Kind Mrs. Fane had taken a hint from Florry, and had carried off Mrs. Morland to spend a week with her—“while the children amused themselves turning everything upside down”. Florry went to Rowdon to keep Frances company, by way of exchange of guests; and other Altruists dropped in promiscuously to “lend a hand”. It was the Easter holidays, so persons of leisure were free to make themselves useful.
Max and Austin stood wiping their fevered brows and admiring their work. They were on the drying-green, which widened out into an orchard that was the pride of Rowdon Cottage. Presently to the green entered a little procession.
Firstly, Guy Gordon, bearing a pile of footstools, and thumping the top one energetically as he marched to a whistled war-song. Next, Florry, carrying cushions many and various. Then, Frances, with an armful of curtains. Next, the small and rosy-cheeked boy—brother to Guy—who long ago had inquired of Frances, “What is an Altruist?” Bertie bore nothing except himself, and found the task sufficient, for indeed he was plumper than Betty Turner. Last of all came Betty herself, with a basket of stockings and socks. Betty had volunteered to bring the cottage darning and mending up to date as her contribution to the proceedings. One can sit very comfortably on a bank under a tree while one darns the family hose.
Then arose a very Babel. The various persons of the procession betook themselves to convenient spots in the orchard, and set about their business. Guy deposited his footstools on the grass, and thrusting a stick into the hand of small Bertie, left him with the laconic order:
“See there isn’t a grain of dust in them when I get back!”
Then off flew Guy to the carpet-beating, which was more inspiriting than footstools. The flat sticks started afresh to the tune of “Three Jolly Sailor Boys”, roared in lusty trebles. Frances, with Florry’s aid, shook her curtains, Betty seated herself picturesquely out of reach of the dust, Bertie banged away to his heart’s content, and the orchard echoed the drying-green in a rousing chorus. Round about, the fruit-trees, in all their loveliness of pink and white, averted the dazzling April sunshine. Betty, among the violets and primroses, examined heels and toes with critical attention, while her voice joined involuntarily in the “Sailor Boys”.
“Isn’t it jolly?” demanded Max, during a pause for breath. “Here’s an Altruist entertainment given gratis and for nothing to the ducks and chickens! Now, then, girls, it’s your turn to lead off. Let’s have something sweet!”
Frances started Mendelssohn’s “Farewell to the Forest”, and Miss Carlyon’s “Selected Choir” gave three parts in melodious first and second treble and alto. Jim brought his work to the door of his shed and listened happily. The sound of the young voices, ringing through the clear spring air, came to his ears as a reminder of his changed conditions, which had in them much of trouble, yet more of joy.
Back and forward between cottage and orchard went the merry troop through the long afternoon. A very respectable amount of work had been got through when, at half-past five, Frances called a halt for tea.
By common consent the pleasant meal was taken out of doors, under the apple-boughs. The girls went into the house, cut bread-and-butter, and piled plates with scones and cakes, while the boys spread the cloth and fetched and carried. All the visiting Altruists had brought contributions to the feast, but Elizabeth’s scones, left at the door with Mrs. Macbean’s respectful duty, were in chief demand.