White Lilac; or the Queen of the May Part 14

Peter nodded. "They're rare good comp'ny too," he said, "when you can follow their carryings on, and know what they're up to."

Lilac watched him thoughtfully as his large hand moved carefully amongst the flowers, cutting the best blossoms and adding them to the nosegay, which now began to take the shape of a large fan.

While he had been talking of the bees his face had lost its dullness; he had not looked stupid at all, and scarcely ugly. She would try and make him speak again.

"The blossoms is over now," she remarked, looking at the trees in the orchard; "but there's been a rare sight of 'em this year."

"There has so," answered Peter. "It'll be a fine season for the fruit if so be as we get sun to ripen it. The birds is the worst," he went on. "I've seen them old jaypies come out of the woods yonder as thick as thieves into the orchard. I don't seem to care about shootin' 'em, and scarecrows is no good."

What a long sentence for Peter!

"Do they now?" said Lilac sympathisingly. "An' I s'pose," stroking Tib on the head, "they don't mind Tib neither?"

"Not they," said Peter, with something approaching a chuckle. "They're altogether too many for _her_."

"She's not a _pretty_ cat," said Lilac doubtfully.

"Well, n-no," said Peter, turning round to look at Tib with some regret in his tone. "She ain't not to say exactly pretty, but she's a rare one for rats. Ain't ye, Tib?"

As if in reply Tib rose, fixed her front claws in the ground, and stretched her long lean body. She was not pretty, the most favourable judge could not have called her so. Her coat was harsh and wiry, her head small and mean, with ears torn and scarred in many battles. Her one eye, fiercely green, seemed to glare in an unnaturally piercing manner, but this was only because she was always on the lookout for her enemies--the rats. To complete her forlorn appearance she had only half a tail, and it was from this loss that her friends.h.i.+p with Peter dated, for he had rescued her from a trap.

He seemed now to feel that her character needed defence, for he went on after a pause:

"She'll sit an' watch for 'em to come out of the ricks by the hour, without ever tasting food. Better nor any tarrier she is at it."

"Ben says the rats is awful bad," said Lilac. "They're that bold they'll steal the eggs, and scare off the hens when they're setting."

"They do that," replied Peter, shaking his head. "The poultry wants seeing to badly; but Bella she don't seem to take to it, nor yet Agnetta, and our hands is full outside."

"I like the chickens and ducks and things," said Lilac. "I wish Aunt'd let me take 'em in hand."

Peter reared himself up from his bent position, and holding the big nosegay in one hand looked gravely down at his cousin.

It was a good long distance from his height to Lilac, and she seemed wonderfully small and slender and delicately coloured as she stood there in her straight black frock and long pinafore. She had taken off her sun bonnet, so that her little white face with all the hair fastened back from it was plainly to be seen. It struck Peter as strange that such a small creature should talk of taking any more work "in hand"

besides what she had to do already.

"You hadn't ought to do hard work," he said at length; "you haven't got the strength."

"I don't mind the work," said Lilac, drawing up her little figure. "I'm stronger nor what I look. 'Taint the work as I mind--" She stopped, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.

Peter saw them with the greatest alarm. Somehow with his usual stupidity he had made his cousin cry. All he could do now was to take himself away as quickly as possible. He went up to Sober and touched him gently with his foot.

"Come along, old chap," he said. "We've got to look after the lambs yonder."

Without another word or a glance at Lilac he rolled away through the orchard with the dog at his heels, his great shoulders plunging along through the trees, and Lilac's gay bunch of flowers swinging in one hand. He had quite forgotten to give it to her.

She looked after him in surprise, with the tears still in her eyes.

Then a smile came.

"He's a funny one surely," she said to herself. "Why ever did he make off like that?"

There was no one to answer except Tib, who had jumped up into a tree and looked down at her with the most complete indifference.

"Anyway, he means to be kind," concluded Lilac, "and it's a shame to flout him as they do, so it is."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

ONLY A CHILD!

"Who is the honest man?

He who doth still and strongly good pursue, To G.o.d, his neighbour and himself most true, Whom neither force nor fawning can Unpin or wrench from giving all his due."

_G. Herbert_.

Joshua Snell had by no means forgotten his little friend Lilac. There were indeed many occasions in his solitary life when he missed her a great deal, and felt that his days were duller. For on her way to and from school she had been used to pay him frequent visits, if only for a few moments at a time, dust his room, clean the murky little window, and bring him a bunch of flowers or a dish of gossip.

In this way she was a link between him and the small world of Danecross down below; and in spite of his literary pursuits Joshua by no means despised news of his neighbour's affairs, though he often received it with a look of indifference. Besides this, her visits gave him an opportunity for talking, which was a great pleasure to him, and one in which he was seldom able to indulge, except on Sat.u.r.days when he travelled down to the bar of the "Three Bells" for an hour's conversation. He was also fond of Lilac for her own sake, and anxious to know if she were comfortable and happy in her new home.

He soon began, therefore, to look out eagerly for her as he sat at work; but no little figure appeared, and he said to himself, "I shall see her o' Sunday at church." But this expectation was also disappointed, and he learned from Bella Greenways that Lilac and Agnetta were to go in the evenings, it was more convenient. Joshua could not do that; it had been his settled habit for years to stay at home on Sunday evening, and it was impossible to alter it. So it came to pa.s.s that a whole month went by and he had not seen her once. Then he said to himself, "If so be as they won't let her come to me, I reckon I must go and see her." And he locked up his cottage one evening and set out for the farm. Joshua was a welcome guest everywhere, in spite of his poverty and lowly station; even at the Greenways', who held their heads so high, and did not "mix", as Bella called it, with the "poor people." This was partly because of his learning, which in itself gave him a position apart, and also because he had a certain dignity of character which comes of self-respect and simplicity wherever they are found. Mrs Greenways was indeed a little afraid of him, and as anxious to make the best of herself in his presence as she was in that of her rector and landlord, Mr Leigh.

"Why, you're quite a stranger, Mr Snell," she said when he appeared on this occasion. "Now sit down, do, and rest yourself, and have a gla.s.s of something or a cup of tea."

Joshua being comfortably settled with a mug of cider at his elbow she continued:

"Greenways is over at Lenham, and Peter's out on the farm somewheres, but I expect they'll be in soon."

The cobbler waited for some mention of Lilac, but as none came he proceeded to make polite enquiries about other matters, such as the crops and the live stock, and the chances of good weather for the hay.

He would not ask for her yet, he thought, because it might look as though he had no other reason for coming.

"And how did you do with your ducks this season, Mrs Greenways, ma'am?"

he said.

"Why, badly," replied Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone; "I never knew such onlucky broods. A cow got into the orchard and trampled down one.

Fifteen as likely ducklings as you'd wish to see. And the rats scared off a hen just as she'd hatched out; and we lost a whole lot more with the cramp."

"H'm, h'm, h'm," said the cobbler sympathisingly, "that was bad, that was. And you ought to do well with your poultry in a fine place like this too."

"Well, we don't," said Mrs Greenways, rather shortly; "and that's all about it."

"They want a lot of care, poultry does," said Joshua reflectively; "a lot of care. I know a little what belongs to the work of a farm. Years afore I came to these parts I used to live on one."

"Then p'r'aps you know what a heart-breaking, back-breaking, wearing-out life it is," burst out poor Mrs Greenways. "All plague an' no profit, that's what it is. It's drive, drive, drive, morning, noon, and night, and all to be done over again the next day. You're never through with it."

"Ah! I dessay," said Joshua soothingly; "but there's your daughters now. They take summat off your hands, I s'pose? And that reminds me.

There's little White Lilac, as we used to call her,--you find her a handy sort of la.s.s, don't you?"

"She's well enough in her way," said Mrs Greenways. "I don't never regret giving her a home, and I know my duty to Greenways' niece; but as for use--she's a child, Mr Snell, and a weakly little thing too, as looks hardly fit to hold a broom."