Part 24 (1/2)

”Pretty nigh,” said Lilac, looking up into the bare branches of the cherry tree. ”We'll soon have winter now.”

There was silence. Peter took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with his coat sleeve.

”There's lots will be sorry when you go,” he burst out suddenly. ”The beasts'll miss you above a bit.”

Lilac did not answer. She saw that he wanted to say something more, and knew that it was best not to confuse his mind by remarks.

”Not but what,” he went on, ”you're in the right. Why should you work for nothing here and get no thanks? You're worth your wages, and there you'll get 'em. There's justice in that. Only--the farm'll be different.”

”There's only the dairy,” said Lilac. ”Someone else'll have to do that if I go. And I should miss the beasts too.”

She put her hand on Sober's rough head as he sat by her.

”It's a queer thing,” said Peter after another pause, ”what a lot I get in my head sometimes and yet I can't speak it out. You remember about the brownie, and me saying the farm was pleasanter and that? Well, what I want to say now is, that when you're gone all that'll be gone--mostly.

It'll be like winter after summer. Anyone as could use language could say a deal about that, but I can't. I don't want you to stay, but I've had it in my mind to tell you that I shall miss you as well as the beasts--above a bit. That's all.”

Sober now seemed to think he must add something to his master's speech, for he raised one paw, placed it on Lilac's knee, and gazed with a sort of solemn entreaty into her face. She knew at once what he wanted, for though he could not ”use language” any more than Peter, he was quite able to make his meaning clear. In the course of many years' faithful attention to business he had become rheumatic, and this paw, in particular was swollen and stiff at the joint. Lilac had found that it gave him ease to rub it, and Sober had got into the habit of calling her attention to it in this way at all times and seasons. Now as she took it in her hand and looked into his wise affectionate eyes, it suddenly struck her that here were two people who would really miss her, and want her if she were far away. No one would rub Sober's paw, no one would take much notice of her other dumb friend, Peter. She could not leave them. She placed the dog's foot gently on the ground and stood up.

”I'm not going away,” she said, ”I'm going to bide. And I shall go straight in and tell Aunt, and then it'll be settled.”

Indoors, meanwhile, the same subject had been discussed between different people. In the living room, where tea was ready on the table, Mrs Greenways and her two daughters waited the coming of the farmer, Agnetta eyeing a pot of her favourite strawberry jam rather impatiently, and Bella, tired with her st.i.tching, leaning languidly back in her chair with folded arms.

”Lilac ain't said nothing to either of you, I s'pose?” began Mrs Greenways.

”I know she means to go, though,” said Agnetta.

”Well, I must look about for a girl for the dairy, I s'pose,” said Mrs Greenways sadly. ”I won't give it to Molly again. And a nice set they are, giggling flighty things with nothing but their ribbons and their sweethearts in their heads.”

”Lor'! Ma, don't fret,” said Bella consolingly; ”you got along without Lilac before, and you'll get along without her again.”

”I shan't ever replace her,” continued her mother in the same dejected voice; ”she doesn't care for ribbons, and she's not old enough for sweethearts. I do think it's not acting right of Mrs Leigh to go and entice her away.”

”If here isn't Mr Snell coming in alonger Pa,” said Agnetta, craning her neck to see out of the window. ”He's sure to stay to tea.” She immediately drew her chair up to the table and helped herself largely to jam.

”And of all evenings in the week I wish he hadn't chosen this,” said Mrs Greenways. ”Poking and meddling in other folks' concerns. Now mind this, girls,--don't you let on as if I wanted to keep Lilac, or was sorry she's going. Do you hear?”

It did not at first appear, however, that this warning was necessary, for Joshua said no word of Lilac or her affairs; he seemed fully occupied in drinking a great deal of tea and discussing the events of the neighbourhood with the farmer, and it was not till the end of his meal that he looked round the table enquiringly, and asked the dreaded question.

”And what's Lilac settled to do about going?”

”You know as much about that as we do, Mr Snell,” replied Mrs Greenways loftily.

”There's no doubt,” continued the cobbler, fixing his eye upon her, ”as how Mrs Leigh's friend is going to get a prize in Lilac White. She's only a child, as you once said, ma'am, but I know what her upbringing was: 'As the twig is bent, the tree's inclined'. There's the making of a thorough good servant in her. Well worth her wages she'll be.”

”She's been worth more to us already than ever I knew of, or counted on, till lately,” put in the farmer. ”Just now, I met Benson, and says he: 'You're losing your dairymaid by what I hear, and I can but wish you as good a one.'”

”That's not so easy,” said Joshua, shaking his head. ”Good workers don't grow on every bush. It's a pity, too, just when your b.u.t.ter was getting back its name.”