diff options
Diffstat (limited to '76628-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 76628-0.txt | 7289 |
1 files changed, 7289 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/76628-0.txt b/76628-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc5e0b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/76628-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7289 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 *** + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Dust cover] + + + + +[Frontispiece: Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger. _p._ 177] + + + + BEYOND THE HILLS + + BY + + MAYSEL JENKINSON + + + FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD. + LONDON AND NEW YORK + + + + + COPYRIGHT + FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD. + LONDON + + + _Printed in Great Britain_ + + + + + To + "MARIE" + (_Founder of the Sunshine Guild_) + who + with kindly beckoning hand + has led these and many other of my little Travellers + towards the + Enchanted Unknown Hills + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER + + I. The Beckoning Hills + II. Great-Aunt Hewlett + III. The Libation Man + IV. Montague Francis de Vere + V. The Other Side + VI. The Prior + VII. Lionel and Dorothy + VIII. Matins and Breakfast + IX. The Rose-Vicar + X. An Encounter on the Hills + XI. The Fight + XII. "Fairest Masons" + XIII. Exploring with Dick + XIV. The Race + XV. Half-Confessions + XVI. The Derelict Car + XVII. Awakening + + + + +Beyond the Hills + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE BECKONING HILLS + +Just across the water they lay, such a little way beyond the opposite +bank of the broad, golden river. If you sat on the old wall at the +foot of the garden you could see the whole long range of them, so +tantalizingly near, so altogether unattainable. True, you always had +the river; you had merely to run down the hill, scramble across a +meadow and through a gap in the hedge, and it was there, with all its +many moods, awaiting you. True, also, a very little walk would bring +you to the hilly forest country, but then both river and forest were +part of the everyday life and how can you find romance or adventure +except you go out to seek it in the Unknown? + +For it was the Unknown that attracted the three children, more +especially the two elder ones. Not only the hills themselves in +their shadowy, mystic beauty, but what lay beyond them--the great +open, unexplored world where adventure would surely come leaping +towards you. To find the open world, to know Adventure! For how +could anything interesting ever happen if you just played in a garden +or a paddock, or strained your eyes down the river or across the +hills, simply wondering, wondering? + +There was more than one influence at work on the children to stir +them to action. To begin with, there was that wander-blood in their +veins that had sent their young Uncle Val wandering over the face of +the earth. And then there was the river, the broad, gleaming +river--an everyday river, of course, but was it not rushing swiftly +to the sea and the open world? Had not Uncle Val himself told them +how it had called men to great adventures? Sir Walter Raleigh, for +instance. Sir Walter Raleigh, Billy's hero, was perhaps the biggest +influence of all at work on the children. For, though this was not +Devonshire, he had at one time inhabited the beautiful old house +above the Gleam in which the children lived. Probably it was he who +had whispered to Uncle Val of the Unknown, but whether that was so or +not Uncle Val, in his brief home visits, was never tired of telling +the children of the noble gentleman who had left his presence in the +riverside house. He would make them see pictures of Sir Walter +seated in the oak-panelled dining-room with perhaps Sir Francis Drake +and other adventurers as his guests, planning their expeditions into +the unexplored world; or again, sauntering slowly down the drive and +pausing at the white gate to look with half-closed eyes down the +Gleam towards the sea, sniffing the salt in the wind that blew up the +river, hearing its call to him as it soughed through the tall elms +along the drive. + +And then there was Stevenson. It was Aunt Letty who was responsible +for introducing them to him and inspiring them with love and +admiration for the man who was known in Samoa by that pretty name +Tusitala. At least, Nancy, whose imagination quickly leaped towards +any word that had poetry in it, any new and interesting word, found +it pretty; indeed, there were many words in the passages Aunt Letty +read to them from Stevenson that appealed to her. Caryatides! That +was a word to make poetry of inside yourself and repeat over and over +again until you had made it your very own. + +Billy, on the other hand was more interested in Stevenson the man +than in Stevenson the writer. His adventures in the _Arethusa_, his +wanderings with Modestine, above all, perhaps, his life in those +fascinating South Sea Islands appealed strongly to Billy. And the +chief charm about all the adventures lay in the fact that they were +_real_; they were not just a story book; Stevenson had actually lived +what he described, had gone out to meet adventure just as he, Billy, +longed so passionately to do. + +Things came to a head one evening, while they were watching old Daddy +Petherham drifting down the tide towards the sea. + +"Wouldn't you think he'd get tired of fishing round here every day?" +said Billy. "Wouldn't you s'pose he'd just have to go a little +further and a little further and then right out to sea? Wouldn't you +think he'd want to know what it's like out there and sail away till +he came to other countries and foreign people? _I_ should if I were +Daddy Petherham." + +"No, not if you were Daddy Petherham you wouldn't," Nancy replied. +"I'm sure he wouldn't like not to sit in his doorway and smoke and +watch his grandchildren playing. And wouldn't it be funny not to see +him sitting sometimes on the bench outside the 'Anchor' shaking his +head in that funny way of his at the young fishermen? It's queer, +but I always think of Daddy Petherham as part of Nestcombe; he's kind +of grown into it." + +"Well," Billy replied, "_I_ shouldn't want to live in a village till +I'd grown to be one of the fixtures, would you?" + +"No," Nancy replied thoughtfully, "I don't _think_ I should. I--I +want, I want--oh, it's not easy to put into words just what I want." + +"I know what _I_ want," Billy replied, decidedly. "I want to have +adventure, lots of it, and how can we if we just stay here? Don't +you both feel," he added eagerly, "that we must have one? Let's go +somewhere. We haven't got a boat so we can't sail away as Daddy +Petherham could if he wanted to, but--but _how_ shall we go, Nancy?" + +Nancy, who had been seeing visions of the wants that would not go +into words ("dweaming dweams," as she used to call them when she was +a little girl), came back to earth and stared at Billy. + +"Do you mean it _really_, Billy?" she asked slowly. + +"Do you mean a long, long way?" little Mavis added. "And see lots +and lots of pretty places?" + +"Yes, really and truly, a long, long way--where we've never been +before!" + +Now, it is quite probable that neither Nancy nor Mavis felt at that +moment any imperative need in them to leave their happy home, for +Mavis was a "home" child and Nancy, with her vivid imagination, could +leave it at will to wander in a "Never Never Land," but if Billy +wanted to go, why, then of course they wanted to go, too, for that +one should do anything important without the other two was as +impossible as for old Daddy Petherham not to sit year in, year out, +smoking by his cottage door. + +And, since it was decided that something must be done, both the girls +entered with eager interest into Billy's plans. + +"Would it do for us to have kind of travels with a donkey?" Nancy +asked. "We've got Ladybird. There aren't any mountains, but there +are the hills over there. Oh, Billy, I would _like_ to see the other +side of the hills; I kind of feel there's some wonderful land hidden +away behind them. Could we get as far, do you think? It's a long +way, isn't it? We'd have to go to Gleambridge and cross the river +there and _then_ we'd begin to be in the hills, wouldn't we? Oh, +Billy, could we ever get there?" + +Gleambridge, the county town, was a quite familiar place to the +children. It is one thing to go there by train with grown-ups on +shopping expeditions, but to go by road through unexplored country +towards a city that is the gateway of the land of your dreams--that +is something quite different. The train journey leads you to tailors +and drapers and dentists, well, and perhaps to cakes and ice-creams, +and yes, of course, the cathedral; but the dusty, winding road leads +you straight to a world of romance, out of which rises the fair tower +of the cathedral, and beyond it and above it and around it the +entrancing hills. Should they, could they go? + +Thus it was decided. They would go for a week; not longer, as little +Mavis thought that quite long enough to be away from "Muvee." They +would leave a note of explanation assuring the grown-ups that there +was no need to worry, and they would take Ladybird, their very own +donkey, with them. This, of course, would occasion a re-christening +ceremony, for though "Ladybird" was the nicest name imaginable for a +little home donkey, for one who was to seek with them the open world +nothing but "Modestine" would satisfy the young adventurers. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +GREAT-AUNT HEWLETT + +With fingers that trembled because of his excitement Billy fastened +the strap of Modestine's girth. + +"That's right! Now let's fix the blankets on. You help me, Nancy--I +don't quite know how they should go." + +Nancy handed the basket of provisions to Mavis and ran to Billy's +assistance. It was one thing to harness a donkey you had tended and +coddled for two years, but to fasten a not very tidy bundle of +blankets on to the saddle when you were almost dancing with +excitement was not quite so easy. Nancy when she had finished, eyed +her work doubtfully. Somehow, it did not look exactly professional. + +"We really ought to have had sleeping sacks like Stevenson," she +said; "but then, he had more money to buy them with than we had, I +s'pect." + +With only nineteen shillings to feed and sleep three of you--and a +donkey--for a whole week, sleeping sacks were a luxury not to be +indulged in. + +Their simple preparations did not take long to complete, yet many +anxious glances were cast at the house while they were in progress. +Supposing they were discovered? Supposing Modestine should bray, +supposing---- + +"Oh, quick! Let's start right away!" Billy whispered. "I'll haul +you into the saddle now, Mavis. Are you ready, Nancy? Come on!" + +Very quietly the little procession crept down the drive and passed +out into the road. Nancy and Mavis each gave one wistful glance back +at the house where all was so still. If only the grown-ups could +have come, too! Was it too late even now to go back and ask them to +come? Why, up to this moment had there been that quite definite +though unspoken thought in each child's mind that adventure such as +they were seeking was something those belonging to the grown-up world +could not understand, would not appreciate? Their grown-ups were all +such pals. After all---- + +Nancy glanced hesitatingly at Billy, but she said nothing, for his +unyielding back, his steady, plodding walk, and the way his head was +thrown back told her that he was pushing every bit of feeling and +regret away from him. They had planned the adventure, they must be +brave and go on--they must find what lay beyond the hills; all this +Nancy read in Billy's attitude, and, knowing her brother, she fell +into step by Modestine and buried her own regrets. + +It was not yet six o'clock, but they pushed on hurriedly as, until +they were the other side of Riversham, a small country town a few +miles off on the Gleambridge road, they were likely to encounter +people who knew them. Better, they decided, to get beyond familiar +places while folks were yet a-bed. + +"See! We're nearly at Nestcombe," Nancy said. "Modestine, dear," +she continued, addressing the donkey, "please don't do anything +naughty until we are past the cottages. There's people up, I know, +'cos there's smoke coming out of the chimneys, so _don't_ 'tract +their attention, will you?" + +Modestine plodded on, wearing her most angelic expression. She was a +creature of vagaries; at least, that is how a man who used to come to +see Aunt Letty--our "nearly-Uncle Jim" as the children called +him--described her, and the children, though the word hitherto had +been an unfamiliar one, felt that it described their Ladybird +exactly--so naughty and yet so lovable. + +This morning, so far, the quiet, innocent mood was uppermost, whether +because she felt the honour of her new name or because these +early-in-the-morning happenings had taken her by surprise the +children could not decide. + +Nestcombe, the lovely little fishing hamlet on the outskirts of which +their home was situated, consisted of a row of about a dozen +cottages, a few outlying farms, and another handful of cottages in a +lane branching off from the main road down to the riverside. + +"Look!" Mavis whispered, as they passed the top of this lane, +"there's old Daddy Petherham going down to the river. He's too deaf +to hear us, but I do hope he doesn't look round." + +The old man, however, shuffled slowly and unheedingly down the lane, +his eyes turned towards the river, and, a moment later, the children +were through the village making their way towards Nestley. + +"Wasn't the river sparkly and golden!" Nancy said. "And, oh, isn't +the morning sparkly, too! At least, I think it's going to be--look +at that bit of goldy-pink in the sky." + +"It's cold, though," Mavis said, shivering a little. "I'm glad we +wore our knitted frocks." + +Nancy's face puckered with contrition. She had forgotten that Mavis +would be cold riding and insisted on stopping while the child put on +her waterproof cloak. + +"That's it. You'll soon be warm now, won't you? Come on, Modestine, +we're ready, old lady." + +Modestine, who had rested her head on Billy's shoulder during the +halt, was annoyed at being disturbed and planted her legs firmly +where she stood. + +"Come on, Modestine, dear," Billy urged anxiously. "Ladybird, +gee-up! Oh, do hurry, Ladybird! We won't even get to Nestley, leave +alone Riversham, before lots of people are about, at this rate. +Could you _make_ her move, Mavis?" + +Mavis did her best, but when Modestine's mind was made up it took +more than the little girl's feeble strength to budge her. On each +side of the obstinate creature Nancy and Billy pulled with no result. +Next, Nancy pulled and Billy pushed from behind; they gained a few +inches, but that was all. They pleaded and coaxed, they told her +their frank opinion of her, they wished they had not allowed her to +share in their adventure, they even threatened to leave her there in +the middle of the road, still Modestine stood immovable. + +Suddenly, she lifted up her head and gave forth a terrific bray. All +the troubles of every donkey in the world seemed to be voiced in that +bray. + +"Now you've done it!" Billy cried indignantly. "Be quiet, for +goodness' sake, Ladybird. Shut up, I say!" + +Almost before the words were out of his mouth Mavis had whipped off +her cloak and flung it over the traitor's head. Modestine, surprised +at the interruption, hesitated, shook the cloak off, and then +suddenly trotted gently down the road. + +Mavis turned in the saddle and waved her hand. + +"She's all right now. I'll wait for you on the Riversham road if she +keeps this up. Good-bye!" + +Billy picked up the cloak and together he and Nancy briskly followed +the fast-disappearing donkey. + +They would only have one house to pass now before reaching Nestley, +and though they glanced round occasionally to see whether anyone was +in sight, they felt that they might safely give themselves up to the +thrill of having really started out on their adventure. + +And what a morning on which to set out towards the Unknown! The pink +and gold was spreading across the sky, the birds were rhapsodizing, +and the air had that clean taste that belongs to the early morning. + +Ah, here was Mill End, and there were the vast orchards of Brook +House, with the brook meandering through them. Not far to Nestley +now! + +The church clock was striking a quarter to seven as they turned into +the village street. + +"Look! Mavis is nearly at the top of the street," Nancy whispered. +"I do hope she gets past Aunt Hewlett's safely." + +Great-Aunt Hewlett's trim white house stood at the top of the +village, just beyond the church. It was the last house they would +pass before the road forked off to Riversham. + +The children watched Modestine anxiously, fearing that she might want +to stop at the gate; for though Great-Aunt Hewlett was far too stern +an old lady to coax a donkey with luxuries there were those of her +household who spoiled the pretty animal. Would Modestine remember +and refuse to pass the house? + +Their fears, however, were groundless, and Mavis turned and waved a +triumphant hand before she disappeared round the high wall of Aunt +Hewlett's garden. + +"Doesn't the bread smell good?" Billy said, sniffing in the delicious +scent that came from the bakehouse across the road. "I could eat a +huge chunk of new bread--I'm fearfully hungry." + +They both were, for though they had drunk some milk before starting +they had all been too excited to eat more than a couple of biscuits +each and such meagre fare could not sustain healthy children in the +fresh morning air for very long. + +The good, wholesome scent followed them as they hurried up the +street, and I am afraid it occupied so large a place in their +thoughts that they had none to give to the pretty village through +which they were passing. Probably, however, in any case, they would +have been blind to the beauties of the place; for Nestley was +familiar ground and was something to be left behind as soon as might +be. That they were hurrying with unseeing eyes through one of the +prettiest villages in England they did not know. Indeed, what would +it have mattered to them if it had been the prettiest village in the +world? Were they not out to seek adventure, and how could it begin +until you had left every trace of everyday places and people behind +you? + +Nestley, snuggling in the heart of rich meadows and orchards, with +the brook gurgling down the centre of the street, and the houses +growing over the brook, and the forest rising up beyond the village; +oh, yes, it was all dear and pretty, but it was a home-place, just as +Daddy Petherham was a home person. Just how pretty the home village +is you cannot know until you have travelled away from it and have +seen it with your imagination eyes. Just how dear it is you cannot +realize, if you are an adventure-person, until far away from it you +feel its influence and your heart aches for the familiar things that +are Home. + +And so, with more appreciation of Nestley's bakery than of its +beauties, Nancy and Billy proceeded up the steep little street, +glancing anxiously at Aunt Hewlett's trim windows. Aunt Hewlett, +unfortunately, was a very early riser--_would_ they get by safely? + +"There she is!" Billy groaned. + +Yes, there was Aunt Hewlett, tall and neat and stately and +uncompromisingly stern, in a stiff black frock and white cuffs and +collar and apron. + +And she was beckoning them. + +True, she was used to their early morning rambles and might not +suspect anything, but Mavis was waiting for them and, besides, every +moment of these early morning hours before they were likely to be +missed, counted. + +Wishing they could have pretended not to see her, and trying not to +look too terribly guilty, they advanced up the path. + +"Good-morning, Aunt," they said meekly. + +The old lady looked down at them. + +"Another of these morning walks!" she ejaculated, with a sniff. +"Ridiculous nonsense!" She paused, and looked at Nancy. + +Now most people knew her for a very severe old lady; nevertheless, +behind her outward severity there was a very big spark of kindness, a +large share of which she gave to Nancy. There was something about +the child's face that bothered the shrewd old lady. + +"Too tender, too sympathetic," she would blurt out to Nancy's mother. +"Too interested in other people and their troubles--bothers herself +too much about them--let the world take care of itself, I say!" + +Yet, though she might leave the world to look after itself, +Great-Aunt Hewlett often went out of her way to spoil Nancy. + +"Could you eat a hot buttered batch cake?" she asked in her severest +tone. "Suppose the boy would like one, too! Come in, both of +you--and wipe your shoes well; Lizzie's just washed the tiles." + +"Oh, please, Aunt, I don't think we _could_ eat one this morning, +could we, Billy?" Nancy replied hastily. "You see, we had some milk +and biscuits before we started." + +"Eh?" Aunt Hewlett cried in astonishment. "Not eat one of Lizzie's +batch cakes? What's the matter with the children? Aren't they good +enough for you?" + +"Oh, Aunt Hewlett, they're the nicest batch cakes we've ever tasted, +but we're just not hungry this morning, thank you." + +"Not hungry? Stuff and nonsense! Come along in and let's hear no +more about it." + +The children, realizing that the safest and quickest plan would be to +accept the batch cakes, followed Aunt Hewlett down the wide, cool +hall to the kitchen. As a rule, Aunt Hewlett's house held a great +fascination for them. It was so silent, so awe-inspiring, so +altogether different from their own jolly home. Even the stately +Persian cat was different from their own mongrel cats and kittens. +And there was a scent, too, about the house that you could hardly +define. You could not be sure whether it was beeswax or whether it +belonged to the creepers on the tiled verandah, or to the scented +geraniums, or the blue and gold potpourri bowl in the drawing-room +where you always felt afraid of smashing the spindly legs of the +chairs. + +This morning, however, the children even forgot to walk on tip-toe +(you _always_ walked tip-toe in that tiled hall), so engrossed were +they in planning how to get away quickly without arousing Aunt +Hewlett's suspicions or offending her. + +Lizzie, Aunt Hewlett's old maid, and, incidentally the children's and +Ladybird's friend, was putting the last loaf into the oven as they +entered the kitchen, and, on the table, were half a dozen golden oven +or batch cakes just asking to be eaten. If the scent from Mr. +Philpott's bakery had been tantalizingly fragrant, the scent here was +a hundred times more so. Yet, though less than five minutes had +passed since they had been aching for new bread, now that they could +eat their fill all desire for it had fled. + +Very deliberately Aunt Hewlett split open a couple of the golden +bread cakes and spread them generously with butter. + +"One between us would be enough, thank you, Aunt," Nancy ventured +meekly, but Aunt Hewlett waved the suggestion aside. + +"It's over two miles home if you're going back round by Etley, and if +you can't eat a batch cake a-piece and be ready for a hearty +breakfast when you reach home, well, all I can say is that the modern +child is made of poorer stuff than the children of _my_ generation. +In _my_ young days we'd have said 'thank you' and no more words about +it." + +Aunt Hewlett tossed her proud old head and her eyes flashed as she +thought of the splendid stock the world produced eighty years ago. +"Nothing finicky about us, I can assure you, my dear." + +"Oh, Aunt," Nancy pleaded, fearing that she had hurt her, "we're not +finicky, really, are we, Billy? Only----" She paused tremulously. + +Billy glanced at her anxiously. _Would_ she be a sport and play her +part bravely? Knowing her tender heart he was a little doubtful. +Suddenly, he threw back his head just as he had done when he had +closed the home gate behind them. Here, at the very outset of their +adventures was something that called forth his fighting instincts. +Billy met it with ready response--_he_ would take charge of the +situation. + +He took a huge bite out of his batch cake and, to his own surprise, +as well as Aunt Hewlett's, grinned up at her with an adorable +cheekiness. + +"_Looks_ as though we like them, doesn't it, Aunt? And can I have +another, please, when I've finished this? Lizzie shouldn't make them +so nice. Or shall I take it for Mavis--she's just on in front, and +p'raps we'd better hurry else she'll think we're lost or something." + +Mentioning Mavis he felt was thrillingly dangerous. Aunt Hewlett +_might_ make enquiries, and somehow or other the enquiries would have +to be avoided, but the spirit of adventure was awakened in him, and +he was ready to tackle any difficulty. + +"Hum! So _that's_ why you weren't hungry, I suppose," Aunt Hewlett +replied. "Been quarrelling with her, have you? Six to one and half +a dozen to the other, of course!" + +"Oh, no, Aunt," Billy replied, "we've not quarrelled--she just went +quicker, that's all. I've finished my batch cake," he added with an +insinuating grin. "It was ripping!" + +Aunt Hewlett, pleased that the batch cakes should be so appreciated, +split open the remaining three, and, telling Lizzie to bring a paper +bag, set to and buttered them. + +Nancy, meanwhile, was struggling hard with hers. As Aunt Hewlett's +back was turned Billy signed to her to break off the bigger portion +and slip it under Mavis' cloak. + +"Well," said Aunt Hewlett, "here you are, and those that think they +won't spoil their breakfast can eat them going along. Nancy seems to +have lost both her appetite and her tongue to-day--and William," she +added, "seems to have found both." + +The half-hurt, half-puzzled look on the stern old face worried Nancy. +She wished with all her heart that she could explain matters, but +that was impossible she knew, without giving Billy away. Yet, what +must Aunt Hewlett think of her? Usually it was she, Nancy, who +chattered freely and confidingly to the old lady whose sternness she +could see behind while Mavis and Billy stood by in awed silence. And +now to-day---- + +She ran toward her aunt and kissed her impulsively. + +"Auntie dear, I do love you," she said, "and I love the batch cakes +and next time I'll talk lots and lots to you. _Please_ don't not +love me. Good-bye!" and, with tears very near her eyes, she fled +from the house, Billy following. + +"Well!" ejaculated Aunt Hewlett. For quite three minutes she stood +where they had left her, thinking--and feeling again a pair of little +arms round her neck. "Well, well!" she added, and then left the +kitchen to go about her household duties. + +Meanwhile, Nancy and Billy were flying round the corner to the +Riversham road with all sorts of thoughts and feelings, jogging +against each other as they ran. + +They found Mavis seated on the top of a high stone stile, her arms +round Modestine, her head pillowed on her neck. She opened her eyes +very sleepily when they approached, and smiled. + +"You seemed such a long time," she explained, "so I just closed my +eyes. Why, what have you got there, Billy. It smells like new +bread!" + +"It is," Billy replied, "and some of it's for you." + +They explained the cause of their delay to Mavis, a delay of which +the child had fortunately been unconscious, as she had been longer in +the Land of Nod than she had at all realized, as they trudged along +the Riversham road, munching some of the delicious batch cakes. + +"Let's keep the other two until we get through Riversham," Nancy +suggested. "P'raps we might stop for a little rest then." + +"Yes, and have our breakfast. 'Cording to Aunt Hewlett we ought to +be jolly well ready for it!" Billy replied, with a grin. "'Sides," +he added, "I didn't get the full benefit of the one I ate in the +kitchen, I'm sure--didn't I bolt it just!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LIBATION MAN + +Between Nestley and Riversham, after the village school was passed, +were only one or two large houses standing well back from the road, +consequently the children felt free to give themselves up to the +joyous freshness of the morning and step out to meet adventure with a +song not only in their hearts, but on their lips. + +Fortunately, Modestine not only liked music, but seemed invigorated +by it and set out so briskly at times that Nancy and Billy had much +ado to keep pace with her. If the song died away she would fall into +her usual jog-trot, but Billy had simply to run in front and sing his +lustiest and Modestine would respond with pricked-up ears and a +quickened pace. + +Presently, however, they drew near to Riversham and the singing +ceased. + +"Let's get through as quickly as possible," Billy said, "and let's +hope Modestine behaves herself. If she sits down in the middle of +the street as she did that time when we brought her in the cart--you +remember?--well, there'll be a crowd and good-bye to our adventure!" + +With beating hearts they approached the sleepy little country town. +The church stood on a hill to the right and they glanced up anxiously +at the clock. Not quite nine o'clock--good--people would not be +abroad shopping yet. + +"I forgot to wind my watch up last night," Mavis said. "It's +stopped." + +With much pride she wound up the watch, for it was one that she had +recently won at Billy's school sports; the only watch between them, +too, and they were depending on it. There might not always be church +clocks and somehow, even on an adventure, it would seem strange to be +timeless. + +Riversham consisted mainly of one broad street stretching from one +end of the town to the other. What activity there was amongst the +inhabitants was apparently taking place indoors; a few small boys +were scattered about; the butcher, like all butchers, was dashing +recklessly down the centre of the street; the milkman ambled after +him. An assistant in the draper's shop under the trees glanced up +idly, but curiosity evidently not being her strong point, she +scarcely gave them a second glance. + +"_Do_ let's rest soon," Nancy said, "I'm getting a little tired, +aren't you?" + +Billy would not admit that he was, but he owned that he was ready to +justify Aunt Hewlett's belief in him, so, when at the further end of +the town they found a narrow lane branching off to the left, they +decided to take it; it might have a suitable halting place tucked +away in some unobtrusive corner. + +"But we'll get back on to the Gleambridge road presently, won't we?" +Nancy said. "This is a forest road and it's the hills, not the +forest we want, isn't it?" + +"Yes, we know _all_ about the forest," Billy replied, "inside and +out, so of _course_ it's the hills we'll make for." + +This, in spite of the fact that every step was taking them nearer to +the deep heart of the forest, to a beauty and grandeur that was +constantly changing. This great friendly forest, with its harmonies +of sound and colour, this sheltering forest, with its unseen yet +familiar voices, how were they to know that in rejecting it, they +were rejecting something that was a part of themselves, just as Daddy +Petherham was a part of Nestcombe? + +In a little while they came to a meadow, and beyond the meadow, with +a gate leading invitingly into it, was a wood; a very suitable +halting-place, they decided, and without a second thought--for +trespassing never troubled our young adventurers--entered it. + +Billy paused as they were shutting the gate and looked at the little +town in the valley and the peeps of golden river between its +chimney-pots. Just across that river were the hills and to reach +them they must tramp all the way to Gleambridge first. + +"Wish we could have gone by the Riversham ferry," he said +regretfully, "it'd have cut off miles, but the old man might ask +questions--p'raps he wouldn't take us. Better stick to the road, I +s'pose, though it's another sixteen miles." + +"Shall we get there to-day?" Mavis asked. "'Course you must both +take turns in riding Modestine, 'cos I'm nearly seven and needn't +ride _all_ the way. Shall we sleep at Gleambridge or in a wood?" she +added, as they made their way across the meadow. + +"I don't know," Nancy replied. "'Sides, a lot depends on Modestine." + +Modestine, when they reached the wood, stood with her most angelic +expression while they removed the blankets and provision basket to +ease her for a while. + +"Don't forget to take the bit out of her mouth, Billy," Nancy +reminded him as he was loosening her girth, while she and Mavis +unpacked the provisions. + +It did not take two hungry little girls very long to spread out the +breakfast for which they were all longing. + +"Oh, Modestine! Look out, both of you!" + +Nancy and Mavis turned at Billy's cry to see Modestine dashing +towards them, and they too uttered a cry as she took a flying leap +over the food they had spread on the grass. + +"An' she hasn't even knocked the lemonade over!" Mavis cried, and +there was a little secret admiration in her voice; Modestine, you +see, in spite of her naughtiness was so dear. + +"A jolly good thing for her!" Billy said. "And now we've got to +catch her!" he added ruefully. + +They looked longingly at the tempting food and hesitated. Should +they let her roam until they had satisfied their hunger? It was a +lonely spot and nobody was likely to come, and yet--well, though they +never had the slightest fear of trespassing, it was an unwritten rule +with them that gates should always be closed after them, and that no +damage should be done in any way. + +"An' if we let her roam you never know what might happen!" They +sighed, and gave themselves up to a breathless quarter of an hour's +coaxing and cajoling. At the end of that time, Modestine, apparently +tired of the game, submitted herself to Nancy, rubbing herself +affectionately against the child as she tethered her to the gate +leading into the wood. + +"And now we can have breakfast!" Billy said with a sigh of +contentment. + +How good the food tasted up here on the forest road--the first +breakfast they had eaten in a meadow--so different from _ordinary_ +out-of-doors meals. Picnics lead you nowhere--this meal---- + +"It's kind of the beginning of the adventure, isn't it?" Nancy said. +"The christening feast. No--no, don't laugh at me, I didn't mean +that. What's the word I want? Celebration, no, not 'xactly. Don't +talk to me for a minute, I'll see it inside me presently. I do wish +words wouldn't run away just when you want them. Initiation? No, +that doesn't sound quite right." She shook her head and frowned. +"Can't you think of it, Billy?" + +"Me?" Billy asked, with a chuckle. "No, _I_ don't know long words, +an' I'm far too hungry to bother about them. Don't you want some +more to eat, Nancy?" + +Nancy took the huge slice of bread and butter Mavis passed her and +ate it absently. + +"I'll have to let it go just now," she sighed. "But don't you think +we should offer up something to the God of Adventure? There's a word +for that, too; what you offer, I mean. Li--li----Oh, I wish Aunt +Letty were here, she'd know both words. Li---- I've got it! +Libation!" + +"Oh, look!" whispered Mavis hurriedly. "Look behind you!" + +"BY Jingo!" Billy exclaimed. + +Nancy came down to earth with a start to see coming towards them +through the wood, two men, and a dog which evidently belonged to the +younger of the two. The elder man was a gamekeeper, Nancy decided +swiftly, but his companion--was he a farmer and would he be cross and +turn them out? She studied his face intently as he approached, and +read there not only surprise but interest. Nancy liked him +immediately and instinctively she felt that, if he was a farmer, he +was something more besides; his interests extended beyond sheep and +the price of corn she was sure--not, of course, that she got as far +as expressing the thought quite as definitely as this. She just knew. + +Billy, meanwhile, had whistled to the dog, who, after sniffing round +the boy was evidently satisfied that he was a person one could know, +and allowed himself to be fed with biscuits. + +Now, if you were a gamekeeper and you came suddenly upon three +children and a donkey calmly settled upon the preserves for which you +were responsible, the one idea in your mind would be to turn the +whole party out as speedily as might be with perhaps a lengthy and +fear-raising monologue thrown in, as to the inadvisability of +trespassing. And if you were a gamekeeper and _alone_, that is what +you would do; that is what your duty as a gamekeeper told you you +should do; that is what you were absolutely tingling to do in spite +of the restraining hand of a youthful master. + +But if you were the owner of the preserves, and, if on a summer +morning with happy, laughing skies above you, you came upon a picture +of startling interest and beauty, if the youth dancing in your veins +shouted to you that the picture was a part of the glory of the +morning? If the picture dissected resolved itself into a dainty, +golden-haired fairy with a bloom on her cheeks like that of a ripe +peach; a boy with mischievous, laughing eyes, and a dreamy child with +chestnut hair who had searched the recesses of an apparently not +empty little mind and brought forth in triumph the word "libation"! +And last, but not least, a donkey tethered to the gate through which +you were intending to pass? If, too, you were more interested in +human nature than in your preserves; if there was about each child +something that suggested more than an everyday picnic, if an intense +desire burned in you for enlightenment? + +Mavis leaned forward and stroked the dog. + +"Isn't he a dear and isn't he friendly? Is he your little dog?" she +asked, smiling up into the gamekeeper's taciturn face. + +"No," he replied laconically. + +Meanwhile, the owner was standing with his hand on the gate in a +tentative attitude. + +"Oh, Billy, Modestine's in the way!" Nancy exclaimed. "Do move him. +I'm sorry," she added, smiling apologetically at the owner. "We +thought we'd better tether her, you see. She's generally good, but +one never can be sure of her." + +"I see," the owner replied gravely. "And has anyone given you +permission to picnic here, may I ask?" + +"We're not picnicking," she replied promptly, "were just----" She +paused at a warning glance from Billy. "Why no," she continued, +"there was nobody to ask; but, you see, it was pretty and we were +tired and hungry, and we don't ever do any damage when we trespass, +do we?" she added, appealing to Billy and Mavis. + +"No, and we always shut gates," Billy replied, as he opened the gate. + +The gamekeeper, with a grumble all over his face, passed through +without a "thank you." His companion followed, but seemed in no +hurry to leave the little group. + +"Isn't it rather early to be tired and hungry?" he enquired, with a +puzzled glance at the remains of the meal. + +"Not if you're adventurers," Nancy replied. "You see, you get too +excited to eat anything before you start." + +"And what exactly is an adventurer?" the owner asked, digging his +stick into the ground and leaning comfortably on it. "And what does +an adventurer do?" + +Nancy hesitated. + +"Why," she replied, looking over Riversham to the hills beyond the +river, "isn't it somebody who wants to find something? Something +they've wanted and wanted an' at last they feel they have to go and +find it, don't they, Billy?" + +"Yes," said Billy, throwing back his head, "they have to go!" + +"But what do they do?" the owner repeated. + +"Oh, lots of things," Billy responded eagerly. "Just anything. They +don't mind what it is as long as it's part of the adventure." + +"Only it mustn't be an everyday kind of thing, you know," Nancy +explained. + +The gamekeeper was growing impatient and was clearly in a hurry to be +off. Since the children were not to be turned out he could see +little use in standing there talking to them; such absurd talk, too. +His master, seeing his impatience, signed to him to go, and then +turned again to the children. + +"And how long do adventures last?" he enquired. + +"Oh, a long time," Billy replied vaguely. He liked the stranger +immensely, but he was a grown-up and--well, it was safer not to enter +into details. + +Now, the gamekeeper on his dismissal, instead of crossing the meadow +into the lane as he had originally intended, turned back into the +wood. Had he not done so; had he and his master gone straight down +to Riversham as they had previously planned, the children's adventure +would have ended abruptly, and this story would never have been +written. + +For a car, containing a worried and unhappy father and mother was +passing through the town towards Gleambridge, whither they gleaned +from the children's letter they were bound. + +Up in the meadow the children could only see the chimney pots and +roofs of Riversham, so they did not know that the sleepy little town +was in an unusual tumult. They did not see the crowd gradually +collecting round the car; they knew nothing of the enquiries that +were being made, or of the relief when, at last, the shop assistant +who had glanced up idly as they passed joined the crowd. Yes, three +children and a donkey had gone through the town, she said, some time +ago--nearly an hour, in fact. Yes, they would soon be found for a +car travels just a _little_ quicker than a donkey, and the donkey +seemed in no hurry. + +Up in the meadow the children heard the car speeding out to the +Gleambridge road, but they gave it no second thought, for the +stranger was engrossing them. + +"Would it," he was asking, "be an adventure to be prosecuted for +trespassing?" + +His voice was grave, but Nancy's quick eyes detected a little twitch +at the corners of his mouth, and something at the back of his eyes +that was not in accordance with his mouth. + +"I don't think you would prosecute us," she replied, with a smile +that was half-shy, half-frank. + +"Why not? Don't you think I ought to?" + +"No, I don't think you need. We told you we never hurt anything when +we trespass. 'Sides, I b'lieve----" She hesitated. + +"Yes, what do you believe?" he encouraged her. + +"I b'lieve you kind of understand." + +"Why do you think that?" he asked. In his interest he dropped all +pretence of severity. + +"Oh, I can't s'plain." Nancy regarded him frankly for a moment. +"It's something in your eyes; they're whim--whimsical." + +"That's a long word for a little girl," was his reply. + +"She can't help it," Billy interrupted with a teasing sigh and grin. + +"What was the long word we were to offer up to the God of Adventure, +Nancy?" Mavis asked, suddenly returning to the conversation that had +been interrupted long, long ago, and joining in the general laugh +when the owner hoped they were going to offer up something more +substantial than a word. + +"Is libation what you offer?" Nancy asked anxiously. "We weren't +quite sure. And can you do it in lemonade--that's all we've got?" + +"And will it matter us having eaten our meal first?" Billy enquired. +"We didn't think about it till just as you came along." + +"Is there _really_ a God of Adventure?" Mavis chimed in eagerly. +"And if we give him a libation will he really and truly help us to +have lots of nice things happen?" + +"Not really-truly like you and me and Billy," Nancy replied. "Is +it?" she asked, turning confidentially to the owner. "But +really-truly--oh, yes! Don't you remember what Aunt Letty and +'nearly-uncle Jim' told us? _Anything_ can happen if you have an +inner vision, and if you think there is a God of Adventure, then +there is, and he'll help you. And, oh, do you think," she added, +turning again to the stranger who yet seemed no stranger, "_do_ you +think we may offer him lemonade as we haven't got wine, and shall we +do it now, and--and would you like to help us?" + +Now, a property owner ought to be too busy attending to his duties to +play with children in the young hours of the day. He ought, +moreover, firmly, if politely to point out to trespassers that he +cannot have his meadow turned into a sort of heathen temple. And the +presumption of it! They inviting _him_, the owner to join in heathen +rites! Why, he should be in a frenzy of indignation! + +But the owner was twenty-one and trespassers such as these three +little people, who apparently recognized him as a comrade, interested +him immensely. And, curiously enough, though twenty-one is a +fearfully important age and has all sorts of delightful possibilities +hovering round it, Dick Frampton had an instinctive feeling that it +was a privilege to be allowed to assist in, what to the children, was +a solemn affair. + +So, feeling that unseen hands were pushing adventure towards him, he +replied by picking up the lemonade bottle and taking charge of the +rites. + +Yes, in the circumstances, lemonade would do, but had they salt? +Sacred salt must be sprinkled on the meat. A pity they had had their +meal, gods preferred their offerings to be given first. Well, they +had better forget that meal and, after the offerings, they would all +eat together. Had they any meat on which the salt could be sprinkled? + +"There's veal and ham pie," they replied anxiously. "Will it do?" + +They gathered round with silent, eager interest while he cut off a +very tiny portion of the pie. Was that enough, they asked, rather +shocked to offer a god so little. + +"Yes, he'll understand. Come now, and think hard about him and tell +him inside yourselves what you want." + +With almost a feeling of being in church they followed him to the +hedge and watched while he placed the corner of pie on a little +grassy mound and sprinkled it with salt. With slow, solemn movements +of his hands he appeared to be blessing the pie, at the same time +murmuring something in a language the children could not understand. + +The libation of lemonade, too, was a small one, but a God of +Adventure who could not understand and forgive a shortage would not +be worth approaching. An intense silence held the children as the +slow drops trickled on to the mound. Modestine, a few yards off, was +quietly cropping the grass; a lazy bird-chatter came from the little +wood, and across the meadow a yellowhammer was singing his +bread-and-butter song. The sounds of everyday human life came up +from Riversham, but faintly, so that they seemed to accentuate the +silence. + +Little half-thoughts that would not form themselves into words came +to Nancy as they stood there. How funny that they should be standing +here with this stranger. And then again, how natural it seemed--and +why did he not seem like a stranger to them? How wonderful the +sunlight was! How could one think when sunlight was bathing one +through and through. It caught the salt and made it alive with +beauty. Surely sun-kissed salt must be acceptable to a god? +Adventures now _must_ come to them. + +Leaving their humble offering on the mound, they, the three children +and Dick Frampton, each solemnly ate a fragment of pie. + +"Ours must be smaller, of course, than the sacred offering," Dick +said. + +What little lemonade was left he also divided between them. Nancy +instinctively turned her eyes to the hills as she drank; _would_ they +get there, and would adventure come out to meet them, and, above all, +would they know it for adventure? + +"And now," said Dick, "I must go." + +There was reluctance in his voice, yet he knew this was to be no +final farewell; these little people had come into his life to +stay--he would see to that, and seeing his own reluctance reflected +in their faces, he told them his name. Just for a second Billy +hesitated before he would allow Nancy to tell of their home at +Nestcombe and invite Mr. Frampton to come and see them some day. +Yet, after all, if they told him, what possible effect could it have +on their plans? + +"I'm going over there this evening," Dick said, nodding towards the +hills, "so I shan't be able to come for a day or two." + +"Going to the hills?" Nancy began impulsively. "Why----" A warning +glance from Billy restrained her, and Dick who simply imagined this +adventure as some extra-special all-day picnic, a grand make-believe +affair, had no suspicions that they would be journeying in the same +direction. + +With a wave of the hand he left them, and the children began to +gather up their blankets and prepare to set forth again. + +"I do hope we see him again soon," Nancy said, as, with a somewhat +reluctant Modestine, they crossed the meadow. + +That the God of Adventure, in accepting their offerings, had laid his +spell on them and Dick Frampton she could not guess; that Dick was to +play a very big part in their adventures, well, how could they +possibly know this? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MONTAGUE FRANCIS DE VERE + +"I expect there's a lovely view just round that bend at the top," +Nancy said, when they arrived at the road. "Should we take just a +peep? It won't take five minutes." + +Billy hesitated. When he had made up his mind to go to a certain +place he preferred to make steadily for it and not wander off into +side roads, but as Mavis added her entreaties to Nancy's he gave way +reluctantly. + +Nancy mounted Modestine and the little procession set off up the +hill. To the left, they caught sight of the chimney-pots of a house, +but that was all, until they reached the bend. And then such a view. +A long stretch of the Gleam was visible, and the hills, rising out of +a mist so faint that it seemed like a veil of light, were more +alluring than ever. On their own home side of the river, far, far +away beyond the mouth, were mountains peeping out from a dense blue +curtain. + +Mavis, the artist of the family, was enraptured by the blueness. + +"It's like that picture we saw once--you 'member--some little girls +with lots of autumn leaves heaped up, and a basket, and the blueness +all behind them!" she cried excitedly. + +"Yes," Nancy responded, "an' it was so blue I thought it couldn't be +real. Now we _know_ it's all right." + +They both sighed with delight and satisfaction. + +"I say, do look at that boy!" Billy interrupted. "See, over there in +the garden!" + +The view had entirely absorbed Nancy and Mavis, but they turned with +ready interest to learn the cause of that in Billy's voice that +promised something worth while. + +Standing back from the road they saw the primmest house imaginable, +with a garden to correspond. Not a weed was to be seen; not a plant +or bush or tree grew there that had any inclination to riot or +sprawl. There were neat little rose bushes, but no ramblers; there +were stocks, and geraniums, and lobelias in prim little lozenge beds, +but no pretty sprawling clarkia or love-in-a-mist or joyous +Californian poppy. A neat little laurel hedge divided the flowers +from the kitchen garden, where again everything was +congruous--everything, that is, except the boy. + +He was standing by a bed of beetroots, leaning on a hoe, with his +profile towards them. They could not see his eyes, but his face, and +indeed, his whole attitude, expressed solemn dejection. Yet that was +not the reason why he seemed so utterly out of place in the picture. + +"Isn't he dirty!" whispered Mavis, in disgust, for she had a horror +of dirt, as Billy knew to his cost. "An' untidy!" + +His hands, if he was supposed to be hoeing, might, of course, have +been allowed a thin coating of earth, but there was earth on his +face, earth on his knees, earth on his clothes. He was about Billy's +age, and was wearing a grey flannel suit, grey felt hat, and grey +stockings, all very much like Billy's, but, although Billy had no +special reputation for either cleanliness or tidiness, he was not to +be compared with the little object in the garden whose stockings were +slopping over his boots, and whose hat was thrust defiantly at the +back of his head. + +The children stared in puzzled wonderment. There was something about +him that suggested he was not just the gardener's boy, yet what +possible connection could such a ragamuffin have with so prim a place? + +At this moment the boy dived into his pocket and pulled out a +handkerchief that was the colour of his hands. + +"Isn't he awful?" Mavis whispered, in horror. + +"Yes, but I don't believe he's very happy," Nancy replied. "He looks +so sad." + +Billy giggled. + +"'Spect he doesn't like hoeing!" he said. "_I_ don't!" + +Nancy shook her head. + +"No, it's not that kind of sadness. I know how _you_ look when you +have to do weeding; his is more than that--it's _all_ of him that's +unhappy." + +Just then the boy looked up and met Billy's eye. Neither boy moved +or spoke for a moment, then suddenly the young ragamuffin jerked his +hat over his eyes, thrust forward his chin, assumed a "Bill Sikes" +expression, and lurched defiantly towards the palings. + +"What cher want?" he growled, in a voice that sounded volcanic. + +"Nothing!" Billy replied, with a grin. "I say, are you fed-up with +hoeing?" + +The boy hesitated, a little surprised at Billy's friendly tone. + +"_You'd_ be," he rumbled, "if you hoed as much as I do. It's weed, +weed, weed, and hoe, hoe, hoe, morning, noon, and night. A boy has +no play here," he added bitterly. "_She_ says a boy like me needs +discipline--an' this is what she gives me!" He paused and looked +thoughtful. "'Tisn't _his_ fault," he added, as though talking to +himself, "he's sorry for me, but he says it's silly to mind doin' it. +Only----" and here his voice grew particularly volcanic, "I wish he +wouldn't always be talkin' about courage." + +"Courage?" Billy enquired, wondering what it had to do with hoeing. + +"Yes. He said there was a boy in a book who heard a man say, +''Tisn't life that matters, but the courage you bring to it.' _I_ +dunno what he wants to keep talkin' about it for, and I dunno what +it's got to do with weeding." He paused. "Courage!" he added +darkly, "guess I know what courage is, as I'd show any boy! I don't +need to weed to know _that_!" + +Now, hitherto, he had not looked beyond Billy, but, at that moment, +his eye fell on Mavis, who was standing with her hand on Modestine's +bridle. He stood as though spellbound, with wonder in his big, +solemn eyes. + +"Don't stare!" Mavis said, in a reproving voice, "it's rude!" + +"I'm only just lookin' at you!" he replied, in a voice that was +surprisingly humble. "You're very pretty," he added. Silence again. +"Would you like an apple? There's an early tree over there," he +blurted out. + +Mavis looked at his grubby hands. + +"No, thank you," she replied promptly. Then fearing that perhaps she +had hurt him, "What is your name?" she asked in a kind, fat little +voice. + +"Montague Francis de Vere," he replied, with a defiant eye on Billy. +"Once," he added, reminiscently, "there was a boy who said I'd better +add Plantagenet while I was about it. Montague Francis Plantagenet +de Vere he called me, just that once, but _not again_!" His eye was +still fixed firmly on Billy, who, instead of quailing as apparently +he was intended to, merely grinned pleasantly. The ragamuffin leaned +over the palings. "And there was another boy," he continued, "who +called me Monty--and he was sorry afterwards!" + +"Why?" asked Mavis innocently. + +"'Cos I _made_ him sorry!" the boy growled. + +"Oh, but if I knew you I should call you Monty," Mavis replied. + +"Well, _you_ can--sometimes!" Montague growled. "An' so, perhaps, +can _she_," with a jerk of his head towards Nancy. "But anybody +else," here he again fixed Billy with a defiant eye, "anybody else +has to call me Montague or Mont, else they'll be sorry." + +Billy chuckled. + +"Well, Mont's all right," he said. "I'll call you that." + +"What does your mother call you?" asked Nancy. + +"I've not got a mother," he replied simply, "nor a father." + +"Oh, poor, poor Monty!" the two girls whispered kindly, and Billy +sidled up to the boy in a friendly, protective way. + +"Ah, now I see why you don't belong to the picture," Nancy added. +"It's a horrid, prim picture and it's hurting you, isn't it?" + +Montague looked up at her in surprise. + +"How d'you know?" he asked. The way in which he said it told so much +that their hearts ached for him. + +"'Cos I kind of _feel_ it about you--we said so before you turned and +saw us. Who do you live with, and how long--how long have you had to +live here?" She could not bring herself to ask how long he had been +without a father or mother. + +"Three months," he replied, in a voice that suggested that the three +months had been as three centuries to him. "He's sorry for me to be +here; he said he'd hoped to have had a home for Jocelyne and me with +somebody who would have been a mother-person to us, but he said they +couldn't agree about something or other, an' so there was no +mother-person and no home--not yet." + +"But who is 'he'?" asked Billy. + +"My guardian," Montague replied. + +"Is he nice?" asked Mavis. + +"Yes, I like him--we're friends. He's going to let me live with him +in London in the winter and p'raps Jocelyne, but _she_ doesn't mind +being here." + +"Who's Jocelyne?" asked Nancy. + +"She's my sister." he replied, in a resigned voice. "Sisters are +not very nice people," he added bitterly. "They get grown-up and +don't mind being prim, and they hate you being a bit dirty, an' it's +wash, wash, wash morning, noon an' night." + +"_I_ don't like dirty people either," Mavis said. "Billy has to wash +_properly_." + +Billy giggled, and Montague gazed solemnly first at him and then at +Mavis. + +"Don't you like _me_?" he growled wistfully. + +"I don't know you," Mavis replied. "P'raps I might like you if you +were clean," she added kindly. + +"Oh, but we do like him, Mavis! We're sorry for him, aren't we?" +Nancy said impulsively. + +"Yes, of course we're sorry and p'raps you'd be clean if you had a +'mother," Mavis replied gently. "Wouldn't you, Monty?" she added +with such a winning smile in her blue eyes that Montague suddenly +felt an overwhelming desire to wash and wash until he was as white as +snow. Yet, though he would have given much to do so, he could not +truthfully own to absolute cleanliness even under his mother's +influence. He grew solemn and thoughtful once more. + +"Mothers, when they're dead, try to help boys," he began. "There's a +boy I know," he went on in his queer, rumbling way, "a boy what +sometimes uses bad words an' his mother is an angel an' she comes to +him sometimes at night looking all shiny and sorry, an' she says +she'll help him not to use 'em." + +"And does he manage not to now?" Nancy enquired sympathetically. + +"Well, he doesn't use the _very_ bad ones. Mothers," he added +abruptly, "are different from aunts. _They_ punish you if you use +'em." His voice grew vindictive. "When I'm grown-up I shall have a +son ten years old, and he shall go without cake and jam for a month +if he uses them, an' if he slides down banisters or along slippery +floors, _then_ he'll be sorry!" + +"Oh, but aunts are nice," Mavis interrupted him. "We all love our +Aunt Letty; she plays with us and tells us stories--an' she's pretty." + +"Well," replied Montague, "great-aunts are different then. _They_ +don't ever play with you, neither are they pretty. An' if you have +boots that sound nice then they try to make you sorry about them. +But," and here his brown eyes suddenly sparkled impishly, "if you've +got to wear slippers downstairs you can put your boots on in your +bedroom and stride up and down s'much as you like and nobody'll hear +you." + +"I don't think that sounds very exciting," Mavis said. "I don't like +clumsy boots." + +Montague looked crestfallen as he gazed first at his own thick-soled +boots and then at the trim little shoes Mavis was wearing. + +"And is it your great-aunt you live with?" asked Nancy. "Is this her +house and is that why it's so prim and neat?" + +Montague nodded. + +"Yes, it's hers an' she says there won't be much of it left if I'm +here much longer. _I_ can't help it if things get in the way. But +my guardian says I've got to try and stand it a bit longer; he says +he wants to study up the 'responsibilities of parenthood,' or +somethin' like that. He says it's all very well to learn gradually +to be a parent, but a boy of ten and a girl of fifteen, and him a +bachelor of thirty he says isn't an easy situation. He says there +should be lectures to meet the case. He's more afraid of Jocelyne +than me 'cos women, he says, are unaccountable. He talks to me a +lot--he likes talking. Some of it's queer kind of talk, but anyway +he likes boys an' that's more'n great-aunts do. An' he plays with +me." + +"Our Uncle Val plays with us when he's in England, and there was +another, a nearly-uncle, who used to play with us," said Mavis. + +"Uncle Val's in Egypt now," Billy, who was never tired of talking of +his uncle's wanderings, informed Montague. "He's been to Russia, +too--he's an adventurer, and so are we!" he added proudly. + +"Adventurers?" Montague repeated with interest. + +"Yes, we're going to travel with a donkey. We're going to the hills +over there." Billy nodded in the direction of the hills. + +Montague's interest increased. + +"When do you start?" he asked. + +"We've started. We've come miles already, an' we're going on for +days--_p'raps_ a week." + +Montague gazed at the three adventurers with undisguised admiration +and respect. + +"An' are you going on _now_?" he asked wistfully. + +"Yes, an' we'd better hurry. We kind of forgot while we were talking +to you. We've miles to go!" Billy was in a tremendous hurry now to +be moving. + +"An' me here hoeing and weedin' all the summer holidays! Me stuck in +this garden with nobody to play with!" Montague's voice was so sad +and his words called up so gloomy a picture that instinctively the +same thought swept through each of the three children. Billy voiced +it. + +"I say, come with us!" + +"Do come!" added Nancy. + +"Yes, we'd like you to come, Monty," Mavis added sweetly, "only you +will wash yourself first, won't you?" + +Montague's usually solemn eyes literally danced with joy. + +"I'll be ready in less'n a minute!" he cried, and dropping the hoe, +he ran swiftly down the garden. A moment later, they saw him on the +other side of the laurel hedge running along a path in the flower +garden. + +"He's going to that gold-fish pond in the middle of the lawn there! +Oh, do look!" Billy chuckled in enjoyment. "If the great-aunt saw +him now wouldn't her hair fly!" + +Montague was kneeling on the stone edge of the pond dipping his +earthy hands into the clear water. Next he pulled out the grimy +handkerchief, swished it about amongst the goldfish, and smeared it +over his face. Satisfied with the result, he thrust the handkerchief +back into his pocket and came bounding towards them. + +"Now I'm ready!" he cried joyfully. "Let's start!" + +Mavis eyed him critically. + +"Oh, you awful, awful boy," she sighed. "You're worse than before. +You _can't_ come like that." + +Montague sighed, too. + +"You're never pleased with me," he rumbled unhappily, "an' _I_ think +you're so pretty." + +Mavis felt a little ashamed. She thought a moment. + +"Here, quick," she said, pulling out her own dainty little +handkerchief. "Run and dip that in the pond and bring it to me. +_I'll_ wash your face." + +Montague hesitated miserably. Washing was bad enough in itself, but +could he possibly submit to the terrible indignity of being washed by +a girl--even if she did happen to be the prettiest little girl he had +ever seen. Was it, after all, worth while? + +"Hurry, Monty, there's a good boy, else somebody may come and stop +us," Mavis said anxiously. + +The adorable motherliness behind the anxiety half decided Montague. +He glared hard at Billy, defying him to laugh. + +"_I've_ been through it," Billy sighed, with his happy grin. "Girls +are tyrants--specially sisters!" + +Montague, with a mixture of defiance and subjection in his walk, +returned to the pond, dipped the tiny handkerchief in the water and +brought it back to Mavis. + +"I won't hurt you," she said kindly, as she wiped away the +water-marks. + +Not hurt him? Montague writhed inwardly under the hurt to his pride. +Why he submitted he hardly knew; certainly, it was the last thing he +would have imagined himself doing. + +"Why, you're quite nice-looking now you're clean!" Mavis said, +surveying her handiwork with pride. "Run an' wash my handky +quick--then we're ready." + +Montague departed with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes. + +"She said I'm nice-looking!" he told himself joyfully as he flew to +the pond. Why, it was almost worth while to be clean after all. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE OTHER SIDE + +The little procession, with its reinforcement, set off down the hill. +Mavis, who was still dissatisfied with Montague's appearance, made +him take off his coat and shake it as they went along. If she had +not been so fascinatingly pretty and if there had not been that +irresistible motherliness in her voice, Montague would have been +inclined to class her with Jocelyne. + +"But Jocelyne _she_ wouldn't go on an adventure," he told himself. +"She'd want to go in a car and stop at swanky hotels." + +For there were to be no hotels, the children informed him. There +would be sleeping out of doors, or perhaps sometimes in a cottage if +it was wet. + +"An' there ought," they told him, "to be a monastery 'cos Stevenson +slept at one one night." + +They had turned now into the Gleambridge road. + +"Why are we going this way?" Montague asked suddenly. + +"We told you. We're going to the hills, we want to see the other +side of them. And we've got to go to Gleambridge first, you know, to +get there." + +"Gleambridge!" Montague repeated slowly. "Then I can't come!" + +He stood in the middle of the road, disappointment written all over +him. + +"Why not?" they asked, in surprise. + +"'Cos my two crosses are there," he replied bitterly. + +"Your two crosses?" + +"Yes, Jocelyne an' Aunt. They've gone by car, an' we'd be sure to +meet them an' they'd bring me back." + +The children understood at once; they did not like the thought of the +poor boy turning back or being brought back ignominiously by his +aunt, yet what were they to do? + +"We can't swim the river with a donkey and blankets and things," +Billy said. '"Course there's the ferry, but the ferryman, well, he +_might_ not want to take us, or he _might_ ask questions--and it'd be +the end of everything." + +Montague thought a moment. + +"We _could_ go by the ferry-boat," he said. "He's up in the forest +to-day, I know, 'cos Jim Virgo--he's his son an' a _great_ friend of +mine--he told me he'll have charge of the boat all day, an' if I +could slip away for a bit I could have a ride in it, he said. I was +just thinking of going when you came. Aunt and Jocelyne," he added +with a chuckle, "they don't like me talking to the village people, +but my guardian he says I can if I like." + +The children considered hard. Should they venture? Would it be too +great a risk? Nancy's eyes sparkled and she suddenly felt queer +inside. Think of it; the hills _to-day_! + +"Oh, let's chance it, Billy!" she cried. + +They had already passed the turning that led down to the river, and +it meant going back a little, but what did that matter when perhaps +some time to-day they would be in the heart of the hills? + +The river road was deserted, but they hurried somewhat nervously +along it, for the Riversham gardens sloped down to it and people +_might_ appear. + +"You'd better go first, Mont," Billy said, "and see if the coast is +clear. Wave to us if Jim Virgo is there alone. We won't risk it if +his father's there." + +Montague ran down to the riverside and the children waited +breathlessly. In a moment, however, they saw a hand waving +violently, and with hope high in their hearts, they reached the +ferry. Jim Virgo, a fair-haired youth who was sucking a straw, +greeted them with a sheepish grin. + +"I've told him it's a secret an' he's promised not to tell," Montague +announced. + +Nancy slipped off Modestine and led her to the wide ferry-boat. +Modestine, however, did not like the look of it and planted herself +firmly on the bank. + +Nancy pleaded with her and Jim Virgo stepped forward to take her +bridle. + +Modestine glanced at him, saw that he was wearing corduroy +trousers--for some unexplainable reason she objected strongly to +them--and immediately sat down on the bank, assuming her most angelic +expression. + +Billy, for a moment, abused her angrily, then his usually sunny face +cleared. + +"I expect," he said, "this is one of the not-nice things adventurers +have to put up with." + +Suddenly, Montague, pulling his hat down over his eyes, lurched up to +Modestine and, planting himself in front of her, regarded her with a +most diabolical expression. + +"You donkey, you, just you get up or I'll have yer life!" he muttered +hoarsely. "D'yer want to _die_, minion, eh?" he added, thrusting his +face close to Modestine's. + +For one brief second Modestine regarded him in angelic surprise, +then, rising hastily, walked demurely towards the boat. + +The children, shaking with laughter, followed, and Billy and Nancy +ran forward and led her on to the boat. Jim Virgo followed, and, a +moment later, there was the swish of oars being dipped into the +water, and the boat was heading for the opposite bank. + +"Hurrah!" cried Billy. "We've started; we're really on our way to +the hills now! Isn't it ripping?" + +Nancy for reply, took hold of a tiny portion of Mavis' dress and +twisted it in her fingers. "A Nancy-spasm," the proceeding was known +as, in the family, a spasm that told of a turmoil within that small +person. + +In such a little while now they would have crossed the broad river. +How lovely it looked to-day, what a pity to be leaving it behind. +What a dear river it was, almost like a friend. Hadn't the sound of +it been in their ears and hearts all their lives; was it absurd to +fancy that a little bit of it had got into themselves--some of its +restlessness. And there would be water where they were going? There +must be. Not even the hills could be perfect for Nancy if there was +not the sound of water murmuring either big or little talk, it +scarcely mattered which, somewhere in their midst. + +How near they were getting. Oh, this excitement made you feel almost +sick! Just a thin strip of water--now a bump! They were there! + +Montague was the only person, when they had bidden good-bye to Jim +Virgo, who did not realize the solemnity of the moment. + +"Well, we're here!" they said simply, and nobody could think of +anything else to say. + +That they felt just a little small and lonely with the broad Gleam +dividing them from home and all the familiar home places not one of +them would admit. It was so wonderful to be here, just at the foot +of the hills. Curious how far away it made yesterday seem, yesterday +and all the other yesterdays with their little everyday happenings. +How important those happenings had seemed at the time and now how +small they seemed! Nancy had a curious feeling that something bigger +than just half a day had grown up between them and the present +moment. Nothing certainly had happened yet, no adventure had come; +there had simply been the meeting with Mr. Frampton and the finding +of Montague, nevertheless she felt, now they had really crossed the +river, that they were not quite the same children they were yesterday. + +And now that they were at the foot of the hills, adventure might +begin at any moment. They discussed it as they tramped up a pretty +lane leading from the river. What would it be like? Lions and +tigers, Montague thought, but was promptly squashed by Billy. Lions +and tigers in England! Lions and tigers belonging to a travelling +circus, Montague explained doggedly. He wanted it to be something in +the wild animal line so that he could have the joy of rescuing Mavis, +and to be able to shine in her eyes. + +At the end of the lane they came suddenly upon the village of +Hampton. A few houses and a shop or two were scattered on either +side of a long, wide green. + +They eyed it dubiously. + +"At Nestley," Mavis said, "all the houses snuggle together, don't +they. _This_ isn't very cosy, is it?" + +Somehow, it seemed impossible that anybody could love so wide a +village, such an apart kind of village. Never had they seen so large +a green. + +"But _I_ have," Montague informed them. "Near us in Suffolk there +was ever such a long green with crowds of huge trees on it. I like +it better'n this," he added. + +But after all, the village did not matter; they must decide which +road to take. Which road would lead them quickest to the hills? A +signpost a little further on pointed to the left for Gleambridge, and +they decided to take it till they should find one branching off up to +the hills. + +Nancy, who was rested now, wanted Mavis to ride again, but the child +was not yet tired and insisted on Nancy riding a little further. + +Montague, trudging along by Mavis, felt extraordinarily happy, +happier than he had been for the last three months. Something inside +him seemed to be expanding; feelings he could not understand surged +up within him, feelings that had been dead, or dormant for a long +time. Long, long ago, when there had been a mother to be loved and +protected he had felt like this; when it had been his happy privilege +to wait on her and attend to her wants. To bring her cushions, to +sit on a little stool at her feet, why, yes, this queer feeling had +often come to him then. And again when his father had been home, +just before he died--but three long, desolate, empty months lay +between him and those happy days when someone had been glad of his +service; three months brightened only by flying visits from a +guardian who, if one saw more of him, one might learn to love; three +months of rebellion against discipline; three months' loathing of a +primness that shouted in every corner. And, so long are three months +in the life of a small boy, that in even less than that time in such +an atmosphere, feeling that he is uncared for, the finer instincts in +him will shrink and shrivel; he will become a little animal caring +for nobody. + +And now he was tramping along, unrestricted, with three children who +liked him, whom he liked. + +"I could carry you if you're tired!" he growled suddenly to Mavis. +"I'm strong. Will you let me?" + +Mavis shook her head with a smile. + +"No, thank you, Monty, I'll walk," she replied with decision. +"You're not _much_ bigger'n me either." + +"I'm ten!" he replied proudly. + +"An' I'm seven, an' I can walk a long way. At Nestcombe we always +walk lots." + +"Presently you'll be tired," he suggested hopefully. + +"Then I can ride Modestine. Nancy said I could." + +Poor Montague with this strange desire to serve and guard, and Mavis +would have none of it! + +Presently he spoke again. + +"Could I hold your hand if you're just a _little_ tired, but not +tired enough to ride? It 'ud help you along." + +Mavis looked at his hand. It was rather grubby still in between the +fingers, but, somehow, in spite of the dirt, she had a motherly +feeling towards her unkempt companion. Poor boy, he had no mother. +Well, she would let him hold her hand just a little way, though she +hoped there would be a brook presently where she could free herself +from any dirt that might find its way from Montague's hand to hers. + +Montague took the little hand reverently into his grubby paw. What a +tiny hand it was and what a pretty shape. His mother's, he +remembered, had been pretty and so very white. Mavis's was tanned, +but it was a clean tan. Yes, after all, it was nice for girls to +have clean hands. How warm the little fingers were, not a sticky +warmth, but something that seemed to come from inside the child, a +warmth that seemed to speak of friendliness and confidence. +Montague's frozen young heart that had been gradually expanding under +the influence of happy comradeship simply thrilled at the human +contact. Yet he marvelled at himself. Imagine him, Montague, until +to-day liking to hold anybody's hand! How he would have wriggled if +the hand had been Jocelyne's--but then, Jocelyne thought him a terror +and a nuisance, and Mavis, though she might not admire him as he +would like to have been admired by her, was kind to him. Just how +much this friendship was meaning to him none of the children, not +even Nancy with her quick intuition, could understand. How should +they when life had held nothing so far but sheltering love for them? + +Montague's thoughts strayed to his aunt and Jocelyne in Gleambridge. +They had left him at home because he was not an altogether desirable +person to take shopping, they considered. Montague, remembering a +shopping expedition with Jocelyne, suddenly chuckled wickedly. + +"What's the joke?" Billy enquired. + +"Nothin' really. Only I was thinking Aunt and Jocelyne wouldn't have +been pleased to see me if we had gone to Gleambridge." + +"Why not?" Mavis enquired. + +"Oh, only 'cos something happened there once." Again he chuckled +with impish enjoyment. + +"Do tell us about it, Monty!" Nancy pleaded. The road was flat and +not very interesting, and the turning up to the hills seemed a long +time coming, and Nancy was ready for any distraction from the +straightness of the road. + +"There isn't much to tell, only Jocelyne and me and some of her +friends went to Gleambridge. Stupid, giggling things those girls +were, an' Jocelyne was sillier than any of them." + +"Why? What did she do?" Mavis asked. + +"Oh, I dunno. She talked silly--an' she's a proud thing, too!" + +"Proud?" + +"Yes. I met a great friend of mine--he's the blacksmith's son, and +once he gave me a horseshoe, and sometimes he lets me help blow the +bellows, and him and me were talking at the station and Jocelyne said +I shouldn't talk to a village boy." + +"Not talk to village boys!" Billy repeated. "Why we know everybody +in our village. Jimmy Petherham, old Daddy Petherham's grandson, and +I, often go fishing together." + +"Well, you're luckier'n me," Montague replied bitterly. "I mustn't +talk to any of them--but I do," he added, with a grin. + +"An' _then_ what happened?" Mavis prompted. + +"Oh, nothing 'cept I'd forgot to put my garters on, and Jocelyne got +cross and said I'd disgrace her and her friends." + +"Well, _I_ think sloppy socks or stockings are ugly," Mavis said. + +"_Do_ you?" Montague looked at her in a troubled way. Was she going +to side with Jocelyne always? And yet--no---there was something so +different in the way this little person said things. It was as +though she really cared about you being clean and tidy, not as though +she said the things to hurt you. + +Billy, however, grinned sympathetically. + +"Garters get lost, don't they?" he chuckled. + +"Yes, they do," Montague growled. "An' sometimes you want to use +them for other things--same as you do handkerchiefs." He paused. +"It's not _your_ fault," he continued, "if you're made to get ready +all in a hurry an' you've been using your handkerchief just before to +collect worms in for chickens, an' you can't help it if you put it in +your pocket and forget all about it and when you are in the train and +you want to use it and earth and worms tumble on the floor." + +Billy roared with laughter, but the girls were horrified. + +"No wonder Jocelyne got cross!" they said. + +"She didn't, not then," Montague replied. "I thought she meant to, +but her friends, they just giggled and giggled, and she giggled, +too--only a lady in the corner with glasses on a stick an' me didn't +laugh. _We_ thought them all silly, I can tell you! An' then in +Gleambridge--well, _I_ wouldn't have giggled like that in a town." + +"Why did they giggle there?" Mavis enquired. + +"Well, first," Montague replied, "Jocelyne was cross. She tried to +hold my hand 'cos she didn't like the way I walked--_I_ think it a +nice way." + +"Was it like when we first saw you?" Mavis asked. "I 'spect it was," +she added, with a sigh. + +"Me and the blacksmith's son _like_ to walk like that," Montague +muttered, "sometimes, anyway," he added, realizing that a lurching +gait at the present moment would mean the withdrawal of the small +hand he still held. "Then they went into the china shop," he +continued, "and Jocelyne said I must stay outside, an' some of 'em +said silly things about bulls and china shops, an' then I got tired +an' so I just sat down on the pavement and went to sleep. And that +was all," he ended abruptly. + +"S'pose you got into hot-water for that?" Billy enquired +sympathetically. + +"No, I didn't--but they talked sillier than ever. If you'd seen them +all standing round me giggling and giggling and 'tracting everybody's +attention you'd have been ashamed, _I_ can tell you. _I_ was! An' +the stupid things they said, too! Straws and camels' backs they +talked about--I didn't know what they meant. _You_ wouldn't like +being in Gleambridge with Jocelyne," he finished bitterly. + +"I don't think I should," Billy agreed. + +"Perhaps she's a little bit nice," Nancy suggested hopefully. + +"_I_ don't think so," Montague replied emphatically. "My guardian he +says there are possibilities in Jocelyne--or something like that. He +says I can't see them yet, but I may later on--but I don't think I +shall." + +"I say, look! We're coming to a turning to the right," Billy cried +excitedly, and even Montague caught the excitement, and forgetting +Jocelyne, quickened his pace towards the road that should lead them +up into the hills. + +In a very little while the turning was reached, and they looked +eagerly for the beginning of the hills. The road, however, was +perfectly flat, and the hills, for they could see them quite plainly, +were still some way off. Billy suddenly stopped dead in the middle +of the road. + +"Why, we've got the canal to cross--it's _this_ side of the river, so +we've a long way to go yet. Let's hope there will be a bridge across +it, else we're done for to-day." + +A little disappointed that they had forgotten the Gleambridge Canal +and that the hills were still some way off, they hurried along. The +road was hot and dusty, but soon they came to the canal, and, to +their great relief, found that there was a bridge across it. At any +other time they would have lingered, for the canal was nearly as +pretty as a river, and water, almost any water, fascinated them. +They paused only to watch the canal-man catch a packet of letters +that someone threw from a passing steamer--a most extraordinary kind +of post, they thought, and worth pausing for, because it was +something they had never witnessed before. + +And presently the road really began to rise, but so gradually that +they did not at first realize that the hills were beginning at last. +There were curves too, now, and great shady trees and walls splashed +all over with crimson Herb Robert--low, inviting walls. + +"We have hedges at home in Suffolk," Montague said, as he stared in +surprise at the huge slabs of white stone piled on the top of each +other. + +"So do we in the forest," Billy said, "but Dad has told us about +these walls. He said they kind of belong here and are part of the +picture because they are hill stones." + +They had to stand on the wall and peep through the trees. + +"Why! There's our forest over there across the river!" Nancy +exclaimed. "Isn't it funny to look at it from this side?" + +The thought struck her that if it had not been their home forest they +would have wanted to go straightway and explore it--it looked so +beautiful from here, so different somehow. How grand and noble it +was! Such lovely lights there were on the trees--and the coolness! +Nancy could almost feel it. Yet how stupid, she thought, pulling +herself together, to be lingering here gazing at a place one could +visit any day in the year, when at last they were beginning to touch +the hills. + +Montague, too, was fascinated by the forest. At Riversham, though he +lived on the fringe of it, he had never been actually in it, and in +Suffolk, he explained there were only woods, not forests. + +"We'll take you there when we go back," Billy said. "We know some +ripping places for playing Robin Hood." + +"When we go back!" + +All the joy went out of Montague's life when he thought of returning +to Riversham. _Need_ they go back? + +"Why, of course!" Mavis replied. "There's Muvee and Daddy and Aunt +Letty." Then noticing his miserably face, "But there'll be us now +for you to play with," she added kindly. + +Mavis scrambled down from the wall, but rejected Montague's hand. +The road with its pretty banks and walls was offering such lovely +surprises in flowers and ferns that she wanted to be free to dart +hither and thither like a joyous little butterfly. + +"I could run, too," Montague grumbled. + +"But not as quick as me, Monty, dear," she replied lightly, dancing +swiftly along in front of the others. Presently she stopped and +beckoned excitedly; they found her kneeling by the roadside drinking, +with her hands for a cup, from a little stream that gushed from the +bank. + +"It's icy cold!" she gasped. "Come and drink and bathe your faces." + +Modestine, of course, had to share in the happy find and very +unwillingly she left the refreshing stream when the children were +ready to take the road again. To rest her, Nancy led her up the hill +and she ambled sulkily along, not appreciating the delights of the +way that spurred the happy children on. + +Presently they came to a high road running along the top. There was +nothing particularly attractive about it, and a long belt of trees +shut out the real hills, but behind them they could still see the +river and forest and far away the blue mountains. + +"I'm just dying with hunger," Billy announced. "I vote we have +dinner here." + +It was past one o'clock by Mavis's watch so, as the others were +equally hungry, they decided to camp on a stretch of green near the +belt of trees. + +They unpacked the basket and remembered they had nothing to drink. +How foolish not to have filled their bottle at the stream. However, +in the distance was a farm, and the boys volunteered to go and beg +some water, while the girls tethered Modestine and cut the bread and +the pie. + +In a very short time they returned with a bottle of milk which the +farmer's wife had pressed on them, refusing any payment. + +"They've got a cider-press there," Montague announced when they were +all deep in veal and ham pie. + +"He says he's never seen one before," Billy explained. + +Not seen a cider-press? How strange! Well, they would certainly +have to take him to see one working when the apples were ready. + +"An' he says he's never been in a fishing-boat," Billy said, helping +himself to a second slice of pie. + +"Not been in a fishing-boat!" Nancy exclaimed. "Oh, you must come +with us and Aunt Letty in Daddy Petherham's boat." + +"Need the aunt come?" Montague enquired doubtfully. + +"Why, yes, of course! You'll love Aunt Letty--she helps us +'make-believe.'" + +Montague said nothing, but so intense was his dislike even of the +word "aunt" that he found it impossible to work up any enthusiasm +even for an Aunt Letty. + +"And have you ever been shrimping, Monty?" Mavis asked. + +He confessed that he had not. + +The three children sat and looked at him in wonder. What kind of a +place was this Suffolk he was always talking about? Was it a kind of +foreign country? All the everyday things that seemed actually a part +of their existence were unknown to Montague. They began to feel +almost eager for the day that would see them back at Nestcombe, when +they could introduce him to everything and everybody. People, +places, and things suddenly took on a new interest in the thought of +showing them to someone who knew nothing about them. Almost a pity +it could not be to-day--but how absurd; fancy even _thinking_ of +home-places when you were on the fringe of the land of your dreams. +All the same, it was strange how sometimes you wanted to be in two +places at once. So troublesome, they sighed. + +Montague, for his part, was feeling rather ashamed of his ignorance +of everything that seemed so much a matter of course with his +companions. Was there nothing he could tell them of Suffolk that +they would find attractive? He remembered Mavis's delight in flowers. + +"I've seen flax growing," he began hopefully. "It's like a field of +blue sky, and afterwards it's silky like Mavis's hair, only not so +goldy." + +"Have you seen them cutting it?" Billy asked with interest. + +Now was Montague's turn to score. + +"They _pull_ it!" he replied, feeling big. + +They must know more about this Suffolk of his, they said. What else +had they there? Well, there was the moat round their house with +water-lilies growing in it, and he and Jocelyne had had a little +canoe on it. And in the next village there was a house as big as a +castle, _lots_ of turrets and towers, and a huge moat and probably +dungeons. As to the dungeons, Montague was drawing on his +imagination, but he need not have done, for Suffolk, though so +different from their home-places sounded romantic, the children +agreed--almost like a story-book place. + +Somehow, after the meal was finished nobody seemed inclined to move. +After all, why hurry now, why not rest awhile, why not give one's +self up for a moment to the drowsiness of the afternoon? Such a +stillness there was in the air, such a fragrance, too, from all the +sweet things that were tucked away in the short hill grass, such a +musical murmur from myriads of unseen insects. How the heat and +music and fragrance seemed to grow into each other out here on the +hill top, how pleasant to close one's eyes---- + +In a little while four tired children were asleep. Modestine, +cropping the grass near by, saw that stillness had come upon her +talkative companions. There was loneliness in the silence, the grass +lost its savour for her; better, she thought, get a little nearer to +them, if the rope would allow it, and sleep, too. Very daintily she +stepped amongst them and stood with Mavis between her legs. Ah, this +was better than cropping grass alone. Modestine blinked a little, +nodded, and then she, too, became part of the sleeping afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE PRIOR + +The afternoon was well advanced when the children awoke. Montague +was horrified to see Modestine standing over Mavis, but the child +merely laughed and stretched a lazy hand to tickle Modestine's nose. + +"She likes to be near us," she explained. "'Sides, she feels she had +to look after us, you see." + +Montague thought it a somewhat dangerous way of looking after +anybody, but nobody else seemed to agree with him. + +Once again they set out, Mavis riding. For a mile or so the road +stretched along the top of the low ridge, then it began to descend +inland. The belt of trees was no longer there to hide the view, and +hills and valleys, sometimes wooded, sometimes with houses scattered +about them, were revealed to their delighted eyes. Near the foot of +the ridge they were descending, they could see a small village. + +"We can buy something to eat there," said Nancy, "and I think we'll +see if there's a nice cottage to stay at--just for the first night," +she added apologetically. + +For, somehow, the long rest in the afternoon did not seem to have +been enough, and a comfortable bed seemed more inviting than the hard +ground. Such a pity one had to get tired, such a trial that one's +body would not let one do as much as one would like to do. + +There were so many twists and curves in the road that they found the +village was much further off than they had imagined. It was a pretty +road, prettier even than the road that had so delighted them in the +morning, and always now there were the great shoulders of the higher +hills beckoning them. Yet, somehow, prettiness did not seem as +important as it had done earlier in the day--even the hills were +beginning to lose a little of their charm. Sleep and a clean white +bed for to-night, and to-morrow a re-awakened enthusiasm. + +At last they drew near the village. At the entrance was a huge +saw-mill, and beyond it a few cottages and one small general shop. +Here they bought their bread and butter. + +The woman who served them looked at them curiously, but she asked no +questions. They hesitated whether to enquire here about sleeping +accommodation. + +"Does--where does that road opposite lead to, please?" Nancy asked. + +"That? Oh, that's just a private road to the Priory," the woman +replied. + +"The Priory!" + +The children looked at each other and hurried out of the shop. + +A Priory! Why, surely, this was the very place for them to seek a +night's rest at. A monastery, of course, would have been the correct +thing, but a Priory surely would do. + +"Let's go and enquire," Nancy said. "I don't s'pose monks or priors +would charge very much." + +They hurried eagerly up the road, and very soon saw in front of them +a pair of huge iron gates, and through some tall beech trees, the +chimney-pots of the Priory. The Priory itself was hidden by a high +wall, and until they reached the gates they were unable to see it. + +They stood with their faces pressed against the gates, staring with +admiration, mingled with nervousness. It was the most beautiful +building they had ever seen--except the cathedral--the windows and +the great front door looked, they thought, as though they belonged to +a church. But it was so large, almost as large, Montague admitted, +as the place with the turrets in Suffolk. Would it be too bold to +seek a lodging here? No monks or priors were to be seen--were they +all at their prayers? If only the place were not quite so imposing, +if it were not so silent, if a monk would only appear! + +"There's a man!" whispered Montague. "Over there, across the lawn." + +The others looked and saw an elderly man coming up a little winding +path beyond a lawn in front of the house. They studied him +anxiously. They were a little surprised that he was not wearing the +kind of dressing-gown affair that they supposed monks usually wore. +Perhaps, however, he was the prior and could dress as he liked. And +_if_ he was the prior could they summon up courage to speak to him? +Nancy noticed that his beard was soft and curly, and that he was +bronzed; but what attracted her were his eyes. + +"They're like two brown fires," she thought, "dancing fires." + +His walk, too, re-assured her. It was so intensely alive, so young. + +"He's kind," Nancy whispered, "I'll go and speak to him." + +But the sharp eyes had already found the little group at the gates. +For just one second their owner hesitated, then, with eager interest +he darted towards them. + +"Don't forget to raise your hat, Billy," Nancy reminded him hastily. + +"You, too, Monty," Mavis whispered. For a moment Montague felt +rebellious at the idea of raising his hat to a man, it was bad enough +to have to do it to women; but when a little person _trusts_ you to +do a thing, well, you simply have to give in. + +The man opened the gates, and, to Montague's amazement, raised his +hat as courteously as though they had been grown-ups in a car instead +of four travel-stained children with a donkey. + +"You are wanting something? Tell me!" His voice and smile were so +encouraging that immediately they felt at their ease. + +Nancy was the spokesman. + +"Please, we are travellers," she explained, "an' we are too tired to +sleep out of doors to-night, and we were going to look for a nice +cottage, but a Priory is better. It _should_ be a monastery really, +but we thought a Priory would be about the same. And so _could_ you +let us be boarders, do you think? We're quite respectable--it's only +travelling that's made us a little untidy." + +At first the stranger looked a little astonished, then a kind of +waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next expression settled on his face. + +"How long would you want to stay?" he enquired. + +"Oh, only one night, 'cos we're going on again to-morrow--we haven't +time to stay long in one place." She hesitated. She wanted to +enquire how much they would have to pay, yet somehow it seemed +difficult to mention money to this distinguished-looking man. +_Would_ he understand that if you're only children you could not +afford to stay at expensive places? "Could you--would you mind +telling me what the charge is, please?" she faltered, flushing a +little. "We should only just want some tea and a bed, and we'd be +leaving before breakfast 'cos we've really got our tea in the basket, +but it can be breakfast instead." + +The Prior, if he was the prior, made a wide, sweeping gesture as +though to push their breakfast-basket miles away. + +"No visitor leaves the Priory without breakfast," he said +emphatically. "It's one of the rules and can't be broken. Can you +obey rules?" he asked abruptly. + +"Yes, sir," Billy replied, not without some inward trepidation. The +rules at a Priory might be terribly severe. + +"Good. Well then, all visitors are requested to retire at seven +o'clock and to attend matins behind the nuns' screen at 8.45 the +following morning. After matins a collection will be taken and each +visitor is expected to put in the bag exactly the amount he or she +would put in the offertory bag on Sundays at home. _Exactly_, +mind--neither more nor less." + +The children breathed freely when the Prior got to the end of the +rules. After all, there was nothing terrible for them to do. They +_might_ have had to sleep on stone floors or rise in the middle of +the night for prayers. Nevertheless, one of the rules troubled +Nancy, and she spoke of it to the Prior. Did he know, she enquired, +that children only put a _little_ money in the offertory bag? Should +they put what they would give at Harvest Festival? + +The Prior shook an admonishing finger at her. + +"Not a penny more or a penny less than the usual Sunday offering," he +said. "That is the rule." + +His voice certainly was stern, but the children were not in the least +afraid of him, for he beamed kindness upon them and Nancy was sure +she saw flashes of fun in his eyes. + +"But what about Modestine? What shall we give for her?" Billy +enquired. + +"Modestine! Modestine!" The Prior's quick eyes searched the +children's anxious, upturned faces. Then he laughed. +"Capital--capital!" he cried. "A donkey with so classical a name +must receive free board and lodging. It is an honour to have her +under one's roof--or rather one's stable-roof. I take off my hat to +Modestine!" With that he took off his hat and made the little animal +a sweeping bow. Modestine was unimpressed, but the children were +delighted. "And now," continued the Prior, "come, my dears. There's +a good woman here of the name of White, into whose hands I will put +you to have those travel-stains (he looked whimsically at the earth +that still clung to Montague's knickers) removed. And then for tea!" + +"Oh, but can we just see to Modestine before we wash?" Billy asked. +"She's dreadfully thirsty, and we must rub her down and give her a +feed." + +"Don't worry about Modestine, my boy," said the Prior. "There's a +man of the name of Monk hanging about the stables with nothing +particular to do. Time will hang less heavily on his hands with +Modestine to occupy it." + +"But would he do it properly?" Nancy enquired anxiously. + +"Have no fears, my dear," said the Prior. "Monk has had a good deal +of experience of donkeys in Egypt." + +"Well," Billy replied, "if he finds he can't manage her I'll come and +help him. It all depends on her mood, you see." + +"Exactly. I'll tell Monk what you say. Ah, there he is. I'll take +Modestine to him. Wait here one moment." + +Modestine suffered herself to be led away, though nothing would +induce her to allow the Prior to indulge in his quick, eager stride. + +The children looked at the man called Monk with interest. So that +was a monk. He looked quite ordinary; he was even wearing ordinary +clothes, but perhaps, they decided, they were allowed not to wear a +robe when they were working. + +The Prior came dashing back across the lawn to them. + +"Now, my children, come!" He held out a hand to each of the girls, +and with confidence they took it. The boys followed. + +"Does he wear his gown when he tells his beads?" Mavis enquired. + +"Who?" For just the fraction of a second there was bewilderment in +the Prior's eyes, but it quickly vanished. "Probably, my child," he +replied. + +"But don't you _know_?" Nancy asked. "Aren't you the head of the +Priory, and don't they have to do what you tell them?" + +The Prior laughed. + +"Oh, yes, I'm the head of the place," he replied. "But I'm not a +very strict person. I allow them all a certain amount of freedom. +Freedom is good for the soul, you know. It helps it to +expand--restriction contracts." + +The children did not quite understand, but they thought it sounded +nice. + +"_I_ should like to be a monk here," Montague rumbled. "_I'd_ like +freedom--if Mavis and the others could be here, too," he added. + +The Prior pricked up his ears at the volcanic note in Montague's +voice, and, pausing, turned to look at the boy. What he saw in the +love-starved face hurt him. He dropped Nancy's hand and waved his +own impetuously as though to push something painful away. + +"Restriction and starvation of soul written all over the boy," he +thought indignantly. Aloud he said, "You shall all live here for +ever if you like," and the smile he gave Montague warmed the boy's +heart towards him. + +"I'm glad Mavis made me raise my hat to him," he thought. + +Ah, but, Nancy said in reply to the Prior, though they would love him +there were other people they loved, too--people who wanted them. + +"There's nobody wants me at Riversham," Montague growled, "and nobody +_I_ want--'cept when my Guardian comes--so _I_ could stay here." + +They had reached the house now, and the Prior pushed open the great +door, the most beautiful door they had ever seen. The children, with +thrills of excitement running through them, followed him into a vast +hall. Now, all four of them, Montague in his Suffolk home, the +others in their dear old Nestcombe home were used to spacious, +beautiful halls, yet, large though they were, both of them could have +been put inside the one they had entered. It was paved with great +slabs of stone, and the rugs and skins that were scattered about in +profusion looked like little islands. A carriage might easily have +been driven up the wide staircase, which wound its way to a gallery +above; a beautiful staircase it was, too, with its carvings of the +heads of many different saints. In a distant corner of the hall was +some armour, and all the walls were hung with portraits--dozens of +them, every period for centuries back being represented. Nancy +thought they looked like ancestors, yet she was puzzled to find them +here in a Priory, expecting rather that there would have been only +madonnas and other sacred pictures. + +The Prior had gone in search of Mrs. White, and presently he returned +with a grand person in a rustling silk dress. He introduced her to +them. + +"And now," he said, "I am going to hand these little people over to +you, Mrs. White. Just a little cleansing and brushing, you +know--then tea on the lawn." + +"Very good, sir," Mrs. White replied. + +"Oh, and Mrs. White, will you see that Master Lionel's room is ready +by seven o'clock? Put another small bed in there. The boys will +like to share a room, I'm sure. And for the little girls----" He +hesitated and his eyes swept the two little faces turned expectantly +towards him, "prepare Miss Dorothy's room." + +Mrs. White knew her master thoroughly. Nothing that he did, as a +rule, surprised her, but at the mention of "Miss Dorothy's room" her +surprise was visible. "Miss Dorothy's room," that had not been slept +in since the "blessed lamb" had become an angel! Surely these little +girls were very special friends of her master, for such a thing to +happen. However, she pulled herself together, and assuring her +master that everything should be as he wished, conducted the children +upstairs. + +Who, the children wondered as they followed Mrs. White, were Lionel +and Dorothy? Were they the Prior's children? But _did_ priors +marry? And why was he here alone, and why did they not see more +monks? + +What a huge, huge house this was; how easily one could get lost +here--what a ripping place for hide-and-seek! Ah, here were the +pictures that should have been in the hall; saints and madonnas and +holy families, all of them wearing the shiny plates round their heads +that people called "halos." What lots of them, and what a lovely +picture gallery, and what delightful window-seats. Nancy simply had +to stop to scramble into one of them and gaze at the view of the +hills. If they were beautiful seen from outside, how much more so +looking through these wonderful mullioned windows that seemed to +radiate green and gold lights. A feeling of worship swept over +Nancy's impressionable young soul; depths that, so far, only the +sound of the organ at the cathedral had touched, were stirred. But +Mrs. White was waiting and she must follow. + +The boys were left at a huge bathroom, and Mrs. White conducted Nancy +and Mavis to her own room--a room that surely was made for no other +person than Mrs. White, for everything about it was just as neat and +sedate and unsurprised-looking as Mrs. White herself. Hats and hair +ribbons must not be flung about here! + +After supplying them with towels and hot water she left them for a +few moments. They hoped she would not be long away, for the big, +silent place somewhat overawed them. Such lots and lots of doors +they had passed. Were they the cells, Mavis wondered; was a monk +praying silently in each, and weren't they themselves going to sleep +in cells? It seemed not, from what the Prior had said, yet were +there ordinary rooms in a priory? + +"I can't make things out a bit," Nancy replied. "It doesn't seem +nice to ask lots of questions when you're kind of guests, but I +_would_ like to know about Dorothy. D'you s'pose she's a nun? +P'raps she's at another priory or convent now." + +"Couldn't we ask just that?" + +"No, I think not, but p'raps we'll find out later. Let's wait and +see, 'cos, after all, it's awfully exciting, isn't it? We don't know +_what_ will happen next! An' if we don't see the monks to-night we +shall have to see them at matins to-morrow." + +Two perfectly clean and tidy little girls awaited Mrs. White on her +return. At the bathroom they picked up two passably clean boys, and +Mrs. White led the whole party to the Prior, who was awaiting them +under a great beech tree of beautiful proportions on the lawn. + +"And now for tea!" said the Prior, beaming on the children. "A good +substantial tea for hungry travellers." + +He led them to a tea-table that was heaped with good things. A tall +and solemn-looking man was hovering near it. + +"That's all, Monk, thank you. We'll manage alone to-day, eh, +children?" + +Another monk, they thought with interest, as they gathered round the +table, and again an ungowned one! Well, of course, the Vicar did not +wear his cassock in private life; perhaps the same rule applied to +monks. Yet why was there a kind of twinkle in the Prior's eyes when +they questioned him as to why he called each one "Monk" and not +"Brother so-and-so"? And why did he evade the question? + +The tea was a delightful one. Chicken in aspic, cold ham, honey, and +scones. "Grown-up" cake, too, with lots of currants in it, and +raspberries and cream. Each of them you may be sure did ample +justice to it. The Prior insisted that Nancy should act as hostess. +The honour of it! To pour out with a grown-up there and such a +distinguished grown-up, too; one, moreover, who treated you with as +much deference as though you had been a duchess seated there behind +the beautiful tea equipage instead of just a small girl. Nancy found +herself trying to live up to the position; she thrilled to the +importance of it, so that her hands moved gracefully amongst the +tea-things, and she felt that she really was a hostess sharing the +responsibilities of that tea with the Prior. + +And while they ate the Prior talked. There was nothing religious +about his conversation; it was mostly stories of travels. Yes, and +that was another curious thing. He seemed to have lived abroad far +more than at the Priory, but, perhaps, they thought, he had other +priories out there, for apparently he was a kind of head-person +always. Governor was the word he used, probably that was what they +called priors abroad. + +And yet he did not seem to have to shut himself up in any of these +priories. Also he had parties there, children's parties with no +other grown-up person there. He wanted the children to himself, he +said; other grown-ups spoilt things. + +And then there were stories of big game shooting that thrilled the +boys. Stories, too, of snakes. They regarded with respect and +admiration the man who had actually found a snake popping up through +a hole in a bedroom floor; who had lived in a house haunted by +vampire bats--crowds of them, and you heard weird flapping sounds, he +said, when you were alone at night and suddenly--sizz! out would go +the lamp and you were in darkness alone with that horrible dark +flying thing! + +Thrillingly interesting stories, all of them, but now tea was +finished, and the Prior suggested that they should sit in the Sunk +Garden till bedtime. The children followed him willingly along a +broad walk on the further side of the house, where masses of flowers +were blazing in the hot sunshine. Two youths and a man were at work, +and they touched their caps as the Prior and the children passed. + +"And are they monks?" Mavis asked, and again the Prior twinkled as he +replied in the affirmative. + +"And are they too busy to pray in the day-time?" asked Nancy. "I +s'pose they have to pray longer at night to make up for it? They +must be awfully tired doing both." + +"I don't think," the Prior replied, "that they any of them spend long +enough over their prayers for them to become a burden to them. +Besides," he added. "there's nothing to prevent them doing the two +things together. A man who can grow flowers such as these," he waved +his hand towards the blaze of colour, "who can teach his sons to grow +them, too, should have a prayer of gratitude to the good God +continually in his heart and on his lips." + +"Oh, are they his sons? _Can_ monks have sons?" Billy asked. + +"These Monks can," the Prior replied, and again, they were mystified +by the fun in his eyes. + +"Do they have specially long prayers for penance?" Nancy asked. + +"Pray in penance?" the Prior's eyes flashed a protest. "Certainly +not--not here! Prayer should be offered from the fullness of the +heart, child. Prayer should be--joy! Prayer should be, not the +gabbling of a few sentences, but the act of living, living joyously. +Anything less is an insult to the good God. But my tongue is running +away with me," he added with a smile. "You will think that I am +going to preach." + +Well, if this was preaching, the children thought, it was much more +interesting than the dull sermons the Vicar preached on Sundays. +They felt a little uncomfortable, however, when they remembered their +own gabbled prayers. Had they insulted God? They hadn't meant to, +of course, but it was not always easy to realize that God was +listening to them. Certainly, the Prior's way of praying sounded +much nicer--so alive and _real_. + +They passed another youth who was busy hoeing. Montague eyed him +with interest. + +"When I'm a man," he growled, "I shall have a son an' a daughter. +An' the daughter shall be fifteen, and she shall cotton peas all day, +and the son _he_ shall hoe and weed and pick up sticks. An' if he +doesn't, well, he'll be _sorry_. An' he'll be sorry lots of other +times, too--sorry all the time. If he fights with the village boys, +or if he plays with them, or gives himself and them the best +strawberries, and leaves none for the grown-ups' tea, _then_ he won't +like it--he'll wish he'd never seen a strawberry." Evidently +something connected with strawberries rankled, for his voice was +particularly bitter as he spoke of them. "And there will be a +great-aunt to look after him," he continued, "an' _I_ shall stay here +and be a monk--_not_ a gardening one--or live with my wife in a house +by a wood, or p'raps go and kill lions by myself. And while I'm away +the aunt will see if the boy wants punishing; she'll know how to do +it, 'cos," and here his voice sank to a scarcely audible rumble, +"she'll have had lots of experience." + +He paused, but something in the curiously intent way in which the +Prior was listening spurred him on. + +"Well, if in a little while that boy forgets what happened about the +strawberries and gives himself and the blacksmith's son a raspberry +tart and a jug of cream that was meant for a dinner party an' a piece +of duck each--well, _I'll_ not be there--but the aunt will!" + +The Prior said nothing when, at last, Montague came to an end, but he +walked thoughtfully, his hands behind his back, and there was pity +and indignation, and, well, perhaps a little amusement in his eyes as +he studied the boy. + +But now the Sunk Garden was reached. Instinctively everyone paused +at the top of the steps. Something, before entering that peaceful +garden, must be put away, left behind. Something that was alien to +the gentleness that seemed to play about the sun-dial and the subdued +colouring of the flowers; to the quiet sunlight flickering amongst +the leaves on the tall trellis-work that enclosed the garden. The +Prior put his hand affectionately on Montague's shoulder and +rebellion suddenly seemed a little thing, so unimportant. The scent +of heliotrope, the swooping of swallows, the lazy cawing of rooks +seemed all that mattered. + +The Prior led them to a stone seat round the sun-dial. Nancy +immediately felt the atmosphere of the place and gave herself up to +it. The swallows, too, attracted her. She watched them dropping and +falling down the air; against the blue of the sky; their swift +shadows on sun-dial or paving. Aunt Letty once said that the soul of +a swallow was in its flight. Now, as she sat in the Sunk Garden, a +garden that must have had swallows' shadows flickering over it for +centuries, she began to understand what Aunt Letty had meant. Every +movement of the blue and white speck was graceful, whether it flashed +across the garden, or slid down the air or climbed up towards the +sky, all was grace and all was joy. Suddenly, she looked at the +Prior and he caught her glance with a smile and a question. + +"What is it, child?" he asked. + +"Only----" she hesitated. "P'raps you won't like me saying it, but +suddenly I thought you're like the swallows." + +"I--like the swallows?" He looked at her in surprise. + +"Yes! You see, they're joy, every bit of them is joy--they kind of +can't go fast enough to splash it out of them, an' that's like you. +You _won't_ mind, will you?" She slipped her hand into his and +looked at him anxiously. + +"Mind? Of course not, my darling! And do _I_ splash joy about?" he +added, his eyes shining like two brown stars. + +"'Yes, indeed, it's all over you, and you kind of splash it all over +us and over the garden, too." + +"That's the nicest compliment I've ever had paid me in my life, +child," and, lifting his hat, the Prior raised Nancy's hand to his +lips. + +"But it's not a compliment," Nancy protested, "it's the truth. We +all love you, don't we?" she added, turning to the others. + +"Yes, indeed!" Mavis cried, scrambling on to the Prior's knee. + +Montague looked at the happy group and sighed. + +"When I am a man," he began, "I shall find a little girl with gold +hair and I shall buy her a golden chair to sit in, but _sometimes_ I +shall ask her not to sit in the chair, but on my knee, and I will +tell her lots of lovely stories. And nobody," he continued, warming +to his subject, "shall ever hurt that little girl or be unkind to +her, 'cos there'll be _me_ to look after her. And she shall be like +a princess, and I shall do all the work for her and not let her carry +things; an' if she doesn't like lessons, well, she needn't do 'em +'cos _I_ shall say she needn't. An' if there's only _one_ nice ripe +pear she shall have it, and I shall wait till she's had all she wants +before I have one. An' if she's tired there'll be me to carry her, +'cos I shall be big and strong then. An' I shall earn a pound a week +and give it all to her, 'cept just enough to buy the food, an' she +shall _never_ have schoolroom cake or rice pudding!" + +"Not boiled rice!" said Mavis. "Oh, _I_ wouldn't like to be that +little girl--I love boiled rice. An' wouldn't a gold chair be +awfully hard?" + +Montague, whose eyes had been fixed dreamily on a bed of heliotrope +during his recital, looked up at Mavis with wonder in his eyes. Was +it possible that a little girl whom he regarded almost as a princess +could like boiled rice? + +"With jam?" Perhaps it was the jam that appealed to her. + +"No. Sugar and milk." + +"Well, she should have it." There was resignation in his voice. +"An' she could have a cushion on the chair if it was too hard." + +The Prior, meanwhile, was wearing his +waiting-to-hear-what-would-come-next expression. He called Montague +and drew him to his knee. + +"So you are going to be a champion of little girls, are you, my boy?" + +"One little girl," Montague corrected him, "with gold hair. P'raps," +he added, looking at Nancy, "there could be another with brown hair." + +"What colour hair," asked the Prior, "had that unfortunate daughter +who was to cotton peas?" + +"Black!" Montague replied. "Thick black hair. The kind," he +muttered, forgetting that he was in the Sunk Garden, "that you can +pull!" + +"Oh!" said the Prior, looking at him thoughtfully. "Why pull the +black hair and not the gold or chestnut? Why not be a champion of +them all? Why pull the hair of one and give the others golden +chairs, and the best fruit? Why not let them _all_ have gold chairs? +Think of it, boy, just think of it, if you gave her a gold chair how +she'd love you!" + +"She wouldn't," growled Montague, "she would _never_ love me, not if +I was to give her a gold throne!" + +"Well, try it and see the result," the Prior encouraged him. + +A gold throne for Jocelyne? The Prior didn't know her or he could +not have suggested it. + +"And what are you going to do when you are a man, Billy?" the Prior +asked. + +"Me? Oh, I'm going to be a traveller like you and my Uncle Val," +Billy replied unhesitatingly. "Only," he added, "there's such a long +time to wait; it seems an awful waste of time going to school when +you might be _doing_ things." + +"Yes, yes, but make the best of it, Billy-boy. It's not quite as +wasted, perhaps, as you imagine. Preparation is needed, you know, +before you can attack anything as difficult as the life of a +traveller. For it _is_ a hard life." + +"Yes, I know. Uncle Val says if there's grit in you it brings it +out, and he says you've got to have grit in you to stick to it. _He_ +sticks to it, and _I_ shall stick to it too." Billy threw back his +head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Uncle Val and I +can't help going. He says it's Sir Walter Raleigh's fault." + +"Sir Walter Raleigh's?" + +"Yes. You see, when Uncle Val was a little boy there was always Sir +Walter Raleigh calling him, calling him to look down the river away +out to sea till he couldn't wait any longer. He made him join up +when he was only seventeen, and after the war he made him go abroad. +And now Sir Walter Raleigh hasn't got Uncle Val, so he's calling me +instead--we live in his house, you see." + +The Prior looked at Billy rather strangely, as though he were trying +to see something in his face. + +"Where is your Uncle Val now?" + +"In Egypt," Billy replied. + +The Prior's eyes danced unaccountably with pleasure. He put Mavis +down and rose abruptly. There was something in the library, he said, +that might interest them. + +The children followed readily. They returned to the house by way of +the kitchen and fruit garden, beyond which were the stables. Ah, +might they just go and say good-night to Modestine, they begged. The +Prior remained outside while they went in to Modestine. Scraps of +his conversation with the Monk who had charge of their donkey reached +them, though at the time they paid but little heed to them. + +"Yes, he's coming by ferry. You'll take the car--no, I can't come +after all." The children appeared in the doorway. "Ah, ready, +children? Now for the library." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +LIONEL AND DOROTHY + +They entered the house by a side door and followed the Prior down a +short passage that led straight to the library. The wide, mullioned +windows of the room faced that part of the garden where the flowers +made such a pageant of colour. What a delightful room it was, the +children thought; so different from the great, cold, silent hall +where you felt such an insignificant atom. Here, with the wide +windows letting in all the colour and sunshine of the garden, here, +with the deep chairs and sinky-in carpet and the books and the curios +and pictures you felt immediately at home. + +The curios seemed to have come from all over the world, and you +scarcely knew which to look at first. + +"Just wander round and look at what attracts you most," the Prior +said, seeing their bewilderment. "Anything you want to know about +them I'll explain to you." + +And for the next quarter of an hour he was busy answering questions. + +"This? I got it in India. That's a Chinese junk--look at the +carving. Yes, that's an exact model of a Japanese house. That head +was carved by a Red Indian from the root of a tree. Those spears? I +got them in the Sudan. Yes, these are panther skins. Yes, really, I +shot the animals myself." + +The children's interest was unabating. They tried to push away the +unwelcome thought that seven o'clock must be nearly here. + +Presently, Billy wandered over to a table that held some books and +photos. Suddenly, he paused. + +"Nancy, Mavis, come here!" he cried. "There's a photo of Uncle Val's +friend, Mr. Pringle, here, just like the photo he brought with him +last summer." + +Nancy and Mavis, too interested in Billy's discovery to notice the +smile of triumph on the Prior's face, flew across the room. + +"Oh! It's him! Do you know him?" Nancy asked, turning eagerly to +the Prior. "He's Uncle Val's greatest friend, and next time he comes +home he's coming to see us. We don't know him yet 'cept what Uncle +Val tells us about him. _Do_ you know him?" + +"Yes, I know him," the Prior replied. + +"Have you known him long?" Billy asked. + +"Nearly twenty-five years." The children did not know what to make +of that baffling, teasing smile of the Prior's. + +"An' is it long since you've seen him?" Mavis asked. + +"I saw him when I came home from India in the spring. I stopped in +Egypt especially to see him, because," he paused dramatically, "he's +my son, you know!" + +"Your son!" they shouted. "Then he's the Lionel who has a room here! +Oh, isn't it wonderful." + +Suddenly, a new thought struck Billy. + +"You didn't see Uncle Val, too?" he asked slowly. "Uncle Val," he +added, "is like me--only he's twenty-four and I'm ten." + +The Prior still wore the teasing smile as he studied Billy. + +"Let me see! Someone in Egypt like you? A grown-up edition of you, +eh? Why, now I come to think of it, Lionel insisted on dragging +along a certain Val Stafford with him. Could that be your Uncle Val?" + +"Yes, yes!" they shrieked. "That's Uncle Val! And you've _seen_ +him! Oh, it's the God of Adventure that brought us here!" + +The excitement was intense. When at length it subsided somewhat, +Nancy enquired what the Prior thought of her uncle. Did he mind +Lionel bringing him along? Did he like him? + +The Prior turned and looked at Billy. + +"If that young man over there grows up anything like his uncle he'll +be a brother you can be proud of. _I_ am proud that Lionel should +have him for a friend." + +"Oh, doesn't it make you kind of belong to us?" Nancy cried +impulsively. She replaced Lionel's photo on the table and, as she +did so, caught sight of another one. It was of a little girl of +about her own age, a little girl who looked at her with Lionel's +laughing eyes. + +"Oh!" + +She looked up quickly and caught the Prior's glance--no need to ask +any questions, what she wanted to know was written on the Prior's +face. She slipped her hand into his. + +"An' you're letting Mavis and me have _her_ room?" + +"Yes, dear," he replied, his hand on her head. "You are just the +kind of little girls she would have liked to share it with. My +little Dorothy was an open-air child, just as you are." + +"Was she--was she ill a long time?" + +"No, dear. She was following the hounds and was thrown from her +horse. Lionel, poor boy, found her. But--listen, children!" + +Seven o'clock! Oh, what a waste of time bed would be at such a place +as this! + +A knock at the door and Mrs. White entered. + +"Ah, Mrs. White! Hot baths, sponge cake and milk, and bed, please!" + +He kissed Nancy and Mavis very tenderly and pressed an affectionate +hand on the boys' shoulders. + +"Good-night, and thank you for letting us have Dorothy's room," Nancy +whispered. + +They followed Mrs. White upstairs, each child busy with his or her +own thoughts about this wonderful place and all that had happened +there. Lionel's room came first, a real boy's room, into which the +girls took a peep while Mrs. White was showing the boys where they +should take their bath. + +"Now, my dears, Miss Dorothy's room is down this corridor if you are +ready." + +They kissed Billy good-night and then, quite naturally first Nancy +then Mavis turned to Montague and kissed him in turn, and, waving +good-night, followed Mrs. White to Dorothy's room. + +Montague for quite half a minute stood in the doorway. Nancy and +Mavis had kissed him--just as they had kissed Billy. They had kissed +him, not pecked him as Jocelyne did--how he writhed under those +pecks! This had happened to him, Montague. Feelings he could not +understand pounded away at the starved little heart; thoughts and +words--comradeship, comradeship, that was it, that was how the Prior +had touched him, that was what had been behind their kiss. + +"If anybody ever hurts them I'll _kill_ them," he growled inwardly. + +"Come on, old chap, I'm half-undressed." + +Comradeship again in Billy's jolly voice. How Montague responded to +it, how wonderful it was. Later on, when after the baths and sponge +cake and milk, the Prior's last injunction had been obeyed, and they +lay in the two small beds side by side, Montague asked Billy a +question. + +"Do you _love_ your sisters?" + +"Why, of course!" + +"I wish," Montague muttered, "I had a sister _I_ loved." + +"But why not love Jocelyne?" + +"Love Jocelyne? You don't know her! 'Sides, she doesn't love me--we +quarrel!" + +"Well, so do we sometimes," Billy admitted. "Why, we used to fight +like anything when we were little kids. Course we don't now 'cos +boys don't hit girls when they're big, though sometimes they'd jolly +well like to. But quarrels don't really make any difference--you can +always make it up again." + +"Not with Jocelyne," Montague protested mournfully. + +And yet, and yet, had there not been a time long, long ago when their +mother was alive when he and Jocelyne _had_ loved each other? Why +then did they not love each other now? Montague did not know, he +could not remember when they had stopped caring. + +"Listen! There's a car!" murmured Billy sleepily. "Another boarder, +I s'pose. _He_ won't be able to keep the rule of going to bed at +seven--p'raps the Prior will excuse him." + +"Well, we'll see him at matins or breakfast, I s'pose," Montague +replied. And then silence fell between them, and a minute later two +small boys were fast asleep. + +* * * * * * + +An hour or more later, while the children slept, the Prior and the +new "boarder," who, apparently, was allowed to break rules, were +walking up and down the beech lawn smoking and talking and thinking +and planning. + +"It's the boy Montague I'm thinking of," the Prior was saying. "The +other three would certainly be bitterly disappointed if we sent them +home to-morrow, Billy especially, for he's a sticker--he and Val +Stafford are made of the stuff that does pioneer work, the finest +stuff in the world, but they love their home and their parents, and +the going back would have no sting in it apart from the fact of +giving up their adventure. But Montague! That acidulated aunt +should be made to suffer, the boy's spirit is cramped and starved, +and these three little people, quite unconsciously, are having the +right influence on him. A week or so with them, wandering about +amongst the hills, forgetting himself in looking after little +Mavis--what a difference it would make to the boy! What can you +suggest, Dick?" + +Dick Frampton, whom the God of Adventure had brought to this Priory +of Adventures to-day of all days, smoked in silence for a few minutes +before replying. + +"Wait a moment, Uncle, I believe we can arrange something. But, I +say, don't you think we should let Montague's guardian know that the +boy is all right and leave it to him to tell the aunt if he wishes +to. I can 'phone him up." + +The Prior agreed, and the two fell to further discussions, both of +them entering with the zest of schoolboys into the plans for the +children's further travels. + +It was at dinner that the Prior had first mentioned to his nephew +(who had come to spend a few days with him) about the unexpected +little guests who were asleep upstairs. Dick, whose thoughts had +been with the children most of the day, though he had imagined them +safely at Nestcombe long ere this, knew instinctively that the +Prior's guests were his "libation" children. He was annoyed with +himself for not guessing from the fact that they had blankets with +them, that the adventure was to be of more than one day's duration. +He was dismayed at the thought of what might have happened to them +through his stupidity. + +"Do you know how long they intend travelling?" he asked. + +The Prior shook his head and laughed like a boy. + +"I've asked no questions--not one. It was Billy telling me about his +Uncle Val that put me on the scent; the name, you know, and then the +strong likeness between the boy and Val. I took them into the +library on the chance that their uncle might have shown them Lionel's +photograph and that they would recognize it--and they did!" + +The Prior was delighted with himself. + +"And I've wired to their people," he continued gleefully. + +To Dick's enquiry as to how he knew the address, oh, that was a +simple matter, he replied. Didn't Val Stafford live at Nestcombe, +when he was in England, and hadn't Billy told him how Sir Walter +Raleigh had influenced them both. Simple enough to guess that they +shared the same home. + +"And their people will fetch them to-morrow, I suppose?" + +"No." The Prior wore the air of a conspirator. "I told them to do +nothing until they heard from me again--I wanted first to consult +you. Also I wanted to know what, if anything, you knew about the +small boy they had picked up at Riversham--I felt sure you must know +something about him." + +And Dick, seated there at the dinner-table, was able to tell the +Prior that the great-aunt was one of his pet aversions. The guardian +was the novelist, James Cradock. Dick had met him several times +lately and liked him. Montague's mother had been dead two or three +years, and the father had died a few months ago, from the result of +wounds received in the war; he had suffered terribly for some time, +Dick had gathered from Mr. Cradock. + +"And this sister, what of her?" the Prior asked. "Montague seems to +have no love for her." + +"Jocelyne? Oh, she's at the age when small boys of Montague's type +grate. A handsome girl, but, of course, Montague doesn't appreciate +her beauty--he couldn't, they're both at the wrong age. What they +need, I suppose, is some influence to bring out the best in each of +them. It's there all right, though they would neither of them +believe it of the other." + +And it was this that had set the Prior--or Mr. Pringle, as everybody +except the children called him--thinking, this obvious need of +Montague's for something that had so evidently been denied him +lately. It was this that had caused him to wire as he did to the +Staffords. Why should the children not continue their travels for a +few more days? Why not let the influence of the hills and the free, +roving life and the comradeship of the other children do their work +with the boy? Why not? Yet how to persuade the parents to +countenance the plan? How persuade them that no harm could come to +them amongst these friendly hills? And, was he altogether sure +himself that they would be perfectly safe with nobody at hand to +protect them? + +"Look here," said Dick, and this was the "further discussion" that +had taken place while they smoked their after-dinner cigars on the +beech-lawn, "I've got an idea." + +The idea was that Dick should return home at once, motor over to +Nestcombe from Riversham and explain matters to Mr. and Mrs. +Stafford. And if they consented to allow the children to go on he +would act as a kind of warden to them and follow them about in his +car. + +"It would be quite simple," he added, "and I should like it--it would +be an adventure for _me_. What do you think of the idea?" + +The Prior (for though he is not a prior, we, like the children, will +call him that--there being nothing about his character to suggest the +stiffness of "Mr. Pringle") was all enthusiasm for it. Mrs. White, +he said, should pack their baskets with good things, and they should +set off soon after breakfast unless he heard from Dick to the +contrary. + +"But what about money?" Dick enquired. "Shall we give them +something?" + +The Prior shook his head. + +"I imagine they have some money," he said, "quite enough to last them +a few days. Better not give them any more--they'd be safer without +it--also I think they prefer their independence. Let them get +through it and then use your judgment." + +And so the matter was settled. + +As the two conspirators strolled back to the house together Dick fell +to marvelling at the extraordinary coincidence of the day. Would the +children, he wondered, if they knew all, regard the happenings in the +light of an adventure? + +"They are out to seek it, you know," he explained. + +The Prior nodded. + +"I gathered so--there was some mention of the God of Adventure in the +library, though I imagine their idea of _real_ adventure is something +more definite, more actual than what has happened to-day. But, after +all, my boy, there's nothing extraordinary about these happenings. +Life is all adventure, it's always the unexpected that happens. +That, at any rate, has been my experience all the world over." + +Dick agreed. Yes, of course, his uncle was right. Was not adventure +waiting round the corner for us always? Was it not our own fault if +we let it pass by? Well, here were he and his uncle in the thick of +an adventure that _they_ had not let slip past them. The sleeping +children upstairs, his uncle who could never grow old, he himself +with the joy of youth throbbing in his veins, which of them all would +most eagerly stretch out responsive hands to the beckoning god? + +The Prior ordered the car when they reached the house and they waited +in the Library while William Monk, the butler, sent the order to his +brother, John Monk, the chauffeur. The appearance of William Monk +reminded the Prior of yet one other bit of fun he had to share with +Dick, namely, the children's mistake regarding him and the other +members of the Monk family. + +"I'm indulging in a bit of make-believe that some day they and I will +laugh over together," he explained. "Why not let them believe, at +least till their adventure is over, that Monk and his brother and +cousin and nephews are monks in very truth? It adds to the romance +of things for them. This ought, they said, to have been a monastery, +but a priory, they thought, might be nearly as good. Imagine their +hurt pride if they knew that they had asked to be taken in at a +private house? Ah, but _some day_, as I said, they shall hear their +Prior's side of the question and learn the happiness they have given +him." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MATINS AND BREAKFAST + +When Nancy and Mavis awoke the following morning it was almost eight +o'clock by the latter's watch. Eight o'clock! How strange to sleep +so late. Usually they were up and dressed soon after seven. Yet how +sleepy they still felt. They did not understand that such a day as +yesterday--the fresh air, the tramping, and the various excitements +that had followed one after another--such a day demands extra hours +of sleep for tired little brains and bodies. + +They lay for a little while looking drowsily round Dorothy's room. +Last night they had fallen asleep almost as soon as their heads had +touched the pillow, and the room, though attractive even to two weary +little girls, had not revealed itself to them as it did now, with the +sunlight pouring in through the windows. How Dorothy must have loved +it. What pretty pictures; one, a range of snow-capped Indian +mountains particularly attracted them. + +"Why, p'raps Dorothy lived in India when she was a tiny girl," Nancy +exclaimed. "How interesting." + +They were longing to see the world beyond those hills they could see +as they lay in bed; Dorothy, perhaps, had seen the world beyond those +towering, snowy ranges. + +They thought a great deal about Dorothy and Dorothy's treasures as +they scrambled into their clothes. To have had all this, to have had +this beautiful room with its books and toys and dolls--dolls that +certainly were not bought in England--and then one winter's day to +have gone out lightheartedly and never to have returned. Nancy +shuddered as, in her imagination, she saw the laughing, joyous, eager +face of the child in the photograph downstairs, saw her flying after +the hounds and then--the accident and never, never any more sparkle +in the closed eyes. It was the nearest she had ever come to Death, +at least as regarded anyone young (old people, she thought, were +different), and her sensitive spirit recoiled from the cruelty of it. + +"Poor, poor Dorothy," she thought. "_Why_ did it have to happen?" + +And then she thought of the Prior, who evidently cared so much for +children. How he must have missed Dorothy. Ah, they would have to +love him very dearly to make up to him for his loss. When they got +home again he must come very, very often to visit them. + +A few minutes later they were startled by the solemn clanging of a +bell. + +"The chapel bell!" they cried together, and a delightful thrill of +awe and expectation swept over them. The bell sounded so exactly +like what one imagined a priory or monastery bell should be. And at +last they would see all the monks, proper gowned monks! Matins and +monks! Feeling that they were stepping into a world absolutely +remote from the ordinary everyday world they ran hand in hand down +the corridor and found the boys coming to meet them. Billy, as they +descended the stairs, told them of the arrival of the new boarder. + +"We shall see him at matins," he said. "Hope he's a decent sort." + +The Prior, who was waiting for them in the great hall, came forward +to meet them, but there was no sign of the new boarder. He conducted +them down a corridor and across an open quadrangle, beyond which was +the chapel. + +"Visitors are not allowed in the chapel itself," he said, as they +approached the beautiful building, "you will listen behind the +grating." + +The grating? Ah, yes, yesterday he had said something about a +grating, but they had given no further thought to it. What was a +grating, and why were they not allowed in the chapel? Oh, certainly +they were getting far, far, beyond the confines of the everyday world. + +Feeling decidedly mystified they followed the Prior through a tiny +door in the north wall and along a narrow passage that led to a tiny +chamber, where they found Mrs. White awaiting them. She rose to +receive them and the Prior hurried away with his usual impetuous +stride. + +The children were puzzled. Could this tiny room possibly be part of +a chapel? A nuns' grating, the Prior had mentioned yesterday. Used +there to be nuns here as well as monks, and had they to squeeze into +this bit of a place? Why, there was scarcely room for themselves and +Mrs. White. If the other boarder should turn up, it certainly would +be a tight squeeze. + +The grating was so high in the wall that although Mrs. White, if she +had wished, could have seen into the chapel quite easily it was +impossible for any of the children to do so, unless they had stood on +chairs, and, with Mrs. White there, they hardly liked to do that. +How tiresomely sedate and unthrilled she looked, thought Nancy. Did +nothing ever excite her? Didn't she understand the romance of +listening to the distant singing of monks in a priory chapel--had she +no imagination? + +For the chanting or singing had started soon after their arrival. It +had a curiously muffled sound coming through the narrow grating, and +the children could not be sure whether the words were English or +Latin. To be sure the tunes sounded familiar, but, after all, was +that anything extraordinary? The Prior, if he liked a tune, was not +the person to reject it because it was sung in the Church of England. +Ah, there were boys singing, too; probably acolytes. It was just a +little disappointing not to be able to see; a wall was not the most +interesting thing to gaze at, at the best of times, and when it was +shutting out monks and acolytes it was certainly very annoying. And +the Prior would be wearing his gown. Ah, someone was praying. Was +it the Prior? The voice sounded like his--oh, what a troublesome +rule this was, that shut you up in a little box where you could see +nothing! But, after all, was it not the very first rule that had +been even a little disagreeable? They felt somewhat ashamed as they +thought of the heaped-up kindnesses they had received at the Priory. +But Mrs. White was speaking. + +"Matins are over." She rose as she spoke. "The offertory bag," she +added, "is on that table behind you." + +Was there just the suspicion of a smile hovering round the usually +sedate mouth? + +Billy passed the bag first to Mrs. White and then to the children. + +"Shall I put it back on the table?" he whispered, after he had added +his own small offering, wishing with all his heart that it could have +been bigger. It was so absurdly disproportionate to all they had +received. + +"No, I will give it to--to the Prior presently. He sets special +store by these offerings, he says." + +"Do they--do they help keep up the Priory?" Nancy asked as they left +the chapel. It must cost so much, she thought, to keep up this huge +place. And then there was the food for all the monks. + +"Not exactly," was Mrs. White's evasive reply; "the Prior has a +special use for them." + +Crossing the quadrangle, Mavis ventured to enquire whether Mrs. White +had known Lionel and Dorothy. Imagine their delight when they +learned that not only had she known them, but that she had been their +nurse. Such questions then had they to ask her about the childhood +of her charges. And did she know that her "Master Lionel" was their +uncle's special friend, that probably at this very moment they were +together? + +The Prior and breakfast awaited them on the beech lawn. The boarder +they decided must have been allowed to break yet another rule, for +the table was laid for only five people. + +They seated themselves, Nancy again presiding, and the Prior again +entertaining them with delightful stories. They had not quite +finished their bacon and eggs when Monk appeared with a telegram for +the Prior. The latter opened it eagerly, and, as he read, a look of +pleasure settled on his face. + +"No answer, Monk, thank you," he said, and then turned to his young +guests with an apology. + +"Excuse me, my dears, but the telegram, I knew, referred to an +important matter. Arranging other people's affairs," he added, +passing his cup for more coffee, "is a terrible responsibility." + +"I s'pose a Prior has lots to do for other people," Nancy remarked. +"Does it worry you?" + +"Sometimes, my child. But in this case the pleasure I have +experienced in arranging for the happiness of certain--certain people +in whom I am interested has far outweighed any trouble their affairs +have occasioned me." + +"Does a Prior have to look after everybody and make them happy?" +asked Mavis. + +The Prior laughed. + +"It's his _privilege_ to dispense happiness, my darling." + +Montague, after he had helped himself to honey, regarded the Prior +thoughtfully. + +"Does a Prior like everybody?" he asked. "Does he have to?" + +The Prior shook his head. + +"No, no, my boy, he doesn't have to. Usually, however, he is too +busy to bother about the people who are--well, antipatica." + +"Oh, what is 'antipatica'?" asked Nancy, interested at once in the +new word. + +The Prior beamed on her. + +"A new word that, eh, Nancy? You, I think, have not experienced the +meaning of it yet. It means someone you cannot get in contact with, +someone, in fact, who rubs you up the wrong way." + +"Aunts is anti--antipatica," growled Montague, stumbling a little +over the long word, "They do lots of rubbing. They wake up in the +morning, with rub, rub, rub, in their minds, and it goes on all day +steady." He paused to take a bite of bread and honey. Nobody spoke, +for they felt there was more to come, for, once Montague got started, +he seemed to have to get quite to the end of his subject before he +could break off. "They've got wide-open beady eyes," he continued, +"all round their heads they've got 'em, an' the eyes help them to +rub. Rub? I tell you it's nothing but rub, rub, rub till, if you're +a boy an' you live with them, you kind of feel as though you're sore +inside--just the same as if sheets and sheets of emery paper had been +used on you. Aunts," he added gravely, "aunts is best living alone, +then they couldn't be--be, well, that word you said." + +A giggle broke from Billy. Montague looked up sharply. + +"What cher laughing at?" he growled ominously, but Billy, far from +being intimidated, giggled again, and the two little girls and even +the Prior seemed decidedly amused. Montague was hurt. "_You'd_ all +think aunts was that if you lived with one, least, if she was like +the aunt I know," he added, remembering that the children's +experience of an aunt seemed to differ from his own. + +"It's not the aunt, Mont," Billy explained, "it's you. You're so +funny with your 'rub, rub, rub.'" + +"Well, being rubbed by aunts isn't a bit funny, _I_ can tell you." + +"Oh, we know, Monty dear," Nancy exclaimed. "We think she's horrid. +It's only the way you looked and the way you said it all." + +The Prior wore a somewhat inscrutable expression. The boy was +evidently from his own showing a handful, and probably it was his, +the Prior's, duty to point out to him the necessity for such as he to +undergo a certain amount of discipline. + +"Discipline tempered by love, yes," he mused, "but discipline +dispensed by an acidulated aunt----" + +And so he delivered no homily to the small volcanic person seated at +his table, but led the conversation away from the things that hurt. +Why, when life was so short, when summer was in its prime, let the +happy hours of sunlight slip away darkened by hurts that are best +forgotten? In a very little while he had the children laughing and +joking together over delightful nothings. He seemed to throw out +sparkles of fun and joy and the children picked them up and tossed +them to each other. Montague's dark eyes lost their brooding +sorrows, and the small face expanded with laughter. + +And there were more stories. Stories of earthquakes in India, of +moonlight picnics in the West Indies, of canons ablaze with flowers +in South America. Stories, too, of Lionel and Dorothy's childhood. +Yes and most of it _had_ been spent in India; Dorothy _had_ seen +behind those towering ranges. Oh, the wonder and the bigness of the +childhood of those two; surely no day could ever have been just +ordinary everyday. And could either of them _ever_ have found time, +with adventure heaped all about them, to even think of doing those +things that, to grown-ups, were known as "being naughty"; to +yourself, as "just wanting to know--just finding out." Surely the +days had just slipped away, just as now in the Priory garden, time +was slipping away unheeded. + +"Boys," said Montague thoughtfully, when, at last, they rose from the +table, "boys could always be good if a Prior told them stories all +day--an' if a little girl with gold hair could be there listening +too. B'lieve it's _work_ that makes them do things aunts hate." + +The Prior put his head on one side and regarded Montague with a smile. + +"It is quite possible," he said, "that if a small boy lived with me +_I_ might ask him to work. I might find quite a number of things +that I should like nobody but the small boy to do for me. And the +results, if I ventured to ask him, you think would prove disastrous?" + +"There wouldn't be _no_ disaster," Montague replied decidedly. You +might loathe hoeing for an aunt who continually rubbed you up the +wrong way, but to work for the Prior--Montague got excited. "Why, I +could do _lots_ of things for you," he continued eagerly. "I know +how to make things and I could mend anything. My guardian he calls +me 'The Flaming Tin-man' (that's somebody in a book), 'cos I can +tinker. Me and the blacksmith's son tinker together. I can use a +saw; I wouldn't hurt it if you'd lend me one, and I'd make you a +table or a thing to hold your pipes. Work sometimes," he concluded, +"is _nice_." + +"Well, some day you shall come and stay here, and we will work +together. How about that?" + +Montague's face expressed his approval. He would have discussed the +happy prospect further, but Billy was getting restless. Could he, he +enquired, go and get Modestine ready now? + +The Prior looked at him tentatively. + +"The rules of the Priory," he said, "would permit you all to stay to +luncheon." + +Ready acceptance was written on three small faces, but Billy +hesitated. + +"Why not," the Prior continued, "explore the country round here? +Take lunch with you and come back to tea and stay the night. Yes, +another night would be allowed; even a week or more in special cases. +Why not do this, unless of course," he added, "you have some settled +plans that must be carried out." + +Montague and the girls looked at Billy for, somehow, they felt that +it was for him to decide. A troubled look crossed his face. What +the Prior offered sounded so jolly, and yet, and yet hadn't they said +they wanted to see beyond the hills, and this, after all, was merely +the beginning of the hills? + +"I'd like to stay awfully," he said slowly, "but we _did_ have a +settled plan an'--an' I think we'd better go on, thank you. You +won't mind, will you, or think we don't _want_ to stay?" + +The Prior, knowing Billy, understood. + +"But remember," he said, "if anything should happen to prevent you +carrying out your plans, or if at any time you need a night's rest, +the Priory gates are always open to you. You won't forget?" + +"Indeed we won't," Billy replied warmly, "and we're ever so grateful +to you." + +The Prior brushed away their thanks. + +"Now run and ask Monk to help you saddle Modestine while I see Mrs. +White. I believe she wants to replenish that basket of yours." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE ROSE-VICAR + +Half-an-hour later the Prior bade his little guests a reluctant +good-bye at the foot of the lane leading into the village street. + +"Good-bye, my dears, remember what I told you. And, Billy, put this +safely in your pocket. It's a telegram addressed to me. If you are +in--well, if you happen to need me just send that off, giving the +name of the village or town where I can find you, and I'll come in +the car immediately." Nothing, of course, _could_ happen, he knew, +with Dick there to keep watch over them. However, no harm in taking +all precautions. + +Hat in hand, he stood at the corner until they were out of sight, +and, until they could no longer see him, the children turned +frequently and waved. + +Each small heart was too full for speech for a long time. + +"I b'lieve," Nancy said presently, "he was just as sorry to lose us +as we were to leave him." + +So keen indeed was their regret at having parted with their kind and +interesting friend, that for a long while their thoughts centred +about him and the Priory to the exclusion of the hills. To be +content to stick to one's original plans was not altogether easy, +even Billy found, yes, even when they were such delightful plans. +Nobody quite knew how hard it had been for him to refuse the Prior's +invitation and all that it embraced. + +"Wasn't it nice of him not to ask lots of questions?" Nancy said as +they turned into the lane that evidently led up into the hills. +"Most people would have wanted to know all about us, but _he_ treated +us just as though we were grown-ups." + +"If aunts were like that to you, you mightn't hate 'em so," Montague +rumbled. "When I'm a man----" He broke off suddenly, for his +companions were convulsed with laughter. "_Now_ what are you +laughing at?" he growled. He could have wished to be treated with +considerably more respect. + +"It's only your voice sounds so funny, Monty, dear, when you talk +about aunts or when you're a man," Mavis explained. "It sounds as +though----" + +"As though something inside you is fizzling," Nancy finished. "But +go on, Monty. We love you to talk to us. Please go on." + +"Well, _you'd_ fizzle if you were me. You'd fizzle and fizzle and +_fizzle_ till you burst. My guardian," he began reminiscently, "he +says----" + +"Yes, Monty, what does he say?" Mavis (she was riding Modestine) +leaned down towards him expectantly. + +"_I_ think what he says is silly, 'cos you don't have beards till +you're men. He says I mumble volcanically into my beard when I talk +of aunts. _He_ thinks it's funny--_I_ don't. 'Sides, well, if he +lived with her much I guess he'd mumble into his beard--he'd grow one +specially to do it." + +"I like your guardian," Mavis said. "Wouldn't it be nice if you +could bring him to see us when we go home?" + +"Guess he wouldn't come," Montague said. "I don't know why, but he +never will go that way for walks. He says that side of Riversham's +too painful now." + +"Too painful? What does he mean?" asked Nancy. + +"_I_ don't know. B'lieve he used to come down before I came to aunt; +said he'd got the pain then, and it's still there, and it'd be worse +if he put a foot the other side of Riversham. S'pose it's corns or +something. Is the road bad your way?" + +"Not particularly," Nancy replied. "But I don't think it sounds like +corns. Sounds _almost_ as though he's meaning something he can't +tell you plain." + +The conversation came to an end abruptly. Modestine, who, refreshed +by her long rest, had hitherto been in her most amiable mood, +suddenly decided to give trouble. The little lane had opened out +into a broad road and the children saw that, by turning to the left, +they would begin to climb towards a shoulder of the hills that had +had a particular fascination for them ever since they had left the +Priory. Modestine, however, for some reason known only to herself, +decided that she preferred the turn to the right, and, as the +children very well knew, once Modestine had made a decision it was +difficult to turn her from it. + +"Don't give in, Mavis," Billy said. "Keep her head turned to the +left. Oh, I say, are you getting giddy? You'd better jump down and +I'll lead her." + +Nancy helped Mavis to dismount, while Billy clung to the bridle, +laughing. Round and round he and Modestine went. Round and round, +each determined not to give in. They might have continued making +circles there for the rest of the day had not a Good Samaritan in the +shape of a clergyman come to their rescue. + +"Trouble here with a donkey, eh?" he asked genially, seeing the +situation. "Suppose I see what can be done." + +Billy very readily allowed him to take charge of Modestine. + +"She's awfully strong, you know," he explained. "And _fearfully_ +obstinate." + +"Most donkeys are," the clergyman replied. "I've met them before." +He, however, was big and strong, and it was not very long before +Modestine was conquered. + +"Thank you ever so much," Billy said gratefully. "She'll be all +right now; she soon gets over things, you know." + +"She gets ideas and likes to carry them out, I suppose? And +generally they clash with your ideas, is that it?" + +"Yes, that's it!" Billy replied with a grin, as he helped Mavis to +mount. "But she can't help it, of course, as she's a donkey." + +"Of course not. If you are born a donkey why not live up to your +reputation, eh?" He continued walking with them as they began to +climb the hill, and chatted pleasantly. + +Presently, he paused by the gate of a house that stood back from the +road, evidently his Vicarage, for at the side of the house was a +little church. + +"Are you in a hurry?" he asked. "I was wondering whether you would +like to see some roses--I have a few. Bring the donkey and we'll +tether her to that little gate up the drive." + +Mavis dismounted and they followed their new friend with ready +interest; seeing somebody else's garden was always interesting, no +matter how few the roses--it was something new, it was unknown +territory. + +As they turned into the drive a car came flying along the road. +Nancy, the last of the little procession, paused with the instinct of +the country-bred child to glance at it. She gave an exclamation of +surprise. + +"Billy," she said, "I believe that was Mr. Frampton." + +Well, after all, had he not mentioned that he was coming to the +hills? Such a pity though to have missed him. Nancy was almost +sorry they had accepted the Vicar's invitation to see the roses. + +The latter, after fastening Modestine to the gate he had mentioned, +led them past a shrubbery towards his roses. + +"Oh! Oh!" + +All they could do was to stand still and gasp at the unexpected glory +of the sight before them. A few roses, the Vicar had said! Why, +there must be hundreds of them, thousands even! Roses of every shape +and colour, tiny bushes simply covered with huge blossoms--beds and +beds of them and, enclosing the beds, great trellised crimson roses, +the sweetest and loveliest of them all. + +The Vicar was delighted at their pleasure. + +"You love roses?" he asked. "_I_, you know, shouldn't be happy +without a few--I've more over there, but these are the best. That's +a bed of cuttings through that arch. How many? Oh, about a +thousand, I think. That ground," he added, with a guilty sigh, +"should be growing potatoes, but--well, I'm a terror for roses, a +terror, my friends tell me." + +He led them round the beds. + +"That's a Hugh Dickson!" Nancy exclaimed. "Isn't he a beauty?" + +The Vicar caught up her enthusiasm, marking with delight her human +interest. How many children would have cared enough to say "he"? + +"You know him? You know something about roses?" + +"Oh, no!" Nancy's tone was deprecating. "Only, we've got a few, +_really_ a few, at home. We've got a little garden each, and I have +'Hugh' and Billy has 'Independence Day' and Mavis has 'Betty.'" + +The Vicar looked as though he could embrace them all. + +"Splendid! Splendid!" he cried. + +Then he slowly pulled out a knife and stood looking first at his +'Hugh Dickson,' then at Nancy, then again at the rose. + +"It's my very best, my prize 'Hugh,' but you know something about +roses. Yes, you must have just one off him," and he stooped and cut +off a great crimson velvet fellow and handed it as though it had been +a pearl of great price to Nancy. + +Nancy who could see what the gift had cost him could scarcely express +her thanks. She felt indeed that it was priceless; part of the +Vicar's self was surely there; so much of him must have been expended +on the growing of these roses. + +"And now," he said, "a bunch from some of the others!" + +Here and there amongst the rose beds he went with his knife. Red and +white and pink roses, lemon roses, apricot roses, sunset roses were +heaped into the children's outstretched arms. How could mere words +express what was in their hearts? Nancy and Mavis buried their faces +in the treasures they held. The Vicar stood and looked at the +picture. "The consummation of beauty!" he muttered. Then the +astonished children saw him pull out a pencil and scribble on his +cuff. + +"A thought for my next sermon," he explained, noticing their +undisguised curiosity. "Dear me, I should be writing now! Ah, these +roses, these roses--they are apt to lead one astray from one's duty. +I must go. Come again any time you are passing, while there are +roses you shall have some." + +Nancy, as she watched him walk reluctantly to the house, wondered +whether their own Vicar's sermons might not be less dull if he took +thoughts with him from a rose garden as this Vicar had done instead +of droning uninterestingly about lifeless things one could not +understand. + +But now, what to do with the roses? That was their difficulty, as +they took the hot road again. To have refused them would have been +impossible, to let them wither in the sunshine would be wicked. They +wrapped them in Mavis' cloak and the child carried them in front of +her. + +"I wish," said Nancy, "we could send them to the Prior and ask him to +put them on Dorothy's grave." + +The very nicest thing possible to do with them, the others agreed. +They could buy a cardboard box when they came to a village. + +So far, however, no village was in sight, nothing now but the steep +hill mounting higher and higher. Curious how often their thoughts +had strayed from the hills, from what they hoped to find beyond them, +but if interesting things cropped up what were you to do? Now, +however, as they slowly climbed, as the summit drew near, they felt +again in all its intensity, that great longing that had lured them +from their home. Oh, such a little while now and there would be +never, never any more longing--they would have at last _seen_! + + + + +CHAPTER X + +AN ENCOUNTER ON THE HILLS + +Now a strange thing happened on the top of the hills. It will be +remembered that the children's great desire was not only to climb and +explore the hills, but to see beyond them, and that the seeing beyond +them was perhaps more important than the hills themselves. It will +be remembered, too, that the forest country belonged to the familiar +everyday life, that until that glimpse they had had of it on the +lower hill the previous day, they had never even remotely associated +it with romance. Nevertheless, when, by happy leaps and bounds they +finally reached the top of the hill, only one child out of the four +had eyes for the Unknown, the others, Nancy, Billy, and Mavis turned +instinctively towards the distant forest! Think of it! To have +travelled so many long, long miles, to have had the desire burning in +your heart ever since you could remember, to see beyond the hills, +then, when at last the big world was before you to reject it for what +you could see any day of your life. Ah, but _could_ you? Could you, +when it was all around you, see it in all its beauty, could you see +it as the hill people saw it? Surely, if you were a hill person you +could not rest until you had explored that forest; reached to the +very heart of it. A curious pride in their forest country, in the +golden river at its feet awoke in the children's hearts--it was +theirs, their very own and they loved it. Was it possible that Daddy +Petherham loved it like this and that was why---- Ah, but they +_couldn't_ be like Daddy Petherham, who wanted only one thing! And +so, with very mixed feelings three young adventurers turned at last +to the world beyond the hills. + +"Come and see!" Montague called eagerly. "There's hills and _hills_ +over there! An' it's so funny--'cross on the other side of the +valley there's a village, and all the houses are climbing up the +hill. See, the people in one house can stand at their front door and +look down into the chimneys of the houses below." + +The forest influence, however, was still hanging over the three +children. Why, that was nothing, they said, it was like that in the +forest, too; yes, and it was so steep that the coalman couldn't get +up to the houses; he just dumped the coal down on the cart-track that +ran through the forest and the people had to carry it up themselves +as best they could. Montague should see for himself when they got +home. So, after all, it was the Suffolk boy, just in these first +moments, who was most thrilled by the Unknown. Yet, gradually as +they stood taking in the scene, the magic of the hills asserted +itself again. The spaciousness around them, yes, this, indeed, was +something different from the forest country. And hills encircling +you, always hills. Beyond the village across the valley distant +wooded hills, densely wooded, yet, somehow, different from the hilly +forest. Yes, and, after all, there was a certain inexpressible +difference between the village where the houses grew one above the +other and the villages up in the forest. _What_ was the difference +and why, in spite of your love for your home country, did you feel +that you must go on exploring, penetrating further into the Unknown? + +And would the hills want them, Nancy wondered? Suddenly, she +realized that they were strangers in a strange country. What, after +all, did they know of the hills? They might be cold and heartless +hills; they might not want children to come poking their noses into +their secrets. _Would_ they resent their coming, or would they open +their hearts in friendly fashion just as the dear forest country did, +just as the restless river did, year in year out? + +Nancy's dreams (being Nancy she could not help getting beyond the +actual; everything had to be received into the imagination part of +her) were disturbed by Montague, who announced that he was so hungry +he knew he could not walk another step until they had had dinner. +Hungry? Even Nancy found that she was ravenous, and, settling where +they were, they immediately attacked the good things Mrs. White had +packed for them. + +They discussed the roses while they ate. They were still quite +fresh, for, further down the hill, they had again found a tiny spring +and had drenched the stalks in it. They must cross the valley and +try to get a box at the village and post them to the Prior. Yes, +Nancy said, a pity to have to do that, for now that the hills were +attained her next desire was to see Gleambridge cathedral from this +side, and to do so, they knew they should keep straight ahead. +However, the flowers _must_ be sent; they were of first importance. + +How hungry the hill air made you, how fortunate you had plenty to +eat. Impossible, however, for Nancy to concentrate entirely on the +food; not even on Mrs. White's delicious cheesecake. + +"I think the wind's got inside me," she announced. "I feel like a +bird. Oh, it's a glorious thrilly feeling!" + +Forgetting the cheesecake in her hand and Billy's proximity, she +stretched out her arms--the result was disastrous! + +"It's a beastly sticky feeling," Billy giggled, "not a thrilly one!" + +"These spasms come at such awkward times," Nancy apologized, as she +wiped Billy's head, first with paper, and then with her own +handkerchief. "I wish they would not make me do such bothersome +things." + +"So do I!" Billy grinned. "I'll take jolly good care not to sit near +you next time I see a thrill coming." + +Montague interrupted them. + +"There's a car coming. Hear it? Let's see who can tell the make +first, Billy. Bet you _I_ will!" + +"Bet you _I_ will!" Billy replied, taking up the challenge. "It's +coming up from that valley. Now! It's a--it's a----" + +They all scrambled to their feet in their excitement. + +"It's Mr. Frampton's!" Nancy cried. "I know it, 'cos it's the one I +saw this morning! Let's wave and stop him!" + +She ran eagerly towards the car, which drew up immediately. A look +of intense relief replaced an anxious, worried frown on Dick +Frampton's face. + +"Oh," he began, "I thought I should never----" He stopped abruptly. +"What are you little people doing here?" he added. + +"Oh, just exploring the hills," Nancy explained carelessly. "And +this," she added, turning to Montague, "is a friend of ours." She +paused, as she saw the recognition between Dick and Montague. "Oh, +do you know him?" she added. + +"I think we do, don't we, old chap? In fact, anybody who has lived +in Riversham during the last few months could hardly fail to know +him, eh, Montague?" + +"'Tisn't _my_ fault I got to live there," was the reply, "an' _I_ +don't want everybody to know me. I don't know them, an' I don't want +to, some of 'em--they're nearly as bad as aunts," he added bitterly. + +Mavis looked at Montague somewhat anxiously. Mr. Frampton seemed to +hint at doings that had gained him notoriety. Was it possible that +this troublesome boy could have been naughty to their "libation" +friend? There was gentle reproach when she put the question to +Montague, and the latter hung his head in shame when he remembered +poaching expeditions with the blacksmith's son on Mr. Frampton's +estate. + +Mavis turned to Dick with a fat little sigh. "I don't _think_ he +means to be quite so naughty," she explained. "He hasn't been +ti'some once since he's been with us. I s'pect it's Riversham makes +him naughty." + +"I expect that's it." Dick's voice was grave, and he hid his +amusement at the motherly proprietorship in the child's voice. +"However," he added, "Mont and I are the best of friends. Nothing +really very terrible happened, you know." + +Montague's eyes shone with gratitude to Dick for clearing his +character (though he realized he scarcely deserved it) before Mavis. + +"Yes, we _are_ friends," he muttered, "and he's the only person in +Riversham I'll be sorry to leave--'cept the blacksmith's son." + +Nancy, remembering their neglected lunch, enquired whether Mr. +Frampton had had any. No? Then would he join them? They had nearly +finished, but there was plenty left. Very readily Dick accepted the +invitation. He explained, as he settled down to Mrs. White's good +fare, that he had been too worried about some friends whom he had +missed to bother about lunch. + +"I thought you looked bothered about something when I saw you," Nancy +exclaimed. "And didn't you find them?" + +"Yes, I found them, but I spent the whole morning searching for +them--can't think how I missed them." + +Nancy wondered why, if he had found them he should still have looked +worried, but she did not like to press the question. + +"Are you having a holiday over here?" Montague enquired. + +"Not exactly a holiday. I've just got a new job. I've been +appointed Warden of the Hills." + +"Warden of the Hills? How interesting that sounds!" Nancy said. +"What does a warden have to do?" + +"Keep an eye on the travellers in the neighbourhood. I suppose it +would have been more correct if I had said Warden of the Travellers +of the Hills." + +"'Case they get into mischief, I s'pose?" Montague sighed. + +"Well, that, of course. But more especially I have to place my car +and myself at their disposal. If they need help or advice or +guidance of any kind it's my job to be on the spot." + +"What a ripping kind of life!" Billy exclaimed. + +"But a little difficult," Nancy said thoughtfully. "How can you know +who's a traveller and who's a hill person? And how can you know when +they're in trouble?" + +"It's my job to find out," Dick replied. "Now you, for instance," he +added carelessly, "are travellers, aren't you?" + +"Yes," Billy replied guardedly. "But we're travellers with a +donkey," he added. + +Dick nodded. Yet, as it was clearly impossible for everybody to ride +the donkey, he said, it was his duty as Warden to give some of them a +lift. + +"But we're not going your way." Nancy's voice expressed a wish that +they were. "We want to see Gleambridge cathedral from the hills." + +"That could be arranged quite easily," Dick replied. "I shall +probably be going that way presently." He paused. It was not as +easy as he had supposed to keep an eye on these little travellers. +He wished to goodness he could persuade them to leave the donkey at +the village opposite and let him take them about in the car. He made +the suggestion diplomatically, baiting it with proposals that should +have brought ready acceptance to the lips of little adventurers who +wanted to see the world; wonderful descriptions he gave them of +places they should see. They hesitated, of course. What else could +they do when the sound of those places, their very names made you hot +to see them? The thought, too, of travelling with their "libation" +friend--oh, it was hard to resist! Yet, when you had said "Travels +with a donkey"? Besides, would flying about in a car really be +adventuring? _Could_ adventure find you in a car? Ah, no, they +decided, cars belonged to the everyday world. And again, there was +poor little Ladybird-Modestine. Imagine leaving her at an unknown +stable. They shook their heads sorrowfully. Twice in one day to +have had to refuse tempting proposals! Life, they began to think, +was not as simply straightforward and easy as they had imagined it. +There were decisions to be made. How curious that the difficulties +should be kind of _nice_ difficulties. + +They compromised by promising to accept short lifts occasionally if +Mr. Frampton happened to be going their way. + +"You won't think it's because we wouldn't like to travel with you, +will you?" Nancy asked. "But, you see--oh, it's not easy to explain." + +"I quite understand," Dick assured her, for he had scarcely hoped +that they would accept his offer. "Still, the car is there, +remember, if ever you should need it--and so am I. Do you know," he +continued, changing the subject, "I seem to have been smelling roses +all the time. Is it my imagination?" + +"No, it's real roses." Mavis unfolded her cloak and held out the +roses for Dick to smell. "A Rose-Vicar gave us them." + +"A Rose-Vicar?" + +They explained their meeting with him, and how he had taken them +round his garden. + +"Ah, that accounts for it!" Dick's face expressed the clearing up of +some mystery. + +"'Counts for what?" Nancy was mystified. + +"Oh--er--nothing much. But what on earth are you going to do with +these glorious roses? They'll die in this heat." + +And then a bright idea came to Nancy. As Mr. Frampton was evidently +going in the direction of the Priory, why not, instead of having them +hanging about in the post all night, ask him to take them to the +Prior? Would it be too presumptuous? + +"You said, didn't you, that you had to help travellers?" she began +somewhat hesitatingly. + +"Certainly I did," Dick replied promptly. He listened hopefully. + +"Well, it's the roses. Last night we stopped at a Priory and the +Prior was so dear and kind to us--not a scrap preachy or religious, +'cept in a nice way, and the Priory rules are that you pay only what +you put in the offertory-bag on Sundays, and, you see, if you're +children it's so little." + +"And we ate lots!" Billy interrupted. + +"Yes, we did, and Mrs. White, that's a nurse who lives there, simply +crammed our basket with that d'licious lunch we've eaten. But it's +not _only_ that, it's the Prior. He made us so happy and he's lost +his little daughter, Dorothy, and we thought p'raps he'd like the +roses for her grave, an' so, please, if you're going that way, would +you mind taking them to him with our love and tell him they're for +Dorothy?" + +Now what was Dick to do? He had had no intention whatever of +returning to the Priory. His idea was, since they would not travel +in his car, to keep as close to them as possible without hampering +them or interfering with that sense of freedom and adventure that was +evidently so important to them. To be sure it would be a slow game; +he would have to spend hours sitting in the car by the roadside, but +what did that matter? It would all be part of _his_ adventure? And +now here was Nancy herself frustrating his plans, for how could he +refuse her appeal? To be sure he could get to the Priory and back in +a very short time; nevertheless, he would have been better satisfied +not to have lost sight of them again. + +However, the children must not know of the difficulty they had placed +him in. Yes, certainly he would deliver them to the Prior with their +message; better tuck them up in the car at once out of this scorching +sun, he suggested. While he and Nancy wrapped them up in leaves and +put them away in the car the others packed up the remains of the +lunch--not that there was much to pack now! And then what next to do? + +"Let's stay a little longer," Nancy suggested. + +Why hurry? It was hot and they had been tramping all the morning. +And, after all, were they not now in the very heart of the hills, +with hills and hills and hills unfolding all around them? And here, +too, was a companion who didn't worry you with questions, who +accepted just what you chose to tell him, who, in fact, seemed to +think it the most natural thing in the world that you should want to +seek adventure; should want to explore. And how interesting he was; +different from the Prior, of course. The latter raced you all over +the world at a delightfully breathless speed; Mr. Frampton told you +jolly things about Oxford; he took you, too, to France and +Switzerland and Italy. This Wardenship job, they thought, must be +his first one, perhaps a kind of holiday job to help towards his +Oxford expenses, for evidently he was returning there in the autumn. +However, they could not question him; besides, they were too +interested listening to the stories he had to tell them of funny +little out-of-the-way places in Switzerland and Italy, of people and +grottos and glaciers and mountains. Oh, would they _ever_ grow up, +Billy groaned, and be able to see for themselves? The world seemed +to be simply chock full of interest, and you had just to sit quietly +at home and wait. + +"Will there be time to get it _all_ in before we're old?" he sighed. + +Heaps of time, Dick assured him (as to the "sitting quietly at home," +he said nothing, but smiled). The years would slip away. Why, it +seemed only the other day that he himself was a boy of their +age--getting into all sorts of mischief, he added, with a smile for +Montague. + +"An' living with an aunt who only liked good boys?" + +"Well, no, but even parents can't stand too much mischief, you know. +They sometimes wonder how you ever came to be their child." + +"Do they?" Montague asked with interest. "'Spect boys'd get on best +without any grown-ups at all," he added. "Then nobody'd be +worried--not the grown-ups or the boys." + +"Boarding-school," Dick replied thoughtfully, "isn't a bad place, you +know." + +"I'm going to boarding-school next term," Billy announced proudly. + +"Wish I could come with you," Montague muttered. "Then my guardian +wouldn't have to learn about boys and how to be a parent to them. +Guess he'll have his hands full enough with Jocelyne." + +If only this might happen, and if he might return with Billy to +Nestcombe for the holidays, life would indeed be worth living. + +However, the hours were slipping away, and here they were forgetting +the world that lay before them. They made their preparations for +departure hastily. + +"If you're taking the Gleambridge road you must keep to the left," +Dick said. "You'll get down into a valley again a little further on, +then you'll come to a village called Barsdon. Why not stay the night +there--or had you any other plans?" + +They confessed that nothing definite had been arranged. They had not +decided whether to sleep out of doors or to find some cottage. Did +Mr. Frampton think there would be a nice one at Barsdon? + +"I know the very place," was Dick's reply. "Look here, leave +Modestine at the inn--it's this end of the village--then keep +straight on, and at the corner of the next street you'll find a +cottage standing back from the road. A Mrs. Charsfield lives there; +just tell her I've sent you and she'll take you in." + +They thanked him, and, with a wave of the hand, set off in the +direction indicated. + +"See you again soon, perhaps!" they shouted. + +"Quite soon, I hope," Dick called in reply. "I'll be in Barsdon this +evening. Look out for me!" Reluctantly he turned towards his car. +"Wish I could go with them now," he thought. "They're such little +people to wander about alone--and so trusting. However, they're +pretty independent, so probably no harm will come to them." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE FIGHT + +Meanwhile, the children were travelling towards Barsdon. They were +in high spirits, for the long rest had refreshed them, while the +invigorating air exhilarated them. There was no shade whatever now +from the heat of the sun, but what did that matter when the hill air +swept through you? It set your feet dancing along the road, and the +miles would have been left swiftly behind had not Modestine willed +otherwise. + +"Can't you feel it dancing through you, Modestine?" Nancy +expostulated. "Anybody'd think you were an old lady of about a +hundred to see you plodding along." + +To this and other entreaties Modestine turned a deaf ear. Why hurry +over the hills, she seemed to say--it was the hills you wanted to +come to, well, here they are. And wasn't it views you wanted? Well, +where can you hope to find anything more beautiful than the country +that is sweeping in hill and dale around you? Adventure you ask for? +Well, let adventure come over the hills to meet you; why go forth to +seek it? Oh, Modestine, you who have youth in your veins, do you not +know that youth cannot stand still? It is old age, Modestine, that +sits with folded hands awaiting that which may happen. + +On and on over the hills, each child taking a turn with the +troublesome little animal while the others raced on ahead. Then, in +the late afternoon they came to the road that led down into the +valley. + +Nancy offered to ride Modestine down the hill, and the others decided +to have a race. Montague was for giving Mavis a start, but Billy +advised him not to. + +"She'd leave you a mile behind, nobody can run as fast as Mavis. +'Sides, it's too far to have a proper race; let's run just as we want +to, and never mind about winning." + +Montague agreed to this, for the thought of being beaten by a little +girl was not pleasant, especially when you wanted to shine yourself +in the eyes of that small person. + +"We'll wait for you at the bottom, Nancy," Mavis shouted, "'nless +Modestine changes her mind and decides to run, too!" + +"All right," Nancy replied, waving her hand as, with a shout, they +set off down the hill. + +Modestine's gentle amble fitted in with her mood. She was in no +hurry to leave the hill top, and now that she was alone the +imagination part of her gently pushed aside the everyday, practical +side of her nature and led her across this lovely hill country. And +presently she began to feel no longer a stranger in a strange land; +seeing the hills with her imagination eyes she began to feel near to +them. Would she some day understand them as she did her own dear +forest and river? The shouts and laughter of the other children +coming distantly seemed to be a part of the joyousness of the hills. +The hills, she told herself fancifully, were laughter. The winds +that blew across them voiced that laughter, and she and the others +were just little wild creatures of the earth who echoed the laughter +brimming all around them. + +She no longer questioned the hills as she jogged happily down the +road. She wanted to laugh, but to laugh alone would be too stupid +she thought, so instead, a song that Aunt Letty had taught her +bubbled from her lips: + + "I will arise and go now and go to Inisfree, + And a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made + Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee + And live alone in the bee-loud glade." + + +"I'd love the bee-loud glade," she thought, "but I don't _think_ I'd +live alone--I couldn't just talk to bees _all_ day." + +She continued humming the song. + + "And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes + dropping slow, + Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the + cricket sings; + There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow. + And evening full of the linnets' wings." + + +"I've seen a _blue_ glow," Nancy thought, "but not a purple one. And +it was swallows' wings the evening was full of, last night, not +linnets'. 'Spect the man who wrote that would have made a song last +night if he'd been with us in the Priory garden. I think I'll try to +make one myself about--about the swallows and children picking up the +joy-drops splashed about by a Prior. I'd like to stop and write it +now--'spect I'd better not. They would think I was lost, so + + "I will arise and go now, for always night and day + I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; + While I stand in the roadway, or on the pavements grey + I hear it in the deep heart's core." + + +Nancy suddenly pulled up Modestine sharply. In spite of her delight +in the hills, all day she had felt that there was something missing. +Now, as she sang of one whose heart ached for the sound of water +while he trod the dull pavements of London, she suddenly knew what +was lacking in this hill country. + +"Oh," she thought passionately, "it's the sound of the dear old Gleam +I miss. _I_ can hear it in my heart's core, I can hear the tide +coming in, I can hear the wind playing with the waves." + +How she loved water, how even the memory of the sound of it stirred +her. With a laugh at herself she shook the reins and Modestine +jogged slowly on. Nancy's thoughts wandered back to the song she had +been singing. Curious how little the words had conveyed to her until +to-day; singing it here in the hills had made it alive for her. + +"I shall call it my Hill Song," she told herself. "I'll tell Aunt +Letty about it." + +Ah no, she could not do that she remembered, for since Aunt Letty had +ceased to be engaged to Uncle Jim she had not sung it, for it was one +that he had given her. Nancy remembered too how they used to laugh +over the song together. + +"Nine lovely scenty bean rows they were going to have between them," +she sighed, "and we were all going to stay with them in the little +clay cabin, though Uncle Jim said it might end in some of us having +to sleep in the bee-loud glade, else we'd be a bit congested." + +Ah yes, _that_ verse had always been "alive." Nancy sighed as she +remembered the happy days when Aunt Letty had sung it. + +"I wish," she thought, "people wouldn't go and be miserable and not +marry when they really want to--it's so worrying. I do wish I could +let Uncle Jim know Aunt Letty wants him--I _know_ he'd come like a +shot." + +A bend in the road showed her that the foot of the hill was near; the +children, scampering along, had almost reached it. Crossing the +valley was a little ford, and near the water Nancy could see a couple +of big lads crouching one on either side of the road. She strained +forward, puzzled as to what they could possibly be doing. +Instinctively she felt that they were up to no good. A moment later +she knew. + +Mavis, who, of course, was the first to reach the ford, disregarding +the stepping-stones, was about to leap over it when the lads pulled a +rope they had stretched across the road. Nancy saw the child trip +and fall full length across the ford. Fortunately the water was +shallow, but Nancy in her anger and indignation, and fearing that her +little sister might be hurt, cried out so fiercely that Modestine +literally bounded down the hill. + +Mavis, with her handkerchief held to her pretty shapely little nose, +ran towards her with tears in her eyes. + +"It's my nose that's bleeding, an' my dress is all filthy and +muddy--nasty, horrid boys!" + +"Beastly skunking cads!" Nancy's words expressed what she was +feeling as she slipped from Modestine to comfort the child. "But +see, Billy's settling them, and Monty's helping!" + +Billy, indeed, was "settling them." + +"You rotten dirty hounds!" he cried. "Come on!" + +"Ought we to--to let them fight? They're ever so much bigger than +Billy and Monty," Mavis sobbed. + +"We can't stop Billy, you know we can't, once he begins. And he does +know about proper fighting, and I daresay they don't." + +Billy, usually so sunny tempered, so good-natured, was a difficult +person to deal with once his slow temper was roused, and that it was +thoroughly roused to-day was evident. Both he and Montague had +witnessed the cowardly trick played on Mavis, though they were too +far off to save her. + +"We'll take one each," he had cried, as together they dashed forward. +"I'll take that biggest lout----" + +"No, me--I'll take the biggest." Montague was just one fierce desire +to hurt terribly those who had hurt his little friend. + +"No--me!" Billy panted. "I can fight." + +"So can I," Montague persisted. + +Billy, however, was quickest, and made for the taller lad, who stood +waiting with a smile of derision on his face, for the small boy +dashing on to him with a challenge bursting angrily from his lips. + +Nancy and Mavis clung together watching the fight. Each boy had +thrown off his coat and was fighting desperately. Montague slogged +into and pummelled his opponent, but, though all his passionate young +heart was in the fight, it was clearly not a fair one. Billy, on the +other hand, to his adversary's evident surprise and chagrin, was by +no means getting the worst of it, for, thanks to his father, who had +taught him both boxing and Ju Jitsu, he had science to help him, +whereas the country lad had nothing but brute strength. Every +movement of Billy's lithe young body was prejudged, every thrust was +true. Presently, watching his opportunity, with a sudden swift +movement of arm and leg, he brought his opponent heavily to the +ground. The lad lay on the ground howling with rage and pain, but as +he made no effort to renew the contest Billy left him and ran to +Montague's assistance. + +"Go away!" Montague panted. "_I'll_ manage him!" + +Billy hesitated. Clearly Montague could _not_ manage the lad, yet, +understanding his spirit, he was loth to interfere. The lad, +however, decided the matter. Through the tail of his eye he had +watched Billy's performance, and was in no mind to suffer the +treatment the youngster had meted out to his confederate, so with a +last cuff at Montague's head he slunk away. + +The four coats lay jumbled together at the side of the ford. The lad +lurched towards them, picked up his own and was about to turn away +when something lying on the ground near Billy's attracted his +attention. He glanced round furtively. Nobody was watching him so, +stooping hurriedly, he picked up what he had seen, and, thrusting it +into his pocket, called his companion and bolted. Something in his +voice aroused the latter, and, pausing only for his coat, he, too, +slunk away and the children were once more alone. + +The next quarter of an hour was a busy time for Nancy, what with +Mavis' bleeding nose and two gory and dishevelled boys to be attended +to. + +"It's my fwock I mind more'n my nose," Mavis said pathetically, while +Nancy was bathing the latter with the clear water from the ford. +"It's a horrid, muddy patch, and I'll be the only dirty one now." +For Mrs. White had seen to it that Montague started out that morning +with spotless clothes. + +It would probably brush off, Nancy assured her, when it was dry, and, +having done the best she could for Mavis, she turned her attention to +the boys. + +Poor Montague was a sorry spectacle, and Billy was little better. +Nancy washed away the blood and cleansed the broken skin, but for the +bruises she could do nothing. + +Billy, who had regained his happy spirits, began to laugh at himself +and Montague. + +"We don't look handsome, either of us, but we'll just have to pull +our hats down over our eyes and glare at anybody who stares at us!" + +Montague, however, was unaccountably silent, and it was not until +they had started off again and Barsdon was in sight that he voiced +his trouble. + +"Billy beat the fellow he was fighting an' _I_ didn't," he rumbled in +a voice so low that they could scarcely hear it. "But," he added, +and here apparently lay the sting, "he needn't have offered to help +me." Oh, it was like gall to have your pride so wounded when you +felt just one fierce, primitive impulse to hurt the cad who had +injured Mavis. + +"Oh, but, Monty, you were awfully brave!" Mavis cried impulsively. +"Billy, you see, has been taught how to fight--but look how you +slogged into that creature! I 'spect he had some bruises." + +"Was he _bleeding_?" Montague asked hopefully. + +"Yes, he was," Mavis replied with a little shudder. + +"Bleeding as much as me?" + +"Well--nearly," Mavis temporized. + +Montague's face cleared. Mavis had said that he was brave, and if +she thought well of him nothing else mattered. Nevertheless he found +himself longing for the day when he could fight as Billy had done, +and when Billy offered either to teach him boxing himself "when they +got home" (how persistently that little phrase seemed to crop up!), +or to ask his father to do so, Montague's momentary bitterness +vanished, and he began to take an interest in life again. + +And now the village was reached, and the children began to look about +for the inn. They saw the sign swinging slightly in the breeze a +short way down the street, but at the entrance to the village was +something more attractive in children's eyes than an inn, and that +was a sweet shop. + +Suddenly, Billy, who was feeling parched and thirsty after the fight, +felt an overwhelming desire for acid drops. + +"I haven't bought my weekly sweets yet," he said. "I should think we +could spare twopence, couldn't we?" + +The others agreeing that twopence would not be an impossible +extravagance, Billy entered the tiny shop and Nancy accompanied him. + +"I've got threepence loose in my pocket," he whispered, "but hadn't I +better change half a crown? I may want the coppers to tip the ostler +at the inn." + +Nancy nodded and Billy dived into his coat pocket for his purse, but +no purse was to be found. The poor boy's face went white. + +"Nancy, I can't find the purse," he whispered hurriedly. "I put it +in this pocket, didn't I?" + +"Yes, you did. Let me feel," Nancy replied anxiously. She slipped +her hand into his pocket, but could find no purse; she felt in all +his other pockets, but in none of them was a purse to be found. + +So far the woman who was serving them had not noticed their +consternation, for she had been busy digging out the acid drops, but +now as she handed the sweets to Billy she was struck by the two +white, agitated little faces. Was anything the matter, she enquired +kindly? Were they ill? + +"No, thank you," Billy replied in confusion. "It's--it's nothing +very much." + +His fingers trembled as they extricated two pennies from the usual +medley a boy's trousers pocket contains, but he was too proud to +share his trouble with a total stranger. Fearing further questions +he flung the money down and hurried out of the shop. + +"Let's get into a side road quick," he said, "so I can take my coat +off and shake it." + +Mavis and Montague looked at him in surprise, and Nancy explained +matters as they hurried after Billy. Suddenly Mavis paused and +called to Billy. "Oh, Billy," she said, her voice trembling with +indignation, "I know who's got it--it's that wicked boy, the one who +fought Monty. I saw him pick up something, and I 'member he looked +kind of scared--oh, I know it's him!" + +The children looked at each other. No use to hurry now in order to +turn the coat inside out, it was all too evident that Mavis was +right, and that a search would be fruitless. + +"I've just one penny left," Billy replied simply. "_Now_ what is to +be done?" + +"I've got some money!" Montague dived into his pocket and produced +fivepence-halfpenny. + +"An' I've twopence in my pocket!" said Nancy. + +"An' I've twopence, too, in mine!" Mavis added. + +Tenpence-halfpenny all told! What a sum for four little people to +face the world with. Well, no use taking Modestine to the inn now; +impossible, too, to present yourselves as prospective boarders at +Mrs. Charsfield's pretty cottage (they knew it at once from Dick's +description) with only tenpence-halfpenny in your pockets. + +They turned reluctantly up a narrow lane and even Billy's heart was +heavy within him. Here they were, four children and a donkey in +unknown country, almost penniless. The thought of sleeping out of +doors, of course did not trouble them; but for Dick's suggestion they +would probably have slept out to-night in any case. But to sleep out +of doors from choice was one thing, to sleep out because you had only +the price of one very meagre meal between you was something quite +different. + +And then what a tremendous sum of money to have lost! Practically +seventeen shillings, for, thanks to well-filled baskets, their +expenses during the two days had been very small. And seventeen +shillings was a small fortune in the eyes of these children, whose +weekly pocket-money was limited because their parents held the belief +that the modern habit of giving the child an unlimited allowance +robbed it of a certain happiness that is known only to those children +who have to think twice before they indulge themselves. A blasé +child who was unable to enjoy the simple pleasures they had taught +their children to enjoy was the pet abomination of Mr. and Mrs. +Stafford, and the children's little hoard of nineteen shillings had +been the result of much combined savings of presents from relatives, +saved, not originally for this adventure, but "Just in _case_ we +should want to do anything nice with it." + +And now it had gone, every penny of it, and if they were to continue +their travels they would have to contrive some means of raising +money. To be sure there was Mr. Frampton, and to whom should you +turn if not to the Warden of the Travellers in the Hills? If they +hung about the village they would be sure to meet him presently; he +would be glad to see them they knew, but, well, if they confided in +him would he not either advise them to return home or else offer to +pay their expenses himself? + +"I don't see how we _can_ tell him," Billy said. "It'd look like +cadging." + +"But he said he had to help travellers. Wouldn't he be hurt if we +didn't let him help us in some way--not to _give_ us money, of +course, but just, but just----" + +"There'd be _no_ way he could help us out of this 'cept with money or +paying for us everywhere, which would be the same thing," Billy +persisted. "And I'm sure he's not meant to help in that way if he is +Warden--it's lifts and accidents and things of that kind he's here +for. We've got to find a way out ourselves or go back home." + +And so the matter was left while they looked about for a camping +place. Presently, a wood at the end of a narrow cart-track on the +right seemed to suggest itself, and here they decided to spend the +night. Their spirits began to rise a little as they entered the +wood. After all, there was an excitement about camping out of doors, +and they would build a fire and have tea. Tea? How stupid, why had +nobody thought of buying a loaf in Barsdon? They could at least run +to that. Billy volunteered to go back and buy one while the others +were unpacking. Bread and acid drops for tea, and the scraps left +over from lunch! They laughed at the novelty of the fare. They +began to think after all, their plight was not so utterly desperate +while even a few pence stood between them and--well, not perhaps +starvation, but giving up that which they had set their hearts upon. + +"We'll find a way out," Billy called back to them, "so don't any of +you worry!" He paused as he reached the road. "Guess we'll have to +call it part of our adventure; it's the kind of thing that +adventurers have to put up with, isn't it?" and with a laugh he set +off down the hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"FAIREST MASONS" + +Billy did not take long to fetch the bread. He arrived at the wood +in a somewhat breathless condition. + +"I ran," he explained, "'cos I saw Mr. Frampton's car outside the +inn." + +Nancy was troubled. She wished Billy did not think it so necessary +to avoid him. She was quite sure she would have lingered rather than +hurried if she had known he was near, for after the troubles of the +afternoon a grown-up friend would have been so comforting. Besides, +he had evidently hoped to meet them in Barsdon. To be sure they had +not promised anything definite, but Nancy was quite sure that he +would be disappointed at missing them. + +"Billy, _do_ say that if he comes this way we may stop him," she +pleaded. "We needn't tell him about the purse." + +Billy, after she had pointed out her reasons, agreed. + +"He's sure _not_ to come though--that lane would be the limit for a +car." + +Meanwhile, tea, such as it was, awaited them. They divided up the +remains of the lunch before they attacked the loaf, as they would +need as much of the latter as their present hunger would allow for +breakfast. Acid drops, they found, filled up corners, though +everyone still owned to a dreadful thirst after the meal was +finished. Further up the hill they could see the chimneys of a +cottage, and the boys volunteered to go for water, while the girls +were unpacking blankets ready for the night. A whole brimming, +welcome pailful they brought on their return, and after they had +drunk their fill and had replenished the lemonade bottle there was +still a deep draught for poor little Modestine, who sighed her +contentment when she had sucked up the last cool drop. + +Then, after the pail had been returned, they sat round and discussed +things. Wonderful what a difference a meal makes. On the other side +of it there had been terror for some of them at the thought of their +penniless condition; now, with bread and acid drops between them and +their loss, they could turn their thoughts from it and think only of +how best to overcome the difficulty. + +"If we could spare a penny for tin-tacks," Montague said, "I could +make some little picture-frames out of that young elm-wood over +there. I used to make frames for Jocelyne and me for our cigarette +cards in Suffolk, but she's too grown-up for them now. I could use a +stone for a hammer." + +"Oh, and I've thought of something!" Mavis cried. "I can run in a +race!" + +"Run in a race?" Nancy repeated. + +"Yes. While you and Billy were in the sweet shop, Monty and me were +reading a bill in the window about a Flower Show at Barsdon. It's +to-morrow, and there's a race for little girl visitors, _an' the +prize is seven and sixpence_!" + +Seven and sixpence! Why, it was a fortune! But would Mavis mind +running? Of course she would get the prize. + +"Yes, I'll do it," Mavis replied. "But can we spare sixpence for the +entrance fee?" + +Certainly they could. The loaf had cost fourpence and that left them +with sixpence-halfpenny. Mavis should have the sixpence, and the +halfpenny--well, one _could_ not ask for a halfpennyworth of +tin-tacks; they must be bought after the race; nevertheless, the +halfpenny must not be despised; it was something, they felt, to have +at least that to face the world with. + +Everybody's spirits rose considerably. With the almost certain +prospect of seven-and-sixpence in view what was there to worry about +now? Seven-and-sixpence, carefully spent, would last a long time, +especially if they gave up all idea of sleeping in cottages. Was not +a blanket in a wood or near a haystack good enough for anybody? +Would you not be robbing yourselves of many adventurous hours if you +slept under a stuffy roof when the big night-world awaited you? + +Montague returned to the subject of the frames. He would prepare +them, he said, in the morning; it would take very little time to tack +them together later in the day. + +"Someday," he added, looking at Mavis, "I'll make you some for your +dolls' house. Would you like them?" + +For her dolls' house? Indeed she would. With the mention of the +dolls' house a shadow crossed the little girl's mind. It suddenly +seemed so long since she had played with it; since she had touched +any of her dear toys. It would be so nice--but, with a little sigh, +she pushed the regret away from her. + +Nancy began to think of sleeping arrangements. + +"Shall we just sleep on the ground?" she asked. "Nicolette, you +remember, builded herself a lodge of leaves and branches." + +"Who's Nicolette?" Montague enquired. + +"Nicolette? Oh, she's in a book. She and Aucassin were in love with +each other, only he's a king's son and she's poor, so they can't +marry at first. We think Aucassin a bit of a muff--he weeps too +much, but Nicolette was brave. She had all sorts of adventures and +she lived in a wood." + +"She had a much worse time than we've had," Billy interrupted. +"Prisons and all sorts of things." + +"Yes, she did. But she escaped and builded the lodge of saplings and +made a tapestry of leaves and flowers. There's such a pretty picture +of her building it in Aunt Letty's book." + +"Does an aunt let you read her books--_touch_ 'em?" Montague enquired +with awe. + +"Why, of course she does! We all go into her room on Sunday mornings +and have lots of fun. Sometimes she tells us stories, but if she's +sleepy then we each have a book. You have to have _very_ clean hands +'cos it's generally her special books you like best." + +Montague stared in silence. This Aunt Letty of whom they talked so +much sounded so altogether different from his conception of an aunt +that he found it difficult to picture her. Indeed, if she had not +been an aunt he might almost have felt enough interest in her to wish +to see her some day. + +"An' you _like_ going into her room?" he asked presently. "Why, of +course!" Mavis spoke a little impatiently. "She's our Aunt Letty!" +So tiresome of Monty not to understand what that implied. + +Again Montague grew silent. Would he want to go to _his_ aunt's +room? Would she want him? Wouldn't she be horrified if he touched +any of her possessions? And this aunt played with them--that meant +there might be a noise in the house before breakfast. + +"If there's a noise comes from my room before eight o'clock, well, I +know it!" he growled. + +Poor Montague! How different his life had been from theirs, they +thought, and, until they had met him, they had simply accepted all +the love and happiness that made up their days as their natural +right. Now they were beginning to wonder--a little. + +However, they were straying from the point; sleeping arrangements had +not yet been decided. Montague voted eagerly for the lodge, or +bower, for the girls; he and Billy would build them one--one as good +as Nicolette's. But she and Nancy must help, too, Mavis declared; +the boys could make the framework of boughs while she and Nancy wove +a tapestry of leaves. + +Now indeed was sleeping out of doors transformed into an adventure. +Romance, with the building of that bower that was to rival fair +Nicolette's, entered into the little wood; each in their different +way felt it as they gathered armfuls of dry bracken or cut down +slender saplings; but Montague most of all. To build a bower for +Mavis! Why, it was like being a knight serving a princess. And he +would guard her; he would sleep near her door presently and guard her +from enemies just as a real knight would do. Not for a moment would +he compare himself with Aucassin, who sat at home and wept; he was +sure, however, that Nicolette was not more fairly beautiful than his +little princess. "Fairest mason," Nancy said they called Nicolette +in the book; well, that was what Mavis was, he thought stoutly, as he +watched her artistic little fingers skilfully weaving a covering of +leaves for the framework. "Very pretty it was and very dainty and +well furnished, both outside and in, with a tapestry of flowers and +of leaves." That, Nancy said, was Nicolette's bower. Yes, but +nobody, not Nicolette herself (though she did turn out to be a +princess after all) could wish for a daintier bower than this that +had been "builded" by four modern children who knew how to find +romance or adventure in the most trivial incident. + +Time had passed rapidly during the building of the lodge. Evening +was coming on, yet, though the trees shut out much of the daylight, +it was still too light for them to sleep. And now that their +preparations for the night were completed they all began to realize +how very, very tired they were. The girls lay down in their dainty +bower, and the boys sprawled together on a bed of bracken outside, +yet nobody felt that bedtime had come. The evening was so warm that +blankets were not needed yet; indeed, had it not been for an +occasional breeze, the girls would have found their lodge almost +stifling. + +Though they could not sleep everybody was too tired to bother to +talk. Nancy's imagination, scarcely ever at rest, carried her to +Nestcombe and Nestley. Suddenly, a great longing for the familiar +places swept over her. Their playroom, the paddock, the garden with +its beloved trees, the high wall at the bottom of the garden, where +they so often sat and gazed across the river--the river itself. How +dear every corner of the home-place was. And yet, when they had had +home all around them they had accepted it just as they accepted the +love and happiness that was theirs. Why should coming to the hills +awaken your heart to these things? When you were in the Land of your +Desire, oh, it was curious that home should jostle that longed-for +country into the background. And then there was the forest that +would not let you forget it. Nancy closed her eyes, and saw it as it +would be now in the twilight hour and in her imagination she listened +to the great silence that was as much a part of the forest as the +trees themselves. A wonderful silence that was filled with little +still sounds and whispers, the stirring of night things, the +breathing of sleepers, oh, a friendly, home-like silence. She seemed +to hear too the sharp metallic clot-clot of the horse's hoofs ringing +on the forest road--that, too, was simply part of the friendly +silence. + +And then again there was the smoke from the lime kilns high up in the +forest, yes, and the smell of the smoke, the smell of the forest, oh, +it was all home. What comfort even in the thought of those forest +scents and sounds. To be sure, there was a whispering here amongst +the tree-tops, yet it was not the familiar whispering of the forest; +there was, indeed, almost a loneliness about it. Yes, deep in her +heart Nancy owned to loneliness (Mavis, too, was feeling it, Nancy +knew from the way the little fingers clung to hers), and remembering +the troubles of the evening--she had forgotten the prospective +seven-and-sixpence--disappointment came to keep the loneliness +company. These hills that they had come out to see with hope so high +in their hearts, what had they offered them more than the forest? +They were lovely, oh yes; this afternoon they had seemed all +laughter, but what a long, long time ago that seemed. And was there +not a kind of mockery in the laughter? Would the forest, if children +had come adventuring into its heart as they had come to the hills, +would the forest have been so cruel? To offer so much, to pretend to +take you right into its secret heart, then to thrust you out again. +Ah, surely the forest would not do that! + +And yet, and yet, there was Monty. What had the forest given to him? +Wasn't it there, at the foot of the forest, that he had been so +unhappy? Love abounded for them up and down the forest, besides in +their own home, but Monty--why, wasn't it here in the hills that he +was finding happiness? Wasn't there a kind of different look about +him--something Nancy did not in the least know how to describe except +by the word "happiness." Though his poor little body had been so +battered about, some other more important part was receiving healing. + +What an April girl was Nancy, what a child of moods. Disappointment +and depression left her when she arrived at this stage in her +reflections. She sat up suddenly and peeped out of the bower. + +"Monty, tell me again what your guardian said about courage and +life?" she demanded. + +"He said, 'it's not life that matters, but the courage you bring to +it,' an' he said he'd have to make a personal application of that +sentence when he'd got Jocelyne and me living with him. _I_ dunno +what he means." + +"Do you think, Billy," Nancy said, "it means _us_ an' our travels? +Could it mean that we mustn't mind losing our money?" + +Yes, Billy replied, that certainly was his interpretation of the +quotation. Not to mind things going wrong, or, at least, not to be +turned from your purpose by the first difficulties that arose, that +in his eyes was courage. Nevertheless, Billy was feeling somewhat +uncomfortable in his mind. Ought they, he was wondering, to go on? +If he had been alone he would have had no doubts or hesitations; +little setbacks could not even have suggested giving in. But there +were the girls. Was it fair to ask them to go on, perhaps to face +worse things than had happened this afternoon? He even had a slight +twinge of conscience concerning Mavis running in the race; he would +have preferred to run himself, but he knew quite well that there was +less certainty of him carrying off the much needed prize--besides, +the race was for little girls. Yet, what ought he to do? + +"I've been thinking," he blurted out presently. "If there's anyone +of us doesn't want to go on, if--if anybody would rather go home, +I'll send that telegram to the Prior to-morrow, or if we see Mr. +Frampton ask him to take us home. If one goes then we'll all go. +Let's decide now at once." + +Nobody spoke a word in reply. + +"Say quick if you'd like to go home. I'll not blame anybody if you +do--you've been so plucky all the time, and I promise I'll never say +you weren't sports not to go on. Which shall we do, Nancy?" + +It was sleepy little Mavis, however, who decided. "Let's wait until +after the race, an' if I don't win the prize, then we'd better go +home, hadn't we?" + +"But you know you'll win it. You always do!" + +"Well then, if we've got seven-and-sixpence we'll be rich, and it'll +be all right." + +Billy sighed with relief, and again silence fell between them. And +again their thoughts went wandering. To the hills and the big open +world? No, not when the night is pushing loneliness towards you. + + "When the young eyes of the day + Open on the dusk, and see + All the shadows fade away + Till the sun shines merrily, + Then I leave my bed and run + Out to frolic in the sun. + Through the sunny hours I play + Where the grass is warm and long; + I pluck the daisies, and the gay + Buttercups, or join the song + Of the birds that here and there + Sing upon the sunny air. + But when night comes, cold and slow. + When the sad moon climbs the sky, + When the whispering wind says, 'Boh, + Little Boy,' and makes me cry, + By my mother I am led + To my home and to my bed." + + +The daylight called them to the Unknown, but the night sounds +whispered in each little adventurer's heart the one word "Mother." +Just to see her, how comforting it would be. Yet, though they longed +for her, none of them, not even Nancy, had yet awakened to _her_ +point of view--that awakening was to come later. + +In Montague's heart, too, there must have been loneliness, for, +presently, the other three heard a small voice speaking: + +"I wish I had a mother." + +He voiced his need so simply that the children's hearts ached for +him. He should share their mother, Mavis said kindly, and never go +back to that horrid aunt. + +"There's three of you," Montague replied sadly; "she wouldn't have +room for me." + +Well, there was Aunt Letty. Now that she wasn't going to be married +she would have lots of room for him. He could be her little boy. + +"If she wasn't an _aunt_," Montague murmured doubtfully. + +"She can't help being an aunt, you know, Monty dear," Nancy replied +gently. + +"No, an' I'd _like_ you to love her," Mavis added. + +"If I could think of her as not an aunt p'raps I might like her a +little." Could he, even for Mavis, overcome his prejudice? Well, if +she wished it he must certainly try. + +Silence again and then, at last, the gentle breathing of four +sleeping children. + +For an hour perhaps they slept. Suddenly, their dreams were +disturbed by a terrific sobbing sound--the sobbing of giants, it +seemed. They awoke with a start to find that Modestine, who was used +to either a comfortable stable or roaming at large in the paddock, +was voicing her disapproval of her night-quarters, voicing it as only +a donkey knows how. Billy sleepily admonished her. + +"Come over here if you're feeling as bad as all that, but for +goodness' sake don't make that row again," he said. + +Sleep did not come again immediately, and while they were still lying +awake the sound of a car in the lane broke on their ears. Then such +a honking of a horn as they had never heard before! Honk, honk, +honk, honk! The Barsdon people must have heard it and wondered, but +the children did not wonder for they knew! + +"Mr. Frampton! It's him!" they cried in one voice, and, being now +wide awake, they sprang up and ran along the cart-track to the road. + +Honk, honk, honk, honk! + +Slowly, very slowly the car drew near. + +"It's us he's honking for!" Nancy cried, and there was relief in her +voice. "'Spect he heard Modestine, so knew where we were." + +They stood where Dick could not fail to see them and waited +breathlessly for the creeping car. At last it was here! + +"Mr. Frampton! Oh, Mr. Frampton, we're so glad to see you," Nancy +cried. "Have you been looking for us?" + +Now, Dick was feeling both worried and annoyed. Worried because he +had searched the country for miles, and could find no trace of the +children until he heard Modestine's voice; annoyed because they had +not waited for him in Barsdon. Even if they had decided to sleep out +of doors after all, they might have let him know, he argued with +himself, knowing nothing of the lost purse. To be sure they had not +promised, yet in the afternoon they had seemed so friendly, so glad +of his company that he could not understand their action. And he was +quite prepared when he sighted his elusive charges to show his +annoyance, but the reproach that was on his lips was checked by +something in the children's voices. He was quite sure there was +relief in their eager, welcoming shout; something in their attitude, +too, as they stood there in the moonlight seemed to suggest +forlornness. What could have happened? As he sprang from the car he +noticed the boys' puffy, battered faces. Ah, there had been a fight, +that was it; the details he would find out diplomatically later on. + +"We did so hope you would come this way," Nancy said. + +"But why didn't you wait for me in Barsdon?" + +"We--couldn't," Billy replied awkwardly. "But we were awfully sorry +not to." + +Dick noticed his confusion but let the subject drop for the time +being. Well, never mind, he said, but now could they tell him how to +dispose of the car; clearly it could not be left in the road all +night. They showed him the gate leading into the cart-track and he +backed the car through it. + +"Aren't you going to sleep at the inn?" Nancy asked, as he followed +them into the wood. + +"I'm not!" Dick replied decidedly. Lose sight of them now that, +after his long search, he had found them? Not if he could help it! +"I'm sleeping here. Besides, the inn is closed--it's nearly +half-past eleven, and, do you know, I'm hungry, dreadfully hungry. +I've had nothing to eat since that excellent lunch you gave me, and I +shall have to ask you to take pity on me again." + +The children flushed uncomfortably. The thought of offering dry +bread to someone who had evidently gone without his dinner, in order +to keep what he had considered an appointment with them, who had +apparently spent hours searching for them, was humiliating. And it +was all they had for breakfast! Well, they would have to go without +any, for a Warden who was so conscientious in looking after +travellers must certainly be fed. + +"I--I'm sorry we've nothing to go with it," Nancy faltered, as she +handed him the portion of loaf that was left. "We ate everything +else up." + +Dick smiled to himself at what he supposed was simply a +happy-go-lucky kind of housekeeping and wondered whether they had +even given a thought to breakfast. He accepted the bread gratefully, +however; he was too hungry, he assured them, to need luxuries, in +fact, never had anything tasted more delicious, and his enjoyment as +he munched steadily through the loaf was apparent to the children. + +"I am indebted to you little people for two meals," he laughed +apologetically as he dug his teeth into the last crust. "To-morrow, +please, it's _my_ turn, and if you don't let me be responsible for +the catering for the whole day I shall be more than hurt. Is it a +bargain?" + +How could they refuse such an offer? In making it Dick had not the +remotest idea that otherwise they would have been foodless, that he +himself had eaten their very last crust. Yet, for a moment Billy +eyed him suspiciously. Could he possibly know that they were +penniless? In the ordinary course of events he would simply have +accepted Dick's offer without further thought, but poverty, +unfortunately, has a way of making you think. Sixpence-halfpenny +between you and charity was a miserable sum to a proud young person +like Billy, and his thoughts of the lad who had stolen their money +were by no means gentle. That Dick might have helped them recover +the lost purse, had they confided in him, never occurred to him. The +purse was gone, and that was the end of the matter. + +Dick, meanwhile, had finished the last crumb and was feeling in his +pocket for his pipe. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "what an ass I am! Your Prior has sent you +some chocolates--I'd forgotten them!" + +He produced four huge packets of chocolate. The children were glad +of it, for being awake, they found, made you hungry. And how nice to +be able to offer Mr. Frampton something more than dry bread! How +grateful they were to the Prior. + +And while they all munched, Dick told them how overwhelmed the Prior +had been at the thought behind their gift. An unrepayable and +unforgettable gift, he had said, and Nancy could just picture him +saying it. She wanted to question Dick further about their kind +friend, but seeing Mavis' sleepy little face he insisted on bed for +them all immediately. + +"We can talk to-morrow," he said, "so now good-night!" + +And now they really settled down finally for the night. How +comforting, Nancy thought, as she snuggled down with Mavis in the +bower, how comforting to have a grown-up person near at hand (Dick +was sleeping in the car); what a difference it made to the +night-sounds! Somehow, all the loneliness vanished and Nancy was +aware only of the beauty of the stars in the blue vaulted sky. Stars +seen through tree-tops and you a little atom in the arms of Mother +Earth! What a discovery, what an adventure in an unknown world of +beauty for an imaginative child. + +"Thank you, God," she murmured drowsily, "for the lovely star-world." +And the Prior, I think, would not have called _that_ little prayer +"the gabbling of empty words." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +EXPLORING WITH DICK + +The children awoke the following morning to find Dick looking as +well-groomed as though he had not spent the night in a car. He was +gathering sticks and whistling softly to himself. + +The children apologized for being so late. + +"It was my fault for disturbing you last night," Dick protested. +Then he went on to tell them that the woman at the cottage up the +road would allow them to wash there and that she was going to supply +them with breakfast. + +"But we'll cook it ourselves," he added. "It'll be more fun; she's +going to lend us a kettle and a frying-pan. So hurry up, please, I'm +simply ravenous! Sleeping out of doors gives you an appetite, I +find." + +It certainly did, the children agreed. They ran off to the cottage, +taking their brush and comb with them--four dishevelled little people +they were, too, but when a quarter of an hour later they returned to +the wood, even Montague presented a fairly respectable appearance. + +And then followed the preparing of breakfast. Dick already had the +fire burning, a somewhat smoky one--but what did that matter, wasn't +it the inevitable, almost the correct thing at a picnic? They hung +the kettle over it (the children had brought the breakfast things +with them on their return from the cottage), and Dick made himself +stoker-in-chief. Would the boys gather more sticks? he said, and +would the girls spread the cloth, and after that, would Nancy fry the +eggs and bacon? Would they not, indeed! How eagerly those four +little people threw themselves into their allotted tasks! Mavis +arranged the tea-cups and plates and gathered some scabious flowers +for the cloth while Nancy cut stacks of bread and butter. Then came +the frying of the bacon--and here Nancy began to feel her +responsibilities. To fry eggs and bacon for a grown-up person made +you feel as important as when you poured out coffee for a prior. + +"Could you rake the wood away for me?" she enquired, looking gravely +at the uneven heap of burning sticks. "I could fry better on the +ashes I think." + +"That's a good idea," Dick said, as he hastened to do her bidding. + +How good the bacon smelt as it sizzled in the pan. Nancy felt a +little nervous as to the eggs--would she make a horrid mess of them? +Fortunately, however, they were so new-laid that the yolks simply had +to remain whole, and it was a flushed and excited little girl who in +a few minutes announced that breakfast was ready and would everybody +please gather round at once and eat it while it was hot? + +Nobody needed a second bidding, and very soon the whole party was +deep in eggs and bacon, and rather smoky-tasting tea. There was no +salt, for they had finished their own and had forgotten to bring any +from the cottage, but who cared? + +"'Tisn't a libation feast, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Billy said. + +Everybody was out to make light of any difficulty that should present +itself that morning. They chipped each other in a friendly spirit +that hitherto had been unknown to Montague; at first he was scarcely +sure whether they were joking or serious, but so infectious was the +good-natured banter that, presently, he found himself being drawn +into it and taking laughingly from Billy what he had taken from no +other boy before. And Dick, glancing at his happy face and +remembering the Montague of Riversham, marvelled that so short a time +should so have transformed the boy. Certainly, as regarded him, the +Prior was right to have suggested allowing them to continue their +adventuring. + +Billy, teasing, cheeky Billy, was the leader of the fun. Impossible +this morning, he found, to be serious and worry yourself about ways +and means and whether you ought to do this or that. Yesterday it had +rankled with him that there should be real necessity for Dick's +return of their own hospitality, but to-day, in the jolly sunlight, +it seemed a small thing to worry about. Besides, was not a person +who had offered up a libation with you a comrade, and between +comrades was there not always give and take? When _your_ luck +happened to be in, it was your turn to give freely; why grudge the +other fellow the pleasure of doing the honours? So Billy was just +his happy irresponsible self, and it must be confessed he ate his +full share of the fast-diminishing stack of food. + +While they were gathering up the breakfast things after the meal was +finished, Dick made a casual reference to the condition of the boys' +faces. + +"It was 'cos of me they got smashed about," Mavis explained. "Some +big horrid boys tripped me up, and Billy and Monty settled them!" + +"Oh!" Dick could see that the "settling" had been no easy matter, +but he hesitated to question them further, for something in Billy's +attitude suggested that the subject was one he did not wish to +discuss. Curious they should be so reticent about the affair, he +thought. However, no bones were broken, and they were in his care +again now, so there was nothing to worry about. + +"And what are your plans for to-day?" he enquired carelessly. + +Nancy and Billy looked at each other. + +"Why," said Nancy, "we haven't any for this morning. We--we thought +we wouldn't travel to-day." + +"Then why not come for a ride in the car? I'm sure those people at +the cottage would let Modestine graze in the paddock for an hour or +so. I wish you'd come--one gets tired of one's own company, you +know." + +The children looked at each other again. Why not go? Adventuring +was out of the question until after Mavis had won the prize; besides, +if you were flying along in a car there would not be the long, slow +hours of waiting for the race. With their eyes they signalled "yes" +to each other. + +"Thank you ever so much," Nancy replied, "we should like it awfully. +Only, please, could we be quite sure to be back here by two o'clock?" + +Dick assented readily, again asking no questions. He could not fail +to notice, however, that there was something behind this desire to +return by two o'clock. There was something, too, behind this hanging +about in one place when yesterday they were all for penetrating +further into the hills. What could be the reason, and why were they +so reticent about it? Dick was finding them a little difficult to +understand. Their characters seemed so frank and open; their manner +to him was so full of comradeship and yet every now and then a wall +of reserve would seem to be between them. As to their engagement for +the afternoon, was it, he wondered, connected with the fight? Ah, +that must be it; hostilities very likely were to be renewed. Well, +he would know this afternoon for he was fully determined not to let +them out of his sight. + +However, it was about time to be starting, and everybody bustled +about. There were all the things to be returned to the cottage, +their own blankets to be left there, and Modestine to be taken to her +fresh quarters--a willing Modestine, for the grass along the edge of +the wood had been scanty. + +And now that their own adventure was at a standstill everybody began +to take an eager interest in the ride. The hills towards Gleambridge +they wanted to keep for their travels, but would it be possible, +Nancy enquired, to go to that highest hill across the valley, the one +in the far distance? + +"Quite possible," was Dick's reply. + +"And be back by two o'clock?" + +"Yes, and be back by two o'clock." + +And with this assurance everybody scrambled into the car and Dick set +out for Birdstone, the highest point in the hills. + +Nancy and Mavis sat with him in the front seat, and during that ride +he learned a great deal about the family, about their home, about +Nestcombe and the river and forest. Here, at least, they showed no +reticence. That they worshipped every inch of those home-places was +evident. Their father and mother, Aunt Letty and Uncle Val, how +proud they were of them all, how they adored them, how endless was +their chatter about them. Dick, as he listened, marvelled how they +had ever come to leave such a home. + +"The spirit of adventure and the blindness of childhood, I suppose," +he thought. "By Jove! when they realize what they have done how +miserable they will be, poor kiddies." + +Presently they came to a small town that seemed to scramble down the +hill towards the valley; a town of quaint old nooks and corners, +while on the opposite side of the valley, the Gleambridge side, the +loveliest little village they had ever seen, except, of course, +Nestley, played "bo-peep" amongst some pines on the side of the hill. +Nancy indulged in a "spasm" on Mavis when she remembered that +to-morrow, perhaps, they might explore it. + +Then on and on again, gradually getting away from the Gleambridge +country. The miles flew past with hills piled up about them. Such +tonic, too, in the air! The children responded to the exhilaration +of it and forgot their troubles, forgot, almost, that Mavis was to +run in the race, for both troubles and race seemed to belong to some +far-off, unreal world. + +They were on the main road now and the running was splendid. Yet, +though they were so thoroughly enjoying the ride, in their secret +hearts they were glad that their own private travels did not lie in +this direction. Motoring along good, well-kept roads was one thing, +but to seek adventure or romance here with civilization shouting at +you--no, that would have been impossible. + +Presently, they began to climb. Up and up, with deep wooded valleys +dropping away to the right, and yet other hills stretching leftward. +A lonely farm, a cottage here and there, a house; that was all +apparently between them and the very heart of nature. All except +that well-kept road that wound right up here into the loneliness of +the hills, robbing them, for Nancy at least, of the charm she had +found when trudging along the dusty roads across the valley. + +Yet, though part of Nancy's mixed little mind disapproved of +civilized hill-roads, another part of her was thoroughly enjoying +itself. Mr. Frampton was so easy to talk to and seemed so interested +in all they told him about themselves. And then again, flying +through the air in a car always intoxicated Nancy. Had Dick been +guided entirely by her wishes he would have exceeded the speed limit +on the lower roads; up here in the hills the going, of course, was +slower. + +Quite suddenly, as it seemed to the children, the road opened out on +to a wide plain. A neat, civilized-looking village was spread over +it in orderly fashion, and when they arrived at a somewhat +imposing-looking hotel Dick stopped the car. + +"We've reached the top of the hill," he explained. "I'll go in and +make arrangements for lunch, and then we'll explore a bit--there's +plenty of time," he added, noticing anxious puckers in the children's +faces. He knew, of course, that they were thinking about that +mysterious engagement for the afternoon. He began to wonder as he +entered the hotel whether he was right in imagining it to be a fight. +Surely there was something more important to account for what he had +seen in their faces at that moment. Besides (how stupid of him not +to think of this before), Nancy and Mavis would not wish for the +renewal of hostilities. Well, this afternoon he would know. + +He rejoined the children after he had made arrangements for an early +lunch, and then they began to explore. The village itself was too +prim to interest them, but what amazed Montague was that there should +be one at all up here. Being used only to the gently undulating +hills of East Anglia, this hill was a mountain to him. How could +they possibly get food for a whole village to such a height, he +wondered? Even the other children, used as they were to finding +houses tucked away in the heights of the forest, even they owned to a +little astonishment at finding so large a village so far away from +the world. They certainly must be glad of the good road that brought +civilization nearer to them. Well-kept roads, even Nancy admitted, +had their uses after all. + +However, though the village was not interesting, Dick had something +to show them, he said, that would delight Nancy. He led them off the +main road down a lane where hill-flowers unknown even to the forest +children were rioting along the steep banks. The girls were +enchanted with them, but Dick assured them with a laugh that it was +not flowers he had to show them. He scanned the landscape anxiously. + +"Come here, Nancy," he said (Mavis was still picking flowers, and the +boys were scrambling about on the banks), "you can just see them, but +you'll have to look hard--they're barely visible." + +Nancy knew by the way Dick spoke that it was something she would like +very much. + +"Oh, what is it?" she cried. + +Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger, and there, down in the +valley to the left she saw, very faintly, the fair laced tower of +Gleambridge Cathedral. But that was not all. For, following the +pointing finger, she made out with a great deal of eye-straining and +perhaps a little imagination, the towers of two other cathedrals, one +to the north, and the other to the north-east. + +Three cathedrals! Three fair towers! Why, one alone sent poetry +dancing through you. Three cathedrals rising out of the mist--a +beautiful valley held in the keeping of three white towers! Nancy's +imagination wanted to get to work at once on a poem. Oh, indeed, +civilized roads were not to be despised if they brought you to this. +And nothing romantic could happen, she had thought, on a motor ride. +Why, that valley was alive with romance for those who had +"imagination eyes"! + +Dick watched the animated little face with pleasure. How "alive" the +child was; what an interest she took in everything and everybody. +She dreamed her dreams, but because of this intense "aliveness" she +would never, he knew, develop into a mere dreamer--never could the +word "mooney" be applied to her--except perhaps by a teasing +brother--and, indeed, the quaint mixture that made up her character, +the Aprilness of it was what interested Dick in her. Having no +little sisters of his own, he hoped the future was going to give him +a good deal of Nancy's company. + +However, it was time now to be returning to the hotel, and everybody +confessed that they were quite ready for luncheon. This out-of-doors +life made one ravenously hungry, they found. + +Fortunately, a generous meal awaited them. Dick led them to a table +laid for five that had been reserved for them. Very grown-up and +important these little people felt as they seated themselves, for it +was the first time any of them had lunched at an hotel. And a waiter +to attend to your wants, too; instinctively they straightened +themselves and tried to live up to the occasion. Oh, indeed, there +was a certain glamour about this civilization, especially the bits +that belonged to the never-before-experienced world. + +Immediately after lunch they started on the return journey. Dick +took them another, and shorter, way, yet though the scenery was if +anything more beautiful than that on the morning ride, the children +could take no real delight in it, for the thought of the coming race +crowded out all else. And supposing they should have a puncture, and +not be there in time--the very thought of it made them sick with +apprehension. To be sure they had allowed a good margin, for the +races did not begin until three o'clock, nevertheless they began to +wish that they had not asked Dick to bring them so far. + +However, all their fears proved to be groundless, for the clock on +Barsdon church struck two as they climbed the lane that led to their +wood. + +What a glorious ride it had been. A shame that part of it had been +spoiled by the thought of the race. Oh, if their misfortune were +only as unreal as it had seemed on their way to Birdstone; if they +could just have spent the afternoon in the wood with kind Mr. +Frampton. They heaped their thanks upon him, but he waived them +aside. The pleasure had been his, he said, and, indeed, secretly he +had rejoiced to have them safely under his eye for so long. + +Nancy and Mavis, directly they jumped out of the car, turned to go to +the cottage to wash and do their hair before going down to Barsdon. + +"Are you going to Mrs. Hale's?" Dick enquired. "You might tell her +we should like tea at five o'clock, unless," he added, "you would +like to have it at the inn down in Barsdon?" + +The wood, they all agreed, would be nicest, and Nancy promised to +deliver Dick's message. + +Their preparations were simple, and soon two somewhat nervous-looking +little girls might have been seen hurrying down a field path at the +back of the wood--a short cut to Barsdon of which Mrs. Hale had told +them. "Do you really think I'll win?" Mavis enquired anxiously. + +"Why, yes, of course. You always do, so don't worry, Babs!" + +"I wish I'd got a better frock on," Mavis continued. "Everybody else +will be dressed up. 'Sides, the mud did stain this one." + +Again Nancy consoled her. Nobody would know her and people would be +thinking too much about her pretty way of running to notice her dress. + +Mavis was somewhat comforted. Nothing would have induced her to have +appeared in a public place at home in a stained frock, but because +they needed the money so badly she would try not to mind strangers +seeing her in so sorry a garb. + +"I'm glad we're miles and miles from home, though," she said, as they +turned into the village. "I'm glad forest people don't come to hill +Flower Shows." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE RACE + +The Flower Show, they found, was being held in the Rectory meadow, +and thither, after someone had shown them the direction, they bent +their steps. + +"I wish you could have come in with me," Mavis said wistfully, when +they reached the gate. + +"So do I," Nancy replied, "but I can't as we've only one sixpence, +but I'll stay quite near." + +She turned to the man at the entrance and asked whether he could tell +her about what time the race for little girl visitors would take +place. The man looked at his watch. + +"In about half an hour," he replied. + +Nancy thanked him and drew Mavis away from the fast-gathering crowd +at the gate. + +"Let's walk round the outside of the meadow," she whispered, "and see +if there's a hole in the hedge that I can watch through. Then you'll +know just where I am, and it will be nicer for you." + +The meadow was a large one. Presently, along the further side of it +they found a small opening where it was possible to see all that was +happening. Here they stayed till the half-hour was nearly up, +watching the crowds round the swings and roundabouts, and thinking +how, at any other time, they would have loved to be in the thick of +all the fun. + +When it was time for Mavis to go, Nancy took her as far as the gate. +She watched the lonely little figure--with the sixpence clasped tight +in her hand--advance timidly towards the race-course and then ran +back to her opening on the other side of the meadow. + +The next five minutes were five of the longest Nancy had ever known. +Far across the race-course she could just see her little sister +waiting with a group of other girls. Mavis would be wearing that +dear little smile that made everybody love her and nobody would know +how bad she was feeling inside. But Nancy knew. And as she waited +her conscience began to trouble her. _Ought_ she to have let a +little girl of seven, the pet of the family, do this thing? To let +her be there alone in that crowd of strangers--what would Mother say? +Nancy pressed her hands tight together, and if it had been possible +would have called the child back. + +"Oh, I didn't think! I didn't think!" she cried with passionate +regret. "Oh, why didn't Billy and I think?" + +Suddenly, the whistle sounded, and the race started. Nancy scrambled +further up the bank, and almost pushed herself through the hedge in +her anxiety to see. About a dozen girls were running, all of them +but Mavis wearing garden-party frocks. Most of them seemed to be +about Mavis' own age, but three of them were almost as tall as Nancy +herself. _Could_ Mavis possibly beat them? After the first +breathless second or so Nancy knew there was no need to fear, for +Mavis was skimming over the ground so swiftly that the other girls, +though some of them, apparently, were using far more energy, were +left far behind. Nancy saw people craning forward to watch her +little sister; she almost _felt_ their admiration as the small figure +skimmed bird-like over the ground. The applause when Mavis reached +the rope was deafening. Nancy's heart swelled with pride as she +listened to it and for the moment self-reproach slipped into the +background. + +She scrambled down into the road again and waited eagerly for Mavis +to come to her. A few minutes later she saw her coming round the +bend in the road and ran forward to meet her. Then she paused in +consternation, for in that little figure coming slowly towards her, +in the drooping head there was nothing of the conqueror. What could +possibly have happened? With outstretched arms she flew towards the +sad little figure that advanced so reluctantly. + +"Mavis dear, what is the matter? Tell me," she cried, as she held +her close. "You won the race--I saw you. Are you hurt? Do tell me, +dear!" + +Mavis clung passionately to her. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "that horrid Margaret Seaton was there--I saw her +just as I was coming away. And she saw me and she looked at my dirty +frock and she'd got on her best knitted mauve silk. An' she'll tell +everybody I ran for seven-and-sixpence! Oh, Nancy, let's go +away--let's go home! I _can't_ wait and take the prize in front of +everybody looking like a tramp!" + +Margaret Seaton, the most snobbish girl in Nestley, here in the +hills! And only just before the race they had been comforted by the +thought that forest people did not go to the hill Flower Shows. What +could possibly have brought her here? Oh, of course! It was the +holidays, and she was probably visiting friends in the neighbourhood. +But that of all people it should have been Margaret Seaton! Nancy, +knowing the girl, and knowing Mavis, was overwhelmed now with the +remorse that had been tugging at her conscience while she waited for +the race to begin. She hugged Mavis close and stroked her hair. + +"No, dear, you shan't wait to take the prize. We ought never to have +let you go in for the race. Mummy would say it was a dreadful thing +for us to let our baby earn the money. Billy and I ought to have +thought. If we can't earn it some other way we must go home." + +"Oh, but are you sure you and Billy won't hate me? Billy will be so +disappointed." + +"Yes, but he'll understand--you know he will. I'll explain to him. +Don't worry any more, dear. See, we'll sit down here together till +your eyes are dry, 'cos you won't want people to see you've been +crying; then we'll go." + +And so together they sat down on the bank till the storm of tears +should have subsided. + +What was to happen now, Nancy wondered? The seven-and-sixpence +belonged to Mavis, but even if the child should presently change her +mind and be willing to go up to receive it, she was determined not to +allow her to make the sacrifice. Poor old Billy, how disappointed he +would be! She must call him aside and talk things over with him +before anything could be decided. + +"Look!" whispered Mavis, her voice trembling with agitation, "there's +Billy coming along the road! Oh, Nancy, you _will_ explain, won't +you?" + +Nancy re-assured her and stood up to wave to Billy, who had not yet +seen them. He ran forward eagerly, and then he, too, paused as Nancy +had done. No need to ask questions; he knew at once that they were +still penniless. Poor little Mavis, how sorry she seemed. Ah, but +she mustn't be--he must pretend that he, at least, did not care! + +"Hullo!" he said. "No go, eh, old girl? Well, never mind--you were +a little brick to try; you've been jolly sporty!" + +"Oh, but I haven't!" Mavis wailed, her tears starting afresh. "I'm +not a tiny bit sporty! I won the prize an'----" + +"_I'll_ tell him," Nancy interrupted. + +And then she explained everything to Billy, telling also of her own +remorse. + +"Say something to cheer her up," she whispered. "She's feeling so +bad about it." + +For answer Billy slipped down on to the bank by Mavis and put his +arms round her. + +"It's all my fault," he said contritely. "I--I never thought till a +little while ago up in the wood, at least, not properly. That's why +I came to find you." + +"Are Mr. Frampton and Monty still there?" Nancy asked, seating +herself on the other side of Mavis. + +"Yes. I said we'd be back to tea, but--but don't let's hurry. Let's +sit here together a bit, just the three of us, shall we?" + +Just the three of them in a fellowship that even Dick or Monty could +not quite enter into yet because it required more even than the +intimacy of the last few days to belong fully to the comradeship that +existed between these three. + +For a long while they sat there, saying nothing, but with +understanding between them. Nobody passed them. Once a lady and a +little girl came towards a house on the other side of the road. They +watched them idly, noticing the daintiness of the child and the +youngness of her mother, yet none of them was really interested, +though at any other time they would have been struck by the music in +the child's laugh. + +"Billy," Mavis whispered presently, "p'raps I _will_ go and take the +prize. I--I could shut my eyes tight and not see anybody. P'raps +Margaret Seaton will have gone." + +"You'll do nothing of the land," Billy replied emphatically. "I'd +rather starve than let you do it No! I've been thinking, and I can't +see any way out but to go home. I left Mont cutting down wood for +his frames, but he'd never sell enough to keep us all. 'Sides----" +He broke off abruptly, not liking to remind Mavis that the sixpence +for her entrance fee had left them with only a halfpenny. "So shall +I ask Mr. Frampton to take us home or send the telegram to the Prior?" + +They couldn't send the wire, Nancy said, for she had noticed that it +was early closing day when they passed through the village. + +"Then we must ask Mr. Frampton to take us home, and we'll have to +have poor old Ladybird sent on somehow. We shall have to tell +everything to Mr. Frampton 'cos we can't borrow money from him +without letting him know that we can pay him back. We shall have to +take it out of the Savings Bank." + +"Yes," Nancy replied thoughtfully. "But need we go to-night, Billy?" +For herself the glamour had gone out of the hills, for the time +being, at least, but she knew what giving in would mean to Billy. +"Couldn't we wait till to-morrow and just see if we can think of some +plan?" + +Billy shook his head. + +"No, we can't. We can't sponge on Mr. Frampton. To-day was +different, 'cos we thought--I mean--oh, it's difficult to explain." + +Though he found it difficult to express his idea he knew quite well +where the difference lay. To-day was not sponging, but to-morrow, if +they stayed, would be. No, it would not be "cricket" to keep their +penniless condition hidden any longer from Mr. Frampton. He must +know everything. + +"Shall we go and tell him now?" he asked. The explanation was not +going to be easy, and the sooner it was over the better. + +Three sad and forlorn little people set off dejectedly down the road. +Sounds of merriment came from the meadow. The children heard them, +but they would not turn their heads in the direction of a place that +was now so hateful to them; as long as they lived, Flower Shows and +all the jolly things attached to them that they had used to love +would recall the bitterness of this day. + +And so they walked along with their eyes fixed on the dusty road +until a gurgle of laughter caused them to look up. Instinctively +they paused, arrested by what they saw. Instinctively, too, they +crept towards the fence that stood between them and that which had +attracted them and stood with their noses pressed to it, their +troubles for the moment forgotten, their interest thoroughly aroused. + +"Oh, the darling!" Nancy whispered. "See! It's the little girl we +saw go into this house this afternoon. Isn't she sweet?" + +In a paddock at the side of the house was a pond with a willow tree +drooping over it, and near the pond, with her back to the road was +the little girl they had seen earlier in the afternoon. She was +dancing, and as she danced she crooned a little song. Indeed, it was +the song that seemed to suggest the dance. She sang of the "p'itty +ripple" in the water, and as she danced her arms rippled through the +air. She sang of the slow fluttering of leaves from the willow into +the pond--again her fingers moved lightly as though she were +scattering leaves. She sang of the "p'itty, p'itty sunshine that +makes 'ittle girls happy," and as she sang she became the very +embodiment of joy--as joyous as the swallows that had splashed their +happiness about the Prior's garden. And then she paused for a moment +and seemed lost in thought. With a nod of satisfaction she again +took up the song and dance. She was a little mother now singing her +dolly to sleep--a troublesome dolly who needed much crooning to +before she would sink to rest on the grass by the pond. + +The children watched with breathless interest. They were spellbound, +fascinated. Never before had they even imagined anything like the +dancing of this fairy of five. A grown-up person would have said +that the child was the embodiment of poetry, that she spilt it from +her beautiful little fingers. They would have said, too, if they +happened to be gifted with artistic perception, that rhythm was +perfected in the movements and crooning of the tiny person. +Something of the kind Nancy herself would have said had she had the +words at her command to express what she felt. As it was, she could +only stand there with the other two children, each of them absorbed +in the entrancing picture that certainly did not belong to the +everyday world. + +Time passed unheeded while they stood with their faces pressed to the +fence and the child danced. Presently, however, she paused and +seemed to be considering. Then a little gurgle of delight escaped +her, and, clapping her hands, she ran swiftly towards the tree that +hung over the pond. She stood by the edge of the water watching with +delight something that evidently fascinated her. + +"Is it a dragon-fly?" Mavis whispered. + +Billy nodded. + +"B'lieve there are lots of them, but I can't quite see. Wish she +wouldn't get so near the water!" + +The child talked and crooned to the dragon-flies. Stray words +reached the children. + +"P'itty sky things! Dear dancy things! Nonie loves 'oo--Nonie not +hurt 'ittle sparkly things. Nonie dance like 'oo." + +They saw her poise herself tiptoe with arms outspread, then, with a +gurgle of laughter, skim with light flitting movements along the edge +of the pond. + +"Nonie sky thing, too, now," she gurgled. "But, oh, so sad, Nonie +can't dance on water like 'oo." + +Now, a root of the willow tree hung over the pond on a level with the +bank like a great arm. The child saw the root and, in her desire to +get closer to the fascinating dragon-flies, she tip-toed along it and +stood, with hands clasped together, on the very edge of the arm. + +The children gazed in horror. + +"She'll fall! Oh, she'll fall!" Mavis whispered. + +"Hush! We mustn't frighten her," Nancy replied. "But, oh, I wish +she'd come off it! If we call her she'd fall in, I 'spect." + +Billy said nothing, but his face went white with the tension of +watching. He dared not move lest he should scare the child, but he +was ready to vault the fence at the first hint of real danger. + +For five long minutes they stood gripping the palings, while Nonie, +regardless of her danger, crooned low and tenderly her delight in the +flashes of blue life at her feet. + +Suddenly, a dog entered the paddock from the garden and barking with +joy rushed towards his little mistress. So absorbed was the child +that she did not hear him until he reached the tree. + +"Nikko!" she cried, "go back! Naughty--go back!" + +The dog, however, was so delighted to see her that he ran along the +root of the tree barking joyously, and then, reaching his beloved +little mistress, jumped up to lick her face. Just a touch of his +paw, just a touch of love, and with a frightened scream Nonie fell, +her dress catching on the root of the tree and holding her just above +the water. + +Billy, however, had not waited to see the end. Before the dog had +reached the tree he had vaulted the fence and was running towards the +pond. He saw the child fall, he saw the little muslin garments catch +on the jagged roots and hoped passionately that they would not give +way before he could reach the suspended, frightened little girl. + +"I'm coming!" he yelled. "Don't be frightened, Nonie!" + +Pushing the excited dog out of the way he ran along the arm of the +tree, and, kneeling down, reached for the screaming child. Then, +regardless of the damage to her pretty clothes, he slipped his hands +under her and dragged her away from the roots that had proved her +salvation. + +"Don't cry, dear," he panted. "You're safe now; wait just a minute +and I'll crawl along to the bank with you. It's going to be jolly +awkward, though!" he added to himself. + +His arms ached from the strain of lifting the child, and his legs +were cramped, for there was very little room for a big boy on the +narrow ledge. Exactly how he should crawl back without dropping his +precious burden he did not know, but Nancy solved the problem. + +"Billy, wait a moment," she cried, as she and Mavis came running +towards the tree. "I'll slither along sideways towards you, then I +can take her from you and pass her on to Mavis. Now, are you ready?" + +It was no easy matter for Billy to twist himself round and pass the +frightened little girl to Nancy, but somehow or other he managed it. +Nancy held the child tenderly a moment before passing her on to +Mavis, and did her best to quieten her sobs. + +"Oh, see!" Mavis cried, relief in her voice, "here's her mother +running across the meadow. She'd better take her, hadn't she--she's +stronger than me." + +Nonie's mother reached the scene a moment later. Nancy smiled +re-assuringly when she saw the alarm and agitation in her face. + +"She's all right," she said. "But will you get where Mavis is, +please, an' hold out your arms so I can pass her to you?" + +Nonie's mother did not wait to be enlightened as to the cause of the +tear-stained face and torn clothes, or the presence of the three +little strangers, but simply held out her arms at Nancy's request, +assured by her comforting smile that they, at least, were not +responsible for the accident. + +Nonie, when she saw that she was once more on firm ground, clasped +her arms round her mother's neck. + +"Nonie naughty 'ittle girl," she wailed repentantly. + +"I rather think she is," her mother replied, holding her very, very +close. "What is the naughty thing that my little girl has done this +time?" + +The children, who had scrambled to the bank, stood round watching the +mother and child with undisguised interest. Nancy interrupted. + +"It was really the dog," she explained. "He was so pleased to see +Nonie an' he jumped up and pawed her and she fell, and, oh, wasn't it +a good thing her dress got caught? Billy _might_ not have got her +out of the water in time if he'd had to jump in for her. He had to +tear her clothes fearfully when he pulled her up, but he couldn't +help it." + +Couldn't help it? As though torn clothes mattered a scrap when Nonie +was safe! Nonie's mother had listened gravely to Nancy's +explanation, but now her hazel eyes lit up with a lovely smile as she +looked at Billy over Nonie's head. Such a wonderful smile that +Billy's young heart went out to her in worship. Again she turned to +Nonie. + +"I am still afraid that Nonie was right when she said she had been +naughty. What, I wonder, was she doing on that narrow root? I seem +to remember telling a little girl not to go near the water!" + +Nonie looked up fearlessly into her mother's eyes and nodded. + +"Yes, Nonie very naughty girl. It was the bits of sky things, they +were _ever_ pretty, an' I just wanted to know how to dance like them, +an' so I forgotted, Mummy." + +"I see. But now what is going to happen about it? How am I to +punish you?" + +"Oh!" + +The cry broke involuntarily from the three children. _Must_ this +fairy-like little dancer who had held them so enthralled suffer +ordinary, everyday punishment? Must she perhaps be _smacked_? It +was unthinkable. + +Nonie's mother seemed to take them into her confidence as she looked +up at them with a sorry smile. + +"You see," she explained, "little girls of five are not too young to +learn to obey. Nonie has been told not to go near the pond." + +Nonie suddenly looked up hopefully. + +"But 'oo never said 'pwomiss,' did 'oo? Could honour do 'stead of +punis'ment?" + +The children listened incredulously. What could this baby thing +possibly know of honour? + +Nonie's mother remained thoughtful for a moment. The children +fancied they saw relief in her eyes. + +"Very well," she replied. "We will try." + +She put Nonie down on the ground and immediately the baby thing +straightened herself like a soldier and stood with head erect gazing +fearlessly at her mother, who looked down at her gravely and tenderly. + +"Nonie Brimscombe," she said solemnly, "do you know what honour is?" + +"Yes, Mummy." + +"And truth?" + +"Yes, Mummy." + +"Can you promise on your word of honour never to go near the pond +alone again--not even to see a dragonfly?" + +"_Yes_, Mummy." + +"Can I rely on you to keep this promise?" + +"Yes, Mummy, Nonie'll not bweak her word." Then she relaxed and held +out her arms to her mother with a winning smile. "Are I forgived, +Mummy dear? I are ever, ever sorry." + +Mrs. Brimscombe stooped and kissed the child. + +"Yes, and now we must go and change that frock. But we haven't yet +thanked these little people for rescuing you, have we?" + +She turned towards the children, who, during the little scene between +Nonie and her mother, had been listening and watching intently. Was +it a kind of "make-believe"? Ah, yes, it was that surely, and yet +behind the "make-believe" they felt something real and big, something +that made them each instinctively straighten themselves just as Nonie +had done. Whether it was the words or the way in which Mrs. +Brimscombe spoke them they hardly knew, yet all that was best in them +responded to the little scene. If Flower Shows were henceforth to +have a sting behind them the word "honour" was always to awaken the +memory of this poignant little scene in the paddock. Yet _why_ had +Mrs. Brimscombe played this "make-believe" with Nonie and _what_ was +behind it? And again, why did the name "Brimscombe" seem, well, not +familiar perhaps, but to stir up some memory? Suddenly, Billy +remembered. This was the Mrs. Brimscombe whose husband had been +drowned in a boating accident at Gleambridge the previous summer. He +recollected it all; a friend of Aunt Letty's knew her and had told +them all about it, how splendid she had been about it, how she had +never forgotten the creed of the Guides to smile bravely through +trouble. Ah, of course, she was the head of the Girl Guides in that +district, Aunt Letty's friend had told them; and though Nonie was too +young to belong to the Guides her mother evidently was training her +to be one--that, of course, accounted for what they had just +witnessed. + +But Mrs. Brimscombe was speaking. + +"I am wondering," she said, and her voice was tremulous with emotion, +"how I am ever going to thank you. It is--difficult," she added, and +her smile as she glanced from them to Nonie was so unspeakably +tender, so alight with something that came from her very soul that +not only Billy's, but the girls' hearts, too, went out to her. Then +she pushed emotion from her and turned to Nonie. "I wonder, if we +asked them very nicely, if our little friends would stay and have tea +with us?" Now, so far Mavis had been somewhat in the background, and +it was Billy, her Nonie's rescuer, of whom Mrs. Brimscombe had taken +special notice. Suddenly, however, she looked at Mavis with eyes of +recognition. "Why!" she exclaimed, "aren't you the little girl who +won the Visitors' Race?" + +Mavis, looking flushed and uncomfortable, hardly knew what to reply. + +"Yes, I _did_ win it," she began. "But--but----" She paused and +threw an appealing glance at Nancy and Billy. + +"Ah, then you certainly _must_ stay and have tea with Nonie. The +prizes won't be distributed until about six o'clock. Stay and play +with Nonie till then, will you, dears? That is, if you can," she +added. + +"Thank you very much," Billy began bravely, "but--but I don't think +Mavis is going back to the Flower Show. We--we don't need the money +very much." + +"And we promised Mr. Frampton and Montague we'd be back for tea," +Nancy added. "But we _would_ like to have been able to play with +Nonie," she added regretfully. + +Mrs. Brimscombe looked at the children thoughtfully. Now what, she +wondered, lay behind their reluctance to take the prize? Mavis had +won it fairly, she was entitled to it. Yet the child's instinctive +glance at her soiled frock had not escaped her or the tear-stains +round her eyes. Something clearly was wrong. What were they doing +here alone and where were the Mr. Frampton and Montague they had +mentioned? Not at the Flower Show apparently, else they themselves +would have been returning there. No, evidently they were alone in +Barsdon. Was it possible they had come specially for the race? For +Billy's denial of their need of the money set her wondering. Could +it be that they needed it, and that some hurt to their young pride +(for she knew from her wide experience the sensitiveness of a child's +heart) prevented them from taking it? The children's growing +embarrassment troubled her. In some way or other she must help them +out of their difficulty. + +"You know," she said, turning to Nancy confidentially, "I think your +little sister ought to have that money. The Committee simply won't +know what to do with it if it's left on their hands. They get rather +fuddled, poor dears, if things don't go just by clockwork. You see, +it's a great day with them, _lots_ of preparation beforehand, and +to-day hard work since before seven o'clock. I've got a prize for +Table Decoration, and I simply daren't not take it. I wonder if you +would let me take yours at the same time, as you have to rejoin your +friends for tea? I'll give you the money now, and you can give me a +receipt for it that I can show the Committee. Just in case," she +added, with a laugh, "they think I'm trying to get it unlawfully. +Come along into the house and I'll get it for you," and she moved +across the paddock without waiting for a reply. + +"Boy, give Nonie pick-a-back," demanded Nonie, who had been making +overtures of friendship to the responsive children. "Nonie like 'oo!" + +Billy stooped and picked up the child very readily, yet still his +conscience troubled him as he galloped towards the house with her. +It seemed so mean to take the money when they hadn't the courage to +go up and receive it themselves. When they reached the house he put +Nonie down and stood in the porch, hesitating uncomfortably. _What_ +should he do? What ought he to do? The money would make such a +difference--just exactly how hard it would be to give up the +adventure he had not realized until Mrs. Brimscombe's suggestion had +seemed to make it possible to go on. And yet that the money should +come so easily---- + +"Won't it--won't it bother you?" he asked awkwardly, looking up at +Mrs. Brimscombe, who, seeing his indecision, had waited behind while +Nonie took the girls into the house. "If you'd rather, I'll go and +get it if the Committee would give it to me. The others could go on +and tell Mr. Frampton I'm coming later. You see, we _can't_ let +Mavis take it herself 'cos, well, 'cos it was mean of us to let her +go in for the race--only, we didn't think. And--and it wasn't true +that we don't want it, least not quite true. We needn't be poor, +it's not anybody's fault but our own--only----" + +Billy paused, hardly knowing how to proceed without telling the whole +story, and this he could not do, not even to this lovely lady. And +yet---- + +Mrs. Brimscombe had listened with interest and sympathy to Billy's +half-confession, filling in with ready intuition the gaps in his +story. _Why_ they needed the money, she hardly felt it necessary to +enquire. Probably it was for some little private purpose, some +secret between the three of them. From their conversation they were +evidently in the care of some responsible person, and their +appearance, except for the stain on Mavis's frock, gave no indication +of poverty. Nevertheless, knowing so well the hearts of children, +she was now more anxious than ever to help them in their difficulty. + +She put both her hands on Billy's shoulders and looked down into his +eyes. For a moment she did not speak, and in that silent communion +each read the truth and honesty in the other, oh, and a whole world +of other things besides. + +"Won't you let me do this for you?" she pleaded. "You saved my Nonie +and--she is all I have." + +How could Billy resist such an appeal? That smile that could conquer +tragedy, a smile that with most people would have been tears, was in +her eyes, and, because of it and the restrained sadness in her voice, +all that was chivalrous in Billy went out to her. And there was a +good deal of chivalry in Billy. A boy who has grown to ten years of +age with a Raleigh for his hero, who has walked with that noble +gentleman in imagination not once but hundreds of times under stately +trees that have probably swayed above the real Raleigh, who has felt +his influence all around him, such a boy could not fail to have +something chivalrous in his own composition. Raleigh had spread his +cloak for a queen to tread on; Billy's whole soul was at the service +of his Queen. Nevertheless, being a normal, healthy-minded boy he +found it difficult to express what was passing in his mind. + +"Her dress is spoilt though, an' all her other clothes." + +That was all he could find to say. + +Mrs. Brimscombe laughed (she had read the surrender in his eyes, and +that protective sympathy for her that he found it impossible to +express did not escape her). "Yes, and I ought to go and put her +into something respectable, oughtn't I? It's her _best_ frock, too." +Again a low rich gurgle that was so like Nonie's escaped her. What +were a few torn clothes when your one earthly treasure was safe, her +laughter seemed to say. "And so," she added, pressing Billy's +shoulder affectionately, "it's a bargain, isn't it?" + +Billy nodded. + +"An'--an' thank you awfully." He hesitated, and she waited, knowing +that he had more to say. "Could I some day write and tell you what +we wanted it for?" he asked, looking up into her face. "I can't tell +you now but--but I'd like you to know. It's awfully important and +interesting, and it means not having to give in about something." + +"Yes, write and tell me all you can, and be very sure I shall be +interested in anything that concerns you--always. Tell me just one +thing," she added, looking straight into his eyes, "are you more than +seven-and-sixpence poor?" + +Billy returned her look squarely. He could not possibly resent the +implied suggestion behind her words, and he thought the matter out +carefully before replying. Sleeping out of doors had become a +fascination, therefore nothing would be required for lodgings. +Surely seven-and-sixpence should feed them for three or four days +longer? + +"No," he replied, "I think we're not, but--thank you very much." + +Mrs. Brimscombe was satisfied that he spoke the truth. + +"Come in for a moment," she said; "I must have that receipt, you +know!" + +Nonie, regardless of her rags, was playing hostess to Nancy and Mavis +in the drawing-room. + +"Oh, she's sweet!" Nancy whispered to Mrs. Brimscombe, when she and +Billy entered the room. "She's pretending to be you, talking +'grown-up afternoon-tea talk'--so funny and quaint! I wish we could +see her again some day." + +"You are going to," Mrs. Brimscombe replied simply. "Nonie and I are +not going to lose sight of you, are we, Nonie? Shall we ask them if +they will come and stay with us some day?" + +To come and stay here with Nonie's mother? Billy, as he watched +Mavis sign the receipt and drink the milk Mrs. Brimscombe insisted on +them having before leaving, thrilled with pride at the thought of it. +Aunt Letty's friend had said that it was a privilege to serve under +her (she herself was a captain in the Guides). Well, what of the +privilege of staying in her house and perhaps being allowed to be her +protector, since she had no one now to look after her? Oh, this hill +country, what endless wonders it held? Who could possibly prefer an +everyday garden to adventuring here? + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +HALF-CONFESSIONS + +And while life was pressing adventure towards the three children down +in Barsdon, Dick and Montague were having a dull and miserable time +up in the wood. + +Dick was not greatly troubled at first at the absence of the two +girls; they were probably lingering in the paddock petting Modestine. +He lay on the ground smoking, waiting for some move on the part of +the boys, for that they should have no share in the mysterious +engagement had never occurred to him. To his surprise, however, +neither of them for quite a long time showed the slightest +inclination to leave the wood. But, presently, through half-closed +eyes, he noticed a growing restlessness in Billy. There was an +anxious, troubled look on the usually sunny face, and, presently, +apparently unable to keep his anxiety to himself, he drew Montague to +the edge of the wood and a whispered consultation took place between +them. Dick sat up and watched them. Was it the girls Billy was +concerned about? Surely in that case he would have consulted with +him rather than Montague. Yet they certainly had been gone a long +time. He was about to join the two and make casual enquiries +regarding the girls' absence when Billy disappeared and Montague, +looking depressed and unhappy, re-entered the wood. Now what was to +be done? Should he question Montague or wait for further +developments? And why should Montague wear that air of depression? +And then again, what was he doing with that neat little bundle of +wood; why was he cutting it into such short lengths? Apparently the +boy had forgotten that he was not alone for, as he worked, he began +to talk to himself. + +"Hope Billy remembers the tacks if he finds the girls. Wish I'd got +'em now, so I could go down to the Flower Show and sell to the people +as they came out. Oh dear, I'm feeling rather lonely; wish _I_ could +have gone to find Mavis, but Billy said stay here. Wonder if they'll +meet those ruffians who stole the money? P'raps Billy'll take it +from them again--then we _shall_ be rich!" + +Dick was not near enough to catch all the rumblings, but he had heard +enough to arouse his curiosity and some anxiety. He thought it high +time to recall himself to Montague's memory. + +"Hullo, old chap, what are you doing?" he enquired, rising and +sauntering towards him. + +"Just making picture frames," Montague replied. + +"Picture frames?" Dick repeated. "Won't they be rather in the way on +your travels?" + +"They're not going on our travels." Then an idea came to Montague. +Why not ask Mr. Frampton to buy some? Billy wouldn't let them borrow +money from him, but to sell something to him was surely different. +"Do you want to buy some?" he asked. "When they're finished, I mean. +I can't tack them together till Mavis----" + +"Yes?" said Dick. "'Till Mavis----'?" + +"Oh, nothing!" Montague replied uncomfortably. + +"Look here, old chap," Dick said, seating himself on a log near the +boy, "I've not yet heard the full story of yours and Billy's battered +faces. I wish you'd tell me all about it. Did anything happen +to--well, to make it necessary for you to sell picture-frames?" + +Montague, wishing fervently that the others were there to support +him, eyed Dick dubiously, but made no reply. + +"Don't you trust me?" asked Dick. + +Montague nodded. + +"Yes, but Billy said----" + +"Yes--what did Billy say?" + +"Oh, nothing, 'cept that you'd p'raps make us go back if you knew, +an' if you didn't do that we'd be sponging on you. But it's all +right now--least, it will be when Mavis comes back. I--I wish she'd +come--I _wish_ we hadn't let her!" + +Montague paused. He was wishing with all his heart that he had not +promised Billy to stay in the wood. They ought to have gone +together; the anxiety of waiting was becoming almost unendurable, and +he would have given much to have been able to share his fears with +Dick. Supposing something had happened to little Mavis? Oh, it was +terrible to be left behind! + +Dick slowly filled his pipe, thinking hard while he pressed the +tobacco into the bowl, and glancing from time to time at Montague's +troubled face. + +"Look here, old chap," Dick began, "you're worried about them, I +know. Now, suppose we give them another quarter-of-an-hour, and then +if they haven't returned I think you had better tell me where they +have gone and we will talk the matter over together and see what can +be done. I'm worried, too, you know," he added. + +"Are you fond of them?" Montague asked. "Would you mind if anything +happened to them?" + +"I should mind very much indeed," Dick replied, "if anything happened +to any of you four youngsters--but it isn't going to! Now, is it a +bargain?" He pulled out his watch and looked at Montague +questioningly. + +"Yes, if I needn't tell you what Billy wouldn't like me to tell you." + +Montague himself would have been quite ready to confess the whole +adventure from the very beginning to Dick, feeling sure that the +friend who had stood by him so often in the dreadful aunt-days that +were already beginning to fade into the remote past, would +understand. And, after all, if he insisted on a return, as far as +he, Montague, was concerned, it would not greatly matter. Nothing +would induce him to return to Riversham, but the children had offered +to share their home with him, and he was secretly awaiting with eager +interest the day when he should be initiated into the delights of +their beloved Nestcombe. The grown-ups? Well, he would tolerate +them for the children's sake; yes, even the aunt, since Mavis loved +her. Nevertheless, though practically any place would be home for +him if the children were there, for Billy's sake he hoped he would +not be led to tell Mr. Frampton too much. Billy cared so +tremendously about this adventure (that he was the leader Montague +had recognized from the beginning), and because Billy had been such a +good chum to him, because, moreover, he was beginning to care for him +as he had never yet cared for another boy he wanted to stand loyally +by his friend and not let him down. + +He spent the next fifteen minutes wondering just how little he could +tell Dick and hoping against hope that the children would turn up and +relieve him of the necessity of saying anything at all. But the +fifteen minutes dragged slowly by and they did not come. + +"Now," said Dick, glancing at his watch, "the time is up, so let's +see what can be done. Tell me--are they in Barsdon?" + +"Yes." + +"That's all right--then we haven't far to go. Why didn't you go with +them?" + +"I dunno. I _wanted_ to. It was just Mavis and Nancy really who +were to go, and Billy and me were to wait here, only Billy got +worried and wished he'd not let Mavis--not let them go and I wished +it too, and I wanted to go and fetch them back, and just do the +picture-frames, but Billy said no, she was his sister, and he would +go and find her and would I wait here 'case they came back another +way." + +"Yes--but what _is_ it that Mavis went to do?" + +"Well, to run in a race at the Flower Show!" + +Dick showed his astonishment. + +"Run in a race at the Flower Show?" he repeated. + +"Yes, for seven-and-sixpence," Montague growled, "'cos nearly all our +money was stolen." + +Dick began to see daylight, but he looked down at Montague gravely. + +"And you boys allowed little Mavis to do that rather than treat me as +a comrade?" + +Montague said nothing, but he felt horribly ashamed, and very, very +unhappy. He began to realize that as he knew Mr. Frampton so much +better than the others he ought to have persuaded them to trust him. +Very miserably he looked up at Dick. + +"It's--it's not exactly _you_--it's your grown-upness, I b'lieve." + +Ah, yes, that indeed was it. Dick knew it, and, for the first time +in his twenty-one years, hated this barrier he had regarded hitherto +as something very wonderful and very desirable. Yet--twenty-one--was +it so far from the world of childhood? And what exactly was the +barrier; how could it be defined? He had roughed it with them, had +shared their picnics, had, he thought, dropped his "grown-upness" +entirely. They were fond of him, there was no doubt of that, just as +they were of Montague, yet, because of a nameless barrier, they had +left him out in the cold, while the penniless boy (for Dick was sure +Montague was not worth more than a few pence when he joined the +adventurers) they had taken into their entire comradeship. It was +impossible, of course, to be either hurt or angry, nevertheless, Dick +regretted deeply that these care-free irresponsible little +adventurers should think it necessary to shut him out. + +"That's it!" he thought. "Irresponsible! The irresponsibility of +childhood--these little people knew instinctively that one loses it +when manhood comes." Dick suddenly felt very lonely and sighed for +that lost boyhood that he had cast off so willingly. + +Well, no use wasting time over vain regrets, something must be done +immediately. He must run down. to Barsdon in the car; probably, +after all, the children were merely waiting for Mavis to receive the +prize. + +"Wait here for me, Mont, in case I should miss them. And if I find +them we'll all go to the Show together this evening." + +Montague looked round at the silent wood and the loneliness smote him +to the heart. + +"You won't be _very_ long, will you?" + +"No. If I don't see them soon I'll come back for you and we'll +search together. Make a fire and get the kettle boiling," he added, +thinking the time would drag less if the boy were occupied, "and +don't worry, old chap. I'll find them, or we'll find them together." + +For a moment their eyes met, and through the chilling loneliness in +the boy's heart there swept a sudden surge of affection and gratitude +and trust. + +"You an' the Prior," he muttered, "an' my guardian aren't like +ordinary grown-ups. I s'pose men are better'n women. I'm _glad_ +you're my friend." + +Dick, as he drove rapidly down the lane to Barsdon felt absurdly +happy at the boy's confidence. Need there be an insurmountable +barrier, he wondered? + +"Well, at least we're necessary to them sometimes," he thought, "and +that is something." + +He was just about to make enquiries as to where the Flower Show was +being held when, hurrying along the village street towards him he +caught sight of three well-known little figures. + +"Mr. Frampton!" + +Again Dick forgave these troublesome little people the anxiety they +had caused him because of that unmistakable ring of gladness in their +voices. Again he felt an absurd happiness when they scrambled into +the car as though it were their right. + +"Where's Monty?" Mavis asked, as Dick turned the car in the direction +of the wood. + +"Keeping his promise to Billy." Dick spoke somewhat shortly, for he +wanted them to realize something of Montague's loneliness without +them. "We began to think, you know, that our comrades had deserted +us." + +"Oh, but we couldn't do that!" Nancy exclaimed impulsively. "We +_couldn't_ come sooner--Monty will understand when we explain. And +you----" She paused and looked questioningly at Billy. If only she +might tell Mr. Frampton _some_ part of the doings of the +afternoon--it was hateful to be so secretive. To her delight and +surprise Billy nodded consent, and turning again to Dick she began to +tell him of Billy's rescue of Nonie. + +"I didn't mean that part," Billy broke in. "I meant about us having +the money stolen. We _couldn't_ tell you yesterday, Mr. Frampton, +and a little while ago we thought we'd _have_ to tell you, 'cos it +seemed to be the end of our travels. But it isn't the end after all +and yet--oh, well, we just hate not telling you, 'cos we're all kind +of chums together, aren't we?" + +Very, very slowly Dick drove up the stoney lane, his heart thrilling +with happiness as between them (Billy and Mavis who were in the back +hanging over the seat) they told the full story of the fight and the +lost purse, their shame at having only dry bread to offer him, +Mavis's suggestion that she should enter for the race and even (with +Mavis's consent) her encounter with the girl from Nestcombe. + +Not quite all the story was told in the car. It was a shout of joy +from Montague that interrupted the narrative. Poor, poor Monty, how +sorry they were to have left him so long; how glad they were to see +him again. Oh, it was good to be with these two dear comrades again. +And tea was waiting for them? How nice of Mr. Frampton and Monty to +have waited for them; they didn't deserve it and yet--and yet, oh, it +was not at all easy, they were beginning to find, to know what was +the right thing to do. Mr. Frampton and Montague had been worried +about them, yes, and lonely, too--this they found out from Monty +when, after tea, they were all sitting together quietly near the +bower. And they were their comrades, both of them and--and should +one hurt one's comrades? But then, it was unthinkingly. Yet again, +_why_ not have trusted Mr. Frampton? Wasn't it somehow different +between a little band of friends, between out-of-doors comrades? How +sorry he seemed that they had not trusted him--yes, there was _his_ +point of view. + +"I'm sorry," Billy said, "I--I wish we'd told you." + +"And, oh, we were so unhappy about Mavis," Nancy added. "That was +why Billy left you and Monty alone. But we ought to have told you." +She was silent for a moment, then suddenly she asked Dick a question. +"What is 'obligations'?" she demanded. "Do you have them towards +people--people you like?" + +"Yes," Dick replied, wondering what was coming, "sometimes." + +Nancy's eyes glowed. + +"Oh, do you know," she continued, "I'm just beginning to _feel_ that +word--it's getting inside me, and I can hear a song in it. _Some_ +words, you know, dance inside me like music--pretty words, I mean, +but I never thought 'obligations' would! I thought it was a cold, +ugly grown-up word, but it isn't. It's thrilly and--and chummy! +I--I can't explain it better than that. _Do_ you understand?" + +Yes, Dick understood well enough. How dear these children were, how +grateful he was to them for this comradeship they were extending to +him. The invisible barrier still was there, they still had not made +full confession, nevertheless Dick was convinced that as far as it +was possible for them to take a "grown-up" into their childhood's +world, they had taken him and he was satisfied. + +"And yet," he thought, as he sat watching them, "though 'obligations' +has become a living word for Nancy, none of them has even yet +realized their obligations to their own people. I wonder when they +will?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE DERELICT CAR + +After breakfast the following morning they gathered at the edge of +the wood and scanned a grey, unpromising sky anxiously. What did Mr. +Frampton think of the weather? Did he think it would be possible for +them to sleep out-of-doors to-night? + +Dick shook his head. + +"It will rain before the day is out," he replied. "The wind will +keep it off for a time, I think, but you'll certainly have to find a +cottage this evening." + +Billy and Nancy exchanged troubled glances. Seven-and-sixpence would +not go very far, they knew, if some of it had to be used for sleeping +accommodation, for they could not hope to find another Priory. + +Dick, of course, knew that they were worried, and just before they +were about to set out on their travels he made a proposal to them. + +"I wonder," he began, as he lifted Mavis into the saddle, "if you +would strike a bargain with me to-day? You invite me to lunch, and +let me invite you to tea at a cottage I know at a gem of a village +called Omberley. Probably we could stay there for the night, if need +be, and that," he added with a smile, "I should like to be _my_ part +of the programme. Will you let your big chum do this?" + +How could they refuse when he seemed to wish it so much? Was he not +now one of themselves--almost? For the quiet, happy hours spent +together in the wood last night had strengthened the bond of +comradeship between them; Dick and the two elder children had been +keenly alive to it, and it was this that had made it possible for him +to make his suggestion. + +"But can you spare the time to be with us so much?" Nancy enquired. +"Oughtn't you to be looking after other travellers?" + +Dick re-assured her. It was children that he was mainly responsible +for. Of course, when anybody needed a hand with a car he must give +it, but otherwise he was at their service. In fact he had mentioned +them in his report to his employers, and they were fully satisfied +that he was doing his job in looking after them. + +"But where is Omberley?" they asked. "Is it on the Gleambridge road?" + +Dick gave them the direction. They could easily reach it by the +afternoon, he said, and once there he was sure they would not want to +leave it. And then there was the common up above it--such a common! +And beyond the village on the edge of the common _perhaps_ a glimpse +of the cathedral! The cathedral? Nancy responded instantly. To see +it from this side of the hills--had that not been the desire of her +heart for the last two days? The Birdstone glimpse, being so shadowy +and remote did not count, she said--though it had resulted in a poem! + +"Don't make too sure of seeing it," Dick advised her. "It will +probably be blotted out to-day even if the rain keeps off." + +He arranged a time for lunch in case they should not meet before +then, and at the same time fixed tea at Omberley for about six +o'clock. He meant, of course, to keep a casual eye on them in +between whiles, but because of the new comradeship between them, +because of their trust in him he did not wish to hamper their +movements or rob their adventure of any of its charm. + +The children set off down the hill to Barsdon in high spirits. +Modestine, refreshed by her long rest, was in her most angelic mood, +and seemed glad to be with the children again after her lonely day in +the meadow. + +Montague, before they reached the village, put his hand in his pocket +and produced five shining shillings. The other children looked at +them in blank astonishment. + +"It's for picture-frames," he explained. "Mr. Frampton ordered five +while you were getting Modestine ready this morning, and he's going +to take a photo of each of us and of Modestine and keep them in the +frames _always_. So we've twelve-and-sixpence now," he added +proudly, handing the money over to Billy. "Twelve-and-fivepence when +we've bought the tin-tacks." + +"How ripping!" Billy exclaimed, accepting the money unhesitatingly. +"Let's get a really decent lunch, shall we? We can buy it in +Barsdon." + +Barsdon shops, however, had nothing very exciting to offer them. +Bread and cheese, some rather dry-looking corned beef, a large bag of +buns and dough-nuts and some sour-looking apples was the best they +could do. As far as they themselves were concerned, it was good +enough, but they would certainly have liked something better to have +offered Mr. Frampton. + +They passed very near to the Brimscombes' house and looked about +eagerly for some sign of Nonie or her mother, but neither of them was +to be seen. Reluctantly they passed on down the Gleambridge road and +soon Barsdon lay behind them. Just a cluster of houses amidst the +hills it seemed now as they looked back, nevertheless to the children +it was unforgettable. So much had happened there, such a mixture of +trouble and happiness, yet, somehow, the troubles seemed to have +faded into unimportance, and their thoughts lingered about the +happiness. Nonie and her mother and "When we come to stay at +Barsdon"--that was all the talk now, and the hills piled up about +them were simply excluded by the vision. And adventure? Well, of +course, there had been no _real_ adventure in Barsdon, but _could_ +adventure, they wondered, be more thrilling, more interesting than +the finding of Nonie and Mrs. Brimscombe? + +There was a chilliness in the air this morning that sent them +hurrying on. The sun came out fitfully, but whether it was there or +not seemed to make very little difference to-day. How could you be +anything but care-free when you felt yourselves to be almost +millionaires? Once or twice Dick passed them and paused each time +for a chat. How nice to meet someone you knew, they thought; what a +friendliness it gave to the hills. + +Presently Nancy's imagination found a way through the fun and +laughter and pointed out to her the beauty of the hills on this grey, +gleamy day. Being so much a child of sunshine and shadows herself +she loved a day such as this; it exhilarated her, and the hills, with +their intense, dusky curtain of mist against the silver of the sky, +were to her even more attractive than in the clear sunlight. + +The morning slipped happily by, and just before one o'clock they +found Dick waiting for them half-way up a gentle slope. + +"I was beginning to feel hungry," he announced when they came up with +him, "and I thought this bit of grass would make a decent +camping-ground; it would be colder on the top. Is anybody else ready +for lunch?" he enquired, with a smile. + +Were they not? Who would not be in this keen hill air? Even Aunt +Hewlett would have been satisfied with their capacity for putting +away food to-day. + +"We _always_ seem to eat a lot out of doors," Nancy sighed, as after +the last bun had disappeared they attacked a bag of chocolates Dick +had provided. "We're just as bad at picnics at home, and when we go +fishing in Daddy Petherham's boat--well!" + +"Some day," said Dick, "you must come on the river with me." + +"When we get home?" Nancy exclaimed. "How lovely! Oh, but," she +added, remembering his wardenship, "what about your work?" + +"It's only a temporary job," Dick replied. + +"How rotten!" said Billy. "That'll mean finding another one, won't +it?" + +"Oh, I shall do that easily enough," Dick replied lightly, as he +helped them fix their blankets on to the saddle. + +They felt, when presently they turned to wave good-bye, that they +were leaving an old friend behind them. + +"It must be because it's an out-of-doors friendship," Nancy said, "it +makes a difference, just as it does to one's appetite!" + +The road at the top of the hill opened out into a wide, sweeping +common, much more interesting-looking than the flat plain they had +found at the top of Birdstone. However, there was no time for even +Nancy to set her imagination at work upon the view, for a car just +ahead with someone lying under it, evidently busy with repairs, +attracted their attention. Exactly why someone lying under a car +should prove more attractive than the hills that had lured them from +home they could not have explained. People and things and happenings +always seemed to be pushing themselves in front of the hills--that +was all they knew about the matter. + +"We'd better see if they want help," Billy said. "I could run back +and call Mr. Frampton." + +When they came up with the car they discovered that the person who +was lying under it was a girl. In the car was a thin, elderly +person, who was leaning out and abusing the girl in a shrill, +high-pitched voice She had evidently worked herself up into a +decidedly bad temper. + +"She's an aunt!" Montague whispered. "A great-aunt!" + +He stared at the girl who was grappling with the repairs, less in +sympathy, it must be confessed, than curiosity; he was experiencing a +certain unholy satisfaction that someone else, not he, was the +sufferer this time. + +"That's the kind of thing _I_ had to put up with," he whispered +bitterly to Mavis. "'Spect she's feeling jolly miserable!" + +At this moment the girl wriggled out from under the car. To +Montague's utter astonishment, however, the crushed, miserable +expression he had expected to see was not there. The girl was +actually smiling kindly and good-humouredly (almost as one would +smile at a troublesome child) at the bad-tempered aunt-person. + +"Don't stand staring, Monty dear," Mavis whispered hastily. "It's +not polite." + +Meanwhile, Billy, feeling far more scared than he ever had done of +Aunt Hewlett, advanced towards the occupant of the car. + +"Have you had a breakdown?" he asked politely. "'Cos the Warden of +the Hills is only a little way down the hill, and we could call him +for you if you would like us to." + +"The what?" shrieked the old lady. + +"The Warden of the Travellers in the Hills!" Billy repeated. + +"Mr. Frampton, you know," Nancy further explained. "He has to help +travellers when things go wrong." + +The young lady looked interested, but the old lady after +staring--very rudely, the children thought--shouted: + +"Warden fiddlesticks! Some infamous wretch, I'll be bound!" + +Now Montague, though his own aunt might occasionally be too much for +him, felt a strong desire working within him to battle with this +"stranger-aunt," as he called her to himself, and before either of +the others could defend their friend he had stepped forward. + +"Mr. Frampton's no more a wretch than you are," he growled, glaring +at the old lady with all his old, impish defiance, "an' nobody'd +better say he is to me--that's all! He's my friend; he's the friend +of us all, isn't he, Nancy?" + +Nancy was about to reply, but the old lady interrupted her. + +"Go on, boy!" she cried. "Let me hear the fate of anyone who +persists in calling him the names he deserves!" + +"Well, they'd better _not_ persist!" Montague rumbled darkly. "It's +lies if they do!" + +The old lady cackled out her enjoyment of what she considered, +apparently, a joke, and whispered something to the girl about +"delightful subterranean rumblings," then, suddenly her mood changed +again, and, regardless of the children's offer, she bade the girl get +to work again on the car, abusing her peevishly for her incapability +and enquiring what time she proposed to arrive at Gleambridge. + +The girl, with a hopeless shake of her head and a smile for the +children, again slid under the car, and the old lady, to their +surprise, subsided into her seat and closed her eyes. + +Montague leaned down to the girl behind the car. + +"Do you hate that aunt?" he whispered. + +The girl raised herself and shook her head. + +"No--I like her. But she's not my aunt--I'm her companion." + +"Oh!" Montague was decidedly disappointed. + +"Why is she so horrid to you?" Nancy whispered. "Don't you mind it?" + +"Not in the least," the girl replied. "She can't help it, poor dear. +It's nerves. Besides, I've been a Red Cross nurse, and had +experience with matrons and things!" + +They looked mystified. + +"She's a lamb compared with hospital matrons," the girl explained. +"Besides, she's fond of me. To-morrow she'll give me a spanking box +of 'chocs' or a new frock to make up for this." + +"How queer!" Nancy exclaimed. + +"You see," the girl whispered, "this car is a good old 'has-been,' +and she knows it, but nothing on earth will induce her to admit as +much, because her only son who was killed in the war bought it. +She'll keep it till it drops to pieces, and continue abusing the +roads and me--but she knows I understand." + +"Here's Mr. Frampton!" cried Mavis, who was waiting patiently near by +with Modestine. + +"Oh," Nancy sighed in relief, "I'm so glad! He'll make it go if +anyone can." + +Dick, seeing the children, drew up and waited expectantly. Nancy ran +to him and whispered an explanation of the affair. + +"Do make it go for her and if the old lady is horrid to you don't +mind--it's only nerves! We told her you were the Warden and she +wasn't very nice." + +"All right," Dick replied, "I'll see what can be done. But don't +wait for me," he added. "It's time you were getting on to Omberley." +He feared that the tactless old lady might give him away, and this he +would not have had happen just now for the world. + +The children reluctantly bade the girl good-bye. + +"Just when you get interested, on you always go again," Nancy sighed. + +"If she'd been an aunt," Montague growled, "then she wouldn't have +been sorry to-morrow. Aunts aren't ever sorry--not _great_-aunts," +he added hastily, seeing protest in Mavis's attitude. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +AWAKENING + +In after days, Nancy found that her sub-conscious self (she did not, +of course, call it that) had stored up impressions of the spacious +view. Grey, ineffaceable impressions that seemed a fitting prelude +to tragedy. Nevertheless, her conscious self was still occupied with +the strange couple they had left behind on the common; for people, +especially if they were somewhat out of the ordinary, never failed to +rouse her interest. + +"There's so much to wonder about them," she would say. + +And she was wondering a great deal about those two when presently +Dick came up with them. Nancy noticed immediately that he was +troubled about something. + +"It's that car," he explained, in answer to her enquiry. "The bally +thing ought to be on the scrap-heap, but the old lady won't part with +it, as you know." + +Then he went on to explain the obsolete mechanism of the thing, and +how he had promised to run into Gleambridge to see if it was possible +to get some new parts that would fix them up for a time. Of his very +interesting interview with the old lady, of her pointed remarks about +the condition of his roads--if he was in truth Warden of the +Hills--of her enjoyment of his discomfiture, and her demands that he +should get them out of their predicament he said nothing. + +Demands apart, however, he could not, in common humanity, leave her +and her companion stranded. He knew that he must go to Gleambridge, +yet what was to be done about the children? He did not at all care +about leaving them for so long--besides, he was anxious to see them +settled at Omberley before the rain came; it could not hold off much +longer, he was sure. If only he could have persuaded them all to +accompany him to Gleambridge--but then, of course, there was +Modestine. No, he must think of some other plan. + +He talked the matter over with the children and finally Billy made a +suggestion. If Mr. Frampton would take the girls in the car as far +as Omberley he could show them where to stay for the night. They +could then meet the boys at the entrance to the village and take them +to the rooms where they would await tea for him. + +"That's an excellent idea," said Dick. "If I can't get that derelict +fixed up by six o'clock it will have to be abandoned." He helped +Nancy and Mavis into the car. "Better tumble the blankets in, too, +Billy, in case the rain comes before you reach Omberley." + +It seemed to Nancy as they sped over the wide, sweeping common that +they were on the very top of the world. + +"Are there _really_ places higher than this?" she gasped, for the +clean, cold air took her breath away. + +"Much, much higher!" Dick replied, with an amused laugh. "Are you +enjoying it?" + +"Oh, it's 'toxicating!" she laughed, "isn't it, Mavis? It makes one +feel 'spasmy.'" + +"What a wild little creature she is," thought Dick, glancing down at +the excited little face. He was glad that the forest and river that +he loved so dearly had had a hand in the making of Nancy. + +Quite suddenly the road swung round to the left and they came upon +Omberley snuggling against the hillside. Nancy, of course, did some +"sky-climbing" when she saw it. "Sky-climbing," Mavis explained to +Dick, was a family word for Nancy's enthusiasms. + +"Well, I can't help it," Nancy replied, "if he brings me suddenly +from the top of the world to a lovely baby village nestling in its +mother's arms. 'Sides, he says lots of artists come to paint +it--p'raps you will when you're bigger!" for already little Mavis was +showing promise of being an artist. + +Dick stopped the car at a pretty little house half-way down the +village. He left the children outside while he went in to make +arrangements; these, apparently, did not take long, for he soon +returned followed by a pleasant-faced woman. + +"Mrs. Halliday has come to take the blankets in and to be introduced +to you," he explained. "She's going to get us a splendid tea, and +you are all to come here as soon as you like. The sooner the +better," he added. "You'd get drenched up on that common in the +rain. You'll be happy and comfortable here; won't they, Mrs. +Halliday?" + +Mrs. Halliday replied that it would not be her fault if they were +not, and, after a few final directions, they bade her good-bye "for a +little while." At the top of the village Dick pointed out an hotel +where they could leave Modestine and then, very reluctantly, set out +for Gleambridge. + +Nancy and Mavis sauntered slowly back across the common. As yet +there was no sign of the boys, so, keeping one eye on the road, they +explored some of the many fascinating little paths amongst the +bushes. It was a wonderful common, quite different from anything +they had ever seen before and seemed to offer endless possibilities. +The "make-believe" games that might be played there! After tea, if +it was fine, they simply _must_ come here to play. So interested +were they both that they almost forgot to keep an eye on the road, +and it was not until they heard a frantic shout of recognition that +they realized how far they had strayed. + +They flew back across the common, but, before they could reach the +boys, large drops of rain began to fall. Billy, seeing some +possibility of shelter behind the bushes, urged Modestine across the +grass to join them. + +"We'd better wait a little while," he shouted to the girls. "Daddy +Petherham," he added, turning to Montague, "would say it's only going +to be a shower if he saw that sky. But he'd say there's lots more +coming presently--worse luck!" + +The girls were waiting for them by a large hawthorn bush, and they +all huddled together, with Modestine, who hated getting wet, in their +midst. + +"Jolly good thing we've arranged to sleep indoors to-night," Billy +said, as he watched the driving rain. "Did Mr. Frampton manage to +fix things up?" + +"Yes, indeed, and at the dinkiest little cottage, too, and you'll +simply _love_ Omberley!" Nancy replied, enthusiastically. + +"_And_ this common!" Mavis added eagerly. "We just had to explore a +little. I _wish_ you'd both been here!" + +Presently, the rain ceased and, for the first time during the +afternoon, the sun shone brilliantly. + +"It's going to be fine for a little while anyway!" they cried +hopefully, but they had spent too many hours in wise old Daddy +Petherham's company to mistake that brilliance. The boys, however, +had been looking about them while they were sheltering and they too +found delightful possibilities tucked away behind those alluring +common paths. + +"There'd be time just to go down there," Billy said eagerly, pointing +to a path that led towards what seemed to be a kind of fort. + +"Mr. Frampton said not to hang about too long," Nancy replied +doubtfully. "I b'lieve he worries rather about us, you know." + +"Well, we won't stay long, but it's not nearly six yet, and 'sides +we'd be miserable stuffed up in a cottage for hours. Just down this +_one_ path, then we'll go straight to the cottage." + +There seemed no immediate prospect of another shower, so Nancy gave +in, and four eager children and one somewhat reluctant donkey set out +on a voyage of discovery across the common. The fort was further off +than they had imagined, but nobody thought of turning back for they +did not come upon anything so interesting every day! + +A real fort! How did it get there? Was it ever used? They could +see no sign of soldiers, nor even a sentry. A fort with no +defenders, with no enemy to storm it? Oh, impossible! + +"Just _one_ little game!" Billy cried eagerly. "Modestine can graze; +there's lots of cows and horses over there so she'll be quite happy." + +"Well, just five minutes!" Nancy conceded. + +Five minutes when you have to defend your country with your very life +against a persistent enemy? Who could think of paltry minutes, who +could have eyes for gathering storm-clouds when all your resources +are being called upon to defend your hearth and home from a merciless +enemy? + +And so half an hour or more slipped away, and a grey mist crept up +and shut out the Gleambridge valley and the distant hills. Great, +piled-up storm-clouds rolled nearer and nearer, but it was not until +a terrific clap of thunder, that might almost have been the booming +of one of their own imaginary guns, brought them back to earth with a +start that they realized what was happening. + +"Oh!" cried Nancy in dismay, "what _will_ Mr. Frampton say? We ought +to have gone long ago." + +"Yes," Billy replied guiltily. "Here comes the rain! It's no use +sheltering; it's going to be a terrific thunder-storm. We'd better +fly." + +They looked round for Modestine, but she was nowhere in sight. +Horses and cows were huddled together under a high wall beyond the +fort, but Modestine was not amongst them. Now what was to be done? +They could not possibly leave the poor little animal out in the +storm; they would have to stay and find her. + +"Oh, I hope we find her quick," Mavis said, in a frightened little +voice. "I hate this horrid thunder and lightning." + +Nancy could tell by the way she clung to her hand that she was +thoroughly frightened, and was not surprised, for she herself felt +suddenly small and helpless up here on the top of the world exposed +to all the fury of the storm. + +"Monty," she said, "you and Mavis run on to Jessamine Cottage and +Billy and I'll look for Modestine. Tell Mrs. Halliday we won't be +long, Mavis." + +For a moment Mavis clung to Nancy as though unwilling to leave her. + +"It's all right, Mavis," Montague said soothingly, "I'll take care of +you, dear." + +He took her hand firmly in his, and, for once, Mavis did not trouble +to see whether it was clean or not. + +"Don't be long, will you?" she pleaded, as Nancy turned away to join +Billy in his search. + +"No, I s'pect she's just behind some of the bushes. Take care of +her, Monty," and, feeling that the proudest moment in his life had +arrived, Montague ran with his little charge in the direction of +Omberley. + +Nancy joined Billy in his search. The rain was coming down with such +force and the wind was beating so pitilessly across the open common +that they found it difficult to hold up against it. Neither of them +would own that they were scared when the lightning zigzagged about +them, but each wished devoutly that Modestine would appear soon. + +Suddenly, through the fury of the storm they heard a welcome, +familiar sound--the sound of a most pathetic braying. They lifted up +their heads and listened. + +"Why, she's just over there!" Billy cried. "I can just see her +sticking out of that kind of shelter arrangement. I'll ran on and +fetch her; don't bother to come all the way." + +Feeling very much relieved, Billy ran towards Modestine. He ran with +eyes half-closed and head lowered to avoid the blinding rain, and +thus it was that he did not see a forlorn, draggled-looking cow +drawing near to the shelter. + +"Ladybird! Modestine! Come on, old girl, we're waiting for you, and +we're drenched through. Hurry!" + +Modestine, hearing her little master's voice, looked up, but instead +of seeing his familiar face she encountered that of the cow. Now, +whether it was the storm that scared her or the harmless face of the +cow Billy could never say; all that he knew at the time was that +Modestine flew past him in terror. After that he knew very little, +for suddenly all was confusion. + +Nancy could never be sure, either, exactly how the accident occurred. +She was not near enough to see more than a jumble of Billy, cow, and +donkey; then, the mad rush of Modestine, and her brother lying very +still just outside the shelter. + +She flew, terrified, towards him, and, flinging herself on the wet +grass at his side, leaned over him. Whenever action was demanded of +her, Nancy's imagination was always thrust into the background, and +so, though Billy's face was deathly white, she did not pause to +indulge in the Biggest Fear of All. She unfastened his collar and +tie and then raised his head gently on to her knee. What else could +she do? There was no need for water, for the rain was beating down +on the boy's upturned face. Was there nothing to be done? Had she +just to sit here patiently waiting for life to return. Oh, it was +unbearable! Why did she not know what to do? If only she had not +sent the other two on, she thought regretfully, Monty could have run +to the village for help. She looked about her, but the common, as +much of it as was in sight, was deserted. Back on the road she could +hear the sound of a car, but it would be gone before she could get +near enough to wave to the occupants. It was not Mr. Frampton's car +she knew, for it was coming from the wrong direction. If only he +would come along--ah, what a relief that would be. + +Nobody came, however, and she remained sitting there in the rain +watching Billy's face with anxious, passionate love in her eyes. + +At length, after what seemed an eternity to Nancy, Billy opened his +eyes and looked about him vaguely. + +"I think I've hurt my head a bit," he said, "it feels rather rotten. +Why, you're sitting on the wet grass, Nancy! I'll get up." + +He tried to rise, but fell back with a sharp cry of pain. + +"It's my leg," he groaned. "Is it broken, Nancy?" + +"I don't know, Billy dear--I couldn't see what happened. Shall I +look and see?" + +Billy shook his head. + +"I--I couldn't bear to have it touched," he whispered, for he was +almost too exhausted with the pain to speak. He closed his eyes. +Apparently he had forgotten that Nancy was still sitting on the damp +grass, for he rested his head on her lap and held her hand tight. +Nancy looked down at him in despair. It was awful to see him +suffering so horribly and not be able to relieve him. She dared not +even suggest lifting him into the cattle-shelter out of the rain for +fear she might further injure his leg. + +"If someone doesn't come along soon I shall have to leave him and run +for help," she thought. + +The thunder still rolled amongst the surrounding hills, but only +distantly now; she was glad of this, for the horrid thunder seemed to +add terror to the accident. + +"Nancy!" Billy spoke feebly, and Nancy leaned down to catch his +words. "How shall we tell Mother? She'll be awfully worried about +it." + +Now, there was an unwritten law amongst the three children that their +mother must be saved as far as possible from all trouble. Their +quarrels were suspended at the first whisper of "Mother's coming!" +because it hurt them to see a certain sad, grieved expression that +was always on Mother's face if she caught them at it unawares. They +wanted to ward off all sorrow, all grief; they hated it to come +anywhere near that beloved mother; they hated anyone who caused her +suffering. Dick, realizing from their conversation something of this +protective love of theirs, had, as before mentioned, dreaded the +awakening for them when they should realize the anxiety she had +suffered after their disappearance. _That_ anxiety they could never +wholly realize; they had left a letter of explanation, so why should +anyone worry? Were they not used to wandering about the forest with +Modestine? Only in the daytime, of course; but still everybody knew +they were not helpless babies who could not be trusted. + +Nevertheless, because of that unwritten law, both Billy and Nancy +were beginning to realize that they ought never to have come. + +"It was all my fault," Billy whispered. "I'll tell her it was me, +Nancy." + +"You won't!" Nancy replied passionately. "I'm older, an' I ought to +have thought more, and not just gone on dreaming stupid dreams about +hills that aren't a bit nicer'n our forest. I ought to have known +we're too young to go off like this. When you're older you know what +to do with accidents, an' all _I_ can do is to sit here and wait for +a grown-up!" Nancy leaned down and pressed her lips to Billy's hot +forehead. "I _wish_ it had been me," she added. + +Billy half opened his eyes. + +"No, it's right for it to be me," he persisted, "it was my fault, +Nan." He was silent for a moment. "Tell Mr. Frampton +_everything_--from the beginning. And--and--oh, I wish he'd come!" + +He turned his head away, and if there were tears in his eyes Nancy +was not allowed to see them. She knew that they were there, however, +and felt desperately that something must be done. She thought of the +Prior's telegram, but could one send telegrams from so small a +village as Omberley? She feared not. Well, if she did not meet Mr. +Frampton she must get help from the village and send Monty back along +the road to fetch the girl who belonged to the derelict car. If she +had been a nurse in the war she would surely know what to do for a +broken leg. + +"Shall you mind being left just for a little while?" she asked Billy +gently. + +He shook his head. + +"No. But you'll come straight back yourself, won't you? I--I want +you, Nan." + +Nancy tenderly re-assured him. Then she rose, and, making a pillow +of her raincoat (fortunately Dick had insisted on both the girls +keeping their raincoats with them), she slipped it under Billy's +head. She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of +Modestine coming towards them. + +"Oh!" she cried, with relief, "here's Modestine, Billy. She'll take +care of you while I'm away. She'd be sorry if she understood, +wouldn't she?" + +"Yes--it wasn't her fault really. I'm glad she's come." For neither +of them could feel the slightest resentment towards the little +animal, who was indirectly responsible for the accident, knowing that +the blame rested primarily with themselves. + +The rain had now stopped. Nancy felt glad of this as she flew across +the common for there had seemed something so relentless in the steady +downpour with Billy lying there entirely at its mercy. She looked to +right and left when she reached the road, but not a soul was in sight. + +"I'll have to go to that hotel," she thought. "It's the nearest +place." + +She turned into the village street, and to her surprise and joy what +should she see standing outside the hotel but the derelict car! Ah, +_now_ she could get help! Utterly regardless of her dishevelled +appearance, she ran up the steps and burst into the lounge. It was +full of people, but that did not trouble Nancy, for the person she +wanted was there--that was all that mattered. She brushed past +several astonished tea drinkers and ran straight to the erratic old +lady and her companion. + +"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "please will you come at once? Billy's +broken his leg and Mr. Frampton isn't back from Gleambridge yet, and +he's out on the common with only Modestine. Could you _hurry_, +please, and bring someone to help carry him? It hurts him terribly, +an' so does his head." + +The girl rose instantly and glanced at the old lady. + +"Everything that's necessary," the latter replied tersely, in answer +to an enquiry in the girl's eyes. "And no expense to be spared. +She'll be ready--with somebody else's car--in about three minutes, +child," she added, turning to Nancy, for the girl had already +disappeared. + +Nancy looked up at her and quite suddenly a special instinct she had +for seeing _behind_ people told her that the old lady was to be +trusted. + +"Billy wants me to go back at once with them," she said hurriedly, +"and Mavis and Monty are at a place called Jessamine Cottage, and +don't know anything about the accident----" + +"No need to worry about them--I'll go immediately. And you can trust +Miss Hammond, child--keep her as long as you need her. She managed +to get the car here and here it and I can stay. Here she comes! +Now, off you go!" + +Nancy's eyes brimmed with gratitude as she followed Miss Hammond and +two strangers towards a car that was awaiting them. Now, just as she +was about to step into it Dick came dashing along the common road, +and glancing down the street saw and recognized her. He drew up +instantly and shouted to her. + +"Oh," she cried, her voice trembling with relief, "there's Mr. +Frampton! Please, he'll take me to Billy. But you'll come too, +won't you?" she asked, turning to Miss Hammond. + +"We'll all come," one of the men said kindly. "Your friend may need +us to help carry the little chap." + +Dick held Nancy close while Miss Hammond briefly made the necessary +explanations and she nestled to him, knowing that their dear, big +comrade would take over all responsibility now. + +"We'll never, never go away by ourselves again," she thought. "It's +an awful, awful world when you've got to try and manage and no +grown-ups to help you to think what to do. Everything'll be better +now Mr. Frampton's come. How glad Billy will be." + +* * * * * + +Three days later Nancy was sitting on the stone seat in the Sunk +Garden of the Priory, awaiting the Prior. Billy was settled for the +night in the charge of the new nurse who had come to relieve Miss +Hammond in order that she might return to her duties as companion, +and Mother was resting. + +The swallows swooped and circled around her, but this evening she had +no thoughts to spare for them. There was so much to think about; +things to puzzle out--big, important things. + +Nothing could ever efface the sadness behind Mother's forgiveness; +the half-hour with her when she had sobbed out her contrition was one +Nancy could never forget; Mother's few, gently-spoken words had +opened up a new world of responsibility to her. And then the memory +of Billy's face when they had lifted him into the car; the memory, +too, of his suffering during the ride to the Priory (Dick had taken +them there not only because it was so much nearer than Nestcombe, but +because he knew that his uncle would feel his responsibility in the +matter and would wish to bear, as far as possible, both the trouble +and expense), and the awful thought of four long months of +imprisonment for out-of-doors Billy; all these things forced +themselves upon Nancy and overwhelmed her with bitter regret. + +"An' 'tisn't as if he could let off steam and do some grumblings +sometimes," she thought miserably. "He'll feel he's got to try to +keep them in as well as the pain, when Mother's there specially, 'cos +it's all our fault." + +And yet, bitterly as she regretted ever having listened to the voice +of the hills, she could not help but wonder whether that adventure of +theirs was wholly wrong. For instance, there was Nonie. She must +surely have been drowned if Billy had not been there to save her. +And then again, there were Monty and Jocelyne, and Aunt Letty and +Uncle Jim. Surely the adventuring was going to be responsible for a +good deal of happiness where those four were concerned! Nancy, +clasping her hands round her knees, smiled a little tearfully as she +recalled the scene that had taken place under the Prior's beeches the +day after the accident. + +First, there had been Jocelyne, a beautiful, eager, impulsive +Jocelyne running across the lawn with outstretched arms to Monty. + +"Oh, Monty," she had cried, "I thought I didn't love you because +you're so naughty and troublesome, but I find I do! I've missed you +awfully, and it's been hateful living with aunt without you." + +Montague stared at her in surprise. + +"I haven't missed you," he replied slowly. "I've been happy." + +"But won't you be friends now?" Jocelyne pleaded, all her pride +humbled for, perhaps, the first time in her life. "I'll be good to +you, Monty." + +Montague hesitated and it was Mavis who decided the matter. + +"She's nice, Monty, I like her. Be quick and make it up with her, +then we can all be friends together." + +What could Montague do but obey his kind little tyrant? And then, +while the four of them were talking together, three of them at least +wishing that Billy had been there with them, across the lawn with the +Prior and Aunt Letty had come no less a person than "nearly-Uncle +Jim." + +"That's my guardian," Montague growled; "s'pose he's come to fetch +me, but I'm not going back to Aunt's." + +"Your guardian!" they echoed. "But it's someone who nearly married +Aunt Letty!" + +"Oh!" cried Nancy, her ready imagination grasping the situation, +"that's why the Nestley side of Riversham hurt him! I _said_ it +wasn't just an ordinary ache!" + +But Mavis, too, had grasped the situation, and while they were +talking and wondering she had run towards Aunt Letty and thrown her +arms around her. + +"Aunt Letty, dear, please won't you hurry up and be friends with +Uncle Jim again and marry him? You see, I promised Monty he should +have you to be his mother 'cos he hasn't got one. He hates aunts, +but if he forgets you're one he thinks he could love you and, oh, he +does need someone to keep him clean and love him. But he can't be +your little boy, can he, if you hate his guardian?" + +"I don't hate him!" Aunt Letty replied hastily, and Nancy, who had +drawn near with Jocelyne and Monty, thought how pretty her eyes +looked as she spoke. + +"Then you'll marry him quick and be Monty's mother-guardian?" Mavis +cried, clasping her hands eagerly. + +"And mine!" Jocelyne broke in impulsively. + +"The guardian-angel of us all," said Uncle Jim, and Nancy knew by the +happy assurance in his voice that he and Aunt Letty must have made up +their quarrel before joining them on the lawn. + +"'Spect the Prior made them," she thought, looking up affectionately +at the latter's twinkling face. + +"But what does Monty say?" asked Aunt Letty, kneeling down by the boy +and taking his hands in hers. "There won't be much 'angel' about it, +I'm afraid. Just pals, you know, who love and trust each other. +Will you risk it, Monty dear?" + +Montague stared silently at the young, kind face before him. Was +this an aunt? Why, she seemed friendly--just like Mr. Frampton. + +"I didn't know aunts was like you," he said simply. Aunt Letty +smiled and waited questioningly. Then, perceiving that she was not +fully satisfied, Montague leaned forward and, for the first time +since his mother's death, voluntarily kissed a "grown-up." "It isn't +going to be any risk--not for _me_," he replied. "Nor for you +either--you'll see!" he added, and though his voice rumbled +volcanically, it was because of the strange new fire of happiness +that was burning within him. + +And so, as she recalled that scene, Nancy could not but feel happy +that some good at least had come out of their thoughtless adventure. +And there was the Prior, too--how glad he seemed of their love, yes, +and even Uncle Val would be glad that they were fond of Lionel's +father. Oh, that hill country that had seemed so remote, those hill +people who had seemed almost foreigners, how near they were, how +closely linked, after all, with the forest and forest people. + +Well, the adventure, if adventure it might be called, was over, +unless staying on at the Priory with Mother and Billy could be called +a continuation of it. For Mavis and Monty, at least, it was +finished, Nancy thought, for they had gone home with Aunt Letty +yesterday. Modestine, too, was probably cropping grass +unadventurously in the home paddock, for she had been sent back in +the charge of one of the monks. Nancy smiled as she recalled the +Prior's confession of his "make-believe" monks. It was dear of him, +she thought, to have entered into the spirit of their adventure as he +had done; she loved him for it. Well, the monks were just ordinary +gardeners and butlers after all, but the Prior himself would never be +anything but "Prior dear" to them. + +Above the Priory wall the evening sunlight was bathing the distant +hills. Nancy watched it, the imagination part of her drinking it in +rapturously. Somewhere tucked away in the heart of those sun-kissed +hills were Nonie and her mother. Strange, she thought, how all the +very nicest happenings had been connected with people. Grown-ups, of +course, would think "adventure" too big a word to be applied to those +happenings. At the time, she herself and Billy had doubted whether +they might be called such, but, now, in looking back, Nancy was not +so sure. The encounter with Dick (they were all to call him that +now), the finding of Monty, the rescuing of Nonie, the Prior's +courteous reception of them, and the thrill of finding that he was +Lionel's father, above all the reconciliation of Aunt Letty and Uncle +Jim, surely there was adventure in all these happenings! + +"Oh, if only it needn't have turned out so cruelly for Billy," Nancy +thought. "Well, we've promised Mother to settle down to everyday +life until we're grown-up, so there won't be any more adventure now +for years and years." + +Footsteps aroused her from her reverie, and, looking up, she saw the +Prior coming towards her. She ran to meet him eagerly, and together +they paced up and down the old Sunk Garden. + +"Making poems, little girl?" asked the Prior. + +"No," Nancy replied, "I've just been thinking." + +"Important thoughts?" + +"Well, I don't know," she replied slowly. "It's only that we've +promised to settle down quietly till we're grown-up and it seems such +a long time to wait for any more adventure. It's Billy who will mind +most, I'm afraid. You see, he must do things, but we never, never +will go away again however tired we get of playing in the garden. +'Sides----" + +The Prior looked down at her questioningly. + +"Yes?" + +"Oh, only that the garden and the river and the forest, I b'lieve, +are the nicest places in the world, after all. If--if only something +would _happen_ there--if only one didn't just meet people in an +ordinary, everyday way, if only adventure could be at home 'stead of +you having to go and find it!" + +"But you don't!" the Prior re-assured her. "If you want adventure it +will come to you whether you go out to meet it or stay at home. Take +my advice, little girl. Let adventure seek _you_--it's waiting for +you round every corner. You've only to beckon, and it will come +dancing towards you." + +"Really and truly?" Nancy asked breathlessly. "But how? I don't +quite see _how_!" + +"You will some day. Did Dick or I or Monty or Nonie and her mother +or your Rose-Vicar seek you little people? And yet you have been +adventure, the Biggest Adventure of All for every one of us." + +"_We_ have been adventure for _you_?" Nancy repeated slowly. "Why, I +never thought of that, and I'm sure Billy didn't." + +She looked up into the Prior's face incredulously. How could three +children bring adventure to grown-up people? Surely he was mistaken? +Surely the Rose-Vicar, at least, would not agree with him? The +Biggest Adventure of All! + +"What _is_ the Biggest Adventure of All?" she asked, as they climbed +the steps to return to the house. The Prior smiled inscrutably. + +"Ah, _that_ you must find out for yourselves," he replied. "You will +know some day." + + + + Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London + 808.1039 + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76628 *** |