"But can"t you do anything for it?" asked Penelope, her vexation swallowed up in pity for the chair. She was thinking that if she had valued it so much she would have taken better care of it.
But Miss Row had returned to her letter again. When she had done she rose and rang the bell. "You can take some milk and cake before you go, can"t you?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so, thank you," said Penelope modestly. "But I left Guard outside. Will he stay, do you think?"
"Oh yes, he is used to waiting here."
Cook came in presently with a tray, on which was a large jug of milk, some gla.s.ses, and a plate of cakes of various kinds. Penelope thought they looked beautiful, so beautiful that she longed to take some back to the others. She knew exactly how thoroughly they would enjoy them; but, of course, no sign of what she was thinking escaped her.
She was wondering which of all them she might take for herself, when Miss Row took up the plate. "I think you will find that very nice," pointing to a piece of uninteresting-looking shortbread, "or that," pointing to a slice of ginger-cake. "They would be less likely than the others to disagree with you."
Penelope longed to say that nothing disagreed with her, but she did not like to, and helped herself with the best grace she could to the shortbread.
Miss Row continued arranging her flowers, sipping a gla.s.s of milk meanwhile, and eating one after another of the fascinating little sugared cakes Penelope was eyeing so wistfully, while she nibbled at her thick piece of shortbread, unable to get a real bite. There really was no satisfaction about that shortbread. It was so hard as to be unbiteable, and so crumbly it scattered all over the floor; while with one hand occupied holding the gla.s.s of milk, and the other the cake, she could not pick up the crumbs, or break the piece. When she saw the crumbs filling her lap and pouring off on to the carpet, poor Penelope wished she had declined to have anything, and sat in misery wondering what she could do.
Presently Miss Row looked around at her, and her sharp eyes fell immediately on the litter on her usually speckless carpet. "Oh dear," she said with the little click of her tongue which expressed annoyance more effectually than any words could. Then, perhaps catching sight of the child"s mortified face, she tried to pa.s.s it off.
"I expect your Cousin Charlotte has a trial with the four of you,"
she said, in what she meant to be a joking manner; but her words, and the little laugh that accompanied them, were worse to Penelope than anything.
"I--we--try not to be more troublesome than we can help," she said shortly, without a trace of a smile on her face. "Cousin Charlotte doesn"t seem to mind--and we try to help as much as we can." Then, after a moment"s silence, "I--I wish I hadn"t taken it. It was so crumbly I _couldn"t_ eat it without its falling all about; and the chair is so high my feet don"t touch, so they all ran off my lap." She meant the crumbs, though it sounded as if she was speaking of her feet.
Perhaps something told Miss Row that she had not been very kind, for her tone changed. "I ought to have thought of it, dear," she said.
It was the first time she had ever been known to call any one "dear".
"I think I had better go now, please Miss Row," said Penelope very gravely. She still felt mortified and unhappy.
"I wonder if you would mind waiting just a little longer, then I could have your company as far as the church. I must go and have my practice, or I shall not be ready for Sunday."
Penelope looked up with sudden interest, all her mortification and resentment forgotten. "Oh, was it you who was playing there on Tuesday?"
Miss Row nodded. "Probably, I don"t know of any one else who plays that organ. Why? What do you know about it?"
"I walked up there the day after we came, and I heard the organ, and I went in and listened for ever so long. I hope you don"t mind.
The door was open, and I thought any one might go in."
"Mind? Oh dear no! I am only thankful some one besides myself takes any interest in it. Are you fond of music?"
"I love it! I love to hear it! I can"t play yet, but I want to learn, and I _think_," gravely, "I"d rather play the organ than anything.
I do want to learn to play so well that I can earn money by it."
"Oh, you mercenary little person," laughed Miss Row. "What can you want with money?"
Penelope did not know what "mercenary" meant. She understood the second question, but she did not know whether she was at liberty to answer it or not. Miss Row seemed, though, to be waiting for a reply, so she felt obliged to.
"We all want to help Cousin Charlotte and father," she added, with great earnestness. "You see we are so many, and it costs such a lot to keep us all, so Esther says, and I don"t know _how_ to help, but I am trying to think of a way."
Miss Row looked at her little companion very thoughtfully, with a somewhat puzzled expression. She herself had never known what it was to want money. She was a wealthy woman, and she did a certain amount of good with her wealth, subscribing to many charities, but it never occurred to her that there might be anxiety and need amongst people of her own cla.s.s, still less among those she knew. Penelope"s words opened a new vista before her, and set her wondering if there were not many things she had missed for want of eyes and understanding.
"If you could play the organ," she said at last slowly, "it would be years before you could earn your living by it. You could not do much until you were seventeen or eighteen."
"No," said Penelope sadly. "That is the worst of it, and by that time perhaps daddy will be able to have us out to Canada; but it would always be useful, for I daresay there are organs in Canada, and I don"t suppose daddy will ever be very rich again, and--and if I only knew how to play I could help if I was wanted to."
"It is always a great pleasure and solace too, even if one only plays for one"s own pleasure," said Miss Row softly.
She led the way into the hall, unhung a hat and put it on, and preceded Penelope to the door. Guard, hearing their footsteps, rose from his sleep in the sun, and expressed his delight.
On their way through the garden Miss Row gathered quite a large nosegay of lovely roses and carnations and mignonette, and as she wandered from bush to bush, Penelope followed her in a state of perfect delight.
She was pa.s.sionately fond of flowers.
At last they made their way into the road and up the hill. Miss Row was rather silent. Penelope talked and Miss Row listened, but she did not say much until they came to the gate of the church and stopped.
"Tell Miss Ashe I will come and see her tomorrow. Give her my love and thanks for the fruit, and for introducing one of her cousins to me--you, I mean," touching Penelope"s cheek lightly with her finger. "And these are for you," placing in Penelope"s hands the lovely flowers she had been carrying all this time.
Penelope gasped with delight. "For Cousin Charlotte! oh, how lovely, I thought they were for the church."
"They are for neither. They are for you yourself," said Miss Row, with just the faintest tinge of colour in her cheeks. For one second Penelope looked incredulous; then in a kind of rapture she held her bouquet closer.
"Oh, thank you very, very, _very_ much," she said earnestly. "I never had anything so lovely in my life before," and she put up her face with the prettiest grace imaginable to kiss her new friend.
"I am glad you are pleased," said Miss Row smilingly. "Now, good-bye.
Perhaps I may see you on Sunday."
"On Sunday?" said Penelope puzzled.
"If you come to church."
"Oh, do we come up here to this dear little church? I am so glad, I didn"t know. I hope we shall all come. Good-bye, and thank you, and,"--hesitating a little and colouring warmly--"I am _so_ sorry about the crumbs;" and waving her hand to her new friend as she disappeared within the church, she ran off in a state of high glee.
Mrs. Vercoe was standing at her door as Penelope pa.s.sed. "Good-morning, missie," she said. "I reckon you"m fond of walking. I was the same when I was young. Oh my! what bootiful flowers!"
Penelope stayed to display her treasures. "You must have one of them, Mrs. Vercoe," she said, selecting one of the handsomest roses from her bouquet.
Mrs. Vercoe was vastly pleased. ""Tisn"t often one has a flower like that now," she exclaimed delightedly. "It"ll brighten up my bit of a place wonderful. Thank you kindly, missie "; and she disappeared into her house to place her treasure in water.
Penelope was hurrying on, when, glancing round to look for Guard, her eye fell on Mrs. Bennett standing at her shop door. Mrs. Bennett said "good-morning," and Penelope returned the greeting; but she had gone a step or two before it occurred to her that she had not been very gracious or kind to the post-mistress. Mrs. Bennett must have seen her stop and give a flower to Mrs. Vercoe. She paused, then slipped back to Mrs.
Bennett"s door. "Would you like one of my pretty flowers?" she asked.
"Oh no, thank you, miss. Don"t you pull your bookay to pieces for me,"
she answered civilly, but with just the slightest toss of her head.
She was really a little hurt and jealous, for she had seen that Penelope"s offer to Mrs. Vercoe was quite spontaneous. Penelope, conscious of the feeling that had been in her own heart, was ashamed and sorry.
"Do please let me give you one," she said earnestly. "I want to.
I have such a lot it would be greedy to keep them all."
Mrs. Bennett backed into her shop. "Won"t you come inside, missie?" she said, much more graciously. "Your little hands are almost too small; you"m in danger of dropping some of them."
Penelope followed her in gladly enough. She could not bear to think she had hurt any one"s feelings, even any one she did not particularly like.
Mrs. Bennett led the way into her parlour, where Penelope had never been before. It held all the treasures she was most proud of, and the window was full of geraniums, fuchsias, and hanging baskets of "Mothers of Thousands," blocking out most of the light. While Penelope was selecting a flower Mrs. Bennett stepped to the window.
"Are you fond of flowers, miss?"