White Lilac; or the Queen of the May, Amy Walton [red seas under red skies TXT] 📗

he sat opposite to her with his whole being apparently engrossed by the meal. She could not, however, discover any kind or pleasant expression upon it. If it were there at all, it was unable to struggle through the thick dull mask spread over it. Bella meanwhile had news to tell. She had heard at Dimbleby's that afternoon that there was to be a grand fete in Lenham next week. Fireworks and a balloon, and perhaps dancing and a band. Charlotte Smith said it would be splendid, and she was going to have a new hat on purpose.

"Well, I haven't got no money to throw away on new hats and suchlike," said Mrs Greenways, "but I s'pose you and Agnetta'll want to go too."

"How'll we get over there?" asked Bella, looking fixedly at Peter, who did not raise his eyes from his plate. Mrs Greenways turned her glance in the same direction, and said presently:

"Well, perhaps Peter he could drive you over in the spring cart."

"Hay harvest," muttered Peter, deep down in his mug; "couldn't spare time."

"Oh, bother," said Bella. "Then we must do with Ben."

"Couldn't spare him neither," was Peter's answer. "Heavy crop. Want all the hands we can get."

Bella pouted and Agnetta looked on the edge of tears. Mrs Greenways, anxious to settle matters comfortably, made another suggestion.

"Well, you must just drive yourselves then, Bella. The white horse is quiet. I've drove him often."

"Couldn't spare the horse neither," said Peter, "nor yet the cart," and having finished both his meal and the subject he got up and went out of the room.

The farmer, roused by the sound of the dispute from a nap in the window seat, now enquired what was going on, and was told of the difficulty.

"What's to prevent 'em walking?" he asked; "it's only five miles. If they're too proud to walk they'd better stop at home," and then he too left the room.

"You don't catch _me_ walking!" exclaimed Bella; "if I can't drive I shan't go at all. Getting all hot and dusty, and Charlotte Smith driving past us on the road with her head held up ever so high."

"No more shan't I," said Agnetta, with a toss of her head.

"Well, there, we'll see if we can't manage somehow," said Mrs Greenways coaxingly. "If the weather's good for the hay harvest your father'll be in a good temper, and we'll see what we can do. Lilac!" she added, turning sharply to her niece, "Molly's left out some bits of washing in the orchard, jest you run and fetch 'em in."

Lilac picked up her sunbonnet and went out, glancing at Agnetta to see if she were coming too, but she did not move. It was a cool, still evening after a very hot day, and all the flowers in the garden were holding up their drooping heads again, and giving out their sweetest scent as if in thankfulness for the change. There were a great many in bloom now, for it was June, more than a whole month since that happy, miserable day when Lilac had been Queen, and as she passed Peter's own little bit of ground she stopped to look admiringly at them. They seemed to grow here better than in other places--with a willing luxuriance as though in return for the affection and care which was evidently spent on them. Pansies, columbines, white-fringed pinks, and sweet-peas all mixed up together, and yet keeping a certain order and not allowed to intrude upon each other. Lilac passed on through a little gate which led into the kitchen garden, and as she did so became aware that the owner of the flowers was quite near. She paused and considered within herself as to whether she should speak to him. He was sitting on the stump of a cherry tree, which had been cut down to a convenient height from the ground; on this was placed a square piece of turf, so that it formed a cushion, and was evidently a customary seat. Near him was a row of beehives, under a slanting thatch, and their busy inhabitants, returning in numbers from their day's labour, hummed and buzzed around him, much to the annoyance of Sober, the old sheep dog, who lay stretched at his feet. Tib, the ugly cat, had taken up a discreet position at a little distance from the hives, and sat very wide awake, with the only eye she possessed on the alert for any stray game that might pass that way.

Neither Peter nor his companions saw Lilac; they all appeared absorbed in their own reflections, and the former had fixed his gaze vacantly on the copse beyond the orchard. A little while ago she would have passed quickly on without a moment's hesitation, but now she felt a sort of sympathy with Peter. She was lonely, and he was lonely; besides, he had been kind to None-so-pretty. So presently she made a little rustle, which roused Sober from his slumbers. He raised his head, and finding that it was a friend wagged his bushy tail and resumed his former position; but this roused Peter too, and he slowly turned his eyes upon Lilac and stared silently. Knowing that it would be useless to wait for him to speak, she said timidly:

"How pretty your pinks grow!"

Peter got up from his seat and looked seriously over the railing at the pinks.

"They're well enough," he said; "but the slugs and snails torment 'em so."

"I think they're as pretty as can be," said Lilac; "and that sweet you can smell 'em ever so far. We had some up yonder," she added, with a nod towards the hills, "but they never had such blooms as yours."

"Maybe you'd like a posy," said Peter, suddenly blurting out the words with a great effort.

Receiving a delighted answer in the affirmative he fumbled for some time in his pocket, and having at last produced a large clasp knife bent over his flower bed.

The conversation having got on so far, Lilac felt encouraged to continue it, and looked round her for a subject.

"This is a nice, pretty corner to sit in," she said; "but don't the bees terrify you?"

Peter straightened himself up with the flowers he had cut in one hand, and stared in surprise.

"The bees!" he repeated.

He strode up to the hives, took up a handful of bees and let them crawl about him, which they did without any sign of anger.

"Why ever don't they sting yer?" asked Lilac, shrinking away.

"They know I like 'em," answered Peter, returning to his flowers. "They know a lot, bees do."

"I s'pose they're used to see you sitting here?" said Lilac.

Peter nodded. "They're rare good comp'ny too," he said, "when you can follow their carryings on, and know what they're up to."

Lilac watched him thoughtfully as his large hand moved carefully amongst the flowers, cutting the best blossoms and adding them to the nosegay, which now began to take the shape of a large fan.

While he had been talking of the bees his face had lost its dullness; he had not looked stupid at all, and scarcely ugly. She would try and make him speak again.

"The blossoms is over now," she remarked, looking at the trees in the orchard; "but there's been a rare sight of 'em this year."

"There has so," answered Peter. "It'll be a fine season for the fruit if so be as we get sun to ripen it. The birds is the worst," he went on. "I've seen them old jaypies come out of the woods yonder as thick as thieves into the orchard. I don't seem to care about shootin' 'em, and scarecrows is no good."

What a long sentence for Peter!

"Do they now?" said Lilac sympathisingly. "An' I s'pose," stroking Tib on the head, "they don't mind Tib neither?"

"Not they," said Peter, with something approaching a chuckle. "They're altogether too many for _her_."

"She's not a _pretty_ cat," said Lilac doubtfully.

"Well, n-no," said Peter, turning round to look at Tib with some regret in his tone. "She ain't not to say exactly pretty, but she's a rare one for rats. Ain't ye, Tib?"

As if in reply Tib rose, fixed her front claws in the ground, and stretched her long lean body. She was not pretty, the most favourable judge could not have called her so. Her coat was harsh and wiry, her head small and mean, with ears torn and scarred in many battles. Her one eye, fiercely green, seemed to glare in an unnaturally piercing manner, but this was only because she was always on the lookout for her enemies--the rats. To complete her forlorn appearance she had only half a tail, and it was from this loss that her friendship with Peter dated, for he had rescued her from a trap.

He seemed now to feel that her character needed defence, for he went on after a pause:

"She'll sit an' watch for 'em to come out of the ricks by the hour, without ever tasting food. Better nor any tarrier she is at it."

"Ben says the rats is awful bad," said Lilac. "They're that bold they'll steal the eggs, and scare off the hens when they're setting."

"They do that," replied Peter, shaking his head. "The poultry wants seeing to badly; but Bella she don't seem to take to it, nor yet Agnetta, and our hands is full outside."

"I like the chickens and ducks and things," said Lilac. "I wish Aunt'd let me take 'em in hand."

Peter reared himself up from his bent position, and holding the big nosegay in one hand looked gravely down at his cousin.

It was a good long distance from his height to Lilac, and she seemed wonderfully small and slender and delicately coloured as she stood there in her straight black frock and long pinafore. She had taken off her sun bonnet, so that her little white face with all the hair fastened back from it was plainly to be seen. It struck Peter as strange that such a small creature should talk of taking any more work "in hand" besides what she had to do already.

"You hadn't ought to do hard work," he said at length; "you haven't got the strength."

"I don't mind the work," said Lilac, drawing up her little figure. "I'm stronger nor what I look. 'Taint the work as I mind--" She stopped, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.

Peter saw them with the greatest alarm. Somehow with his usual stupidity he had made his cousin cry. All he could do now was to take himself away as quickly as possible. He went up to Sober and touched him gently with his foot.

"Come along, old chap," he said. "We've got to look after the lambs yonder."

Without another word or a glance at Lilac he rolled away through the orchard with the dog at his heels, his great shoulders plunging along through the trees, and Lilac's gay bunch of flowers swinging in one hand. He had quite forgotten to give it to her.

She looked after him