ‘I think -it wonderful value considering, and it should wear well; the size is -five yards round, so I had better have six yards to allow for corners.’ -And, do you know, I was some minutes before I realised that she wasn’t -talking about his waist measure, but an afternoon tea-cloth for which -she was buying the lace. She evidently hadn’t heard a word I had said. -And so I raised my voice and asked her what part he had come from, as I -knew he didn’t go to _our_ church. She just looked at me and replied: -‘Cluny; I always think Cluny lace washes so well, don’t you?’ - -“You see, I got absolutely _nothing_ out of her. In fact, I wondered, -dear, whether—of course, I know you don’t mind me speaking quite -frankly—whether there had been any little rift—er—you understand; of -course I know you’ve a wonderful fund of patience, only those two girls -always seem to be with you, and though I’m sure you wouldn’t tell them -so, yet anyone with the very _slightest_ tact might see that they -aren’t wanted. And of course.... - -“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear you _do_ think as much of them as ever. I -shouldn’t have thought it; but you needn’t mind telling _me_ if there -_had_ been a little coolness. I’m fairly sharp at seeing through a -stone wall. And I always have said that—personally, mind you—I never -knew two girls less.... - -“Of course, we won’t discuss them if you’d rather not. As you know, I -am the very last one to want to introduce a disagreeable topic. We’ll -talk about you. Turn round to the light, and let me see how you are -looking. My _dear_! but you do look ill!! I don’t know _when_ I’ve seen -you look so utterly washed out and anæmic.... - -“You never felt better in your life? Well, I’m glad to hear it, I’m -sure. Oh, I see what it is, it’s that blue dress you are wearing that -gives you that aged and sallow look—a very trying colour, isn’t it? I -don’t think anyone ought to wear that colour, but those with very clear -young-looking complexions, and then it looks charming. It always suited -me. By the way, did Madame Delphine make that dress?... I thought so, I -knew it the minute I saw you. It’s a queer thing, but I have never yet -seen anyone look even passable in a dress that she has made. You can’t -exactly say that it doesn’t fit, can you? It’s a something—I don’t -know how to express it—about her gowns that always strikes me as—well, -you know what I mean, don’t you? And that dress you’ve got on looks -just like that! I know you won’t mind _me_ speaking quite plainly; -you see, I’ve known you for so long, and I’m not one to flatter, I -never was. What we need in this world is absolute sincerity; don’t you -agree with me? And I always think it’s the kindest thing when you see -a friend in anything that makes her look plainer than ever, to tell -her so at once, then she knows just exactly what she looks like. And, -after all, other people are the best judges as to what suits us. We -can’t see ourselves. Mrs. Ridley was saying at the Guild ‘At Home’ at -the Archdeacon’s the other day, she thought you were so wise to stick -to that way you do your hair; she said she thought it suited you, -considering that....” - -Here I did manage to interpolate a sarcastic regret that they couldn’t -find a more interesting topic of conversation! - -“Oh, yes, we _had_ other more interesting things to talk about, dear, -but Mrs. Archdeacon had your photo on the table, and the Archdeacon -said something about you, I forget what—nothing of any importance—and -that was the only reason we mentioned you. I said I thought perhaps you -did it that way because it was a little thin just there.... Oh, I know -you used to have a lot of hair, dear; but some people’s hair _does_ -come out, and a pad doesn’t look so well anywhere else.... - -“It’s all your own hair? You don’t wear—— Well, I _am_ surprised! I -should _never_ have thought it!! I don’t mean that it looks much in any -case, but I always concluded that you wore—— - -“Oh, how delightful! I’ll confess I was longing for a cup of tea.... -Yes, three lumps and plenty of milk. I always say it makes up for any -deficiencies in the tea, if one has lots of milk.... China tea, is it? -I thought so. I dare say it’s all right for those who like it. And, of -course, if you tell people what it is, they understand why it _looks_ -so poor.... - -“On _no_ account; don’t _think_ of having some Indian tea made -specially for me. I can quite well make this do, because I’m going -straight home after I leave you, and tea will be waiting for me, and I -shall have a _good_ cup first thing.... - -“Yes, I think I will have another sandwich, even though it is the third -time of asking. These make me think of the Guild ‘At Home’ last week. -You ought to have been there. The Archdeacon makes such a delightful -host _and_ the sandwiches!—well, I can’t _tell_ you what they were -like; literally hundreds and hundreds of them, and such delicious -filling; all cut in their own kitchen, too. You really should get Mrs. -Archdeacon to tell you what her cook put in them; you’d never touch one -of these ordinary ones again, once you had tasted hers. - -“But what I _would_ like to know is, what does she do with all the -crusts? Mrs. Ridley thought that perhaps they made them up into savoury -puddings; only, as I said to her: How about those with fish in them? -She said that perhaps they kept them separate when cutting; but I know -the shuffling ways of cooks better than that! I never kept one, and I -never will.... - -“I must certainly try the cake if you made it yourself. I seldom get -time to do any cooking myself, though I’m a very good hand at cakes. -But you’ve secretaries to take everything off your hands; you must have -lots of spare time.” - -(A moment’s pause while she tries the cake.) - -“Have you ever used the Busy Bee Flour Sifter? No? Then I should -strongly advise you to get one. I should think _that_ might help you to -make a lighter cake; or do you think you put in enough baking powder? -But there, some people have a light hand with cakes, and some haven’t. -I don’t think anything makes any difference if you haven’t. It’s just -like plants, isn’t it—they always grow well for those who love them. -_Your_ ferns aren’t looking very bright, are they?... - -“Oh, don’t you like the ends of the fronds rubbed?... I see, they -were given you by your _fiancé_, and naturally they are the apple of -your eye. That reminds me, you haven’t shown me his portrait yet. I’m -longing to see it.... - -“Is _that_ the gentleman! Well! he’s the very last man in the world I -should have chosen for you! Not a bit like what I pictured.... - -“No, I don’t mean that there’s anything _wrong_ with him, only—er—he -doesn’t look a scrap like the man _you_ would become engaged to.... - -“Well, I don’t know that I can exactly describe the type of man I -expected. I thought he would be tall and—— - -“He is? Over six feet? Well, he doesn’t look it from his photo, does -he?... - -“That’s true; a vignetted head doesn’t show the full height. But apart -from that, I expected an artistic sort of man.... - -“He is? Really! And then I should have pictured him rather—er—well, -Napoleonic, and with that far-away poetic fire in his eyes that carries -you off your feet to untold heights.... - -“No, of course I don’t mean an aviator! I mean a—but it isn’t easy to -put it into words; only you can’t think how disap—how surprised I am to -see a little man.... - -“Of course, I remember you did say he was tall and well made. But -there, handsome is as handsome does; and, after all, I’ve heard that -it is often the plainest and most uninteresting-looking men that turn -out the best in the end. I can only hope that it will be so in your—— - -“Why, I declare! Here’s Miss Virginia! How d’y’do? We’ve been talking -about you all the afternoon. Well, I really _must_ be going, and I -simply won’t listen to any of your persuasions to stay longer. I’ve -brightened her up nicely, Miss Virginia; she was looking ever so gloomy -when I called. Good-bye, dear. _Good_-bye, Miss Virginia.” - - _Exit Miss Quirker._ - -What we said after she had gone had better not be recorded! My own -remarks may not have been _quite_ cordial; but I know that Virginia’s -were even worse—if that were possible. - - * * * * * - -But though visitations such as these, when bestowed upon me at the -eleventh hour, always reduce me mentally to a sort of bran-mash (and -Virginia says she can’t see why anybody need bother a government to -_import_ pulp nowadays, considering the state of her brain, to say -nothing of those of other people who shall be nameless), the sight of -the garden makes me human once more, and by sunset the silence of the -hills has so restored my soul, that the sun seldom, if ever, goes down -upon my wrath. - -After tea, there will probably be two hours of daylight for watering -the garden. Even though the sun has dropped behind the opposite hills, -it is light up here on the hill-top long after the valley has gone to -sleep; and when the sun has really set, there is a long and lovely -twilight. - -Indoors and out there is absolute peace. The grandfather’s clock ticks -with that slow deliberation that is so soothing; even the preliminary -rumble it gives before striking is never irritating—you feel it is a -concession due to advanced age. - -Through the open window float in the scents of thousands of flowers -that are feeling unspeakably grateful for the liberal watering the -girls have been giving them; you cannot distinguish any one in -particular; one moment you think it is the sweet briar, then you are -sure it is the white lilies, then the breeze brings the breath of the -honeysuckles that are climbing trees and hedges, till the whole air is -laden with perfume. - -Up the garden white dresses are seen among the borders. - -“There, I believe we’ve done everything but that upper bed of -hollyhocks, and they won’t hurt for to-night.” Virginia sounds as -though she had been working hard. - -“Now the tent,” calls out Ursula. And we all make a stampede to the -bottom of the lower orchard, and with a few dexterous turns the tent -is down and folded up; for though the trees may be motionless now, -the wind springs up at any moment on these hills, and once you hear -it soughing in the tops of the big fir-trees in the garden you will -realise the advantage of having the tent indoors! - -As you saunter up the garden, back to the house, crushing the -sweet-odoured black peppermint in the grass underfoot, the stars -seem very near. The cottage looks like a toy, with the light shining -from each little window. And as you cross the threshold into the -living-room, the log fire flashes and gleams (a fire is acceptable up -here after sundown, even in the summer), and everything smiles with -such a cosy welcome, till brass candlesticks and cups and jugs and the -homely willow patterns on the dresser, all seem to say, “We are so glad -you’ve come.” - - - - -V - -The Geography of the Flower-Patch - - -THE first night at this cottage you may lie awake, if you are a -stranger to these hills, almost awed by the silence. Gradually you -realise that the silence is not actual absence of sound. In May and -early June the nightingales trill in the trees around; or you will hear -the owls calling to one another in the woods—a trifle weird if you do -not know what it is. At another time it is the corn-crake; or the wind -brings you the bleating of lambs down in the valley. As you listen -longer, you hear the tinkle, tinkle of the little spring that tumbles -out of a small spout into a ferny well outside the garden gate. - -You take a final look out of the window to where, miles away in the -distance, a lighthouse flashes at fixed intervals. It seems strangely -companionable, even though it is so far off. And then you close your -eyes—unconscious that you have fallen asleep—only to open them again in -a minute, as you think. Someone is speaking. - -You detect Ursula’s voice in a stage whisper through the keyhole. - -“I say—aren’t you ever going to get up?” - -You rub your eyes. It certainly is morning! And you such a poor -sleeper, possibly one of those who “never had a wink of sleep all -night, and such horrid dreams.” The plaintive voice continues at the -keyhole: - -“I planted out nine hundred and thirty-seven wallflower seedlings -yesterday, and I want to cover them up with fern before the sun gets -too strong. If you’ll get up you can gather the bracken, while I creep -around on all fours covering them up. See? Virginia is busy thinning -out the turnips. And SHE is never any good at getting up early, you -know!” - -I regret to say this last scornful reference is to me! - - * * * * * - -And now when you look out of the little bedroom window again, to the -accompaniment of an early cup of tea, what a change has taken place -since yesterday! Last night the ranges of opposite hills, with the sun -setting behind them, looked vague and mysterious with shadows. This -morning the sun is full on them, but now there is another mystery—or so -it seems to those who see it for the first time. - -Instead of looking down into the green tree-clad valley to where the -river winds along at the base of the steep hills, you now look down -on to a bank of solid white—the mist that rises up at night and fills -the lower part of the valley, reminding one of the mist that went up -from the earth in the first Garden, “and watered the whole face of the -ground.” - -With the sun on it, the mist gives back a dazzling light. And then -slowly, slowly, the whole white bank in the valley lifts silently and -wonderfully; up and up it goes in a solid mass, and as the higher -parts of the hills, which were previously in sunshine, are temporarily -hidden by the uprising mass, so the lower part of the valley gradually -becomes visible, first only a strip at the very bottom, then more and -more as the white curtain is raised. Finally the white mass disappears -and joins its fellows in the sky above, a fragment of cloud lingering -sometimes a little below the summit of the highest hill. If the day is -going to be fine, this last trail of silvery cloud disappears, and then -the sun lights up the woods and the upland meadows, showing you distant -cottages and far-off farmhouses where you saw nothing but tremulous -shadows the night before. - -However often one looks upon this sight, the marvel never lessens, -and the “simple scientific explanation,” which every learned person -who visits this cottage pours over the breakfast-table, is quite -unnecessary. Scientific explanations are admirable for cities, but when -we set foot on these hills, it is just sufficient for us that Nature -“is.” - - * * * * * - -One drawback about this cottage is the fact that one’s poetic thoughts -and soulful dreams are constantly being interrupted by things -material, more especially those appertaining to food! And even as -you are gazing out of the window at the glorious scenery all around -you, there arises the odour of frizzling ham (that originally ran -about, uncooked, in a field lower down), fried potatoes (the good -old-fashioned sort done in the frying-pan), coffee, and other hungry -things; and you find to your surprise that a substantial breakfast is -on the table by eight o’clock, though (and this is where guests bless -their hostess) no one need get up to breakfast, if they prefer to have -it in bed, for very tired people come here sometimes. - -But it does not matter what nervous wrecks Virginia and Ursula may -have landed at the door overnight, the first morning sees them up with -the lark and out gardening; and one of the earliest sounds you hear -is the clink of the brown pitcher on the stones, as Virginia sets it -down after filling it at the little spring outside the garden gate. -This is a thirsty garden; it is everywhere on the slope, remember, -and is composed of the lightest soil imaginable with rock everywhere -beneath. As fast as you put water on it, it runs away downhill; hence, -a moment’s leisure, morning or evening, always means some pitchers of -water for the garden. - -All the cottages on the hillside seem to have been built in the same -way. Someone evidently hunted about for a few feet of land where -it was slightly less sloping than the rest, and within reach of a -spring of water, and this plot he levelled a bit by excavating the big -boulders and smaller stones which make up our substratum, and often the -top-stratum too. Then if the piece of land wasn’t quite large enough, -he cut away part of the hill behind, banking it up with some of the -biggest of the boulders, to keep it from tumbling down on to the piece -he had cleared. - -Next he excavated more rocky pieces from the up-and-down land around -his clearing; this gave him a bit of clean ground for a garden, and -also provided him with enough stone to build his habitation. Any stone -he might have over he made into a wall around his plot, by the simple -process of piling one piece on top of another. That, apparently, is all -man does to the place. Then Nature sets to work; and, oh, what festoons -of loveliness she flings over all! - -As several different owners have had a hand at my particular cottage, -the garden has been extended in various directions, but always -requiring stone walls to prop it up. Hence you get a moderately level -patch, with a drop of four or six feet over the edge of the garden-bed. - -A few rough stone steps take you down to the next level, where there -is another bit of garden, the steps themselves sprouting in every -chink, with wild strawberry, primroses, ferns, columbines, and a stray -Canterbury bell. In this way the cottage is surrounded with steps going -up or going down, with a flower-bed running along here, and some more -a few feet lower down; another terrace of flowers and some more steps -(nearly smothered with big periwinkle, these are) take you down to an -absurd lawn, that some enterprising person levelled up so delightfully -on the tilt that neither chair nor table will remain where you place -it! If they roll far enough, they go over the edge of the lawn, a drop -of about twenty feet, into the lower orchard! Nevertheless, this lawn -is popular, because it is edged at one side with white and pink moss -rose-trees. - -Thus perhaps you can picture it—big beds and little beds, some running -one way, some spreading out in another direction; sometimes large -patches where flowers grow by the quarter-acre; sometimes little scraps -and corners no bigger than a hearth-rug, where we managed to dig out -some more stones, and make a further bit of clearing. But everywhere -you go there are the big plateaux or little terraces supported by -massive grey stone walls, which vary from two to twenty feet in height, -according to the amount of hillside they are required to prop up. - -And how these walls bloom! Ivy and moss and ferns seem to love them, -for all the local walls sprout ferns without any apparent provocation, -and the walls about this garden are no exception. - -But, in addition, white arabis hangs over in cascades, in -the spring, and you see then why the country people call it -“Snow-on-the-Mountains”; and mingling with the white is the exquisite -mauve variety; wallflowers of lovely colouring, rose pink, deep -purple, pale primrose, bright orange, as well as the richly-streaked -brown-and-yellow flowers, bloom gaily on the rocky ledges; snapdragons -flower later, with nasturtiums, and even some blue-eyed forget-me-nots -have sown themselves up there, and bloom with the rest. Honesty plants -have established themselves in the crevices; masses of wild Herb Robert -have been allowed to remain; and carpeting everything are all manner -of sedums, and Alpine and ice plants, some with grey-green foliage and -ruby-coloured stems, some with white flowers, some with crimson; and in -the hottest places there are clumps of houseleeks looking sturdy and -homely. - -Certain weeks in the year the tops of some of the walls are a golden -mass when the yellow stonecrop is in bloom; but whatever the season, -there is always something to look at—something holding up a brave head -and preaching as loudly as ever a plant can preach of the advantages of -making the best of your surroundings. - -Does the wall face a sunless north? Very well; out come the ferns and -up creeps the ivy; the Rock Stonecrop, with its blue-green stems and -leaves (looking almost like a huge moss) fills every shady spot it can -find, seemingly appearing from nowhere. - -Is the wall sunny? All right; the wallflowers laugh at you, pinks climb -over the top edge, just to see what is going on down below; one baking -spot supports a mass of sage about a yard and a half in diameter, a -smother of blue flowers in the summer; no one planted it, it just came! -A red ribis has hooked itself in at one spot; what it lives on I don’t -know; while white, mauve and purple Honesty seeds itself everywhere, -making a brave show of colour in the spring. In fact, white and mauve -are the prevailing colours on the walls in April. - -Later on you may expect—and will find—anything; for annuals and -bi-annuals seed themselves, continually dropping the seed to a lower -level; hence there is always a self-planted garden bed at the base of -each wall, reminiscent of what was growing above the season before. - -On the shady side of one wall, we have made a moss garden—it was -Virginia’s idea, and she takes a very special pride in it, adding -new sorts whenever she finds them. Hence you will sometimes find her -coming home from a ramble, carrying a huge stone with her, or lugging -along a veritable boulder. In this way she brings the moss home, -local habitation and all, annexing any stone she sees (a wild stone, -of course, not a tame one from someone’s garden wall) that bears a -promising crop of some new variety. - -As a result, she fairly bulges with pride whenever she exhibits -the moss garden, and explains how much of it is her own particular -handiwork. - -We have not yet settled whether she ought to pay me rent for my wall -that she uses for her moss garden, or I ought to pay her wages for -moss-gardening my wall. - -One characteristic of this garden is an ever-changing show of colour. -It varies according to the season, but whatever the time of year there -are usually gorgeous splashes of colour that make you stand and wonder. - -Do not forget that this is only a cottage garden, even though it is -a roomy one. I hope you are not picturing to yourself an orthodox -country-house garden, with expanses of well-kept lawns, with -proper-looking beds of geraniums, and lordly pampas grass at intervals, -and well-groomed rose-bushes in tidy beds, and correct herbaceous -borders, and beds of begonias and heliotropes planted out from the -greenhouses, and all the other nice-mannered, polite flowers that every -well-paid, certificated gardener conscientiously insists on planting in -exactly the same way all the country over. - -This garden grows a little of everything, and a great deal of -some things, and when you look at it you might easily imagine that -everything had planted itself just where it pleased. The garden is -not tidy, for the things are constantly growing over each other, and -then out across the paths. Moreover, it lacks someone there all the -time to keep it tidy; the ministrations of the handy man are decidedly -erratic. But at least it is bright, always bright, and you can pick as -many flowers as you please—handfuls, armfuls, apronfuls—with no fear of -an autocratic gardener glaring at you; and the flowers will never be -missed. - -In the spring wallflowers predominate, every colour that the modern -varieties produce. Ursula’s remark that she had planted over nine -hundred seedlings was well within the mark. A thousand or two of -wallflower seedlings do not go very far in this garden, because at one -time of the year the place appears to be a waving mass of wallflowers -from end to end. - -And have you any idea what the scent is like when you have thousands of -wallflowers smiling on a sunny spring morning? - -But there are all sorts of oddments, some things you do not expect and -some things you do. The cowslip bed is very pretty. Here are yellow, -orange, copper-coloured and mahogany brown cowslips; pale-coloured -oxlips, and polyanthuses in as many shades as the wallflowers, from -rosy red to dark purple-brown with every petal edged with bright yellow -as though they had been buttonholed round. - -There is no need to cultivate primroses in the garden beds, for -the two orchards are thick with them; where there are also large -patches of wild snowdrops with crowds of wild daffodils, and dancing -wind-flowers—or wood anemones; while tall spikes of the pale mauve -spotted orchises grow in the grass around the edge near the walls. - -Before the wallflowers have finished flowering the tulips are out, -the old-fashioned “cottage tulips,” many of them, tall and with large -cup-like flowers—pink and crimson, brown and yellow, showy “parrots,” -and delicate mauve feathered with white, purple-black, deep maroon; -such a brilliant army those tulips make, with hundreds of them in bloom -at once. - -Before the tulip petals have fallen, the peonies have opened out great -heavy heads of flowers that can’t keep upright. The scarlet oriental -poppies with their blue-black centres make masses of colour that have -to be kept very much to themselves or they kill every other flower -within reach; these are therefore planted near the clumps of white -irises, and the deep blue and pure white perennial lupins, that make a -beautiful show all down one border. - -Speaking of lupins reminds me of the tree-lupins. Virginia brought some -harmless-looking little plants with her one year, remembering my love -for lupins. - -“These are tree-lupins,” she said. “I’m sure I don’t know what they -will grow into, but the man said they were just like lupins, only much -more so; therefore I bought them. Don’t blame _me_ if they die.” - -She planted them comfortably and cosily in a bed along with white -foxgloves and pink pentstemons, all the members of this happy family -looking about the same size. - -The following year when Virginia visited the cottage she asked, “Where -are my tree-lupins?” She was shown great bushes each the size of a -round dining-table, and each holding aloft hundreds of yellow spikes, -and filling the air with the scent of a bean-field. There were the -tree-lupins all right! But where were the foxgloves and pentstemons? - - * * * * * - -Perhaps you think there must be large, dull spaces when the wallflowers -cease blooming, but in between the wallflower plants are others coming -on, and by the time the wallflowers have finished—and are ready to be -pulled up—these beds are filling with sweet williams and snapdragons. -The young plants were there, and they come into bloom as the -wallflowers finish. And then, where only a short time before there were -beds all purples and yellows and browns, you have now reds and pinks -and every shade of rosy tint that the bright eyes of the sweet williams -can produce. - -The snapdragons once played a joke on the garden. I was ordering some -seeds from Sutton’s, and said, “I want some very hardy snapdragons, -that will stand being planted in the windiest part of the garden where -nothing of any height will grow.” The seeds were guaranteed to grow in -the most uprooting of hurricanes. - -In due time the seedlings appeared above ground, and Ursula devoted -several back-aching evenings to planting them out into the windswept -beds. By the middle of the following summer those jaunty snapdragons -had each grown six feet high, and there, waving in that exposed place, -where any well-conducted plant would have sternly refused to grow more -than a foot high, was a plantation of great flowers, each tied to a -stout stake like hollyhocks, and the blooms seemed to have outgrown -their normal size just as the rest of the plants had done. - -Of course, people came from ever so far to gaze at these snapdragons; -and unbelievers surreptitiously pulled out tape-measures and two-foot -rules, and one and all, after meditating seriously on the subject, and -looking at it from all points of view, would finally shake their heads -and say, “Well, I’ll just tell you what it is—the place evidently -suits them.” We never got any further than that! - -By every law and reason known to properly-trained gardeners and -horticulturists, this garden ought to be able to produce nothing but -low-growing flowers and shrubs. Every local resident kindly volunteered -this information directly he or she set eyes on the cottage; they said -it was too high up, too bleak in winter, too exposed, too dry, too -rocky, or too glaringly sunny—for anything above six inches high to -have a chance in it. - -And yet Nature goes on laughing at the pessimists, and so do those who -tend this flower-patch. And the columbines, yellow, pink, pale blue, -purple, and white, send up tall heads of flower. The coreopsis plants -grow so big and bushy they have to be staked. The cornflowers, a streak -of blue at the end of the cabbage bed, are taller than the broad beans -adjoining. Then there are the hollyhocks and the larkspurs—these hold -their heads as high as anyone could desire, and the tall red salvias -are not far behind. The foxgloves are also a brave sight (though -I do not include in this category those that are buried under the -tree-lupins!). - -Of course, there are low-growing things in the garden as well as the -more lofty-minded. There is one bed that is a ramping mass of giant -mimulus of various colours. Convolvulus minor spreads about the ground -in one of the white lily beds; and eschscholtzias cover the earth for -another row of lilies. Pansies rove about at their own sweet will in -this garden, and the old-fashioned white pinks and the pink variety -spread themselves out over the big stones that edge the borders. - -The mignonette bed has a row of lavenders at the side, and mounds of -nasturtiums grow where the earth is too rocky and barren to support -anything else. - -Naturally, there are hedges of sweet peas; sometimes they are heavy -with flowers, sometimes the slugs or birds settle the matter at the -beginning of the season. One hedge runs along at the back of the herb -garden, and the herbs have so spread themselves out that the sweet peas -were getting swamped. Virginia has been cutting them back. - -Do you know what the scent of cut herbs is like on a hot summer day, -with sweet peas in the background? In this herb garden there is sage, -with its lovely blue flowers, lemon thyme, silver thyme, savory, -hyssop, lavender, rosemary, rue, balm, marjoram, black peppermint, -spearmint and parsley. - -In this bed also grows the old-time bergamot, with its heavily-scented -leaves and lovely tufts of crimson flowers. - -But though one part of the garden is set apart for herbs and another -for vegetables, you must not imagine that they are only to be found -there. Fine clumps of parsley have planted themselves in among the -annual larkspurs; mint persists in running riot among the pink and -white mallows (but the mint family never remains quietly at home); -a sturdy scarlet runner comes up, year after year, beside a great -bush of gum cistus, which makes me think it might be treated as a -perennial; it seems impossible to get the artichokes to part company -with the Michaelmas daisies, while raspberry canes shoot up among -the old-fashioned red fuchsia bushes; radishes are flourishing like -the green bay-tree underneath the sweetbriar; a regiment of pickling -onions is living on most neighbourly terms with a row of cup-and-saucer -Canterbury bells; and as for rhubarb—well, what can you expect when one -man, whom I employed for a brief spell, remarked: - -“You’ll see where I’ve put in that thur special rubbub, miss, because -I’ve planted a traveller’s joy a-top of he to mark the spot.” - - * * * * * - -Cupid’s Border is another section of this garden that may interest you. -Here you naturally find Love-in-a-mist and Love-lies-bleeding. The -flowers which the country folks call Love-lockets dangle pink and white -from their graceful curving stems; (alas, in catalogues and places -where they know, this plant is merely regarded as dielytra). In this -border you of course find forget-me-nots “that grow for happy lovers”; -bachelor’s buttons, too, hold up their heads in a very sprightly -manner, and please notice that they are getting nearer and nearer to -the clump of Sweet Betsy. But the bachelor’s buttons have a rival, for -the other side of Sweet Betsy stands lad’s love—and though not so showy -as the bachelor’s buttons, lad’s love claims to be of more solid worth. -I leave them to settle the matter between themselves, however; I’m not -one to interfere in such affairs. - -At the other side of the border stands a maiden’s blush rose, and -gallantly waving beside it is a clump of Prince’s Feather (sometimes -referred to in common parlance as “they laylock bushes”). At the -edge of the border you naturally find heartsease, not the stiff, -over-developed article of modern flower-shows, but the old-fashioned -sort, all streaks and splashes of rich purple and yellow. - -There is no time now to go round the vegetable garden—not that this -can be regarded as an entirely separate part of the estate, for the -vegetables have got mixed up in a terribly haphazard way with the rest -of things, as I hinted just now. The potato-plot, for instance, has a -border of golden wallflowers all round and double daisies at the edge, -with a row of giant sunflowers, hollyhocks, and clumps of honesty at -the back. - -This mixture is partly in the nature of a compromise. The gentleman -who wields the spade has to be taken into account. No matter who -he is, no matter how often he discharges me and I have to beg yet -someone else to “oblige” me, it is always the same, the tiller of -the soil regards space given over to flowers as a grievous waste, -not to say an indication of feeble-mindedness! Therefore he inserts -a row of vegetables or seeds whenever I happen to have cleared out -some flowering plants and left a morsel of space _pro tem._ It seems -a prevailing idea among the non-qualified working classes, in rural -districts, that the cultivation of flowers ranks about on a level with -doing the washing—work derogatory to a man and only fit for women! - -To the credit of the handy man I must say that on one occasion he did -kindly present me with a load of pig manure. He put it on the flower -garden the day before we arrived, as a pleasant surprise, which it -certainly was! Next day we all had relatives with broken legs, who -needed our immediate return to town. - - * * * * * - -Nevertheless the vegetables play their part, and assume no small -importance, in due course; for it is another unwritten law of this -cottage that visitors shall go out and select the day’s vegetables, -and cut them with the dew on; of course, if they are superlatively -lazy, they can meanly get some early riser to do it for them; also they -can confer together, or each can gather her own choice. - -Hence you will see Virginia or Ursula in a large hat that is all -brim, with basket on arm, and wearing an apron (not a lacy, frilly -muslin thing, but a good-sized, well-made, old-fashioned lilac print -apron), going up the garden and gathering broad beans, cutting young -cauliflowers, or “curly greens,” or turnip tops, or a marrow, forking -up potatoes, pulling carrots, collecting lettuces, spring onions, cress -and other salading—all according to the season. - -And if it should chance that you have never yourself put on a big -apron, and cut your own vegetables before the dew is off them, then -Virginia will be truly sorry for you. - - * * * * * - -There is plenty of time to be lazy, however; and a hot summer day means -long leisure in this garden; for when the sun is high the brown pitcher -rests (though the brown teapot does not) until the fir-trees throw -shadows from the west. - -All day you can sit in the shade at the bottom of the garden, looking -up the hill at the wonderful mass of colour before you. Along the ridge -of the cottage roof perches a row of swallows, chirping and chattering -in their usual way. The starlings, who have built under the tiles, -are ordering their respective families to cease clamouring for more, -explaining that hunting caterpillars is hot work. Most other birds are -quiet when the sun is fiercest, but over all the garden there is the -hum, hum of thousands of industrious bees, while literally hundreds of -white butterflies keep up a perpetual flutter over the tall blue spikes -of bloom on the lavender bushes. - -Even the small white dog with the brown ears ceases to tear about the -garden, and bark at nothing in a consequential way; he just lies down -on the edge of somebody’s dress, and hangs out a little pink tongue for -air. - -This is the time when the flower-patch among the hills spells REST. - -An old woman passing up the lane a few nights ago paused at the gate. -“How them pinnies do blow, miss!” she said, gazing admiringly at a -clump of peonies. Then she added— - -“Ain’t it strange, now, that it do take a woman to make a flower -garden? A man ain’t no good at that; he simply can’t help hisself -a-running to veg’tables!” - -But after thinking this over, and despite all that strong-minded -womankind tells me to the contrary, I cannot really believe that there -is such total depravity in the other sex! - - - - -VI - -That Jane Price! - - -WHEN Abigail announced, “Mrs. Price says can you spare a minute to see -her, please, ma’am,” you would have known by the toss of her nose that -the lady-caller was not very _nearly_ related to the aristocracy. - -As a matter of fact, Mrs. Price, or “that Jane Price,” as she is -more usually styled, is held in no great esteem in our village. Yet -everything is said to fulfil some useful purpose, and if Mrs. Price -does nothing else, at least she and her family serve as conspicuous -moral warnings and give us something to throw up our hands about at -intervals, when we exclaim: - -“_Did_ you EVER!!” - -She is a widow of ample and well-fed proportions, owning her cottage, -some bees and a pig, and apparently getting a fairly good living out of -doing remarkably little sewing. If, under a mistaken sense of duty, you -strive to encourage local industry, and seek to engage her services, -she has to consider before she consents to undertake the bit of sewing -you offer her to do, at three times the amount you would have to pay -for having it done in town. And as often as not she replies that she -“really _can’t_ oblige you” this time, as she’s got a “spell” on cruel -bad, that has gone all down her back to her knees, making her head -feel nohow. - -You turn away not even worried about her condition, since she seems as -cheerful as a daisy and as comfortably complacent as a cow. And you -also know, even though you may have been acquainted with the lady only -a few months, that however cruel the spell may be, and however long it -may last and prevent her working, her children will be some of the most -elaborately dressed in the Sunday school, and from the cottage door -there will radiate the most appetising of odours as regularly as the -mealtimes come round. - -How it is that she manages to do so well with so little visible means -of subsistence, only a stranger would stop to inquire. The residents -know only too well that her pockets are large; that the shawl she -invariably wears on weekdays has voluminous folds; that her carrying -and stowing-away capacity is almost worthy of a professional conjurer. -Kleptomania (to give it as refined a name as we can) is her besetting -sin. Unfortunately her family follow in her footsteps. - -Mrs. Price seems to have a positive gift for turning everything to -profitable account; and her methods of raising money are as ingenious -as they are varied. - -Knowing her idiosyncrasies, I asked Abigail where she was at the -moment. - -“In the kitchen, sitting in my wicker easy-chair,” Abigail replied, -still with elevated nose. “She just walked right in and plumped herself -down.” - -Whereupon I indicated, by dumb pantomime, that she was on no account -to be left there without personal oversight; and Abigail intimated, by -means of nods and becks and wreathèd scowls, that she was keeping her -left eye on the visitor, over her shoulder, even while she was talking -to me. We both knew that all was fish that came to Mrs. Price’s net, -and she would negotiate with absolute impartiality a piece of soap, a -duster, or a half-crown, should they lie in her way. - - * * * * * - -Not long before, Miss Bretherton, the Rector’s niece, a middle-aged -lady who keeps house for him, had tried to give one of the Price -girls—Esmeralda by name—a good start in life, taking her into the -rectory kitchen. But things disappeared with such alarming rapidity -during the first month she was in residence, that she had to be sent -back home again. - -She left on a Saturday after middle-day dinner. In the afternoon the -house was observing the all-pervading quiet that was customary on -Saturdays while the Rector was in his study preparing for Sunday. - -Miss Bretherton, requiring something in the dining-room that adjoined -the study, went in on tiptoe so as not to disturb him, when, to her -amazement, she came upon the discharged Esmeralda sitting on the floor -beside an open sideboard cupboard where some jars of pickles were -stored, ladling out pickled walnuts as fast as she could into one of -the maternal pudding basins. Seeing Miss Bretherton, she just picked up -her basin, walnuts and all, and hastily retired the same way that she -had come, through the French window. - -Now, obviously her ex-mistress—over fifty years of age and liable -to rheumatism—couldn’t chase after her in house-slippers and minus -a bonnet, seeing it was raining; so the bereft lady just closed the -sideboard door and communed with her own feelings, womanfully stifling -her desire to burst into the study and tell the Rector about it, even -though it was his Saturday silence time. - -Next morning, Sunday, just as she was buttoning her gloves, preparatory -to crossing the rectory lawn by the short cut to the church, the cook -came to her with the agitated inquiry: Had the mistress done anything -with the leg of mutton left by the butcher yesterday morning? - -No, of course not! Why should she? etc. - -Well, they hunted high and they hunted low, and the church bell gave -its final peremptory clang when they were still hunting, but no leg -of mutton was found either in the master’s boot cupboard, or under -the bed in the spare room, or in the bookcase in the library, or in -the woodshed, or in any other of the equally likely places which they -searched. Indeed, no one had ever expected that it would be found once -its absence was discovered; they just looked darkly at each other -and murmured, “That Esmeralda, of course.” Cook declares that her -mistress added “the good-for-nothing baggage” under her breath; but I -can’t credit that of Miss Bretherton, who always manages to maintain a -wonderful calm and self-restraint under the most trying circumstances. - -At any rate, she told cook they must have fried ham and eggs for -dinner—if you ever heard of such a thing on a Sunday at the rectory! -and the Archdeacon of Saskatchewan preaching in the morning on behalf -of the C.M.S. too! - -Moreover, Miss Bretherton was ten minutes late for church, a thing -never known before in the memory of the oldest inhabitant; and then, -still more remarkable, instead of waiting to speak to people after -church, she set off at a terrific pace for Mrs. Price’s cottage, and -walked in to find the kitchen full of a delightful aroma, and a fine -leg of mutton just being taken from the roasting-jack by Esmeralda and -placed on the table, which was already adorned with a saucer containing -pickled walnuts. - -Miss Bretherton knew better than to say, “That’s my leg of mutton.” Our -village understands all about “having the law on ’un,” if anyone upsets -their feelings in any way. Therefore, swallowing hard, and determining -for the hundredth time not to lose her temper, she said, “Where did you -get that leg of mutton from, Mrs. Price?” - -Had the woman replied, “From the butcher,” that would have been fairly -incriminating, because, of course, we don’t require more than one sheep -a week for home consumption in the village, and, as everybody knows, -each sheep has only two legs, and it wouldn’t require a Sherlock Holmes -to track those two legs any week in the year. As it happened, this -week’s other leg had gone to my house. Had Mrs. Price claimed it as her -own, she would have been undone. - -But she was too shrewd for that; she promptly replied, with a look of -surprised innocence at such a strange question being asked by Miss -Bretherton at such a time— - -“That leg of mutton, do you mean, miss?” (as though there was a meat -market to choose from!) “Yes; ain’t it a fine one; it weighs seven -pound, if it weighs an ounce.” (Miss B. knew that; she had studied the -butcher’s ticket only that morning.) “I couldn’t get it into the oven, -so we had to roast it afore the fire. I expect you find the kitchen a -bit ’ot. But as I was saying” (Miss B. had to press her lips together -very hard), “it ain’t often as I get a windfall like this, but my -brother-in-law come up to see us yesterday from Penglyn, and he brought -it me for a birthday present; that’s why I had to send ’Sm’ralder round -to the rectory in the afternoon to fetch my pudding basin as she’d left -behind—the one she brought round that day with some new-laid eggs in, -what I give her for a present for cook’s mother who were bad.” - -Miss Bretherton pressed her lips still tighter, and walked out. She -knew the brother-in-law wouldn’t speak to “that Jane” if he met her -in the same lane—such was the love between the two families—much less -bring her a leg of mutton; besides, he had none too many joints for his -own family. She also knew that cook’s mother had not been ill, and if -she had, it wouldn’t have been Mrs. Price who would have supplied the -new-laid eggs. - -But she also knew the futility of attempting to circumvent a woman of -this type, and she hated to have her stand there and tell still more -untruths, the children hovering round. - -So she returned silently, and served the ham and eggs, and listened -while the Archdeacon explained the difference between Plain Cree and -Swampy Cree (which, he was surprised to find, she had hitherto confused -in her mind, or at best regarded as one and the same language) with -all the Christian grace and forbearance she could muster. - -Only once did this nearly give out, and that was when, after she had -apologised to their guest for such frugal fare and had briefly outlined -the reason for the same, the Rector looked with his usual absent-minded -benignity through his glasses at his plate, and said— - -“Well, my dear, I hadn’t noticed any difference: I thought this was -what we usually have for dinner on Sundays.” - -Just think of it! And for the Archdeacon to go home and tell his wife! -So like a man! - - * * * * * - -This much as a general survey of Mrs. Price’s characteristics. She -doesn’t make an idyllic picture, I admit, nor seem likely to be in -the running for a stained glass window in the Parish Room. But then -villages no less than towns are made up of varied assortments of human -nature—and don’t forget we are none of us perfect. - -Nevertheless, making all allowances for human frailty, you don’t -wonder that I wasn’t anxious for Mrs. Price to have the free run of my -kitchen, and Abigail, remembering that she had left her purse on the -dresser, hurried back. - -I finished the letter I was writing, and then went out to see her. As -I approached, I could hear her: - -“‘Sally,’ he says, ‘don’t let the kids fergit me,’ and then ’e was -gone. It’s this new disease they’ve got from America—the ‘germs,’ they -calls it—and they do say as ’e makes a beautiful corpse, though I -shouldn’t never have thought it of ’e, the Prices being none of them -pertickerlelly well favoured, even if he was me own pore husband’s -brother. But thur, thur, I say speak nothing but good of them what’s -gone.” - -She rose when I appeared, and, with a good deal of side-tracking on to -irrelevant matters, chiefly connected with the excellence of her own -children, she explained that her late husband’s brother had just died -“over to Penglyn,” a little town fifteen miles away across the hills, -and in a most un-get-at-able corner of the county. - -The funeral was to-morrow, and neither she nor the family of the -deceased had a scrap of black, “leastways, exceptin’ this bonnet, -which don’t look really respeckful to ’im as is gone, being me own -husband’s own brother.” I admit the item that had been placed upon -her head—whether for use or adornment it was hard to decide—resembled -a jaded hen’s nest more than anything else! The rest of her attire -consisted of a green skirt, a crimson blouse, and a very light fawn -coat (portions of costumes that had started life in considerably -higher social circles in the village), and a purple crochet scarf. - -Dimly it occurred to me that I had not seen Mrs. Price in bright -colours before, for although she never wore the conventional widow’s -weeds, she was usually in something black or dark; the matrons -in our village haven’t gone in for skittish skirts or glaring -colour-combinations as yet! I concluded, however, that her black -clothes were too shabby. She was saying— - -“And I didn’t know where to turn, m’m. Everybody saying they hadn’t -none when I called, and there didn’t seem to be a soul left to go to, -and that pore dear sister-in-law of mine—leastways same as, being me -poor husband’s brother’s wife—with not a scrap to put on ’cept his best -overcoat what she’s cuttin’ down for one of the boys. - -“And then I bethought me of you, it come to me all of a suddint. I put -down the pan of ’taters I was peeling and come straight up. ’Sm’ralder -says to me, ‘But, mother, you can’t wear that ole bonnet up to _that_ -house!’ But I says to her, ‘It’s certain I can’t wear what I haven’t -got, and the Queen haven’t sent me one of her done-with crowns yet.’ So -I just come as best I could.” - -I was a little surprised to hear that she had been refused at every -door, for, irrespective of personal reputation, the better-off -residents are always very good to any of the villagers who may be -in want or in trouble; indeed, we have only one mean woman among us, -she who once remarked to a paid lady-companion, newly-arrived from a -freezingly cold journey, and badly in need of a cup of tea to eke out -her skimpy cold-mutton-bone lunch: “I’m sure you will enjoy a glass -of water. We have really _beautiful_ water here. Pray help yourself -when_ever_ you like.” - - * * * * * - -Still, it was possible no one had had any black. - -I meditated a moment on my own wardrobe and Mrs. Price’s capacious -waist-measure! Virginia’s things would be still less use, as she is the -size of a sylph. - -“I’m afraid I haven’t anything that would fit you in the way of a -skirt,” I began, “but I’ve a large winter jacket if you don’t think it -will be too warm for June.” - -“Oh, thank you, m’m. It’s only the first week in June. I’m a _very_ -chilly person” (no one looking at her buxom proportions would have -thought so!), “and a thick jacket is just what I’m needin’ terrible -bad. And if you had a skirt, it ’ud be jest the size for my pore dear -sister-in-law. Ah, I can feel for her, being a widow myself, and left -with them children. She said to me on’y yesterday, ‘Jane, do try to get -me a black skirt from anywhere, if on’y you can.’ She says——” - -“But you told me just now that you hadn’t seen her since before her -husband died,” blurted in Abigail, forgetful of her usual good manners, -and begrudging to see the family wardrobe being disbursed in this way, -as she rather regarded my coats and skirts as her perquisites. - -Mrs. Price turned full upon Abigail that look of surprised innocence -that stood her in such good stead. “She said it in a letter she writ me -yesterday,” she replied with dignified composure. - -Finally I told her I would look her out something if she sent Esmeralda -up for it in the evening. Mrs. Price lingered to recite further tales -of woe to Abigail, till she, kind girl, in spite of her private -estimate of the lady, bestowed on her a pair of black lisle thread -gloves, as she spoke so pathetically about having to go to the funeral -with bare hands and not being able to afford any gloves. - - * * * * * - -When Virginia came in from “sticking” sweet peas in the garden, I told -her about Mrs. Price. - -“Well, I don’t consider her a worthy object for charity as a rule,” she -remarked. “But at the same time, if Fate kindly supplies me with an -opportunity to get rid of that big black hat of mine that I’ve never -liked and never intend to wear again, I’m not the one to disregard it, -especially as it will save my carrying that huge hat-box back to town. -But whether she or the ‘sister-in-law-same-as’ wears it, either will -find it good weight for the money.” - -So we left the winter jacket, and the hat, and a black blouse Ursula -added to the parcel, and my black cloth skirt for the sister-in-law, -against Esmeralda should come for them. And then we started out to make -some calls. - - * * * * * - -Passing Miss Primkins’ house, we just stopped to leave a book I had -promised to lend her. Miss Primkins is a pleasant middle-aged lady, of -very small independent means, who lives in a cottage by herself. The -door stood open as usual. She looked over the stairs when I knocked, -then explained that she would be down in a moment if we would go in. - -“I’ve been turning out things in the box-room—in order to find a little -black for that Mrs. Price. Her husband’s brother has just died, and the -funeral is to be to-morrow, and she says no one in the place has any -black in hand. So she came and asked me if I would mind _lending_ her a -black mantle!—_lending_ it to her indeed! - -“I asked her what she had done with that black dolman I gave her not -three months ago—you remember that dolman trimmed with black lace that -I was rather fond of? I bought it—oh, it must be at least ten years -ago—for my uncle’s funeral. It was trimmed with two bands of crêpe, -one about four inches deep, and the other three inches, or perhaps -two-and-three-quarters; very stylish it looked, too. Then I had the -crêpe taken off and some black silk put on it—very good ottoman silk it -was—that had originally been part of a black silk dress belonging to -my sister. Next I had it covered with fancy net with velvet appliqué -for a change—not that I liked it, or would have thought of having it -done had I known what it was going to cost. But they do take you in so -at those town shops; why, I could have got a new dolman for what it -cost to cover that one! And then it lasted no time, used to catch in -everything, so I had next to no wear out of that. - -“I had it taken off, and the dolman _thoroughly_ turned—every bit; and -the dressmaker put on some fringe, a sort of wavy fringe; but I had to -have it taken off, because that Gladys Price, when she came home for -a holiday, had on a silk coat trimmed with fringe exactly like it, so -there again I got taken in, as you might say. - -“After that, I put my brown fur trimming on it, but for the winter -only; and then for the summer I put on some deep black lace. I hadn’t -had that lace on more than six months when I gave her the dolman. (I -remember quite well sitting up late that night to pick the lace all -off it.) Altogether, you can’t say I had so much wear out of any of it, -and it was a constant expense. And yet, would you _credit_ it, when I -asked her what she had done with it, she said it had ‘wored out’! Why, -_I_ could have had it another ten years in good use, without its being -‘wored out.’ She’s a thriftless woman, that’s what she is. Still, I -suppose it isn’t for us to judge her.” - - * * * * * - -We had to hurry on. I wanted to call on Miss Bretherton, who had -sprained her ankle and needed commiseration. We found her in that state -of suppressed and bottled-up-in-a-Christian-manner irritation that -is common to very active women who are suddenly tied to a chair with -some of their machinery out of gear; and, like most other women under -similar conditions, she was trying to do ten times as much as she ought -to have done, in order to prove to everybody that there was nothing the -matter with her. - -“You’ll just have to come into the midst of all this muddle,” she -sighed, “for I can’t move myself into another room.” - -“Sorting things for a jumble sale?” I inquired, looking at sundry piles -of garments strewn about her. - -“It almost amounts to that; though I really started out to get a few -things together for a woman in the village who seems to be rather -needy at the moment, that Jane Price. Her brother-in-law has just -died—you remember Zebadiah Price, who lived at Briar Bush Cottage -before they took a little place at Penglyn? We lost sight of them after -they left here—it’s such a cross-country place they’ve gone to. I’m -rather surprised they haven’t asked the Rector to bury him, he thought -a good deal of Zebadiah; but all the same I’m glad they haven’t, for it -takes you the best part of a day to cover that fifteen miles, and he -has a slight cold. It seems she’s going to the funeral to-morrow. - -“I admit there are several women in the parish I should feel a greater -pleasure in helping—she does try my patience at times—but I felt I -ought to do what I can in this particular case, as she doesn’t seem -able to get any black from anyone else. Everybody says they gave theirs -to the last jumble sale, she tells me, though _I_ didn’t see any of it! - -“She is wanting some for Zebadiah’s family too; they are left in -bad straits, she says. I was only too glad to find that she and -her sister-in-law have buried the hatchet at last; they’ve been at -loggerheads for years; she really spoke very nicely about it. She -said the older she got the more she felt life was too short to spend -it in quarrelling, and at a time like this she thought bygones should -be bygones. I don’t like to misjudge the woman,” Miss Bretherton -continued with a sigh. “Sometimes she seems so anxious to do right. Her -bringing up was against her. And yet——” And then the Rectoress closed -her lips firmly determined to say no uncharitable thing, even about -“that Jane Price.” - -I’m afraid I didn’t think too highly of Mrs. Price at that moment. -I remembered the parcels of black garments waiting at my house and -again at Miss Primkins’. Moreover, Mrs. Price’s occasional lapses into -fervent piety annoyed me very much, because I suspected they were -developed for my benefit. She always gave me a long recital of woes and -financial difficulties whenever she saw me, and invariably finished -up with, “But thur, thur, I don’t let it worry me, for I always say, -‘The Lord will provide.’” I much objected to her taking the Name in -vain in this manner, more especially as it generally happened that she -gave Providence every assistance in the matter by helping herself to -anything that lay within reach of her hand! - - * * * * * - -We did not stay long at the rectory, as I wanted to call on the lady -of the manor. She kept us waiting a few minutes before she appeared; -but explained, as she apologised for the delay, “I’ve just turned out -five trunks, two cupboards, and four chests of drawers—and goodness -knows how many more I should have set upon if you hadn’t come! -It’s a pastime that seems to grow upon one like taking to drink or -gambling—the more you have the more you want! - -“I only meant to look through one chest for a black bonnet I thought -I had put there—I’m trying to find some funeral wear for that Mrs. -Price. Her husband’s brother has died, Zebadiah Price; they live over -the hills at Penglyn. While he was alive, she hadn’t a good word to say -for his wife; but now he’s gone, her conscience seems to worry her, and -she says she feels the very least she can do is ‘to show respeck to the -remains,’ and she wants to help his family. So I’ve been going over a -good deal of ancient history in my search for garments calculated to -show a sufficiency of respect. She said she was afraid that what she -had on might give a wrong impression.” - -“If she wore the same set of glad rags that she had on when she came to -see us, likewise asking for mourning,” Virginia interpolated, “she’d -give the impression of a ragged rainbow gone wrong and turned inside -out, rather than a funeral.” - -“Oh, she’s been to you, has she? She told me she couldn’t think of -making so bold as to intrude her troubles on other people, and only -came to me because she knew I had been so kind to Zebadiah years ago -when he was ill; and added that my clothes always suited her so well!” - -When we got outside, Virginia suggested with a twinkle that we should -call on a few more people. We did, and at every house we were met with -the sad intelligence of Zebadiah Price’s death and his sister-in-law’s -quest for suitably respectful apparel. - -Surely Royalty could not have been more universally mourned—in our -village, at any rate! - - * * * * * - -Next Sunday we were rather puzzled on entering the church to see an -ample lady clad in the most resplendent of widow’s weeds, sitting in -solitary state in the very front row—a seat usually patronised only by -the halt and maimed. - -Her dress and mantle were of dull black silk trimmed with crêpe about -a quarter of a yard in depth. True, it was not quite new, but its cut -and style were unmistakable; anyone who possessed such a dress could -afford to wear it even after its first newness had worn off; it stamped -the wearer as a lady of means. A long weeper, black kid gloves, and a -black-bordered handkerchief completed all we could see of the lady. We -could only conclude that the distinguished stranger must be very deaf -indeed, to take the front seat. - -By this time all the congregation as it came in was interested. Such -a stylish stranger would naturally attract attention. She kept her -head devoutly bent, and used the handkerchief frequently; we couldn’t -see her face. She might have been a peeress-in-waiting, judging by the -dignity and decorum of her bearing. - -It was just as the Rector was repeating the opening sentences that the -resplendent one turned round to see the effect she was making on the -congregation, and behold—that Mrs. Price! - -I am afraid I only just saved myself from making the time-honoured -remark, “_Did_ you EVER!” - - * * * * * - -“But what I want to know is this,” said Miss Primkins (as several of -us walked together along the high road after church, leaving Mrs. -Price giving details of the funeral, and the innumerable wreaths, to -her friends). “Where did she get those weeds from? There isn’t a widow -among us, nor a relative of a widow, so far as I know. Now who gave -them to her?” - -But we none of us knew. It certainly looked suspiciously as though Mrs. -Price had used the poor late Zebadiah as an excuse for dragging the -whole county! - -I wasn’t surprised that she herself had donned fresh weeds, for as -we are remarkably healthy upon these hills, we are apt to make the -most of a funeral when it chances our way, and the opportunity to -wear mourning, carrying with it, as it does, a certain personal -distinction, is not to be passed over lightly. - -On one occasion I remember meeting a farmer’s wife on Sunday morning -in deep black (that had done duty for several previous family -bereavements), weeping into her handkerchief as she went along the road -to church. We stopped to inquire about her trouble. - -“My poor old mother’s gone at last,” she sobbed. We were truly sorry -for her grief, and asked when she had died. - -“Well, I ’spect it would be about three or four this morning; that’s -the time they usually go. I had a letter last night saying as how they -didn’t reckon she’d live the night. So she’ll be gone by now. My poor -mother! I’ll never see her again!” and she wept afresh. - -I’m glad to say the mother is still alive, and very flourishing. - - * * * * * - -It was about a fortnight later that Virginia gave me the -wildly-exciting information, culled from the local paper, that some -Roman remains had just been excavated. I murmured “Oh!” in that -absent-minded way people will do when their thoughts are called off the -subject of What shall we have for the midday meal? to higher things. - -I was thinking like this: “I did intend to have steak and kidney -pudding, but as the butcher is late, there won’t be time to cook it; -there isn’t enough cold tongue—at least, that knobbly end part is no -use—we have plenty of eggs in the house, so we must just make out with -that soup left over from yesterday and omelettes; or we might easily -have——” - -“Either a viaduct or an amphitheatre or a villa; they aren’t sure as -yet which it is,” went on Virginia. “You read about it yourself; it’s -awfully interesting. There; in that column—see? ‘Roman Remains at -Penglyn.’” - -“At Penglyn? It can’t be Zebadiah,” I commented; “he wasn’t as old as -_that_!” - -Nevertheless, we aren’t particular to a few hundred years in our -village. For I remember last year an old woman telling me, “Have -you heard, m’m, of the great news in the village? The Black Prince -is staying at the Inn! Yes, to be sure! And he seems to understand -our language beautiful, he do; though they say he does speak the -foreign to a gentleman what’s staying there with him. The only thing -I was surprised about was to see how young he do look, considering -of his age. Why, I remember hearing tell about him when I was at -school!” Later on I found the historic potentate was a harmless Indian -law-student. - -Virginia kept on about the Roman excavations, and announced her -intention of going to see them. I protested that I wasn’t going to -be hauled across a stony mountainous region in a wagonette, and then -change twice by slow train, an hour or so to wait at each change, and -ditto to get back, all to see a few brick walls, when the garden so -badly needed weeding. - -She was indignant, said she should prefer to go alone to having -unsympathetic and uninformed society; reminded me of the histories -of nations that had been found embedded in brick walls, waxed -eloquent on the subject of the Egyptian hieroglyphics and the Rosetta -Stone, skipped lightly from the pointed apex of the Pyramids to the -significance of the flat roofs of Thibet, examined the walls of the -buried cities in central Asia, and before I had fully realised that I -was really travelling in the East, I found that she was examining the -designs on the Aztec pottery of ancient Mexico. - -Fearing that we should have this sort of thing straight on end for a -week, I said we would go next day, weather permitting, if only she -would help me decide whether to have the omelette plain, or a cheese -omelette, or would they prefer macaroni cheese? I have found in the -past that the crystallisation of thought necessary to follow Virginia, -when she is in an informing mood, creates a vacuum, and then I get a -cold in my head. - -I also inquired whether she would prefer to drive all the way, or go by -train. - -She replied, still with her eyes glued to the interesting newspaper -treatise on antiquarian relics, that she would rather I settled these -minor details, adding that she always liked to leave the arrangement of -everything to me, as it gave her such opportunities to point out to me -the feebleness of my methods and ideas. - -I decided to go with her, simply because I knew that unless she -had some firm, restraining force beside her, she would go and buy -that Roman viaduct, amphitheatre, or villa, and order it to be sent -home; and, for all I knew, she might give _my_ address in a fit of -wandering-mindedness, and what should _I_ do with it when it arrived? -You can’t pack an amphitheatre away in the empty pigsty, and all the -other space was occupied with seedlings and things! - -Besides, she has no bump of locality (neither have I, for the matter of -that); but I thought it would look better if two of us were arrested -for wandering about without any visible means of subsistence; at least, -I could say I was her keeper. - -Next morning we inquired of the barometer as to the weather prospects. -By the way, that barometer is a unique treasure. V. and U. gave it -to me one birthday; I had long been craving one that was a genuine -antique. There was no doubt about this one—its antiquity, I mean; for -the rest, until you get on speaking terms with it, I admit that it -does seem a trifle ambiguous. - -But I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll say no more -on this point, save that we tapped it vigorously; whereupon the long -hand flew wildly round and round one way, while the short hand did a -whirligig, equally excitedly, in the opposite direction. - -We waited till they both got tired of spinning round, and then, as the -long hand pointed to “Much Rain,” with leanings towards “Stormy,” we -knew we could rely on a very fine day. - -But we tapped it once again, just to make sure it knew its own mind. -After it had wiggled giddily round as before, the long hand stopped -midway between “Set Fair” and “Very Dry.” Of course that confirmed our -former calculations, and we got out our new summer hats, and left our -umbrellas at home. Virginia had worn _her_ new hat indoors most of the -previous day, in order to get her money’s worth out of it, because she -said she never got her money’s worth out of any of her garments, save -her raincoat and her umbrella. [N.B.—Is an umbrella a garment?] - - * * * * * - -It was market day when we got there, and all the town was of course -wending its way either to or from the market-place. One of the very -first people we ran against was Mrs. Zebadiah Price; but, to our -surprise, she was wearing neither my black cloth skirt nor Ursula’s -black blouse. On the contrary, she was in quite gay attire—a brown -coat and skirt, a blue blouse, a lace collar, a string of pearls as -large as marbles, and a tuscan straw hat trimmed with roses and purple -geraniums. I had known her in the past, when she lived in the village; -so I stopped and spoke to her. - -“I was so very sorry to hear of your sad trouble,” I began. Yet -the subdued tones I used and felt necessary to the occasion seemed -curiously out of place beside all that market-day finery. - -“Yes, thank you, m’m; it did upset me awful,” she said, looking very -woe-begone. - -“I’m sure it did,” I said feelingly. - -“You wouldn’t believe how I fretted over ’un. Seems kind o’ foolish I -s’pose when I’ve got the children. But I got that attached to ’un.” - -“I can _quite_ understand it,” I murmured sympathetically. “After all, -children can’t take the place of the one that is gone.” - -“No, m’m; that’s what I say.” - -“And it was very sudden, wasn’t it?” - -“Yes’m; taken bad and gone in a few hours,” she continued. “And that -was the second I lost in two months. I don’t have no luck somehow.” - -“The second in two months!” I repeated in surprise. - -“Yes’m, and I feel that downhearted about it, I don’t think I’ll go in -for another. I said so only last night to my husband.” - -“Your husband?” I echoed again. It was beginning to sound like bigamy! - -“He said at the time he thought the £15 I give was a swindle for the -brindled cow.” - -“The brindled cow?” I said feebly. I really didn’t know what else to -say. Virginia need not have laughed! - -Then I rallied my senses. “But I thought you had trouble about a -fortnight ago—your husband, Zebadiah Price—I heard——” - -“My Zeb? About a fortnight ago? Let’s see?”—thoughtfully turning her -left eye in the direction of the church spire, and thereby tilting her -hat askew. “Ah, I expect you mean about last February; to be sure, he -did have a touch of this ’ere influenza; and he were a bit queer for a -couple of days, he were: but that was nothing to my losing my calf!” - -“I’m glad it was no worse,” I said heartily. “Why, Mrs. Jane Price told -me she was coming to the funeral.” - -“_Jane!_” ejaculated Mrs. Zebadiah. “Jane Price said she was coming to -_his_ funeral? Not if I know’d it, and it had been me very own even, -she wouldn’t; the _hussy_—begging your pardon, m’m, for using sech a -word. She knows better than to try to put so much as a shoenail of her -foot inside our door. She never aren’t and she never shan’t. Though for -brazenness there ain’t their beat in the county. Why, p’raps you’ve -heard how that there Gladys Price has started an ole clothes shop in -the town here, right under our very nose, and my husband as respected -as he is. There it is for everybody to read over the door—‘G. PRICE. -Ladies and Gents’ Hemporium’—whatever that may be! Coming to his -funeral, indeed! It makes me _broil_!” And Mrs. Z. went off fairly -sizzling with indignation. - - * * * * * - -When we had duly found (after long search) and surveyed the Roman -remains (which consisted of three upright stones, something like those -used for kerbstones in the streets, and stood in the middle of a very -boggy field), and had failed to decide whether they were the viaduct, -the amphitheatre, or the villa, I suggested a speedy return to the -station, as it was now coming down a steady drizzle, with indications -of still more to follow. But Virginia said— - -“I’d like, while we’re here, just to have a look into the hemporium -window, to see what she has marked that hat of mine.” - -When we reached it, behold, it was like taking a regretful look -back into the past, for most of the garments there displayed we -had formerly known when they walked our village street in decorous -Sunday glory. And they included: a grey cloth coat of mine that had -disappeared most mysteriously; a long silk scarf of Ursula’s that, so -far, she had never missed; and a bead-bag I had often admired when -carried by the lady of the manor, and which, we felt sure, she had -never given away. - -“Talk about excavating Roman remains!” I exclaimed; but Virginia’s -conversational powers were only equal to “_Did_ you EVER!” - -And we damply faded away in the direction of the station. - - - - -VII - -Just Being Neighbourly - - -THOSE superior Londoners who know nothing at first hand about Nature -“unimproved,” the type who find complete satisfaction for soul, body -and mind at some loud and crowded seaside resort, sometimes say to -me: “I can’t think how you can endure the terrible isolation of the -country—with absolutely nothing to look at, no one to say a word, -nobody to take the slightest interest in you, dead or alive. Well, _I_ -should go out of my mind in such solitariness! But then, I am _so_ -human; I do like a little life,” etc. - -I don’t attempt to convert such people. After all, they are just as -much entitled to their views as I am to mine. Besides, I am only too -thankful that they keep away from our hills, and disport themselves in -an environment more in keeping with their personal tastes. We don’t -want the blatant woman, or the overdressed (which nowadays means -underdressed) woman, or the artificial woman, or the woman who “likes a -little life”; our hills would never suit them as a background, either -mentally or otherwise. Why, we have neither a music-hall nor a picture -palace for I don’t know _how_ many miles round! A benighted spot, isn’t -it! - -But when they reproach us with having no one to say a word, and nobody -to take the slightest interest in our doings—well, I _could_ say many -things! But I merely assure them that we are nothing if not neighbourly! - - * * * * * - -I took my sewing and went down to the bottom of the lower orchard. It -was a warm day, but not too hot to sit out of doors at eleven in the -morning, provided one found a shelter from the sun overhead. As I have -explained before, my cottage is on a steep hillside, the whole earth -runs either up or down. In only a few favoured spots can you place a -chair—and sit on it—with any degree of certainty; and even then you -probably have to level up the back, or the front, by putting some flat -stones under two of the legs. The slope of the hill faces south; hence -we get all the sun there is. - - * * * * * - -The bottom of the lower orchard was just the place for such a day. A -wall with overhanging tangles of honeysuckle and ivy, and an oak-tree -that spread big arms well over the wall, gave just the shade one needed -from the blazing sun. I put the wicker chair with its back to the -wall—and such a comfort a wall is anywhere out of doors when you want -to sit down. - -The view from this spot is very restful on a summer’s day: the hot -south is behind; one faces the cooler, glareless northern sky above the -hill that rises before one. - -This orchard is but sparsely populated with fruit-trees, and most of -these are very old. There are some huge pear-trees that rise tall and -fairly straight, suggestive of rather well-fed poplars. There are -some twisted, rugged apple-trees, every branch and twig presenting -a wonderful study in silver and grey and green filigree, where the -lichens have spread and revelled unmolested for many a year. The -lichens are so marvellously beautiful, it always takes me quite a time -to get down to the lower wall; there is so much to look at on the way. -The delicate fronds, that seem closely related in their appearance to -the hoarfrost designs on the winter windows, show such a variety of -different cluster-schemes. They decorate the odd corners, and throw -beauty over the hard knots and gnarls, till I sometimes think they are -among the most exquisite things Nature has ever produced—only while I -am thinking this, I come upon something else equally beautiful. - -Even on a hot day, when most of the mosses and lichens have faded -in the glare and drought, we still find the silvery-grey tracery -flourishing on the shady side of the apple-trees, and on the pieces of -branches that were snapped off and blown down into the long grass by -the equinoctial gales. I usually gather up an armful of these branches, -with their delicate pencil studies on a darker background, and carry -them down to the bottom of the orchard with me—only to wonder why I -didn’t leave them where they were till I returned, as I have to carry -them back up the hill again presently! - -It may seem weakly sentimental to those who do not understand, but I -confess that, much as I love the smell of burning applewood, it always -gives me a real pain to put on the fire twigs that are ornamented with -moss or lichen. It seems heartless to destroy such beauty, even though -there is “plenty more where that came from,” as people sometimes tell -me. - -In the summer I put the pieces of the grey-green branches, that I -gather up about the orchard, in the empty hearths and grates. - -Many of the old trees originally planted in the lower orchard have died -or been blown down; the wind takes a heavy toll from these heights; we -can’t have pergolas and rose arches up here, as they can lower down in -the valley, unless we fasten them to very firm foundations. - -As no previous owner in this happy-go-lucky district thought it worth -whiles to put new stock in the place of the fruit-trees that have come -down, there are plenty of open spaces, and comparatively little to -obstruct the view as you sit against the bottom wall and look up the -hillside. I am afraid this orchard is more ornamental than useful, -for the pears are the hard bitter sort used for making perry, a -drink that is very popular locally; and the apples are the equally -uninteresting-to-the-taste cider variety. Yet they are so exceptionally -beautiful, as the fruit turns crimson and yellow and golden brown, that -the trees become a glory of colour in fruit-gathering time. - -After all there is excuse for ornament without specific use, if a thing -be very, _very_ ornamental—and the orchard certainly is that. - -The sun reaches well under the trees, where the wild flowers and -grasses make a softly waving sea of colour. Of course, I know the grass -ought to be kept cut, so as to prevent undue nourishment being taken -from the earth for the support of “mere weeds.” But we pretend that -it is properly cropped by “Hussy;” she is the mild-eyed dusky Jersey, -belonging to the farmeress who supplies our milk, and is so-called, -because she has a playful habit of kicking over the pail. - -Occasionally she is turned in and roams about at meditative leisure, -to the indignation of the small dog, who regards her as a hated rival. -But once the fruit appears, she has to be removed; either she chokes -herself with pears, or else they don’t agree with the butter; or -various other things. Even a cow seems a complicated problem when you -own a real one; and though I have only had cow-anxieties secondhand, so -to speak, my acquaintance with “Hussy” has led me to wonder whether, -on the whole, a tin of milk is a more sure and certain investment for -sixpence-halfpenny. - -But even when the orchard has a tenant, it is surprising how little -damage she seems to do to the wild flowers. This is all the more -remarkable if you have ever seen what devastation one simple-minded -cow is capable of, if it indulges in but a ten minutes’ revel in your -flower-garden! “Hussy” seems to eat carefully round the flowers, -leaving the whole plant intact, which is more than a mowing machine -will do, despite its much vaunted up-to-dateness. Civilisation has -still a lot to learn. - -Every season has its special flower show in this orchard. I only wish -I could get the same never-failing succession of flowers in my garden -that Nature does in hers. - -On this particular July day the large field scabious was perhaps the -most noticeable flower; its mauve-blue blossoms high above all the -rest; its long stalks always determining to out-top everything else -that grows in the delightful medley. - - * * * * * - -“Please, ma’am, I’ve brought you some flowers,” said a little pinafored -girl to me one day, when I had just arrived. She is an especial -favourite of mine, and lives in a cottage along my lane. This is her -way of just being neighbourly. In her hand was a large bunch of -scabious and grasses. - -“These are very pretty,” I said. “What do you call them?” - -“Please, ma’am, I call them ‘Queen Mary’s Pincushions,’” she said shyly. - -The country names for the flowers are often so much more interesting -than the ones you find attached to them in books. After all, “Queen -Mary’s Pincushion” has something real and understandable about it for -just ordinary people like myself; whereas _Scabiosa arvensis_ (its -proper name) doesn’t stir my heart the least little bit. It was easy -to see the process by which the child had got the name—the flowers are -wonderfully like plump round pincushions, with the stamens for the -pins: but anything so delicately beautiful would not be suitable for -aught save a royal lady’s dressing-table; hence Queen Mary was, of -course, the one to whom they were dedicated. - -And isn’t the name “Lady’s Laces” most suggestive? That is what we call -the white filmy flowers of the hedge-parsley. I seldom see a fine white -lace evening gown without thinking of the soft mist of white over green -that surprises us in June, and smothers the orchard when the Lady’s -Laces suddenly burst into billows of bloom. - -Some of the local names are more material and prosaic than idealistic, -however. There is another flower that grows all about the orchard, -in close company with the scabious; it has bunches of bright yellow -flowers of the daisy family, growing in compact heads at the top of a -tall stem. I am very fond of this flower; it gleams sunshine all over -the place; but I don’t care to call it _Senecio Jacobœa_, which is -its proper name; it’s so mortifying when people look at you puzzled -and inquiring, and then ask, with a patient sigh, if you would mind -_spelling_ it! I never could spell. - -Neither do I care for its other slightly less official name, “Common -Ragwort.” So one day when an old man was passing, who is fairly well-up -in flowers, I asked him if he could tell me the name of this Sunshine -plant. To which he replied— - -“Wealluscallsemards’m.” - -I didn’t ask him to spell it, because I don’t fancy he can spell any -better than I can. I merely said, “I don’t think I _quite_ caught the -name?” - -“I said ‘’ARDS,’ Mum; (_crescendo_) ‘=’ARDS=.’ We allus calls ’em that -’cos they’re so ’ard to pull up.” - -I thanked him, and still, in secret, call them the Sunshine -flowers—though I admit that Virginia, having recently set out gaily to -rectify my shocking laxity in the matter of the proper cultivation of -an orchard, at last decided herself to call them “’Ards.” She found -that the act of sitting down violently and unexpectedly so many times -in the course of trying to pull up a few innocent-looking plants, wore -her out more than it did the ’ards; so she gave it up at length, and -there they remain until this day! - -Intermingling with Queen Mary’s Pincushions and the Sunshine flowers -is a rosy purple flower that blends delightfully with the other two; -Knapweed is one of its names; it looks something like a thistle bloom -at a distance, but it is really a relation of the Sweet Sultan that -grows in the garden beds, I believe. - -Then there are Harebells dancing in the wind on the top of little -grassy mounds; so frail they look—yet “Hussy” never seems to walk on -them! Ragged Robins flutter pink petals beside a little brook that -runs down at the side of the orchard; and here are also big blue -forget-me-nots, with bright yellow centres. - -But there is one thing about this orchard that very few people have -discovered, and that is the host of sweet-smelling things that you walk -on or rub against, as you carry the wicker-chair down to the bottom -wall. - -Do you know what it is like to walk on Pennyroyal and Sweet Basil? Have -you ever stood still suddenly and said, “What _is_ it?” as a delicious -aromatic scent added itself to all the other lovely scents floating -around? - -I discovered a whole world of beautiful scents in among the orchard -grass. The Pennyroyal was most unsuspicious-looking, till I stepped on -it. (I didn’t mean to step on it; but then one must walk _somewhere_!) -Next I found out the Sweet Basil, with its unobtrusive pink flowers. - -Still I hadn’t found it all; a little later I came upon some wild mint -beside the brook. The tansy I had long been friendly with; the scent of -it seems to fit in so exactly with a hot summer day; and the wild thyme -that grows on a sunny bank at one side of the orchard you couldn’t -possibly miss, the bees have so much to say about it. Bushes of balm, -that have possibly strayed away from the garden, are always at hand, to -rub a leaf when desired. - -But I think of all my favourites, the black peppermint has first place. -I shall never forget the day I first discovered its dark shoots pushing -up undaunted among the grass; not but what I had a long-standing -friendship with peppermint—in my first childhood, as bull’s-eyes; in my -second childhood, as peppermint creams. - -But I hadn’t the slightest notion what it was like in its natural -state. When once I found it, I soon realised that it stood alone among -all the scented wonders. I put some of it at various corners about the -garden, because I found it has remarkable healing powers. No matter -how dispirited you may be or out of joint with the world, it is only -necessary to take a leaf, rub it and sniff it, whereupon the world -smiles again, and you realise that, in spite of all, it is good to be -alive. You will understand, therefore, how essential it is to have it -in handy places, so that weary people, even if they do not know of its -unique qualities, may rub against it in passing, and unconsciously come -under its spell. - -It dies down in the winter, but when spring comes we always look -eagerly for the first purple-black shoots pushing up cheerily from the -soil. - -It has only one fault; it suffers from zeal without discretion. It will -not keep within proper bounds. At the present moment I am wondering -whether it is better to dig up the bergamot or rout out the peppermint; -they are having a hand-to-hand fight for supremacy in one particular -flower corner. - - * * * * * - -I am afraid my needlework was a mere matter of form that morning. Who -could glue their eyes to a piece of hemstitching with the whole earth -fairly dancing with colour and light around them? I faintly (but not -very earnestly) wished that I had brought knitting instead of sewing, -because that doesn’t need to be looked at, and you can keep up a -semblance of respectable industry while you are watching all the wild -things. - -I had been feeling rather aggravated with a woman who had written -commiserating with my odd predilection for being “buried” in a spot -where there was “positively nothing to be seen.” She was really pitying -me! Well, I pitied her back, and pitied her hard; had she only known -it, she would have been aggravated too. So at least we were quits. -She had said that, for her part, she should simply die in such an -unsociable place. I took care to be just as sorry for her as she was -for me: it was a slight satisfaction to me! It was at this moment that -I heard voices of two women talking in the lane, hidden from view by -the orchard wall. - -“How’s yourself, Mrs. Blake?” - -“Only middling.” (We always start our conversations with -lugubriousness; it seems indecorous to parade health and happiness -before our neighbours!) “I’m in a tearing hurry. I’ve just been to the -doctor’s to see if he can’t give me something for my poor Jim’s tooth. -It do pester him something cruel. I promised him I’d run all the way -there and back; he’ll be raving till I get back.” - -“Ah, he won’t get no peace till he has it out, I reckon.” - -“The doctor says why don’t he have ’em out and get some new ’uns? But I -call it waste. Look at my sister’s husband: cost him a guinea his did! -Of course, he got a complete set top and bottom for that, fifty-three -teeth altogether I believe he told me, and as natural as you please, -I’ll own. But seeing as of course he’s got to take ’em out to eat, -I call it spending just for show, even if they do give you a good -mouthful for your money.” - -“By the way, speaking of teeth reminds me—only I can’t stop to tell you -all about it now, as the children’ll be in from school at half-past -twelve, and I haven’t started the dinner yet—but I’ve just heard that -poor Mrs. Jeggins over to Brownbrook’s gone.” - -“Pore thing! Is she though?” - -“Yes, your mentioning Jim’s tooth made me think of it. They fancy it -started with a tooth in her case too; for she had faceache turrible bad -about six months ago, her husband told me. And then it just went all -over her like. The doctor simply couldn’t do nothing with it. He tried -every mortal bottle he had in his surgery, and gave her some out of -every single one, and _yet_ she died! But there, I s’pose it had to be!” - -“I heeard tell from her sist’r-’n-law as she drank somethin’ awful; -but, mind you, if it’s a lie, ’taint my lie; it’s her lie as told me. -And I don’t at all hold with repeating a thing like that. But in any -case, I shouldn’t think it was her tooth! I expect she et something -that didn’t agree with her.” - -“Well, maybe; as I always say, you can’t be too careful what you eat -nowadays. The dinner they’ve got up there smells tasty, don’t it?” - -“Yes; it’s roast duck.” - -“Duck, is it? I didn’t know they’d had a duck _this_ week. Who did they -get it from?” - -“Sarah Ann Perkins—that old brown one of hers.” - -“The _brown_ one! How much did she ask for it?” - -“Four-and-six.” (An audible chuckle.) “Yes, _four-and-six_, if you -believe me! Fancy her having the face to ask it for that _brown_ duck! -But there, those that can afford to pay may just as well do so for -those who can’t.” - -“Just as well. But—_four-and-six_! And she won’t finish it up neither; -doesn’t care for cold poultry, I’m told; she’ll have a fair slice -from the breast, but that’s all; never allows it to be seen in the -dining-room a second time. And there’s only the two of them there now. -Still, that Abigail’s a hearty eater! My husband was up there a-fixing -a tile that had got loosish on the roof, and he told me what she et -that day. A gammon rasher and an egg and four slices of bread and -butter and a piece of fried bread out of the frying-pan and two cups -of coffee—half milk—and some jam for breakfast. He was just a-going up -the ladder past the kitchen window at the time; and when he come down, -finding as he needed a bit of cement, she was having lunch of bread and -cheese and a cup o’ tea out of her lady’s teapot—she always has a cup -of tea between ’leven and twelve—and he’d smoked his pipe right out -afore she’d finished. And when he come down again at dinner-time she -was having a dinner fit for a growed man just come home from the cattle -market—made him hungry to see her, it did; he hung about a bit looking -for his jack-knife, as he wanted something to measure with. And at -tea-time he went in for a drop o’ water to mix the cement, and she was -having potted meat and toast—butter, too, not dripping toast, if you -ever did. But, of course, she relishes the good vittles she gets in a -country place like ourn. So different to the stuff you get in a town.” - -“You’re right there; but they do have a sight o’ things down from -London. There was a box with ‘Army and Navy Stores’ writ on it that -was so heavy, it was all old Bob could do to get it on his shoulder, -with our Tom to give him a hand. Old Bob said he’d been reading in the -papers what awful waste there is in some o’ the army camps and how -the food gets throw’d away or sold by the cartload, to get rid of it, -but he didn’t know it was going on in the navy too—wicked, I call it. -They thought it must be tinned things, it were such a weight, but they -couldn’t make out for sure, though they rattled it ever so hard to see; -it was packed up awful tight.” - -“Taters weigh heavy, but it wouldn’t be they; she’s got plenty, what -with new ones coming on soon, and a large box left still of the old -ones; I saw them in the scullery last time I was there. I’m going to -ask if I can have ’em, I’m so short for the pig. It might have been -soap and soda and hearthstone, though; they all weighs heavy.” - -“That’s true. Still, I know for certain she has a heap of queer things -sent down, because when I was in Jane Price’s the other day, she had -a pot of something called ‘tunny fish,’ whatever that may be, on the -dresser. I asked her what it was. She told me she was passing here one -day and thought she heard someone calling her name; so she stepped -inside and looked around. No one was there, but she chanced to pass the -back door, and there on the top of the dustbin she saw this pot. She -brought it away with her just to ask our Tom if he knew what it was; -but he says they don’t catch it about here; never heeard tell on it. -Still, those sort of things aren’t like a nice piece of fat bacon to my -taste, to say nothing of duck; though I like a bit more picking on mine -than they’ll be on that _brown_ one, I reckon.” - -“D’you know, I expect they’re cooking it now to have it cold for the -company’s supper to-night, because in any case they don’t _need_ it -to-day. They had two chops and a shoulder of lamb and some gravy beef -on Saturday. I met the boy taking it up, and asked him what he had. -They’d have the chops that day, and the lamb roast on Sunday, and cold -Monday; and it’s only Tuesday now, and they can’t have finished it -up—it was a fair-sized one; and there’s the gravy beef soup. You may -depend it’s for the visitors.” - -“Oh! I didn’t know she was expecting company? It won’t be Miss Virginia -and her sister, because they’re abroad. She asked my husband to call -for her afternoon letters as he was passing the post-office yesterday, -and he brought ’em up, and there was a postcard with a picture on it of -some foreign place, and it said, ‘This is our hotel; enjoying ourselves -immensely; expect to be here a fortnight.’ And there was something -written at the bottom that I couldn’t make out, but it might have been -a ‘V,’ or a ‘U,’ only it was smudged so’s you couldn’t see _what_ it -was. So it was sure to be from them.” - -“No, it wasn’t they two; ’twasn’t their trunks.” - -“More than one trunk, is there? Then they’re going to stay a little -while. My Buff Orpingtons have started to lay again; that’s lucky. How -many do you say were coming?” - -“I don’t know for certain, but I fancy it must be three, because there -were two blankets, one single-bed and one double, hanging in the sun -when I came past yesterday, and Abigail was polishing the downstairs -winders, and she’d got clean cutt’ns to the little room over the -kitchen, as well as in the sittin’-room. Not that there was any need -to put up clean cutt’ns, that I can see; those in the sittin’-room had -only been up two months, and the upstairs ones were new last time she -was down here; you could tell they were new, the muslin hung so stiff. -I take it a cutt’n isn’t properly washed if it don’t last six months at -least. But she’s very pertickler about cutt’ns. Abigail told my Mabel, -that in London they don’t never dream of keeping a cutt’n up more than -a month, and often th’whole lot is changed in a fortnight; and just -think, the winders is done _every week_! Send me crazy, it would! I -don’t think it’s healthy to be as finnicky clean as that; why, you’re -always opening winders and letting in draughts. And now this morning I -see she’s got the cutt’ns down in the Flower room——” - -“The Flower room? Which be that?” - -“Oh, it’s the name they’ve give the one on the right at the top o’ the -stairs. It’s got a new laylock paper on the wall, and she’s got a new -bedspread, white, with bunches of laylock all about it, and a bit o’ -eeliertrope sateen hangs down behind the head of the bed to keep the -draught off, though it ’ud be far more sense to shut the winder, _I_ -say, for that sateen’s faded dretful in the folds already. I was only -noticing it th’other day, when my cousin was up from Woolv’ampton, -and I took her over the house.... Oh, yes, Mrs. Widow’ll lend me the -key any time” (Mrs. Widow is my caretaker), “and it do make a bit of -a change to take anyone to. My cousin said at the time she’d never -buy a bedspread like that; the colour’s so fleeting. Besides, she -wouldn’t have a white ground in any case, it’s always in the wash. -She’s made herself a _lovely_ spread, she was telling me, out of a pair -of old long curtains, just cutting out the bad places and then dyeing -it a deep coffee colour with a little cold tea; makes it last like -anything. I say the same; them white spreads never pay for themselves. -Though I rather like the one she’s got with roses on—Hannah Craddock -was a-washing of it one day when I dropped in” (Hannah is the village -laundress), “that was the last time Miss Ursula was down, because -Hannah was doing of her blouses that week, and my Mabel was very taken -with one that had bits of crochet let in all about, and points of it up -the sleeves just here, and my Mabel tried to copy it, only Hannah had -promised it home that very afternoon, so we’re waiting for it to come -again, as Mabel can’t get the yoke quite right. I’m sorry it isn’t them -who’s coming. She wants to get it finished afore she goes to London -next month.” - -“Did you see the name on the trunks? Now you mention it, I saw the boy -taking a telegraft up to the house yesterday—no, the day before.” - -“It was my husband told me about it, when he looked in home just now, -and his sight being so poor, he couldn’t see the name” (in spite of the -Educational Authorities many of the men in our village cannot read, -but by courtesy it is always referred to as poor sight!), “so he asked -the station-master if he should drop ’em anywhere, as he had got her -ladyship’s cart there. He is helping at the Manor House to-day. He’d -just taken some hay to the station, and it seemed a real waste o’ good -time to do nothing with it coming back. But the station-master said -they was for up here, and old Bob was taking ’em up as the ladies -wouldn’t have the fly; said they’d _pefer_ to walk. And, would you -believe it, he never so much as thought to ask how many there were. -Still, I’ll soon find out and let you know. I’ll go up and ask Abigail -if she can oblige me with the loan of a little salt. I’ve a couple of -ducks myself as I’d be glad to get four-and-six apiece for if——” - -At this moment Abigail appeared at the cottage door, and the gong -reverberated and echoed as she gave it a vigorous hammering, calculated -to wake me up wherever I might be. - -“Good gracious, that’s for her one o’clock dinner!” exclaimed both the -women in one breath, and fled in opposite directions, presumably to -minister to the raving and the ravenous! - - * * * * * - -As the conversation had implied, the duck was tough and inadequate; but -it was a certain satisfaction to me—as I sought about in vain for a -fairly good slice from the breast of the skinny carcase—to reflect that -I hadn’t paid for it as yet. I was out when the youthful Perkins had -delivered it. - -For the rest, I didn’t attach any value to the women’s gossip. Once you -have any real footing in a rural district, and have become part and -parcel of the country-side, you soon learn that one impossibility is -“terrible isolation.” From rosy morn till dewy eve one or another woman -is engaged in lengthy gossip with any other she meets, and in nearly -every case the topic of exhaustive conversation will be the doings of -somebody else; moreover, the less that is actually known about the -third and absent party the more two and two will add up to nineteen. - -In the main, I have seldom found such gossips either spiteful or -slanderous. They consider it being neighbourly to keep count of your -sayings and doings. - -There were two items in the women’s chatter that were enlightening, -however. I had always suspected that Mrs. Price knew where certain -items from my store cupboard had gone one winter’s night when the -cottage was uninhabited and the kitchen window forced. I doubt if there -was another person in the place who would have done it. Still I was -glad to have the mystery cleared up. - -I was not surprised to hear that all and sundry had the run of my -house when I wasn’t there. The Englishwoman who occupies any house of -more than six rooms, we will say (which she can keep clean her unaided -self), knows that she never can call any room her own, excepting the -one she chances to be in at the moment—and not even that one if the -British workman happens to be in the ascendant! It is one of the -compensations of life that the smaller our habitation, the more we -ourselves get out of it personally—a kind of “intensive” interest. -Whereas the larger our domains, the more imposing our houses, the more -numerous our rooms, the more they are monopolised by other people—paid -assistants for the most part—to the exclusion of ourselves. - -In my own very humble way I soon realised that even my country cottage -and its contents were only my own so long as I could sit on them, -so to speak. I early discovered that my sheets and pillow-cases, my -towels and tablecloths, were not allowed to lead a life of idle, -selfish exclusiveness in my absences. Mrs. Widow’s enterprising married -daughter quickly furnished a room at her own cottage over an outhouse -which had hitherto been used as a lumber garret; this she could always -let in the summer, when the big houses in the neighbourhood were full -up with visitors and extra rooms were needed. - -Of course, at times I proved exceedingly tiresome, and turned up at -inconvenient moments. But in such an emergency neighbours would assist -her with the loan of a sheet here and there and a towel or two, if mine -had to be returned hastily. I have always found the poor most ready to -help each other—especially when it was a case of “doing” someone who -was a little better off. - -No, I was not surprised that Mrs. Widow graciously bestowed my door-key -on her friends in search of an afternoon’s recreation; but I _was_ just -a trifle curious to know how they had got hold of the lilac bedspread, -seeing that it was put away in a cupboard that possessed—so I prided -myself—a unique lock; and it had never been used yet—at least, not by -me! - - * * * * * - -After dinner I wrestled womanfully with the overpowering desire to go -down the orchard again and do nothing; but a shower seemed threatening, -and I decided to answer letters and correct proofs indoors. I told -myself I would put in a full afternoon at really solid work, and would -even carry it right on into the night, if need be, without a moment’s -cessation save for the conventional nourishment—this, in order to clear -up some of my arrears, and to enable me to garden the whole of next day -with a perky conscience. - -“How _do_ you kill time on a wet day in the country?” people sometimes -ask me. It’s simple enough. Here is the recipe: - -* Draw up a chair to the table; get out ink and pens from one of the -aged oak cupboards beside the fireplace. Open the dresser drawers and -haul out stacks of unanswered queries from magazine readers, the office -staff, printers, block-makers, artists, authors, and from people of -whom I know nothing (friends and relatives gave me up long ago!). - -Next, take the heavy lid right off the oak chest (hinges were broken -fifty years ago, so it won’t lift up properly), dive in for armfuls of -MSS., proofs, photographs, diagrams, sketches; place same on table; -proceed to hunt among same for some one particular thing I feel I -ought to deal with at that particular moment (though it may have lain -unhonoured and unsung for weeks); can’t find it anywhere. Go through -everything again, this time classifying matter slightly by putting it -in piles around me on the floor; still can’t find it, but unearth much -else that ought to have been attended to long ago but wasn’t. - -Decide to search upstairs; turn out trunks, turn out cupboards, turn -out drawers (incidentally discover and meditate upon various things -needing mending); forget what I _was_ looking for; go on searching -for it; remember presently, and eventually run it to earth in my -blotting-book downstairs, where, if I had had any sense, I should -have looked in the first instance. Breathe freely, sit down—rather -exhausted—to serious work. - -A tap at the door; “May I come in?” Enter visitor No. 1. And then they -follow in quick succession. - -Finally, Abigail kindly undertakes to tidy up my papers “without -disturbing a single thing!”* - -Next day (if still wet) you repeat from * to *, as they tell us in the -crochet patterns. - - * * * * * - -I had just got settled to work on the missing-and-now-discovered -letter, when Abigail tapped and entered. - -“I’m sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but could you spare me one of those -Missionary books?” pointing to a shelf containing a selection of the -annual reports of religious and philanthropic societies. - -Now for some time past I had been trying to interest Abigail—who is -a church member—in foreign missions. I rather prided myself that I -had done it tactfully, not forcing it upon her, but just arousing her -interest by taking her to attractive meetings. I found that she had -even gone to one on her own account. Hence I was naturally pleased -to find that she was anxious to follow up the subject; but as I did -not consider an ordinary official report, with its small print, and -balance-sheets and monotonous lists of subscribers, the type of -literature best calculated to enthuse the novice, I reached down a -small volume of bright stories of girl-life in India, well illustrated -and prettily got-up. - -“Here is just the very thing,” I said. But she took it reluctantly, -dubiously, turning it about and looking it over in a dissatisfied -manner. - -“No,” she said, “it’s one like that I want,” pointing to a solid tome -issued by one of the most revered of our missionary societies. “Can I -have that one?” - -“Certainly,” I acquiesced, though it was an out-of-date report, and I -knew the other book would have suited her better. - -“Yes, that’s just right,” she said cheerfully, as I handed it to her. -“That other’d be too thin; it’s to go under the back leg of the side -table in the kitchen, where the stone floor’s broken. I’ve used one -like this regular since last summer, but it’s getting shabby. I thought -a new one would smarten us up a bit.” - - * * * * * - -I remember on one occasion being at a missionary meeting for young -people, at which there was a remarkably fine speaker from the foreign -mission field. He said that if any felt they had a call to take part in -the work in any way, he would be pleased to see them at the close. When -the meeting was over, a small boy approached the platform. “Please can -I speak to you, sir?” - -“Certainly, my lad,” said the speaker, shaking him warmly by the hand. -“Now, what is it? You can talk quite frankly to me.” - -“Well, I wondered if—er——” - -“Have no hesitation, my boy, in asking me anything you like.” - -“Well, do you happen to have any foreign postage stamps?” - - * * * * * - -Just as I had settled down again, somewhat chastened, to my much -neglected work, there was a knock at the door, and the lady of the -manor was shown in. - -“I see you’re busy,” she began; “but I won’t keep you a moment. I only -want to ask you if you’re expecting Miss Virginia and her sister this -afternoon? No? Oh, I _am_ sorry! I did hope they were coming. But, -anyhow, whoever it is, do you think they would help to-morrow at the -Sale of Work? Two visitors I was expecting have failed me, and I’ve no -one possible for the picture post-cards or the pinafores. They needn’t -know anything about it, you know; it only wants someone who can reckon -up that seven penny cards comes to sevenpence, and that’s one and -ninepence change out of half-a-crown, and that sort of thing. Now, do -you think your friends would help?” - -“But I’ve no friends coming,” I said. - -“_Haven’t_ you? Why, I quite understood—— I was calling on Miss -Primkins just now (she’s jam and jelly, you know), and I asked her if -she couldn’t put it on the pinafores—it would look quite decorative, -and in this way I should save a stall; even then we shall be very -crowded. Mrs. Blake had just been in to say she couldn’t spare Miss -Primkins the duck she had ordered, because you had visitors arriving -to-day and would want a pair for Sunday.” - -“Oh!! Well, I’m not having visitors, neither am I having the ducks. -But I’ll come down myself to-morrow, if that’s any help, and keep one -eye on the pinafores and one on the picture postcards. And I think my -mental arithmetic will be just right for the change you give.” - -“But, don’t you remember, you’ve already promised to look after the -bookstall? You sent us that big box of books months ago, with some of -your own books in—which I want you to autograph, by the way. So I was -going to ask you if at the same time you’d manage the jumble corner—the -two things would go very well together.” - -I agreed with her heartily. - -“Oh, you _know_ I don’t mean anything like _that_!” she added hastily. -“I only meant that you could more easily turn from selling lovely -books, to dispose of one of your own done-with-but-still-charming coats -and skirts, for instance, than if you had to cut up for the refreshment -stall, and return with buttery fingers to respond to the rush there -will be for your autograph.” - -“Add the postcards to the books,” I said, trying to be equally amiable, -“and Abigail will gladly run the jumble corner; she will be smarter at -it than you or I.” - -Abigail appeared as soon as her ladyship had gone. The farmeress who -supplied us with milk was waiting in the kitchen to know if I wanted -extra milk morning and evening in future, on account of company; as, -if so, she would save it specially. She was experiencing a shortage of -milk, “Hussy” having run dry, and “Clover,” for some unknown reason -that I hadn’t time to listen to, not doing her lactic duty as befitted -her station in life. - -Emphatically I said that I should not want any extra milk—and a few -other things. - -I resumed my work. - -Ten minutes later there was yet another interruption. This time it was -the owner of the Buff Orpingtons, who had arrived at the back door to -inquire if I was wanting any eggs—she’d brought eight with her, and -expected another one to-night, which she’d send up—her hens had just -started laying again, etc. - -I fairly blessed the individual who had first set going the fable that -I was expecting visitors. - -I told Abigail that it was a matter of perfect indifference to me -whether all the fowls in the district did, or did not, accommodatingly -lay nine, or even ten, eggs for my especial benefit; but what did -matter to me was whether I could, or could not, get nine or even ten -minutes of uninterrupted peace, in order to finish my letters before -the postman arrived. (He always calls obligingly at five o’clock for my -afternoon mail.) And I requested that she would kindly take in any and -everything that came during the next hour (so long as it didn’t need -paying for!); only, for pity’s sake, would she cease opening that door -and seeking advice on the subject. - -After that I was left severely alone. From time to time I heard voices -in the rear; there was one very loud series of bumps and bangs—I -concluded it was the missionary report being introduced to the table. -But I worked on, and had just sealed up my last budget of proofs, and -addressed it to the printers, when the postman appeared. I heaved a -sigh at the amount of stuff he carried away. The shower had passed over -without even damping the blossoms. I would have some tea, and then -start watering. - -The postman was speaking to someone at the gate. No, it wasn’t Abigail. -I heard him say, “Yes; this is Rosemary Cottage.” I was gathering up -my papers as footsteps dragged themselves along the path—“dragged” is -the only word for it—and before I had time to step outside to see who -was there, two female forms, one ample and one spare, made for the -door opening into the living-room, precipitated themselves into the -room, and sank into the nearest chairs, in the last stages of panting -exhaustion; while the ample one, in a coat and skirt of a large black -and white plaid, buttoned and piped with cerise, exclaimed— - -“At last! Well, of all the out-of-the-way forsaken places! We’ve been -tramping nearly all day, trying to get here from that wretched station! -We must have walked miles—_miles_—up and down hill, only it was _all_ -uphill; we found ourselves in woods with no possibility of ever -getting out again; we got into lanes that ended nowhere, and when we -got there it was the wrong place; we tried to take a short cut across -some fields, and got stuck in a bog; we met a flock of wild cows, and -the top of that hedge positively ran into me like needles. When we did -chance to find a house, hoping it was yours, it never was; the people -always told us to go on and ask further directions at the next house we -came to, but each time there wasn’t another house. Why ever didn’t we -take that fly at the station! But there, he could never have driven us -over all the huge stone walls we’ve had to climb! We’ve been walking -for hours on end—_hours_—haven’t we, dear?” - -“Dear” nodded feebly. She was leaning back in the easy-chair with -closed eyes. Her hat—of a remarkable shape—was trimmed with what looked -like a kitchen flue-brush standing straight upright at the back; at -least, it would have been upright if her hat hadn’t shifted askew; -at the moment the flue-brush was inclining towards her left ear. Her -costume was mustard colour, with spasms of black. She must have been -_very_ pleased with it when she bought it, otherwise she could never -have induced herself to get inside it! - -I soon found that the ample one did not require any reply other than -the feeble nod, as it would have impeded her eloquence. She went on— - -“I think, if you don’t mind, we won’t go upstairs till we’ve had some -tea. We are absolutely prostrate, aren’t we, dear?” The flue-brush -dipped slightly. “Could we have some tea at once?” - -“Certainly,” I said with alacrity. I had already decided that tea was -the only possible way to relieve the strain of the situation, and I -rang the bell. - -Abigail, after one comprehensive glance at the callers, fetched my -very best afternoon tea-cloth, which she displayed on the table to -the utmost advantage, that not an Irish inlet or a bit of lace border -should be lost on the visitors. When she does not approve of any -callers, or does not consider them quite in keeping with the family -traditions, she invariably makes a terrific splash in front of them, -getting out the special silver and the finest china, and serving with -an air of withering superiority, as though she said, “Behold! this -is how _we_ live every day; very different from what _you’ve_ been -accustomed to!” - -The tiresomeness of it is that when intimate friends call, who really -matter, the handmaiden treats the tea-table most casually; they -evidently don’t count if they are known to be above reproach! - -From the look she gave the strangers, I knew we should have it all, -and we did! She was wonderfully quick in getting both the tea and her -smartest cap and apron. She put as much silver as she could squeeze on -the table; she got out some egg-shell china plates for the bread and -butter, and the old cut-glass for the preserves. She opened new jars -of plum, black-currant, strawberry and raspberry jam; she turned out -preserved ginger into a blue Chinese bowl; she put lemon-curd into a -quaint brown dish, and honey in a lustre saucer. She hunted out all -the cake we possessed, and opened a tin of apricots; she mashed up -sardines with Worcester sauce, and heaped it on pale lettuce leaves, -and she garnished some thin slices of ham most artistically with lemon -and cucumber and flowering sprigs of rosemary. All this while the -ample one was explaining to me how marvellously things were managed -in London, the miles you could ride in a motor-bus for twopence, the -cleanliness and speed and safety of the Tube, the ever-recurring -convenience of a halfpenny in a tramcar, and the luxury of a taxi; and -then more moans to think of the miles they had covered without meeting -either motor-bus, Tube, tramcar or taxi. - -When the table seemed on the very verge of breaking down with its -abundance, and they had just drawn up their chairs, Abigail asked in -clear tones that the visitors were bound to hear, “Would you wish me to -bring in the cold duck, madam?” (“Madam” indicates company; “ma’am” is -ordinary every-day.) I wasn’t exactly anxious to bestow my to-morrow’s -dinner on the strangers, for I had reckoned to make the duck do for -twice; but, of course, under the circumstances, I was bound to ask -sweetly, “Oh, would you care for a little roast duck? It’s _cold_,” -I added, by way of disqualifying the joint a little in their eyes. -Fortunately they preferred ham, but it was satisfactory that at least -they knew we had roast duck in the larder. - -After sitting up and taking a little nourishment, the wilted ones -revived perceptibly, and even began to be gracious. I am afraid I am -not very fond of the graciousness of that type of woman; she does get -it so mixed up with patronage. But I buoyed myself up with the thought -that perchance I was entertaining angels unawares—though they didn’t -look like it! - -The ample one continued to be voluble. I did not interrupt her with -questions, because I find it is usually as well to let a situation -explain itself; it usually does in time. Besides, I didn’t quite know -what to say. I couldn’t exactly ask, “Who are you? where have you come -from? and why have you singled me out for this particular visitation?” -Yet the longer I waited, the more awkward it became to open inquiries. - -“You have a very well-trained maid, I see,” the large plaid continued, -“that is to say, for the country”—with emphasis, to show me that there -were obvious deficiencies, only she was willing to make allowances for -them. “It’s the first thing I always notice in a house. We are used to -such excellent service—_most excellent_ service, aren’t we, dear?” - -Dear agreed, but not very heartily; she seemed to ponder for a moment -before she said her customary “Yes.” - -“That is one reason why I always hesitate about leaving home.” (How I -wished she’d hesitated a little longer! The sun was getting behind the -fir-trees, and I did so want to start watering!) “You have some garden, -I see, but it wants planning, doesn’t it? I wish you could see ours -at home; it would give you some ideas. We have a man in occasionally; -but we always superintend him ourselves. I’ll tell you how we have it -arranged. In the centre is a square lawn, and in the middle of this -we have a round bed with scarlet geraniums in the centre, and a ring -of calceolarias round them, and then outside that, at the edge of the -bed, you understand, all round, you know, we have lobelias, little blue -flowers, you know. You’ve no idea how bright and effective it is. And -then in the border all round the garden by the fences, we have standard -roses about a couple of yards apart, and a row of scarlet geraniums. -It’s so bright, and doesn’t cost so much when you buy them by the dozen. - -“Your ceiling is very low, isn’t it?—still, for a cottage, it isn’t a -bad-sized room; and I see you’ve made the best of it with your little -bits of things put about.” I do wish you could have heard the charming, -indulgent condescension with which she said “your little bits of -things”! “Though I don’t think I’ve ever seen yellow walls before—very -_quaint_, of course, but—er—rather peculiar. Don’t you think so, dear?” - -Dear said she did. But I don’t know why, seeing that she was carrying -about more yellow on her mustard person than I had in the whole of the -house! - -“I _wish_ you could see our _lovely_ dining-room at home,” the plaid -continued. I murmured inarticulations, as there was a pause where I -was evidently intended to say something. “It has a dark red paper on -the wall. We have just furnished it with fumed oak. I think fumed oak -is _so_ artistic. We have a most _handsome_ sideboard that will only -just stand across one end of the room. I don’t mind telling you that -it cost fifty pounds originally, but as the people to whom it belonged -were a little unfortunate, we got it—well, we didn’t give quite that -much for it; but you’d never know. It was just as good as new. And we -have aspidistras and a _beautiful_ palm in copper flower-pots—really -exquisite works of art they are; and they go so well with the fumed -oak, don’t they, dear?” - -By the time I had been taken over their _beautiful_ drawing-room, we -had finished tea—happily, for I already saw a _beautiful_ best bedroom -suite looming ahead. - -Having made a most excellent, not to say solid, meal, the voluble one -shoved her chair back and said— - -“I feel all the better for that cup of tea. Now, I think, if you’ll -show us the way, we’ll go upstairs and have a good wash, and make -ourselves presentable—not that you dress much for dinner, I suppose?” - -I conclude I, too, was all the better for my cup of tea, for I felt -myself warming to the work—and I led the way washstandwards most -cordially. I didn’t take them out into the hall to the more modern -staircase, I opened the door in the corner of the room, and revealed -the steep stone stairs; and you should have heard their gurgles and -squeals. - -“Oh, dearest, _do_ look. _Isn’t_ it primitive? And do you go up and -down this every day?” - -“Oh, no,” I couldn’t help replying. “We only use this when visitors are -here. On ordinary occasions we get in and out of the bedroom windows, -and hop down the honeysuckle.” - -She drew herself up reprimandingly; she evidently wished me to -understand that, though she was willing to treat me as an equal so long -as I behaved myself, she couldn’t allow any undue familiarity on my -part. - -“I don’t suppose _you_ would see anything unusual in such an approach -to the upper storeys, having been used to it all your life,” she said -distantly; “but accustomed as _we_ are to our magnificent staircase at -home—wide enough to drive up a carriage and pair, isn’t it, dear?”— - -“Er—nearly——” (Dear was the more truthful of the two, I fancy.) - -“—And our beautiful pile carpet, in rich reds and blues, and the -thickest of stair-pads underneath, till you would think you were -walking on real Turkey carpet, this naturally strikes us as—how shall I -put it so as not to hurt your feelings?—as—as very humorous, you know!” - -“I quite understand,” I said, as we entered my bedroom. - -She walked straight over to the window and looked out. - -“Not a house to be seen anywhere,” she exclaimed dismally, “whichever -way you look; nothing in sight but those everlasting tree-covered -hills.” - -As she seemed inclined for a lengthy soliloquy, I poured out some -water and indicated the soap-dish, as politely as I knew how, to Dear, -who had taken off her hat and coat, and seemed almost grateful for my -attentions. I noticed that Abigail had been up and had adorned the -towel-horse with my finest damask towels with embroidered ends, and had -got out a rare and treasured bedspread made entirely of lace, that had -just been sent me as a present from Venice, and had put it over the bed -in place of the old-world patchwork quilt that I infinitely prefer in -the cottage; it was so much more in keeping with the surroundings. - -The ample one turned with a sigh from the depressing outlook that was -so deficient in motor-buses and halfpenny car rides and taxis and -houses, and said, evidently striving to make the best of a bad job, “At -any rate you’ve tried to make it look as nice as you can inside. Do you -know, I rather like that bedspread”—as though conveying a real favour -on the article in question. “It reminds me of an _exquisite_ bedspread -we have at home something like it, only ours is linen, with shamrocks -on it in solid embroidery.” And she flung down her coat and other -_impedimenta_ on the top of the lace in a way that made me tremble for -its safety. “It’s _something_ like ours—don’t you think so, dear?” - -Dear had her face in the soft delicious lather of the rainwater, and -didn’t reply. - -“But”—at this point transformation came over the black and white -plaid—“I’ve only just noticed it! This is a _double_ bed! Look, dear, -it’s a DOUBLE bed! And I most distinctly said in my letter it was -imperative that we have two single beds; the same room would do, I -said—no need to go to the expense of two rooms—but on no account -a double bed. As I can’t possibly rest unless I have the bed to -myself—I’m a _very_ light sleeper, whereas my friend sleeps rather -heavily, not to say—er—sonorously, don’t you, dear?—I must simply -insist that you have this bed taken down and two single ones put up in -its place. Had I _seen_ the rooms before I engaged them I shouldn’t -have taken a place with such a desolate outlook; but as we’ve had the -expense of coming here, I don’t mind staying if you undertake to have -the beds changed; and they must both be feather beds, too. Now, can you -do this?” - -“I’m afraid I can’t!” I said. “But if——” - -“There can be no ifs; I put everything quite clearly in my letter. I’ve -got a copy of it here. I wrote——” - -“My dear lady, if you will sit down in that easy-chair, we’ll make -everything still clearer.” She was beginning to prance around the room. - -Dear, unmoved, was having a very thorough wash. So the light sleeper -sank into the chair and rummaged in her hand-bag, presumably for the -copy of the letter in question. - -I tried to speak as lightly and soothingly as possible, for she was -fairly bursting with indignation! “Now, please understand that I am -delighted to give a meal to any wayfarer who, like yourself, arrives -hungry and tired at my door. I’m glad for them to come in and have -a rest, and even a wash and brush up, if they want it. But, when an -absolute stranger, of whom I know nothing, demands my own bed, and my -feather bed into the bargain, then I must protest! That feather bed is -one of my most cherished possessions!” - -“But you expected me?”—sitting bolt upright. - -“I certainly did not!” - -“Didn’t I write and tell you we would arrive to-day?” - -“I’ve neither heard of you, nor from you, in my life before!” - -“But this is Rosemary Cottage?” - -“It is.” - -“Then you _must_ be Miss Flabbers!”—with an air of finality. - -“I’m sorry, but I’m _not_!” - -At this, Dear dropped the soap with a sudden splosh into the water and -looked round in frozen astonishment. (The merest wraith of it remained -two hours later when Abigail emptied the water. It was a new cake, too!) - -At the name of Flabbers, light came. Miss Flabbers is a gentlewoman in -somewhat reduced circumstances, who lives in a cottage a good mile and -a half away. Presumably she was going to add to her income by taking in -boarders. - -“If it’s Miss Flabbers whom you are wanting,” I continued, filling up -a painful silence, “her house is called Rose May Cottage. I expect you -got the names confused in your mind.” - -“There! It’s all _your_ fault,” said the ample one, turning irritably -to her companion; “you said it was Rose May Cottage when you read -the first letter: but I said that was an absurd name, and it must be -Rosemary it was intended for—country people _do_ write so badly. I do -_wish_, dear, you would be careful to be more accurate; if only you -had said the right name I might have been saved all this trouble—and -expense, because of course I shall _insist_ on paying for our tea——” -(she didn’t though!) “and think how many miles I’ve walked, and now I -suppose I’ve to do it all again. How I wish I’d listened to that old -man at the station and gone with——” - -She paused suddenly and threw up her hands; and then there arose that -cry common to all womankind the world over, when they are weary with -their pilgrimage, footsore and travel-stained; the cry that must have -rent the air in the olden days when Sarai trailed after Abram across -the plains of Mamre, even as it sounds to-day from Yokohama to Land’s -End: - -“_Where’s our luggage?_” - -There was a perceptible gasp—and then, “Yes; _where’s our luggage?_” -faintly echoed Dear, as she nervously clutched her gloves with feverish -haste and pinned them on her head, and then wildly tried to get her -arms into her hat. - -“I expect it’s reposing peacefully in Miss Flabbers’ best bedroom,” I -said assuringly. “At any rate it isn’t _here_!” as I saw signs that -they were going to crawl under the bed in search of it. “The man would -be sure to deliver it there, and——” - -Abigail knocked at the door and asked if she could speak to me for a -minute. - -When I got outside she said, “There’s a person downstairs wants to see -you _particular_, ma’am, or I wouldn’t have disturbed you.” Abigail -divides all her sex into two classes, “persons” and “ladies,” and no -one is more careful than she to see that “persons” don’t think more -highly of themselves than their social status warrants. - -I found a pleasant-faced woman who lives in a cottage near Miss -Flabbers. “Please, ma’am, Miss Flabbers has lost two ladies rather -suddint, and I wondered if you’d chanced to set eyes on ’em? Miss -Flabbers is _that_ worrit as never was; expected ’em by the eleven -train, and I misdoubt me if the cutlets won’t be a bit heavy by now, -though she’s had ’em over a saucepan of hot water ever since. She’s so -upset she don’t know what to do, yet she can’t go out to look for ’em -in case they turns up meanwhile. I thought it ’ud be just neighbourly -if I went out for her and hunted around. I know they come by that -train, for I see’d ’em myself at the station, puffeck ladies you’d have -took ’em for, only they wouldn’t have a fly. They’re not friends, no, -nor boarders, no, she wouldn’t think of having boarders, so reserved -as she is; they’re what’s called paying guests. I know, because my -son’s got a friend in the _Hargus_ office, and he told him about an -adver-_tise_ment she put in, only you wouldn’t have known it was her, -being only X Y Z on it, but the people at the _Hargus_ knew as the X Y -Z meant her, though _how_ they should know puzzles me, and they send on -the letters to her. But she’s kep’ it very private; no one knew they -was coming, so I wouldn’t dream of mentioning X Y Z to a soul. I’ve -tracked ’em up here. Everybody all over the Common and even up to the -Crag Farm has a-seed them, they’ve scoured the county for miles round. -You’d be sure to rekernize them once you’d saw them——” - -I should think so! E’en the slight harebell raised its head and stared -after them whenever they passed it that afternoon, I’m certain. - -By dint of shouting above her talking I managed to get her to hear that -I had them safe and sound; and should be everlastingly grateful if she -would take them off my hands and place them in the safe keeping of Miss -Flabbers. - -Then I fetched them down and introduced the neighbourly soul, who, you -could see, felt elated at the distinction of being the one to take such -costumes in tow. - -“Better go out of the back door,” I said, “and up the garden to the -top gate; it will save you a few steps.” - -And then the ample one turned and said icily, “I suppose we must thank -you for what you have done; but I _do_ think you should have told us -_sooner_ who you were.” Yet I hadn’t told them even then! - - * * * * * - -It was as they were going out of the back door that Dear amazed us by -falling unexpectedly to her knees and affectionately clasping a dark -object that I had not seen in the dim recess of the lobby. - -“_Here’s_ our trunks!” she shrieked hysterically. - -And then both those women glared things unspeakable at me. They knew -now, what they had only suspected before, that I was a deeply-dyed -villainess with designs on them and their property. - -“What’s this? Why wasn’t I told about it?” I inquired of Abigail, who, -naturally, was not missing a word. - -“Old Bob brought them while you were busy. He said they were for here, -so of course I took them in, madam, as you said you were not to be -disturbed,” with an injured sniff, “and I’ve had no opportunity to tell -you since.” - -The two, true to the instincts of their sex, had promptly seated -themselves on the trunks, and I feared they had no intention of -budging unless the trunks went with them. But the neighbourly person -was anxious to be on the move; she wanted the _kudos_ of walking -through the village with them in the broad daylight, so she said— - -“They’ll be all right; my ’usband’ll come round for them soon as we get -back. Now don’t you worrit the least little bit.” - -Thus they were got off at last. - - * * * * * - -“Puffeck ladies,” I said to myself as I seized the brown pitcher and -the water-can, and went out to the spring. - - - - -VIII - -Merely to be Prepared - - -I COULDN’T have been asleep many minutes (though, when I come to think -of it, no one ever is, in London), because I had waited up till eleven -for Abigail. - -It was like this: the day before, cook had asked me if she might stay -out till eleven that night, as she wanted to go and see an old lady in -whose employ she had once been. The old lady was seriously ill; she -couldn’t get her off her mind; and she felt she ought to give her what -little pleasure she could, as she wouldn’t be likely to get over it. - -I begged her to take the whole afternoon; such affection was really -touching. I saw myself in a few years’ time, decrepit, aged, and -infirm, being visited by a crowd of devoted retainers, who murmured one -to another: - -“She had her faults, goodness knows, but at least we will scatter seeds -of kindness!” - -In any case, I was pleased for cook to take some extra time, as she is -invariably home early—the Naval Division at the Crystal Palace have to -be under glass by nine o’clock. - -She thanked me, but declined the afternoon, as she thought half-past -nine or ten in the evening would suit the old lady best; she was in a -West End nursing home. It seemed late to visit one who was so aged and -so ill, but, of course, I gave the extended leave. - -She returned at 10.55, looking very bright, a bunch of roses in -her coat-belt, a box of chocolates dangling from her finger, and a -programme in her hand. - -Yes, thank you; she had had a lovely time. The old lady?—er—oh, yes! -she was getting on nicely, thank you. - - * * * * * - -Next day, Abigail came to me, also asking for an eleven o’clock -leave. It transpired that she was expecting a little orphan cousin -to arrive that night from Blackpool; _such_ a sad affair—child left -without a father when it was only four years old—she was eight now. -No, she hadn’t ever seen the little cousin, but she felt it was such a -distressing case that it was her duty to do what she could. - -I hinted that eleven o’clock at night seemed rather late for one who -was so young and so orphaned to be up and about, and likewise offered -her the afternoon. But she said the train didn’t arrive sooner, and the -trains were often late. So I gave her till 11.0 p.m. to welcome the -pitiful orphan. - -She also arrived in at night looking radiant. Under her mackintosh -she was wearing a pink chiffon dress, edged with swansdown; a bandeau -of sparkles was on her hair, a horseshoe of the same make adorning -the back of her head; she carried a fan, and some flowers that had -evidently been worn on the dress. - -I am glad to say that she, too, had enjoyed herself immensely, and the -desolate relative had been most pleased to make her acquaintance. - -After that I retired. - - * * * * * - -And then I conclude it was the bang that did it; at any rate, the whole -household woke with a start, and with one accord the feminine portion -precipitated itself downstairs and on to the front door mat, and peered -out into the dark road in the hope of seeing _something_! - -The masculine element, being gifted with a faculty for keeping cool, -calm and collected in any emergency, stayed to gather up a few wraps -and rugs and overcoats and anything else he could lay his hands on in -the dark (including his disreputable old gardening jacket), which he -brought down and distributed among us, as we had not stopped for much -in the way of clothing. - -At that moment Virginia and Ursula rushed along the road from their -own house and joined us. Virginia was clad in a nightdress, with a -mackintosh over it and a sumptuous pale blue kimono (covered with brown -and black flying herons) on the top of the mac. Ursula was wearing her -heliotrope dressing-gown, an ostrich feather boa, and an eiderdown -quilt. - -They both apologised for calling so late (it was past midnight), but -said they felt they should just like to talk things over. - -While I was bidding them welcome, Miss Quirker (from round the corner) -appeared; likewise Miss Thresher (a secondary-school mistress) and her -friend Mrs. Brash, who share a flat near by; and in the rear came Mrs. -Ridley, the doctor’s widow from across the road. - -They all said they had come because they could see “it” better from my -house, which stands on a high point, overlooking London one way, and -Kent from the other side. - -Each caller was grateful for the loan of a blanket. - -Meanwhile, in far less time than it takes to write all this, -fire-engines and ambulances, and policemen and motor-cars and -pedestrians appeared as by magic from nowhere and went tearing along -the road. Yet, crane our necks as we would, not a glimpse could we -catch of “it.” - -Miss Quirker—who always seems to have special and exclusive information -about everything—said the creature was exactly over her bedroom -chimney when the bomb was dropped; she heard a strange whirring noise -(described most graphically), and turned on the electric light for -company; then there was a _brilliant_ flash in the sky (yes, she could -see it above the electric light), and the bomb fell—she was sure -it was in her back garden. She looked very pleased with herself and -superior, to think that she had been singled out by Fate for this -special and distinctive visitation. - -The man of the house, after bidding us stay just where we were as he -wouldn’t be gone a minute, hied him buoyantly down the road in company -with neighbouring masculines—to find the bomb, I suppose. He soon -returned, however, with the exceedingly flat information that a gas -explosion had occurred in a house further along, though they couldn’t -tell whether it was due to the geyser or the cooking-range, as they -couldn’t find either. - -[Later on, the remains of a geyser and part of a porcelain bath were -picked up about six miles off, in the Walworth Road; and I understand -that the police at Sevenoaks found the remnants of an alien gas-stove -wandering about in a suspicious manner, and promptly interned it. But -this is by the way.] - -“Only a gas explosion!” exclaimed everybody in doleful disappointment. -Mrs. Brash certainly looked relieved; but then she is a very nervous -little woman with a weak heart. - -“Well, I call it _too_ bad!” said Virginia. “Every solitary relative, -friend, and acquaintance I possess, even to the third and fourth -generation, has had a Zepp cross ‘right over their very road’; and -every person I’ve met during the last twelve months boasts and brags -of the way they’ve had them ‘exactly above their heads.’ And yet, do -what I will, I can’t get a sight of even the tail of one.” - -“Just my case,” said everybody else in chorus; “I seem to be the only -one in London who hasn’t seen one.” - -But Miss Thresher cut short our bemoanings over the hardness of our -lot, by saying in her head-mistress voice— - -“I’m afraid an excess of untutored imagination is one of the weaknesses -of this age. We, however, can console ourselves with the knowledge -that at least we are _truthful_; and truth, after all, is the greater -asset”—looking witheringly at Miss Quirker. - -I replied, “How about some hot coffee?” It was the most appropriate -remark that I could think of on the spur of the moment. - -Cook promptly offered to get it, while I went after tea-gowns and -dressing-gowns and similar symbols of propriety for our shivering -guests, who looked a trifle nondescript now that the lights were on. -The man of the house had returned to assist at the explosion. - -If Miss Thresher hoped that her last remark would quelch Miss Quirker, -she was mistaken nothing can suppress that lady, and nothing is sacred -to her. She will stalk up to your secret cupboard, no matter how boldly -you may have labelled it “strictly private,” and drag out into broad -daylight the most disreputable skeleton you keep in it, the one you -packed away at the very back of the top shelf—and then be pained at -your ingratitude! - -As I entered the room with an armful of apparel I heard her saying -to Miss Thresher, “Why don’t you put a flounce on the bottom? Those -cheap flannelettes always shrink in the wash.... Oh, flannel is it?... -Really! no one would ever think you gave that much for it, would they? -At any rate I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t have them right down around my -feet.” - - * * * * * - -To change the subject I asked Virginia why she had put her mac. on -under her kimono, when obviously the correct order would have been to -wear it outside. - -She said she concluded it was sheer genius and originality made her do -it, for she had never worn such a combination in her life before; and -the same must have applied to Ursula, for, looking back on a varied -and chequered career, she could never remember seeing her sister, even -once, promenading the highway in an eiderdown before. - -At the same time, she inquired why it was that _I_ had stood for a -quarter of an hour on that doormat, clasping feverishly to my chest a -pair of satin slippers and a bath towel, and clinging pathetically -to a bedroom candlestick; when obviously any candle would have blown -out had I attempted to light it, and the bedroom slippers would have -been more usefully employed on my shoeless feet; while as for the bath -towel...! - -The coffee came at that moment. I remembered that some time ago the -kitchen had been very interested in an article in one of the dailies, -giving various directions as to what should be done in the case of -bombs overhead. I forget a good deal of it, but I remember you had to -lay mattresses all over the top floors before you came downstairs, and -you had to dip a cloth in hyposulphate of something, and hold it to -your nose as you came down to seek a place of safety. - -The servants were rather taken with the mattress idea, said how simple -it was, and that, as they had five mattresses between them, they would -cover a good deal of floor space. I even generously offered them the -two off my own bed, if they would come down and fetch them as soon as -the Zepps were heard, so long as they undertook to place them carefully -above _my_ head. - -When Abigail brought in the trays, I asked how many mattresses she had -laid down. - -“I never gave ’em a thought,” she owned up; “my two legs seemed all -that mattered, for I was sure I saw the Zeppelin-thing looking straight -in at my bedroom window—such sauce!” - -“Untutored imagination again!” murmured Ursula in my ear. - -Nervous little Mrs. Brash said that was just the difficulty; when it -actually came to the point you could think of nothing that you ought to -remember. Wouldn’t it be well to talk the subject over and decide a few -things—merely to be prepared—now that there was a group of us together. - -Miss Thresher, who loves the importance of being in any sort of office, -enthused over the idea; said we had better have a committee meeting -there and then; to be forewarned was to be forearmed, she told us, with -an impressive air of wisdom. She said she would be Minute Secretary, -and we must draw up schedules stating definitely and clearly what a -woman ought to do, first by way of preparation beforehand, and secondly -when the crisis actually arrived. - -Miss Quirker endorsed this, and remarked in an aggrieved tone (in my -direction) that she should have thought the women’s papers would have -dealt comprehensively with so important a subject long ago. She added, -however, that she thought “crisis” was far too respectable a name to -give them; had she not been a staunch Churchwoman, she would have -called them something far more vividly appropriate. I didn’t hear the -end of this, because I slipped away to find the man of the house, as I -had heard him return indoors. - -Opening the study door, my eyes fell on such an upheaval that for the -moment I felt certain a gas explosion must have been at work there. -But no! He explained (turning out yet another drawer) that he was only -looking for some insurance policies, as he wasn’t quite certain what -was the attitude of the companies towards geysers. I pointed out that -it didn’t matter as we hadn’t one; but he went on looking, and his face -wore that tense expression seen on most men when hunting for the family -screwdriver, or the pair of black gloves kept for funerals. Having -found the policies at last (in the drawer where they had always been -kept, by the way), I left him in peace, to peruse them at his leisure. - - * * * * * - -The Ladies’ Committee was well under way when I returned to the -dining-room, and as is the correct thing at such gatherings, everybody -was talking at once and on the most diverse topics. I consider myself -rather great on ladies’ committees; I’ve even occupied the proud -position of being in the chair, on occasion. And the more I see of -them the more I am lost in admiration of the courage, versatility, and -insuppressibility of my sex. - -Why, there’s no man living who could trail as many totally irrelevant -topics across the agenda, and in defiance of a politely pleading -chairwoman too, as can the littlest and frailest woman at any ladies’ -committee you like to name. - -As it was, the only one who seemed within a hundred miles of Zeppelins -was poor Mrs. Brash, who was explaining to Mrs. Ridley— - -“It isn’t that I mind dying: we all have to die _some_ day: but I do -prefer to die _whole_.” - -Of course the doctor’s widow pooh-poohed this as nonsense, and asked -severely what would become of surgeons if everybody felt like _that_! - -Miss Thresher couldn’t find a suitable heading for her schedule, -till Ursula suggested “Antizeptics.” Mrs. Ridley thought the medical -profession might not approve of the unprofessional use of the word; -but it was accepted by the majority, and then we all settled down -wholeheartedly to attack the problem from every point of view—which -included, among other things, borax as a preventive for moth, Queen -Mary’s graciousness, a comparison of the respective merits of local -butchers, economising on corsets, and the War Loan. - -Perhaps you can’t see how these came in, but it was simple enough. -Miss Quicker said that, after all, explosions that you thought were -Zeppelins weren’t so bad if they enabled you to get such good coffee as -mine; and might she have a third lump of sugar, please? it was such a -treat to get a really sweet cup of coffee; she had given up sugar at -home as she was economising on it. - -Being the hostess, I couldn’t exactly tell her that I, too, was trying -to economise on mine. - -From the high price of sugar we naturally floated on to the ruinous -tendencies of butcher’s meat, and Mrs. Brash explained the trouble she -had with her butcher because he wouldn’t send home all the bones. - -Mrs. Ridley had similar harrowments to relate about her butcher, but -his vice took the form of sticking to the trimmings from the joints, -which she was sure he sold at a good price for soap-making, now that -fat was so scarce and soap likely to be dear. She knew it because—as -she reminded us—she was the treasurer of the “Women’s League for -Encouraging the Troops to Wash,” and it came very hard on their funds. -What it would cost them for the cakes of soap they were going to send -out no one would believe! (No, they hadn’t sent any yet; but of course -they were going to, when they got enough members, and, by the way, -would _I_ join?) - -She didn’t mind a fair charge, of course (we all murmured agreement). -War was war, and we must expect to pay something extra to help the -King keep going; he had his family to provide for like any other man. -Neither did she grudge one solitary penny that went to Lord Kitchener -(hearty applause). No, indeed! But what made her blood boil was to -feel that she was actually washing her hands with her own ribs—and at -one-and-threepence-halfpenny a pound, too! - -Virginia suggested she should try a rather less heating soap; but she -was drowned by Miss Thresher, who said firmly, “Borax; that’s what you -ought to send to the troops. Not only would it soften the water for -them, poor things—and no one knows better than I do what awfully hard -stuff that German water is; nearly scraped my skin off when I went up -the Rhine two years ago—but they would find it so useful to put in with -their woollen things that we’ve been knitting them, to keep out the -moth.” - -My reminder that our troops were not as yet, alas! drawing their -water from German cisterns was unnoticed; for the mere mention of -moth produced extraordinary animation. Was borax good? Weren’t they a -perfect nuisance? and so on. I said I always put it in with my furs, -and never had a moth near them. - -“I wonder if that’s what they put with Queen Mary’s furs,” said Mrs. -Brash. “I never saw more lovely sables than those she had on when she -came to the hospital yesterday.” - -Miss Thresher verified this last statement, absolutely superb they -were, and Miss Thresher had a right to speak, for the Queen had bowed -straight at her, as she stood on the kerb, “as near to her as I am to -you.” - -Miss Quirker said that for her part she didn’t think there was another -woman in the world so gracious as Queen Mary—except of course Queen -Alexandra. She would bow to anyone she saw, no matter _how_ shabby they -were. - -Mrs. Brash hurriedly said what she so much admired in Queen Alexandra -was her figure. - -Miss Quirker continued, “Yes, and speaking of corsets I want to tell -you of another economy besides doing without sugar to help the nation. -You should buy your corsets several sizes larger than usual, and then -when they are getting worn, you can turn them upside down and wear them -the other way up. It’s so saving.” - -Ursula said she quite believed it, because she knew, if she turned her -long corsets upside down, they would reach high enough up to support -the military collar at the back of her neck, and thus save boning. - -I felt it was high time we got back to “Antizeptics,” and suggested -that we should put something in the first column of the schedule, which -was headed: “Things to place in readiness beforehand.” - -Mrs. Brash announced that she wasn’t ever going to take her clothes off -any more till the war was over, if this was the sort of goings-on we -were to expect. - -General opinion, however, was decidedly in favour of, at any rate, -removing the outside frock, simply because we none of us saw any -prospect of ever being able to afford to buy a new one. - -Then we all said what we thought ought to go into that column. Woollen -undies, a fur-lined coat, a thick dressing-gown, a raincoat, a -travelling rug, and all sorts of other things, were to be placed _close -to the bedside_. This was insisted upon as a matter of the greatest -importance; otherwise, in the dark, we should never find anything, and -of course it wouldn’t be safe to have a light. - -Miss Thresher and Miss Quirker had a small sub-committee on the subject -of stockings—should they be worn all night in bed? Miss Thresher said -obviously it was the only sensible course. Miss Quirker objected that -she should kick hers off in her sleep in any case, hers was such a -delicate skin (as a child people had always remarked on it), though -probably women less sensitive than herself might be able to endure -them. But if she lost hers among the bedclothes she would never find -them in the dark. - -Eventually they compromised by agreeing to safety-pin a pair to the -front of the nightdress (as they fasten your handkerchief to you in -the hospital), so that at least they would know where to find them in -case of precipitate flight. - -Meanwhile the question, “Should hats be worn?” necessitated Ursula and -Mrs. Brash going into another sub-committee on the lounge. Mrs. Brash -favoured a shawl—preferably white—being draped over the head; it was -more suited to the _négligé_ condition of the hair. This led her to -consult Ursula about the winter’s hat she was evolving. She had had -an _exceedingly_ good white and black crinoline hat the summer before -last, and the winter before last she had had a _very_ lovely violet -velvet toque—the rich deep colour favoured by Queen Alexandra. - -Last winter she had taken the violet velvet from the hat of the winter -before, and put it over the crinoline hat of the summer before (you can -follow this, I hope?), and everybody had admired it. Now she proposed -to return the violet velvet to its original toque, only this time she -would smother it with some violets she had by her, and she had a really -beautiful little sable skin which she proposed to put round the brim. -Did Miss Ursula think the violets and the fur would combine well? - -Ursula said she herself didn’t care for fur and flowers in combination, -because she always associated sables with snowy northern regions, -whereas violets suggested soft spring days and awakening woods and -gardens. - -Mrs. Brash, who had never thought of putting things together in that -way before, said how very poetic it was. Then would Miss Ursula think -that quills would look better? After all, birds and flowers went -together. - -Ursula agreed, and added that she had even found the neighbours’ fowls -scratting up the white violets one day. Mrs. Brash seemed to feel that -was conclusive proof of the desirability of the combination. And in -that case, should the quills tilt outwards or inwards? No, she didn’t -mean inside the hat, of course, but across the top or off the head?... -Yes, perhaps it would be the best to tilt them backwards, and she -should fasten them with a large cameo that had belonged to the late Mr. -Brash’s mother (prolific details as to the grasping character of Mrs. -Brash, senior, who had never given her a thing except this cameo). - -Finally, she aired her only anxiety—would the shape of the -winter-before-last toque still be worn this winter? Ursula assured her -that the shapes of the winter-before-last will be worn till the war is -over, and by that time we shall have become so attached to them that we -shall refuse to part with them. - - * * * * * - -After we had collected a fairly comprehensive pile of clothes—including -most we possessed—and placed it all close beside the bed, jewellery -came under discussion. Naturally no one wanted to lose even the -smallest tiara, and we were all quite sure the Government wouldn’t -include jewellery in the insurance. So we collected our trinkets and -placed them on top of the garments. It was astonishing how much we each -seemed to possess, and how careful we were to enumerate it all. Mrs. -Brash enlarged tearfully and at great length on the diamond necklace -her late husband had given her. - -This opened up a wider question. How about silver plate? Yes, how about -the silver? each one echoed. Was it likely we were going to hand over -our teapots, shoelifts, candlesticks, pin-boxes, spoons and forks, -hair-brushes, entrée-dishes, and photo-frames to the enemy? No, indeed -not! So we all lugged our plate-chests to the bedside; though Miss -Thresher said she should put hers all into a laundry bag and hang it on -the bedpost; it would be easier to carry that way. - -Then a number of side issues cropped up. Virginia had just invested in -the War Loan; there was her scrip. Mrs. Brash couldn’t think of leaving -behind the portrait of her great-grand-uncle, the admiral (always thus -referred to, as though no other had ever existed), whereupon we all -remembered we had ancestral portraits calling for preservation—after -all, it doesn’t look well if you haven’t! - -Miss Quirker decided she would take the bedspread she had crocheted for -their forthcoming Red Cross bazaar (but didn’t intend to give it to -them now it was finished; it was far too pretty. Besides, the secretary -had only put her name in small type among “other ladies helping” below -the stallholders, and just think how she had slaved over that bazaar!). - -Mrs. Ridley said that whatever else went, she meant at all costs -to save the presentation clock given to her late husband by a very -celebrated patient, whose name she was not at liberty to state. I’m -inclined to think this was mentioned as a set-off against Mrs. Brash’s -diamond necklace; the late Mr. Brash, though an admirable husband, did -not seem to have generated anything remarkable in the way of public -esteem, whereas the late Dr. Ridley was known to be anything but -generous. - -Mrs. Ridley had no diamonds; but the clock was of solid granite, made -on the model of a pyramid. It was surmounted by a coy-looking sphinx, -representing about a quarter of a hundredweight of bronze metal. -Accompanying the pyramid—one at each end of the mantelpiece—was a pair -of heavy granite obelisks (like Cleopatra’s Needle, but just a size -smaller). It took both the servants to lift the clock every time the -mantelpiece was dusted, Mrs. Ridley explained with pride. Besides, -the obelisks were very useful to hang her knitting bag on, and so -appropriate too, with our brave lads out there rallying round and -defending the poor sphinx from the Turks. (Virginia whispered in my -ear, it was no wonder the bronze lady looked so cheerful.) - -So of course these weighty items joined the jewellery at the bedside. - -Other valuables rapidly suggested themselves; also more sordid things, -such as matches and candles, a tin of biscuits, and a small stove and -kettle, for use if we had to sit out in the road all night gazing at a -ruined home. - -And of course we placed pails of sand and buckets of water close at -hand, to use if it should be an incendiary bomb. (I hoped I shouldn’t -hop out of bed straight into the water!) - -Here Ursula reminded me that the pile of sand placed on the platform -of our London station several months (or was it years?) ago, for -Anti-zeptic treatment, was now sprouting luscious grass; obviously the -lawn-mower and garden-roller must be added to the bedside museum. - -But I told her afterwards, she had better keep quiet if she lacks the -ability to grasp the strenuosity of any situation where a group of -conscientious women are conversing on the subject of “doing something.” -As it was, her remark only incited Miss Quirker to spend a tedious -five minutes in explaining to her how impossible it would be for a -single woman, with only one maid, to get the garden-roller upstairs, -and another ten in giving her recipes for exterminating grass; while -Mrs. Ridley went off at a tangent on the shortage of gardeners, and the -advantages of paraffin over fish-oil as a lubricant for mowing-machines. - -I only succeeded in getting her back to the agenda, by begging her to -advise us, as she was such an authority on paraffin, whether to take an -oil-stove or a spirit-lamp for the outdoor encampment. - - * * * * * - -At length, when any ordinary bedroom must have been packed quite full, -and suggestive of a furniture depository, Virginia’s voice rose above -the babel— - -“But what I want to know is, how am I ever going to get into bed?” - -“You may well ask!” said her sister. “Look at the time! Just you come -along home with me. I’ll show you. Where’s my eiderdown?” - -Miss Thresher besought them to stay a few minutes longer, merely to -decide what to do when the Zeppelins actually arrived. But Ursula said -they had got all their work cut out to get through the preparatory -stages of the schedule. - -So the Committee adjourned. - -As they went out, a figure came out of the kitchen side entrance and -made for the coach-house, carrying a big cardboard box. - -“Is anything the matter, Abigail?” I asked. - -“No’m! I’m only hiding all our best hats in the stable; I expect -they’ll be less likely to find them there.” - -“But the Zepps aren’t exactly like burglars!” I said. - -“No, I suppose they’re not,” she replied, “but when a creature like -that Kaiser gets nosing about among _the stars_, as well as trying to -rampage all over the earth, there’s no telling _what_ he’ll be up to -next. It’s as well to be prepared.” - - - - -IX - -Where the Road Led Over the Hills - - -NEXT morning I was a wreck. Virginia and her sister were the same. - -For a week past I had realised that I was in the last stage of mental -and physical disrepair. The midnight committee was the final straw. - -As a rule, I stick at work in town till nerves and brain refuse to hold -out another day; then, flinging my tools down, and leaving both my -office desk and my study table in a hopeless and bewildering state of -piled-up letters, MSS. and proofs, I just fly—a goodly bale of arrears -following me by next post. - -I had had practically no holiday owing to the war, and had reached that -forlorn and useless frame of mind when I declared I was far too busy to -take one—a very mistaken notion for anyone to have, by the way; it is -surprising how well most of us can be done without when we do at last -take a little time off duty! - -However, I had just one faint glimmer of common sense left me, and -that told me to take the first train going west next morning, which -I did, leaving Paddington (in company with Virginia and Ursula, who -had a holiday due to her from the hospital) in a warm close fog that -might imply a thunderstorm, or an early autumn, or merely the ordinary -airless carbonic-acid gloom that is a distinguishing feature of London. -Some eminent authority has said that the air in London hasn’t been -changed for over a hundred years, and I can quite believe it! - -We found the cottage bathed in the glow of the soft sunshine that is -still summer, but that brings with it the first touch of regret for -the good-bye that is near at hand. There had been some soaking rains -after a dry spell, and everything in the garden was holding up bright, -refreshed leaves, and glowing flowers, one and all assuring me that -though they had a gasping time a few weeks before, and had wondered -from day to day if they could manage to hold on till the evening, -things had now taken a glorious turn for the better; and they were glad -they hadn’t given up, since I was so pleased to see them. - -Several apologised for ragged washed-out blossoms lower down their -stem, but explained that it was due to the rain, and that they were -sending up new ones to take the place of the shabby ones as quickly as -ever they could. - -The dear things seemed to look at me with such understanding sympathy; -the pansies held up their bright little faces just like a bevy of -inquiring children; the hollyhocks, I am sure, turned round to look -in my direction; the last of the sweet peas threw out tender little -fingers to touch my arm as I passed beside their hedge; the golden rod -stretched its neck and tiptoed lest I should miss it at the back of the -border. - -Haven’t you noticed that most flowers seem to have faces? I don’t mean -that you can trace a direct resemblance to human features in them -as you can in the moon; but there is something in the flowers that -looks at you—something that looks at you shyly, as the wild rose; or -stares at you boldly, like the marigold; or twinkles at you gaily, -like the cornflower and coreopsis; or appears slightly inclined to -frivolity, like the larkspur and the ragged robin; or takes life with -solid seriousness, like the Canterbury bell; or gives you the innocent -look of a baby, like the primrose; or beams at you with large-hearted -maternal kindness, like a big gloire de Dijon. - -Most flowers, you will find, give you a look with some definite -characteristic—at least, so it seems to me. Probably that is one reason -why they are so comforting and companionable. - -And I was wanting something comforting and companionable that day. I -had overworked and generally neglected the rules of common sense, till -I had got to that dismal pitch that simply asks of blank space, “What’s -the good of anything?” - -Then more questions began to worry me. - -What had Christianity accomplished, seeing the way the Sermon on the -Mount was being trampled under foot by the instigators of this war? -After all, wasn’t might going to win, in spite of all one believed of -the supremacy of right? Wasn’t the devil having things all his own way -now? What were Christians doing? Had religion lost its power? What were -the churches doing? Was _anybody_ doing _anything_ worth whiles? - -Those who have let themselves run down physically, and have neglected -to take proper meals, and have turned night into day, and have tried -systematically to cram a fortnight’s work into every week, know exactly -where one finds oneself at the end of a few months. - -And it is only the very exceptional people who do not find their -spiritual condition about as jaded as their nerves after a course of -this sort of thing. We get to feel that we are ploughing a very lone -furrow, and it is only a step further to the state of mind that says it -isn’t worth ploughing at all. - -Personal experience has taught me that there is only one cure for me -when I get to this state of nervous wreckage; and that is to get away -to the solitudes; to listen among the great silences of the hills for -the still small Voice that has never failed those who wait for its -Message. - -God’s methods of restoring weary humanity are many and various. -Sometimes He sees that first and foremost, like Elijah, His tired -children need rest and food. And just as one of the greatest terrors -that can befall the worn-out worker in a city is insomnia, so one of -the greatest boons that Nature in her quietudes bestows is the ability -to drop off into peaceful, brain-mending oblivion. - -So He giveth His beloved sleep. - -Or it may be that He sees His children need to be drawn away from the -world for a while, in order to talk face to face with Him. Sometimes we -have to be brought to a state of great weakness before we will listen -to His plea: “Come ye yourselves apart and rest awhile.” We do not -always heed it when we are well and strong. In the enforced quiet we -can find time to turn to Him. - -And a sojourn with our Lord in the desert has meant for many the -feeding of five thousand on the morrow. - - * * * * * - -When I am badly in the depths, I know of no surer way to restore -my mind than a long walk across the hills. Some people need human -companionship; but, personally, I can do very well by myself under such -circumstances (always provided that I don’t meet a cow likewise on a -walking tour). I can pull myself together more quickly if I don’t have -to spend time and energy striving to be amiable and politely attentive -to someone. - -I have often started out on a Sunday morning, and walked on till I came -upon some unknown church that served as a useful end to my pilgrimage. -On one occasion I remember discovering a small chapel hidden away among -a few homesteads in a pretty valley I unexpectedly tumbled into. They -were starting the first hymn as I entered. There were nine of us all -told, including the preacher, the two ladies who raised two different -tunes simultaneously, and the rugged-faced deacon or elder, who brought -me a hymnbook and, later, took the collection. - -The singing was not a marked success at first, owing partly to the -divided opinion of the congregation as to which tune they were really -singing; moreover, my entrance had momentarily diverted attention -and seemed to make all concerned a trifle nervous. But at length the -preacher himself started a third tune that we all knew and were able to -join in; and a very sincere and devout service followed. - -I gathered from information impressed upon us in the course of the -sermon (probably for my special benefit, as the handful of cottagers -assembled would assuredly know) that there was to be a special -collection that day on behalf of some chapel fund. - -When I told this to Ursula, who didn’t then know so much about our -hill-people as she does now, she said, “Ah! I suppose that was why only -nine came!” - -But, in reality, nine was not at all a poor congregation for a tiny -hamlet like this on a Sunday morning. The mothers are mostly at -home getting dinner; the fathers are seeing to the stock, and don’t -reckon to get themselves “cleaned up” till the afternoon. But in the -evening—then the little building would be packed to the door. - -In his final prayer the minister prayed so earnestly that we might -all be induced to give with the greatest liberality, that I felt -exceedingly sorry I had only put a half-crown into my glove when I -started out, leaving my purse at home. - -The rugged elder looked studiously in the opposite direction while I -slipped the coin on to the plate; somehow I hoped he wouldn’t be too -disappointed when he discovered that the respectable-looking stranger -had not given more handsomely after the pleading of the preacher. But -it was all I had. - -After the service I lingered a moment to read a quaint old tombstone -in the church precincts. The rest of the worshippers likewise -lingered—respectful but curious—in the road outside the gate. The -preacher had shaken hands with me at the door; my rugged friend had -been immersed in the duties of his office as steward, treasurer, and -church secretary combined. But now he came out of the door, looked -anxiously about, and seeing me still there, made straight for me. I -concluded that he, too, was going to shake hands, and possibly inquire -if I was staying in the neighbourhood. But what he actually said was -this— - -“Excuse me, ma’am, but do you happen to know what you put into the -plate?” - -“A half-crown,” I faltered, wondering whether by any remote chance it -was a bad one. - -He nodded his head, and, opening his work-hardened hand, displayed -the morning’s collection—seven pennies, three halfpennies, and my -half-crown on top. - -“That’s right,” he nodded. And then, lowering his voice, presumably to -save my feelings, he added, “But if ’twas a mistake, and you didn’t -mean to put in all that, _you can have it back_.” - -Do you know, it made a lump come in my throat. - - * * * * * - -I told Ursula about it at dinner, remarking that it looked as though -they hadn’t much faith even though they had specially prayed for -generous giving. - -Ursula said that in _her_ opinion it looked as though it was high time -I presented to the ragbag the hat I had worn that morning, since it -had been for months past a dejected object of pity, though with her -usual delicacy of feeling she had, up to the present, refrained from -telling me so in plain English. But now, in all kindness such as only a -dear friend can show, she had no hesitation in saying that she wasn’t -at all surprised that they mistook me for an old age pensioner on the -verge of bankruptcy. - - * * * * * - -But I’ve been wandering again. To return to that September day when -I reached the cottage as weary of life and as downhearted about -everything as any mortal could well be. The whole world seemed out of -joint. Yet in my innermost soul I knew that religion was really all -right, and that it was I who had gone wrong. But I refused to look at -that aspect of it. - -Next day I determined to give it all up, and just meditated on my own -funeral. I tried to reckon up how many people I could really rely on to -send wreaths; it didn’t make me feel any the less pessimistic when I -decided there were only four who could be counted upon as certainties, -and they included Virginia and Ursula! - -And even one of these failed me; for when I mentioned the matter to -the girls, they said: Surely I didn’t imagine they were going to be so -wasteful as to send _two_ wreaths, when one would do quite as well if -both their names appeared on the card attached? But they did offer -to make it a wreath of painted-white-tin flowers, under a glass shade -(regardless of expense), if I preferred, suggesting that I might get -longer pleasure out of a wreath of this kind. - -Getting no more consolation from them than this, I said I would go -for a walk. Virginia and Ursula anticipated my wishes and declined to -accompany me. They had urgent work on hand that was far too important -to postpone for a mere walk. It was the planting of onion seed. - -The week before we had read in the papers how imperative it was that -everybody should plant food crops in any available scrap of ground they -might possess, to help keep starvation at bay. - -We read the article eagerly. - -I had several acres of land doing nothing in particular at the moment, -that I was only too glad to use for a special crop of eatables against -the time of national famine. Without finishing the article, we had -started to discuss what would be best to lay down, taking into account -the idiosyncrasies of our digestions. - -“Green peas in the small field adjoining the orchard,” Ursula had -decided for me; and then she proceeded: “Broad beans in half of the -upper garden; scarlet runners at the back of the strawberry beds and -along by the south wall; the potato garden can now have carrots, -parsnips, turnips and beets; the west garden must have pickled cabbage -(I mean the cabbage before it is pickled), shallots, spring onions and -pickling onions, chives——” - -“What _are_ ‘chives’?” interrupted Virginia. - -“I don’t know, but I’ve read the name somewhere. Don’t interrupt me.” - -“And fennel—that will come in handy for fish—and leeks. In that piece -of waste ground beyond the barn I think we ought to plant asparagus, -because, after all, there is no need to dispense with luxuries if you -can grow them for nothing, is there? - -“And how would it be to plant maize all down that bed where you had the -Shirley poppies? I should think the same aspect would suit the two, and -some green corn would be very nice. I suppose, if you plant it now, it -will be about right in January or February, wouldn’t it? Or you could -sell it. It’s twopence halfpenny or threepence a cob at the Stores. -So if you had, say, fifty plants, and if each produced—how many _do_ -they produce on a plant?... Oh, well, if you don’t know, let’s be on -the safe side and say one each—that would be a clear profit of—well, -at threepence each—let’s see, fifty pence is four and twopence, and -three times would be—twelve and sixpence—say twelve shillings, allowing -sixpence for seed. So that would be well worth trying, in case the -moratorium never ends. Then there would have to be cabbages and -suchlike. How about digging up the orchard, and——” - -“Oh, yes,” said Virginia scornfully (she had picked up the paper and -read to the end of the aforementioned article, which had proved very -enlightening). “And I suppose you expect it all to grow under a couple -of feet of snow. Let me tell you that it is now too late to plant -anything but onions! He, she, or it, who wrote this article, says so.” - -I myself had been going to tell her, when I could get a word in, that -it was too late for most of the things she had named. - -But Ursula, who had never done any vegetable gardening, was still -sceptical. That was why I suggested that we should consult the obliging -manager at Carter’s, in Queen Victoria Street, as we often did over our -gardening woes. - -Just ahead of us in the shop, when we got there, was an elderly -gentleman who wanted some grass seed; he asked if they would tell him -how to start a lawn next spring. - -It was in the middle of the day—a very busy time for a shop of this -kind, when city men are on their way to or from lunch, and seize a few -extra minutes to buy their seeds. The shop was full—it looked as though -every scrap of land within the twelve-mile radius was going to be put -under cultivation—and the assistants had all their work to serve -everyone as quickly as they wanted to be served. - -The Elderly Gentleman was apparently the only one who was not in a -hurry; so he asked the most minute questions, and the manager gave him -copious directions, from preparing the ground at the start, right up to -marking it off for tennis, when it was in its prime (though, judging -by the small packet of seed the E. G. had bought, the lawn would never -support a tennis-net). - -Then by the time the shop was quite packed, and when everything that -was possible appeared to have been said about planting and maintaining -a lawn—including keeping it free from moss, the best way to trim the -edges, the law with regard to trespassing fowls, and the careful tying -of black cotton over the newly-planted seeds to keep off the birds—the -E. G. asked what he should do when daisies came up? The manager said -patiently that his firm’s grass seeds didn’t produce daisies; but as -the E. G. seemed to worry about daisies, he was told how to get rid of -daisies. - -At last he really went, reluctantly, I admit; but the other -customers—who had all become so engrossed in his lawn that they -couldn’t remember what they had come in to buy for themselves—heaved a -sigh of relief. - -Slowly he made his way to the middle of the wide crossing just in -front of the shop. You knew by his hesitating walk that there was -another question he had meant to ask, but he couldn’t recall it for the -moment. - -Yes! He suddenly turned round briskly (and nearly ended the lawn under -a taxi), the shop-door opened again, and an anxious voice inquired, -“What ought I to do if the birds get at the seeds in spite of the black -cotton and the bits of white rag tied to them?” - -The manager passed his hand across what looked like an aching brow, and -further braced himself to do his duty; but a gentleman customer came -to the rescue by replying, “It is usual, in such a case, sir, to buy -another packet of grass seed, and start all over again on exactly the -same lines as before, only you plant an extra reel of black cotton this -time.” - -After this we were able to inquire of the manager what crops he would -advise us to plant as our contribution to the nation’s larder, to say -nothing of our own. - -“Onions,” he said, so promptly that one would have thought others had -asked the same question. And then added—“Giant Rocca.” - -I am not sure how many pounds of seed Ursula immediately ordered; -she proposed to make it a present to me, and naturally wished -to be generous. Virginia says she believes she heard her say a -half-a-hundredweight. Anyhow, the obliging manager asked, with a -slight cough, how large a portion of ground we were intending to -cultivate, as half an ounce would be sufficient for—I forget how many -acres! So she reduced her order to half a pound. She said she didn’t -want us to run short. (I don’t fancy we shall, either!) Besides, she -rather liked the name “Giant Rocca.” It suggested something large and -strengthening wherewith to combat the foe. - - * * * * * - -We hadn’t a moment’s rest after we arrived at the cottage until the -onion seed was well underground. Ursula decided that it would be really -a blessing if I _would_ go out—she could then plant in peace. - -The handy man being unable to “oblige” me by doing a little work just -then, she had decided to plant the seeds herself. - -At first she had made long troughs in which to place the seed, -sprinkling it very finely with thumb and finger; but after half an hour -of this spine-breaking work she straightened her back with difficulty, -and decided that to “sow broadcast” was more in accordance with Nature -herself, to say nothing of Biblical teaching. Hence we had it broadcast. - -Here I may say that we eventually had Giant Roccas sown the length -and breadth of the vegetable garden, in between the rows of spring -greens, as well as in open spaces; also they are sending up their -spears between rows of snapdragons; round standard rose-trees; in the -beds usually devoted to Darwin tulips; down the narrow bed that has -Persian irises in the centre and double daisies at the edge; in the -rough bed of foxgloves at the back of the pigsty, along the edge of the -borders where sweet alyssum bloomed in the summer; under the damson -tree where the ground is bare; along by the south wall, where the sweet -pea remains were pulled up to make room for them; among the raspberry -canes; all over the potato-patch; along with the carnation cuttings in -the cold frame; in little dibbles among the strawberry plants; and I -even found a few pots, each with a bit of glass over the top, placed in -the sunny scullery window, which also proved to be “Giant Roccas,” in -case we should run short indoors. - -When all these Roccas have attained to their gigantic proportions, I -fancy we shall be able to scent that garden a mile or two away! - - * * * * * - -Still, the onions were only being planted the day I set out for a walk, -wandering just where the road might chance to lead me. But you have -to take yourself with you, if you go for a walk, and it is some time -before you can get away from yourself—if you can make out what I mean -by this. - -I merely walked on and on, looking at the blackbirds gobbling down -the red mountain ash berries, till one gasped at their stowing-away -capacity; at the swallows practising their long sweeping flights -preparatory to leaving us; at the ferns growing out of the shady side -of the walls; at a great patch of rich purple in the corner of a -field—that turned out to be a widespread tangle of flowering vetch; at -the beautiful colour effect of massed heliotrope Michaelmas daisies -against the grey-green background of a mossy fern-decked old stone -wall; at the harebells swinging in the wind; at the late foxgloves, -still poking beautiful spikes of colour through the hedges; at the -blackberries trailing over everything; at the butterflies still -flitting about, or resting motionless with outspread wings where they -found a warm sunny stone, or gorging themselves to repletion on some -over-ripe pears that had fallen by the roadside. There were several -lovely creatures with blue-black wings marked with red, white and a -little blue, who, like the wasps, were actually intoxicated with pear -juice! - -A fox slunk across the road right in front of me, and plunged into a -wood; probably having the time of his life just now, with most of the -hunt somewhere in France. - -The springs were coming to life again, after the heavy rain, and water -burbled along at the side of the lane, or tumbled out from the rocks at -the roadside in tiny waterfalls. - -The orchard trees were flecked all over with gold, or pale yellow, or -bright crimson—surely we never had a more abundant apple year than this -one. - -It was such a wonderful afternoon: I was bound to go on wandering. - - * * * * * - -At last I came to the end of the lanes and found myself on an open -hilltop. As the fresh bracing air met me full in the face, I began to -feel hungry. I looked at my watch: it was five o’clock. I looked at the -landscape, and realised that, though I didn’t know where I was, I was -certainly miles away from any tea. - -I paused and considered: Should I carefully retrace my steps? That -always seems a poor-spirited way of getting home again, even though -you are lost! On all sides stretched an expanse of hilly country, grey -lichen-covered boulders, yellow-flowered gorse, wiry mauve and purple -heather, and a wealth of green, and bronze, and golden tinted bracken, -with occasional woods and larch plantations. There was a general hum of -bees and insects in the air, and a pheasant rose from the ground close -to me and flew with a _whirr_ into a little coppice near by. - -A sign-board was lying on the ground by the gate leading into the -coppice. It was the worse for wind and weather, but one could still -read the alarming warning, “Trespassers will be prosecuted!” Who would -trespass, and who would prosecute, on that wild bit of moorland, I -wonder? The only being in sight was a rabbit, sitting motionless close -beside the prostrate notice and studying me silently with the air of a -special constable! Yet even he went off and left me quite alone. - -At that moment I caught sight of a chimney over the spur of the hill. -I felt convinced it must be attached to a fireplace, and surely there -would be a kettle on that fire. I made a bee-line for the place. - - * * * * * - -To the eye of the town-dweller, hill and moorland distances are apt to -be deceptive; the house proved to be much farther off than I had at -first imagined. But this gave added zest to expedition; I determined to -reach it though I only arrived in time to put up there for the night. -A nearer view showed the cottage to be the fag-end of a small hamlet -lying snugly in the protecting hollow of the hills. - -When I actually entered the village, there were so many pretty -dwellings, and they all looked equally inviting, that I was undecided -where to open an attack. However, I settled on one that had a couple of -hollyhocks, some late pinks, and a black-currant bush growing out of -the top of the garden wall, while a free-and-easy grape-vine, a tall -monthly rose, and some clematis waved arms of welcome to me from the -front of the cottage. - -Just as I approached the gate, a pleasant-faced woman came out of the -door and walked down the garden path between the French marigolds that -edged the flower-beds. She was the only sign of life in the place -(apart from a few belated hens, who, being averse to early rising, I -suppose, had determined to take time by the forelock, and were catching -the historic early worm overnight). - -I felt that the good lady’s appearance was a distinct indication that -Fate had decided I must have my tea there. Nevertheless, there were -signs that she was bound on some important errand; instead of the -ordinary sun-bonnet or battered hat that is the usual weekday headgear -among our hills, she had donned a carefully-brushed though somewhat -rusty black bonnet, and a black beaded mantle of unquestionable -antiquity, both worn with the air of her Sunday best. - -“Good evening,” I began. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wonder if you -can tell me where——” - -“Th’ chapel?” replied the woman before I could finish my sentence. -“Why, of course you can’t find ’un. But you jes’ come ’long wi’ me. I’m -going there meself, an’ though we’m a bit late, it don’t matter; my -man’ll be keeping a seat fur me, and ther’ll be room, sure ’nough, for -’ee to squeeze in too. I do al’ays tell ’un our chapel didn’t oughter -belong where ’tis. No place o’ worship was ever more hid out o’ road -than ourn. Yet my man do say ’tis clear ’nough to see ’un if you’m -comin’ ’long the _lower_ road; for there ’tis all to once. But as I say -to him, the folk don’t all a-come down ’long the lower road; an’ if you -come _up_ ’long, why, there’s no chapel to be seen, and then where’m -you to? What I do say is, the way o’ salvation oughter be so plain that -th’ wayfarin’ man, though a _fool_, can’t lose un. An’ now here be you -to prove me very words!” - -The good soul was all this time trotting energetically along what I -concluded could not be the lower road, since no chapel was in view. I -just followed, wondering what would happen next! Meanwhile my companion -talked, with scarcely comma-pause for breath. - -“But I’m glad I happen to be late, or you might ha’ been wanderin’ -around till you’re all mizzy-mazed. Soon as I saw you comin’ up -’long, I said to father—I was jes’ settlin’ ’im comfor’ble for th’ -night—‘Father,’ I said, ‘here’s a lady a-lookin’ fur the chapel, sure -’nough. I shuden wonder a bit but what she’s come to speak at th’ -meeting. Like as not she’s a friend of the minister, an’ ’pears she’s -lost.’ I suppose you belong to London, ma’am?” This with a glance all -over me to make sure there was no local hall-mark. - -“My home is in London,” I replied, “but just at present I’m staying at -Woodacres.” - -“You’ve walked all the way from Woodacres?” she exclaimed. - -“Yes; and I’m terribly hungry,” I said, hurriedly seizing my chance. - -At this the kind hospitable soul was most concerned, and insisted -on our turning into a relative’s house which we were passing at the -moment. The door stood open, though the place seemed to be deserted. - -“Myra,” she called out. A girl came downstairs with some -pocket-handkerchiefs in her hand which she appeared to be marking -in red. There was a hurried whisper in a back room, and quickly she -brought in a glass of milk and some bread and butter—for which I was -truly thankful. - -“The lady do look wisht,” my companion explained to the girl. “She’s -walked from Woodacres to hear the minister from London. She lost her -way, and so didn’t get in time for the tea-meeting.” - -I was interested in this item of information about myself, but decided -to let the unexpected situation develop as it pleased. - -We were soon walking along the road again, my companion talking the -whole time. Myra was her niece, going to Bristol next week to start -in a draper’s shop. “She says ’tisn’t stylish nowadays to let folks -think as you does your washing yourself, so she’s making sort o’ red -oughts and crosses in the corner, that the other girls ’ll think as -the washin’ was put out. _Put out_, indeed!”—with utter scorn of -voice—“‘Isn’t it all _put out_?’ I asks her. How could they dry ’un -else? I’ve no patience with such fangels—_that_ I haven’t! And isn’t -this war dreadful? I see in the paper I was a-readin’ to father that -that Kayser do call it a righteous war. _A righteous war_—when he don’t -even leave off a-fighting of a Sunday!” - -Just then we turned a corner, and the maligned chapel certainly burst -into view “all to once.” - - * * * * * - -The first thing to attract attention, as we neared the modest building, -was a large board above the front entrance, displaying the words -“Revival Meetings” in bold white letters pasted on a red turkey twill -background. - -A hymn was progressing when we entered; a seat had been reserved for -the cottager by her husband, and had been left in charge of his hat -(turned upside down and holding a red pocket-handkerchief covered with -large white spots), while he himself distributed hymn books with backs -all suffering from spinal complaint in a more or less acute form. - -By dint of energetic compression on the part of the good-natured -occupants of the pew, room was made for me as well as for my companion, -the owner of the hat electing to stand in the aisle, as became a pillar -of the church; the conspicuous crease adorning each trouser-leg and -the back of his black coat proclaimed them his best clothes, and gave -additional evidence that the meeting was of more than ordinary weekday -importance. - -The place was packed to its utmost capacity. I decided that I had never -in my whole life heard a harmonium more asthmatically out of tune and -at the same time I wished that the lamps (which were economically -turned down, daylight being still visible) could only be raised, since -the odour of paraffin was not a refreshing ingredient to add to the air -of the already close room. For on our hills, as in other places where -fresh air is most abundant, ventilation is the least among the virtues -practised by the natives. - -The congregation took some slight adjustment before all managed to -wedge themselves into the seats after the hymn. The general shuffle and -scuffle having subsided, a man on the platform addressed the assembly. - -“I am sorry to say our brother has not yet arrived.” - -The glow of expectancy on the faces of the people suddenly vanished. - -“We think he has made a mistake over the time of commencement; -possibly he imagines it is seven instead of six o’clock; but he is -certainly coming, or he would have telegraphed——” - -The disappointed ones looked hopeful again. - -“Two friends have driven off to meet him”—many heads craned round in -the direction of the door, though the honoured pair were now a couple -of miles away—“and they will doubtless bring him along as quickly as -possible. I think we may safely rely on him being here in about half an -hour.” All eyes now scanned the face of the clock. “In the meanwhile, -we will hold a short Testimony meeting; and perhaps Brother Wilson will -first of all lead us in prayer.” - -The man with the hymn-books, standing in the aisle, responded. Without -a moment’s halt or hesitation he poured forth a torrent of mingled -appeal, confession, praise and request. He touched on their week of -services, on themselves as a church, on the village and (according to -his view) its state of spiritual darkness; then he went further afield -and dealt with the whole of England, the sailors on our warships, and -the soldiers on the battlefields. This thought led him to mention the -Colonies, the missionaries labouring in foreign lands; and then he -prayed for the heathen who lived so far away that no missionary had yet -reached them. He concluded with a plea for all backsliders and a pæan -of gratitude for those who were saved. - -The congregation followed the long prayer intently, punctuating every -remark with “Amen,” and many other expressions of assent, uttered -devoutly though fervently. - -Then the one who presided asked all who had received a blessing that -week to testify to the others of the great things that had befallen -them. He sat down. After a pause of but half a minute, a woman rose, -saying in a quiet voice— - -“I feel I ought to take the earliest opportunity of telling how good -God has been to me. I came to these meetings as hopeless as any human -being could very well be; but God has lifted the load from my soul; and -now, although I cannot see any light ahead, He has shown me He is near, -and I am content to walk by faith. And I know the light will come soon.” - -She sat down, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the voice -of the chairman— - -“Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it -to pass.” - -A decrepit old man next hobbled to his feet. His voice was feeble; but -the peaceful look on his wrinkled face, and the light that shone in his -eyes, carried wonderful conviction with them. He was somewhat diffuse, -but dwelt on all the goodness that had fallen to his lot through life, -and his eager anticipation of the call that should summon him Home. - -When once the ice was broken, the people followed one another as fast -as they could. An elderly woman sitting next to me rose to her feet, -steadying herself by holding on to the pew in front with her work-worn -hands, for she was trembling. She spoke in a hesitating manner; yet -what she said had infinite pathos in it. Would they remember in their -prayers the lads who were fighting so far away, some out of reach of -any services like these, that they might not forget the God of their -father and mother, and that they might be brought back safely to the -old home again. - -And the poor woman, who was evidently much overwrought, just sat down -and hid her face in her handkerchief. I couldn’t help putting my hand -over hers in sympathy. - -There were many other bowed heads in the meeting by then—old, careworn -women as well as younger ones, old men in plenty, but so few young -fellows. - -“Let us pray,” said the chairman. All eyes were closed. There was a -slight pause, and then another voice full of wonderful restfulness sent -up a prayer to the Great Comforter on behalf of all the mothers and -fathers present, who night and day were longing for their sons’ return, -and for the wives who with aching hearts were hungering for news of the -absent loved ones. The prayer was very simple and unconventional, just -the asking of a boon from a Friend. But the speaker understood the -heartbreaks that were in those suppressed sobs, and his words brought -comfort to many a lonely one that night. - -When he ceased, the lamps were all raised, and there on the rostrum was -one of the greatest—if not _the_ greatest—of the preachers of our times. - -“The minister from London” had arrived. - - * * * * * - -I was amazed when I saw him there—a man who preached every Sunday to -congregations numbering several thousands; whose name was the most -powerful attraction that could be found for a May meeting poster or a -Convention programme; a theologian whose lectures and writings were -followed with the closest attention by hundreds of students. - -As he stood up in that small village chapel, the first thought that -came into my mind was something like this: What a waste to have such a -big man at a small meeting like this when he could easily fill Albert -Hall; and in any case he will probably be right above their heads; he -is far too scholarly for these simple-minded uneducated people. He will -be quite lost on them. - -What I forgot was the fact that after all it is the Message that counts -in such a case. - -The famous preacher had a Message for humanity; and he was great -enough to be able to deliver it in a way that would be understood by -anyone, rich or poor, educated or illiterate. And he was wise enough to -know that he might be doing a big work in speaking to that handful of -people in that remote corner of England, seeing that a chance visit had -brought him into the vicinity; therefore, when they had asked him if he -would speak at the revival meetings they were holding, he had consented -at once; and I was not the only one who had reason to be grateful to -God for the preacher’s words that night; mine was not the only heavy -heart that had come into the little chapel badly in need of an uplift; -I was not the only one who felt almost alone in a losing cause, with -all the old-time beliefs tottering. - - * * * * * - -He read from Revelation vii. in the Revised Version: - - After these things I saw, and behold, a great - multitude, which no man could number, out of every - nation, and of all tribes and peoples and tongues, - standing before the throne and before the Lamb, arrayed - in white robes, and palms in their hands; and they cry - with a great voice, saying, Salvation unto our God - which sitteth on the throne, and unto the Lamb.... - - And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, These - which are arrayed in the white robes, who are they, and - whence came they? And I say unto him, My lord, thou - knowest. And he said to me, These are they which come - out of the great tribulation, and they washed their - robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. - Therefore are they before the throne of God; and they - serve Him day and night in His temple: and He that - sitteth on the throne shall spread His tabernacle over - them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any - more; neither shall the sun strike upon them, nor any - heat: for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne - shall be their Shepherd, and shall guide them unto - fountains of waters of life: and God shall wipe away - every tear from their eyes. - -There was a moment’s silence as he closed his Bible. And then he -began to talk to the little crowd before him—not about the war, but -about much that the war is bringing, trouble, sorrow, suffering, -anxiety—great tribulation indeed. - -I am not going to make any attempt to give you his sermon: merely to -take isolated sentences from a man’s address, and set them down in cold -print, deprived of the added strength and meaning that voice and tone -and emphasis and context convey, is usually most unsatisfactory. - -But I wish you could have been there and seen the tense eager look on -every face, as he took us quickly and concisely over the great crises -that have befallen humanity in bygone ages, when it has seemed again -and again as though Christianity has been dealt a staggering blow—and -yet in every case the result has been the ultimate triumph of God, and -the building up of His people. - -He reminded us how the darkest day in the world’s history, when our -Lord’s death seemed to end all hope, all promise of His Kingdom, was -in reality the day of the greatest victory. - - * * * * * - -But I cannot give even a summary of his address; I can only tell you of -the effect it had upon me, and I think there were many others to whom -Light came in a strangely vivid manner that evening. - -It seemed as though I was suddenly taken right out of my own small -petty troubles, and shown a bigger view of the world than I had ever -seen in my widest imaginings before. Things that had been perplexing, -bewildering before, seemed to fit in quite naturally into a huge plan -that was making for the ultimate good of humanity. But more than all -this, there suddenly came that enheartening sense of being no longer a -unit, no longer one of a small company fighting against overwhelming -odds; I was now one of a huge army that had been marching on through -all time, an army that will still be adding and adding to its numbers, -so long as the world shall last. - -I seemed to hear the trampling of the feet, the great surge of the -voices as they sang the old yet ever new anthem— - -“Salvation unto our God which sitteth on the throne, and unto the Lamb. -Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and -power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever.” - -Here was no room for doubt; no question as to ultimate results; no -misgivings; no apprehensions. The final victory did not rest with me; -but I was privileged to take part in it if I was willing to endure any -hardships or tribulation that might happen by the way. And even these -seemed so slight, not to be mentioned beside the joy of the great -triumph that was surely ahead. - -The Vision comes to us all differently, at different times, in a -different manner; but assuredly I had a glimpse then of the things -that are outside our everyday ken. I knew for an absolute certainty -that I was one of the greatest army that can ever be mustered; I knew -for an absolute certainty that God is leading this army, and that -with Him there is no possibility of failure, and that finally He will -permit evil to be banished and Good will prevail. I realised that any -afflictions we are called upon to bear here are but for a moment. -Nothing can hinder the progress of the great multitude that no man can -number—Christ’s followers through all the ages. In spite of all the -tribulation—_because_ of the tribulation—they reach His throne at last, -and worship Him, while He wipes away the tears that may have gathered -by the way. - - * * * * * - -My thoughts had journeyed far away from the little chapel and its -earnest worshippers. I was recalled by the preacher’s voice reciting -his closing sentence— - -“And I saw, and I heard a voice of many angels round the throne ... and -the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands -of thousands; saying, with a great voice, Worthy is the Lamb that hath -been slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and might, and -honour, and glory, and blessing.” - - * * * * * - -We stood up to sing the concluding hymn—one that has for long been a -great favourite of mine— - - Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar; - From the wild and scorching desert, - Afric’s sons of colour deep; - Jesu’s love has drawn and won them, - At the cross they bow and weep. - - Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar; - From the Indies and the Ganges - Steady flows the living stream - To love’s ocean, to His bosom, - Calvary their wond’ring theme. - - Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar; - From the Steppes of Russia dreary, - From Slavonia’s scatter’d lands, - They are yielding soul and spirit - Into Jesu’s loving hands. - - Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar; - From the frozen realms of midnight, - Over many a weary mile, - To exchange their soul’s long winter - For the summer of His smile. - - Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar: - All to meet in plains of glory, - All to sing His praises sweet: - What a chorus, what a meeting, - With the family complete! - -And how that hymn was sung! It all seemed part of the music of the -Great Army. No longer we thought primarily of the troops rallying to -the call of the Mother Country and coming from the far ends of the -world to fight in earthly warfare; our souls saw farther than this—a -multitude out of every nation of all tribes and peoples and tongues, -ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, all -marching under the banner of the Lord Jehovah. - -I had received the answer to the questions I had been asking earlier -in the day: “What had Christianity accomplished?” It had accomplished -_this_: It had enlisted this mighty stream of humanity. We in that -humble little chapel were merely a small handful, but we belonged to -that Great Army; we had only to march on, trusting and worshipping God. - -Was it possible that I had been picturing myself one of a small force -struggling for Right that was in danger of being overmastered by Might! -Now, I saw ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, -on ahead of me, and could even hear the tramp and the singing of the -tens of thousands that would follow on after me. - -Oh, it was wonderful to feel oneself in such a mighty company! - - * * * * * - -At the close, while I was exchanging greetings with the preacher, my -friend who had brought me to the chapel busied herself in finding -someone who would be driving home in my direction—the meeting had been -attended by people from many miles round. She discovered that a farmer -and his wife were driving within a quarter of a mile of my cottage, -and I was placed in their trap, carefully wrapped up in a warm Paisley -shawl that had been produced from somewhere, the night being described -as “a bit freshish, after all the dryth we’ve had.” - -We didn’t talk much on the homeward journey. My companions were -thinking some deep thoughts, I was certain, from the few remarks they -let drop. But we English do not easily betray our hearts in public. -Hence the farthest the farmer’s wife got was the remark, “I’d dearly -like to hear he again.” To which her husband replied, “Ay! for sure.” - -They told me the meetings had been much blessed, but this one was the -best of all. Oh, yes, quite different from the others. No, the usual -congregation was not as large as this, only about forty; the village -was small. But people had come from all over the hills this week; -to-day twenty had walked in from Brownbrook—that was seven miles each -way. - -They went on without any connecting link to say they felt sure the -English would win. There was no doubt in their minds about this, one -could see; and then the reason was clear. “Our Tom’s there,” the woman -explained to me, as though I of course knew “Our Tom,” and his presence -at the front settled the matter. - -And I thought of the many fathers and mothers who were looking away -across the Straits, with just that pride and faith because “Our Tom” is -helping his country. - - * * * * * - -At last we came to the little lane that turned off from the -turnpike-road, and led to my cottage, and I said good-bye to my -companions. The small white dog with the brown ears had heard my -footsteps and had run out joyfully to meet me; he had begun to be -seriously concerned as to whether he would ever get a proper meal -again! The night was certainly a bit freshish, but a glorious moon was -out, and the hills were all high lights and deep shadows. I stopped a -moment at my own gate, to look down at the old grey Abbey lying in the -valley seven hundred feet below. Everything was still and peaceful. -Only an owl called to another one in the steep woods across the river, -and a couple of baby owls answered. An apple fell with a dull thud -whenever the wind drifted across the orchard. It was so quiet, so -restful; it was difficult to think there was lurid war-fog away beyond -those hills. - -Then suddenly, as I watched, I saw in the distance a procession of -swinging, twinkling lights moving along a footpath that cut through a -wood and crossed a low spur of the hills. - -For the moment I wondered what it was, but in an instant I knew; it was -the party from Brownbrook on their homeward tramp, and their lanterns -were lighting them down the rugged precipitous footpath that was lying -in deep shadow. - -When they reached the level road they started singing, their voices in -beautiful harmony, rising up and echoing again and again against the -steep hillsides. - -Was I thinking of battlefields with a saddened heart again? No, the -cloud had lifted from my soul; I could look for something better, -something more world-wide in its effects than even this terrible war. -And as I stood thinking all this, the words came up to me that they -were singing, as they tramped along the silent moonlit road, at the -foot of the forest-clad hills: - - “Coming, coming, yes, they are, - Coming, coming, from afar; - All to meet in plains of glory, - All to sing His praises sweet: - What a chorus, what a meeting, - With the family complete!” - - - - -X - -The Little People of the Streams - - -HAVE you ever heard the Little People of the Streams singing in the -night? I wonder! - -Once you have heard their music you will never forget it! - -The first time I heard it was one February—shortly after I had taken -the cottage—the season above all others when the brooks and falls -and mountain springs are over-full of water, that hurries along at a -great pace, tumbling over rocks, dropping down into green wells and -grottos below, always galloping down hill till finally it reaches the -ever-rushing river in the valley. - -By day, each brook seems merely to be chatting sociably to the banks -and the long harts-tongue ferns as it passes down, and you only hear -one at a time. But after dark, when most other sounds have ceased, the -voices of the streams seem to grow marvellously in volume. - -I was lying awake one night with the windows open, listening literally -to the sound of many waters, and trying to disentangle them. - -First I heard the spring outside my garden gate as it scrambled down -from the hillside above, splashing the overhanging greenery with light -spray, and finally pouring out of a little trough—dark brown wood, -closely enamelled with green mosses—into a rocky pool, where it ceases -its swirl for half a minute, just while it gets its breath, before -rushing on down the hill, finding its own way around, or over, all -sorts of obstacles, and resenting any interference of man. - -Soon I could distinguish a second brook, that serves a cottage a -quarter of a mile further along the lane, before it winds about and -enters my lower orchard. This had overflowed in the orchard, and was -having quite a gay time, running skittishly out of the orchard gate and -into another lane, instead of pursuing its proper course. - -Next I was able to detach the conversation of the small waterfall that -drops about a hundred feet from an overhanging ledge of rock into a -green cave under the hill, where mosses of wonderful size abound, and -yellow flags stand guard at the entrance, with creeping jenny and -forget-me-nots just outside. - -The sound always seems to increase as you listen, and soon I detected -the noise of the river as it tears over successive weirs. If the tide -is low it is often a roar when you stand on the river bank beside a -weir; but up here on the heights the noise is softened to a purling -sound, that runs like a never-ceasing ground-bass or pedal note amid -the fluctuating tones of the nearer streams. - -Other and more distant murmurings floated in at the window; but one -could never allocate them all, for, excepting in the hottest weather, -this is in truth “a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains -and depths that spring out of valleys and hills.” - -I was thinking of this, when suddenly the babbling of the water was -drowned in the sound of wonderful bells that rose upon the night air. -It was not from our village church; that possesses only one bell, whose -sound, unfortunately, resembles nothing so much as a cracked iron -shovel struck with a pair of tongs: and there is no other bell for -miles around. - -And yet there was no mistaking it. I could distinctly hear the joyous -clashing and clanging of bells in a tall steeple. - -It was no brazen banging; rather, some fairy music, like the carillon -at Malines (which I am proud to remember I once played, though, alas! I -shall never play it again). - -I listened in amazement; soon was added the sound of voices, like -subdued distant singing in some vast cathedral, while the bells still -clashed outside. Yet it was never close at hand; it always seemed to -float to me from a distance. - -I was sure I was not asleep, for I knew where I was, and decided to -get up and go to the window, when—the dog barked—(probably he could -hear a fox prowling around outside). Instantly the spell was broken. I -opened my eyes; there was no sound but the murmuring and burbling of -the brooks. - -Like a sensible person, I of course decided that I had been dreaming. - -Yet again and again have I heard the clanging bells, with often the -sound of an organ and singing wafted through the open window. It -always comes when the streams are most impetuous and when I am in that -lotus-flowering land that lies between awakeness and sleep. - -The music is always enthrallingly happy, and my only regret is that -the bells and the singers do not come a trifle nearer, so that I could -catch every note and jot it all down for future reference. - -I related my experiences to one or two people; but this was all the -information they seemed able to give me: - -“If I were you, I should run down to Margate for a week or so, and -leave all work behind. Go to a nice bright boarding-house, where -there are lots of people, and enjoy yourself; and forget about that -wretched cottage. You’ve been overdoing it lately. I had another -friend just like you—got a little peculiar, you know, and then—well, -I won’t tell you any more; don’t want to make you nervous, of course, -but—her mother never got over it, and _so_ well-connected, too—kept -three motors. You take my advice. I’ll send you the name of a charming -boarding-house I know,” etc. - -Then I kept my own counsel, and decided that there were Little People -living in the streams, just as I had always liked to picture them -living in the flowers and under the mushrooms. And the music I heard -was the Little People singing, and ringing all the harebells and -foxglove bells that grow along the banks of the brooks. - -I concluded that no one had ever heard them but myself. But, to my -surprise, one day I found that others did know about these Little -People! - -I was reading “The Forest,” by Stewart E. White, where he describes his -impressions and experiences as he lay awake at night in a tent on the -banks of a Canadian river, when I came upon the following, that in many -points coincides with my own sensations:— - - “In such circumstances you will hear what the boatmen - call the voices of the rapids. Many people never - hear them at all. They speak very soft and low, and - distinct, beneath the steady roar and dashing, beneath - even the lesser tinklings and gurglings whose quality - superimposes them over the louder sounds. In the - stillness of your hazy half-consciousness they speak; - when you bend your attention to listen, they are gone, - and only the tumults and the tinklings remain. - - “But in the moments of their audibility they are very - distinct. Just as often an odour will awake all a - vanished memory, so these voices, by the force of a - large impressionism, suggest whole scenes. Far off are - the cling-clang-cling of chimes and the swell-and-fall - murmur of a multitude _en fête_, so that subtly you - feel the gray old town, with its walls, the crowded - market-place, the decent peasant crowd, the booths, - the mellow church building with its bells, the - warm, dust-moted sun. Or, in the pauses between the - swish-dash-dashings of the waters, sound faint and - clear voices singing intermittently, calls, distant - notes of laughter, as though many canoes were working - against the current; only the flotilla never gets any - nearer, nor the voices louder. The boatmen call these - mist people the Huntsmen, and look frightened.... - Curiously enough, by all reports, they suggest always - peacefulness—a harvest field, a street fair, a Sunday - morning in a cathedral town, careless travellers—never - the turmoils and struggles. Perhaps this is the great - Mother’s compensation in a harsh mode of life. - - “Nothing is more fantastically unreal to tell about, - nothing more concretely real to experience, than this - undernote of the quick water. And when you do lie awake - at night, it is always making its unobtrusive appeal. - Gradually its hypnotic spell works. The distant chimes - ring louder and nearer as you cross the borderland of - sleep. And then outside the tent some little woods - noise snaps the thread. An owl hoots, a whippoorwill - cries, a twig cracks beneath the cautious prowl of some - night creature—at once the yellow sunlit French windows - puff away—you are staring at the blurred image of the - moon spraying through the texture of your tent.” - -Since reading this, I have spoken of the matter to others with more -courage; and although the majority do not seem to have come across -them, I have discovered several people who have heard the Little People -singing. - -Some, indeed, have been kind enough to attempt to give me a lucid -explanation of what they are pleased to call a very simple natural -phenomenon, and they prattle of enharmonics and sound vibrations, of -nodes and super-tones, in a very impressive manner. One tells me the -whole thing is merely a psychological emotion vibrating in sympathy -with the acoustical environment. - -I dare say. - - * * * * * - -Personally, I would just as soon leave it unelucidated. There are -certain moods in which I do not want such things as nature, and love, -and beauty, and self-sacrifice explained. It is enough for me that they -are, and that I have been permitted to enjoy them. - - * * * * * - -And although I know that the Little People are not necessarily wearing -gauze wings and white frocks and stars in their hair, as I pictured -them in my first childhood, I still like to think that even in the -brooks something is singing, something rejoicing, something giving -thanks for the gift of life. - - - - -XI - -The Funeral of the Hero - - -IT was three months after the funeral of the Village Hero. Now I come -to think of it, I haven’t mentioned the funeral before. - -The hero, a porter at the little railway station, enlisted very early -in the campaign. Our village—in the main—did nobly in the way of early -enlistment. - -A quiet, retiring young fellow, he had never singled himself out for -any sort of notoriety, though I, personally, had always remarked on his -unvarying courtesy and his willingness to do everything he could to -assist passengers. - -The news of his death was the first thing to bring the War actually -home to our isolated corner of the world. - -People had known he was ill, because his wife had been summoned to a -military hospital some weeks before, when his condition was pronounced -critical. But no one had really anticipated the worst—till it came. And -then the word passed quickly from cottage to cottage: “Poor Aleck’s -gone!” - -“Ay! You don’t say so! Ain’t it just like they Huns to go and kill off -the best of the bunch,” said one woman who never had a good word for -the lad during his lifetime. - -One and all agreed forthwith that proper respect must be shown to “the -remains”; and those who didn’t intend to inconvenience themselves by -fighting, felt they were serving their country nobly by seeing that -poor Aleck had a handsome funeral. - -The news of his death reached the village on Friday. On Saturday the -older members of the family selected the spot for his grave in the -little churchyard, as, of course, he must be buried near his home. - -By Sunday all the relatives to the remotest generation wore deep -mourning to church—thanks to the superhuman efforts of the village -dressmaker, and numerous ready-mades purchased in the nearest town. - -The Rector was in a nursing-home in London at the time, but the curate, -though only newly arrived, preached a moving sermon, extolling the -courage of the young man who had died “with his face to the foe, -braving the falling shells and raining bullets in order to defend his -country.” - -The sentiment was right—Aleck was willing to do all that; but in -reality he never got beyond a training camp on the east coast, where, -the air proving too bleak for him after the mildness of the west, -he had gone down with pneumonia. The new curate didn’t know that, -however, and everybody said it was a beautiful sermon, and went and -told the poor mother about it, as she had been too grief-stricken to go -to church. - -So far the widow had not written herself; but that wasn’t surprising; -she would be too broken down with trouble. Willing heads and hands did -all they could, however, to anticipate her wishes. - -They telegraphed to the former curate (now the vicar of a crowded -Lancashire parish) and asked if he would conduct the funeral; he had -known the deceased from boyhood. He wired back: “Yes; send day and -hour.” - -They sent to uncles and aunts and cousins throughout Great Britain: all -who could arrived post haste on Monday. And what a gathering it was -of outstanding members of the clan! Those who hadn’t recognised each -other’s existence for years now forgot their ancient feuds, while one -and all discovered such good qualities in the poor lad, and were so -anxious to insist on the nearness of their relationship, that his death -did not seem altogether in vain. - -I myself wrote a note to the widow, only waiting to post it till I -could get her address. - -Miss Bretherton, the Rector’s niece, hurried home from London to do -what she could to comfort the parents, who were aloof from the general -excitement and knew only the sorrow of the occasion. - -While waiting for further details to arrive, people made wreaths, and -discussed how best the engine could be draped in black. - -As there was no letter by Tuesday morning, and the vicar in Lancashire -had again asked for particulars, the self-constituted committee of -management decided to send a wire to the widow. After composing—and -then discarding—twenty-six different messages, till the post-office was -threatened with a famine in telegram forms, the post-mistress came to -their assistance, and suggested that the wording should be as brief and -as straightforward as possible, to save misunderstanding—and expense. -Eventually they were all persuaded to agree to the following: - -“What train will the coffin come by? Reply paid.” - -In about an hour the widow answered: - -“Whose coffin? Don’t know what you mean. Aleck nearly well.” - - * * * * * - -The whole village has had three points under discussion ever since. - -I. Who was it said he _was_ dead? - -II. Can a man be made to pay for his own grave being dug when he -refuses to occupy it? - -III. And what is to become of the mourning anyhow? - - - - -XII - -Just a Little Piece of Griskin - - -I WAS reminded of the funeral when I arrived at the valley station one -spring morning, by the fact that it was “the remains” who opened the -carriage door for me and helped us out with our things. - -He was home for a few days’ leave, looking very smart and upright in -his uniform; and he saluted (even though he permitted himself to smile) -when I gave him a half-crown, telling him to buy himself a wreath. - - * * * * * - -The white-painted garden gate had been placed wide open by way of -welcome. We had left behind us, in town, weather that called itself the -end of March, but in reality ought to have been January; we arrived at -the little cottage to find that the calendar had taken a leap forward, -for here it was like the end of April. On the grey stone walls beside -the gate clumps of wallflowers were in bloom—masses of pale primrose -flowers mixed with those of a rich rose-purple variety; only these two -sorts had been planted in the chinks of this particular wall. I am sure -the dear things nodded at us as we entered. - -All over the garden were more wallflowers bursting by the thousand -into bloom. Some beds were a mixture of clear bright yellow flowers, -combined with the sort that are a deep mahogany, looking as though they -were made of velvet; other beds had a pretty rose-pink variety; while -on the top of more walls, and in corners and patches about the garden, -were the old-fashioned “streaky” kinds, all aglow with brown and yellow. - -The long bed in front of the porch, given over to cowslips, oxlips, -polyanthus, auriculas, and suchlike homely flowers, was very gay. The -polyanthus were a delightful medley of claret colour, pink, brown, -crimson, orange, yellow, most of them looking as though the edges of -the petals had been buttonholed around with silk of a contrasting -colour. It seemed as though the flowers in this bed fairly tip-toed as -we came along the path, and stretched their necks as high as ever they -could, from out of their crinkled leaves, to show how remarkably fine -they were. - -In the narrow beds under the cottage windows double daffodils made -plenty of colour, and at the edge were clumps of primroses—various -shades of pink and crimson. These had seeded over into the path, with -the result that baby primrose-plants were coming up cheerily between -the rough flagstones. The ordinary yellow primrose was starring the -grass all about the orchard, where wild daffodils were swaying by the -hundred. The white flowers of the blackthorn were like snowdrifts on -the hedges. - -It was so wonderful, after the bleak, cheerless aspect of town, to come -upon this world of smiling growing things. The soft air, sweeping over -the hills, brought the scent of ploughed fields and newly-turned earth, -of bursting buds and opening blossoms, with the ozone of the sea, and -the salt of the weed that lies on the rocks around the lighthouse in -the far-away distance. - -There seemed to be an all-pervading peace that laid hold of one’s very -soul; and yet you could not say it was really quiet, for birds were -giving rival concerts in every tree, and quite a number were devoting -their energies to saying insulting things to the newcomers and the -small dog who had taken the liberty of encroaching on their ancient -heritage. They are not sufficiently grateful for the fact that I leave -my woods uncut, and undisturbed, as bird sanctuaries. - -Lambs were bleating in the valley meadows; the spring gurgled -cheerfully outside the gate as it tumbled out of the spout into the -pool below. - -We stood in the garden for a moment to take a good breath, and drink -in as much of the beauty as we could, when Virginia just touched my -arm and looked towards a long belt of trees—mostly oak and fir—that -runs down one side of the garden and orchards, linking the larch woods -up above us with the birch and hazel coppice down below—the coppice -where the nightingales sing, and the tiny wrens and the tomtits build, -and where the little dormouse lives, who comes out from among the -undergrowth, with no apparent fear, when I stand in the wood-path and -softly whistle. - -This barricade of trees was originally left standing when the rest of -the ground was cleared, to screen the house from the winter gales. But -we have named it the Squirrels’ Highway. - -Sure enough, as we stood there silent and motionless, down came one -little bushy tail from the upper woods, followed by another, probably -his wife. They leapt from branch to branch, and from tree to tree, -nibbling a young oak shoot here, sniffing delicately at a few leaves -somewhere else. - -Little bright eyes looked down and saw the strangers; but they had -seen them before, and no harm ever resulted—only lovely feasts of -nuts laid out on the tops of walls—so they just ran on down their own -highway, seeming as light as feathers, and leaping and springing with -indescribable grace. - -At last they got to the high wall that divides the lower orchard from -the birch and hazel coppice, and they played along that wall, bright -spots of reddy-brown against the dark green of the ivy and the purple -tone of the swelling birch buds. All seemed gaiety and happiness, till -a third little bushy tail popped up over the wall from the coppice—and -then there were fireworks indeed! I expect they were relations who were -not on cordial terms! We left them having a whole-hearted hand-to-hand -fight—which, I must say, seems a much more satisfactory way of settling -a difference than either Zepp or submarine methods. - - * * * * * - -Indoors the table had been laid for tea, preparatory to our arrival, by -Mrs. Widow, who, as already mentioned, is the custodian of the house -in my absence. She gives an old-world curtsy that is very disarming, -and says, “I’m main glad to see you back again, miss, and I hope you’ll -find everything to your liking.” - -That, however, is as it may be. - -Nevertheless, there is something about the way that table is always -laid that rejoices my heart, even though I might not wish to have -my meals set in that pattern every day. The large white cloth may -not present the glass-like surface of the town-laundered tablecloth, -but at least it is white, and—like the cottage sheets and towels -and pillow-cases—it holds the scents of the hillside garden where -it was hung out to dry; and though the creases are somewhat ridgy -and insistent, and the cloth has been ironed a trifle askew, I know -several people who would rather have tea off this tablecloth than the -most elaborate dinner and the finest napery that London hotels can -produce. - -Knives and forks are placed with great precision around the table at -intervals, a cup and saucer and plate beside each, the crockery never -by any chance matching! In the mathematical centre a loaf of farmhouse -bread stands on a kitchen plate, flanked on one side—to the East, as -it were—by a large white jug holding a quart of milk, and to the West, -by the sugar basin. The big brown teapot stands at the South Pole; -and a pudding-basin of new-laid eggs, laid by the widow’s own fowls, -are waiting, at the North Pole, to be cooked. A small plate bearing a -dinner knife and half a pound of butter (which is never put into the -proper butter dish) is placed at the South-West; this is balanced at -the South-East by a pot of home-made jam and a tablespoon. Watercress -and lettuce may grace the table, though this will be according to the -season; but summer or winter, one feature is never omitted, and that is -a large kitchen jug full of flowers, gathered by Mrs. Widow from her -own garden. - -On the day I am writing about, the jug had a brave handful of -daffodils, a few sprays of red ribis, dark-brown wallflowers, some -small ivy, with some short-stemmed polyanthus suffocating in the -centre of the big bunch. And it is wonderful how much you can get -crammed into one jug when you try! - - * * * * * - -Abigail, having none of my weak-minded leanings towards “the -primitive,” scornfully whisked the whole lot off the table, as soon as -Mrs. Widow had gone back to her own cottage, and re-laid it on modern -lines. - -We did not hurry over the meal. Virginia got on a lengthy dissertation -as to the crying need for fish forks with magnetised prongs that would -just draw the bones out of the fish, without any preliminary search -and scrutiny. I suggested a radium tip to the prongs—I could think of -nothing that seemed more suitable—but she said _that_ might demolish -fish and all, in which case one would get no more personal satisfaction -out of the creature than one does when having to eat it with its full -complement of bones intact. - -I then ventured a suggestion that forks made like an ordinary magnet -would do, if the fish were given steel drops in regular doses for a -few weeks before being caught, so as to get its bones susceptible to -the magnet. But Virginia was very lofty, as she always is, about my -scientific explanations. I never heard her solution of the problem, -because the telegram boy arrived at the moment, with a wire for -Abigail, saying that her mother had broken her arm (a genuine case -this time!). - -So she left by the next train, bewailing the fact that her mother -could not get compensation from anyone, as she had given up a post -of housekeeper but three months before; if she had only been in the -situation still she could have claimed £300 a year for life, Abigail -thought—provided the arm could only be induced to remain broken. - -Some people, especially her relatives, were always unfortunate, she -said, while others were just the reverse. There was a cousin of a -friend of hers; he had been out of work for a year or so before he got -a job, and then the very first day he met with an accident at the works -and had to have his leg amputated; and there he is now, a gentleman for -life, comfortably settled on his compensation. Her people never had -luck like that. It did seem hard! - - * * * * * - -“Are you awake?” Virginia’s voice lilted up the stairs next morning. - -Awake! why, sleep had been impossible in that cottage for hours past! - -For sheer undiluted racket, commend me to two earnest-souled girls, -who get up early, and go about with a stealthy tread that creaks every -old board in the place, and commune with each other in stage whispers -that penetrate through every crack in the floor, all on the pretext of -making the fire! - -We had decided that we could manage very well ourselves, without -sending for anyone to take Abigail’s place; and in order to forestall -me, the others had got up about cockcrow, and then began such a -whirligig below, that I just lay still and endeavoured to allocate -every fresh noise. - -They raked and shovelled at the grate, and appeared to be scattering -cinders all over the place. They broke up applewood twigs with -resounding snaps, and argued as to the amount required to set the fire -going. Ursula said you ought to put in handfuls till you got a good -crackling blaze; Virginia said that was a childish, brainless way of -doing it, to say nothing of the chance of waste; by rights the quantity -of twigs employed ought to be strictly in inverse ratio to the quantity -of inflammable gas contained in the coal. I dare say I should have -heard a good deal more as to the way to assess the ignitable quality of -coal, but fortunately the fire burnt up quickly, and they gave their -attention to other domestic details. - -They dashed about the brass fender; they whacked the blacklead brush -against the oven-door at every turn; they set down the zinc pail with a -ringing thud, and then scoured the hearth with zeal enough to take off -half an inch of stone surface; they polished the brass fire-irons with -some concoction of bath-brick and salt which they invented on the spot, -as they couldn’t find any metal polish; they banged the hearthrug out -of doors till the surrounding hills reverberated with the echoes; they -rinked the carpet-sweeper up and down till it made me dizzy to listen; -and as this was not thorough enough for Ursula, she also got a short -stiff brush and apparently pommelled out any dust that might be under -the settle and in other obscure corners; they dusted with equal energy, -and then went off into the kitchen to consult about the breakfast menu, -while the kettle chose the opportunity to boil all over the fire, -thereby raising clouds of white ash that settled on everything, and -they said, “Oh, dear! Just _look_ at it.” - -Finally, I heard the white cloth being flapped over the table; cups and -saucers and plates were chinked and rattled off the dresser; knives and -forks and spoons jingled on to the table, and I knew that breakfast was -well under way. It was just then that Virginia put her head through the -staircase-door to ask—in moderated tones calculated not to disturb me -should I still be slumbering!—was I awake? - -Hastily hopping out on to the rug, I replied that I was “nearly -dressed, and would be down in a minute.” - -“No hurry,” she replied artlessly, “we’ve only just come down -ourselves, and are going to see to breakfast. But what I want to know -is: Where do you keep your frying-pan?” - -“Hanging on its proper nail in the kitchen,” I replied. - -“Well, it isn’t there.... No, it isn’t on the saucepan shelf, -either—we’ve hunted _everywhere_.... But Abigail didn’t use it -yesterday—don’t you remember? We had boiled eggs, and some of that cold -ham we brought with us.... All right, we can just as well have eggs -again.... That’s true, we shan’t want bacon, with that pork coming for -dinner; but be quick, as the kettle’s boiling now.... Oh, it’s not a -bit of trouble.” - - * * * * * - -Whether it was due to the sunshine, or to the tonic of the air, or to -the virtuous feeling that always overtakes those who get up early in -the morning and disturb everyone else, I cannot say; but at any rate -Ursula announced that she intended to start right in, immediately after -breakfast, and give the whole cottage a thorough spring cleaning. - -The domesticities of the morning seemed to have whetted her appetite -for such matters, and she said she felt she must give the place a -“Dutch” turn-out, and have every shelf and stool and all the pots and -pans scrubbed and scoured and tilted out of doors to dry, as they do -in Holland. - -Virginia said that she, too, felt a strong force—it might be her -sub-conscious self, or she might have a dual personality, she couldn’t -say which—within her, impelling her to turn the house inside out. - -So I told them to go ahead; I’m the last one to discourage anyone from -doing my work for me. I suggested, however, that for the first day they -should confine their attentions to the living-rooms downstairs. - -Of course, the reader of average intellect will wonder what necessity -there could be for any such upheaval, seeing that the place would -obviously have been overhauled before we arrived; but this brings me -back to Mrs. Widow. “A worthy body and an honest soul,” the Rector -said, when he originally recommended her to me, all of which was quite -true; but, alas, thoroughness in regard to house-cleaning is not her -strong point. - -When I first sought her out and broached the subject of the caretaker -I was requiring, she listened in a non-committal way. I stated how -much a year I was willing to pay—naming an exceptionally good sum—and -explained that for this money the house must be looked after in my -absence, and be got quite ready for me whenever I should come down, -while anything she might do while I was “in residence” would be paid -for as an extra. - -She showed no indecorous haste to secure the appointment. She merely -said she would talk it over with her married daughter, and if she -thought any more of it she would let me know. A few hours later she -came to me, and said casually that on second thoughts she didn’t mind -obliging me. (No one ever “works” for you in our village, they merely -“oblige.”) In the interval, however, the whole village had gone into -committee on the subject, and everyone’s advice had been sought, and -very freely given. - -Once more I went through the terms of the agreement, and she said she -quite understood. Nevertheless, subsequent events led me to believe -that she regarded the annual wage in the light of a retaining fee only, -since most of the work is always left to be done after I arrive, when -it will have to be paid for as a separate transaction if it is more -than Abigail can wrestle with. - -At the same time I can truly endorse the Rector’s tribute to her -honesty. If I were to strew the floor with sovereigns or diamond rings, -I know I should find them on the mantelpiece when next I returned, and -she never annexes anything permanently. - -But the fact that one has a village-wide reputation for honesty need -not detract from one’s worldly prosperity—so long as one can borrow -with light-hearted frequency, and borrow for indefinite periods, too! -Mrs. Widow has reduced borrowing to a fine art, but her honesty is -demonstrated by the fact that I have never known her decline to return -any of my possessions; indeed, so scrupulous is she that she will bring -back the tin of metal polish, when it is empty, explaining that she was -quite sure I wanted it to be used rather than wasted! - -Abigail invariably spends the first couple of days at the cottage in -skirmishing and reclaiming missing articles. Knowing all this, I was -not surprised when I heard the frying-pan was minus; I also knew that -time would reveal other vacancies. - -Had it been July or August, the preserving-pan—a family treasure—would -have been gone, too. Mrs. Widow is always very solicitous for its -welfare about fruit-gathering time; she says damp would easily hurt a -really good preserving-pan, so she takes it home with her to keep it -dry. Yet the poor thing will be left to face the winter in my kitchen -with never a thought bestowed on its delicate constitution. - -And it is just at jam-making time, too, that my kitchen scales and -weights require the ameliorated atmosphere of Mrs. Widow’s cottage; my -own kitchen, with the midsummer sun upon it all day, being obviously -far too cold and damp for such highly-strung _bric-à-brac_ as one -pound and half-pound weights. - -A town acquaintance once said to Virginia: “I suppose Miss Klickmann -goes down to her cottage for poetic and literary inspiration?” - -“Oh, dear, no!” was the reply. “She simply goes down, as a mere matter -of feminine curiosity, to see what is left.” - - * * * * * - -“Where do you keep your tea-towels?” Ursula began, as she prepared to -wash up the breakfast things. - -“There ought to be a pile in one of the drawers of the kitchen table,” -I said. “They are not there? Oh, well, they’ll come back presently!” - -While we were speaking, a small girl appeared at the side door, holding -in one hand a basket containing a nice chunk of pork (wrapped in one of -my tea-towels), and in the other hand my mincing-machine. This was Mrs. -Widow’s grandchild. - -“If you please, ma’am, father’s killed the pig, and mother thought you -might like just a little piece of griskin, and mother’s been taking -care of the mincer so’s it shan’t get rusty.” - -An exchange of courtesies having been effected by means of a bottle of -pear-drops, the small maid departed with her empty basket; the mincer -was restored to its proper niche in the pantry, and we were at least -one tea-towel to the good. - -I might mention that Mrs. Widow’s married daughter had recently -acquired considerable local fame by making “faggots,” which were in -great demand. You know the dish?—a combination of liver, pork, sage -and onions, etc., baked in squares. Other people in the district made -faggots, too, but none could rival hers, and orders came to her from -many of the big houses. - -“No one ever manages to get them chopped so beautifully fine as she -does,” said Miss Bretherton when recommending them to my notice. “I -advise you to try them.” - -Still, whatever obligation there may have been was offset, surely, by -the piece of pork. The griskin is the lean portion of some part of the -quadruped’s anatomy after the fat has been cut off for curing. This -joint—which we never see in London—is always popular with us in the -country; so popular, that I had ordered a piece only the day before -from the butcher. It was just the season when people were killing their -pigs, and the butcher had suggested griskin. Still, it was easy to -put the extra piece in salt, and the flavour would only be improved -thereby; my one regret was that the butcher had sent a very large -joint, when I had particularly mentioned that I only wanted a little -piece. - -I had originally intended to devote the day to gardening, not to -house-cleaning. - -“Of course you keep a permanent gardener?” people inquire of me. “I -see; a general handy man; it comes to the same thing; he will save you -all trouble.” - -Those of my acquaintances who have never had a place out of town to -look after, always conclude that country districts fairly bristle with -capable, willing men, and poor-but-honest, hard-working women, all of -them anxious to do my work—and at a merely nominal wage too; whereas -one has the utmost trouble to get either man or woman to do a day’s -work at any price. I pay the handy man the same wage per day as I pay -my thoroughly experienced London gardener; and he can only manage to -spare me a small amount of his time at that price. - -He knows very little about flowers, but he weeds in an enlightened -manner, and he understands the elementary principles underlying -vegetable growing on a small scale. For the most part the villagers -bother very little about their gardens, only cultivating just -sufficient ground for their immediate needs. - -The unenlightened local method of dealing with weeds is -this. He-who-is-paid-to-garden leaves them to grow to a fair -height—especially if no one is likely to be there for some weeks to see -them. Then, when they have absorbed a generous amount of nourishment -from the ground, and generally suffocated everything small within their -reach, he merely turns the soil over, with the weeds on the underneath -side, draws a rake over the surface, and presto! you have a nice tidy -bed. - -This method is known as “digging in.” - -Of course, in twenty-four hours the good-natured things start to poke -cheerful noses through the soil again. But that doesn’t matter. Life is -long, and the gardener is paid to clear them away again. - -There is an optional method, referred to as “cleaning up the beds.” In -that case, he leaves the weeds to grow higher, more especially in beds -that are full of promising seedlings; in fact, he doesn’t worry about -them at all until there is sudden and urgent reason why the garden -should present a kempt, well-cared-for appearance. - -Then, the weeds being so healthy and luxuriant that they would raise -the face of creation a couple of inches if he attempted to dig them in, -he simplifies matters by removing the surface of the earth, weeds and -seedlings and all; this he wheels away in a barrow, perchance to lay it -down on some rough and rubbly bit of lane that the road-menders have -ignored. - -When she-who-pays arrives, all expectation, and inquires for the -missing seedlings, the tiller of the soil shakes his head lugubriously, -and refers to the recent plague of slugs (or thunderstorms, or -frost, or east winds, or whatever other natural phenomena seem most -convincing), and says he had a hard job to save what is left in the -garden—this last in a martyr-like tone of voice, indicating that though -all his self-sacrificing labour is passed over unrecognised, he himself -has the virtuous consciousness of having at least done his simple duty, -and what man can do more! - -Now I come to think of it, there are many different ways of gardening; -that must be why it is always interesting to go round the garden with -the gardener. When I say different ways, I don’t mean such trifling -divergencies of method as landscape gardens versus intensive culture, -or tomatoes under glass versus gloxinias. These primarily concern the -pocket; the differences that interest me are temperamental. - -There is Miss Bretherton, for instance, a most diligent and vigilant -gardener. And yet she never seems to me to get much genuine, unalloyed -pleasure out of her garden; she never basks in its beauty—though for -the matter of that Miss Bretherton never basks anywhere! A middle-aged -woman who does her duty by a scattered parish, conscientiously -and thoroughly and unremittingly, never has time for that sort of -dissipation! Miss Bretherton deals with her garden much as she deals -with the parish. At best it is a case of striving to lead reluctant -feet in the paths of virtue, while by far the greater part of her -efforts is an unflagging wrestle with original sin. - -A walk round the rectory garden is usually like this. Miss Bretherton -always picks up a pair of gardening scissors and a basket mechanically -as she steps out. - -“What a wonderful glow of colour!” I exclaim, as I bury my nose in a -magnificent Gloire de Dijon. - -“But it is such a wretched thing for sending up suckers,” Miss -Bretherton replies. “I’m always digging them up. Why, I declare there -is one a foot high,” giving it a drastic prod with the scissors. “I -thought I’d cut them all away yesterday”; more prods till the sucker is -finally unearthed. - -“And aren’t those hollyhocks tall!” - -“Not nearly so fine as they would have been if that red-spotty blight -hadn’t attacked them. Just look at these leaves!” - -Snip, snip, snip! Off came a dozen or so. - -I stop to admire the fairy flowers in the Virginia stock, rosy carmine, -lemon and mauve, just opening in the sun. - -“I don’t think there is anything sweeter for a border,” I remark. - -“The trouble with Virginia stock is that it so soon looks untidy,” Miss -Bretherton says dispiritedly. “Do what I will, I can’t keep the edges -tidy once that goes off bloom. I pull it all out at last, and then that -leaves a bare rough-dried looking space with nothing in it.” - -I praise the white lilies—such a stately row of spotless beauty. - -“I wish I could do something to hide that raggedness at the bottom of -the stems. They do look so shabby. Excuse me, I see that Canterbury -bell has withered off—that’s the worst of them. They all go at once -so suddenly, and look such a withered mass. I must cut off those dead -blooms, it may send up a second crop. But there, if it does, they will -only be small bells!” - - * * * * * - -I’m not sure whether the handy man’s method is temperamental, but I -know it is very conversational, if you can call it a conversation when -he insists on doing the whole of it himself. He is an elderly bachelor; -and Mrs. Widow once explained the situation to me: - -“You see, he ain’t never had no wife to talk his head off for him, so -he talks it off for hisself.” - -I give him copious instructions whenever I leave, which he promises to -carry out; but no matter what I may have asked him to do—whether it was -to nail up the yellow roses over the front door, or to set lavender -cuttings—it all works out to the same thing in the end: it is only the -vegetables that are deemed worthy of mention. The flowers are just -tolerated because—well, because I keep on putting them in the ground, -and you can’t expect practical common-sense from a woman anyhow! But -after all, it isn’t reasonable to expect an untrained cottager to make -a garden different from those he sees around. - -You can understand, however, that we are usually kept pretty busy from -the moment we arrive till the hour we go away. - -But this particular morning gardening was out of the question. The -two girls started with the spring-cleaning on most vigorous lines. -Virginia said the hygienic way was to place everything that was movable -out-of-doors, so that, scientifically speaking, the sun’s rays could -penetrate every fibre and tissue, and neutralise the harmful germs that -would assuredly be lurking by the million in every stick and shred in a -house as neglected as that one had been. - -I objected to my cherished possessions being referred to as sticks and -shreds, and I said so, with emphasis. - -Ursula said if we were going to argue at that length it would be the -August Bank Holiday before we got things back in their place again. For -her part, she regarded all that germ-business as a harmless fairy-tale -that was very suitable and safe reading for a mild intellect like -Virginia’s. All the same, she quite agreed that everything ought to be -put outside, so as to give more elbow-room indoors; moreover, things -that were washed and scrubbed would, of course, dry quicker in the sun. - -So out they all came! - -Then we saw how badly the boards around the carpet needed re-staining, -and we dispatched Virginia to the village to see what she could get in -the way of oak or walnut floor-stain. - -She returned with a large bottle of rheumatic lotion. Miss Jarvis, who -keeps the village shop, hadn’t a bottle of stain left, but Virginia -turned over everything she had and decided on the lotion, as it was -thickish and a nice rich brown. She bore it off, Miss Jarvis beseeching -her to remember it was for outward application only. - -It wasn’t bad, only it flavoured the air rather strongly for days. - -Ursula’s labours were bearing much fruit. To look at the scene outside -the cottage, you might have thought a distraint had been made on the -contents for rent. Chairs, tables, meat-safes, crockery, saucepans, -oak chests, pictures, books, the warming-pan, brass candlesticks, -coal-scuttles, fenders, were all basking unblushingly, and in the -direst confusion, in the sunshine. - -What pained me most was to notice how the furniture that had looked -delightfully appropriate in the subdued lights of indoors, became -appallingly shabby when subjected to the glare of day. I remarked that -if I had confronted the things on a London burglar’s barrow, I should -neither have recognised them nor have desired to claim them. - -Ursula tried to reassure me by reminding me that the things were mostly -very old, and antique things are invariably shabby as well as very -valuable. Virginia contributed the consoling information that she had -noticed, whenever people moved, they always left their good furniture -behind in the empty house, for they only removed shabby-looking things. - -I tried to feel duly proud of my possessions once more; but all the -same I suggested that we should hurry on as fast as we could; I had -a strong conviction that if any of my county neighbours called, they -would probably be more impressed with the disreputable appearance of my -belongings than with their priceless antiquity. - -Of course, people came while we were still in chaos, as I knew they -would. The first to arrive was Miss Primkins, who apologised for -calling at such an hour, but she wanted to consult me on a private -matter, she was so very worried. Was I busy? (with an inquiring glance -at the all-pervading marine-store). Naturally I said I wasn’t. - -The difficulty was to find a seat indoors to accommodate us while we -talked; it wasn’t warm enough, as yet, to sit in the open. I found two -chairs in the china pantry—a fair-sized apartment with a big window, -even though it is called a pantry—and here we established ourselves, -Miss Primkins reiterating how kind she thought it of me to receive her -in this homely way, treating her just like one of the family. I tried -to make her understand, however, that, as a general rule, it was not -the family custom to foregather in the crockery cupboard! - -She was a long while getting to the cause of her worry. I wonder why -it is that so many women, when they start out to say anything, wander -about and deviate into innumerable side channels and backwaters before -they get to the point?—but there, I do myself, so we won’t follow up -that line of thought. - -Eventually, it transpired that when war was declared, and the attendant -moratorium, Miss Primkins had hidden away what little gold she had in -the bottom of a coffee canister, with the coffee put in again artlessly -on top. Since then she had added to her store of gold, till at last she -had £12 in all. - -On hearing this I scented the trouble, and began to commiserate: “You -don’t mean to say someone has stolen it! Who could it have been?” - -“Oh, no; it hasn’t been stolen—though sometimes I almost wish—but -there, I oughtn’t to say that! No, the difficulty is that now I don’t -know how to get rid of it! I never thought there was any harm in -putting a little by, in case anything happened, till I saw in the -papers that someone said” (lowering her voice) “that those who hoard -gold are traitors to their country, and” (in a still more shocked tone) -“actually helping Germany! I’d never had any such idea! Why, it’s the -very last thing I should wish to do! - -“So I started unhoarding at once and took a sovereign when next I went -out to pay my little grocery bill. Miss Jarvis wasn’t in the shop -herself—she wouldn’t have been so rude!—but her assistant said, ‘Well, -I never! Doesn’t it seem odd to see a sovereign again! I can’t tell you -when I saw one last. I didn’t know there was a solitary one left in the -village! Wherever did you get it from, Miss Primkins?’ - -“Do you know, I went hot and cold all over; didn’t know what to do -with myself, for fear she should guess I’d been hoarding and helping -the country to be a traitor—no, I mean helping Germany to be—well—you -understand. I just said quietly, with all the composure I could muster, -‘I chanced to have it in my purse,’ because, after all, it wasn’t her -business, was it?” - -I agreed that it wasn’t. - -“Then I thought I would change half a sovereign—that would be smaller -and look less hoardingish—at the station, as I was going into Chepstow -to get some more wool for those socks for Queen Mary. Would you -believe it?—the station-master said—you know his jocular way—‘Why, -Miss Primkins, what bank have you been robbing? I haven’t had my hand -crossed with gold, I don’t know when! I’d like to keep it myself, for -luck, only the Prime Minister would be down on me for hoarding, I -suppose.’ - -“My knees shook so I could hardly get into the train. I decided I -wouldn’t let anyone see another bit of it; yet actually, when I was in -Mrs. Davis’s shop and getting out the money to pay for the wool, if I -didn’t take out another half-sovereign in mistake for a sixpence!—I -was so unnerved, I suppose—and she said, ‘Just fancy seeing a -half-sovereign again! I thought they were all called in. Wherever did -you light on that, Miss Primkins?’ - -“Now you can understand I’m at my wits’ end to know what to do with -that money. I can’t spend it without everyone knowing. If I put it in -my savings bank book, and so get it back to the Government that way, I -have to hand it over the counter at the post office. You know so much -about business, can you suggest anything?” - -I immediately offered to give the nervous, worried lady Treasury notes -in exchange. - -“Oh, but I couldn’t let you incriminate yourself like that,” she -protested, “kind as it is of you. There’s your reputation as well as -mine to be thought of.” - -I explained, however, that it was easier to dispose of an accusing -golden sovereign in London without arousing the suspicions of the -populace than it was in the country, and I said I was sure my bank -manager would oblige me by receiving the gold for the good of the -country, knowing me to be an honest and respectable Englishwoman. - -“I never thought to be so thankful to see the last of a sovereign,” she -said, as she tucked the paper notes into her handbag. “I’ve scarcely -slept all this week. Why, Germany is the very last thing I would help!” - -Mrs. Widow came in at the gate as Miss Primkins went out; and, seeing -the house all turned out of windows, looked her surprise at such -goings on! She carried a frying-pan, a long-handled broom, a double -milk-boiler, an egg-beater, and a lemon-squeezer, and explained that -they had kept beautifully dry in her kitchen, whereas they would have -been ruined if left to get damp in an empty house. Parenthetically, she -hoped I would excuse her having used half a dozen lemons I had left in -the pantry last time; she was afraid they would not keep; also some -sugar in a tin, that she dare say might have melted away—and it seemed -cruel to waste it considering the price of sugar. - -Of course I said she was quite welcome. - -And, by the way, was I wanting a jar of lemon curd? Her daughter had -made some that was really lovely, and she would not mind obliging me by -selling me a jar. - -While she was describing the distinctive merits of the lemon curd, and -relating what the lady of the manor had said in praise of the jar she -had purchased, a man-servant arrived from the Manor House with a note -and a basket, which he handed to me (with a very superior air that gave -me to understand he was not in the habit of carrying baskets, and was -only doing so now as a patriotic act in war time) across the kitchen -table that stood in the path and blocked his further progress. While -I read the note, he fixed his eyes upon his boots, and apparently -looked neither to the right hand nor to the left; yet I know that he -catalogued every item of those wretched domestic oddments that were -decorating the lawn and garden path. - -Mrs. Widow, possessed of a natural curiosity that it is hard to -circumvent, was loath to leave without a glimpse of the contents of the -basket. But Virginia got her off by escorting her to the gate, and -telling her that I had not been very well in town. - -“Ah! anybody could see that, miss,” said Mrs. Widow feelingly, glancing -in my direction. “Don’t she just look ’aggard!” And then, seeing a look -of surprise on the face of Virginia—who distinctly resented my being -described as haggard—she added hurriedly, “Leastways, I mean ’andsome -’aggard, of course, miss.” - -The lady of the manor had written to say that a cold was keeping her -indoors for a day or two; but in the meanwhile, as they were busy -curing bacon at the home farm, she had had them cut just a little piece -of griskin, which she was sure I should like, and was having it sent up -at once, etc. - -The superior person left, carrying in one hand an envelope addressed to -his mistress, which contained all the thanks I could muster, and in the -other a note to be left at the village shop, asking Miss Jarvis to send -me up a large block of salt. - - * * * * * - -“What shall you do with all the pork?” Ursula inquired. - -“I haven’t the faintest idea!” I said. “I can’t bestow any of it on the -poor because, no matter which piece I gave away, Mrs. Widow’s married -daughter would be sure it was _her_ gift I had spurned, and would feel -duly slighted.” - -Virginia broke in upon us breathlessly, her arms full of pasteboard, -soup tureen, hearthrug, hassock, and fire-irons, which she had hastily -gathered up from the path. “The Rector’s outside in the lane talking to -some children.” - -“And has _he_ any basket in his hand?” asked Ursula. - -“No, he only appears to be carrying his umbrella.” - -“Thank goodness!” said Ursula fervently, as she put the third flank of -griskin in the coldest larder. - -By this time the next caller was coming up the path, and though I could -invite him to take a seat in one of the armchairs that were now inside, -anything like order had not yet been evolved from the chaos. - -The Rector is loved by rich and poor alike, by reason of his -unselfishness, his absolute sincerity and “other-worldliness.” He is -now well on in years, but neither distance nor weather keeps him from -visiting regularly all in his wide-scattered parish. His calls are -always welcomed, though I admit I should have preferred to see him any -day other than the one in question. - -“I have come with a message from my niece,” he began. “She told me -to say that she is sending up a small trifle—a little housewifely -notion of hers—for your kind acceptance. She thought you might find -it add a little variety to the cottage menu. As a matter of fact, the -rectory pig has gone the way of most pigs! And we said, the moment we -heard you had arrived, that we must get you to sample the home-grown -article, so she is sending you up just a little piece of—— Ah, here it -is, I expect”—as the Rector’s handy man came in at the gate, carrying -the inevitable basket; and though the contents were wrapped up in a -spotless white cloth, there was no need for one to be told what he was -bringing. - -I tried to be as truly grateful as ever I could; I told myself I must -not think about the gift itself, but must keep my mind focused on the -kind thought that had prompted the gift. Nevertheless, the basket -seemed very heavy as I carried it into the larder, and added one more -joint to the goodly collection already assembled. And as I went back -into the living-room, I heard Virginia warbling outdoors: - - “Not more than others I deserve, - But Heaven has given me more.” - -There is something singularly exasperating about other people’s -joyousness, when it is purchased at one’s own expense! - - * * * * * - -We were restoring the last jug to its proper hook on the dresser, when -once more we saw Miss Primkins toiling up the steep garden path. - -She really felt terribly ashamed to be intruding on me again; but she -had just read in the paper that the Prime Minister now said everyone -must save, and no one who was a true patriot would spend more than was -absolutely necessary. Now what was the difference between hoarding and -saving? She did so want to do the right thing; it was so little she -could do to help her country. Yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t -make out whether she ought to save that £12 or spend it. - -Would I mind explaining it to her? She never could understand anything -Prime Ministers, or people like that, said nowadays; so different from -what it was in her young days. When there was only Lord Salisbury and -Mr. Gladstone everything was so sensible and straightforward. Her -father used to say: “Always believe Lord Salisbury; never believe Mr. -Gladstone”—or else it was the other way round, she wasn’t sure which. -Whereas now, what with radicals, and coalitions, and territorials, and -boards of this, that, and the other, her brain almost gave way trying -to find out who anybody was. - -“And when at last I think I’ve got it straightened out, I find there’s -a lot of ‘antis,’ and it’s just the opposite thing they say you ought -or ought not to do; or else you have to begin at the other end and work -backwards. What a lot those Germans have to answer for!” - -I offered my own simple political creed for her guidance: “When the -King or Lord Kitchener says anything, then I know it’s all right. When -they hold their tongues, I know it’s equally all right; and the rest I -don’t worry about!” - -She said I had expressed her own views entirely, only she never thought -to put it so concisely as that. What a wonderful thing it was to have a -brain like mine that grasped things so clearly! She should just go on -being economical as her mother had always taught her to be, until the -King—or, possibly, Queen Mary—said anything definite on the subject, -then people would know where they were. - -“At least, you aren’t the only one bothered about the question of -hoarding,” I said. “I’m also wrestling with the problem. Look here,” -and I led the way to the larder and gave details. “I’ve been wondering -whether, as I relieved you of your hoard, you could assist me out with -mine! Will you accept a piece of griskin, merely to get it off my -premises?” - -Miss Primkins was almost tearful in her thanks. “It’s so strange you -should have thought to offer this,” she said in a sort of broken -hesitation, “because I’m going to Cardiff by the first train to-morrow -to see my sisters. I always like to take them a little something, you -understand. They have big families, and business is bad now; and, of -course, coming from the country—— Only eggs are so dear, and fowls such -a price; and just now—well, you know—dividends aren’t coming in as they -did, and I’ve my three houses standing empty, and such a big bill for -repairs, and—— Only, of course,” rallying herself, “I’m heaps better -off than those poor Belgians; but oh, I can’t tell you how grateful I -am to you for your kindness. You see, I was keeping that £12 by me in -case I should be ill—we never know, do we?—or to meet the rent if I -should run short. Please pardon my speaking of these things, only—you -understand,” and the poor lady blushed to think she should have let -herself refer to finances. - -Yes, I understood. Rumour had already reached me that Miss Primkins had -only used three hundredweight of coal through the whole of the winter -(of course, in our village everybody knows how much everybody else -buys of everything), and she had been seen out in the woods gathering -sticks. She had cut her milk down to a half-pint a day, and that was -consumed by Rehoboam (the cat). She seldom had any meat, and practised -all sorts of pitiful little economies, living chiefly on the vegetables -she had grown in her garden. But she never let anything interfere with -a coin going into the Sunday offertory, or her knitting for the troops; -and she gave a donation to the Red Cross Fund as gladly as anyone. - -It makes one’s heart ache to think how many poor elderly ladies there -are up and down the land, who have lost what at best was but a very -modest meed of comfort, in the present financial upheaval; and these -have additional anxiety in the fact that it would be torture to them -were their poverty paraded before the world. They have not the physical -strength to engage in national work, though their spirits are valiant -enough for any self-sacrifice. So, since it is all they can do for -their country, they shoulder their burdens uncomplainingly, keeping a -frail body alive on sugarless tea and sparsely-buttered bread, while -they knit long, long thoughts into socks and comforters, if by any -means they can raise the money to purchase the wool. - -No Fund is large enough to embrace such as these; no charity could ever -meet their case. All the same they are part of the bulwark strength of -England, these dear, faithful women, who in old age and feeble health -hide their own privations beneath a brave exterior, willing to make any -personal sacrifice rather than Might should triumph over Right. - - * * * * * - -“Miss Primkins!” I exclaimed, when I heard of the Cardiff visit, -“I believe you’re the good fairy who, I used to think, lived at the -entrance to the waterfall cave under the hill; and I’m certain you’ve -been sent up here for the explicit purpose of relieving me of that -meat! If you’re going to Cardiff, it’s your clear duty to take a -griskin to each of your sisters—hearty-eating boys, did you say? Good! -That will rid me of two! Well, you’ll find them at the station in the -morning waiting for the 9 o’clock train—we’ll do them up to look like -hothouse grapes and pineapples.” - -Of course she protested, but I remained firm; as I told her, I wasn’t -going to let slip such a heaven-sent opportunity to get those joints -transported for life. - -When Virginia and Ursula put them in the railway carriage next morning, -she asked if they would mind, as they passed her house on their way -home, seeing if they could find Rehoboam; he hadn’t come back for his -milk, and she couldn’t wait for him. They would find the door-key under -the fourth flower-pot on the right hand window-sill; and if he was -waiting on the step (his usual custom about half-past nine) would they -be so kind as to give him the milk that was in the larder? Then she -need not worry any more about him. - - * * * * * - -They found Rehoboam as per schedule, and gave him the milk. They -couldn’t help seeing that there was only a small piece of cold suet -pudding, a little blackberry jam, and one thin slice of bacon in the -larder. - -When they got back we set to work on a cooking crusade; and isn’t there -a delightful sense of freedom when you can do what you like in your own -kitchen, with no Abigail oversighting your operations! We cooked some -griskin, and made pastry and cakes, and put some eggs into pickle. (Do -you know these? hard-boiled eggs shelled when cold and put into pickle -vinegar; ready in a couple of days.) - -Then when it got to within an hour of train time, the girls went down -and lit Miss Primkins’ fire, taking down a scuttle of coals for the -purpose; her outside coal-cellar being locked fortunately gave us an -excuse for not using up hers. They also took some milk, three of my -finest potatoes, and other things. - -By the time the train arrived, and Miss Primkins was on a tired -homeward walk, the kettle was singing on the hob; three floury -potatoes—strained, but keeping hot in the saucepan—stood beside the -kettle; the supper table was laid with cold griskin, a jam tart, and a -small spice cake, while in the larder stood two sausage-rolls, a seed -cake, and a jar containing three eggs in course of pickling. - -Of course the girls couldn’t resist ticketing the things “Virginia -made this, so be cautious! (Signed) Ursula,” and similar nonsense, -hoping thereby to divert Miss Primkins from the bald truth, viz., that -we were trying to smuggle something into a bare cupboard! - -Then, after rounding up Rehoboam, and placing him on the hearthrug -to give an air of social welcome, they locked the door, putting the -key under the fourth flower-pot, and skipped up the hill again by the -woodland path, as Miss Primkins turned into her little garden gate. - - - - -XIII - -When the Surgeon Crossed the Hills - - -OF course, it seemed ridiculous for a sane and moderately well -brought-up individual to dress herself to go out—and in a new hat, -too—and, then, simply because her dog happened to tumble out of the -window, to collapse on the hearthrug like an anæmic concertina, while -she draped her head gracefully over the fender, with the plumes of the -said new hat resting resignedly on the fire-irons. - -It didn’t seem quite reasonable to want to go to sleep like that. -Still, as I showed signs of doing it once more, after they had propped -me upright again, they decided to put me to bed. - -When I woke up, they told me I was ill. That seemed ridiculous, too, -and I said so; and added that now I had had a little rest I intended -to get up and go to town—important appointment; couldn’t possibly be -spared, etc. - -And they all said lots of things—you know the kind of arguments your -friends always bring to bear on you if you chance to be just a little -out of sorts. I tried to make them understand that I was indispensable -to the well-being of London; that, though _they_ might be in the habit -of shirking work under the slightest pretext of a headache, _I_ wasn’t -that sort of a person. I owed it to my conscience, as well as to the -world at large, to be at work in my office within half an hour, penning -words of wisdom that should keep the universe on its proper balance. - -Ursula merely asked if I liked the milk with the beaten egg _quite_ -cold or a trifle warm? - -In the end I had to give in. They insisted I was ill; and I admit I was -feeling unusually tired. - -But as the weeks went by I did not get as strong as I had hoped to do. -I seldom got farther than an easy-chair, and not always as far as that. -So at last I determined to try the cure that hitherto had never failed -me. Trunks were packed, and they got me down by easy stages to the -cottage among the hills. I felt that if only I could see the flowers -and breathe the air that blows way over from where the lighthouse -blinks in the channel, I should certainly pick up both my strength and -my courage. - - * * * * * - -When I reached the cottage the autumn sun was setting on hills that -were a gorgeous blaze of brilliant crimson, yellow, bright rust, -gold, pale lemon, chestnut brown, with the dark green of yew-trees -at intervals. I have never seen colours like our autumn hillsides -anywhere in the world, though, of course, they can be matched in places -where the woods are made up of a wide variety of different trees. After -the murk of London in October the glory of it all fairly dazzled me. - -The garden was lovely too, but in a wistful sort of way. Snapdragons -and zinnias and eschscholtzias were blooming lustily; there were still -blossoms on the monthly rose bushes; nasturtiums flaunted in odd -corners, and made splashes of brightness; the purple clematis over -the porch was in full flower; fuchsias, geraniums, belated larkspurs, -hollyhocks, and sweet alyssum talked of summer not yet over; while -peeping out from crevices among the stones and nestling at the roots of -trees were primroses already in flower; violets were blooming in the -big bed by the kitchen door, and the yellow jasmine was smothered in -bloom—such a curious mixture of summer and spring overlapping, with no -hint of autumn and winter in between. - -The fruit had not all been gathered in, and the trees in the orchard -were bowed down with masses of crimson and pale green and golden -yellow and russet brown, with spots of colour dotted about among the -lush grass. It seemed impossible that one could remain ill in such an -earthly paradise! - -I was too tired with the journey to go round the garden that day; I -put it off till to-morrow. Next day I was not equal to going out at -all, and the third day I did not get up. - -The colours gradually faded from the hillsides; the woods grew a -purply-brown; the white mists were later and later in rising from the -river in the valley below me. All day long I lay in bed watching the -sun move from east to west across the mountains, while near at hand -tomtits and finches, jays and magpies, cheeky robins and green and -crimson woodpeckers flitted about in the bare trees just outside my -windows. - -One little wren used regularly to pay me a morning call on the -window-ledge; often she flew right into the room. I liked to think she -came to ask how I was. Once I opened my eyes to find a robin perched on -the rail at the bottom of the bed, eyeing me inquiringly. The little -wild things on these hills seem so friendly. - -As soon as twilight fell the owls woke up the adjoining wood, and -called to other owls across the ravine. - -These were the only sounds to break the silence. - - * * * * * - -It is when you are ill, more than at any other time, that you realise -the human difference between town and country. You can live all -your life, and then be ill and die, in London, and the people next -door—even those in the same building—may know nothing about it. - -I knew of a girl living in a block of small flats occupied by women -workers, and trying to make a living by journalism, who lay dead in her -room for a week, and then was only discovered by the caretaker because -her rent was overdue. No one had missed her, though there were women -going up and down stairs and in and out of the rooms, all around her. -The isolation of the solitary woman in a crowded city can be something -awful. - -It isn’t that town dwellers at heart are more selfish than country -folks; it is their mode of life that is to blame. - -London claims so much of one’s time and energy for the doing of “most -important” work, and the pursuit of machine-made pleasure, till next to -nothing is left for the greatest of all work and the greatest of all -pleasure—merely being kind. - - * * * * * - -Once it was known that I wasn’t getting better and the local doctor -had been summoned (he lives in another village nearly four miles off), -kindnesses came from all directions, everybody offering the best -they had. If extra people had been required to take turns sitting up -at night, any number were ready to come on duty. One woman, who is -exceedingly capable, though an amateur masseuse, came to inquire if it -was a case where rubbing would be beneficial. She brought a bottle of -Elliman’s with her, in case she could be of use, and offered to come -daily. - -Did the Buff Orpingtons lay that priceless treasure, an unexpected -mid-winter egg? It was promptly sent up by a small child, with a kind -hope from mother that the lady would be able to take it. - -I believe Sarah Ann Perkins would have slain every duck she possessed -(and have scorned to take payment), if only there had been the -slightest chance of my once more eating that fair slice from the breast! - -A calf’s foot was needed for jelly. The butcher hadn’t one, didn’t -know who had; but one arrived next day, though he had had to scour the -county for it. - -Was anything required hurriedly from the village shop? Everybody -was willing to go and fetch it, or Miss Jarvis would toil up with -it herself, after the shop was closed, rather than I should be kept -waiting, bringing up a bunch of early violets from her garden at the -same time. - -One farmer’s wife trailed up the rough, wet paths, with a little pigeon -all ready for roasting, in the hope that it might tempt me. - -The handy man went out and shot an owl because he was sure I must find -all they hooters a turr’ble noosance. Of course he didn’t know how I -love the owls, nor how companionable it seemed to hear them calling to -one another through the long, long night. But probably the kind thought -behind his gun was of greater worth than the bird he shot. - -Yes, everybody was anxious to do something, only there was so little -they could do—till one day Angelina lost herself! She had followed -Abigail in the afternoon to the village, where a dog suddenly scared -and chased her, and she flew off into the woods. - -Abigail hunted for her till the winter dusk settled in, but no cat -responded to her calls. So she had to content herself with mentioning -the matter at each cottage in the vicinity, everyone willingly -undertaking to keep a look-out for the missing cat. By the next -afternoon every youngster in the village was out scouting for her, and -saucers of milk were placed enticingly outside doors. - -But poor Angy was never seen again. - -I missed her very much. She was only a very ordinary tabby, but she was -a large, comfortable, homely sort of a cat; and she had made it part -of her daily programme to come upstairs and jump softly on my bed with -a pleased little mew, and then settle herself down beside me, where I -could reach out my hand to stroke her, while she purred soothingly the -whole time. The little dog was too boisterously demonstrative, in his -joy at seeing me, to be allowed in the room; but the more sedate and -gentle Angelina helped me to pass many a weary hour. - -When all search for her proved fruitless, the kindly village people -didn’t dismiss the matter as done with. Forthwith there started a -procession from the village to my house, and about every hour someone -arrived with an offering. I could hear their voices at the door below, -through the open bedroom window. - -First it was a labouring man with a big hamper: “My missus is so worrit -about the poor young lady losing her cat, so I’ve brought up our Tom, -if she’d care to accept him. He’s a fust-class ratter—killed a big ’un -in our barn yesterday,” etc. - -Then it was the piping voice of a small girl, accompanied by two -smaller: “Please, we’re so sorry about the lady not having a pussy when -she’s poorly, and we’ve brought her our two little kitties, an’ one has -six toes!” - -Next a bigger girl: “Gran says would miss like one of our kittens? -They’ll be able to leave their mother next week, and I’ll bring the lot -up for her to choose from, if she’d like one.” - -A boy arrived with a basket containing a fine black cat. “Mother’s sent -this for the lady. Just you see how he’ll jump over my hand and stand -on his hind legs!”—(a wild scramble followed). “Here, Peter! here—come -_back_—Pe-ter! Puss, puss, puss! There now, I’ve done it! Mother said -as I wasn’t to open the basket till I was inside the house! I ’spect -he’s back home again by now! But I’ll bring him up again presently. The -lady’ll love to have him, he’s so knowing.” - -Later, I heard a woman’s voice: “Poor _dear_ soul, it _do_ seem hard; -and the on’y cat she’ve got, too! Well, we’ve six to our house, and she -can have all of ourn and welcome.” - -As Virginia said, it was not quite so embarrassing as griskins, -because, at least, each had four legs with which to get itself off home -again. - - * * * * * - -But it is weary work lying still day after day till the weeks actually -lengthen into months. I kept on telling myself I was making headway, -but it was a poor pretence. I gave up thinking about it at last, and -wondered how I could best endure the pain that no one seemed able to -relieve. - -The autumn had now changed to winter, and one morning I woke to see -snow bearing down the fir-trees and lying on the hills. The snow is -very beautiful when one is well and strong, and able to go out in the -crisp cold air and enjoy it; but to me, penned in among the hills, -miles away from town and the advantages of up-to-date civilisation, it -gave a sudden sense of desolation. It shut me off most effectually from -the big world I wanted so badly to see again. As I looked out upon that -snow, it seemed as though I were buried already. - -One desire swamped all others, and that was the longing to get back -to London where friends would be around me, and specialists within -easy reach. And yet that appeared to be an utter impossibility. It has -always been a matter of pride with me that my cottage is situated in -one of the most inaccessible spots in the British Isles; I used to feel -so happy in the thought that it was only with the utmost difficulty -that a vehicle could be got near the garden gate. It gave me such a -sense of seclusion and delightful “far-away-ness” after the crush and -hustle of town life. - -But for once I wished I had been a wee bit more accessible. I realised -that there might be certain advantages in having a good county road -close by whereon a helpless invalid could be driven to the station -without having every bone in her body jolted to pieces! But it was too -late to do anything now. - -Altogether it was two months before I let anyone in town know how ill -I really was; most people thought I was merely taking a long rest. -Naturally it was at once suggested a specialist should be sent for; but -I said no. I was such a weak creature by this time, I felt I couldn’t -bear to hear the worst—I was almost sure there would be a “worst” to -hear—and that a specialist wouldn’t diagnose my illness as merely -overwork. I insisted that I would rather be left to die quietly. I know -it sounds very cowardly, and I _was_ a coward at the time. But I think -many women will understand this condition of mind; we do try so often -to push back, with both our hands, trouble of this sort, when we dimly -see it ahead. - -The hale and hearty person will naturally exclaim: “How perfectly -ridiculous! How much more sensible to have proper advice, and then set -to work to get strong again!” I know! I have myself said this sort of -thing to ill people many a time in the past! But I learnt a lot of -things during that breakdown; among them, that it is very easy to lay -down the law as to what should be done, and to act in a common-sense -manner, when one is well; but it is quite another thing to follow one’s -own good advice, or, in fact, do anything one ought to do, when one is -too weak even to think! - -Yet how often it happens that, in our direst extremity, help comes when -least expected! So soon as it became known in town that I was really -seriously ill, there appeared among my morning letters a note from one -of London’s most famous surgeons saying that he was coming down on a -friendly visit in a couple of days “just to see if I can help you at -all.” - -I read the letter a second time, and then all my fears vanished. -Someone coming “to help” me seemed so different from a formal -consultation. That phrase was better than reams of ordinary sympathy, -or kind inquiries, or professional expressions. And then I felt so glad -that the matter had been taken out of my hands. It seemed as though -a weight was lifted from my brain, and being a feeble as well as a -foolish creature, at first I put my head under the eiderdown and had a -weep—for sheer gratitude; but a few minutes later I rubbed my eyes and -felt I was heaps better already! - - * * * * * - -Yet the way was not entirely clear, even though this busy, over-worked -specialist was offering to spend more than a day in journeying right -across England to the far-off cottage; there was the snow to be -reckoned with, and, when it likes, the snow on our hills can frustrate -anybody’s best-laid plans. The sky was very grey; I did hope no more -would fall, otherwise the roads would probably be impassable. - -Owing to the scarcity of trains in our valley, the local doctor was to -tap the main line some miles away, and meet the great surgeon; and a -rich resident was kindly loaning a cherished new car, as the doctor -did not consider either of his own motors worthy of the occasion. - -But even he was dubious as he looked at the heavy skies. He said he -could manage to get the car through eighteen inches of snow; but if -it were deeper than that——! I remembered that only a couple of years -before I had been snowed up in the cottage with drifts six-foot deep. -The outlook wasn’t exactly encouraging. - -Such heaps of tragedies seemed possible within the next twenty-four -hours. Suppose, for instance, royalty should suddenly develop some -malady necessitating arms or legs being amputated without delay——! -I simply dared not think about such a calamity; and even though the -specialist escaped a royal command, and actually set off to catch the -train that was to bring him to our hill-country, there might be an -accident; London streets are beset with terrors; I never realised till -that moment how many dangers a man must face between Wimpole Street and -Paddington Station! But I tried to have faith that all would be well. - -I heard a soft step in the room—every step that came near me was -softened nowadays. I opened my eyes and saw Abigail beside my bed. - -“Please, m’m, do you happen to know if the specialist-doctor takes -pepper?” she asked in the half-whisper that she had adopted as her -bedroom voice. - -“I haven’t the remotest idea,” I said; “but why do you want to know?” - -“Because we’ve just smashed the glass pepper-box, and we haven’t -another down here. And I can’t exactly put it on the table in a -mustard-pot!” - - * * * * * - -I watched for the snow, the eighteen inches I was dreading; but the -wind changed and it didn’t fall. Instead, next morning found us -enveloped in a solid fog—the only fog we had had this season. Hills -and valleys were blotted out as completely as though they had never -existed. The cottage seemed to stand in mid-air, with nothing but grey -unoccupied space around it. And it was such a raw, penetrating fog. - -I just lay and watched the grey, blind world outside the windows, and -counted the half-hours as the morning wore by. And isn’t it amazing how -long the very minutes can be when one is right-down ill, and waiting -for a doctor? - -In a small isolated community like ours, one excitement is made to do -duty for a long while. The impending visit of the surgeon from London -was soon the topic of general conversation. And little white curtains -were pulled aside from cottage windows as the car, with the doctor and -a stranger, was seen coming down one hill and over the bridge into the -village in the valley, switchbacking again up the opposite hill to -reach the particular crag on which my cottage is perched. - -Owing to previous heavy rains, the lanes were almost impassable in -places; overflowing brooks made rivers and swamps in most unexpected -spots. Thus it was that the car could not come within half-a-mile -of the cottage; it had to be “beached” high and dry in somebody’s -farmyard, and the rest of the journey made on foot. The walk is a -positive fairyland dream in summer; but on the bleak December day the -ferns and flowers were gone, and the withered grass stalks rustled with -a disconsolate wheeze, while the pine-trees creaked and moaned in the -wind. It seemed an unkind, inhospitable sort of a day to bring a busy, -valuable man such a long, cold distance. - -At last I heard brisk footsteps coming down the path to the door, -scrunching the cones that had fallen from the larches. Then a cheerful -voice was speaking, while great-coats were being taken off down below. -I shut my eyes, and felt I need not worry any more. - - * * * * * - -After all, we women are curious creatures! We consult a specialist when -we have some weakness that won’t give way to ordinary treatment, and -then, when, out of his exceptional knowledge and wide experience, he -tells us what will probably cure us, many of us immediately beseech -him to make it something else. - -When the surgeon told me what course it would be necessary to take -if I was to be got on to my feet again, I immediately began to state -a hundred reasons why I wished he would prescribe something entirely -different. He said he was going to have me brought to London at once -and taken to a hospital. I knew that was the very last thing I could -endure. I have always had an absolute terror lest I should ever have to -go into a hospital; and here I was confronted with it face to face. I -said I could _not_ go into one; whatever treatment was necessary must -be done in my own home. I didn’t want to be among strangers and with -nurses whom I had never seen before; I wanted to be nursed by people I -knew. And as for chloroform, well, I would gladly die first! such was -the horror I had of it. And I continued on these lines. - -The surgeon listened very patiently and let me have my say out. (Where -in the world does a man like this get his marvellous stock of patience -from!) He even agreed with most of my arguments. Anæsthetics were -disagreeable; it certainly would be pleasanter to be in my own home; -and it might be nicer if I had only friends around me, etc. - -But, all the same, it was borne in upon me that I might as well try -to get the Sphinx to turn its head and nod over to a pyramid, as to -attempt to make the man who was talking to me budge an eighth of an -inch. And he wound up by saying, “I am afraid, however, that it will -have to be a hospital—I’m so sorry—but I want you to go into a private -ward in Mildmay. You shall have the best man in London to administer -the anæsthetic; and as for nurses—well, if you don’t say they are some -of the finest women you have ever met, I shall be much surprised.” - -By this time I had my head under the eiderdown again, and was howling -away (quietly). I was so truly sorry for myself! - -The great man waited for a minute, and then, as the sniffles didn’t -stop, he said— - -“Now just listen to me. You are in the habit of writing heaps of good -advice to people when they are in trouble—telling them to have faith -when adversity comes, and to bear their burdens bravely. Don’t you -think you are a most inconsistent person? Here you are, confronted with -something that is going to be a trifle trying, and you immediately turn -your face to the wall, and say you prefer to die, without so much as -giving a solitary kick! Why, Hezekiah isn’t in it, beside you! What is -your faith worth at this rate!” - -Then for a good half-hour he sat and talked, reminding me of our duty -as professing Christians; of the wrong we do when we try to shuffle -away from our work; of God’s care for His children individually, and of -our foolishness in doubting Him in times of trouble. - -I had got to a very low ebb spiritually as well as physically. Being -cut off from the world and so much alone, with only a pain to think -about, my outlook on life had become altogether distorted. My soul was -certainly in need of a bracing up just then—and it got it. - -One thing impressed me very much at this time, viz., the marvellous -power that lies in the hands of those who can bring healing to the soul -as well as healing to the body. The most devoted of God’s ministers -have seldom such power as this. They can bring messages of hope and -consolation, but they do not know how much a sick person is able, -physically, to stand in the way of a strong spiritual tonic, and they -seldom dare administer one, even though they may think it necessary. - -But the doctor knows how much the patient is equal to. And the man who -has consecrated to God’s service a life that is spent in mending the -poor broken bodies of humanity is surely doing work that angels might -envy; undoubtedly God gives him power and opportunity that falls to the -lot of few other men. - - * * * * * - -The December afternoon closed in early, and the surgeon had once more -to take a long, dreary journey to get back to the urgent work waiting -for him in town. But he left behind him a far more sane and sensible -person than he had found on his arrival. - -When he had gone, after having made the most comprehensive and detailed -plans for my removal, Abigail tiptoed into my room, her face all aglow -with excitement. - -“I thought you’d like to know I heard the specialist-doctor say, when -I was bringing in the sweets at lunch, that he didn’t know when he had -eaten roast chicken he had enjoyed so much. I shall rub it into cook -when we go home. And I’d better let Sarah Ann Perkins know, as we got -it from her.” - -“Take whatever is left, and keep it for a souvenir,” I said. “And if -you like to have the carcase framed, I’ll pay for it.” - -“You look better already,” she replied. - -Thus the great man scattered cheeriness in various directions; and -Sarah Ann, a year later, pridefully showed me the chicken’s wings a-top -her best Sunday bonnet. - - * * * * * - -In just as much time as it took my London doctor to come west to assume -charge of me, they got me under way. - -“But how am I ever going to reach the main road!” I wailed. - -“Perfectly easy,” said Ursula. “You are going to be carried, and every -masculine in the place is willing to lend a hand.” - -And so they did. One young man made himself entirely responsible for -my luggage, going off with it by train, that there should be no chance -of any delay. A stalwart fisherman and a sturdy young farmer carried -me, in a chair, straight up hill for half a mile to where a motor was -waiting on the county road. - -Everybody was so gentle and quiet, and yet very businesslike. They -stood silently, with their hats off, while I was put into the car. I -looked round on the hills, convinced that I was looking at them for the -last time, and felt exactly as though I were present at my own funeral! - -Even the people in the village kept sympathetically in the background, -with the same sort of respect one observes when a funeral procession -passes; though at the last house in the village one dear kindly soul -pulled her little white curtains aside, waving her hand and smiling -encouragingly to me as we went by. - - - - -XIV - -In Mildmay Hospital—An Interlude - - -I DON’T think there is anything worse than the sense of utter -desolation that envelops you when the hospital door finally closes on -everybody you know, and you are alone with total strangers and unknown -terrors ahead. The dreariest moment of my whole life was when I found -myself alone in a private ward at Mildmay, with no one whom I knew -within call. - -Yet was it mere chance, I wonder, that the nurses at their prayers that -day sang Matheson’s beautiful hymn—“O Love, that wilt not let me go”? - -It came to me along the corridor, as I lay staring at the ceiling. I -tried, in my heart, to sing it with them; but I gave it up when they -got to the verse— - - “O Joy, that seekest me through pain, - I cannot close my heart to Thee; - I trace the rainbow through the rain, - And feel the promise is not vain, - That morn shall tearless be.” - -I couldn’t see the rainbow just then. - -Nevertheless, I got to love that room as one of the happiest spots on -earth, for the sake of the people whom I found there; and during the -ten weeks I remained in it, I proved beyond all chance of further doubt -that when God seems to be taking from us, He is in reality giving us -something better than all we could ever ask or think. At the moment of -the taking, perhaps, our eyes are too dimmed to see this, but in the -fulfilment of time, when He wipes away our tears, may it not be that, -in addition to banishing our sorrows, He will clear our vision, that we -may see how marvellously He made all things work together for good? - - * * * * * - -Next day I remarked, irritably, that I didn’t like the green walls, and -I thought the green bedspread positively bilious. - -The matron, looking at me with a twinkle in her eyes, said, “Dear lady, -you shall have another bedspread this instant; and as soon as you are -well enough to be moved, we will re-paint the walls whatever colour -meets with your approval;—we can’t do it while you are in bed, can we? -Meanwhile, I shall call you ‘Delicate Fuss’!” - -(And “Delicate Fuss” I have remained ever since.) - -But there was such an amount of misery bottled up inside me, some of it -was obliged to spill over, and I once more reiterated my desire to die. - -“That’s all right,” said the matron cheerfully; “but how about your -tombstone? You would like a really artistic one, wouldn’t you? And -being literary, surely you would wish to edit what is to go on it. Now -let us see what we can scheme out.” - -So we all settled to a discussion of shapes and styles and suitable -words. The nurses warmed to the work, the ward sister came in to give -her views, and for the first time for weeks I found myself smiling. -Finally, it was unanimously decided that the most appropriate and -truthful description would be these simple words— - - “SHE WAS PLAIN BUT OCCASIONALLY PLEASANT.” - -But the time came when I was beyond even discussing tombstones; when I -could not bear a sound in the room and even quiet footsteps jarred me. -Then it was that I found out more especially what the spirit of Mildmay -stands for. It was no mere perfunctory service that was rendered the -invalid. Doctors, matron, nurses said nothing of the extra hours of -work they put in on my account; of the watching and the tending when -they were really supposed to be off duty. It seemed wonderful that I, -who had looked forward to the inevitable with a terrible dread of being -lonely and among strangers, should actually find myself, when the time -came, surrounded by friendly faces, and cared for by people who had -grown very dear to me. - -And fancy a hospital where they went to the trouble of bandaging up the -door-handles to prevent noisy bangs; where they laid down matting to -deaden the sounds in the corridor; where they fixed peremptory notices -to the doors, enjoining all and sundry to close them quietly; where -even the ward-maid constituted herself dragoness-in-chief, for the time -being, watching and waiting, and then pouncing on any unthinking person -who might let a latch slip through her fingers, or a house-porter who -might clatter a coal-scuttle. - -Yet this—and a great deal more—is what they did at Mildmay, just -because one patient was going through a bad time. - - * * * * * - -Thanks to all the care I received, I was at last able to leave the -hospital. Of course I was glad to go out into the big world again—who -wouldn’t be, after lying all that time with no other “view” visible -from where I lay but three chimney-pots? I was glad to think I was -going to be able to walk again, and take up my work once more. But -I felt genuine regret at having to say good-bye to the people I had -really grown to love during my stay with them. - -I shall never forget the morning that I was taken away by a couple -of nurses to the seaside. The others came, in ones and twos, to say -good-bye. And in the midst of it, the great surgeon walked in—just to -see what the patient was like before she started. - -“Now confess,” he said, “a hospital isn’t such a bad place after all, -is it?” - -I agreed with him; but I couldn’t put into words what a wonderfully -good place I had found it. - -I could only think what a contrast was presented between the -poor, forlorn thing who arrived those months before, and the -still-very-wobbly, but cheerfully-smiling, person who was now driving -away, while the nurses leaned out of the upper windows and showered -rice all over the vehicle. - - - - -XV - -The Return to the Flower-Patch - - -AND because it is the correct thing to introduce a wedding into the -last chapter, I had better mention the one I know most about. - -I always did say that, whenever I married, my wedding should be -characterised by everything appertaining to common sense; while all the -feebleness and foolishness and weakmindedness I had noticed at other -people’s weddings would be entirely lacking. I have often remarked -how strange it is that otherwise sensible people seem to lose all -idea of proportion when it comes to arranging a wedding; how they let -themselves be obsessed with clothes and furniture and wedding presents -that they don’t require; or if they do require them, they might have -been dealt with on orderly systematic lines. - -“Why need there be a chaos of garments in the spare room and every -wardrobe and chest of drawers in the house just because one person is -going to be married?” I have said many a time. Well, I’m not going to -say it again. In fact, the older I get the more I find life resolves -itself into one continual discovery that I needn’t have said half the -things that I did say in my first youth. - -But with regard to the wedding, I think I started all right; it was as -matters proceeded that I was overtaken by the inevitable. I really was -too busy with arrears of work that accumulated during my long illness -to see to the trousseau details _in extenso_, so I asked an intimate -friend if she would take this in hand for me—which she kindly agreed -to do. She had had lots of experience, and her taste was exquisite; so -I knew matters were safe with her. She asked me what frocks I already -had. I replied, “Not a rag fit to wear!” - -“Then I’ll make a good selection, and have them sent home for you to -choose from,” she replied, her face suffused with that joy-radiance -that invariably overtakes a woman who starts out shopping with a blank -cheque in her handbag. - -She certainly did make a good selection; I almost wished it hadn’t been -quite so good, then at least I should have known what to send back. But -as it was, every fresh box I opened, I exclaimed, “Isn’t that lovely! -I _must_ have _that_!” till presently the room was a billowy sea of -tissue paper and beautiful garments that looked as though hands had -never touched them. I thought I was quite hardened and proof against -lures of this kind; but the snare of it simply enmeshes you before you -know where you are. As my bedroom was soon full to overflowing, I said -the rest of the things had better go into a spare room. Very soon the -spare rooms were full too. And so we went on like that! - -Why didn’t I put the things away in drawers and wardrobes? Simply -because every such receptacle I possessed was full to distraction -before the trousseau things started to arrive! Did you ever know a -woman who possessed a drawer or a wardrobe peg that wasn’t already over -full, and she pining for more space? So for weeks we had to hop over -piles of cardboard boxes no matter what room we entered, and scrabble -up more bales of tissue paper and things to make room on the sofa for -the friend who called to bring her good wishes in person. - -Still, I have always thought that a strong argument in favour of a -woman getting married is the fact that she, presumably, comes in for -additional drawers and wardrobes. Hence I looked forward to getting -into my new home with considerable satisfaction in view of the purchase -of extra furniture. - -“Yes, I know it’s a bit crowded just now,” I agreed, when Virginia -suggested I should set up a shop with “Modes et Robes” over the door, -because she had estimated that I shouldn’t need to buy any tissue paper -for eleven years and five months. “But I shall have _heaps_ of spare -room when I get into the new house; I really shan’t know what to do -with so many chests of drawers!” - -But alas! in spite of the additional furniture, I am still squeezing -things into drawers that would be so much more useful if made of -elastic india-rubber instead of wood. And I am still flattening -garments into wardrobes that are so bulgingly full that I wonder -sometimes whether the looking-glass will stand the inside pressure. And -still I don’t seem to have a rag fit to wear. - -But the moving process was even worse than the trousseau. The very -thought of it was turning my brain to stone. - -When I mentioned my quakings about the moving to the Head of Affairs, -he said airily, “Don’t you give a solitary thought to _that_. Just go -away for a couple of days’ holiday, and when you come back you will -find everything as right as can be in the new house. You don’t need to -touch a thing or pack an atom. The men do _everything_. Now, why bother -your head with unnecessary worrying?” etc. - -I seemed to think I had heard the same remark made in the dim past when -we removed from one house to another in my early days. I also remember -that the brother of Virginia and Ursula said the very same thing to -them when they moved, and they, acting on masculine advice, had the -greatest difficulty, ultimately, in ever finding any solitary thing -they possessed (including themselves) among the ruins. So I decided to -postpone the couple of days’ holiday and face the worst. - -There is no need to go into details about that move. Those who have -been through it know exactly how many months it takes to find such -things as the corkscrew, the buttonhook, the oil-can belonging to the -sewing-machine, the one hammer that has its head fixed on firmly. - -They know the joy with which you fall on the missing sofa cushions -when they are eventually discovered done up with spare bedding in the -attic—that everyone has been too tired to undo; and the affectionate -greetings bestowed on the hall clothes-brush when it is at length -found—in company with the dog’s whip—in a drawer one has forgotten in -a small table. Of course, it’s very satisfactory when the perspiring -gentleman who has packed—and then unpacked again—all the china comes -to announce, “Not a single piece is cracked or chipped, madam;” but -when you survey the piles of crockery and glass on the kitchen dresser -and table and window-ledge and mantelpiece, that haven’t yet found an -abiding-place, and see the pantries full to overflowing, a lurking -thought comes that perhaps it might have been an advantage if he _had_ -smashed a few dozens of the multitudinous array of cups and saucers -and plates and dishes that seem woefully superfluous at the moment! - -As there seemed a good bit still to do, I said I would dispense with -the conventional “tour,” proper to the occasion, and spend the time -trying to dispose of the twenty-seven British workmen, supposed to be -house-decorating, who were cheerfully in possession (and apparently -regarding their posts as life appointments) when our goods arrived at -the door, despite our having let them live in the house rent free for -two months previously. - -It was a little difficult to follow their twenty-seven lines of -argument as to why they should remain with us permanently, with Abigail -continually at my elbow presenting a tradesman’s card and explaining— - -“Please, ma’am, this man says he served the people who were here -before; but I’ve told him he’s the ninth fishmonger who has said that -to-day.” - -Or else it would be, “There’s a man at the door says he served the last -people with groceries. Can I tell him to run back and get some soap? I -can’t find where the men put our packets, and it will be quicker than -sending to the Stores. I suppose you don’t happen to have seen it, m’m? -Cook and I have looked everywhere. But we’ve found the anchovy sauce, -and the carpet beater. Where _do_ you think they had packed them——” and -so on. - -But I determined to do my wifely duty in making a happy home for the -man who had had the courage to marry me. - -I was politely attentive when interviewed by a near-by magnate who was -anxious to propose the Head of Affairs for the Conservative Club. I -accepted particulars supplied me by the secretary of the Golf Club, who -felt we were the very people the club needed. I tried to understand -when the gardener explained the peculiarities of the greenhouse heating -apparatus, and the danger that would threaten if anyone but himself -entered the greenhouse. - -I endured the postman knocking at the door a dozen times a day to -inquire if we lived there, only to point out to us that we didn’t when -we had assured him that we did. I informed the sweep that everything -was quite satisfactory thank you, and I should hope to have the -pleasure of meeting him again. - -I accepted the coal man’s many reasons for not having delivered the -coal sooner; and I thanked cook for the information that the policeman -said he or his mate would always be on point duty at the corner -whenever we wanted him. - -I filed half a bushel of tradesmen’s price lists and laundry data. - -I put the whole household on a milk-pudding diet, rather than waste the -numerous samples of milk left, by rival and mutually abusive dairymen, -in a row of cans at the side door. - -And when a sumptuously apparelled resident called to say that the -previous occupant had always contributed liberally to the local -working men’s brass band, I tried to look gratified to hear of such -generosity—though I had the presence of mind to say I should not be at -home on Saturday evening when they proposed to serenade me in the front -garden. - -Yes, it was a pleasant and peaceful couple of days, and I dare say I -should have been all the better for the complete rest, had not the -telephone men and the gas stove men called simultaneously with the -electrical engineers (who had been summoned to see why the electric -light sulked), and, with a unanimity of purpose that was truly -beautiful in a world so full of variance, they all set to work to take -up floor-boards, in rooms and halls where the carpets and lino had been -laid—the twenty-seven standing around and assisting with reminiscence -and anecdote. - -Then it was that the Head of Affairs put down a firm foot and insisted -on the Flower-Patch. - -At first Abigail was reluctant to leave such bright scenes in the -kitchen as she hadn’t known for several years; but, remembering that -a halo of distinction surrounds the bearer of exclusive information, -no matter how unimportant, she set off cheerfully next morning, and we -followed a day later. - -She prided herself on the tactful way she broke her news to the village. - -“Hasn’t Miss Klickmann come down ’long with ’ee?” inquired Mrs. Widow -and the handy man in unison. - -“You’ll never see Miss Klickmann again,” Abigail replied in funereal -tones. - -“Oh! You don’t tell me so! Poor _dear_ thing! though I knowed she -wasn’t long for this world,” and kind-hearted Mrs. Widow started to mop -her eyes with her apron. “Was it very suddint at the last?” - -“Very!” said the handmaiden. “Couldn’t make up her mind till the very -day before the wedding.” - -When they had grasped the true state of affairs, and imbibed enough -particulars to have filled three newspaper columns, Mrs. Widow hurried -off home, and then on to the village, likewise conscious of the halo of -distinction. But the handy man paused— - -“I wish I’d er knowed a bit sooner,” he said, “then I’d er made an arch -with ‘Welcome’ on it as large as you please. Yes, I’d er like to have -had an arch. But thur,”—after a moment’s thought—“perhaps I’d better do -a bit o’ weedin’ and cut the grass.” - -Thus it happened that I was once again going along the road, over which -they had carried me only seven months before. It was cold and cheerless -then; now it was all flowers and sunshine. - -The kindly, motherly soul who lives in the end house was at her gate -now, watching for our coming. - -“Well there! Well there!” as the wagonette stopped for me to speak to -her. “I thought I should never see you again”—and she grasped my hand -in her own, having first polished it on her apron, which is always -fresh and spotless. “And now here you are. My dear, I’m _that_ glad to -see you back, and I do hope you’ll be happy.” - -The stalwart fisherman, standing on the river bank, raised his cap—I -hadn’t forgotten the good work he had done for me. Miss Jarvis at the -village shop came to the door and waved her hand—I remembered the box -of violets and moss and little ferns she had posted to the hospital. - -In the cottage itself kind hands had been hard at work; it was simply -a bower of wild flowers. The walls inside were nearly smothered with -trophies of moon daisies, grasses and ferns, and the same scheme of -flowers was carried all up the stairs. On the window ledge on the -landing were bowls of Sweet Betsy and cow parsley—and such a pretty -mixture the crimson and the white flowers made. Upstairs the rooms -were gay with bowls of forget-me-nots and buttercups. Downstairs -it was wild roses and honeysuckle, with mugs of red clover on the -mantelpieces. Being summer, the fire-grates were at liberty, and these -were filled with branches of bracken, ivy, silvery honesty seeds, and -foxglove. Everything had such a delightfully “misty” effect, by reason -of the seeding grasses that had been added lavishly to the flowers. - -The only garden flowers in the house were some roses, in the centre -of the dinner-table, sent by Miss Jarvis (with some pale green young -lettuces) from her garden. - -Outside the swallows were twittering, and, like all the other birds, -were fussing about their small families. The distant hills were glowing -crimson by the acre where the timber had been cut, I knew it was -myriads and myriads of foxgloves. Near at hand the Flower-Patch was -a mass of nodding blossoms, coupled, with a choice variety of weeds. -I wondered where I had better begin, and how I should cope with the -bindweed, flaunting itself everywhere that it had no business to be. -Had I better start the handy man on it at once, or would it be better -to set him to cut the hedges? - -But even as I was planning out a good week’s work for him, I saw him -coming up the path, a picturesque figure in a blue jersey, a large, -shady, rush hat, and carrying, as signs of office, a pitch-fork, a -scythe, and a rake; and I heard his voice in the garden speaking to the -Head of Affairs: “Good-day to ’ee, sir. I’m main glad to see ’ee, for I -calkerlate as how in future I takes my orders from the master.” - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY - WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, - STAMFORD STREET, LONDON, S.E. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Varied hyphenation was retained as -printed. - -Page 32, “it” changed to “in” and word “on” added to text (put in; she -merely told him to pack them up very securely, as she was going on a -long railway) - -Page 35, “georgeous” changed to “gorgeous” (with some gorgeous pansies) - -Page 112, “crepe” changed to “crêpe” (trimmed with crêpe) - -Page 173, “welome” changed to “welcome” (bidding them welcome) - -Page 200, “is” changed to “in” (hesitation in saying that) - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flower-Patch Among the Hills, by -Flora Klickmann - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER-PATCH AMONG THE HILLS *** - -***** This file should be named 51228-0.txt or 51228-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/2/51228/ - -Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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