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.
"Why, it's in such a mess as you never saw in your life; anybody'd think there'd been a month's rain emptied over it, and all the hens in Dorsham scratching it over, and me only sowed the seeds this morning and left it as tidy as ever you see a bed, only so long ago as dinner-time."
Anna, looking up, caught sight of Esther. "Have 'ee found her, missie?" she asked, taking no further notice of Ephraim.
"No," said Esther anxiously, "she isn't in the house, I'm sure."
Anna always grew cross when she was frightened. "Here," she cried, turning sharply on Ephraim, "never mind your old turnip-bed. You just take and look for Miss Poppy; she's the youngest of our young ladies, a little bit of a thing, and she's lost, so you'd best go and look for her this very minute. Look in the garden first of all. Time enough to worry about an old garden bed when the children's all safe."
Esther, in spite of her growing trouble, could not help laughing, their speech sounded so odd and funny, and Ephraim's face was such a picture of offended dignity.
Penelope meanwhile, without saying a word to any one, had gone down to the garden again, and out on to the moor. She had a feeling that Poppy might be out there somewhere. Very likely she had gone in search of them and missed them.
Esther, not knowing this, followed Ephraim. "She couldn't come to any harm, even if she opened the door and got out, could she?" she asked eagerly.
Ephraim shook his head with ponderous gravity. "I wouldn't go for to say so much as that," he said soberly, "there's wild beastes about in plenty on these here moors."
"Wild beasts!" Esther almost screamed with horror at the thought. She pictured her poor little Poppy flying shrieking before a cruel wolf, frightened nearly to death, calling for help, for her sisters—and no one near to save her. Beyond that she dared not let her imagination go. She felt sick and almost fainting. "Do you mean wolves and bears, and— and—"
"Well, no," said Ephraim slowly, as he searched a bed of young carrots as though he thought Poppy might by chance have got under the feathery leaves. "I won't say there are any of them there kinds exactly, but wild cattle, and 'osses, and sheep; there's plenty 'nough of they about, and they'm 'most so bad."
Esther's heart was relieved. ''Osses and cattle' seemed so very mild after what she had pictured.
"I think we'd better go and look on the moor," she said impatiently, as Ephraim showed every sign of making a prolonged search amongst the sea-kale pots, taking the cover off each one in turn. Almost reluctantly he followed her. In the path there still stood Poppy's little watering-can. Esther's eyes filled with tears as she caught sight of it. Ephraim saw it too, and picked it up.
"Perhaps we'd better take this here along as a clue," he said, looking very wise.
Esther could not see what possible use it could be, or how it could help them, but she consented in order to hurry him along; so off they went, Ephraim carrying the tiny can. But hardly had they stepped through the doorway than they saw that their search was ended. Poppy, led by Penelope, was coming down the hill towards them.
"There she is! oh, there she is!" cried Esther, and flew up to meet them, Ephraim following.
On getting outside, Penelope had, by good fortune, at first followed almost exactly in Poppy's footsteps. By stopping to search every bush and boulder she had got somewhat out of her way, but, as she was stooping to look under a large clump of broom and gorse not so very far from where her little sister lay asleep, something white fluttering about had caught her eye. It was Poppy's pinafore, dried now by the breeze. A moment later she caught sight of Poppy's shoes standing alone, without any wearer in them. The sight of her little sister's clothes lying about the moor in this fashion turned Penelope perfectly sick and cold with a horrible, indescribable fear. With feet weighted with terror, and quivering limbs, she hurried to the spot, and dropped on her knees half senseless by her sister's body. A moment later all her terrors fled, replaced by a wonderful ecstasy of thankfulness and joy. Poppy stirred, turned in her sleep, and showed a dirty but rosy face to her frightened sister. In her relief Penelope, with a shout of happiness, flung her arms about her and hugged her.
Suddenly awakened, Poppy sat up and looked about her in a dazed way; then her eyes fell on her muddy pinafore and boots, and a hot blush spread over her baby face.
"I didn't mean to make my pinny dirty," she said anxiously, "but I touldn't help it; there was such a lot of seed, and I had to water it, and the silly water would run out over the can, though I was ever and ever so careful."
"But how did you come to be lying here, darling?" said Pen, drawing her little sister closer into her arms. In her relief she was quite unable to scold her for the fright she had given them. "We left you in the garden. You shouldn't have come out here alone. We thought you were lost, and we were awfully frightened!"
Poppy sat up very erect. She suddenly felt herself very important and interesting. "I wanted to find you and Essie. I was 'fraid to see Cousin Charlotte with my dirty pinny on; and I came out here and you weren't anywhere, and then I was so tired I lay down. Oh, it took me such a long time, but Mrs. Vercoe said it was beautiful parsley. Do you think it is beginning to grow yet, Pen?"
"I don't know," said Pen absently; "we must make haste back, now, to let them know you are safe. You see, if you go getting lost, Cousin Charlotte won't let us come out on the moor alone. Come along," raising her sister, after putting on her shoes for her.
For a moment Poppy looked troubled, but quickly cheered up. "I don't fink Cousin Charlotte will be cross when she knows," she said confidently.
"Knows what?" asked Penelope curiously.
"My secret," said Poppy solemnly. "I'll tell you if you'll promise not to tell any one else." But at that moment all confidences were stopped by the appearance of Esther and Ephraim.
Poppy accepted Esther's rapturous greeting calmly. She, of course, did not realise yet the state of alarm they had all been in on her account; her whole attention was absorbed by the sight of a strange man in possession of her precious watering-can. It was too much for her to pass unnoticed.
"That's my tan, please, I fink," she said politely but firmly, and Ephraim felt his wisdom in bringing this means of identification had been fully justified.
Happy and triumphant the whole party returned to the house, to be received by Anna with open arms and a face beaming with joy. What did it matter if Poppy's apron was covered with mud, and her frock and boots and hands the same? Instead of being treated as a culprit, she was made a heroine of, and appreciated the difference.
When Anna had finished crooning over her, and the story of the discovery had been repeated more than once, she was taken upstairs by Esther, and washed and changed, so that by the time Miss Ashe returned, instead of the bedraggled, dirty little maiden of an hour before, she saw only a perfectly neat and spotless one, and had no suspicion of all that had taken place during her absence.
Ephraim came into the hall to speak to his mistress just as Poppy came down the stairs.
"Well, Ephraim, how far did you get with your morning's work? Did you get the turnip-seed planted?"
"Well, yes, ma'am, I did," said Ephraim slowly. "I made a nice bed for it right there under the lew wall there in the far corner. But—well, whatever has come to it since, it passes me to know; when I went away that there bed was so smooth and tidy as my hand; when I comes back to it— well, ma'am, you honestly might have knocked me flat with a feather, that there newly made bed was—well, 'twas more like a mud-heap than anything you ever saw in your life, ma'am, and trampled—well, out of all shape and semblance. I neer see'd the likes of it in my life. So soon as it's dried I'll have to go and do it all again, and have a second sowing, but it'll be a day or so before it's fit to touch; 'tisn't no use to trust to that first crop—it's my belief it's all ruined."
Poppy drew up suddenly on her way to the dining-room. Her face had grown very red, her hands were working nervously. "You—oh, you mustn't disturb it, please," she gasped. "I—I've planted some thing, and it mustn't be disturbed, it's very good seed, and I watered it to make it grow quickly—it—it did look rather muddy, but—but it'll soon dry."
Ephraim stared in dumb bewilderment. Miss Ashe looked from him to the child and back again, scarcely taking in the situation. She looked again at Ephraim, but getting no help from him, she turned to Poppy.
"What do you mean, darling? Have you been sowing seeds?"
"Yes," said Poppy, but with marked hesitation. "You shall know soon, but it's a secret now, and I mustn't tell, only I was afraid he,"—nodding at Ephraim—"would dig them all up again."
"But, Poppy dear, you shouldn't have done it without asking permission; you see you might do considerable damage by taking a piece of ground like that, not knowing whether there is anything in it or not. As it is, you see, you have spoilt all my turnips. If we hadn't found it out in good time, we should have been left without any for the whole season. Don't you see, dear, how important it is?"
The importance of it was so apparent, and what she had done appeared so overwhelmingly naughty, it seemed to Poppy as though all joy and happiness had gone out of her life for ever. It was dreadful, intolerable. In trying to help Cousin Charlotte as Esther had wished, she had done harm instead of good. Her beautiful secret was over, and instead of being a help she had been a naughty, foolish little girl, whom these strange new people would wish they had never seen, while every one else would laugh when they heard the story. She felt herself covered with shame and disgrace; she was humiliated and miserable; her little lip quivered piteously, her eyes filled, and she was too tired and hurt to fight against her woe.
Miss Charlotte's kind eyes saw the humiliation in the pretty, tired little face, and held out her hand. "Never mind, dear; as it happens there is no harm done; Ephraim shall choose another spot for the turnips, and you shall have that piece of ground for your own garden. It would never do to destroy a second lot of seeds by digging the bed all over again. Good evening, Ephraim, I'll see you to-morrow."
So, thanks to Cousin Charlotte, Poppy was saved the disgrace of having cried before Ephraim; her tears did not fall; she winked them away, and her lip grew steadier. The thought restored her spirits, but her great pleasure in her scheme was dashed.
"And I sowed the parsley on purpose for Tousin Charlotte, only 'twas to be a secret," she confided to Esther as she was being put to bed that night, "to help her, like you said. She could have some to use, and I was going to sell most of it and give the money to her."
Esther did not smile; indeed her eyes were misty as she took her little sister on her lap and kissed her on the top of her head. "It will be all right, dear," she said, "and—and you are the first of us to begin to do something useful; it was splendid of you to think of it. I wish I knew what I could do," she added wistfully, her cheek resting on Poppy's curls.
"I'll try and fink of something for you," said Poppy gravely. "P'r'aps by the morning I'll have finked of something very nice—then won't you be glad?"
But she fell asleep before she had come to any satisfactory conclusion, and Esther, downstairs, in spite of her busy brain and sober face, was equally unsuccessful. She was still thinking when she got up to say 'good-night' and kiss Miss Charlotte. But Miss Charlotte did not bid her good-night at once; instead, she asked her to wait a few moments.
"I wanted to have a little talk, dear, now we are alone," she said, with her pretty smile.
Penelope and Angela had already gone to bed.
Esther sat down again, wondering what was coming.
"I have been thinking," said Miss Charlotte, laying down her pen and coming to sit by Esther, "I have been thinking over our plans, dear, and I have come to the conclusion that I might superintend your studies myself, for a time at any rate."
Esther looked up quickly, her pleasure showing in her eyes. "Oh, that would be nice, Cousin Charlotte," she cried. "I do want to learn so much, but—but you have such a lot to do already, and we are very backward, and I am so—so stupid."
"I don't think you are that, dear," said Miss Charlotte gently, and her words, quiet though they were, brought deep pleasure to Esther.
"I think we might manage it," she went on cheerfully. "Of course I have many calls on my time, and I shall not be able to give you all the attention I should like to; but we can but do our best, and this seems the best plan I can think of. I cannot very well manage to have a governess to you, and there is no school nearer than Gorley, and that is not only four miles away, but a school I do not approve of. So, at any rate, we will try this plan for the present."
Esther got up and stood by Miss Charlotte, her colour coming and going, her fingers playing nervously with her pinafore. "I—I think you are too good to us, Cousin Charlotte," she said huskily, speechless almost with nervousness, but determined to say something of what was in her heart. "I—I don't know how to thank you, but I do want to, and—and—"
Cousin Charlotte's arm was round her, drawing her to her. "We can never be too good to one another, dear; and what are we here for but to help each other over hard places, to try to make each other's lives easier? I am only thankful to have this opportunity of doing good. I was growing narrow and selfish all by myself. I think you were sent to rouse me."
"Oh, Cousin Charlotte, I want to help too," cried Esther wistfully. "I do want to be useful, but I don't know how. Will you tell me? Nothing ever seems to happen to me; I never get a chance of helping people."
"Opportunities, small or great, occur every day, dear," said Miss Charlotte; "it is the little opportunity we must look out for, the small things that we must do. Big ones come sometimes, but little ones every day; if you look for them you will find them. We will help each other, dear. Now we will say good-night. You are tired with your long day in the open air. We will not begin lessons until Monday, there will be so much else to do and arrange. Good-night, my love," and with a warm kiss they parted.
Esther went up to her room with a great glow of happiness at her heart. For the first time in her life she had met some one who understood her; at least, some one who could draw out the good side of her, and not the bad. Esther did not understand what it was, but she felt a difference, and she undressed and said her prayers with Cousin Charlotte's words still ringing in her ears: "We can never be too good to one another, dear; and what are we here for but to help each other over hard places?"
She prayed very especially that she might be shown how to do her share in helping others. Like Poppy, she lay down, determined to think and think, hoping that perhaps by morning she would have thought of some way of helping Cousin Charlotte; and, more successful than Poppy, before even she fell asleep an idea had come. Quite suddenly there came back to her Miss Ashe's remark, that 'it was not convenient then to have a governess.' "It must be on account of the expense," thought Esther, with sudden inspiration. "She talked of getting another servant; but I am sure, if she can't afford a governess she can't afford a servant; and I do believe we could do without one, if I helped quite a lot, as I did at home. And I can. I did all right there. I will ask her to let me try. Oh!"—enthusiastically, as the idea took a firmer hold on her—"I hope she will. She must—and I am sure Anna would be glad."
Too excited and pleased to sleep, Esther slipped from her bed, crept to the window, and looked out. A bright moon lighted up the moor opposite and the river below, until she could see the old brown boulders quite plainly; birds called to each other across the distance, and far away a cow lowed monotonously for its calf. Esther stood and gazed and listened with uplifted heart, yearning for something, she knew not what, something higher and better to be and do.
"Oh, I am so glad we came here!" she murmured, "so glad! I am sure it will be easy to be good here, and I do so want to be good! I wish I hadn't been so horrid to mother sometimes, and—and now I can't ever be anything else, to her." And there came back to her mind her mother's words, "I am sure your Aunt Julia would not have Esther if she knew how bad her temper had become," and her eyes filled with tears at the recollection.
"I will try," she whispered. "I will try that no one else shall ever say that of me—and I will write to mother, and tell her I am sorry." And it was a very grave and serious Esther who fell asleep at last.