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diff --git a/76628-h/76628-h.htm b/76628-h/76628-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0c4044 --- /dev/null +++ b/76628-h/76628-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11951 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + +<head> + +<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beyond the hills, by Maysel Jenkinson +</title> + +<style> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 1.5em } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 2em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.capcenter { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + font-weight: normal; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-indent: 0%; + text-align: center } + +img.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +</style> + +</head> + +<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. <a href="#chap01">The Beckoning Hills</a><br> + II. <a href="#chap02">Great-Aunt Hewlett</a><br> + III. <a href="#chap03">The Libation Man</a><br> + IV. <a href="#chap04">Montague Francis de Vere</a><br> + V. <a href="#chap05">The Other Side</a><br> + VI. <a href="#chap06">The Prior</a><br> + VII. <a href="#chap07">Lionel and Dorothy</a><br> + VIII. <a href="#chap08">Matins and Breakfast</a><br> + IX. <a href="#chap09">The Rose-Vicar</a><br> + X. <a href="#chap10">An Encounter on the Hills</a><br> + XI. <a href="#chap11">The Fight</a><br> + XII. <a href="#chap12">"Fairest Masons"</a><br> + XIII. <a href="#chap13">Exploring with Dick</a><br> + XIV. <a href="#chap14">The Race</a><br> + XV. <a href="#chap15">Half-Confessions</a><br> + XVI. <a href="#chap16">The Derelict Car</a><br> + XVII. <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—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—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—I want, I want—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—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—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—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—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—and a donkey—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—— +</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—— +</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—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—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. +</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—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—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—<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—bothers herself too much +about them—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—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——" 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—<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—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—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—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—— +</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—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—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—you +remember?—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—good—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—for trespassing +never troubled our young adventurers—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—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—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—the first breakfast they had eaten in a meadow—so +different from <i>ordinary</i> out-of-doors meals. Picnics +lead you nowhere—this meal—— +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</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—li——Oh, I wish +Aunt Letty were here, she'd know both words. Li—— +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—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. +</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——" 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—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—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——" 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—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—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—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—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—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—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——" 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—you 'member—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—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—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—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——" 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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—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—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—<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—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—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—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—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—he's +his son an' a <i>great</i> 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." +</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—for some unexplainable reason she +objected strongly to them—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—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—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—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—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—an' she's a proud +thing, too!" +</p> + +<p> +"Proud?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—<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—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—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—or something like that. He says I can't see them +yet, but I may later on—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—— +</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—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—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—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—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! +</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—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—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—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—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—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!" +</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—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—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—people who wanted them. +</p> + +<p> +"There's nobody wants me at Riversham," Montague +growled, "and nobody <i>I</i> want—'cept when my +Guardian comes—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—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—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——" 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—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—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—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! +</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—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." +</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—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—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—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—<i>not</i> 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." +</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—well, <i>I'll</i> not be there—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——" she hesitated. "P'raps you won't +like me saying it, but suddenly I thought you're like +the swallows." +</p> + +<p> +"I—like the swallows?" He looked at her in +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—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?" +</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—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!" +</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—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." +</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—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—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? +</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—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—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—they'd be safer without it—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—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—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. +</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—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. +</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—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—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—to the Prior presently. +He sets special store by these offerings, he says." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—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—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." +</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——" +</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—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—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—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'—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—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——" 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——" +</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——" +</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—<i>I</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." +</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—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—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—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—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." +</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—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—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—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 +<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—'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—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—it's a——" +</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——" 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—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—'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—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—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—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—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—er—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—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—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—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—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—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—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." +</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—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—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—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> + dropping slow,<br> + Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the<br> + 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—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 +</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—it's +so worrying. I do wish I could let Uncle Jim know +Aunt Letty wants him—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—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—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——" +</p> + +<p> +"No, me—I'll take the biggest." Montague was +just one fierce desire to hurt terribly those who had +hurt his little friend. +</p> + +<p> +"No—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—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—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—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—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!" +</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—not +to <i>give</i> us money, of course, but just, but just——" +</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—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—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—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—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—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—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—<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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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! +</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—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. +</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—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—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—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> + Open on the dusk, and see<br> + All the shadows fade away<br> + 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> + Where the grass is warm and long;<br> + I pluck the daisies, and the gay<br> + 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> + When the sad moon climbs the sky,<br> + When the whispering wind says, 'Boh,<br> + 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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—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 <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—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—he must pretend +that he, at least, did not care! +</p> + +<p> +"Hullo!" he said. "No go, eh, old girl? Well, +never mind—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'——" +</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—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—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—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——" 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—I mean—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—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. +</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—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—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—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—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—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—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—but——" +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—but I don't think Mavis is going back to the +Flower Show. We—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—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—— +</p> + +<p> +"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 <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—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——" +</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—— +</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—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'—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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</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—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'—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—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——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes?" said Dick. "'Till Mavis——'?" +</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—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——" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—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—least, it +will be when Mavis comes back. I—I wish she'd +come—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—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—are they in Barsdon?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"That's all right—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—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—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—it's not exactly <i>you</i>—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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—Monty will +understand when we explain. And you——" She +paused and looked questioningly at Billy. If only +she might tell Mr. Frampton <i>some</i> 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. +</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—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—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, <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—yes, +there was <i>his</i> point of view. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sorry," Billy said, "I—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—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—it's getting inside me, +and I can hear a song in it. <i>Some</i> 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. <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—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—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—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! +</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"—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—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—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—very rudely, the children +thought—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—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—I like her. But she's not my aunt—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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. +</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—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—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—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—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—I couldn't see what +happened. Shall I look and see?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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>—from the beginning. +And—and—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—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—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—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—with +somebody else's car—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——" +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</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—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—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—not for <i>me</i>," 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. +</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—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——" +</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—if only something would <i>happen</i> +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!" +</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>—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> + + diff --git a/76628-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/76628-h/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01b14a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/76628-h/images/img-cover.jpg diff --git a/76628-h/images/img-dust.jpg b/76628-h/images/img-dust.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..80ce1b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/76628-h/images/img-dust.jpg diff --git a/76628-h/images/img-front.jpg b/76628-h/images/img-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2aa5ca9 --- /dev/null +++ b/76628-h/images/img-front.jpg |
