"No one knows," said Esther, still in the same tragic, woebegone manner. "She may. I believe schoolmistresses are very strict. We shall know when we get there." Poppy's face grew longer and longer. "Mother says she is a dear old lady, but—but mother forgets, and she never had to live with her, as we've got to."
So their hearts were heavy with mingled dread and shyness, as well as sadness and a sense of desertion, as they took their seats in the train which was to convey them to Dorsham. In the luggage van were two small trunks containing their four scanty wardrobes, and all their toys and other treasures. In her hand Esther carried a large old purse of her mother's, containing their four tickets, and a sovereign which her mother had at the last moment given her to provide them all with stamps and notepaper and pocket-money for the next twelve months.
To children who had been in the habit of doing without pocket-money at all it seemed as though unbounded wealth were theirs, and they could never know want again.
Penelope carried a basket of provisions, which Lydia, with unusual care, had insisted on their taking. Penelope consented because she did not like to refuse Lydia's last request, but neither it nor its contents held the slightest interest for them until quite a long stretch of their journey had been covered. They were too unhappy to feel hungry. They would never care for food again, or for any one or anything but Framley and their mother and Lydia; and while they were in this frame of mind two or three hours and many miles passed by.
But the lapse of time brought some relief and a lightening of their depression. They became able to take a growing interest in their surroundings, and a sensation of hunger began to assert itself; so did a savoury odour from Lydia's basket, an odour so delicious that, in spite of themselves, they became interested.
"I wonder what Lydia put in here," said Penelope, looking down at the despised basket for the first time. "Something smells rather nice." They had left home before nine, and the meal they ate before starting was hardly worthy the name, and as it was now past twelve they began to feel very empty and rather faint, and the savoury whiffs which floated out from the basket grew more and more appealing.
Poppy slipped from her seat at last and pressed her small nose close to the cover. "I believe it's patties, and gooseberries, and—and—"
Lydia had her faults as to temper, but there was no denying she could cook when she chose to, and her meat patties were the joy of the children's hearts on the rare occasions when she could find time to make them.
Without more delay the basket was unpacked, and Poppy's sense of smell was amply justified. Four meat patties, some hard-boiled eggs and slices of bread and butter, cakes, biscuits, milk, gooseberries, and apples, made a lunch fit for four queens. And the children fairly squealed with delight as they unrolled packet after packet.
"We will have a table," cried Esther, springing up and spreading a newspaper on the seat for a tablecloth, "and lay everything out on it. I only hope no one else will want to come into this carriage."