CHAPTER X

STRAWBERRY PICKING

THE strawberry gathering was a great success. It was a long walk, but when at last they reached the spot, and found a sloping and rather uncultivated piece of ground covered with red strawberries, the children screamed with delight. There was a stream at the bottom, and a wood on the upper side. Hope said with ecstasy:

"It has everything we want, Aunt Alice. We can get wood to light a fire, and water for the kettle to boil."

"Yes," said Aunt Alice, who seemed as happy as the children: "I only wish that dear Granny was here to enjoy it too, but it would have been too long a walk for her. I have a dream sometimes of getting a donkey and a little trap, then Granny could drive and enjoy the country as we do."

"Oh, Aunt Alice, how lovely! Do get a donkey," pleaded the children.

But Aunt Alice shook her head.

"How do you think we could afford to buy one? It's just as much as we can do to feed and clothe you all."

"It's a pity we aren't birds," said Faith; "then we could fly about and feed ourselves. Don't you think we might live on wild things? Strawberries and nuts and mushrooms—they don't cost money, do they?"

"We won't talk of money now," said Aunt Alice cheerfully, "let us all pick as hard as we can. If we get a great many baskets full, I may be able to make some jam."

So they set to work. The strawberries were very small, and it took a long time to fill a basket, but the little girls were perfectly happy. The novelty of it delighted them.

And then when dinner time came, Aunt Alice said they would all have an hour's rest. She sat down with a newspaper at the foot of a tree, but the children could not keep still. They dashed into the wood and brought out armfuls of sticks, and Aunt Alice gave them a match. It was some time before the fire would burn. They had not much experience in fire building out of doors, but at last they were successful, and then the little tin kettle, which Aunt Alice had brought in her basket, was taken down to the stream and filled with water, and placed on the fire.

Aunt Alice put down her newspaper, and unpacked her basket. The kettle soon boiled, and cups of tea, with bread and cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs and plain slices of cake seemed a very nice and unusual dinner to the children.

"Oh," said Hope, "if only we could always have meals out of doors."

"Then one day," said Aunt Alice, "you would all come to me and say:

"'Please, for a very great treat may we have dinner indoors to-day? It would be so lovely to sit up on proper chairs and a real table, and have no buzzing flies or nasty caterpillars crawling over our food.'"

As she finished speaking, Aunt Alice fished a caterpillar out of her tea.

Charity looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps we should feel like that," she said; "it's because we never do it that we like to do it now."

"That's it," said her Aunt; "it's the unexpected and unusual that pleases us so."

"But if I was rich," said Charity, knitting her brows, "I could have something new every day. I should like to have a big house and a lot of visitors, and I would give them surprises every day."

"Well now, let's pretend you are rich," said Hope, "and Granny and Aunt Alice and Faith and I would come and see you. What surprises could you give us? Tell."

Charity sat up and hugged her knees. Her eyes were away on some distant hills. She was silent for a moment or two, then she began to speak.

"The first morning after breakfast I would lead Granny down the steps, and there would be waiting for her a beautiful little pony carriage painted blue with white velvet cushions, and two white Arab ponies with flowing manes and tails, and a little boy would get up on the seat behind and fold his arms and Granny would step in and take the reins in her hands and drive away miles into the most beautiful country she has ever seen. Granny likes driving herself. She always used to do that, when she was rich, didn't she, Aunt Alice?"

"I don't think dear Granny was ever rich," said Aunt Alice, laughing.

"Oh, go on, Charity! What about me?" asked Hope.

Charity smiled radiantly.

"Oh, of course, I would give you a horse to ride, and six dogs, and a part of the garden, which would be wired into a little zoo, and there would be all kinds of animals in it, and at the side a hospital where you would doctor the sick ones and mend their broken legs."

"Oh, how heavenly!"

"And Faith," went on Charity, "would have to come out with me, and pay visits to all kinds of wonderful old men with beards. Some would live in cottages, and give her baked apples for tea, some would live in beautiful houses, but they would all be very glad to see her and would sit up and talk with her for hours."

"Oh," cried Faith, clapping her hands, "I think I should have the best, for my surprise would be fresh every day. I could see one new old man every day, and Charity and Granny would soon come to the end of theirs. What about Aunt Alice?"

Charity looked thoughtful.

"I should take her one day into the drawing-room, and there would be a tall, nice, smiling man, with manners like a prince. And then I should shut the door and go away, and he would ask her to marry him, and he would take her away to a house nearly as big as mine—not quite, perhaps."

"You ridiculous child!" laughed Aunt Alice.

"Mrs. Cox always said you ought to get married," said Charity, "she said you were too young and pretty to be an old maid."

"Well," said Aunt Alice, "you would be quite a fairy godmother to us all, Charity, but, my dear child, the novelty of riches even wears off after a time. If you can have everything you want, you soon want nothing, and that stage brings discontent as well as content."

The children could not follow this.

They finished their lunch, washed their cups and plates up in the stream; then set to work picking strawberries again.

Later on they had an early tea before they started to walk home. And as they were in the middle of it who should come riding by but the Pirate. He recognised the children and rode up to them, dismounting, and talking to Aunt Alice for some minutes. Then she asked him if he would like a cup of tea, and he said he would love it. So he tied his horse to a tree stump, and sat down upon the ground with them. The little girls chattered to him freely; and he told them some very funny stories about people and animals he had met abroad. He stayed quite a long time; and agreed with the children that meals in the open air tasted much better than in the house.

"Give me a tent and a gun and a fishing rod," he said, "and I would want nothing else if sport were good."

"Have you ever had a tent?" asked Hope.

"Yes, I went a shooting expedition in Africa with two Kaffirs," he said; "but that journey ended disastrously for me. I had to swim a river and couldn't change my clothes, and had a bout of rheumatic fever which nearly finished me, and has left me a crock to the end of my days!"

A shadow came over his face. They all felt very sorry for him, and then he laughed but not very happily.

"So that's why I funk at home, instead of taking my place in the fighting line," he said.

"There's a lot of hard fighting being done at home," said Aunt Alice quietly.

He looked at her, and when their eyes met, they understood each other. The young man was not the only one who was doing his duty at home without getting any praise or honour for it. Aunt Alice was doing the same, and she knew that it was hard work sometimes.

He accompanied them home and let the little girls ride his horse in turn, he walking by their side and talking to Aunt Alice about many things.

"My Nora is as quiet and steady as a rock," he said; "so you need not be afraid she will run away from you."

"She likes to walk with you, doesn't she?" said observant Hope; "she keeps looking round to see if you are there!"

"Yes, Nora and I are fast friends. We've been twelve years together now."

He insisted upon carrying most of the baskets, and when they reached home Faith hastily whispered something into her Aunt's ear.

She smiled.

"Faith wants to send your father some of these strawberries to taste. What do you think about it?"

"He'll be awfully pleased, of course."

So Faith ran indoors and got a tiny pet basket of her own, and filled it with strawberries. She tied a red ribbon round it, and asked the young man to give it to his father with her "dearest love."

He promised to do so, and then the little girls ran indoors to tell Granny of their happy day.

Faith was much delighted the next day when a note arrived for her from old Mr. Cardwell. She opened it with much pride and showed it to everyone:

"DEAR LITTLE MISS MOTH,

"I thank you for your kind thought for a cross old man. The berries were really too pretty to be eaten. But to please you I have devoured them, and have been taken back to my boyhood's days. I know the spot where they grow. When you come next Saturday, I will tell you an anecdote concerning them.

"Your old friend, "W. CARDWELL."

"He isn't a cross old man to me," said Faith. "I like him next to Timothy."

"I shouldn't like to be called Miss Moth," said Charity; "a moth is a horrid, dusty thing—lives on old clothes; the Bible says it corrupts, that's an awful thing to do."

Faith's face fell.

"I hope I don't corrupt," she said; "what does it mean?"

"Well, you do like old things," said Hope; "you like old men, so that part fits you."

"I think corrupt means make rotten or bad," said Charity.

"How dreadful!" said Faith. "I'm sure Mr. Cardwell didn't mean to call me anything horrid. I'll ask him. But I think he thought I looked like a moth, he said I came into his room like one."

"And you're easily crushed," said Charity laughing; "yes, you're rather like a moth in that way."

Then she said:

"Hope and I mean to get a special friend. Of course we have Sir George, but we mean to get somebody else. And I know who it will be!"

"Who is it?" asked Faith.

But Charity nodded her head mysteriously.

"Somebody I've met. You haven't met them. It's awfully nice in the country, we're always finding out new people."

She would say nothing more to Faith, but whispered in corners to Hope; and Faith did not like that at all.

Charity was a little bit jealous of Faith going off to the Towers every Saturday afternoon. Nothing stopped it. If it was a wet day, a closed carriage arrived for her.

And Hope said, laughing, one day when Charity, with a sulky face, watched Faith driving away, "We won't be like Cinderella's sisters, Charity. Faith is rather like Cinderella, isn't she? But we won't be cross about it."

And then it was that Charity began to think about finding some new friend to be quits with Faith.

She was marvellously successful.

One Saturday she and Hope were taking a walk across some fields to a farm; their Aunt had sent them to fetch some eggs. On the way they passed a lady sitting on a campstool making a sketch of an old ruined mill by the stream. She looked up and smiled at them as they passed her, and made some remark about the weather. The little girls were rather shy and went on to the farm. They discovered that the artist's name was Miss Huntingdon, and that she had come to the farm to lodge for the summer. Mrs. Davis, the farmer's wife, loved to talk, and she told the children all about her.

"I did use to be her nurse—Miss Mary was always my favourite—she had three brothers—and now she lives in a big house in London with her father—he have got war work and so did Miss Mary have—but she broke down, and the doctors said she must rest in the country, and so she have come down here. A beautiful painter she be! She always painted, Miss Mary did, and many's the time I punished her for daubing her white pinnies all over with paint."

The little girls listened to this and much more, and they had seen Miss Huntingdon several times since, and thought she had a very nice face. Charity now determined to make friends with her.

She and Hope set out one warm afternoon in July to track her down. They knew she painted by the river, and it was not long before they found her. But it needed some courage to go up and begin making acquaintance with her.

Hope's courage gave out: she hid behind a tree, whilst Charity crept boldly forwards, until she reached Miss Huntingdon, who was very busy making a pretty sketch of the river and the fields beyond.

"Oh," sighed Charity, "how I wish I could paint!"

Miss Huntingdon turned her head and smiled at her. "Do you? Have you ever tried?"

"We paint pictures for scrap-books," said Charity, waxing confidential; "but we haven't very good paints. Not like yours. May I watch you? And may Hope? She's afraid to come near."

"Oh, you mustn't be afraid of me," said Miss Huntingdon, laughing; "and I'm rather a sociable person. I like to have people to talk to. You see, I can paint and talk at the same time. I have seen you before, haven't I? Do you live near here?"

Charity beckoned to Hope, then began eagerly telling Miss Huntingdon all about themselves. Before long Hope was brave enough to put in her word, and Miss Huntingdon plainly showed them that she would like to be friendly. Charity told her that they knew Mrs. Davis and often got eggs from her.

"Next time you come over you must let me know you are there. I have such a dear old sitting-room at the Farm."

"May we be friends with you?" asked Charity eagerly.

Miss Huntingdon laughed aloud.

"You are the quaintest children I have ever seen!" she said.

Hope felt compelled to explain Charity's somewhat forward behaviour.

"It's really because Faith makes friends with old men, and we want to make friends with somebody else. Faith goes out to tea every Saturday to the Towers, and Charity and I have to stay at home."

"Oh, I see daylight. Faith is your other sister, is she not? And you would like to come to tea with me on Saturday? I shall be delighted. It will cheer me up. And I'll get Mrs. Davis to make one of her big tea-cakes. That's settled, then, and I shall expect you next Saturday at four o'clock."

Charity and Hope were very uncomfortable. Charity said:

"We never meant to ask you to ask us. And Granny and Aunt Alice mightn't let us come. It's very kind of you, but if you'll let us come and talk to you while you are painting sometimes and be friends, we would like to do that, without coming to tea."

Miss Huntingdon looked at Charity's red cheeks and Hope's downcast eyes and understood.

"Very well," she said; "we'll just be friends and tea will come later on. Now I've finished my sketch for to-day, so must say good-bye to you. And I shall be here every afternoon this week, so you will know where to find me."

Charity and Hope went home and informed Faith that they had got a charming friend and would be very often away in the woods with her.

Faith of course was curious, but for some time she could not find out who it was.

And then one day Granny and Aunt Alice went to tea with Lady Melville and met Miss Huntingdon, and Aunt Alice and she became the greatest friends. But Charity and Hope still maintained that they had the first claim upon her, and the invitation to take tea with her came and was accepted.

They went to the Farm when Faith went to the Towers and all seemed satisfied.