Part 14 (1/2)
”What a dull, shut-in place! I think the name of Friary suits it exactly,” observed Nan, disconsolately, as they went up the little flagged path, bordered with lilac-bushes. ”It feels like a miniature convent or prison: we might have a grating in the door, and answer all outsiders through it.”
”Nonsense!” returned Phillis, who was determined to take a bright view of things. ”Don't go into the house just yet, I want to see the garden.” And she led the way down a gloomy side-path, with unclipped box and yews, that made it dark and decidedly damp. This brought them to a little lawn, with tall, rank gra.s.s that might have been mown for hay, and some side-beds full of old fas.h.i.+oned flowers, such as lupins and monkshood, pinks and small pansies; a dreary little greenhouse, with a few empty flower-pots and a turned-up box was in one corner, and an attempt at a rockery, with a periwinkle climbing over it, and an undesirable number of oyster-sh.e.l.ls.
An old medlar tree, very warped and gnarled, was at the bottom of the lawn, and beyond this a small kitchen-garden, with abundance of gooseberry and currant-bushes, and vast resources in the shape of mint, marjoram, and lavender.
”Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a wretched little place after our dear old Glen Cottage garden!” And in spite of her good resolutions, Nan's eyes grew misty.
”Comparisons are odious,” retorted Phillis, briskly. ”We have just to make the best of things,--and I don't deny they are horrid,--and put all the rest away, between lavender, on the shelves of our memory.”
And she smiled grimly as she picked one of the gray spiky flowers.
And then, as they walked round the weedy paths, she pointed out how different it would look when the lawn was mown, and all the weeds and oyster-sh.e.l.ls removed, and the box and yews clipped, and a little paint put on the greenhouse.
”And look at that splendid pa.s.sion-flower, growing like a weed over the back of the cottage,” she remarked, with a wave of her hand: ”it only wants training and nailing up. Poor Miss Monks has neglected the garden shamefully; but then she was always ailing.”
They went into the cottage after this. The entry was rather small and dark. The kitchen came first: it was a tolerable-sized apartment, with two windows looking out on the lilacs and the green door and the blank wall.
”I am afraid Dorothy will find it a little dull,” Nan observed, rather ruefully. And again she thought the name of Friary was well given to this gruesome cottage; but she cheered up when Phillis opened cupboards and showed her a light little scullery, and thought that perhaps they could make it comfortable for Dorothy.
The other two rooms looked upon the garden: one had three windows, and was really a very pleasant parlor.
”This must be our work-room,” began Phillis, solemnly, as she stood in the centre of the empty room, looking round her with bright knowing glances. ”Oh, what an ugly paper, Nan! but we can easily put up a prettier one. The smaller room must be where we live and take our meals: it is not quite so cheerful as this. It is so nice having this side-window; it will give us more light, and we shall be able to see who comes in at the door.”
”Yes, that is an advantage,” a.s.sented Nan. She was agreeably surprised to find such a good-sized room in the cottage; it was decidedly low, and the windows were not plate-gla.s.s, but she thought that on summer mornings they might sit there very comfortably looking out at the lawn and the medlar-tree.
”We shall be glad of these cupboards,” she suggested, after a pause, while Phillis, took out sundry pieces of tape from her pocket and commenced making measurements in a business-like manner. ”Our work will make such a litter, and I should like things to be as tidy as possible. I am thinking,” she continued, ”we might have mother's great carved wardrobe in the recess behind the door. It is really a magnificent piece of furniture, and in a work-room it would not be so out of place; we could hang up the finished and unfinished dresses in it out of the dust. And we could have the little drawing-room chiffonnier between the windows for our pieces, and odds and ends in the cupboards. It is a pity our table is round; but perhaps it will look all the more comfortable. The sewing-machine must be in the side-window,” added Nan, who was quite in her element now, for she loved all housewifely arrangements; ”and mother's easy-chair and little table must stand by the fireplace. My davenport will be useful for papers and accounts.”
”It is really a very convenient room,” returned Phillis, in a satisfied voice, when they had exhausted its capabilities; and, though the second parlor was small and dull in comparison, even Nan dropped no disparaging word.
Both of them agreed it would do very well. There was a place for the large roomy couch that their mother so much affected, and their favorite chairs and knick-knacks would soon make it look cosey: and after this they went upstairs hand in hand.
There were only four bedrooms, and two of these were not large; the most cheerful one was, of course, allotted to their mother, and the next in size must be for Phillis and Dulce. Nan was to have a small one next to her mother.
The evening was drawing on by the time they had finished their measurements and left the cottage. Nan, who was tired and wanted her tea, was for hurrying on to Beach House; but Phillis insisted on calling at the Library. She wanted to put some questions to Miss Milner. To-morrow they would have the paper-hanger, and look out for a gardener, and there was Mrs. Crump to interview about cleaning down the cottage.
”Oh, very well,” returned Nan, wearily, and she followed Phillis into the shop, where good-natured bustling Miss Milner came to them at once.
Phillis put the question to her in a low voice, for there were other customers exchanging books over the counter. The same young clergyman they had before noticed had just bought a local paper, and was waiting evidently for a young lady who was turning over some magazines quite close to them.
”Do we know of a good dressmaker in the place?” repeated Miss Milner, in her loud cheerful voice, very much to Nan's discomfort, for the clergyman looked up from his paper at once. ”Miss Monks was a tolerable fit, but, poor thing! she died a few weeks ago; and Mrs.
Slasher, who lives over Viner's the haberdasher's, cannot hold a candle to her. Miss Masham there,”--pointing to a smart ringleted young person, evidently her a.s.sistant,--”had her gown ruined by her: hadn't you, Miss Masham?”
Miss Masham simpered, but her reply was inaudible; but the young lady who was standing near them suddenly turned round:
”There is Mrs. Langley, who lives just by. I shall be very happy to give these ladies her address, for she is a widow with little children, and I am anxious to procure her work--” and then she looked at Nan, and hesitated; ”that is, if you are not very particular,” she added, with sudden embarra.s.sment, for even in her morning dress there was a certain style about Nan that distinguished her from other people.
”Thank you, Miss Drummond,” returned Miss Milner, gratefully. ”Shall I write down the address for you, ma'am?”
”Yes,--no,--thank you very much, but perhaps it does not matter,”
returned Nan, hurriedly, feeling awkward for the first time in her life. But Phillis, who realized all the humor of the situation, interposed: