"I ought to have warned you, Miss Isobel," said Martha, when she heard the story. "Old Silas is that touchy-like—but no one takes no notice of what he says. He's worked about these parts for years as a jobbing gardener. But no one takes no notice of him. At present he comes and works two days a week for Miss Crabingway, and the other four days he gives a extra hand up at the Manor House. He lodges down in the village—next door but three to the blacksmith—nice little house—overlooks the stables of the 'Blue Boar' from the back windows."
But when Martha recounted the incident to Ellen, over supper that night, Ellen remembered previous occasions when Silas had been put out with people, and, thinking of his subsequent revenges, her only comment on the story was, "Oo-er!"
The first dinner of Pamela's choosing was voted a great success by Isobel and Beryl. Caroline, who always liked to be as accurate as possible in her remarks, said she would have liked the pudding to have been a little more 'substantial'; chocolate soufflé was very tasty, but there was no inside to it. Caroline had a strong preference for solid puddings—as the other three were to learn when Caroline's turn for arranging meals came round. Meal-times had been fixed so as to give everybody at Chequertrees as much freedom as possible. Breakfast was at 8 a.m. and dinner was at 6.30 p.m., and between those hours there was sometimes lunch at 12.30—and sometimes there was not. If the girls were going out for the day they would get lunch out, or take some sandwiches with them. A tea-tray, daintily set for four, with milk, sugar, tea-pot, spirit kettle, and a plate of cakes, was always to be found in the drawing-room in the afternoons, so that the girls could make a cup of tea when they fancied it; and Martha and Ellen were thus left free in the afternoons. This had been one of Pamela's ideas, and had astonished Martha, who had protested that it was no trouble for her to get them a cup of tea; but Pamela had insisted, and when Martha got used to the arrangement she appreciated it very much. It was good to know that the whole afternoon was her own, and that she would not be disturbed. A glass of hot milk just before bedtime was the last meal of the day.
By the end of January the four girls had settled down fairly comfortably in their new surroundings. Isobel had had her first dancing-lessons at the Academy, which she enjoyed immensely, although she had not been able to persuade one of the other girls to join her yet. Pamela had started an ambitious piece of work—a picture of Chequertrees, as seen from the front garden—which she meant to work on from time to time whenever the weather did not tempt her to go farther afield than the garden; she wanted to take a picture of Chequertrees home with her, so that Mother and Michael could see what the house was like—the house where she had spent six months away from them. Beryl had kept up her practice each day, and spent a good deal of time studying books on theory, composition, and the biographies of great musicians. And Caroline had finished her handkerchiefs and had started on a linen brush and comb bag.
One evening after dinner the four girls were in the drawing-room, Pamela deeply engrossed in a historical story, Beryl copying some music into a manuscript music-book, Caroline sewing as usual, and Isobel reclining on the couch by the crackling fire and dividing her time between yawning and glancing at the Barrowfield Observer; presently she gave an exclamation of surprise, and sat up, rustling the paper.
"Listen to this, girls!" she cried. "The local newsrag informs its readers that Sir Henry and Lady Prior and family return to the Manor House next week, and that Lady Prior wishes it stated that the annual bazaar and garden fête (in aid of the Barrowfield Cottage Hospital) will be held as usual at the end of May, and that those who intend making gifts for the stalls at the bazaar should send in their names to her ladyship's secretary, Miss Daleham, as soon as possible. That's where I come in!" Isobel continued. "That will be the best way to introduce myself to their notice.... So they'll be coming back to the Manor House next week, will they? Isn't it ripping?"
"I love bazaars," said Caroline, slowly and with relish; she saw in her mind's eye a vista of neatly hemmed handkerchiefs, with initials worked in the corners; plump pin-cushions, dorothy bags, hair-tidies, cushion covers with frills, tea-cosies, all worked by hand. Already she could see these things spread alluringly out on a stall for sale, with neat little tickets stuck on them. "I'll send in my name to make something," she added.
She did not see Isobel frown as she picked up her newspaper again.
"Bazaars," said Pamela over the top of her book, "I don't like bazaars. They are places where you get the least value for the greatest amount of money spent. I'd always rather give my money willingly to any good cause or fund—rather than buy something I didn't want at a price it wasn't worth—just so that I could see something for the money I was giving in this roundabout way to a deserving object."
Caroline gazed at her in astonishment.