CHAPTER X.
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING
"The way was long, the wind was cold."
Soon after auntie's visit summer really began to come. It was very pleasant while it lasted, but this year it was a very short summer, and the winter that came after was a very severe one, and made many people ill. It did not make Carrots ill, nor Floss, nor any of the Desart children, for they were all strong, but it was very bad for their mother. As the winter went on, she seemed to get weaker and weaker; there were very few days on which she could go out, and if the spring had not been an early and very mild one, I hardly think her strength would have lasted.
But with the finer weather she seemed to get better again. The children were of course very glad, but still they had not felt frightened by her illness. It had come on so slowly and gradually that they had got accustomed to it, as children do. They thought it was just the cold wintry weather that had made her ill, and that when the spring came she would get better. And when the spring came and she did get better, they were perfectly satisfied and happy.
By the end of this summer Carrots was seven years old – no longer in the least a baby, though he was not tall for his age. He could read, of course, perfectly, and write a little. Now and then he wrote little letters to Sybil in answer to hers, for she was very particular about getting answers. She was only just beginning to learn to write, and sometimes when she got tired of working away at real "A's" and "B's" and "C's" in her letters, she would dash off into a lot of "scribble," which she said was "children's writing," and "if Carrots didn't know what it meant he must be very stupid, as he was a child too."
Carrots didn't know what it meant, but he never liked to say so, and I dare say it did not much matter. But his letters to Sybil were quite real. Any one could have understood them.
Long ago Floss and he had bought their hoops. They were quite "old friends" now. They had bought them at the toy-shop, just as they had planned, and, curiously enough when their mamma and nurse counted up how much was owing to them for the sugar, it came to exactly the price of the hoops.
But I must tell you what happened just about the time Carrots had his seventh birthday. The summer was nearly over again and already the cold winds, of which there were so many at Sandyshore, were beginning to be felt. Floss noticed that her mother very seldom went out now, and even in the house she generally had to wrap herself up in a shawl.
"Mamma, I hope the cold weather isn't going to make you ill again?" Floss said, one day when she and Carrots came in from a race on the sands, all hot and rosy with running.
"I don't know, dear," said her mother with a little sigh.
"I wish you could run about like us. That would make you so hot," said Carrots.
Mrs. Desart smiled. Just then her glance happened to fall on Floss's boots. "My dear child," she said, "those boots are really not fit to go out with. There's a great hole at the side of one of them."
"I know, mamma," said Floss, "but they're going to be mended. Nurse thinks they'll do a good while longer, if they're mended. I hope they will, for I know you always have so many new things to get when winter begins to come – haven't you, mamma?"
Mrs. Desart sighed again.
"I should have liked all your things to be so nice," she said, more as if speaking to herself than to Floss, "but it can't be helped."
Something in her tone caught Floss's attention.
"Why, mamma?" she asked, "why did you want our things to be so nice?"
"Because, dears, you may be going away from home," replied Mrs. Desart.
Floss and Carrots stared with astonishment. "Going away from home," Floss repeated, utterly unable to say more. Carrots could say nothing at all, he could only stare.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Desart, "I had meant to tell you about it before, but I have kept putting it off – " she stopped and seemed to hesitate.
"Why, mamma?" said Floss again. "Don't you like us to go? Are you coming with us, mamma?"
"Are we going to auntie's?" said Carrots.
His asking this seemed to please his mother.
"You would like to go to auntie's, wouldn't you, Carrots?" she said.
Carrots stroked his mother's shawl up and down two or three times before he answered.
"I'd like to go if you would come too," he said at last, "but I think I would rather stay at home, thank you, if you can't come."
Mrs. Desart's eyes filled with tears. "Poor little Carrots!" she said, softly smoothing his curls with her hand. "But if it would please me for Floss and you to go without me?" she said.
"I'll go if you want me to go, mamma," said Carrots.
"I must explain a little," said Mrs. Desart, and then she went on to tell the children how it was. The doctor had said she must not risk another winter at Sandyshore, and it had been arranged for her to go to a warmer climate. Cecil and Louise were to go with her; Captain Desart would be with them as much as he possibly could, and Maurice was to live at school. And what concerned the two little ones almost more than anything, nurse was to go too! "I must have some one kind and sensible with me, in case, in case – " and again Mrs. Desart hesitated.
"In case you were very tired with travelling, or if you were to get a bad cold again; somebody who could make nice white wine whey and things like that," said Floss, who was of a practical turn of mind, "oh yes, mamma, I quite understand."
"Though nurse is getting old, she has been so much accustomed to travelling, too," said Mrs. Desart, "and we are going a long way – to Algeria; Floss, do you know where that is?"
"Over the sea!" said Floss, "I wish we might come too, mamma, Carrots and I," she exclaimed. "You will be so far away."
"But you will be with auntie, and you know how kind auntie is," said her mother, forcing herself to speak cheerfully. "And it is such a pretty place where auntie lives."
"Is the sea there?" said Carrots.
"No, but the hills are," answered Mrs. Desart with a smile. "I am quite sure you will like it." And she went on to tell them so much about auntie's pretty home that for a little they almost forgot everything but the pleasant part of the change that was to come so soon.
And it did come very soon. It seemed but a few days from the afternoon they had first heard about it all, when Floss and Carrots found themselves early one morning at the little railway station with their father, waiting for the train.
Captain Desart was to travel with them for the first hour, to take them to the "junction" where they were to change and get into a train which would take them straight to Whitefriars, near which was auntie's house.
You will laugh, children, I dare say, and think Floss and Carrots very countrified and ignorant when I tell you that they had never been a long railway journey before. Never, that is to say, that they could remember– for their parents had come to Sandyshore when Floss was a baby, and Carrots, as you know, had been born there.
So you can hardly fancy what a wonderful event this journey was to them.
Their little hearts were very full at first after parting with their mother, and sisters, and nurse, and all that made the Cove House home to them.
And their mamma had kissed them so many times, as if she could not really say good-bye, though she was not generally a very petting or kissing mamma, but rather quiet and grave.
And nurse had the tears in her eyes, and Louise had them pouring down her face, and Cecil had her face squeezed up in a sort of way that Floss knew meant she was determined she would not cry. Floss felt troubled in a way she could not understand, and I think Carrots did too. They had a feeling that the bigger people knew of more reason for sorrow than had been told to them, and yet they could not imagine what it could be. And after all, to them the parting for even four or five months was almost as great a trouble as they could understand! only they were going to "auntie's!"
"And we will try to be so good, dear mamma," said Floss, bravely choking down her tears. "We will try to get on with our lessons, too, and write you nice letters. And – and – " here a sob or two would make its way, "I can't help crying a little; but I'm sure we shall be very happy, won't we Carrots?"
"If mamma wants us to be happy, we'll try, won't we Floss?" said Carrots. He wiped the tears on his mother's cheeks with his own little pocket handkerchief and looked up in her face piteously. "Please don't cry, poor mamma," he said; "we will be good and happy."
Then their father came in and hurried them off, and the farewells were over – that part of them, at least, for the saying goodbye to Captain Desart at the junction was rather hard too.
And at last Floss and Carrots find themselves at the height of their ambition – alone in a railway carriage travelling to auntie's! But they do not seem so delighted as they used to fancy they would; they do not jump about and laugh and chatter in their overflowing pleasure – they sit quite still, side by side, holding each other's hands and with little quiet grave faces.
"Things never come the same as people fancy," said Floss at last. "We never thought we should go to auntie's because poor mamma was ill, did we Carrots?"
"No, we never did," said Carrots. "But mamma will soon get better, won't she, Floss, at that nice warm place?"
"Oh yes, of course she will," said Floss. "But it's a long way away Carrots, and I never thought going to auntie's would be like this."
"No," agreed Carrots again, "we never did."
"I'm so sorry to leave them all, aren't you, Carrots?" said Floss, her voice trembling a little.
"Yes," said Carrots; "and Floss, I'm very sorry, too, to leave the sea. I never left the sea before, you know."
"But the sea won't miss you," said Floss, "and poor mamma and nursie and all of them will miss us. That's what I keep thinking of."
"When should we eat our dinner, Floss?" said Carrots, with an instinct that it would be as well to change the subject.
"Not just yet. When we've gone about half way would do; and papa said that great big place, Millingham, would be about half way."
"But if there were any other people to get into the carriage?" said Carrots.
"Well, it wouldn't matter," said Floss. "People must eat when they are travelling."
"But wouldn't we have to ask them to have some too?" suggested Carrots.
"I don't know," said Floss; "I never thought of that. Perhaps it would be polite. But there are only eight sandwiches, Carrots; eight sandwiches and four sponge cakes and a packet of Albert biscuits. I hope a great many people won't get in."
No one got in at the next station. Only the guard put his head in at the door, as Captain Desart had asked him to do, to see how the little pair were getting on. Carrots had thoughts of offering him a sandwich, but he disappeared before there was time to do so, which Floss thought very fortunate when she heard of Carrots' intention. "For you see," she said, "if we began offering them to him, we would have to do it at every station, and if there are eight stations before Whitefriars, all our sandwiches would be gone."
"He might have a biscuit for a change," said Carrots, submissive, but scarcely convinced. "He is a nice man, Floss – he calls us 'Well, sir,' and 'Miss.' Do you think papa told him to say 'Well, sir,' and 'Miss?'"
But before Floss had time to answer they had stopped again, and this time some one did get into their carriage. The new-comer was a small, neat, oldish lady. She looked rather grim at first, but after a while she grew decidedly friendly, and no wonder; for at Millingham Floss and Carrots unpacked their little basket of provisions, and I don't think the grimmest of maiden ladies could have remained grim after the politeness with which the children treated her.
They selected the nicest looking sandwich, putting it on an Albert biscuit by way of a plate, and then, at a sign from Floss, Carrots clambered down from his seat and gravely offered it to the lady.
"I'm sorry there's no mustard, if you like mustard," said Floss; "but Carrots and I don't like it, and – and – I suppose nurse didn't think of anyone else."
The oldish lady looked at the children for a moment before she replied.
"I am very much obliged to you," she said at last, "but I think I won't take a sandwich, as I had luncheon before I left home. But if you will allow me I will have a biscuit. I am very fond of biscuits."
"I'm so glad," said Floss, hospitably. "Now, Carrots," she said in a lower voice, "you eat two sandwiches and I'll eat two, and we'll each have one sponge cake. And that'll do for dinner. We'll eat the rest in about an hour and pretend we're having tea early."
The lady asked them a good many questions after this, and told them they were such well-behaved children, she would not mind travelling all the way to Whitefriars with them. Floss blushed a little at this; it made her feel shy to be praised to her face, but still no doubt the lady meant it kindly, and they were rather sorry when she left them, some stations before they got to Whitefriars. Their old friend the guard left them here, too, but he popped his head in for the last time to say that he was going to speak for them to "him that was coming on now." And Floss thanked him, though she had not the least idea what he meant.
But there must have been some mistake about it, for the new guard never came near them, and when, at the last stoppage before Whitefriars, another man threw the door open and demanded "tickets," Floss felt too startled by his rough manner to ask him what they were longing to know, how far they still had to go. But he took away the tickets. "So we can't have very far to go," said Floss. "Papa said they would take away the tickets a little before we got to Whitefriars."
"Will auntie be at the station?" said Carrots.
"Yes, I'm sure she will," said Floss. "Auntie and Sybil too, perhaps. Carrots, I do believe we're there; the train's stopping."
And in another minute they found themselves in a nice clean-looking station with several people standing about on the platform, evidently waiting for the train.
The children looked out eagerly. There were two or three ladies, one little girl, and a few other people – but no auntie, no Sybil!
"P'raps this isn't the place," said Carrots.
"Please, is this Whitefriars?" inquired Floss of a porter who just then threw open the door.
"Whitefriars, yes miss. Any luggage?"
"Oh yes," said Floss anxiously, "a great deal It's in one of the luggage carriages, and it's marked with our name."
The man smiled. "Will you come with me, missie, and show me which it is, and I'll get it all right for you."
"Oh, thank you," said Floss, gathering together their cloaks and baskets, and preparing to descend.
"What a kind man," whispered Carrots; and when the porter lifted him out of the carriage he took hold of his hand and ran along beside him as fast as his little legs could keep up.
Floss felt quite bewildered at first, when she saw the heaps and heaps of luggage lying on the platform, all labelled "Whitefriars." It seemed to her that everybody must have been travelling to Whitefriars to-day! But by degrees it was claimed and melted away, and the kind porter, to whom she had already pointed out their "great deal" – one portmanteau, one bag, and a small tin hat-box – soon picked it up and stood waiting for further orders.
"Where am I to take it to, please miss?" he said. "Is there no one here to meet you?"
"I don't think so, I don't know what to do," said Floss, looking sadly troubled again. In the excitement of finding the luggage she had forgotten this new difficulty, but now it returned in full force.
"Have you far to go?" said the man.
"Oh no," said Floss, "auntie's house is near here, I know."
"Then perhaps little master and you had better walk on, and send for the luggage afterwards?" suggested the man, never doubting from Floss's manner that the children were accustomed to the place, and knew their way.
"Yes, I suppose so," said Floss uncertainly.
"Or shall I fetch you a fly from the Blue Boar?" said the man. "The station flies has all drove off."
"No, thank you; I don't think I have enough money for that," said Floss, feeling in her pocket for her purse, which she knew contained only her father's parting gift of half-a-crown, a sixpence with a hole in, and three pennies of Carrots'! "Your auntie says she will get you everything you want, so I need not give you any money with you," their mother had said. Floss had no idea what a fly from the Blue Boar would cost, but it sounded very grand, and she hardly dared to risk it.
"Well, I daresay you'll be safest to walk," said the porter, rather afraid of getting himself into a scrape if he fetched the children a fly without proper authority, and feeling uncertain, from their very plain and rather "countrified" appearance, if their friends belonged to the fly patronising class or not. "I'll keep the luggage safe till it's sent for – no fear," and with a friendly nod he marched off with their possessions.
Holding Carrots by the hand, Floss made her way out of the station. For about a quarter of a mile the road ran straight before them and they trudged along contentedly enough. But after awhile they came to a point where two roads met, one leading to the little watering-place (for the station was some way from the town), the other out into the country. And for the first time it struck Floss that she did not know the way. She looked about her in perplexity.
"It cannot be far," she said; "mamma always said auntie lived near Whitefriars. But I wish I knew which way to go."
Carrots had no suggestion to offer. To make matters worse, it began to rain – a cold, sleety, late October rain; the children had no umbrella, and were already tired and hungry. I think it was much to their credit that they did not lose heart altogether.
Just as Floss was making up her mind to take the turn leading in the distance to terraces of houses and gardens and other signs of civilisation, there came, jogging along the road on a cart-horse, a farmer's boy. Joyful sight! Floss plucked up heart.
"Can you tell me, please," she called out, "which is the way to Greenmays?"
The farmer's boy turned his thumb in the direction of the country road. "Yonder," he shouted, without stopping in his jog, "straight on past the church, and down lane to left."
"Is it far?" asked Floss, but the boy did not seem to hear.
There was nothing for it but to go on with their trudge. The rain was not heavy but very piercingly cold, and the daylight was beginning to fade. Two or three hot tears at last forced their way down Floss's cheeks, but she wiped them quickly away, before Carrots could see them. Carrots said nothing, but Floss knew he was getting tired by the way he kept lagging behind, every now and then giving a little run to get up to Floss again.
"I shouldn't mind so much, Floss," he said at last, "if it would be home when we get there, and if we were to find mamma and nurse and tea in our own nursery waiting for us."
This was altogether too much for Floss. For a moment or two she could not speak, she was choked with sobs. "Oh, how I do wish poor mamma hadn't got ill," she said at last.
"Poor Flossie, dear Flossie," said Carrots, pulling down her face to kiss in spite of the rain and the dark and the cold and everything. "I didn't mean to make you cry. And auntie will be very kind when we get there, won't she, Floss?"
"Oh yes," said Floss, trying to speak cheerfully, though in her secret heart there was a little misgiving. It did not look very kind not to have sent to meet them at the station, and even without this, Floss, though she had not said so, had felt a little shy and frightened at the thought of meeting auntie and the strange uncle, and even Sybil again. It was nearly two years since the visit to Sandyshore, and two years is a lifetime to a child – it seemed to Floss like going altogether among strangers. She clasped her little brother's hand tighter as these feelings passed through her mind. "It won't be so bad for Carrots," she reflected; "any way he will have me."
They seemed to have walked a very weary way when at last the church, of which the farmer's boy had spoken, came in sight – very dimly in sight, for the daylight was fast dying away. Floss would have passed the church without noticing it, but the road divided in two just at this place, and she was obliged to think which way to go. Then the boy's directions came into her mind.
"To the left past the church, didn't he say, Carrots?" she said.
"'Down lane to left,' he said," replied Carrots.
"Then it must be this way," said Floss, and on they trudged.
In a few minutes they came to large gates, on one side of which stood a pretty little house, but such a little house, hardly bigger than a cottage.
"Is that auntie's house?" said Carrots.
"I'm afraid it's too little to be auntie's house," said Floss. "I wish it was. I would much rather auntie lived in a cottage."
"Just like Mrs. White's," said Carrots.
Floss could not help laughing at him; it had left off raining and her spirits were rising a little.
"Look Carrots," she said, "there is a light in the cottage window. We'd better knock at the door and ask if it is auntie's house. It's getting rather like a fairy story, isn't it Carrots? Fancy if somebody calls out 'Pull the string and the latch will open.'"
"But that would be the wolf, Floss," said Carrots, pressing closer to his sister.
It was no wolf, but a nice, tidy-looking woman with a white cap and a baby in her arms who opened the door, and stood staring at the two little wayfarers in bewilderment. Floss grew afraid that she was angry.
"I'm very sorry – I mean I beg your pardon," she began. "I didn't know this was your house. We thought perhaps it was auntie's. Can you tell me, please, where Greenmays is?"
"This is Greenmays," said the woman. Floss stared: the door opened right into the kitchen, it couldn't be auntie's house.
"This is the lodge," continued the woman. "If it's someone at the big house you're wanting, you must just go straight up the drive. I'd show you the way," she went on, "but my husband's up at the stables and it's too cold for baby. You seem wet and tired, you do – have you come far?"
"Yes," said Floss, wearily, "very far. We thought auntie would meet us at the station, but there wasn't anybody."
"They must be kin to the housekeeper, surely," thought the woman. And yet something indescribable in Floss's manner, and in the clear, well-bred tones of her small, childish voice, prevented her asking if this was so. "I wish I could go with you to the house," she repeated, curiosity and kindliness alike prompting her, "but," she added, looking doubtfully at the sleeping child in her arms, "I'm afeared for baby."
"Oh, it doesn't matter, thank you," said Floss, "we can find the way, I daresay. Good evening," and taking Carrots by the hand, she turned to go.
"Good evening," said little Carrots also.
"Good evening, and I hope you'll find your auntie in," said the woman. And for a few minutes she stood at the door straining her eyes after the two forlorn little figures till she could distinguish them no longer in the darkness of the trees bordering the avenue. "Who can they be?" she said to herself. "Such a pretty spoken, old-fashioned little pair I never did see!"