CHAPTER VIII
THE HOLIDAYS
'A little work, a little play, To keep us going--and so, good-day!'
'No more Latin, no more Greek, no more cane to make me squeak!' sangBobby on the fifteenth of July, springing out of the pony-trap beforePixie had stopped, and taking a flying leap over the pump-trough in theexuberance of his spirits.
'School is over, hooray!' shouted Peggy, banging down her books on themounting-block, and waltzing into the kitchen, where Aunt Helen andNancy were busy making jam. 'Don't you hear, Auntie? We've broken up foreight weeks! Isn't it glorious?'
'I hear fast enough; but I'm afraid it will be a doubtful pleasure forNancy and me if you are all going mad like this. My dear child, don'tyou think you might choose a less juicy seat than a tray full ofraspberries?'
Peggy jumped up in a hurry.
'I really didn't see them,' she said. 'I'll go and help Lilian unharnessPixie. Joe's away in the turnip-field. No home-lessons to-night,hip-hip-hooray!' and she took herself off like a whirlwind.
The holidays were indeed a delightful respite after the weary round ofexaminations which generally makes life a burden at the end of thesummer term, and the children set to work to enjoy them thoroughly.Bobby had taken to entomology, and panted over the hot pastures, chasingbutterflies with unflagging zeal. At dusk he would enlist Peggy'sservices, and the pair went treacling for moths. A careful mixture ofgin and syrup was smeared upon the trees, which were afterwards visitedwith a lantern, when the unfortunate insects could easily be taken inthe midst of their revels, falling sad victims to the sin ofintemperance.
Caterpillars, too, were caught and kept in boxes, till the Rose Parlourbecame so full of interesting specimens that Aunt Helen, for once,rebelled, and ordered this new branch of the menagerie to be removed tothe loft.
'I found one of your beasties inside my hat, and another in my teacup,'she complained. 'So you had better keep them where it does not muchmatter if they escape.'
Lilian devoted herself to art, and sallied forth with her paint-box,pencils, and sketch-block, in quite a professional manner, looking forsubjects. To be sure, the perspective of her cottages was apt to berather peculiar at times, and the Welsh mountains turned out a morevivid shade of purple, and the fields a far more brilliant green thanNature ever painted them; but it was all good practice, and the admiringPeggy thought that no Royal Academician could have produced suchcharming masterpieces. There was a little work, too, to make theplaytime all the sweeter--fruit to be picked, peas and beans to shell,the garden to weed, and great piles of bread and cheese to be cut andcarried out into the fields for the harvesters' 'drinkings.' But, asBobby said, it was all play-work, and much nicer than lessons, anyhow.
Peggy lay one afternoon at full length on the grass under the lime-tree,deep in the pages of 'Treasure Island.' It was rather a grown-up book,perhaps, for a little girl, but it was all about pirates, and sailors,and hairbreadth escapes, of so wildly exciting a nature, that she readon till she almost wept with disappointment to think she was not a boyto go to sea and meet with such thrilling adventures.
From the Rose Parlour came the strains of the piano, where Lilian waswailing a melancholy little ditty with keen enjoyment. It is mostly whenwe are very young that we take the greatest delight in the sad songs;those who have felt the real bitterness of sorrow are glad to bury itdeeply away, and do not wish it wakened, as sailors' wives love a placebest where they cannot hear the sound of the sea.
Lilian had always taken rather a delight in what Nancy called 'themelancholics.' When quite a tiny child she had much preferred thetragedy of Red Riding Hood to the brighter fate of the princesses wholived happily ever afterwards, and, with the tears streaming down herfat little cheeks, would quaver out 'Tell it again!'
Her first efforts in poetry had been in a distinctly pensive strain.When only about nine years old she had composed--
'THE DYING CHILD'S LAST WORDS.
'Remember me when I am gone, And me thou canst not see; When I lie sleeping in my grave, Dear friends, remember me.
'You'll keep my little garden neat, My clothes you'll fold away; My playthings in a drawer you'll put With which I last did play.'
There ought to have been more verses, but at this point Father hadunfortunately got hold of the paper, and persisted in treating the poemin such a comic light that the indignant authoress had never found theheart to finish it, though the fragment was considered very talented byAunt Helen, and carefully put away in an old work-box, with the firstspecimens of Peggy's handwriting and one of Bobby's little baby-curls.
Peggy came to the end of her book at last, and life seemed so stale andflat anywhere out of the South Seas that she wandered down the gardenfor a little diversion. Lilian's fresh young voice proclaiming that herheart 'was breaking, breaking,' came wafted along the terrace, mingledwith the sound of the reaping-machine, and the indignant gobble of theold turkey, which Bobby was chasing round the pasture.
'Let him alone, you naughty boy! Whatever mischief will you be in next?'cried Aunt Helen, flying to the rescue of the patriarch of herpoultry-yard, and enforcing her remarks by sounding raps on theculprit's curly brown pate. Bobby was the apple of her eye, but sheconsidered wholesome chastisement to be necessary to his moral welfare.
'Oh, Auntie, I've finished my book, and we've nothing much to do thisafternoon; don't you think we might take our tea out into the woods?'said Peggy, swinging herself over the garden wall into the pasture.
'You can if you like; only you must get the baskets ready yourselves,and not worry Nancy. You may as well buy a loaf while you are out, too,'said Aunt Helen, rummaging a shilling out of her pocket. 'We're bakingagain to-day, but the harvesters take so much bread for the "drinkings."Get some tea-cakes, too, if they have any.'
'All right,' cried Peggy, rushing off with enthusiasm to rouse Lilianfrom the piano and forage in the pantry for a supply of jam and butter.
Half an hour later an interesting procession started off from thekitchen door: Lilian first, with the basket of cups and provisions,Peggy with the milk-can, and Bobby armed with the kettle, while Rolloseemed to be everywhere at once, and as pleased as anybody.
'I've got the matches,' said Peggy, 'and a newspaper. You're sure youput in the spoons, Lilian? We forgot them last time.'
The place where the children were going was a delightful spot for apicnic. A rapid stream ran through the woods, dashing down over greatboulders, making little cascades and waterfalls as it went, with hereand there a deep, clear pool, where the trout lay snugly under thestones; the rocks under the overhanging trees were carpeted with thesoftest and greenest of moss, and tall ferns grew right down to thewater's edge, mingling with trailing ivy and creeping moneywort. Agrassy glade under a tall beech seemed intended by Nature for asummer-house, for there was a large flat stone in the middle, whichserved for a table, and a circle of little stones round, just highenough for seats, so that you might imagine Queen Mab and her fairiesdined here on moonlight nights, with the squirrels for guests and thebats and owls for waiters.
The children put down their baskets, and ran about gathering dry sticksto build their fire. There were plenty of dead branches strewn about inthe wood, so they soon had a goodly pile of fuel. Bobby filled thekettle at the stream, and planted it firmly on Lilian's elaborateerection of sticks. Peggy struck a match and set the paper alight; upwent the smoke, and in a few moments the bonfire was blazing grandly.But unfortunately the picnic party had quite forgotten that burning wooddoes not make a very substantial foundation, for the whole pile suddenlycollapsed, and over went the kettle, spilling all the water, and puttingout the fire with a hiss.
'What a nuisance!' exclaimed Lilian. 'We must find something to hang thekettle on, like the gipsies do.'
'Suppose we make a kind of fireplace between two big stones, and then wecan put a thick branch across,' suggested Peggy. 'It will be easier tolift the kettle off, too. I don't know how we sho
uld have seized it fromthe middle of that blaze.'
The second attempt proved a much greater success, and in a short timethe water was boiling bravely, while a very attractive feast was spreadout upon the mossy table.
Lilian had filled the teapot, and the company was just about to sit downand fall to with much relish, when the party was suddenly augmented byan unexpected guest. Down the little path from the glen above solemnlymarched a very small girl indeed, so round and fat and chubby that shelooked nearly as broad as she was long. She was a pretty child, withsoft, dark eyes and pink cheeks, so plump and full that the little noseseemed almost to be lost between them. A pair of stout brown legs showedunder the smocked holland pinafore, her white sun-hat hung upon herback, and she clasped a dilapidated doll in her arms.
She strolled up to the astonished children with the dignity of aduchess.
'I saw you lighting the fire,' she announced calmly, 'so I tookIsabella, and I've comed to tea.'
'We're very glad to see you, I'm sure,' said Lilian. 'Is Isabella yourdolly?'
'No; she's my child. I don't call her a dolly: it hurts her feelings, soplease don't say it again!'
'I'm ever so sorry,' apologised Lilian, trying to repress Bobby'sgiggles. 'Whose little girl are you?'
'I'm Father's girl. Father's painting pictures up there in the wood. Ipaint pictures, too, sometimes, when Isabella don't want me,' confidedthe juvenile artist; and to judge from the smears of paint upon herpinafore, she had evidently been pursuing that art with more vigour thandiscretion.
'Won't you come and sit on my lap?' said Peggy coaxingly, for she lovedsmall children.
The chubby infant looked the slight figure up and down, as if appraisingthe offered accommodation.
'She hasn't got a lap to sit upon,' she remarked scornfully, settlingher stout legs on the grass.
'You haven't told us your name yet,' said Lilian, trying to draw out theinteresting visitor.
'My name's Matilda Christabel Wilkins, but they call me Matty forshort.'
'Are you sure they don't call you Fatty?' inquired Bobby.
'No; only rude people. Nice people call me Miss Wilkins. I don't likeboys. I was four last week, so I'm quite a big girl now. Will the doggiehurt me? I think I will have some of that cake!'
'Hadn't you better begin with bread-and-butter?' said Lilian. 'No, dear,the doggie won't hurt you; it's only his play. Come here, Rollo! I'mafraid I haven't a spare cup; but perhaps you won't mind having somemilk in a saucer. Are you staying about here?'
'Yes, at the farmhouse. I help Mary to milk the cows. Mary sings tothem. I can sing, too. Would you like to hear me sing now?'
'If it won't trouble you too much,' began Lilian.
'No. I like it!' and Miss Wilkins crossed her short legs, turned up thebrown eyes, and broke forth into such a very extraordinary burst ofmelody that the children were nearly in fits. It had neither time nortune, but the notes quavered about on the scale like a distantrepresentation of the bagpipes. From the words they supposed it must bemeant for a hymn, and it wound on through six or seven verses, tillBobby grew quite hysterical.
'Thank you,' said Lilian, stifling her mirth, when the youthful MadamePatti had at length drawn to a close. 'Where did you learn that?'
'I learn it on Sundays, out of a book. Shall I sing it for you overagain?' evidently thirsting for an encore.
'Hadn't you better have some tea first?' suggested Peggy hastily. 'See,I've put strawberry jam on your bread-and-butter.'
The attractions of preserve seemed to outweigh the charms of music, forMiss Wilkins ate stolidly for five minutes without volunteering anyfurther remarks.
'You've got freckles on your nose,' she announced at length to Lilian.'And _she's_ torn her dress!' with an eye on Peggy. 'What a lot that boyeats! Nurse says it's very rude to fill your mouth so full!' pointing asevere finger at Bobby, which so convulsed him that he nearly choked.
'Perhaps you would like some cake now,' said Lilian, politely passingthe basket to the stranger.
'Thank you. I'll take two pieces, because Isabella would like one. Ithink I had better be going home now. Good-bye. I'll call again anotherday;' and the young lady crammed one piece of cake into a diminutivepocket, and, munching the other, strolled away up the glen, with theluckless Isabella head downwards under her arm.
'I hope she'll be all right; she's such a dot to wander about alone!'said Lilian anxiously, peering through the trees, and much relieved atseeing a tall figure in a brown velvet jacket catch up Miss Wilkins andbear her off upon his shoulder. 'I suppose they're staying at Brown'sfarm. I know they sometimes let rooms during the summer.'
'She's a queer young customer, at any rate. I feel quite ill withlaughing,' said Bobby, swallowing down his fifth cup of tea and flinginghis crumbs for the robins.
'Let's clear up, then. Suppose, instead of going straight down by thevillage, we walk up through the woods to Pengarth, and buy the breadthere. We can leave our things here, under the tree, till we come back,'said Peggy, hastily swilling the teacups in the stream and packing themup in the basket.
The others readily agreed, and they set off for a glorious scramble upthe steep hillside. The path was so narrow that in places they couldscarcely push through the thick, overhanging bushes and the trailingbrambles, where the blackberries were already turning red, and showing afine promise for the autumn. The trees were covered with nuts, whichBobby cracked with persistent hope, and perpetual disappointment when hefound them all yet empty of kernels.
They crossed the stream by a bridge roughly made of two pine-trees flungfrom bank to bank, with a rope for a hand-rail, a somewhat dizzyfoothold for anyone who minded the rushing water beneath, but infinitelyto be preferred to stones and mortar in the children's opinion.
Up the steep bank they trudged, through fields of bracken higher thanBobby's head, getting out at last upon a white road that wound along thetop of a cliff, with a stream roaring below, till round a sudden turnthey came upon Pengarth, a prim little village, nestling in a hollow,and consisting of a short street and a big chapel and school-house.
There was a small general shop in Pengarth, where groceries and boots,apples and red-herrings, seemed all mixed up with yards of print andribbon, penny ink-bottles, milk-cans, sun-bonnets, gingerbread,pear-drops, and bull's-eyes, presided over by a funny old woman in ablack wig and horn spectacles, who seemed to find much enjoyment ingossiping with her customers; for the children had to wait quite a longtime, while the chief points of last Sunday's sermon in chapel and thenew dress of the minister's wife were freely discussed. At length thestout farmers' wives picked up their baskets and took their departure,and old Mrs. Ellis was able to give her undivided attention to Lilian'smodest little voice, which had been striving to make itself heard, in avain request for bread and tea-cakes for the last ten minutes.
'I say, Lil, couldn't we go straight down the wood here, and cross thestream by the picnic place instead of the pine bridge? It would savenearly a mile,' suggested Bobby, as they turned to go home.
'I suppose we could get over the stepping-stones?' replied Lilian ratherdoubtfully. 'I don't think there's a proper path through the wood, butwe could find our way somehow, and it is certainly much shorter.'
So they plunged down through the thick tangle of trees which clothed theside of the cliff. It was so steep that in places they were obliged tosit down and slide, clutching at the trees as they passed, to savethemselves from falling, and bringing down such showers of small loosestones and shale that it seemed as if the whole hillside were slidingtoo, and Lilian was very relieved when they all got safely to thebottom. Now that they were really close to the water the stepping-stoneslooked much farther apart than they had imagined, and very slippery andslimy, too, with a swift current flowing between.
They all stopped and looked at it for a moment, each secretly wishingthat somebody else would offer to go first, but nobody liking to makethe plunge; even Rollo stood whimpering and whining on the bank, as ifhe did not half like
the adventure.
'Here goes!' cried gallant Bobby at last, leading the way as though hewere charging at the enemy, and with four jumps and a long leap hemanaged to get over dry-shod, with Rollo at his heels, barking loud andfuriously.
Not to be outdone in pluck, Peggy essayed to follow with equal style,but her foot slipped on a particularly green and moss-grown boulder, andin a moment she had plunged, tea-cakes and all, into an impromptu bath.Luckily, it was not deep, and she soon scrambled out, and fished up thepaper-bag as well; but she was a very wet and draggled object, and asfor the tea-cakes, they were a moist wreck!
'Oh, I know I shall go in, too!' wailed Lilian from the other side. 'I'dbetter try and save the bread, at any rate,' and she flung the loaf withall the strength she could muster across the stream. It fell well on theopposite bank, and Peggy made a desperate effort to catch it, but iteluded her grasp, and rolling down the bank with a series of aggravatingbounds, descended with a splash to seek a watery grave.
'There! It's gone! And it's in such a deep hole, too. We can't possiblyget it out. We shall have to leave it for the fishes,' said Peggy,poking vainly into the depths with a long stick. 'Lil, you'll never getover if you stand shivering on the brink like that. Do come along!'
But Lilian popped down on the grass, and pulled off her shoes andstockings as the most speedy way of solving the difficulty, and hustledMiss Peggy home with all possible haste, to be dried; for the water wasvery cold, and her teeth were chattering in her head, while her drippinggarments left such a moist track as she went that Bobby unfeelinglycompared her to a watering-cart.
'What am I to do with such terrible children?' said poor Aunt Helen, asthe trio recounted their adventures round the supper-table. 'I canscarcely let you out of my sight without you tear your clothes toribbons or come home half drowned.'
'They're chips of the old block, Helen!' laughed Father. 'We Vaughanshave a natural love of adventure: it's in the blood, and bound to comeout somehow, so best let it have its fling while they are young, andthey'll sober down when they come to years of discretion. Eh, bairns?Don't you agree with me?'
And three hearty young pairs of lungs carried the resolution with aunanimous 'Rather!'