CHAPTER XXI.
GARDENING--DRINKINGS--THE MOORS--WADING--BATRACHOSPERMA--THECHURCH--LITTLE MARGARET.
Both Eleanor and I were visited that night by dreams of terriblecomplications with the authorities at Bush House. It was a curiousrelief to us to wake to clear consciences and the absolute control ofour own conduct for the day.
It took me several minutes fairly to wake up and realize my newposition. The window being in the opposite direction (as regarded mybed) from that of our room at Miss Mulberry's, the light puzzled me, andI lay blinking stupidly at a spray of ivy that had poked itself throughthe window as if for shelter from the sun, which was already blazingoutside. Pincher brought me to my senses by washing my face with histongue; which I took all the kindlier of him that he had been, of allthe dear boys, the most doubtful about the calves of my legs the eveningbefore.
As we dressed, I adopted Eleanor's fashion of doing so on foot, that Imight examine her room. As is the case with the "bowers" of mostEnglish country girls of her class, it was rich in those treasureswhich, like the advertised contents of lost pocket-books, are "of novalue to any one but the owner." Prints of sacred subjects in home-madeframes, knick-knacks of motley variety, daguerreotypes and second-ratephotographs of "the boys"--_i. e._ Clement and Jack--at different ages,and of "the dear boys" also. "All sorts of things!" as I exclaimedadmiringly. But Eleanor threatened at last to fine me if I did not getdressed instead of staring about me, so we went down-stairs, and hadbreakfast with the dogs.
"The boys will be home soon," said Eleanor, as we devoured certainplates of oatmeal porridge, which Keziah had provided, and which Itasted then for the first time. "I must get their gardens tidied upbefore they come. Shall you mind helping me, Margery?"
The idea delighted me, and after breakfast we tied on our hats, rummagedout some small tools from the porch, and made our way to the children'sgardens. They were at some little distance from the big flower-garden,and the path that led to them was heavily shaded by shrubbery on oneside, and on the other by a hedge which, though "quickset" as afoundation, was now a mass of honeysuckle and everlasting peas. Thescent was delicious.
From this we came out on an open space at the top of the kitchen garden,where, under a wall overgrown with ivy, lay the children's gardens.
"What a wilderness!" was Eleanor's first exclamation, in a tone ofdismay, and then she added with increased vehemence, "He's taken awaythe rhubarb-pot. What will Clement say?"
"What is it, dear?" I asked.
"It's the rhubarb-pot," Eleanor repeated. "You know Clement is alwayshaving new fads every holidays, and he can't bear his things beingdisturbed whilst he's at school. But how can I help it if I'm at schooltoo?"
"Of course you can't," said I, gladly seizing upon the only point in herstory that I could understand, to express my sympathy.
"And he got one of the rhubarb-pots last holidays," Eleanor continued."It was rather broken, and Thomas gave in to his having it then, so it'svery mean of him to have moved it now, and I shall tell him so. AndClement painted church windows on it, and stuck it over a plant of ivyat the top of the garden. He thought it would force the ivy, and heexpected it would grow big by the time he came home. He wanted it tohang over the top, and look like a ruin. Oh, he will be so vexed!"
The ivy plant was alive, though the "ruin" had been removed by thesacrilegious hands of Thomas. I suggested that we should build a ruin ofstones, and train the ivy over that, which idea was well received byEleanor; the more so that a broken wall at the top of the croft suppliedmaterials, and Stonehenge suggested itself as an easy, and certainlyrespectable, model.
Meanwhile we decided to "do the weeding first," as being the leastagreeable business, and so set to work; I in a leisurely manner,befitting the heat of the day, and Eleanor with her usual energy. Shetoiled without a pause, and accomplished about treble the result of mylabours. After we had worked for a long time, she sat up, pressing herhand to her forehead.
"My head quite aches, Margery, and I'm so giddy. It's very odd;gardening never made me so before I went away."
"You work so at it," said I, "you may well be tired. What makes you workso at things?"
"I don't know," said Eleanor, laughing. "Cook says I do foy at thingsso. But when one once begins, you know----"
"What's _foy_?" I interrupted. "Cook says you foy--what does she mean?"
"Oh, to foy at anything is to slave--to work hard at it. At least, notmerely hard-working, but to go at it very hotly, almost foolishly; infact, to foy at it, you know. Clement foys at things too. And then hegets tired and cross; and so do I, often. What o'clock is it, Margery?"
I pulled out my souvenir watch and answered, "Just eleven."
"We ought to have some 'drinkings,' we've worked so hard," said Eleanor,laughing again. "Haymakers, and people like that, always have drinkingsat eleven, you know, and dinner at one, and tea at four or five, andsupper at eight. Ah! there goes Thomas. Thomas!"
Thomas came up, and Eleanor (discreetly postponing the subject of therhubarb-pot for the present) sent a pleading message to cook, whichresulted in her sending us two bottles of ginger-beer and several slicesof thick bread-and-butter. The dear boys, who had been very sensiblysnoozing in the shade, divined by some instinct the arrival of ourlunch-basket, and were kind enough to share the bread-and-butter withus.
"Drinkings" over, we set to work again.
I was surprised to observe that there were four box-edged beds, but asEleanor said nothing about it, I made no remark. Perhaps it belonged tosome dead brother or sister.
As the weeds were cleared away, one plant after another becameapparent. I called Eleanor's attention to all that I found, and sheseemed to welcome them as old friends.
"Oh, that's the grey primrose; I'm so glad! And there are Jack'shepaticas; they look like old rubbish. Don't dig deep into Jack'sgarden, please, for he's always getting plants and bulbs given him bypeople in the village, and he sticks everything in, so his garden reallyis crammed full; and you're sure to dig into tulips, or crocuses, orlilies, or something valuable."
"Doesn't Clement get things given him?" said I.
"Oh, he has plenty of plants," said Eleanor, "but then he's alwaysmaking great plans about his garden; and the first step towards hisimprovements is always to clear out all the old things, and make what hecalls 'a clean sweep of the rubbish.'"
By the time that the "twelve o'clock bell" rang from the church-towerbelow, the heat was so great that we gathered up our tools and wenthome.
In the afternoon Eleanor said, "Were you ever on the moors? Did you everwade? Do you care about water-weeds? Did you ever eat bilberries, orcarberries?--but they're not ripe yet. Shall we go and get someBatrachosperma, and paddle a bit, and give the dear boys a bathe?"
"Delightful!" said I; "but do you go out alone?"
"What should we take anybody with us for?" said Eleanor, opening hereyes.
I could not say. But as we dressed I said, "I'm so glad you don't wearveils. Matilda and I used to have to wear veils to take care of ourcomplexion."
Eschewing veils and every unnecessary encumbrance, we set forth,followed by the dogs. I had taken off my crinoline, because Eleanor saidwe might have to climb some walls, and I had borrowed a pair of herboots, because my own were so uncomfortable from being high-heeled andnarrow-soled. They were too thin for stony roads also, and, though theywere prettily ornamented, they pinched my feet.
We went upwards from the Vicarage along hot roads bordered by stonewalls. At last we turned and began to go downwards, and as we stood onthe top of the steep hill we were about to descend, Eleanor, with somepride in her tone, asked me what I thought of the view.
It was very beautiful. The slopes of the purple hills were grand. I saw"moors" now.
"The best part of it is the air, though," she said.
The air was, in fact, wind; but of a dry, soft, exhilarating kind. Itseemed to get into our heads, and we joined hands and ran wildly downthe steep hill together.
/> "What fun!" Eleanor cried, as we paused to gain breath at the bottom."Now you've come there'll be four of us to run downhill. We shall nearlystretch across the road."
At last we came to a stone bridge which spanned the river. It was not avery wide stream, and it was so broken with grey boulders, and clumps ofrushes and overhanging ferns, that one only caught sight of the waterhere and there, in tiny torrents and lakes among the weeds.
My delight was boundless. I can neither forget nor describe those firstexperiences of real country life, when Eleanor and I rambled abouttogether. I think she was at least as happy as I, and from time to timewe both wished with all our hearts that "the other girls" could be theretoo. The least wisely managed of respectable schools has this goodpoint, that it enlarges one's sympathies and friendships!
We wandered some little way up the Ewden, as Eleanor called the river,and then, coming to a clear, running bit of stream, with a big greyboulder on the bank hard by to leave our shoes and stockings on, we tookthese off, and also our hats, and, kilting up our petticoats, plungedbravely into the stream.
"Wet your head!" shouted Eleanor; and following her example, as well asI could for laughing, and for the needful efforts to keep my feet, Idabbled my head liberally with water scooped up in the palms of myhands.
"Oh!" I cried, "how strong the water is, and how deliciously cold it is!And oh, look at the little fishes! They're all round my feet. And oh,Eleanor, call the dogs, they're knocking me down! How hard the stonesare, and oh, how slippery!"
I fell against a convenient boulder, and Eleanor turned back, the dogsraging and splashing around her.
"I hope you're not treading on the Batrachosperma?" she said, anxiously.
"What is it?" I cried.
"It's what I've chiefly come in for," said she. "I want some to lay out.It's a water-weed; a fresh-water alga, you know, like seaweed, only afresh-water plant. I'm looking for the stone it grew near. Oh, that's ityou're on! Climb up on to it out of the way, Margery dear. It's rather arare kind of weed, and I don't want it to be spoiled. Call the dogs,please. Oh, look at all the bits they've broken off!"
Eleanor dodged and darted to catch certain fragments of dark-lookingstuff that were being whirled away. With much difficulty she caught twoor three, and laid one of them in my hand. But I was not prepared forthe fact that it felt like a bit of jelly, and it slipped through myfingers before I had time to examine the beauty of the jointed branchespointed out by Eleanor, and in a moment more it was hopelessly lost. Weput what we had got into some dock-leaves for safety, and having wadedback to our stockings, we put on our hats and walked barefoot for a fewyards through the heather, to dry our feet, after which we resumed ourboots and stockings and set off homewards.
"We'll go by the lower road," said Eleanor, "and look at the church."
For some time after Eleanor had passed in through the rickety gates ofthe south porch, I lingered amongst the gravestones, reading theirquaint inscriptions. Quaint both in matter and in the manner of rhymeand spelling. As I also drew towards the porch, I looked up to see if Icould tell the time by the dial above it. I could not, nor (in spite ofmy brief learning in Dr. Russell's grammar) could I interpret the Latinmotto, "_Fugit Hora. Ora_"--"The hour flies. Pray."
As I came slowly and softly up the aisle, I fancied Eleanor waskneeling, but a strange British shame of prayer made her start to herfeet and kept me from kneeling also; though the peculiar peace anddevout solemnity which seemed to be the very breath of that ancientHouse of God made me long to do something more expressive of my feelingsthan stand and stare.
There was no handsome church at Riflebury; the one the Bullers"attended" when we were at the seaside was new, and not beautiful. Theone Miss Mulberry took us to was older, but uglier. I had never seen oneof these old parish churches. This cathedral among the moors, with itsmassive masonry, its dark oak carving, its fragments of gorgeous glass,its ghostly hatchments and banners, and its aisles paved with thetombstones of the dead, was a new revelation.
I was silent awhile in very awe. I think it was a bird beginning tochirp in the roof which made me dare to speak, and then I whispered,"How quiet it is in here, and how cool!"
I had hardly uttered the words when a flash of lightning made me startand cry out. A heavy peal of thunder followed very quickly.
"Don't be frightened, Margery dear," said Eleanor; "we have very heavystorms here, and we had better go home. But I am so glad you admire ourdear old church. There was one very hot Sunday last summer, when athunderstorm came on during Evening Prayer. I was sitting in the choir,where I could see the storm through the south transept door, and thegreat stones in the transept arches. It was so cool in here, and allalong I kept thinking of 'a refuge from the storm, a shadow in theheat,' and 'a great rock in a weary land.'"
As we sat together at tea that evening, Eleanor went back to the subjectof the church. I made some remark about the gravestones in the aisles,and she said, "Next time we go in, I want to show you one of them in thechancel."
"Who is buried there?" I asked.
"My grandfather, he was vicar, you know, and my aunt, who was sixteen.(My father has got the white gloves and wreath that were hung in thechurch for her. They always used to do that for unmarried girls.) And mysister; my only sister--little Margaret."
I could not say anything to poor Eleanor. I stroked her head softly andkissed it.
"One thing that made me take to you," she went on, "was your name beingMargaret. I used to think she might have been like you. I have so wishedI had a sister. The boys are very dear, you know; but still boys thinkabout themselves, of course, and their own affairs. One has more to runafter them, you know. Not that any boys could be better than ours,but--anyway, Margery darling, I wish you weren't here just on a visit,but were going to stop here always, and be my sister!"
"So do I!" I cried. "Oh! so very much, Eleanor!"