Chapter X: Spring Flowers

IT was a beautiful morning, towards the end of March, as Miss Goodwin, suitably equipped for gardening in a short skirt, shady hat, and thick gloves, bent over the diamond-shaped flower-beds cut in the grass plot in front of her house, and carefully hoed the rich mould between clumps of daffodils and various other spring flowers.

March, which had come in with blustering winds, was going out like the proverbial lamb. The air was balmy, and sweet with the delicate scent of hyacinths, and violets; and the gentle rain which had fallen during the night had washed all traces of dust from the budding foliage of trees and shrubs; whilst, save for a few fleecy clouds in the far distance, the sky was one great curtain of blue. It was what Miss Goodwin mentally called a "growing day;" the whole world seemed—astir with young life; and the sparrows twittered noisily beneath the eaves of the roof of the house, where they were busily preparing nurseries for the reception of their broods.

Miss Goodwin's back was towards the garden gate, so she did not see a little girl and boy coming down the road from Haresdown Hill; but they caught sight of her as they were passing the house; and as they were unobserved, paused to look at the pretty garden with its show of gay flowers, and the small figure so busily at work.

"Oh, what a lovely place!" whispered the little girl. "I think I never saw such beautiful flowers growing before, did you, Gerald? But what a queer old lady! I suppose she lives here. Do look at her white stockings and elastic-side boots!"

At that moment Miss Goodwin glanced around, becoming suddenly conscious that she was being watched, and perceived the children. She guessed who they must be, the great niece and nephew of the new owner of Haresdown House, who had arrived only the preceding night; and as she knew all about them, she jumped to the conclusion that they must know all about her.

Angel and Gerald were moving away with flaming cheeks, ashamed at having been caught staring, and afraid the old lady would consider them very rude, when she hastened to the gate and called to them to stop.

"Oh, wait a minute!" she cried. "How do you do, my dears? I am very glad to see you, very glad. I cannot shake hands because, as you perceive, my gardening gloves are earthy; you must take the will for the deed."

They paused, and looked in astonishment at the withered face beneath the big, shady hat; there was a distinctly friendly light in the old lady's blue eyes, and she nodded and smiled in a most genial fashion.

"How is your father?" she continued affably. "Was he much tired after his journey yesterday? I heard he had been very ill; but I trust he will soon be set up in health."

"He was very tired last night," Angel answered, "and he is rather tired this morning, but Uncle Edward said he bore the journey very well, considering how ill he has been."

"Ah, he will soon get well in this beautiful air!" Miss Goodwin declared. "You have always lived in London, have you not?"

"Yes, always!" they answered.

"Ah, I was never there in my life; I have always lived at Wreyford. In London they tell me you might not know your next-door neighbours! I should not like that." And she shook her head decidedly.

"We did not know our next-door neighbours," Angel admitted with a smile.

"Really? How strange! I know every one in Wreyford, and every one knows me. Now, which of you is the elder?"

"I am," the little girl answered, thinking the old lady was very fond of asking questions, "although Gerald is so much taller than I am."

"Gerald, is he called? And you? What is your name?"

"Angelica."

"But we always call her Angel," Gerald explained; "Angelica, is such a mouthful."

"Angel is a very sweet name, to my mind," Miss Goodwin said gravely. "Are you on your way to the town?"

"Yes," Angel assented. She hesitated, and then said apologetically, "I hope you did not think us very rude for stopping, and looking in at the gate. We were admiring your pretty house, and beautiful garden; we never saw such lovely flowers growing before!"

"Come in, and I will give you some with great pleasure," Miss Goodwin said, with an inviting smile as she opened the gate for them to enter. "I did not think you rude at all. You are fond of flowers?"

"Oh yes!" they both replied eagerly; and Angel added, "Father loves them too."

Suspended from Miss Goodwin's waist was a chatelaine, from which she detached a pair of scissors, and proceeded to cut some of her finest blooms.

"I am going to make a nosegay for your father," she informed the children, "because he is an invalid, and sick folks like to have little attentions paid them."

"Oh, he will be so pleased!" Angel cried, her eyes shining with gratitude, "How very kind of you!"

"Kind? Not at all! It is always a pleasure to me to give flowers to those who appreciate them. Some people do not care for flowers; once I heard them called useless. Useless! Would God have created them if not for some good purpose? He knew the longing of our souls for beauty. Look at these wind flowers—anemones they are really notice how delicately they are made! And these daffodils—golden glories, I call them. Do you see how the tender green of the stalks is softly shaded off over the backs of the blooms? Here are wallflowers; we will have some of these for our posy because of their scent."

"Their colours are lovely, too," Angel said; "but are we to have all these flowers for father? Oh, how good of you! What pretty variegated grass!"

"It is called lady's grass or ladies' ribbons," Miss Goodwin told her, as she added a few strands to the bunch of flowers, and then tied all the stalks together with a piece of bass which she produced from the capacious pocket of the big, gardening apron she wore to protect her gown. "I am glad you like my garden," she proceeded, her blue eyes sparkling with pride as she noted the admiring glances the children were casting on every side; "will you come in and look at my house?"

"It is very kind of you to ask us," Angel replied, "but we must not stay any longer, for we have some errands to do for Uncle Edward in the town."

"Come again another day," said the old lady hospitably, as she placed the nosegay in the little girl's hand. "Pray give the flowers to your father with my compliments, and say I hope to have the pleasure of calling on him and Mr. Bailey before long."

"Who shall we say sent them?" asked Gerald, thinking this was a capital opportunity of finding out the name of their new acquaintance.

Miss Goodwin did not perceive the drift of his question, though she looked a trifle surprised as she answered—

"Why, say I sent them, of course!"

The children exchanged amused glances; then, after a moment's hesitation, Angel explained the situation.

"You see, we do not know who you are," she said. "Won't you, please, tell us your name?"

"You don't know who I am!" the old lady cried in amazement. "Well, I never! And I have lived in Wreyford all my life!"

"But we only came last night," Angel reminded her, "and we don't know any one in Wreyford yet, except the Mickles; I know them because I went to their house when I spent a week here with Uncle Edward before Christmas, but I did not see you then. Father will like to know who sent him these lovely flowers!"

"I am called Goodwin—Anna Goodwin—Miss Anna Goodwin," the little lady informed them with a slight stress upon the "miss." "I knew Mr. Bailey when he was a boy, and I knew your grandfather too! Well, if you really must go, good-bye! Come and see me again soon."

They promised, and took their departure with their faces wreathed in smiles, whilst Miss Goodwin watched them out of sight, and then returned to her gardening. When they passed Myrtle Villa on their way back to Haresdown House, after having executed their errands in the town, the quaint little figure of the gardener had disappeared.

So far Angel had kept possession of the flowers, occasionally lifting them to her face to enjoy their fragrance; but as they commenced the ascent of Haresdown Hill, Gerald said—

"I say, Angel, I think it's about time I had a turn at carrying those flowers. You've had them all the way!"

"I didn't know you wanted to carry them," Angel responded quickly, as she willingly delivered them up to her brother.

He had had no desire to do so, but it had suddenly occurred to him that he would like to be the one to present the bouquet to their father; and in his eagerness to be the first to reach home, he got a few steps in advance of his sister.

"Wait for me, Gerald!" she cried. "How fast you are going!"

She was rather breathless, for she was unaccustomed to walking much, and the hill tried her. But Gerald, instead of waiting, only laughed, and hastened on ahead. They were now within sight of Haresdown House, which, situated on the slope of the hill, was bathed in sunshine; and with new blinds and curtained windows presented a very different appearance to that it had done when Angel had first seen it four months previously.

Suddenly Gerald commenced to run, and before Angel had reached the garden gate, he had disappeared under the porch into the house. She thought it was rather unkind of him to leave her, and tears rose to her eyes because she had so much wanted to witness her father's look when he caught sight of the nosegay, and now she would be too late for that; but the next moment she told herself how very foolish she must be, for Gerald could not have thought she would be disappointed.

She entered the house very soberly, and turned immediately into the dining-room, a long, low apartment, in which were two windows reaching to the ground. Mr. Willis lay on a sofa close to one of the windows, through which the sun was streaming and Gerald had already given him the flowers.

"Come here, Angel," Mr. Willis said as his little daughter appeared, "and tell me what good fairy sent me these. Gerald says they are a present from a lady!"

"So they are," Angel replied, her face brightening as she met her father's smiling gaze. "Are they not beautiful?"

"Most beautiful! And freshly gathered, I see. Then the scent— how fragrant! Wall-flowers! Hyacinths! Anemones! Scarlet japonica! How marvellously well the colours blend! And daffodils too!"

"That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty."

"Surely you must have met with some very kind-hearted person to get all these!"

"Oh, father, I wish you could have seen her, she was so funny!" Gerald exclaimed, laughing merrily at the remembrance of Miss Goodwin's quaint figure. "Such a queer little woman she looked with an odd, old face, and wearing a short frock, and a big apron!"

"And she has the kindest, bluest eyes I ever saw," Angel cried eagerly; "and a bright, clear voice—like a silver bell! She said we were to come and see her often; and she's going to call on you and Uncle Edward. Her name is Miss Anna Goodwin, and she lives in a dear little house called Myrtle Villa, at the bottom of the hill—we passed it as we drove from the station last night, only, of course, you wouldn't notice it in the dark."

"I am sure she must be a charming old lady," Mr. Willis said earnestly; "but what made her think of sending these flowers to me?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Oh, because you are an invalid! She seemed to know all about us, and was quite surprised when we told her we did not know what she was called." And Angel repeated almost word for word the conversation they had held with Miss Goodwin.

"Well, I feel most grateful to her," Mr. Willis said, when his little daughter had finished her tale, "and I hope she will keep her word, and come to see me. Now, in what can I arrange my flowers?"

He glanced around the room, which was comfortably and substantially furnished; but there were no vases or jars to be seen. Angel went to the kitchen, and explained their need to the housekeeper, Mrs. Vallance, who told her to look into the china cupboard, and take whatever she wanted. Accordingly, she selected a big blue bowl, finding nothing more suitable, and returned with it to the dining room. Mr. Willis declared it was just the thing he required, and when he had arranged the flowers in it to his satisfaction, had it placed on a small table close by the side of his sofa.

The children were delighted to see how much brighter their father was looking; his voice was more cheerful, and he spoke hopefully of a speedy recovery.

When Mr. Bailey came in from the back garden, where he had been giving directions to a gardener the story of Angel and Gerald's interview with Miss Goodwin had to be told again.

"Goodwin—Goodwin," he repeated thoughtfully, "why, of course I remember there was a Miss Goodwin in Wreyford! Is it possible she is still alive? She must be a great age!"

"She said she used to know you, and grandfather too," Gerald said; "and I should think she is awfully old, her face is covered with wrinkles, and her hair is perfectly white."

"Then I dare say it is the same Miss Goodwin. Where does she live? At Myrtle Villa? Of course I ought to have remembered! To think that she should be still alive!" And Mr. Bailey looked quite excited.

"She must be a dear old soul, I am sure!" Mr. Willis exclaimed. "I only hope she did not rob her garden of all its flowers!"

"Oh no, there were plenty left," Angel assured him; "you could hardly see where those were gathered. And she seemed so pleased to cut them for you."

"I wish she knew what pleasure they are giving me; I must tell her if she calls. I feel as if I have made a friend in Wreyford, though I have never met her yet." And the smile which lit up Mr. Willis' face as he spoke was full of gratification.

Angel met her uncle's eyes saw that he too had noticed how much brighter the invalid was looking; but neither realized how much the little old maid's spontaneous act of kindness had to do with his better spirits; perhaps he did not realize it himself, although his eyes constantly wandered to the flowers in their fresh, spring beauty, and he repeated many times ere the day was done, "It was very good of her to send them to me."