White Lilac; or the Queen of the May by Amy Walton (ebook reader wifi .TXT) π
Excerpt from the book:
Mrs White had had several children before the birth of this one, but they had all died. This makes her quite determined to make sure that this one survives. She was telling a visitor that she thought of calling the baby Annie, in honour of the visitor, but she had just been saying how much she loved white lilacs, and her husband had brought a branch of it over from a nearby village. So the visitor said, call her Lilac White, as there were already too many Annie Whites in the village. Unfortunately the father dies shortly after, and the mother has to bring the child up on her own.
Now she is twelve, and a pretty child. A visiting artist asks if he may put her in one of his pictures. Lilac goes off with her cousin Agnetta, who believes she needs a new hair-do. Needless to say, the result is not attractive to the artist, who now refuses to put her in the picture.
Other characters in the story are Uncle Joshua, who is a good and well-loved man, and Peter, probably in his late teens, who is a farm worker, well-intentioned but clumsy. A big event in the village is May Day, and there is rivalry among the girls about which of them shall be Queen of the May. It is Lilac. Yet that very day her mother is taken ill and dies. She is taken to their home by a farmer and his wife, and taught the dairymaid arts such as butter and cheese making. In those days a girl such as Lilac would hope to be taken into domestic service and trained up to such high levels as house-keeper or cook. Lilac has some opportunities--will she or won't she take them up? A lovely book that takes us back to long-gone days in the pastoral England of the 1850s.
Now she is twelve, and a pretty child. A visiting artist asks if he may put her in one of his pictures. Lilac goes off with her cousin Agnetta, who believes she needs a new hair-do. Needless to say, the result is not attractive to the artist, who now refuses to put her in the picture.
Other characters in the story are Uncle Joshua, who is a good and well-loved man, and Peter, probably in his late teens, who is a farm worker, well-intentioned but clumsy. A big event in the village is May Day, and there is rivalry among the girls about which of them shall be Queen of the May. It is Lilac. Yet that very day her mother is taken ill and dies. She is taken to their home by a farmer and his wife, and taught the dairymaid arts such as butter and cheese making. In those days a girl such as Lilac would hope to be taken into domestic service and trained up to such high levels as house-keeper or cook. Lilac has some opportunities--will she or won't she take them up? A lovely book that takes us back to long-gone days in the pastoral England of the 1850s.
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the neighbourhood. Lilac knew most of them, and passed along exchanging greetings, to where her uncle sat on his grey cob at the end of the field. He was talking to Peter, who stood by him with a wooden pitchfork in his hand.
Lilac thought that her uncle's face looked unusually good-tempered as she handed up his meal to him. He sat there eating and drinking, and continued his conversation with his son.
"Well, and what d'ye think of Buckle's offer for the colt?"
"Pity we can't sell him," answered Peter.
"_Can't_ sell him!" repeated the farmer; "I'm not so sure about that. Maybe he'd go sound now. He doesn't show no signs of lameness."
"Wouldn't last a month on the roads," said Peter.
The farmer's face clouded a little. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "that's Buckle's business. He can look him over, and if he don't see nothing wrong--"
"We hadn't ought to sell him," said Peter in exactly the same voice. "He's not fit for the roads. Take him off soft ground and he'd go queer in a week."
"He might or he mightn't," said the farmer impatiently; "all I know is I want the cash. It'd just pay that bill of Jones's, as is always bothering for his money. I declare I hate going into Lenham for fear of meeting that chap."
Peter had begun to toss the hay near him with his pitchfork. He did not look at his father or change his expression, but he said again:
"Knowing what we do, we hadn't ought to sell him."
The farmer struck his stirrup-iron so hard with his stick that even the steady grey pony was startled.
"I wish," he said with an oath, "that you'd never found it out then. I'd like to be square and straight about the horse as well as anyone. I've always liked best to be straight, but I'm too hard up to be so particular as that comes to. It's easy enough," he added moodily, "for a man to be honest with his pockets full of money."
"I could get the same price for None-so-pretty," said Peter after a long pause. "Mrs Grey wants her--over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a month ago."
"I'll not have her sold," said the farmer quickly. "What's the good of selling her? She's useful to us, and the colt isn't."
"She ain't not exactly so _useful_ to us as the other cows," said Peter. "She's more of a fancy."
"Well, she's yours," answered the farmer sullenly. "You can do as you like with her of course; but I'm not going to be off my bargain with Buckle whatever you do."
He shook his reins and jogged slowly away to another part of the field, while Peter fell steadily to work again with his pitchfork. Lilac was packing the things that had been used into her basket, and glanced at him now and then with her thoughts full of what she had just heard. Her opinion of Peter had changed very much lately. She had found, since her first conversation with him, that in many things he was not stupid but wise. He knew for instance a great deal about all the animals on the farm, their ways and habits, and how to treat them when they were ill. There were some matters to be sure in which he was laughably simple, and might be deceived by a child, but there were others on which everyone valued his opinion. His father certainly deferred to him in anything connected with the live stock, and when Peter had discovered a grave defect in the colt he did not dream of disputing it. So Lilac's feeling of pity began to change into something like respect, and she was sure too that Peter was anxious to show her kindness, though the expression of it was difficult to him. Since the day when he had gone away from her so suddenly, frightened by her tears, they had had several talks together, although the speech was mostly on Lilac's side. She shrank from him no longer, and sometimes when the real Peter came up from the depths where he lay hidden, and showed a glimpse of himself through the dull mask, she thought him scarcely ugly.
Would he sell None-so-pretty? She knew what it would cost him, for since Ben's history she had observed the close affection between them. There were not so many people fond of Peter that he could afford to lose even the love of a cow--and yet he would rather do it than let the colt be sold!
As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said:
"I'm sorry about None-so-pretty."
Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red face with his handkerchief.
"Thank yer," he answered; "so am I."
"Is it _certain sure_ you'll sell her?" asked Lilac.
Peter nodded. "She'll have a good home yonder," he said; "a rare fuss they'll make with her."
"She'll miss you though," said Lilac, shaking her head.
"Well," answered Peter, "I shouldn't wonder if she did look out for me a bit just at first. I've always been foolish over her since she was ill."
"But if Uncle sells the colt I s'pose you won't sell her, will you?" continued Lilac.
"He _won't_ sell him," was Peter's decided answer, as he turned to his work again.
Now, nothing could have been more determined than Mr Greenways' manner as he rode away, but yet when Lilac heard Peter speak so firmly she felt he must be right. The colt would not be sold and None-so-pretty would have to go in his place. She returned to the farm more than ever impressed by Peter's power. Quiet, dull Peter who seemed hardly able to put two sentences together, and had never an answer ready for his sisters' sharp speeches.
That evening when Bella and Agnetta returned from Lenham, Lilac was at the gate. She had been watching for them eagerly, for she was anxious to hear all about the grand things they had seen, and hoped they would be inclined to talk about it. As they were saying goodbye to Mr Buckle with a great many smiles and giggles, the farmer came out.
"Stop a bit, Buckle," he said, "I want a word with you about the colt. I've changed my mind since the morning."
Lilac heard no more as she followed her cousins into the house; but there was no need. Peter had been right.
During supper nothing was spoken of but the fete--the balloon, the band, the fireworks, and the dresses, Charlotte Smith's in particular. Lilac was intensely interested, and it was trying after the meal was over to have to help Molly in taking away the dishes, and lose so much of the conversation. This business over she drew near Agnetta and made an attempt to learn more, but in vain. Agnetta was in her loftiest mood, and though she was full of private jokes with Bella, she turned away coldly from her cousin. They had evidently some subject of the deepest importance to talk of which needed constant whispers, titters from Bella, and even playful slaps now and then. Lilac could hear nothing but "He says--She says," and then a burst of laughter, and "go along with yer nonsense." It was dull to be left out of it all, and she wished more than ever that she had gone to the fete too.
"Lilac," said her aunt, "just run and fetch your uncle's slippers."
She was already on her way when the farmer took his pipe out of his mouth and looked round. He had been moody and cross all supper-time, and now he glanced angrily at his two daughters as they sat whispering in the corner.
"It's someone else's turn to run, it seems to me," he said; "Lilac's been at it all day. You go, Agnetta." And as Agnetta left the room with an injured shrug, he continued:
"Seems too as if Lilac had all the work and none of the fun. You'd like an outing as well as any of 'em--wouldn't you, my maid?"
Lilac did not know what to make of such unexpected kindness. As a rule her uncle seemed hardly to know that she was in the house. She did not answer, for she was very much afraid of him, but she looked appealingly at her aunt.
"I'm sure, Greenways," said the latter in an offended tone, "you needn't talk as if the child was put upon. And your own niece, and an orphan besides. I know my duty better. And as for holidays and fetes and such, 'tisn't nateral to suppose as how Lilac would want to go to 'em after the judgment as happened to her directly after the last one. Leastways, not yet awhile. There'd be something ondacent in it, to my thinking."
"Well, there! it doesn't need so much talking," replied the farmer. "I'm not wanting her to go to fetes. But there's Mr Snell--he was asking for her yesterday when I met him. Let her go tomorrow and spend the day with him."
"If there is a busier day than another, it's Thursday," said Mrs Greenways fretfully.
"Why, as to that, she's only a child, and makes no differ in the house, as you always say," remarked the farmer; "anyhow, I mean her to go to-morrow, and that's all about it."
Lilac went to bed that night with a heart full of gratitude for her uncle's kindness, and delight at the promised visit; but her last thought before she slept was: "I'm sorry as how None-so-pretty has got to be sold."
CHAPTER NINE.
COMMON THINGS.
"...Find out men's wants and will
And meet them there, all earthly joys grow less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses." _George Herbert_.
Lilac could hardly believe her own good fortune when nothing happened the next morning to prevent her visit, not even a cross word nor a complaint from her aunt, who seemed to have forgotten her objections of last night and to be quite pleased that she should go. Mrs Greenways put a small basket into her hand before she started, into which she had packed a chicken, a pot of honey, and a pat of fresh butter.
"There," she said, "that's a little something from Orchards Farm, tell him. The chick's our own rearing, and the honey's from Peter's bees, and the butter's fresh this morning."
She nodded and smiled good-naturedly; Joshua should see there was no stint at the farm. "Be back afore dusk," she called after Lilac as she watched her from the gate.
So there was nothing to spoil the holiday or to damp Lilac's enjoyment in any way, and she felt almost as merry as she used to be before she came to live in the valley, and had begun to have cares and troubles. For one whole day she was going to be White Lilac again, with no anxieties about the butter; she would hear no peevish voices or wrangling disputes, she would have kindness
Lilac thought that her uncle's face looked unusually good-tempered as she handed up his meal to him. He sat there eating and drinking, and continued his conversation with his son.
"Well, and what d'ye think of Buckle's offer for the colt?"
"Pity we can't sell him," answered Peter.
"_Can't_ sell him!" repeated the farmer; "I'm not so sure about that. Maybe he'd go sound now. He doesn't show no signs of lameness."
"Wouldn't last a month on the roads," said Peter.
The farmer's face clouded a little. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "that's Buckle's business. He can look him over, and if he don't see nothing wrong--"
"We hadn't ought to sell him," said Peter in exactly the same voice. "He's not fit for the roads. Take him off soft ground and he'd go queer in a week."
"He might or he mightn't," said the farmer impatiently; "all I know is I want the cash. It'd just pay that bill of Jones's, as is always bothering for his money. I declare I hate going into Lenham for fear of meeting that chap."
Peter had begun to toss the hay near him with his pitchfork. He did not look at his father or change his expression, but he said again:
"Knowing what we do, we hadn't ought to sell him."
The farmer struck his stirrup-iron so hard with his stick that even the steady grey pony was startled.
"I wish," he said with an oath, "that you'd never found it out then. I'd like to be square and straight about the horse as well as anyone. I've always liked best to be straight, but I'm too hard up to be so particular as that comes to. It's easy enough," he added moodily, "for a man to be honest with his pockets full of money."
"I could get the same price for None-so-pretty," said Peter after a long pause. "Mrs Grey wants her--over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a month ago."
"I'll not have her sold," said the farmer quickly. "What's the good of selling her? She's useful to us, and the colt isn't."
"She ain't not exactly so _useful_ to us as the other cows," said Peter. "She's more of a fancy."
"Well, she's yours," answered the farmer sullenly. "You can do as you like with her of course; but I'm not going to be off my bargain with Buckle whatever you do."
He shook his reins and jogged slowly away to another part of the field, while Peter fell steadily to work again with his pitchfork. Lilac was packing the things that had been used into her basket, and glanced at him now and then with her thoughts full of what she had just heard. Her opinion of Peter had changed very much lately. She had found, since her first conversation with him, that in many things he was not stupid but wise. He knew for instance a great deal about all the animals on the farm, their ways and habits, and how to treat them when they were ill. There were some matters to be sure in which he was laughably simple, and might be deceived by a child, but there were others on which everyone valued his opinion. His father certainly deferred to him in anything connected with the live stock, and when Peter had discovered a grave defect in the colt he did not dream of disputing it. So Lilac's feeling of pity began to change into something like respect, and she was sure too that Peter was anxious to show her kindness, though the expression of it was difficult to him. Since the day when he had gone away from her so suddenly, frightened by her tears, they had had several talks together, although the speech was mostly on Lilac's side. She shrank from him no longer, and sometimes when the real Peter came up from the depths where he lay hidden, and showed a glimpse of himself through the dull mask, she thought him scarcely ugly.
Would he sell None-so-pretty? She knew what it would cost him, for since Ben's history she had observed the close affection between them. There were not so many people fond of Peter that he could afford to lose even the love of a cow--and yet he would rather do it than let the colt be sold!
As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said:
"I'm sorry about None-so-pretty."
Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red face with his handkerchief.
"Thank yer," he answered; "so am I."
"Is it _certain sure_ you'll sell her?" asked Lilac.
Peter nodded. "She'll have a good home yonder," he said; "a rare fuss they'll make with her."
"She'll miss you though," said Lilac, shaking her head.
"Well," answered Peter, "I shouldn't wonder if she did look out for me a bit just at first. I've always been foolish over her since she was ill."
"But if Uncle sells the colt I s'pose you won't sell her, will you?" continued Lilac.
"He _won't_ sell him," was Peter's decided answer, as he turned to his work again.
Now, nothing could have been more determined than Mr Greenways' manner as he rode away, but yet when Lilac heard Peter speak so firmly she felt he must be right. The colt would not be sold and None-so-pretty would have to go in his place. She returned to the farm more than ever impressed by Peter's power. Quiet, dull Peter who seemed hardly able to put two sentences together, and had never an answer ready for his sisters' sharp speeches.
That evening when Bella and Agnetta returned from Lenham, Lilac was at the gate. She had been watching for them eagerly, for she was anxious to hear all about the grand things they had seen, and hoped they would be inclined to talk about it. As they were saying goodbye to Mr Buckle with a great many smiles and giggles, the farmer came out.
"Stop a bit, Buckle," he said, "I want a word with you about the colt. I've changed my mind since the morning."
Lilac heard no more as she followed her cousins into the house; but there was no need. Peter had been right.
During supper nothing was spoken of but the fete--the balloon, the band, the fireworks, and the dresses, Charlotte Smith's in particular. Lilac was intensely interested, and it was trying after the meal was over to have to help Molly in taking away the dishes, and lose so much of the conversation. This business over she drew near Agnetta and made an attempt to learn more, but in vain. Agnetta was in her loftiest mood, and though she was full of private jokes with Bella, she turned away coldly from her cousin. They had evidently some subject of the deepest importance to talk of which needed constant whispers, titters from Bella, and even playful slaps now and then. Lilac could hear nothing but "He says--She says," and then a burst of laughter, and "go along with yer nonsense." It was dull to be left out of it all, and she wished more than ever that she had gone to the fete too.
"Lilac," said her aunt, "just run and fetch your uncle's slippers."
She was already on her way when the farmer took his pipe out of his mouth and looked round. He had been moody and cross all supper-time, and now he glanced angrily at his two daughters as they sat whispering in the corner.
"It's someone else's turn to run, it seems to me," he said; "Lilac's been at it all day. You go, Agnetta." And as Agnetta left the room with an injured shrug, he continued:
"Seems too as if Lilac had all the work and none of the fun. You'd like an outing as well as any of 'em--wouldn't you, my maid?"
Lilac did not know what to make of such unexpected kindness. As a rule her uncle seemed hardly to know that she was in the house. She did not answer, for she was very much afraid of him, but she looked appealingly at her aunt.
"I'm sure, Greenways," said the latter in an offended tone, "you needn't talk as if the child was put upon. And your own niece, and an orphan besides. I know my duty better. And as for holidays and fetes and such, 'tisn't nateral to suppose as how Lilac would want to go to 'em after the judgment as happened to her directly after the last one. Leastways, not yet awhile. There'd be something ondacent in it, to my thinking."
"Well, there! it doesn't need so much talking," replied the farmer. "I'm not wanting her to go to fetes. But there's Mr Snell--he was asking for her yesterday when I met him. Let her go tomorrow and spend the day with him."
"If there is a busier day than another, it's Thursday," said Mrs Greenways fretfully.
"Why, as to that, she's only a child, and makes no differ in the house, as you always say," remarked the farmer; "anyhow, I mean her to go to-morrow, and that's all about it."
Lilac went to bed that night with a heart full of gratitude for her uncle's kindness, and delight at the promised visit; but her last thought before she slept was: "I'm sorry as how None-so-pretty has got to be sold."
CHAPTER NINE.
COMMON THINGS.
"...Find out men's wants and will
And meet them there, all earthly joys grow less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses." _George Herbert_.
Lilac could hardly believe her own good fortune when nothing happened the next morning to prevent her visit, not even a cross word nor a complaint from her aunt, who seemed to have forgotten her objections of last night and to be quite pleased that she should go. Mrs Greenways put a small basket into her hand before she started, into which she had packed a chicken, a pot of honey, and a pat of fresh butter.
"There," she said, "that's a little something from Orchards Farm, tell him. The chick's our own rearing, and the honey's from Peter's bees, and the butter's fresh this morning."
She nodded and smiled good-naturedly; Joshua should see there was no stint at the farm. "Be back afore dusk," she called after Lilac as she watched her from the gate.
So there was nothing to spoil the holiday or to damp Lilac's enjoyment in any way, and she felt almost as merry as she used to be before she came to live in the valley, and had begun to have cares and troubles. For one whole day she was going to be White Lilac again, with no anxieties about the butter; she would hear no peevish voices or wrangling disputes, she would have kindness
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