The Carroll Girls Part 9

"Please how much each are those little pitchers?" she asked hastily.

"Tuppence, missie," said Mrs. Vercoe, as pleasantly as ever, to Esther's great relief. "And the littler ones are a penny."

"May I have one of the tiny ones?" whispered Angela eagerly.

"It was for you I wanted it," said Esther, who would have liked one for herself, too. "Aren't they dears!"

"I must look 'ee out a perfect one," said Mrs. Vercoe, tapping up one after another and rapping them with her knuckles. "They'm terrible things for getting chipped. There, I think those are all right."

Angela, in a high state of delight, chose the one she thought the prettiest. Poppy, meanwhile, was tugging at Esther's skirt. She had been very quiet for some time, absorbed in a boxful of the packets of flower-seeds, with gay pictures outside.

"Esther, may I have a packet of seeds? and one of those dear d.i.n.key little watering-cans? May I, Essie? Do say 'yes,' please do."

Poppy was not only fascinated, but she was possessed by a sudden, brilliant idea which the packets of seeds had suggested. She could not rest until Esther had consented, and she could not keep from dancing with excitement as she bent over the box, trying to make a selection.

"Bless her pretty face," cried Mrs. Vercoe, much amused. The old lady was as delighted with her customers as though they were spending pounds instead of pennies. Penelope, meanwhile, was perched on a corner of a sugar-box, absorbed in one of the funny little books which were lying in a pile on the counter, and was quite oblivious of all that was going on around her.

Esther paid for Poppy's purchases. "And will you take for the book, too, please," she said, as she held out a s.h.i.+lling. "The book my sister is reading." She blushed as she spoke, for she was shocked at Penelope's behaviour.

But Mrs. Vercoe would not hear of it. "Why no, my dear; 'tisn't likely she'd be wanting to buy it now she mostly knows what's in it.

You'd rather have another, wouldn't you, missie? and it don't make no manner of diff'rence to me."

Penelope looked up with a start, and blushed too, but an end to the discussion was put by Poppy, who came up very excitedly with a packet of parsley seed in her hand. It was not one of those with a picture on the outside, but a larger, plainer packet.

"Please, how much is this?" she asked eagerly.

"Ah, you wouldn't like that, dearie, that isn't pretty. It's parsley.

Very good parsley it is, but it don't have no pretty flowers."

"I know," said Poppy, nodding her head vigorously. "How much does it cost?"

"A penny."

"Well, I'll take it, please, instead of the other," and she held out her hand for the packet as though she was afraid of having it wrested from her.

Mrs. Vercoe held it while her eyes searched Esther's face. It seemed to her such an extraordinary choice for a tiny child to make. She was reluctant to let her have it. "Hadn't she better have the one she chose first?" she asked anxiously. But Esther was accustomed to her sister's vagaries.

"No, thank you. I expect she would rather have this. Perhaps she thinks she gets more."

Poppy smiled, and pursed her lips, and hugged her secret to herself delightedly.

Then, having paid for Penelope's book, and bought some sweets for them all, Esther led her little troop out of the shop and home.

Miss Ashe was out when the children returned, so they strolled into the garden to amuse themselves as best they could. But the garden was too neat and well-tended to allow of much in the way of games, so very soon they wandered further, and escaped on to the moor, Penelope with her new book, Esther with another book and the sweets, Angela carrying her beloved pitcher. Guard followed them devotedly.

Poppy, though, decided to remain behind. She did not say so; nor did they, so busy were they with their plans, at first notice her absence.

Miss Ashe's garden was a large one. In Dorsham land was of little value, and one could have almost as much as one chose, if one took the trouble to enclose it. The Moor Cottage garden was large enough to allow of its being divided up into several small ones, the dividing being done chiefly to provide shelter from the storms which so often swept over the moor, though the strong stout walls provided excellent s.p.a.ce for fruit-trees.

Poppy, when she saw she was alone, walked quickly from one part of the garden to another, looking about her eagerly, her watering-can in her hand, her packet of seeds in her pocket. No one else was about. Anna was in the kitchen, she heard her voice there, singing hymns; Ephraim, whom she was most afraid of meeting, was away, apparently. Probably he had gone to Gorley with Miss Charlotte's broken gla.s.ses. Having made quite sure that she had the place to herself, Poppy carefully deposited her can on the ground, and ran to a corner where she had seen some tools stacked.

There were a spade, a large fork, a rake, and a little fork. Poppy seized the spade, but after she had struggled with it a few yards and tumbled down twice, she exchanged it for the little fork.

Close by where she had dropped her can was a neat square bed of nice earth, all beautifully sifted and raked over. This pleased her critical eye immensely. With the fork she made several little holes not far from the edge, then she got out her packet of seeds and opened it.

"What _lots_!" she cried delightedly, and proceeded to place carefully one seed in each hole. But the seeds she planted seemed not to lessen the number in the packet in the least. "I must make another row," she murmured, and carefully covering in the first holes, she stepped on the bed and made some more.

When she had made a third row and filled them in she sighed a little.

Before she had finished she had had to commandeer the whole of the bed, and was weary and confused. There seemed to be nothing but footprints all over it, and where the seed was, or how to make the earth look nice and smooth again so that no one should guess her secret, she was puzzled to know. She could have cried with weariness, but she bravely kept back her tears with the thought of the splendid thing she had done, and the delight and surprise there would be when her secret came to light. While she was standing looking in some dismay at the trampled bed, she remembered the rake standing in the corner.

It was heavy, so heavy she could hardly carry it, and far too clumsy for her to wield properly, but she worked bravely, and tried to forget her aches; she had not a very critical eye either, and soon the bed, to her eyes, looked quite neat and tidy. Then came the crowning moment. At the water-tap, which stood over a b.u.t.t sunk in the ground by one of the paths, she filled her new water-can, and proceeded to give her seeds a good watering.

This was joy indeed, pure joy. The can poured splendidly, Poppy was delighted. She had to run many times to the tap to get water enough for the whole bed, and by the time it was done to her satisfaction her pinafore was well soaked, and she herself was almost too weary to stand.

Her task was perfected, but when she looked down over herself, at her mud-clogged shoes, her dripping clothes, her begrimed hands, and realised what she would have to go through in the way of questioning and scolding, her spirits sank altogether. Cousin Charlotte or Anna she dared not face.

Her only resource was to try to find Esther, or the others. They would scold too, but she knew them and their scoldings; they were not very bad, and were soon over. With the aid of the fork she managed to lift the latch of the garden door, and stepped out on the great wide waste; but in all the length and breadth of it, as far as her eyes could see, she caught no glimpse of the others. They were nowhere in sight, and the moor looked big, and lonely, and frightening.

Poppy felt very forlorn, and miserable, and homesick, standing there in that great waste; and under the weight of her troubles her lip began to quiver, though she did her best to steady it. She dared not go indoors, and she was too weary to go in search of the others, so she crept up the slope to the nearest rocks large enough to hide her, determined to sit there and wait until she saw the others coming home, when she would call to them. She slipped off her pinafore, spread it on the ground to dry, and with much care and trouble cleaned first her hands and then her boots on the short coa.r.s.e gra.s.s, after which, utterly weary, she lay down herself and knew no more.

CHAPTER VII.

Esther, Penelope, and Angela reached home at just about what they thought must be tea-time. They came in the way they had gone out, through the garden door. In the garden path they saw Poppy's new watering-can lying.

They expected to see Poppy too, but she did not appear, and the garden seemed quite empty. She must have gone indoors, they concluded, and Esther began to feel very compunctious for having left her alone so long.

With this feeling on her she hurried in to find her little sister, but the house seemed quiet and empty too. They ran up to their own rooms.

No one was there. They came down and looked in the sitting-rooms, Esther with a sudden fear that Poppy might be at some mischief; but both rooms were quite empty. They next ran out and tapped at the kitchen door.

"Come in," said Anna cheerfully. She liked to have the children about her.

"Is Poppy here?" asked Esther.

"Miss Poppy! No, miss. I haven't seen her since she went out with you."

"She hasn't been with us. We have been on the moor ever since, and she must have stayed in the garden, but I can't see her there now. We saw her little can in the path, that was all, and I can't find her in the house anywhere. I thought perhaps she was here with you."

Anna looked anxious. "Have you been all over the house, miss?"

"I have been in our rooms and the dining-room and drawing-room, and we have all called her, but we can't find her."

"I'd look again, miss, if I was you; look in the missus's room, and mine too, if you like. I'd come with you, but I can't leave my bread for a few minutes."

"Oh, we will find her," said Esther cheerfully, and they ran off again.

She was back in a short while, though, and not quite so cheerful. Just as she reached the kitchen Ephraim came in at the other door.

"Who hev been meddlin' with my new turnip-bed?" he demanded. He did not see Esther.

"What's the matter with your turnip-bed?" asked Anna shortly. She was just lifting her loaves out of the oven, and it was a critical moment; besides, Anna was always 'short' with Ephraim; she had a theory that it was good for him.