CHAPTER III.
Between Moor End vicarage and the road stretched a long narrow strip ofgarden, at least, a strip of ill-kept grass and some shabby bushes.A wall divided the garden from the road, a wall so low that garden, house,and all, were exposed to the view of every passer-by. The strip of grasswas the children's play place, for the garden behind the house was dividedup into beds of carrots, cabbages, turnips, potatoes and all manner ofother things, so that there was no room left for a good game.
Not only was there no room, but old Job Toms, who came once or twice aweek to 'do' the vegetable garden, threatened such dire punishment toanyone who made a footmark on one of his beloved beds, that the childrenwere almost afraid to step inside the gate.
However, the front garden made up for it, there were no beds there--atleast none to worry about. There had been two down by the gate at onetime, but there was nothing in them now, and the children were allowed todo just as they liked there. They had the added joy too of seeingeveryone who passed along the road and everyone who came to the house.
Deborah and Tom had been playing there when their father called them toknow if they would like to go with him to the station; and their toys werelying about just as they had left them when they flew away to wash theirhands and brush their hair.
Audrey glancing over the wall, eager for a first sight of her home afterall the long time she had been absent from it, saw an old pair of kitchenbellows, numberless scraps of paper, a broken battledore, a shabby strawhat, and three grubby, battered dolls perched up against an old tub, whichhad once contained flowers, but had long since ceased to do so.
The sight would have jarred on most, but to eyes accustomed to theprimness of Granny Carlyle's house it was ugly and unsightly in theextreme. To Audrey, tired, irritable, already depressed, the sight was asjarring as it possibly could be. "Was this really home? Was this thesort of thing she would have to endure for twelve long, weary months?"A great gloom weighed upon her. She walked in without a word, her heartfull to bursting.
The look of the house was not more cheering than the garden. In three ofthe four bedroom windows facing her, the low blinds sagged in the middleand fell away from the sides. In the fourth window alone were thecurtains clean and neat, this was the room which was being got ready forAudrey. Over the top of the low blind Faith's head suddenly appeared,and Faith's face beamed out a welcome.
"There is your sister," said Mr. Carlyle, more cheerfully than he hadspoken since they left the station. "I expect she is putting finishingtouches to your room. Come down," he called up to the open window,but Faith was already coming over the stairs with a rush.
"You have come!" she cried excitedly, hopping over two pairs of shoes anda rattle which strewed the hall floor, "the train must have been verypunctual. I was hurrying to clear another shelf in my cupboard forAudrey."
Audrey's heart sank even lower. Then she was expected to share a roomwith Faith. "Couldn't I--need I disturb--couldn't I have another room,"she stammered. "It--it seems too bad to turn you out."
"Oh, you aren't turning me out," laughed Faith. "We have the old nurseryfor our room, it is so nice and large; there is heaps of room too forJoan's cot to stand beside my bed. I have cleared two shelves in thewardrobe by tipping everything out on to my bed. I must find somewhere toput it all before I go to bed, or I shall have to sleep on the floor--butwe shall both settle down in time. Come and see mother, Audrey, she islonging to see you."
"How is she," asked Audrey, as they mounted the stairs together."Is she really very ill?"
"No--not what you would call very ill. She was last year, and she willnever be really well again unless she rests for a whole year."
"It's an awfully long time, isn't it?" said Audrey dejectedly. "When doesit count from? From when she was so ill, or--or from when father wrotefor me to come home?" She was already calculating in how many weeks timeshe would be able to get away, and back to Farbridge and granny.
Faith looked at her sister, her soft brown eyes full of mild surprise.
"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose Dr. Gray can tell to a few weeks, oreven months. A lot depends on how quiet she keeps. He said that perhapsby next spring or summer she would be quite well again, and able to goabout."
"Oh!" Audrey's face fell, but before she could say anything more,Faith opened a door and in another moment Audrey was in her mother's arms.
"Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so glad to see you. I hardly realised what agreat big daughter I possessed. How you have grown, Audrey, and how niceyou look, darling. You are going to be tall, like your father, and youhave his features." Audrey's face brightened, fond as she was of hermother, it was her father she wished to resemble. Faith had her mother'sshort tip-tilted nose and big brown eyes, and Audrey had many times enviedher the latter, but if she herself had her father's straight nose andaristocratic features, she felt she would not grudge Faith her prettyeyes. Faith was short too--as her mother was--a soft, sweet dumpling of agirl. Audrey admired tall people.
She glanced about her mother's room interestedly and with a happier face.Here, at any rate, all was comfortable and orderly. The litter that layabout was the litter of books and papers, which was what Audrey liked.Perhaps things would not, after all, be as bad as at first they seemed.
"I expect, dear, you would like to take off your hat and coat and havesome tea. You must be tired and hungry." Mrs. Carlyle loosened her armfrom round her daughter, but reluctantly. "Well," she said, looking afterher as she left the room with Faith; "you have your father's features, butyou have my mane, I see. Shocking, isn't it, to have six red-headedpeople in one house!"
"Six red-headed tempers too," laughed Faith, "no five--you haven't atemper, mummy. Come along, Audrey." She hurried along the narrowcorridor and opened a door at the other end, "There--that is our room--won't it be jolly? I am sorry it is so untidy now, but it will be lovelywhen we have settled in, won't it?"
Audrey glanced about her, speechless, "How--how small and--andold-fashioned the room looks," she said at last. "At granny's they are sohigh, and they look so light and bright. Where am I to put all my things?You see I have rather a lot of clothes."
"Have you?" said Faith wistfully, "well it's lucky that I haven't.I will give you another drawer in my chest of drawers. Now I must rundown to baby. Mary is cooking, and there is only Debby to look after her.Will you come down when you are ready? It will soon be tea-time, and Iwant you to see baby. Oh, Audrey, she is such a darling. You'll be sureto love her. Doesn't it seem odd that you have never seen her--your veryown sister!"
"Yes," said Audrey, but without eagerness. "I wish though that she hadbeen a boy. We were too many girls before."
Faith went downstairs with a shadow on her bright spirits. Why was itthat nothing seemed quite right? Perhaps she had expected too much.Somehow she had a feeling that Audrey was not pleased with anything,nor comfortable. She could give her another drawer or two and more roomin the cupboard, but she could not change the long, low rooms to high,light ones, nor her baby sister into a brother.
"And I don't want to!" she cried as she met the young person in questioncrawling along the hall to meet her.
"Fay! Fay! Fay!" cried Joan joyfully, and chuckled with delight at sightof her.
Faith caught her up in her arms and hugged her. "Oh, Joan, you darling--but what about your clean pinny that I had put on on purpose to make youlook nice when your new big sister saw you for the first time?"
But Joan only caught Faith's curls in her two plump little hands, and drewher face down until she could rub her own soft baby face against it.
A few minutes later Audrey came out of her room, she had made herself astidy as she could without hot water to wash with, or a brush or comb.Her own were not unpacked, and Faith's were nowhere to be seen.As she descended the stairs a strong smell of cooking poured up to meether. "Sausages," she thought to herself, "what a funny time of day tohave them." She was so hungry though, she could
forgive the appearance ofsuch a dish at such an hour.
In the dining-room Tom and Debby were trundling a small tin train acrossthe table from side to side, trying to avoid collisions with forks andspoons and cups and saucers, et cetera, by moving such things away.Faith was playing on the hearthrug with Joan. "Look, Audrey," she criedas her eldest sister entered, "this is baby! isn't she a darling!"
Audrey looked down at the sweet little upturned face, at the big, velvety,violet eyes fixed so earnestly on herself. "Oh, you are a darling," shecried impulsively. "Will you come to me, Joan dear?" But Joan was shy atfirst and shrank back against Faith, though her eyes still scannedAudrey's face with interest. A moment later there was a crash against thedoor followed by a rattle of plates and dishes, diverting everyone'sattention. Audrey swung round with a cry of alarm. She was notaccustomed yet to the ways of the household.
"It is only Mary bringing in the dishes and things," remarked Faithplacidly, "she always bumps the door with her tray." Audrey wondered whatgranny would say if any one so treated the doors at 'Parkview.'She wondered too, when she saw her, what granny would think of Mary;round-faced, untidy, good-tempered Mary, with her crumpled apron, torndress and untidy head. Audrey did not know then how patient, willing andhard-working Mary was. She only saw an untidy head with hair and capfalling over one ear, a red face and smutty hands, and wondered how herfather, who followed her into the room could look at her and not send heraway to make herself neat, or give her notice on the spot.
Granny would not allow her to come into the room looking so untidy, andoh! what would Phipps think of her?
She did not know then that poor Mary did more hard work in one day thanprim Phipps did in four; did it willingly too, and for far less reward.
"Tea's ready, miss," Mary announced loudly. "Master Tom, you'll have topick up your toys now; and look at the litter you've made the table in!Miss Faith, shall I hold baby while you have your tea? I'll rompsy withher a bit, and that'll tire her out and make her sleepy."
"Oh, thank you, Mary, she will love that." Faith handed her preciousburthen over to the grimy, willing hands without a vestige of the shudderwhich ran up and down Audrey's spine at the sight of them.
"Oh! oh! sausages for tea! sausages for tea!" Debby and Tom pausing intheir entrancing game realised for the first time the unusual luxuryspread before them. "Sausages _and_ jam too! That's 'cause Audrey hascome. Faith, may we have some too? Are we always going to have sausagesfor tea now? Oh, I am glad Audrey's come home. Don't you love sausages,Audrey?"
Debby looked up at her sister with eager, happy eyes.
"Yes--rather--I mean yes, I do." Audrey was glancing about her for atable-napkin. Mr. Carlyle saw and understood.
"Faith, dear. Audrey would like a table-napkin. Can you get her one?"
"Never mind," said Audrey, "it really doesn't matter." But Faith hadalready flown. When she came back again it was with a troubled face and avery ragged piece of damask in her hand.
"I know we have some better ones somewhere," she said, "but I can't thinkwhere they have got to. I can't find anything but this."
"Oh, don't bother," pleaded Audrey, embarrassed by the trouble she wascausing.
Mr. Carlyle sighed softly, but not so that Faith could hear. "I think weshall have to put you in charge of the linen-cupboard," he said, smilingdown at his elder daughter, and Audrey's face brightened. She lovedgranny's nice neat linen cupboard, with its neat piles of towels andpillow-cases, sheets and tablecloths all in such beautiful order.
She picked up her knife and fork to begin her meal, trying not to see thatthe knife had not been cleaned, but when she felt the handle of her forksticky in her clasp her patience gave out, she could not eat with dirtymessy things, and she would not. With a face like a thunder-cloud shelaid down both again, "I don't think I will have any, thank you," she saidhuskily. "I--I----" She was so thoroughly put out she could scarcelyspeak, for she really was very hungry and she really wanted her tea.
Her father, with a very concerned face, laid down his own knife and forkand looked at her anxiously. "Perhaps it was not a very wise choice tohave made for you after a journey," he said, "would you rather have somecold meat, dear?"
"No, thank you, it is very nice, but--but----"
"You would rather have some bread and butter."
She would not at all prefer bread and butter, at that moment she felt shehated it, she was so hungry and longed for the savoury sausage and potato.It was not the food she objected to but what she had to eat it with.After the fuss, though, about the table-napkin she had not the courage tospeak out. So she sat and ate bread and jam sulkily, and almost chokedover her tea and refused to smile at anyone or at anything that was said.
In her heart she wondered how she could ever endure the hopeless muddle,the dirt and untidiness, for fifty-two long weeks. "Three hundred andsixty-five days of it!" she thought angrily, "and I haven't lived throughone yet! Oh, I must write to granny and beg her to let me come back toher again. They must manage without me here, I simply cannot bear it."
Again a shadow fell on the happiness of all. Mr. Carlyle, looking at hiseldest daughter's downcast face, wondered if he had done right by her; notso much in having her home now, as in ever letting her go away. Was shegoing to be the comfort to her mother, and the help to the younger onesthat he had hoped she would, after her four years of training; or had theyears simply taught her to be selfish, and to love luxury?
Faith, too, felt unusually depressed. She was accustomed to feeling tiredin body, but to-night she felt tired in spirit also. Debby and Tom,instead of rejoicing that they had a big sister to make home happier,felt as though they had a stranger amongst them, who disapproved ofeverything.
In her heart of hearts Audrey knew it too. She felt that she was beingdisagreeable, that so far she had given no one cause to be glad that shehad come home; and, once her first anger had subsided, the feeling addedgreatly to her sadness. She longed to be able to get away by herself fora while; but in that busy house she knew there was but little chance ofsolitude.
"I must have a room to myself, I must! I must!" she thought desperately,"if it is only an attic. Somewhere where I can put my books and desk."Suddenly she remembered that the house had attics, some of which were notused--at least, two were unused when she lived at home. Her heart gave agreat leap of excitement. If one were still empty, could not she have it?She felt she could put up with everything else, if she might but have oneplace of her very own.
She longed to ask about it at once, and set her mind at rest, but secondthoughts showed her that it would be too selfish, too ungracious to beinquiring about a room for herself on the very first evening of herhome-coming, especially after the nursery--an extra large room--had beengiven up to them that they might be happy and comfortable.
She would wait a day or two, she decided, and then make the suggestion toFaith. Faith would agree, she was sure, if she thought it would givepleasure. She was always so easy-going and good-tempered; so ready tofall in with any plan for making others happy.
Audrey's spirits brightened, and the brightness showed in her face.Her father, watching her anxiously, saw that the cloud had lifted, andthought that perhaps after all it might only have come fromover-tiredness, and a very natural sorrow at leaving her grandmother andher home of four years.
"I have taken your boxes upstairs," he said, laying his hand caressinglyon her shoulder, "you will be able to unpack after tea if you like."
Audrey looked up at him with the brightest look he had yet seen on herface.
"Oh, thank you, father, so much, I will go up and unpack at once, if Imay, there are presents in my big box for everyone."
Anxious Audrey Page 3