“I’d give my new oak bracket. No, it’s too big. I couldn’t spare that; but I’d carve something else; and make little brass trays and panels. ‘High art stall: Miss Margaret Rendell. Objects of bigotry and virtue to be handed over to her,’ and don’t you forget it!”
“I’ll take visitors out in the punt at threepence a head. I’m so stupid that I can’t do any work, but the idea is mine, and that ought to count for something,” said Lilias; and a vision rose before her eyes of a slim white figure gracefully handling the pole as the punt glided down the stream. Punting was a most becoming occupation; on the whole she could not have hit on a pleasanter manner of helping the cause. “I daresay I shall make quite a lot of money!” she added cheerfully; and her sisters laughed with the half-indulgent, half-derisive laughter with which they were accustomed to greet Lilias’s sayings. She was so sweetly unconscious of her own selfishness, and looked so pretty as she turned her big bewildered eyes from one to the other, that they had not the heart to disturb her equanimity.
“The punt is a good idea,” admitted Nan, “for people are always pleased to go on the river, and we must turn our advantages to account. A garden sale, that’s what we must have! Little tables dotted about the lawn beneath Japanese umbrellas; tea in a tent, and seats under the trees. We can use all the properties that mother keeps for her garden parties, and make it just as pretty and attractive as can be. I shouldn’t wonder if we made a lot of money, for we shall be so original and ingenious. People are so stupid in this world. I always feel I could do things so much better myself. Who wants to go to a stuffy old bazaar in the Mission Room? No one does! They go from a sense of duty. Mother groans and says, ‘Oh dear, if I could only give a subscription and be done with it! More cosies and chairbacks! I’ve a drawerful already!’ And bazaar things are hideous! Father gave me ten shillings to spend at the Christmas sale, and I wandered round and round like a lost sheep, and couldn’t see a single thing that I wanted. In the end I bought a cover for Bradshaw. It wasn’t a bit useful, for I never have a Bradshaw; but it was the nicest thing I saw. Now, let us solemnly resolve not to have anything on our stalls that will not reflect credit on our judgment. Nothing ugly, nothing useless, nothing vulgar—”
“Impossible, my dear! Can’t be managed. It’s the law of Nature that the kindest-hearted people have the least taste. I don’t know why it should be so, but it is, and I’ll prove it to you. If we announced that we were going to have a sale of work and asked for contributions, who would be the first people to respond?” Christabel thrust out her left hand and began checking off the fingers with dramatic emphasis. “Miss Ross,—Mrs Hudson,—Mary Field,—old Jane Evans. ‘So pleased to hear that the dear children are interesting themselves in the welfare of their poor brothers and sisters, and I’ve brought round a few wool mats as a little expression of sympathy!’—that’s Mrs Ross! Then Mary Ann would hobble up with a parcel wrapped up in a handkerchief, and kiss us all twice over, and say, ‘I’ve brought round a piece of my own fancy work, lovies, as a contribution for your sale. My sight is not what it used to be, and it’s difficult to get the material one would like in this little place; but shaded silks always look well, and I made the fringe myself out of odd pieces of wool.’ And that’s not the worst! Mrs Hudson would paint bulrushes on cream-pots, and forget-me-nots on tambourines, and come round bristling with importance. ‘I always find fancy work is overdone at sales, so I thought a little of my hand-painting would be acceptable! No one needs more than a dozen cosies, but every one is glad of an extra tambourine!’ ... It’s easy to talk, my dear, but what could you do when it came to the point? There’s nothing for it but to smile, and look pleased.”
“I should say politely, but firmly, that I could not find it in my heart to deprive them of such treasures—that with so many deserving objects craving support, it would be pure selfishness on our part to monopolise all the good things! Such munificence was far, far more than we deserved, and would they kindly send a little cake instead? They would be delighted, for they are everlastingly giving to some mission or other, and are always in a rush to get work finished. But I don’t propose to let things reach such a climax. I wouldn’t hurt their dear old feelings for the world. So we will say at once that we want cake and fruit, and we shall get the very best of its kind. We must fix our date for the strawberry season; for the human heart is desperately wicked, and people will gladly pay sixpence to sit under trees and eat strawberries and cream, when wild horses wouldn’t drag twopence out of them for a pen-wiper. I expect we shall succeed best with punting and refreshments.”
“If it’s fine! But it won’t be fine—it will pour!” said Elsie gloomily, and wagged her head in the hopeless manner of one who has tasted deeply of the world, and knew its hollowness by heart. If there was by chance a cheerful and a melancholy view to be taken on any subject, Elsie invariably chose the melancholy one, and gloated over it with ghoulish enjoyment. She was never so happy as when she was miserable,—as an Irishman would have had it,—and hugged the conviction that she was “unappreciated” by her family, and a victim of fate. She shed tears over Misunderstood in the solitude of her chamber, and cultivated an expression of patient martyrdom, as most fitted for her condition. Occasionally she forgot herself so far as to be cheery and playful; but her feelings were so ultrasensitive that they were bound to be wounded by some thoughtlessness on the part of her sisters before many hours were over, when she would remember her own unhappiness, and roam away by herself to the other end of the garden to apostrophise the heavens and pity her hard lot. “It will be sure to pour! It always does pour when we want to do anything!” she declared; upon which Nan threw her book into the air and caught it again with a dexterous movement.
“Fiddle-de-dee! It’s going to be a bright, glorious summer day, with just enough sun to be warm and not enough to be hot, and just enough wind to be cool and not enough to be cold. And the grass is going to be dry and the strawberries ripe; and all the pretty ladies and gentlemen are going to drive over from miles and miles around, and spend so much money that they will have none left to take them home. What is the use of croaking? If things go wrong, it’s bad enough to have to bear them at the time; but until then imagination is our own, and we will make the most of it. It will not pour, my dear Raven; so don’t let me hear you say so again! Make up your mind that this sale is going to be a success, and try to bear it as well as you can.”
Elsie looked up at the corner of the ceiling, and arched her eyebrows in resigned and submissive fashion. When the rain did come,—as of course it would,—when all the fancy work was drenched and the pretty dresses spoiled, the girls would remember her prophecy, and be compelled to acknowledge its correctness; but till then she would suffer in silence, and refuse to be drawn into vulgar argument. So she determined, at least; but a fiery temptation assailed her in the form of another objection, so unanswerable that it was not in human nature to resist hurling it at the heads of her companions.
“I hope you are right, I am sure; but, all the same, it is rather early in the day to make arrangements. You are counting without your host. How can you tell that mother will consent to let you have the sale at all?”
And at that the listeners hung their heads and were silent, for it was indeed useless to build castles unless they were first assured of this foundation.