Esther | Page 6

then comes that nondescript article Jack.
Why in the world do you call a feminine creature Jack? And poor little
Dot, who will never earn a penny for himself--humph, six of you to
clothe and feed--"
"Oh, Uncle Geoff!" I burst out, taking no notice of this long tirade; and
what did it matter if Dot never earned anything when I would work my
fingers to the bone for him, the darling! "oh, Uncle Geoff, are things
really so bad as that? Will Fred be obliged to give up his painting,
when he has been to Rome, too; and shall we have to leave Combe
Manor, and the farm? Oh, what will they all do? and Carrie, too?"
"Work," was the somewhat grim reply, and then he went on in a milder
tone. "Things are very bad, Esther; about as bad as they can be--for we
must look matters in the face--and your father is very ill, and there is no
knowing where the mischief may end; but you must all put your
shoulders to the domestic wheel, and push it up the Hill Difficulty. It is
a crisis, and a very painful one, but it will prove which of you has the
right mettle.
"I am not afraid of Allan," he went on; "the lad has plenty of good stuff
in him; and I am not much afraid of you, Esther, at least I think not;
but--" He hesitated, and then stopped, and I knew he was thinking of
Fred and Carrie; but he need not. Of course Carrie would work as
heartily as any of us; idling was never her forte; and Fred --well,
perhaps Fred was not always industrious.
I seemed to have lost myself in a perfect tangle of doubt and dread.
Uncle Geoffrey went on with his talk, half sad and half moralizing, but
I could not follow all he said. Two thoughts were buzzing about me
like hornets. Father was ill, very ill, and we should have to leave

Combe Manor. The sting of these thoughts was dreadful.
I seemed to rouse out of a nightmare when Uncle Geoffrey suddenly
announced that we were at Crowbridge. No one was waiting for us at
the station, which somewhat surprised me; but Combe Manor was not a
quarter of a mile off, so the luggage was wheeled away on a truck, and
Uncle Geoffrey and I walked after it, up the sandy lane, and round by
the hazel copse. And there were the fields, where Dapple, the gray mare,
was feeding; and there were Cherry and Spot, and Brindle, and all the
rest of the dear creatures, rubbing their horned heads against the hedge
as usual; and two or three of them standing knee-deep in the great
shallow pool, where Fred and Allan used to sail their boats, and make
believe it was the Atlantic. We always called the little bit of sedgy
ground under the willow America, and used to send freights of paper
and cardboard across the mimic ocean, which did not always arrive
safely.
How lovely and peaceful it all looked on this June evening! The sun
shone on the red brick house and old-fashioned casements; roses were
climbing everywhere, on the walls, round the porch, over the very
gateway. Fred was leaning against the gate, in his brown velveteen coat
and slouched hat, looking so handsome and picturesque, poor fellow!
He had a Gloire de Dijon in his button-hole. I remember I wondered
vaguely how he had had the heart to pick it.
"How is he?" called out Uncle Geoffrey. And Fred started, for though
he was watching for us he had not seen us turn the corner of the lane.
"No better," was the disconsolate answer, as he unlatched the gate, and
stooped over it to kiss me. "We are expecting Allan down by the next
train, and Carrie asked me to look out for you; how do you do, Esther?
What have you done to yourself?" eyeing me with a mixture of chagrin
and astonishment. I suppose crying had not improved my appearance;
still, Fred need not have noticed my red eyes; but he was one who
always "looked on the outward appearance."
"She is tired and unhappy, poor little thing," repeated Uncle Geoffrey,
answering for me, as he drew my arm through his. "I hope Carrie has

got some tea for her;" and as he spoke Carrie came out in the porch to
meet us. How sweet she looked, the "little nun," as Fred always called
her, in her gray dress; with her smooth fair hair and pale pretty face.
"Poor Esther, how tired you look!" she said, kissing me affectionately,
but quietly--Carrie was always a little undemonstrative--"but I have got
tea for you in the brown room" (we always called