Orange Lily: Chapter VI

“The morning’s fair, the lusty sun

With ruddy cheeks begins to run;

And early birds that wing the skies,

Sweetly sing to see him rise.

I am resolved, this charming day,

In the open field to stray,

And have no roof above my head,

But that whereon the gods do tread.

Before the yellow barn I see

A beautiful variety

Of strutting cocks, advancing stout,

And flirting empty chaff about.

Hens, ducks, and geese, and all their brood,

And turkeys gobbling for their food;

While rustics thrash the wealthy floor,

And tempt all to crowd the door.

What a fair face does Nature show!

Augusta, wipe thy dusty brow.”—Dyer.

Hey! how our two little friends were excited on that August morning. They hardly slept the night before. Fine children might have laughed at the little peasants, fine folks have envied them. Lily had on her Sunday clothes, and her father fondly stuck the last orange lily from their flower-pot in the blue ribbon round her straw hat.

As young Tom eyed his little mistress’s hair, that he called golden, and that was really of a pleasant enough reddish-yellow, her shining eyes, like small blue skies with suns in them that morning, his heart swelled, and he thought her beautiful. He himself was gloriously uncomfortable in new boots and a Scotch cap; for his father’s pride had been roused on this great occasion. But Lily’s pride, as she gazed at him, was still greater.

“O, Tom, you look so nice!” she ejaculated to her humble but faithful squire.

“You’re nicer,” gruffly responded the flattered Tom.

Then they took hands, and ran downhill together.

“You forgot to ask me if I said my prayer last night,” said Tom, when they slackened their pace to breathe. For this old habit was still kept up between them, if not daily, yet often; and Tom still resented any prolonged omission thereof on Lily’s part, as implying lessening interest in himself.

“Oh, but,” said Lily, affectionately, “I had no call to ask, for I know you did. You must have been so happy!”

Away, for three miles, they could see the whole flat country up and down the coast; with its neat little fields utterly bare of trees, save just around the whitewashed homesteads dotted on all the slight rises.

A mile in front stretched the broad blue setting of the land—the home of the herrings both children ate so greedily those summer days; the highway for the ships they watched now sail by afar ‘twixt them and Scotland. After a mile of almost deserted lane came a slight hill, just above the white sands. This was crowned by the farmhouse; twice as big as even Lily’s home, three times as handsome; for it was brand new and of “an elegant in-and-out shape,” had two stories, and was whitewashed blindingly. A fairly big garden faced the sea, and what Tom called a real carriage-road led to the door; trees and farm-buildings surrounded it. Inside, there was a staircase of varnished pine, with rooms upstairs; no mere ladders and lofts. And, besides the kitchen, there was such a parlor for state occasions with mahogany chairs set round it, and tables with handsome oil-cloth covers, and a bunch of wax flowers, just like life, that surely nothing in the Castle was finer, thought our children, when Mistress Majempsy led the big-eyed pair in a sight-seeing procession over her dwelling, after a hearty reception. Then they were given the run of the place; and Tom made acquaintance with every corner of it, to the very inside of the dog’s house, in a jiffy; while Lily dutifully and soberly trotted after him, a beaming smile on her face. Here, as guests, they were both equal—the boy, indeed, the most favored, perhaps. Orange Lily was all the happier for that in her heart; since it was a standing grief to her that her friend had always less dinner than herself, and such an ugly house for his home.

“They’re ram-stamming everywhere—bless them! Such a pair as they are!” cried the old woman to her goodman, as she awaited him at her sunny back-door when he came home at noonday. Then the aged couple peeped cautiously into the stable and espied Tom slapping the carthorses on the ribs, and standing back with his legs wide apart and his lips pursed to admire them.

“Them’s the sort!” quoth he, sturdily, with the nod of a judge.

“Ours is as nice,” put in Lily, jealous for the old gray mare which her father rode every Twelfth of July, because King William had ridden a white steed at the Boyne; also for their young colt, which smashed everything to smithereens, and therefore had gained the old Irish epithet of “that Tory.” Tom looked calmly round on the defender of these absent beasts of burden, and reduced her to utter insignificance for a moment by the one syllable—“Hutt!”

“That is a most knowledgable little lad now; that is!” whispered the old farmer to his wife. And she, smiling, went to blow the horn that called the men from the far fields to dinner.

“Mr. Majempsy,” quoth Tom, perceiving his host, “who built this house?”

“Well, my sonny, it was me built it,” said the old man, sadly. “But our boy, it was, that sent home the money for it from Australia; and died on his way back, just as we had it fitted out for him. Well, well! He is gone to wait for us in a finer house in heaven, instead of us waiting on him here.”

Tom was silent a few moments, and then said, very gravely,

“I’d like to buy this one, well, when I grow up to be a man. Will ye sell it then to me?”

“Dear, dear,” said old Majempsy as he looked down at the sturdy little lad, and softly laughed like one whose heart is far away. We’ll be dead and gone to a far better home by that time, I’m thinking, my wee man. Still I’d like well to know you able to have it. Come in, weans dear, to dinner.”

O, how bravely the children were fed! The peace and plenty most impressed Tom. The good order, and pretty things, as Lily called the furniture, most stirred her feminine mind. But best of all was their play on the sea-shore that long, sunny summer day. How they pulled off boots and socks and crumpled their toes with pleasure on feeling the sands’ warmth. How they paddled in the translucent shallow tide that so lazily lipped the wide strand, as if uncertain whether to ebb or not. How they searched for shells and cockles; trembled lest a big crab should steal out from under the red seaweed clumps and nip their toes; admired their feet because they looked so white and pretty under the water. That was an afternoon they would remember with a smile and a stir of pleasure at their hearts, if even they lived to be very old. No little prince or princess was ever happier than were Orange Lily and Tom Coulter that white day by the sea. Then at evening they were given tea, with so many kinds of bread and sweet cakes that, at last, even Tom paused from making these his own.

“Can ye do no more, my wee son?’’ asked the old farmer, sympathizingly.

“I’m feared not—I feel too fat!” replied Tom, with truthful regret.

Then, when the sky paled after sunset, and the big low moon rose, gleaming in the tender evening sky, and the trees looked as if they were happed up for the night in dark shadows, the good old Majempsys strolled down the deserted lane. A hundred others led inland like it, but this one went straight towards Keag’s Hill and the marsh below it. When they had “put the wee ones a piece on their way,” the worthy old couple turned back; and the children alone set their faces homewards, feeling full with the day’s pleasure and satisfied into happy quiet.

At a pleasant corner they sat down at last to rest, and looked once more at the treasures in their pockets. The furze grew so high above them that they could only see the sky overhead and one star, and the grassy path at their feet. Moved by the sense of nearness, of being alone together in a deserted summer-night world, of past pleasures enjoyed together begetting sympathy—their little hearts grew so softened that they pressed their cowries and dulse on each other’s acceptance. Then Tom at last produced silently from his most sacred pocket something—at sight of which Lill gave a little covetous exclamation. The object was only a limpet-shell, with its centre knocked out, leaving a ring; but she thought it beautiful.

“O! Tom,” she said, “will ye bestow that upon me?”

“Ay! It was for you I kept it,” said Tom solemnly. “But if I do—ye must promise to marry me when I grow big.”

“O—!” said Lily.

“Ye must that,” pursued Tom, sturdily. “I like ye a heap better nor any other wee gurl I know; and if ye go and take up with any other boy, I’ll—I’ll flit the country, and ye’ll never see me no more.”

“O! Tom—don’t, Tom!” ejaculated his small sweetheart, appalled at this awful threat; neither considering that, under those supposed circumstances, she might be glad to get rid of him.

“Never no more,” repeated he, gloomily.

“But I’d like to marry you; only I wouldn’t like to live in your house, because it’s so ugly,” objected poor Lill, in a much troubled voice.

“Of course not! I’ll tell ye what I thought on, this very day. I’ll buy Mister Majempsy’s house from him, and we’ll live there!” replied Tom, with a triumph at his own prudent foresight, which impressed Lily with no less admiration; not a doubt shadowing their clear minds that, after having thought it out, such a magnificent idea could fail of accomplishment.

“Will ye really?” said the little girl.

“I will so,” said the little boy. Then he stuck his limpet ring on the rosy finger she held out to him, and said, “It’s just as bonny as the gold rings grown ones gives their sweethearts.”

Lily, who never gainsaid him since he had saved her life in the bogs, because she hardly ever could find it in her mind to differ from him, heartily agreed; and, putting up her lips, gave him a butterfly kiss in simple thanks, saying,

“I’ll always keep it.”

“And ye’ll marry me—that’s a bargain,” quoth Tom.

“As sure as I’m livin’!” answered the little lass; mimicking, but with awe, the most solemn assurance she could remember of her step-mother’s; and gravely wagging her head.

Then they started homewards again through the gloaming; and the moon seemed broadly laughing at them, and the little stars smiling. O! but it was a bonny night; and O! but it had been a happy day!

Order the new paperback edition of Orange Lily which includes an introduction, footnotes and a glossary of words by Dr Philip Robinson. The book also includes the short stories The Witch of Windy Hill and An Old Maid’s Marriage.