"Yes, we were; we were very anxious, thank you," said Poppy, half absently. She was looking at her hostess, and thinking of the story she had heard of her. It seemed so wonderful that after going through such terrible tragedies she could laugh and talk and be interested in little every-day matters. But she was, especially when Poppy, at last recovering her tongue, told her all about themselves, and their father and mother in Canada, and how they four came to Cousin Charlotte's because no one else could have them, and how frightened they ware until they saw her, but were never frightened after, she was so kind; and how they all wanted to help her, and how they tried all sorts of ways.

Mademoiselle was very interested in the parsley-bed, and Angela's hen, and Esther helping in the house, and Penelope's desire to be able to play the organ and sing; and Poppy chattered on, delighted to find so interested a listener.

"I think it quite cheered her and did her good," she confided to Angela later. "She said it did, and she asked me to come again; and I am to keep threepennyworth of parsley for her every week. Isn't it lovely!

A whole shilling a month! Oh, I wish I had a whole garden to sow parsley in. Do you think it will go on growing for ever, Angela?"

Angela did not know, but she was hopeful. Ephraim, however, thought that at the rate she was picking it her crop would not last another month, and strongly advised the clearing of a part of the bed and tilling more seeds.

But when Poppy went to Esther to tell her about her expedition, she met with a disappointment. Esther did not seem at all pleased at the attentions she had shown the invalids. She seemed, in fact, quite annoyed.

"I was going myself," she said coldly, "by and by; but I sha'n't now, of course. I don't suppose Mademoiselle Leperier wants the whole Carroll family continually going to her house. It was not right for you, either, to go all that way alone; it was not safe."

"I had Guard with me," said the crestfallen Poppy. "I didn't know you wouldn't like it, Essie. I thought you--you would be glad." Her lip would quiver a little as she spoke. "I--I only wanted to be kind to the poor lady because she was kind to you, and I--didn't mean to go inside, but she made me. Aren't you really going again, Esther? She expects you, she said so."

"I can't go if all the rest of you keep going. Besides, Mademoiselle won't want me."

"Oh yes, she will," cried Poppy, almost in tears. "She _does_ want you; and--and I won't go any more if you don't like me to. You can take the parsley for me. I wish now I hadn't promised to bring it; but they can't get any one to come, and--and--" and then a tear really forced its way out and fell; but at the sight of it Esther's better nature conquered her temper, and she took her little sister in her arms with real remorse.

"No, darling, you shall go, and we will go together; but not always,"

she added presently. "I should like to go alone sometimes, Poppy, to have a quiet talk with Mademoiselle."

CHAPTER XIV.

To-morrow was Poppy's birthday, and all day long there had been mysterious whisperings and signs and nods, hasty dashes in and out of the house, invasions of Mrs. Vercoe's and Mrs. Bennett's shops, and great mysteriousness on the part of Ephraim, who had to make a special journey to Gorley.

And all the time Poppy, with a little thrill of excitement at her heart, went about pretending to see and hear nothing, and half wishing her senses were not so acute.

Miss Charlotte was very vexed with herself. She had made an engagement for the very afternoon of the great day, and could not get out of it.

"I am _so_ vexed I did not remember, dears," she said; "but it was so long ago I was asked, and I had to accept or refuse then and there, and I really did not realise what the date actually was. I should have liked, above all things, to have been home with you on that day."

The children were very sorry too; but seeing Cousin Charlotte so vexed they made light of their own disappointment.

Anna was vexed too. To her the birthday tea was the great feature of the birthday, and she had, days before, with a great deal of trouble to keep it a secret from the children, made and baked a beautiful birthday cake, which now lay hidden away in a white cloth in a tin box in the copper in the wash-kitchen.

On this day, the day before the great day itself, when she had for the first time realised that the children would be alone on the important occasion, her mind had grown very seriously troubled, so troubled that she could think of nothing else, until suddenly a beautiful idea came into her head, so beautiful an idea that Anna fairly gasped. Later on, when she had really sorted out her plans, she went upstairs to a big box in her bedroom which held untold stores of treasures, and searched until she drew from the depths a box of little sheets of fancy note-paper and envelopes.

This was hid in the copper too, along with the cake; but only until the children had all gone to bed and the house was quiet.

As soon as ever she was sure there would be no more rushes into the kitchen that night, Anna got out the wooden box with 'Hudson's Soap Powder' stuck all over it, in which she kept her writing materials; and then, withdrawing the box of fancy note-paper from its hiding-place, she sat down, and taking out sheet by sheet, spread them all on the table before her.

"It do seem a pity to use it after keeping it all these years," she said regretfully, as she examined each one. They were all different.

"But there, there couldn't be a better time. They'm just what I want."

So hardening her heart against any further regrets, she proceeded to make her choice.

"I think Miss Poppy ought to have the roses. They'm considered the best of all the flowers, and 'tis her day. Then Miss Esther shall have--let me see. They'm all so pretty I don't hardly know which to choose for which-- oh, Miss Angela shall have the daisies, somehow they remind me of her, and vi'lets seems like Miss Esther's flower, and I'll give the sunflowers to Miss Penelope."

That settled, and four envelopes picked out and inscribed each with one of the children's names, Anna squared her elbows and began the real work of the evening. First she took some old sc.r.a.ps of paper, and wrote note after note on them before she succeeded in pleasing herself. At last she accomplished what she wanted, and feeling satisfied, copied it out, word for word, on the four sheets of note-paper. She hesitated as to whether she should not put her writing on the plain side, and so avoid marring the fair beauty of the flowered side, but she thought better of it, and hardened her heart; and after one had been done she did not mind so very much.

It was almost late when at last she went to bed, her task had taken her so long, and the clock actually struck ten as she crept into Esther's room and left two of her little notes on the dressing-table, after depositing the other two in Penelope's and Angela's room.

Poppy, being the heroine of the day, was naturally the first to wake the next morning. At the remembrance of what the occasion was, she sat straight up in bed with excitement, and nearly shouted; then she saw that Esther was asleep still. It seemed very hard that every one else should be asleep, and quite lost to the greatness of the occasion, while she was awake and alert, all ready to receive congratulations.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness she could make out a square, fascinating-looking parcel on the table by Esther's bed, after which it became almost intolerably hard to lie still and wait for the others to wake. The little heroine's excitement began to give way to quite a hurt feeling. It seemed as though no one could care, or they would never sleep on like this. She actually began to feel aggrieved; but she sprang out of bed to try to drive away the feeling by looking out to see what the morning and the weather were like. She might, if she had liked, have pulled back the curtains in a way that would have waked Esther at once; but she drew them as gently as though her one anxiety was not to disturb her sister, and opening the window, looked out.

Oh, how lovely it was! Poppy, child as she was, gasped at the sight before her. Road and river, houses and moor, lay bathed in the clear glow of the beautiful pure morning sunshine. Every leaf and twig sparkled with dew; even the little window-panes in the cottages glittered and looked beautiful. On the moor opposite great cloud-like ma.s.ses of mist rolled away quickly before the advancing sun, leaving the old brown moor behind it, flashing from thousands of tiny leaves and blades. The river gleamed and scintillated as it danced along, singing as it went.

"Everything seems to know what day it is," said Poppy gleefully.

"Oh, you dear river, you dear sun, you dear, dear moor and houses, _how_ I love you all!"

She softly closed the window and turned away to get back to bed. As she turned her eye fell on two little envelopes, one pink, the other lilac-coloured.

"What _can_ they be?" she cried, as she read the inscriptions on them.

'Miss Esther.'

'Miss Popy.'

Taking up the one addressed to her, and carefully opening it, she took out the pretty sheet with the spray of rosebuds scattered over the page.

Across the rosebuds, sprawled in big letters,--

"Anna rekuests the pleasure of Miss Popy's compny to tea in the kitchun at five o'clock.

"Yours respectfly

"Anna."

The rustling of the paper had aroused Esther at last. First she opened one eye, then the other, and would have shut both again, only they happened to fall on the white parcel beside her.

"Why, it has come! The day has come! It is Poppy's birthday!" she thought. She sprang up in a moment, wide awake. "Many happy returns of the day," she cried. "Oh, Poppy, have you been out of bed long?

Come into my bed and get warm. Here is something for you. Why, what have you got there?" Poppy was dancing about the room in a high state of glee, waving a letter in her hand.

"Oh, thank you, darling," she cried, seizing the parcel and hugging Esther at the same time. "And here's something for you. Won't it be fun!

Isn't Anna a dear! I _do_ love her. I fink I love _every_ body."

"Get into bed," commanded careful Esther, and Poppy hopped into her sister's bed before she even stayed to open her first birthday present.

Esther's gift was a book, which she had bought for her little sister the last time she was at Gorley. Poppy was delighted. New books, or even old ones, came to her so seldom. She loved them with such a love as only the unspoiled child can know. While she was still crooning over it, looking at the pictures, examining the covers, patting it and loving it as though it were a living, feeling thing, the other two came flying in, all excitement. Each held in one hand a letter, in the other a small parcel.

"Many happy returns of the day. Oh, you darling!" as they caught sight of Poppy's dark head and beaming face in Esther's bed. "Just look at our letters,--oh, you have got some too? Isn't it lovely of Anna? I think she is a perfect dear." Both talked at once, and as fast as their tongues could wag. "Here's a present for you," said Penelope, laying her parcel very carefully in Poppy's lap, and kissing her on the top of her curly poll.

"Jump in too, at the bottom," said Esther; and soon all four were tightly packed into the little bed.

Poppy's fingers shook as she fumbled with the string. It was a curious-shaped parcel, and Penelope kept enjoining her to be very careful, and not to turn it over. When at last she did undo the wrappings, and the box inside, and found a tiny red flower-pot with a baby cactus in it, her joy knew no bounds.

"I am afraid you won't care for mine very much," said Angela meekly.