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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Dust cover]
+
+
+
+
+[Frontispiece: Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger.  _p._ 177]
+
+
+
+  BEYOND THE HILLS
+
+  BY
+
+  MAYSEL JENKINSON
+
+
+  FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD.
+  LONDON AND NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT
+  FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD.
+  LONDON
+
+
+  _Printed in Great Britain_
+
+
+
+
+  To
+  "MARIE"
+  (_Founder of the Sunshine Guild_)
+  who
+  with kindly beckoning hand
+  has led these and many other of my little Travellers
+  towards the
+  Enchanted Unknown Hills
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS
+
+  CHAPTER
+
+  I. The Beckoning Hills
+  II. Great-Aunt Hewlett
+  III. The Libation Man
+  IV. Montague Francis de Vere
+  V. The Other Side
+  VI. The Prior
+  VII. Lionel and Dorothy
+  VIII. Matins and Breakfast
+  IX. The Rose-Vicar
+  X. An Encounter on the Hills
+  XI. The Fight
+  XII. "Fairest Masons"
+  XIII. Exploring with Dick
+  XIV. The Race
+  XV. Half-Confessions
+  XVI. The Derelict Car
+  XVII. Awakening
+
+
+
+
+Beyond the Hills
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE BECKONING HILLS
+
+Just across the water they lay, such a little way beyond the opposite
+bank of the broad, golden river.  If you sat on the old wall at the
+foot of the garden you could see the whole long range of them, so
+tantalizingly near, so altogether unattainable.  True, you always had
+the river; you had merely to run down the hill, scramble across a
+meadow and through a gap in the hedge, and it was there, with all its
+many moods, awaiting you.  True, also, a very little walk would bring
+you to the hilly forest country, but then both river and forest were
+part of the everyday life and how can you find romance or adventure
+except you go out to seek it in the Unknown?
+
+For it was the Unknown that attracted the three children, more
+especially the two elder ones.  Not only the hills themselves in
+their shadowy, mystic beauty, but what lay beyond them--the great
+open, unexplored world where adventure would surely come leaping
+towards you.  To find the open world, to know Adventure!  For how
+could anything interesting ever happen if you just played in a garden
+or a paddock, or strained your eyes down the river or across the
+hills, simply wondering, wondering?
+
+There was more than one influence at work on the children to stir
+them to action.  To begin with, there was that wander-blood in their
+veins that had sent their young Uncle Val wandering over the face of
+the earth.  And then there was the river, the broad, gleaming
+river--an everyday river, of course, but was it not rushing swiftly
+to the sea and the open world?  Had not Uncle Val himself told them
+how it had called men to great adventures?  Sir Walter Raleigh, for
+instance.  Sir Walter Raleigh, Billy's hero, was perhaps the biggest
+influence of all at work on the children.  For, though this was not
+Devonshire, he had at one time inhabited the beautiful old house
+above the Gleam in which the children lived.  Probably it was he who
+had whispered to Uncle Val of the Unknown, but whether that was so or
+not Uncle Val, in his brief home visits, was never tired of telling
+the children of the noble gentleman who had left his presence in the
+riverside house.  He would make them see pictures of Sir Walter
+seated in the oak-panelled dining-room with perhaps Sir Francis Drake
+and other adventurers as his guests, planning their expeditions into
+the unexplored world; or again, sauntering slowly down the drive and
+pausing at the white gate to look with half-closed eyes down the
+Gleam towards the sea, sniffing the salt in the wind that blew up the
+river, hearing its call to him as it soughed through the tall elms
+along the drive.
+
+And then there was Stevenson.  It was Aunt Letty who was responsible
+for introducing them to him and inspiring them with love and
+admiration for the man who was known in Samoa by that pretty name
+Tusitala.  At least, Nancy, whose imagination quickly leaped towards
+any word that had poetry in it, any new and interesting word, found
+it pretty; indeed, there were many words in the passages Aunt Letty
+read to them from Stevenson that appealed to her.  Caryatides!  That
+was a word to make poetry of inside yourself and repeat over and over
+again until you had made it your very own.
+
+Billy, on the other hand was more interested in Stevenson the man
+than in Stevenson the writer.  His adventures in the _Arethusa_, his
+wanderings with Modestine, above all, perhaps, his life in those
+fascinating South Sea Islands appealed strongly to Billy.  And the
+chief charm about all the adventures lay in the fact that they were
+_real_; they were not just a story book; Stevenson had actually lived
+what he described, had gone out to meet adventure just as he, Billy,
+longed so passionately to do.
+
+Things came to a head one evening, while they were watching old Daddy
+Petherham drifting down the tide towards the sea.
+
+"Wouldn't you think he'd get tired of fishing round here every day?"
+said Billy.  "Wouldn't you s'pose he'd just have to go a little
+further and a little further and then right out to sea?  Wouldn't you
+think he'd want to know what it's like out there and sail away till
+he came to other countries and foreign people?  _I_ should if I were
+Daddy Petherham."
+
+"No, not if you were Daddy Petherham you wouldn't," Nancy replied.
+"I'm sure he wouldn't like not to sit in his doorway and smoke and
+watch his grandchildren playing.  And wouldn't it be funny not to see
+him sitting sometimes on the bench outside the 'Anchor' shaking his
+head in that funny way of his at the young fishermen?  It's queer,
+but I always think of Daddy Petherham as part of Nestcombe; he's kind
+of grown into it."
+
+"Well," Billy replied, "_I_ shouldn't want to live in a village till
+I'd grown to be one of the fixtures, would you?"
+
+"No," Nancy replied thoughtfully, "I don't _think_ I should.  I--I
+want, I want--oh, it's not easy to put into words just what I want."
+
+"I know what _I_ want," Billy replied, decidedly.  "I want to have
+adventure, lots of it, and how can we if we just stay here?  Don't
+you both feel," he added eagerly, "that we must have one?  Let's go
+somewhere.  We haven't got a boat so we can't sail away as Daddy
+Petherham could if he wanted to, but--but _how_ shall we go, Nancy?"
+
+Nancy, who had been seeing visions of the wants that would not go
+into words ("dweaming dweams," as she used to call them when she was
+a little girl), came back to earth and stared at Billy.
+
+"Do you mean it _really_, Billy?" she asked slowly.
+
+"Do you mean a long, long way?" little Mavis added.  "And see lots
+and lots of pretty places?"
+
+"Yes, really and truly, a long, long way--where we've never been
+before!"
+
+Now, it is quite probable that neither Nancy nor Mavis felt at that
+moment any imperative need in them to leave their happy home, for
+Mavis was a "home" child and Nancy, with her vivid imagination, could
+leave it at will to wander in a "Never Never Land," but if Billy
+wanted to go, why, then of course they wanted to go, too, for that
+one should do anything important without the other two was as
+impossible as for old Daddy Petherham not to sit year in, year out,
+smoking by his cottage door.
+
+And, since it was decided that something must be done, both the girls
+entered with eager interest into Billy's plans.
+
+"Would it do for us to have kind of travels with a donkey?" Nancy
+asked.  "We've got Ladybird.  There aren't any mountains, but there
+are the hills over there.  Oh, Billy, I would _like_ to see the other
+side of the hills; I kind of feel there's some wonderful land hidden
+away behind them.  Could we get as far, do you think?  It's a long
+way, isn't it?  We'd have to go to Gleambridge and cross the river
+there and _then_ we'd begin to be in the hills, wouldn't we?  Oh,
+Billy, could we ever get there?"
+
+Gleambridge, the county town, was a quite familiar place to the
+children.  It is one thing to go there by train with grown-ups on
+shopping expeditions, but to go by road through unexplored country
+towards a city that is the gateway of the land of your dreams--that
+is something quite different.  The train journey leads you to tailors
+and drapers and dentists, well, and perhaps to cakes and ice-creams,
+and yes, of course, the cathedral; but the dusty, winding road leads
+you straight to a world of romance, out of which rises the fair tower
+of the cathedral, and beyond it and above it and around it the
+entrancing hills.  Should they, could they go?
+
+Thus it was decided.  They would go for a week; not longer, as little
+Mavis thought that quite long enough to be away from "Muvee."  They
+would leave a note of explanation assuring the grown-ups that there
+was no need to worry, and they would take Ladybird, their very own
+donkey, with them.  This, of course, would occasion a re-christening
+ceremony, for though "Ladybird" was the nicest name imaginable for a
+little home donkey, for one who was to seek with them the open world
+nothing but "Modestine" would satisfy the young adventurers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+GREAT-AUNT HEWLETT
+
+With fingers that trembled because of his excitement Billy fastened
+the strap of Modestine's girth.
+
+"That's right!  Now let's fix the blankets on.  You help me, Nancy--I
+don't quite know how they should go."
+
+Nancy handed the basket of provisions to Mavis and ran to Billy's
+assistance.  It was one thing to harness a donkey you had tended and
+coddled for two years, but to fasten a not very tidy bundle of
+blankets on to the saddle when you were almost dancing with
+excitement was not quite so easy.  Nancy when she had finished, eyed
+her work doubtfully.  Somehow, it did not look exactly professional.
+
+"We really ought to have had sleeping sacks like Stevenson," she
+said; "but then, he had more money to buy them with than we had, I
+s'pect."
+
+With only nineteen shillings to feed and sleep three of you--and a
+donkey--for a whole week, sleeping sacks were a luxury not to be
+indulged in.
+
+Their simple preparations did not take long to complete, yet many
+anxious glances were cast at the house while they were in progress.
+Supposing they were discovered?  Supposing Modestine should bray,
+supposing----
+
+"Oh, quick!  Let's start right away!" Billy whispered.  "I'll haul
+you into the saddle now, Mavis.  Are you ready, Nancy?  Come on!"
+
+Very quietly the little procession crept down the drive and passed
+out into the road.  Nancy and Mavis each gave one wistful glance back
+at the house where all was so still.  If only the grown-ups could
+have come, too!  Was it too late even now to go back and ask them to
+come?  Why, up to this moment had there been that quite definite
+though unspoken thought in each child's mind that adventure such as
+they were seeking was something those belonging to the grown-up world
+could not understand, would not appreciate?  Their grown-ups were all
+such pals.  After all----
+
+Nancy glanced hesitatingly at Billy, but she said nothing, for his
+unyielding back, his steady, plodding walk, and the way his head was
+thrown back told her that he was pushing every bit of feeling and
+regret away from him.  They had planned the adventure, they must be
+brave and go on--they must find what lay beyond the hills; all this
+Nancy read in Billy's attitude, and, knowing her brother, she fell
+into step by Modestine and buried her own regrets.
+
+It was not yet six o'clock, but they pushed on hurriedly as, until
+they were the other side of Riversham, a small country town a few
+miles off on the Gleambridge road, they were likely to encounter
+people who knew them.  Better, they decided, to get beyond familiar
+places while folks were yet a-bed.
+
+"See!  We're nearly at Nestcombe," Nancy said.  "Modestine, dear,"
+she continued, addressing the donkey, "please don't do anything
+naughty until we are past the cottages.  There's people up, I know,
+'cos there's smoke coming out of the chimneys, so _don't_ 'tract
+their attention, will you?"
+
+Modestine plodded on, wearing her most angelic expression.  She was a
+creature of vagaries; at least, that is how a man who used to come to
+see Aunt Letty--our "nearly-Uncle Jim" as the children called
+him--described her, and the children, though the word hitherto had
+been an unfamiliar one, felt that it described their Ladybird
+exactly--so naughty and yet so lovable.
+
+This morning, so far, the quiet, innocent mood was uppermost, whether
+because she felt the honour of her new name or because these
+early-in-the-morning happenings had taken her by surprise the
+children could not decide.
+
+Nestcombe, the lovely little fishing hamlet on the outskirts of which
+their home was situated, consisted of a row of about a dozen
+cottages, a few outlying farms, and another handful of cottages in a
+lane branching off from the main road down to the riverside.
+
+"Look!" Mavis whispered, as they passed the top of this lane,
+"there's old Daddy Petherham going down to the river.  He's too deaf
+to hear us, but I do hope he doesn't look round."
+
+The old man, however, shuffled slowly and unheedingly down the lane,
+his eyes turned towards the river, and, a moment later, the children
+were through the village making their way towards Nestley.
+
+"Wasn't the river sparkly and golden!" Nancy said.  "And, oh, isn't
+the morning sparkly, too!  At least, I think it's going to be--look
+at that bit of goldy-pink in the sky."
+
+"It's cold, though," Mavis said, shivering a little.  "I'm glad we
+wore our knitted frocks."
+
+Nancy's face puckered with contrition.  She had forgotten that Mavis
+would be cold riding and insisted on stopping while the child put on
+her waterproof cloak.
+
+"That's it.  You'll soon be warm now, won't you?  Come on, Modestine,
+we're ready, old lady."
+
+Modestine, who had rested her head on Billy's shoulder during the
+halt, was annoyed at being disturbed and planted her legs firmly
+where she stood.
+
+"Come on, Modestine, dear," Billy urged anxiously.  "Ladybird,
+gee-up!  Oh, do hurry, Ladybird!  We won't even get to Nestley, leave
+alone Riversham, before lots of people are about, at this rate.
+Could you _make_ her move, Mavis?"
+
+Mavis did her best, but when Modestine's mind was made up it took
+more than the little girl's feeble strength to budge her.  On each
+side of the obstinate creature Nancy and Billy pulled with no result.
+Next, Nancy pulled and Billy pushed from behind; they gained a few
+inches, but that was all.  They pleaded and coaxed, they told her
+their frank opinion of her, they wished they had not allowed her to
+share in their adventure, they even threatened to leave her there in
+the middle of the road, still Modestine stood immovable.
+
+Suddenly, she lifted up her head and gave forth a terrific bray.  All
+the troubles of every donkey in the world seemed to be voiced in that
+bray.
+
+"Now you've done it!" Billy cried indignantly.  "Be quiet, for
+goodness' sake, Ladybird.  Shut up, I say!"
+
+Almost before the words were out of his mouth Mavis had whipped off
+her cloak and flung it over the traitor's head.  Modestine, surprised
+at the interruption, hesitated, shook the cloak off, and then
+suddenly trotted gently down the road.
+
+Mavis turned in the saddle and waved her hand.
+
+"She's all right now.  I'll wait for you on the Riversham road if she
+keeps this up.  Good-bye!"
+
+Billy picked up the cloak and together he and Nancy briskly followed
+the fast-disappearing donkey.
+
+They would only have one house to pass now before reaching Nestley,
+and though they glanced round occasionally to see whether anyone was
+in sight, they felt that they might safely give themselves up to the
+thrill of having really started out on their adventure.
+
+And what a morning on which to set out towards the Unknown!  The pink
+and gold was spreading across the sky, the birds were rhapsodizing,
+and the air had that clean taste that belongs to the early morning.
+
+Ah, here was Mill End, and there were the vast orchards of Brook
+House, with the brook meandering through them.  Not far to Nestley
+now!
+
+The church clock was striking a quarter to seven as they turned into
+the village street.
+
+"Look!  Mavis is nearly at the top of the street," Nancy whispered.
+"I do hope she gets past Aunt Hewlett's safely."
+
+Great-Aunt Hewlett's trim white house stood at the top of the
+village, just beyond the church.  It was the last house they would
+pass before the road forked off to Riversham.
+
+The children watched Modestine anxiously, fearing that she might want
+to stop at the gate; for though Great-Aunt Hewlett was far too stern
+an old lady to coax a donkey with luxuries there were those of her
+household who spoiled the pretty animal.  Would Modestine remember
+and refuse to pass the house?
+
+Their fears, however, were groundless, and Mavis turned and waved a
+triumphant hand before she disappeared round the high wall of Aunt
+Hewlett's garden.
+
+"Doesn't the bread smell good?" Billy said, sniffing in the delicious
+scent that came from the bakehouse across the road.  "I could eat a
+huge chunk of new bread--I'm fearfully hungry."
+
+They both were, for though they had drunk some milk before starting
+they had all been too excited to eat more than a couple of biscuits
+each and such meagre fare could not sustain healthy children in the
+fresh morning air for very long.
+
+The good, wholesome scent followed them as they hurried up the
+street, and I am afraid it occupied so large a place in their
+thoughts that they had none to give to the pretty village through
+which they were passing.  Probably, however, in any case, they would
+have been blind to the beauties of the place; for Nestley was
+familiar ground and was something to be left behind as soon as might
+be.  That they were hurrying with unseeing eyes through one of the
+prettiest villages in England they did not know.  Indeed, what would
+it have mattered to them if it had been the prettiest village in the
+world?  Were they not out to seek adventure, and how could it begin
+until you had left every trace of everyday places and people behind
+you?
+
+Nestley, snuggling in the heart of rich meadows and orchards, with
+the brook gurgling down the centre of the street, and the houses
+growing over the brook, and the forest rising up beyond the village;
+oh, yes, it was all dear and pretty, but it was a home-place, just as
+Daddy Petherham was a home person.  Just how pretty the home village
+is you cannot know until you have travelled away from it and have
+seen it with your imagination eyes.  Just how dear it is you cannot
+realize, if you are an adventure-person, until far away from it you
+feel its influence and your heart aches for the familiar things that
+are Home.
+
+And so, with more appreciation of Nestley's bakery than of its
+beauties, Nancy and Billy proceeded up the steep little street,
+glancing anxiously at Aunt Hewlett's trim windows.  Aunt Hewlett,
+unfortunately, was a very early riser--_would_ they get by safely?
+
+"There she is!" Billy groaned.
+
+Yes, there was Aunt Hewlett, tall and neat and stately and
+uncompromisingly stern, in a stiff black frock and white cuffs and
+collar and apron.
+
+And she was beckoning them.
+
+True, she was used to their early morning rambles and might not
+suspect anything, but Mavis was waiting for them and, besides, every
+moment of these early morning hours before they were likely to be
+missed, counted.
+
+Wishing they could have pretended not to see her, and trying not to
+look too terribly guilty, they advanced up the path.
+
+"Good-morning, Aunt," they said meekly.
+
+The old lady looked down at them.
+
+"Another of these morning walks!" she ejaculated, with a sniff.
+"Ridiculous nonsense!"  She paused, and looked at Nancy.
+
+Now most people knew her for a very severe old lady; nevertheless,
+behind her outward severity there was a very big spark of kindness, a
+large share of which she gave to Nancy.  There was something about
+the child's face that bothered the shrewd old lady.
+
+"Too tender, too sympathetic," she would blurt out to Nancy's mother.
+"Too interested in other people and their troubles--bothers herself
+too much about them--let the world take care of itself, I say!"
+
+Yet, though she might leave the world to look after itself,
+Great-Aunt Hewlett often went out of her way to spoil Nancy.
+
+"Could you eat a hot buttered batch cake?" she asked in her severest
+tone.  "Suppose the boy would like one, too!  Come in, both of
+you--and wipe your shoes well; Lizzie's just washed the tiles."
+
+"Oh, please, Aunt, I don't think we _could_ eat one this morning,
+could we, Billy?" Nancy replied hastily.  "You see, we had some milk
+and biscuits before we started."
+
+"Eh?" Aunt Hewlett cried in astonishment.  "Not eat one of Lizzie's
+batch cakes?  What's the matter with the children?  Aren't they good
+enough for you?"
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hewlett, they're the nicest batch cakes we've ever tasted,
+but we're just not hungry this morning, thank you."
+
+"Not hungry?  Stuff and nonsense!  Come along in and let's hear no
+more about it."
+
+The children, realizing that the safest and quickest plan would be to
+accept the batch cakes, followed Aunt Hewlett down the wide, cool
+hall to the kitchen.  As a rule, Aunt Hewlett's house held a great
+fascination for them.  It was so silent, so awe-inspiring, so
+altogether different from their own jolly home.  Even the stately
+Persian cat was different from their own mongrel cats and kittens.
+And there was a scent, too, about the house that you could hardly
+define.  You could not be sure whether it was beeswax or whether it
+belonged to the creepers on the tiled verandah, or to the scented
+geraniums, or the blue and gold potpourri bowl in the drawing-room
+where you always felt afraid of smashing the spindly legs of the
+chairs.
+
+This morning, however, the children even forgot to walk on tip-toe
+(you _always_ walked tip-toe in that tiled hall), so engrossed were
+they in planning how to get away quickly without arousing Aunt
+Hewlett's suspicions or offending her.
+
+Lizzie, Aunt Hewlett's old maid, and, incidentally the children's and
+Ladybird's friend, was putting the last loaf into the oven as they
+entered the kitchen, and, on the table, were half a dozen golden oven
+or batch cakes just asking to be eaten.  If the scent from Mr.
+Philpott's bakery had been tantalizingly fragrant, the scent here was
+a hundred times more so.  Yet, though less than five minutes had
+passed since they had been aching for new bread, now that they could
+eat their fill all desire for it had fled.
+
+Very deliberately Aunt Hewlett split open a couple of the golden
+bread cakes and spread them generously with butter.
+
+"One between us would be enough, thank you, Aunt," Nancy ventured
+meekly, but Aunt Hewlett waved the suggestion aside.
+
+"It's over two miles home if you're going back round by Etley, and if
+you can't eat a batch cake a-piece and be ready for a hearty
+breakfast when you reach home, well, all I can say is that the modern
+child is made of poorer stuff than the children of _my_ generation.
+In _my_ young days we'd have said 'thank you' and no more words about
+it."
+
+Aunt Hewlett tossed her proud old head and her eyes flashed as she
+thought of the splendid stock the world produced eighty years ago.
+"Nothing finicky about us, I can assure you, my dear."
+
+"Oh, Aunt," Nancy pleaded, fearing that she had hurt her, "we're not
+finicky, really, are we, Billy?  Only----" She paused tremulously.
+
+Billy glanced at her anxiously.  _Would_ she be a sport and play her
+part bravely?  Knowing her tender heart he was a little doubtful.
+Suddenly, he threw back his head just as he had done when he had
+closed the home gate behind them.  Here, at the very outset of their
+adventures was something that called forth his fighting instincts.
+Billy met it with ready response--_he_ would take charge of the
+situation.
+
+He took a huge bite out of his batch cake and, to his own surprise,
+as well as Aunt Hewlett's, grinned up at her with an adorable
+cheekiness.
+
+"_Looks_ as though we like them, doesn't it, Aunt?  And can I have
+another, please, when I've finished this?  Lizzie shouldn't make them
+so nice.  Or shall I take it for Mavis--she's just on in front, and
+p'raps we'd better hurry else she'll think we're lost or something."
+
+Mentioning Mavis he felt was thrillingly dangerous.  Aunt Hewlett
+_might_ make enquiries, and somehow or other the enquiries would have
+to be avoided, but the spirit of adventure was awakened in him, and
+he was ready to tackle any difficulty.
+
+"Hum!  So _that's_ why you weren't hungry, I suppose," Aunt Hewlett
+replied.  "Been quarrelling with her, have you?  Six to one and half
+a dozen to the other, of course!"
+
+"Oh, no, Aunt," Billy replied, "we've not quarrelled--she just went
+quicker, that's all.  I've finished my batch cake," he added with an
+insinuating grin.  "It was ripping!"
+
+Aunt Hewlett, pleased that the batch cakes should be so appreciated,
+split open the remaining three, and, telling Lizzie to bring a paper
+bag, set to and buttered them.
+
+Nancy, meanwhile, was struggling hard with hers.  As Aunt Hewlett's
+back was turned Billy signed to her to break off the bigger portion
+and slip it under Mavis' cloak.
+
+"Well," said Aunt Hewlett, "here you are, and those that think they
+won't spoil their breakfast can eat them going along.  Nancy seems to
+have lost both her appetite and her tongue to-day--and William," she
+added, "seems to have found both."
+
+The half-hurt, half-puzzled look on the stern old face worried Nancy.
+She wished with all her heart that she could explain matters, but
+that was impossible she knew, without giving Billy away.  Yet, what
+must Aunt Hewlett think of her?  Usually it was she, Nancy, who
+chattered freely and confidingly to the old lady whose sternness she
+could see behind while Mavis and Billy stood by in awed silence.  And
+now to-day----
+
+She ran toward her aunt and kissed her impulsively.
+
+"Auntie dear, I do love you," she said, "and I love the batch cakes
+and next time I'll talk lots and lots to you.  _Please_ don't not
+love me.  Good-bye!" and, with tears very near her eyes, she fled
+from the house, Billy following.
+
+"Well!" ejaculated Aunt Hewlett.  For quite three minutes she stood
+where they had left her, thinking--and feeling again a pair of little
+arms round her neck.  "Well, well!" she added, and then left the
+kitchen to go about her household duties.
+
+Meanwhile, Nancy and Billy were flying round the corner to the
+Riversham road with all sorts of thoughts and feelings, jogging
+against each other as they ran.
+
+They found Mavis seated on the top of a high stone stile, her arms
+round Modestine, her head pillowed on her neck.  She opened her eyes
+very sleepily when they approached, and smiled.
+
+"You seemed such a long time," she explained, "so I just closed my
+eyes.  Why, what have you got there, Billy.  It smells like new
+bread!"
+
+"It is," Billy replied, "and some of it's for you."
+
+They explained the cause of their delay to Mavis, a delay of which
+the child had fortunately been unconscious, as she had been longer in
+the Land of Nod than she had at all realized, as they trudged along
+the Riversham road, munching some of the delicious batch cakes.
+
+"Let's keep the other two until we get through Riversham," Nancy
+suggested.  "P'raps we might stop for a little rest then."
+
+"Yes, and have our breakfast.  'Cording to Aunt Hewlett we ought to
+be jolly well ready for it!" Billy replied, with a grin.  "'Sides,"
+he added, "I didn't get the full benefit of the one I ate in the
+kitchen, I'm sure--didn't I bolt it just!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE LIBATION MAN
+
+Between Nestley and Riversham, after the village school was passed,
+were only one or two large houses standing well back from the road,
+consequently the children felt free to give themselves up to the
+joyous freshness of the morning and step out to meet adventure with a
+song not only in their hearts, but on their lips.
+
+Fortunately, Modestine not only liked music, but seemed invigorated
+by it and set out so briskly at times that Nancy and Billy had much
+ado to keep pace with her.  If the song died away she would fall into
+her usual jog-trot, but Billy had simply to run in front and sing his
+lustiest and Modestine would respond with pricked-up ears and a
+quickened pace.
+
+Presently, however, they drew near to Riversham and the singing
+ceased.
+
+"Let's get through as quickly as possible," Billy said, "and let's
+hope Modestine behaves herself.  If she sits down in the middle of
+the street as she did that time when we brought her in the cart--you
+remember?--well, there'll be a crowd and good-bye to our adventure!"
+
+With beating hearts they approached the sleepy little country town.
+The church stood on a hill to the right and they glanced up anxiously
+at the clock.  Not quite nine o'clock--good--people would not be
+abroad shopping yet.
+
+"I forgot to wind my watch up last night," Mavis said.  "It's
+stopped."
+
+With much pride she wound up the watch, for it was one that she had
+recently won at Billy's school sports; the only watch between them,
+too, and they were depending on it.  There might not always be church
+clocks and somehow, even on an adventure, it would seem strange to be
+timeless.
+
+Riversham consisted mainly of one broad street stretching from one
+end of the town to the other.  What activity there was amongst the
+inhabitants was apparently taking place indoors; a few small boys
+were scattered about; the butcher, like all butchers, was dashing
+recklessly down the centre of the street; the milkman ambled after
+him.  An assistant in the draper's shop under the trees glanced up
+idly, but curiosity evidently not being her strong point, she
+scarcely gave them a second glance.
+
+"_Do_ let's rest soon," Nancy said, "I'm getting a little tired,
+aren't you?"
+
+Billy would not admit that he was, but he owned that he was ready to
+justify Aunt Hewlett's belief in him, so, when at the further end of
+the town they found a narrow lane branching off to the left, they
+decided to take it; it might have a suitable halting place tucked
+away in some unobtrusive corner.
+
+"But we'll get back on to the Gleambridge road presently, won't we?"
+Nancy said.  "This is a forest road and it's the hills, not the
+forest we want, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, we know _all_ about the forest," Billy replied, "inside and
+out, so of _course_ it's the hills we'll make for."
+
+This, in spite of the fact that every step was taking them nearer to
+the deep heart of the forest, to a beauty and grandeur that was
+constantly changing.  This great friendly forest, with its harmonies
+of sound and colour, this sheltering forest, with its unseen yet
+familiar voices, how were they to know that in rejecting it, they
+were rejecting something that was a part of themselves, just as Daddy
+Petherham was a part of Nestcombe?
+
+In a little while they came to a meadow, and beyond the meadow, with
+a gate leading invitingly into it, was a wood; a very suitable
+halting-place, they decided, and without a second thought--for
+trespassing never troubled our young adventurers--entered it.
+
+Billy paused as they were shutting the gate and looked at the little
+town in the valley and the peeps of golden river between its
+chimney-pots.  Just across that river were the hills and to reach
+them they must tramp all the way to Gleambridge first.
+
+"Wish we could have gone by the Riversham ferry," he said
+regretfully, "it'd have cut off miles, but the old man might ask
+questions--p'raps he wouldn't take us.  Better stick to the road, I
+s'pose, though it's another sixteen miles."
+
+"Shall we get there to-day?" Mavis asked.  "'Course you must both
+take turns in riding Modestine, 'cos I'm nearly seven and needn't
+ride _all_ the way.  Shall we sleep at Gleambridge or in a wood?" she
+added, as they made their way across the meadow.
+
+"I don't know," Nancy replied.  "'Sides, a lot depends on Modestine."
+
+Modestine, when they reached the wood, stood with her most angelic
+expression while they removed the blankets and provision basket to
+ease her for a while.
+
+"Don't forget to take the bit out of her mouth, Billy," Nancy
+reminded him as he was loosening her girth, while she and Mavis
+unpacked the provisions.
+
+It did not take two hungry little girls very long to spread out the
+breakfast for which they were all longing.
+
+"Oh, Modestine!  Look out, both of you!"
+
+Nancy and Mavis turned at Billy's cry to see Modestine dashing
+towards them, and they too uttered a cry as she took a flying leap
+over the food they had spread on the grass.
+
+"An' she hasn't even knocked the lemonade over!" Mavis cried, and
+there was a little secret admiration in her voice; Modestine, you
+see, in spite of her naughtiness was so dear.
+
+"A jolly good thing for her!" Billy said.  "And now we've got to
+catch her!" he added ruefully.
+
+They looked longingly at the tempting food and hesitated.  Should
+they let her roam until they had satisfied their hunger?  It was a
+lonely spot and nobody was likely to come, and yet--well, though they
+never had the slightest fear of trespassing, it was an unwritten rule
+with them that gates should always be closed after them, and that no
+damage should be done in any way.
+
+"An' if we let her roam you never know what might happen!"  They
+sighed, and gave themselves up to a breathless quarter of an hour's
+coaxing and cajoling.  At the end of that time, Modestine, apparently
+tired of the game, submitted herself to Nancy, rubbing herself
+affectionately against the child as she tethered her to the gate
+leading into the wood.
+
+"And now we can have breakfast!" Billy said with a sigh of
+contentment.
+
+How good the food tasted up here on the forest road--the first
+breakfast they had eaten in a meadow--so different from _ordinary_
+out-of-doors meals.  Picnics lead you nowhere--this meal----
+
+"It's kind of the beginning of the adventure, isn't it?" Nancy said.
+"The christening feast.  No--no, don't laugh at me, I didn't mean
+that.  What's the word I want?  Celebration, no, not 'xactly.  Don't
+talk to me for a minute, I'll see it inside me presently.  I do wish
+words wouldn't run away just when you want them.  Initiation?  No,
+that doesn't sound quite right."  She shook her head and frowned.
+"Can't you think of it, Billy?"
+
+"Me?" Billy asked, with a chuckle.  "No, _I_ don't know long words,
+an' I'm far too hungry to bother about them.  Don't you want some
+more to eat, Nancy?"
+
+Nancy took the huge slice of bread and butter Mavis passed her and
+ate it absently.
+
+"I'll have to let it go just now," she sighed.  "But don't you think
+we should offer up something to the God of Adventure?  There's a word
+for that, too; what you offer, I mean.  Li--li----Oh, I wish Aunt
+Letty were here, she'd know both words.  Li---- I've got it!
+Libation!"
+
+"Oh, look!" whispered Mavis hurriedly.  "Look behind you!"
+
+"BY Jingo!" Billy exclaimed.
+
+Nancy came down to earth with a start to see coming towards them
+through the wood, two men, and a dog which evidently belonged to the
+younger of the two.  The elder man was a gamekeeper, Nancy decided
+swiftly, but his companion--was he a farmer and would he be cross and
+turn them out?  She studied his face intently as he approached, and
+read there not only surprise but interest.  Nancy liked him
+immediately and instinctively she felt that, if he was a farmer, he
+was something more besides; his interests extended beyond sheep and
+the price of corn she was sure--not, of course, that she got as far
+as expressing the thought quite as definitely as this.  She just knew.
+
+Billy, meanwhile, had whistled to the dog, who, after sniffing round
+the boy was evidently satisfied that he was a person one could know,
+and allowed himself to be fed with biscuits.
+
+Now, if you were a gamekeeper and you came suddenly upon three
+children and a donkey calmly settled upon the preserves for which you
+were responsible, the one idea in your mind would be to turn the
+whole party out as speedily as might be with perhaps a lengthy and
+fear-raising monologue thrown in, as to the inadvisability of
+trespassing.  And if you were a gamekeeper and _alone_, that is what
+you would do; that is what your duty as a gamekeeper told you you
+should do; that is what you were absolutely tingling to do in spite
+of the restraining hand of a youthful master.
+
+But if you were the owner of the preserves, and, if on a summer
+morning with happy, laughing skies above you, you came upon a picture
+of startling interest and beauty, if the youth dancing in your veins
+shouted to you that the picture was a part of the glory of the
+morning?  If the picture dissected resolved itself into a dainty,
+golden-haired fairy with a bloom on her cheeks like that of a ripe
+peach; a boy with mischievous, laughing eyes, and a dreamy child with
+chestnut hair who had searched the recesses of an apparently not
+empty little mind and brought forth in triumph the word "libation"!
+And last, but not least, a donkey tethered to the gate through which
+you were intending to pass?  If, too, you were more interested in
+human nature than in your preserves; if there was about each child
+something that suggested more than an everyday picnic, if an intense
+desire burned in you for enlightenment?
+
+Mavis leaned forward and stroked the dog.
+
+"Isn't he a dear and isn't he friendly?  Is he your little dog?" she
+asked, smiling up into the gamekeeper's taciturn face.
+
+"No," he replied laconically.
+
+Meanwhile, the owner was standing with his hand on the gate in a
+tentative attitude.
+
+"Oh, Billy, Modestine's in the way!" Nancy exclaimed.  "Do move him.
+I'm sorry," she added, smiling apologetically at the owner.  "We
+thought we'd better tether her, you see.  She's generally good, but
+one never can be sure of her."
+
+"I see," the owner replied gravely.  "And has anyone given you
+permission to picnic here, may I ask?"
+
+"We're not picnicking," she replied promptly, "were just----"  She
+paused at a warning glance from Billy.  "Why no," she continued,
+"there was nobody to ask; but, you see, it was pretty and we were
+tired and hungry, and we don't ever do any damage when we trespass,
+do we?" she added, appealing to Billy and Mavis.
+
+"No, and we always shut gates," Billy replied, as he opened the gate.
+
+The gamekeeper, with a grumble all over his face, passed through
+without a "thank you."  His companion followed, but seemed in no
+hurry to leave the little group.
+
+"Isn't it rather early to be tired and hungry?" he enquired, with a
+puzzled glance at the remains of the meal.
+
+"Not if you're adventurers," Nancy replied.  "You see, you get too
+excited to eat anything before you start."
+
+"And what exactly is an adventurer?" the owner asked, digging his
+stick into the ground and leaning comfortably on it.  "And what does
+an adventurer do?"
+
+Nancy hesitated.
+
+"Why," she replied, looking over Riversham to the hills beyond the
+river, "isn't it somebody who wants to find something?  Something
+they've wanted and wanted an' at last they feel they have to go and
+find it, don't they, Billy?"
+
+"Yes," said Billy, throwing back his head, "they have to go!"
+
+"But what do they do?" the owner repeated.
+
+"Oh, lots of things," Billy responded eagerly.  "Just anything.  They
+don't mind what it is as long as it's part of the adventure."
+
+"Only it mustn't be an everyday kind of thing, you know," Nancy
+explained.
+
+The gamekeeper was growing impatient and was clearly in a hurry to be
+off.  Since the children were not to be turned out he could see
+little use in standing there talking to them; such absurd talk, too.
+His master, seeing his impatience, signed to him to go, and then
+turned again to the children.
+
+"And how long do adventures last?" he enquired.
+
+"Oh, a long time," Billy replied vaguely.  He liked the stranger
+immensely, but he was a grown-up and--well, it was safer not to enter
+into details.
+
+Now, the gamekeeper on his dismissal, instead of crossing the meadow
+into the lane as he had originally intended, turned back into the
+wood.  Had he not done so; had he and his master gone straight down
+to Riversham as they had previously planned, the children's adventure
+would have ended abruptly, and this story would never have been
+written.
+
+For a car, containing a worried and unhappy father and mother was
+passing through the town towards Gleambridge, whither they gleaned
+from the children's letter they were bound.
+
+Up in the meadow the children could only see the chimney pots and
+roofs of Riversham, so they did not know that the sleepy little town
+was in an unusual tumult.  They did not see the crowd gradually
+collecting round the car; they knew nothing of the enquiries that
+were being made, or of the relief when, at last, the shop assistant
+who had glanced up idly as they passed joined the crowd.  Yes, three
+children and a donkey had gone through the town, she said, some time
+ago--nearly an hour, in fact.  Yes, they would soon be found for a
+car travels just a _little_ quicker than a donkey, and the donkey
+seemed in no hurry.
+
+Up in the meadow the children heard the car speeding out to the
+Gleambridge road, but they gave it no second thought, for the
+stranger was engrossing them.
+
+"Would it," he was asking, "be an adventure to be prosecuted for
+trespassing?"
+
+His voice was grave, but Nancy's quick eyes detected a little twitch
+at the corners of his mouth, and something at the back of his eyes
+that was not in accordance with his mouth.
+
+"I don't think you would prosecute us," she replied, with a smile
+that was half-shy, half-frank.
+
+"Why not?  Don't you think I ought to?"
+
+"No, I don't think you need.  We told you we never hurt anything when
+we trespass.  'Sides, I b'lieve----"  She hesitated.
+
+"Yes, what do you believe?" he encouraged her.
+
+"I b'lieve you kind of understand."
+
+"Why do you think that?" he asked.  In his interest he dropped all
+pretence of severity.
+
+"Oh, I can't s'plain."  Nancy regarded him frankly for a moment.
+"It's something in your eyes; they're whim--whimsical."
+
+"That's a long word for a little girl," was his reply.
+
+"She can't help it," Billy interrupted with a teasing sigh and grin.
+
+"What was the long word we were to offer up to the God of Adventure,
+Nancy?" Mavis asked, suddenly returning to the conversation that had
+been interrupted long, long ago, and joining in the general laugh
+when the owner hoped they were going to offer up something more
+substantial than a word.
+
+"Is libation what you offer?" Nancy asked anxiously.  "We weren't
+quite sure.  And can you do it in lemonade--that's all we've got?"
+
+"And will it matter us having eaten our meal first?" Billy enquired.
+"We didn't think about it till just as you came along."
+
+"Is there _really_ a God of Adventure?" Mavis chimed in eagerly.
+"And if we give him a libation will he really and truly help us to
+have lots of nice things happen?"
+
+"Not really-truly like you and me and Billy," Nancy replied.  "Is
+it?" she asked, turning confidentially to the owner.  "But
+really-truly--oh, yes!  Don't you remember what Aunt Letty and
+'nearly-uncle Jim' told us?  _Anything_ can happen if you have an
+inner vision, and if you think there is a God of Adventure, then
+there is, and he'll help you.  And, oh, do you think," she added,
+turning again to the stranger who yet seemed no stranger, "_do_ you
+think we may offer him lemonade as we haven't got wine, and shall we
+do it now, and--and would you like to help us?"
+
+Now, a property owner ought to be too busy attending to his duties to
+play with children in the young hours of the day.  He ought,
+moreover, firmly, if politely to point out to trespassers that he
+cannot have his meadow turned into a sort of heathen temple.  And the
+presumption of it!  They inviting _him_, the owner to join in heathen
+rites!  Why, he should be in a frenzy of indignation!
+
+But the owner was twenty-one and trespassers such as these three
+little people, who apparently recognized him as a comrade, interested
+him immensely.  And, curiously enough, though twenty-one is a
+fearfully important age and has all sorts of delightful possibilities
+hovering round it, Dick Frampton had an instinctive feeling that it
+was a privilege to be allowed to assist in, what to the children, was
+a solemn affair.
+
+So, feeling that unseen hands were pushing adventure towards him, he
+replied by picking up the lemonade bottle and taking charge of the
+rites.
+
+Yes, in the circumstances, lemonade would do, but had they salt?
+Sacred salt must be sprinkled on the meat.  A pity they had had their
+meal, gods preferred their offerings to be given first.  Well, they
+had better forget that meal and, after the offerings, they would all
+eat together.  Had they any meat on which the salt could be sprinkled?
+
+"There's veal and ham pie," they replied anxiously.  "Will it do?"
+
+They gathered round with silent, eager interest while he cut off a
+very tiny portion of the pie.  Was that enough, they asked, rather
+shocked to offer a god so little.
+
+"Yes, he'll understand.  Come now, and think hard about him and tell
+him inside yourselves what you want."
+
+With almost a feeling of being in church they followed him to the
+hedge and watched while he placed the corner of pie on a little
+grassy mound and sprinkled it with salt.  With slow, solemn movements
+of his hands he appeared to be blessing the pie, at the same time
+murmuring something in a language the children could not understand.
+
+The libation of lemonade, too, was a small one, but a God of
+Adventure who could not understand and forgive a shortage would not
+be worth approaching.  An intense silence held the children as the
+slow drops trickled on to the mound.  Modestine, a few yards off, was
+quietly cropping the grass; a lazy bird-chatter came from the little
+wood, and across the meadow a yellowhammer was singing his
+bread-and-butter song.  The sounds of everyday human life came up
+from Riversham, but faintly, so that they seemed to accentuate the
+silence.
+
+Little half-thoughts that would not form themselves into words came
+to Nancy as they stood there.  How funny that they should be standing
+here with this stranger.  And then again, how natural it seemed--and
+why did he not seem like a stranger to them?  How wonderful the
+sunlight was!  How could one think when sunlight was bathing one
+through and through.  It caught the salt and made it alive with
+beauty.  Surely sun-kissed salt must be acceptable to a god?
+Adventures now _must_ come to them.
+
+Leaving their humble offering on the mound, they, the three children
+and Dick Frampton, each solemnly ate a fragment of pie.
+
+"Ours must be smaller, of course, than the sacred offering," Dick
+said.
+
+What little lemonade was left he also divided between them.  Nancy
+instinctively turned her eyes to the hills as she drank; _would_ they
+get there, and would adventure come out to meet them, and, above all,
+would they know it for adventure?
+
+"And now," said Dick, "I must go."
+
+There was reluctance in his voice, yet he knew this was to be no
+final farewell; these little people had come into his life to
+stay--he would see to that, and seeing his own reluctance reflected
+in their faces, he told them his name.  Just for a second Billy
+hesitated before he would allow Nancy to tell of their home at
+Nestcombe and invite Mr. Frampton to come and see them some day.
+Yet, after all, if they told him, what possible effect could it have
+on their plans?
+
+"I'm going over there this evening," Dick said, nodding towards the
+hills, "so I shan't be able to come for a day or two."
+
+"Going to the hills?" Nancy began impulsively.  "Why----"  A warning
+glance from Billy restrained her, and Dick who simply imagined this
+adventure as some extra-special all-day picnic, a grand make-believe
+affair, had no suspicions that they would be journeying in the same
+direction.
+
+With a wave of the hand he left them, and the children began to
+gather up their blankets and prepare to set forth again.
+
+"I do hope we see him again soon," Nancy said, as, with a somewhat
+reluctant Modestine, they crossed the meadow.
+
+That the God of Adventure, in accepting their offerings, had laid his
+spell on them and Dick Frampton she could not guess; that Dick was to
+play a very big part in their adventures, well, how could they
+possibly know this?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MONTAGUE FRANCIS DE VERE
+
+"I expect there's a lovely view just round that bend at the top,"
+Nancy said, when they arrived at the road.  "Should we take just a
+peep?  It won't take five minutes."
+
+Billy hesitated.  When he had made up his mind to go to a certain
+place he preferred to make steadily for it and not wander off into
+side roads, but as Mavis added her entreaties to Nancy's he gave way
+reluctantly.
+
+Nancy mounted Modestine and the little procession set off up the
+hill.  To the left, they caught sight of the chimney-pots of a house,
+but that was all, until they reached the bend.  And then such a view.
+A long stretch of the Gleam was visible, and the hills, rising out of
+a mist so faint that it seemed like a veil of light, were more
+alluring than ever.  On their own home side of the river, far, far
+away beyond the mouth, were mountains peeping out from a dense blue
+curtain.
+
+Mavis, the artist of the family, was enraptured by the blueness.
+
+"It's like that picture we saw once--you 'member--some little girls
+with lots of autumn leaves heaped up, and a basket, and the blueness
+all behind them!" she cried excitedly.
+
+"Yes," Nancy responded, "an' it was so blue I thought it couldn't be
+real.  Now we _know_ it's all right."
+
+They both sighed with delight and satisfaction.
+
+"I say, do look at that boy!" Billy interrupted.  "See, over there in
+the garden!"
+
+The view had entirely absorbed Nancy and Mavis, but they turned with
+ready interest to learn the cause of that in Billy's voice that
+promised something worth while.
+
+Standing back from the road they saw the primmest house imaginable,
+with a garden to correspond.  Not a weed was to be seen; not a plant
+or bush or tree grew there that had any inclination to riot or
+sprawl.  There were neat little rose bushes, but no ramblers; there
+were stocks, and geraniums, and lobelias in prim little lozenge beds,
+but no pretty sprawling clarkia or love-in-a-mist or joyous
+Californian poppy.  A neat little laurel hedge divided the flowers
+from the kitchen garden, where again everything was
+congruous--everything, that is, except the boy.
+
+He was standing by a bed of beetroots, leaning on a hoe, with his
+profile towards them.  They could not see his eyes, but his face, and
+indeed, his whole attitude, expressed solemn dejection.  Yet that was
+not the reason why he seemed so utterly out of place in the picture.
+
+"Isn't he dirty!" whispered Mavis, in disgust, for she had a horror
+of dirt, as Billy knew to his cost.  "An' untidy!"
+
+His hands, if he was supposed to be hoeing, might, of course, have
+been allowed a thin coating of earth, but there was earth on his
+face, earth on his knees, earth on his clothes.  He was about Billy's
+age, and was wearing a grey flannel suit, grey felt hat, and grey
+stockings, all very much like Billy's, but, although Billy had no
+special reputation for either cleanliness or tidiness, he was not to
+be compared with the little object in the garden whose stockings were
+slopping over his boots, and whose hat was thrust defiantly at the
+back of his head.
+
+The children stared in puzzled wonderment.  There was something about
+him that suggested he was not just the gardener's boy, yet what
+possible connection could such a ragamuffin have with so prim a place?
+
+At this moment the boy dived into his pocket and pulled out a
+handkerchief that was the colour of his hands.
+
+"Isn't he awful?" Mavis whispered, in horror.
+
+"Yes, but I don't believe he's very happy," Nancy replied.  "He looks
+so sad."
+
+Billy giggled.
+
+"'Spect he doesn't like hoeing!" he said.  "_I_ don't!"
+
+Nancy shook her head.
+
+"No, it's not that kind of sadness.  I know how _you_ look when you
+have to do weeding; his is more than that--it's _all_ of him that's
+unhappy."
+
+Just then the boy looked up and met Billy's eye.  Neither boy moved
+or spoke for a moment, then suddenly the young ragamuffin jerked his
+hat over his eyes, thrust forward his chin, assumed a "Bill Sikes"
+expression, and lurched defiantly towards the palings.
+
+"What cher want?" he growled, in a voice that sounded volcanic.
+
+"Nothing!" Billy replied, with a grin.  "I say, are you fed-up with
+hoeing?"
+
+The boy hesitated, a little surprised at Billy's friendly tone.
+
+"_You'd_ be," he rumbled, "if you hoed as much as I do.  It's weed,
+weed, weed, and hoe, hoe, hoe, morning, noon, and night.  A boy has
+no play here," he added bitterly.  "_She_ says a boy like me needs
+discipline--an' this is what she gives me!"  He paused and looked
+thoughtful.  "'Tisn't _his_ fault," he added, as though talking to
+himself, "he's sorry for me, but he says it's silly to mind doin' it.
+Only----" and here his voice grew particularly volcanic, "I wish he
+wouldn't always be talkin' about courage."
+
+"Courage?" Billy enquired, wondering what it had to do with hoeing.
+
+"Yes.  He said there was a boy in a book who heard a man say,
+''Tisn't life that matters, but the courage you bring to it.'  _I_
+dunno what he wants to keep talkin' about it for, and I dunno what
+it's got to do with weeding."  He paused.  "Courage!" he added
+darkly, "guess I know what courage is, as I'd show any boy!  I don't
+need to weed to know _that_!"
+
+Now, hitherto, he had not looked beyond Billy, but, at that moment,
+his eye fell on Mavis, who was standing with her hand on Modestine's
+bridle.  He stood as though spellbound, with wonder in his big,
+solemn eyes.
+
+"Don't stare!" Mavis said, in a reproving voice, "it's rude!"
+
+"I'm only just lookin' at you!" he replied, in a voice that was
+surprisingly humble.  "You're very pretty," he added.  Silence again.
+"Would you like an apple?  There's an early tree over there," he
+blurted out.
+
+Mavis looked at his grubby hands.
+
+"No, thank you," she replied promptly.  Then fearing that perhaps she
+had hurt him, "What is your name?" she asked in a kind, fat little
+voice.
+
+"Montague Francis de Vere," he replied, with a defiant eye on Billy.
+"Once," he added, reminiscently, "there was a boy who said I'd better
+add Plantagenet while I was about it.  Montague Francis Plantagenet
+de Vere he called me, just that once, but _not again_!"  His eye was
+still fixed firmly on Billy, who, instead of quailing as apparently
+he was intended to, merely grinned pleasantly.  The ragamuffin leaned
+over the palings.  "And there was another boy," he continued, "who
+called me Monty--and he was sorry afterwards!"
+
+"Why?" asked Mavis innocently.
+
+"'Cos I _made_ him sorry!" the boy growled.
+
+"Oh, but if I knew you I should call you Monty," Mavis replied.
+
+"Well, _you_ can--sometimes!" Montague growled.  "An' so, perhaps,
+can _she_," with a jerk of his head towards Nancy.  "But anybody
+else," here he again fixed Billy with a defiant eye, "anybody else
+has to call me Montague or Mont, else they'll be sorry."
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+"Well, Mont's all right," he said.  "I'll call you that."
+
+"What does your mother call you?" asked Nancy.
+
+"I've not got a mother," he replied simply, "nor a father."
+
+"Oh, poor, poor Monty!" the two girls whispered kindly, and Billy
+sidled up to the boy in a friendly, protective way.
+
+"Ah, now I see why you don't belong to the picture," Nancy added.
+"It's a horrid, prim picture and it's hurting you, isn't it?"
+
+Montague looked up at her in surprise.
+
+"How d'you know?" he asked.  The way in which he said it told so much
+that their hearts ached for him.
+
+"'Cos I kind of _feel_ it about you--we said so before you turned and
+saw us.  Who do you live with, and how long--how long have you had to
+live here?"  She could not bring herself to ask how long he had been
+without a father or mother.
+
+"Three months," he replied, in a voice that suggested that the three
+months had been as three centuries to him.  "He's sorry for me to be
+here; he said he'd hoped to have had a home for Jocelyne and me with
+somebody who would have been a mother-person to us, but he said they
+couldn't agree about something or other, an' so there was no
+mother-person and no home--not yet."
+
+"But who is 'he'?" asked Billy.
+
+"My guardian," Montague replied.
+
+"Is he nice?" asked Mavis.
+
+"Yes, I like him--we're friends.  He's going to let me live with him
+in London in the winter and p'raps Jocelyne, but _she_ doesn't mind
+being here."
+
+"Who's Jocelyne?" asked Nancy.
+
+"She's my sister."  he replied, in a resigned voice.  "Sisters are
+not very nice people," he added bitterly.  "They get grown-up and
+don't mind being prim, and they hate you being a bit dirty, an' it's
+wash, wash, wash morning, noon an' night."
+
+"_I_ don't like dirty people either," Mavis said.  "Billy has to wash
+_properly_."
+
+Billy giggled, and Montague gazed solemnly first at him and then at
+Mavis.
+
+"Don't you like _me_?" he growled wistfully.
+
+"I don't know you," Mavis replied.  "P'raps I might like you if you
+were clean," she added kindly.
+
+"Oh, but we do like him, Mavis!  We're sorry for him, aren't we?"
+Nancy said impulsively.
+
+"Yes, of course we're sorry and p'raps you'd be clean if you had a
+'mother," Mavis replied gently.  "Wouldn't you, Monty?" she added
+with such a winning smile in her blue eyes that Montague suddenly
+felt an overwhelming desire to wash and wash until he was as white as
+snow.  Yet, though he would have given much to do so, he could not
+truthfully own to absolute cleanliness even under his mother's
+influence.  He grew solemn and thoughtful once more.
+
+"Mothers, when they're dead, try to help boys," he began.  "There's a
+boy I know," he went on in his queer, rumbling way, "a boy what
+sometimes uses bad words an' his mother is an angel an' she comes to
+him sometimes at night looking all shiny and sorry, an' she says
+she'll help him not to use 'em."
+
+"And does he manage not to now?" Nancy enquired sympathetically.
+
+"Well, he doesn't use the _very_ bad ones.  Mothers," he added
+abruptly, "are different from aunts.  _They_ punish you if you use
+'em."  His voice grew vindictive.  "When I'm grown-up I shall have a
+son ten years old, and he shall go without cake and jam for a month
+if he uses them, an' if he slides down banisters or along slippery
+floors, _then_ he'll be sorry!"
+
+"Oh, but aunts are nice," Mavis interrupted him.  "We all love our
+Aunt Letty; she plays with us and tells us stories--an' she's pretty."
+
+"Well," replied Montague, "great-aunts are different then.  _They_
+don't ever play with you, neither are they pretty.  An' if you have
+boots that sound nice then they try to make you sorry about them.
+But," and here his brown eyes suddenly sparkled impishly, "if you've
+got to wear slippers downstairs you can put your boots on in your
+bedroom and stride up and down s'much as you like and nobody'll hear
+you."
+
+"I don't think that sounds very exciting," Mavis said.  "I don't like
+clumsy boots."
+
+Montague looked crestfallen as he gazed first at his own thick-soled
+boots and then at the trim little shoes Mavis was wearing.
+
+"And is it your great-aunt you live with?" asked Nancy.  "Is this her
+house and is that why it's so prim and neat?"
+
+Montague nodded.
+
+"Yes, it's hers an' she says there won't be much of it left if I'm
+here much longer.  _I_ can't help it if things get in the way.  But
+my guardian says I've got to try and stand it a bit longer; he says
+he wants to study up the 'responsibilities of parenthood,' or
+somethin' like that.  He says it's all very well to learn gradually
+to be a parent, but a boy of ten and a girl of fifteen, and him a
+bachelor of thirty he says isn't an easy situation.  He says there
+should be lectures to meet the case.  He's more afraid of Jocelyne
+than me 'cos women, he says, are unaccountable.  He talks to me a
+lot--he likes talking.  Some of it's queer kind of talk, but anyway
+he likes boys an' that's more'n great-aunts do.  An' he plays with
+me."
+
+"Our Uncle Val plays with us when he's in England, and there was
+another, a nearly-uncle, who used to play with us," said Mavis.
+
+"Uncle Val's in Egypt now," Billy, who was never tired of talking of
+his uncle's wanderings, informed Montague.  "He's been to Russia,
+too--he's an adventurer, and so are we!" he added proudly.
+
+"Adventurers?" Montague repeated with interest.
+
+"Yes, we're going to travel with a donkey.  We're going to the hills
+over there."  Billy nodded in the direction of the hills.
+
+Montague's interest increased.
+
+"When do you start?" he asked.
+
+"We've started.  We've come miles already, an' we're going on for
+days--_p'raps_ a week."
+
+Montague gazed at the three adventurers with undisguised admiration
+and respect.
+
+"An' are you going on _now_?" he asked wistfully.
+
+"Yes, an' we'd better hurry.  We kind of forgot while we were talking
+to you.  We've miles to go!"  Billy was in a tremendous hurry now to
+be moving.
+
+"An' me here hoeing and weedin' all the summer holidays!  Me stuck in
+this garden with nobody to play with!"  Montague's voice was so sad
+and his words called up so gloomy a picture that instinctively the
+same thought swept through each of the three children.  Billy voiced
+it.
+
+"I say, come with us!"
+
+"Do come!" added Nancy.
+
+"Yes, we'd like you to come, Monty," Mavis added sweetly, "only you
+will wash yourself first, won't you?"
+
+Montague's usually solemn eyes literally danced with joy.
+
+"I'll be ready in less'n a minute!" he cried, and dropping the hoe,
+he ran swiftly down the garden.  A moment later, they saw him on the
+other side of the laurel hedge running along a path in the flower
+garden.
+
+"He's going to that gold-fish pond in the middle of the lawn there!
+Oh, do look!"  Billy chuckled in enjoyment.  "If the great-aunt saw
+him now wouldn't her hair fly!"
+
+Montague was kneeling on the stone edge of the pond dipping his
+earthy hands into the clear water.  Next he pulled out the grimy
+handkerchief, swished it about amongst the goldfish, and smeared it
+over his face.  Satisfied with the result, he thrust the handkerchief
+back into his pocket and came bounding towards them.
+
+"Now I'm ready!" he cried joyfully.  "Let's start!"
+
+Mavis eyed him critically.
+
+"Oh, you awful, awful boy," she sighed.  "You're worse than before.
+You _can't_ come like that."
+
+Montague sighed, too.
+
+"You're never pleased with me," he rumbled unhappily, "an' _I_ think
+you're so pretty."
+
+Mavis felt a little ashamed.  She thought a moment.
+
+"Here, quick," she said, pulling out her own dainty little
+handkerchief.  "Run and dip that in the pond and bring it to me.
+_I'll_ wash your face."
+
+Montague hesitated miserably.  Washing was bad enough in itself, but
+could he possibly submit to the terrible indignity of being washed by
+a girl--even if she did happen to be the prettiest little girl he had
+ever seen.  Was it, after all, worth while?
+
+"Hurry, Monty, there's a good boy, else somebody may come and stop
+us," Mavis said anxiously.
+
+The adorable motherliness behind the anxiety half decided Montague.
+He glared hard at Billy, defying him to laugh.
+
+"_I've_ been through it," Billy sighed, with his happy grin.  "Girls
+are tyrants--specially sisters!"
+
+Montague, with a mixture of defiance and subjection in his walk,
+returned to the pond, dipped the tiny handkerchief in the water and
+brought it back to Mavis.
+
+"I won't hurt you," she said kindly, as she wiped away the
+water-marks.
+
+Not hurt him?  Montague writhed inwardly under the hurt to his pride.
+Why he submitted he hardly knew; certainly, it was the last thing he
+would have imagined himself doing.
+
+"Why, you're quite nice-looking now you're clean!" Mavis said,
+surveying her handiwork with pride.  "Run an' wash my handky
+quick--then we're ready."
+
+Montague departed with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes.
+
+"She said I'm nice-looking!" he told himself joyfully as he flew to
+the pond.  Why, it was almost worth while to be clean after all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE OTHER SIDE
+
+The little procession, with its reinforcement, set off down the hill.
+Mavis, who was still dissatisfied with Montague's appearance, made
+him take off his coat and shake it as they went along.  If she had
+not been so fascinatingly pretty and if there had not been that
+irresistible motherliness in her voice, Montague would have been
+inclined to class her with Jocelyne.
+
+"But Jocelyne _she_ wouldn't go on an adventure," he told himself.
+"She'd want to go in a car and stop at swanky hotels."
+
+For there were to be no hotels, the children informed him.  There
+would be sleeping out of doors, or perhaps sometimes in a cottage if
+it was wet.
+
+"An' there ought," they told him, "to be a monastery 'cos Stevenson
+slept at one one night."
+
+They had turned now into the Gleambridge road.
+
+"Why are we going this way?" Montague asked suddenly.
+
+"We told you.  We're going to the hills, we want to see the other
+side of them.  And we've got to go to Gleambridge first, you know, to
+get there."
+
+"Gleambridge!" Montague repeated slowly.  "Then I can't come!"
+
+He stood in the middle of the road, disappointment written all over
+him.
+
+"Why not?" they asked, in surprise.
+
+"'Cos my two crosses are there," he replied bitterly.
+
+"Your two crosses?"
+
+"Yes, Jocelyne an' Aunt.  They've gone by car, an' we'd be sure to
+meet them an' they'd bring me back."
+
+The children understood at once; they did not like the thought of the
+poor boy turning back or being brought back ignominiously by his
+aunt, yet what were they to do?
+
+"We can't swim the river with a donkey and blankets and things,"
+Billy said.  '"Course there's the ferry, but the ferryman, well, he
+_might_ not want to take us, or he _might_ ask questions--and it'd be
+the end of everything."
+
+Montague thought a moment.
+
+"We _could_ go by the ferry-boat," he said.  "He's up in the forest
+to-day, I know, 'cos Jim Virgo--he's his son an' a _great_ friend of
+mine--he told me he'll have charge of the boat all day, an' if I
+could slip away for a bit I could have a ride in it, he said.  I was
+just thinking of going when you came.  Aunt and Jocelyne," he added
+with a chuckle, "they don't like me talking to the village people,
+but my guardian he says I can if I like."
+
+The children considered hard.  Should they venture?  Would it be too
+great a risk?  Nancy's eyes sparkled and she suddenly felt queer
+inside.  Think of it; the hills _to-day_!
+
+"Oh, let's chance it, Billy!" she cried.
+
+They had already passed the turning that led down to the river, and
+it meant going back a little, but what did that matter when perhaps
+some time to-day they would be in the heart of the hills?
+
+The river road was deserted, but they hurried somewhat nervously
+along it, for the Riversham gardens sloped down to it and people
+_might_ appear.
+
+"You'd better go first, Mont," Billy said, "and see if the coast is
+clear.  Wave to us if Jim Virgo is there alone.  We won't risk it if
+his father's there."
+
+Montague ran down to the riverside and the children waited
+breathlessly.  In a moment, however, they saw a hand waving
+violently, and with hope high in their hearts, they reached the
+ferry.  Jim Virgo, a fair-haired youth who was sucking a straw,
+greeted them with a sheepish grin.
+
+"I've told him it's a secret an' he's promised not to tell," Montague
+announced.
+
+Nancy slipped off Modestine and led her to the wide ferry-boat.
+Modestine, however, did not like the look of it and planted herself
+firmly on the bank.
+
+Nancy pleaded with her and Jim Virgo stepped forward to take her
+bridle.
+
+Modestine glanced at him, saw that he was wearing corduroy
+trousers--for some unexplainable reason she objected strongly to
+them--and immediately sat down on the bank, assuming her most angelic
+expression.
+
+Billy, for a moment, abused her angrily, then his usually sunny face
+cleared.
+
+"I expect," he said, "this is one of the not-nice things adventurers
+have to put up with."
+
+Suddenly, Montague, pulling his hat down over his eyes, lurched up to
+Modestine and, planting himself in front of her, regarded her with a
+most diabolical expression.
+
+"You donkey, you, just you get up or I'll have yer life!" he muttered
+hoarsely.  "D'yer want to _die_, minion, eh?" he added, thrusting his
+face close to Modestine's.
+
+For one brief second Modestine regarded him in angelic surprise,
+then, rising hastily, walked demurely towards the boat.
+
+The children, shaking with laughter, followed, and Billy and Nancy
+ran forward and led her on to the boat.  Jim Virgo followed, and, a
+moment later, there was the swish of oars being dipped into the
+water, and the boat was heading for the opposite bank.
+
+"Hurrah!" cried Billy.  "We've started; we're really on our way to
+the hills now!  Isn't it ripping?"
+
+Nancy for reply, took hold of a tiny portion of Mavis' dress and
+twisted it in her fingers.  "A Nancy-spasm," the proceeding was known
+as, in the family, a spasm that told of a turmoil within that small
+person.
+
+In such a little while now they would have crossed the broad river.
+How lovely it looked to-day, what a pity to be leaving it behind.
+What a dear river it was, almost like a friend.  Hadn't the sound of
+it been in their ears and hearts all their lives; was it absurd to
+fancy that a little bit of it had got into themselves--some of its
+restlessness.  And there would be water where they were going?  There
+must be.  Not even the hills could be perfect for Nancy if there was
+not the sound of water murmuring either big or little talk, it
+scarcely mattered which, somewhere in their midst.
+
+How near they were getting.  Oh, this excitement made you feel almost
+sick!  Just a thin strip of water--now a bump!  They were there!
+
+Montague was the only person, when they had bidden good-bye to Jim
+Virgo, who did not realize the solemnity of the moment.
+
+"Well, we're here!" they said simply, and nobody could think of
+anything else to say.
+
+That they felt just a little small and lonely with the broad Gleam
+dividing them from home and all the familiar home places not one of
+them would admit.  It was so wonderful to be here, just at the foot
+of the hills.  Curious how far away it made yesterday seem, yesterday
+and all the other yesterdays with their little everyday happenings.
+How important those happenings had seemed at the time and now how
+small they seemed!  Nancy had a curious feeling that something bigger
+than just half a day had grown up between them and the present
+moment.  Nothing certainly had happened yet, no adventure had come;
+there had simply been the meeting with Mr. Frampton and the finding
+of Montague, nevertheless she felt, now they had really crossed the
+river, that they were not quite the same children they were yesterday.
+
+And now that they were at the foot of the hills, adventure might
+begin at any moment.  They discussed it as they tramped up a pretty
+lane leading from the river.  What would it be like?  Lions and
+tigers, Montague thought, but was promptly squashed by Billy.  Lions
+and tigers in England!  Lions and tigers belonging to a travelling
+circus, Montague explained doggedly.  He wanted it to be something in
+the wild animal line so that he could have the joy of rescuing Mavis,
+and to be able to shine in her eyes.
+
+At the end of the lane they came suddenly upon the village of
+Hampton.  A few houses and a shop or two were scattered on either
+side of a long, wide green.
+
+They eyed it dubiously.
+
+"At Nestley," Mavis said, "all the houses snuggle together, don't
+they.  _This_ isn't very cosy, is it?"
+
+Somehow, it seemed impossible that anybody could love so wide a
+village, such an apart kind of village.  Never had they seen so large
+a green.
+
+"But _I_ have," Montague informed them.  "Near us in Suffolk there
+was ever such a long green with crowds of huge trees on it.  I like
+it better'n this," he added.
+
+But after all, the village did not matter; they must decide which
+road to take.  Which road would lead them quickest to the hills?  A
+signpost a little further on pointed to the left for Gleambridge, and
+they decided to take it till they should find one branching off up to
+the hills.
+
+Nancy, who was rested now, wanted Mavis to ride again, but the child
+was not yet tired and insisted on Nancy riding a little further.
+
+Montague, trudging along by Mavis, felt extraordinarily happy,
+happier than he had been for the last three months.  Something inside
+him seemed to be expanding; feelings he could not understand surged
+up within him, feelings that had been dead, or dormant for a long
+time.  Long, long ago, when there had been a mother to be loved and
+protected he had felt like this; when it had been his happy privilege
+to wait on her and attend to her wants.  To bring her cushions, to
+sit on a little stool at her feet, why, yes, this queer feeling had
+often come to him then.  And again when his father had been home,
+just before he died--but three long, desolate, empty months lay
+between him and those happy days when someone had been glad of his
+service; three months brightened only by flying visits from a
+guardian who, if one saw more of him, one might learn to love; three
+months of rebellion against discipline; three months' loathing of a
+primness that shouted in every corner.  And, so long are three months
+in the life of a small boy, that in even less than that time in such
+an atmosphere, feeling that he is uncared for, the finer instincts in
+him will shrink and shrivel; he will become a little animal caring
+for nobody.
+
+And now he was tramping along, unrestricted, with three children who
+liked him, whom he liked.
+
+"I could carry you if you're tired!" he growled suddenly to Mavis.
+"I'm strong.  Will you let me?"
+
+Mavis shook her head with a smile.
+
+"No, thank you, Monty, I'll walk," she replied with decision.
+"You're not _much_ bigger'n me either."
+
+"I'm ten!" he replied proudly.
+
+"An' I'm seven, an' I can walk a long way.  At Nestcombe we always
+walk lots."
+
+"Presently you'll be tired," he suggested hopefully.
+
+"Then I can ride Modestine.  Nancy said I could."
+
+Poor Montague with this strange desire to serve and guard, and Mavis
+would have none of it!
+
+Presently he spoke again.
+
+"Could I hold your hand if you're just a _little_ tired, but not
+tired enough to ride?  It 'ud help you along."
+
+Mavis looked at his hand.  It was rather grubby still in between the
+fingers, but, somehow, in spite of the dirt, she had a motherly
+feeling towards her unkempt companion.  Poor boy, he had no mother.
+Well, she would let him hold her hand just a little way, though she
+hoped there would be a brook presently where she could free herself
+from any dirt that might find its way from Montague's hand to hers.
+
+Montague took the little hand reverently into his grubby paw.  What a
+tiny hand it was and what a pretty shape.  His mother's, he
+remembered, had been pretty and so very white.  Mavis's was tanned,
+but it was a clean tan.  Yes, after all, it was nice for girls to
+have clean hands.  How warm the little fingers were, not a sticky
+warmth, but something that seemed to come from inside the child, a
+warmth that seemed to speak of friendliness and confidence.
+Montague's frozen young heart that had been gradually expanding under
+the influence of happy comradeship simply thrilled at the human
+contact.  Yet he marvelled at himself.  Imagine him, Montague, until
+to-day liking to hold anybody's hand!  How he would have wriggled if
+the hand had been Jocelyne's--but then, Jocelyne thought him a terror
+and a nuisance, and Mavis, though she might not admire him as he
+would like to have been admired by her, was kind to him.  Just how
+much this friendship was meaning to him none of the children, not
+even Nancy with her quick intuition, could understand.  How should
+they when life had held nothing so far but sheltering love for them?
+
+Montague's thoughts strayed to his aunt and Jocelyne in Gleambridge.
+They had left him at home because he was not an altogether desirable
+person to take shopping, they considered.  Montague, remembering a
+shopping expedition with Jocelyne, suddenly chuckled wickedly.
+
+"What's the joke?" Billy enquired.
+
+"Nothin' really.  Only I was thinking Aunt and Jocelyne wouldn't have
+been pleased to see me if we had gone to Gleambridge."
+
+"Why not?" Mavis enquired.
+
+"Oh, only 'cos something happened there once."  Again he chuckled
+with impish enjoyment.
+
+"Do tell us about it, Monty!" Nancy pleaded.  The road was flat and
+not very interesting, and the turning up to the hills seemed a long
+time coming, and Nancy was ready for any distraction from the
+straightness of the road.
+
+"There isn't much to tell, only Jocelyne and me and some of her
+friends went to Gleambridge.  Stupid, giggling things those girls
+were, an' Jocelyne was sillier than any of them."
+
+"Why?  What did she do?" Mavis asked.
+
+"Oh, I dunno.  She talked silly--an' she's a proud thing, too!"
+
+"Proud?"
+
+"Yes.  I met a great friend of mine--he's the blacksmith's son, and
+once he gave me a horseshoe, and sometimes he lets me help blow the
+bellows, and him and me were talking at the station and Jocelyne said
+I shouldn't talk to a village boy."
+
+"Not talk to village boys!" Billy repeated.  "Why we know everybody
+in our village.  Jimmy Petherham, old Daddy Petherham's grandson, and
+I, often go fishing together."
+
+"Well, you're luckier'n me," Montague replied bitterly.  "I mustn't
+talk to any of them--but I do," he added, with a grin.
+
+"An' _then_ what happened?" Mavis prompted.
+
+"Oh, nothing 'cept I'd forgot to put my garters on, and Jocelyne got
+cross and said I'd disgrace her and her friends."
+
+"Well, _I_ think sloppy socks or stockings are ugly," Mavis said.
+
+"_Do_ you?"  Montague looked at her in a troubled way.  Was she going
+to side with Jocelyne always?  And yet--no---there was something so
+different in the way this little person said things.  It was as
+though she really cared about you being clean and tidy, not as though
+she said the things to hurt you.
+
+Billy, however, grinned sympathetically.
+
+"Garters get lost, don't they?" he chuckled.
+
+"Yes, they do," Montague growled.  "An' sometimes you want to use
+them for other things--same as you do handkerchiefs."  He paused.
+"It's not _your_ fault," he continued, "if you're made to get ready
+all in a hurry an' you've been using your handkerchief just before to
+collect worms in for chickens, an' you can't help it if you put it in
+your pocket and forget all about it and when you are in the train and
+you want to use it and earth and worms tumble on the floor."
+
+Billy roared with laughter, but the girls were horrified.
+
+"No wonder Jocelyne got cross!" they said.
+
+"She didn't, not then," Montague replied.  "I thought she meant to,
+but her friends, they just giggled and giggled, and she giggled,
+too--only a lady in the corner with glasses on a stick an' me didn't
+laugh.  _We_ thought them all silly, I can tell you!  An' then in
+Gleambridge--well, _I_ wouldn't have giggled like that in a town."
+
+"Why did they giggle there?" Mavis enquired.
+
+"Well, first," Montague replied, "Jocelyne was cross.  She tried to
+hold my hand 'cos she didn't like the way I walked--_I_ think it a
+nice way."
+
+"Was it like when we first saw you?" Mavis asked.  "I 'spect it was,"
+she added, with a sigh.
+
+"Me and the blacksmith's son _like_ to walk like that," Montague
+muttered, "sometimes, anyway," he added, realizing that a lurching
+gait at the present moment would mean the withdrawal of the small
+hand he still held.  "Then they went into the china shop," he
+continued, "and Jocelyne said I must stay outside, an' some of 'em
+said silly things about bulls and china shops, an' then I got tired
+an' so I just sat down on the pavement and went to sleep.  And that
+was all," he ended abruptly.
+
+"S'pose you got into hot-water for that?" Billy enquired
+sympathetically.
+
+"No, I didn't--but they talked sillier than ever.  If you'd seen them
+all standing round me giggling and giggling and 'tracting everybody's
+attention you'd have been ashamed, _I_ can tell you.  _I_ was!  An'
+the stupid things they said, too!  Straws and camels' backs they
+talked about--I didn't know what they meant.  _You_ wouldn't like
+being in Gleambridge with Jocelyne," he finished bitterly.
+
+"I don't think I should," Billy agreed.
+
+"Perhaps she's a little bit nice," Nancy suggested hopefully.
+
+"_I_ don't think so," Montague replied emphatically.  "My guardian he
+says there are possibilities in Jocelyne--or something like that.  He
+says I can't see them yet, but I may later on--but I don't think I
+shall."
+
+"I say, look!  We're coming to a turning to the right," Billy cried
+excitedly, and even Montague caught the excitement, and forgetting
+Jocelyne, quickened his pace towards the road that should lead them
+up into the hills.
+
+In a very little while the turning was reached, and they looked
+eagerly for the beginning of the hills.  The road, however, was
+perfectly flat, and the hills, for they could see them quite plainly,
+were still some way off.  Billy suddenly stopped dead in the middle
+of the road.
+
+"Why, we've got the canal to cross--it's _this_ side of the river, so
+we've a long way to go yet.  Let's hope there will be a bridge across
+it, else we're done for to-day."
+
+A little disappointed that they had forgotten the Gleambridge Canal
+and that the hills were still some way off, they hurried along.  The
+road was hot and dusty, but soon they came to the canal, and, to
+their great relief, found that there was a bridge across it.  At any
+other time they would have lingered, for the canal was nearly as
+pretty as a river, and water, almost any water, fascinated them.
+They paused only to watch the canal-man catch a packet of letters
+that someone threw from a passing steamer--a most extraordinary kind
+of post, they thought, and worth pausing for, because it was
+something they had never witnessed before.
+
+And presently the road really began to rise, but so gradually that
+they did not at first realize that the hills were beginning at last.
+There were curves too, now, and great shady trees and walls splashed
+all over with crimson Herb Robert--low, inviting walls.
+
+"We have hedges at home in Suffolk," Montague said, as he stared in
+surprise at the huge slabs of white stone piled on the top of each
+other.
+
+"So do we in the forest," Billy said, "but Dad has told us about
+these walls.  He said they kind of belong here and are part of the
+picture because they are hill stones."
+
+They had to stand on the wall and peep through the trees.
+
+"Why!  There's our forest over there across the river!" Nancy
+exclaimed.  "Isn't it funny to look at it from this side?"
+
+The thought struck her that if it had not been their home forest they
+would have wanted to go straightway and explore it--it looked so
+beautiful from here, so different somehow.  How grand and noble it
+was!  Such lovely lights there were on the trees--and the coolness!
+Nancy could almost feel it.  Yet how stupid, she thought, pulling
+herself together, to be lingering here gazing at a place one could
+visit any day in the year, when at last they were beginning to touch
+the hills.
+
+Montague, too, was fascinated by the forest.  At Riversham, though he
+lived on the fringe of it, he had never been actually in it, and in
+Suffolk, he explained there were only woods, not forests.
+
+"We'll take you there when we go back," Billy said.  "We know some
+ripping places for playing Robin Hood."
+
+"When we go back!"
+
+All the joy went out of Montague's life when he thought of returning
+to Riversham.  _Need_ they go back?
+
+"Why, of course!" Mavis replied.  "There's Muvee and Daddy and Aunt
+Letty."  Then noticing his miserably face, "But there'll be us now
+for you to play with," she added kindly.
+
+Mavis scrambled down from the wall, but rejected Montague's hand.
+The road with its pretty banks and walls was offering such lovely
+surprises in flowers and ferns that she wanted to be free to dart
+hither and thither like a joyous little butterfly.
+
+"I could run, too," Montague grumbled.
+
+"But not as quick as me, Monty, dear," she replied lightly, dancing
+swiftly along in front of the others.  Presently she stopped and
+beckoned excitedly; they found her kneeling by the roadside drinking,
+with her hands for a cup, from a little stream that gushed from the
+bank.
+
+"It's icy cold!" she gasped.  "Come and drink and bathe your faces."
+
+Modestine, of course, had to share in the happy find and very
+unwillingly she left the refreshing stream when the children were
+ready to take the road again.  To rest her, Nancy led her up the hill
+and she ambled sulkily along, not appreciating the delights of the
+way that spurred the happy children on.
+
+Presently they came to a high road running along the top.  There was
+nothing particularly attractive about it, and a long belt of trees
+shut out the real hills, but behind them they could still see the
+river and forest and far away the blue mountains.
+
+"I'm just dying with hunger," Billy announced.  "I vote we have
+dinner here."
+
+It was past one o'clock by Mavis's watch so, as the others were
+equally hungry, they decided to camp on a stretch of green near the
+belt of trees.
+
+They unpacked the basket and remembered they had nothing to drink.
+How foolish not to have filled their bottle at the stream.  However,
+in the distance was a farm, and the boys volunteered to go and beg
+some water, while the girls tethered Modestine and cut the bread and
+the pie.
+
+In a very short time they returned with a bottle of milk which the
+farmer's wife had pressed on them, refusing any payment.
+
+"They've got a cider-press there," Montague announced when they were
+all deep in veal and ham pie.
+
+"He says he's never seen one before," Billy explained.
+
+Not seen a cider-press?  How strange!  Well, they would certainly
+have to take him to see one working when the apples were ready.
+
+"An' he says he's never been in a fishing-boat," Billy said, helping
+himself to a second slice of pie.
+
+"Not been in a fishing-boat!" Nancy exclaimed.  "Oh, you must come
+with us and Aunt Letty in Daddy Petherham's boat."
+
+"Need the aunt come?" Montague enquired doubtfully.
+
+"Why, yes, of course!  You'll love Aunt Letty--she helps us
+'make-believe.'"
+
+Montague said nothing, but so intense was his dislike even of the
+word "aunt" that he found it impossible to work up any enthusiasm
+even for an Aunt Letty.
+
+"And have you ever been shrimping, Monty?" Mavis asked.
+
+He confessed that he had not.
+
+The three children sat and looked at him in wonder.  What kind of a
+place was this Suffolk he was always talking about?  Was it a kind of
+foreign country?  All the everyday things that seemed actually a part
+of their existence were unknown to Montague.  They began to feel
+almost eager for the day that would see them back at Nestcombe, when
+they could introduce him to everything and everybody.  People,
+places, and things suddenly took on a new interest in the thought of
+showing them to someone who knew nothing about them.  Almost a pity
+it could not be to-day--but how absurd; fancy even _thinking_ of
+home-places when you were on the fringe of the land of your dreams.
+All the same, it was strange how sometimes you wanted to be in two
+places at once.  So troublesome, they sighed.
+
+Montague, for his part, was feeling rather ashamed of his ignorance
+of everything that seemed so much a matter of course with his
+companions.  Was there nothing he could tell them of Suffolk that
+they would find attractive?  He remembered Mavis's delight in flowers.
+
+"I've seen flax growing," he began hopefully.  "It's like a field of
+blue sky, and afterwards it's silky like Mavis's hair, only not so
+goldy."
+
+"Have you seen them cutting it?" Billy asked with interest.
+
+Now was Montague's turn to score.
+
+"They _pull_ it!" he replied, feeling big.
+
+They must know more about this Suffolk of his, they said.  What else
+had they there?  Well, there was the moat round their house with
+water-lilies growing in it, and he and Jocelyne had had a little
+canoe on it.  And in the next village there was a house as big as a
+castle, _lots_ of turrets and towers, and a huge moat and probably
+dungeons.  As to the dungeons, Montague was drawing on his
+imagination, but he need not have done, for Suffolk, though so
+different from their home-places sounded romantic, the children
+agreed--almost like a story-book place.
+
+Somehow, after the meal was finished nobody seemed inclined to move.
+After all, why hurry now, why not rest awhile, why not give one's
+self up for a moment to the drowsiness of the afternoon?  Such a
+stillness there was in the air, such a fragrance, too, from all the
+sweet things that were tucked away in the short hill grass, such a
+musical murmur from myriads of unseen insects.  How the heat and
+music and fragrance seemed to grow into each other out here on the
+hill top, how pleasant to close one's eyes----
+
+In a little while four tired children were asleep.  Modestine,
+cropping the grass near by, saw that stillness had come upon her
+talkative companions.  There was loneliness in the silence, the grass
+lost its savour for her; better, she thought, get a little nearer to
+them, if the rope would allow it, and sleep, too.  Very daintily she
+stepped amongst them and stood with Mavis between her legs.  Ah, this
+was better than cropping grass alone.  Modestine blinked a little,
+nodded, and then she, too, became part of the sleeping afternoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE PRIOR
+
+The afternoon was well advanced when the children awoke.  Montague
+was horrified to see Modestine standing over Mavis, but the child
+merely laughed and stretched a lazy hand to tickle Modestine's nose.
+
+"She likes to be near us," she explained.  "'Sides, she feels she had
+to look after us, you see."
+
+Montague thought it a somewhat dangerous way of looking after
+anybody, but nobody else seemed to agree with him.
+
+Once again they set out, Mavis riding.  For a mile or so the road
+stretched along the top of the low ridge, then it began to descend
+inland.  The belt of trees was no longer there to hide the view, and
+hills and valleys, sometimes wooded, sometimes with houses scattered
+about them, were revealed to their delighted eyes.  Near the foot of
+the ridge they were descending, they could see a small village.
+
+"We can buy something to eat there," said Nancy, "and I think we'll
+see if there's a nice cottage to stay at--just for the first night,"
+she added apologetically.
+
+For, somehow, the long rest in the afternoon did not seem to have
+been enough, and a comfortable bed seemed more inviting than the hard
+ground.  Such a pity one had to get tired, such a trial that one's
+body would not let one do as much as one would like to do.
+
+There were so many twists and curves in the road that they found the
+village was much further off than they had imagined.  It was a pretty
+road, prettier even than the road that had so delighted them in the
+morning, and always now there were the great shoulders of the higher
+hills beckoning them.  Yet, somehow, prettiness did not seem as
+important as it had done earlier in the day--even the hills were
+beginning to lose a little of their charm.  Sleep and a clean white
+bed for to-night, and to-morrow a re-awakened enthusiasm.
+
+At last they drew near the village.  At the entrance was a huge
+saw-mill, and beyond it a few cottages and one small general shop.
+Here they bought their bread and butter.
+
+The woman who served them looked at them curiously, but she asked no
+questions.  They hesitated whether to enquire here about sleeping
+accommodation.
+
+"Does--where does that road opposite lead to, please?" Nancy asked.
+
+"That?  Oh, that's just a private road to the Priory," the woman
+replied.
+
+"The Priory!"
+
+The children looked at each other and hurried out of the shop.
+
+A Priory!  Why, surely, this was the very place for them to seek a
+night's rest at.  A monastery, of course, would have been the correct
+thing, but a Priory surely would do.
+
+"Let's go and enquire," Nancy said.  "I don't s'pose monks or priors
+would charge very much."
+
+They hurried eagerly up the road, and very soon saw in front of them
+a pair of huge iron gates, and through some tall beech trees, the
+chimney-pots of the Priory.  The Priory itself was hidden by a high
+wall, and until they reached the gates they were unable to see it.
+
+They stood with their faces pressed against the gates, staring with
+admiration, mingled with nervousness.  It was the most beautiful
+building they had ever seen--except the cathedral--the windows and
+the great front door looked, they thought, as though they belonged to
+a church.  But it was so large, almost as large, Montague admitted,
+as the place with the turrets in Suffolk.  Would it be too bold to
+seek a lodging here?  No monks or priors were to be seen--were they
+all at their prayers?  If only the place were not quite so imposing,
+if it were not so silent, if a monk would only appear!
+
+"There's a man!" whispered Montague.  "Over there, across the lawn."
+
+The others looked and saw an elderly man coming up a little winding
+path beyond a lawn in front of the house.  They studied him
+anxiously.  They were a little surprised that he was not wearing the
+kind of dressing-gown affair that they supposed monks usually wore.
+Perhaps, however, he was the prior and could dress as he liked.  And
+_if_ he was the prior could they summon up courage to speak to him?
+Nancy noticed that his beard was soft and curly, and that he was
+bronzed; but what attracted her were his eyes.
+
+"They're like two brown fires," she thought, "dancing fires."
+
+His walk, too, re-assured her.  It was so intensely alive, so young.
+
+"He's kind," Nancy whispered, "I'll go and speak to him."
+
+But the sharp eyes had already found the little group at the gates.
+For just one second their owner hesitated, then, with eager interest
+he darted towards them.
+
+"Don't forget to raise your hat, Billy," Nancy reminded him hastily.
+
+"You, too, Monty," Mavis whispered.  For a moment Montague felt
+rebellious at the idea of raising his hat to a man, it was bad enough
+to have to do it to women; but when a little person _trusts_ you to
+do a thing, well, you simply have to give in.
+
+The man opened the gates, and, to Montague's amazement, raised his
+hat as courteously as though they had been grown-ups in a car instead
+of four travel-stained children with a donkey.
+
+"You are wanting something?  Tell me!"  His voice and smile were so
+encouraging that immediately they felt at their ease.
+
+Nancy was the spokesman.
+
+"Please, we are travellers," she explained, "an' we are too tired to
+sleep out of doors to-night, and we were going to look for a nice
+cottage, but a Priory is better.  It _should_ be a monastery really,
+but we thought a Priory would be about the same.  And so _could_ you
+let us be boarders, do you think?  We're quite respectable--it's only
+travelling that's made us a little untidy."
+
+At first the stranger looked a little astonished, then a kind of
+waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next expression settled on his face.
+
+"How long would you want to stay?" he enquired.
+
+"Oh, only one night, 'cos we're going on again to-morrow--we haven't
+time to stay long in one place."  She hesitated.  She wanted to
+enquire how much they would have to pay, yet somehow it seemed
+difficult to mention money to this distinguished-looking man.
+_Would_ he understand that if you're only children you could not
+afford to stay at expensive places?  "Could you--would you mind
+telling me what the charge is, please?" she faltered, flushing a
+little.  "We should only just want some tea and a bed, and we'd be
+leaving before breakfast 'cos we've really got our tea in the basket,
+but it can be breakfast instead."
+
+The Prior, if he was the prior, made a wide, sweeping gesture as
+though to push their breakfast-basket miles away.
+
+"No visitor leaves the Priory without breakfast," he said
+emphatically.  "It's one of the rules and can't be broken.  Can you
+obey rules?" he asked abruptly.
+
+"Yes, sir," Billy replied, not without some inward trepidation.  The
+rules at a Priory might be terribly severe.
+
+"Good.  Well then, all visitors are requested to retire at seven
+o'clock and to attend matins behind the nuns' screen at 8.45 the
+following morning.  After matins a collection will be taken and each
+visitor is expected to put in the bag exactly the amount he or she
+would put in the offertory bag on Sundays at home.  _Exactly_,
+mind--neither more nor less."
+
+The children breathed freely when the Prior got to the end of the
+rules.  After all, there was nothing terrible for them to do.  They
+_might_ have had to sleep on stone floors or rise in the middle of
+the night for prayers.  Nevertheless, one of the rules troubled
+Nancy, and she spoke of it to the Prior.  Did he know, she enquired,
+that children only put a _little_ money in the offertory bag?  Should
+they put what they would give at Harvest Festival?
+
+The Prior shook an admonishing finger at her.
+
+"Not a penny more or a penny less than the usual Sunday offering," he
+said.  "That is the rule."
+
+His voice certainly was stern, but the children were not in the least
+afraid of him, for he beamed kindness upon them and Nancy was sure
+she saw flashes of fun in his eyes.
+
+"But what about Modestine?  What shall we give for her?" Billy
+enquired.
+
+"Modestine!  Modestine!"  The Prior's quick eyes searched the
+children's anxious, upturned faces.  Then he laughed.
+"Capital--capital!" he cried.  "A donkey with so classical a name
+must receive free board and lodging.  It is an honour to have her
+under one's roof--or rather one's stable-roof.  I take off my hat to
+Modestine!"  With that he took off his hat and made the little animal
+a sweeping bow.  Modestine was unimpressed, but the children were
+delighted.  "And now," continued the Prior, "come, my dears.  There's
+a good woman here of the name of White, into whose hands I will put
+you to have those travel-stains (he looked whimsically at the earth
+that still clung to Montague's knickers) removed.  And then for tea!"
+
+"Oh, but can we just see to Modestine before we wash?" Billy asked.
+"She's dreadfully thirsty, and we must rub her down and give her a
+feed."
+
+"Don't worry about Modestine, my boy," said the Prior.  "There's a
+man of the name of Monk hanging about the stables with nothing
+particular to do.  Time will hang less heavily on his hands with
+Modestine to occupy it."
+
+"But would he do it properly?" Nancy enquired anxiously.
+
+"Have no fears, my dear," said the Prior.  "Monk has had a good deal
+of experience of donkeys in Egypt."
+
+"Well," Billy replied, "if he finds he can't manage her I'll come and
+help him.  It all depends on her mood, you see."
+
+"Exactly.  I'll tell Monk what you say.  Ah, there he is.  I'll take
+Modestine to him.  Wait here one moment."
+
+Modestine suffered herself to be led away, though nothing would
+induce her to allow the Prior to indulge in his quick, eager stride.
+
+The children looked at the man called Monk with interest.  So that
+was a monk.  He looked quite ordinary; he was even wearing ordinary
+clothes, but perhaps, they decided, they were allowed not to wear a
+robe when they were working.
+
+The Prior came dashing back across the lawn to them.
+
+"Now, my children, come!"  He held out a hand to each of the girls,
+and with confidence they took it.  The boys followed.
+
+"Does he wear his gown when he tells his beads?" Mavis enquired.
+
+"Who?"  For just the fraction of a second there was bewilderment in
+the Prior's eyes, but it quickly vanished.  "Probably, my child," he
+replied.
+
+"But don't you _know_?" Nancy asked.  "Aren't you the head of the
+Priory, and don't they have to do what you tell them?"
+
+The Prior laughed.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm the head of the place," he replied.  "But I'm not a
+very strict person.  I allow them all a certain amount of freedom.
+Freedom is good for the soul, you know.  It helps it to
+expand--restriction contracts."
+
+The children did not quite understand, but they thought it sounded
+nice.
+
+"_I_ should like to be a monk here," Montague rumbled.  "_I'd_ like
+freedom--if Mavis and the others could be here, too," he added.
+
+The Prior pricked up his ears at the volcanic note in Montague's
+voice, and, pausing, turned to look at the boy.  What he saw in the
+love-starved face hurt him.  He dropped Nancy's hand and waved his
+own impetuously as though to push something painful away.
+
+"Restriction and starvation of soul written all over the boy," he
+thought indignantly.  Aloud he said, "You shall all live here for
+ever if you like," and the smile he gave Montague warmed the boy's
+heart towards him.
+
+"I'm glad Mavis made me raise my hat to him," he thought.
+
+Ah, but, Nancy said in reply to the Prior, though they would love him
+there were other people they loved, too--people who wanted them.
+
+"There's nobody wants me at Riversham," Montague growled, "and nobody
+_I_ want--'cept when my Guardian comes--so _I_ could stay here."
+
+They had reached the house now, and the Prior pushed open the great
+door, the most beautiful door they had ever seen.  The children, with
+thrills of excitement running through them, followed him into a vast
+hall.  Now, all four of them, Montague in his Suffolk home, the
+others in their dear old Nestcombe home were used to spacious,
+beautiful halls, yet, large though they were, both of them could have
+been put inside the one they had entered.  It was paved with great
+slabs of stone, and the rugs and skins that were scattered about in
+profusion looked like little islands.  A carriage might easily have
+been driven up the wide staircase, which wound its way to a gallery
+above; a beautiful staircase it was, too, with its carvings of the
+heads of many different saints.  In a distant corner of the hall was
+some armour, and all the walls were hung with portraits--dozens of
+them, every period for centuries back being represented.  Nancy
+thought they looked like ancestors, yet she was puzzled to find them
+here in a Priory, expecting rather that there would have been only
+madonnas and other sacred pictures.
+
+The Prior had gone in search of Mrs. White, and presently he returned
+with a grand person in a rustling silk dress.  He introduced her to
+them.
+
+"And now," he said, "I am going to hand these little people over to
+you, Mrs. White.  Just a little cleansing and brushing, you
+know--then tea on the lawn."
+
+"Very good, sir," Mrs. White replied.
+
+"Oh, and Mrs. White, will you see that Master Lionel's room is ready
+by seven o'clock?  Put another small bed in there.  The boys will
+like to share a room, I'm sure.  And for the little girls----"  He
+hesitated and his eyes swept the two little faces turned expectantly
+towards him, "prepare Miss Dorothy's room."
+
+Mrs. White knew her master thoroughly.  Nothing that he did, as a
+rule, surprised her, but at the mention of "Miss Dorothy's room" her
+surprise was visible.  "Miss Dorothy's room," that had not been slept
+in since the "blessed lamb" had become an angel!  Surely these little
+girls were very special friends of her master, for such a thing to
+happen.  However, she pulled herself together, and assuring her
+master that everything should be as he wished, conducted the children
+upstairs.
+
+Who, the children wondered as they followed Mrs. White, were Lionel
+and Dorothy?  Were they the Prior's children?  But _did_ priors
+marry?  And why was he here alone, and why did they not see more
+monks?
+
+What a huge, huge house this was; how easily one could get lost
+here--what a ripping place for hide-and-seek!  Ah, here were the
+pictures that should have been in the hall; saints and madonnas and
+holy families, all of them wearing the shiny plates round their heads
+that people called "halos."  What lots of them, and what a lovely
+picture gallery, and what delightful window-seats.  Nancy simply had
+to stop to scramble into one of them and gaze at the view of the
+hills.  If they were beautiful seen from outside, how much more so
+looking through these wonderful mullioned windows that seemed to
+radiate green and gold lights.  A feeling of worship swept over
+Nancy's impressionable young soul; depths that, so far, only the
+sound of the organ at the cathedral had touched, were stirred.  But
+Mrs. White was waiting and she must follow.
+
+The boys were left at a huge bathroom, and Mrs. White conducted Nancy
+and Mavis to her own room--a room that surely was made for no other
+person than Mrs. White, for everything about it was just as neat and
+sedate and unsurprised-looking as Mrs. White herself.  Hats and hair
+ribbons must not be flung about here!
+
+After supplying them with towels and hot water she left them for a
+few moments.  They hoped she would not be long away, for the big,
+silent place somewhat overawed them.  Such lots and lots of doors
+they had passed.  Were they the cells, Mavis wondered; was a monk
+praying silently in each, and weren't they themselves going to sleep
+in cells?  It seemed not, from what the Prior had said, yet were
+there ordinary rooms in a priory?
+
+"I can't make things out a bit," Nancy replied.  "It doesn't seem
+nice to ask lots of questions when you're kind of guests, but I
+_would_ like to know about Dorothy.  D'you s'pose she's a nun?
+P'raps she's at another priory or convent now."
+
+"Couldn't we ask just that?"
+
+"No, I think not, but p'raps we'll find out later.  Let's wait and
+see, 'cos, after all, it's awfully exciting, isn't it?  We don't know
+_what_ will happen next!  An' if we don't see the monks to-night we
+shall have to see them at matins to-morrow."
+
+Two perfectly clean and tidy little girls awaited Mrs. White on her
+return.  At the bathroom they picked up two passably clean boys, and
+Mrs. White led the whole party to the Prior, who was awaiting them
+under a great beech tree of beautiful proportions on the lawn.
+
+"And now for tea!" said the Prior, beaming on the children.  "A good
+substantial tea for hungry travellers."
+
+He led them to a tea-table that was heaped with good things.  A tall
+and solemn-looking man was hovering near it.
+
+"That's all, Monk, thank you.  We'll manage alone to-day, eh,
+children?"
+
+Another monk, they thought with interest, as they gathered round the
+table, and again an ungowned one!  Well, of course, the Vicar did not
+wear his cassock in private life; perhaps the same rule applied to
+monks.  Yet why was there a kind of twinkle in the Prior's eyes when
+they questioned him as to why he called each one "Monk" and not
+"Brother so-and-so"?  And why did he evade the question?
+
+The tea was a delightful one.  Chicken in aspic, cold ham, honey, and
+scones.  "Grown-up" cake, too, with lots of currants in it, and
+raspberries and cream.  Each of them you may be sure did ample
+justice to it.  The Prior insisted that Nancy should act as hostess.
+The honour of it!  To pour out with a grown-up there and such a
+distinguished grown-up, too; one, moreover, who treated you with as
+much deference as though you had been a duchess seated there behind
+the beautiful tea equipage instead of just a small girl.  Nancy found
+herself trying to live up to the position; she thrilled to the
+importance of it, so that her hands moved gracefully amongst the
+tea-things, and she felt that she really was a hostess sharing the
+responsibilities of that tea with the Prior.
+
+And while they ate the Prior talked.  There was nothing religious
+about his conversation; it was mostly stories of travels.  Yes, and
+that was another curious thing.  He seemed to have lived abroad far
+more than at the Priory, but, perhaps, they thought, he had other
+priories out there, for apparently he was a kind of head-person
+always.  Governor was the word he used, probably that was what they
+called priors abroad.
+
+And yet he did not seem to have to shut himself up in any of these
+priories.  Also he had parties there, children's parties with no
+other grown-up person there.  He wanted the children to himself, he
+said; other grown-ups spoilt things.
+
+And then there were stories of big game shooting that thrilled the
+boys.  Stories, too, of snakes.  They regarded with respect and
+admiration the man who had actually found a snake popping up through
+a hole in a bedroom floor; who had lived in a house haunted by
+vampire bats--crowds of them, and you heard weird flapping sounds, he
+said, when you were alone at night and suddenly--sizz! out would go
+the lamp and you were in darkness alone with that horrible dark
+flying thing!
+
+Thrillingly interesting stories, all of them, but now tea was
+finished, and the Prior suggested that they should sit in the Sunk
+Garden till bedtime.  The children followed him willingly along a
+broad walk on the further side of the house, where masses of flowers
+were blazing in the hot sunshine.  Two youths and a man were at work,
+and they touched their caps as the Prior and the children passed.
+
+"And are they monks?" Mavis asked, and again the Prior twinkled as he
+replied in the affirmative.
+
+"And are they too busy to pray in the day-time?" asked Nancy.  "I
+s'pose they have to pray longer at night to make up for it?  They
+must be awfully tired doing both."
+
+"I don't think," the Prior replied, "that they any of them spend long
+enough over their prayers for them to become a burden to them.
+Besides," he added.  "there's nothing to prevent them doing the two
+things together.  A man who can grow flowers such as these," he waved
+his hand towards the blaze of colour, "who can teach his sons to grow
+them, too, should have a prayer of gratitude to the good God
+continually in his heart and on his lips."
+
+"Oh, are they his sons?  _Can_ monks have sons?" Billy asked.
+
+"These Monks can," the Prior replied, and again, they were mystified
+by the fun in his eyes.
+
+"Do they have specially long prayers for penance?" Nancy asked.
+
+"Pray in penance?" the Prior's eyes flashed a protest.  "Certainly
+not--not here!  Prayer should be offered from the fullness of the
+heart, child.  Prayer should be--joy!  Prayer should be, not the
+gabbling of a few sentences, but the act of living, living joyously.
+Anything less is an insult to the good God.  But my tongue is running
+away with me," he added with a smile.  "You will think that I am
+going to preach."
+
+Well, if this was preaching, the children thought, it was much more
+interesting than the dull sermons the Vicar preached on Sundays.
+They felt a little uncomfortable, however, when they remembered their
+own gabbled prayers.  Had they insulted God?  They hadn't meant to,
+of course, but it was not always easy to realize that God was
+listening to them.  Certainly, the Prior's way of praying sounded
+much nicer--so alive and _real_.
+
+They passed another youth who was busy hoeing.  Montague eyed him
+with interest.
+
+"When I'm a man," he growled, "I shall have a son an' a daughter.
+An' the daughter shall be fifteen, and she shall cotton peas all day,
+and the son _he_ shall hoe and weed and pick up sticks.  An' if he
+doesn't, well, he'll be _sorry_.  An' he'll be sorry lots of other
+times, too--sorry all the time.  If he fights with the village boys,
+or if he plays with them, or gives himself and them the best
+strawberries, and leaves none for the grown-ups' tea, _then_ he won't
+like it--he'll wish he'd never seen a strawberry."  Evidently
+something connected with strawberries rankled, for his voice was
+particularly bitter as he spoke of them.  "And there will be a
+great-aunt to look after him," he continued, "an' _I_ shall stay here
+and be a monk--_not_ a gardening one--or live with my wife in a house
+by a wood, or p'raps go and kill lions by myself.  And while I'm away
+the aunt will see if the boy wants punishing; she'll know how to do
+it, 'cos," and here his voice sank to a scarcely audible rumble,
+"she'll have had lots of experience."
+
+He paused, but something in the curiously intent way in which the
+Prior was listening spurred him on.
+
+"Well, if in a little while that boy forgets what happened about the
+strawberries and gives himself and the blacksmith's son a raspberry
+tart and a jug of cream that was meant for a dinner party an' a piece
+of duck each--well, _I'll_ not be there--but the aunt will!"
+
+The Prior said nothing when, at last, Montague came to an end, but he
+walked thoughtfully, his hands behind his back, and there was pity
+and indignation, and, well, perhaps a little amusement in his eyes as
+he studied the boy.
+
+But now the Sunk Garden was reached.  Instinctively everyone paused
+at the top of the steps.  Something, before entering that peaceful
+garden, must be put away, left behind.  Something that was alien to
+the gentleness that seemed to play about the sun-dial and the subdued
+colouring of the flowers; to the quiet sunlight flickering amongst
+the leaves on the tall trellis-work that enclosed the garden.  The
+Prior put his hand affectionately on Montague's shoulder and
+rebellion suddenly seemed a little thing, so unimportant.  The scent
+of heliotrope, the swooping of swallows, the lazy cawing of rooks
+seemed all that mattered.
+
+The Prior led them to a stone seat round the sun-dial.  Nancy
+immediately felt the atmosphere of the place and gave herself up to
+it.  The swallows, too, attracted her.  She watched them dropping and
+falling down the air; against the blue of the sky; their swift
+shadows on sun-dial or paving.  Aunt Letty once said that the soul of
+a swallow was in its flight.  Now, as she sat in the Sunk Garden, a
+garden that must have had swallows' shadows flickering over it for
+centuries, she began to understand what Aunt Letty had meant.  Every
+movement of the blue and white speck was graceful, whether it flashed
+across the garden, or slid down the air or climbed up towards the
+sky, all was grace and all was joy.  Suddenly, she looked at the
+Prior and he caught her glance with a smile and a question.
+
+"What is it, child?" he asked.
+
+"Only----" she hesitated.  "P'raps you won't like me saying it, but
+suddenly I thought you're like the swallows."
+
+"I--like the swallows?"  He looked at her in surprise.
+
+"Yes!  You see, they're joy, every bit of them is joy--they kind of
+can't go fast enough to splash it out of them, an' that's like you.
+You _won't_ mind, will you?"  She slipped her hand into his and
+looked at him anxiously.
+
+"Mind?  Of course not, my darling!  And do _I_ splash joy about?" he
+added, his eyes shining like two brown stars.
+
+"'Yes, indeed, it's all over you, and you kind of splash it all over
+us and over the garden, too."
+
+"That's the nicest compliment I've ever had paid me in my life,
+child," and, lifting his hat, the Prior raised Nancy's hand to his
+lips.
+
+"But it's not a compliment," Nancy protested, "it's the truth.  We
+all love you, don't we?" she added, turning to the others.
+
+"Yes, indeed!" Mavis cried, scrambling on to the Prior's knee.
+
+Montague looked at the happy group and sighed.
+
+"When I am a man," he began, "I shall find a little girl with gold
+hair and I shall buy her a golden chair to sit in, but _sometimes_ I
+shall ask her not to sit in the chair, but on my knee, and I will
+tell her lots of lovely stories.  And nobody," he continued, warming
+to his subject, "shall ever hurt that little girl or be unkind to
+her, 'cos there'll be _me_ to look after her.  And she shall be like
+a princess, and I shall do all the work for her and not let her carry
+things; an' if she doesn't like lessons, well, she needn't do 'em
+'cos _I_ shall say she needn't.  An' if there's only _one_ nice ripe
+pear she shall have it, and I shall wait till she's had all she wants
+before I have one.  An' if she's tired there'll be me to carry her,
+'cos I shall be big and strong then.  An' I shall earn a pound a week
+and give it all to her, 'cept just enough to buy the food, an' she
+shall _never_ have schoolroom cake or rice pudding!"
+
+"Not boiled rice!" said Mavis.  "Oh, _I_ wouldn't like to be that
+little girl--I love boiled rice.  An' wouldn't a gold chair be
+awfully hard?"
+
+Montague, whose eyes had been fixed dreamily on a bed of heliotrope
+during his recital, looked up at Mavis with wonder in his eyes.  Was
+it possible that a little girl whom he regarded almost as a princess
+could like boiled rice?
+
+"With jam?"  Perhaps it was the jam that appealed to her.
+
+"No.  Sugar and milk."
+
+"Well, she should have it."  There was resignation in his voice.
+"An' she could have a cushion on the chair if it was too hard."
+
+The Prior, meanwhile, was wearing his
+waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next expression.  He called Montague
+and drew him to his knee.
+
+"So you are going to be a champion of little girls, are you, my boy?"
+
+"One little girl," Montague corrected him, "with gold hair.  P'raps,"
+he added, looking at Nancy, "there could be another with brown hair."
+
+"What colour hair," asked the Prior, "had that unfortunate daughter
+who was to cotton peas?"
+
+"Black!" Montague replied.  "Thick black hair.  The kind," he
+muttered, forgetting that he was in the Sunk Garden, "that you can
+pull!"
+
+"Oh!" said the Prior, looking at him thoughtfully.  "Why pull the
+black hair and not the gold or chestnut?  Why not be a champion of
+them all?  Why pull the hair of one and give the others golden
+chairs, and the best fruit?  Why not let them _all_ have gold chairs?
+Think of it, boy, just think of it, if you gave her a gold chair how
+she'd love you!"
+
+"She wouldn't," growled Montague, "she would _never_ love me, not if
+I was to give her a gold throne!"
+
+"Well, try it and see the result," the Prior encouraged him.
+
+A gold throne for Jocelyne?  The Prior didn't know her or he could
+not have suggested it.
+
+"And what are you going to do when you are a man, Billy?" the Prior
+asked.
+
+"Me?  Oh, I'm going to be a traveller like you and my Uncle Val,"
+Billy replied unhesitatingly.  "Only," he added, "there's such a long
+time to wait; it seems an awful waste of time going to school when
+you might be _doing_ things."
+
+"Yes, yes, but make the best of it, Billy-boy.  It's not quite as
+wasted, perhaps, as you imagine.  Preparation is needed, you know,
+before you can attack anything as difficult as the life of a
+traveller.  For it _is_ a hard life."
+
+"Yes, I know.  Uncle Val says if there's grit in you it brings it
+out, and he says you've got to have grit in you to stick to it.  _He_
+sticks to it, and _I_ shall stick to it too."  Billy threw back his
+head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.  "Uncle Val and I
+can't help going.  He says it's Sir Walter Raleigh's fault."
+
+"Sir Walter Raleigh's?"
+
+"Yes.  You see, when Uncle Val was a little boy there was always Sir
+Walter Raleigh calling him, calling him to look down the river away
+out to sea till he couldn't wait any longer.  He made him join up
+when he was only seventeen, and after the war he made him go abroad.
+And now Sir Walter Raleigh hasn't got Uncle Val, so he's calling me
+instead--we live in his house, you see."
+
+The Prior looked at Billy rather strangely, as though he were trying
+to see something in his face.
+
+"Where is your Uncle Val now?"
+
+"In Egypt," Billy replied.
+
+The Prior's eyes danced unaccountably with pleasure.  He put Mavis
+down and rose abruptly.  There was something in the library, he said,
+that might interest them.
+
+The children followed readily.  They returned to the house by way of
+the kitchen and fruit garden, beyond which were the stables.  Ah,
+might they just go and say good-night to Modestine, they begged.  The
+Prior remained outside while they went in to Modestine.  Scraps of
+his conversation with the Monk who had charge of their donkey reached
+them, though at the time they paid but little heed to them.
+
+"Yes, he's coming by ferry.  You'll take the car--no, I can't come
+after all."  The children appeared in the doorway.  "Ah, ready,
+children?  Now for the library."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LIONEL AND DOROTHY
+
+They entered the house by a side door and followed the Prior down a
+short passage that led straight to the library.  The wide, mullioned
+windows of the room faced that part of the garden where the flowers
+made such a pageant of colour.  What a delightful room it was, the
+children thought; so different from the great, cold, silent hall
+where you felt such an insignificant atom.  Here, with the wide
+windows letting in all the colour and sunshine of the garden, here,
+with the deep chairs and sinky-in carpet and the books and the curios
+and pictures you felt immediately at home.
+
+The curios seemed to have come from all over the world, and you
+scarcely knew which to look at first.
+
+"Just wander round and look at what attracts you most," the Prior
+said, seeing their bewilderment.  "Anything you want to know about
+them I'll explain to you."
+
+And for the next quarter of an hour he was busy answering questions.
+
+"This?  I got it in India.  That's a Chinese junk--look at the
+carving.  Yes, that's an exact model of a Japanese house.  That head
+was carved by a Red Indian from the root of a tree.  Those spears?  I
+got them in the Sudan.  Yes, these are panther skins.  Yes, really, I
+shot the animals myself."
+
+The children's interest was unabating.  They tried to push away the
+unwelcome thought that seven o'clock must be nearly here.
+
+Presently, Billy wandered over to a table that held some books and
+photos.  Suddenly, he paused.
+
+"Nancy, Mavis, come here!" he cried.  "There's a photo of Uncle Val's
+friend, Mr. Pringle, here, just like the photo he brought with him
+last summer."
+
+Nancy and Mavis, too interested in Billy's discovery to notice the
+smile of triumph on the Prior's face, flew across the room.
+
+"Oh!  It's him!  Do you know him?" Nancy asked, turning eagerly to
+the Prior.  "He's Uncle Val's greatest friend, and next time he comes
+home he's coming to see us.  We don't know him yet 'cept what Uncle
+Val tells us about him.  _Do_ you know him?"
+
+"Yes, I know him," the Prior replied.
+
+"Have you known him long?" Billy asked.
+
+"Nearly twenty-five years."  The children did not know what to make
+of that baffling, teasing smile of the Prior's.
+
+"An' is it long since you've seen him?" Mavis asked.
+
+"I saw him when I came home from India in the spring.  I stopped in
+Egypt especially to see him, because," he paused dramatically, "he's
+my son, you know!"
+
+"Your son!" they shouted.  "Then he's the Lionel who has a room here!
+Oh, isn't it wonderful."
+
+Suddenly, a new thought struck Billy.
+
+"You didn't see Uncle Val, too?" he asked slowly.  "Uncle Val," he
+added, "is like me--only he's twenty-four and I'm ten."
+
+The Prior still wore the teasing smile as he studied Billy.
+
+"Let me see!  Someone in Egypt like you?  A grown-up edition of you,
+eh?  Why, now I come to think of it, Lionel insisted on dragging
+along a certain Val Stafford with him.  Could that be your Uncle Val?"
+
+"Yes, yes!" they shrieked.  "That's Uncle Val!  And you've _seen_
+him!  Oh, it's the God of Adventure that brought us here!"
+
+The excitement was intense.  When at length it subsided somewhat,
+Nancy enquired what the Prior thought of her uncle.  Did he mind
+Lionel bringing him along?  Did he like him?
+
+The Prior turned and looked at Billy.
+
+"If that young man over there grows up anything like his uncle he'll
+be a brother you can be proud of.  _I_ am proud that Lionel should
+have him for a friend."
+
+"Oh, doesn't it make you kind of belong to us?" Nancy cried
+impulsively.  She replaced Lionel's photo on the table and, as she
+did so, caught sight of another one.  It was of a little girl of
+about her own age, a little girl who looked at her with Lionel's
+laughing eyes.
+
+"Oh!"
+
+She looked up quickly and caught the Prior's glance--no need to ask
+any questions, what she wanted to know was written on the Prior's
+face.  She slipped her hand into his.
+
+"An' you're letting Mavis and me have _her_ room?"
+
+"Yes, dear," he replied, his hand on her head.  "You are just the
+kind of little girls she would have liked to share it with.  My
+little Dorothy was an open-air child, just as you are."
+
+"Was she--was she ill a long time?"
+
+"No, dear.  She was following the hounds and was thrown from her
+horse.  Lionel, poor boy, found her.  But--listen, children!"
+
+Seven o'clock!  Oh, what a waste of time bed would be at such a place
+as this!
+
+A knock at the door and Mrs. White entered.
+
+"Ah, Mrs. White!  Hot baths, sponge cake and milk, and bed, please!"
+
+He kissed Nancy and Mavis very tenderly and pressed an affectionate
+hand on the boys' shoulders.
+
+"Good-night, and thank you for letting us have Dorothy's room," Nancy
+whispered.
+
+They followed Mrs. White upstairs, each child busy with his or her
+own thoughts about this wonderful place and all that had happened
+there.  Lionel's room came first, a real boy's room, into which the
+girls took a peep while Mrs. White was showing the boys where they
+should take their bath.
+
+"Now, my dears, Miss Dorothy's room is down this corridor if you are
+ready."
+
+They kissed Billy good-night and then, quite naturally first Nancy
+then Mavis turned to Montague and kissed him in turn, and, waving
+good-night, followed Mrs. White to Dorothy's room.
+
+Montague for quite half a minute stood in the doorway.  Nancy and
+Mavis had kissed him--just as they had kissed Billy.  They had kissed
+him, not pecked him as Jocelyne did--how he writhed under those
+pecks!  This had happened to him, Montague.  Feelings he could not
+understand pounded away at the starved little heart; thoughts and
+words--comradeship, comradeship, that was it, that was how the Prior
+had touched him, that was what had been behind their kiss.
+
+"If anybody ever hurts them I'll _kill_ them," he growled inwardly.
+
+"Come on, old chap, I'm half-undressed."
+
+Comradeship again in Billy's jolly voice.  How Montague responded to
+it, how wonderful it was.  Later on, when after the baths and sponge
+cake and milk, the Prior's last injunction had been obeyed, and they
+lay in the two small beds side by side, Montague asked Billy a
+question.
+
+"Do you _love_ your sisters?"
+
+"Why, of course!"
+
+"I wish," Montague muttered, "I had a sister _I_ loved."
+
+"But why not love Jocelyne?"
+
+"Love Jocelyne?  You don't know her!  'Sides, she doesn't love me--we
+quarrel!"
+
+"Well, so do we sometimes," Billy admitted.  "Why, we used to fight
+like anything when we were little kids.  Course we don't now 'cos
+boys don't hit girls when they're big, though sometimes they'd jolly
+well like to.  But quarrels don't really make any difference--you can
+always make it up again."
+
+"Not with Jocelyne," Montague protested mournfully.
+
+And yet, and yet, had there not been a time long, long ago when their
+mother was alive when he and Jocelyne _had_ loved each other?  Why
+then did they not love each other now?  Montague did not know, he
+could not remember when they had stopped caring.
+
+"Listen!  There's a car!" murmured Billy sleepily.  "Another boarder,
+I s'pose.  _He_ won't be able to keep the rule of going to bed at
+seven--p'raps the Prior will excuse him."
+
+"Well, we'll see him at matins or breakfast, I s'pose," Montague
+replied.  And then silence fell between them, and a minute later two
+small boys were fast asleep.
+
+* * * * * *
+
+An hour or more later, while the children slept, the Prior and the
+new "boarder," who, apparently, was allowed to break rules, were
+walking up and down the beech lawn smoking and talking and thinking
+and planning.
+
+"It's the boy Montague I'm thinking of," the Prior was saying.  "The
+other three would certainly be bitterly disappointed if we sent them
+home to-morrow, Billy especially, for he's a sticker--he and Val
+Stafford are made of the stuff that does pioneer work, the finest
+stuff in the world, but they love their home and their parents, and
+the going back would have no sting in it apart from the fact of
+giving up their adventure.  But Montague!  That acidulated aunt
+should be made to suffer, the boy's spirit is cramped and starved,
+and these three little people, quite unconsciously, are having the
+right influence on him.  A week or so with them, wandering about
+amongst the hills, forgetting himself in looking after little
+Mavis--what a difference it would make to the boy!  What can you
+suggest, Dick?"
+
+Dick Frampton, whom the God of Adventure had brought to this Priory
+of Adventures to-day of all days, smoked in silence for a few minutes
+before replying.
+
+"Wait a moment, Uncle, I believe we can arrange something.  But, I
+say, don't you think we should let Montague's guardian know that the
+boy is all right and leave it to him to tell the aunt if he wishes
+to.  I can 'phone him up."
+
+The Prior agreed, and the two fell to further discussions, both of
+them entering with the zest of schoolboys into the plans for the
+children's further travels.
+
+It was at dinner that the Prior had first mentioned to his nephew
+(who had come to spend a few days with him) about the unexpected
+little guests who were asleep upstairs.  Dick, whose thoughts had
+been with the children most of the day, though he had imagined them
+safely at Nestcombe long ere this, knew instinctively that the
+Prior's guests were his "libation" children.  He was annoyed with
+himself for not guessing from the fact that they had blankets with
+them, that the adventure was to be of more than one day's duration.
+He was dismayed at the thought of what might have happened to them
+through his stupidity.
+
+"Do you know how long they intend travelling?" he asked.
+
+The Prior shook his head and laughed like a boy.
+
+"I've asked no questions--not one.  It was Billy telling me about his
+Uncle Val that put me on the scent; the name, you know, and then the
+strong likeness between the boy and Val.  I took them into the
+library on the chance that their uncle might have shown them Lionel's
+photograph and that they would recognize it--and they did!"
+
+The Prior was delighted with himself.
+
+"And I've wired to their people," he continued gleefully.
+
+To Dick's enquiry as to how he knew the address, oh, that was a
+simple matter, he replied.  Didn't Val Stafford live at Nestcombe,
+when he was in England, and hadn't Billy told him how Sir Walter
+Raleigh had influenced them both.  Simple enough to guess that they
+shared the same home.
+
+"And their people will fetch them to-morrow, I suppose?"
+
+"No."  The Prior wore the air of a conspirator.  "I told them to do
+nothing until they heard from me again--I wanted first to consult
+you.  Also I wanted to know what, if anything, you knew about the
+small boy they had picked up at Riversham--I felt sure you must know
+something about him."
+
+And Dick, seated there at the dinner-table, was able to tell the
+Prior that the great-aunt was one of his pet aversions.  The guardian
+was the novelist, James Cradock.  Dick had met him several times
+lately and liked him.  Montague's mother had been dead two or three
+years, and the father had died a few months ago, from the result of
+wounds received in the war; he had suffered terribly for some time,
+Dick had gathered from Mr. Cradock.
+
+"And this sister, what of her?" the Prior asked.  "Montague seems to
+have no love for her."
+
+"Jocelyne?  Oh, she's at the age when small boys of Montague's type
+grate.  A handsome girl, but, of course, Montague doesn't appreciate
+her beauty--he couldn't, they're both at the wrong age.  What they
+need, I suppose, is some influence to bring out the best in each of
+them.  It's there all right, though they would neither of them
+believe it of the other."
+
+And it was this that had set the Prior--or Mr. Pringle, as everybody
+except the children called him--thinking, this obvious need of
+Montague's for something that had so evidently been denied him
+lately.  It was this that had caused him to wire as he did to the
+Staffords.  Why should the children not continue their travels for a
+few more days?  Why not let the influence of the hills and the free,
+roving life and the comradeship of the other children do their work
+with the boy?  Why not?  Yet how to persuade the parents to
+countenance the plan?  How persuade them that no harm could come to
+them amongst these friendly hills?  And, was he altogether sure
+himself that they would be perfectly safe with nobody at hand to
+protect them?
+
+"Look here," said Dick, and this was the "further discussion" that
+had taken place while they smoked their after-dinner cigars on the
+beech-lawn, "I've got an idea."
+
+The idea was that Dick should return home at once, motor over to
+Nestcombe from Riversham and explain matters to Mr. and Mrs.
+Stafford.  And if they consented to allow the children to go on he
+would act as a kind of warden to them and follow them about in his
+car.
+
+"It would be quite simple," he added, "and I should like it--it would
+be an adventure for _me_.  What do you think of the idea?"
+
+The Prior (for though he is not a prior, we, like the children, will
+call him that--there being nothing about his character to suggest the
+stiffness of "Mr. Pringle") was all enthusiasm for it.  Mrs. White,
+he said, should pack their baskets with good things, and they should
+set off soon after breakfast unless he heard from Dick to the
+contrary.
+
+"But what about money?" Dick enquired.  "Shall we give them
+something?"
+
+The Prior shook his head.
+
+"I imagine they have some money," he said, "quite enough to last them
+a few days.  Better not give them any more--they'd be safer without
+it--also I think they prefer their independence.  Let them get
+through it and then use your judgment."
+
+And so the matter was settled.
+
+As the two conspirators strolled back to the house together Dick fell
+to marvelling at the extraordinary coincidence of the day.  Would the
+children, he wondered, if they knew all, regard the happenings in the
+light of an adventure?
+
+"They are out to seek it, you know," he explained.
+
+The Prior nodded.
+
+"I gathered so--there was some mention of the God of Adventure in the
+library, though I imagine their idea of _real_ adventure is something
+more definite, more actual than what has happened to-day.  But, after
+all, my boy, there's nothing extraordinary about these happenings.
+Life is all adventure, it's always the unexpected that happens.
+That, at any rate, has been my experience all the world over."
+
+Dick agreed.  Yes, of course, his uncle was right.  Was not adventure
+waiting round the corner for us always?  Was it not our own fault if
+we let it pass by?  Well, here were he and his uncle in the thick of
+an adventure that _they_ had not let slip past them.  The sleeping
+children upstairs, his uncle who could never grow old, he himself
+with the joy of youth throbbing in his veins, which of them all would
+most eagerly stretch out responsive hands to the beckoning god?
+
+The Prior ordered the car when they reached the house and they waited
+in the Library while William Monk, the butler, sent the order to his
+brother, John Monk, the chauffeur.  The appearance of William Monk
+reminded the Prior of yet one other bit of fun he had to share with
+Dick, namely, the children's mistake regarding him and the other
+members of the Monk family.
+
+"I'm indulging in a bit of make-believe that some day they and I will
+laugh over together," he explained.  "Why not let them believe, at
+least till their adventure is over, that Monk and his brother and
+cousin and nephews are monks in very truth?  It adds to the romance
+of things for them.  This ought, they said, to have been a monastery,
+but a priory, they thought, might be nearly as good.  Imagine their
+hurt pride if they knew that they had asked to be taken in at a
+private house?  Ah, but _some day_, as I said, they shall hear their
+Prior's side of the question and learn the happiness they have given
+him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+MATINS AND BREAKFAST
+
+When Nancy and Mavis awoke the following morning it was almost eight
+o'clock by the latter's watch.  Eight o'clock!  How strange to sleep
+so late.  Usually they were up and dressed soon after seven.  Yet how
+sleepy they still felt.  They did not understand that such a day as
+yesterday--the fresh air, the tramping, and the various excitements
+that had followed one after another--such a day demands extra hours
+of sleep for tired little brains and bodies.
+
+They lay for a little while looking drowsily round Dorothy's room.
+Last night they had fallen asleep almost as soon as their heads had
+touched the pillow, and the room, though attractive even to two weary
+little girls, had not revealed itself to them as it did now, with the
+sunlight pouring in through the windows.  How Dorothy must have loved
+it.  What pretty pictures; one, a range of snow-capped Indian
+mountains particularly attracted them.
+
+"Why, p'raps Dorothy lived in India when she was a tiny girl," Nancy
+exclaimed.  "How interesting."
+
+They were longing to see the world beyond those hills they could see
+as they lay in bed; Dorothy, perhaps, had seen the world beyond those
+towering, snowy ranges.
+
+They thought a great deal about Dorothy and Dorothy's treasures as
+they scrambled into their clothes.  To have had all this, to have had
+this beautiful room with its books and toys and dolls--dolls that
+certainly were not bought in England--and then one winter's day to
+have gone out lightheartedly and never to have returned.  Nancy
+shuddered as, in her imagination, she saw the laughing, joyous, eager
+face of the child in the photograph downstairs, saw her flying after
+the hounds and then--the accident and never, never any more sparkle
+in the closed eyes.  It was the nearest she had ever come to Death,
+at least as regarded anyone young (old people, she thought, were
+different), and her sensitive spirit recoiled from the cruelty of it.
+
+"Poor, poor Dorothy," she thought.  "_Why_ did it have to happen?"
+
+And then she thought of the Prior, who evidently cared so much for
+children.  How he must have missed Dorothy.  Ah, they would have to
+love him very dearly to make up to him for his loss.  When they got
+home again he must come very, very often to visit them.
+
+A few minutes later they were startled by the solemn clanging of a
+bell.
+
+"The chapel bell!" they cried together, and a delightful thrill of
+awe and expectation swept over them.  The bell sounded so exactly
+like what one imagined a priory or monastery bell should be.  And at
+last they would see all the monks, proper gowned monks!  Matins and
+monks!  Feeling that they were stepping into a world absolutely
+remote from the ordinary everyday world they ran hand in hand down
+the corridor and found the boys coming to meet them.  Billy, as they
+descended the stairs, told them of the arrival of the new boarder.
+
+"We shall see him at matins," he said.  "Hope he's a decent sort."
+
+The Prior, who was waiting for them in the great hall, came forward
+to meet them, but there was no sign of the new boarder.  He conducted
+them down a corridor and across an open quadrangle, beyond which was
+the chapel.
+
+"Visitors are not allowed in the chapel itself," he said, as they
+approached the beautiful building, "you will listen behind the
+grating."
+
+The grating?  Ah, yes, yesterday he had said something about a
+grating, but they had given no further thought to it.  What was a
+grating, and why were they not allowed in the chapel?  Oh, certainly
+they were getting far, far, beyond the confines of the everyday world.
+
+Feeling decidedly mystified they followed the Prior through a tiny
+door in the north wall and along a narrow passage that led to a tiny
+chamber, where they found Mrs. White awaiting them.  She rose to
+receive them and the Prior hurried away with his usual impetuous
+stride.
+
+The children were puzzled.  Could this tiny room possibly be part of
+a chapel?  A nuns' grating, the Prior had mentioned yesterday.  Used
+there to be nuns here as well as monks, and had they to squeeze into
+this bit of a place?  Why, there was scarcely room for themselves and
+Mrs. White.  If the other boarder should turn up, it certainly would
+be a tight squeeze.
+
+The grating was so high in the wall that although Mrs. White, if she
+had wished, could have seen into the chapel quite easily it was
+impossible for any of the children to do so, unless they had stood on
+chairs, and, with Mrs. White there, they hardly liked to do that.
+How tiresomely sedate and unthrilled she looked, thought Nancy.  Did
+nothing ever excite her?  Didn't she understand the romance of
+listening to the distant singing of monks in a priory chapel--had she
+no imagination?
+
+For the chanting or singing had started soon after their arrival.  It
+had a curiously muffled sound coming through the narrow grating, and
+the children could not be sure whether the words were English or
+Latin.  To be sure the tunes sounded familiar, but, after all, was
+that anything extraordinary?  The Prior, if he liked a tune, was not
+the person to reject it because it was sung in the Church of England.
+Ah, there were boys singing, too; probably acolytes.  It was just a
+little disappointing not to be able to see; a wall was not the most
+interesting thing to gaze at, at the best of times, and when it was
+shutting out monks and acolytes it was certainly very annoying.  And
+the Prior would be wearing his gown.  Ah, someone was praying.  Was
+it the Prior?  The voice sounded like his--oh, what a troublesome
+rule this was, that shut you up in a little box where you could see
+nothing!  But, after all, was it not the very first rule that had
+been even a little disagreeable?  They felt somewhat ashamed as they
+thought of the heaped-up kindnesses they had received at the Priory.
+But Mrs. White was speaking.
+
+"Matins are over."  She rose as she spoke.  "The offertory bag," she
+added, "is on that table behind you."
+
+Was there just the suspicion of a smile hovering round the usually
+sedate mouth?
+
+Billy passed the bag first to Mrs. White and then to the children.
+
+"Shall I put it back on the table?" he whispered, after he had added
+his own small offering, wishing with all his heart that it could have
+been bigger.  It was so absurdly disproportionate to all they had
+received.
+
+"No, I will give it to--to the Prior presently.  He sets special
+store by these offerings, he says."
+
+"Do they--do they help keep up the Priory?" Nancy asked as they left
+the chapel.  It must cost so much, she thought, to keep up this huge
+place.  And then there was the food for all the monks.
+
+"Not exactly," was Mrs. White's evasive reply; "the Prior has a
+special use for them."
+
+Crossing the quadrangle, Mavis ventured to enquire whether Mrs. White
+had known Lionel and Dorothy.  Imagine their delight when they
+learned that not only had she known them, but that she had been their
+nurse.  Such questions then had they to ask her about the childhood
+of her charges.  And did she know that her "Master Lionel" was their
+uncle's special friend, that probably at this very moment they were
+together?
+
+The Prior and breakfast awaited them on the beech lawn.  The boarder
+they decided must have been allowed to break yet another rule, for
+the table was laid for only five people.
+
+They seated themselves, Nancy again presiding, and the Prior again
+entertaining them with delightful stories.  They had not quite
+finished their bacon and eggs when Monk appeared with a telegram for
+the Prior.  The latter opened it eagerly, and, as he read, a look of
+pleasure settled on his face.
+
+"No answer, Monk, thank you," he said, and then turned to his young
+guests with an apology.
+
+"Excuse me, my dears, but the telegram, I knew, referred to an
+important matter.  Arranging other people's affairs," he added,
+passing his cup for more coffee, "is a terrible responsibility."
+
+"I s'pose a Prior has lots to do for other people," Nancy remarked.
+"Does it worry you?"
+
+"Sometimes, my child.  But in this case the pleasure I have
+experienced in arranging for the happiness of certain--certain people
+in whom I am interested has far outweighed any trouble their affairs
+have occasioned me."
+
+"Does a Prior have to look after everybody and make them happy?"
+asked Mavis.
+
+The Prior laughed.
+
+"It's his _privilege_ to dispense happiness, my darling."
+
+Montague, after he had helped himself to honey, regarded the Prior
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Does a Prior like everybody?" he asked.  "Does he have to?"
+
+The Prior shook his head.
+
+"No, no, my boy, he doesn't have to.  Usually, however, he is too
+busy to bother about the people who are--well, antipatica."
+
+"Oh, what is 'antipatica'?" asked Nancy, interested at once in the
+new word.
+
+The Prior beamed on her.
+
+"A new word that, eh, Nancy?  You, I think, have not experienced the
+meaning of it yet.  It means someone you cannot get in contact with,
+someone, in fact, who rubs you up the wrong way."
+
+"Aunts is anti--antipatica," growled Montague, stumbling a little
+over the long word, "They do lots of rubbing.  They wake up in the
+morning, with rub, rub, rub, in their minds, and it goes on all day
+steady."  He paused to take a bite of bread and honey.  Nobody spoke,
+for they felt there was more to come, for, once Montague got started,
+he seemed to have to get quite to the end of his subject before he
+could break off.  "They've got wide-open beady eyes," he continued,
+"all round their heads they've got 'em, an' the eyes help them to
+rub.  Rub?  I tell you it's nothing but rub, rub, rub till, if you're
+a boy an' you live with them, you kind of feel as though you're sore
+inside--just the same as if sheets and sheets of emery paper had been
+used on you.  Aunts," he added gravely, "aunts is best living alone,
+then they couldn't be--be, well, that word you said."
+
+A giggle broke from Billy.  Montague looked up sharply.
+
+"What cher laughing at?" he growled ominously, but Billy, far from
+being intimidated, giggled again, and the two little girls and even
+the Prior seemed decidedly amused.  Montague was hurt.  "_You'd_ all
+think aunts was that if you lived with one, least, if she was like
+the aunt I know," he added, remembering that the children's
+experience of an aunt seemed to differ from his own.
+
+"It's not the aunt, Mont," Billy explained, "it's you.  You're so
+funny with your 'rub, rub, rub.'"
+
+"Well, being rubbed by aunts isn't a bit funny, _I_ can tell you."
+
+"Oh, we know, Monty dear," Nancy exclaimed.  "We think she's horrid.
+It's only the way you looked and the way you said it all."
+
+The Prior wore a somewhat inscrutable expression.  The boy was
+evidently from his own showing a handful, and probably it was his,
+the Prior's, duty to point out to him the necessity for such as he to
+undergo a certain amount of discipline.
+
+"Discipline tempered by love, yes," he mused, "but discipline
+dispensed by an acidulated aunt----"
+
+And so he delivered no homily to the small volcanic person seated at
+his table, but led the conversation away from the things that hurt.
+Why, when life was so short, when summer was in its prime, let the
+happy hours of sunlight slip away darkened by hurts that are best
+forgotten?  In a very little while he had the children laughing and
+joking together over delightful nothings.  He seemed to throw out
+sparkles of fun and joy and the children picked them up and tossed
+them to each other.  Montague's dark eyes lost their brooding
+sorrows, and the small face expanded with laughter.
+
+And there were more stories.  Stories of earthquakes in India, of
+moonlight picnics in the West Indies, of canons ablaze with flowers
+in South America.  Stories, too, of Lionel and Dorothy's childhood.
+Yes and most of it _had_ been spent in India; Dorothy _had_ seen
+behind those towering ranges.  Oh, the wonder and the bigness of the
+childhood of those two; surely no day could ever have been just
+ordinary everyday.  And could either of them _ever_ have found time,
+with adventure heaped all about them, to even think of doing those
+things that, to grown-ups, were known as "being naughty"; to
+yourself, as "just wanting to know--just finding out."  Surely the
+days had just slipped away, just as now in the Priory garden, time
+was slipping away unheeded.
+
+"Boys," said Montague thoughtfully, when, at last, they rose from the
+table, "boys could always be good if a Prior told them stories all
+day--an' if a little girl with gold hair could be there listening
+too.  B'lieve it's _work_ that makes them do things aunts hate."
+
+The Prior put his head on one side and regarded Montague with a smile.
+
+"It is quite possible," he said, "that if a small boy lived with me
+_I_ might ask him to work.  I might find quite a number of things
+that I should like nobody but the small boy to do for me.  And the
+results, if I ventured to ask him, you think would prove disastrous?"
+
+"There wouldn't be _no_ disaster," Montague replied decidedly.  You
+might loathe hoeing for an aunt who continually rubbed you up the
+wrong way, but to work for the Prior--Montague got excited.  "Why, I
+could do _lots_ of things for you," he continued eagerly.  "I know
+how to make things and I could mend anything.  My guardian he calls
+me 'The Flaming Tin-man' (that's somebody in a book), 'cos I can
+tinker.  Me and the blacksmith's son tinker together.  I can use a
+saw; I wouldn't hurt it if you'd lend me one, and I'd make you a
+table or a thing to hold your pipes.  Work sometimes," he concluded,
+"is _nice_."
+
+"Well, some day you shall come and stay here, and we will work
+together.  How about that?"
+
+Montague's face expressed his approval.  He would have discussed the
+happy prospect further, but Billy was getting restless.  Could he, he
+enquired, go and get Modestine ready now?
+
+The Prior looked at him tentatively.
+
+"The rules of the Priory," he said, "would permit you all to stay to
+luncheon."
+
+Ready acceptance was written on three small faces, but Billy
+hesitated.
+
+"Why not," the Prior continued, "explore the country round here?
+Take lunch with you and come back to tea and stay the night.  Yes,
+another night would be allowed; even a week or more in special cases.
+Why not do this, unless of course," he added, "you have some settled
+plans that must be carried out."
+
+Montague and the girls looked at Billy for, somehow, they felt that
+it was for him to decide.  A troubled look crossed his face.  What
+the Prior offered sounded so jolly, and yet, and yet hadn't they said
+they wanted to see beyond the hills, and this, after all, was merely
+the beginning of the hills?
+
+"I'd like to stay awfully," he said slowly, "but we _did_ have a
+settled plan an'--an' I think we'd better go on, thank you.  You
+won't mind, will you, or think we don't _want_ to stay?"
+
+The Prior, knowing Billy, understood.
+
+"But remember," he said, "if anything should happen to prevent you
+carrying out your plans, or if at any time you need a night's rest,
+the Priory gates are always open to you.  You won't forget?"
+
+"Indeed we won't," Billy replied warmly, "and we're ever so grateful
+to you."
+
+The Prior brushed away their thanks.
+
+"Now run and ask Monk to help you saddle Modestine while I see Mrs.
+White.  I believe she wants to replenish that basket of yours."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE ROSE-VICAR
+
+Half-an-hour later the Prior bade his little guests a reluctant
+good-bye at the foot of the lane leading into the village street.
+
+"Good-bye, my dears, remember what I told you.  And, Billy, put this
+safely in your pocket.  It's a telegram addressed to me.  If you are
+in--well, if you happen to need me just send that off, giving the
+name of the village or town where I can find you, and I'll come in
+the car immediately."  Nothing, of course, _could_ happen, he knew,
+with Dick there to keep watch over them.  However, no harm in taking
+all precautions.
+
+Hat in hand, he stood at the corner until they were out of sight,
+and, until they could no longer see him, the children turned
+frequently and waved.
+
+Each small heart was too full for speech for a long time.
+
+"I b'lieve," Nancy said presently, "he was just as sorry to lose us
+as we were to leave him."
+
+So keen indeed was their regret at having parted with their kind and
+interesting friend, that for a long while their thoughts centred
+about him and the Priory to the exclusion of the hills.  To be
+content to stick to one's original plans was not altogether easy,
+even Billy found, yes, even when they were such delightful plans.
+Nobody quite knew how hard it had been for him to refuse the Prior's
+invitation and all that it embraced.
+
+"Wasn't it nice of him not to ask lots of questions?" Nancy said as
+they turned into the lane that evidently led up into the hills.
+"Most people would have wanted to know all about us, but _he_ treated
+us just as though we were grown-ups."
+
+"If aunts were like that to you, you mightn't hate 'em so," Montague
+rumbled.  "When I'm a man----"  He broke off suddenly, for his
+companions were convulsed with laughter.  "_Now_ what are you
+laughing at?" he growled.  He could have wished to be treated with
+considerably more respect.
+
+"It's only your voice sounds so funny, Monty, dear, when you talk
+about aunts or when you're a man," Mavis explained.  "It sounds as
+though----"
+
+"As though something inside you is fizzling," Nancy finished.  "But
+go on, Monty.  We love you to talk to us.  Please go on."
+
+"Well, _you'd_ fizzle if you were me.  You'd fizzle and fizzle and
+_fizzle_ till you burst.  My guardian," he began reminiscently, "he
+says----"
+
+"Yes, Monty, what does he say?" Mavis (she was riding Modestine)
+leaned down towards him expectantly.
+
+"_I_ think what he says is silly, 'cos you don't have beards till
+you're men.  He says I mumble volcanically into my beard when I talk
+of aunts.  _He_ thinks it's funny--_I_ don't.  'Sides, well, if he
+lived with her much I guess he'd mumble into his beard--he'd grow one
+specially to do it."
+
+"I like your guardian," Mavis said.  "Wouldn't it be nice if you
+could bring him to see us when we go home?"
+
+"Guess he wouldn't come," Montague said.  "I don't know why, but he
+never will go that way for walks.  He says that side of Riversham's
+too painful now."
+
+"Too painful?  What does he mean?" asked Nancy.
+
+"_I_ don't know.  B'lieve he used to come down before I came to aunt;
+said he'd got the pain then, and it's still there, and it'd be worse
+if he put a foot the other side of Riversham.  S'pose it's corns or
+something.  Is the road bad your way?"
+
+"Not particularly," Nancy replied.  "But I don't think it sounds like
+corns.  Sounds _almost_ as though he's meaning something he can't
+tell you plain."
+
+The conversation came to an end abruptly.  Modestine, who, refreshed
+by her long rest, had hitherto been in her most amiable mood,
+suddenly decided to give trouble.  The little lane had opened out
+into a broad road and the children saw that, by turning to the left,
+they would begin to climb towards a shoulder of the hills that had
+had a particular fascination for them ever since they had left the
+Priory.  Modestine, however, for some reason known only to herself,
+decided that she preferred the turn to the right, and, as the
+children very well knew, once Modestine had made a decision it was
+difficult to turn her from it.
+
+"Don't give in, Mavis," Billy said.  "Keep her head turned to the
+left.  Oh, I say, are you getting giddy?  You'd better jump down and
+I'll lead her."
+
+Nancy helped Mavis to dismount, while Billy clung to the bridle,
+laughing.  Round and round he and Modestine went.  Round and round,
+each determined not to give in.  They might have continued making
+circles there for the rest of the day had not a Good Samaritan in the
+shape of a clergyman come to their rescue.
+
+"Trouble here with a donkey, eh?" he asked genially, seeing the
+situation.  "Suppose I see what can be done."
+
+Billy very readily allowed him to take charge of Modestine.
+
+"She's awfully strong, you know," he explained.  "And _fearfully_
+obstinate."
+
+"Most donkeys are," the clergyman replied.  "I've met them before."
+He, however, was big and strong, and it was not very long before
+Modestine was conquered.
+
+"Thank you ever so much," Billy said gratefully.  "She'll be all
+right now; she soon gets over things, you know."
+
+"She gets ideas and likes to carry them out, I suppose?  And
+generally they clash with your ideas, is that it?"
+
+"Yes, that's it!" Billy replied with a grin, as he helped Mavis to
+mount.  "But she can't help it, of course, as she's a donkey."
+
+"Of course not.  If you are born a donkey why not live up to your
+reputation, eh?" He continued walking with them as they began to
+climb the hill, and chatted pleasantly.
+
+Presently, he paused by the gate of a house that stood back from the
+road, evidently his Vicarage, for at the side of the house was a
+little church.
+
+"Are you in a hurry?" he asked.  "I was wondering whether you would
+like to see some roses--I have a few.  Bring the donkey and we'll
+tether her to that little gate up the drive."
+
+Mavis dismounted and they followed their new friend with ready
+interest; seeing somebody else's garden was always interesting, no
+matter how few the roses--it was something new, it was unknown
+territory.
+
+As they turned into the drive a car came flying along the road.
+Nancy, the last of the little procession, paused with the instinct of
+the country-bred child to glance at it.  She gave an exclamation of
+surprise.
+
+"Billy," she said, "I believe that was Mr. Frampton."
+
+Well, after all, had he not mentioned that he was coming to the
+hills?  Such a pity though to have missed him.  Nancy was almost
+sorry they had accepted the Vicar's invitation to see the roses.
+
+The latter, after fastening Modestine to the gate he had mentioned,
+led them past a shrubbery towards his roses.
+
+"Oh!  Oh!"
+
+All they could do was to stand still and gasp at the unexpected glory
+of the sight before them.  A few roses, the Vicar had said!  Why,
+there must be hundreds of them, thousands even!  Roses of every shape
+and colour, tiny bushes simply covered with huge blossoms--beds and
+beds of them and, enclosing the beds, great trellised crimson roses,
+the sweetest and loveliest of them all.
+
+The Vicar was delighted at their pleasure.
+
+"You love roses?" he asked.  "_I_, you know, shouldn't be happy
+without a few--I've more over there, but these are the best.  That's
+a bed of cuttings through that arch.  How many?  Oh, about a
+thousand, I think.  That ground," he added, with a guilty sigh,
+"should be growing potatoes, but--well, I'm a terror for roses, a
+terror, my friends tell me."
+
+He led them round the beds.
+
+"That's a Hugh Dickson!" Nancy exclaimed.  "Isn't he a beauty?"
+
+The Vicar caught up her enthusiasm, marking with delight her human
+interest.  How many children would have cared enough to say "he"?
+
+"You know him?  You know something about roses?"
+
+"Oh, no!"  Nancy's tone was deprecating.  "Only, we've got a few,
+_really_ a few, at home.  We've got a little garden each, and I have
+'Hugh' and Billy has 'Independence Day' and Mavis has 'Betty.'"
+
+The Vicar looked as though he could embrace them all.
+
+"Splendid!  Splendid!" he cried.
+
+Then he slowly pulled out a knife and stood looking first at his
+'Hugh Dickson,' then at Nancy, then again at the rose.
+
+"It's my very best, my prize 'Hugh,' but you know something about
+roses.  Yes, you must have just one off him," and he stooped and cut
+off a great crimson velvet fellow and handed it as though it had been
+a pearl of great price to Nancy.
+
+Nancy who could see what the gift had cost him could scarcely express
+her thanks.  She felt indeed that it was priceless; part of the
+Vicar's self was surely there; so much of him must have been expended
+on the growing of these roses.
+
+"And now," he said, "a bunch from some of the others!"
+
+Here and there amongst the rose beds he went with his knife.  Red and
+white and pink roses, lemon roses, apricot roses, sunset roses were
+heaped into the children's outstretched arms.  How could mere words
+express what was in their hearts?  Nancy and Mavis buried their faces
+in the treasures they held.  The Vicar stood and looked at the
+picture.  "The consummation of beauty!" he muttered.  Then the
+astonished children saw him pull out a pencil and scribble on his
+cuff.
+
+"A thought for my next sermon," he explained, noticing their
+undisguised curiosity.  "Dear me, I should be writing now!  Ah, these
+roses, these roses--they are apt to lead one astray from one's duty.
+I must go.  Come again any time you are passing, while there are
+roses you shall have some."
+
+Nancy, as she watched him walk reluctantly to the house, wondered
+whether their own Vicar's sermons might not be less dull if he took
+thoughts with him from a rose garden as this Vicar had done instead
+of droning uninterestingly about lifeless things one could not
+understand.
+
+But now, what to do with the roses?  That was their difficulty, as
+they took the hot road again.  To have refused them would have been
+impossible, to let them wither in the sunshine would be wicked.  They
+wrapped them in Mavis' cloak and the child carried them in front of
+her.
+
+"I wish," said Nancy, "we could send them to the Prior and ask him to
+put them on Dorothy's grave."
+
+The very nicest thing possible to do with them, the others agreed.
+They could buy a cardboard box when they came to a village.
+
+So far, however, no village was in sight, nothing now but the steep
+hill mounting higher and higher.  Curious how often their thoughts
+had strayed from the hills, from what they hoped to find beyond them,
+but if interesting things cropped up what were you to do?  Now,
+however, as they slowly climbed, as the summit drew near, they felt
+again in all its intensity, that great longing that had lured them
+from their home.  Oh, such a little while now and there would be
+never, never any more longing--they would have at last _seen_!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+AN ENCOUNTER ON THE HILLS
+
+Now a strange thing happened on the top of the hills.  It will be
+remembered that the children's great desire was not only to climb and
+explore the hills, but to see beyond them, and that the seeing beyond
+them was perhaps more important than the hills themselves.  It will
+be remembered, too, that the forest country belonged to the familiar
+everyday life, that until that glimpse they had had of it on the
+lower hill the previous day, they had never even remotely associated
+it with romance.  Nevertheless, when, by happy leaps and bounds they
+finally reached the top of the hill, only one child out of the four
+had eyes for the Unknown, the others, Nancy, Billy, and Mavis turned
+instinctively towards the distant forest!  Think of it!  To have
+travelled so many long, long miles, to have had the desire burning in
+your heart ever since you could remember, to see beyond the hills,
+then, when at last the big world was before you to reject it for what
+you could see any day of your life.  Ah, but _could_ you?  Could you,
+when it was all around you, see it in all its beauty, could you see
+it as the hill people saw it?  Surely, if you were a hill person you
+could not rest until you had explored that forest; reached to the
+very heart of it.  A curious pride in their forest country, in the
+golden river at its feet awoke in the children's hearts--it was
+theirs, their very own and they loved it.  Was it possible that Daddy
+Petherham loved it like this and that was why----  Ah, but they
+_couldn't_ be like Daddy Petherham, who wanted only one thing!  And
+so, with very mixed feelings three young adventurers turned at last
+to the world beyond the hills.
+
+"Come and see!" Montague called eagerly.  "There's hills and _hills_
+over there!  An' it's so funny--'cross on the other side of the
+valley there's a village, and all the houses are climbing up the
+hill.  See, the people in one house can stand at their front door and
+look down into the chimneys of the houses below."
+
+The forest influence, however, was still hanging over the three
+children.  Why, that was nothing, they said, it was like that in the
+forest, too; yes, and it was so steep that the coalman couldn't get
+up to the houses; he just dumped the coal down on the cart-track that
+ran through the forest and the people had to carry it up themselves
+as best they could.  Montague should see for himself when they got
+home.  So, after all, it was the Suffolk boy, just in these first
+moments, who was most thrilled by the Unknown.  Yet, gradually as
+they stood taking in the scene, the magic of the hills asserted
+itself again.  The spaciousness around them, yes, this, indeed, was
+something different from the forest country.  And hills encircling
+you, always hills.  Beyond the village across the valley distant
+wooded hills, densely wooded, yet, somehow, different from the hilly
+forest.  Yes, and, after all, there was a certain inexpressible
+difference between the village where the houses grew one above the
+other and the villages up in the forest.  _What_ was the difference
+and why, in spite of your love for your home country, did you feel
+that you must go on exploring, penetrating further into the Unknown?
+
+And would the hills want them, Nancy wondered?  Suddenly, she
+realized that they were strangers in a strange country.  What, after
+all, did they know of the hills?  They might be cold and heartless
+hills; they might not want children to come poking their noses into
+their secrets.  _Would_ they resent their coming, or would they open
+their hearts in friendly fashion just as the dear forest country did,
+just as the restless river did, year in year out?
+
+Nancy's dreams (being Nancy she could not help getting beyond the
+actual; everything had to be received into the imagination part of
+her) were disturbed by Montague, who announced that he was so hungry
+he knew he could not walk another step until they had had dinner.
+Hungry?  Even Nancy found that she was ravenous, and, settling where
+they were, they immediately attacked the good things Mrs. White had
+packed for them.
+
+They discussed the roses while they ate.  They were still quite
+fresh, for, further down the hill, they had again found a tiny spring
+and had drenched the stalks in it.  They must cross the valley and
+try to get a box at the village and post them to the Prior.  Yes,
+Nancy said, a pity to have to do that, for now that the hills were
+attained her next desire was to see Gleambridge cathedral from this
+side, and to do so, they knew they should keep straight ahead.
+However, the flowers _must_ be sent; they were of first importance.
+
+How hungry the hill air made you, how fortunate you had plenty to
+eat.  Impossible, however, for Nancy to concentrate entirely on the
+food; not even on Mrs. White's delicious cheesecake.
+
+"I think the wind's got inside me," she announced.  "I feel like a
+bird.  Oh, it's a glorious thrilly feeling!"
+
+Forgetting the cheesecake in her hand and Billy's proximity, she
+stretched out her arms--the result was disastrous!
+
+"It's a beastly sticky feeling," Billy giggled, "not a thrilly one!"
+
+"These spasms come at such awkward times," Nancy apologized, as she
+wiped Billy's head, first with paper, and then with her own
+handkerchief.  "I wish they would not make me do such bothersome
+things."
+
+"So do I!" Billy grinned.  "I'll take jolly good care not to sit near
+you next time I see a thrill coming."
+
+Montague interrupted them.
+
+"There's a car coming.  Hear it?  Let's see who can tell the make
+first, Billy.  Bet you _I_ will!"
+
+"Bet you _I_ will!" Billy replied, taking up the challenge.  "It's
+coming up from that valley.  Now!  It's a--it's a----"
+
+They all scrambled to their feet in their excitement.
+
+"It's Mr. Frampton's!" Nancy cried.  "I know it, 'cos it's the one I
+saw this morning!  Let's wave and stop him!"
+
+She ran eagerly towards the car, which drew up immediately.  A look
+of intense relief replaced an anxious, worried frown on Dick
+Frampton's face.
+
+"Oh," he began, "I thought I should never----"  He stopped abruptly.
+"What are you little people doing here?" he added.
+
+"Oh, just exploring the hills," Nancy explained carelessly.  "And
+this," she added, turning to Montague, "is a friend of ours."  She
+paused, as she saw the recognition between Dick and Montague.  "Oh,
+do you know him?" she added.
+
+"I think we do, don't we, old chap?  In fact, anybody who has lived
+in Riversham during the last few months could hardly fail to know
+him, eh, Montague?"
+
+"'Tisn't _my_ fault I got to live there," was the reply, "an' _I_
+don't want everybody to know me.  I don't know them, an' I don't want
+to, some of 'em--they're nearly as bad as aunts," he added bitterly.
+
+Mavis looked at Montague somewhat anxiously.  Mr. Frampton seemed to
+hint at doings that had gained him notoriety.  Was it possible that
+this troublesome boy could have been naughty to their "libation"
+friend?  There was gentle reproach when she put the question to
+Montague, and the latter hung his head in shame when he remembered
+poaching expeditions with the blacksmith's son on Mr. Frampton's
+estate.
+
+Mavis turned to Dick with a fat little sigh.  "I don't _think_ he
+means to be quite so naughty," she explained.  "He hasn't been
+ti'some once since he's been with us.  I s'pect it's Riversham makes
+him naughty."
+
+"I expect that's it."  Dick's voice was grave, and he hid his
+amusement at the motherly proprietorship in the child's voice.
+"However," he added, "Mont and I are the best of friends.  Nothing
+really very terrible happened, you know."
+
+Montague's eyes shone with gratitude to Dick for clearing his
+character (though he realized he scarcely deserved it) before Mavis.
+
+"Yes, we _are_ friends," he muttered, "and he's the only person in
+Riversham I'll be sorry to leave--'cept the blacksmith's son."
+
+Nancy, remembering their neglected lunch, enquired whether Mr.
+Frampton had had any.  No?  Then would he join them?  They had nearly
+finished, but there was plenty left.  Very readily Dick accepted the
+invitation.  He explained, as he settled down to Mrs. White's good
+fare, that he had been too worried about some friends whom he had
+missed to bother about lunch.
+
+"I thought you looked bothered about something when I saw you," Nancy
+exclaimed.  "And didn't you find them?"
+
+"Yes, I found them, but I spent the whole morning searching for
+them--can't think how I missed them."
+
+Nancy wondered why, if he had found them he should still have looked
+worried, but she did not like to press the question.
+
+"Are you having a holiday over here?" Montague enquired.
+
+"Not exactly a holiday.  I've just got a new job.  I've been
+appointed Warden of the Hills."
+
+"Warden of the Hills?  How interesting that sounds!" Nancy said.
+"What does a warden have to do?"
+
+"Keep an eye on the travellers in the neighbourhood.  I suppose it
+would have been more correct if I had said Warden of the Travellers
+of the Hills."
+
+"'Case they get into mischief, I s'pose?" Montague sighed.
+
+"Well, that, of course.  But more especially I have to place my car
+and myself at their disposal.  If they need help or advice or
+guidance of any kind it's my job to be on the spot."
+
+"What a ripping kind of life!" Billy exclaimed.
+
+"But a little difficult," Nancy said thoughtfully.  "How can you know
+who's a traveller and who's a hill person?  And how can you know when
+they're in trouble?"
+
+"It's my job to find out," Dick replied.  "Now you, for instance," he
+added carelessly, "are travellers, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes," Billy replied guardedly.  "But we're travellers with a
+donkey," he added.
+
+Dick nodded.  Yet, as it was clearly impossible for everybody to ride
+the donkey, he said, it was his duty as Warden to give some of them a
+lift.
+
+"But we're not going your way."  Nancy's voice expressed a wish that
+they were.  "We want to see Gleambridge cathedral from the hills."
+
+"That could be arranged quite easily," Dick replied.  "I shall
+probably be going that way presently."  He paused.  It was not as
+easy as he had supposed to keep an eye on these little travellers.
+He wished to goodness he could persuade them to leave the donkey at
+the village opposite and let him take them about in the car.  He made
+the suggestion diplomatically, baiting it with proposals that should
+have brought ready acceptance to the lips of little adventurers who
+wanted to see the world; wonderful descriptions he gave them of
+places they should see.  They hesitated, of course.  What else could
+they do when the sound of those places, their very names made you hot
+to see them?  The thought, too, of travelling with their "libation"
+friend--oh, it was hard to resist!  Yet, when you had said "Travels
+with a donkey"?  Besides, would flying about in a car really be
+adventuring?  _Could_ adventure find you in a car?  Ah, no, they
+decided, cars belonged to the everyday world.  And again, there was
+poor little Ladybird-Modestine.  Imagine leaving her at an unknown
+stable.  They shook their heads sorrowfully.  Twice in one day to
+have had to refuse tempting proposals!  Life, they began to think,
+was not as simply straightforward and easy as they had imagined it.
+There were decisions to be made.  How curious that the difficulties
+should be kind of _nice_ difficulties.
+
+They compromised by promising to accept short lifts occasionally if
+Mr. Frampton happened to be going their way.
+
+"You won't think it's because we wouldn't like to travel with you,
+will you?" Nancy asked.  "But, you see--oh, it's not easy to explain."
+
+"I quite understand," Dick assured her, for he had scarcely hoped
+that they would accept his offer.  "Still, the car is there,
+remember, if ever you should need it--and so am I.  Do you know," he
+continued, changing the subject, "I seem to have been smelling roses
+all the time.  Is it my imagination?"
+
+"No, it's real roses."  Mavis unfolded her cloak and held out the
+roses for Dick to smell.  "A Rose-Vicar gave us them."
+
+"A Rose-Vicar?"
+
+They explained their meeting with him, and how he had taken them
+round his garden.
+
+"Ah, that accounts for it!"  Dick's face expressed the clearing up of
+some mystery.
+
+"'Counts for what?" Nancy was mystified.
+
+"Oh--er--nothing much.  But what on earth are you going to do with
+these glorious roses?  They'll die in this heat."
+
+And then a bright idea came to Nancy.  As Mr. Frampton was evidently
+going in the direction of the Priory, why not, instead of having them
+hanging about in the post all night, ask him to take them to the
+Prior?  Would it be too presumptuous?
+
+"You said, didn't you, that you had to help travellers?" she began
+somewhat hesitatingly.
+
+"Certainly I did," Dick replied promptly.  He listened hopefully.
+
+"Well, it's the roses.  Last night we stopped at a Priory and the
+Prior was so dear and kind to us--not a scrap preachy or religious,
+'cept in a nice way, and the Priory rules are that you pay only what
+you put in the offertory-bag on Sundays, and, you see, if you're
+children it's so little."
+
+"And we ate lots!" Billy interrupted.
+
+"Yes, we did, and Mrs. White, that's a nurse who lives there, simply
+crammed our basket with that d'licious lunch we've eaten.  But it's
+not _only_ that, it's the Prior.  He made us so happy and he's lost
+his little daughter, Dorothy, and we thought p'raps he'd like the
+roses for her grave, an' so, please, if you're going that way, would
+you mind taking them to him with our love and tell him they're for
+Dorothy?"
+
+Now what was Dick to do?  He had had no intention whatever of
+returning to the Priory.  His idea was, since they would not travel
+in his car, to keep as close to them as possible without hampering
+them or interfering with that sense of freedom and adventure that was
+evidently so important to them.  To be sure it would be a slow game;
+he would have to spend hours sitting in the car by the roadside, but
+what did that matter?  It would all be part of _his_ adventure?  And
+now here was Nancy herself frustrating his plans, for how could he
+refuse her appeal?  To be sure he could get to the Priory and back in
+a very short time; nevertheless, he would have been better satisfied
+not to have lost sight of them again.
+
+However, the children must not know of the difficulty they had placed
+him in.  Yes, certainly he would deliver them to the Prior with their
+message; better tuck them up in the car at once out of this scorching
+sun, he suggested.  While he and Nancy wrapped them up in leaves and
+put them away in the car the others packed up the remains of the
+lunch--not that there was much to pack now!  And then what next to do?
+
+"Let's stay a little longer," Nancy suggested.
+
+Why hurry?  It was hot and they had been tramping all the morning.
+And, after all, were they not now in the very heart of the hills,
+with hills and hills and hills unfolding all around them?  And here,
+too, was a companion who didn't worry you with questions, who
+accepted just what you chose to tell him, who, in fact, seemed to
+think it the most natural thing in the world that you should want to
+seek adventure; should want to explore.  And how interesting he was;
+different from the Prior, of course.  The latter raced you all over
+the world at a delightfully breathless speed; Mr. Frampton told you
+jolly things about Oxford; he took you, too, to France and
+Switzerland and Italy.  This Wardenship job, they thought, must be
+his first one, perhaps a kind of holiday job to help towards his
+Oxford expenses, for evidently he was returning there in the autumn.
+However, they could not question him; besides, they were too
+interested listening to the stories he had to tell them of funny
+little out-of-the-way places in Switzerland and Italy, of people and
+grottos and glaciers and mountains.  Oh, would they _ever_ grow up,
+Billy groaned, and be able to see for themselves?  The world seemed
+to be simply chock full of interest, and you had just to sit quietly
+at home and wait.
+
+"Will there be time to get it _all_ in before we're old?" he sighed.
+
+Heaps of time, Dick assured him (as to the "sitting quietly at home,"
+he said nothing, but smiled).  The years would slip away.  Why, it
+seemed only the other day that he himself was a boy of their
+age--getting into all sorts of mischief, he added, with a smile for
+Montague.
+
+"An' living with an aunt who only liked good boys?"
+
+"Well, no, but even parents can't stand too much mischief, you know.
+They sometimes wonder how you ever came to be their child."
+
+"Do they?" Montague asked with interest.  "'Spect boys'd get on best
+without any grown-ups at all," he added.  "Then nobody'd be
+worried--not the grown-ups or the boys."
+
+"Boarding-school," Dick replied thoughtfully, "isn't a bad place, you
+know."
+
+"I'm going to boarding-school next term," Billy announced proudly.
+
+"Wish I could come with you," Montague muttered.  "Then my guardian
+wouldn't have to learn about boys and how to be a parent to them.
+Guess he'll have his hands full enough with Jocelyne."
+
+If only this might happen, and if he might return with Billy to
+Nestcombe for the holidays, life would indeed be worth living.
+
+However, the hours were slipping away, and here they were forgetting
+the world that lay before them.  They made their preparations for
+departure hastily.
+
+"If you're taking the Gleambridge road you must keep to the left,"
+Dick said.  "You'll get down into a valley again a little further on,
+then you'll come to a village called Barsdon.  Why not stay the night
+there--or had you any other plans?"
+
+They confessed that nothing definite had been arranged.  They had not
+decided whether to sleep out of doors or to find some cottage.  Did
+Mr. Frampton think there would be a nice one at Barsdon?
+
+"I know the very place," was Dick's reply.  "Look here, leave
+Modestine at the inn--it's this end of the village--then keep
+straight on, and at the corner of the next street you'll find a
+cottage standing back from the road.  A Mrs. Charsfield lives there;
+just tell her I've sent you and she'll take you in."
+
+They thanked him, and, with a wave of the hand, set off in the
+direction indicated.
+
+"See you again soon, perhaps!" they shouted.
+
+"Quite soon, I hope," Dick called in reply.  "I'll be in Barsdon this
+evening.  Look out for me!"  Reluctantly he turned towards his car.
+"Wish I could go with them now," he thought.  "They're such little
+people to wander about alone--and so trusting.  However, they're
+pretty independent, so probably no harm will come to them."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE FIGHT
+
+Meanwhile, the children were travelling towards Barsdon.  They were
+in high spirits, for the long rest had refreshed them, while the
+invigorating air exhilarated them.  There was no shade whatever now
+from the heat of the sun, but what did that matter when the hill air
+swept through you?  It set your feet dancing along the road, and the
+miles would have been left swiftly behind had not Modestine willed
+otherwise.
+
+"Can't you feel it dancing through you, Modestine?" Nancy
+expostulated.  "Anybody'd think you were an old lady of about a
+hundred to see you plodding along."
+
+To this and other entreaties Modestine turned a deaf ear.  Why hurry
+over the hills, she seemed to say--it was the hills you wanted to
+come to, well, here they are.  And wasn't it views you wanted?  Well,
+where can you hope to find anything more beautiful than the country
+that is sweeping in hill and dale around you?  Adventure you ask for?
+Well, let adventure come over the hills to meet you; why go forth to
+seek it?  Oh, Modestine, you who have youth in your veins, do you not
+know that youth cannot stand still?  It is old age, Modestine, that
+sits with folded hands awaiting that which may happen.
+
+On and on over the hills, each child taking a turn with the
+troublesome little animal while the others raced on ahead.  Then, in
+the late afternoon they came to the road that led down into the
+valley.
+
+Nancy offered to ride Modestine down the hill, and the others decided
+to have a race.  Montague was for giving Mavis a start, but Billy
+advised him not to.
+
+"She'd leave you a mile behind, nobody can run as fast as Mavis.
+'Sides, it's too far to have a proper race; let's run just as we want
+to, and never mind about winning."
+
+Montague agreed to this, for the thought of being beaten by a little
+girl was not pleasant, especially when you wanted to shine yourself
+in the eyes of that small person.
+
+"We'll wait for you at the bottom, Nancy," Mavis shouted, "'nless
+Modestine changes her mind and decides to run, too!"
+
+"All right," Nancy replied, waving her hand as, with a shout, they
+set off down the hill.
+
+Modestine's gentle amble fitted in with her mood.  She was in no
+hurry to leave the hill top, and now that she was alone the
+imagination part of her gently pushed aside the everyday, practical
+side of her nature and led her across this lovely hill country.  And
+presently she began to feel no longer a stranger in a strange land;
+seeing the hills with her imagination eyes she began to feel near to
+them.  Would she some day understand them as she did her own dear
+forest and river?  The shouts and laughter of the other children
+coming distantly seemed to be a part of the joyousness of the hills.
+The hills, she told herself fancifully, were laughter.  The winds
+that blew across them voiced that laughter, and she and the others
+were just little wild creatures of the earth who echoed the laughter
+brimming all around them.
+
+She no longer questioned the hills as she jogged happily down the
+road.  She wanted to laugh, but to laugh alone would be too stupid
+she thought, so instead, a song that Aunt Letty had taught her
+bubbled from her lips:
+
+  "I will arise and go now and go to Inisfree,
+  And a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made
+  Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee
+  And live alone in the bee-loud glade."
+
+
+"I'd love the bee-loud glade," she thought, "but I don't _think_ I'd
+live alone--I couldn't just talk to bees _all_ day."
+
+She continued humming the song.
+
+  "And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes
+        dropping slow,
+  Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the
+        cricket sings;
+  There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow.
+  And evening full of the linnets' wings."
+
+
+"I've seen a _blue_ glow," Nancy thought, "but not a purple one.  And
+it was swallows' wings the evening was full of, last night, not
+linnets'.  'Spect the man who wrote that would have made a song last
+night if he'd been with us in the Priory garden.  I think I'll try to
+make one myself about--about the swallows and children picking up the
+joy-drops splashed about by a Prior.  I'd like to stop and write it
+now--'spect I'd better not.  They would think I was lost, so
+
+  "I will arise and go now, for always night and day
+  I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
+  While I stand in the roadway, or on the pavements grey
+  I hear it in the deep heart's core."
+
+
+Nancy suddenly pulled up Modestine sharply.  In spite of her delight
+in the hills, all day she had felt that there was something missing.
+Now, as she sang of one whose heart ached for the sound of water
+while he trod the dull pavements of London, she suddenly knew what
+was lacking in this hill country.
+
+"Oh," she thought passionately, "it's the sound of the dear old Gleam
+I miss.  _I_ can hear it in my heart's core, I can hear the tide
+coming in, I can hear the wind playing with the waves."
+
+How she loved water, how even the memory of the sound of it stirred
+her.  With a laugh at herself she shook the reins and Modestine
+jogged slowly on.  Nancy's thoughts wandered back to the song she had
+been singing.  Curious how little the words had conveyed to her until
+to-day; singing it here in the hills had made it alive for her.
+
+"I shall call it my Hill Song," she told herself.  "I'll tell Aunt
+Letty about it."
+
+Ah no, she could not do that she remembered, for since Aunt Letty had
+ceased to be engaged to Uncle Jim she had not sung it, for it was one
+that he had given her.  Nancy remembered too how they used to laugh
+over the song together.
+
+"Nine lovely scenty bean rows they were going to have between them,"
+she sighed, "and we were all going to stay with them in the little
+clay cabin, though Uncle Jim said it might end in some of us having
+to sleep in the bee-loud glade, else we'd be a bit congested."
+
+Ah yes, _that_ verse had always been "alive."  Nancy sighed as she
+remembered the happy days when Aunt Letty had sung it.
+
+"I wish," she thought, "people wouldn't go and be miserable and not
+marry when they really want to--it's so worrying.  I do wish I could
+let Uncle Jim know Aunt Letty wants him--I _know_ he'd come like a
+shot."
+
+A bend in the road showed her that the foot of the hill was near; the
+children, scampering along, had almost reached it.  Crossing the
+valley was a little ford, and near the water Nancy could see a couple
+of big lads crouching one on either side of the road.  She strained
+forward, puzzled as to what they could possibly be doing.
+Instinctively she felt that they were up to no good.  A moment later
+she knew.
+
+Mavis, who, of course, was the first to reach the ford, disregarding
+the stepping-stones, was about to leap over it when the lads pulled a
+rope they had stretched across the road.  Nancy saw the child trip
+and fall full length across the ford.  Fortunately the water was
+shallow, but Nancy in her anger and indignation, and fearing that her
+little sister might be hurt, cried out so fiercely that Modestine
+literally bounded down the hill.
+
+Mavis, with her handkerchief held to her pretty shapely little nose,
+ran towards her with tears in her eyes.
+
+"It's my nose that's bleeding, an' my dress is all filthy and
+muddy--nasty, horrid boys!"
+
+"Beastly skunking cads!"  Nancy's words expressed what she was
+feeling as she slipped from Modestine to comfort the child.  "But
+see, Billy's settling them, and Monty's helping!"
+
+Billy, indeed, was "settling them."
+
+"You rotten dirty hounds!" he cried.  "Come on!"
+
+"Ought we to--to let them fight?  They're ever so much bigger than
+Billy and Monty," Mavis sobbed.
+
+"We can't stop Billy, you know we can't, once he begins.  And he does
+know about proper fighting, and I daresay they don't."
+
+Billy, usually so sunny tempered, so good-natured, was a difficult
+person to deal with once his slow temper was roused, and that it was
+thoroughly roused to-day was evident.  Both he and Montague had
+witnessed the cowardly trick played on Mavis, though they were too
+far off to save her.
+
+"We'll take one each," he had cried, as together they dashed forward.
+"I'll take that biggest lout----"
+
+"No, me--I'll take the biggest."  Montague was just one fierce desire
+to hurt terribly those who had hurt his little friend.
+
+"No--me!" Billy panted.  "I can fight."
+
+"So can I," Montague persisted.
+
+Billy, however, was quickest, and made for the taller lad, who stood
+waiting with a smile of derision on his face, for the small boy
+dashing on to him with a challenge bursting angrily from his lips.
+
+Nancy and Mavis clung together watching the fight.  Each boy had
+thrown off his coat and was fighting desperately.  Montague slogged
+into and pummelled his opponent, but, though all his passionate young
+heart was in the fight, it was clearly not a fair one.  Billy, on the
+other hand, to his adversary's evident surprise and chagrin, was by
+no means getting the worst of it, for, thanks to his father, who had
+taught him both boxing and Ju Jitsu, he had science to help him,
+whereas the country lad had nothing but brute strength.  Every
+movement of Billy's lithe young body was prejudged, every thrust was
+true.  Presently, watching his opportunity, with a sudden swift
+movement of arm and leg, he brought his opponent heavily to the
+ground.  The lad lay on the ground howling with rage and pain, but as
+he made no effort to renew the contest Billy left him and ran to
+Montague's assistance.
+
+"Go away!" Montague panted.  "_I'll_ manage him!"
+
+Billy hesitated.  Clearly Montague could _not_ manage the lad, yet,
+understanding his spirit, he was loth to interfere.  The lad,
+however, decided the matter.  Through the tail of his eye he had
+watched Billy's performance, and was in no mind to suffer the
+treatment the youngster had meted out to his confederate, so with a
+last cuff at Montague's head he slunk away.
+
+The four coats lay jumbled together at the side of the ford.  The lad
+lurched towards them, picked up his own and was about to turn away
+when something lying on the ground near Billy's attracted his
+attention.  He glanced round furtively.  Nobody was watching him so,
+stooping hurriedly, he picked up what he had seen, and, thrusting it
+into his pocket, called his companion and bolted.  Something in his
+voice aroused the latter, and, pausing only for his coat, he, too,
+slunk away and the children were once more alone.
+
+The next quarter of an hour was a busy time for Nancy, what with
+Mavis' bleeding nose and two gory and dishevelled boys to be attended
+to.
+
+"It's my fwock I mind more'n my nose," Mavis said pathetically, while
+Nancy was bathing the latter with the clear water from the ford.
+"It's a horrid, muddy patch, and I'll be the only dirty one now."
+For Mrs. White had seen to it that Montague started out that morning
+with spotless clothes.
+
+It would probably brush off, Nancy assured her, when it was dry, and,
+having done the best she could for Mavis, she turned her attention to
+the boys.
+
+Poor Montague was a sorry spectacle, and Billy was little better.
+Nancy washed away the blood and cleansed the broken skin, but for the
+bruises she could do nothing.
+
+Billy, who had regained his happy spirits, began to laugh at himself
+and Montague.
+
+"We don't look handsome, either of us, but we'll just have to pull
+our hats down over our eyes and glare at anybody who stares at us!"
+
+Montague, however, was unaccountably silent, and it was not until
+they had started off again and Barsdon was in sight that he voiced
+his trouble.
+
+"Billy beat the fellow he was fighting an' _I_ didn't," he rumbled in
+a voice so low that they could scarcely hear it.  "But," he added,
+and here apparently lay the sting, "he needn't have offered to help
+me."  Oh, it was like gall to have your pride so wounded when you
+felt just one fierce, primitive impulse to hurt the cad who had
+injured Mavis.
+
+"Oh, but, Monty, you were awfully brave!"  Mavis cried impulsively.
+"Billy, you see, has been taught how to fight--but look how you
+slogged into that creature!  I 'spect he had some bruises."
+
+"Was he _bleeding_?" Montague asked hopefully.
+
+"Yes, he was," Mavis replied with a little shudder.
+
+"Bleeding as much as me?"
+
+"Well--nearly," Mavis temporized.
+
+Montague's face cleared.  Mavis had said that he was brave, and if
+she thought well of him nothing else mattered.  Nevertheless he found
+himself longing for the day when he could fight as Billy had done,
+and when Billy offered either to teach him boxing himself "when they
+got home" (how persistently that little phrase seemed to crop up!),
+or to ask his father to do so, Montague's momentary bitterness
+vanished, and he began to take an interest in life again.
+
+And now the village was reached, and the children began to look about
+for the inn.  They saw the sign swinging slightly in the breeze a
+short way down the street, but at the entrance to the village was
+something more attractive in children's eyes than an inn, and that
+was a sweet shop.
+
+Suddenly, Billy, who was feeling parched and thirsty after the fight,
+felt an overwhelming desire for acid drops.
+
+"I haven't bought my weekly sweets yet," he said.  "I should think we
+could spare twopence, couldn't we?"
+
+The others agreeing that twopence would not be an impossible
+extravagance, Billy entered the tiny shop and Nancy accompanied him.
+
+"I've got threepence loose in my pocket," he whispered, "but hadn't I
+better change half a crown?  I may want the coppers to tip the ostler
+at the inn."
+
+Nancy nodded and Billy dived into his coat pocket for his purse, but
+no purse was to be found.  The poor boy's face went white.
+
+"Nancy, I can't find the purse," he whispered hurriedly.  "I put it
+in this pocket, didn't I?"
+
+"Yes, you did.  Let me feel," Nancy replied anxiously.  She slipped
+her hand into his pocket, but could find no purse; she felt in all
+his other pockets, but in none of them was a purse to be found.
+
+So far the woman who was serving them had not noticed their
+consternation, for she had been busy digging out the acid drops, but
+now as she handed the sweets to Billy she was struck by the two
+white, agitated little faces.  Was anything the matter, she enquired
+kindly?  Were they ill?
+
+"No, thank you," Billy replied in confusion.  "It's--it's nothing
+very much."
+
+His fingers trembled as they extricated two pennies from the usual
+medley a boy's trousers pocket contains, but he was too proud to
+share his trouble with a total stranger.  Fearing further questions
+he flung the money down and hurried out of the shop.
+
+"Let's get into a side road quick," he said, "so I can take my coat
+off and shake it."
+
+Mavis and Montague looked at him in surprise, and Nancy explained
+matters as they hurried after Billy.  Suddenly Mavis paused and
+called to Billy.  "Oh, Billy," she said, her voice trembling with
+indignation, "I know who's got it--it's that wicked boy, the one who
+fought Monty.  I saw him pick up something, and I 'member he looked
+kind of scared--oh, I know it's him!"
+
+The children looked at each other.  No use to hurry now in order to
+turn the coat inside out, it was all too evident that Mavis was
+right, and that a search would be fruitless.
+
+"I've just one penny left," Billy replied simply.  "_Now_ what is to
+be done?"
+
+"I've got some money!"  Montague dived into his pocket and produced
+fivepence-halfpenny.
+
+"An' I've twopence in my pocket!" said Nancy.
+
+"An' I've twopence, too, in mine!" Mavis added.
+
+Tenpence-halfpenny all told!  What a sum for four little people to
+face the world with.  Well, no use taking Modestine to the inn now;
+impossible, too, to present yourselves as prospective boarders at
+Mrs. Charsfield's pretty cottage (they knew it at once from Dick's
+description) with only tenpence-halfpenny in your pockets.
+
+They turned reluctantly up a narrow lane and even Billy's heart was
+heavy within him.  Here they were, four children and a donkey in
+unknown country, almost penniless.  The thought of sleeping out of
+doors, of course did not trouble them; but for Dick's suggestion they
+would probably have slept out to-night in any case.  But to sleep out
+of doors from choice was one thing, to sleep out because you had only
+the price of one very meagre meal between you was something quite
+different.
+
+And then what a tremendous sum of money to have lost!  Practically
+seventeen shillings, for, thanks to well-filled baskets, their
+expenses during the two days had been very small.  And seventeen
+shillings was a small fortune in the eyes of these children, whose
+weekly pocket-money was limited because their parents held the belief
+that the modern habit of giving the child an unlimited allowance
+robbed it of a certain happiness that is known only to those children
+who have to think twice before they indulge themselves.  A blasé
+child who was unable to enjoy the simple pleasures they had taught
+their children to enjoy was the pet abomination of Mr. and Mrs.
+Stafford, and the children's little hoard of nineteen shillings had
+been the result of much combined savings of presents from relatives,
+saved, not originally for this adventure, but "Just in _case_ we
+should want to do anything nice with it."
+
+And now it had gone, every penny of it, and if they were to continue
+their travels they would have to contrive some means of raising
+money.  To be sure there was Mr. Frampton, and to whom should you
+turn if not to the Warden of the Travellers in the Hills?  If they
+hung about the village they would be sure to meet him presently; he
+would be glad to see them they knew, but, well, if they confided in
+him would he not either advise them to return home or else offer to
+pay their expenses himself?
+
+"I don't see how we _can_ tell him," Billy said.  "It'd look like
+cadging."
+
+"But he said he had to help travellers.  Wouldn't he be hurt if we
+didn't let him help us in some way--not to _give_ us money, of
+course, but just, but just----"
+
+"There'd be _no_ way he could help us out of this 'cept with money or
+paying for us everywhere, which would be the same thing," Billy
+persisted.  "And I'm sure he's not meant to help in that way if he is
+Warden--it's lifts and accidents and things of that kind he's here
+for.  We've got to find a way out ourselves or go back home."
+
+And so the matter was left while they looked about for a camping
+place.  Presently, a wood at the end of a narrow cart-track on the
+right seemed to suggest itself, and here they decided to spend the
+night.  Their spirits began to rise a little as they entered the
+wood.  After all, there was an excitement about camping out of doors,
+and they would build a fire and have tea.  Tea?  How stupid, why had
+nobody thought of buying a loaf in Barsdon?  They could at least run
+to that.  Billy volunteered to go back and buy one while the others
+were unpacking.  Bread and acid drops for tea, and the scraps left
+over from lunch!  They laughed at the novelty of the fare.  They
+began to think after all, their plight was not so utterly desperate
+while even a few pence stood between them and--well, not perhaps
+starvation, but giving up that which they had set their hearts upon.
+
+"We'll find a way out," Billy called back to them, "so don't any of
+you worry!"  He paused as he reached the road.  "Guess we'll have to
+call it part of our adventure; it's the kind of thing that
+adventurers have to put up with, isn't it?" and with a laugh he set
+off down the hill.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+"FAIREST MASONS"
+
+Billy did not take long to fetch the bread.  He arrived at the wood
+in a somewhat breathless condition.
+
+"I ran," he explained, "'cos I saw Mr. Frampton's car outside the
+inn."
+
+Nancy was troubled.  She wished Billy did not think it so necessary
+to avoid him.  She was quite sure she would have lingered rather than
+hurried if she had known he was near, for after the troubles of the
+afternoon a grown-up friend would have been so comforting.  Besides,
+he had evidently hoped to meet them in Barsdon.  To be sure they had
+not promised anything definite, but Nancy was quite sure that he
+would be disappointed at missing them.
+
+"Billy, _do_ say that if he comes this way we may stop him," she
+pleaded.  "We needn't tell him about the purse."
+
+Billy, after she had pointed out her reasons, agreed.
+
+"He's sure _not_ to come though--that lane would be the limit for a
+car."
+
+Meanwhile, tea, such as it was, awaited them.  They divided up the
+remains of the lunch before they attacked the loaf, as they would
+need as much of the latter as their present hunger would allow for
+breakfast.  Acid drops, they found, filled up corners, though
+everyone still owned to a dreadful thirst after the meal was
+finished.  Further up the hill they could see the chimneys of a
+cottage, and the boys volunteered to go for water, while the girls
+were unpacking blankets ready for the night.  A whole brimming,
+welcome pailful they brought on their return, and after they had
+drunk their fill and had replenished the lemonade bottle there was
+still a deep draught for poor little Modestine, who sighed her
+contentment when she had sucked up the last cool drop.
+
+Then, after the pail had been returned, they sat round and discussed
+things.  Wonderful what a difference a meal makes.  On the other side
+of it there had been terror for some of them at the thought of their
+penniless condition; now, with bread and acid drops between them and
+their loss, they could turn their thoughts from it and think only of
+how best to overcome the difficulty.
+
+"If we could spare a penny for tin-tacks," Montague said, "I could
+make some little picture-frames out of that young elm-wood over
+there.  I used to make frames for Jocelyne and me for our cigarette
+cards in Suffolk, but she's too grown-up for them now.  I could use a
+stone for a hammer."
+
+"Oh, and I've thought of something!" Mavis cried.  "I can run in a
+race!"
+
+"Run in a race?" Nancy repeated.
+
+"Yes.  While you and Billy were in the sweet shop, Monty and me were
+reading a bill in the window about a Flower Show at Barsdon.  It's
+to-morrow, and there's a race for little girl visitors, _an' the
+prize is seven and sixpence_!"
+
+Seven and sixpence!  Why, it was a fortune!  But would Mavis mind
+running?  Of course she would get the prize.
+
+"Yes, I'll do it," Mavis replied.  "But can we spare sixpence for the
+entrance fee?"
+
+Certainly they could.  The loaf had cost fourpence and that left them
+with sixpence-halfpenny.  Mavis should have the sixpence, and the
+halfpenny--well, one _could_ not ask for a halfpennyworth of
+tin-tacks; they must be bought after the race; nevertheless, the
+halfpenny must not be despised; it was something, they felt, to have
+at least that to face the world with.
+
+Everybody's spirits rose considerably.  With the almost certain
+prospect of seven-and-sixpence in view what was there to worry about
+now?  Seven-and-sixpence, carefully spent, would last a long time,
+especially if they gave up all idea of sleeping in cottages.  Was not
+a blanket in a wood or near a haystack good enough for anybody?
+Would you not be robbing yourselves of many adventurous hours if you
+slept under a stuffy roof when the big night-world awaited you?
+
+Montague returned to the subject of the frames.  He would prepare
+them, he said, in the morning; it would take very little time to tack
+them together later in the day.
+
+"Someday," he added, looking at Mavis, "I'll make you some for your
+dolls' house.  Would you like them?"
+
+For her dolls' house?  Indeed she would.  With the mention of the
+dolls' house a shadow crossed the little girl's mind.  It suddenly
+seemed so long since she had played with it; since she had touched
+any of her dear toys.  It would be so nice--but, with a little sigh,
+she pushed the regret away from her.
+
+Nancy began to think of sleeping arrangements.
+
+"Shall we just sleep on the ground?" she asked.  "Nicolette, you
+remember, builded herself a lodge of leaves and branches."
+
+"Who's Nicolette?" Montague enquired.
+
+"Nicolette?  Oh, she's in a book.  She and Aucassin were in love with
+each other, only he's a king's son and she's poor, so they can't
+marry at first.  We think Aucassin a bit of a muff--he weeps too
+much, but Nicolette was brave.  She had all sorts of adventures and
+she lived in a wood."
+
+"She had a much worse time than we've had," Billy interrupted.
+"Prisons and all sorts of things."
+
+"Yes, she did.  But she escaped and builded the lodge of saplings and
+made a tapestry of leaves and flowers.  There's such a pretty picture
+of her building it in Aunt Letty's book."
+
+"Does an aunt let you read her books--_touch_ 'em?" Montague enquired
+with awe.
+
+"Why, of course she does!  We all go into her room on Sunday mornings
+and have lots of fun.  Sometimes she tells us stories, but if she's
+sleepy then we each have a book.  You have to have _very_ clean hands
+'cos it's generally her special books you like best."
+
+Montague stared in silence.  This Aunt Letty of whom they talked so
+much sounded so altogether different from his conception of an aunt
+that he found it difficult to picture her.  Indeed, if she had not
+been an aunt he might almost have felt enough interest in her to wish
+to see her some day.
+
+"An' you _like_ going into her room?" he asked presently.  "Why, of
+course!"  Mavis spoke a little impatiently.  "She's our Aunt Letty!"
+So tiresome of Monty not to understand what that implied.
+
+Again Montague grew silent.  Would he want to go to _his_ aunt's
+room?  Would she want him?  Wouldn't she be horrified if he touched
+any of her possessions?  And this aunt played with them--that meant
+there might be a noise in the house before breakfast.
+
+"If there's a noise comes from my room before eight o'clock, well, I
+know it!" he growled.
+
+Poor Montague!  How different his life had been from theirs, they
+thought, and, until they had met him, they had simply accepted all
+the love and happiness that made up their days as their natural
+right.  Now they were beginning to wonder--a little.
+
+However, they were straying from the point; sleeping arrangements had
+not yet been decided.  Montague voted eagerly for the lodge, or
+bower, for the girls; he and Billy would build them one--one as good
+as Nicolette's.  But she and Nancy must help, too, Mavis declared;
+the boys could make the framework of boughs while she and Nancy wove
+a tapestry of leaves.
+
+Now indeed was sleeping out of doors transformed into an adventure.
+Romance, with the building of that bower that was to rival fair
+Nicolette's, entered into the little wood; each in their different
+way felt it as they gathered armfuls of dry bracken or cut down
+slender saplings; but Montague most of all.  To build a bower for
+Mavis!  Why, it was like being a knight serving a princess.  And he
+would guard her; he would sleep near her door presently and guard her
+from enemies just as a real knight would do.  Not for a moment would
+he compare himself with Aucassin, who sat at home and wept; he was
+sure, however, that Nicolette was not more fairly beautiful than his
+little princess.  "Fairest mason," Nancy said they called Nicolette
+in the book; well, that was what Mavis was, he thought stoutly, as he
+watched her artistic little fingers skilfully weaving a covering of
+leaves for the framework.  "Very pretty it was and very dainty and
+well furnished, both outside and in, with a tapestry of flowers and
+of leaves."  That, Nancy said, was Nicolette's bower.  Yes, but
+nobody, not Nicolette herself (though she did turn out to be a
+princess after all) could wish for a daintier bower than this that
+had been "builded" by four modern children who knew how to find
+romance or adventure in the most trivial incident.
+
+Time had passed rapidly during the building of the lodge.  Evening
+was coming on, yet, though the trees shut out much of the daylight,
+it was still too light for them to sleep.  And now that their
+preparations for the night were completed they all began to realize
+how very, very tired they were.  The girls lay down in their dainty
+bower, and the boys sprawled together on a bed of bracken outside,
+yet nobody felt that bedtime had come.  The evening was so warm that
+blankets were not needed yet; indeed, had it not been for an
+occasional breeze, the girls would have found their lodge almost
+stifling.
+
+Though they could not sleep everybody was too tired to bother to
+talk.  Nancy's imagination, scarcely ever at rest, carried her to
+Nestcombe and Nestley.  Suddenly, a great longing for the familiar
+places swept over her.  Their playroom, the paddock, the garden with
+its beloved trees, the high wall at the bottom of the garden, where
+they so often sat and gazed across the river--the river itself.  How
+dear every corner of the home-place was.  And yet, when they had had
+home all around them they had accepted it just as they accepted the
+love and happiness that was theirs.  Why should coming to the hills
+awaken your heart to these things?  When you were in the Land of your
+Desire, oh, it was curious that home should jostle that longed-for
+country into the background.  And then there was the forest that
+would not let you forget it.  Nancy closed her eyes, and saw it as it
+would be now in the twilight hour and in her imagination she listened
+to the great silence that was as much a part of the forest as the
+trees themselves.  A wonderful silence that was filled with little
+still sounds and whispers, the stirring of night things, the
+breathing of sleepers, oh, a friendly, home-like silence.  She seemed
+to hear too the sharp metallic clot-clot of the horse's hoofs ringing
+on the forest road--that, too, was simply part of the friendly
+silence.
+
+And then again there was the smoke from the lime kilns high up in the
+forest, yes, and the smell of the smoke, the smell of the forest, oh,
+it was all home.  What comfort even in the thought of those forest
+scents and sounds.  To be sure, there was a whispering here amongst
+the tree-tops, yet it was not the familiar whispering of the forest;
+there was, indeed, almost a loneliness about it.  Yes, deep in her
+heart Nancy owned to loneliness (Mavis, too, was feeling it, Nancy
+knew from the way the little fingers clung to hers), and remembering
+the troubles of the evening--she had forgotten the prospective
+seven-and-sixpence--disappointment came to keep the loneliness
+company.  These hills that they had come out to see with hope so high
+in their hearts, what had they offered them more than the forest?
+They were lovely, oh yes; this afternoon they had seemed all
+laughter, but what a long, long time ago that seemed.  And was there
+not a kind of mockery in the laughter?  Would the forest, if children
+had come adventuring into its heart as they had come to the hills,
+would the forest have been so cruel?  To offer so much, to pretend to
+take you right into its secret heart, then to thrust you out again.
+Ah, surely the forest would not do that!
+
+And yet, and yet, there was Monty.  What had the forest given to him?
+Wasn't it there, at the foot of the forest, that he had been so
+unhappy?  Love abounded for them up and down the forest, besides in
+their own home, but Monty--why, wasn't it here in the hills that he
+was finding happiness?  Wasn't there a kind of different look about
+him--something Nancy did not in the least know how to describe except
+by the word "happiness."  Though his poor little body had been so
+battered about, some other more important part was receiving healing.
+
+What an April girl was Nancy, what a child of moods.  Disappointment
+and depression left her when she arrived at this stage in her
+reflections.  She sat up suddenly and peeped out of the bower.
+
+"Monty, tell me again what your guardian said about courage and
+life?" she demanded.
+
+"He said, 'it's not life that matters, but the courage you bring to
+it,' an' he said he'd have to make a personal application of that
+sentence when he'd got Jocelyne and me living with him.  _I_ dunno
+what he means."
+
+"Do you think, Billy," Nancy said, "it means _us_ an' our travels?
+Could it mean that we mustn't mind losing our money?"
+
+Yes, Billy replied, that certainly was his interpretation of the
+quotation.  Not to mind things going wrong, or, at least, not to be
+turned from your purpose by the first difficulties that arose, that
+in his eyes was courage.  Nevertheless, Billy was feeling somewhat
+uncomfortable in his mind.  Ought they, he was wondering, to go on?
+If he had been alone he would have had no doubts or hesitations;
+little setbacks could not even have suggested giving in.  But there
+were the girls.  Was it fair to ask them to go on, perhaps to face
+worse things than had happened this afternoon?  He even had a slight
+twinge of conscience concerning Mavis running in the race; he would
+have preferred to run himself, but he knew quite well that there was
+less certainty of him carrying off the much needed prize--besides,
+the race was for little girls.  Yet, what ought he to do?
+
+"I've been thinking," he blurted out presently.  "If there's anyone
+of us doesn't want to go on, if--if anybody would rather go home,
+I'll send that telegram to the Prior to-morrow, or if we see Mr.
+Frampton ask him to take us home.  If one goes then we'll all go.
+Let's decide now at once."
+
+Nobody spoke a word in reply.
+
+"Say quick if you'd like to go home.  I'll not blame anybody if you
+do--you've been so plucky all the time, and I promise I'll never say
+you weren't sports not to go on.  Which shall we do, Nancy?"
+
+It was sleepy little Mavis, however, who decided.  "Let's wait until
+after the race, an' if I don't win the prize, then we'd better go
+home, hadn't we?"
+
+"But you know you'll win it.  You always do!"
+
+"Well then, if we've got seven-and-sixpence we'll be rich, and it'll
+be all right."
+
+Billy sighed with relief, and again silence fell between them.  And
+again their thoughts went wandering.  To the hills and the big open
+world?  No, not when the night is pushing loneliness towards you.
+
+  "When the young eyes of the day
+    Open on the dusk, and see
+  All the shadows fade away
+    Till the sun shines merrily,
+  Then I leave my bed and run
+  Out to frolic in the sun.
+  Through the sunny hours I play
+    Where the grass is warm and long;
+  I pluck the daisies, and the gay
+    Buttercups, or join the song
+  Of the birds that here and there
+  Sing upon the sunny air.
+  But when night comes, cold and slow.
+    When the sad moon climbs the sky,
+  When the whispering wind says, 'Boh,
+    Little Boy,' and makes me cry,
+  By my mother I am led
+  To my home and to my bed."
+
+
+The daylight called them to the Unknown, but the night sounds
+whispered in each little adventurer's heart the one word "Mother."
+Just to see her, how comforting it would be.  Yet, though they longed
+for her, none of them, not even Nancy, had yet awakened to _her_
+point of view--that awakening was to come later.
+
+In Montague's heart, too, there must have been loneliness, for,
+presently, the other three heard a small voice speaking:
+
+"I wish I had a mother."
+
+He voiced his need so simply that the children's hearts ached for
+him.  He should share their mother, Mavis said kindly, and never go
+back to that horrid aunt.
+
+"There's three of you," Montague replied sadly; "she wouldn't have
+room for me."
+
+Well, there was Aunt Letty.  Now that she wasn't going to be married
+she would have lots of room for him.  He could be her little boy.
+
+"If she wasn't an _aunt_," Montague murmured doubtfully.
+
+"She can't help being an aunt, you know, Monty dear," Nancy replied
+gently.
+
+"No, an' I'd _like_ you to love her," Mavis added.
+
+"If I could think of her as not an aunt p'raps I might like her a
+little."  Could he, even for Mavis, overcome his prejudice?  Well, if
+she wished it he must certainly try.
+
+Silence again and then, at last, the gentle breathing of four
+sleeping children.
+
+For an hour perhaps they slept.  Suddenly, their dreams were
+disturbed by a terrific sobbing sound--the sobbing of giants, it
+seemed.  They awoke with a start to find that Modestine, who was used
+to either a comfortable stable or roaming at large in the paddock,
+was voicing her disapproval of her night-quarters, voicing it as only
+a donkey knows how.  Billy sleepily admonished her.
+
+"Come over here if you're feeling as bad as all that, but for
+goodness' sake don't make that row again," he said.
+
+Sleep did not come again immediately, and while they were still lying
+awake the sound of a car in the lane broke on their ears.  Then such
+a honking of a horn as they had never heard before!  Honk, honk,
+honk, honk!  The Barsdon people must have heard it and wondered, but
+the children did not wonder for they knew!
+
+"Mr. Frampton!  It's him!" they cried in one voice, and, being now
+wide awake, they sprang up and ran along the cart-track to the road.
+
+Honk, honk, honk, honk!
+
+Slowly, very slowly the car drew near.
+
+"It's us he's honking for!" Nancy cried, and there was relief in her
+voice.  "'Spect he heard Modestine, so knew where we were."
+
+They stood where Dick could not fail to see them and waited
+breathlessly for the creeping car.  At last it was here!
+
+"Mr. Frampton!  Oh, Mr. Frampton, we're so glad to see you," Nancy
+cried.  "Have you been looking for us?"
+
+Now, Dick was feeling both worried and annoyed.  Worried because he
+had searched the country for miles, and could find no trace of the
+children until he heard Modestine's voice; annoyed because they had
+not waited for him in Barsdon.  Even if they had decided to sleep out
+of doors after all, they might have let him know, he argued with
+himself, knowing nothing of the lost purse.  To be sure they had not
+promised, yet in the afternoon they had seemed so friendly, so glad
+of his company that he could not understand their action.  And he was
+quite prepared when he sighted his elusive charges to show his
+annoyance, but the reproach that was on his lips was checked by
+something in the children's voices.  He was quite sure there was
+relief in their eager, welcoming shout; something in their attitude,
+too, as they stood there in the moonlight seemed to suggest
+forlornness.  What could have happened?  As he sprang from the car he
+noticed the boys' puffy, battered faces.  Ah, there had been a fight,
+that was it; the details he would find out diplomatically later on.
+
+"We did so hope you would come this way," Nancy said.
+
+"But why didn't you wait for me in Barsdon?"
+
+"We--couldn't," Billy replied awkwardly.  "But we were awfully sorry
+not to."
+
+Dick noticed his confusion but let the subject drop for the time
+being.  Well, never mind, he said, but now could they tell him how to
+dispose of the car; clearly it could not be left in the road all
+night.  They showed him the gate leading into the cart-track and he
+backed the car through it.
+
+"Aren't you going to sleep at the inn?" Nancy asked, as he followed
+them into the wood.
+
+"I'm not!" Dick replied decidedly.  Lose sight of them now that,
+after his long search, he had found them?  Not if he could help it!
+"I'm sleeping here.  Besides, the inn is closed--it's nearly
+half-past eleven, and, do you know, I'm hungry, dreadfully hungry.
+I've had nothing to eat since that excellent lunch you gave me, and I
+shall have to ask you to take pity on me again."
+
+The children flushed uncomfortably.  The thought of offering dry
+bread to someone who had evidently gone without his dinner, in order
+to keep what he had considered an appointment with them, who had
+apparently spent hours searching for them, was humiliating.  And it
+was all they had for breakfast!  Well, they would have to go without
+any, for a Warden who was so conscientious in looking after
+travellers must certainly be fed.
+
+"I--I'm sorry we've nothing to go with it," Nancy faltered, as she
+handed him the portion of loaf that was left.  "We ate everything
+else up."
+
+Dick smiled to himself at what he supposed was simply a
+happy-go-lucky kind of housekeeping and wondered whether they had
+even given a thought to breakfast.  He accepted the bread gratefully,
+however; he was too hungry, he assured them, to need luxuries, in
+fact, never had anything tasted more delicious, and his enjoyment as
+he munched steadily through the loaf was apparent to the children.
+
+"I am indebted to you little people for two meals," he laughed
+apologetically as he dug his teeth into the last crust.  "To-morrow,
+please, it's _my_ turn, and if you don't let me be responsible for
+the catering for the whole day I shall be more than hurt.  Is it a
+bargain?"
+
+How could they refuse such an offer?  In making it Dick had not the
+remotest idea that otherwise they would have been foodless, that he
+himself had eaten their very last crust.  Yet, for a moment Billy
+eyed him suspiciously.  Could he possibly know that they were
+penniless?  In the ordinary course of events he would simply have
+accepted Dick's offer without further thought, but poverty,
+unfortunately, has a way of making you think.  Sixpence-halfpenny
+between you and charity was a miserable sum to a proud young person
+like Billy, and his thoughts of the lad who had stolen their money
+were by no means gentle.  That Dick might have helped them recover
+the lost purse, had they confided in him, never occurred to him.  The
+purse was gone, and that was the end of the matter.
+
+Dick, meanwhile, had finished the last crumb and was feeling in his
+pocket for his pipe.
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "what an ass I am!  Your Prior has sent you
+some chocolates--I'd forgotten them!"
+
+He produced four huge packets of chocolate.  The children were glad
+of it, for being awake, they found, made you hungry.  And how nice to
+be able to offer Mr. Frampton something more than dry bread!  How
+grateful they were to the Prior.
+
+And while they all munched, Dick told them how overwhelmed the Prior
+had been at the thought behind their gift.  An unrepayable and
+unforgettable gift, he had said, and Nancy could just picture him
+saying it.  She wanted to question Dick further about their kind
+friend, but seeing Mavis' sleepy little face he insisted on bed for
+them all immediately.
+
+"We can talk to-morrow," he said, "so now good-night!"
+
+And now they really settled down finally for the night.  How
+comforting, Nancy thought, as she snuggled down with Mavis in the
+bower, how comforting to have a grown-up person near at hand (Dick
+was sleeping in the car); what a difference it made to the
+night-sounds!  Somehow, all the loneliness vanished and Nancy was
+aware only of the beauty of the stars in the blue vaulted sky.  Stars
+seen through tree-tops and you a little atom in the arms of Mother
+Earth!  What a discovery, what an adventure in an unknown world of
+beauty for an imaginative child.
+
+"Thank you, God," she murmured drowsily, "for the lovely star-world."
+And the Prior, I think, would not have called _that_ little prayer
+"the gabbling of empty words."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+EXPLORING WITH DICK
+
+The children awoke the following morning to find Dick looking as
+well-groomed as though he had not spent the night in a car.  He was
+gathering sticks and whistling softly to himself.
+
+The children apologized for being so late.
+
+"It was my fault for disturbing you last night," Dick protested.
+Then he went on to tell them that the woman at the cottage up the
+road would allow them to wash there and that she was going to supply
+them with breakfast.
+
+"But we'll cook it ourselves," he added.  "It'll be more fun; she's
+going to lend us a kettle and a frying-pan.  So hurry up, please, I'm
+simply ravenous!  Sleeping out of doors gives you an appetite, I
+find."
+
+It certainly did, the children agreed.  They ran off to the cottage,
+taking their brush and comb with them--four dishevelled little people
+they were, too, but when a quarter of an hour later they returned to
+the wood, even Montague presented a fairly respectable appearance.
+
+And then followed the preparing of breakfast.  Dick already had the
+fire burning, a somewhat smoky one--but what did that matter, wasn't
+it the inevitable, almost the correct thing at a picnic?  They hung
+the kettle over it (the children had brought the breakfast things
+with them on their return from the cottage), and Dick made himself
+stoker-in-chief.  Would the boys gather more sticks? he said, and
+would the girls spread the cloth, and after that, would Nancy fry the
+eggs and bacon?  Would they not, indeed!  How eagerly those four
+little people threw themselves into their allotted tasks!  Mavis
+arranged the tea-cups and plates and gathered some scabious flowers
+for the cloth while Nancy cut stacks of bread and butter.  Then came
+the frying of the bacon--and here Nancy began to feel her
+responsibilities.  To fry eggs and bacon for a grown-up person made
+you feel as important as when you poured out coffee for a prior.
+
+"Could you rake the wood away for me?" she enquired, looking gravely
+at the uneven heap of burning sticks.  "I could fry better on the
+ashes I think."
+
+"That's a good idea," Dick said, as he hastened to do her bidding.
+
+How good the bacon smelt as it sizzled in the pan.  Nancy felt a
+little nervous as to the eggs--would she make a horrid mess of them?
+Fortunately, however, they were so new-laid that the yolks simply had
+to remain whole, and it was a flushed and excited little girl who in
+a few minutes announced that breakfast was ready and would everybody
+please gather round at once and eat it while it was hot?
+
+Nobody needed a second bidding, and very soon the whole party was
+deep in eggs and bacon, and rather smoky-tasting tea.  There was no
+salt, for they had finished their own and had forgotten to bring any
+from the cottage, but who cared?
+
+"'Tisn't a libation feast, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Billy said.
+
+Everybody was out to make light of any difficulty that should present
+itself that morning.  They chipped each other in a friendly spirit
+that hitherto had been unknown to Montague; at first he was scarcely
+sure whether they were joking or serious, but so infectious was the
+good-natured banter that, presently, he found himself being drawn
+into it and taking laughingly from Billy what he had taken from no
+other boy before.  And Dick, glancing at his happy face and
+remembering the Montague of Riversham, marvelled that so short a time
+should so have transformed the boy.  Certainly, as regarded him, the
+Prior was right to have suggested allowing them to continue their
+adventuring.
+
+Billy, teasing, cheeky Billy, was the leader of the fun.  Impossible
+this morning, he found, to be serious and worry yourself about ways
+and means and whether you ought to do this or that.  Yesterday it had
+rankled with him that there should be real necessity for Dick's
+return of their own hospitality, but to-day, in the jolly sunlight,
+it seemed a small thing to worry about.  Besides, was not a person
+who had offered up a libation with you a comrade, and between
+comrades was there not always give and take?  When _your_ luck
+happened to be in, it was your turn to give freely; why grudge the
+other fellow the pleasure of doing the honours?  So Billy was just
+his happy irresponsible self, and it must be confessed he ate his
+full share of the fast-diminishing stack of food.
+
+While they were gathering up the breakfast things after the meal was
+finished, Dick made a casual reference to the condition of the boys'
+faces.
+
+"It was 'cos of me they got smashed about," Mavis explained.  "Some
+big horrid boys tripped me up, and Billy and Monty settled them!"
+
+"Oh!"  Dick could see that the "settling" had been no easy matter,
+but he hesitated to question them further, for something in Billy's
+attitude suggested that the subject was one he did not wish to
+discuss.  Curious they should be so reticent about the affair, he
+thought.  However, no bones were broken, and they were in his care
+again now, so there was nothing to worry about.
+
+"And what are your plans for to-day?" he enquired carelessly.
+
+Nancy and Billy looked at each other.
+
+"Why," said Nancy, "we haven't any for this morning.  We--we thought
+we wouldn't travel to-day."
+
+"Then why not come for a ride in the car?  I'm sure those people at
+the cottage would let Modestine graze in the paddock for an hour or
+so.  I wish you'd come--one gets tired of one's own company, you
+know."
+
+The children looked at each other again.  Why not go?  Adventuring
+was out of the question until after Mavis had won the prize; besides,
+if you were flying along in a car there would not be the long, slow
+hours of waiting for the race.  With their eyes they signalled "yes"
+to each other.
+
+"Thank you ever so much," Nancy replied, "we should like it awfully.
+Only, please, could we be quite sure to be back here by two o'clock?"
+
+Dick assented readily, again asking no questions.  He could not fail
+to notice, however, that there was something behind this desire to
+return by two o'clock.  There was something, too, behind this hanging
+about in one place when yesterday they were all for penetrating
+further into the hills.  What could be the reason, and why were they
+so reticent about it?  Dick was finding them a little difficult to
+understand.  Their characters seemed so frank and open; their manner
+to him was so full of comradeship and yet every now and then a wall
+of reserve would seem to be between them.  As to their engagement for
+the afternoon, was it, he wondered, connected with the fight?  Ah,
+that must be it; hostilities very likely were to be renewed.  Well,
+he would know this afternoon for he was fully determined not to let
+them out of his sight.
+
+However, it was about time to be starting, and everybody bustled
+about.  There were all the things to be returned to the cottage,
+their own blankets to be left there, and Modestine to be taken to her
+fresh quarters--a willing Modestine, for the grass along the edge of
+the wood had been scanty.
+
+And now that their own adventure was at a standstill everybody began
+to take an eager interest in the ride.  The hills towards Gleambridge
+they wanted to keep for their travels, but would it be possible,
+Nancy enquired, to go to that highest hill across the valley, the one
+in the far distance?
+
+"Quite possible," was Dick's reply.
+
+"And be back by two o'clock?"
+
+"Yes, and be back by two o'clock."
+
+And with this assurance everybody scrambled into the car and Dick set
+out for Birdstone, the highest point in the hills.
+
+Nancy and Mavis sat with him in the front seat, and during that ride
+he learned a great deal about the family, about their home, about
+Nestcombe and the river and forest.  Here, at least, they showed no
+reticence.  That they worshipped every inch of those home-places was
+evident.  Their father and mother, Aunt Letty and Uncle Val, how
+proud they were of them all, how they adored them, how endless was
+their chatter about them.  Dick, as he listened, marvelled how they
+had ever come to leave such a home.
+
+"The spirit of adventure and the blindness of childhood, I suppose,"
+he thought.  "By Jove! when they realize what they have done how
+miserable they will be, poor kiddies."
+
+Presently they came to a small town that seemed to scramble down the
+hill towards the valley; a town of quaint old nooks and corners,
+while on the opposite side of the valley, the Gleambridge side, the
+loveliest little village they had ever seen, except, of course,
+Nestley, played "bo-peep" amongst some pines on the side of the hill.
+Nancy indulged in a "spasm" on Mavis when she remembered that
+to-morrow, perhaps, they might explore it.
+
+Then on and on again, gradually getting away from the Gleambridge
+country.  The miles flew past with hills piled up about them.  Such
+tonic, too, in the air!  The children responded to the exhilaration
+of it and forgot their troubles, forgot, almost, that Mavis was to
+run in the race, for both troubles and race seemed to belong to some
+far-off, unreal world.
+
+They were on the main road now and the running was splendid.  Yet,
+though they were so thoroughly enjoying the ride, in their secret
+hearts they were glad that their own private travels did not lie in
+this direction.  Motoring along good, well-kept roads was one thing,
+but to seek adventure or romance here with civilization shouting at
+you--no, that would have been impossible.
+
+Presently, they began to climb.  Up and up, with deep wooded valleys
+dropping away to the right, and yet other hills stretching leftward.
+A lonely farm, a cottage here and there, a house; that was all
+apparently between them and the very heart of nature.  All except
+that well-kept road that wound right up here into the loneliness of
+the hills, robbing them, for Nancy at least, of the charm she had
+found when trudging along the dusty roads across the valley.
+
+Yet, though part of Nancy's mixed little mind disapproved of
+civilized hill-roads, another part of her was thoroughly enjoying
+itself.  Mr. Frampton was so easy to talk to and seemed so interested
+in all they told him about themselves.  And then again, flying
+through the air in a car always intoxicated Nancy.  Had Dick been
+guided entirely by her wishes he would have exceeded the speed limit
+on the lower roads; up here in the hills the going, of course, was
+slower.
+
+Quite suddenly, as it seemed to the children, the road opened out on
+to a wide plain.  A neat, civilized-looking village was spread over
+it in orderly fashion, and when they arrived at a somewhat
+imposing-looking hotel Dick stopped the car.
+
+"We've reached the top of the hill," he explained.  "I'll go in and
+make arrangements for lunch, and then we'll explore a bit--there's
+plenty of time," he added, noticing anxious puckers in the children's
+faces.  He knew, of course, that they were thinking about that
+mysterious engagement for the afternoon.  He began to wonder as he
+entered the hotel whether he was right in imagining it to be a fight.
+Surely there was something more important to account for what he had
+seen in their faces at that moment.  Besides (how stupid of him not
+to think of this before), Nancy and Mavis would not wish for the
+renewal of hostilities.  Well, this afternoon he would know.
+
+He rejoined the children after he had made arrangements for an early
+lunch, and then they began to explore.  The village itself was too
+prim to interest them, but what amazed Montague was that there should
+be one at all up here.  Being used only to the gently undulating
+hills of East Anglia, this hill was a mountain to him.  How could
+they possibly get food for a whole village to such a height, he
+wondered?  Even the other children, used as they were to finding
+houses tucked away in the heights of the forest, even they owned to a
+little astonishment at finding so large a village so far away from
+the world.  They certainly must be glad of the good road that brought
+civilization nearer to them.  Well-kept roads, even Nancy admitted,
+had their uses after all.
+
+However, though the village was not interesting, Dick had something
+to show them, he said, that would delight Nancy.  He led them off the
+main road down a lane where hill-flowers unknown even to the forest
+children were rioting along the steep banks.  The girls were
+enchanted with them, but Dick assured them with a laugh that it was
+not flowers he had to show them.  He scanned the landscape anxiously.
+
+"Come here, Nancy," he said (Mavis was still picking flowers, and the
+boys were scrambling about on the banks), "you can just see them, but
+you'll have to look hard--they're barely visible."
+
+Nancy knew by the way Dick spoke that it was something she would like
+very much.
+
+"Oh, what is it?" she cried.
+
+Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger, and there, down in the
+valley to the left she saw, very faintly, the fair laced tower of
+Gleambridge Cathedral.  But that was not all.  For, following the
+pointing finger, she made out with a great deal of eye-straining and
+perhaps a little imagination, the towers of two other cathedrals, one
+to the north, and the other to the north-east.
+
+Three cathedrals!  Three fair towers!  Why, one alone sent poetry
+dancing through you.  Three cathedrals rising out of the mist--a
+beautiful valley held in the keeping of three white towers!  Nancy's
+imagination wanted to get to work at once on a poem.  Oh, indeed,
+civilized roads were not to be despised if they brought you to this.
+And nothing romantic could happen, she had thought, on a motor ride.
+Why, that valley was alive with romance for those who had
+"imagination eyes"!
+
+Dick watched the animated little face with pleasure.  How "alive" the
+child was; what an interest she took in everything and everybody.
+She dreamed her dreams, but because of this intense "aliveness" she
+would never, he knew, develop into a mere dreamer--never could the
+word "mooney" be applied to her--except perhaps by a teasing
+brother--and, indeed, the quaint mixture that made up her character,
+the Aprilness of it was what interested Dick in her.  Having no
+little sisters of his own, he hoped the future was going to give him
+a good deal of Nancy's company.
+
+However, it was time now to be returning to the hotel, and everybody
+confessed that they were quite ready for luncheon.  This out-of-doors
+life made one ravenously hungry, they found.
+
+Fortunately, a generous meal awaited them.  Dick led them to a table
+laid for five that had been reserved for them.  Very grown-up and
+important these little people felt as they seated themselves, for it
+was the first time any of them had lunched at an hotel.  And a waiter
+to attend to your wants, too; instinctively they straightened
+themselves and tried to live up to the occasion.  Oh, indeed, there
+was a certain glamour about this civilization, especially the bits
+that belonged to the never-before-experienced world.
+
+Immediately after lunch they started on the return journey.  Dick
+took them another, and shorter, way, yet though the scenery was if
+anything more beautiful than that on the morning ride, the children
+could take no real delight in it, for the thought of the coming race
+crowded out all else.  And supposing they should have a puncture, and
+not be there in time--the very thought of it made them sick with
+apprehension.  To be sure they had allowed a good margin, for the
+races did not begin until three o'clock, nevertheless they began to
+wish that they had not asked Dick to bring them so far.
+
+However, all their fears proved to be groundless, for the clock on
+Barsdon church struck two as they climbed the lane that led to their
+wood.
+
+What a glorious ride it had been.  A shame that part of it had been
+spoiled by the thought of the race.  Oh, if their misfortune were
+only as unreal as it had seemed on their way to Birdstone; if they
+could just have spent the afternoon in the wood with kind Mr.
+Frampton.  They heaped their thanks upon him, but he waived them
+aside.  The pleasure had been his, he said, and, indeed, secretly he
+had rejoiced to have them safely under his eye for so long.
+
+Nancy and Mavis, directly they jumped out of the car, turned to go to
+the cottage to wash and do their hair before going down to Barsdon.
+
+"Are you going to Mrs. Hale's?" Dick enquired.  "You might tell her
+we should like tea at five o'clock, unless," he added, "you would
+like to have it at the inn down in Barsdon?"
+
+The wood, they all agreed, would be nicest, and Nancy promised to
+deliver Dick's message.
+
+Their preparations were simple, and soon two somewhat nervous-looking
+little girls might have been seen hurrying down a field path at the
+back of the wood--a short cut to Barsdon of which Mrs. Hale had told
+them.  "Do you really think I'll win?" Mavis enquired anxiously.
+
+"Why, yes, of course.  You always do, so don't worry, Babs!"
+
+"I wish I'd got a better frock on," Mavis continued.  "Everybody else
+will be dressed up.  'Sides, the mud did stain this one."
+
+Again Nancy consoled her.  Nobody would know her and people would be
+thinking too much about her pretty way of running to notice her dress.
+
+Mavis was somewhat comforted.  Nothing would have induced her to have
+appeared in a public place at home in a stained frock, but because
+they needed the money so badly she would try not to mind strangers
+seeing her in so sorry a garb.
+
+"I'm glad we're miles and miles from home, though," she said, as they
+turned into the village.  "I'm glad forest people don't come to hill
+Flower Shows."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE RACE
+
+The Flower Show, they found, was being held in the Rectory meadow,
+and thither, after someone had shown them the direction, they bent
+their steps.
+
+"I wish you could have come in with me," Mavis said wistfully, when
+they reached the gate.
+
+"So do I," Nancy replied, "but I can't as we've only one sixpence,
+but I'll stay quite near."
+
+She turned to the man at the entrance and asked whether he could tell
+her about what time the race for little girl visitors would take
+place.  The man looked at his watch.
+
+"In about half an hour," he replied.
+
+Nancy thanked him and drew Mavis away from the fast-gathering crowd
+at the gate.
+
+"Let's walk round the outside of the meadow," she whispered, "and see
+if there's a hole in the hedge that I can watch through.  Then you'll
+know just where I am, and it will be nicer for you."
+
+The meadow was a large one.  Presently, along the further side of it
+they found a small opening where it was possible to see all that was
+happening.  Here they stayed till the half-hour was nearly up,
+watching the crowds round the swings and roundabouts, and thinking
+how, at any other time, they would have loved to be in the thick of
+all the fun.
+
+When it was time for Mavis to go, Nancy took her as far as the gate.
+She watched the lonely little figure--with the sixpence clasped tight
+in her hand--advance timidly towards the race-course and then ran
+back to her opening on the other side of the meadow.
+
+The next five minutes were five of the longest Nancy had ever known.
+Far across the race-course she could just see her little sister
+waiting with a group of other girls.  Mavis would be wearing that
+dear little smile that made everybody love her and nobody would know
+how bad she was feeling inside.  But Nancy knew.  And as she waited
+her conscience began to trouble her.  _Ought_ she to have let a
+little girl of seven, the pet of the family, do this thing?  To let
+her be there alone in that crowd of strangers--what would Mother say?
+Nancy pressed her hands tight together, and if it had been possible
+would have called the child back.
+
+"Oh, I didn't think!  I didn't think!" she cried with passionate
+regret.  "Oh, why didn't Billy and I think?"
+
+Suddenly, the whistle sounded, and the race started.  Nancy scrambled
+further up the bank, and almost pushed herself through the hedge in
+her anxiety to see.  About a dozen girls were running, all of them
+but Mavis wearing garden-party frocks.  Most of them seemed to be
+about Mavis' own age, but three of them were almost as tall as Nancy
+herself.  _Could_ Mavis possibly beat them?  After the first
+breathless second or so Nancy knew there was no need to fear, for
+Mavis was skimming over the ground so swiftly that the other girls,
+though some of them, apparently, were using far more energy, were
+left far behind.  Nancy saw people craning forward to watch her
+little sister; she almost _felt_ their admiration as the small figure
+skimmed bird-like over the ground.  The applause when Mavis reached
+the rope was deafening.  Nancy's heart swelled with pride as she
+listened to it and for the moment self-reproach slipped into the
+background.
+
+She scrambled down into the road again and waited eagerly for Mavis
+to come to her.  A few minutes later she saw her coming round the
+bend in the road and ran forward to meet her.  Then she paused in
+consternation, for in that little figure coming slowly towards her,
+in the drooping head there was nothing of the conqueror.  What could
+possibly have happened?  With outstretched arms she flew towards the
+sad little figure that advanced so reluctantly.
+
+"Mavis dear, what is the matter?  Tell me," she cried, as she held
+her close.  "You won the race--I saw you.  Are you hurt?  Do tell me,
+dear!"
+
+Mavis clung passionately to her.
+
+"Oh," she sobbed, "that horrid Margaret Seaton was there--I saw her
+just as I was coming away.  And she saw me and she looked at my dirty
+frock and she'd got on her best knitted mauve silk.  An' she'll tell
+everybody I ran for seven-and-sixpence!  Oh, Nancy, let's go
+away--let's go home!  I _can't_ wait and take the prize in front of
+everybody looking like a tramp!"
+
+Margaret Seaton, the most snobbish girl in Nestley, here in the
+hills!  And only just before the race they had been comforted by the
+thought that forest people did not go to the hill Flower Shows.  What
+could possibly have brought her here?  Oh, of course!  It was the
+holidays, and she was probably visiting friends in the neighbourhood.
+But that of all people it should have been Margaret Seaton!  Nancy,
+knowing the girl, and knowing Mavis, was overwhelmed now with the
+remorse that had been tugging at her conscience while she waited for
+the race to begin.  She hugged Mavis close and stroked her hair.
+
+"No, dear, you shan't wait to take the prize.  We ought never to have
+let you go in for the race.  Mummy would say it was a dreadful thing
+for us to let our baby earn the money.  Billy and I ought to have
+thought.  If we can't earn it some other way we must go home."
+
+"Oh, but are you sure you and Billy won't hate me?  Billy will be so
+disappointed."
+
+"Yes, but he'll understand--you know he will.  I'll explain to him.
+Don't worry any more, dear.  See, we'll sit down here together till
+your eyes are dry, 'cos you won't want people to see you've been
+crying; then we'll go."
+
+And so together they sat down on the bank till the storm of tears
+should have subsided.
+
+What was to happen now, Nancy wondered?  The seven-and-sixpence
+belonged to Mavis, but even if the child should presently change her
+mind and be willing to go up to receive it, she was determined not to
+allow her to make the sacrifice.  Poor old Billy, how disappointed he
+would be!  She must call him aside and talk things over with him
+before anything could be decided.
+
+"Look!" whispered Mavis, her voice trembling with agitation, "there's
+Billy coming along the road!  Oh, Nancy, you _will_ explain, won't
+you?"
+
+Nancy re-assured her and stood up to wave to Billy, who had not yet
+seen them.  He ran forward eagerly, and then he, too, paused as Nancy
+had done.  No need to ask questions; he knew at once that they were
+still penniless.  Poor little Mavis, how sorry she seemed.  Ah, but
+she mustn't be--he must pretend that he, at least, did not care!
+
+"Hullo!" he said.  "No go, eh, old girl?  Well, never mind--you were
+a little brick to try; you've been jolly sporty!"
+
+"Oh, but I haven't!" Mavis wailed, her tears starting afresh.  "I'm
+not a tiny bit sporty!  I won the prize an'----"
+
+"_I'll_ tell him," Nancy interrupted.
+
+And then she explained everything to Billy, telling also of her own
+remorse.
+
+"Say something to cheer her up," she whispered.  "She's feeling so
+bad about it."
+
+For answer Billy slipped down on to the bank by Mavis and put his
+arms round her.
+
+"It's all my fault," he said contritely.  "I--I never thought till a
+little while ago up in the wood, at least, not properly.  That's why
+I came to find you."
+
+"Are Mr. Frampton and Monty still there?" Nancy asked, seating
+herself on the other side of Mavis.
+
+"Yes.  I said we'd be back to tea, but--but don't let's hurry.  Let's
+sit here together a bit, just the three of us, shall we?"
+
+Just the three of them in a fellowship that even Dick or Monty could
+not quite enter into yet because it required more even than the
+intimacy of the last few days to belong fully to the comradeship that
+existed between these three.
+
+For a long while they sat there, saying nothing, but with
+understanding between them.  Nobody passed them.  Once a lady and a
+little girl came towards a house on the other side of the road.  They
+watched them idly, noticing the daintiness of the child and the
+youngness of her mother, yet none of them was really interested,
+though at any other time they would have been struck by the music in
+the child's laugh.
+
+"Billy," Mavis whispered presently, "p'raps I _will_ go and take the
+prize.  I--I could shut my eyes tight and not see anybody.  P'raps
+Margaret Seaton will have gone."
+
+"You'll do nothing of the land," Billy replied emphatically.  "I'd
+rather starve than let you do it No!  I've been thinking, and I can't
+see any way out but to go home.  I left Mont cutting down wood for
+his frames, but he'd never sell enough to keep us all.  'Sides----"
+He broke off abruptly, not liking to remind Mavis that the sixpence
+for her entrance fee had left them with only a halfpenny.  "So shall
+I ask Mr. Frampton to take us home or send the telegram to the Prior?"
+
+They couldn't send the wire, Nancy said, for she had noticed that it
+was early closing day when they passed through the village.
+
+"Then we must ask Mr. Frampton to take us home, and we'll have to
+have poor old Ladybird sent on somehow.  We shall have to tell
+everything to Mr. Frampton 'cos we can't borrow money from him
+without letting him know that we can pay him back.  We shall have to
+take it out of the Savings Bank."
+
+"Yes," Nancy replied thoughtfully.  "But need we go to-night, Billy?"
+For herself the glamour had gone out of the hills, for the time
+being, at least, but she knew what giving in would mean to Billy.
+"Couldn't we wait till to-morrow and just see if we can think of some
+plan?"
+
+Billy shook his head.
+
+"No, we can't.  We can't sponge on Mr. Frampton.  To-day was
+different, 'cos we thought--I mean--oh, it's difficult to explain."
+
+Though he found it difficult to express his idea he knew quite well
+where the difference lay.  To-day was not sponging, but to-morrow, if
+they stayed, would be.  No, it would not be "cricket" to keep their
+penniless condition hidden any longer from Mr. Frampton.  He must
+know everything.
+
+"Shall we go and tell him now?" he asked.  The explanation was not
+going to be easy, and the sooner it was over the better.
+
+Three sad and forlorn little people set off dejectedly down the road.
+Sounds of merriment came from the meadow.  The children heard them,
+but they would not turn their heads in the direction of a place that
+was now so hateful to them; as long as they lived, Flower Shows and
+all the jolly things attached to them that they had used to love
+would recall the bitterness of this day.
+
+And so they walked along with their eyes fixed on the dusty road
+until a gurgle of laughter caused them to look up.  Instinctively
+they paused, arrested by what they saw.  Instinctively, too, they
+crept towards the fence that stood between them and that which had
+attracted them and stood with their noses pressed to it, their
+troubles for the moment forgotten, their interest thoroughly aroused.
+
+"Oh, the darling!" Nancy whispered.  "See!  It's the little girl we
+saw go into this house this afternoon.  Isn't she sweet?"
+
+In a paddock at the side of the house was a pond with a willow tree
+drooping over it, and near the pond, with her back to the road was
+the little girl they had seen earlier in the afternoon.  She was
+dancing, and as she danced she crooned a little song.  Indeed, it was
+the song that seemed to suggest the dance.  She sang of the "p'itty
+ripple" in the water, and as she danced her arms rippled through the
+air.  She sang of the slow fluttering of leaves from the willow into
+the pond--again her fingers moved lightly as though she were
+scattering leaves.  She sang of the "p'itty, p'itty sunshine that
+makes 'ittle girls happy," and as she sang she became the very
+embodiment of joy--as joyous as the swallows that had splashed their
+happiness about the Prior's garden.  And then she paused for a moment
+and seemed lost in thought.  With a nod of satisfaction she again
+took up the song and dance.  She was a little mother now singing her
+dolly to sleep--a troublesome dolly who needed much crooning to
+before she would sink to rest on the grass by the pond.
+
+The children watched with breathless interest.  They were spellbound,
+fascinated.  Never before had they even imagined anything like the
+dancing of this fairy of five.  A grown-up person would have said
+that the child was the embodiment of poetry, that she spilt it from
+her beautiful little fingers.  They would have said, too, if they
+happened to be gifted with artistic perception, that rhythm was
+perfected in the movements and crooning of the tiny person.
+Something of the kind Nancy herself would have said had she had the
+words at her command to express what she felt.  As it was, she could
+only stand there with the other two children, each of them absorbed
+in the entrancing picture that certainly did not belong to the
+everyday world.
+
+Time passed unheeded while they stood with their faces pressed to the
+fence and the child danced.  Presently, however, she paused and
+seemed to be considering.  Then a little gurgle of delight escaped
+her, and, clapping her hands, she ran swiftly towards the tree that
+hung over the pond.  She stood by the edge of the water watching with
+delight something that evidently fascinated her.
+
+"Is it a dragon-fly?" Mavis whispered.
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"B'lieve there are lots of them, but I can't quite see.  Wish she
+wouldn't get so near the water!"
+
+The child talked and crooned to the dragon-flies.  Stray words
+reached the children.
+
+"P'itty sky things!  Dear dancy things!  Nonie loves 'oo--Nonie not
+hurt 'ittle sparkly things.  Nonie dance like 'oo."
+
+They saw her poise herself tiptoe with arms outspread, then, with a
+gurgle of laughter, skim with light flitting movements along the edge
+of the pond.
+
+"Nonie sky thing, too, now," she gurgled.  "But, oh, so sad, Nonie
+can't dance on water like 'oo."
+
+Now, a root of the willow tree hung over the pond on a level with the
+bank like a great arm.  The child saw the root and, in her desire to
+get closer to the fascinating dragon-flies, she tip-toed along it and
+stood, with hands clasped together, on the very edge of the arm.
+
+The children gazed in horror.
+
+"She'll fall!  Oh, she'll fall!" Mavis whispered.
+
+"Hush!  We mustn't frighten her," Nancy replied.  "But, oh, I wish
+she'd come off it!  If we call her she'd fall in, I 'spect."
+
+Billy said nothing, but his face went white with the tension of
+watching.  He dared not move lest he should scare the child, but he
+was ready to vault the fence at the first hint of real danger.
+
+For five long minutes they stood gripping the palings, while Nonie,
+regardless of her danger, crooned low and tenderly her delight in the
+flashes of blue life at her feet.
+
+Suddenly, a dog entered the paddock from the garden and barking with
+joy rushed towards his little mistress.  So absorbed was the child
+that she did not hear him until he reached the tree.
+
+"Nikko!" she cried, "go back!  Naughty--go back!"
+
+The dog, however, was so delighted to see her that he ran along the
+root of the tree barking joyously, and then, reaching his beloved
+little mistress, jumped up to lick her face.  Just a touch of his
+paw, just a touch of love, and with a frightened scream Nonie fell,
+her dress catching on the root of the tree and holding her just above
+the water.
+
+Billy, however, had not waited to see the end.  Before the dog had
+reached the tree he had vaulted the fence and was running towards the
+pond.  He saw the child fall, he saw the little muslin garments catch
+on the jagged roots and hoped passionately that they would not give
+way before he could reach the suspended, frightened little girl.
+
+"I'm coming!" he yelled.  "Don't be frightened, Nonie!"
+
+Pushing the excited dog out of the way he ran along the arm of the
+tree, and, kneeling down, reached for the screaming child.  Then,
+regardless of the damage to her pretty clothes, he slipped his hands
+under her and dragged her away from the roots that had proved her
+salvation.
+
+"Don't cry, dear," he panted.  "You're safe now; wait just a minute
+and I'll crawl along to the bank with you.  It's going to be jolly
+awkward, though!" he added to himself.
+
+His arms ached from the strain of lifting the child, and his legs
+were cramped, for there was very little room for a big boy on the
+narrow ledge.  Exactly how he should crawl back without dropping his
+precious burden he did not know, but Nancy solved the problem.
+
+"Billy, wait a moment," she cried, as she and Mavis came running
+towards the tree.  "I'll slither along sideways towards you, then I
+can take her from you and pass her on to Mavis.  Now, are you ready?"
+
+It was no easy matter for Billy to twist himself round and pass the
+frightened little girl to Nancy, but somehow or other he managed it.
+Nancy held the child tenderly a moment before passing her on to
+Mavis, and did her best to quieten her sobs.
+
+"Oh, see!" Mavis cried, relief in her voice, "here's her mother
+running across the meadow.  She'd better take her, hadn't she--she's
+stronger than me."
+
+Nonie's mother reached the scene a moment later.  Nancy smiled
+re-assuringly when she saw the alarm and agitation in her face.
+
+"She's all right," she said.  "But will you get where Mavis is,
+please, an' hold out your arms so I can pass her to you?"
+
+Nonie's mother did not wait to be enlightened as to the cause of the
+tear-stained face and torn clothes, or the presence of the three
+little strangers, but simply held out her arms at Nancy's request,
+assured by her comforting smile that they, at least, were not
+responsible for the accident.
+
+Nonie, when she saw that she was once more on firm ground, clasped
+her arms round her mother's neck.
+
+"Nonie naughty 'ittle girl," she wailed repentantly.
+
+"I rather think she is," her mother replied, holding her very, very
+close.  "What is the naughty thing that my little girl has done this
+time?"
+
+The children, who had scrambled to the bank, stood round watching the
+mother and child with undisguised interest.  Nancy interrupted.
+
+"It was really the dog," she explained.  "He was so pleased to see
+Nonie an' he jumped up and pawed her and she fell, and, oh, wasn't it
+a good thing her dress got caught?  Billy _might_ not have got her
+out of the water in time if he'd had to jump in for her.  He had to
+tear her clothes fearfully when he pulled her up, but he couldn't
+help it."
+
+Couldn't help it?  As though torn clothes mattered a scrap when Nonie
+was safe!  Nonie's mother had listened gravely to Nancy's
+explanation, but now her hazel eyes lit up with a lovely smile as she
+looked at Billy over Nonie's head.  Such a wonderful smile that
+Billy's young heart went out to her in worship.  Again she turned to
+Nonie.
+
+"I am still afraid that Nonie was right when she said she had been
+naughty.  What, I wonder, was she doing on that narrow root?  I seem
+to remember telling a little girl not to go near the water!"
+
+Nonie looked up fearlessly into her mother's eyes and nodded.
+
+"Yes, Nonie very naughty girl.  It was the bits of sky things, they
+were _ever_ pretty, an' I just wanted to know how to dance like them,
+an' so I forgotted, Mummy."
+
+"I see.  But now what is going to happen about it?  How am I to
+punish you?"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+The cry broke involuntarily from the three children.  _Must_ this
+fairy-like little dancer who had held them so enthralled suffer
+ordinary, everyday punishment?  Must she perhaps be _smacked_?  It
+was unthinkable.
+
+Nonie's mother seemed to take them into her confidence as she looked
+up at them with a sorry smile.
+
+"You see," she explained, "little girls of five are not too young to
+learn to obey.  Nonie has been told not to go near the pond."
+
+Nonie suddenly looked up hopefully.
+
+"But 'oo never said 'pwomiss,' did 'oo?  Could honour do 'stead of
+punis'ment?"
+
+The children listened incredulously.  What could this baby thing
+possibly know of honour?
+
+Nonie's mother remained thoughtful for a moment.  The children
+fancied they saw relief in her eyes.
+
+"Very well," she replied.  "We will try."
+
+She put Nonie down on the ground and immediately the baby thing
+straightened herself like a soldier and stood with head erect gazing
+fearlessly at her mother, who looked down at her gravely and tenderly.
+
+"Nonie Brimscombe," she said solemnly, "do you know what honour is?"
+
+"Yes, Mummy."
+
+"And truth?"
+
+"Yes, Mummy."
+
+"Can you promise on your word of honour never to go near the pond
+alone again--not even to see a dragonfly?"
+
+"_Yes_, Mummy."
+
+"Can I rely on you to keep this promise?"
+
+"Yes, Mummy, Nonie'll not bweak her word."  Then she relaxed and held
+out her arms to her mother with a winning smile.  "Are I forgived,
+Mummy dear?  I are ever, ever sorry."
+
+Mrs. Brimscombe stooped and kissed the child.
+
+"Yes, and now we must go and change that frock.  But we haven't yet
+thanked these little people for rescuing you, have we?"
+
+She turned towards the children, who, during the little scene between
+Nonie and her mother, had been listening and watching intently.  Was
+it a kind of "make-believe"?  Ah, yes, it was that surely, and yet
+behind the "make-believe" they felt something real and big, something
+that made them each instinctively straighten themselves just as Nonie
+had done.  Whether it was the words or the way in which Mrs.
+Brimscombe spoke them they hardly knew, yet all that was best in them
+responded to the little scene.  If Flower Shows were henceforth to
+have a sting behind them the word "honour" was always to awaken the
+memory of this poignant little scene in the paddock.  Yet _why_ had
+Mrs. Brimscombe played this "make-believe" with Nonie and _what_ was
+behind it?  And again, why did the name "Brimscombe" seem, well, not
+familiar perhaps, but to stir up some memory?  Suddenly, Billy
+remembered.  This was the Mrs. Brimscombe whose husband had been
+drowned in a boating accident at Gleambridge the previous summer.  He
+recollected it all; a friend of Aunt Letty's knew her and had told
+them all about it, how splendid she had been about it, how she had
+never forgotten the creed of the Guides to smile bravely through
+trouble.  Ah, of course, she was the head of the Girl Guides in that
+district, Aunt Letty's friend had told them; and though Nonie was too
+young to belong to the Guides her mother evidently was training her
+to be one--that, of course, accounted for what they had just
+witnessed.
+
+But Mrs. Brimscombe was speaking.
+
+"I am wondering," she said, and her voice was tremulous with emotion,
+"how I am ever going to thank you.  It is--difficult," she added, and
+her smile as she glanced from them to Nonie was so unspeakably
+tender, so alight with something that came from her very soul that
+not only Billy's, but the girls' hearts, too, went out to her.  Then
+she pushed emotion from her and turned to Nonie.  "I wonder, if we
+asked them very nicely, if our little friends would stay and have tea
+with us?"  Now, so far Mavis had been somewhat in the background, and
+it was Billy, her Nonie's rescuer, of whom Mrs. Brimscombe had taken
+special notice.  Suddenly, however, she looked at Mavis with eyes of
+recognition.  "Why!" she exclaimed, "aren't you the little girl who
+won the Visitors' Race?"
+
+Mavis, looking flushed and uncomfortable, hardly knew what to reply.
+
+"Yes, I _did_ win it," she began.  "But--but----" She paused and
+threw an appealing glance at Nancy and Billy.
+
+"Ah, then you certainly _must_ stay and have tea with Nonie.  The
+prizes won't be distributed until about six o'clock.  Stay and play
+with Nonie till then, will you, dears?  That is, if you can," she
+added.
+
+"Thank you very much," Billy began bravely, "but--but I don't think
+Mavis is going back to the Flower Show.  We--we don't need the money
+very much."
+
+"And we promised Mr. Frampton and Montague we'd be back for tea,"
+Nancy added.  "But we _would_ like to have been able to play with
+Nonie," she added regretfully.
+
+Mrs. Brimscombe looked at the children thoughtfully.  Now what, she
+wondered, lay behind their reluctance to take the prize?  Mavis had
+won it fairly, she was entitled to it.  Yet the child's instinctive
+glance at her soiled frock had not escaped her or the tear-stains
+round her eyes.  Something clearly was wrong.  What were they doing
+here alone and where were the Mr. Frampton and Montague they had
+mentioned?  Not at the Flower Show apparently, else they themselves
+would have been returning there.  No, evidently they were alone in
+Barsdon.  Was it possible they had come specially for the race?  For
+Billy's denial of their need of the money set her wondering.  Could
+it be that they needed it, and that some hurt to their young pride
+(for she knew from her wide experience the sensitiveness of a child's
+heart) prevented them from taking it?  The children's growing
+embarrassment troubled her.  In some way or other she must help them
+out of their difficulty.
+
+"You know," she said, turning to Nancy confidentially, "I think your
+little sister ought to have that money.  The Committee simply won't
+know what to do with it if it's left on their hands.  They get rather
+fuddled, poor dears, if things don't go just by clockwork.  You see,
+it's a great day with them, _lots_ of preparation beforehand, and
+to-day hard work since before seven o'clock.  I've got a prize for
+Table Decoration, and I simply daren't not take it.  I wonder if you
+would let me take yours at the same time, as you have to rejoin your
+friends for tea?  I'll give you the money now, and you can give me a
+receipt for it that I can show the Committee.  Just in case," she
+added, with a laugh, "they think I'm trying to get it unlawfully.
+Come along into the house and I'll get it for you," and she moved
+across the paddock without waiting for a reply.
+
+"Boy, give Nonie pick-a-back," demanded Nonie, who had been making
+overtures of friendship to the responsive children.  "Nonie like 'oo!"
+
+Billy stooped and picked up the child very readily, yet still his
+conscience troubled him as he galloped towards the house with her.
+It seemed so mean to take the money when they hadn't the courage to
+go up and receive it themselves.  When they reached the house he put
+Nonie down and stood in the porch, hesitating uncomfortably.  _What_
+should he do?  What ought he to do?  The money would make such a
+difference--just exactly how hard it would be to give up the
+adventure he had not realized until Mrs. Brimscombe's suggestion had
+seemed to make it possible to go on.  And yet that the money should
+come so easily----
+
+"Won't it--won't it bother you?" he asked awkwardly, looking up at
+Mrs. Brimscombe, who, seeing his indecision, had waited behind while
+Nonie took the girls into the house.  "If you'd rather, I'll go and
+get it if the Committee would give it to me.  The others could go on
+and tell Mr. Frampton I'm coming later.  You see, we _can't_ let
+Mavis take it herself 'cos, well, 'cos it was mean of us to let her
+go in for the race--only, we didn't think.  And--and it wasn't true
+that we don't want it, least not quite true.  We needn't be poor,
+it's not anybody's fault but our own--only----"
+
+Billy paused, hardly knowing how to proceed without telling the whole
+story, and this he could not do, not even to this lovely lady.  And
+yet----
+
+Mrs. Brimscombe had listened with interest and sympathy to Billy's
+half-confession, filling in with ready intuition the gaps in his
+story.  _Why_ they needed the money, she hardly felt it necessary to
+enquire.  Probably it was for some little private purpose, some
+secret between the three of them.  From their conversation they were
+evidently in the care of some responsible person, and their
+appearance, except for the stain on Mavis's frock, gave no indication
+of poverty.  Nevertheless, knowing so well the hearts of children,
+she was now more anxious than ever to help them in their difficulty.
+
+She put both her hands on Billy's shoulders and looked down into his
+eyes.  For a moment she did not speak, and in that silent communion
+each read the truth and honesty in the other, oh, and a whole world
+of other things besides.
+
+"Won't you let me do this for you?" she pleaded.  "You saved my Nonie
+and--she is all I have."
+
+How could Billy resist such an appeal?  That smile that could conquer
+tragedy, a smile that with most people would have been tears, was in
+her eyes, and, because of it and the restrained sadness in her voice,
+all that was chivalrous in Billy went out to her.  And there was a
+good deal of chivalry in Billy.  A boy who has grown to ten years of
+age with a Raleigh for his hero, who has walked with that noble
+gentleman in imagination not once but hundreds of times under stately
+trees that have probably swayed above the real Raleigh, who has felt
+his influence all around him, such a boy could not fail to have
+something chivalrous in his own composition.  Raleigh had spread his
+cloak for a queen to tread on; Billy's whole soul was at the service
+of his Queen.  Nevertheless, being a normal, healthy-minded boy he
+found it difficult to express what was passing in his mind.
+
+"Her dress is spoilt though, an' all her other clothes."
+
+That was all he could find to say.
+
+Mrs. Brimscombe laughed (she had read the surrender in his eyes, and
+that protective sympathy for her that he found it impossible to
+express did not escape her).  "Yes, and I ought to go and put her
+into something respectable, oughtn't I?  It's her _best_ frock, too."
+Again a low rich gurgle that was so like Nonie's escaped her.  What
+were a few torn clothes when your one earthly treasure was safe, her
+laughter seemed to say.  "And so," she added, pressing Billy's
+shoulder affectionately, "it's a bargain, isn't it?"
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"An'--an' thank you awfully."  He hesitated, and she waited, knowing
+that he had more to say.  "Could I some day write and tell you what
+we wanted it for?" he asked, looking up into her face.  "I can't tell
+you now but--but I'd like you to know.  It's awfully important and
+interesting, and it means not having to give in about something."
+
+"Yes, write and tell me all you can, and be very sure I shall be
+interested in anything that concerns you--always.  Tell me just one
+thing," she added, looking straight into his eyes, "are you more than
+seven-and-sixpence poor?"
+
+Billy returned her look squarely.  He could not possibly resent the
+implied suggestion behind her words, and he thought the matter out
+carefully before replying.  Sleeping out of doors had become a
+fascination, therefore nothing would be required for lodgings.
+Surely seven-and-sixpence should feed them for three or four days
+longer?
+
+"No," he replied, "I think we're not, but--thank you very much."
+
+Mrs. Brimscombe was satisfied that he spoke the truth.
+
+"Come in for a moment," she said; "I must have that receipt, you
+know!"
+
+Nonie, regardless of her rags, was playing hostess to Nancy and Mavis
+in the drawing-room.
+
+"Oh, she's sweet!" Nancy whispered to Mrs. Brimscombe, when she and
+Billy entered the room.  "She's pretending to be you, talking
+'grown-up afternoon-tea talk'--so funny and quaint!  I wish we could
+see her again some day."
+
+"You are going to," Mrs. Brimscombe replied simply.  "Nonie and I are
+not going to lose sight of you, are we, Nonie?  Shall we ask them if
+they will come and stay with us some day?"
+
+To come and stay here with Nonie's mother?  Billy, as he watched
+Mavis sign the receipt and drink the milk Mrs. Brimscombe insisted on
+them having before leaving, thrilled with pride at the thought of it.
+Aunt Letty's friend had said that it was a privilege to serve under
+her (she herself was a captain in the Guides).  Well, what of the
+privilege of staying in her house and perhaps being allowed to be her
+protector, since she had no one now to look after her?  Oh, this hill
+country, what endless wonders it held?  Who could possibly prefer an
+everyday garden to adventuring here?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HALF-CONFESSIONS
+
+And while life was pressing adventure towards the three children down
+in Barsdon, Dick and Montague were having a dull and miserable time
+up in the wood.
+
+Dick was not greatly troubled at first at the absence of the two
+girls; they were probably lingering in the paddock petting Modestine.
+He lay on the ground smoking, waiting for some move on the part of
+the boys, for that they should have no share in the mysterious
+engagement had never occurred to him.  To his surprise, however,
+neither of them for quite a long time showed the slightest
+inclination to leave the wood.  But, presently, through half-closed
+eyes, he noticed a growing restlessness in Billy.  There was an
+anxious, troubled look on the usually sunny face, and, presently,
+apparently unable to keep his anxiety to himself, he drew Montague to
+the edge of the wood and a whispered consultation took place between
+them.  Dick sat up and watched them.  Was it the girls Billy was
+concerned about?  Surely in that case he would have consulted with
+him rather than Montague.  Yet they certainly had been gone a long
+time.  He was about to join the two and make casual enquiries
+regarding the girls' absence when Billy disappeared and Montague,
+looking depressed and unhappy, re-entered the wood.  Now what was to
+be done?  Should he question Montague or wait for further
+developments?  And why should Montague wear that air of depression?
+And then again, what was he doing with that neat little bundle of
+wood; why was he cutting it into such short lengths?  Apparently the
+boy had forgotten that he was not alone for, as he worked, he began
+to talk to himself.
+
+"Hope Billy remembers the tacks if he finds the girls.  Wish I'd got
+'em now, so I could go down to the Flower Show and sell to the people
+as they came out.  Oh dear, I'm feeling rather lonely; wish _I_ could
+have gone to find Mavis, but Billy said stay here.  Wonder if they'll
+meet those ruffians who stole the money?  P'raps Billy'll take it
+from them again--then we _shall_ be rich!"
+
+Dick was not near enough to catch all the rumblings, but he had heard
+enough to arouse his curiosity and some anxiety.  He thought it high
+time to recall himself to Montague's memory.
+
+"Hullo, old chap, what are you doing?" he enquired, rising and
+sauntering towards him.
+
+"Just making picture frames," Montague replied.
+
+"Picture frames?" Dick repeated.  "Won't they be rather in the way on
+your travels?"
+
+"They're not going on our travels."  Then an idea came to Montague.
+Why not ask Mr. Frampton to buy some?  Billy wouldn't let them borrow
+money from him, but to sell something to him was surely different.
+"Do you want to buy some?" he asked.  "When they're finished, I mean.
+I can't tack them together till Mavis----"
+
+"Yes?" said Dick.  "'Till Mavis----'?"
+
+"Oh, nothing!" Montague replied uncomfortably.
+
+"Look here, old chap," Dick said, seating himself on a log near the
+boy, "I've not yet heard the full story of yours and Billy's battered
+faces.  I wish you'd tell me all about it.  Did anything happen
+to--well, to make it necessary for you to sell picture-frames?"
+
+Montague, wishing fervently that the others were there to support
+him, eyed Dick dubiously, but made no reply.
+
+"Don't you trust me?" asked Dick.
+
+Montague nodded.
+
+"Yes, but Billy said----"
+
+"Yes--what did Billy say?"
+
+"Oh, nothing, 'cept that you'd p'raps make us go back if you knew,
+an' if you didn't do that we'd be sponging on you.  But it's all
+right now--least, it will be when Mavis comes back.  I--I wish she'd
+come--I _wish_ we hadn't let her!"
+
+Montague paused.  He was wishing with all his heart that he had not
+promised Billy to stay in the wood.  They ought to have gone
+together; the anxiety of waiting was becoming almost unendurable, and
+he would have given much to have been able to share his fears with
+Dick.  Supposing something had happened to little Mavis?  Oh, it was
+terrible to be left behind!
+
+Dick slowly filled his pipe, thinking hard while he pressed the
+tobacco into the bowl, and glancing from time to time at Montague's
+troubled face.
+
+"Look here, old chap," Dick began, "you're worried about them, I
+know.  Now, suppose we give them another quarter-of-an-hour, and then
+if they haven't returned I think you had better tell me where they
+have gone and we will talk the matter over together and see what can
+be done.  I'm worried, too, you know," he added.
+
+"Are you fond of them?" Montague asked.  "Would you mind if anything
+happened to them?"
+
+"I should mind very much indeed," Dick replied, "if anything happened
+to any of you four youngsters--but it isn't going to!  Now, is it a
+bargain?"  He pulled out his watch and looked at Montague
+questioningly.
+
+"Yes, if I needn't tell you what Billy wouldn't like me to tell you."
+
+Montague himself would have been quite ready to confess the whole
+adventure from the very beginning to Dick, feeling sure that the
+friend who had stood by him so often in the dreadful aunt-days that
+were already beginning to fade into the remote past, would
+understand.  And, after all, if he insisted on a return, as far as
+he, Montague, was concerned, it would not greatly matter.  Nothing
+would induce him to return to Riversham, but the children had offered
+to share their home with him, and he was secretly awaiting with eager
+interest the day when he should be initiated into the delights of
+their beloved Nestcombe.  The grown-ups?  Well, he would tolerate
+them for the children's sake; yes, even the aunt, since Mavis loved
+her.  Nevertheless, though practically any place would be home for
+him if the children were there, for Billy's sake he hoped he would
+not be led to tell Mr. Frampton too much.  Billy cared so
+tremendously about this adventure (that he was the leader Montague
+had recognized from the beginning), and because Billy had been such a
+good chum to him, because, moreover, he was beginning to care for him
+as he had never yet cared for another boy he wanted to stand loyally
+by his friend and not let him down.
+
+He spent the next fifteen minutes wondering just how little he could
+tell Dick and hoping against hope that the children would turn up and
+relieve him of the necessity of saying anything at all.  But the
+fifteen minutes dragged slowly by and they did not come.
+
+"Now," said Dick, glancing at his watch, "the time is up, so let's
+see what can be done.  Tell me--are they in Barsdon?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That's all right--then we haven't far to go.  Why didn't you go with
+them?"
+
+"I dunno.  I _wanted_ to.  It was just Mavis and Nancy really who
+were to go, and Billy and me were to wait here, only Billy got
+worried and wished he'd not let Mavis--not let them go and I wished
+it too, and I wanted to go and fetch them back, and just do the
+picture-frames, but Billy said no, she was his sister, and he would
+go and find her and would I wait here 'case they came back another
+way."
+
+"Yes--but what _is_ it that Mavis went to do?"
+
+"Well, to run in a race at the Flower Show!"
+
+Dick showed his astonishment.
+
+"Run in a race at the Flower Show?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes, for seven-and-sixpence," Montague growled, "'cos nearly all our
+money was stolen."
+
+Dick began to see daylight, but he looked down at Montague gravely.
+
+"And you boys allowed little Mavis to do that rather than treat me as
+a comrade?"
+
+Montague said nothing, but he felt horribly ashamed, and very, very
+unhappy.  He began to realize that as he knew Mr. Frampton so much
+better than the others he ought to have persuaded them to trust him.
+Very miserably he looked up at Dick.
+
+"It's--it's not exactly _you_--it's your grown-upness, I b'lieve."
+
+Ah, yes, that indeed was it.  Dick knew it, and, for the first time
+in his twenty-one years, hated this barrier he had regarded hitherto
+as something very wonderful and very desirable.  Yet--twenty-one--was
+it so far from the world of childhood?  And what exactly was the
+barrier; how could it be defined?  He had roughed it with them, had
+shared their picnics, had, he thought, dropped his "grown-upness"
+entirely.  They were fond of him, there was no doubt of that, just as
+they were of Montague, yet, because of a nameless barrier, they had
+left him out in the cold, while the penniless boy (for Dick was sure
+Montague was not worth more than a few pence when he joined the
+adventurers) they had taken into their entire comradeship.  It was
+impossible, of course, to be either hurt or angry, nevertheless, Dick
+regretted deeply that these care-free irresponsible little
+adventurers should think it necessary to shut him out.
+
+"That's it!" he thought.  "Irresponsible!  The irresponsibility of
+childhood--these little people knew instinctively that one loses it
+when manhood comes."  Dick suddenly felt very lonely and sighed for
+that lost boyhood that he had cast off so willingly.
+
+Well, no use wasting time over vain regrets, something must be done
+immediately.  He must run down.  to Barsdon in the car; probably,
+after all, the children were merely waiting for Mavis to receive the
+prize.
+
+"Wait here for me, Mont, in case I should miss them.  And if I find
+them we'll all go to the Show together this evening."
+
+Montague looked round at the silent wood and the loneliness smote him
+to the heart.
+
+"You won't be _very_ long, will you?"
+
+"No.  If I don't see them soon I'll come back for you and we'll
+search together.  Make a fire and get the kettle boiling," he added,
+thinking the time would drag less if the boy were occupied, "and
+don't worry, old chap.  I'll find them, or we'll find them together."
+
+For a moment their eyes met, and through the chilling loneliness in
+the boy's heart there swept a sudden surge of affection and gratitude
+and trust.
+
+"You an' the Prior," he muttered, "an' my guardian aren't like
+ordinary grown-ups.  I s'pose men are better'n women.  I'm _glad_
+you're my friend."
+
+Dick, as he drove rapidly down the lane to Barsdon felt absurdly
+happy at the boy's confidence.  Need there be an insurmountable
+barrier, he wondered?
+
+"Well, at least we're necessary to them sometimes," he thought, "and
+that is something."
+
+He was just about to make enquiries as to where the Flower Show was
+being held when, hurrying along the village street towards him he
+caught sight of three well-known little figures.
+
+"Mr. Frampton!"
+
+Again Dick forgave these troublesome little people the anxiety they
+had caused him because of that unmistakable ring of gladness in their
+voices.  Again he felt an absurd happiness when they scrambled into
+the car as though it were their right.
+
+"Where's Monty?" Mavis asked, as Dick turned the car in the direction
+of the wood.
+
+"Keeping his promise to Billy."  Dick spoke somewhat shortly, for he
+wanted them to realize something of Montague's loneliness without
+them.  "We began to think, you know, that our comrades had deserted
+us."
+
+"Oh, but we couldn't do that!" Nancy exclaimed impulsively.  "We
+_couldn't_ come sooner--Monty will understand when we explain.  And
+you----"  She paused and looked questioningly at Billy.  If only she
+might tell Mr. Frampton _some_ part of the doings of the
+afternoon--it was hateful to be so secretive.  To her delight and
+surprise Billy nodded consent, and turning again to Dick she began to
+tell him of Billy's rescue of Nonie.
+
+"I didn't mean that part," Billy broke in.  "I meant about us having
+the money stolen.  We _couldn't_ tell you yesterday, Mr. Frampton,
+and a little while ago we thought we'd _have_ to tell you, 'cos it
+seemed to be the end of our travels.  But it isn't the end after all
+and yet--oh, well, we just hate not telling you, 'cos we're all kind
+of chums together, aren't we?"
+
+Very, very slowly Dick drove up the stoney lane, his heart thrilling
+with happiness as between them (Billy and Mavis who were in the back
+hanging over the seat) they told the full story of the fight and the
+lost purse, their shame at having only dry bread to offer him,
+Mavis's suggestion that she should enter for the race and even (with
+Mavis's consent) her encounter with the girl from Nestcombe.
+
+Not quite all the story was told in the car.  It was a shout of joy
+from Montague that interrupted the narrative.  Poor, poor Monty, how
+sorry they were to have left him so long; how glad they were to see
+him again.  Oh, it was good to be with these two dear comrades again.
+And tea was waiting for them?  How nice of Mr. Frampton and Monty to
+have waited for them; they didn't deserve it and yet--and yet, oh, it
+was not at all easy, they were beginning to find, to know what was
+the right thing to do.  Mr. Frampton and Montague had been worried
+about them, yes, and lonely, too--this they found out from Monty
+when, after tea, they were all sitting together quietly near the
+bower.  And they were their comrades, both of them and--and should
+one hurt one's comrades?  But then, it was unthinkingly.  Yet again,
+_why_ not have trusted Mr. Frampton?  Wasn't it somehow different
+between a little band of friends, between out-of-doors comrades?  How
+sorry he seemed that they had not trusted him--yes, there was _his_
+point of view.
+
+"I'm sorry," Billy said, "I--I wish we'd told you."
+
+"And, oh, we were so unhappy about Mavis," Nancy added.  "That was
+why Billy left you and Monty alone.  But we ought to have told you."
+She was silent for a moment, then suddenly she asked Dick a question.
+"What is 'obligations'?" she demanded.  "Do you have them towards
+people--people you like?"
+
+"Yes," Dick replied, wondering what was coming, "sometimes."
+
+Nancy's eyes glowed.
+
+"Oh, do you know," she continued, "I'm just beginning to _feel_ that
+word--it's getting inside me, and I can hear a song in it.  _Some_
+words, you know, dance inside me like music--pretty words, I mean,
+but I never thought 'obligations' would!  I thought it was a cold,
+ugly grown-up word, but it isn't.  It's thrilly and--and chummy!
+I--I can't explain it better than that.  _Do_ you understand?"
+
+Yes, Dick understood well enough.  How dear these children were, how
+grateful he was to them for this comradeship they were extending to
+him.  The invisible barrier still was there, they still had not made
+full confession, nevertheless Dick was convinced that as far as it
+was possible for them to take a "grown-up" into their childhood's
+world, they had taken him and he was satisfied.
+
+"And yet," he thought, as he sat watching them, "though 'obligations'
+has become a living word for Nancy, none of them has even yet
+realized their obligations to their own people.  I wonder when they
+will?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE DERELICT CAR
+
+After breakfast the following morning they gathered at the edge of
+the wood and scanned a grey, unpromising sky anxiously.  What did Mr.
+Frampton think of the weather?  Did he think it would be possible for
+them to sleep out-of-doors to-night?
+
+Dick shook his head.
+
+"It will rain before the day is out," he replied.  "The wind will
+keep it off for a time, I think, but you'll certainly have to find a
+cottage this evening."
+
+Billy and Nancy exchanged troubled glances.  Seven-and-sixpence would
+not go very far, they knew, if some of it had to be used for sleeping
+accommodation, for they could not hope to find another Priory.
+
+Dick, of course, knew that they were worried, and just before they
+were about to set out on their travels he made a proposal to them.
+
+"I wonder," he began, as he lifted Mavis into the saddle, "if you
+would strike a bargain with me to-day?  You invite me to lunch, and
+let me invite you to tea at a cottage I know at a gem of a village
+called Omberley.  Probably we could stay there for the night, if need
+be, and that," he added with a smile, "I should like to be _my_ part
+of the programme.  Will you let your big chum do this?"
+
+How could they refuse when he seemed to wish it so much?  Was he not
+now one of themselves--almost?  For the quiet, happy hours spent
+together in the wood last night had strengthened the bond of
+comradeship between them; Dick and the two elder children had been
+keenly alive to it, and it was this that had made it possible for him
+to make his suggestion.
+
+"But can you spare the time to be with us so much?" Nancy enquired.
+"Oughtn't you to be looking after other travellers?"
+
+Dick re-assured her.  It was children that he was mainly responsible
+for.  Of course, when anybody needed a hand with a car he must give
+it, but otherwise he was at their service.  In fact he had mentioned
+them in his report to his employers, and they were fully satisfied
+that he was doing his job in looking after them.
+
+"But where is Omberley?" they asked.  "Is it on the Gleambridge road?"
+
+Dick gave them the direction.  They could easily reach it by the
+afternoon, he said, and once there he was sure they would not want to
+leave it.  And then there was the common up above it--such a common!
+And beyond the village on the edge of the common _perhaps_ a glimpse
+of the cathedral!  The cathedral? Nancy responded instantly.  To see
+it from this side of the hills--had that not been the desire of her
+heart for the last two days?  The Birdstone glimpse, being so shadowy
+and remote did not count, she said--though it had resulted in a poem!
+
+"Don't make too sure of seeing it," Dick advised her.  "It will
+probably be blotted out to-day even if the rain keeps off."
+
+He arranged a time for lunch in case they should not meet before
+then, and at the same time fixed tea at Omberley for about six
+o'clock.  He meant, of course, to keep a casual eye on them in
+between whiles, but because of the new comradeship between them,
+because of their trust in him he did not wish to hamper their
+movements or rob their adventure of any of its charm.
+
+The children set off down the hill to Barsdon in high spirits.
+Modestine, refreshed by her long rest, was in her most angelic mood,
+and seemed glad to be with the children again after her lonely day in
+the meadow.
+
+Montague, before they reached the village, put his hand in his pocket
+and produced five shining shillings.  The other children looked at
+them in blank astonishment.
+
+"It's for picture-frames," he explained.  "Mr. Frampton ordered five
+while you were getting Modestine ready this morning, and he's going
+to take a photo of each of us and of Modestine and keep them in the
+frames _always_.  So we've twelve-and-sixpence now," he added
+proudly, handing the money over to Billy.  "Twelve-and-fivepence when
+we've bought the tin-tacks."
+
+"How ripping!" Billy exclaimed, accepting the money unhesitatingly.
+"Let's get a really decent lunch, shall we?  We can buy it in
+Barsdon."
+
+Barsdon shops, however, had nothing very exciting to offer them.
+Bread and cheese, some rather dry-looking corned beef, a large bag of
+buns and dough-nuts and some sour-looking apples was the best they
+could do.  As far as they themselves were concerned, it was good
+enough, but they would certainly have liked something better to have
+offered Mr. Frampton.
+
+They passed very near to the Brimscombes' house and looked about
+eagerly for some sign of Nonie or her mother, but neither of them was
+to be seen.  Reluctantly they passed on down the Gleambridge road and
+soon Barsdon lay behind them.  Just a cluster of houses amidst the
+hills it seemed now as they looked back, nevertheless to the children
+it was unforgettable.  So much had happened there, such a mixture of
+trouble and happiness, yet, somehow, the troubles seemed to have
+faded into unimportance, and their thoughts lingered about the
+happiness.  Nonie and her mother and "When we come to stay at
+Barsdon"--that was all the talk now, and the hills piled up about
+them were simply excluded by the vision.  And adventure?  Well, of
+course, there had been no _real_ adventure in Barsdon, but _could_
+adventure, they wondered, be more thrilling, more interesting than
+the finding of Nonie and Mrs. Brimscombe?
+
+There was a chilliness in the air this morning that sent them
+hurrying on.  The sun came out fitfully, but whether it was there or
+not seemed to make very little difference to-day.  How could you be
+anything but care-free when you felt yourselves to be almost
+millionaires?  Once or twice Dick passed them and paused each time
+for a chat.  How nice to meet someone you knew, they thought; what a
+friendliness it gave to the hills.
+
+Presently Nancy's imagination found a way through the fun and
+laughter and pointed out to her the beauty of the hills on this grey,
+gleamy day.  Being so much a child of sunshine and shadows herself
+she loved a day such as this; it exhilarated her, and the hills, with
+their intense, dusky curtain of mist against the silver of the sky,
+were to her even more attractive than in the clear sunlight.
+
+The morning slipped happily by, and just before one o'clock they
+found Dick waiting for them half-way up a gentle slope.
+
+"I was beginning to feel hungry," he announced when they came up with
+him, "and I thought this bit of grass would make a decent
+camping-ground; it would be colder on the top.  Is anybody else ready
+for lunch?" he enquired, with a smile.
+
+Were they not?  Who would not be in this keen hill air?  Even Aunt
+Hewlett would have been satisfied with their capacity for putting
+away food to-day.
+
+"We _always_ seem to eat a lot out of doors," Nancy sighed, as after
+the last bun had disappeared they attacked a bag of chocolates Dick
+had provided.  "We're just as bad at picnics at home, and when we go
+fishing in Daddy Petherham's boat--well!"
+
+"Some day," said Dick, "you must come on the river with me."
+
+"When we get home?" Nancy exclaimed.  "How lovely!  Oh, but," she
+added, remembering his wardenship, "what about your work?"
+
+"It's only a temporary job," Dick replied.
+
+"How rotten!" said Billy.  "That'll mean finding another one, won't
+it?"
+
+"Oh, I shall do that easily enough," Dick replied lightly, as he
+helped them fix their blankets on to the saddle.
+
+They felt, when presently they turned to wave good-bye, that they
+were leaving an old friend behind them.
+
+"It must be because it's an out-of-doors friendship," Nancy said, "it
+makes a difference, just as it does to one's appetite!"
+
+The road at the top of the hill opened out into a wide, sweeping
+common, much more interesting-looking than the flat plain they had
+found at the top of Birdstone.  However, there was no time for even
+Nancy to set her imagination at work upon the view, for a car just
+ahead with someone lying under it, evidently busy with repairs,
+attracted their attention.  Exactly why someone lying under a car
+should prove more attractive than the hills that had lured them from
+home they could not have explained.  People and things and happenings
+always seemed to be pushing themselves in front of the hills--that
+was all they knew about the matter.
+
+"We'd better see if they want help," Billy said.  "I could run back
+and call Mr. Frampton."
+
+When they came up with the car they discovered that the person who
+was lying under it was a girl.  In the car was a thin, elderly
+person, who was leaning out and abusing the girl in a shrill,
+high-pitched voice She had evidently worked herself up into a
+decidedly bad temper.
+
+"She's an aunt!" Montague whispered.  "A great-aunt!"
+
+He stared at the girl who was grappling with the repairs, less in
+sympathy, it must be confessed, than curiosity; he was experiencing a
+certain unholy satisfaction that someone else, not he, was the
+sufferer this time.
+
+"That's the kind of thing _I_ had to put up with," he whispered
+bitterly to Mavis.  "'Spect she's feeling jolly miserable!"
+
+At this moment the girl wriggled out from under the car.  To
+Montague's utter astonishment, however, the crushed, miserable
+expression he had expected to see was not there.  The girl was
+actually smiling kindly and good-humouredly (almost as one would
+smile at a troublesome child) at the bad-tempered aunt-person.
+
+"Don't stand staring, Monty dear," Mavis whispered hastily.  "It's
+not polite."
+
+Meanwhile, Billy, feeling far more scared than he ever had done of
+Aunt Hewlett, advanced towards the occupant of the car.
+
+"Have you had a breakdown?" he asked politely.  "'Cos the Warden of
+the Hills is only a little way down the hill, and we could call him
+for you if you would like us to."
+
+"The what?" shrieked the old lady.
+
+"The Warden of the Travellers in the Hills!" Billy repeated.
+
+"Mr. Frampton, you know," Nancy further explained.  "He has to help
+travellers when things go wrong."
+
+The young lady looked interested, but the old lady after
+staring--very rudely, the children thought--shouted:
+
+"Warden fiddlesticks!  Some infamous wretch, I'll be bound!"
+
+Now Montague, though his own aunt might occasionally be too much for
+him, felt a strong desire working within him to battle with this
+"stranger-aunt," as he called her to himself, and before either of
+the others could defend their friend he had stepped forward.
+
+"Mr. Frampton's no more a wretch than you are," he growled, glaring
+at the old lady with all his old, impish defiance, "an' nobody'd
+better say he is to me--that's all!  He's my friend; he's the friend
+of us all, isn't he, Nancy?"
+
+Nancy was about to reply, but the old lady interrupted her.
+
+"Go on, boy!" she cried.  "Let me hear the fate of anyone who
+persists in calling him the names he deserves!"
+
+"Well, they'd better _not_ persist!" Montague rumbled darkly.  "It's
+lies if they do!"
+
+The old lady cackled out her enjoyment of what she considered,
+apparently, a joke, and whispered something to the girl about
+"delightful subterranean rumblings," then, suddenly her mood changed
+again, and, regardless of the children's offer, she bade the girl get
+to work again on the car, abusing her peevishly for her incapability
+and enquiring what time she proposed to arrive at Gleambridge.
+
+The girl, with a hopeless shake of her head and a smile for the
+children, again slid under the car, and the old lady, to their
+surprise, subsided into her seat and closed her eyes.
+
+Montague leaned down to the girl behind the car.
+
+"Do you hate that aunt?" he whispered.
+
+The girl raised herself and shook her head.
+
+"No--I like her.  But she's not my aunt--I'm her companion."
+
+"Oh!"  Montague was decidedly disappointed.
+
+"Why is she so horrid to you?" Nancy whispered.  "Don't you mind it?"
+
+"Not in the least," the girl replied.  "She can't help it, poor dear.
+It's nerves.  Besides, I've been a Red Cross nurse, and had
+experience with matrons and things!"
+
+They looked mystified.
+
+"She's a lamb compared with hospital matrons," the girl explained.
+"Besides, she's fond of me.  To-morrow she'll give me a spanking box
+of 'chocs' or a new frock to make up for this."
+
+"How queer!" Nancy exclaimed.
+
+"You see," the girl whispered, "this car is a good old 'has-been,'
+and she knows it, but nothing on earth will induce her to admit as
+much, because her only son who was killed in the war bought it.
+She'll keep it till it drops to pieces, and continue abusing the
+roads and me--but she knows I understand."
+
+"Here's Mr. Frampton!" cried Mavis, who was waiting patiently near by
+with Modestine.
+
+"Oh," Nancy sighed in relief, "I'm so glad!  He'll make it go if
+anyone can."
+
+Dick, seeing the children, drew up and waited expectantly.  Nancy ran
+to him and whispered an explanation of the affair.
+
+"Do make it go for her and if the old lady is horrid to you don't
+mind--it's only nerves!  We told her you were the Warden and she
+wasn't very nice."
+
+"All right," Dick replied, "I'll see what can be done.  But don't
+wait for me," he added.  "It's time you were getting on to Omberley."
+He feared that the tactless old lady might give him away, and this he
+would not have had happen just now for the world.
+
+The children reluctantly bade the girl good-bye.
+
+"Just when you get interested, on you always go again," Nancy sighed.
+
+"If she'd been an aunt," Montague growled, "then she wouldn't have
+been sorry to-morrow.  Aunts aren't ever sorry--not _great_-aunts,"
+he added hastily, seeing protest in Mavis's attitude.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AWAKENING
+
+In after days, Nancy found that her sub-conscious self (she did not,
+of course, call it that) had stored up impressions of the spacious
+view.  Grey, ineffaceable impressions that seemed a fitting prelude
+to tragedy.  Nevertheless, her conscious self was still occupied with
+the strange couple they had left behind on the common; for people,
+especially if they were somewhat out of the ordinary, never failed to
+rouse her interest.
+
+"There's so much to wonder about them," she would say.
+
+And she was wondering a great deal about those two when presently
+Dick came up with them.  Nancy noticed immediately that he was
+troubled about something.
+
+"It's that car," he explained, in answer to her enquiry.  "The bally
+thing ought to be on the scrap-heap, but the old lady won't part with
+it, as you know."
+
+Then he went on to explain the obsolete mechanism of the thing, and
+how he had promised to run into Gleambridge to see if it was possible
+to get some new parts that would fix them up for a time.  Of his very
+interesting interview with the old lady, of her pointed remarks about
+the condition of his roads--if he was in truth Warden of the
+Hills--of her enjoyment of his discomfiture, and her demands that he
+should get them out of their predicament he said nothing.
+
+Demands apart, however, he could not, in common humanity, leave her
+and her companion stranded.  He knew that he must go to Gleambridge,
+yet what was to be done about the children?  He did not at all care
+about leaving them for so long--besides, he was anxious to see them
+settled at Omberley before the rain came; it could not hold off much
+longer, he was sure.  If only he could have persuaded them all to
+accompany him to Gleambridge--but then, of course, there was
+Modestine.  No, he must think of some other plan.
+
+He talked the matter over with the children and finally Billy made a
+suggestion.  If Mr. Frampton would take the girls in the car as far
+as Omberley he could show them where to stay for the night.  They
+could then meet the boys at the entrance to the village and take them
+to the rooms where they would await tea for him.
+
+"That's an excellent idea," said Dick.  "If I can't get that derelict
+fixed up by six o'clock it will have to be abandoned."  He helped
+Nancy and Mavis into the car.  "Better tumble the blankets in, too,
+Billy, in case the rain comes before you reach Omberley."
+
+It seemed to Nancy as they sped over the wide, sweeping common that
+they were on the very top of the world.
+
+"Are there _really_ places higher than this?" she gasped, for the
+clean, cold air took her breath away.
+
+"Much, much higher!" Dick replied, with an amused laugh.  "Are you
+enjoying it?"
+
+"Oh, it's 'toxicating!" she laughed, "isn't it, Mavis?  It makes one
+feel 'spasmy.'"
+
+"What a wild little creature she is," thought Dick, glancing down at
+the excited little face.  He was glad that the forest and river that
+he loved so dearly had had a hand in the making of Nancy.
+
+Quite suddenly the road swung round to the left and they came upon
+Omberley snuggling against the hillside.  Nancy, of course, did some
+"sky-climbing" when she saw it.  "Sky-climbing," Mavis explained to
+Dick, was a family word for Nancy's enthusiasms.
+
+"Well, I can't help it," Nancy replied, "if he brings me suddenly
+from the top of the world to a lovely baby village nestling in its
+mother's arms.  'Sides, he says lots of artists come to paint
+it--p'raps you will when you're bigger!" for already little Mavis was
+showing promise of being an artist.
+
+Dick stopped the car at a pretty little house half-way down the
+village.  He left the children outside while he went in to make
+arrangements; these, apparently, did not take long, for he soon
+returned followed by a pleasant-faced woman.
+
+"Mrs. Halliday has come to take the blankets in and to be introduced
+to you," he explained.  "She's going to get us a splendid tea, and
+you are all to come here as soon as you like.  The sooner the
+better," he added.  "You'd get drenched up on that common in the
+rain.  You'll be happy and comfortable here; won't they, Mrs.
+Halliday?"
+
+Mrs. Halliday replied that it would not be her fault if they were
+not, and, after a few final directions, they bade her good-bye "for a
+little while."  At the top of the village Dick pointed out an hotel
+where they could leave Modestine and then, very reluctantly, set out
+for Gleambridge.
+
+Nancy and Mavis sauntered slowly back across the common.  As yet
+there was no sign of the boys, so, keeping one eye on the road, they
+explored some of the many fascinating little paths amongst the
+bushes.  It was a wonderful common, quite different from anything
+they had ever seen before and seemed to offer endless possibilities.
+The "make-believe" games that might be played there!  After tea, if
+it was fine, they simply _must_ come here to play.  So interested
+were they both that they almost forgot to keep an eye on the road,
+and it was not until they heard a frantic shout of recognition that
+they realized how far they had strayed.
+
+They flew back across the common, but, before they could reach the
+boys, large drops of rain began to fall.  Billy, seeing some
+possibility of shelter behind the bushes, urged Modestine across the
+grass to join them.
+
+"We'd better wait a little while," he shouted to the girls.  "Daddy
+Petherham," he added, turning to Montague, "would say it's only going
+to be a shower if he saw that sky.  But he'd say there's lots more
+coming presently--worse luck!"
+
+The girls were waiting for them by a large hawthorn bush, and they
+all huddled together, with Modestine, who hated getting wet, in their
+midst.
+
+"Jolly good thing we've arranged to sleep indoors to-night," Billy
+said, as he watched the driving rain.  "Did Mr. Frampton manage to
+fix things up?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, and at the dinkiest little cottage, too, and you'll
+simply _love_ Omberley!" Nancy replied, enthusiastically.
+
+"_And_ this common!" Mavis added eagerly.  "We just had to explore a
+little.  I _wish_ you'd both been here!"
+
+Presently, the rain ceased and, for the first time during the
+afternoon, the sun shone brilliantly.
+
+"It's going to be fine for a little while anyway!" they cried
+hopefully, but they had spent too many hours in wise old Daddy
+Petherham's company to mistake that brilliance.  The boys, however,
+had been looking about them while they were sheltering and they too
+found delightful possibilities tucked away behind those alluring
+common paths.
+
+"There'd be time just to go down there," Billy said eagerly, pointing
+to a path that led towards what seemed to be a kind of fort.
+
+"Mr. Frampton said not to hang about too long," Nancy replied
+doubtfully.  "I b'lieve he worries rather about us, you know."
+
+"Well, we won't stay long, but it's not nearly six yet, and 'sides
+we'd be miserable stuffed up in a cottage for hours.  Just down this
+_one_ path, then we'll go straight to the cottage."
+
+There seemed no immediate prospect of another shower, so Nancy gave
+in, and four eager children and one somewhat reluctant donkey set out
+on a voyage of discovery across the common.  The fort was further off
+than they had imagined, but nobody thought of turning back for they
+did not come upon anything so interesting every day!
+
+A real fort!  How did it get there?  Was it ever used?  They could
+see no sign of soldiers, nor even a sentry.  A fort with no
+defenders, with no enemy to storm it?  Oh, impossible!
+
+"Just _one_ little game!" Billy cried eagerly.  "Modestine can graze;
+there's lots of cows and horses over there so she'll be quite happy."
+
+"Well, just five minutes!" Nancy conceded.
+
+Five minutes when you have to defend your country with your very life
+against a persistent enemy?  Who could think of paltry minutes, who
+could have eyes for gathering storm-clouds when all your resources
+are being called upon to defend your hearth and home from a merciless
+enemy?
+
+And so half an hour or more slipped away, and a grey mist crept up
+and shut out the Gleambridge valley and the distant hills.  Great,
+piled-up storm-clouds rolled nearer and nearer, but it was not until
+a terrific clap of thunder, that might almost have been the booming
+of one of their own imaginary guns, brought them back to earth with a
+start that they realized what was happening.
+
+"Oh!" cried Nancy in dismay, "what _will_ Mr. Frampton say?  We ought
+to have gone long ago."
+
+"Yes," Billy replied guiltily.  "Here comes the rain!  It's no use
+sheltering; it's going to be a terrific thunder-storm.  We'd better
+fly."
+
+They looked round for Modestine, but she was nowhere in sight.
+Horses and cows were huddled together under a high wall beyond the
+fort, but Modestine was not amongst them.  Now what was to be done?
+They could not possibly leave the poor little animal out in the
+storm; they would have to stay and find her.
+
+"Oh, I hope we find her quick," Mavis said, in a frightened little
+voice.  "I hate this horrid thunder and lightning."
+
+Nancy could tell by the way she clung to her hand that she was
+thoroughly frightened, and was not surprised, for she herself felt
+suddenly small and helpless up here on the top of the world exposed
+to all the fury of the storm.
+
+"Monty," she said, "you and Mavis run on to Jessamine Cottage and
+Billy and I'll look for Modestine.  Tell Mrs. Halliday we won't be
+long, Mavis."
+
+For a moment Mavis clung to Nancy as though unwilling to leave her.
+
+"It's all right, Mavis," Montague said soothingly, "I'll take care of
+you, dear."
+
+He took her hand firmly in his, and, for once, Mavis did not trouble
+to see whether it was clean or not.
+
+"Don't be long, will you?" she pleaded, as Nancy turned away to join
+Billy in his search.
+
+"No, I s'pect she's just behind some of the bushes.  Take care of
+her, Monty," and, feeling that the proudest moment in his life had
+arrived, Montague ran with his little charge in the direction of
+Omberley.
+
+Nancy joined Billy in his search.  The rain was coming down with such
+force and the wind was beating so pitilessly across the open common
+that they found it difficult to hold up against it.  Neither of them
+would own that they were scared when the lightning zigzagged about
+them, but each wished devoutly that Modestine would appear soon.
+
+Suddenly, through the fury of the storm they heard a welcome,
+familiar sound--the sound of a most pathetic braying.  They lifted up
+their heads and listened.
+
+"Why, she's just over there!" Billy cried.  "I can just see her
+sticking out of that kind of shelter arrangement.  I'll ran on and
+fetch her; don't bother to come all the way."
+
+Feeling very much relieved, Billy ran towards Modestine.  He ran with
+eyes half-closed and head lowered to avoid the blinding rain, and
+thus it was that he did not see a forlorn, draggled-looking cow
+drawing near to the shelter.
+
+"Ladybird!  Modestine!  Come on, old girl, we're waiting for you, and
+we're drenched through.  Hurry!"
+
+Modestine, hearing her little master's voice, looked up, but instead
+of seeing his familiar face she encountered that of the cow.  Now,
+whether it was the storm that scared her or the harmless face of the
+cow Billy could never say; all that he knew at the time was that
+Modestine flew past him in terror.  After that he knew very little,
+for suddenly all was confusion.
+
+Nancy could never be sure, either, exactly how the accident occurred.
+She was not near enough to see more than a jumble of Billy, cow, and
+donkey; then, the mad rush of Modestine, and her brother lying very
+still just outside the shelter.
+
+She flew, terrified, towards him, and, flinging herself on the wet
+grass at his side, leaned over him.  Whenever action was demanded of
+her, Nancy's imagination was always thrust into the background, and
+so, though Billy's face was deathly white, she did not pause to
+indulge in the Biggest Fear of All.  She unfastened his collar and
+tie and then raised his head gently on to her knee.  What else could
+she do?  There was no need for water, for the rain was beating down
+on the boy's upturned face.  Was there nothing to be done?  Had she
+just to sit here patiently waiting for life to return.  Oh, it was
+unbearable!  Why did she not know what to do?  If only she had not
+sent the other two on, she thought regretfully, Monty could have run
+to the village for help.  She looked about her, but the common, as
+much of it as was in sight, was deserted.  Back on the road she could
+hear the sound of a car, but it would be gone before she could get
+near enough to wave to the occupants.  It was not Mr. Frampton's car
+she knew, for it was coming from the wrong direction.  If only he
+would come along--ah, what a relief that would be.
+
+Nobody came, however, and she remained sitting there in the rain
+watching Billy's face with anxious, passionate love in her eyes.
+
+At length, after what seemed an eternity to Nancy, Billy opened his
+eyes and looked about him vaguely.
+
+"I think I've hurt my head a bit," he said, "it feels rather rotten.
+Why, you're sitting on the wet grass, Nancy!  I'll get up."
+
+He tried to rise, but fell back with a sharp cry of pain.
+
+"It's my leg," he groaned.  "Is it broken, Nancy?"
+
+"I don't know, Billy dear--I couldn't see what happened.  Shall I
+look and see?"
+
+Billy shook his head.
+
+"I--I couldn't bear to have it touched," he whispered, for he was
+almost too exhausted with the pain to speak.  He closed his eyes.
+Apparently he had forgotten that Nancy was still sitting on the damp
+grass, for he rested his head on her lap and held her hand tight.
+Nancy looked down at him in despair.  It was awful to see him
+suffering so horribly and not be able to relieve him.  She dared not
+even suggest lifting him into the cattle-shelter out of the rain for
+fear she might further injure his leg.
+
+"If someone doesn't come along soon I shall have to leave him and run
+for help," she thought.
+
+The thunder still rolled amongst the surrounding hills, but only
+distantly now; she was glad of this, for the horrid thunder seemed to
+add terror to the accident.
+
+"Nancy!" Billy spoke feebly, and Nancy leaned down to catch his
+words.  "How shall we tell Mother?  She'll be awfully worried about
+it."
+
+Now, there was an unwritten law amongst the three children that their
+mother must be saved as far as possible from all trouble.  Their
+quarrels were suspended at the first whisper of "Mother's coming!"
+because it hurt them to see a certain sad, grieved expression that
+was always on Mother's face if she caught them at it unawares.  They
+wanted to ward off all sorrow, all grief; they hated it to come
+anywhere near that beloved mother; they hated anyone who caused her
+suffering.  Dick, realizing from their conversation something of this
+protective love of theirs, had, as before mentioned, dreaded the
+awakening for them when they should realize the anxiety she had
+suffered after their disappearance.  _That_ anxiety they could never
+wholly realize; they had left a letter of explanation, so why should
+anyone worry?  Were they not used to wandering about the forest with
+Modestine?  Only in the daytime, of course; but still everybody knew
+they were not helpless babies who could not be trusted.
+
+Nevertheless, because of that unwritten law, both Billy and Nancy
+were beginning to realize that they ought never to have come.
+
+"It was all my fault," Billy whispered.  "I'll tell her it was me,
+Nancy."
+
+"You won't!" Nancy replied passionately.  "I'm older, an' I ought to
+have thought more, and not just gone on dreaming stupid dreams about
+hills that aren't a bit nicer'n our forest.  I ought to have known
+we're too young to go off like this.  When you're older you know what
+to do with accidents, an' all _I_ can do is to sit here and wait for
+a grown-up!"  Nancy leaned down and pressed her lips to Billy's hot
+forehead.  "I _wish_ it had been me," she added.
+
+Billy half opened his eyes.
+
+"No, it's right for it to be me," he persisted, "it was my fault,
+Nan."  He was silent for a moment.  "Tell Mr. Frampton
+_everything_--from the beginning.  And--and--oh, I wish he'd come!"
+
+He turned his head away, and if there were tears in his eyes Nancy
+was not allowed to see them.  She knew that they were there, however,
+and felt desperately that something must be done.  She thought of the
+Prior's telegram, but could one send telegrams from so small a
+village as Omberley?  She feared not.  Well, if she did not meet Mr.
+Frampton she must get help from the village and send Monty back along
+the road to fetch the girl who belonged to the derelict car.  If she
+had been a nurse in the war she would surely know what to do for a
+broken leg.
+
+"Shall you mind being left just for a little while?" she asked Billy
+gently.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No.  But you'll come straight back yourself, won't you?  I--I want
+you, Nan."
+
+Nancy tenderly re-assured him.  Then she rose, and, making a pillow
+of her raincoat (fortunately Dick had insisted on both the girls
+keeping their raincoats with them), she slipped it under Billy's
+head.  She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of
+Modestine coming towards them.
+
+"Oh!" she cried, with relief, "here's Modestine, Billy.  She'll take
+care of you while I'm away.  She'd be sorry if she understood,
+wouldn't she?"
+
+"Yes--it wasn't her fault really.  I'm glad she's come."  For neither
+of them could feel the slightest resentment towards the little
+animal, who was indirectly responsible for the accident, knowing that
+the blame rested primarily with themselves.
+
+The rain had now stopped.  Nancy felt glad of this as she flew across
+the common for there had seemed something so relentless in the steady
+downpour with Billy lying there entirely at its mercy.  She looked to
+right and left when she reached the road, but not a soul was in sight.
+
+"I'll have to go to that hotel," she thought.  "It's the nearest
+place."
+
+She turned into the village street, and to her surprise and joy what
+should she see standing outside the hotel but the derelict car!  Ah,
+_now_ she could get help!  Utterly regardless of her dishevelled
+appearance, she ran up the steps and burst into the lounge.  It was
+full of people, but that did not trouble Nancy, for the person she
+wanted was there--that was all that mattered.  She brushed past
+several astonished tea drinkers and ran straight to the erratic old
+lady and her companion.
+
+"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "please will you come at once?  Billy's
+broken his leg and Mr. Frampton isn't back from Gleambridge yet, and
+he's out on the common with only Modestine.  Could you _hurry_,
+please, and bring someone to help carry him?  It hurts him terribly,
+an' so does his head."
+
+The girl rose instantly and glanced at the old lady.
+
+"Everything that's necessary," the latter replied tersely, in answer
+to an enquiry in the girl's eyes.  "And no expense to be spared.
+She'll be ready--with somebody else's car--in about three minutes,
+child," she added, turning to Nancy, for the girl had already
+disappeared.
+
+Nancy looked up at her and quite suddenly a special instinct she had
+for seeing _behind_ people told her that the old lady was to be
+trusted.
+
+"Billy wants me to go back at once with them," she said hurriedly,
+"and Mavis and Monty are at a place called Jessamine Cottage, and
+don't know anything about the accident----"
+
+"No need to worry about them--I'll go immediately.  And you can trust
+Miss Hammond, child--keep her as long as you need her.  She managed
+to get the car here and here it and I can stay.  Here she comes!
+Now, off you go!"
+
+Nancy's eyes brimmed with gratitude as she followed Miss Hammond and
+two strangers towards a car that was awaiting them.  Now, just as she
+was about to step into it Dick came dashing along the common road,
+and glancing down the street saw and recognized her.  He drew up
+instantly and shouted to her.
+
+"Oh," she cried, her voice trembling with relief, "there's Mr.
+Frampton!  Please, he'll take me to Billy.  But you'll come too,
+won't you?" she asked, turning to Miss Hammond.
+
+"We'll all come," one of the men said kindly.  "Your friend may need
+us to help carry the little chap."
+
+Dick held Nancy close while Miss Hammond briefly made the necessary
+explanations and she nestled to him, knowing that their dear, big
+comrade would take over all responsibility now.
+
+"We'll never, never go away by ourselves again," she thought.  "It's
+an awful, awful world when you've got to try and manage and no
+grown-ups to help you to think what to do.  Everything'll be better
+now Mr. Frampton's come.  How glad Billy will be."
+
+* * * * *
+
+Three days later Nancy was sitting on the stone seat in the Sunk
+Garden of the Priory, awaiting the Prior.  Billy was settled for the
+night in the charge of the new nurse who had come to relieve Miss
+Hammond in order that she might return to her duties as companion,
+and Mother was resting.
+
+The swallows swooped and circled around her, but this evening she had
+no thoughts to spare for them.  There was so much to think about;
+things to puzzle out--big, important things.
+
+Nothing could ever efface the sadness behind Mother's forgiveness;
+the half-hour with her when she had sobbed out her contrition was one
+Nancy could never forget; Mother's few, gently-spoken words had
+opened up a new world of responsibility to her.  And then the memory
+of Billy's face when they had lifted him into the car; the memory,
+too, of his suffering during the ride to the Priory (Dick had taken
+them there not only because it was so much nearer than Nestcombe, but
+because he knew that his uncle would feel his responsibility in the
+matter and would wish to bear, as far as possible, both the trouble
+and expense), and the awful thought of four long months of
+imprisonment for out-of-doors Billy; all these things forced
+themselves upon Nancy and overwhelmed her with bitter regret.
+
+"An' 'tisn't as if he could let off steam and do some grumblings
+sometimes," she thought miserably.  "He'll feel he's got to try to
+keep them in as well as the pain, when Mother's there specially, 'cos
+it's all our fault."
+
+And yet, bitterly as she regretted ever having listened to the voice
+of the hills, she could not help but wonder whether that adventure of
+theirs was wholly wrong.  For instance, there was Nonie.  She must
+surely have been drowned if Billy had not been there to save her.
+And then again, there were Monty and Jocelyne, and Aunt Letty and
+Uncle Jim.  Surely the adventuring was going to be responsible for a
+good deal of happiness where those four were concerned!  Nancy,
+clasping her hands round her knees, smiled a little tearfully as she
+recalled the scene that had taken place under the Prior's beeches the
+day after the accident.
+
+First, there had been Jocelyne, a beautiful, eager, impulsive
+Jocelyne running across the lawn with outstretched arms to Monty.
+
+"Oh, Monty," she had cried, "I thought I didn't love you because
+you're so naughty and troublesome, but I find I do!  I've missed you
+awfully, and it's been hateful living with aunt without you."
+
+Montague stared at her in surprise.
+
+"I haven't missed you," he replied slowly.  "I've been happy."
+
+"But won't you be friends now?" Jocelyne pleaded, all her pride
+humbled for, perhaps, the first time in her life.  "I'll be good to
+you, Monty."
+
+Montague hesitated and it was Mavis who decided the matter.
+
+"She's nice, Monty, I like her.  Be quick and make it up with her,
+then we can all be friends together."
+
+What could Montague do but obey his kind little tyrant?  And then,
+while the four of them were talking together, three of them at least
+wishing that Billy had been there with them, across the lawn with the
+Prior and Aunt Letty had come no less a person than "nearly-Uncle
+Jim."
+
+"That's my guardian," Montague growled; "s'pose he's come to fetch
+me, but I'm not going back to Aunt's."
+
+"Your guardian!" they echoed.  "But it's someone who nearly married
+Aunt Letty!"
+
+"Oh!" cried Nancy, her ready imagination grasping the situation,
+"that's why the Nestley side of Riversham hurt him!  I _said_ it
+wasn't just an ordinary ache!"
+
+But Mavis, too, had grasped the situation, and while they were
+talking and wondering she had run towards Aunt Letty and thrown her
+arms around her.
+
+"Aunt Letty, dear, please won't you hurry up and be friends with
+Uncle Jim again and marry him?  You see, I promised Monty he should
+have you to be his mother 'cos he hasn't got one.  He hates aunts,
+but if he forgets you're one he thinks he could love you and, oh, he
+does need someone to keep him clean and love him.  But he can't be
+your little boy, can he, if you hate his guardian?"
+
+"I don't hate him!" Aunt Letty replied hastily, and Nancy, who had
+drawn near with Jocelyne and Monty, thought how pretty her eyes
+looked as she spoke.
+
+"Then you'll marry him quick and be Monty's mother-guardian?" Mavis
+cried, clasping her hands eagerly.
+
+"And mine!" Jocelyne broke in impulsively.
+
+"The guardian-angel of us all," said Uncle Jim, and Nancy knew by the
+happy assurance in his voice that he and Aunt Letty must have made up
+their quarrel before joining them on the lawn.
+
+"'Spect the Prior made them," she thought, looking up affectionately
+at the latter's twinkling face.
+
+"But what does Monty say?" asked Aunt Letty, kneeling down by the boy
+and taking his hands in hers.  "There won't be much 'angel' about it,
+I'm afraid.  Just pals, you know, who love and trust each other.
+Will you risk it, Monty dear?"
+
+Montague stared silently at the young, kind face before him.  Was
+this an aunt?  Why, she seemed friendly--just like Mr. Frampton.
+
+"I didn't know aunts was like you," he said simply.  Aunt Letty
+smiled and waited questioningly.  Then, perceiving that she was not
+fully satisfied, Montague leaned forward and, for the first time
+since his mother's death, voluntarily kissed a "grown-up."  "It isn't
+going to be any risk--not for _me_," he replied.  "Nor for you
+either--you'll see!" he added, and though his voice rumbled
+volcanically, it was because of the strange new fire of happiness
+that was burning within him.
+
+And so, as she recalled that scene, Nancy could not but feel happy
+that some good at least had come out of their thoughtless adventure.
+And there was the Prior, too--how glad he seemed of their love, yes,
+and even Uncle Val would be glad that they were fond of Lionel's
+father.  Oh, that hill country that had seemed so remote, those hill
+people who had seemed almost foreigners, how near they were, how
+closely linked, after all, with the forest and forest people.
+
+Well, the adventure, if adventure it might be called, was over,
+unless staying on at the Priory with Mother and Billy could be called
+a continuation of it.  For Mavis and Monty, at least, it was
+finished, Nancy thought, for they had gone home with Aunt Letty
+yesterday.  Modestine, too, was probably cropping grass
+unadventurously in the home paddock, for she had been sent back in
+the charge of one of the monks.  Nancy smiled as she recalled the
+Prior's confession of his "make-believe" monks.  It was dear of him,
+she thought, to have entered into the spirit of their adventure as he
+had done; she loved him for it.  Well, the monks were just ordinary
+gardeners and butlers after all, but the Prior himself would never be
+anything but "Prior dear" to them.
+
+Above the Priory wall the evening sunlight was bathing the distant
+hills.  Nancy watched it, the imagination part of her drinking it in
+rapturously.  Somewhere tucked away in the heart of those sun-kissed
+hills were Nonie and her mother.  Strange, she thought, how all the
+very nicest happenings had been connected with people.  Grown-ups, of
+course, would think "adventure" too big a word to be applied to those
+happenings.  At the time, she herself and Billy had doubted whether
+they might be called such, but, now, in looking back, Nancy was not
+so sure.  The encounter with Dick (they were all to call him that
+now), the finding of Monty, the rescuing of Nonie, the Prior's
+courteous reception of them, and the thrill of finding that he was
+Lionel's father, above all the reconciliation of Aunt Letty and Uncle
+Jim, surely there was adventure in all these happenings!
+
+"Oh, if only it needn't have turned out so cruelly for Billy," Nancy
+thought.  "Well, we've promised Mother to settle down to everyday
+life until we're grown-up, so there won't be any more adventure now
+for years and years."
+
+Footsteps aroused her from her reverie, and, looking up, she saw the
+Prior coming towards her.  She ran to meet him eagerly, and together
+they paced up and down the old Sunk Garden.
+
+"Making poems, little girl?" asked the Prior.
+
+"No," Nancy replied, "I've just been thinking."
+
+"Important thoughts?"
+
+"Well, I don't know," she replied slowly.  "It's only that we've
+promised to settle down quietly till we're grown-up and it seems such
+a long time to wait for any more adventure.  It's Billy who will mind
+most, I'm afraid.  You see, he must do things, but we never, never
+will go away again however tired we get of playing in the garden.
+'Sides----"
+
+The Prior looked down at her questioningly.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Oh, only that the garden and the river and the forest, I b'lieve,
+are the nicest places in the world, after all.  If--if only something
+would _happen_ there--if only one didn't just meet people in an
+ordinary, everyday way, if only adventure could be at home 'stead of
+you having to go and find it!"
+
+"But you don't!" the Prior re-assured her.  "If you want adventure it
+will come to you whether you go out to meet it or stay at home.  Take
+my advice, little girl.  Let adventure seek _you_--it's waiting for
+you round every corner.  You've only to beckon, and it will come
+dancing towards you."
+
+"Really and truly?" Nancy asked breathlessly.  "But how?  I don't
+quite see _how_!"
+
+"You will some day.  Did Dick or I or Monty or Nonie and her mother
+or your Rose-Vicar seek you little people?  And yet you have been
+adventure, the Biggest Adventure of All for every one of us."
+
+"_We_ have been adventure for _you_?" Nancy repeated slowly.  "Why, I
+never thought of that, and I'm sure Billy didn't."
+
+She looked up into the Prior's face incredulously.  How could three
+children bring adventure to grown-up people?  Surely he was mistaken?
+Surely the Rose-Vicar, at least, would not agree with him?  The
+Biggest Adventure of All!
+
+"What _is_ the Biggest Adventure of All?" she asked, as they climbed
+the steps to return to the house.  The Prior smiled inscrutably.
+
+"Ah, _that_ you must find out for yourselves," he replied.  "You will
+know some day."
+
+
+
+  Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
+  808.1039
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 ***
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+<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
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+<title>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beyond the hills, by Maysel Jenkinson
+</title>
+
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 ***</div>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="capcenter">
+<a id="img-dust"></a>
+<br>
+<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-dust.jpg" alt="Dust cover">
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="capcenter">
+<a id="img-front"></a>
+<br>
+<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-front.jpg" alt="Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger. <i>p.</i> 177">
+<br>
+Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger. <a href="#p177"><i>p.</i> 177</a>
+</p>
+
+<h1>
+<br><br>
+  BEYOND THE HILLS<br>
+</h1>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+  MAYSEL JENKINSON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD.<br>
+  LONDON AND NEW YORK<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  COPYRIGHT<br>
+  FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD.<br>
+  LONDON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  <i>Printed in Great Britain</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  To<br>
+  "MARIE"<br>
+  (<i>Founder of the Sunshine Guild</i>)<br>
+  who<br>
+  with kindly beckoning hand<br>
+  has led these and many other of my little Travellers<br>
+  towards the<br>
+  Enchanted Unknown Hills<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+  CONTENTS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+  CHAPTER<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent" style="line-height: 1.5">
+  I.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap01">The Beckoning Hills</a><br>
+  II.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap02">Great-Aunt Hewlett</a><br>
+  III.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap03">The Libation Man</a><br>
+  IV.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap04">Montague Francis de Vere</a><br>
+  V.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap05">The Other Side</a><br>
+  VI.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap06">The Prior</a><br>
+  VII.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap07">Lionel and Dorothy</a><br>
+  VIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap08">Matins and Breakfast</a><br>
+  IX.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap09">The Rose-Vicar</a><br>
+  X.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap10">An Encounter on the Hills</a><br>
+  XI.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap11">The Fight</a><br>
+  XII.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap12">"Fairest Masons"</a><br>
+  XIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap13">Exploring with Dick</a><br>
+  XIV.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap14">The Race</a><br>
+  XV.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap15">Half-Confessions</a><br>
+  XVI.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap16">The Derelict Car</a><br>
+  XVII.&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#chap17">Awakening</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap01"></a></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+Beyond the Hills
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+<br><br>
+THE BECKONING HILLS
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Just across the water they lay, such a little way
+beyond the opposite bank of the broad, golden
+river.  If you sat on the old wall at the foot of the
+garden you could see the whole long range of them,
+so tantalizingly near, so altogether unattainable.
+True, you always had the river; you had merely to
+run down the hill, scramble across a meadow and
+through a gap in the hedge, and it was there, with
+all its many moods, awaiting you.  True, also, a very
+little walk would bring you to the hilly forest country,
+but then both river and forest were part of the everyday
+life and how can you find romance or adventure
+except you go out to seek it in the Unknown?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For it was the Unknown that attracted the three
+children, more especially the two elder ones.  Not
+only the hills themselves in their shadowy, mystic
+beauty, but what lay beyond them&mdash;the great open,
+unexplored world where adventure would surely
+come leaping towards you.  To find the open world,
+to know Adventure!  For how could anything
+interesting ever happen if you just played in a garden or
+a paddock, or strained your eyes down the river or
+across the hills, simply wondering, wondering?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was more than one influence at work on the
+children to stir them to action.  To begin with,
+there was that wander-blood in their veins that had
+sent their young Uncle Val wandering over the face
+of the earth.  And then there was the river, the broad,
+gleaming river&mdash;an everyday river, of course, but
+was it not rushing swiftly to the sea and the open
+world?  Had not Uncle Val himself told them how it
+had called men to great adventures?  Sir Walter
+Raleigh, for instance.  Sir Walter Raleigh, Billy's
+hero, was perhaps the biggest influence of all at work
+on the children.  For, though this was not Devonshire,
+he had at one time inhabited the beautiful old house
+above the Gleam in which the children lived.  Probably
+it was he who had whispered to Uncle Val of the
+Unknown, but whether that was so or not Uncle Val,
+in his brief home visits, was never tired of telling
+the children of the noble gentleman who had left his
+presence in the riverside house.  He would make them
+see pictures of Sir Walter seated in the oak-panelled
+dining-room with perhaps Sir Francis Drake and other
+adventurers as his guests, planning their expeditions
+into the unexplored world; or again, sauntering
+slowly down the drive and pausing at the white gate
+to look with half-closed eyes down the Gleam towards
+the sea, sniffing the salt in the wind that blew up
+the river, hearing its call to him as it soughed through
+the tall elms along the drive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there was Stevenson.  It was Aunt
+Letty who was responsible for introducing them to him
+and inspiring them with love and admiration for the
+man who was known in Samoa by that pretty name
+Tusitala.  At least, Nancy, whose imagination quickly
+leaped towards any word that had poetry in it, any new
+and interesting word, found it pretty; indeed, there
+were many words in the passages Aunt Letty read to
+them from Stevenson that appealed to her.  Caryatides!
+That was a word to make poetry of inside yourself
+and repeat over and over again until you had made it
+your very own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, on the other hand was more interested in
+Stevenson the man than in Stevenson the writer.
+His adventures in the <i>Arethusa</i>, his wanderings with
+Modestine, above all, perhaps, his life in those
+fascinating South Sea Islands appealed strongly to Billy.
+And the chief charm about all the adventures lay in
+the fact that they were <i>real</i>; they were not just a
+story book; Stevenson had actually lived what he
+described, had gone out to meet adventure just as he,
+Billy, longed so passionately to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Things came to a head one evening, while they
+were watching old Daddy Petherham drifting down the
+tide towards the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wouldn't you think he'd get tired of fishing
+round here every day?" said Billy.  "Wouldn't you
+s'pose he'd just have to go a little further and a little
+further and then right out to sea?  Wouldn't you
+think he'd want to know what it's like out there and
+sail away till he came to other countries and foreign
+people?  <i>I</i> should if I were Daddy Petherham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, not if you were Daddy Petherham you
+wouldn't," Nancy replied.  "I'm sure he wouldn't
+like not to sit in his doorway and smoke and watch
+his grandchildren playing.  And wouldn't it be funny
+not to see him sitting sometimes on the bench outside
+the 'Anchor' shaking his head in that funny way
+of his at the young fishermen?  It's queer, but I
+always think of Daddy Petherham as part of
+Nestcombe; he's kind of grown into it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," Billy replied, "<i>I</i> shouldn't want to live in
+a village till I'd grown to be one of the fixtures, would
+you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," Nancy replied thoughtfully, "I don't <i>think</i>
+I should.  I&mdash;I want, I want&mdash;oh, it's not easy to put
+into words just what I want."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know what <i>I</i> want," Billy replied, decidedly.
+"I want to have adventure, lots of it, and how can
+we if we just stay here?  Don't you both feel," he
+added eagerly, "that we must have one?  Let's go
+somewhere.  We haven't got a boat so we can't sail
+away as Daddy Petherham could if he wanted to,
+but&mdash;but <i>how</i> shall we go, Nancy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy, who had been seeing visions of the wants
+that would not go into words ("dweaming dweams,"
+as she used to call them when she was a little girl),
+came back to earth and stared at Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you mean it <i>really</i>, Billy?" she asked slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you mean a long, long way?" little Mavis
+added.  "And see lots and lots of pretty places?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, really and truly, a long, long way&mdash;where
+we've never been before!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, it is quite probable that neither Nancy nor
+Mavis felt at that moment any imperative need in
+them to leave their happy home, for Mavis was a
+"home" child and Nancy, with her vivid imagination,
+could leave it at will to wander in a "Never Never
+Land," but if Billy wanted to go, why, then of course
+they wanted to go, too, for that one should do anything
+important without the other two was as impossible
+as for old Daddy Petherham not to sit year in, year out,
+smoking by his cottage door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, since it was decided that something must be
+done, both the girls entered with eager interest into
+Billy's plans.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Would it do for us to have kind of travels with a
+donkey?" Nancy asked.  "We've got Ladybird.
+There aren't any mountains, but there are the hills
+over there.  Oh, Billy, I would <i>like</i> to see the other
+side of the hills; I kind of feel there's some wonderful
+land hidden away behind them.  Could we get as far,
+do you think?  It's a long way, isn't it?  We'd have
+to go to Gleambridge and cross the river there and
+<i>then</i> we'd begin to be in the hills, wouldn't we?  Oh,
+Billy, could we ever get there?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gleambridge, the county town, was a quite familiar
+place to the children.  It is one thing to go there
+by train with grown-ups on shopping expeditions,
+but to go by road through unexplored country towards
+a city that is the gateway of the land of your dreams&mdash;that
+is something quite different.  The train journey
+leads you to tailors and drapers and dentists, well,
+and perhaps to cakes and ice-creams, and yes, of
+course, the cathedral; but the dusty, winding road
+leads you straight to a world of romance, out of which
+rises the fair tower of the cathedral, and beyond it
+and above it and around it the entrancing hills.
+Should they, could they go?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus it was decided.  They would go for a week;
+not longer, as little Mavis thought that quite long
+enough to be away from "Muvee."  They would leave
+a note of explanation assuring the grown-ups that
+there was no need to worry, and they would take
+Ladybird, their very own donkey, with them.  This,
+of course, would occasion a re-christening ceremony,
+for though "Ladybird" was the nicest name imaginable
+for a little home donkey, for one who was to seek
+with them the open world nothing but "Modestine"
+would satisfy the young adventurers.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap02"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+<br><br>
+GREAT-AUNT HEWLETT
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+With fingers that trembled because of his excitement
+Billy fastened the strap of Modestine's
+girth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's right!  Now let's fix the blankets on.
+You help me, Nancy&mdash;I don't quite know how they
+should go."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy handed the basket of provisions to Mavis
+and ran to Billy's assistance.  It was one thing to
+harness a donkey you had tended and coddled for two
+years, but to fasten a not very tidy bundle of blankets
+on to the saddle when you were almost dancing with
+excitement was not quite so easy.  Nancy when she
+had finished, eyed her work doubtfully.  Somehow,
+it did not look exactly professional.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We really ought to have had sleeping sacks like
+Stevenson," she said; "but then, he had more money
+to buy them with than we had, I s'pect."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With only nineteen shillings to feed and sleep three
+of you&mdash;and a donkey&mdash;for a whole week, sleeping
+sacks were a luxury not to be indulged in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their simple preparations did not take long to
+complete, yet many anxious glances were cast at the
+house while they were in progress.  Supposing they
+were discovered?  Supposing Modestine should bray,
+supposing&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, quick!  Let's start right away!" Billy
+whispered.  "I'll haul you into the saddle now,
+Mavis.  Are you ready, Nancy?  Come on!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very quietly the little procession crept down the
+drive and passed out into the road.  Nancy and Mavis
+each gave one wistful glance back at the house where
+all was so still.  If only the grown-ups could have
+come, too!  Was it too late even now to go back and
+ask them to come?  Why, up to this moment had there
+been that quite definite though unspoken thought in
+each child's mind that adventure such as they were
+seeking was something those belonging to the grown-up
+world could not understand, would not appreciate?
+Their grown-ups were all such pals.  After all&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy glanced hesitatingly at Billy, but she said
+nothing, for his unyielding back, his steady, plodding
+walk, and the way his head was thrown back told her
+that he was pushing every bit of feeling and regret
+away from him.  They had planned the adventure,
+they must be brave and go on&mdash;they must find what lay
+beyond the hills; all this Nancy read in Billy's attitude,
+and, knowing her brother, she fell into step by
+Modestine and buried her own regrets.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not yet six o'clock, but they pushed on
+hurriedly as, until they were the other side of Riversham,
+a small country town a few miles off on the Gleambridge
+road, they were likely to encounter people who knew
+them.  Better, they decided, to get beyond familiar
+places while folks were yet a-bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"See!  We're nearly at Nestcombe," Nancy said.
+"Modestine, dear," she continued, addressing the
+donkey, "please don't do anything naughty until we
+are past the cottages.  There's people up, I know,
+'cos there's smoke coming out of the chimneys, so
+<i>don't</i> 'tract their attention, will you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine plodded on, wearing her most angelic
+expression.  She was a creature of vagaries; at least,
+that is how a man who used to come to see Aunt
+Letty&mdash;our "nearly-Uncle Jim" as the children called
+him&mdash;described her, and the children, though the word
+hitherto had been an unfamiliar one, felt that it
+described their Ladybird exactly&mdash;so naughty and
+yet so lovable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This morning, so far, the quiet, innocent mood was
+uppermost, whether because she felt the honour of
+her new name or because these early-in-the-morning
+happenings had taken her by surprise the children
+could not decide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nestcombe, the lovely little fishing hamlet on the
+outskirts of which their home was situated, consisted
+of a row of about a dozen cottages, a few outlying
+farms, and another handful of cottages in a lane
+branching off from the main road down to the riverside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look!" Mavis whispered, as they passed the top
+of this lane, "there's old Daddy Petherham going
+down to the river.  He's too deaf to hear us, but I
+do hope he doesn't look round."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old man, however, shuffled slowly and unheedingly
+down the lane, his eyes turned towards the river,
+and, a moment later, the children were through the
+village making their way towards Nestley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wasn't the river sparkly and golden!" Nancy
+said.  "And, oh, isn't the morning sparkly, too!
+At least, I think it's going to be&mdash;look at that bit
+of goldy-pink in the sky."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's cold, though," Mavis said, shivering a little.
+"I'm glad we wore our knitted frocks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy's face puckered with contrition.  She had
+forgotten that Mavis would be cold riding and insisted
+on stopping while the child put on her waterproof
+cloak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's it.  You'll soon be warm now, won't you?
+Come on, Modestine, we're ready, old lady."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine, who had rested her head on Billy's
+shoulder during the halt, was annoyed at being
+disturbed and planted her legs firmly where she stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on, Modestine, dear," Billy urged anxiously.
+"Ladybird, gee-up!  Oh, do hurry, Ladybird!  We
+won't even get to Nestley, leave alone Riversham,
+before lots of people are about, at this rate.  Could
+you <i>make</i> her move, Mavis?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis did her best, but when Modestine's mind was
+made up it took more than the little girl's feeble strength
+to budge her.  On each side of the obstinate creature
+Nancy and Billy pulled with no result.  Next, Nancy
+pulled and Billy pushed from behind; they gained a
+few inches, but that was all.  They pleaded and
+coaxed, they told her their frank opinion of her, they
+wished they had not allowed her to share in their
+adventure, they even threatened to leave her there in
+the middle of the road, still Modestine stood immovable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, she lifted up her head and gave forth a
+terrific bray.  All the troubles of every donkey in the
+world seemed to be voiced in that bray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now you've done it!" Billy cried indignantly.
+"Be quiet, for goodness' sake, Ladybird.  Shut up,
+I say!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Almost before the words were out of his mouth
+Mavis had whipped off her cloak and flung it over the
+traitor's head.  Modestine, surprised at the interruption,
+hesitated, shook the cloak off, and then suddenly
+trotted gently down the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis turned in the saddle and waved her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's all right now.  I'll wait for you on the
+Riversham road if she keeps this up.  Good-bye!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy picked up the cloak and together he and Nancy
+briskly followed the fast-disappearing donkey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They would only have one house to pass now before
+reaching Nestley, and though they glanced round
+occasionally to see whether anyone was in sight, they
+felt that they might safely give themselves up to the
+thrill of having really started out on their adventure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And what a morning on which to set out towards
+the Unknown!  The pink and gold was spreading
+across the sky, the birds were rhapsodizing, and the air
+had that clean taste that belongs to the early morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, here was Mill End, and there were the vast
+orchards of Brook House, with the brook meandering
+through them.  Not far to Nestley now!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The church clock was striking a quarter to seven
+as they turned into the village street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look!  Mavis is nearly at the top of the street,"
+Nancy whispered.  "I do hope she gets past Aunt
+Hewlett's safely."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Great-Aunt Hewlett's trim white house stood at the
+top of the village, just beyond the church.  It was the
+last house they would pass before the road forked off
+to Riversham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children watched Modestine anxiously, fearing
+that she might want to stop at the gate; for though
+Great-Aunt Hewlett was far too stern an old lady to
+coax a donkey with luxuries there were those of her
+household who spoiled the pretty animal.  Would
+Modestine remember and refuse to pass the house?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their fears, however, were groundless, and Mavis
+turned and waved a triumphant hand before she
+disappeared round the high wall of Aunt Hewlett's
+garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Doesn't the bread smell good?" Billy said, sniffing
+in the delicious scent that came from the bakehouse
+across the road.  "I could eat a huge chunk of new
+bread&mdash;I'm fearfully hungry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They both were, for though they had drunk some
+milk before starting they had all been too excited to
+eat more than a couple of biscuits each and such
+meagre fare could not sustain healthy children in the
+fresh morning air for very long.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The good, wholesome scent followed them as they
+hurried up the street, and I am afraid it occupied so
+large a place in their thoughts that they had none to
+give to the pretty village through which they were
+passing.  Probably, however, in any case, they would
+have been blind to the beauties of the place; for Nestley
+was familiar ground and was something to be left
+behind as soon as might be.  That they were hurrying
+with unseeing eyes through one of the prettiest villages
+in England they did not know.  Indeed, what would it
+have mattered to them if it had been the prettiest
+village in the world?  Were they not out to seek
+adventure, and how could it begin until you had left every
+trace of everyday places and people behind you?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nestley, snuggling in the heart of rich meadows
+and orchards, with the brook gurgling down the centre
+of the street, and the houses growing over the brook,
+and the forest rising up beyond the village; oh, yes,
+it was all dear and pretty, but it was a home-place,
+just as Daddy Petherham was a home person.  Just
+how pretty the home village is you cannot know until
+you have travelled away from it and have seen it with
+your imagination eyes.  Just how dear it is you cannot
+realize, if you are an adventure-person, until far away
+from it you feel its influence and your heart aches for
+the familiar things that are Home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so, with more appreciation of Nestley's bakery
+than of its beauties, Nancy and Billy proceeded up
+the steep little street, glancing anxiously at Aunt
+Hewlett's trim windows.  Aunt Hewlett, unfortunately,
+was a very early riser&mdash;<i>would</i> they get by
+safely?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There she is!" Billy groaned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, there was Aunt Hewlett, tall and neat and
+stately and uncompromisingly stern, in a stiff black
+frock and white cuffs and collar and apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she was beckoning them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+True, she was used to their early morning rambles
+and might not suspect anything, but Mavis was waiting
+for them and, besides, every moment of these early
+morning hours before they were likely to be missed,
+counted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wishing they could have pretended not to see her,
+and trying not to look too terribly guilty, they advanced
+up the path.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-morning, Aunt," they said meekly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old lady looked down at them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Another of these morning walks!" she ejaculated,
+with a sniff.  "Ridiculous nonsense!"  She paused,
+and looked at Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now most people knew her for a very severe old lady;
+nevertheless, behind her outward severity there was a
+very big spark of kindness, a large share of which she
+gave to Nancy.  There was something about the child's
+face that bothered the shrewd old lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Too tender, too sympathetic," she would blurt
+out to Nancy's mother.  "Too interested in other
+people and their troubles&mdash;bothers herself too much
+about them&mdash;let the world take care of itself, I say!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet, though she might leave the world to look after
+itself, Great-Aunt Hewlett often went out of her way
+to spoil Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Could you eat a hot buttered batch cake?" she
+asked in her severest tone.  "Suppose the boy would
+like one, too!  Come in, both of you&mdash;and wipe your
+shoes well; Lizzie's just washed the tiles."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, please, Aunt, I don't think we <i>could</i> eat one
+this morning, could we, Billy?" Nancy replied
+hastily.  "You see, we had some milk and biscuits
+before we started."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Eh?" Aunt Hewlett cried in astonishment.
+"Not eat one of Lizzie's batch cakes?  What's the
+matter with the children?  Aren't they good enough
+for you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Aunt Hewlett, they're the nicest batch cakes
+we've ever tasted, but we're just not hungry this
+morning, thank you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not hungry?  Stuff and nonsense!  Come along
+in and let's hear no more about it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children, realizing that the safest and quickest
+plan would be to accept the batch cakes, followed
+Aunt Hewlett down the wide, cool hall to the kitchen.
+As a rule, Aunt Hewlett's house held a great fascination
+for them.  It was so silent, so awe-inspiring, so
+altogether different from their own jolly home.  Even
+the stately Persian cat was different from their own
+mongrel cats and kittens.  And there was a scent, too,
+about the house that you could hardly define.  You
+could not be sure whether it was beeswax or whether
+it belonged to the creepers on the tiled verandah, or
+to the scented geraniums, or the blue and gold
+potpourri bowl in the drawing-room where you always
+felt afraid of smashing the spindly legs of the chairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This morning, however, the children even forgot to
+walk on tip-toe (you <i>always</i> walked tip-toe in that
+tiled hall), so engrossed were they in planning how to
+get away quickly without arousing Aunt Hewlett's
+suspicions or offending her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lizzie, Aunt Hewlett's old maid, and, incidentally
+the children's and Ladybird's friend, was putting the
+last loaf into the oven as they entered the kitchen, and,
+on the table, were half a dozen golden oven or batch
+cakes just asking to be eaten.  If the scent from
+Mr. Philpott's bakery had been tantalizingly fragrant, the
+scent here was a hundred times more so.  Yet, though
+less than five minutes had passed since they had been
+aching for new bread, now that they could eat their
+fill all desire for it had fled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very deliberately Aunt Hewlett split open a couple
+of the golden bread cakes and spread them generously
+with butter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"One between us would be enough, thank you,
+Aunt," Nancy ventured meekly, but Aunt Hewlett
+waved the suggestion aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's over two miles home if you're going back round
+by Etley, and if you can't eat a batch cake a-piece and
+be ready for a hearty breakfast when you reach home,
+well, all I can say is that the modern child is made of
+poorer stuff than the children of <i>my</i> generation.  In
+<i>my</i> young days we'd have said 'thank you' and no
+more words about it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Hewlett tossed her proud old head and her
+eyes flashed as she thought of the splendid stock the
+world produced eighty years ago.  "Nothing finicky
+about us, I can assure you, my dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Aunt," Nancy pleaded, fearing that she had
+hurt her, "we're not finicky, really, are we, Billy?
+Only&mdash;&mdash;" She paused tremulously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy glanced at her anxiously.  <i>Would</i> she be a
+sport and play her part bravely?  Knowing her tender
+heart he was a little doubtful.  Suddenly, he threw
+back his head just as he had done when he had closed
+the home gate behind them.  Here, at the very outset
+of their adventures was something that called forth
+his fighting instincts.  Billy met it with ready
+response&mdash;<i>he</i> would take charge of the situation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took a huge bite out of his batch cake and, to
+his own surprise, as well as Aunt Hewlett's, grinned up
+at her with an adorable cheekiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Looks</i> as though we like them, doesn't it, Aunt?
+And can I have another, please, when I've finished
+this?  Lizzie shouldn't make them so nice.  Or shall
+I take it for Mavis&mdash;she's just on in front, and p'raps
+we'd better hurry else she'll think we're lost or something."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mentioning Mavis he felt was thrillingly dangerous.
+Aunt Hewlett <i>might</i> make enquiries, and somehow or
+other the enquiries would have to be avoided, but the
+spirit of adventure was awakened in him, and he was
+ready to tackle any difficulty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hum!  So <i>that's</i> why you weren't hungry, I
+suppose," Aunt Hewlett replied.  "Been quarrelling
+with her, have you?  Six to one and half a dozen to
+the other, of course!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, no, Aunt," Billy replied, "we've not quarrelled&mdash;she
+just went quicker, that's all.  I've finished my
+batch cake," he added with an insinuating grin.  "It
+was ripping!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Hewlett, pleased that the batch cakes should
+be so appreciated, split open the remaining three, and,
+telling Lizzie to bring a paper bag, set to and buttered
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy, meanwhile, was struggling hard with hers.
+As Aunt Hewlett's back was turned Billy signed to
+her to break off the bigger portion and slip it under
+Mavis' cloak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," said Aunt Hewlett, "here you are, and those
+that think they won't spoil their breakfast can eat
+them going along.  Nancy seems to have lost both her
+appetite and her tongue to-day&mdash;and William," she
+added, "seems to have found both."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The half-hurt, half-puzzled look on the stern old
+face worried Nancy.  She wished with all her heart
+that she could explain matters, but that was impossible
+she knew, without giving Billy away.  Yet, what must
+Aunt Hewlett think of her?  Usually it was she, Nancy,
+who chattered freely and confidingly to the old lady
+whose sternness she could see behind while Mavis and
+Billy stood by in awed silence.  And now to-day&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She ran toward her aunt and kissed her impulsively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Auntie dear, I do love you," she said, "and I love
+the batch cakes and next time I'll talk lots and lots to
+you.  <i>Please</i> don't not love me.  Good-bye!" and,
+with tears very near her eyes, she fled from the house,
+Billy following.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well!" ejaculated Aunt Hewlett.  For quite
+three minutes she stood where they had left her,
+thinking&mdash;and feeling again a pair of little arms round
+her neck.  "Well, well!" she added, and then left
+the kitchen to go about her household duties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Nancy and Billy were flying round the
+corner to the Riversham road with all sorts of thoughts
+and feelings, jogging against each other as they ran.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They found Mavis seated on the top of a high stone
+stile, her arms round Modestine, her head pillowed
+on her neck.  She opened her eyes very sleepily when
+they approached, and smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You seemed such a long time," she explained,
+"so I just closed my eyes.  Why, what have you got
+there, Billy.  It smells like new bread!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is," Billy replied, "and some of it's for you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They explained the cause of their delay to Mavis,
+a delay of which the child had fortunately been
+unconscious, as she had been longer in the Land of
+Nod than she had at all realized, as they trudged along
+the Riversham road, munching some of the delicious
+batch cakes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's keep the other two until we get through
+Riversham," Nancy suggested.  "P'raps we might
+stop for a little rest then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and have our breakfast.  'Cording to Aunt
+Hewlett we ought to be jolly well ready for it!"
+Billy replied, with a grin.  "'Sides," he added, "I
+didn't get the full benefit of the one I ate in the kitchen,
+I'm sure&mdash;didn't I bolt it just!"
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap03"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+<br><br>
+THE LIBATION MAN
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Between Nestley and Riversham, after the village
+school was passed, were only one or two large
+houses standing well back from the road, consequently
+the children felt free to give themselves up to the
+joyous freshness of the morning and step out to meet
+adventure with a song not only in their hearts, but on
+their lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, Modestine not only liked music, but
+seemed invigorated by it and set out so briskly at times
+that Nancy and Billy had much ado to keep pace with
+her.  If the song died away she would fall into her usual
+jog-trot, but Billy had simply to run in front and sing
+his lustiest and Modestine would respond with pricked-up
+ears and a quickened pace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, however, they drew near to Riversham
+and the singing ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's get through as quickly as possible," Billy
+said, "and let's hope Modestine behaves herself.
+If she sits down in the middle of the street as she did
+that time when we brought her in the cart&mdash;you
+remember?&mdash;well, there'll be a crowd and good-bye to
+our adventure!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With beating hearts they approached the sleepy
+little country town.  The church stood on a hill to the
+right and they glanced up anxiously at the clock.
+Not quite nine o'clock&mdash;good&mdash;people would not be
+abroad shopping yet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I forgot to wind my watch up last night," Mavis
+said.  "It's stopped."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With much pride she wound up the watch, for it
+was one that she had recently won at Billy's school
+sports; the only watch between them, too, and they
+were depending on it.  There might not always be
+church clocks and somehow, even on an adventure,
+it would seem strange to be timeless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Riversham consisted mainly of one broad street
+stretching from one end of the town to the other.
+What activity there was amongst the inhabitants
+was apparently taking place indoors; a few
+small boys were scattered about; the butcher, like all
+butchers, was dashing recklessly down the centre of
+the street; the milkman ambled after him.  An
+assistant in the draper's shop under the trees glanced
+up idly, but curiosity evidently not being her strong
+point, she scarcely gave them a second glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Do</i> let's rest soon," Nancy said, "I'm getting a
+little tired, aren't you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy would not admit that he was, but he owned
+that he was ready to justify Aunt Hewlett's belief in
+him, so, when at the further end of the town they
+found a narrow lane branching off to the left, they
+decided to take it; it might have a suitable halting
+place tucked away in some unobtrusive corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But we'll get back on to the Gleambridge road
+presently, won't we?" Nancy said.  "This is a forest
+road and it's the hills, not the forest we want, isn't
+it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we know <i>all</i> about the forest," Billy replied,
+"inside and out, so of <i>course</i> it's the hills we'll make
+for."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This, in spite of the fact that every step was taking
+them nearer to the deep heart of the forest, to a beauty
+and grandeur that was constantly changing.  This
+great friendly forest, with its harmonies of sound and
+colour, this sheltering forest, with its unseen yet
+familiar voices, how were they to know that in rejecting
+it, they were rejecting something that was a part of
+themselves, just as Daddy Petherham was a part of
+Nestcombe?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a little while they came to a meadow, and beyond
+the meadow, with a gate leading invitingly into it,
+was a wood; a very suitable halting-place, they
+decided, and without a second thought&mdash;for trespassing
+never troubled our young adventurers&mdash;entered it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy paused as they were shutting the gate and looked
+at the little town in the valley and the peeps of golden
+river between its chimney-pots.  Just across that river
+were the hills and to reach them they must tramp all
+the way to Gleambridge first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wish we could have gone by the Riversham
+ferry," he said regretfully, "it'd have cut off miles,
+but the old man might ask questions&mdash;p'raps he
+wouldn't take us.  Better stick to the road, I s'pose,
+though it's another sixteen miles."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall we get there to-day?" Mavis asked.  "'Course
+you must both take turns in riding Modestine, 'cos
+I'm nearly seven and needn't ride <i>all</i> the way.  Shall
+we sleep at Gleambridge or in a wood?" she added,
+as they made their way across the meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know," Nancy replied.  "'Sides, a lot
+depends on Modestine."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine, when they reached the wood, stood with
+her most angelic expression while they removed the
+blankets and provision basket to ease her for a
+while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't forget to take the bit out of her mouth,
+Billy," Nancy reminded him as he was loosening her
+girth, while she and Mavis unpacked the provisions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It did not take two hungry little girls very long to
+spread out the breakfast for which they were all longing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Modestine!  Look out, both of you!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis turned at Billy's cry to see
+Modestine dashing towards them, and they too uttered
+a cry as she took a flying leap over the food they had
+spread on the grass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' she hasn't even knocked the lemonade over!"
+Mavis cried, and there was a little secret admiration
+in her voice; Modestine, you see, in spite of her
+naughtiness was so dear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A jolly good thing for her!" Billy said.  "And
+now we've got to catch her!" he added ruefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked longingly at the tempting food and
+hesitated.  Should they let her roam until they had
+satisfied their hunger?  It was a lonely spot and nobody
+was likely to come, and yet&mdash;well, though they never
+had the slightest fear of trespassing, it was an unwritten
+rule with them that gates should always be closed
+after them, and that no damage should be done in
+any way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' if we let her roam you never know what
+might happen!"  They sighed, and gave themselves
+up to a breathless quarter of an hour's coaxing and
+cajoling.  At the end of that time, Modestine, apparently
+tired of the game, submitted herself to Nancy,
+rubbing herself affectionately against the child as she
+tethered her to the gate leading into the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And now we can have breakfast!" Billy said
+with a sigh of contentment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How good the food tasted up here on the forest
+road&mdash;the first breakfast they had eaten in a meadow&mdash;so
+different from <i>ordinary</i> out-of-doors meals.  Picnics
+lead you nowhere&mdash;this meal&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's kind of the beginning of the adventure, isn't
+it?" Nancy said.  "The christening feast.  No&mdash;no,
+don't laugh at me, I didn't mean that.  What's the
+word I want?  Celebration, no, not 'xactly.  Don't
+talk to me for a minute, I'll see it inside me presently.
+I do wish words wouldn't run away just when you
+want them.  Initiation?  No, that doesn't sound quite
+right."  She shook her head and frowned.  "Can't
+you think of it, Billy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Me?" Billy asked, with a chuckle.  "No, <i>I</i>
+don't know long words, an' I'm far too hungry to
+bother about them.  Don't you want some more to
+eat, Nancy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy took the huge slice of bread and butter
+Mavis passed her and ate it absently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll have to let it go just now," she sighed.  "But
+don't you think we should offer up something to the
+God of Adventure?  There's a word for that, too;
+what you offer, I mean.  Li&mdash;li&mdash;&mdash;Oh, I wish
+Aunt Letty were here, she'd know both words.  Li&mdash;&mdash;
+I've got it!  Libation!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, look!" whispered Mavis hurriedly.  "Look
+behind you!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"BY Jingo!" Billy exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy came down to earth with a start to see coming
+towards them through the wood, two men, and a dog
+which evidently belonged to the younger of the two.
+The elder man was a gamekeeper, Nancy decided
+swiftly, but his companion&mdash;was he a farmer and
+would he be cross and turn them out?  She studied
+his face intently as he approached, and read there not
+only surprise but interest.  Nancy liked him
+immediately and instinctively she felt that, if he was a
+farmer, he was something more besides; his interests
+extended beyond sheep and the price of corn she was
+sure&mdash;not, of course, that she got as far as expressing
+the thought quite as definitely as this.  She just
+knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, meanwhile, had whistled to the dog, who,
+after sniffing round the boy was evidently satisfied
+that he was a person one could know, and allowed
+himself to be fed with biscuits.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, if you were a gamekeeper and you came
+suddenly upon three children and a donkey calmly
+settled upon the preserves for which you were responsible,
+the one idea in your mind would be to turn the
+whole party out as speedily as might be with perhaps a
+lengthy and fear-raising monologue thrown in, as to
+the inadvisability of trespassing.  And if you were
+a gamekeeper and <i>alone</i>, that is what you would do;
+that is what your duty as a gamekeeper told you you
+should do; that is what you were absolutely tingling to do
+in spite of the restraining hand of a youthful master.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But if you were the owner of the preserves, and,
+if on a summer morning with happy, laughing skies
+above you, you came upon a picture of startling
+interest and beauty, if the youth dancing in your veins
+shouted to you that the picture was a part of the
+glory of the morning?  If the picture dissected resolved
+itself into a dainty, golden-haired fairy with a bloom
+on her cheeks like that of a ripe peach; a boy with
+mischievous, laughing eyes, and a dreamy child with
+chestnut hair who had searched the recesses of an
+apparently not empty little mind and brought forth
+in triumph the word "libation"!  And last, but not
+least, a donkey tethered to the gate through which
+you were intending to pass?  If, too, you were more
+interested in human nature than in your preserves;
+if there was about each child something that suggested
+more than an everyday picnic, if an intense desire
+burned in you for enlightenment?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis leaned forward and stroked the dog.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Isn't he a dear and isn't he friendly?  Is he your
+little dog?" she asked, smiling up into the
+gamekeeper's taciturn face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he replied laconically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the owner was standing with his hand
+on the gate in a tentative attitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Billy, Modestine's in the way!" Nancy
+exclaimed.  "Do move him.  I'm sorry," she added,
+smiling apologetically at the owner.  "We thought
+we'd better tether her, you see.  She's generally good,
+but one never can be sure of her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I see," the owner replied gravely.  "And has
+anyone given you permission to picnic here, may I
+ask?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We're not picnicking," she replied promptly,
+"were just&mdash;&mdash;"  She paused at a warning glance
+from Billy.  "Why no," she continued, "there was
+nobody to ask; but, you see, it was pretty and we were
+tired and hungry, and we don't ever do any damage
+when we trespass, do we?" she added, appealing to
+Billy and Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, and we always shut gates," Billy replied, as
+he opened the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gamekeeper, with a grumble all over his face,
+passed through without a "thank you."  His
+companion followed, but seemed in no hurry to leave the
+little group.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Isn't it rather early to be tired and hungry?"
+he enquired, with a puzzled glance at the remains of
+the meal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not if you're adventurers," Nancy replied.
+"You see, you get too excited to eat anything before
+you start."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And what exactly is an adventurer?" the owner
+asked, digging his stick into the ground and leaning
+comfortably on it.  "And what does an adventurer do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why," she replied, looking over Riversham to
+the hills beyond the river, "isn't it somebody who
+wants to find something?  Something they've wanted
+and wanted an' at last they feel they have to go and
+find it, don't they, Billy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," said Billy, throwing back his head, "they
+have to go!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what do they do?" the owner repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, lots of things," Billy responded eagerly.
+"Just anything.  They don't mind what it is as long
+as it's part of the adventure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Only it mustn't be an everyday kind of thing,
+you know," Nancy explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gamekeeper was growing impatient and was
+clearly in a hurry to be off.  Since the children were
+not to be turned out he could see little use in standing
+there talking to them; such absurd talk, too.  His
+master, seeing his impatience, signed to him to go,
+and then turned again to the children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And how long do adventures last?" he enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, a long time," Billy replied vaguely.  He liked
+the stranger immensely, but he was a grown-up
+and&mdash;well, it was safer not to enter into details.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, the gamekeeper on his dismissal, instead of
+crossing the meadow into the lane as he had originally
+intended, turned back into the wood.  Had he not
+done so; had he and his master gone straight down
+to Riversham as they had previously planned, the
+children's adventure would have ended abruptly, and
+this story would never have been written.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a car, containing a worried and unhappy father
+and mother was passing through the town towards
+Gleambridge, whither they gleaned from the children's
+letter they were bound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up in the meadow the children could only see the
+chimney pots and roofs of Riversham, so they did not
+know that the sleepy little town was in an unusual
+tumult.  They did not see the crowd gradually collecting
+round the car; they knew nothing of the enquiries
+that were being made, or of the relief when, at last,
+the shop assistant who had glanced up idly as they
+passed joined the crowd.  Yes, three children and a
+donkey had gone through the town, she said, some
+time ago&mdash;nearly an hour, in fact.  Yes, they would
+soon be found for a car travels just a <i>little</i> quicker than
+a donkey, and the donkey seemed in no hurry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up in the meadow the children heard the car speeding
+out to the Gleambridge road, but they gave it no
+second thought, for the stranger was engrossing them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Would it," he was asking, "be an adventure to
+be prosecuted for trespassing?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice was grave, but Nancy's quick eyes detected
+a little twitch at the corners of his mouth, and something
+at the back of his eyes that was not in accordance
+with his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think you would prosecute us," she replied,
+with a smile that was half-shy, half-frank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not?  Don't you think I ought to?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I don't think you need.  We told you we
+never hurt anything when we trespass.  'Sides, I
+b'lieve&mdash;&mdash;"  She hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, what do you believe?" he encouraged her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I b'lieve you kind of understand."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why do you think that?" he asked.  In his
+interest he dropped all pretence of severity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I can't s'plain."  Nancy regarded him frankly
+for a moment.  "It's something in your eyes; they're
+whim&mdash;whimsical."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a long word for a little girl," was his reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She can't help it," Billy interrupted with a teasing
+sigh and grin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What was the long word we were to offer up to
+the God of Adventure, Nancy?" Mavis asked, suddenly
+returning to the conversation that had been interrupted
+long, long ago, and joining in the general laugh when
+the owner hoped they were going to offer up something
+more substantial than a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is libation what you offer?" Nancy asked
+anxiously.  "We weren't quite sure.  And can you
+do it in lemonade&mdash;that's all we've got?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And will it matter us having eaten our meal
+first?" Billy enquired.  "We didn't think about it
+till just as you came along."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is there <i>really</i> a God of Adventure?" Mavis
+chimed in eagerly.  "And if we give him a libation
+will he really and truly help us to have lots of nice
+things happen?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not really-truly like you and me and Billy,"
+Nancy replied.  "Is it?" she asked, turning
+confidentially to the owner.  "But really-truly&mdash;oh, yes!
+Don't you remember what Aunt Letty and 'nearly-uncle
+Jim' told us?  <i>Anything</i> can happen if you have
+an inner vision, and if you think there is a God of
+Adventure, then there is, and he'll help you.  And,
+oh, do you think," she added, turning again to the
+stranger who yet seemed no stranger, "<i>do</i> you think
+we may offer him lemonade as we haven't got wine,
+and shall we do it now, and&mdash;and would you like to
+help us?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, a property owner ought to be too busy attending
+to his duties to play with children in the young
+hours of the day.  He ought, moreover, firmly, if
+politely to point out to trespassers that he cannot have
+his meadow turned into a sort of heathen temple.
+And the presumption of it!  They inviting <i>him</i>, the
+owner to join in heathen rites!  Why, he should be in
+a frenzy of indignation!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the owner was twenty-one and trespassers such
+as these three little people, who apparently recognized
+him as a comrade, interested him immensely.  And,
+curiously enough, though twenty-one is a fearfully
+important age and has all sorts of delightful
+possibilities hovering round it, Dick Frampton had an
+instinctive feeling that it was a privilege to be allowed
+to assist in, what to the children, was a solemn affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, feeling that unseen hands were pushing adventure
+towards him, he replied by picking up the lemonade
+bottle and taking charge of the rites.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, in the circumstances, lemonade would do, but
+had they salt?  Sacred salt must be sprinkled on the
+meat.  A pity they had had their meal, gods preferred
+their offerings to be given first.  Well, they had better
+forget that meal and, after the offerings, they would
+all eat together.  Had they any meat on which the
+salt could be sprinkled?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's veal and ham pie," they replied anxiously.
+"Will it do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They gathered round with silent, eager interest
+while he cut off a very tiny portion of the pie.  Was
+that enough, they asked, rather shocked to offer a god
+so little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, he'll understand.  Come now, and think hard
+about him and tell him inside yourselves what you
+want."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With almost a feeling of being in church
+they followed him to the hedge and watched while he
+placed the corner of pie on a little grassy mound and
+sprinkled it with salt.  With slow, solemn movements
+of his hands he appeared to be blessing the pie, at the
+same time murmuring something in a language the
+children could not understand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The libation of lemonade, too, was a small one, but
+a God of Adventure who could not understand and
+forgive a shortage would not be worth approaching.  An
+intense silence held the children as the slow drops
+trickled on to the mound.  Modestine, a few yards off,
+was quietly cropping the grass; a lazy bird-chatter
+came from the little wood, and across the meadow
+a yellowhammer was singing his bread-and-butter
+song.  The sounds of everyday human life came up
+from Riversham, but faintly, so that they seemed to
+accentuate the silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Little half-thoughts that would not form themselves
+into words came to Nancy as they stood there.
+How funny that they should be standing here with
+this stranger.  And then again, how natural it
+seemed&mdash;and why did he not seem like a stranger to them?
+How wonderful the sunlight was!  How could one
+think when sunlight was bathing one through and
+through.  It caught the salt and made it alive with
+beauty.  Surely sun-kissed salt must be acceptable
+to a god?  Adventures now <i>must</i> come to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Leaving their humble offering on the mound, they,
+the three children and Dick Frampton, each solemnly
+ate a fragment of pie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ours must be smaller, of course, than the sacred
+offering," Dick said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What little lemonade was left he also divided
+between them.  Nancy instinctively turned her eyes
+to the hills as she drank; <i>would</i> they get there, and
+would adventure come out to meet them, and, above
+all, would they know it for adventure?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And now," said Dick, "I must go."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was reluctance in his voice, yet he knew this
+was to be no final farewell; these little people had come
+into his life to stay&mdash;he would see to that, and seeing
+his own reluctance reflected in their faces, he told
+them his name.  Just for a second Billy hesitated
+before he would allow Nancy to tell of their home at
+Nestcombe and invite Mr. Frampton to come and
+see them some day.  Yet, after all, if they told him,
+what possible effect could it have on their plans?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going over there this evening," Dick said,
+nodding towards the hills, "so I shan't be able to
+come for a day or two."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Going to the hills?" Nancy began impulsively.
+"Why&mdash;&mdash;"  A warning glance from Billy restrained
+her, and Dick who simply imagined this adventure as
+some extra-special all-day picnic, a grand make-believe
+affair, had no suspicions that they would be
+journeying in the same direction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a wave of the hand he left them, and the
+children began to gather up their blankets and
+prepare to set forth again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I do hope we see him again soon," Nancy said,
+as, with a somewhat reluctant Modestine, they crossed
+the meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That the God of Adventure, in accepting their
+offerings, had laid his spell on them and Dick Frampton
+she could not guess; that Dick was to play a very big
+part in their adventures, well, how could they possibly
+know this?
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap04"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IV
+<br><br>
+MONTAGUE FRANCIS DE VERE
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+"I expect there's a lovely view just round that
+bend at the top," Nancy said, when they
+arrived at the road.  "Should we take just a peep?
+It won't take five minutes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy hesitated.  When he had made up his mind to
+go to a certain place he preferred to make steadily
+for it and not wander off into side roads, but as Mavis
+added her entreaties to Nancy's he gave way reluctantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy mounted Modestine and the little procession
+set off up the hill.  To the left, they caught sight
+of the chimney-pots of a house, but that was all, until
+they reached the bend.  And then such a view.  A
+long stretch of the Gleam was visible, and the hills,
+rising out of a mist so faint that it seemed like a veil
+of light, were more alluring than ever.  On their
+own home side of the river, far, far away beyond the
+mouth, were mountains peeping out from a dense
+blue curtain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis, the artist of the family, was enraptured by the
+blueness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's like that picture we saw once&mdash;you 'member&mdash;some
+little girls with lots of autumn leaves heaped
+up, and a basket, and the blueness all behind them!"
+she cried excitedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," Nancy responded, "an' it was so blue I
+thought it couldn't be real.  Now we <i>know</i> it's all
+right."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They both sighed with delight and satisfaction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, do look at that boy!" Billy interrupted.
+"See, over there in the garden!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The view had entirely absorbed Nancy and Mavis,
+but they turned with ready interest to learn the cause
+of that in Billy's voice that promised something worth
+while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Standing back from the road they saw the primmest
+house imaginable, with a garden to correspond.  Not
+a weed was to be seen; not a plant or bush or tree
+grew there that had any inclination to riot or sprawl.
+There were neat little rose bushes, but no ramblers;
+there were stocks, and geraniums, and lobelias in prim
+little lozenge beds, but no pretty sprawling clarkia
+or love-in-a-mist or joyous Californian poppy.  A
+neat little laurel hedge divided the flowers from the
+kitchen garden, where again everything was
+congruous&mdash;everything, that is, except the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was standing by a bed of beetroots, leaning on a
+hoe, with his profile towards them.  They could not
+see his eyes, but his face, and indeed, his whole attitude,
+expressed solemn dejection.  Yet that was not the
+reason why he seemed so utterly out of place in the
+picture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Isn't he dirty!" whispered Mavis, in disgust, for
+she had a horror of dirt, as Billy knew to his cost.
+"An' untidy!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His hands, if he was supposed to be hoeing, might,
+of course, have been allowed a thin coating of earth,
+but there was earth on his face, earth on his knees,
+earth on his clothes.  He was about Billy's age, and
+was wearing a grey flannel suit, grey felt hat, and grey
+stockings, all very much like Billy's, but, although
+Billy had no special reputation for either cleanliness
+or tidiness, he was not to be compared with the little
+object in the garden whose stockings were slopping
+over his boots, and whose hat was thrust defiantly
+at the back of his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children stared in puzzled wonderment.  There
+was something about him that suggested he was not
+just the gardener's boy, yet what possible connection
+could such a ragamuffin have with so prim a place?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the boy dived into his pocket and
+pulled out a handkerchief that was the colour of his
+hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Isn't he awful?" Mavis whispered, in horror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, but I don't believe he's very happy," Nancy
+replied.  "He looks so sad."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy giggled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Spect he doesn't like hoeing!" he said.  "<i>I</i>
+don't!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, it's not that kind of sadness.  I know how
+<i>you</i> look when you have to do weeding; his is more
+than that&mdash;it's <i>all</i> of him that's unhappy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then the boy looked up and met Billy's eye.
+Neither boy moved or spoke for a moment, then
+suddenly the young ragamuffin jerked his hat over his
+eyes, thrust forward his chin, assumed a "Bill Sikes"
+expression, and lurched defiantly towards the palings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What cher want?" he growled, in a voice that
+sounded volcanic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing!" Billy replied, with a grin.  "I say,
+are you fed-up with hoeing?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy hesitated, a little surprised at Billy's friendly
+tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>You'd</i> be," he rumbled, "if you hoed as much as
+I do.  It's weed, weed, weed, and hoe, hoe, hoe,
+morning, noon, and night.  A boy has no play here,"
+he added bitterly.  "<i>She</i> says a boy like me needs
+discipline&mdash;an' this is what she gives me!"  He paused
+and looked thoughtful.  "'Tisn't <i>his</i> fault," he added,
+as though talking to himself, "he's sorry for me, but
+he says it's silly to mind doin' it.  Only&mdash;&mdash;" and
+here his voice grew particularly volcanic, "I wish he
+wouldn't always be talkin' about courage."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Courage?" Billy enquired, wondering what it
+had to do with hoeing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  He said there was a boy in a book who heard
+a man say, ''Tisn't life that matters, but the courage
+you bring to it.'  <i>I</i> dunno what he wants to keep
+talkin' about it for, and I dunno what it's got to do
+with weeding."  He paused.  "Courage!" he added
+darkly, "guess I know what courage is, as I'd show
+any boy!  I don't need to weed to know <i>that</i>!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, hitherto, he had not looked beyond Billy,
+but, at that moment, his eye fell on Mavis, who was
+standing with her hand on Modestine's bridle.  He
+stood as though spellbound, with wonder in his big,
+solemn eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't stare!" Mavis said, in a reproving voice,
+"it's rude!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm only just lookin' at you!" he replied, in a
+voice that was surprisingly humble.  "You're very
+pretty," he added.  Silence again.  "Would you like
+an apple?  There's an early tree over there," he
+blurted out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis looked at his grubby hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, thank you," she replied promptly.  Then
+fearing that perhaps she had hurt him, "What is your
+name?" she asked in a kind, fat little voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Montague Francis de Vere," he replied, with a
+defiant eye on Billy.  "Once," he added, reminiscently,
+"there was a boy who said I'd better add Plantagenet
+while I was about it.  Montague Francis Plantagenet
+de Vere he called me, just that once, but <i>not again</i>!"  His
+eye was still fixed firmly on Billy, who, instead
+of quailing as apparently he was intended to, merely
+grinned pleasantly.  The ragamuffin leaned over the
+palings.  "And there was another boy," he continued,
+"who called me Monty&mdash;and he was sorry afterwards!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?" asked Mavis innocently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Cos I <i>made</i> him sorry!" the boy growled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but if I knew you I should call you Monty,"
+Mavis replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, <i>you</i> can&mdash;sometimes!" Montague growled.
+"An' so, perhaps, can <i>she</i>," with a jerk of his head
+towards Nancy.  "But anybody else," here he again
+fixed Billy with a defiant eye, "anybody else has to
+call me Montague or Mont, else they'll be sorry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy chuckled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, Mont's all right," he said.  "I'll call you
+that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What does your mother call you?" asked Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've not got a mother," he replied simply, "nor
+a father."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, poor, poor Monty!" the two girls whispered
+kindly, and Billy sidled up to the boy in a friendly,
+protective way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, now I see why you don't belong to the picture,"
+Nancy added.  "It's a horrid, prim picture and it's
+hurting you, isn't it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague looked up at her in surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How d'you know?" he asked.  The way in which
+he said it told so much that their hearts ached for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Cos I kind of <i>feel</i> it about you&mdash;we said so before
+you turned and saw us.  Who do you live with, and
+how long&mdash;how long have you had to live here?"  She
+could not bring herself to ask how long he had been
+without a father or mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Three months," he replied, in a voice that
+suggested that the three months had been as three
+centuries to him.  "He's sorry for me to be here; he said
+he'd hoped to have had a home for Jocelyne and me
+with somebody who would have been a mother-person
+to us, but he said they couldn't agree about something
+or other, an' so there was no mother-person and no
+home&mdash;not yet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But who is 'he'?" asked Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My guardian," Montague replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is he nice?" asked Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I like him&mdash;we're friends.  He's going to let
+me live with him in London in the winter and p'raps
+Jocelyne, but <i>she</i> doesn't mind being here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's Jocelyne?" asked Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's my sister."  he replied, in a resigned voice.
+"Sisters are not very nice people," he added bitterly.
+"They get grown-up and don't mind being prim, and
+they hate you being a bit dirty, an' it's wash, wash,
+wash morning, noon an' night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> don't like dirty people either," Mavis said.
+"Billy has to wash <i>properly</i>."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy giggled, and Montague gazed solemnly first
+at him and then at Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't you like <i>me</i>?" he growled wistfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know you," Mavis replied.  "P'raps I
+might like you if you were clean," she added kindly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but we do like him, Mavis!  We're sorry
+for him, aren't we?" Nancy said impulsively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, of course we're sorry and p'raps you'd be
+clean if you had a 'mother," Mavis replied gently.
+"Wouldn't you, Monty?" she added with such a
+winning smile in her blue eyes that Montague suddenly
+felt an overwhelming desire to wash and wash until
+he was as white as snow.  Yet, though he would have
+given much to do so, he could not truthfully own to
+absolute cleanliness even under his mother's influence.
+He grew solemn and thoughtful once more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mothers, when they're dead, try to help boys,"
+he began.  "There's a boy I know," he went on in his
+queer, rumbling way, "a boy what sometimes uses
+bad words an' his mother is an angel an' she comes
+to him sometimes at night looking all shiny and sorry,
+an' she says she'll help him not to use 'em."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And does he manage not to now?" Nancy
+enquired sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, he doesn't use the <i>very</i> bad ones.  Mothers,"
+he added abruptly, "are different from aunts.  <i>They</i>
+punish you if you use 'em."  His voice grew vindictive.
+"When I'm grown-up I shall have a son ten years old,
+and he shall go without cake and jam for a month
+if he uses them, an' if he slides down banisters or along
+slippery floors, <i>then</i> he'll be sorry!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but aunts are nice," Mavis interrupted him.
+"We all love our Aunt Letty; she plays with us and
+tells us stories&mdash;an' she's pretty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," replied Montague, "great-aunts are different
+then.  <i>They</i> don't ever play with you, neither are
+they pretty.  An' if you have boots that sound nice
+then they try to make you sorry about them.  But,"
+and here his brown eyes suddenly sparkled impishly,
+"if you've got to wear slippers downstairs you can
+put your boots on in your bedroom and stride up
+and down s'much as you like and nobody'll hear you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think that sounds very exciting," Mavis
+said.  "I don't like clumsy boots."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague looked crestfallen as he gazed first at his
+own thick-soled boots and then at the trim little shoes
+Mavis was wearing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And is it your great-aunt you live with?" asked
+Nancy.  "Is this her house and is that why it's so
+prim and neat?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, it's hers an' she says there won't be much of
+it left if I'm here much longer.  <i>I</i> can't help it if things
+get in the way.  But my guardian says I've got to try
+and stand it a bit longer; he says he wants to study
+up the 'responsibilities of parenthood,' or somethin'
+like that.  He says it's all very well to learn gradually
+to be a parent, but a boy of ten and a girl of fifteen,
+and him a bachelor of thirty he says isn't an easy
+situation.  He says there should be lectures to meet
+the case.  He's more afraid of Jocelyne than me 'cos
+women, he says, are unaccountable.  He talks to me
+a lot&mdash;he likes talking.  Some of it's queer kind of
+talk, but anyway he likes boys an' that's more'n
+great-aunts do.  An' he plays with me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Our Uncle Val plays with us when he's in England,
+and there was another, a nearly-uncle, who used to
+play with us," said Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Uncle Val's in Egypt now," Billy, who was never
+tired of talking of his uncle's wanderings, informed
+Montague.  "He's been to Russia, too&mdash;he's an
+adventurer, and so are we!" he added proudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Adventurers?" Montague repeated with interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we're going to travel with a donkey.  We're
+going to the hills over there."  Billy nodded in the
+direction of the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's interest increased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When do you start?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've started.  We've come miles already, an'
+we're going on for days&mdash;<i>p'raps</i> a week."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague gazed at the three adventurers with
+undisguised admiration and respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' are you going on <i>now</i>?" he asked wistfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, an' we'd better hurry.  We kind of forgot
+while we were talking to you.  We've miles to
+go!"  Billy was in a tremendous hurry now to be moving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' me here hoeing and weedin' all the summer
+holidays!  Me stuck in this garden with nobody to
+play with!"  Montague's voice was so sad and his
+words called up so gloomy a picture that instinctively
+the same thought swept through each of the three
+children.  Billy voiced it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, come with us!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do come!" added Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we'd like you to come, Monty," Mavis added
+sweetly, "only you will wash yourself first, won't you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's usually solemn eyes literally danced
+with joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll be ready in less'n a minute!" he cried, and
+dropping the hoe, he ran swiftly down the garden.
+A moment later, they saw him on the other side of the
+laurel hedge running along a path in the flower garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's going to that gold-fish pond in the middle of
+the lawn there!  Oh, do look!"  Billy chuckled in
+enjoyment.  "If the great-aunt saw him now wouldn't
+her hair fly!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague was kneeling on the stone edge of the pond
+dipping his earthy hands into the clear water.  Next
+he pulled out the grimy handkerchief, swished it about
+amongst the goldfish, and smeared it over his face.
+Satisfied with the result, he thrust the handkerchief
+back into his pocket and came bounding towards them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now I'm ready!" he cried joyfully.  "Let's start!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis eyed him critically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, you awful, awful boy," she sighed.  "You're
+worse than before.  You <i>can't</i> come like that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague sighed, too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're never pleased with me," he rumbled
+unhappily, "an' <i>I</i> think you're so pretty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis felt a little ashamed.  She thought a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here, quick," she said, pulling out her own dainty
+little handkerchief.  "Run and dip that in the pond
+and bring it to me.  <i>I'll</i> wash your face."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague hesitated miserably.  Washing was bad
+enough in itself, but could he possibly submit to the
+terrible indignity of being washed by a girl&mdash;even
+if she did happen to be the prettiest little girl he had
+ever seen.  Was it, after all, worth while?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hurry, Monty, there's a good boy, else somebody
+may come and stop us," Mavis said anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The adorable motherliness behind the anxiety half
+decided Montague.  He glared hard at Billy, defying
+him to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I've</i> been through it," Billy sighed, with his happy
+grin.  "Girls are tyrants&mdash;specially sisters!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, with a mixture of defiance and subjection
+in his walk, returned to the pond, dipped the tiny
+handkerchief in the water and brought it back to Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I won't hurt you," she said kindly, as she wiped
+away the water-marks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not hurt him?  Montague writhed inwardly under
+the hurt to his pride.  Why he submitted he hardly
+knew; certainly, it was the last thing he would have
+imagined himself doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, you're quite nice-looking now you're clean!"
+Mavis said, surveying her handiwork with pride.
+"Run an' wash my handky quick&mdash;then we're ready."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague departed with glowing cheeks and
+sparkling eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She said I'm nice-looking!" he told himself
+joyfully as he flew to the pond.  Why, it was almost
+worth while to be clean after all.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap05"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER V
+<br><br>
+THE OTHER SIDE
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The little procession, with its reinforcement, set
+off down the hill.  Mavis, who was still dissatisfied
+with Montague's appearance, made him take off
+his coat and shake it as they went along.  If she had
+not been so fascinatingly pretty and if there had not
+been that irresistible motherliness in her voice,
+Montague would have been inclined to class her with
+Jocelyne.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But Jocelyne <i>she</i> wouldn't go on an adventure,"
+he told himself.  "She'd want to go in a car and stop
+at swanky hotels."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For there were to be no hotels, the children informed
+him.  There would be sleeping out of doors, or perhaps
+sometimes in a cottage if it was wet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' there ought," they told him, "to be a monastery
+'cos Stevenson slept at one one night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had turned now into the Gleambridge road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why are we going this way?" Montague asked suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We told you.  We're going to the hills, we want
+to see the other side of them.  And we've got to go to
+Gleambridge first, you know, to get there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Gleambridge!" Montague repeated slowly.  "Then
+I can't come!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood in the middle of the road, disappointment
+written all over him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not?" they asked, in surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Cos my two crosses are there," he replied bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Your two crosses?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Jocelyne an' Aunt.  They've gone by car,
+an' we'd be sure to meet them an' they'd bring me
+back."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children understood at once; they did not like the
+thought of the poor boy turning back or being brought
+back ignominiously by his aunt, yet what were they
+to do?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We can't swim the river with a donkey and blankets
+and things," Billy said.  '"Course there's the ferry,
+but the ferryman, well, he <i>might</i> not want to take us,
+or he <i>might</i> ask questions&mdash;and it'd be the end of
+everything."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague thought a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We <i>could</i> go by the ferry-boat," he said.  "He's
+up in the forest to-day, I know, 'cos Jim Virgo&mdash;he's
+his son an' a <i>great</i> friend of mine&mdash;he told me he'll
+have charge of the boat all day, an' if I could slip
+away for a bit I could have a ride in it, he said.  I was
+just thinking of going when you came.  Aunt and
+Jocelyne," he added with a chuckle, "they don't like
+me talking to the village people, but my guardian
+he says I can if I like."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children considered hard.  Should they venture?
+Would it be too great a risk?  Nancy's eyes sparkled
+and she suddenly felt queer inside.  Think of it; the
+hills <i>to-day</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, let's chance it, Billy!" she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had already passed the turning that led
+down to the river, and it meant going back a little,
+but what did that matter when perhaps some time
+to-day they would be in the heart of the hills?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The river road was deserted, but they hurried
+somewhat nervously along it, for the Riversham
+gardens sloped down to it and people <i>might</i> appear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'd better go first, Mont," Billy said, "and see
+if the coast is clear.  Wave to us if Jim Virgo is there
+alone.  We won't risk it if his father's there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague ran down to the riverside and the children
+waited breathlessly.  In a moment, however, they saw
+a hand waving violently, and with hope high in their
+hearts, they reached the ferry.  Jim Virgo, a
+fair-haired youth who was sucking a straw, greeted them
+with a sheepish grin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've told him it's a secret an' he's promised not to
+tell," Montague announced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy slipped off Modestine and led her to the
+wide ferry-boat.  Modestine, however, did not like
+the look of it and planted herself firmly on the bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy pleaded with her and Jim Virgo stepped
+forward to take her bridle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine glanced at him, saw that he was wearing
+corduroy trousers&mdash;for some unexplainable reason she
+objected strongly to them&mdash;and immediately sat down
+on the bank, assuming her most angelic expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, for a moment, abused her angrily, then his
+usually sunny face cleared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I expect," he said, "this is one of the not-nice
+things adventurers have to put up with."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, Montague, pulling his hat down over his
+eyes, lurched up to Modestine and, planting himself
+in front of her, regarded her with a most diabolical
+expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You donkey, you, just you get up or I'll have yer
+life!" he muttered hoarsely.  "D'yer want to <i>die</i>,
+minion, eh?" he added, thrusting his face close to
+Modestine's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For one brief second Modestine regarded him in
+angelic surprise, then, rising hastily, walked demurely
+towards the boat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children, shaking with laughter, followed, and
+Billy and Nancy ran forward and led her on to the boat.
+Jim Virgo followed, and, a moment later, there was
+the swish of oars being dipped into the water, and the
+boat was heading for the opposite bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hurrah!" cried Billy.  "We've started; we're
+really on our way to the hills now!  Isn't it ripping?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy for reply, took hold of a tiny portion of Mavis'
+dress and twisted it in her fingers.  "A Nancy-spasm,"
+the proceeding was known as, in the family, a spasm
+that told of a turmoil within that small person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In such a little while now they would have crossed
+the broad river.  How lovely it looked to-day, what
+a pity to be leaving it behind.  What a dear river it
+was, almost like a friend.  Hadn't the sound of it been
+in their ears and hearts all their lives; was it absurd to
+fancy that a little bit of it had got into themselves&mdash;some
+of its restlessness.  And there would be water
+where they were going?  There must be.  Not even
+the hills could be perfect for Nancy if there was not
+the sound of water murmuring either big or little talk,
+it scarcely mattered which, somewhere in their midst.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How near they were getting.  Oh, this excitement
+made you feel almost sick!  Just a thin strip of
+water&mdash;now a bump!  They were there!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague was the only person, when they had bidden
+good-bye to Jim Virgo, who did not realize the
+solemnity of the moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, we're here!" they said simply, and nobody
+could think of anything else to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That they felt just a little small and lonely with
+the broad Gleam dividing them from home and all
+the familiar home places not one of them would admit.
+It was so wonderful to be here, just at the foot of the
+hills.  Curious how far away it made yesterday seem,
+yesterday and all the other yesterdays with their little
+everyday happenings.  How important those happenings
+had seemed at the time and now how small they
+seemed!  Nancy had a curious feeling that something
+bigger than just half a day had grown up between them
+and the present moment.  Nothing certainly had
+happened yet, no adventure had come; there had
+simply been the meeting with Mr. Frampton and the
+finding of Montague, nevertheless she felt, now they
+had really crossed the river, that they were not
+quite the same children they were yesterday.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now that they were at the foot of the hills,
+adventure might begin at any moment.  They discussed
+it as they tramped up a pretty lane leading from
+the river.  What would it be like?  Lions and tigers,
+Montague thought, but was promptly squashed by
+Billy.  Lions and tigers in England!  Lions and tigers
+belonging to a travelling circus, Montague explained
+doggedly.  He wanted it to be something in the wild
+animal line so that he could have the joy of rescuing
+Mavis, and to be able to shine in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of the lane they came suddenly upon
+the village of Hampton.  A few houses and a shop or
+two were scattered on either side of a long, wide green.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They eyed it dubiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"At Nestley," Mavis said, "all the houses snuggle
+together, don't they.  <i>This</i> isn't very cosy, is it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow, it seemed impossible that anybody could
+love so wide a village, such an apart kind of village.
+Never had they seen so large a green.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But <i>I</i> have," Montague informed them.  "Near
+us in Suffolk there was ever such a long green with
+crowds of huge trees on it.  I like it better'n this,"
+he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But after all, the village did not matter; they must
+decide which road to take.  Which road would lead
+them quickest to the hills?  A signpost a little further
+on pointed to the left for Gleambridge, and they decided
+to take it till they should find one branching off
+up to the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy, who was rested now, wanted Mavis to ride
+again, but the child was not yet tired and insisted on
+Nancy riding a little further.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, trudging along by Mavis, felt extraordinarily
+happy, happier than he had been for the
+last three months.  Something inside him seemed to be
+expanding; feelings he could not understand surged
+up within him, feelings that had been dead, or dormant
+for a long time.  Long, long ago, when there had been
+a mother to be loved and protected he had felt like
+this; when it had been his happy privilege to wait on
+her and attend to her wants.  To bring her cushions,
+to sit on a little stool at her feet, why, yes, this queer
+feeling had often come to him then.  And again when
+his father had been home, just before he died&mdash;but
+three long, desolate, empty months lay between him
+and those happy days when someone had been glad
+of his service; three months brightened only by flying
+visits from a guardian who, if one saw more of him, one
+might learn to love; three months of rebellion against
+discipline; three months' loathing of a primness that
+shouted in every corner.  And, so long are three months
+in the life of a small boy, that in even less than that
+time in such an atmosphere, feeling that he is uncared
+for, the finer instincts in him will shrink and shrivel;
+he will become a little animal caring for nobody.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now he was tramping along, unrestricted, with
+three children who liked him, whom he liked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I could carry you if you're tired!" he growled
+suddenly to Mavis.  "I'm strong.  Will you let me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis shook her head with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, thank you, Monty, I'll walk," she replied with
+decision.  "You're not <i>much</i> bigger'n me either."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm ten!" he replied proudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' I'm seven, an' I can walk a long way.  At
+Nestcombe we always walk lots."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Presently you'll be tired," he suggested hopefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then I can ride Modestine.  Nancy said I could."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Montague with this strange desire to serve and
+guard, and Mavis would have none of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently he spoke again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Could I hold your hand if you're just a <i>little</i> tired,
+but not tired enough to ride?  It 'ud help you along."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis looked at his hand.  It was rather grubby
+still in between the fingers, but, somehow, in spite
+of the dirt, she had a motherly feeling towards her
+unkempt companion.  Poor boy, he had no mother.
+Well, she would let him hold her hand just a little way,
+though she hoped there would be a brook presently
+where she could free herself from any dirt that might
+find its way from Montague's hand to hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague took the little hand reverently into his
+grubby paw.  What a tiny hand it was and what a
+pretty shape.  His mother's, he remembered, had been
+pretty and so very white.  Mavis's was tanned, but it
+was a clean tan.  Yes, after all, it was nice for girls
+to have clean hands.  How warm the little fingers
+were, not a sticky warmth, but something that seemed
+to come from inside the child, a warmth that seemed to
+speak of friendliness and confidence.  Montague's
+frozen young heart that had been gradually expanding
+under the influence of happy comradeship simply
+thrilled at the human contact.  Yet he marvelled at
+himself.  Imagine him, Montague, until to-day liking
+to hold anybody's hand!  How he would have wriggled
+if the hand had been Jocelyne's&mdash;but then, Jocelyne
+thought him a terror and a nuisance, and Mavis,
+though she might not admire him as he would like
+to have been admired by her, was kind to him.  Just
+how much this friendship was meaning to him none
+of the children, not even Nancy with her quick
+intuition, could understand.  How should they when
+life had held nothing so far but sheltering love for
+them?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's thoughts strayed to his aunt and
+Jocelyne in Gleambridge.  They had left him at home
+because he was not an altogether desirable person
+to take shopping, they considered.  Montague,
+remembering a shopping expedition with Jocelyne,
+suddenly chuckled wickedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the joke?" Billy enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothin' really.  Only I was thinking Aunt and
+Jocelyne wouldn't have been pleased to see me if
+we had gone to Gleambridge."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not?" Mavis enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, only 'cos something happened there once."  Again
+he chuckled with impish enjoyment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do tell us about it, Monty!" Nancy pleaded.
+The road was flat and not very interesting, and the
+turning up to the hills seemed a long time coming,
+and Nancy was ready for any distraction from the
+straightness of the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There isn't much to tell, only Jocelyne and me and
+some of her friends went to Gleambridge.  Stupid,
+giggling things those girls were, an' Jocelyne was
+sillier than any of them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?  What did she do?" Mavis asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I dunno.  She talked silly&mdash;an' she's a proud
+thing, too!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Proud?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  I met a great friend of mine&mdash;he's the
+blacksmith's son, and once he gave me a horseshoe, and
+sometimes he lets me help blow the bellows, and him
+and me were talking at the station and Jocelyne said
+I shouldn't talk to a village boy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not talk to village boys!" Billy repeated.  "Why
+we know everybody in our village.  Jimmy Petherham,
+old Daddy Petherham's grandson, and I, often go
+fishing together."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you're luckier'n me," Montague replied
+bitterly.  "I mustn't talk to any of them&mdash;but I
+do," he added, with a grin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' <i>then</i> what happened?" Mavis prompted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, nothing 'cept I'd forgot to put my garters on,
+and Jocelyne got cross and said I'd disgrace her and
+her friends."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, <i>I</i> think sloppy socks or stockings are ugly,"
+Mavis said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Do</i> you?"  Montague looked at her in a troubled
+way.  Was she going to side with Jocelyne always?
+And yet&mdash;no&mdash;-there was something so different in
+the way this little person said things.  It was as
+though she really cared about you being clean and
+tidy, not as though she said the things to hurt you.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, however, grinned sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Garters get lost, don't they?" he chuckled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, they do," Montague growled.  "An' sometimes
+you want to use them for other things&mdash;same
+as you do handkerchiefs."  He paused.  "It's not
+<i>your</i> fault," he continued, "if you're made to get
+ready all in a hurry an' you've been using your
+handkerchief just before to collect worms in for chickens,
+an' you can't help it if you put it in your pocket and
+forget all about it and when you are in the train and
+you want to use it and earth and worms tumble on
+the floor."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy roared with laughter, but the girls were
+horrified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No wonder Jocelyne got cross!" they said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She didn't, not then," Montague replied.  "I
+thought she meant to, but her friends, they just
+giggled and giggled, and she giggled, too&mdash;only a lady
+in the corner with glasses on a stick an' me didn't
+laugh.  <i>We</i> thought them all silly, I can tell you!
+An' then in Gleambridge&mdash;well, <i>I</i> wouldn't have
+giggled like that in a town."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why did they giggle there?" Mavis enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, first," Montague replied, "Jocelyne was
+cross.  She tried to hold my hand 'cos she didn't like
+the way I walked&mdash;<i>I</i> think it a nice way."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Was it like when we first saw you?" Mavis asked.
+"I 'spect it was," she added, with a sigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Me and the blacksmith's son <i>like</i> to walk like that,"
+Montague muttered, "sometimes, anyway," he added,
+realizing that a lurching gait at the present moment
+would mean the withdrawal of the small hand he still
+held.  "Then they went into the china shop," he
+continued, "and Jocelyne said I must stay outside,
+an' some of 'em said silly things about bulls and china
+shops, an' then I got tired an' so I just sat down on
+the pavement and went to sleep.  And that was all,"
+he ended abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"S'pose you got into hot-water for that?" Billy
+enquired sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I didn't&mdash;but they talked sillier than ever.
+If you'd seen them all standing round me giggling and
+giggling and 'tracting everybody's attention you'd
+have been ashamed, <i>I</i> can tell you.  <i>I</i> was!  An' the
+stupid things they said, too!  Straws and camels'
+backs they talked about&mdash;I didn't know what they
+meant.  <i>You</i> wouldn't like being in Gleambridge with
+Jocelyne," he finished bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think I should," Billy agreed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps she's a little bit nice," Nancy suggested
+hopefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> don't think so," Montague replied emphatically.
+"My guardian he says there are possibilities in
+Jocelyne&mdash;or something like that.  He says I can't see them
+yet, but I may later on&mdash;but I don't think I shall."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, look!  We're coming to a turning to the
+right," Billy cried excitedly, and even Montague
+caught the excitement, and forgetting Jocelyne,
+quickened his pace towards the road that should
+lead them up into the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a very little while the turning was reached, and
+they looked eagerly for the beginning of the hills.
+The road, however, was perfectly flat, and the hills,
+for they could see them quite plainly, were still some
+way off.  Billy suddenly stopped dead in the middle
+of the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, we've got the canal to cross&mdash;it's <i>this</i> side
+of the river, so we've a long way to go yet.  Let's hope
+there will be a bridge across it, else we're done for
+to-day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little disappointed that they had forgotten the
+Gleambridge Canal and that the hills were still some
+way off, they hurried along.  The road was hot and
+dusty, but soon they came to the canal, and, to their
+great relief, found that there was a bridge across it.
+At any other time they would have lingered, for the
+canal was nearly as pretty as a river, and water,
+almost any water, fascinated them.  They paused
+only to watch the canal-man catch a packet of letters
+that someone threw from a passing steamer&mdash;a most
+extraordinary kind of post, they thought, and worth
+pausing for, because it was something they had never
+witnessed before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And presently the road really began to rise, but so
+gradually that they did not at first realize that the
+hills were beginning at last.  There were curves too,
+now, and great shady trees and walls splashed all over
+with crimson Herb Robert&mdash;low, inviting walls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have hedges at home in Suffolk," Montague
+said, as he stared in surprise at the huge slabs of
+white stone piled on the top of each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So do we in the forest," Billy said, "but Dad has
+told us about these walls.  He said they kind of belong
+here and are part of the picture because they are hill
+stones."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had to stand on the wall and peep through the
+trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why!  There's our forest over there across the
+river!" Nancy exclaimed.  "Isn't it funny to look
+at it from this side?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thought struck her that if it had not been their
+home forest they would have wanted to go straightway
+and explore it&mdash;it looked so beautiful from here, so
+different somehow.  How grand and noble it was!
+Such lovely lights there were on the trees&mdash;and the
+coolness!  Nancy could almost feel it.  Yet how
+stupid, she thought, pulling herself together, to be
+lingering here gazing at a place one could visit any
+day in the year, when at last they were beginning
+to touch the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, too, was fascinated by the forest.  At
+Riversham, though he lived on the fringe of it, he had
+never been actually in it, and in Suffolk, he explained
+there were only woods, not forests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll take you there when we go back," Billy
+said.  "We know some ripping places for playing
+Robin Hood."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When we go back!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the joy went out of Montague's life when he
+thought of returning to Riversham.  <i>Need</i> they go back?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, of course!" Mavis replied.  "There's
+Muvee and Daddy and Aunt Letty."  Then noticing
+his miserably face, "But there'll be us now for you to
+play with," she added kindly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis scrambled down from the wall, but rejected
+Montague's hand.  The road with its pretty banks
+and walls was offering such lovely surprises in flowers
+and ferns that she wanted to be free to dart hither and
+thither like a joyous little butterfly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I could run, too," Montague grumbled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But not as quick as me, Monty, dear," she replied
+lightly, dancing swiftly along in front of the others.
+Presently she stopped and beckoned excitedly; they
+found her kneeling by the roadside drinking, with her
+hands for a cup, from a little stream that gushed from
+the bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's icy cold!" she gasped.  "Come and drink
+and bathe your faces."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine, of course, had to share in the happy find
+and very unwillingly she left the refreshing stream
+when the children were ready to take the road again.
+To rest her, Nancy led her up the hill and she ambled
+sulkily along, not appreciating the delights of the way
+that spurred the happy children on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently they came to a high road running along
+the top.  There was nothing particularly attractive
+about it, and a long belt of trees shut out the real
+hills, but behind them they could still see the river
+and forest and far away the blue mountains.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm just dying with hunger," Billy announced.
+"I vote we have dinner here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was past one o'clock by Mavis's watch so, as the
+others were equally hungry, they decided to camp
+on a stretch of green near the belt of trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They unpacked the basket and remembered they
+had nothing to drink.  How foolish not to have filled
+their bottle at the stream.  However, in the distance
+was a farm, and the boys volunteered to go and beg
+some water, while the girls tethered Modestine and cut
+the bread and the pie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a very short time they returned with a bottle of
+milk which the farmer's wife had pressed on them,
+refusing any payment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They've got a cider-press there," Montague
+announced when they were all deep in veal and ham
+pie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He says he's never seen one before," Billy explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not seen a cider-press?  How strange!  Well, they
+would certainly have to take him to see one working
+when the apples were ready.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' he says he's never been in a fishing-boat,"
+Billy said, helping himself to a second slice of pie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not been in a fishing-boat!" Nancy exclaimed.
+"Oh, you must come with us and Aunt Letty in
+Daddy Petherham's boat."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Need the aunt come?" Montague enquired
+doubtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, yes, of course!  You'll love Aunt Letty&mdash;she
+helps us 'make-believe.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague said nothing, but so intense was his dislike
+even of the word "aunt" that he found it impossible
+to work up any enthusiasm even for an Aunt Letty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And have you ever been shrimping, Monty?"
+Mavis asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He confessed that he had not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The three children sat and looked at him in wonder.
+What kind of a place was this Suffolk he was always
+talking about?  Was it a kind of foreign country?
+All the everyday things that seemed actually a part
+of their existence were unknown to Montague.
+They began to feel almost eager for the day that
+would see them back at Nestcombe, when they could
+introduce him to everything and everybody.  People,
+places, and things suddenly took on a new interest in
+the thought of showing them to someone who knew
+nothing about them.  Almost a pity it could not be
+to-day&mdash;but how absurd; fancy even <i>thinking</i> of
+home-places when you were on the fringe of the land of
+your dreams.  All the same, it was strange how
+sometimes you wanted to be in two places at once.  So
+troublesome, they sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, for his part, was feeling rather ashamed
+of his ignorance of everything that seemed so much
+a matter of course with his companions.  Was there
+nothing he could tell them of Suffolk that they would
+find attractive?  He remembered Mavis's delight
+in flowers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've seen flax growing," he began hopefully.
+"It's like a field of blue sky, and afterwards it's silky
+like Mavis's hair, only not so goldy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you seen them cutting it?" Billy asked
+with interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now was Montague's turn to score.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They <i>pull</i> it!" he replied, feeling big.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They must know more about this Suffolk of his,
+they said.  What else had they there?  Well, there
+was the moat round their house with water-lilies
+growing in it, and he and Jocelyne had had a little
+canoe on it.  And in the next village there was a house
+as big as a castle, <i>lots</i> of turrets and towers, and a huge
+moat and probably dungeons.  As to the dungeons,
+Montague was drawing on his imagination, but he
+need not have done, for Suffolk, though so different
+from their home-places sounded romantic, the children
+agreed&mdash;almost like a story-book place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow, after the meal was finished nobody
+seemed inclined to move.  After all, why hurry now,
+why not rest awhile, why not give one's self up for a
+moment to the drowsiness of the afternoon?  Such
+a stillness there was in the air, such a fragrance, too,
+from all the sweet things that were tucked away in the
+short hill grass, such a musical murmur from myriads
+of unseen insects.  How the heat and music and
+fragrance seemed to grow into each other out here on
+the hill top, how pleasant to close one's eyes&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a little while four tired children were asleep.
+Modestine, cropping the grass near by, saw that
+stillness had come upon her talkative companions.
+There was loneliness in the silence, the grass lost its
+savour for her; better, she thought, get a little nearer
+to them, if the rope would allow it, and sleep, too.
+Very daintily she stepped amongst them and stood
+with Mavis between her legs.  Ah, this was better
+than cropping grass alone.  Modestine blinked a little,
+nodded, and then she, too, became part of the sleeping
+afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap06"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER VI
+<br><br>
+THE PRIOR
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The afternoon was well advanced when the children
+awoke.  Montague was horrified to see Modestine
+standing over Mavis, but the child merely laughed
+and stretched a lazy hand to tickle Modestine's nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She likes to be near us," she explained.  "'Sides,
+she feels she had to look after us, you see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague thought it a somewhat dangerous way
+of looking after anybody, but nobody else seemed to
+agree with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once again they set out, Mavis riding.  For a mile
+or so the road stretched along the top of the low ridge,
+then it began to descend inland.  The belt of trees
+was no longer there to hide the view, and hills and
+valleys, sometimes wooded, sometimes with houses
+scattered about them, were revealed to their delighted
+eyes.  Near the foot of the ridge they were descending,
+they could see a small village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We can buy something to eat there," said Nancy,
+"and I think we'll see if there's a nice cottage to stay
+at&mdash;just for the first night," she added apologetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For, somehow, the long rest in the afternoon did not
+seem to have been enough, and a comfortable bed
+seemed more inviting than the hard ground.  Such
+a pity one had to get tired, such a trial that one's
+body would not let one do as much as one would like
+to do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were so many twists and curves in the road
+that they found the village was much further off than
+they had imagined.  It was a pretty road, prettier
+even than the road that had so delighted them in the
+morning, and always now there were the great shoulders
+of the higher hills beckoning them.  Yet, somehow,
+prettiness did not seem as important as it had done
+earlier in the day&mdash;even the hills were beginning to
+lose a little of their charm.  Sleep and a clean white
+bed for to-night, and to-morrow a re-awakened
+enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last they drew near the village.  At the entrance
+was a huge saw-mill, and beyond it a few cottages
+and one small general shop.  Here they bought their
+bread and butter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman who served them looked at them
+curiously, but she asked no questions.  They hesitated
+whether to enquire here about sleeping accommodation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does&mdash;where does that road opposite lead to,
+please?" Nancy asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That?  Oh, that's just a private road to the
+Priory," the woman replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Priory!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children looked at each other and hurried out
+of the shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A Priory!  Why, surely, this was the very place for
+them to seek a night's rest at.  A monastery, of course,
+would have been the correct thing, but a Priory surely
+would do.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's go and enquire," Nancy said.  "I don't
+s'pose monks or priors would charge very much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They hurried eagerly up the road, and very soon
+saw in front of them a pair of huge iron gates, and
+through some tall beech trees, the chimney-pots of the
+Priory.  The Priory itself was hidden by a high wall,
+and until they reached the gates they were unable to
+see it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood with their faces pressed against the
+gates, staring with admiration, mingled with
+nervousness.  It was the most beautiful building they
+had ever seen&mdash;except the cathedral&mdash;the windows
+and the great front door looked, they thought, as though
+they belonged to a church.  But it was so large,
+almost as large, Montague admitted, as the place
+with the turrets in Suffolk.  Would it be too bold to
+seek a lodging here?  No monks or priors were to be
+seen&mdash;were they all at their prayers?  If only the place
+were not quite so imposing, if it were not so silent,
+if a monk would only appear!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's a man!" whispered Montague.  "Over
+there, across the lawn."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The others looked and saw an elderly man coming
+up a little winding path beyond a lawn in front of the
+house.  They studied him anxiously.  They were a
+little surprised that he was not wearing the kind of
+dressing-gown affair that they supposed monks usually
+wore.  Perhaps, however, he was the prior and could
+dress as he liked.  And <i>if</i> he was the prior could they
+summon up courage to speak to him?  Nancy noticed
+that his beard was soft and curly, and that he was
+bronzed; but what attracted her were his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They're like two brown fires," she thought,
+"dancing fires."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His walk, too, re-assured her.  It was so intensely
+alive, so young.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's kind," Nancy whispered, "I'll go and speak
+to him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the sharp eyes had already found the little group
+at the gates.  For just one second their owner
+hesitated, then, with eager interest he darted towards
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't forget to raise your hat, Billy," Nancy
+reminded him hastily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You, too, Monty," Mavis whispered.  For a
+moment Montague felt rebellious at the idea of raising
+his hat to a man, it was bad enough to have to do
+it to women; but when a little person <i>trusts</i> you to
+do a thing, well, you simply have to give in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man opened the gates, and, to Montague's
+amazement, raised his hat as courteously as though
+they had been grown-ups in a car instead of four
+travel-stained children with a donkey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are wanting something?  Tell me!"  His
+voice and smile were so encouraging that immediately
+they felt at their ease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy was the spokesman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Please, we are travellers," she explained, "an'
+we are too tired to sleep out of doors to-night, and we
+were going to look for a nice cottage, but a Priory is
+better.  It <i>should</i> be a monastery really, but we thought
+a Priory would be about the same.  And so <i>could</i>
+you let us be boarders, do you think?  We're quite
+respectable&mdash;it's only travelling that's made us a little
+untidy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first the stranger looked a little astonished, then
+a kind of waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next
+expression settled on his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How long would you want to stay?" he enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, only one night, 'cos we're going on again
+to-morrow&mdash;we haven't time to stay long in one
+place."  She hesitated.  She wanted to enquire how much
+they would have to pay, yet somehow it seemed difficult
+to mention money to this distinguished-looking man.
+<i>Would</i> he understand that if you're only children you
+could not afford to stay at expensive places?  "Could
+you&mdash;would you mind telling me what the charge is,
+please?" she faltered, flushing a little.  "We should
+only just want some tea and a bed, and we'd be
+leaving before breakfast 'cos we've really got our tea
+in the basket, but it can be breakfast instead."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior, if he was the prior, made a wide, sweeping
+gesture as though to push their breakfast-basket miles
+away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No visitor leaves the Priory without breakfast,"
+he said emphatically.  "It's one of the rules and can't
+be broken.  Can you obey rules?" he asked abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir," Billy replied, not without some inward
+trepidation.  The rules at a Priory might be terribly
+severe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good.  Well then, all visitors are requested to
+retire at seven o'clock and to attend matins behind
+the nuns' screen at 8.45 the following morning.  After
+matins a collection will be taken and each visitor is
+expected to put in the bag exactly the amount he or
+she would put in the offertory bag on Sundays at
+home.  <i>Exactly</i>, mind&mdash;neither more nor less."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children breathed freely when the Prior got to
+the end of the rules.  After all, there was nothing
+terrible for them to do.  They <i>might</i> have had to
+sleep on stone floors or rise in the middle of the night
+for prayers.  Nevertheless, one of the rules troubled
+Nancy, and she spoke of it to the Prior.  Did he know,
+she enquired, that children only put a <i>little</i> money
+in the offertory bag?  Should they put what they
+would give at Harvest Festival?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior shook an admonishing finger at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not a penny more or a penny less than the usual
+Sunday offering," he said.  "That is the rule."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice certainly was stern, but the children were
+not in the least afraid of him, for he beamed kindness
+upon them and Nancy was sure she saw flashes of fun
+in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what about Modestine?  What shall we give
+for her?" Billy enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Modestine!  Modestine!"  The Prior's quick
+eyes searched the children's anxious, upturned faces.
+Then he laughed.  "Capital&mdash;capital!" he cried.
+"A donkey with so classical a name must receive
+free board and lodging.  It is an honour to have her
+under one's roof&mdash;or rather one's stable-roof.  I take
+off my hat to Modestine!"  With that he took off
+his hat and made the little animal a sweeping bow.
+Modestine was unimpressed, but the children were
+delighted.  "And now," continued the Prior, "come,
+my dears.  There's a good woman here of the name of
+White, into whose hands I will put you to have those
+travel-stains (he looked whimsically at the earth that
+still clung to Montague's knickers) removed.  And
+then for tea!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but can we just see to Modestine before we
+wash?" Billy asked.  "She's dreadfully thirsty,
+and we must rub her down and give her a feed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't worry about Modestine, my boy," said the
+Prior.  "There's a man of the name of Monk hanging
+about the stables with nothing particular to do.
+Time will hang less heavily on his hands with Modestine
+to occupy it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But would he do it properly?" Nancy enquired
+anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have no fears, my dear," said the Prior.  "Monk
+has had a good deal of experience of donkeys in
+Egypt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well," Billy replied, "if he finds he can't manage
+her I'll come and help him.  It all depends on her mood,
+you see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Exactly.  I'll tell Monk what you say.  Ah, there
+he is.  I'll take Modestine to him.  Wait here one
+moment."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine suffered herself to be led away, though
+nothing would induce her to allow the Prior to indulge
+in his quick, eager stride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children looked at the man called Monk with
+interest.  So that was a monk.  He looked quite
+ordinary; he was even wearing ordinary clothes,
+but perhaps, they decided, they were allowed not to
+wear a robe when they were working.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior came dashing back across the lawn to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now, my children, come!"  He held out a hand
+to each of the girls, and with confidence they took it.
+The boys followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does he wear his gown when he tells his beads?"
+Mavis enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who?"  For just the fraction of a second there
+was bewilderment in the Prior's eyes, but it quickly
+vanished.  "Probably, my child," he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But don't you <i>know</i>?" Nancy asked.  "Aren't
+you the head of the Priory, and don't they have to do
+what you tell them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes, I'm the head of the place," he replied.
+"But I'm not a very strict person.  I allow them all a
+certain amount of freedom.  Freedom is good for the
+soul, you know.  It helps it to expand&mdash;restriction
+contracts."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children did not quite understand, but they
+thought it sounded nice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> should like to be a monk here," Montague
+rumbled.  "<i>I'd</i> like freedom&mdash;if Mavis and the others
+could be here, too," he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior pricked up his ears at the volcanic note in
+Montague's voice, and, pausing, turned to look at the
+boy.  What he saw in the love-starved face hurt him.
+He dropped Nancy's hand and waved his own
+impetuously as though to push something painful away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Restriction and starvation of soul written all over
+the boy," he thought indignantly.  Aloud he said,
+"You shall all live here for ever if you like," and the
+smile he gave Montague warmed the boy's heart
+towards him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm glad Mavis made me raise my hat to him,"
+he thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, but, Nancy said in reply to the Prior, though
+they would love him there were other people they
+loved, too&mdash;people who wanted them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's nobody wants me at Riversham," Montague
+growled, "and nobody <i>I</i> want&mdash;'cept when my
+Guardian comes&mdash;so <i>I</i> could stay here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had reached the house now, and the Prior
+pushed open the great door, the most beautiful door
+they had ever seen.  The children, with thrills of
+excitement running through them, followed him into
+a vast hall.  Now, all four of them, Montague in his
+Suffolk home, the others in their dear old Nestcombe
+home were used to spacious, beautiful halls, yet,
+large though they were, both of them could have been
+put inside the one they had entered.  It was paved
+with great slabs of stone, and the rugs and skins
+that were scattered about in profusion looked like
+little islands.  A carriage might easily have been
+driven up the wide staircase, which wound its way
+to a gallery above; a beautiful staircase it was, too,
+with its carvings of the heads of many different
+saints.  In a distant corner of the hall was some
+armour, and all the walls were hung with portraits&mdash;dozens
+of them, every period for centuries back being
+represented.  Nancy thought they looked like ancestors,
+yet she was puzzled to find them here in a Priory,
+expecting rather that there would have been only
+madonnas and other sacred pictures.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior had gone in search of Mrs. White, and
+presently he returned with a grand person in a rustling
+silk dress.  He introduced her to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And now," he said, "I am going to hand these
+little people over to you, Mrs. White.  Just a little
+cleansing and brushing, you know&mdash;then tea on the
+lawn."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very good, sir," Mrs. White replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, and Mrs. White, will you see that Master
+Lionel's room is ready by seven o'clock?  Put another
+small bed in there.  The boys will like to share a room,
+I'm sure.  And for the little girls&mdash;&mdash;"  He hesitated
+and his eyes swept the two little faces turned
+expectantly towards him, "prepare Miss Dorothy's
+room."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. White knew her master thoroughly.  Nothing
+that he did, as a rule, surprised her, but at the mention
+of "Miss Dorothy's room" her surprise was visible.
+"Miss Dorothy's room," that had not been slept in
+since the "blessed lamb" had become an angel!
+Surely these little girls were very special friends of
+her master, for such a thing to happen.  However,
+she pulled herself together, and assuring her master
+that everything should be as he wished, conducted the
+children upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Who, the children wondered as they followed
+Mrs. White, were Lionel and Dorothy?  Were they the
+Prior's children?  But <i>did</i> priors marry?  And why
+was he here alone, and why did they not see more
+monks?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a huge, huge house this was; how easily
+one could get lost here&mdash;what a ripping place for
+hide-and-seek!  Ah, here were the pictures that
+should have been in the hall; saints and madonnas
+and holy families, all of them wearing the shiny plates
+round their heads that people called "halos."  What
+lots of them, and what a lovely picture gallery, and
+what delightful window-seats.  Nancy simply had to
+stop to scramble into one of them and gaze at
+the view of the hills.  If they were beautiful seen
+from outside, how much more so looking through
+these wonderful mullioned windows that seemed to
+radiate green and gold lights.  A feeling of worship
+swept over Nancy's impressionable young soul;
+depths that, so far, only the sound of the organ at
+the cathedral had touched, were stirred.  But
+Mrs. White was waiting and she must follow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boys were left at a huge bathroom, and
+Mrs. White conducted Nancy and Mavis to her own
+room&mdash;a room that surely was made for no other person
+than Mrs. White, for everything about it was just as
+neat and sedate and unsurprised-looking as
+Mrs. White herself.  Hats and hair ribbons must not be
+flung about here!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After supplying them with towels and hot water
+she left them for a few moments.  They hoped she
+would not be long away, for the big, silent place
+somewhat overawed them.  Such lots and lots of doors
+they had passed.  Were they the cells, Mavis
+wondered; was a monk praying silently in each, and
+weren't they themselves going to sleep in cells?
+It seemed not, from what the Prior had said, yet were
+there ordinary rooms in a priory?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can't make things out a bit," Nancy replied.
+"It doesn't seem nice to ask lots of questions
+when you're kind of guests, but I <i>would</i> like to know
+about Dorothy.  D'you s'pose she's a nun?  P'raps
+she's at another priory or convent now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Couldn't we ask just that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I think not, but p'raps we'll find out later.
+Let's wait and see, 'cos, after all, it's awfully exciting,
+isn't it?  We don't know <i>what</i> will happen next!
+An' if we don't see the monks to-night we shall have
+to see them at matins to-morrow."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two perfectly clean and tidy little girls awaited
+Mrs. White on her return.  At the bathroom they
+picked up two passably clean boys, and Mrs. White
+led the whole party to the Prior, who was awaiting
+them under a great beech tree of beautiful proportions
+on the lawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And now for tea!" said the Prior, beaming on the
+children.  "A good substantial tea for hungry
+travellers."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He led them to a tea-table that was heaped with
+good things.  A tall and solemn-looking man was
+hovering near it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's all, Monk, thank you.  We'll manage alone
+to-day, eh, children?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another monk, they thought with interest, as they
+gathered round the table, and again an ungowned
+one!  Well, of course, the Vicar did not wear his
+cassock in private life; perhaps the same rule applied
+to monks.  Yet why was there a kind of twinkle in
+the Prior's eyes when they questioned him as to why
+he called each one "Monk" and not "Brother
+so-and-so"?  And why did he evade the question?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tea was a delightful one.  Chicken in aspic,
+cold ham, honey, and scones.  "Grown-up" cake,
+too, with lots of currants in it, and raspberries
+and cream.  Each of them you may be sure did ample
+justice to it.  The Prior insisted that Nancy should
+act as hostess.  The honour of it!  To pour out with
+a grown-up there and such a distinguished grown-up,
+too; one, moreover, who treated you with as much
+deference as though you had been a duchess seated
+there behind the beautiful tea equipage instead of just
+a small girl.  Nancy found herself trying to live up
+to the position; she thrilled to the importance of it,
+so that her hands moved gracefully amongst the
+tea-things, and she felt that she really was a hostess
+sharing the responsibilities of that tea with the Prior.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And while they ate the Prior talked.  There was
+nothing religious about his conversation; it was
+mostly stories of travels.  Yes, and that was another
+curious thing.  He seemed to have lived abroad far
+more than at the Priory, but, perhaps, they thought,
+he had other priories out there, for apparently he was a
+kind of head-person always.  Governor was the word
+he used, probably that was what they called priors
+abroad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet he did not seem to have to shut himself
+up in any of these priories.  Also he had parties
+there, children's parties with no other grown-up
+person there.  He wanted the children to himself,
+he said; other grown-ups spoilt things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then there were stories of big game shooting
+that thrilled the boys.  Stories, too, of snakes.  They
+regarded with respect and admiration the man who
+had actually found a snake popping up through a
+hole in a bedroom floor; who had lived in a house
+haunted by vampire bats&mdash;crowds of them, and you
+heard weird flapping sounds, he said, when you were
+alone at night and suddenly&mdash;sizz! out would go the
+lamp and you were in darkness alone with that horrible
+dark flying thing!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thrillingly interesting stories, all of them, but now
+tea was finished, and the Prior suggested that they
+should sit in the Sunk Garden till bedtime.  The children
+followed him willingly along a broad walk on the
+further side of the house, where masses of flowers
+were blazing in the hot sunshine.  Two youths and
+a man were at work, and they touched their caps as
+the Prior and the children passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And are they monks?" Mavis asked, and again
+the Prior twinkled as he replied in the affirmative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And are they too busy to pray in the day-time?"
+asked Nancy.  "I s'pose they have to pray longer at
+night to make up for it?  They must be awfully tired
+doing both."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think," the Prior replied, "that they any
+of them spend long enough over their prayers for them
+to become a burden to them.  Besides," he added.
+"there's nothing to prevent them doing the two
+things together.  A man who can grow flowers such
+as these," he waved his hand towards the blaze of
+colour, "who can teach his sons to grow them, too,
+should have a prayer of gratitude to the good God
+continually in his heart and on his lips."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, are they his sons?  <i>Can</i> monks have sons?"
+Billy asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"These Monks can," the Prior replied, and again,
+they were mystified by the fun in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do they have specially long prayers for penance?"
+Nancy asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pray in penance?" the Prior's eyes flashed a
+protest.  "Certainly not&mdash;not here!  Prayer should
+be offered from the fullness of the heart, child.  Prayer
+should be&mdash;joy!  Prayer should be, not the gabbling
+of a few sentences, but the act of living, living joyously.
+Anything less is an insult to the good God.  But my
+tongue is running away with me," he added with a
+smile.  "You will think that I am going to preach."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, if this was preaching, the children thought,
+it was much more interesting than the dull sermons
+the Vicar preached on Sundays.  They felt a little
+uncomfortable, however, when they remembered their
+own gabbled prayers.  Had they insulted God?
+They hadn't meant to, of course, but it was not always
+easy to realize that God was listening to them.
+Certainly, the Prior's way of praying sounded much
+nicer&mdash;so alive and <i>real</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They passed another youth who was busy hoeing.
+Montague eyed him with interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When I'm a man," he growled, "I shall have a
+son an' a daughter.  An' the daughter shall be fifteen,
+and she shall cotton peas all day, and the son <i>he</i> shall
+hoe and weed and pick up sticks.  An' if he doesn't,
+well, he'll be <i>sorry</i>.  An' he'll be sorry lots of other
+times, too&mdash;sorry all the time.  If he fights with the
+village boys, or if he plays with them, or gives himself
+and them the best strawberries, and leaves none for
+the grown-ups' tea, <i>then</i> he won't like it&mdash;he'll wish
+he'd never seen a strawberry."  Evidently something
+connected with strawberries rankled, for his voice was
+particularly bitter as he spoke of them.  "And there
+will be a great-aunt to look after him," he continued,
+"an' <i>I</i> shall stay here and be a monk&mdash;<i>not</i> a gardening
+one&mdash;or live with my wife in a house by a wood, or
+p'raps go and kill lions by myself.  And while I'm
+away the aunt will see if the boy wants punishing;
+she'll know how to do it, 'cos," and here his voice
+sank to a scarcely audible rumble, "she'll have had
+lots of experience."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused, but something in the curiously intent
+way in which the Prior was listening spurred
+him on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, if in a little while that boy forgets what
+happened about the strawberries and gives himself
+and the blacksmith's son a raspberry tart and a jug
+of cream that was meant for a dinner party an' a piece
+of duck each&mdash;well, <i>I'll</i> not be there&mdash;but the aunt
+will!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior said nothing when, at last, Montague
+came to an end, but he walked thoughtfully, his hands
+behind his back, and there was pity and indignation,
+and, well, perhaps a little amusement in his eyes as
+he studied the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now the Sunk Garden was reached.  Instinctively
+everyone paused at the top of the steps.  Something,
+before entering that peaceful garden, must be
+put away, left behind.  Something that was alien
+to the gentleness that seemed to play about the
+sun-dial and the subdued colouring of the flowers;
+to the quiet sunlight flickering amongst the leaves on
+the tall trellis-work that enclosed the garden.  The
+Prior put his hand affectionately on Montague's
+shoulder and rebellion suddenly seemed a little thing,
+so unimportant.  The scent of heliotrope, the swooping
+of swallows, the lazy cawing of rooks seemed all that
+mattered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior led them to a stone seat round the sun-dial.
+Nancy immediately felt the atmosphere of the place
+and gave herself up to it.  The swallows, too, attracted
+her.  She watched them dropping and falling down the
+air; against the blue of the sky; their swift shadows on
+sun-dial or paving.  Aunt Letty once said that the
+soul of a swallow was in its flight.  Now, as she sat in
+the Sunk Garden, a garden that must have had
+swallows' shadows flickering over it for centuries,
+she began to understand what Aunt Letty had meant.
+Every movement of the blue and white speck was
+graceful, whether it flashed across the garden, or slid
+down the air or climbed up towards the sky, all was
+grace and all was joy.  Suddenly, she looked at the
+Prior and he caught her glance with a smile and a
+question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is it, child?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Only&mdash;&mdash;" she hesitated.  "P'raps you won't
+like me saying it, but suddenly I thought you're like
+the swallows."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I&mdash;like the swallows?"  He looked at her in
+surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes!  You see, they're joy, every bit of them is
+joy&mdash;they kind of can't go fast enough to splash it
+out of them, an' that's like you.  You <i>won't</i> mind,
+will you?"  She slipped her hand into his and looked
+at him anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mind?  Of course not, my darling!  And do <i>I</i>
+splash joy about?" he added, his eyes shining like
+two brown stars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Yes, indeed, it's all over you, and you kind of
+splash it all over us and over the garden, too."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the nicest compliment I've ever had paid
+me in my life, child," and, lifting his hat, the Prior
+raised Nancy's hand to his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But it's not a compliment," Nancy protested,
+"it's the truth.  We all love you, don't we?" she
+added, turning to the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, indeed!" Mavis cried, scrambling on to the
+Prior's knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague looked at the happy group and sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When I am a man," he began, "I shall find a
+little girl with gold hair and I shall buy her a golden
+chair to sit in, but <i>sometimes</i> I shall ask her not to sit
+in the chair, but on my knee, and I will tell her lots
+of lovely stories.  And nobody," he continued, warming
+to his subject, "shall ever hurt that little girl or
+be unkind to her, 'cos there'll be <i>me</i> to look after her.
+And she shall be like a princess, and I shall do all the
+work for her and not let her carry things; an' if she
+doesn't like lessons, well, she needn't do 'em 'cos <i>I</i>
+shall say she needn't.  An' if there's only <i>one</i> nice
+ripe pear she shall have it, and I shall wait till she's
+had all she wants before I have one.  An' if she's
+tired there'll be me to carry her, 'cos I shall be big and
+strong then.  An' I shall earn a pound a week and give
+it all to her, 'cept just enough to buy the food,
+an' she shall <i>never</i> have schoolroom cake or rice
+pudding!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not boiled rice!" said Mavis.  "Oh, <i>I</i> wouldn't
+like to be that little girl&mdash;I love boiled rice.  An'
+wouldn't a gold chair be awfully hard?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, whose eyes had been fixed dreamily
+on a bed of heliotrope during his recital, looked up
+at Mavis with wonder in his eyes.  Was it possible
+that a little girl whom he regarded almost as a princess
+could like boiled rice?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"With jam?"  Perhaps it was the jam that
+appealed to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No.  Sugar and milk."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, she should have it."  There was resignation
+in his voice.  "An' she could have a cushion on the
+chair if it was too hard."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior, meanwhile, was wearing his
+waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next expression.  He called
+Montague and drew him to his knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So you are going to be a champion of little girls,
+are you, my boy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"One little girl," Montague corrected him, "with
+gold hair.  P'raps," he added, looking at Nancy,
+"there could be another with brown hair."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What colour hair," asked the Prior, "had that
+unfortunate daughter who was to cotton peas?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Black!" Montague replied.  "Thick black hair.
+The kind," he muttered, forgetting that he was in
+the Sunk Garden, "that you can pull!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" said the Prior, looking at him thoughtfully.
+"Why pull the black hair and not the gold or
+chestnut?  Why not be a champion of them all?  Why
+pull the hair of one and give the others golden chairs,
+and the best fruit?  Why not let them <i>all</i> have gold
+chairs?  Think of it, boy, just think of it, if you gave
+her a gold chair how she'd love you!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She wouldn't," growled Montague, "she would
+<i>never</i> love me, not if I was to give her a gold
+throne!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, try it and see the result," the Prior encouraged him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A gold throne for Jocelyne?  The Prior didn't
+know her or he could not have suggested it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And what are you going to do when you are a man,
+Billy?" the Prior asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Me?  Oh, I'm going to be a traveller like you and
+my Uncle Val," Billy replied unhesitatingly.  "Only,"
+he added, "there's such a long time to wait; it seems
+an awful waste of time going to school when you
+might be <i>doing</i> things."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, yes, but make the best of it, Billy-boy.
+It's not quite as wasted, perhaps, as you imagine.
+Preparation is needed, you know, before you can
+attack anything as difficult as the life of a traveller.
+For it <i>is</i> a hard life."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I know.  Uncle Val says if there's grit in you
+it brings it out, and he says you've got to have grit
+in you to stick to it.  <i>He</i> sticks to it, and <i>I</i> shall
+stick to it too."  Billy threw back his head and
+thrust his hands deep into his pockets.  "Uncle Val
+and I can't help going.  He says it's Sir Walter
+Raleigh's fault."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sir Walter Raleigh's?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  You see, when Uncle Val was a little boy
+there was always Sir Walter Raleigh calling him,
+calling him to look down the river away out to sea till
+he couldn't wait any longer.  He made him join up
+when he was only seventeen, and after the war he
+made him go abroad.  And now Sir Walter Raleigh
+hasn't got Uncle Val, so he's calling me instead&mdash;we
+live in his house, you see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior looked at Billy rather strangely, as though
+he were trying to see something in his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where is your Uncle Val now?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In Egypt," Billy replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior's eyes danced unaccountably with pleasure.
+He put Mavis down and rose abruptly.  There was
+something in the library, he said, that might interest
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children followed readily.  They returned to
+the house by way of the kitchen and fruit garden,
+beyond which were the stables.  Ah, might they
+just go and say good-night to Modestine, they begged.
+The Prior remained outside while they went in to
+Modestine.  Scraps of his conversation with the Monk
+who had charge of their donkey reached them, though
+at the time they paid but little heed to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, he's coming by ferry.  You'll take the car&mdash;no,
+I can't come after all."  The children appeared
+in the doorway.  "Ah, ready, children?  Now for
+the library."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap07"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER VII
+<br><br>
+LIONEL AND DOROTHY
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+They entered the house by a side door and followed
+the Prior down a short passage that led straight to
+the library.  The wide, mullioned windows of the
+room faced that part of the garden where the flowers
+made such a pageant of colour.  What a delightful
+room it was, the children thought; so different from
+the great, cold, silent hall where you felt such an
+insignificant atom.  Here, with the wide windows
+letting in all the colour and sunshine of the garden,
+here, with the deep chairs and sinky-in carpet and the
+books and the curios and pictures you felt immediately
+at home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curios seemed to have come from all over the
+world, and you scarcely knew which to look at first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just wander round and look at what attracts
+you most," the Prior said, seeing their bewilderment.
+"Anything you want to know about them I'll explain
+to you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And for the next quarter of an hour he was busy
+answering questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This?  I got it in India.  That's a Chinese
+junk&mdash;look at the carving.  Yes, that's an exact model of
+a Japanese house.  That head was carved by a
+Red Indian from the root of a tree.  Those spears?
+I got them in the Sudan.  Yes, these are panther
+skins.  Yes, really, I shot the animals myself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children's interest was unabating.  They tried
+to push away the unwelcome thought that seven
+o'clock must be nearly here.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, Billy wandered over to a table that held
+some books and photos.  Suddenly, he paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nancy, Mavis, come here!" he cried.  "There's
+a photo of Uncle Val's friend, Mr. Pringle, here, just
+like the photo he brought with him last summer."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis, too interested in Billy's discovery
+to notice the smile of triumph on the Prior's face,
+flew across the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!  It's him!  Do you know him?" Nancy
+asked, turning eagerly to the Prior.  "He's Uncle
+Val's greatest friend, and next time he comes home
+he's coming to see us.  We don't know him yet 'cept
+what Uncle Val tells us about him.  <i>Do</i> you know him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I know him," the Prior replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you known him long?" Billy asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nearly twenty-five years."  The children did not
+know what to make of that baffling, teasing smile of
+the Prior's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' is it long since you've seen him?" Mavis asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I saw him when I came home from India in the
+spring.  I stopped in Egypt especially to see him,
+because," he paused dramatically, "he's my son, you
+know!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Your son!" they shouted.  "Then he's the Lionel
+who has a room here!  Oh, isn't it wonderful."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, a new thought struck Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You didn't see Uncle Val, too?" he asked slowly.
+"Uncle Val," he added, "is like me&mdash;only he's
+twenty-four and I'm ten."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior still wore the teasing smile as he studied
+Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let me see!  Someone in Egypt like you?  A
+grown-up edition of you, eh?  Why, now I come to
+think of it, Lionel insisted on dragging along a certain
+Val Stafford with him.  Could that be your Uncle Val?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, yes!" they shrieked.  "That's Uncle Val!
+And you've <i>seen</i> him!  Oh, it's the God of Adventure
+that brought us here!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The excitement was intense.  When at length it
+subsided somewhat, Nancy enquired what the Prior
+thought of her uncle.  Did he mind Lionel bringing
+him along?  Did he like him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior turned and looked at Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If that young man over there grows up anything
+like his uncle he'll be a brother you can be proud of.
+<i>I</i> am proud that Lionel should have him for a friend."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, doesn't it make you kind of belong to us?"
+Nancy cried impulsively.  She replaced Lionel's
+photo on the table and, as she did so, caught sight
+of another one.  It was of a little girl of about her own
+age, a little girl who looked at her with Lionel's laughing
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked up quickly and caught the Prior's
+glance&mdash;no need to ask any questions, what she wanted to
+know was written on the Prior's face.  She slipped
+her hand into his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' you're letting Mavis and me have <i>her</i> room?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, dear," he replied, his hand on her head.
+"You are just the kind of little girls she would have
+liked to share it with.  My little Dorothy was an
+open-air child, just as you are."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Was she&mdash;was she ill a long time?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, dear.  She was following the hounds and was
+thrown from her horse.  Lionel, poor boy, found her.
+But&mdash;listen, children!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Seven o'clock!  Oh, what a waste of time bed would
+be at such a place as this!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A knock at the door and Mrs. White entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, Mrs. White!  Hot baths, sponge cake and
+milk, and bed, please!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He kissed Nancy and Mavis very tenderly and pressed
+an affectionate hand on the boys' shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-night, and thank you for letting us have
+Dorothy's room," Nancy whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They followed Mrs. White upstairs, each child busy
+with his or her own thoughts about this wonderful
+place and all that had happened there.  Lionel's room
+came first, a real boy's room, into which the girls took
+a peep while Mrs. White was showing the boys where
+they should take their bath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now, my dears, Miss Dorothy's room is down this
+corridor if you are ready."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They kissed Billy good-night and then, quite naturally
+first Nancy then Mavis turned to Montague and
+kissed him in turn, and, waving good-night, followed
+Mrs. White to Dorothy's room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague for quite half a minute stood in the
+doorway.  Nancy and Mavis had kissed him&mdash;just
+as they had kissed Billy.  They had kissed him, not
+pecked him as Jocelyne did&mdash;how he writhed under
+those pecks!  This had happened to him, Montague.
+Feelings he could not understand pounded away at
+the starved little heart; thoughts and words&mdash;comradeship,
+comradeship, that was it, that was how
+the Prior had touched him, that was what had been
+behind their kiss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If anybody ever hurts them I'll <i>kill</i> them," he
+growled inwardly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on, old chap, I'm half-undressed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Comradeship again in Billy's jolly voice.  How
+Montague responded to it, how wonderful it was.
+Later on, when after the baths and sponge cake and
+milk, the Prior's last injunction had been obeyed, and
+they lay in the two small beds side by side, Montague
+asked Billy a question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you <i>love</i> your sisters?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, of course!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish," Montague muttered, "I had a sister <i>I</i>
+loved."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But why not love Jocelyne?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Love Jocelyne?  You don't know her!  'Sides,
+she doesn't love me&mdash;we quarrel!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, so do we sometimes," Billy admitted.
+"Why, we used to fight like anything when we were
+little kids.  Course we don't now 'cos boys don't hit
+girls when they're big, though sometimes they'd jolly
+well like to.  But quarrels don't really make any
+difference&mdash;you can always make it up again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not with Jocelyne," Montague protested mournfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet, and yet, had there not been a time long,
+long ago when their mother was alive when he and
+Jocelyne <i>had</i> loved each other?  Why then did they
+not love each other now?  Montague did not know,
+he could not remember when they had stopped caring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Listen!  There's a car!" murmured Billy sleepily.
+"Another boarder, I s'pose.  <i>He</i> won't be able to keep
+the rule of going to bed at seven&mdash;p'raps the Prior will
+excuse him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, we'll see him at matins or breakfast, I s'pose,"
+Montague replied.  And then silence fell between
+them, and a minute later two small boys were fast
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+* * * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An hour or more later, while the children slept,
+the Prior and the new "boarder," who, apparently,
+was allowed to break rules, were walking up and down
+the beech lawn smoking and talking and thinking and
+planning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's the boy Montague I'm thinking of," the Prior
+was saying.  "The other three would certainly be
+bitterly disappointed if we sent them home to-morrow,
+Billy especially, for he's a sticker&mdash;he and Val Stafford
+are made of the stuff that does pioneer work, the
+finest stuff in the world, but they love their home and
+their parents, and the going back would have no sting
+in it apart from the fact of giving up their adventure.
+But Montague!  That acidulated aunt should be made
+to suffer, the boy's spirit is cramped and starved, and
+these three little people, quite unconsciously, are
+having the right influence on him.  A week or so
+with them, wandering about amongst the hills,
+forgetting himself in looking after little Mavis&mdash;what a
+difference it would make to the boy!  What can
+you suggest, Dick?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick Frampton, whom the God of Adventure had
+brought to this Priory of Adventures to-day of all
+days, smoked in silence for a few minutes before
+replying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wait a moment, Uncle, I believe we can arrange
+something.  But, I say, don't you think we should let
+Montague's guardian know that the boy is all right
+and leave it to him to tell the aunt if he wishes to.
+I can 'phone him up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior agreed, and the two fell to further
+discussions, both of them entering with the zest of
+schoolboys into the plans for the children's further
+travels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was at dinner that the Prior had first mentioned
+to his nephew (who had come to spend a few days
+with him) about the unexpected little guests who were
+asleep upstairs.  Dick, whose thoughts had been with
+the children most of the day, though he had imagined
+them safely at Nestcombe long ere this, knew
+instinctively that the Prior's guests were his "libation"
+children.  He was annoyed with himself for not
+guessing from the fact that they had blankets with
+them, that the adventure was to be of more than one
+day's duration.  He was dismayed at the thought
+of what might have happened to them through his
+stupidity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know how long they intend travelling?"
+he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior shook his head and laughed like a boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've asked no questions&mdash;not one.  It was Billy
+telling me about his Uncle Val that put me on the
+scent; the name, you know, and then the strong
+likeness between the boy and Val.  I took them into
+the library on the chance that their uncle might
+have shown them Lionel's photograph and that they
+would recognize it&mdash;and they did!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior was delighted with himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And I've wired to their people," he continued
+gleefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To Dick's enquiry as to how he knew the address,
+oh, that was a simple matter, he replied.  Didn't
+Val Stafford live at Nestcombe, when he was in
+England, and hadn't Billy told him how Sir Walter Raleigh
+had influenced them both.  Simple enough to guess
+that they shared the same home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And their people will fetch them to-morrow, I
+suppose?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No."  The Prior wore the air of a conspirator.
+"I told them to do nothing until they heard from me
+again&mdash;I wanted first to consult you.  Also I wanted
+to know what, if anything, you knew about the small
+boy they had picked up at Riversham&mdash;I felt sure you
+must know something about him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Dick, seated there at the dinner-table, was able
+to tell the Prior that the great-aunt was one of his
+pet aversions.  The guardian was the novelist, James
+Cradock.  Dick had met him several times lately and
+liked him.  Montague's mother had been dead two or
+three years, and the father had died a few months ago,
+from the result of wounds received in the war; he had
+suffered terribly for some time, Dick had gathered
+from Mr. Cradock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And this sister, what of her?" the Prior asked.
+"Montague seems to have no love for her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Jocelyne?  Oh, she's at the age when small boys
+of Montague's type grate.  A handsome girl, but, of
+course, Montague doesn't appreciate her beauty&mdash;he
+couldn't, they're both at the wrong age.  What
+they need, I suppose, is some influence to bring out
+the best in each of them.  It's there all right, though
+they would neither of them believe it of the other."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And it was this that had set the Prior&mdash;or Mr. Pringle,
+as everybody except the children called him&mdash;thinking,
+this obvious need of Montague's for something
+that had so evidently been denied him lately.
+It was this that had caused him to wire as he did to
+the Staffords.  Why should the children not continue
+their travels for a few more days?  Why not let the
+influence of the hills and the free, roving life and the
+comradeship of the other children do their work with
+the boy?  Why not?  Yet how to persuade the parents
+to countenance the plan?  How persuade them that
+no harm could come to them amongst these friendly
+hills?  And, was he altogether sure himself that they
+would be perfectly safe with nobody at hand to protect
+them?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here," said Dick, and this was the "further
+discussion" that had taken place while they smoked
+their after-dinner cigars on the beech-lawn, "I've got
+an idea."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The idea was that Dick should return home at once,
+motor over to Nestcombe from Riversham and explain
+matters to Mr. and Mrs. Stafford.  And if they
+consented to allow the children to go on he would act as a
+kind of warden to them and follow them about in his car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It would be quite simple," he added, "and I should
+like it&mdash;it would be an adventure for <i>me</i>.  What do
+you think of the idea?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior (for though he is not a prior, we, like the
+children, will call him that&mdash;there being nothing about
+his character to suggest the stiffness of "Mr. Pringle")
+was all enthusiasm for it.  Mrs. White, he said, should
+pack their baskets with good things, and they should
+set off soon after breakfast unless he heard from Dick
+to the contrary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what about money?" Dick enquired.  "Shall
+we give them something?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I imagine they have some money," he said, "quite
+enough to last them a few days.  Better not give them
+any more&mdash;they'd be safer without it&mdash;also I think
+they prefer their independence.  Let them get through
+it and then use your judgment."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so the matter was settled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the two conspirators strolled back to the house
+together Dick fell to marvelling at the extraordinary
+coincidence of the day.  Would the children, he
+wondered, if they knew all, regard the happenings in the
+light of an adventure?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They are out to seek it, you know," he explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I gathered so&mdash;there was some mention of the God
+of Adventure in the library, though I imagine their
+idea of <i>real</i> adventure is something more definite,
+more actual than what has happened to-day.  But,
+after all, my boy, there's nothing extraordinary about
+these happenings.  Life is all adventure, it's always
+the unexpected that happens.  That, at any rate,
+has been my experience all the world over."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick agreed.  Yes, of course, his uncle was right.
+Was not adventure waiting round the corner for us
+always?  Was it not our own fault if we let it pass by?
+Well, here were he and his uncle in the thick of an
+adventure that <i>they</i> had not let slip past them.  The
+sleeping children upstairs, his uncle who could never
+grow old, he himself with the joy of youth throbbing
+in his veins, which of them all would most eagerly
+stretch out responsive hands to the beckoning god?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior ordered the car when they reached the
+house and they waited in the Library while William
+Monk, the butler, sent the order to his brother, John
+Monk, the chauffeur.  The appearance of William
+Monk reminded the Prior of yet one other bit of fun
+he had to share with Dick, namely, the children's
+mistake regarding him and the other members of the
+Monk family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm indulging in a bit of make-believe that some day
+they and I will laugh over together," he explained.
+"Why not let them believe, at least till their adventure
+is over, that Monk and his brother and cousin and
+nephews are monks in very truth?  It adds to the
+romance of things for them.  This ought, they said,
+to have been a monastery, but a priory, they thought,
+might be nearly as good.  Imagine their hurt pride
+if they knew that they had asked to be taken in at a
+private house?  Ah, but <i>some day</i>, as I said, they shall
+hear their Prior's side of the question and learn the
+happiness they have given him."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap08"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER VIII
+<br><br>
+MATINS AND BREAKFAST
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+When Nancy and Mavis awoke the following
+morning it was almost eight o'clock by the latter's
+watch.  Eight o'clock!  How strange to sleep so late.
+Usually they were up and dressed soon after seven.
+Yet how sleepy they still felt.  They did not understand
+that such a day as yesterday&mdash;the fresh air, the
+tramping, and the various excitements that had
+followed one after another&mdash;such a day demands extra
+hours of sleep for tired little brains and bodies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They lay for a little while looking drowsily round
+Dorothy's room.  Last night they had fallen asleep
+almost as soon as their heads had touched the pillow,
+and the room, though attractive even to two weary
+little girls, had not revealed itself to them as it did now,
+with the sunlight pouring in through the windows.
+How Dorothy must have loved it.  What pretty
+pictures; one, a range of snow-capped Indian
+mountains particularly attracted them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, p'raps Dorothy lived in India when she was
+a tiny girl," Nancy exclaimed.  "How interesting."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were longing to see the world beyond those
+hills they could see as they lay in bed; Dorothy,
+perhaps, had seen the world beyond those towering,
+snowy ranges.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They thought a great deal about Dorothy and
+Dorothy's treasures as they scrambled into their
+clothes.  To have had all this, to have had this beautiful
+room with its books and toys and dolls&mdash;dolls that
+certainly were not bought in England&mdash;and then one
+winter's day to have gone out lightheartedly and never
+to have returned.  Nancy shuddered as, in her imagination,
+she saw the laughing, joyous, eager face of the
+child in the photograph downstairs, saw her flying
+after the hounds and then&mdash;the accident and never,
+never any more sparkle in the closed eyes.  It was the
+nearest she had ever come to Death, at least as regarded
+anyone young (old people, she thought, were different),
+and her sensitive spirit recoiled from the cruelty of
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Poor, poor Dorothy," she thought.  "<i>Why</i> did
+it have to happen?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she thought of the Prior, who evidently
+cared so much for children.  How he must have missed
+Dorothy.  Ah, they would have to love him very dearly
+to make up to him for his loss.  When they got home
+again he must come very, very often to visit them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few minutes later they were startled by the solemn
+clanging of a bell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The chapel bell!" they cried together, and a
+delightful thrill of awe and expectation swept over
+them.  The bell sounded so exactly like what one
+imagined a priory or monastery bell should be.  And
+at last they would see all the monks, proper gowned
+monks!  Matins and monks!  Feeling that they were
+stepping into a world absolutely remote from the
+ordinary everyday world they ran hand in hand down
+the corridor and found the boys coming to meet them.
+Billy, as they descended the stairs, told them of the
+arrival of the new boarder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall see him at matins," he said.  "Hope
+he's a decent sort."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior, who was waiting for them in the great
+hall, came forward to meet them, but there was no
+sign of the new boarder.  He conducted them down
+a corridor and across an open quadrangle, beyond which
+was the chapel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Visitors are not allowed in the chapel itself," he
+said, as they approached the beautiful building,
+"you will listen behind the grating."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grating?  Ah, yes, yesterday he had said something
+about a grating, but they had given no further
+thought to it.  What was a grating, and why were they
+not allowed in the chapel?  Oh, certainly they were
+getting far, far, beyond the confines of the everyday
+world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling decidedly mystified they followed the Prior
+through a tiny door in the north wall and along a
+narrow passage that led to a tiny chamber, where they
+found Mrs. White awaiting them.  She rose to receive
+them and the Prior hurried away with his usual
+impetuous stride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children were puzzled.  Could this tiny room
+possibly be part of a chapel?  A nuns' grating, the
+Prior had mentioned yesterday.  Used there to be
+nuns here as well as monks, and had they to squeeze
+into this bit of a place?  Why, there was scarcely
+room for themselves and Mrs. White.  If the other
+boarder should turn up, it certainly would be a tight
+squeeze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grating was so high in the wall that although
+Mrs. White, if she had wished, could have seen into
+the chapel quite easily it was impossible for any of the
+children to do so, unless they had stood on chairs,
+and, with Mrs. White there, they hardly liked to do
+that.  How tiresomely sedate and unthrilled she looked,
+thought Nancy.  Did nothing ever excite her?  Didn't
+she understand the romance of listening to the distant
+singing of monks in a priory chapel&mdash;had she no
+imagination?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the chanting or singing had started soon after
+their arrival.  It had a curiously muffled sound coming
+through the narrow grating, and the children could not
+be sure whether the words were English or Latin.
+To be sure the tunes sounded familiar, but, after all,
+was that anything extraordinary?  The Prior, if he
+liked a tune, was not the person to reject it because
+it was sung in the Church of England.  Ah, there were
+boys singing, too; probably acolytes.  It was just
+a little disappointing not to be able to see; a wall was
+not the most interesting thing to gaze at, at the best
+of times, and when it was shutting out monks and
+acolytes it was certainly very annoying.  And the
+Prior would be wearing his gown.  Ah, someone was
+praying.  Was it the Prior?  The voice sounded like
+his&mdash;oh, what a troublesome rule this was, that shut
+you up in a little box where you could see nothing!
+But, after all, was it not the very first rule that had been
+even a little disagreeable?  They felt somewhat
+ashamed as they thought of the heaped-up kindnesses
+they had received at the Priory.  But Mrs. White
+was speaking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Matins are over."  She rose as she spoke.  "The
+offertory bag," she added, "is on that table behind
+you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Was there just the suspicion of a smile hovering
+round the usually sedate mouth?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy passed the bag first to Mrs. White and then to
+the children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall I put it back on the table?" he whispered,
+after he had added his own small offering, wishing
+with all his heart that it could have been bigger.
+It was so absurdly disproportionate to all they had
+received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I will give it to&mdash;to the Prior presently.
+He sets special store by these offerings, he says."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do they&mdash;do they help keep up the Priory?"
+Nancy asked as they left the chapel.  It must cost
+so much, she thought, to keep up this huge place.
+And then there was the food for all the monks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not exactly," was Mrs. White's evasive reply;
+"the Prior has a special use for them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crossing the quadrangle, Mavis ventured to enquire
+whether Mrs. White had known Lionel and Dorothy.
+Imagine their delight when they learned that not only
+had she known them, but that she had been their
+nurse.  Such questions then had they to ask her
+about the childhood of her charges.  And did she know
+that her "Master Lionel" was their uncle's special
+friend, that probably at this very moment they were
+together?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior and breakfast awaited them on the beech
+lawn.  The boarder they decided must have been
+allowed to break yet another rule, for the table was
+laid for only five people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They seated themselves, Nancy again presiding,
+and the Prior again entertaining them with delightful
+stories.  They had not quite finished their bacon
+and eggs when Monk appeared with a telegram for
+the Prior.  The latter opened it eagerly, and, as he
+read, a look of pleasure settled on his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No answer, Monk, thank you," he said, and then
+turned to his young guests with an apology.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Excuse me, my dears, but the telegram, I knew,
+referred to an important matter.  Arranging other
+people's affairs," he added, passing his cup for more
+coffee, "is a terrible responsibility."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I s'pose a Prior has lots to do for other people,"
+Nancy remarked.  "Does it worry you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sometimes, my child.  But in this case the pleasure
+I have experienced in arranging for the happiness of
+certain&mdash;certain people in whom I am interested has
+far outweighed any trouble their affairs have occasioned
+me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does a Prior have to look after everybody and make
+them happy?" asked Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's his <i>privilege</i> to dispense happiness, my darling."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, after he had helped himself to honey,
+regarded the Prior thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does a Prior like everybody?" he asked.  "Does
+he have to?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, no, my boy, he doesn't have to.  Usually, however,
+he is too busy to bother about the people who
+are&mdash;well, antipatica."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, what is 'antipatica'?" asked Nancy,
+interested at once in the new word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior beamed on her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A new word that, eh, Nancy?  You, I think, have
+not experienced the meaning of it yet.  It means
+someone you cannot get in contact with, someone,
+in fact, who rubs you up the wrong way."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aunts is anti&mdash;antipatica," growled Montague,
+stumbling a little over the long word, "They do lots
+of rubbing.  They wake up in the morning, with rub,
+rub, rub, in their minds, and it goes on all day
+steady."  He paused to take a bite of bread and honey.  Nobody
+spoke, for they felt there was more to come, for,
+once Montague got started, he seemed to have to get
+quite to the end of his subject before he could break
+off.  "They've got wide-open beady eyes," he
+continued, "all round their heads they've got 'em, an'
+the eyes help them to rub.  Rub?  I tell you it's
+nothing but rub, rub, rub till, if you're a boy an' you
+live with them, you kind of feel as though you're sore
+inside&mdash;just the same as if sheets and sheets of emery
+paper had been used on you.  Aunts," he added
+gravely, "aunts is best living alone, then they couldn't
+be&mdash;be, well, that word you said."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A giggle broke from Billy.  Montague looked up
+sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What cher laughing at?" he growled ominously,
+but Billy, far from being intimidated, giggled again,
+and the two little girls and even the Prior seemed
+decidedly amused.  Montague was hurt.  "<i>You'd</i> all
+think aunts was that if you lived with one, least, if
+she was like the aunt I know," he added, remembering
+that the children's experience of an aunt seemed to
+differ from his own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's not the aunt, Mont," Billy explained, "it's
+you.  You're so funny with your 'rub, rub, rub.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, being rubbed by aunts isn't a bit funny,
+<i>I</i> can tell you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, we know, Monty dear," Nancy exclaimed.
+"We think she's horrid.  It's only the way you looked
+and the way you said it all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior wore a somewhat inscrutable expression.
+The boy was evidently from his own showing a handful,
+and probably it was his, the Prior's, duty to point
+out to him the necessity for such as he to undergo a
+certain amount of discipline.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Discipline tempered by love, yes," he mused,
+"but discipline dispensed by an acidulated aunt&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so he delivered no homily to the small volcanic
+person seated at his table, but led the conversation
+away from the things that hurt.  Why, when life was
+so short, when summer was in its prime, let the happy
+hours of sunlight slip away darkened by hurts that
+are best forgotten?  In a very little while he had the
+children laughing and joking together over delightful
+nothings.  He seemed to throw out sparkles of fun
+and joy and the children picked them up and tossed
+them to each other.  Montague's dark eyes lost their
+brooding sorrows, and the small face expanded with
+laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there were more stories.  Stories of earthquakes
+in India, of moonlight picnics in the West Indies, of
+canons ablaze with flowers in South America.
+Stories, too, of Lionel and Dorothy's childhood.  Yes
+and most of it <i>had</i> been spent in India; Dorothy <i>had</i>
+seen behind those towering ranges.  Oh, the wonder
+and the bigness of the childhood of those two; surely
+no day could ever have been just ordinary everyday.
+And could either of them <i>ever</i> have found time, with
+adventure heaped all about them, to even think of
+doing those things that, to grown-ups, were known as
+"being naughty"; to yourself, as "just wanting to
+know&mdash;just finding out."  Surely the days had just
+slipped away, just as now in the Priory garden, time
+was slipping away unheeded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Boys," said Montague thoughtfully, when, at
+last, they rose from the table, "boys could always be
+good if a Prior told them stories all day&mdash;an' if a little
+girl with gold hair could be there listening too.  B'lieve
+it's <i>work</i> that makes them do things aunts hate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior put his head on one side and regarded
+Montague with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is quite possible," he said, "that if a small boy
+lived with me <i>I</i> might ask him to work.  I might
+find quite a number of things that I should like nobody
+but the small boy to do for me.  And the results, if I
+ventured to ask him, you think would prove disastrous?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There wouldn't be <i>no</i> disaster," Montague replied
+decidedly.  You might loathe hoeing for an aunt who
+continually rubbed you up the wrong way, but to work
+for the Prior&mdash;Montague got excited.  "Why, I could
+do <i>lots</i> of things for you," he continued eagerly.
+"I know how to make things and I could mend
+anything.  My guardian he calls me 'The Flaming
+Tin-man' (that's somebody in a book), 'cos I can tinker.
+Me and the blacksmith's son tinker together.  I
+can use a saw; I wouldn't hurt it if you'd lend me one,
+and I'd make you a table or a thing to hold your pipes.
+Work sometimes," he concluded, "is <i>nice</i>."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, some day you shall come and stay here, and
+we will work together.  How about that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's face expressed his approval.  He would
+have discussed the happy prospect further, but Billy
+was getting restless.  Could he, he enquired, go and
+get Modestine ready now?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior looked at him tentatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The rules of the Priory," he said, "would permit
+you all to stay to luncheon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ready acceptance was written on three small faces,
+but Billy hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not," the Prior continued, "explore the country
+round here?  Take lunch with you and come back
+to tea and stay the night.  Yes, another night would
+be allowed; even a week or more in special cases.
+Why not do this, unless of course," he added, "you
+have some settled plans that must be carried
+out."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague and the girls looked at Billy for, somehow,
+they felt that it was for him to decide.  A troubled
+look crossed his face.  What the Prior offered sounded
+so jolly, and yet, and yet hadn't they said they wanted
+to see beyond the hills, and this, after all, was merely
+the beginning of the hills?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'd like to stay awfully," he said slowly, "but we
+<i>did</i> have a settled plan an'&mdash;an' I think we'd better
+go on, thank you.  You won't mind, will you, or think
+we don't <i>want</i> to stay?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior, knowing Billy, understood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But remember," he said, "if anything should
+happen to prevent you carrying out your plans, or if
+at any time you need a night's rest, the Priory gates
+are always open to you.  You won't forget?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Indeed we won't," Billy replied warmly, "and we're
+ever so grateful to you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior brushed away their thanks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now run and ask Monk to help you saddle
+Modestine while I see Mrs. White.  I believe she
+wants to replenish that basket of yours."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap09"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IX
+<br><br>
+THE ROSE-VICAR
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Half-an-hour later the Prior bade his little
+guests a reluctant good-bye at the foot of the
+lane leading into the village street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, my dears, remember what I told you.
+And, Billy, put this safely in your pocket.  It's a
+telegram addressed to me.  If you are in&mdash;well, if
+you happen to need me just send that off, giving the
+name of the village or town where I can find you, and
+I'll come in the car immediately."  Nothing, of course,
+<i>could</i> happen, he knew, with Dick there to keep watch
+over them.  However, no harm in taking all precautions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hat in hand, he stood at the corner until they were
+out of sight, and, until they could no longer see him,
+the children turned frequently and waved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each small heart was too full for speech for a long
+time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I b'lieve," Nancy said presently, "he was just
+as sorry to lose us as we were to leave him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So keen indeed was their regret at having parted
+with their kind and interesting friend, that for a long
+while their thoughts centred about him and the Priory
+to the exclusion of the hills.  To be content to stick
+to one's original plans was not altogether easy, even
+Billy found, yes, even when they were such delightful
+plans.  Nobody quite knew how hard it had been for
+him to refuse the Prior's invitation and all that it
+embraced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wasn't it nice of him not to ask lots of questions?"
+Nancy said as they turned into the lane that evidently
+led up into the hills.  "Most people would have wanted
+to know all about us, but <i>he</i> treated us just as though
+we were grown-ups."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If aunts were like that to you, you mightn't hate
+'em so," Montague rumbled.  "When I'm a man&mdash;&mdash;"  He
+broke off suddenly, for his companions were
+convulsed with laughter.  "<i>Now</i> what are you laughing
+at?" he growled.  He could have wished to be
+treated with considerably more respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's only your voice sounds so funny, Monty, dear,
+when you talk about aunts or when you're a man,"
+Mavis explained.  "It sounds as though&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"As though something inside you is fizzling," Nancy
+finished.  "But go on, Monty.  We love you to talk
+to us.  Please go on."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, <i>you'd</i> fizzle if you were me.  You'd fizzle
+and fizzle and <i>fizzle</i> till you burst.  My guardian,"
+he began reminiscently, "he says&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Monty, what does he say?" Mavis (she was
+riding Modestine) leaned down towards him
+expectantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> think what he says is silly, 'cos you don't have
+beards till you're men.  He says I mumble volcanically
+into my beard when I talk of aunts.  <i>He</i> thinks it's
+funny&mdash;<i>I</i> don't.  'Sides, well, if he lived with her much
+I guess he'd mumble into his beard&mdash;he'd grow one
+specially to do it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I like your guardian," Mavis said.  "Wouldn't
+it be nice if you could bring him to see us when we go
+home?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Guess he wouldn't come," Montague said.  "I
+don't know why, but he never will go that way for
+walks.  He says that side of Riversham's too painful
+now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Too painful?  What does he mean?" asked Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I</i> don't know.  B'lieve he used to come down
+before I came to aunt; said he'd got the pain then,
+and it's still there, and it'd be worse if he put a foot
+the other side of Riversham.  S'pose it's corns or
+something.  Is the road bad your way?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not particularly," Nancy replied.  "But I don't
+think it sounds like corns.  Sounds <i>almost</i> as though
+he's meaning something he can't tell you plain."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conversation came to an end abruptly.
+Modestine, who, refreshed by her long rest, had hitherto
+been in her most amiable mood, suddenly decided to
+give trouble.  The little lane had opened out into a
+broad road and the children saw that, by turning to
+the left, they would begin to climb towards a shoulder
+of the hills that had had a particular fascination for
+them ever since they had left the Priory.  Modestine,
+however, for some reason known only to herself,
+decided that she preferred the turn to the right, and,
+as the children very well knew, once Modestine had
+made a decision it was difficult to turn her from it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't give in, Mavis," Billy said.  "Keep her head
+turned to the left.  Oh, I say, are you getting giddy?
+You'd better jump down and I'll lead her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy helped Mavis to dismount, while Billy
+clung to the bridle, laughing.  Round and round he
+and Modestine went.  Round and round, each
+determined not to give in.  They might have continued
+making circles there for the rest of the day had not a
+Good Samaritan in the shape of a clergyman come to
+their rescue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Trouble here with a donkey, eh?" he asked
+genially, seeing the situation.  "Suppose I see what
+can be done."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy very readily allowed him to take charge of
+Modestine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's awfully strong, you know," he explained.
+"And <i>fearfully</i> obstinate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Most donkeys are," the clergyman replied.  "I've
+met them before."  He, however, was big and strong, and
+it was not very long before Modestine was conquered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you ever so much," Billy said gratefully.
+"She'll be all right now; she soon gets over things,
+you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She gets ideas and likes to carry them out, I
+suppose?  And generally they clash with your ideas, is
+that it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, that's it!" Billy replied with a grin, as he
+helped Mavis to mount.  "But she can't help it, of
+course, as she's a donkey."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course not.  If you are born a donkey why not
+live up to your reputation, eh?" He continued
+walking with them as they began to climb the hill, and
+chatted pleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, he paused by the gate of a house that
+stood back from the road, evidently his Vicarage,
+for at the side of the house was a little church.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you in a hurry?" he asked.  "I was wondering
+whether you would like to see some roses&mdash;I have a
+few.  Bring the donkey and we'll tether her to that
+little gate up the drive."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis dismounted and they followed their new
+friend with ready interest; seeing somebody else's
+garden was always interesting, no matter how few the
+roses&mdash;it was something new, it was unknown territory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they turned into the drive a car came flying
+along the road.  Nancy, the last of the little procession,
+paused with the instinct of the country-bred child to
+glance at it.  She gave an exclamation of surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy," she said, "I believe that was Mr. Frampton."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, after all, had he not mentioned that he was
+coming to the hills?  Such a pity though to have
+missed him.  Nancy was almost sorry they had
+accepted the Vicar's invitation to see the roses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The latter, after fastening Modestine to the gate he had
+mentioned, led them past a shrubbery towards his roses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!  Oh!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All they could do was to stand still and gasp at the
+unexpected glory of the sight before them.  A few
+roses, the Vicar had said!  Why, there must be
+hundreds of them, thousands even!  Roses of every shape
+and colour, tiny bushes simply covered with huge
+blossoms&mdash;beds and beds of them and, enclosing the
+beds, great trellised crimson roses, the sweetest and
+loveliest of them all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Vicar was delighted at their pleasure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You love roses?" he asked.  "<i>I</i>, you know,
+shouldn't be happy without a few&mdash;I've more over
+there, but these are the best.  That's a bed of cuttings
+through that arch.  How many?  Oh, about a thousand,
+I think.  That ground," he added, with a guilty
+sigh, "should be growing potatoes, but&mdash;well, I'm a
+terror for roses, a terror, my friends tell me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He led them round the beds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a Hugh Dickson!" Nancy exclaimed.
+"Isn't he a beauty?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Vicar caught up her enthusiasm, marking with
+delight her human interest.  How many children
+would have cared enough to say "he"?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know him?  You know something about roses?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, no!"  Nancy's tone was deprecating.  "Only,
+we've got a few, <i>really</i> a few, at home.  We've got a
+little garden each, and I have 'Hugh' and Billy has
+'Independence Day' and Mavis has 'Betty.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Vicar looked as though he could embrace them all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Splendid!  Splendid!" he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he slowly pulled out a knife and stood looking
+first at his 'Hugh Dickson,' then at Nancy, then
+again at the rose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's my very best, my prize 'Hugh,' but you
+know something about roses.  Yes, you must have just
+one off him," and he stooped and cut off a great
+crimson velvet fellow and handed it as though it had
+been a pearl of great price to Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy who could see what the gift had cost him
+could scarcely express her thanks.  She felt indeed
+that it was priceless; part of the Vicar's self was surely
+there; so much of him must have been expended
+on the growing of these roses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And now," he said, "a bunch from some of the
+others!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here and there amongst the rose beds he went with
+his knife.  Red and white and pink roses, lemon
+roses, apricot roses, sunset roses were heaped into the
+children's outstretched arms.  How could mere words
+express what was in their hearts?  Nancy and Mavis
+buried their faces in the treasures they held.  The Vicar
+stood and looked at the picture.  "The consummation
+of beauty!" he muttered.  Then the astonished children
+saw him pull out a pencil and scribble on his cuff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A thought for my next sermon," he explained,
+noticing their undisguised curiosity.  "Dear me, I
+should be writing now!  Ah, these roses, these roses&mdash;they
+are apt to lead one astray from one's duty.  I
+must go.  Come again any time you are passing,
+while there are roses you shall have some."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy, as she watched him walk reluctantly to the
+house, wondered whether their own Vicar's sermons
+might not be less dull if he took thoughts with him
+from a rose garden as this Vicar had done instead of
+droning uninterestingly about lifeless things one could
+not understand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now, what to do with the roses?  That was their
+difficulty, as they took the hot road again.  To have
+refused them would have been impossible, to let them
+wither in the sunshine would be wicked.  They
+wrapped them in Mavis' cloak and the child carried
+them in front of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish," said Nancy, "we could send them to the
+Prior and ask him to put them on Dorothy's grave."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The very nicest thing possible to do with them, the
+others agreed.  They could buy a cardboard box when
+they came to a village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So far, however, no village was in sight, nothing now
+but the steep hill mounting higher and higher.  Curious
+how often their thoughts had strayed from the hills,
+from what they hoped to find beyond them, but if
+interesting things cropped up what were you to do?
+Now, however, as they slowly climbed, as the summit
+drew near, they felt again in all its intensity, that great
+longing that had lured them from their home.  Oh,
+such a little while now and there would be never, never
+any more longing&mdash;they would have at last <i>seen</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap10"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER X
+<br><br>
+AN ENCOUNTER ON THE HILLS
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Now a strange thing happened on the top of the
+hills.  It will be remembered that the children's
+great desire was not only to climb and explore the hills,
+but to see beyond them, and that the seeing beyond them
+was perhaps more important than the hills themselves.
+It will be remembered, too, that the forest country
+belonged to the familiar everyday life, that until
+that glimpse they had had of it on the lower hill the
+previous day, they had never even remotely associated
+it with romance.  Nevertheless, when, by happy leaps
+and bounds they finally reached the top of the hill,
+only one child out of the four had eyes for the Unknown,
+the others, Nancy, Billy, and Mavis turned instinctively
+towards the distant forest!  Think of it!  To have
+travelled so many long, long miles, to have had the
+desire burning in your heart ever since you could
+remember, to see beyond the hills, then, when at last
+the big world was before you to reject it for what you
+could see any day of your life.  Ah, but <i>could</i> you?
+Could you, when it was all around you, see it in all
+its beauty, could you see it as the hill people saw it?
+Surely, if you were a hill person you could not rest
+until you had explored that forest; reached to the
+very heart of it.  A curious pride in their forest
+country, in the golden river at its feet awoke in the
+children's hearts&mdash;it was theirs, their very own and
+they loved it.  Was it possible that Daddy Petherham
+loved it like this and that was why&mdash;&mdash;  Ah, but they
+<i>couldn't</i> be like Daddy Petherham, who wanted only
+one thing!  And so, with very mixed feelings three
+young adventurers turned at last to the world beyond
+the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come and see!" Montague called eagerly.
+"There's hills and <i>hills</i> over there!  An' it's so
+funny&mdash;'cross on the other side of the valley there's a
+village, and all the houses are climbing up the hill.
+See, the people in one house can stand at their front
+door and look down into the chimneys of the houses below."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The forest influence, however, was still hanging over
+the three children.  Why, that was nothing, they
+said, it was like that in the forest, too; yes, and it
+was so steep that the coalman couldn't get up to the
+houses; he just dumped the coal down on the cart-track
+that ran through the forest and the people had
+to carry it up themselves as best they could.  Montague
+should see for himself when they got home.  So, after
+all, it was the Suffolk boy, just in these first moments,
+who was most thrilled by the Unknown.  Yet,
+gradually as they stood taking in the scene, the magic
+of the hills asserted itself again.  The spaciousness
+around them, yes, this, indeed, was something different
+from the forest country.  And hills encircling you,
+always hills.  Beyond the village across the valley
+distant wooded hills, densely wooded, yet, somehow,
+different from the hilly forest.  Yes, and, after all,
+there was a certain inexpressible difference between
+the village where the houses grew one above the other
+and the villages up in the forest.  <i>What</i> was the
+difference and why, in spite of your love for your home
+country, did you feel that you must go on exploring,
+penetrating further into the Unknown?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And would the hills want them, Nancy wondered?
+Suddenly, she realized that they were strangers in a
+strange country.  What, after all, did they know
+of the hills?  They might be cold and heartless hills;
+they might not want children to come poking their
+noses into their secrets.  <i>Would</i> they resent their
+coming, or would they open their hearts in friendly
+fashion just as the dear forest country did, just as the
+restless river did, year in year out?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy's dreams (being Nancy she could not help
+getting beyond the actual; everything had to be
+received into the imagination part of her) were
+disturbed by Montague, who announced that he was so
+hungry he knew he could not walk another step until
+they had had dinner.  Hungry?  Even Nancy found
+that she was ravenous, and, settling where they were,
+they immediately attacked the good things
+Mrs. White had packed for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They discussed the roses while they ate.  They were
+still quite fresh, for, further down the hill, they had
+again found a tiny spring and had drenched the stalks
+in it.  They must cross the valley and try to get a
+box at the village and post them to the Prior.  Yes,
+Nancy said, a pity to have to do that, for now that the
+hills were attained her next desire was to see
+Gleambridge cathedral from this side, and to do so, they
+knew they should keep straight ahead.  However,
+the flowers <i>must</i> be sent; they were of first importance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How hungry the hill air made you, how fortunate
+you had plenty to eat.  Impossible, however, for
+Nancy to concentrate entirely on the food; not even
+on Mrs. White's delicious cheesecake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think the wind's got inside me," she announced.
+"I feel like a bird.  Oh, it's a glorious thrilly feeling!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Forgetting the cheesecake in her hand and Billy's
+proximity, she stretched out her arms&mdash;the result was
+disastrous!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a beastly sticky feeling," Billy giggled, "not
+a thrilly one!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"These spasms come at such awkward times,"
+Nancy apologized, as she wiped Billy's head, first with
+paper, and then with her own handkerchief.  "I
+wish they would not make me do such bothersome
+things."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So do I!" Billy grinned.  "I'll take jolly good
+care not to sit near you next time I see a thrill
+coming."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague interrupted them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's a car coming.  Hear it?  Let's see who
+can tell the make first, Billy.  Bet you <i>I</i> will!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bet you <i>I</i> will!" Billy replied, taking up the
+challenge.  "It's coming up from that valley.  Now!
+It's a&mdash;it's a&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all scrambled to their feet in their excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's Mr. Frampton's!" Nancy cried.  "I know
+it, 'cos it's the one I saw this morning!  Let's wave
+and stop him!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She ran eagerly towards the car, which drew up
+immediately.  A look of intense relief replaced an
+anxious, worried frown on Dick Frampton's face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," he began, "I thought I should never&mdash;&mdash;"  He
+stopped abruptly.  "What are you little people
+doing here?" he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, just exploring the hills," Nancy explained
+carelessly.  "And this," she added, turning to
+Montague, "is a friend of ours."  She paused, as she
+saw the recognition between Dick and Montague.
+"Oh, do you know him?" she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think we do, don't we, old chap?  In fact,
+anybody who has lived in Riversham during the last
+few months could hardly fail to know him, eh,
+Montague?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Tisn't <i>my</i> fault I got to live there," was the reply,
+"an' <i>I</i> don't want everybody to know me.  I don't
+know them, an' I don't want to, some of 'em&mdash;they're
+nearly as bad as aunts," he added bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis looked at Montague somewhat anxiously.
+Mr. Frampton seemed to hint at doings that had gained
+him notoriety.  Was it possible that this troublesome boy
+could have been naughty to their "libation" friend?
+There was gentle reproach when she put the question
+to Montague, and the latter hung his head in shame
+when he remembered poaching expeditions with the
+blacksmith's son on Mr. Frampton's estate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis turned to Dick with a fat little sigh.  "I
+don't <i>think</i> he means to be quite so naughty," she
+explained.  "He hasn't been ti'some once since he's
+been with us.  I s'pect it's Riversham makes him
+naughty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I expect that's it."  Dick's voice was grave, and
+he hid his amusement at the motherly proprietorship
+in the child's voice.  "However," he added, "Mont
+and I are the best of friends.  Nothing really very
+terrible happened, you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's eyes shone with gratitude to Dick for
+clearing his character (though he realized he scarcely
+deserved it) before Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we <i>are</i> friends," he muttered, "and he's the
+only person in Riversham I'll be sorry to leave&mdash;'cept
+the blacksmith's son."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy, remembering their neglected lunch, enquired
+whether Mr. Frampton had had any.  No?  Then
+would he join them?  They had nearly finished, but
+there was plenty left.  Very readily Dick accepted
+the invitation.  He explained, as he settled down to
+Mrs. White's good fare, that he had been too worried
+about some friends whom he had missed to bother
+about lunch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I thought you looked bothered about something
+when I saw you," Nancy exclaimed.  "And didn't
+you find them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I found them, but I spent the whole morning
+searching for them&mdash;can't think how I missed them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy wondered why, if he had found them he should
+still have looked worried, but she did not like to press
+the question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you having a holiday over here?" Montague
+enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not exactly a holiday.  I've just got a new job.
+I've been appointed Warden of the Hills."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Warden of the Hills?  How interesting that
+sounds!" Nancy said.  "What does a warden have
+to do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Keep an eye on the travellers in the neighbourhood.
+I suppose it would have been more correct if I had
+said Warden of the Travellers of the Hills."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Case they get into mischief, I s'pose?" Montague
+sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, that, of course.  But more especially I have
+to place my car and myself at their disposal.  If they
+need help or advice or guidance of any kind it's my
+job to be on the spot."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a ripping kind of life!" Billy exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But a little difficult," Nancy said thoughtfully.
+"How can you know who's a traveller and who's a
+hill person?  And how can you know when they're
+in trouble?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's my job to find out," Dick replied.  "Now
+you, for instance," he added carelessly, "are travellers,
+aren't you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," Billy replied guardedly.  "But we're
+travellers with a donkey," he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick nodded.  Yet, as it was clearly impossible for
+everybody to ride the donkey, he said, it was his duty
+as Warden to give some of them a lift.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But we're not going your way."  Nancy's voice
+expressed a wish that they were.  "We want to see
+Gleambridge cathedral from the hills."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That could be arranged quite easily," Dick replied.
+"I shall probably be going that way presently."  He
+paused.  It was not as easy as he had supposed to
+keep an eye on these little travellers.  He wished to
+goodness he could persuade them to leave the donkey
+at the village opposite and let him take them about
+in the car.  He made the suggestion diplomatically,
+baiting it with proposals that should have brought
+ready acceptance to the lips of little adventurers who
+wanted to see the world; wonderful descriptions he
+gave them of places they should see.  They hesitated,
+of course.  What else could they do when the sound of
+those places, their very names made you hot to see
+them?  The thought, too, of travelling with their
+"libation" friend&mdash;oh, it was hard to resist!  Yet,
+when you had said "Travels with a donkey"?
+Besides, would flying about in a car really be
+adventuring?  <i>Could</i> adventure find you in a car?  Ah, no,
+they decided, cars belonged to the everyday world.
+And again, there was poor little Ladybird-Modestine.
+Imagine leaving her at an unknown stable.  They
+shook their heads sorrowfully.  Twice in one day to
+have had to refuse tempting proposals!  Life, they
+began to think, was not as simply straightforward and
+easy as they had imagined it.  There were decisions
+to be made.  How curious that the difficulties should be
+kind of <i>nice</i> difficulties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They compromised by promising to accept short
+lifts occasionally if Mr. Frampton happened to be
+going their way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You won't think it's because we wouldn't like to
+travel with you, will you?" Nancy asked.  "But,
+you see&mdash;oh, it's not easy to explain."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I quite understand," Dick assured her, for he had
+scarcely hoped that they would accept his offer.
+"Still, the car is there, remember, if ever you should
+need it&mdash;and so am I.  Do you know," he continued,
+changing the subject, "I seem to have been smelling
+roses all the time.  Is it my imagination?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, it's real roses."  Mavis unfolded her cloak and
+held out the roses for Dick to smell.  "A Rose-Vicar
+gave us them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A Rose-Vicar?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They explained their meeting with him, and how he
+had taken them round his garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, that accounts for it!"  Dick's face expressed
+the clearing up of some mystery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Counts for what?" Nancy was mystified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;er&mdash;nothing much.  But what on earth are
+you going to do with these glorious roses?  They'll
+die in this heat."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a bright idea came to Nancy.  As Mr. Frampton
+was evidently going in the direction of the
+Priory, why not, instead of having them hanging about
+in the post all night, ask him to take them to the
+Prior?  Would it be too presumptuous?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You said, didn't you, that you had to help
+travellers?" she began somewhat hesitatingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly I did," Dick replied promptly.  He
+listened hopefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, it's the roses.  Last night we stopped at a
+Priory and the Prior was so dear and kind to us&mdash;not
+a scrap preachy or religious, 'cept in a nice way,
+and the Priory rules are that you pay only what you
+put in the offertory-bag on Sundays, and, you see,
+if you're children it's so little."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And we ate lots!" Billy interrupted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we did, and Mrs. White, that's a nurse who
+lives there, simply crammed our basket with that
+d'licious lunch we've eaten.  But it's not <i>only</i> that,
+it's the Prior.  He made us so happy and he's lost his
+little daughter, Dorothy, and we thought p'raps he'd
+like the roses for her grave, an' so, please, if you're
+going that way, would you mind taking them to him
+with our love and tell him they're for Dorothy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now what was Dick to do?  He had had no intention
+whatever of returning to the Priory.  His idea was,
+since they would not travel in his car, to keep as close
+to them as possible without hampering them or interfering
+with that sense of freedom and adventure that
+was evidently so important to them.  To be sure it
+would be a slow game; he would have to spend hours
+sitting in the car by the roadside, but what did that
+matter?  It would all be part of <i>his</i> adventure?
+And now here was Nancy herself frustrating his plans,
+for how could he refuse her appeal?  To be sure he
+could get to the Priory and back in a very short time;
+nevertheless, he would have been better satisfied not
+to have lost sight of them again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, the children must not know of the difficulty
+they had placed him in.  Yes, certainly he would
+deliver them to the Prior with their message; better
+tuck them up in the car at once out of this scorching
+sun, he suggested.  While he and Nancy wrapped
+them up in leaves and put them away in the car the
+others packed up the remains of the lunch&mdash;not that
+there was much to pack now!  And then what next
+to do?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's stay a little longer," Nancy suggested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why hurry?  It was hot and they had been tramping
+all the morning.  And, after all, were they not now in
+the very heart of the hills, with hills and hills and hills
+unfolding all around them?  And here, too, was a
+companion who didn't worry you with questions, who
+accepted just what you chose to tell him, who, in fact,
+seemed to think it the most natural thing in the world
+that you should want to seek adventure; should want
+to explore.  And how interesting he was; different
+from the Prior, of course.  The latter raced you all
+over the world at a delightfully breathless speed;
+Mr. Frampton told you jolly things about Oxford;
+he took you, too, to France and Switzerland and Italy.
+This Wardenship job, they thought, must be his first
+one, perhaps a kind of holiday job to help towards
+his Oxford expenses, for evidently he was returning
+there in the autumn.  However, they could not
+question him; besides, they were too interested listening
+to the stories he had to tell them of funny little
+out-of-the-way places in Switzerland and Italy, of
+people and grottos and glaciers and mountains.  Oh,
+would they <i>ever</i> grow up, Billy groaned, and be able
+to see for themselves?  The world seemed to be simply
+chock full of interest, and you had just to sit quietly
+at home and wait.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will there be time to get it <i>all</i> in before we're
+old?" he sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Heaps of time, Dick assured him (as to the "sitting
+quietly at home," he said nothing, but smiled).  The
+years would slip away.  Why, it seemed only the other
+day that he himself was a boy of their age&mdash;getting
+into all sorts of mischief, he added, with a smile for
+Montague.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' living with an aunt who only liked good boys?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, no, but even parents can't stand too much
+mischief, you know.  They sometimes wonder how you
+ever came to be their child."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do they?" Montague asked with interest.  "'Spect
+boys'd get on best without any grown-ups at all,"
+he added.  "Then nobody'd be worried&mdash;not the
+grown-ups or the boys."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Boarding-school," Dick replied thoughtfully,
+"isn't a bad place, you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going to boarding-school next term," Billy
+announced proudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wish I could come with you," Montague muttered.
+"Then my guardian wouldn't have to learn
+about boys and how to be a parent to them.  Guess
+he'll have his hands full enough with Jocelyne."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If only this might happen, and if he might return
+with Billy to Nestcombe for the holidays, life would
+indeed be worth living.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, the hours were slipping away, and here
+they were forgetting the world that lay before
+them.  They made their preparations for departure
+hastily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you're taking the Gleambridge road you must
+keep to the left," Dick said.  "You'll get down into
+a valley again a little further on, then you'll come to a
+village called Barsdon.  Why not stay the night
+there&mdash;or had you any other plans?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They confessed that nothing definite had been
+arranged.  They had not decided whether to sleep
+out of doors or to find some cottage.  Did Mr. Frampton
+think there would be a nice one at Barsdon?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know the very place," was Dick's reply.  "Look
+here, leave Modestine at the inn&mdash;it's this end of the
+village&mdash;then keep straight on, and at the corner of
+the next street you'll find a cottage standing back
+from the road.  A Mrs. Charsfield lives there; just
+tell her I've sent you and she'll take you in."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They thanked him, and, with a wave of the hand,
+set off in the direction indicated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"See you again soon, perhaps!" they shouted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Quite soon, I hope," Dick called in reply.  "I'll
+be in Barsdon this evening.  Look out for
+me!"  Reluctantly he turned towards his car.  "Wish I
+could go with them now," he thought.  "They're
+such little people to wander about alone&mdash;and so
+trusting.  However, they're pretty independent, so
+probably no harm will come to them."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap11"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XI
+<br><br>
+THE FIGHT
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the children were travelling
+towards Barsdon.  They were in high spirits, for
+the long rest had refreshed them, while the invigorating
+air exhilarated them.  There was no shade whatever
+now from the heat of the sun, but what did that
+matter when the hill air swept through you?  It set
+your feet dancing along the road, and the miles would
+have been left swiftly behind had not Modestine willed
+otherwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can't you feel it dancing through you, Modestine?"
+Nancy expostulated.  "Anybody'd think you were an
+old lady of about a hundred to see you plodding along."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To this and other entreaties Modestine turned a
+deaf ear.  Why hurry over the hills, she seemed to
+say&mdash;it was the hills you wanted to come to, well, here
+they are.  And wasn't it views you wanted?  Well,
+where can you hope to find anything more beautiful
+than the country that is sweeping in hill and dale
+around you?  Adventure you ask for?  Well, let
+adventure come over the hills to meet you; why go
+forth to seek it?  Oh, Modestine, you who have youth
+in your veins, do you not know that youth cannot
+stand still?  It is old age, Modestine, that sits with
+folded hands awaiting that which may happen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On and on over the hills, each child taking a turn
+with the troublesome little animal while the others
+raced on ahead.  Then, in the late afternoon they came
+to the road that led down into the valley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy offered to ride Modestine down the hill, and the
+others decided to have a race.  Montague was for
+giving Mavis a start, but Billy advised him not to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She'd leave you a mile behind, nobody can run
+as fast as Mavis.  'Sides, it's too far to have a proper
+race; let's run just as we want to, and never mind
+about winning."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague agreed to this, for the thought of being
+beaten by a little girl was not pleasant, especially
+when you wanted to shine yourself in the eyes of that
+small person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll wait for you at the bottom, Nancy," Mavis
+shouted, "'nless Modestine changes her mind and
+decides to run, too!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right," Nancy replied, waving her hand as,
+with a shout, they set off down the hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine's gentle amble fitted in with her mood.
+She was in no hurry to leave the hill top, and now that
+she was alone the imagination part of her gently
+pushed aside the everyday, practical side of her nature
+and led her across this lovely hill country.  And
+presently she began to feel no longer a stranger in
+a strange land; seeing the hills with her imagination
+eyes she began to feel near to them.  Would she
+some day understand them as she did her own dear
+forest and river?  The shouts and laughter of the
+other children coming distantly seemed to be a part
+of the joyousness of the hills.  The hills, she told
+herself fancifully, were laughter.  The winds that blew
+across them voiced that laughter, and she and the others
+were just little wild creatures of the earth who echoed
+the laughter brimming all around them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She no longer questioned the hills as she jogged
+happily down the road.  She wanted to laugh, but to
+laugh alone would be too stupid she thought, so instead,
+a song that Aunt Letty had taught her bubbled from
+her lips:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "I will arise and go now and go to Inisfree,<br>
+  And a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made<br>
+  Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee<br>
+  And live alone in the bee-loud glade."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"I'd love the bee-loud glade," she thought, "but
+I don't <i>think</i> I'd live alone&mdash;I couldn't just talk to
+bees <i>all</i> day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She continued humming the song.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;dropping slow,<br>
+  Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cricket sings;<br>
+  There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow.<br>
+  And evening full of the linnets' wings."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"I've seen a <i>blue</i> glow," Nancy thought, "but not
+a purple one.  And it was swallows' wings the evening
+was full of, last night, not linnets'.  'Spect the man
+who wrote that would have made a song last night if
+he'd been with us in the Priory garden.  I think I'll
+try to make one myself about&mdash;about the swallows
+and children picking up the joy-drops splashed about
+by a Prior.  I'd like to stop and write it
+now&mdash;'spect I'd better not.  They would think I was
+lost, so
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "I will arise and go now, for always night and day<br>
+  I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;<br>
+  While I stand in the roadway, or on the pavements grey<br>
+  I hear it in the deep heart's core."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy suddenly pulled up Modestine sharply.
+In spite of her delight in the hills, all day she had felt
+that there was something missing.  Now, as she sang
+of one whose heart ached for the sound of water while
+he trod the dull pavements of London, she suddenly
+knew what was lacking in this hill country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," she thought passionately, "it's the sound
+of the dear old Gleam I miss.  <i>I</i> can hear it in my
+heart's core, I can hear the tide coming in, I can hear
+the wind playing with the waves."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How she loved water, how even the memory of the
+sound of it stirred her.  With a laugh at herself she
+shook the reins and Modestine jogged slowly on.
+Nancy's thoughts wandered back to the song she had
+been singing.  Curious how little the words had conveyed
+to her until to-day; singing it here in the hills
+had made it alive for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall call it my Hill Song," she told herself.
+"I'll tell Aunt Letty about it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah no, she could not do that she remembered, for
+since Aunt Letty had ceased to be engaged to Uncle
+Jim she had not sung it, for it was one that he had
+given her.  Nancy remembered too how they used to
+laugh over the song together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nine lovely scenty bean rows they were going
+to have between them," she sighed, "and we were
+all going to stay with them in the little clay cabin,
+though Uncle Jim said it might end in some of us having
+to sleep in the bee-loud glade, else we'd be a bit
+congested."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah yes, <i>that</i> verse had always been "alive."  Nancy
+sighed as she remembered the happy days when
+Aunt Letty had sung it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish," she thought, "people wouldn't go and be
+miserable and not marry when they really want to&mdash;it's
+so worrying.  I do wish I could let Uncle Jim know
+Aunt Letty wants him&mdash;I <i>know</i> he'd come like a shot."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bend in the road showed her that the foot of the
+hill was near; the children, scampering along, had
+almost reached it.  Crossing the valley was a little
+ford, and near the water Nancy could see a couple of
+big lads crouching one on either side of the road.
+She strained forward, puzzled as to what they could
+possibly be doing.  Instinctively she felt that they
+were up to no good.  A moment later she knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis, who, of course, was the first to reach the
+ford, disregarding the stepping-stones, was about to
+leap over it when the lads pulled a rope they had
+stretched across the road.  Nancy saw the child trip
+and fall full length across the ford.  Fortunately
+the water was shallow, but Nancy in her anger and
+indignation, and fearing that her little sister might
+be hurt, cried out so fiercely that Modestine literally
+bounded down the hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis, with her handkerchief held to her pretty
+shapely little nose, ran towards her with tears in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's my nose that's bleeding, an' my dress is all
+filthy and muddy&mdash;nasty, horrid boys!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Beastly skunking cads!"  Nancy's words expressed
+what she was feeling as she slipped from
+Modestine to comfort the child.  "But see, Billy's
+settling them, and Monty's helping!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, indeed, was "settling them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You rotten dirty hounds!" he cried.  "Come on!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ought we to&mdash;to let them fight?  They're ever so
+much bigger than Billy and Monty," Mavis sobbed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We can't stop Billy, you know we can't, once he
+begins.  And he does know about proper fighting,
+and I daresay they don't."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, usually so sunny tempered, so good-natured,
+was a difficult person to deal with once his slow temper
+was roused, and that it was thoroughly roused to-day
+was evident.  Both he and Montague had witnessed
+the cowardly trick played on Mavis, though they were
+too far off to save her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll take one each," he had cried, as together they
+dashed forward.  "I'll take that biggest lout&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, me&mdash;I'll take the biggest."  Montague was
+just one fierce desire to hurt terribly those who had
+hurt his little friend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;me!" Billy panted.  "I can fight."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So can I," Montague persisted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, however, was quickest, and made for the taller
+lad, who stood waiting with a smile of derision on his
+face, for the small boy dashing on to him with a
+challenge bursting angrily from his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis clung together watching the fight.
+Each boy had thrown off his coat and was fighting
+desperately.  Montague slogged into and pummelled
+his opponent, but, though all his passionate young
+heart was in the fight, it was clearly not a fair one.
+Billy, on the other hand, to his adversary's evident
+surprise and chagrin, was by no means getting the worst
+of it, for, thanks to his father, who had taught him both
+boxing and Ju Jitsu, he had science to help him,
+whereas the country lad had nothing but brute
+strength.  Every movement of Billy's lithe young
+body was prejudged, every thrust was true.  Presently,
+watching his opportunity, with a sudden swift
+movement of arm and leg, he brought his opponent
+heavily to the ground.  The lad lay on the ground
+howling with rage and pain, but as he made no effort
+to renew the contest Billy left him and ran to
+Montague's assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go away!" Montague panted.  "<i>I'll</i> manage him!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy hesitated.  Clearly Montague could <i>not</i> manage
+the lad, yet, understanding his spirit, he was loth to
+interfere.  The lad, however, decided the matter.
+Through the tail of his eye he had watched Billy's
+performance, and was in no mind to suffer the treatment
+the youngster had meted out to his confederate,
+so with a last cuff at Montague's head he slunk away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The four coats lay jumbled together at the side of
+the ford.  The lad lurched towards them, picked up
+his own and was about to turn away when something
+lying on the ground near Billy's attracted his attention.
+He glanced round furtively.  Nobody was watching
+him so, stooping hurriedly, he picked up what he had
+seen, and, thrusting it into his pocket, called his
+companion and bolted.  Something in his voice aroused
+the latter, and, pausing only for his coat, he, too,
+slunk away and the children were once more alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next quarter of an hour was a busy time for
+Nancy, what with Mavis' bleeding nose and two gory
+and dishevelled boys to be attended to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's my fwock I mind more'n my nose," Mavis
+said pathetically, while Nancy was bathing the latter
+with the clear water from the ford.  "It's a horrid,
+muddy patch, and I'll be the only dirty one now."  For
+Mrs. White had seen to it that Montague started
+out that morning with spotless clothes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would probably brush off, Nancy assured her,
+when it was dry, and, having done the best she could
+for Mavis, she turned her attention to the boys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Montague was a sorry spectacle, and Billy
+was little better.  Nancy washed away the blood and
+cleansed the broken skin, but for the bruises she could
+do nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, who had regained his happy spirits, began to
+laugh at himself and Montague.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We don't look handsome, either of us, but we'll
+just have to pull our hats down over our eyes and glare
+at anybody who stares at us!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, however, was unaccountably silent, and
+it was not until they had started off again and Barsdon
+was in sight that he voiced his trouble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy beat the fellow he was fighting an' <i>I</i> didn't,"
+he rumbled in a voice so low that they could scarcely
+hear it.  "But," he added, and here apparently lay
+the sting, "he needn't have offered to help me."  Oh,
+it was like gall to have your pride so wounded
+when you felt just one fierce, primitive impulse to
+hurt the cad who had injured Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but, Monty, you were awfully brave!"  Mavis
+cried impulsively.  "Billy, you see, has been
+taught how to fight&mdash;but look how you slogged into
+that creature!  I 'spect he had some bruises."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Was he <i>bleeding</i>?" Montague asked hopefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, he was," Mavis replied with a little shudder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bleeding as much as me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;nearly," Mavis temporized.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague's face cleared.  Mavis had said that he
+was brave, and if she thought well of him nothing else
+mattered.  Nevertheless he found himself longing
+for the day when he could fight as Billy had done,
+and when Billy offered either to teach him boxing
+himself "when they got home" (how persistently
+that little phrase seemed to crop up!), or to ask his
+father to do so, Montague's momentary bitterness
+vanished, and he began to take an interest in life again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now the village was reached, and the children
+began to look about for the inn.  They saw the sign
+swinging slightly in the breeze a short way down
+the street, but at the entrance to the village was
+something more attractive in children's eyes than an
+inn, and that was a sweet shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, Billy, who was feeling parched and thirsty
+after the fight, felt an overwhelming desire for acid drops.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't bought my weekly sweets yet," he said.
+"I should think we could spare twopence, couldn't we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The others agreeing that twopence would not be an
+impossible extravagance, Billy entered the tiny shop
+and Nancy accompanied him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've got threepence loose in my pocket," he
+whispered, "but hadn't I better change half a crown?
+I may want the coppers to tip the ostler at the inn."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy nodded and Billy dived into his coat pocket
+for his purse, but no purse was to be found.  The
+poor boy's face went white.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nancy, I can't find the purse," he whispered
+hurriedly.  "I put it in this pocket, didn't I?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, you did.  Let me feel," Nancy replied
+anxiously.  She slipped her hand into his pocket,
+but could find no purse; she felt in all his other pockets,
+but in none of them was a purse to be found.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So far the woman who was serving them had not
+noticed their consternation, for she had been busy
+digging out the acid drops, but now as she handed the
+sweets to Billy she was struck by the two white,
+agitated little faces.  Was anything the matter, she
+enquired kindly?  Were they ill?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, thank you," Billy replied in confusion.
+"It's&mdash;it's nothing very much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His fingers trembled as they extricated two pennies
+from the usual medley a boy's trousers pocket contains,
+but he was too proud to share his trouble with a total
+stranger.  Fearing further questions he flung the
+money down and hurried out of the shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's get into a side road quick," he said, "so I
+can take my coat off and shake it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis and Montague looked at him in surprise, and
+Nancy explained matters as they hurried after Billy.
+Suddenly Mavis paused and called to Billy.
+"Oh, Billy," she said, her voice trembling with
+indignation, "I know who's got it&mdash;it's that wicked
+boy, the one who fought Monty.  I saw him pick up
+something, and I 'member he looked kind of
+scared&mdash;oh, I know it's him!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children looked at each other.  No use to hurry
+now in order to turn the coat inside out, it was all too
+evident that Mavis was right, and that a search would
+be fruitless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've just one penny left," Billy replied simply.
+"<i>Now</i> what is to be done?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've got some money!"  Montague dived into
+his pocket and produced fivepence-halfpenny.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' I've twopence in my pocket!" said Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' I've twopence, too, in mine!" Mavis added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tenpence-halfpenny all told!  What a sum for four
+little people to face the world with.  Well, no use
+taking Modestine to the inn now; impossible, too,
+to present yourselves as prospective boarders at
+Mrs. Charsfield's pretty cottage (they knew it at once
+from Dick's description) with only tenpence-halfpenny
+in your pockets.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They turned reluctantly up a narrow lane and even
+Billy's heart was heavy within him.  Here they were,
+four children and a donkey in unknown country,
+almost penniless.  The thought of sleeping out of
+doors, of course did not trouble them; but for Dick's
+suggestion they would probably have slept out to-night
+in any case.  But to sleep out of doors from choice
+was one thing, to sleep out because you had only the
+price of one very meagre meal between you was
+something quite different.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then what a tremendous sum of money
+to have lost!  Practically seventeen shillings, for,
+thanks to well-filled baskets, their expenses during the
+two days had been very small.  And seventeen shillings
+was a small fortune in the eyes of these children,
+whose weekly pocket-money was limited because their
+parents held the belief that the modern habit of giving
+the child an unlimited allowance robbed it of a certain
+happiness that is known only to those children who
+have to think twice before they indulge themselves.
+A blasé child who was unable to enjoy the simple
+pleasures they had taught their children to enjoy was
+the pet abomination of Mr. and Mrs. Stafford, and the
+children's little hoard of nineteen shillings had been
+the result of much combined savings of presents from
+relatives, saved, not originally for this adventure, but
+"Just in <i>case</i> we should want to do anything nice with it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now it had gone, every penny of it, and if they
+were to continue their travels they would have to
+contrive some means of raising money.  To be sure
+there was Mr. Frampton, and to whom should you
+turn if not to the Warden of the Travellers in the Hills?
+If they hung about the village they would be sure to
+meet him presently; he would be glad to see them
+they knew, but, well, if they confided in him would
+he not either advise them to return home or else offer
+to pay their expenses himself?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't see how we <i>can</i> tell him," Billy said.
+"It'd look like cadging."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But he said he had to help travellers.  Wouldn't
+he be hurt if we didn't let him help us in some way&mdash;not
+to <i>give</i> us money, of course, but just, but just&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There'd be <i>no</i> way he could help us out of this
+'cept with money or paying for us everywhere, which
+would be the same thing," Billy persisted.  "And I'm
+sure he's not meant to help in that way if he is
+Warden&mdash;it's lifts and accidents and things of that kind he's
+here for.  We've got to find a way out ourselves
+or go back home."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so the matter was left while they looked about
+for a camping place.  Presently, a wood at the end
+of a narrow cart-track on the right seemed to suggest
+itself, and here they decided to spend the night.
+Their spirits began to rise a little as they entered the
+wood.  After all, there was an excitement about
+camping out of doors, and they would build a fire and
+have tea.  Tea?  How stupid, why had nobody
+thought of buying a loaf in Barsdon?  They could
+at least run to that.  Billy volunteered to go back
+and buy one while the others were unpacking.  Bread
+and acid drops for tea, and the scraps left over from
+lunch!  They laughed at the novelty of the fare.
+They began to think after all, their plight was not so
+utterly desperate while even a few pence stood between
+them and&mdash;well, not perhaps starvation, but giving
+up that which they had set their hearts upon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll find a way out," Billy called back to them,
+"so don't any of you worry!"  He paused as he reached
+the road.  "Guess we'll have to call it part of our
+adventure; it's the kind of thing that adventurers
+have to put up with, isn't it?" and with a laugh he
+set off down the hill.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap12"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XII
+<br><br>
+"FAIREST MASONS"
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Billy did not take long to fetch the bread.  He
+arrived at the wood in a somewhat breathless
+condition.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I ran," he explained, "'cos I saw Mr. Frampton's
+car outside the inn."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy was troubled.  She wished Billy did not think
+it so necessary to avoid him.  She was quite sure she
+would have lingered rather than hurried if she had
+known he was near, for after the troubles of the
+afternoon a grown-up friend would have been so
+comforting.  Besides, he had evidently hoped to meet
+them in Barsdon.  To be sure they had not promised
+anything definite, but Nancy was quite sure that he
+would be disappointed at missing them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy, <i>do</i> say that if he comes this way we may stop
+him," she pleaded.  "We needn't tell him about the
+purse."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, after she had pointed out her reasons, agreed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's sure <i>not</i> to come though&mdash;that lane would be
+the limit for a car."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, tea, such as it was, awaited them.
+They divided up the remains of the lunch before they
+attacked the loaf, as they would need as much of the
+latter as their present hunger would allow for breakfast.
+Acid drops, they found, filled up corners, though
+everyone still owned to a dreadful thirst after the meal
+was finished.  Further up the hill they could see the
+chimneys of a cottage, and the boys volunteered to
+go for water, while the girls were unpacking blankets
+ready for the night.  A whole brimming, welcome
+pailful they brought on their return, and after they
+had drunk their fill and had replenished the lemonade
+bottle there was still a deep draught for poor little
+Modestine, who sighed her contentment when she
+had sucked up the last cool drop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, after the pail had been returned, they sat
+round and discussed things.  Wonderful what a
+difference a meal makes.  On the other side of it
+there had been terror for some of them at the thought
+of their penniless condition; now, with bread and acid
+drops between them and their loss, they could turn
+their thoughts from it and think only of how best to
+overcome the difficulty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If we could spare a penny for tin-tacks," Montague
+said, "I could make some little picture-frames out
+of that young elm-wood over there.  I used to make
+frames for Jocelyne and me for our cigarette cards
+in Suffolk, but she's too grown-up for them now.
+I could use a stone for a hammer."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, and I've thought of something!" Mavis
+cried.  "I can run in a race!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Run in a race?" Nancy repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  While you and Billy were in the sweet shop,
+Monty and me were reading a bill in the window about
+a Flower Show at Barsdon.  It's to-morrow, and there's
+a race for little girl visitors, <i>an' the prize is seven and
+sixpence</i>!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Seven and sixpence!  Why, it was a fortune!
+But would Mavis mind running?  Of course she would
+get the prize.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I'll do it," Mavis replied.  "But can we spare
+sixpence for the entrance fee?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certainly they could.  The loaf had cost fourpence
+and that left them with sixpence-halfpenny.  Mavis
+should have the sixpence, and the halfpenny&mdash;well,
+one <i>could</i> not ask for a halfpennyworth of tin-tacks;
+they must be bought after the race; nevertheless,
+the halfpenny must not be despised; it was something,
+they felt, to have at least that to face the world with.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everybody's spirits rose considerably.  With the
+almost certain prospect of seven-and-sixpence in view
+what was there to worry about now?  Seven-and-sixpence,
+carefully spent, would last a long time,
+especially if they gave up all idea of sleeping in cottages.
+Was not a blanket in a wood or near a haystack good
+enough for anybody?  Would you not be robbing
+yourselves of many adventurous hours if you slept
+under a stuffy roof when the big night-world awaited
+you?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague returned to the subject of the frames.
+He would prepare them, he said, in the morning;
+it would take very little time to tack them together
+later in the day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Someday," he added, looking at Mavis, "I'll make
+you some for your dolls' house.  Would you like
+them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For her dolls' house?  Indeed she would.  With the
+mention of the dolls' house a shadow crossed the little
+girl's mind.  It suddenly seemed so long since she had
+played with it; since she had touched any of her dear
+toys.  It would be so nice&mdash;but, with a little sigh, she
+pushed the regret away from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy began to think of sleeping arrangements.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall we just sleep on the ground?" she asked.
+"Nicolette, you remember, builded herself a lodge of
+leaves and branches."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's Nicolette?" Montague enquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nicolette?  Oh, she's in a book.  She and Aucassin
+were in love with each other, only he's a king's son and
+she's poor, so they can't marry at first.  We think
+Aucassin a bit of a muff&mdash;he weeps too much, but
+Nicolette was brave.  She had all sorts of adventures
+and she lived in a wood."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She had a much worse time than we've had,"
+Billy interrupted.  "Prisons and all sorts of things."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, she did.  But she escaped and builded the
+lodge of saplings and made a tapestry of leaves and
+flowers.  There's such a pretty picture of her building
+it in Aunt Letty's book."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Does an aunt let you read her books&mdash;<i>touch</i> 'em?"
+Montague enquired with awe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, of course she does!  We all go into her room
+on Sunday mornings and have lots of fun.  Sometimes
+she tells us stories, but if she's sleepy then we each
+have a book.  You have to have <i>very</i> clean hands
+'cos it's generally her special books you like best."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague stared in silence.  This Aunt Letty of
+whom they talked so much sounded so altogether
+different from his conception of an aunt that he found
+it difficult to picture her.  Indeed, if she had not been
+an aunt he might almost have felt enough interest in
+her to wish to see her some day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' you <i>like</i> going into her room?" he asked
+presently.  "Why, of course!"  Mavis spoke a little
+impatiently.  "She's our Aunt Letty!"  So tiresome
+of Monty not to understand what that implied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Montague grew silent.  Would he want to go
+to <i>his</i> aunt's room?  Would she want him?  Wouldn't
+she be horrified if he touched any of her possessions?
+And this aunt played with them&mdash;that meant there
+might be a noise in the house before breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If there's a noise comes from my room before
+eight o'clock, well, I know it!" he growled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Montague!  How different his life had been
+from theirs, they thought, and, until they had met him,
+they had simply accepted all the love and happiness
+that made up their days as their natural right.  Now
+they were beginning to wonder&mdash;a little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, they were straying from the point;
+sleeping arrangements had not yet been decided.
+Montague voted eagerly for the lodge, or bower, for
+the girls; he and Billy would build them one&mdash;one as
+good as Nicolette's.  But she and Nancy must help,
+too, Mavis declared; the boys could make the framework
+of boughs while she and Nancy wove a tapestry
+of leaves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now indeed was sleeping out of doors transformed
+into an adventure.  Romance, with the building of
+that bower that was to rival fair Nicolette's, entered
+into the little wood; each in their different way felt
+it as they gathered armfuls of dry bracken or cut down
+slender saplings; but Montague most of all.  To build
+a bower for Mavis!  Why, it was like being a knight
+serving a princess.  And he would guard her; he
+would sleep near her door presently and guard her from
+enemies just as a real knight would do.  Not for a
+moment would he compare himself with Aucassin,
+who sat at home and wept; he was sure, however,
+that Nicolette was not more fairly beautiful than his
+little princess.  "Fairest mason," Nancy said they
+called Nicolette in the book; well, that was what
+Mavis was, he thought stoutly, as he watched her
+artistic little fingers skilfully weaving a covering of
+leaves for the framework.  "Very pretty it was and
+very dainty and well furnished, both outside and in,
+with a tapestry of flowers and of leaves."  That,
+Nancy said, was Nicolette's bower.  Yes, but nobody,
+not Nicolette herself (though she did turn out to be a
+princess after all) could wish for a daintier bower
+than this that had been "builded" by four modern
+children who knew how to find romance or adventure
+in the most trivial incident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Time had passed rapidly during the building of the
+lodge.  Evening was coming on, yet, though the trees
+shut out much of the daylight, it was still too light for
+them to sleep.  And now that their preparations for
+the night were completed they all began to realize
+how very, very tired they were.  The girls lay down
+in their dainty bower, and the boys sprawled together
+on a bed of bracken outside, yet nobody felt that
+bedtime had come.  The evening was so warm that
+blankets were not needed yet; indeed, had it not been
+for an occasional breeze, the girls would have found
+their lodge almost stifling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though they could not sleep everybody was too
+tired to bother to talk.  Nancy's imagination, scarcely
+ever at rest, carried her to Nestcombe and Nestley.
+Suddenly, a great longing for the familiar places swept
+over her.  Their playroom, the paddock, the garden
+with its beloved trees, the high wall at the bottom of
+the garden, where they so often sat and gazed across
+the river&mdash;the river itself.  How dear every corner
+of the home-place was.  And yet, when they had
+had home all around them they had accepted it just
+as they accepted the love and happiness that was
+theirs.  Why should coming to the hills awaken
+your heart to these things?  When you were in the
+Land of your Desire, oh, it was curious that home should
+jostle that longed-for country into the background.
+And then there was the forest that would not let you
+forget it.  Nancy closed her eyes, and saw it as it would
+be now in the twilight hour and in her imagination
+she listened to the great silence that was as much a part
+of the forest as the trees themselves.  A wonderful
+silence that was filled with little still sounds and
+whispers, the stirring of night things, the breathing of
+sleepers, oh, a friendly, home-like silence.  She seemed
+to hear too the sharp metallic clot-clot of the horse's
+hoofs ringing on the forest road&mdash;that, too, was
+simply part of the friendly silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then again there was the smoke from the lime
+kilns high up in the forest, yes, and the smell of the
+smoke, the smell of the forest, oh, it was all home.
+What comfort even in the thought of those forest
+scents and sounds.  To be sure, there was a whispering
+here amongst the tree-tops, yet it was not the familiar
+whispering of the forest; there was, indeed, almost a
+loneliness about it.  Yes, deep in her heart Nancy
+owned to loneliness (Mavis, too, was feeling it, Nancy
+knew from the way the little fingers clung to hers),
+and remembering the troubles of the evening&mdash;she
+had forgotten the prospective seven-and-sixpence&mdash;disappointment
+came to keep the loneliness company.
+These hills that they had come out to see with hope
+so high in their hearts, what had they offered them
+more than the forest?  They were lovely, oh yes;
+this afternoon they had seemed all laughter, but
+what a long, long time ago that seemed.  And was
+there not a kind of mockery in the laughter?  Would
+the forest, if children had come adventuring into its
+heart as they had come to the hills, would the forest
+have been so cruel?  To offer so much, to pretend to
+take you right into its secret heart, then to thrust you
+out again.  Ah, surely the forest would not do that!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet, and yet, there was Monty.  What had
+the forest given to him?  Wasn't it there, at the foot
+of the forest, that he had been so unhappy?  Love
+abounded for them up and down the forest, besides
+in their own home, but Monty&mdash;why, wasn't it here
+in the hills that he was finding happiness?  Wasn't
+there a kind of different look about him&mdash;something
+Nancy did not in the least know how to describe
+except by the word "happiness."  Though his poor
+little body had been so battered about, some other
+more important part was receiving healing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What an April girl was Nancy, what a child of moods.
+Disappointment and depression left her when she
+arrived at this stage in her reflections.  She sat up
+suddenly and peeped out of the bower.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Monty, tell me again what your guardian said
+about courage and life?" she demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He said, 'it's not life that matters, but the courage
+you bring to it,' an' he said he'd have to make a
+personal application of that sentence when he'd got
+Jocelyne and me living with him.  <i>I</i> dunno what he
+means."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you think, Billy," Nancy said, "it means
+<i>us</i> an' our travels?  Could it mean that we mustn't
+mind losing our money?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Billy replied, that certainly was his interpretation
+of the quotation.  Not to mind things going
+wrong, or, at least, not to be turned from your purpose
+by the first difficulties that arose, that in his eyes was
+courage.  Nevertheless, Billy was feeling somewhat
+uncomfortable in his mind.  Ought they, he was
+wondering, to go on?  If he had been alone he would have
+had no doubts or hesitations; little setbacks could
+not even have suggested giving in.  But there were the
+girls.  Was it fair to ask them to go on, perhaps to
+face worse things than had happened this afternoon?
+He even had a slight twinge of conscience concerning
+Mavis running in the race; he would have preferred to
+run himself, but he knew quite well that there was
+less certainty of him carrying off the much needed
+prize&mdash;besides, the race was for little girls.  Yet,
+what ought he to do?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've been thinking," he blurted out presently.
+"If there's anyone of us doesn't want to go on, if&mdash;if
+anybody would rather go home, I'll send that telegram
+to the Prior to-morrow, or if we see Mr. Frampton
+ask him to take us home.  If one goes then we'll all
+go.  Let's decide now at once."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nobody spoke a word in reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Say quick if you'd like to go home.  I'll not blame
+anybody if you do&mdash;you've been so plucky all the time,
+and I promise I'll never say you weren't sports not to
+go on.  Which shall we do, Nancy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was sleepy little Mavis, however, who decided.
+"Let's wait until after the race, an' if I don't win
+the prize, then we'd better go home, hadn't we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you know you'll win it.  You always do!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well then, if we've got seven-and-sixpence we'll
+be rich, and it'll be all right."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy sighed with relief, and again silence fell between
+them.  And again their thoughts went wandering.
+To the hills and the big open world?  No, not when
+the night is pushing loneliness towards you.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "When the young eyes of the day<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Open on the dusk, and see<br>
+  All the shadows fade away<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Till the sun shines merrily,<br>
+  Then I leave my bed and run<br>
+  Out to frolic in the sun.<br>
+  Through the sunny hours I play<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where the grass is warm and long;<br>
+  I pluck the daisies, and the gay<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Buttercups, or join the song<br>
+  Of the birds that here and there<br>
+  Sing upon the sunny air.<br>
+  But when night comes, cold and slow.<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When the sad moon climbs the sky,<br>
+  When the whispering wind says, 'Boh,<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Little Boy,' and makes me cry,<br>
+  By my mother I am led<br>
+  To my home and to my bed."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+The daylight called them to the Unknown, but the
+night sounds whispered in each little adventurer's
+heart the one word "Mother."  Just to see her, how
+comforting it would be.  Yet, though they longed for
+her, none of them, not even Nancy, had yet awakened
+to <i>her</i> point of view&mdash;that awakening was to come later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In Montague's heart, too, there must have been
+loneliness, for, presently, the other three heard a small
+voice speaking:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish I had a mother."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He voiced his need so simply that the children's hearts
+ached for him.  He should share their mother, Mavis
+said kindly, and never go back to that horrid aunt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's three of you," Montague replied sadly;
+"she wouldn't have room for me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, there was Aunt Letty.  Now that she wasn't
+going to be married she would have lots of room for
+him.  He could be her little boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If she wasn't an <i>aunt</i>," Montague murmured
+doubtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She can't help being an aunt, you know, Monty
+dear," Nancy replied gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, an' I'd <i>like</i> you to love her," Mavis added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If I could think of her as not an aunt p'raps I
+might like her a little."  Could he, even for Mavis,
+overcome his prejudice?  Well, if she wished it he
+must certainly try.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silence again and then, at last, the gentle breathing
+of four sleeping children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an hour perhaps they slept.  Suddenly, their
+dreams were disturbed by a terrific sobbing sound&mdash;the
+sobbing of giants, it seemed.  They awoke with a
+start to find that Modestine, who was used to either a
+comfortable stable or roaming at large in the paddock,
+was voicing her disapproval of her night-quarters,
+voicing it as only a donkey knows how.  Billy sleepily
+admonished her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come over here if you're feeling as bad as all
+that, but for goodness' sake don't make that row
+again," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sleep did not come again immediately, and while they
+were still lying awake the sound of a car in the lane
+broke on their ears.  Then such a honking of a horn as
+they had never heard before!  Honk, honk, honk, honk!
+The Barsdon people must have heard it and wondered,
+but the children did not wonder for they knew!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton!  It's him!" they cried in one voice,
+and, being now wide awake, they sprang up and ran
+along the cart-track to the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Honk, honk, honk, honk!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly, very slowly the car drew near.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's us he's honking for!" Nancy cried, and there
+was relief in her voice.  "'Spect he heard Modestine,
+so knew where we were."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood where Dick could not fail to see them
+and waited breathlessly for the creeping car.  At last
+it was here!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton!  Oh, Mr. Frampton, we're so
+glad to see you," Nancy cried.  "Have you been
+looking for us?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Dick was feeling both worried and annoyed.
+Worried because he had searched the country for miles,
+and could find no trace of the children until he heard
+Modestine's voice; annoyed because they had not waited
+for him in Barsdon.  Even if they had decided to
+sleep out of doors after all, they might have let him
+know, he argued with himself, knowing nothing of the
+lost purse.  To be sure they had not promised, yet in
+the afternoon they had seemed so friendly, so glad
+of his company that he could not understand their
+action.  And he was quite prepared when he sighted
+his elusive charges to show his annoyance, but the
+reproach that was on his lips was checked by something
+in the children's voices.  He was quite sure there
+was relief in their eager, welcoming shout; something
+in their attitude, too, as they stood there in the
+moonlight seemed to suggest forlornness.  What could
+have happened?  As he sprang from the car he noticed
+the boys' puffy, battered faces.  Ah, there had been
+a fight, that was it; the details he would find out
+diplomatically later on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We did so hope you would come this way,"
+Nancy said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But why didn't you wait for me in Barsdon?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We&mdash;couldn't," Billy replied awkwardly.  "But
+we were awfully sorry not to."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick noticed his confusion but let the subject drop
+for the time being.  Well, never mind, he said, but now
+could they tell him how to dispose of the car; clearly
+it could not be left in the road all night.  They showed
+him the gate leading into the cart-track and he backed
+the car through it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aren't you going to sleep at the inn?" Nancy
+asked, as he followed them into the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not!" Dick replied decidedly.  Lose sight
+of them now that, after his long search, he had found
+them?  Not if he could help it!  "I'm sleeping here.
+Besides, the inn is closed&mdash;it's nearly half-past eleven,
+and, do you know, I'm hungry, dreadfully hungry.
+I've had nothing to eat since that excellent lunch you
+gave me, and I shall have to ask you to take pity on
+me again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children flushed uncomfortably.  The thought
+of offering dry bread to someone who had evidently
+gone without his dinner, in order to keep what he had
+considered an appointment with them, who had
+apparently spent hours searching for them, was
+humiliating.  And it was all they had for breakfast!
+Well, they would have to go without any, for a Warden
+who was so conscientious in looking after travellers
+must certainly be fed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I&mdash;I'm sorry we've nothing to go with it," Nancy
+faltered, as she handed him the portion of loaf that
+was left.  "We ate everything else up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick smiled to himself at what he supposed was
+simply a happy-go-lucky kind of housekeeping and
+wondered whether they had even given a thought to
+breakfast.  He accepted the bread gratefully,
+however; he was too hungry, he assured them, to need
+luxuries, in fact, never had anything tasted more
+delicious, and his enjoyment as he munched steadily
+through the loaf was apparent to the children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am indebted to you little people for two meals,"
+he laughed apologetically as he dug his teeth into the
+last crust.  "To-morrow, please, it's <i>my</i> turn, and if
+you don't let me be responsible for the catering for the
+whole day I shall be more than hurt.  Is it a bargain?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How could they refuse such an offer?  In making it
+Dick had not the remotest idea that otherwise they
+would have been foodless, that he himself had eaten
+their very last crust.  Yet, for a moment Billy eyed
+him suspiciously.  Could he possibly know that they
+were penniless?  In the ordinary course of events he
+would simply have accepted Dick's offer without
+further thought, but poverty, unfortunately, has a way
+of making you think.  Sixpence-halfpenny between
+you and charity was a miserable sum to a proud young
+person like Billy, and his thoughts of the lad who had
+stolen their money were by no means gentle.  That
+Dick might have helped them recover the lost purse,
+had they confided in him, never occurred to him.
+The purse was gone, and that was the end of the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick, meanwhile, had finished the last crumb and
+was feeling in his pocket for his pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "what an ass I am!
+Your Prior has sent you some chocolates&mdash;I'd
+forgotten them!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He produced four huge packets of chocolate.  The
+children were glad of it, for being awake, they found,
+made you hungry.  And how nice to be able to offer
+Mr. Frampton something more than dry bread!
+How grateful they were to the Prior.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And while they all munched, Dick told them how
+overwhelmed the Prior had been at the thought
+behind their gift.  An unrepayable and unforgettable
+gift, he had said, and Nancy could just picture him
+saying it.  She wanted to question Dick further
+about their kind friend, but seeing Mavis' sleepy little
+face he insisted on bed for them all immediately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We can talk to-morrow," he said, "so now
+good-night!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now they really settled down finally for the
+night.  How comforting, Nancy thought, as she
+snuggled down with Mavis in the bower, how
+comforting to have a grown-up person near at hand
+(Dick was sleeping in the car); what a difference it
+made to the night-sounds!  Somehow, all the loneliness
+vanished and Nancy was aware only of the beauty
+of the stars in the blue vaulted sky.  Stars seen
+through tree-tops and you a little atom in the arms of
+Mother Earth!  What a discovery, what an adventure
+in an unknown world of beauty for an imaginative child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you, God," she murmured drowsily, "for
+the lovely star-world."  And the Prior, I think, would
+not have called <i>that</i> little prayer "the gabbling of
+empty words."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap13"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XIII
+<br><br>
+EXPLORING WITH DICK
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The children awoke the following morning to find
+Dick looking as well-groomed as though he had
+not spent the night in a car.  He was gathering sticks
+and whistling softly to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children apologized for being so late.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was my fault for disturbing you last night,"
+Dick protested.  Then he went on to tell them that the
+woman at the cottage up the road would allow them
+to wash there and that she was going to supply them
+with breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But we'll cook it ourselves," he added.  "It'll
+be more fun; she's going to lend us a kettle and a
+frying-pan.  So hurry up, please, I'm simply ravenous!
+Sleeping out of doors gives you an appetite, I find."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It certainly did, the children agreed.  They ran off
+to the cottage, taking their brush and comb with them&mdash;four
+dishevelled little people they were, too, but when
+a quarter of an hour later they returned to the wood,
+even Montague presented a fairly respectable appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then followed the preparing of breakfast.
+Dick already had the fire burning, a somewhat smoky
+one&mdash;but what did that matter, wasn't it the inevitable,
+almost the correct thing at a picnic?  They hung the
+kettle over it (the children had brought the breakfast
+things with them on their return from the cottage),
+and Dick made himself stoker-in-chief.  Would the
+boys gather more sticks? he said, and would the girls
+spread the cloth, and after that, would Nancy fry the
+eggs and bacon?  Would they not, indeed!  How
+eagerly those four little people threw themselves
+into their allotted tasks!  Mavis arranged the tea-cups
+and plates and gathered some scabious flowers for the
+cloth while Nancy cut stacks of bread and butter.
+Then came the frying of the bacon&mdash;and here Nancy
+began to feel her responsibilities.  To fry eggs and
+bacon for a grown-up person made you feel as important
+as when you poured out coffee for a prior.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Could you rake the wood away for me?" she
+enquired, looking gravely at the uneven heap of burning
+sticks.  "I could fry better on the ashes I think."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a good idea," Dick said, as he hastened
+to do her bidding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How good the bacon smelt as it sizzled in the pan.
+Nancy felt a little nervous as to the eggs&mdash;would she
+make a horrid mess of them?  Fortunately, however,
+they were so new-laid that the yolks simply had to
+remain whole, and it was a flushed and excited little
+girl who in a few minutes announced that breakfast
+was ready and would everybody please gather round
+at once and eat it while it was hot?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nobody needed a second bidding, and very soon the
+whole party was deep in eggs and bacon, and rather
+smoky-tasting tea.  There was no salt, for they
+had finished their own and had forgotten to bring any
+from the cottage, but who cared?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Tisn't a libation feast, so it doesn't matter, does
+it?" Billy said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everybody was out to make light of any difficulty
+that should present itself that morning.  They chipped
+each other in a friendly spirit that hitherto had been
+unknown to Montague; at first he was scarcely sure
+whether they were joking or serious, but so infectious
+was the good-natured banter that, presently, he found
+himself being drawn into it and taking laughingly
+from Billy what he had taken from no other boy before.
+And Dick, glancing at his happy face and remembering
+the Montague of Riversham, marvelled that so short
+a time should so have transformed the boy.  Certainly,
+as regarded him, the Prior was right to have suggested
+allowing them to continue their adventuring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, teasing, cheeky Billy, was the leader of the
+fun.  Impossible this morning, he found, to be serious
+and worry yourself about ways and means and whether
+you ought to do this or that.  Yesterday it had rankled
+with him that there should be real necessity for Dick's
+return of their own hospitality, but to-day, in the jolly
+sunlight, it seemed a small thing to worry about.
+Besides, was not a person who had offered up a libation
+with you a comrade, and between comrades was there
+not always give and take?  When <i>your</i> luck happened
+to be in, it was your turn to give freely; why grudge
+the other fellow the pleasure of doing the honours?
+So Billy was just his happy irresponsible self, and it
+must be confessed he ate his full share of the
+fast-diminishing stack of food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While they were gathering up the breakfast things
+after the meal was finished, Dick made a casual
+reference to the condition of the boys' faces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was 'cos of me they got smashed about," Mavis
+explained.  "Some big horrid boys tripped me up,
+and Billy and Monty settled them!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!"  Dick could see that the "settling" had
+been no easy matter, but he hesitated to question them
+further, for something in Billy's attitude suggested that
+the subject was one he did not wish to discuss.  Curious
+they should be so reticent about the affair, he thought.
+However, no bones were broken, and they were in his
+care again now, so there was nothing to worry
+about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And what are your plans for to-day?" he enquired
+carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Billy looked at each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why," said Nancy, "we haven't any for this
+morning.  We&mdash;we thought we wouldn't travel to-day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then why not come for a ride in the car?  I'm sure
+those people at the cottage would let Modestine graze
+in the paddock for an hour or so.  I wish you'd
+come&mdash;one gets tired of one's own company, you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children looked at each other again.  Why not
+go?  Adventuring was out of the question until after
+Mavis had won the prize; besides, if you were flying
+along in a car there would not be the long, slow hours
+of waiting for the race.  With their eyes they signalled
+"yes" to each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you ever so much," Nancy replied, "we
+should like it awfully.  Only, please, could we be quite
+sure to be back here by two o'clock?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick assented readily, again asking no questions.
+He could not fail to notice, however, that there was
+something behind this desire to return by two o'clock.
+There was something, too, behind this hanging about
+in one place when yesterday they were all for penetrating
+further into the hills.  What could be the reason,
+and why were they so reticent about it?  Dick was
+finding them a little difficult to understand.  Their
+characters seemed so frank and open; their manner to
+him was so full of comradeship and yet every now
+and then a wall of reserve would seem to be between
+them.  As to their engagement for the afternoon, was
+it, he wondered, connected with the fight?  Ah, that
+must be it; hostilities very likely were to be renewed.
+Well, he would know this afternoon for he was fully
+determined not to let them out of his sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, it was about time to be starting, and
+everybody bustled about.  There were all the things
+to be returned to the cottage, their own blankets to be
+left there, and Modestine to be taken to her fresh
+quarters&mdash;a willing Modestine, for the grass along the
+edge of the wood had been scanty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now that their own adventure was at a standstill
+everybody began to take an eager interest in the ride.
+The hills towards Gleambridge they wanted to keep
+for their travels, but would it be possible, Nancy
+enquired, to go to that highest hill across the valley,
+the one in the far distance?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Quite possible," was Dick's reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And be back by two o'clock?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and be back by two o'clock."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with this assurance everybody scrambled into
+the car and Dick set out for Birdstone, the highest
+point in the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis sat with him in the front seat, and
+during that ride he learned a great deal about the family,
+about their home, about Nestcombe and the river and
+forest.  Here, at least, they showed no reticence.
+That they worshipped every inch of those home-places
+was evident.  Their father and mother, Aunt Letty
+and Uncle Val, how proud they were of them all, how
+they adored them, how endless was their chatter about
+them.  Dick, as he listened, marvelled how they had
+ever come to leave such a home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The spirit of adventure and the blindness of
+childhood, I suppose," he thought.  "By Jove! when
+they realize what they have done how miserable they
+will be, poor kiddies."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently they came to a small town that seemed to
+scramble down the hill towards the valley; a town of
+quaint old nooks and corners, while on the opposite
+side of the valley, the Gleambridge side, the loveliest
+little village they had ever seen, except, of course,
+Nestley, played "bo-peep" amongst some pines on
+the side of the hill.  Nancy indulged in a "spasm"
+on Mavis when she remembered that to-morrow,
+perhaps, they might explore it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then on and on again, gradually getting away from
+the Gleambridge country.  The miles flew past with
+hills piled up about them.  Such tonic, too, in the air!
+The children responded to the exhilaration of it and
+forgot their troubles, forgot, almost, that Mavis was
+to run in the race, for both troubles and race seemed to
+belong to some far-off, unreal world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were on the main road now and the running
+was splendid.  Yet, though they were so thoroughly
+enjoying the ride, in their secret hearts they were glad
+that their own private travels did not lie in this
+direction.  Motoring along good, well-kept roads was
+one thing, but to seek adventure or romance here
+with civilization shouting at you&mdash;no, that would
+have been impossible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, they began to climb.  Up and up, with
+deep wooded valleys dropping away to the right, and
+yet other hills stretching leftward.  A lonely farm, a
+cottage here and there, a house; that was all apparently
+between them and the very heart of nature.  All
+except that well-kept road that wound right up here
+into the loneliness of the hills, robbing them, for
+Nancy at least, of the charm she had found when
+trudging along the dusty roads across the valley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet, though part of Nancy's mixed little mind
+disapproved of civilized hill-roads, another part of
+her was thoroughly enjoying itself.  Mr. Frampton
+was so easy to talk to and seemed so interested in all
+they told him about themselves.  And then again,
+flying through the air in a car always intoxicated
+Nancy.  Had Dick been guided entirely by her wishes
+he would have exceeded the speed limit on the lower
+roads; up here in the hills the going, of course, was
+slower.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quite suddenly, as it seemed to the children, the
+road opened out on to a wide plain.  A neat, civilized-looking
+village was spread over it in orderly fashion,
+and when they arrived at a somewhat imposing-looking
+hotel Dick stopped the car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've reached the top of the hill," he explained.
+"I'll go in and make arrangements for lunch, and then
+we'll explore a bit&mdash;there's plenty of time," he added,
+noticing anxious puckers in the children's faces.
+He knew, of course, that they were thinking about that
+mysterious engagement for the afternoon.  He began
+to wonder as he entered the hotel whether he was
+right in imagining it to be a fight.  Surely there was
+something more important to account for what he had
+seen in their faces at that moment.  Besides (how
+stupid of him not to think of this before), Nancy and
+Mavis would not wish for the renewal of hostilities.
+Well, this afternoon he would know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rejoined the children after he had made arrangements
+for an early lunch, and then they began to explore.
+The village itself was too prim to interest
+them, but what amazed Montague was that there
+should be one at all up here.  Being used only to the
+gently undulating hills of East Anglia, this hill was a
+mountain to him.  How could they possibly get food
+for a whole village to such a height, he wondered?
+Even the other children, used as they were to finding
+houses tucked away in the heights of the forest, even
+they owned to a little astonishment at finding so large
+a village so far away from the world.  They certainly
+must be glad of the good road that brought civilization
+nearer to them.  Well-kept roads, even Nancy admitted,
+had their uses after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, though the village was not interesting,
+Dick had something to show them, he said, that would
+delight Nancy.  He led them off the main road down
+a lane where hill-flowers unknown even to the forest
+children were rioting along the steep banks.  The
+girls were enchanted with them, but Dick assured them
+with a laugh that it was not flowers he had to show
+them.  He scanned the landscape anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come here, Nancy," he said (Mavis was still
+picking flowers, and the boys were scrambling about
+on the banks), "you can just see them, but you'll
+have to look hard&mdash;they're barely visible."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy knew by the way Dick spoke that it was
+something she would like very much.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, what is it?" she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<a id="p177"></a>
+Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger, and there,
+down in the valley to the left she saw, very faintly,
+the fair laced tower of Gleambridge Cathedral.  But
+that was not all.  For, following the pointing finger,
+she made out with a great deal of eye-straining and
+perhaps a little imagination, the towers of two other
+cathedrals, one to the north, and the other to the
+north-east.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three cathedrals!  Three fair towers!  Why, one
+alone sent poetry dancing through you.  Three
+cathedrals rising out of the mist&mdash;a beautiful valley
+held in the keeping of three white towers!  Nancy's
+imagination wanted to get to work at once on a poem.
+Oh, indeed, civilized roads were not to be despised if
+they brought you to this.  And nothing romantic
+could happen, she had thought, on a motor ride.
+Why, that valley was alive with romance for those
+who had "imagination eyes"!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick watched the animated little face with pleasure.
+How "alive" the child was; what an interest she took
+in everything and everybody.  She dreamed her
+dreams, but because of this intense "aliveness" she
+would never, he knew, develop into a mere dreamer&mdash;never
+could the word "mooney" be applied to her&mdash;except
+perhaps by a teasing brother&mdash;and, indeed,
+the quaint mixture that made up her character, the
+Aprilness of it was what interested Dick in her.  Having
+no little sisters of his own, he hoped the future was
+going to give him a good deal of Nancy's company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, it was time now to be returning to the
+hotel, and everybody confessed that they were quite
+ready for luncheon.  This out-of-doors life made one
+ravenously hungry, they found.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, a generous meal awaited them.  Dick
+led them to a table laid for five that had been reserved
+for them.  Very grown-up and important these little
+people felt as they seated themselves, for it was the first
+time any of them had lunched at an hotel.  And a
+waiter to attend to your wants, too; instinctively
+they straightened themselves and tried to live up to
+the occasion.  Oh, indeed, there was a certain glamour
+about this civilization, especially the bits that belonged
+to the never-before-experienced world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately after lunch they started on the return
+journey.  Dick took them another, and shorter, way,
+yet though the scenery was if anything more beautiful
+than that on the morning ride, the children could take
+no real delight in it, for the thought of the coming
+race crowded out all else.  And supposing they should
+have a puncture, and not be there in time&mdash;the very
+thought of it made them sick with apprehension.
+To be sure they had allowed a good margin, for the
+races did not begin until three o'clock, nevertheless
+they began to wish that they had not asked Dick to
+bring them so far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, all their fears proved to be groundless,
+for the clock on Barsdon church struck two as they
+climbed the lane that led to their wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a glorious ride it had been.  A shame that
+part of it had been spoiled by the thought of the race.
+Oh, if their misfortune were only as unreal as it had
+seemed on their way to Birdstone; if they could just
+have spent the afternoon in the wood with kind
+Mr. Frampton.  They heaped their thanks upon him, but
+he waived them aside.  The pleasure had been his,
+he said, and, indeed, secretly he had rejoiced to have
+them safely under his eye for so long.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis, directly they jumped out of the
+car, turned to go to the cottage to wash and do their
+hair before going down to Barsdon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you going to Mrs. Hale's?" Dick enquired.
+"You might tell her we should like tea at five o'clock,
+unless," he added, "you would like to have it at the
+inn down in Barsdon?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wood, they all agreed, would be nicest, and
+Nancy promised to deliver Dick's message.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their preparations were simple, and soon two somewhat
+nervous-looking little girls might have been seen
+hurrying down a field path at the back of the wood&mdash;a
+short cut to Barsdon of which Mrs. Hale had told them.
+"Do you really think I'll win?" Mavis enquired
+anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, yes, of course.  You always do, so don't
+worry, Babs!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish I'd got a better frock on," Mavis continued.
+"Everybody else will be dressed up.  'Sides, the mud
+did stain this one."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Nancy consoled her.  Nobody would know
+her and people would be thinking too much about her
+pretty way of running to notice her dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis was somewhat comforted.  Nothing would
+have induced her to have appeared in a public place at
+home in a stained frock, but because they needed the
+money so badly she would try not to mind strangers
+seeing her in so sorry a garb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm glad we're miles and miles from home, though,"
+she said, as they turned into the village.  "I'm glad
+forest people don't come to hill Flower Shows."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap14"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XIV
+<br><br>
+THE RACE
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The Flower Show, they found, was being held
+in the Rectory meadow, and thither, after
+someone had shown them the direction, they bent their
+steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish you could have come in with me," Mavis
+said wistfully, when they reached the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So do I," Nancy replied, "but I can't as we've
+only one sixpence, but I'll stay quite near."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned to the man at the entrance and asked
+whether he could tell her about what time the race
+for little girl visitors would take place.  The man
+looked at his watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In about half an hour," he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy thanked him and drew Mavis away from the
+fast-gathering crowd at the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's walk round the outside of the meadow,"
+she whispered, "and see if there's a hole in the hedge
+that I can watch through.  Then you'll know just
+where I am, and it will be nicer for you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The meadow was a large one.  Presently, along the
+further side of it they found a small opening where it
+was possible to see all that was happening.  Here
+they stayed till the half-hour was nearly up, watching
+the crowds round the swings and roundabouts, and
+thinking how, at any other time, they would have
+loved to be in the thick of all the fun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was time for Mavis to go, Nancy took her
+as far as the gate.  She watched the lonely little
+figure&mdash;with the sixpence clasped tight in her
+hand&mdash;advance timidly towards the race-course and then ran
+back to her opening on the other side of the meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next five minutes were five of the longest Nancy
+had ever known.  Far across the race-course she could
+just see her little sister waiting with a group of other
+girls.  Mavis would be wearing that dear little smile
+that made everybody love her and nobody would know
+how bad she was feeling inside.  But Nancy knew.
+And as she waited her conscience began to trouble her.
+<i>Ought</i> she to have let a little girl of seven, the pet
+of the family, do this thing?  To let her be there alone
+in that crowd of strangers&mdash;what would Mother say?
+Nancy pressed her hands tight together, and if it
+had been possible would have called the child back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I didn't think!  I didn't think!" she cried
+with passionate regret.  "Oh, why didn't Billy and I
+think?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, the whistle sounded, and the race started.
+Nancy scrambled further up the bank, and almost
+pushed herself through the hedge in her anxiety to
+see.  About a dozen girls were running, all of them
+but Mavis wearing garden-party frocks.  Most of them
+seemed to be about Mavis' own age, but three of them
+were almost as tall as Nancy herself.  <i>Could</i> Mavis
+possibly beat them?  After the first breathless second
+or so Nancy knew there was no need to fear, for Mavis
+was skimming over the ground so swiftly that the other
+girls, though some of them, apparently, were using far
+more energy, were left far behind.  Nancy saw people
+craning forward to watch her little sister; she almost
+<i>felt</i> their admiration as the small figure skimmed
+bird-like over the ground.  The applause when Mavis
+reached the rope was deafening.  Nancy's heart
+swelled with pride as she listened to it and for the
+moment self-reproach slipped into the background.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She scrambled down into the road again and waited
+eagerly for Mavis to come to her.  A few minutes
+later she saw her coming round the bend in the road
+and ran forward to meet her.  Then she paused in
+consternation, for in that little figure coming slowly
+towards her, in the drooping head there was nothing
+of the conqueror.  What could possibly have
+happened?  With outstretched arms she flew towards the
+sad little figure that advanced so reluctantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mavis dear, what is the matter?  Tell me," she
+cried, as she held her close.  "You won the race&mdash;I
+saw you.  Are you hurt?  Do tell me, dear!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis clung passionately to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," she sobbed, "that horrid Margaret Seaton
+was there&mdash;I saw her just as I was coming away.
+And she saw me and she looked at my dirty frock and
+she'd got on her best knitted mauve silk.  An' she'll
+tell everybody I ran for seven-and-sixpence!  Oh,
+Nancy, let's go away&mdash;let's go home!  I <i>can't</i> wait and
+take the prize in front of everybody looking like a
+tramp!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Margaret Seaton, the most snobbish girl in Nestley,
+here in the hills!  And only just before the race they
+had been comforted by the thought that forest people
+did not go to the hill Flower Shows.  What could
+possibly have brought her here?  Oh, of course!  It
+was the holidays, and she was probably visiting friends
+in the neighbourhood.  But that of all people it should
+have been Margaret Seaton!  Nancy, knowing the girl,
+and knowing Mavis, was overwhelmed now with the
+remorse that had been tugging at her conscience while
+she waited for the race to begin.  She hugged Mavis
+close and stroked her hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, dear, you shan't wait to take the prize.  We
+ought never to have let you go in for the race.  Mummy
+would say it was a dreadful thing for us to let our baby
+earn the money.  Billy and I ought to have thought.
+If we can't earn it some other way we must go home."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but are you sure you and Billy won't hate me?
+Billy will be so disappointed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, but he'll understand&mdash;you know he will.
+I'll explain to him.  Don't worry any more, dear.
+See, we'll sit down here together till your eyes are
+dry, 'cos you won't want people to see you've been
+crying; then we'll go."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so together they sat down on the bank till the
+storm of tears should have subsided.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What was to happen now, Nancy wondered?  The
+seven-and-sixpence belonged to Mavis, but even if the
+child should presently change her mind and be willing
+to go up to receive it, she was determined not to allow
+her to make the sacrifice.  Poor old Billy, how
+disappointed he would be!  She must call him aside and
+talk things over with him before anything could be
+decided.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look!" whispered Mavis, her voice trembling
+with agitation, "there's Billy coming along the road!
+Oh, Nancy, you <i>will</i> explain, won't you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy re-assured her and stood up to wave to Billy,
+who had not yet seen them.  He ran forward eagerly,
+and then he, too, paused as Nancy had done.  No
+need to ask questions; he knew at once that they
+were still penniless.  Poor little Mavis, how sorry
+she seemed.  Ah, but she mustn't be&mdash;he must pretend
+that he, at least, did not care!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo!" he said.  "No go, eh, old girl?  Well,
+never mind&mdash;you were a little brick to try; you've
+been jolly sporty!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but I haven't!" Mavis wailed, her tears
+starting afresh.  "I'm not a tiny bit sporty!  I won
+the prize an'&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I'll</i> tell him," Nancy interrupted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then she explained everything to Billy, telling
+also of her own remorse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Say something to cheer her up," she whispered.
+"She's feeling so bad about it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For answer Billy slipped down on to the bank by
+Mavis and put his arms round her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's all my fault," he said contritely.  "I&mdash;I
+never thought till a little while ago up in the wood,
+at least, not properly.  That's why I came to find you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are Mr. Frampton and Monty still there?" Nancy
+asked, seating herself on the other side of Mavis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  I said we'd be back to tea, but&mdash;but don't
+let's hurry.  Let's sit here together a bit, just the three
+of us, shall we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just the three of them in a fellowship that even
+Dick or Monty could not quite enter into yet because
+it required more even than the intimacy of the last
+few days to belong fully to the comradeship that
+existed between these three.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long while they sat there, saying nothing, but
+with understanding between them.  Nobody passed
+them.  Once a lady and a little girl came towards a
+house on the other side of the road.  They watched
+them idly, noticing the daintiness of the child and the
+youngness of her mother, yet none of them was
+really interested, though at any other time they would
+have been struck by the music in the child's laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy," Mavis whispered presently, "p'raps I
+<i>will</i> go and take the prize.  I&mdash;I could shut my eyes
+tight and not see anybody.  P'raps Margaret Seaton
+will have gone."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'll do nothing of the land," Billy replied
+emphatically.  "I'd rather starve than let you do it
+No!  I've been thinking, and I can't see any way out
+but to go home.  I left Mont cutting down wood
+for his frames, but he'd never sell enough to keep us
+all.  'Sides&mdash;&mdash;"  He broke off abruptly, not liking
+to remind Mavis that the sixpence for her entrance
+fee had left them with only a halfpenny.  "So shall I
+ask Mr. Frampton to take us home or send the telegram
+to the Prior?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They couldn't send the wire, Nancy said, for she had
+noticed that it was early closing day when they
+passed through the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then we must ask Mr. Frampton to take us home,
+and we'll have to have poor old Ladybird sent on
+somehow.  We shall have to tell everything to
+Mr. Frampton 'cos we can't borrow money from him
+without letting him know that we can pay him back.
+We shall have to take it out of the Savings Bank."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," Nancy replied thoughtfully.  "But need
+we go to-night, Billy?"  For herself the glamour
+had gone out of the hills, for the time being, at least,
+but she knew what giving in would mean to Billy.
+"Couldn't we wait till to-morrow and just see if we
+can think of some plan?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, we can't.  We can't sponge on Mr. Frampton.
+To-day was different, 'cos we thought&mdash;I mean&mdash;oh,
+it's difficult to explain."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though he found it difficult to express his idea he
+knew quite well where the difference lay.  To-day
+was not sponging, but to-morrow, if they stayed, would
+be.  No, it would not be "cricket" to keep their
+penniless condition hidden any longer from
+Mr. Frampton.  He must know everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall we go and tell him now?" he asked.  The
+explanation was not going to be easy, and the sooner
+it was over the better.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three sad and forlorn little people set off dejectedly
+down the road.  Sounds of merriment came from the
+meadow.  The children heard them, but they would
+not turn their heads in the direction of a place that was
+now so hateful to them; as long as they lived, Flower
+Shows and all the jolly things attached to them that
+they had used to love would recall the bitterness of this
+day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so they walked along with their eyes fixed on
+the dusty road until a gurgle of laughter caused them
+to look up.  Instinctively they paused, arrested by
+what they saw.  Instinctively, too, they crept towards
+the fence that stood between them and that which
+had attracted them and stood with their noses pressed
+to it, their troubles for the moment forgotten, their
+interest thoroughly aroused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, the darling!" Nancy whispered.  "See!
+It's the little girl we saw go into this house this
+afternoon.  Isn't she sweet?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a paddock at the side of the house was a pond with
+a willow tree drooping over it, and near the pond, with
+her back to the road was the little girl they had seen
+earlier in the afternoon.  She was dancing, and as she
+danced she crooned a little song.  Indeed, it was the
+song that seemed to suggest the dance.  She sang of the
+"p'itty ripple" in the water, and as she danced her
+arms rippled through the air.  She sang of the slow
+fluttering of leaves from the willow into the
+pond&mdash;again her fingers moved lightly as though she were
+scattering leaves.  She sang of the "p'itty, p'itty
+sunshine that makes 'ittle girls happy," and as she
+sang she became the very embodiment of joy&mdash;as
+joyous as the swallows that had splashed their
+happiness about the Prior's garden.  And then she paused
+for a moment and seemed lost in thought.  With a
+nod of satisfaction she again took up the song and dance.
+She was a little mother now singing her dolly to
+sleep&mdash;a troublesome dolly who needed much crooning to
+before she would sink to rest on the grass by the pond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children watched with breathless interest.
+They were spellbound, fascinated.  Never before had
+they even imagined anything like the dancing of this
+fairy of five.  A grown-up person would have said
+that the child was the embodiment of poetry, that she
+spilt it from her beautiful little fingers.  They would
+have said, too, if they happened to be gifted with
+artistic perception, that rhythm was perfected in the
+movements and crooning of the tiny person.  Something
+of the kind Nancy herself would have said had
+she had the words at her command to express what
+she felt.  As it was, she could only stand there with the
+other two children, each of them absorbed in the
+entrancing picture that certainly did not belong to the
+everyday world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Time passed unheeded while they stood with their
+faces pressed to the fence and the child danced.
+Presently, however, she paused and seemed to be
+considering.  Then a little gurgle of delight escaped
+her, and, clapping her hands, she ran swiftly towards
+the tree that hung over the pond.  She stood by the
+edge of the water watching with delight something
+that evidently fascinated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is it a dragon-fly?" Mavis whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"B'lieve there are lots of them, but I can't quite
+see.  Wish she wouldn't get so near the water!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The child talked and crooned to the dragon-flies.
+Stray words reached the children.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"P'itty sky things!  Dear dancy things!  Nonie
+loves 'oo&mdash;Nonie not hurt 'ittle sparkly things.  Nonie
+dance like 'oo."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They saw her poise herself tiptoe with arms outspread,
+then, with a gurgle of laughter, skim with light
+flitting movements along the edge of the pond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nonie sky thing, too, now," she gurgled.  "But,
+oh, so sad, Nonie can't dance on water like 'oo."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, a root of the willow tree hung over the pond
+on a level with the bank like a great arm.  The child
+saw the root and, in her desire to get closer to the
+fascinating dragon-flies, she tip-toed along it and
+stood, with hands clasped together, on the very
+edge of the arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children gazed in horror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She'll fall!  Oh, she'll fall!" Mavis whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hush!  We mustn't frighten her," Nancy replied.
+"But, oh, I wish she'd come off it!  If we call her
+she'd fall in, I 'spect."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy said nothing, but his face went white with
+the tension of watching.  He dared not move lest he
+should scare the child, but he was ready to vault the
+fence at the first hint of real danger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For five long minutes they stood gripping the palings,
+while Nonie, regardless of her danger, crooned low and
+tenderly her delight in the flashes of blue life at her feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, a dog entered the paddock from the garden
+and barking with joy rushed towards his little mistress.
+So absorbed was the child that she did not hear him
+until he reached the tree.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nikko!" she cried, "go back!  Naughty&mdash;go back!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dog, however, was so delighted to see her that
+he ran along the root of the tree barking joyously,
+and then, reaching his beloved little mistress, jumped
+up to lick her face.  Just a touch of his paw, just a
+touch of love, and with a frightened scream Nonie
+fell, her dress catching on the root of the tree and
+holding her just above the water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy, however, had not waited to see the end.
+Before the dog had reached the tree he had vaulted
+the fence and was running towards the pond.  He
+saw the child fall, he saw the little muslin garments
+catch on the jagged roots and hoped passionately
+that they would not give way before he could reach
+the suspended, frightened little girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm coming!" he yelled.  "Don't be frightened, Nonie!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pushing the excited dog out of the way he ran along
+the arm of the tree, and, kneeling down, reached
+for the screaming child.  Then, regardless of the
+damage to her pretty clothes, he slipped his hands
+under her and dragged her away from the roots that
+had proved her salvation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't cry, dear," he panted.  "You're safe now;
+wait just a minute and I'll crawl along to the bank
+with you.  It's going to be jolly awkward, though!"
+he added to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His arms ached from the strain of lifting the child,
+and his legs were cramped, for there was very little room
+for a big boy on the narrow ledge.  Exactly how he
+should crawl back without dropping his precious
+burden he did not know, but Nancy solved the
+problem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy, wait a moment," she cried, as she and Mavis
+came running towards the tree.  "I'll slither along
+sideways towards you, then I can take her from you
+and pass her on to Mavis.  Now, are you ready?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was no easy matter for Billy to twist himself
+round and pass the frightened little girl to Nancy,
+but somehow or other he managed it.  Nancy held
+the child tenderly a moment before passing her on to
+Mavis, and did her best to quieten her sobs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, see!" Mavis cried, relief in her voice, "here's
+her mother running across the meadow.  She'd better
+take her, hadn't she&mdash;she's stronger than me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie's mother reached the scene a moment later.
+Nancy smiled re-assuringly when she saw the alarm
+and agitation in her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's all right," she said.  "But will you get
+where Mavis is, please, an' hold out your arms so I
+can pass her to you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie's mother did not wait to be enlightened as
+to the cause of the tear-stained face and torn clothes,
+or the presence of the three little strangers, but simply
+held out her arms at Nancy's request, assured by her
+comforting smile that they, at least, were not
+responsible for the accident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie, when she saw that she was once more on
+firm ground, clasped her arms round her mother's neck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nonie naughty 'ittle girl," she wailed repentantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I rather think she is," her mother replied, holding
+her very, very close.  "What is the naughty thing
+that my little girl has done this time?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children, who had scrambled to the bank, stood
+round watching the mother and child with undisguised
+interest.  Nancy interrupted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was really the dog," she explained.  "He was
+so pleased to see Nonie an' he jumped up and pawed
+her and she fell, and, oh, wasn't it a good thing her
+dress got caught?  Billy <i>might</i> not have got her out
+of the water in time if he'd had to jump in for her.
+He had to tear her clothes fearfully when he pulled her
+up, but he couldn't help it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Couldn't help it?  As though torn clothes mattered
+a scrap when Nonie was safe!  Nonie's mother had
+listened gravely to Nancy's explanation, but now her
+hazel eyes lit up with a lovely smile as she looked at
+Billy over Nonie's head.  Such a wonderful smile
+that Billy's young heart went out to her in worship.
+Again she turned to Nonie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am still afraid that Nonie was right when she
+said she had been naughty.  What, I wonder, was she
+doing on that narrow root?  I seem to remember telling
+a little girl not to go near the water!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie looked up fearlessly into her mother's eyes
+and nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Nonie very naughty girl.  It was the bits
+of sky things, they were <i>ever</i> pretty, an' I just wanted
+to know how to dance like them, an' so I forgotted,
+Mummy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I see.  But now what is going to happen about it?
+How am I to punish you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cry broke involuntarily from the three children.
+<i>Must</i> this fairy-like little dancer who had held them so
+enthralled suffer ordinary, everyday punishment?
+Must she perhaps be <i>smacked</i>?  It was unthinkable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie's mother seemed to take them into her
+confidence as she looked up at them with a sorry
+smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see," she explained, "little girls of five are
+not too young to learn to obey.  Nonie has been told
+not to go near the pond."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie suddenly looked up hopefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But 'oo never said 'pwomiss,' did 'oo?  Could
+honour do 'stead of punis'ment?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children listened incredulously.  What could
+this baby thing possibly know of honour?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie's mother remained thoughtful for a moment.
+The children fancied they saw relief in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well," she replied.  "We will try."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She put Nonie down on the ground and immediately
+the baby thing straightened herself like a soldier and
+stood with head erect gazing fearlessly at her mother,
+who looked down at her gravely and tenderly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nonie Brimscombe," she said solemnly, "do you
+know what honour is?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Mummy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And truth?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Mummy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can you promise on your word of honour never to
+go near the pond alone again&mdash;not even to see a dragonfly?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Yes</i>, Mummy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can I rely on you to keep this promise?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Mummy, Nonie'll not bweak her word."  Then
+she relaxed and held out her arms to her mother
+with a winning smile.  "Are I forgived, Mummy
+dear?  I are ever, ever sorry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Brimscombe stooped and kissed the child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and now we must go and change that frock.
+But we haven't yet thanked these little people for
+rescuing you, have we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned towards the children, who, during the
+little scene between Nonie and her mother, had been
+listening and watching intently.  Was it a kind of
+"make-believe"?  Ah, yes, it was that surely, and
+yet behind the "make-believe" they felt something
+real and big, something that made them each
+instinctively straighten themselves just as Nonie had
+done.  Whether it was the words or the way in which
+Mrs. Brimscombe spoke them they hardly knew, yet
+all that was best in them responded to the little scene.
+If Flower Shows were henceforth to have a sting behind
+them the word "honour" was always to awaken the
+memory of this poignant little scene in the paddock.
+Yet <i>why</i> had Mrs. Brimscombe played this "make-believe"
+with Nonie and <i>what</i> was behind it?  And
+again, why did the name "Brimscombe" seem, well,
+not familiar perhaps, but to stir up some memory?
+Suddenly, Billy remembered.  This was the
+Mrs. Brimscombe whose husband had been drowned in
+a boating accident at Gleambridge the previous
+summer.  He recollected it all; a friend of Aunt
+Letty's knew her and had told them all about it,
+how splendid she had been about it, how she had
+never forgotten the creed of the Guides to smile bravely
+through trouble.  Ah, of course, she was the head of
+the Girl Guides in that district, Aunt Letty's friend
+had told them; and though Nonie was too young
+to belong to the Guides her mother evidently was
+training her to be one&mdash;that, of course, accounted for
+what they had just witnessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Brimscombe was speaking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am wondering," she said, and her voice was
+tremulous with emotion, "how I am ever going to
+thank you.  It is&mdash;difficult," she added, and her smile
+as she glanced from them to Nonie was so unspeakably
+tender, so alight with something that came from her
+very soul that not only Billy's, but the girls' hearts,
+too, went out to her.  Then she pushed emotion from
+her and turned to Nonie.  "I wonder, if we asked them
+very nicely, if our little friends would stay and have
+tea with us?"  Now, so far Mavis had been somewhat
+in the background, and it was Billy, her Nonie's rescuer,
+of whom Mrs. Brimscombe had taken special notice.
+Suddenly, however, she looked at Mavis with eyes of
+recognition.  "Why!" she exclaimed, "aren't you
+the little girl who won the Visitors' Race?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mavis, looking flushed and uncomfortable, hardly
+knew what to reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I <i>did</i> win it," she began.  "But&mdash;but&mdash;&mdash;"
+She paused and threw an appealing glance at Nancy
+and Billy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, then you certainly <i>must</i> stay and have tea
+with Nonie.  The prizes won't be distributed until
+about six o'clock.  Stay and play with Nonie till
+then, will you, dears?  That is, if you can," she
+added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you very much," Billy began bravely,
+"but&mdash;but I don't think Mavis is going back to the
+Flower Show.  We&mdash;we don't need the money very
+much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And we promised Mr. Frampton and Montague
+we'd be back for tea," Nancy added.  "But we <i>would</i>
+like to have been able to play with Nonie," she added
+regretfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Brimscombe looked at the children thoughtfully.
+Now what, she wondered, lay behind their
+reluctance to take the prize?  Mavis had won it
+fairly, she was entitled to it.  Yet the child's
+instinctive glance at her soiled frock had not escaped
+her or the tear-stains round her eyes.  Something
+clearly was wrong.  What were they doing here
+alone and where were the Mr. Frampton and Montague
+they had mentioned?  Not at the Flower Show
+apparently, else they themselves would have been
+returning there.  No, evidently they were alone in
+Barsdon.  Was it possible they had come specially
+for the race?  For Billy's denial of their need of the
+money set her wondering.  Could it be that they
+needed it, and that some hurt to their young pride
+(for she knew from her wide experience the sensitiveness
+of a child's heart) prevented them from taking it?
+The children's growing embarrassment troubled her.
+In some way or other she must help them out of their
+difficulty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know," she said, turning to Nancy confidentially,
+"I think your little sister ought to have that money.
+The Committee simply won't know what to do with
+it if it's left on their hands.  They get rather fuddled,
+poor dears, if things don't go just by clockwork.
+You see, it's a great day with them, <i>lots</i> of preparation
+beforehand, and to-day hard work since before seven
+o'clock.  I've got a prize for Table Decoration, and
+I simply daren't not take it.  I wonder if you would
+let me take yours at the same time, as you have to
+rejoin your friends for tea?  I'll give you the money
+now, and you can give me a receipt for it that I can
+show the Committee.  Just in case," she added, with
+a laugh, "they think I'm trying to get it unlawfully.
+Come along into the house and I'll get it for you,"
+and she moved across the paddock without waiting
+for a reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Boy, give Nonie pick-a-back," demanded Nonie,
+who had been making overtures of friendship to the
+responsive children.  "Nonie like 'oo!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy stooped and picked up the child very readily,
+yet still his conscience troubled him as he galloped
+towards the house with her.  It seemed so mean to
+take the money when they hadn't the courage to go
+up and receive it themselves.  When they reached
+the house he put Nonie down and stood in the porch,
+hesitating uncomfortably.  <i>What</i> should he do?
+What ought he to do?  The money would make such
+a difference&mdash;just exactly how hard it would be to
+give up the adventure he had not realized until
+Mrs. Brimscombe's suggestion had seemed to make it
+possible to go on.  And yet that the money should
+come so easily&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Won't it&mdash;won't it bother you?" he asked
+awkwardly, looking up at Mrs. Brimscombe, who,
+seeing his indecision, had waited behind while Nonie
+took the girls into the house.  "If you'd rather,
+I'll go and get it if the Committee would give it to me.
+The others could go on and tell Mr. Frampton I'm
+coming later.  You see, we <i>can't</i> let Mavis take it
+herself 'cos, well, 'cos it was mean of us to let her go
+in for the race&mdash;only, we didn't think.  And&mdash;and it
+wasn't true that we don't want it, least not quite true.
+We needn't be poor, it's not anybody's fault but our
+own&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy paused, hardly knowing how to proceed without
+telling the whole story, and this he could not do, not
+even to this lovely lady.  And yet&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Brimscombe had listened with interest and
+sympathy to Billy's half-confession, filling in with
+ready intuition the gaps in his story.  <i>Why</i> they
+needed the money, she hardly felt it necessary to
+enquire.  Probably it was for some little private
+purpose, some secret between the three of them.
+From their conversation they were evidently in the
+care of some responsible person, and their appearance,
+except for the stain on Mavis's frock, gave no indication
+of poverty.  Nevertheless, knowing so well the hearts
+of children, she was now more anxious than ever to
+help them in their difficulty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She put both her hands on Billy's shoulders and
+looked down into his eyes.  For a moment she did not
+speak, and in that silent communion each read the
+truth and honesty in the other, oh, and a whole world
+of other things besides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Won't you let me do this for you?" she pleaded.
+"You saved my Nonie and&mdash;she is all I have."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How could Billy resist such an appeal?  That smile
+that could conquer tragedy, a smile that with most
+people would have been tears, was in her eyes, and,
+because of it and the restrained sadness in her voice,
+all that was chivalrous in Billy went out to her.
+And there was a good deal of chivalry in Billy.  A boy
+who has grown to ten years of age with a Raleigh
+for his hero, who has walked with that noble gentleman
+in imagination not once but hundreds of times under
+stately trees that have probably swayed above the
+real Raleigh, who has felt his influence all around him,
+such a boy could not fail to have something chivalrous
+in his own composition.  Raleigh had spread his
+cloak for a queen to tread on; Billy's whole soul was
+at the service of his Queen.  Nevertheless, being a
+normal, healthy-minded boy he found it difficult to
+express what was passing in his mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Her dress is spoilt though, an' all her other clothes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was all he could find to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Brimscombe laughed (she had read the surrender
+in his eyes, and that protective sympathy for her that
+he found it impossible to express did not escape her).
+"Yes, and I ought to go and put her into something
+respectable, oughtn't I?  It's her <i>best</i> frock,
+too."  Again a low rich gurgle that was so like Nonie's
+escaped her.  What were a few torn clothes when your
+one earthly treasure was safe, her laughter seemed to
+say.  "And so," she added, pressing Billy's shoulder
+affectionately, "it's a bargain, isn't it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An'&mdash;an' thank you awfully."  He hesitated, and
+she waited, knowing that he had more to say.  "Could
+I some day write and tell you what we wanted it for?"
+he asked, looking up into her face.  "I can't tell you
+now but&mdash;but I'd like you to know.  It's awfully
+important and interesting, and it means not having
+to give in about something."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, write and tell me all you can, and be very
+sure I shall be interested in anything that concerns
+you&mdash;always.  Tell me just one thing," she added,
+looking straight into his eyes, "are you more than
+seven-and-sixpence poor?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy returned her look squarely.  He could not
+possibly resent the implied suggestion behind her words,
+and he thought the matter out carefully before replying.
+Sleeping out of doors had become a fascination, therefore
+nothing would be required for lodgings.  Surely
+seven-and-sixpence should feed them for three or four
+days longer?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he replied, "I think we're not, but&mdash;thank
+you very much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Brimscombe was satisfied that he spoke the
+truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come in for a moment," she said; "I must have
+that receipt, you know!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nonie, regardless of her rags, was playing hostess
+to Nancy and Mavis in the drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, she's sweet!" Nancy whispered to
+Mrs. Brimscombe, when she and Billy entered the room.
+"She's pretending to be you, talking 'grown-up
+afternoon-tea talk'&mdash;so funny and quaint!  I wish
+we could see her again some day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are going to," Mrs. Brimscombe replied
+simply.  "Nonie and I are not going to lose sight
+of you, are we, Nonie?  Shall we ask them if they will
+come and stay with us some day?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To come and stay here with Nonie's mother?
+Billy, as he watched Mavis sign the receipt and drink
+the milk Mrs. Brimscombe insisted on them having
+before leaving, thrilled with pride at the thought of it.
+Aunt Letty's friend had said that it was a privilege
+to serve under her (she herself was a captain in the
+Guides).  Well, what of the privilege of staying in
+her house and perhaps being allowed to be her
+protector, since she had no one now to look after her?
+Oh, this hill country, what endless wonders it held?
+Who could possibly prefer an everyday garden to
+adventuring here?
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap15"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XV
+<br><br>
+HALF-CONFESSIONS
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+And while life was pressing adventure towards
+the three children down in Barsdon, Dick and
+Montague were having a dull and miserable time up
+in the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick was not greatly troubled at first at the absence
+of the two girls; they were probably lingering in the
+paddock petting Modestine.  He lay on the ground
+smoking, waiting for some move on the part of the
+boys, for that they should have no share in the
+mysterious engagement had never occurred to him.  To his
+surprise, however, neither of them for quite a long time
+showed the slightest inclination to leave the wood.
+But, presently, through half-closed eyes, he noticed a
+growing restlessness in Billy.  There was an anxious,
+troubled look on the usually sunny face, and, presently,
+apparently unable to keep his anxiety to himself,
+he drew Montague to the edge of the wood and a
+whispered consultation took place between them.
+Dick sat up and watched them.  Was it the girls
+Billy was concerned about?  Surely in that case he
+would have consulted with him rather than Montague.
+Yet they certainly had been gone a long time.  He
+was about to join the two and make casual enquiries
+regarding the girls' absence when Billy disappeared
+and Montague, looking depressed and unhappy,
+re-entered the wood.  Now what was to be done?
+Should he question Montague or wait for further
+developments?  And why should Montague wear that
+air of depression?  And then again, what was he
+doing with that neat little bundle of wood; why was
+he cutting it into such short lengths?  Apparently
+the boy had forgotten that he was not alone for, as he
+worked, he began to talk to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hope Billy remembers the tacks if he finds the girls.
+Wish I'd got 'em now, so I could go down to the
+Flower Show and sell to the people as they came out.
+Oh dear, I'm feeling rather lonely; wish <i>I</i> could have
+gone to find Mavis, but Billy said stay here.  Wonder
+if they'll meet those ruffians who stole the money?
+P'raps Billy'll take it from them again&mdash;then we
+<i>shall</i> be rich!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick was not near enough to catch all the rumblings,
+but he had heard enough to arouse his curiosity and
+some anxiety.  He thought it high time to recall
+himself to Montague's memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo, old chap, what are you doing?" he
+enquired, rising and sauntering towards him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just making picture frames," Montague replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Picture frames?" Dick repeated.  "Won't they
+be rather in the way on your travels?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They're not going on our travels."  Then an idea
+came to Montague.  Why not ask Mr. Frampton to
+buy some?  Billy wouldn't let them borrow money
+from him, but to sell something to him was surely
+different.  "Do you want to buy some?" he asked.
+"When they're finished, I mean.  I can't tack them
+together till Mavis&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes?" said Dick.  "'Till Mavis&mdash;&mdash;'?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, nothing!" Montague replied uncomfortably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here, old chap," Dick said, seating himself
+on a log near the boy, "I've not yet heard the full
+story of yours and Billy's battered faces.  I wish
+you'd tell me all about it.  Did anything happen
+to&mdash;well, to make it necessary for you to sell
+picture-frames?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, wishing fervently that the others were
+there to support him, eyed Dick dubiously, but made no
+reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't you trust me?" asked Dick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, but Billy said&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;what did Billy say?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, nothing, 'cept that you'd p'raps make us go
+back if you knew, an' if you didn't do that we'd be
+sponging on you.  But it's all right now&mdash;least, it
+will be when Mavis comes back.  I&mdash;I wish she'd
+come&mdash;I <i>wish</i> we hadn't let her!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague paused.  He was wishing with all his
+heart that he had not promised Billy to stay in the
+wood.  They ought to have gone together; the
+anxiety of waiting was becoming almost unendurable,
+and he would have given much to have been able to
+share his fears with Dick.  Supposing something had
+happened to little Mavis?  Oh, it was terrible to be
+left behind!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick slowly filled his pipe, thinking hard while he
+pressed the tobacco into the bowl, and glancing from
+time to time at Montague's troubled face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here, old chap," Dick began, "you're
+worried about them, I know.  Now, suppose we give
+them another quarter-of-an-hour, and then if they
+haven't returned I think you had better tell me where
+they have gone and we will talk the matter over
+together and see what can be done.  I'm worried, too,
+you know," he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you fond of them?" Montague asked.
+"Would you mind if anything happened to them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should mind very much indeed," Dick replied,
+"if anything happened to any of you four youngsters&mdash;but
+it isn't going to!  Now, is it a bargain?"  He
+pulled out his watch and looked at Montague
+questioningly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, if I needn't tell you what Billy wouldn't
+like me to tell you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague himself would have been quite ready to
+confess the whole adventure from the very beginning
+to Dick, feeling sure that the friend who had stood
+by him so often in the dreadful aunt-days that were
+already beginning to fade into the remote past, would
+understand.  And, after all, if he insisted on a return,
+as far as he, Montague, was concerned, it would not
+greatly matter.  Nothing would induce him to return
+to Riversham, but the children had offered to share
+their home with him, and he was secretly awaiting with
+eager interest the day when he should be initiated into
+the delights of their beloved Nestcombe.  The grown-ups?
+Well, he would tolerate them for the children's
+sake; yes, even the aunt, since Mavis loved her.
+Nevertheless, though practically any place would be
+home for him if the children were there, for Billy's
+sake he hoped he would not be led to tell Mr. Frampton
+too much.  Billy cared so tremendously about this
+adventure (that he was the leader Montague had
+recognized from the beginning), and because Billy had been
+such a good chum to him, because, moreover, he was
+beginning to care for him as he had never yet cared
+for another boy he wanted to stand loyally by his
+friend and not let him down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spent the next fifteen minutes wondering just
+how little he could tell Dick and hoping against hope
+that the children would turn up and relieve him of
+the necessity of saying anything at all.  But the
+fifteen minutes dragged slowly by and they did not come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now," said Dick, glancing at his watch, "the
+time is up, so let's see what can be done.  Tell
+me&mdash;are they in Barsdon?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's all right&mdash;then we haven't far to go.  Why
+didn't you go with them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I dunno.  I <i>wanted</i> to.  It was just Mavis and
+Nancy really who were to go, and Billy and me were to
+wait here, only Billy got worried and wished he'd
+not let Mavis&mdash;not let them go and I wished it too,
+and I wanted to go and fetch them back, and just do
+the picture-frames, but Billy said no, she was his
+sister, and he would go and find her and would I wait
+here 'case they came back another way."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;but what <i>is</i> it that Mavis went to do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, to run in a race at the Flower Show!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick showed his astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Run in a race at the Flower Show?" he repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, for seven-and-sixpence," Montague growled,
+"'cos nearly all our money was stolen."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick began to see daylight, but he looked down at
+Montague gravely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you boys allowed little Mavis to do that rather
+than treat me as a comrade?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague said nothing, but he felt horribly ashamed,
+and very, very unhappy.  He began to realize that as
+he knew Mr. Frampton so much better than the
+others he ought to have persuaded them to trust him.
+Very miserably he looked up at Dick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's&mdash;it's not exactly <i>you</i>&mdash;it's your grown-upness,
+I b'lieve."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, yes, that indeed was it.  Dick knew it, and, for
+the first time in his twenty-one years, hated this barrier
+he had regarded hitherto as something very wonderful
+and very desirable.  Yet&mdash;twenty-one&mdash;was it so far
+from the world of childhood?  And what exactly was
+the barrier; how could it be defined?  He had roughed
+it with them, had shared their picnics, had, he thought,
+dropped his "grown-upness" entirely.  They were
+fond of him, there was no doubt of that, just as they
+were of Montague, yet, because of a nameless barrier,
+they had left him out in the cold, while the penniless
+boy (for Dick was sure Montague was not worth more
+than a few pence when he joined the adventurers)
+they had taken into their entire comradeship.  It was
+impossible, of course, to be either hurt or angry,
+nevertheless, Dick regretted deeply that these care-free
+irresponsible little adventurers should think it necessary
+to shut him out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's it!" he thought.  "Irresponsible!  The
+irresponsibility of childhood&mdash;these little people knew
+instinctively that one loses it when manhood comes."  Dick
+suddenly felt very lonely and sighed for that
+lost boyhood that he had cast off so willingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, no use wasting time over vain regrets,
+something must be done immediately.  He must run down.
+to Barsdon in the car; probably, after all, the children
+were merely waiting for Mavis to receive the prize.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wait here for me, Mont, in case I should miss
+them.  And if I find them we'll all go to the Show
+together this evening."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague looked round at the silent wood and the
+loneliness smote him to the heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You won't be <i>very</i> long, will you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No.  If I don't see them soon I'll come back for
+you and we'll search together.  Make a fire and get
+the kettle boiling," he added, thinking the time would
+drag less if the boy were occupied, "and don't worry,
+old chap.  I'll find them, or we'll find them together."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment their eyes met, and through the
+chilling loneliness in the boy's heart there swept a
+sudden surge of affection and gratitude and trust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You an' the Prior," he muttered, "an' my guardian
+aren't like ordinary grown-ups.  I s'pose men are
+better'n women.  I'm <i>glad</i> you're my friend."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick, as he drove rapidly down the lane to Barsdon
+felt absurdly happy at the boy's confidence.  Need
+there be an insurmountable barrier, he wondered?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, at least we're necessary to them
+sometimes," he thought, "and that is something."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was just about to make enquiries as to where
+the Flower Show was being held when, hurrying along
+the village street towards him he caught sight of three
+well-known little figures.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Dick forgave these troublesome little people
+the anxiety they had caused him because of that
+unmistakable ring of gladness in their voices.  Again
+he felt an absurd happiness when they scrambled into
+the car as though it were their right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where's Monty?" Mavis asked, as Dick turned
+the car in the direction of the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Keeping his promise to Billy."  Dick spoke somewhat
+shortly, for he wanted them to realize something
+of Montague's loneliness without them.  "We began
+to think, you know, that our comrades had deserted
+us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, but we couldn't do that!" Nancy exclaimed
+impulsively.  "We <i>couldn't</i> come sooner&mdash;Monty will
+understand when we explain.  And you&mdash;&mdash;"  She
+paused and looked questioningly at Billy.  If only
+she might tell Mr. Frampton <i>some</i> part of the doings
+of the afternoon&mdash;it was hateful to be so secretive.
+To her delight and surprise Billy nodded consent, and
+turning again to Dick she began to tell him of Billy's
+rescue of Nonie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I didn't mean that part," Billy broke in.  "I
+meant about us having the money stolen.  We
+<i>couldn't</i> tell you yesterday, Mr. Frampton, and a
+little while ago we thought we'd <i>have</i> to tell you,
+'cos it seemed to be the end of our travels.  But it
+isn't the end after all and yet&mdash;oh, well, we just hate
+not telling you, 'cos we're all kind of chums together,
+aren't we?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very, very slowly Dick drove up the stoney lane,
+his heart thrilling with happiness as between them
+(Billy and Mavis who were in the back hanging over
+the seat) they told the full story of the fight and the
+lost purse, their shame at having only dry bread to
+offer him, Mavis's suggestion that she should enter for
+the race and even (with Mavis's consent) her encounter
+with the girl from Nestcombe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not quite all the story was told in the car.  It was
+a shout of joy from Montague that interrupted the
+narrative.  Poor, poor Monty, how sorry they were
+to have left him so long; how glad they were to see him
+again.  Oh, it was good to be with these two dear
+comrades again.  And tea was waiting for them?
+How nice of Mr. Frampton and Monty to have waited
+for them; they didn't deserve it and yet&mdash;and yet,
+oh, it was not at all easy, they were beginning to find,
+to know what was the right thing to do.  Mr. Frampton
+and Montague had been worried about them, yes,
+and lonely, too&mdash;this they found out from Monty when,
+after tea, they were all sitting together quietly near the
+bower.  And they were their comrades, both of them
+and&mdash;and should one hurt one's comrades?  But then,
+it was unthinkingly.  Yet again, <i>why</i> not have trusted
+Mr. Frampton?  Wasn't it somehow different between
+a little band of friends, between out-of-doors comrades?
+How sorry he seemed that they had not trusted him&mdash;yes,
+there was <i>his</i> point of view.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry," Billy said, "I&mdash;I wish we'd told you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And, oh, we were so unhappy about Mavis,"
+Nancy added.  "That was why Billy left you and
+Monty alone.  But we ought to have told you."  She
+was silent for a moment, then suddenly she asked
+Dick a question.  "What is 'obligations'?" she
+demanded.  "Do you have them towards people&mdash;people
+you like?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," Dick replied, wondering what was coming,
+"sometimes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy's eyes glowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, do you know," she continued, "I'm just
+beginning to <i>feel</i> that word&mdash;it's getting inside me,
+and I can hear a song in it.  <i>Some</i> words, you know,
+dance inside me like music&mdash;pretty words, I mean,
+but I never thought 'obligations' would!  I thought
+it was a cold, ugly grown-up word, but it isn't.  It's
+thrilly and&mdash;and chummy!  I&mdash;I can't explain it
+better than that.  <i>Do</i> you understand?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Dick understood well enough.  How dear these
+children were, how grateful he was to them for this
+comradeship they were extending to him.  The
+invisible barrier still was there, they still had not made
+full confession, nevertheless Dick was convinced that
+as far as it was possible for them to take a "grown-up"
+into their childhood's world, they had taken him and he
+was satisfied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And yet," he thought, as he sat watching them,
+"though 'obligations' has become a living word for
+Nancy, none of them has even yet realized their
+obligations to their own people.  I wonder when they
+will?"
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap16"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XVI
+<br><br>
+THE DERELICT CAR
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+After breakfast the following morning they
+gathered at the edge of the wood and scanned
+a grey, unpromising sky anxiously.  What did
+Mr. Frampton think of the weather?  Did he think it
+would be possible for them to sleep out-of-doors
+to-night?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It will rain before the day is out," he replied.
+"The wind will keep it off for a time, I think, but
+you'll certainly have to find a cottage this evening."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy and Nancy exchanged troubled glances.
+Seven-and-sixpence would not go very far, they knew,
+if some of it had to be used for sleeping accommodation,
+for they could not hope to find another Priory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick, of course, knew that they were worried, and
+just before they were about to set out on their travels
+he made a proposal to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder," he began, as he lifted Mavis into the
+saddle, "if you would strike a bargain with me
+to-day?  You invite me to lunch, and let me invite
+you to tea at a cottage I know at a gem of a village
+called Omberley.  Probably we could stay there for
+the night, if need be, and that," he added with a smile,
+"I should like to be <i>my</i> part of the programme.  Will
+you let your big chum do this?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How could they refuse when he seemed to wish it
+so much?  Was he not now one of themselves&mdash;almost?
+For the quiet, happy hours spent together
+in the wood last night had strengthened the bond of
+comradeship between them; Dick and the two elder
+children had been keenly alive to it, and it was this
+that had made it possible for him to make his suggestion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But can you spare the time to be with us so much?"
+Nancy enquired.  "Oughtn't you to be looking after
+other travellers?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick re-assured her.  It was children that he was
+mainly responsible for.  Of course, when anybody
+needed a hand with a car he must give it, but otherwise
+he was at their service.  In fact he had mentioned
+them in his report to his employers, and they were
+fully satisfied that he was doing his job in looking after
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But where is Omberley?" they asked.  "Is it on
+the Gleambridge road?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick gave them the direction.  They could easily
+reach it by the afternoon, he said, and once there
+he was sure they would not want to leave it.  And then
+there was the common up above it&mdash;such a common!
+And beyond the village on the edge of the common
+<i>perhaps</i> a glimpse of the cathedral!  The cathedral? Nancy
+responded instantly.  To see it from this side
+of the hills&mdash;had that not been the desire of her heart
+for the last two days?  The Birdstone glimpse, being
+so shadowy and remote did not count, she said&mdash;though
+it had resulted in a poem!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't make too sure of seeing it," Dick advised
+her.  "It will probably be blotted out to-day even
+if the rain keeps off."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He arranged a time for lunch in case they should not
+meet before then, and at the same time fixed tea at
+Omberley for about six o'clock.  He meant, of course,
+to keep a casual eye on them in between whiles, but
+because of the new comradeship between them,
+because of their trust in him he did not wish to hamper
+their movements or rob their adventure of any of its
+charm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children set off down the hill to Barsdon in
+high spirits.  Modestine, refreshed by her long rest,
+was in her most angelic mood, and seemed glad to be
+with the children again after her lonely day in the
+meadow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague, before they reached the village, put his
+hand in his pocket and produced five shining shillings.
+The other children looked at them in blank astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's for picture-frames," he explained.  "Mr. Frampton
+ordered five while you were getting Modestine
+ready this morning, and he's going to take a
+photo of each of us and of Modestine and keep them
+in the frames <i>always</i>.  So we've twelve-and-sixpence
+now," he added proudly, handing the money over to
+Billy.  "Twelve-and-fivepence when we've bought
+the tin-tacks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How ripping!" Billy exclaimed, accepting the
+money unhesitatingly.  "Let's get a really decent
+lunch, shall we?  We can buy it in Barsdon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barsdon shops, however, had nothing very exciting
+to offer them.  Bread and cheese, some rather dry-looking
+corned beef, a large bag of buns and dough-nuts
+and some sour-looking apples was the best they could
+do.  As far as they themselves were concerned, it was
+good enough, but they would certainly have liked
+something better to have offered Mr. Frampton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They passed very near to the Brimscombes' house
+and looked about eagerly for some sign of Nonie or
+her mother, but neither of them was to be seen.
+Reluctantly they passed on down the Gleambridge
+road and soon Barsdon lay behind them.  Just a
+cluster of houses amidst the hills it seemed now as
+they looked back, nevertheless to the children it was
+unforgettable.  So much had happened there, such
+a mixture of trouble and happiness, yet, somehow,
+the troubles seemed to have faded into unimportance,
+and their thoughts lingered about the happiness.
+Nonie and her mother and "When we come to stay
+at Barsdon"&mdash;that was all the talk now, and the hills
+piled up about them were simply excluded by the
+vision.  And adventure?  Well, of course, there had
+been no <i>real</i> adventure in Barsdon, but <i>could</i> adventure,
+they wondered, be more thrilling, more interesting
+than the finding of Nonie and Mrs. Brimscombe?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a chilliness in the air this morning that
+sent them hurrying on.  The sun came out fitfully,
+but whether it was there or not seemed to make very
+little difference to-day.  How could you be anything
+but care-free when you felt yourselves to be almost
+millionaires?  Once or twice Dick passed them and
+paused each time for a chat.  How nice to meet
+someone you knew, they thought; what a friendliness it
+gave to the hills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently Nancy's imagination found a way through
+the fun and laughter and pointed out to her the beauty
+of the hills on this grey, gleamy day.  Being so much
+a child of sunshine and shadows herself she loved a
+day such as this; it exhilarated her, and the hills,
+with their intense, dusky curtain of mist against the
+silver of the sky, were to her even more attractive
+than in the clear sunlight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The morning slipped happily by, and just before one
+o'clock they found Dick waiting for them half-way
+up a gentle slope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I was beginning to feel hungry," he announced
+when they came up with him, "and I thought this bit
+of grass would make a decent camping-ground;
+it would be colder on the top.  Is anybody else ready
+for lunch?" he enquired, with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Were they not?  Who would not be in this keen
+hill air?  Even Aunt Hewlett would have been satisfied
+with their capacity for putting away food to-day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We <i>always</i> seem to eat a lot out of doors," Nancy
+sighed, as after the last bun had disappeared they
+attacked a bag of chocolates Dick had provided.
+"We're just as bad at picnics at home, and when we
+go fishing in Daddy Petherham's boat&mdash;well!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Some day," said Dick, "you must come on the
+river with me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When we get home?" Nancy exclaimed.  "How
+lovely!  Oh, but," she added, remembering his
+wardenship, "what about your work?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's only a temporary job," Dick replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How rotten!" said Billy.  "That'll mean finding
+another one, won't it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I shall do that easily enough," Dick replied
+lightly, as he helped them fix their blankets on to the
+saddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They felt, when presently they turned to wave
+good-bye, that they were leaving an old friend behind
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It must be because it's an out-of-doors friendship,"
+Nancy said, "it makes a difference, just as it does to
+one's appetite!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The road at the top of the hill opened out into a
+wide, sweeping common, much more interesting-looking
+than the flat plain they had found at the top of
+Birdstone.  However, there was no time for even
+Nancy to set her imagination at work upon the view,
+for a car just ahead with someone lying under it,
+evidently busy with repairs, attracted their attention.
+Exactly why someone lying under a car should prove
+more attractive than the hills that had lured them
+from home they could not have explained.  People
+and things and happenings always seemed to be
+pushing themselves in front of the hills&mdash;that was all
+they knew about the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'd better see if they want help," Billy said.
+"I could run back and call Mr. Frampton."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they came up with the car they discovered
+that the person who was lying under it was a girl.
+In the car was a thin, elderly person, who was leaning
+out and abusing the girl in a shrill, high-pitched voice
+She had evidently worked herself up into a decidedly
+bad temper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's an aunt!" Montague whispered.  "A great-aunt!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at the girl who was grappling with the
+repairs, less in sympathy, it must be confessed, than
+curiosity; he was experiencing a certain unholy
+satisfaction that someone else, not he, was the sufferer
+this time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the kind of thing <i>I</i> had to put up with,"
+he whispered bitterly to Mavis.  "'Spect she's feeling
+jolly miserable!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the girl wriggled out from under the
+car.  To Montague's utter astonishment, however,
+the crushed, miserable expression he had expected to
+see was not there.  The girl was actually smiling
+kindly and good-humouredly (almost as one would
+smile at a troublesome child) at the bad-tempered
+aunt-person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't stand staring, Monty dear," Mavis whispered
+hastily.  "It's not polite."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Billy, feeling far more scared than he
+ever had done of Aunt Hewlett, advanced towards
+the occupant of the car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you had a breakdown?" he asked politely.
+"'Cos the Warden of the Hills is only a little way
+down the hill, and we could call him for you if you
+would like us to."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The what?" shrieked the old lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Warden of the Travellers in the Hills!"
+Billy repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton, you know," Nancy further explained.
+"He has to help travellers when things go
+wrong."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young lady looked interested, but the old lady
+after staring&mdash;very rudely, the children
+thought&mdash;shouted:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Warden fiddlesticks!  Some infamous wretch,
+I'll be bound!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now Montague, though his own aunt might
+occasionally be too much for him, felt a strong desire
+working within him to battle with this "stranger-aunt,"
+as he called her to himself, and before either
+of the others could defend their friend he had stepped
+forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton's no more a wretch than you are,"
+he growled, glaring at the old lady with all his old,
+impish defiance, "an' nobody'd better say he is to
+me&mdash;that's all!  He's my friend; he's the friend of us all,
+isn't he, Nancy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy was about to reply, but the old lady
+interrupted her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go on, boy!" she cried.  "Let me hear the fate
+of anyone who persists in calling him the names he
+deserves!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, they'd better <i>not</i> persist!" Montague
+rumbled darkly.  "It's lies if they do!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old lady cackled out her enjoyment of what
+she considered, apparently, a joke, and whispered
+something to the girl about "delightful subterranean
+rumblings," then, suddenly her mood changed again,
+and, regardless of the children's offer, she bade the girl
+get to work again on the car, abusing her peevishly
+for her incapability and enquiring what time she
+proposed to arrive at Gleambridge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl, with a hopeless shake of her head and a
+smile for the children, again slid under the car, and the
+old lady, to their surprise, subsided into her seat and
+closed her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague leaned down to the girl behind the car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you hate that aunt?" he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl raised herself and shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I like her.  But she's not my aunt&mdash;I'm her
+companion."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!"  Montague was decidedly disappointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why is she so horrid to you?" Nancy whispered.
+"Don't you mind it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not in the least," the girl replied.  "She can't
+help it, poor dear.  It's nerves.  Besides, I've been
+a Red Cross nurse, and had experience with matrons
+and things!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked mystified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's a lamb compared with hospital matrons,"
+the girl explained.  "Besides, she's fond of me.
+To-morrow she'll give me a spanking box of 'chocs'
+or a new frock to make up for this."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How queer!" Nancy exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see," the girl whispered, "this car is a good
+old 'has-been,' and she knows it, but nothing on earth
+will induce her to admit as much, because her only
+son who was killed in the war bought it.  She'll keep
+it till it drops to pieces, and continue abusing the roads
+and me&mdash;but she knows I understand."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here's Mr. Frampton!" cried Mavis, who was
+waiting patiently near by with Modestine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," Nancy sighed in relief, "I'm so glad!  He'll
+make it go if anyone can."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick, seeing the children, drew up and waited
+expectantly.  Nancy ran to him and whispered an
+explanation of the affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do make it go for her and if the old lady is horrid
+to you don't mind&mdash;it's only nerves!  We told her
+you were the Warden and she wasn't very nice."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right," Dick replied, "I'll see what can be
+done.  But don't wait for me," he added.  "It's time
+you were getting on to Omberley."  He feared that the
+tactless old lady might give him away, and this he
+would not have had happen just now for the world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The children reluctantly bade the girl good-bye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just when you get interested, on you always go
+again," Nancy sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If she'd been an aunt," Montague growled, "then
+she wouldn't have been sorry to-morrow.  Aunts
+aren't ever sorry&mdash;not <i>great</i>-aunts," he added hastily,
+seeing protest in Mavis's attitude.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap17"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER XVII
+<br><br>
+AWAKENING
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+In after days, Nancy found that her sub-conscious
+self (she did not, of course, call it that) had stored
+up impressions of the spacious view.  Grey, ineffaceable
+impressions that seemed a fitting prelude to
+tragedy.  Nevertheless, her conscious self was still
+occupied with the strange couple they had left behind on the
+common; for people, especially if they were somewhat
+out of the ordinary, never failed to rouse her interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's so much to wonder about them," she
+would say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she was wondering a great deal about those two
+when presently Dick came up with them.  Nancy noticed
+immediately that he was troubled about something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's that car," he explained, in answer to her
+enquiry.  "The bally thing ought to be on the scrap-heap,
+but the old lady won't part with it, as you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he went on to explain the obsolete mechanism
+of the thing, and how he had promised to run into
+Gleambridge to see if it was possible to get some new
+parts that would fix them up for a time.  Of his very
+interesting interview with the old lady, of her pointed
+remarks about the condition of his roads&mdash;if he was
+in truth Warden of the Hills&mdash;of her enjoyment of his
+discomfiture, and her demands that he should get them
+out of their predicament he said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Demands apart, however, he could not, in common
+humanity, leave her and her companion stranded.
+He knew that he must go to Gleambridge, yet what
+was to be done about the children?  He did not at all
+care about leaving them for so long&mdash;besides, he was
+anxious to see them settled at Omberley before the
+rain came; it could not hold off much longer, he was sure.
+If only he could have persuaded them all to accompany
+him to Gleambridge&mdash;but then, of course, there
+was Modestine.  No, he must think of some other plan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He talked the matter over with the children and
+finally Billy made a suggestion.  If Mr. Frampton
+would take the girls in the car as far as Omberley he
+could show them where to stay for the night.  They could
+then meet the boys at the entrance to the village and take
+them to the rooms where they would await tea for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's an excellent idea," said Dick.  "If I can't
+get that derelict fixed up by six o'clock it will have to
+be abandoned."  He helped Nancy and Mavis into
+the car.  "Better tumble the blankets in, too, Billy,
+in case the rain comes before you reach Omberley."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to Nancy as they sped over the wide, sweeping
+common that they were on the very top of the world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are there <i>really</i> places higher than this?" she
+gasped, for the clean, cold air took her breath away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Much, much higher!" Dick replied, with an amused
+laugh.  "Are you enjoying it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, it's 'toxicating!" she laughed, "isn't it,
+Mavis?  It makes one feel 'spasmy.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a wild little creature she is," thought Dick,
+glancing down at the excited little face.  He was glad
+that the forest and river that he loved so dearly had
+had a hand in the making of Nancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quite suddenly the road swung round to the left
+and they came upon Omberley snuggling against the
+hillside.  Nancy, of course, did some "sky-climbing"
+when she saw it.  "Sky-climbing," Mavis explained
+to Dick, was a family word for Nancy's enthusiasms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, I can't help it," Nancy replied, "if he brings
+me suddenly from the top of the world to a lovely
+baby village nestling in its mother's arms.  'Sides,
+he says lots of artists come to paint it&mdash;p'raps you will
+when you're bigger!" for already little Mavis was
+showing promise of being an artist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick stopped the car at a pretty little house half-way
+down the village.  He left the children outside while
+he went in to make arrangements; these, apparently,
+did not take long, for he soon returned followed by a
+pleasant-faced woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mrs. Halliday has come to take the blankets in
+and to be introduced to you," he explained.  "She's
+going to get us a splendid tea, and you are all to come
+here as soon as you like.  The sooner the better,"
+he added.  "You'd get drenched up on that common
+in the rain.  You'll be happy and comfortable here;
+won't they, Mrs. Halliday?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Halliday replied that it would not be her fault
+if they were not, and, after a few final directions, they
+bade her good-bye "for a little while."  At the top
+of the village Dick pointed out an hotel where they
+could leave Modestine and then, very reluctantly,
+set out for Gleambridge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy and Mavis sauntered slowly back across the
+common.  As yet there was no sign of the boys, so,
+keeping one eye on the road, they explored some of
+the many fascinating little paths amongst the bushes.
+It was a wonderful common, quite different from
+anything they had ever seen before and seemed to offer
+endless possibilities.  The "make-believe" games
+that might be played there!  After tea, if it was fine,
+they simply <i>must</i> come here to play.  So interested
+were they both that they almost forgot to keep an
+eye on the road, and it was not until they heard a
+frantic shout of recognition that they realized how far
+they had strayed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They flew back across the common, but, before they
+could reach the boys, large drops of rain began to fall.
+Billy, seeing some possibility of shelter behind the
+bushes, urged Modestine across the grass to join them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'd better wait a little while," he shouted to the
+girls.  "Daddy Petherham," he added, turning to
+Montague, "would say it's only going to be a shower
+if he saw that sky.  But he'd say there's lots more
+coming presently&mdash;worse luck!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girls were waiting for them by a large hawthorn
+bush, and they all huddled together, with Modestine,
+who hated getting wet, in their midst.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Jolly good thing we've arranged to sleep indoors
+to-night," Billy said, as he watched the driving rain.
+"Did Mr. Frampton manage to fix things up?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, indeed, and at the dinkiest little cottage,
+too, and you'll simply <i>love</i> Omberley!" Nancy replied,
+enthusiastically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>And</i> this common!" Mavis added eagerly.  "We just
+had to explore a little.  I <i>wish</i> you'd both been here!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, the rain ceased and, for the first time
+during the afternoon, the sun shone brilliantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's going to be fine for a little while anyway!"
+they cried hopefully, but they had spent too many
+hours in wise old Daddy Petherham's company to
+mistake that brilliance.  The boys, however, had been
+looking about them while they were sheltering and they
+too found delightful possibilities tucked away behind
+those alluring common paths.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There'd be time just to go down there," Billy
+said eagerly, pointing to a path that led towards what
+seemed to be a kind of fort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Frampton said not to hang about too long,"
+Nancy replied doubtfully.  "I b'lieve he worries rather
+about us, you know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, we won't stay long, but it's not nearly six
+yet, and 'sides we'd be miserable stuffed up in a cottage
+for hours.  Just down this <i>one</i> path, then we'll go
+straight to the cottage."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There seemed no immediate prospect of another
+shower, so Nancy gave in, and four eager children
+and one somewhat reluctant donkey set out on a
+voyage of discovery across the common.  The fort was
+further off than they had imagined, but nobody
+thought of turning back for they did not come upon
+anything so interesting every day!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A real fort!  How did it get there?  Was it ever
+used?  They could see no sign of soldiers, nor even
+a sentry.  A fort with no defenders, with no enemy
+to storm it?  Oh, impossible!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just <i>one</i> little game!" Billy cried eagerly.
+"Modestine can graze; there's lots of cows and horses
+over there so she'll be quite happy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, just five minutes!" Nancy conceded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Five minutes when you have to defend your country
+with your very life against a persistent enemy?
+Who could think of paltry minutes, who could have
+eyes for gathering storm-clouds when all your resources
+are being called upon to defend your hearth and home
+from a merciless enemy?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so half an hour or more slipped away, and a
+grey mist crept up and shut out the Gleambridge
+valley and the distant hills.  Great, piled-up storm-clouds
+rolled nearer and nearer, but it was not until
+a terrific clap of thunder, that might almost have been
+the booming of one of their own imaginary guns,
+brought them back to earth with a start that they
+realized what was happening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" cried Nancy in dismay, "what <i>will</i> Mr. Frampton
+say?  We ought to have gone long ago."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," Billy replied guiltily.  "Here comes the
+rain!  It's no use sheltering; it's going to be a terrific
+thunder-storm.  We'd better fly."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked round for Modestine, but she was
+nowhere in sight.  Horses and cows were huddled
+together under a high wall beyond the fort, but Modestine
+was not amongst them.  Now what was to be done?
+They could not possibly leave the poor little animal
+out in the storm; they would have to stay and find her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I hope we find her quick," Mavis said, in a
+frightened little voice.  "I hate this horrid thunder
+and lightning."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy could tell by the way she clung to her hand
+that she was thoroughly frightened, and was not
+surprised, for she herself felt suddenly small and
+helpless up here on the top of the world exposed to all
+the fury of the storm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Monty," she said, "you and Mavis run on to
+Jessamine Cottage and Billy and I'll look for Modestine.
+Tell Mrs. Halliday we won't be long, Mavis."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment Mavis clung to Nancy as though
+unwilling to leave her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's all right, Mavis," Montague said soothingly,
+"I'll take care of you, dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took her hand firmly in his, and, for once, Mavis
+did not trouble to see whether it was clean or not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't be long, will you?" she pleaded, as Nancy
+turned away to join Billy in his search.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I s'pect she's just behind some of the bushes.
+Take care of her, Monty," and, feeling that the proudest
+moment in his life had arrived, Montague ran with his
+little charge in the direction of Omberley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy joined Billy in his search.  The rain was coming
+down with such force and the wind was beating so
+pitilessly across the open common that they found it
+difficult to hold up against it.  Neither of them would
+own that they were scared when the lightning zigzagged
+about them, but each wished devoutly that Modestine
+would appear soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, through the fury of the storm they heard a
+welcome, familiar sound&mdash;the sound of a most pathetic
+braying.  They lifted up their heads and listened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, she's just over there!" Billy cried.  "I
+can just see her sticking out of that kind of shelter
+arrangement.  I'll ran on and fetch her; don't bother
+to come all the way."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling very much relieved, Billy ran towards
+Modestine.  He ran with eyes half-closed and head
+lowered to avoid the blinding rain, and thus it was that
+he did not see a forlorn, draggled-looking cow drawing
+near to the shelter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ladybird!  Modestine!  Come on, old girl, we're
+waiting for you, and we're drenched through.  Hurry!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Modestine, hearing her little master's voice, looked
+up, but instead of seeing his familiar face she
+encountered that of the cow.  Now, whether it was the
+storm that scared her or the harmless face of the cow
+Billy could never say; all that he knew at the time was
+that Modestine flew past him in terror.  After that he
+knew very little, for suddenly all was confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy could never be sure, either, exactly how the
+accident occurred.  She was not near enough to see
+more than a jumble of Billy, cow, and donkey; then,
+the mad rush of Modestine, and her brother lying very
+still just outside the shelter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flew, terrified, towards him, and, flinging
+herself on the wet grass at his side, leaned over him.
+Whenever action was demanded of her, Nancy's
+imagination was always thrust into the background,
+and so, though Billy's face was deathly white, she did
+not pause to indulge in the Biggest Fear of All.  She
+unfastened his collar and tie and then raised his head
+gently on to her knee.  What else could she do?
+There was no need for water, for the rain was beating
+down on the boy's upturned face.  Was there nothing
+to be done?  Had she just to sit here patiently waiting
+for life to return.  Oh, it was unbearable!  Why did
+she not know what to do?  If only she had not sent
+the other two on, she thought regretfully, Monty
+could have run to the village for help.  She looked about
+her, but the common, as much of it as was in sight,
+was deserted.  Back on the road she could hear the
+sound of a car, but it would be gone before she could
+get near enough to wave to the occupants.  It was not
+Mr. Frampton's car she knew, for it was coming from
+the wrong direction.  If only he would come along&mdash;ah,
+what a relief that would be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nobody came, however, and she remained sitting
+there in the rain watching Billy's face with anxious,
+passionate love in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length, after what seemed an eternity to Nancy,
+Billy opened his eyes and looked about him vaguely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think I've hurt my head a bit," he said, "it
+feels rather rotten.  Why, you're sitting on the wet
+grass, Nancy!  I'll get up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tried to rise, but fell back with a sharp cry of pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's my leg," he groaned.  "Is it broken, Nancy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know, Billy dear&mdash;I couldn't see what
+happened.  Shall I look and see?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I&mdash;I couldn't bear to have it touched," he whispered,
+for he was almost too exhausted with the pain to speak.
+He closed his eyes.  Apparently he had forgotten
+that Nancy was still sitting on the damp grass, for he
+rested his head on her lap and held her hand tight.
+Nancy looked down at him in despair.  It was awful
+to see him suffering so horribly and not be able to
+relieve him.  She dared not even suggest lifting him
+into the cattle-shelter out of the rain for fear she
+might further injure his leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If someone doesn't come along soon I shall have
+to leave him and run for help," she thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thunder still rolled amongst the surrounding
+hills, but only distantly now; she was glad of this,
+for the horrid thunder seemed to add terror to the
+accident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nancy!" Billy spoke feebly, and Nancy leaned
+down to catch his words.  "How shall we tell Mother?
+She'll be awfully worried about it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, there was an unwritten law amongst the three
+children that their mother must be saved as far as
+possible from all trouble.  Their quarrels were
+suspended at the first whisper of "Mother's coming!"
+because it hurt them to see a certain sad, grieved
+expression that was always on Mother's face if she
+caught them at it unawares.  They wanted to ward
+off all sorrow, all grief; they hated it to come anywhere
+near that beloved mother; they hated anyone who
+caused her suffering.  Dick, realizing from their
+conversation something of this protective love of
+theirs, had, as before mentioned, dreaded the awakening
+for them when they should realize the anxiety she had
+suffered after their disappearance.  <i>That</i> anxiety they
+could never wholly realize; they had left a letter of
+explanation, so why should anyone worry?  Were
+they not used to wandering about the forest with
+Modestine?  Only in the daytime, of course; but
+still everybody knew they were not helpless babies
+who could not be trusted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, because of that unwritten law, both
+Billy and Nancy were beginning to realize that they
+ought never to have come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was all my fault," Billy whispered.  "I'll tell
+her it was me, Nancy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You won't!" Nancy replied passionately.  "I'm
+older, an' I ought to have thought more, and not just
+gone on dreaming stupid dreams about hills that aren't
+a bit nicer'n our forest.  I ought to have known
+we're too young to go off like this.  When you're
+older you know what to do with accidents, an' all <i>I</i>
+can do is to sit here and wait for a grown-up!"  Nancy
+leaned down and pressed her lips to Billy's
+hot forehead.  "I <i>wish</i> it had been me," she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Billy half opened his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, it's right for it to be me," he persisted, "it
+was my fault, Nan."  He was silent for a moment.
+"Tell Mr. Frampton <i>everything</i>&mdash;from the beginning.
+And&mdash;and&mdash;oh, I wish he'd come!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned his head away, and if there were tears
+in his eyes Nancy was not allowed to see them.  She
+knew that they were there, however, and felt desperately
+that something must be done.  She thought of
+the Prior's telegram, but could one send telegrams from
+so small a village as Omberley?  She feared not.
+Well, if she did not meet Mr. Frampton she must get
+help from the village and send Monty back along the
+road to fetch the girl who belonged to the derelict car.
+If she had been a nurse in the war she would surely
+know what to do for a broken leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall you mind being left just for a little while?"
+she asked Billy gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No.  But you'll come straight back yourself,
+won't you?  I&mdash;I want you, Nan."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy tenderly re-assured him.  Then she rose, and,
+making a pillow of her raincoat (fortunately Dick
+had insisted on both the girls keeping their raincoats
+with them), she slipped it under Billy's head.  She was
+just about to turn away when she caught sight of
+Modestine coming towards them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" she cried, with relief, "here's Modestine,
+Billy.  She'll take care of you while I'm away.  She'd
+be sorry if she understood, wouldn't she?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;it wasn't her fault really.  I'm glad she's
+come."  For neither of them could feel the slightest
+resentment towards the little animal, who was indirectly
+responsible for the accident, knowing that the blame
+rested primarily with themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rain had now stopped.  Nancy felt glad of this
+as she flew across the common for there had seemed
+something so relentless in the steady downpour with
+Billy lying there entirely at its mercy.  She looked
+to right and left when she reached the road, but not a
+soul was in sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll have to go to that hotel," she thought.  "It's
+the nearest place."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned into the village street, and to her surprise
+and joy what should she see standing outside the hotel
+but the derelict car!  Ah, <i>now</i> she could get help!
+Utterly regardless of her dishevelled appearance, she
+ran up the steps and burst into the lounge.  It was full
+of people, but that did not trouble Nancy, for the
+person she wanted was there&mdash;that was all that
+mattered.  She brushed past several astonished tea
+drinkers and ran straight to the erratic old lady and
+her companion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "please will you come
+at once?  Billy's broken his leg and Mr. Frampton
+isn't back from Gleambridge yet, and he's out on the
+common with only Modestine.  Could you <i>hurry</i>,
+please, and bring someone to help carry him?  It
+hurts him terribly, an' so does his head."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl rose instantly and glanced at the old lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Everything that's necessary," the latter replied
+tersely, in answer to an enquiry in the girl's eyes.
+"And no expense to be spared.  She'll be ready&mdash;with
+somebody else's car&mdash;in about three minutes,
+child," she added, turning to Nancy, for the girl had
+already disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy looked up at her and quite suddenly a
+special instinct she had for seeing <i>behind</i> people told
+her that the old lady was to be trusted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Billy wants me to go back at once with them,"
+she said hurriedly, "and Mavis and Monty are at a
+place called Jessamine Cottage, and don't know
+anything about the accident&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No need to worry about them&mdash;I'll go immediately.
+And you can trust Miss Hammond, child&mdash;keep her
+as long as you need her.  She managed to get the car
+here and here it and I can stay.  Here she comes!
+Now, off you go!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nancy's eyes brimmed with gratitude as she
+followed Miss Hammond and two strangers towards a
+car that was awaiting them.  Now, just as she was
+about to step into it Dick came dashing along the
+common road, and glancing down the street saw and
+recognized her.  He drew up instantly and shouted to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," she cried, her voice trembling with relief,
+"there's Mr. Frampton!  Please, he'll take me to
+Billy.  But you'll come too, won't you?" she asked,
+turning to Miss Hammond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll all come," one of the men said kindly.
+"Your friend may need us to help carry the little chap."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dick held Nancy close while Miss Hammond briefly
+made the necessary explanations and she nestled to
+him, knowing that their dear, big comrade would take
+over all responsibility now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'll never, never go away by ourselves again,"
+she thought.  "It's an awful, awful world when you've
+got to try and manage and no grown-ups to help you
+to think what to do.  Everything'll be better now
+Mr. Frampton's come.  How glad Billy will be."
+</p>
+
+<p class="thought">
+* * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three days later Nancy was sitting on the stone seat
+in the Sunk Garden of the Priory, awaiting the Prior.
+Billy was settled for the night in the charge of the new
+nurse who had come to relieve Miss Hammond in
+order that she might return to her duties as
+companion, and Mother was resting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The swallows swooped and circled around her, but
+this evening she had no thoughts to spare for them.
+There was so much to think about; things to puzzle
+out&mdash;big, important things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could ever efface the sadness behind Mother's
+forgiveness; the half-hour with her when she had
+sobbed out her contrition was one Nancy could never
+forget; Mother's few, gently-spoken words had opened
+up a new world of responsibility to her.  And then
+the memory of Billy's face when they had lifted him
+into the car; the memory, too, of his suffering during
+the ride to the Priory (Dick had taken them there not
+only because it was so much nearer than Nestcombe,
+but because he knew that his uncle would feel his
+responsibility in the matter and would wish to bear,
+as far as possible, both the trouble and expense),
+and the awful thought of four long months of
+imprisonment for out-of-doors Billy; all these things
+forced themselves upon Nancy and overwhelmed her
+with bitter regret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' 'tisn't as if he could let off steam and do some
+grumblings sometimes," she thought miserably.  "He'll
+feel he's got to try to keep them in as well as the pain,
+when Mother's there specially, 'cos it's all our fault."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet, bitterly as she regretted ever having listened
+to the voice of the hills, she could not help but
+wonder whether that adventure of theirs was wholly
+wrong.  For instance, there was Nonie.  She must
+surely have been drowned if Billy had not been there
+to save her.  And then again, there were Monty and
+Jocelyne, and Aunt Letty and Uncle Jim.  Surely
+the adventuring was going to be responsible for a good
+deal of happiness where those four were concerned!
+Nancy, clasping her hands round her knees, smiled
+a little tearfully as she recalled the scene that had taken
+place under the Prior's beeches the day after the
+accident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First, there had been Jocelyne, a beautiful, eager,
+impulsive Jocelyne running across the lawn with
+outstretched arms to Monty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Monty," she had cried, "I thought I didn't
+love you because you're so naughty and troublesome,
+but I find I do!  I've missed you awfully, and it's been
+hateful living with aunt without you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague stared at her in surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't missed you," he replied slowly.  "I've
+been happy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But won't you be friends now?" Jocelyne pleaded,
+all her pride humbled for, perhaps, the first time in her
+life.  "I'll be good to you, Monty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague hesitated and it was Mavis who decided
+the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's nice, Monty, I like her.  Be quick and make
+it up with her, then we can all be friends together."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What could Montague do but obey his kind little
+tyrant?  And then, while the four of them were talking
+together, three of them at least wishing that Billy
+had been there with them, across the lawn with the
+Prior and Aunt Letty had come no less a person than
+"nearly-Uncle Jim."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's my guardian," Montague growled; "s'pose
+he's come to fetch me, but I'm not going back to
+Aunt's."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Your guardian!" they echoed.  "But it's someone
+who nearly married Aunt Letty!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" cried Nancy, her ready imagination grasping
+the situation, "that's why the Nestley side of Riversham
+hurt him!  I <i>said</i> it wasn't just an ordinary ache!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mavis, too, had grasped the situation, and while
+they were talking and wondering she had run towards
+Aunt Letty and thrown her arms around her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aunt Letty, dear, please won't you hurry up and
+be friends with Uncle Jim again and marry him?
+You see, I promised Monty he should have you to be his
+mother 'cos he hasn't got one.  He hates aunts, but
+if he forgets you're one he thinks he could love you and,
+oh, he does need someone to keep him clean and love
+him.  But he can't be your little boy, can he, if you
+hate his guardian?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't hate him!" Aunt Letty replied hastily,
+and Nancy, who had drawn near with Jocelyne and
+Monty, thought how pretty her eyes looked as she spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then you'll marry him quick and be Monty's
+mother-guardian?" Mavis cried, clasping her hands eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And mine!" Jocelyne broke in impulsively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The guardian-angel of us all," said Uncle Jim,
+and Nancy knew by the happy assurance in his voice
+that he and Aunt Letty must have made up their
+quarrel before joining them on the lawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Spect the Prior made them," she thought, looking
+up affectionately at the latter's twinkling face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what does Monty say?" asked Aunt Letty,
+kneeling down by the boy and taking his hands in
+hers.  "There won't be much 'angel' about it, I'm
+afraid.  Just pals, you know, who love and trust each
+other.  Will you risk it, Monty dear?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Montague stared silently at the young, kind face
+before him.  Was this an aunt?  Why, she seemed
+friendly&mdash;just like Mr. Frampton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I didn't know aunts was like you," he said simply.
+Aunt Letty smiled and waited questioningly.  Then,
+perceiving that she was not fully satisfied, Montague
+leaned forward and, for the first time since his mother's
+death, voluntarily kissed a "grown-up."  "It isn't
+going to be any risk&mdash;not for <i>me</i>," he replied.  "Nor
+for you either&mdash;you'll see!" he added, and though
+his voice rumbled volcanically, it was because of the
+strange new fire of happiness that was burning within him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so, as she recalled that scene, Nancy could not
+but feel happy that some good at least had come out
+of their thoughtless adventure.  And there was the
+Prior, too&mdash;how glad he seemed of their love, yes,
+and even Uncle Val would be glad that they were
+fond of Lionel's father.  Oh, that hill country that had
+seemed so remote, those hill people who had seemed
+almost foreigners, how near they were, how closely
+linked, after all, with the forest and forest people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Well, the adventure, if adventure it might be called,
+was over, unless staying on at the Priory with Mother
+and Billy could be called a continuation of it.  For
+Mavis and Monty, at least, it was finished, Nancy
+thought, for they had gone home with Aunt Letty
+yesterday.  Modestine, too, was probably cropping
+grass unadventurously in the home paddock, for she
+had been sent back in the charge of one of the monks.
+Nancy smiled as she recalled the Prior's confession of
+his "make-believe" monks.  It was dear of him,
+she thought, to have entered into the spirit of their
+adventure as he had done; she loved him for it.  Well,
+the monks were just ordinary gardeners and butlers
+after all, but the Prior himself would never be anything
+but "Prior dear" to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Above the Priory wall the evening sunlight was
+bathing the distant hills.  Nancy watched it, the
+imagination part of her drinking it in rapturously.
+Somewhere tucked away in the heart of those sun-kissed
+hills were Nonie and her mother.  Strange, she thought,
+how all the very nicest happenings had been connected
+with people.  Grown-ups, of course, would think
+"adventure" too big a word to be applied to those
+happenings.  At the time, she herself and Billy had
+doubted whether they might be called such, but,
+now, in looking back, Nancy was not so sure.  The
+encounter with Dick (they were all to call him that
+now), the finding of Monty, the rescuing of Nonie, the
+Prior's courteous reception of them, and the thrill of
+finding that he was Lionel's father, above all the
+reconciliation of Aunt Letty and Uncle Jim, surely there was
+adventure in all these happenings!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, if only it needn't have turned out so cruelly
+for Billy," Nancy thought.  "Well, we've promised
+Mother to settle down to everyday life until we're
+grown-up, so there won't be any more adventure now
+for years and years."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Footsteps aroused her from her reverie, and, looking
+up, she saw the Prior coming towards her.  She ran
+to meet him eagerly, and together they paced up and
+down the old Sunk Garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Making poems, little girl?" asked the Prior.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," Nancy replied, "I've just been thinking."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Important thoughts?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, I don't know," she replied slowly.  "It's
+only that we've promised to settle down quietly till
+we're grown-up and it seems such a long time to wait
+for any more adventure.  It's Billy who will mind
+most, I'm afraid.  You see, he must do things, but we
+never, never will go away again however tired we get
+of playing in the garden.  'Sides&mdash;&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Prior looked down at her questioningly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, only that the garden and the river and the
+forest, I b'lieve, are the nicest places in the world,
+after all.  If&mdash;if only something would <i>happen</i>
+there&mdash;if only one didn't just meet people in an ordinary,
+everyday way, if only adventure could be at home
+'stead of you having to go and find it!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you don't!" the Prior re-assured her.  "If
+you want adventure it will come to you whether you
+go out to meet it or stay at home.  Take my advice,
+little girl.  Let adventure seek <i>you</i>&mdash;it's waiting for
+you round every corner.  You've only to beckon,
+and it will come dancing towards you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Really and truly?" Nancy asked breathlessly.
+"But how?  I don't quite see <i>how</i>!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You will some day.  Did Dick or I or Monty or
+Nonie and her mother or your Rose-Vicar seek you
+little people?  And yet you have been adventure,
+the Biggest Adventure of All for every one of us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>We</i> have been adventure for <i>you</i>?" Nancy
+repeated slowly.  "Why, I never thought of that, and
+I'm sure Billy didn't."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked up into the Prior's face incredulously.
+How could three children bring adventure to grown-up
+people?  Surely he was mistaken?  Surely the
+Rose-Vicar, at least, would not agree with him?  The
+Biggest Adventure of All!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What <i>is</i> the Biggest Adventure of All?" she asked,
+as they climbed the steps to return to the house.
+The Prior smiled inscrutably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, <i>that</i> you must find out for yourselves," he
+replied.  "You will know some day."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London<br>
+  808.1039<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #76628
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76628)