CHAPTER IV.

"Now then, Anna," said Miss Ashe at last, "we really must show these poor children their rooms, and let them wash and refresh themselves before tea; they must be longing to, and I am sure they are famished—aren't you, children?"

They remembered their 'tea' at three o'clock, and blushed; but that really did seem hours ago now, and they honestly were very hungry again. Perhaps the moor air had something to answer for already.

"Well, come along," said Miss Ashe, while, murmuring something about hot water, she bustled off to the kitchen. "No, Guard, you must wait down here," said his mistress, as he rose to follow them; and with his feet on the bottom stair he stood still, gazing after them longingly, but without attempting to follow.

At the right of the hall was an archway, and going up a step and through this, the children found themselves in another little hall, with doors on two sides of it, and a staircase at the back, all completely cut off from the view from the front door. The stairs were so wide and shallow they tripped as they followed Miss Ashe up them. At the top they found themselves in a little gallery which ran all round with several doors opening into it.

"Now, my chicks," said Miss Charlotte, throwing open the first door they came to, "you must settle amongst yourselves which two shall share a room, and which room you will have."

The children, greatly excited, poured after her into what they all thought the sweetest, loveliest bedroom they had ever seen in their lives—which it certainly was. The walls were covered with a pretty creamy paper festooned all over with bunches of pink-tipped daisies tied together with blue ribbons; two little white beds, with snowy curtains and quilts, stood with a table between them. But most fascinating of all was the long, low, lattice-window with its white dimity curtains, and frill across the top. They flew to it to look out, and there before them lay the river winding in and out on its crooked course, and beyond it the moor stretching away, as far as the eye could see, to where, in the distance, it melted into the sky. The beauty of it so fascinated them that it was not until later they noticed all the remaining charms of the room—the little white bookcase full of books, the chairs on either side of the windows, the two white chests of drawers, one for each of them, and provided with a key, too, and the charming blue carpet on the floor.

"I hope we don't do any harm," said Esther nervously. To her, accustomed to the shabby bare rooms at home, ill-kept and untidy, it looked almost too dainty and pretty to use.

"I am quite sure you will not," said Miss Ashe, who appeared to have no fears. "Now this is the sunniest side of the house, and I think, perhaps, the Poppy ought to have the sun."

Poppy laughed. The idea pleased her, and, as though to claim possession, threw her hat on to one of the chairs.

"Now, come along, or tea will be ready before we are." Out they trooped excitedly, each delighted in her own particular way. "That is my room," said Miss Ashe, touching the next door, which was closed. "My window looks towards the station, along the road we came just now." She did not say she had given up the pretty room they had just quitted, in order that they might have the sunshine.

At the back of the square gallery she threw open another door. "This is your other room," she said; and Penelope, who was standing by her, gave one long, low cry of pleasure, and was across the room in a moment.

"Oh!" she gasped, "oh my!" She could not find words to express the feelings which rushed over her as her eyes fell on the view without—the pretty garden full of flowers, enclosed within a stone wall, and beyond that the old brown moor stretching far and wide in every direction, until it broke like a brown sea about the foot of the distant hills. Here and there were lesser tors and piles of rock, and little footpaths through the heather, and pools which gleamed with a cold light in the light of the evening sky. It was wild, weird, fascinating.

"I think you, at any rate, should have this room," said Miss Ashe, smiling, well pleased at Penelope's delight. The rest of the children were looking interestedly about them. "As this has a colder aspect I thought it should be made to look warmer," Miss Ashe explained; and indeed the warm red carpet, and the dark-red roses nestling against deep-green leaves on the walls, gave it a very cosy, comfortable look.

Esther felt soothed and calmed already. The air of comfort and neatness, the good taste that met them on all sides, gave her such a sense of pleasure and ease as she had never known before. This was just how things should look, how she had always wanted them to look, and had never been able to get them to, or make the others understand.

"How do you think you will manage?" said Miss Ashe, turning to Esther. "Don't you think you and the baby here had better be together in the other room, so that you may be able to help her a little? I have only the one servant yet, so we must manage to do as best we can for the time. I think these two," laying a hand on Angela and Penelope, "had better stay here;" a plan they all heartily agreed with. Then, after providing them with brushes and combs until they could unpack their own, Miss Ashe went away, and left them to prepare themselves for tea.

And here, perhaps, it would be as well to give you some idea of what the four little Carrolls were like at this time, for one's first question generally, on hearing any one spoken of, is, "Is she pretty?" or, "What is she like?" and quite naturally, too, for people only seem real to us when we are able to picture them in our own minds as they really are.

Well, Esther Carroll at this time was a tall, thin girl, with a grave face and fine expressive grey eyes. She was not pretty, but she would have been what is generally described as 'nice-looking' if her face had not been almost always spoilt by her worried, cross expression. She was a tall, graceful girl, with a good carriage, well-shaped hands and feet, a good complexion, and an abundance of long light-brown hair. She took great pains that her hair should look well-kept and glossy, and it hung long, straight, and gleaming, to below her waist.

Penelope was shorter and broader, altogether a more portly little person, with a clever face, dreamy, questioning grey eyes, and a nose which was decidedly a snub—a fact there was no getting over, though Penelope often tried. Her hair, which was short and curly, was not so golden as Esther's; it had deeper, redder tints in it.

Angela was more like Esther in appearance than either of the others. She was a lanky, overgrown little person at nine years of age, but her long, shapely feet and hands gave promise of a graceful woman by and by. She had long, fair hair like Esther's too, but Angela's had a beautiful wave in it. Her eyes, blue and soft, and appealing as her warm affectionate nature, looked out of a beautiful child-like face, full of gentleness and love.

Then came the Poppy, the pet and plaything and ruler of them all, a little round, dark-haired, brown-eyed contrast to the others, who demanded love and got it, giving it in return when she chose, and that was not always to those who asked most loudly for it. Fearless, outspoken, and quick, Poppy had none of Penelope's dreaminess, or Esther's anxiousness, or Angela's timidity. She was eminently a practical little person, with deep thoughts and plans of her own, and a will to carry them through.

They had had a rough, uncared-for upbringing, which had made Esther perhaps a little masterful and grown-up in her ways and ideas, and Penelope, somewhat careless, had not checked Angela's nervousness or Poppy's independence, but they were all honest and truthful, and full of good instincts; and as they stood looking out of the windows of their new home at the new strange world beyond, each in her own way was determining to make the best of her new life, and be good.

But they dared not linger at the windows.

"Tea may be ready even now, and Cousin Charlotte is perhaps a very particular and punctual person," said Esther, and taking Poppy by the hand they started to go down. But at the top of the stairs they found Penelope and Angela debating and looking about them nervously.

"Ought we to go down, or ought we to wait till we are called?" asked Angela, turning to Esther, with relief at leaving it to some one else to decide. "Would it be rude to seem in a hurry, or to keep Miss Charlotte waiting?"

Esther could throw no light on the dreadful problem, there were so many things to think of. If they went down they would not know where to go, and if they stayed in their rooms Cousin Charlotte might wait and wait for them, thinking they were not ready.

"Anyhow, we can't stand here," whispered Penelope. "It will look as though we are listening and prying. Let's go back to our rooms—and yet— oh dear, Cousin Charlotte may be down there now, at this very moment, getting angry with us and thinking how long we take getting ready, and we don't really."

Esther's temper suddenly gave way. "I do wish one knew what to do, always," she said crossly. "But mother never taught us things like this— yet we are expected to know—"

"P'r'aps it doesn't really matter," whispered Angela, who could not bear to hear her mother spoken harshly of.

"Oh yes, it does," snapped Esther. "It makes all the difference."

"P'r'aps they'll ring a bell when tea is ready," chimed in Poppy, with sudden inspiration, "then we will know." And sure enough at that moment a bell did ring down below, and settled the difficulty. In their relief Penelope and Angela started off with a rush.

"Oh, girls, don't hurry so," cried Esther nervously. "It looks so bad, as though we had been waiting."

So the impetuous ones slackened their pace, and four very demure little maidens entered the dining-room a moment later in a manner as decorous and restrained as the most polite could wish.

And what a charming scene it was that met their eyes—one that all the four appreciated to the full: a long, low room with a French window standing wide open to the garden just a step or two below. On the evening breeze wafted in the scent of mignonette and flowers, and the low sleepy clucking of the hens, about to go to roost. Near the window stood the table, with a silver kettle boiling merrily on its stand, and fruit and flowers and pretty china in abundance, all looking as dainty and tempting as heart could desire. There was an abundance too of more substantial fare, eggs and fish, and jam and cream, a tart, and a big home-made loaf; and the scent of the flowers and the tea all mingled together in a most appetising whole.

To the children it all seemed wonderful, exquisite; and for the first time they realised how hungry they were. Penelope's eyes wandered through the window to the flower-beds outside.

"Oh, what a lovely garden!" she cried, struck at once by the beauty of its well-kept air, and the cared-for look of everything. Then she grew silent as her thoughts flew back with tender pity to the old beloved untidy Framley garden, and she felt a twinge of remorse that she had not tried to do something with it—it might perhaps have been made to look like this. Then, at a word from Miss Ashe, they turned away from the window to the tea-table.

While the children were taking their places she made the tea.

"Now," she said, as she drew the cosy over the teapot, "which of you will say grace?"

The four looked from one to the other dismayed. Esther and Penelope's cheeks flamed hotly, Angela looked puzzled. Poppy alone spoke.

"What is 'grace'?" she asked innocently.

Miss Ashe grasped the situation in a moment, and, though her heart sank a little in dismay at their ignorance, she showed no sign. "It is a little prayer we say before a meal, to ask God's blessing on what He has given us, and we say one again at the end to thank Him for it."

"We never say anything at home," said Poppy, with childlike candour. "What do you say, Cousin Charlotte?"

"Put your hands together, dear, and bow your head, and you shall hear. It is very simple; you will be able to say it too in a day or so. Now," bowing her head reverently, "For what we are about to receive, O Lord make us truly thankful. Amen." Then Miss Ashe raised her head, and the children followed suit.

"I've read in some of my books of people who said grace," said Angela, "but I didn't know that people really did it."

Cousin Charlotte's face was very grave. "A great many do, and a great many more do not, but every one should. Don't you yourselves feel that you want to, dears? You say 'Thank you!' to any one who gives you even the least little trifle. You have just said 'Thank you!' to me for the cup of tea I handed you; then surely much more should you say it to the good God who gives you everything. Don't you see, darling?"

"Yes, I see," said Penelope soberly. "I wish I had thought of it before. How ungrateful we must seem to God! I wonder He goes on being good to people if they never seem grateful."

"God is so tender, and loving, and forgiving. He does not punish us because we are ungrateful, and forget Him; but, though what is done in ignorance is excusable, when we know and yet forget Him we are committing a sinful and ungrateful act."

Poppy sat drinking in eagerly all that was said. "I'll try to remember, Cousin Charlotte," she said seriously. And Cousin Charlotte smiled, and blinked her eyes rather hard for a moment and laid one hand on Poppy's tiny hand resting on the table by her. Then the meal began in earnest. And oh what a meal it was! The children were wildly hungry, and the new fare was so tempting compared with what they had been accustomed to at home. Then, when it was over, and that was not very quickly, and grace had been said, they all strolled out through the open window and down the steps to the sweet-scented garden, where they wandered about until it was time to go in and unpack their boxes, and put Poppy to bed.

It was great fun unpacking and laying away their things in the places meant for them, though there was so little to lay away it looked quite lost in the deep drawers and cupboards. Esther felt horribly ashamed as she wondered what Miss Ashe and Anna would think when they came and saw them. At the same time it was great fun running from room to room to look for missing articles. One of Poppy's shoes was in one box, and the other in the one Penelope was unpacking in her room. Then no nightgowns could be found until, after a long search, they were discovered at the very bottom of one of the boxes underneath the toys they had insisted on bringing.

"I don't think the boots ought to have been put in last," said Esther gravely. "Your old boots were right on top of my best hat, and the crown has been doubled right in. Look, Pen."

Penelope looked at it with serious consideration.

"What a pity! I believe," she added, after vainly trying again and again to make the crown stay up, "I believe you will have to pretend this is how it ought to be."

The Carroll children had had so little in the way of hats and clothes, and so seldom a pretty thing, they thought very little about dress, so the catastrophe did not affect them as it would have vainer children; and, in any case, their minds were too full now of other things to have much time to spare for trouble.

That night as soon as they were in bed they fell asleep, and slept like tops; their long day had tired them out, and the moor air made them sleepy, so sleepy that when morning came they slept on and on, in spite of the sun shining outside, and the birds calling, and the voices of the men and boys shouting 'Good mornin'!' 'Bootiful day,' to each other as they went on their way to their work.

When Esther did awaken at last it was to find Anna knocking at her door, and calling, "Time to get up, young ladies; it is half-past seven, and breakfast will be ready at half-past eight. Are you awake, missie?"

"Come in," called Esther in a very sleepy tone, stretching herself luxuriously in her comfortable bed. They had rarely known the luxury of being called—never, certainly, of having hot water brought them.

Anna opened the door, and her big person filled the aperture. When she caught sight of Poppy's dark head so still and quiet on the pillow, she came further in. "Well, I never!" she breathed softly, as she gently placed down the can of hot water, "how sound she do sleep, the pretty dear; it do seem a shame to wake her. P'r'aps she'd better 'bide on for a bit, and rest herself."

"Oh no," said Esther, rousing herself. "Poppy is all right, she is a dreadful sleepy-head. Poppy!" she called, raising herself on one elbow, "Poppy! Wake up! It will soon be breakfast time, and Cousin Charlotte will be awfully angry if you are late."

"Ah, now, it do seem crool to frighten her like that," said Anna, half smiling, half troubled.

Poppy stirred herself, opened her dark eyes, and then, recognising her new surroundings, sat bolt upright in bed, looking about her with deep interest, but no sign of alarm or fear.

"I couldn't think where I was, just at first," she exclaimed in a sleepy voice. "It's Tousin Charlotte's. Is it time to get up? Oh how lovely! Now we've got all day to go and look at where we are."

She was out of bed at once, dancing about on her little white toes, her short curls all tumbled about her pretty flushed face.

"Now I'm going on to call your sisters," said Anna. "The bath water is all ready, missie; you've only got to turn the tap to get it just to your liking. You know where the bathroom is, don't you?"

"Bags I bath first!" shouted Poppy, who, all the while Anna had been speaking had been edging nearer and nearer the door; and with a triumphant laugh she had flown along the corridor and shut herself in before any one could stop her. Esther felt distinctly aggravated. She had considered herself obliged by politeness to remain in bed and give Anna her undivided attention while she was talking, and now Poppy, troubled by no such scruples, had taken this mean advantage. She would really have to be kept in better order, and taught to behave. Anna went away to call the others.

"Well, she hasn't got any towels, or sponge, or anything," said Esther, looking about the room. "Serve her right, she deserves—oh dear! I forgot the water would be hot; she's sure to scald herself, Or do something mad with the taps or the water. I must go and see to her."

At home the bathroom had had no bolt or lock on the door, and she would have gained admission at once by simply storming it. But here, as yet, she felt constrained to do things in a more gentle manner. So she crept softly along the corridor and tapped at the door lightly. "Poppy," she pleaded in an anxious whisper, "Poppy, do open the door, and let me get the bath ready for you. I am sure you will scald yourself, or swamp the house. Do let me in, dear; just think how angry Cousin Charlotte would be if any accident were to happen."

But no answer came to her pleading. "Poppy," more seriously, "do you hear me! Let me in at once, as I tell you." But the only response was a mighty rush of water and a great splashing, and Esther retreated, defeated, to nurse her wrath and await Miss Poppy's return.

"I do hope the children won't behave like savages," she muttered angrily, "and so disgrace us all." And a few moments later she had cause to echo this wish, for with a good deal of rattle and noise the bathroom door was flung open, and Poppy, having discovered nothing to dry herself with, flew dripping back to her bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footmarks all along the speckless carpets.

It really was enough to make Esther very cross, and it did, and Miss Poppy was rubbed dry with more vigour than she at all appreciated, a vigour which was not lessened by a rush from the other bedroom and the capture of the bathroom by Penelope. Esther felt very injured. As eldest she considered she had the first right. On her way back again, Penelope, unconscious of the state of feeling in the blue bedroom, unceremoniously opened their door and popped her head in. "How are you?" she asked, her face all beaming with smiles.

"I don't know how I am, but I know how I shall be," said Esther tartly. "I shall be late, and it won't be my fault."

To Penelope this seemed a matter too trifling to think of. "Isn't everything jolly?" she breathed loudly, remembering suddenly that Miss Charlotte was in the next room. "I couldn't think where I was when I woke up, it was so funny—"

"Go and dress," said Esther, "or you—oh, it really is too bad!" she exclaimed abruptly as a soft swish along the corridor and the click of a latch told her that she had been again forestalled, and Angela was now in possession of the bathroom. "I ought to go first, because I am the eldest, and Poppy last because she is the youngest."

Poppy chuckled, "I was first and you'll be last, to-day," she said aggravatingly.

"I didn't know it mattered, as long as we all got washed," said Penelope, and finding the atmosphere uncongenial, began edging away.

"It matters very much," said Esther with dignity. "I have to dress Poppy, and tidy the room. If I am dressed first I can—" but Penelope had melted away, and Poppy was kneeling by her bed, saying her prayers. Esther could have cried with annoyance.

She was ready in time after all, but barely. She was just fastening her frock when the bell rang, and her waistband she put on as she went down the stairs. A frown still rested on her face and she felt very cross. She had not said her prayers, and she had not been able to put her room tidy as she meant to, and she felt that her first morning, that she had thought would have been so lovely, was quite spoilt.