CHAPTER VII

WHAT LAY BEYOND THE MILESTONE

The next week the children went off far more heavily laden than they had been when they made their first venture. Bella had added a few bunches of herbs to her large supply of flowers, and a bunch or two from Margery's garden, and she had to carry both her baskets herself, for Tom's vegetables proved load enough for him. He had wanted to take some currants for Charlie, but his father would not allow that.

"They ain't good enough," he said; "it won't do for to begin offering poor stuff to your customers, or you'll lose those you've got and never get any more, and you'll have all your load to carry for nothing. You learn to grow better ones, Charlie, my boy, and then another year you'll be able to make something by them."

Charlie's face fell, but he had not given the time or care to his garden that the others had, and he knew it, and that only made him more vexed. Life was disappointing to Charlie just then. It seemed to him, and to Margery too, hard that they also could not go to Norton every Saturday. The ten-mile walk they forgot all about, they only thought of the pleasure of being in the midst of all the people and the bustle, and the shops and market-stalls, with their loads of fruit and sweets and buns. The great aim of Margery's life then was to grow big enough to carry in a basketful of flowers too, and sell them, and to possess a purse to put the money in, and a Savings Bank book, just as Bella had. As the summer wore on and the days grew hotter and hotter, the eagerness of both died down a good deal. It was far more pleasant, they found, to stay at home and play in the cool lane or orchard, than to get up at four in the morning and tramp about all day long under the weight of heavy baskets. Some days they even found it too hot to walk with their father as far as the milestone.

Those were trying, tiring days for Tom and Bella, days that put their courage to the test, and made their perseverance waver more than once. The walk in the morning was lovely still, but the standing about in the close, narrow streets, crowded with people and animals, without even a rest at the end of their five-mile walk, was so wearying that Bella often longed to sit down on the edge of the pavement to rest her aching feet.

Her cheeks would grow scarlet, and her head throb, and her eyes ache with the glare, and the heat and the weight of the baskets, but she could not do anything to get relief. She had to stand or walk about, trying to sell her flowers as quickly as possible. There was nothing else to be done. The poor flowers suffered too, and hard work it was to keep them looking fresh.

Sometimes a farmer or carter would offer the two tired little market-gardeners a 'lift' on their homeward way, but this did not happen often, for, as a rule, they were all going in the opposite direction. There were few besides Bella and Tom who left the town so early; and it would have been cooler and pleasanter for them if they had waited until the evening and the heat of the day was over, but they were always anxious to get home, and they really did not know where to go or what to do with themselves all the weary day until five or six o'clock.

That was a very long, hot summer. The flowers opened and faded quickly, in spite of the hours the whole family spent every evening watering them; and more than once, if it had not been for the fruit from the orchard and the vegetables, Bella and Tom would have had but a scanty supply to take to their customers. As it was, they could not carry enough to make very much profit, for fruit and vegetables are heavy, and to carry a load of them for miles is no joke.

Several times that summer, when she awoke after a hot, restless night to another stifling, scorching day, Bella felt inclined to shirk her business and remain at home. It would have been so jolly to have spent the day lazily in the shady orchard, instead of tramping those long, dusty miles. Tom felt the heat less, and his energy helped to keep her up.

"We'll have a donkey before so very long," he said cheerfully. "If we can have a good sowing and planting this autumn, and good crops next spring, father and all of us, we'll have enough to carry in to make it worth while to hire Mrs. Wintle's donkey."

So with the thought of all they were going to do in the future to buoy them up, off they would start again, hoping that before another Saturday came the heat would have lessened, and some rain have fallen to refresh the land and lay the dust.

Yet, with all its weariness and hard work, that summer ever after stood out in Bella's memory as a very happy one; and the evenings after their return, and the Sundays, remained in her memory all her life through.

Even if Charlie and Margery did not come to meet them, their father was always there to carry their baskets home for them. And then there was the change into cool, comfortable old garments, and the nice tea, and the long rest in the orchard, or sitting about in the porch outside the door, while they talked over all that had happened during the day.

They all went to bed by daylight on those light nights, and Bella, as she stretched out her weary body restfully on her little white bed, could see through the open window the stars come up one by one in the deep blue-black sky.

She was always quite rested by the time Sunday came, and was up and out early for a look at her garden before getting ready for Sunday-School. She loved the Sunday-School, and she loved her teacher, and the service after in the dear old creeper-covered church, where the leaves peeped in at the open windows, and the birds came in and flew about overhead, and all the people knew and greeted one another in a friendly spirit.

On Sundays, too, it was an understood thing that Bella should go to tea with Aunt Maggie, and this was to her, perhaps, one of the happiest hours of the whole week, for Aunt Maggie had a little harmonium, to the music of which they sang hymns. Sometimes, too, she told stories of the days when she was young, and of people and places she had seen—told them so interestingly, that to Bella the people and places seemed as real as though she had known them herself. They had long talks, too, about all that Bella was doing, and the things that puzzled her, and her plans for the present and the future.

"You never seem to be years and years older than me, Aunt Maggie," Bella said one day, "for you always seem to understand and to like what I like."

Aunt Maggie smiled. "Some people's hearts don't grow old as fast as their bodies," she said thoughtfully. "I think it must be that which makes them understand."

"I hope my heart won't ever get old," said Bella seriously. "It must be dreadful not to take any interest in people or anything."

One Sunday, the last of this old life, so comparatively happy and free of care, Mrs. Langley stopped Bella just as she was leaving.

"I want you to come in to see me to-morrow," she said, "and bring Tom with you. I am making a print frock for you, and a holland coat for him to wear to market on Saturdays. They'll be much more comfortable for you both than your thick cloth ones." Then, in answer to Bella's cry of delight, "You must thank your Aunt Emma, too; 'twas she thought of it first, and I told her that if she'd get the stuff I'd make the things. There now, run away home, it is time you were putting Margery to bed. No, I shall not tell you the colour," laughing, as she loosened Bella's arms which she had flung round her in her delight; "you will know to-morrow."

"I hope it is pink," said Bella earnestly, eyeing her aunt closely, to see if she could read anything from her face, but Mrs. Langley only smiled.

"Well, you will know by this time to-morrow. Now, run away, or they will be wondering what has become of you."

"To-morrow is such a long way off," sighed Bella. "It'll never come!"

To-morrow came, as all to-morrows do, and, to Bella's great delight, the frock turned out to be as pretty a pink as she could possibly desire. It was very simply made, with just a plain skirt and belted bodice, but when she saw it finished, and with little white collar and cuffs added, Bella thought it the prettiest frock she had ever seen in her life. Perhaps it was the prettiest she had ever possessed, for Aunt Emma did not understand that clothes could be pretty as well as serviceable, and most of poor Bella's frocks had been of heavy brown or black stuff, made without any trimming, and with never a vestige of white at neck or wrists,—a dainty finish which Bella loved the look of.

In spite of the heat and the long walk in it, Bella waited impatiently for the following Saturday, and surely, she thought, never had a week been so long in passing.

It was September now, but the weather was as hot and stifling as it had been in July. The days were shorter, and the sun went down earlier, but, apart from the sun, the oppressive heat lasted on throughout the nights, which were almost as trying as the day. The earlier summer flowers were over, and the drought had prevented the later ones from coming on well, so that it was difficult to get a good supply week by week.

Bella and Tom no longer carried in the things from their own little gardens only, or they would often have found they had not enough to make it worth their while; but all contributed something that they had to sell, and it was quite a serious business to make up the accounts and divide the money when the little market-gardeners got home from market.

Each one now had a money-box or Savings Bank account. Aunt Emma was delighted. "It is ever so much better for them than wasting their time playing," she said to Mrs. Langley one day. "Much better."

"They ought to play, too," said Aunt Maggie quietly; "this is their play-time. All the rest of their life will be taken up with trying to earn a living. Let them play too, when they can."

As Bella and Tom started off that morning in their nice new cool garments, they thought that work would be ever so much nicer than play, if one could only go about it dressed like that always. Tom felt quite grown-up and business-like in his linen coat, and Bella felt another being, her frock was so much lighter and so pretty, too, and cool and clean.

"I think our new clothes have brought us good luck," she said, as long before the morning was over they had sold out most of what they had brought. The 'good luck' was that in their new garments, looking cool and fresh, they attracted the notice of those who had overlooked them in their heavier, uglier clothes.

When the time came for them to have their meal, they had sold out everything, to the very last apple.

"We could start for home now," said Bella, who was suffering much less from the heat than usual, "only that I've got some shopping to do for Aunt Emma."

"And we've got to buy the seeds," said Tom. "It wouldn't do to start back too early; father wouldn't have time to get to the milestone to meet us."

So they went and had their lunch in a leisurely, lazy way, talking all the time they munched at their sandwiches and apples. "I've got four shillings for father, and threepence for Margery," said Bella, counting up her takings, "and two shillings for myself."

"And I've got two shillings too," chimed in Tom.

This was a large sum to children brought up in the country, where the best-paid workmen earned only twelve and sixpence a week.

Their meal ended, they went back to the shops and people again, and made their purchases, and at last were able to turn their steps homeward.

"Instead of being early, we're later than usual," said Tom. "Father will have to wait a bit for us."

"Never mind; I dare say we shall be able to walk a little faster to-day," said Bella, "and make it up. Margery said she would come to meet us. I wonder if she will. She's dying to wear her pink frock like mine, but I don't s'pose Aunt Emma will let her. I shall be able to see as soon as we turn the last bend of the road. The pink will show out fine against the hedge. Oh dear, I wish we were there! I shall be glad to give these baskets up to father, these groceries weigh heavy," and Bella sighed wearily.

"Only one more hill and two more bends, and we shall see him," said Tom cheerfully, for one of the chief pleasures of their day was to catch sight of the milestone where their father had never yet failed to meet them, to take their baskets from them, and listen to their account of the day's doings.

"Only one more hill and two bends!" the thought sent them trudging on with renewed spirit, and the hill was climbed before they realised it. Then one bend in the road was rounded, then the other, and there in the distance could be seen the milestone. But, except for the milestone, the road was empty!

"Why, father isn't there!" cried Bella disappointedly; "he is late."

"P'raps somebody has met him, and kept him talking," suggested Tom; "we shall see him hurrying along in a minute." So they finished the rest of the distance with their eyes eagerly scanning the white road stretching away before them.

"We will have a rest here, shall we?" said Bella, placing her baskets on the ground by the old grey stone; "he won't be more than a few minutes, I expect. Oh, I am so tired, aren't you?"

Tom, seated on the milestone, only nodded, his eyes never wandered from the road along which their father was to come. It was very still and quiet there, almost oppressively so. No one passed, and no sound, except the voices of the birds and the distant mooing of a cow, broke the silence.

"P'raps after all we'd better go on," said Bella at last, after restlessly fidgeting about, and staring along the dirty road until her eyes ached.

"It doesn't seem to be much use waiting," said Tom quietly, and they started on their way again, but far less cheerfully now. Indeed, for such a trifling and easily explained incident, their spirits were strangely cast down. A dozen simple things might have happened to prevent their father's coming; he might have been detained at his work, or have met some one, and be staying talking to them; or he might have been busy and have forgotten the time.

Perhaps it was because they were over-tired and hungry, and in the state to look on the gloomy side of things, that they could not take a cheerful view of the matter, or shake off the feeling of depression which filled them.

Whether this was so or not, they felt anxious and troubled, and all the sunshine and pleasure seemed to have gone out of their day. It was almost as though a foreboding of the truth had come to them—that when they left the old milestone they were leaving their light-heartedness and childhood behind them, never quite to find them again. Never, at any rate, the same. When they left it they set their faces towards a long, dark road, with many a weary hill and many a desolate space to cross, and with a heavier burden to bear than any they had yet borne.

Had they known, their hearts might have failed them altogether, perhaps, though the way was not to be all as dark and stony for their tired feet, as at first it had seemed to promise. There would be sunshine on the road for them too, and pleasant resting-places.

To them then, as they trudged along in silence, the road they had to tread seemed hard and gloomy enough, even though it was the road towards home. Every yard seemed as six, and never a glimpse did they catch of their father, or Margery, or Charlie. Bella walked that mile often and often in the years that followed, but never again without remembering that afternoon.

At last, as they drew near the top of 'their own lane,' as they called it, they saw a woman standing; she had no hat on her head, and appeared to be waiting and looking eagerly for some one. When she caught sight of the children, she hurried forward to meet them. Bella soon recognised her, it was Mrs. Carter, Billy Carter's mother, and she wondered why she was there in her working-dress, and why her face was so white.

"Where's father?" asked Bella sharply. She never could tell afterwards why that question sprung to her lips, or why with a sharp thrill of fear she knew what the answer would be, before it was spoken.

"I've come to tell you, my dears,—your—your father's bad; there's been an accident, and—and you've got to be very quiet."

"What is it? What's happened? What accident, oh, do tell!" cried Bella in an agony of alarm at once. It seemed to her then that she had known of this all along, or expected it.

"Is—he—dead?" gasped Tom, white and shaking.

Mrs. Carter seized on the question with some relief. It was one she could answer with some comfort for them. "No, he isn't dead. He is hurt very bad, but the doctor thinks he'll get over it—in time—with care. He's got to go to the hospital, though. Here, let me help you, dear." She took Bella's baskets from her, and putting her strong arm about the child's trembling body, helped her along.

"What happened?" gasped Bella through her poor white, quivering lips.

"A wall fell and crushed him."

"Will he get well again?"

"Yes, dear, oh yes, for certain. We must all hope for the best, you know, and we must be as brave and cheerful as we can. He's hurt a good bit, and some bones are broken, but they can't tell exactly what's wrong until they get him to hospital. Oh yes, dear, he'll get well again, and come home as right as ever he was,—only it'll be a long time first, perhaps."

She was a capital person to have been sent to break the bad news to them, for she herself was cheerful, and hopeful, and sympathetic, in spite of the real dread at her heart. "We were hoping you would have got home sooner," she added. "It seemed such a long time I had to wait for you. He wants to see you before he starts."

The fact of his being taken from them came home to Bella then with a rush. "Oh, they mustn't take him away!" she cried, almost hysterically. "Why can't they let him stay at home? We can nurse him. I know he'd rather——"

"Hush! hush!" said Mrs. Carter, "he'll hear you!" for they were nearly at their own gate by that time. "Bella, dear, you want to do what's best for your father, don't you, and you don't want to think about yourself? Well, he has to be where he can have good nursing, and doctors night and day, and lots of things he couldn't have at home; and if you want him to get well at all, you must bear with his being taken away from you for a bit. You mustn't mind it's being harder for you now, if it's going to be better for him later."

"But I want to help."

"Help! My dear, there'll be plenty of ways for you to help! More than you can reckon. I don't know, I'm sure, how,"—but Mrs. Carter broke off abruptly. She did not want to add to their trouble now.

Tom, who had been walking along silently all this time, guessed what she meant. "We shall have plenty to do," he said gravely, "there'll be all of us to keep while father is away, and you and me'll have to try to do it, Bella."

By this time they were inside the gate, and at the sight of the ambulance standing in the garden Bella nearly broke down again. Her father had already been brought out and laid in it, so they were spared that ordeal, but at the sight of his grey-white face, and closed eyes, and bandaged form, Bella almost fainted, and Tom had to clench his hands tight, to try and stop their trembling.

"He wants to speak to you," said the nurse, beckoning to them to come forward; "he would not go until he had seen you."

Almost timidly they drew close to his side and leaned over him. For a moment he did not look or speak; then, very feebly, his eyelids fluttered and opened, and the pallid lips moved, but the words that came through them were so faint they could barely catch them.

"You'll look after them—till—I come back?"

"Oh yes, yes," sobbed Bella passionately.

"We'll take care of them, father," said Tom, speaking very slowly and distinctly, trying hard all the time to keep his lips steady and his eyes from growing misty. "Don't you worry, we can manage. They shan't want for anything, if we can help it. Shall they, Bella?"

"No, no! only make haste and come back, father!" wept Bella.

"God bless you both!" gasped the poor injured father. "Now kiss me, Bella; you'll look after the little one? Tom, boy, take care of them all."

They both promised again, as they bent down and kissed him.

"And you'll come and see me—in the hospital—Saturdays?"

"Where is it you are going?" asked Bella hurriedly; she had forgotten that in her excitement.

"To Norton," he gasped, his strength fast failing.

Then some one led them away, and the ambulance started on its slow journey.