Part 11 (1/2)

Joshua had a very decided opinion on the question placed before him next day: Could Lilac live alone at the cottage and take in the was.h.i.+ng as her mother used to do?

”I can reach the line quite easy if I stand on a stool,” she said anxiously; ”and Mrs Wis.h.i.+ng, she'd help me wring.”

”Bless you, my maid,” he said, ”you're not old enough to make a living, or strong enough, or wise enough yet. The proper place for you is your Uncle Greenways' house, till such time as you come to be older.”

”Mother, she always said, 'Don't be beholden to no one. Stand on your own feet.' That's what she said ever so often,” faltered Lilac.

The cobbler smiled as he looked at the slight little figure. ”Well, you must wait a bit. If Mother could speak to you now, she'd say as I do.

And you won't be no farther from her at the farm; wherever and whenever you think of her and mind what she said, and how she liked you to act, that's her voice talking to you still. You listen and do as she bids, and that'll make her happier and you too.”

Joshua set to work again with feverish haste as he finished. He did not like parting with Lilac, and it was difficult to say goodbye. She lingered, looking wistfully at him.

”You'll come and see me down yonder, won't you, Uncle Joshua?”

”Why, surely, surely,” replied Joshua hastily; ”and you'll come and see me. It ain't so far after all. Bless me!” he added with a testy glance at the dusty pane in front of him, ”what ails the window this morning?

It don't give no light whatever.”

In a moment Lilac had fetched a duster and rubbed the little window bright and clear. It was a small office she had often performed for the cobbler.

”It wasn't, not to say very dirty,” she said; ”but you'll have to do it yourself next time, Uncle Joshua.”

When she got back to the cottage, she felt a little comforted by the cobbler's words, although he had not fallen in with her plan. What could she do at once, she wondered, that would please her mother? She looked round the room. It had a forlorn appearance. The doorstep, trodden by so many feet lately, was muddy, there was dust on the furniture, and the floor had not been swept for days. Mother certainly would not like that, and Lilac felt she could not leave it so another minute. With new energy she seized broom, brushes, and pail and went to work, going carefully into all the corners, and doing everything just as she had been taught. Very soon it all looked like itself again, bright and orderly, and with a sigh of satisfaction she went upstairs to put herself ”straight” before her aunt came.

When there another idea struck her, for the moment she looked at the gla.s.s she remembered how Mother had hated the fringe. Surely she could brush it back now that her hair had grown longer. No, brush as hard as she would it fell obstinately over her forehead again. But Lilac was not to be conquered. She sc.r.a.ped it back once more, and tied a piece of ribbon firmly round her head; then she nodded triumphantly at herself in the gla.s.s. It was ugly, but anyhow it was neat.

She had just finished this arrangement when a noise in the room below warned her of Mrs Greenways' approach, and running downstairs she found her seated breathless in the high-backed chair. One foot was stretched out appealingly in front of her, and she was so fatigued that at first she could only nod speechlessly at Lilac.

”I'm fairly spent,” she said at last, ”with that terr'ble hill. I can't wonder myself that your poor mother was taken so sudden with her heart, though she was always a spare figure.”

Lilac said nothing; the old feeling came back to her that it was someone else and not Mother who was spoken of.

Mrs Greenways looked thoughtfully round the room; her eye rested on each piece of furniture in turn. ”They're good solid things, and well kept,” she said. ”I will say for Mary White as she knew how to keep her things. We can do with a good many of 'em at the farm,” she went on after a pause; ”but I don't want to be cluttered up with furniture, and the rest we must sell as it stands.”

Lilac's heart sank. She could not bear to think of any of Mother's things being sold, but she was too much in awe of her aunt to say anything.

”So I've come up this morning,” pursued Mrs Greenways, producing an old envelope and a stumpy pencil; ”just to jot down what I want to keep.

And when I've done here, and fetched my breath a little, I'll go upstairs and have a look round.”

Mrs Greenways made her list, and then with a businesslike air tied pieces of tape on all the things she had chosen. Lilac saw with dismay that her own little stool and the high-backed chair were left out. It was almost like leaving two old friends behind.

”Have you packed your clothes?” asked Mrs Greenways.

”No, Aunt, not yet,” said Lilac.

”Well, I shall have to send Ben up with the cart this afternoon for your box, so you may as well come alonger him. And mind this, Lilac. Don't you go bringin' any litter and rubbish with you. Jest your clothes and no more, and your Bible and Prayer Book. And now I'll go upstairs.”

Mrs Greenways went upstairs, followed meekly by Lilac. She watched pa.s.sively while her aunt punched all the mattresses, placed a searching finger beneath every sheet and blanket, sat down in the chairs, and finally examined every article of Mrs White's wardrobe. ”'Tain't any of it much good to me,” she said, holding up a cotton gown to the light.

”They're all cut so antiquated, and she was never anything of a figure.

You may as well keep 'em, Lilac, and they'll come in for you later.”