Chapter XXV: Here Endeth

“God’s in His heaven,
All’s right with the world.”

Such a day! The spring of the year in the sky, and on the river, and on the land. September at its happiest, fresh and young, and gladdening as a maiden stepping with shining eyes and light feet into a world that she knows she is going to brighten.

Blue in the sky, blue deeper and sun-flecked in the river, a glory of roses in the garden, a yellow splendour of wattles in the bush.

Tea was spread on the lawn, not under a tree, but out in the sunshine that no one could get enough of. Even the cakes had a light-hearted look; and as for the shining kettle on the lamp, it was absolutely bubbling with good spirits. They were all there,—the seven and Mrs. Hassal, all mentally on tiptoe, physically in comfortable attitudes, sitting or lying round the cloth.

The Captain and Esther were expected every minute.

Peter wanted to begin on the little cakes that had such a fascinating bit of peel on the top of each.

“Leth go halveth in one, Nell,” he said; “we ought to tathte them firtht,—prapth you forgot the thugar.”

But Nellie assured him they were sweetness itself, and removed the plate into the middle of the cloth, where they could not lead his fingers into temptation.

She consoled him with two lumps of sugar, and he gave Poppet one and bet her he could suck his for a longer time than she could without it breaking.

Alan was hammering at a tipsy-looking erection of posts halfway down the drive, that said “Welcome” in pink and white roses, and threatened to fall and engulf any one passing underneath. Bunty had made it, Alan was only trying to ensure the safety of Esther’s head.

Near the door was another arch; it was very low—both the Captain and Esther would have to go under it doubled up: it was done in ferns and red geraniums and blue flag lilies and yellow “bunny rabbits,” and it said “Wellcome.”

This was the architecture of Peter and Poppet; the choice of flowers and handing up had been Essie’s work.

The kettle boiled over. Meg took the opinions of the company as to whether she should make the tea or wait. The travellers were coming overland from Brisbane, and the man had already gone to the station with the dogcart. It always made the Captain irritable to be met by half his family on a station, so they were all assembled at home instead. Nellie counselled waiting, tea brewed too long was “horrid.”

Pip said no one would know what they were drinking, so it did not matter.

Swift wheels on the road, a shriek from Peter and Poppet, and the question was decided. Meg filled up the teapot and cosied it, then snatched Essie up in her arms and went down the path. Oh, thank God, thank God she had her to take!

Esther leapt out before the horse fairly stopped, just as impetuously young as ever. She devoured Essie, lifted big Peter right up in her arms, laughed and cried over the others.

No one said anything the pen could catch for the next ten minutes; every one spoke at once and laughed at once; every one asked questions and no one waited for answers.

It was the Captain of course who first made a whole speech. “We’ve been travelling for hours,—haven’t you any tea for Esther, Meg?”

Then they all trooped up under the arches to the white cloth, flower-strewn, and Flibbertigibbet had improved the shining time by drinking the milk.

Martha came down with more, her very forehead sharing in the great smile that widened all her features.

She shook the Captain’s hand and Esther’s; then small Essie ran before her, and she pulled up her apron to catch a sudden sob and went away.

Little Mrs. Hassal picked up the child,—just her own little girl Esther over again. She gave her a lump of sugar and squeezed her tenderly for nothing in particular. Then Nellie crept round and took her to find the prettiest cake of all, and Pip rode her round and round on his shoulders and kissed her again and again when she happened to stand near him.

And once, when running back from the house with her grand new doll for inspection, her eager little feet tripped and she fell on the path, the whole six started up and rushed to pick her up. Esther told herself she had left her darling in loving enough hands, she need not have worried so.

“But she seems a little thinner to me, Meg,” she said; “I don’t know if it is my fancy.”

Then they all grew silent, and each one waited for the other to tell.

It was Nellie who spoke at last, and told the story, and Esther’s tears fell and she clasped her baby close to her breast and thanked God who had been so good to her. And the Captain put out his hand and drew his eldest daughter closer to him, and said he did not think Alan could have her now.

It is only four o’clock, and the spring glad sunshine is still over everything; the feast is at its height, and all faces untroubled again. Let us leave them here.

Esther is leaning against her husband, her bright face full of content and happiness; once or twice her eyes have gone skywards, and the light in them has deepened. Essie is in her arms, saucy and dimpled: she knows she is the undisputed queen of that gathering, and is taking advantage of her power by giving all manner of sweet little commands.

Peter is still engaged on the cakes; he is only eating the tops of them where the peel nestles, but no one has noticed. He has just informed Esther of the progress he has made in her absence.

“I tharcely drop any blotht now,” he said; “I’ve gone into theven times, I’m learning peninthulath, and I’ve thtopped lithping.”

As no one disputes any of his statements, and as no one smiles openly, he is quite happy in his present occupation. Poppet seems to have grown; she is thinner than ever,—arms and legs, as Bunty says, and nothing else worth mentioning. He forgets the heart; it is just the same dear loving tender little one, with room for all the world, and one warm, special corner for himself.

Bunty’s collar this afternoon is a sign of the times; it is perfectly white and almost unrumpled; the whole of it is visible, and his jacket does not fit extraordinarily badly. His mouth is firm, but hardly strikes one as obstinate now, and the brooding light that used to be in his eyes shows very seldom. Pip says if some day the boy becomes a great hero it will not surprise any one in the family at all, despite those early days he is so bitterly ashamed of.

This is quite a different Nellie from the one who went over this same lawn in her first long dress. More beautiful if possible: the shining hair and dewy, long-lashed eyes, the clear colouring, and slim, straight figure are just the same, but there is a deeper look in the young eyes, a sweeter, graver expression about the young mouth. She will be that gladdening thing, an exceedingly beautiful woman; she will be more, a good woman and a noble.

Meg,—well, Meg is Meg.

A little thin and pale-looking from the fever, a little quieter, and, if possible, even more sweet, more womanly and lovable than ever. Alan is at one side of her, her family at the other; so far they possess her equally, and perhaps the standing between is the happiest time of her life.

Pip is stretched on the ground, six feet of splendid young manhood; his laugh is good to hear, his cheeks have the tint of health, he measures a surprising number of inches round the chest. Surely it is reasonable to suppose his blighted affections have not done him irreparable mischief! Peter lets a light in on the subject. He has finished the cakes, and is at liberty again to pour out all the events of note that have happened during Esther’s absence.

He has informed her that “the catht had four kittenth, that his betht thuith grown too thmall for his legth, that the butcher thent the chopth and thteak too late for breakfatht, and Meg got another one named Thmitherth, and that a thtorm of hail had thmathed the thtudy window.”

Then his eye fell upon his eldest brother, and his young catholic mind found an item of news concerning him.

“An’ Mith Joneth ith married to the man at the thauthpan thop; me and Poppet peeped in at the church, and the looked thplendid. And Pip wath awful mad, but he’th gone on Mith Thybil Moore now.”

And as Miss Sybil Moore was the exceedingly pretty daughter of new delightful neighbours, and as Mr. Philip coloured somewhat warmly and inverted the young scamp in great haste, there seemed a probability of pleasant truth in the statement. Especially as Meg smiled contentedly.

Esther spoke of Indian scarfs and shawls and gauzes the boxes held.

“They will do beautifully for charades and theatricals,” she said.

“Or playing at being grown up,” said Poppet.

The Captain leaned back against a tree. “There is not much playing about it,” he said. “I must be getting an old man; how fast you are all growing up.”

“What’s dwowing up?” asked Essie.

“I used to think it was just long dresses and done-up hair,” sighed Nellie; “or a stick and a moustache.”

“And not doing as you’re told,” supplemented Poppet.

“An’ eating thingth and not getting thick.” It was Peter’s amendment.

Meg only smiled.

But there was a faint curve of sadness as well as the smile on her young lips—and one was for sweet, buried childhood, and one for the broadening days.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s note

Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained: cricket-ball/cricket ball, dinner-party/dinner party, half-hesitatingly/half hesitatingly, ladylike/lady-like, sailor-hat/sailor hat, scarlet-fever/scarlet fever, side-door/side door, side-table/side table, someway/some way, stepmother/step-mother, stuck-up/stuck up, teapot/tea-pot, tiptoe/tip-toe, toothbrushes/tooth-brushes, washstand/wash-stand, writing-table/writing table.

The following words have been retained as printed: cotillon, Wellcome, wofully.