Chapter Nine.
Common Things.
”...Find out men’s wants and will
And meet them there, all earthly joys grow less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”
George Herbert.
Lilac could hardly believe her own good fortune when nothing happened the next morning to prevent her visit, not even a cross word nor a complaint from her aunt, who seemed to have forgotten her objections of last night and to be quite pleased that she should go. Mrs Greenways put a small basket into her hand before she started, into which she had packed a chicken, a pot of honey, and a pat of fresh butter.
“There,” she said, “that’s a little something from Orchards Farm, tell him. The chick’s our own rearing, and the honey’s from Peter’s bees, and the butter’s fresh this morning.”
She nodded and smiled good-naturedly; Joshua should see there was no stint at the farm. “Be back afore dusk,” she called after Lilac as she watched her from the gate.
So there was nothing to spoil the holiday or to damp Lilac’s enjoyment in any way, and she felt almost as merry as she used to be before she came to live in the valley, and had begun to have cares and troubles. For one whole day she was going to be White Lilac again, with no anxieties about the butter; she would hear no peevish voices or wrangling disputes, she would have kindness and smiles and sunshine all round her, and the blue sky above. In this happy mood everything along the well-known road had new beauties, and when she turned up the hill and felt the keener air blow against her face, it was like the greeting of an old friend. The very flowers in the tall overgrown hedges were different to those which grew in the valley, and much sweeter; she pulled sprays of them as she went along until she had a large straggling bunch to carry as well as her basket, and so at last entered Joshua’s cottage with both hands full.
“Now, Uncle Joshua,” she said, when the first greetings over he had settled to his work again, “I’ve come to dinner with you, and I’ve brought it along with me, and until it’s ready you’re not to look once into the kitchen. You couldn’t never guess what it is, so you needn’t try; and you mustn’t smell it more nor you can help while it’s cooking.”
It was a proud moment for Lilac when, the fowl being roasted to a turn, the table nicely laid, and the bunch of flowers put exactly in the middle, she led the cobbler up to the feast. Even if Joshua had smelt the fowl he concealed it very well, and his whole face expressed the utmost astonishment, while Lilac watched him in an ecstasy of delight.
“My word!” he exclaimed, “its fit for a king. I feel,” looking down at his clothes, “as if I ought to have on my Sunday best.”
Lilac was almost too excited to eat anything herself, and presently, when she saw Joshua pause after his first mouthful, she enquired anxiously:
“Isn’t it good, Uncle?”
“Fact is,” he answered, “it’s too good. I don’t really feel as how I ought to eat such dillicate food. Not being ill, or weak, or anyway picksome in my appetite.”
“I made sure you’d say that,” said Lilac triumphantly; “and I just made up my mind I’d cook it without telling what it was. You’ve got to eat it now, Uncle Joshua. You couldn’t never be so ungrateful as to let it spoil.”
“There’s Mrs Wishing now,” said Joshua, stilt hesitating, “a sickly ailing body as ’ud relish a morsel like this.”
It was not until Lilac had set his mind at rest by promising to take some of the fowl to Mrs Wishing before she returned, that he was able to abandon himself to thorough enjoyment. Lilac knew then by his silence that her little feast was heartily appreciated, and she would not disturb him by a word, although there were many things she wanted to say. But at last Joshua had finished.
“A fatter fowl nor a finer, nor a better cooked one couldn’t be,” he said, as he laid down his knife and fork. “Not a bit o’ dryness in the bird: juicy all through and as sweet as a nut.”
Ready now for a little conversation, he puffed thoughtfully at his pipe while Lilac stood near washing the dishes and plates.
“It’s thirty years ago,” he said, speaking in a jerky voice so as not to interfere with the comfort of his pipe, “since I had a fowl for dinner—and I mind very well when it was. It was my wedding-day. Away up in the north it was, and parson gave the feast.”
“Was that when you used to play the clar’net in church, Uncle?” asked Lilac.
Joshua nodded.
“We was a clar’net and a fiddle and a bass viol,” he said reflectively. “Never kept time—the bass viol didn’t. Couldn’t never get it into his head. He wasn’t never any shakes of a player—and he was a good feller too.”
“Did they play at your wedding?” asked Lilac.
“They did that,” he answered; “in church and likewise after the ceremony. Lor’! to hear how the bass viol did tag behind in Rockingham. I can hear him now. ’Twas like two solos being played, as one might say. No unity at all. I never hear that tune now but what it carries me back to my wedding-day and the bass viol; and the taste of that fowl’s done the same thing. It’s a most pecooliar thing, is the memory.”
Lilac liked to hear Joshua talk about old days, but she was eager too to tell her own news. There was so much that he did not know: all about hay-harvest, and her butter-making, about Lenham fête, and her cousins, and, finally, all about None-so-pretty and Peter. “I do think,” she added, “as how I like him best of any of ’em, for all they say he’s so common.”
“Common or uncommon, they’d do badly without him,” muttered Joshua. “He’s the very prop and pillar of the place, is Peter; if a wall’s strong enough to hold the roof up, you don’t ask if it’s made of marble or stone.”
“Are common things bad things?” asked Lilac suddenly.
Joshua took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at her in some surprise.
“Common things—eh?” he repeated.
“Yes, Uncle,” said Lilac hesitatingly, and trying to think of how to make it clear. But she could only add:
“They call the pigs common too.”
“Well, as to pigs,” said Joshua, “I wish they was commoner still. I don’t despise a bit of bacon myself. I call that a good thing anyhow. When one comes to look at it,” he continued after a few puffs at his pipe, “the best things of all is common. The things as is under our feet and nigh to our hand and easy to be got. There’s the flowers now—the common ones which grow so low as any child can pick ’em in the fields, daisies and such. There’s the blue sky as we can all see, poor as well as rich. There’s rain and sunshine and air and a heap else as belongs to all alike, and which we couldn’t do without. The common things is the best things, don’t you make any mistake about that. There’s your own name now—Lilac. It’s a common bush lilac is; it grows every bit as well in a little bit of garden nigh the road as in a grand park, and it hasn’t no rare colours to take the eye. And yet on a sunshiny day after rain the folks passing’ll say, ‘Whatever is it as smells so beautiful?’ Why it’s just the common lilac bush. You ought to be like that in a manner of speaking—not to try and act clever and smart so as to make folks stare, but to be good-tempered and peaceful and loving, so as they say when you leave ’em, ‘What made the place so pleasant? Why, it was Lilac White. She ain’t anything out of the common, but we miss her now she’s gone—’”
The frequent mention of her name reminded Lilac of something she wanted to say, and she broke in suddenly:
“Why, I’ve never thought to thank you, Uncle, for all that bloom you got me on May Day. What a long way back it do seem!”
Joshua looked perplexed.
“What’s the child talking on?” he said. “I didn’t get no flowers.”
“Whoever in all the world could it a been then?” said Lilac slowly. “You’re sure you haven’t forgotten, Uncle Joshua?”
“Sartain sure!”
“You didn’t ask no one to get it?”
“Never mentioned a word to a livin’ bein’.” Lilac stared thoughtfully at the cobbler, who had now gone back to his little shed and was hard at work.
“P’r’aps, then,” she said, “’twarn’t you neither who sent Mother’s cactus down to the farm?”
“Similarly,” replied he, “it certainly was not; so you’ve got more friends than you reckoned for, you see.”
Lilac stood in the doorway, her bonnet dangling in one hand, her eyes fixed absently on Joshua’s brown fingers.
“I made sure,” she said, “as how it was you. I couldn’t think as there was anybody else to mind.”
It was getting late. Without looking at the clock she knew that her holiday would soon be over, because through Joshua’s little window there came a bright sun beam which was never there till after five. She tied on her bonnet, prepared a choice morsel of chicken for Mrs Wishing, and set out on her further journey after a short farewell to the cobbler. Joshua never liked saying goodbye, and did it so gruffly that it might have sounded sulky to the ear of a stranger, but Lilac knew better. She had a “goodish step” before her, as she called it to herself, and if she were to get back to the farm before dusk she must make haste. So she hurried on, and soon in the distance appeared the two little white cottages side by side, perched on the edge of the steep down. The one in which she had lived with her mother was empty, and as she got close to it and stopped to look over the paling into the small strip of garden, she felt sorry to see how forlorn and deserted it looked. It had always been so trim and neat, and its white hearthstone and open door had invited the passer-by to enter. Now the window shutters were fastened, the door was locked, the straggling flowers and vegetables were mixed up with tall weeds and nettles—it was all lifeless and cold. It was a pity. Mother would not have liked to see it. Lilac pushed her hand through the palings and managed to pick some sweet-peas which were trailing themselves helplessly about for want of support, then she went on to the next gate. Poor Mrs Wishing was very lonely now that her only neighbour was gone; very few people passed over that way or came up so far from Danecross. Sometimes when Dan’l had a job on in the woods he was away for days and she saw no one at all, unless she was able to get to the cobbler’s cottage, and that was seldom. Lilac knocked gently at the half-open door, and hearing no answer went in.
Mrs Wishing was there, sitting asleep in a chair by the hearth with her head hanging uncomfortably on one side; her dress was untidy, her hair rough, and her face white and pinched. Lilac cast one glance at her and then looked round the room. There were some white ashes on the hearth, a kettle hanging over them by its chain, and at Mrs Wishing’s elbow stood an earthenware teapot, from which came a faint sickly smell; and when Lilac saw that she nodded to herself, for she knew what it meant. The next moment the sleeper opened her large grey eyes and gazed vacantly at her visitor.
“It’s me,” said Lilac. “It’s Lilac White.”
Mrs Wishing still gazed without speaking; there was an unearthly flickering light in her eyes. At last she muttered indistinctly:
“You’re just like her.”
Not in the least alarmed or surprised at this condition, Lilac glanced at the teapot and said reproachfully:
“You’ve been drinking poppy tea, and you promised Mother you wouldn’t do it no more.”
Mrs Wishing struggled feebly against the drowsiness which overpowered her, and murmured apologetically:
“I didn’t go to do it, but it seemed as if I couldn’t bear the pain.”
Lilac set down her basket, and opened the door of a cupboard near the chimney corner.
“Where’s your kindlin’s?” she asked. “I’ll make you a cup of real tea, and that’ll waken you up a bit. And Uncle Joshua’s sent you a morsel of chicken.”
“Ha’n’t got no kindlin’s and no tea,” murmured Mrs Wishing. “Give me a drink o’ water from the jug yonder.”
No tea! That was an unheard-of thing. As Lilac brought the water she said indignantly:
“Where’s Mr Wishing then? He hadn’t ought to go and leave you like this without a bit or a drop in the house.”
Mrs Wishing seemed a little refreshed by the water and was able to speak more distinctly. She sat up in her chair and made a few listless attempts to fasten up her hair and put herself to rights.
“’Tain’t Dan’l’s fault this time,” she said; “he’s up in the woods felling trees for a week. They’re sleeping out till the job’s done. He did leave me money, and I meant to go down to the shop. But then I took bad and I couldn’t crawl so far, and nobody didn’t pass.”
“And hadn’t you got nothing in the house?” asked Lilac.
“Only a crust a’ bread, and I didn’t seem to fancy it. I craved so for a cup a’ tea. And I had some dried poppy heads by me. So I held out as long as I could, and nobody didn’t come. And this morning I used my kindlin’s and made the tea. And when I drank it I fell into a blessed sleep, and I saw lots of angels, and their harps was sounding beautiful in my head all the time. When I was a gal there was a hymn—it was about angels and golden crownds and harps, but I can’t put it rightly together now. So then I woke and there was you, and I thought you was a sperrit. Seems a pity to wake up from a dream like that. But I dunno.”
She let her head fall wearily back as she finished. Lilac was not in the least interested by the vision. She was accustomed to hear of Mrs Wishing’s angels and harps, and her mind was now entirely occupied by earthly matters.
“What you want is summat to eat and drink,” she said, “and I shall just have to run back to Uncle Joshua’s for some bread and tea. But first I’ll get a few sticks and make you a blaze to keep you comp’ny.”
Mrs Wishing’s eyes rested an her like those of a child who is being comforted and taken care of, as having collected a few sticks she knelt on the hearth and fanned them into a blaze with her pinafore.
“You couldn’t bide a little?” she said doubtfully, as Lilac turned towards the door.
“I’ll be back in no time,” said Lilac, “and then you shall have a nice supper, and you mustn’t take no more of this,” pointing to the teapot. “You know you promised Mother.”
“I didn’t go to,” repeated Mrs Wishing submissively; “but it seemed as if I couldn’t bear the gnawing in my inside.”
It did not take long for Lilac, filled with compassion for her old friend, to run back to the cobbler’s cottage; but there she was delayed a little, for Joshua had questions to ask, although he was ready and eager to fill her basket with food. The return was slower, for it was all uphill and her burden made a difference to her speed, so that it was long past sunset when she reached Mrs Wishing for the second time. Then, after coaxing her to eat and drink, Lilac had to help her upstairs and put her to bed like a child, and finally to sit by her side and talk soothingly to her until she dropped into a deep sleep. Her duties over, and everything put ready to. Mrs Wishing’s hand for the next morning, she now had time to notice that it was quite dusk, and that the first stars were twinkling in the sky. With a sudden start she remembered her aunt’s words: “Be back afore dusk,” and clasped her hands in dismay. It was no use to hurry now, for however quickly she went the farm would certainly be closed for the night before she reached it. Should she stay where she was till the morning? No, it would be better to take the chance of finding someone up to let her in. Mrs Wishing would be all right now that Joshua knew about her; “and anyway, I’m glad I came,” said Lilac to herself, “even if Aunt does scold a bit.”
With this thought to console her, she stepped out into the cool summer night, and began her homeward journey. It was not very dark, for it was midsummer—near Saint Barnabas Day, when there is scarcely any night at all—
“Barnaby Bright
All day and no night!”
Lilac had often heard her mother say that rhyme, and she remembered it now. It was all very, very still, so that all manner of sounds too low to have been noticed amongst the noises of the day were now plainly to be heard. A soft wind went whispering and sighing to itself in the trees overhead, carrying with it the sweetness of the hayfields and the honeysuckle in the hedges, owls hooted mysteriously, and the frogs croaked in some distant pond. Creatures never seen in the daytime were now awake and busy. As Lilac ran along, the bats whirred close past her face, and she saw in the grass by the wayside the steady little light of the glow-worms. It was certainly very late; there was hardly a glimmer of hope that anyone would be up at the farm. It was equally certain that, if there were, a scolding waited for Lilac. Either way it was bad, she thought. She wanted to go to bed, for she was very tired, but she did not want to be scolded to-night; she could bear that better in the morning. When she reached the house, therefore, and found it all silent and dark, with no light in any window and no sound of any movement, she hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. But presently, as she stood there forlornly, with only the sky overhead full of stars blinking their cold bright eyes at her, she began to long to creep in somewhere and rest. Her limbs ached, her head felt heavy, and her hard little bed seemed a luxury well worth the expense of a scolding. Should she venture to knock at the door? She had almost determined on this bold step, when quite suddenly a happy idea came to her. There would perhaps be some door open in the outbuildings, either in the loft or the barn or the stables, where she could get in and find shelter for the night. It was worth trying at any rate. With renewed hope she ran across the strawyard and tried the great iron ring in the stable door. It was not locked. Here were shelter and rest at last, and no one to scold!
She crept in, and was just closing the heavy door when towards her, across the rickyard, came the figure of a man. His head was bent so that she could not see his face, but she thought from his lumbering walk that it must be Peter, and in a moment it flashed across her mind that he had just got back from Cuddingham. While she stood hesitating just within the door the man came quite close, and before she could call out the key rattled in the lock and heavy footsteps tramped away again. Then it was Peter. But surely he must have seen her, and if so why had he locked her in? Anyhow here she was for the night, and the next thing to do was to find a bed. She groped her way past the stalls of the three Pleasants, whose dwelling she had invaded, to the upright ladder which led to the loft. The horses were all lying down after their hard day’s work, and only one of them turned his great head with a rattle of his halter, to see who this small intruder could be. Lilac clambered up the ladder and was soon in the dark fragrant-smelling loft above, where the trusses of hay and straw were mysteriously grouped under the low thick beams. There was no lack of a soft warm nest here, and the close neighbourhood of the Pleasants made it feel secure and friendly; nothing could possibly be better. She took off her shoes, curled herself up cosily in the hay, and shut her weary eyes. Presently she opened them drowsily again, and then discovered that her lodging was shared by a companion, for on the rafters just above her head, her single eye gleaming in the darkness, sat Peter’s cat Tib. Lilac called to her, but she took no notice and did not move, having her own affairs to conduct at that time of night. Lilac watched her dreamily for a little while, and then her thoughts wandered on to Peter and became more and more confused. He got mixed up with Joshua, and the cactus and None-so-pretty and heaps of white flowers. “The common things are the best things,” she seemed to hear over and over again. Then quite suddenly she was in Mrs Wishing’s cottage, and the loft was filled with the heavy sickly smell of poppy tea: it was so strong that it made her feel giddy and her eyelids seemed pressed down by a firm hand. After that she remembered nothing more that night.