The Carroll Girls Part 3

"There," she said, laying aside the last pair with a sigh, "at any rate we shall be sound if we are shabby. I wish, though, the darns didn't show quite so much," gazing regretfully at a large light-blue patch in the middle of one of Poppy's black stockings.

After that the _Crimea_ was abandoned, and they all fell to talking of the strange new life which was drawing so close to them now, and by degrees, and in spite of their first dread, was so exciting, so full of interest, and all manner of possibilities.

CHAPTER III.

And now at last the parting was over, and the new life fairly begun.

Esther, Penelope, Angela, and Poppy sat alone in a third-cla.s.s carriage, looking out with blurred and smarting eyes at the fields and hedges rus.h.i.+ng past them, at telegraph wires bowing and rising, at people and cattle and houses, and wondered if it could all be real or if they were only dreaming.

They had been very sad for the last few days, for the parting had been a painful wrench. In spite of all its drawbacks, the little house at Framley was their home, and they shed many bitter tears when they bade good-bye to it, and the woods and the walks, and all their well-known play-places. They wept, too, at leaving their mother, and even Lydia, cross, careless Lydia, for, after all, their mother and Lydia were the only two beings they knew well, and to be obliged to leave them and go entirely to utter strangers, in a quite unknown place, was very alarming.

"No one knows what it may be like at Dorsham," said Esther tragically, "and we--and we are not like children accustomed to going about.

We don't know what are the right things to do--you know what I mean, we don't know how to behave, at least I don't. I hate having to meet any one in the street, for I never know what to say or do; and if I don't speak I know I am rude, and they think all sorts of things about me, and then I am miserable, and--and it'll be like that all the time at Cousin Charlotte's."

The other children looked awed until Penelope brightened up a little.

"Never mind," she said hopefully, "we will go on just as we do now.

After all, we can't be so very very dreadful, for mother _is_ a lady, and knows, and we aren't wild savages; and Cousin Charlotte must tell us if we don't do things right, and we must remember for another time.

Don't you think that will be all right, Esther?"

"I wish I could remember all the things Aunt Julia used to tell us,"

sighed Angela regretfully. "If we could we should know exactly what to do; but she was always telling me things and I've got them all mixed up."

"Will Tousin Charlotte whip us if we don't do right?" asked Poppy, in an awe-stricken voice.

"No one knows," said Esther, still in the same tragic, woebegone manner.

"She may. I believe schoolmistresses are _very_ strict. We shall know when we get there." Poppy's face grew longer and longer. "Mother says she is a _dear_ old lady, but--but mother forgets, and she never had to live with her, as we've got to."

So their hearts were heavy with mingled dread and shyness, as well as sadness and a sense of desertion, as they took their seats in the train which was to convey them to Dorsham. In the luggage van were two small trunks containing their four scanty wardrobes, and all their toys and other treasures. In her hand Esther carried a large old purse of her mother's, containing their four tickets, and a sovereign which her mother had at the last moment given her to provide them all with stamps and notepaper and pocket-money for the next twelve months.

To children who had been in the habit of doing without pocket-money at all it seemed as though unbounded wealth were theirs, and they could never know want again.

Penelope carried a basket of provisions, which Lydia, with unusual care, had insisted on their taking. Penelope consented because she did not like to refuse Lydia's last request, but neither it nor its contents held the slightest interest for them until quite a long stretch of their journey had been covered. They were too unhappy to feel hungry. They would never care for food again, or for any one or anything but Framley and their mother and Lydia; and while they were in this frame of mind two or three hours and many miles pa.s.sed by.

But the lapse of time brought some relief and a lightening of their depression. They became able to take a growing interest in their surroundings, and a sensation of hunger began to a.s.sert itself; so did a savoury odour from Lydia's basket, an odour so delicious that, in spite of themselves, they became interested.

"I wonder what Lydia put in here," said Penelope, looking down at the despised basket for the first time. "Something smells rather nice."

They had left home before nine, and the meal they ate before starting was hardly worthy the name, and as it was now past twelve they began to feel very empty and rather faint, and the savoury whiffs which floated out from the basket grew more and more appealing.

Poppy slipped from her seat at last and pressed her small nose close to the cover. "I believe it's patties, and gooseberries, and--and--"

Lydia had her faults as to temper, but there was no denying she could cook when she chose to, and her meat patties were the joy of the children's hearts on the rare occasions when she could find time to make them.

Without more delay the basket was unpacked, and Poppy's sense of smell was amply justified. Four meat patties, some hard-boiled eggs and slices of bread and b.u.t.ter, cakes, biscuits, milk, gooseberries, and apples, made a lunch fit for four queens. And the children fairly squealed with delight as they unrolled packet after packet.

"We will have a table," cried Esther, springing up and spreading a newspaper on the seat for a tablecloth, "and lay everything out on it.

I only hope no one else will want to come into this carriage."

It was not very easy to keep on their feet with the train swaying and jerking them as it did, but it made it all the more amusing, and when all was spread it looked so nice it made them feel very grand and grown-up.

It was a wonderful new experience, and their spirits rose quite high under it.

"I wish we could go on and on like this always," said Esther. "Wouldn't it be jolly! There would be no one to worry us, and no strangers to face."

Penelope looked up quickly, her eyes alight with a sudden idea.

"Oh, Esther, let's do it! Let's go on and not get out at Dorsham,"

she cried wickedly.

"But could we go on much further?" asked practical Angela. "Isn't there any end to the railway?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it just goes on and on all round England, and in and out until it comes to where it started from, and then goes on again,"

said Penelope, her mind busy over the problem.

"But the poor engine-drivers must get down sometimes and go to bed, mustn't they?" asked Poppy. "They don't sleep on the engine, do they?"

"I wish I knew," said Penelope. "It would be so lovely just to go on and on and not know where we were, or anything, and--"

"But what should we do for food?" asked Esther quietly. "The meat patties are gone already," throwing the last crumbs out of window, "and we couldn't get any more, and--and--" At that moment the train drew up at a station, and a ticket-collector, flinging open the door, came in and demanded to see their tickets. Trembling with nervousness, certain that he must have heard what they had been saying, Esther fumblingly undid her purse and produced them. The man looked at the tickets closely, clipped bits out of them, and handed them back again, giving at the same time a keen, curious look at the four young travellers.

It was not until the train had steamed on again, and he was left behind on the platform, that either one of them recovered from the shock sufficiently to speak.

"He must have heard us," breathed Angela, with wide frightened eyes.

"He _must_ have, and--oh! he must have seen all that," pointing to the remains of the feast spread out on the seat.

"I expect he is used to it," said Penelope consolingly. "Most people do eat when they are travelling, I expect. But it is no use for us to try to travel on beyond Dorsham, that is certain. They would find us out by looking at our tickets, and--and p'r'aps we should be sent to jail!"

Agreeing, reluctantly, that their plan for a life of perpetual travel must be abandoned, they settled down again to face the more monotonous future that had been arranged for them. Tired at last of talking, they tried to read, but no book could enthral them for long, while there was so much to see and take note of, as they rushed through the beautiful country all bathed in June suns.h.i.+ne, or stopped at the big bustling stations, and the funny little country ones. Oddly enough, though they stopped so often no one got into their carriage, which was very nice, they thought.

By and by, though, they began to grow very weary, the carriage was very hot, and they grew tired of their own company. It might have been better for them, perhaps, had they had some fellow-pa.s.sengers.

"Only three o'clock!" sighed Penelope, catching sight of a clock at the station they were drawn up in. "We have two and a half more hours yet.

Oh dear, what a long day it is! I believe I shall be almost glad to get there, though I do dread it so."

"I wonder if Cousin Charlotte is nervous, too," remarked Angela, who had been very quiet for some time.

Poppy woke up from an uncomfortable nap, looking and feeling very cross.

"Oh, I am so thirsty," she cried. "Esther, mayn't I have an apple?"

Esther roused herself from her study of the landscape. "Of course you may, dear--let us all have another meal now, and call it tea. You see, if we get there at half-past five we are sure to have something to eat soon after, so it will be better to eat up what we have here soon, unless we mean to waste it."

There was complete agreement of opinion on this point, so Esther tidied their tablecloth and rearranged the remaining food as well as she could, and they set to work to demolish everything with keen appet.i.tes--a task they accomplished without any great effort; and it is only to be hoped that Lydia heard of the appreciation the contents of her basket met with.

Try, though, as they would to spin out the meal, it was not yet four when the last crumb and drop had vanished; and, finding nothing else to do, they nestled down in their four corners again with the quiet melancholy of a dying day settling down on them once more. Though it was June, the land outside seemed already to take on a look of evening, the wind had changed, and little dark clouds had come up and hidden the sun. The children were reminded of the woods at home, and the curious air of gloom they wore, as though there were a storm outside, even when the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly.

Poppy crept from her corner and nestled up close to Esther.

"Essie, let's tell stories that will make us feel happy," she said, wistfully, with just the faintest quiver of her baby lip. "Something that will make me not think about mummy and Lydia and home."

"Pen, you tell us one, will you?" said Esther, lifting her little sister on to her lap, and holding her very close. "You can tell stories better than I can."