Part 9 (1/2)

The lady looked in her basket. ”If only I had my purse with me I should be glad to have those from you. Do you mind coming back to my house with me? It is not very far.”

”No, ma'am, we'll come, but,”--Bella hesitated, wanting to say something, yet hardly knowing how to--”but if you don't want to go back, and--and if you like to take them, we'll trust--I mean, next week will do.” It was out at last, amid a great deal of blus.h.i.+ng.

The lady smiled. ”Well, that is very thoughtful of you, and if you are sure you don't mind trusting me I shall be much obliged to you, for I have to be at my mother's house at one o'clock, and I think it must be that now. Stella, darling, you would like to carry the flowers, wouldn't you?

That's it. Then I owe you fourpence for two twopenny bunches. I will not forget. Perhaps I shall see you here at this same place at the same time next week?”

”Yes, ma'am.”

”Good-morning, and thank you.”

”Good-morning, ma'am,” they both answered; and the little invalid called back gratefully, ”Good-bye, and thank you ever so much for my lovely flowers.”

”Now,” said Tom excitedly, ”all we've got to do is to walk home.”

”When we've got the children's walking-sticks,” corrected Bella, and they both hurried down to the market-house to get them.

”We'll take home some cinnamon rock to Aunt Emma,” said Bella; ”she likes that better than anything.”

At last, with their baskets empty save for their purchases, they proudly and joyfully turned their faces homewards, delighted in every way with their day's experiences.

The walk home certainly did seem rather long, far longer than the walk out, but they were very tired, of course, for they had been on their feet, with scarcely any rest, since four in the morning. The sun was hot too, and the road dusty, and such a number of carriages and carts pa.s.sed them that the air all the time seemed full of a haze of dust--at least it did until they had got a couple of miles or so away from Norton. After that it grew less bustling and much pleasanter. And then by the last milestone, which was a good mile from May Lane, they found their father and Margery and Charlie waiting for them.

All their tiredness vanished then in a trice, and the last mile was covered and home reached almost before they had begun to tell all they had to say.

It was not much past four o'clock by the time they reached the cottage, but Aunt Emma had finished all her scrubbing and cleaning, and had tidied herself, and got tea all spread ready for them, and she actually came out to meet them, seeming really glad to see them, and when they gave her the cinnamon rock it was plain to see that she was really pleased that they had thought of her.

”Now come in and take off your boots, and put on your old slippers to rest your feet; you must be tired out,” she said kindly. They certainly looked very tired, though they were too excited just then to feel so.

”There's apple-tart for tea,” whispered Margery, as she followed Bella upstairs. ”I saw Aunt Emma making it. It's for you and Tom!”

Bella could hardly believe her ears, but when they sat down to table there was the tart, sure enough; and as they sat there eating and talking over their adventures and drinking their tea and laughing, Bella thought she had never known such a perfectly happy, lovely day in all her life before.

And how splendid it was to hear them all exclaim when Bella took out her purse and counted out on the table the money she had earned that day!

”And there's sixpence owing, and four-pence we spent on buns, that would make ten-pence more!” she said proudly.

”You must put it in the Savings Bank towards buying your cold frame,” said her father; ”and it won't be so very long either before you'll have enough to get it with, if you do as well every week as you have to-day.

You can't always expect, though, to have such a lot of flowers as you've got just now.”

”I think I shall take some bunches of herbs in with me next time,” said Bella. ”Don't you think they'd sell, father?”

”I should think most people grow their own,” said her father; ”still, you can but try. The weight of them won't hurt you, even if you have to bring them back again.”

”Bella, if I've got some flowers next Sat.u.r.day, will you take in a bunch and sell them for me?” asked Margery excitedly. ”Then I'll have a penny to put in the bank too.”

”Oh, yours are fairy flowers,” teased Charlie; ”they would die on the way, or turn into something else.”

Margery was not going to be teased. ”P'raps they'd turn into fairies,”

she said, nodding her head wisely at her brother; ”then they'd turn all Bella's pennies into golden sov'rins, and make a little horse and carriage to drive her home in.”

”I'll find you some sandwiches or cake or something to take with you next week,” said Aunt Emma; ”it's a pity you should spend your money on buns and things. It'll be better for you, and cheaper, to take your own with you.”