Anxious Audrey

  CHAPTER VIII.

  The next two or three days simply raced by, in what, to Audrey, seemed ahopeless struggle against all odds. It certainly was a struggle, but notquite a hopeless one, for by the time Thursday dawned bright andbeautiful, a day to cheer even the most uncheerful, many small changes hadbeen wrought in the Vicarage and in the garden. And Audrey had broughtthem about. Not by herself, certainly, but by the simple process ofworrying others until they did what she wanted done.

  It is only fair, though, to admit that hers had been the ruling spirit.If it had not been for her, none of the improvements would have been made.

  Mary had cleaned all the windows, Faith had, somehow, managed to get rods,and had straightened all the blinds. By offering a ha'penny to the onewho swept and raked the garden paths most thoroughly, the garden path wasswept and raked until the weeds and the soiled gravel had been turned overand buried out of sight, and with no worse damage than a bump on Tom'sforehead, where the handle of the rake had struck him, and some tears onDebby's part because she had lost the prize.

  Job Toms too had even been coaxed into bringing a scythe and cutting thegrass.

  "It would look quite nice if Faith had not made that silly bed all alongthat side," Audrey admitted.

  This was Faith's reward for getting up early, and slaving through thewhole of a long hot day to remove the worn turf from a narrow strip of thelawn, the whole length of the path, and dig over the moist brown earthbeneath. "I would do the other side too," she said, generously, when shedisplayed her handiwork, "only I really believe my eyes would drop out ifI stooped any more. You see I'd only the trowel to do it with."

  "I suppose that is why you have made such a mess, and the bed is allcrooked. You should have left it for a gardener to do," said Audrey,ungraciously. "Of course, the turf should have been chopped down, and thewhole thing done properly. It would have been better not to have touchedit, if you couldn't do it properly."

  "Don't you like it?" asked Faith, disappointedly.

  "Well, it spoils the look of the place, doesn't it? And just when I hadgot it made almost fit to look at, for once. I daresay it might be quitepretty if the bed was full of flowers," she added, in a less caustictone, "as I suppose it will be some day. As it is--well, you must admitit looks a hopeless botch, doesn't it?"

  Faith did not reply. There was no need to, and she felt that she couldnot. Instead, she walked away and down to the village, where she had manyfriends, and a little later returned with a collection of roots andcuttings and seedlings, which would have taken another person hours toplant properly, but which Faith got into the ground somehow in less thanone. She had been too dead beat to get water and put round their roots,and it never occurred to Audrey to do so for her; so the poor things hungwilting and dejected-looking in the early morning sunshine, and only addedto the unsightliness of Faith's new border.

  On Thursday morning early, Tom, strolling round the garden to walk off alittle of his excitement, noticed the poor drooping, dying things, and wasfilled with pity. Tiptoeing back to the house again for a can of water,he gave them all a drink. Deborah, coming out a few minutes later, foundhim standing, can in hand, rather wet about the feet and legs, gazingthoughtfully at Faith's new garden.

  "I've got an idea," he whispered mysteriously, "such a jolly one!Have you any money?"

  "I've got a penny. Daddy gave it to me yesterday."

  "I've got two ha'pennies, the one Audrey gave me, and one I had before.Let's go down to Miss Babbs' and buy two penny packets of flower seeds,and sow them, and not say anything about it. Then when they come upeverybody'll be surprised."

  Debby was enchanted. She loved s'prises, and this was such a pretty one.She loved, too, to back Tom up in anything he suggested.

  Miss Babbs was only just taking down her shutters when her early customersarrived, so Tom was able to help her. At least, he thought he helped, andMiss Babbs would not have undeceived him for the world--even though shecould have done the work herself in half the time, and with less than halfthe trouble.

  But an even harder task than taking down the shutters, was that ofdeciding which of all that glorious collection of penny packets should betheirs. Such poppies! such lupins! nasturtiums of such glorious colourswere pictured on each.

  "I want them all!" replied Debby. "Wouldn't the garden look lovely, andwouldn't Faith be excited!"

  "Why, you'd have a flower show all on your own, Miss Debby," laughed MissBabbs, "and all for five shillings. I don't call it dear, do you?"

  "Five shillings!" gasped Debby, "could I have all those for fiveshillings? I've got ten in the bank----"

  "Best keep it there," advised Miss Babbs, sagely. She was rather alarmedby the spirit she had roused. "You never know what may 'appen."

  Tom pulled Debby's apron. "Don't be silly," he said in her ear, "theflowers would all be gone by Christmas, and you know we are saving fora----" he ended his sentence by a regular fusilade of mysterious nods andwinks.

  "Donkey!" ejaculated Debby, innocently completing his sentence for him."So we are. I had forgotten. I'll take one packet, please, Miss Babbs;and I'd like lupins, please, they are _so_ beautiful."

  "And I'll have mignonette, please, 'cause mother loves it, and Faith too.Won't they be glad when it comes up! Do you think mother will be able tosmell it from her room?"

  "More than likely," said Miss Babbs, encouragingly. "It's wonderfulstrong when it's a good sort like this."

  In the box where all the packets of seeds lay shuffled together, somestray seeds rolled about loose, as though looking for nice soft earth inwhich to bury themselves.

  "Now these seeds must have come from somewhere," cried Miss Babbs, whenshe caught sight of them, "and somebody or other'll be 'cusing me ofgiving short weight, and a pretty fine thing that'll be! I never knewnothing so aggravating as what seeds is, they'll worm their way out ofanything. Here Master Tom," as she chased and captured some, "take 'emhome and plant 'em. Miss Debby, you 'old out your 'and too. I don't knowwhat they are, but they're sure to be something. Those two aresunflowers, and that's a 'sturtium. I do know those, and there's a fewsweet peas."

  "Oh!" gasped Debby, her face beaming. "Oh, Miss Babbs, how very kind youare!" and she held up her beaming little face to kiss the prim buttenderhearted woman who had been her lifelong friend. "Faith has made anew flower bed," she explained, "she has made it all by herself, but shehasn't very much in it yet. So we wanted to put some seeds in it withouther knowing anything about it, so's she would have a s'prise. Now she'llhave lots of s'prises. She'll think it's the piskies, won't she?"

  "Two-legged piskies, I guess," laughed Miss Babbs, knowingly, and thechildren were too polite to remind her that piskies never had more."When your peas come up, Miss Deborah, you come along to me, and I willgive you some fine little sticks for them."

  "Oh, thank you!" cried Debby, and in the excitement they both ran offstill clutching their pennies, and had to go back again with them.

  They had spent so much time over their purchases, that they had only justgot their seeds planted by the time the breakfast bell rang. Their greatfear was that Faith might have seen them, and would ask them what they hadbeen doing; but Faith had been so busy dressing Joan, and helping Mary inthe kitchen, she had had no time to look out of the window.

  Audrey, though, came full upon them as they came in with their handsearthy, and their pinafores wet, and Audrey was irritable because she wasso nervous and anxious.

  "I do think you children might have kept yourselves decently clean untilbreakfast time," she snapped, crossly. "But I am sure you must try to seehow much trouble you can give. Whatever have you been doing? Somethingyou oughtn't to, of course." She stood glowering darkly down at them, andthe two bright little faces lost their brightness.

  "We've been--'tending to Faith's new flower-bed," said Tom, sturdily,"the plants would have died if we hadn't watered them."

  "Faith's flower-bed? It isn't Faith's any more than
it is mine,or--or----"

  The two looked at each other in consternation. If they had known that,they would not have spent their precious pennies in buying seeds for it.Tom's annoyance found vent in words. "If it was yours, why didn't yougive it some water, then?" he demanded.

  Audrey made no reply. "If you don't behave yourselves, you won't beallowed to go to the picnic this afternoon," she said sternly, as shewalked away to the dining-room, leaving two mortified, angry little heartsbehind her.

  "I don't want to go to her old picnic," stormed Tom in his bedroom, as hescrubbed his earthy hands.

  "Oh, yes, you do--it isn't Audrey's picnic," urged Debby anxiously,"it is all of ours. It is daddy's really, and--and I shall have to go,Tom, and I can't go without you, there wouldn't be anybody to talk to.Say you'll come, Tom, do. There's going to be a cake with cherries andnuts on it, and one with jam--and Faith would be so mis'rubble if youdidn't come."

  "All right," Tom assented, with a lordly air, "I'll come, just to showAudrey the picnic isn't hers, nor the moon neither. Don't worry."

  The Vivians were to arrive soon after lunch, and not return until theseven o'clock train in the evening.

  "I suppose I had better go and meet them," said Audrey, at dinner-time,"as they were my friends first."

  "And as I have met them twice since then, I think I will go too," said Mr.Carlyle, laughingly. "I have to be at one of the cottages near thestation this afternoon, so I will manage to be at the station by timetheir train comes in."

  "Then I shall have time to make Joan tidy, and change my frock before theyget here," said Faith quietly, as she helped the now quite recovered Joanto spoon up her pudding. Tom and Debby did not speak, but they exchangedglances which would have told a tale to anyone who had intercepted them;and as soon as they were allowed to leave the table, they strolled in acasual way to the back door, and through the yard. Then suddenly theystarted as though they had been stung, and raced away as fast as theirlegs would go.

  "I wish I hadn't forgotten to take off my overall," panted Debby, as theyreached the station.

  A little country station does not afford many good hiding places.In common with most of its kind, Moor End had only the ticket office,station master's office, and one bare little general waiting-room, thedoor of which always stood invitingly open. For a second the pair stoodpondering deeply, then marched up boldly, and knocking in an airy fashionat the station master's door, opened it hurriedly and marched in.

  "We have come to have a little talk with you, Mr. Tripp," said Debby, withher most insinuating smile. "It is such a long time since we saw you.Tom, unfasten my overall at the back, please, and I will carry it over myarm. It is very hot to-day," she added, by way of explanation to herhost.

  "It is, missie, and you look hot too, Have you been running?"

  "Ye-es--we did run a--a little."

  "Ah! and not long had your dinner, I'll be bound. Running on one's dinneris always hot work, and apt to cause a good bit of pain sometimes."

  "We didn't run on it--we ran after it," said Debby, crushingly.

  "Well, anyway, miss, you didn't have to run _for_ it," and the old manchuckled at his own joke. Tom and Debby, though, refused to smile, theyfelt that they were being laughed at, and they resented it.

  "We ran," explained Tom, formally, "because we--we wanted to get herebefore the next train comes in. You--you are so busy when there's a trainin, that there is no chance of talking to you."

  "Ay, ay, sir," agreed Mr. Tripp, with a twinkle in his eye, "sometimes Ihave one passenger getting out here, sometimes I have as many as four!Market days there's a reg'lar crowd coming and going."

  "Well, you'll have three, at least, by the next train," said Tom,knowingly.

  "O--ho! and you have come to meet them, I suppose. A sort of a pleasantlittle surprise for them. I thought you'd come to have a little chat withme!"

  "So we have--both. Father's coming too, and our eldest sister."

  "I see, but you came on ahead. You didn't wait for them." A knock at thedoor broke in on the conversation. Tom and Debby grew very red, andlooked slightly nervous.

  "Tripp, can I speak to you a minute?" Round the door came the vicar'shead.

  "Oh--h! I beg your pardon, you are engaged. Hullo! Why, you youngscapegraces, what are you doing here, taking up Mr. Tripp's time, and--andfilling up his office!"

  The two scarlet faces lost their nervous look, and became wreathed insmiles. When daddy spoke like that, all was well.

  "The train is signalled, sir," said the station master, and led the wayout to the platform. At that same moment Audrey came sailing down theroad, hurrying as fast as she could, with dignity. She was looking asdainty and fresh as a flower in her clean white frock. She wore a prettysun hat, trimmed with blue ribbon, and the scarf hung around her neckexactly matched it. Her long hair was tied at the nape of her neck with ablack bow.

  "Oh, doesn't Audrey look pretty!" Debby's enthusiastic admiration diedaway in a sigh as she looked down over her untidy self, and, for the firsttime in her life, she felt ashamed of her appearance.

  "I--I wished I'd stayed to wash my hands," she whispered nervously toTom, "and had put on my hat, it would have covered up my hair--I neverbrushed it."

  "Oh, you are all right," responded Tom, consolingly "just button up yourshoes."

  "I can't, the buttons are off. Oh! and you haven't got on any tie!Oh, Tom, what will they think?"

  "Well--I couldn't find it. I looked and looked. Here's the engine.Oh, Deb, doesn't she look fine?"

  "Splendid," said Deborah, but only half-heartedly. She was so sorry Tomhad not a tie on, and that she had not made herself look as nice as Audreydid. And when there stepped out of the train two trim figures in spotlessblue cotton frocks, and a boy in an equally spotless grey flannel suit,Debby could not face them, but turned and raced off the platform and upthe street as fast as her legs could take her. Too fast, indeed, for herslippers, for they dropped off very soon, and she hadn't time to stop andpick them up. It was easier to run along in stockinged feet, than inshoes that slopped off at the heels with every step she took. It wasrather painful work, though, and Debby was glad when she reached theshelter of home.

  "Oh, Faith!" she cried, almost falling into the room. "They have come,and they are so--so tidy, and pretty! They have on blue frocks, and bighats with cornflowers on them; and, oh, please do try and make me looktidy and pretty too!"

  Faith was standing before the glass, tying up her hair. She had beentaking unusual pains with her appearance to-day, and she was rather late--which was not unusual. Joan, looking a perfect darling in her little longwhite frock, was sitting on the bed, playing with reels of cotton.

  "Where are your shoes?" asked Faith, looking in dismay at Debby'smuch-darned stockings.

  "I lost them--down the village. They fell off when I was running.Somebody will bring them back all right," she added, consolingly,"they've got my name inside."

  It was Irene Vivian who brought them back. "Your brother said they wereyours," she smiled, as she handed the shabby brown shoes to the blushingDebby.

  "I am so sorry," said Debby, apologetically. "Tom should have carriedthem. You see, I'd lost the buttons, and they dropped off when I wasrunning. I--I couldn't stay to go back, I was in--in rather a hurry."

  She took the shoes, and was putting them on as they were. "I'm going towear them to-day, 'cause they're comfortabler than my best ones, and theheather and brambles and things would scratch up my best ones," she added,confidentially. "I am going up on the moor to tea--we are all going.All except Joan." Has Audrey told you?

  "I am glad of that, only I'd like Joan to go too. But you can't walkcomfortably without any buttons on your shoes. If you could find me two,and a needle and cotton, and a thimble, I would sew them on for you.Oh, here is a work-basket. I will take what I want from here. Shall I?"

  "Oh, oh!" gasped Debby, "that is Audrey's. I don't think we had bettertouch that--she is dre
adfully particular. She gen'rally keeps it up inher room; but she brought her best things down here to-day, 'cause youwere coming."

  "How kind of her," said Irene. She felt somewhat embarrassed by theseconfidences. "And I am sure then she would not mind my using herwork-basket. I won't hurt it the least little bit in the world."

  She looked round for Audrey, to ask her permission, but she could not seeher, and helped herself to a thimble, and needle and cotton. It neverentered her head that there could be any reason why she should not do so.Mr. Carlyle had gone off to collect the baskets, Audrey had run upstairsto see if her mother was ready and able to see the guests for a littlewhile before the start. Faith was showing Joan to Daphne. The two boys,very anxious in their first shyness to have something to do, had followedMr. Carlyle.

  When Audrey came down, Irene was putting the finishing stitches to thesecond shoe. Audrey looked shocked and displeased. "Oh, Debby, how dareyou!" she cried, scarcely knowing, in her indignation, what she wassaying.

  "You should say 'how dare you' to me," laughed Irene, as she returned thethimble and needle to their places. "I asked if I might sew on Debby'sbuttons, and I used your basket. I hope you don't mind. I haven't doneany harm, I think."

  Audrey did mind, but she could hardly say so. "I never did know suchchildren," she cried, trying to conceal her vexation. Debby's shoes weredecidedly shabby, yet she could not have displayed them more thoroughly.It almost seemed as though she took a pride in their shabbiness."They never seem able to keep a button on for two days together. I reallythink they pull them off on purpose."

  "Oh, Audrey! I don't, you know I don't. I told you days ago that one wasoff, and the other one was loose--and then the loose one came off too."

  Irene strolled over and looked out of the window. "What a jolly garden,"she said, anxious to put an end to the discussion. "I wish we had a largeplain piece of grass like that. At grandfather's the turf is all cut upwith flower-beds, and one can hardly step for ornamental flower pots--andthings. We three never seem able to do anything without damagingsomething."

  Audrey's face cleared a little. "Well, we haven't too many flower beds,"she laughed. "In fact, one can hardly call ours a garden. The childrenplay there, and, of course, that spoils it. But, of course, they musthave somewhere to play." She had put on her best company manner andgrandmotherly speech. "Will you come up now to see mother? Then I thinkwe ought to start. No, Debby, you must stay down, we don't want you."Debby's face fell, but Irene looked back with a smile, which made up forthe hurt.

  It was a great satisfaction to Audrey that her mother, and her mother'sroom, were both so dainty and pretty, as she ushered Irene and Daphne in.It was the first satisfaction she had felt that day, so far.

  "I have been longing to see you," said Mrs. Carlyle, warmly, kissing themboth, "ever since I heard you were so near. I used to know your fatherwhen he was a boy, and I am so glad that his children and mine should havemet. I hope you will become real friends, dear."

  "I hope so," said Irene, her face alight with pleasure. "Did you reallyknow father? I am so glad. Abbot's Field seems so like home, for he toldus so much about it, and he loved it so."

  "Mrs. Carlyle," broke in Daphne, "did you guess who we were when Audreytold you who she had travelled home with? We told her where we lived;but we didn't know then who she was."

  Audrey blushed painfully, and waited in dread of her mother's reply.

  "I--no, dear, not then. I was rather ill when Audrey came home.I did not realise."

  "I--I think we had better start now." Audrey got up from her chair, andwent to the door hurriedly. She was so nervous she felt she could notbear any more. "The nicest part of the afternoon will be gone if we don'tgo."

  Daphne sprang to her feet, but Irene rose more reluctantly. "Will you bealone while we are away?" she asked, lingering by Mrs. Carlyle's sofa."It seems so selfish to go away and leave you. I wish I could be withyou--or you with us."

  Mrs. Carlyle looked up at her with shining eyes. "I would love a picnicon the moor above all things," she said. "Another summer, perhaps, if youare here, we will all go. I shall look forward to that, Irene, as eagerlyas if I were a child. Perhaps Joan will be able to go too--the big babyand the little one!"

  "Oh, I hope so," said Irene, her beautiful eyes glowing, "and I hope weshall be here. We want mother to take a house somewhere near, we lovethis part better than any--Coming, Audrey, coming!" She stooped andkissed the invalid affectionately. "Is there anything I can do for youbefore I go? Is the window as you like it? Do you want a book oranything handed to you?" While she spoke she was spreading the rug smoothover the invalid's feet.

  "Yes, dear, please if you will pass me that book and lower the blind alittle, I shall be able to read myself to sleep."

  "Irene! Irene! are you coming?" a voice called up the stairs again.

  "Run, dear, I must not keep you any longer. I am so comfortable now, witheverything put right."

  "Good-bye then for the time," said Irene, smiling back brightly as shestood at the door.

  "Good-bye, little nurse. Try to enjoy yourself, dear; and thank you forall you have done for me."

  But, though she was so comfortable and 'had everything she wanted,'Mrs. Carlyle did not fall asleep for a long while after the girls had lefther, but lay gazing thoughtfully before her, and more than once tearsshone in her eyes and fell on to her pillow.

  "They are such darlings, too," she murmured at last, rousing herself witha little shake, as though trying to shake off her thoughts. "They aresuch dear children, it is wicked to wish them other than they are,yet sympathy is very sweet; and--and understanding makes life very, verypleasant."