"Devonshire"s not bracing at all."
Suddenly a thought jumped into my head.
"That nice woman," I said, "the one who gave you the cup, is it bracing where she lives?"
Dorothea gave a little jump.
"Oh," she said, "she"d be the _very_ person to take care of the children _if_ she had rooms, and _if_ her husband would let her take lodgers, and _if_ the place is bracing, and _if_ I could remember where it is!"
We couldn"t help laughing.
"Four "if"s" indeed," said mother.
But Dorothea didn"t laugh; she was too busy cudgelling her brains.
"I"ve a feeling," she said, "that it _is_ a bracing place; that Homer--isn"t it a funny name for a woman, it was her surname, and the boys used to call her all manner of nonsense because of it--"Iliad" and "Odyssey" of course,--I"ve a feeling that Homer wrote something about moors and fresh air. If I could but remember!"
"Would you know it if you heard it?" I said.
"Suppose we got a railway guide and looked at some names?" said mother.
"Is there a railway station there?" I asked.
"Oh yes, I know there is one near, for Homer wrote all that when she asked us to go down for a day. Stay, there"s something about English history mixed up with it in my mind. I do believe it"s coming. Ring the bell, Jack, dear, and we"ll look through an A B C. It"s something about putting the fires out at night, you know--the old law."
"Curfew?" said mother.
"Ye-es, but it"s not quite that. But----"
Just then the servant came, and we got the railway guide.
"Look at "f"s," Jack," said Dorothea.
I read some "f"s," but she shook her head. Then I said to mother--
"Here"s one of the places Dr. Marshall was speaking about. "Fewforest,"
it----"
Cousin Dorothea clapped her hands.
"_That"s_ it," she said joyfully.
"What a coincidence!" said mother.
"I remember about it now," said Dorothea. "They were so afraid of fire there, because the village stands close to a thick wood--at least it did then--that the Curfew bell was rung there long after it had been given up in many places. And so it got from Curfew Forest to Fewforest."
"It must be a jolly old place, mums," I said. "Do let"s find out about it."
CHAPTER VIII
MOSSMOOR FARM
And so we did. Dorothea wrote to her home, and got Mrs. Parsley"s proper address. Mrs. Parsley was the farmer"s wife who used to be "Homer"--rather a come-down from "Homer" to "Parsley," wasn"t it? and it _was_ near Fewforest. Then she wrote to Mrs. Parsley, "sounding" her a little, and the day she got the answer she brought it straight off to us.
Mums and I were in the little drawing-room by ourselves, for the girls were still kept rather out of the way, as they coughed a good deal now and then. Hebe by this time was able to get up a little and lie on a sofa in her room, and the others used to go in and sit with her in turns,--Anne the most, of course, for she reads aloud nicely, and she"s not at all stupid, and Hebe"s very fond of her. I used to sit with her too a good deal, but really that spring I was very busy. I had some of my lessons. I went to Miss Stirling"s house when the girls began to get better, instead of her coming to us, just for _fear_ of infection, as she"d never had the whooping-cough. And I had heaps to do for mother, besides helping to amuse the two little ones.
My greatest rest was to be alone with mums sometimes for a bit in the afternoon. Now and then I had tea with her.
We were having tea that day when Cousin Dorothea came in, all in a fuss and quite eager. She had just got the letter.
"Such a nice answer from dear old Homer" she said. "She"ll be delighted to do anything for relations of mine, and she doesn"t think you _could_ find a healthier place. It"s as bracing as anything, and yet not cold.
She says there"s a small convalescent Home not far from the farm, and that the place was chosen out of ever so many by some rich people who built it, just because of its healthiness. Now I come to think of it, I"m sure I"ve heard of that Home before, but I can"t think from whom."
"That"s all very satisfactory indeed, and thank you very much, dear,"
said mother. "But--what about the possibility of lodgings?"
"I was coming to that," said Dorothea, and indeed she was almost out of breath with such a lot to tell. "Homer says there are really none to be had----"
"Oh dear!" exclaimed mums and I.
"But," Dorothea went on, "they _have_ some spare rooms at the farm, and occasionally they have had thoughts of letting them--I mean, of taking lodgers. But they"re _very_ plainly furnished, and she"s always busy, so her husband was rather afraid of beginning it. She wouldn"t exactly like to offer them, but she says if my friends would go down to see the rooms, and thought they"d do, she would be pleased to do her best. I can guarantee they"d be beautifully _clean_."
Dorothea looked quite excited about it. She was so proud of being able to help mums.
"I think it sounds charming," said mother. "How many rooms are there?"
"Two big bedrooms, and a tiny one, and a sort of best kitchen that could be made comfortable in a plain way as a sitting-room," said Dorothea consulting the letter. "You could take down a few sofa rugs, and two or three folding chairs and so on, I daresay?"
"Oh yes, easily," said mother. "But I quite agree with Mrs. Parsley that I had better see the rooms. How long does it take by train, and how far is the farm--what"s the name of it, by the bye?--from the station?"
"About a mile and a half. But they have a pony-cart of some kind and could meet you. The name is Mossmoor--Mossmoor Farm, Fewforest."
It seemed wonderfully lucky. We were all three as pleased as anything.
There was only one thing I wanted to make sure of.
"Mums," I whispered. I was just giving her her second cup of tea. I always make her tea when we"re alone. "Mums, if you do go down one day to see the farm, you"ll take me with you, won"t you?"
Cousin Dorothea has quick ears. She overheard.
"Oh yes, Valeria," she said, "you must take him. I consider it"s more than half thanks to him that we"ve thought of it."
I do like Dorothea.
Mums smiled.