CHAPTER IV

SAGE BUSHES AND ROSE BUSHES

The next morning William Hender was more than usually silent at breakfast, and he went off to his work without making any reference to what he had seen in the garden over-night. The children's thoughts, though, were full of it. As soon as they were dressed in the morning they ran out to see how everything looked, and how their new treasures had borne the night.

"Bella, I am going to have a bit of garden too," cried Tom, as soon as he saw her. "Father wouldn't mind, I'm sure. He doesn't seem to want it now, and it'll be better for me to have a little bit than to let it all be idle."

Tom had thought of it in the night, and could hardly wait until daylight to begin. And, of course, as soon as Charlie heard of the plan, he must do the same. "So shall I," he cried sturdily. "I shall have a garden, and grow strawberries and gooseberries, and—and all sorts of things. Won't it be fine!"

"Margery wants a garden too. Margery wants to grow fings." Margery was tugging at Bella's skirt, and dancing with eagerness.

"What can Margery do?" asked Bella gently. She was always gentle and kind to her little sister. "Little girls like Margery can't dig up earth."

"Margery'll grow flowers," urged the little one eagerly, "Margery wants to grow flowers, woses and daisies, and pinks, and sweet peas, and—and snowdrops, and—oh, all sorts. Do give Margery a little garden, please, Bella, please. Only just a little tiny, weeny one."

The baby voice was so urgent that Bella could not say 'No'; nor had she any wish to. Anything that pleased Margery pleased her, and would, she knew, please her father. "Come along, then, and choose which bit you will have."

"I want it next to yours."

"Very well. I don't s'pose father will mind."

"Let me dig it over for her the first time," urged Tom, and he left the marking out of his own new bed to come and dig up Margery's.

Charlie and Bella and Margery herself collected large stones to outline it with, and by dinnertime there was a very neat and inviting-looking patch beside Bella's herb-bed.

"What'll you do for flowers to put in it, though?" laughed Charlie.

"Have you got any?"

"I've got the double daisy that Aunt Maggie gave me, and Chrissie Howard is going to bring me a 'sturtium in a pot. She said it was to put on the window-sill, but I shall put it in my garden."

"I can get you a marigold the next time I go past Carter's, on my way to Woodley. Billy Carter offered me one the other day; they're growing like weeds in their garden."

Margery danced with joy. "That'll be three flowers in my garden; I'll be able to pick some soon, won't I?"

That night William Hender came home earlier from his after-supper gossip at the 'Red Lion,' and, as usual, strolled about outside the house while he finished out his pipe. To-night his footsteps led him down his garden, and instinctively he went in search of the herb-bed again. Before he reached it he came upon fresh signs of digging and raking, and a larger patch of newly-turned earth, with the tools still lying beside it.

"This must be for one of the boys," he thought to himself, as he stooped to look closer. He admired the thoroughness of the work, or as much of it as he could see in the moonlight. On his way to the tool-shed with the tools he passed Bella's herb-bed, and then the newly-turned piece beside it caught his eye and brought him to a standstill.

"That must be the little one's," he said to himself, as he looked down at it. "Of course she must have what the others have! I wonder what she's got planted in it?" He bent lower and lower, but in the uncertain light he could not distinguish what the little clump of green was, and at last he had to go down on his knee in the path and light a match.

"One double daisy, bless her heart! It's that daisy root she has set so much store on ever since Maggie Langley gave it to her. Bless her baby heart!" he said once more and very tenderly, and as he rose from the ground again he sighed heavily, and passed his hand across his eyes more than once.

"I'd like to give her a s'prise," he thought to himself. "I'd dearly love to give her a s'prise, and I will too. It'll please her ever so much."

The thought of it pleased him ever so much too, and he went in and went to bed feeling in a happier mood than he had done for a long time. The mood was on him the next morning too, when he came down to breakfast.

"Where are the children?" he asked, as he went to the scullery for his heavy working boots.

"Oh, out in the garden. They are mad about the garden for the time," said Aunt Emma, with a laugh. "Bella seemed troubled 'cause there was nothing in it, so they're going to set matters right. She has planted a few herbs, and Charlie is making a strawberry bed. I don't know how long it'll last, I'm sure. They soon tires of most things."

"Ay, ay, children mostly do," was all that their father answered, but as soon as his boots were fastened he sauntered out into the garden in search of them.

"Breakfast's ready," called his sister after him. "Call the children, will you?"

"I'll go and fetch them," he said, and made his way to where he heard their voices.

When she caught sight of him Margery left the others and ran towards him. "Daddy! daddy! come and look at my garden. Bella says she thinks my daisy has taken root! Now it'll soon have lots of daisies on it, won't it? and I'll give you a piece of root. Wouldn't you like that? Daddy, won't you have a garden too, and have flowers in it?"

"Why, all the garden is father's," cried Charlie, laughing at her, and with one accord they all turned and looked over the garden which was 'all father's,' and the untidiness, the look of neglect stamped upon everything, brought a sense of shame to the father's heart.

"But there aren't any flowers," sighed Margery.

Aunt Emma's voice was heard calling them in to breakfast.

"No, there ain't any now, but there will be," said her father gravely. The words, though to Margery they sounded so simple, were a promise made to himself and to his dead wife to do better in the future than in the past. "By God's help!" he added, under his breath.

That evening, when he came home from work, he made his way at once out into the garden. He had brought home some bundles of young cabbage plants, and was going to make a bed for them.

"It's too late for most things, but I can do something with the ground," he said to himself, as he went to the tool-shed for his fork and shovel.

The children had gone into Woodley on an errand for their aunt, but might be back at any moment now. The four tidy little patches of ground made the rest of the garden look more wretchedly neglected than ever before; they were to him like four reproaches from his four neglected children.

He began to dig with almost feverish haste, in his desire to get some more of the ground in order, and so absorbed did he become in the improvement he soon made, that he forgot about time and tea, and everything else.

A shout at last made him look up. It was a joyful shout from little Margery, who, catching sight of him at once, came flying along the path to him.

"Oh, daddy's got a garden, too!" she cried delightedly. "Daddy is making a garden too! Oh, how nice! What are you going to grow in your garden, daddy? Flowers?"

"Ay, I must try and have a few flowers here and there; but I've got to have cabbages and leeks and potatoes, and all sorts of things in my garden,—things that ain't so pretty as flowers, but are more useful."

Margery stood for a moment looking very soberly at the newly-turned earth, and holding tight a paper bag that she had been carrying very carefully all the time.

Suddenly she held the bag out to him. "I'll give you that for your garden, daddy," she said, eagerly, "then you'll have a flower."

Her father took the bag from her and began to open it. "What is it? What have 'ee got there, little maid?"

"It's a 'get-me-not root. Mr. Carter gave it to me for my garden; but I'll give it to you, daddy, 'cause there isn't anything pretty in your garden."

The man's heart was very full as he looked in on the little root; then, without speaking, he laid it gently down, and taking his little girl very tenderly in his arms he kissed her.

"Daddy'll plant it this very minute, little one;" and to himself he added, "and I'll plant it where I can see it best—in case I should forget again."

A voice came calling down the path to them, "Father, supper's ready. Margery, come in to supper;" but the little forget-me-not had to be planted first, and Margery had to stay and help, of course. When it was firmly placed in the ground in a nice little puddle of water, and the earth pressed tightly about its roots, Margery stood back and gazed at it contentedly.

"I think it looks lovely there, don't you, daddy? and you see I've got my daisy and a marigold in my garden, so I have plenty; and p'raps I'll get something more 'nother day."

That night, after supper was over and the children were in bed, William Hender went softly down the garden again to Margery's very neat but very bare little garden plot, and at the back of it, against the wall, he carefully planted a fine rose bush. He had brought it home with him on purpose for her, and, that the children might not see it, he had hidden it in the hedge in the lane until he had an opportunity of planting it, for he wanted it to be a surprise for the little maiden. All the time he was planting it he was picturing to himself what she would say and do when she first saw it; and he laughed to himself more than once, but very tenderly, as he pictured the surprise on her face.

In the morning he was up and dressed before any of them, and out in the garden at work. He had a glance first at the forget-me-not, and then at Margery's rose bush and daisy. All of which were looking very healthy and happy in their new surroundings. Then he began to dig up a piece of ground not far off, where, while pretending to be paying no heed to them, he could hear all that they said and did.

Then, as the minutes went by, he began to grow impatient for the children to come, but his patience was not tried for long, before the house-door was flung open, and a stampede along the path announced their coming.

"Why, father is up already!" he heard Tom exclaim, "and just see what a lot he's done."

"How nice it looks! Doesn't it make a difference?" said another voice that he guessed was Bella's. "Wait a minute; I've got to let out the fowls, and give them their breakfast. Come along, Margery, if you want to throw it to them."

For once Margery was quite indifferent to the fowls. "Is your 'get-me-not growing, daddy?" she shouted anxiously, as she raced up to him.

"My dear life, yes! I should just think it is. You give it a look as you go by. I think it is wonderful."

"Oh, it is, isn't it? I think it's lovely. I am so glad I gave it to you. Are you glad, daddy?"

"Glad, I should think I am, and no mistake! Never was gladder of anything in my life," said her father heartily.

Margery's face was radiant with joy. "What are you going to plant in your garden now, daddy?"

"Cabbages."

"Oh!" disappointedly, "I don't like cabbages, they haven't pretty flowers, and they haven't a pretty smell."

"Well, we can't have everything pretty, and glad enough we are of cabbages for dinner sometimes. The hens like them better than any flower, don't they?"

"Yes, so they do. I'll be able to give some of the leaves to the fowls, won't I?"

"Yes, if you don't give them too many."

"I must go now and see if my daisy is growing, and the marigold. I'll be back again in a minute," and away she trotted.

The others were sauntering slowly back from the fowl-house, and pausing to look at Charlie's strawberry plants on their way, when suddenly the silence was broken by a succession of squeals and shrieks and frantic calls to each one by name.

"Oh-h-h! oh-h! oh!! Bella! Daddy! Tom! Do come here. Charlie! oh, look, do look! there's a lovely rose bush growed up in my garden through the night, and it's got leaves on it! Oh, how did it come? Daddy, do come and see it. You never saw anything so wonderful."

They all ran, of course. Bella and the boys nearly as excited as Margery, and full of curiosity, their father full of pleasure with the success of his surprise.

"Daddy, do come and look. It is a real one, isn't it?" Clutching him by the hand to hurry him. "It isn't a fairy rose, is it?" anxiously.

"It's a real one right enough, in my opinion," said her father, looking very grave, and stooping down to inspect the little bush. "It's a real one right enough," he assured her solemnly, as he straightened himself again. "Looks healthy too."

"Do you think the fairies put it there for me?" she asked, breathlessly, watching her father closely and trying to read his face. "Or do you think God sended it to me 'cause I've been a good girl?"

"Have you been a good girl?" doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I think so," hesitatingly; "haven't I, Bella?" turning her anxious little face from one to the other.

"Yes," said Bella loyally, "you've been very good."

"That's it, then, I expect it has been sent to your garden because you've been good."

"P'raps God telled the fairies, and they put it there," and her little face grew all bright again at this wonderful explanation.

The beauty and wonder and mystery of it all took up so much of their time and attention that there was no more work done that morning, for when Aunt Emma's call to breakfast came sounding along the path they were still gathered about Margery's little garden, gazing and marvelling at the mysterious rose.

"I must have one look at my herbs before I go in," said Bella to herself as the call to breakfast reached her; "they are not as lovely as Margery's rose, but my herb-bed was the beginning, and—and oh I do hope it is all going to be nicer again, and as happy as it used to be. It really does seem as if there was a difference already."