Anxious Audrey Part 23

"I am late, and have no excuse," thought Audrey dejectedly. "I never have one."

"I shall be glad to see anyone, no matter what they are wearing," said Mr.

Carlyle, coming to the door. "Who is that talking of kitchen ap.r.o.ns?"

Irene looked at him with merry eyes laughing above her flushed cheeks.

"Please, sir, it's the new cook," she said, dropping him a curtsey.

CHAPTER XII.

"Ugh! how horrid they feel! I think that is the very worst part of dish-was.h.i.+ng, don't you, Irene?"

Audrey sat in a kitchen chair with her hands held out stiffly before her.

She had just washed all the beautiful things, and Irene had wiped them.

Now, after wiping out the dish-pan, and spreading the dish-cloth to dry, she had sat down while she dried her hands on the runner. She was tired, and her feet ached; the weather was hot, and she had been busy ever since she had got up.

For more than a fortnight now, she and Irene had inaugurated a new state of affairs at the Vicarage, and, to her surprise, she found that she was growing to enjoy the work. She certainly enjoyed the results, and felt proud of them. And, oh, how proud and happy she was when her father remarked on the improvement.

There were disagreeables too; there was no denying the fact. And one of them was the uncomfortable roughness of her hands.

"Rub them with salt," advised Irene, briskly, as she hung the s.h.i.+ning jugs and cups on their hooks on the dressers. "Then rub some cold cream or glycerine into them."

"But I don't keep a chemist's shop," laughed Audrey. "I have only a little glycerine."

"Well, that is splendid if it suits you. Rub some into your hands while they are wet, and then rinse it off again. When I have my own little house I shall have a shelf put up close to where I wash my dishes, and vases, and things----"

"Close by the tap, and the sink, and the draining-board," interrupted Audrey, eyeing their own.

"Yes, close by, and I shall keep on it a bottle of glycerine, a cake of pumice soap, some lemon and glycerine mixed, and--oh, one or two other things that I shall think of presently. And every time I wash my hands I shall rub in a little glycerine--then my skin will keep quite nice.

Of course, I shall have a whole array of gloves to put on when I do dirty work. I shall have silver-cleaning gloves, black-leading gloves, dusting gloves, and gardening gloves."

"How will you get them? Buy them?"

"Oh, no. I shall use my own old ones, and I shall beg some of grandfather. One can easily get old gloves. I have begun to collect some already."

"I can't, they are almost as hard to get as new ones. You see, we wear ours, just every-day wear, until they are past being good for anything.

And father never wears any, except woolly ones in very cold weather, and they are too thick and clumsy for housework."

"Um, yes. I will send you some of grandfather's. He uses a lot, he rides so much. When I have my house----"

Audrey laughed. "That wonderful house of yours! How perfect it will be!"

"It will be a perfect dear; but I don't want it to be perfect in any other way--not at first, I mean. I want to make it so. Well, as I was saying when you rudely interrupted me by scoffing--when I have a house of my own, you shall come to stay with me, and you shall have breakfast in bed every morning; and you shall not touch a duster, or wash a dish, or make a bed.

Oh, Audrey! it is going to be such a dear little gem of a place, with large sunny windows opening on to the garden, and a balcony outside each bedroom."

"How lovely!" sighed Audrey. "I wish you had it now. I'd love to be sitting in one of your balconies, looking down at your flowers.

Of course, you would have crowds of flowers?"

"Oh, crowds--and apple-blossom, and honeysuckle, and pear and cherry trees."

"I would sit there and read, and write and write. Oh, Irene, I think I should go crazy with delight."

"No, you would not," laughed Irene. "When I saw you getting so I would come and put a wet dishcloth in your hands, and bang a wash-bowl behind you. That would bring you down to sober earth again."

Audrey groaned, and laughed. "I wonder when, or if ever, you will have your little paradise," she questioned wistfully.

"Oh, I shall have it, but not for rather a long time yet. At least, I am afraid it will be a long time. You see, I have to work for it first, and I don't leave off lessons for another year yet. Then I am going to study Domestic Science, and then I shall begin to earn money. You see, I have got to earn enough to buy my cottage, before I can have it."

Audrey groaned again. "Why, you will be ninety, and I shall be eighty-nine--far too old to sit on a balcony--it will be too risky.

And if you are still energetic enough to bang your wash-bowl, I shall be too deaf to hear it."

"Indeed, I shall not be ninety. I am going to try hard to be a lecturer, and I shall get quite a lot of money, and grandfather says he will sell me the cottage--he has got _the very one_ I want--for a hundred pounds, as soon as I am twenty-one. Won't it be lovely, Audrey?"

"Lovely!" sighed Audrey. "Oh, Irene, how splendid to have something like that to work for."

"It is. Why don't you do the same? It makes life seem so splendid, so interesting and beautiful. You try it too, Audrey."

"Oh, but I couldn't," said Audrey, wistfully, "there is so much to do here----"

"But at the end of the twelve months, when you go back to your grandmother?"

"Granny would not hear of it. She can't bear the idea of girls--women-- working like that, lecturing, I mean. She doesn't mind their being governesses, if they have to, but they must not be anything else."

Audrey paused for a moment. "I am not going back to granny, though," she added softly.

"What?" Irene really gasped with astonishment. "I thought--oh, Audrey, won't you be very unhappy? You loved it so. I thought you were counting the days."

"So I was, but I am not now. I am going to stay here. Mother needs me more--and there is so much to do. And I know it will be better for mother not to have hard work to do, even when she is quite well again; and if Faith and I take care of the house and the children, mother will be able to go on with her writing. She loves it, and it is such a help."

Irene stood leaning against the kitchen table, gazing thoughtfully before her. "I think it is fine of you, Audrey," she said earnestly. "You are right; but it is fine of you."

Audrey coloured hotly with pleasure, but: "No it is not," was all she said, "it is only what you would do."

"But I love the work, you don't. I do not want to do any other--you long to, I know."

Audrey groaned. "Oh, Irene, I simply ache with longing to write.

I have stories and stories in my brain, and I feel sometimes as though my head will burst if I don't write them down. I would sit up all night, or get up very, very early in the morning to write them, but I am always so sleepy, I can't keep my eyes open. I tried once or twice, but I found I was only putting down nonsense."

"There is one thing," said Irene comfortingly, "you are very young--there is plenty of time. Perhaps when Mrs. Carlyle is better, and you have done with schooling, you will be able to have more time."

"But it is now--now, that I want it," cried Audrey, springing to her feet.

"Oh, I must tell you, Irene. Do you remember those magazines granny bought me, and I lent to you in the train that day?" Irene nodded.

"Well, in one--_The Girl's World_--there was a prize of three guineas offered for the best original Christmas play for children to act."

Audrey hesitated a moment, and coloured again beneath Irene's now eager eyes.

"Yes, yes," said Irene.