become of the basket?"
"Come, come, young ladies; no whispering, if you please," said MissGood, who came up at this moment. "Susan, you are looking pale andcold, walk up and down that path half-a-dozen times, and then go intothe house. Phyllis and Nora, you can come with me as far as the lodge.I want to take a message from Mrs Willis to Mary Martin about the fowlfor to-morrow's dinner."
Phyllis and Nora, with dismayed faces, waited solemnly away with theEnglish teacher, and Susan was left to her solitary meditations.
Things had come to such a pass that her slow wits were brought intoplay, and she neither felt sleepy, nor did she indulge in her usualhabit of eating lollipops.
That basket might be discovered any day, and then--then disgrace wasimminent. Susan could not make out what had become of old Betty; neverbefore had she so utterly failed them.
Betty lived in a little cottage about half a mile from Lavender House.She was a sturdy, apple-cheeked, little old woman, and had for many aday added to her income--indeed, almost supported herself--by means ofthe girls at Lavender House. The large cherry trees in her littlegarden bore their rich crop of fruit year after year for Mrs Willis'sgirls, and every day at an early hour Betty would tramp into Sefton andreturn with a temptingly-laden basket of the most approved cakes andtarts. There was a certain paling at one end of the grounds to whichBetty used to come. Here on the grass she would sit contentedly withthe contents of her basket arranged in the most tempting order beforeher, and to this seductive spot she knew well that those little Misseswho loved goodies, cakes, and tartlets would be sure to find their way.Betty charged high for her wares; but, as she was always obliging in thematter of credit the thoughtless girls cared very little that they paiddouble the shop prices for Betty's cakes. The best girls in the school,certainly, never went to Betty; but Annie Forest, Susan Drummond, andseveral others had regular accounts with her, and few days passed thattheir young faces would not peep over the paling and their voices ask--
"What have you got to tempt me with to-day, Betty?"
It was, however, in the matter of stolen picnics, of grand feasts in theold attic, etc, etc, that Betty was truly great. No one so clever asshe in concealing a basket of delicious eatables, no one knew betterwhat school-girls liked. She undoubtedly charged her own prices, butwhat she gave was of the best, and Betty was truly in her element whenshe had an order from the young ladies of Lavender House for a grandsecret feast.
"You shall have it, my pretties--you shall have it," she would say,wrinkling up her bright blue eyes, and smiling broadly. "You leave itto Betty, my little loves; you leave it to Betty."
On the occasion of the picnic to the fairies' field Betty had, indeed,surpassed herself in the delicious eatables she had provided; all hadgone smoothly, the basket had been placed in a secure hiding-place underthe thick laurel. It was to be fetched away by Betty herself at anearly hour on the following morning.
No wonder Susan was perplexed as she paced about and pretended to warmherself. It was a June evening, but the weather was still a littlecold. Susan remembered now that. Betty had not come to her favouritestation at the stile for several days. Was it possible that the oldwoman was ill? As this idea occurred to her, Susan became more alarmed.She knew that there was very little chance of the basket remaining longin concealment. Rover might any day remember his pleasant picnic withaffection, and drag the white basket from under the laurel-bush.Michael the gardener would be certain to see it when next he cleaned upthe back avenue. Oh, it was more than dangerous to leave it there, andyet Susan knew of no better hiding-place. A sudden idea came to her:she pulled out her pretty little watch, and saw that she need not returnto the house for another half-hour. "Suppose she ran as fast aspossible to Betty's little cottage, and begged of the old woman to comeby the first light in the morning and fetch away the basket?"
The moment Susan conceived this idea she resolved to put it intoexecution. She looked around her hastily; no teacher was in sight, MissGood was away at the lodge, Miss Danesbury was playing with the littlechildren. Mademoiselle, she knew, had gone indoors with a bad headache.She left the broad walk where she had been desired to stay, and,plunging into the shrubbery, soon reached Betty's paling. In a momentshe had climbed the bars, had jumped lightly into the field, and wasrunning as fast as possible in the direction of Betty's cottage. Shereached the high road, and started and trembled violently as a carriagewith some ladies and gentlemen passed her. She thought she recognisedthe faces of the two little Misses Bruce, but did not dare to look atthem, and hurried panting along the road, and hoping she might bemistaken.
In less than a quarter of an hour she had reached Betty's littlecottage, and was standing trying to recover her breath by the shut door.The place had a deserted look, and several overripe cherries had fallenfrom the trees and were lying neglected on the ground. Susan knockedimpatiently. There was no discernible answer. She had no time to wait,she lifted the latch, which yielded to her pressure, and went in.
Poor old Betty, crippled, and in severe pain with rheumatism, was lyingon her little bed.
"Eh, dear--and is that you, my pretty Missy?" she asked, as Susan, hotand tired, came up to her side.
"Oh, Betty, are you ill?" asked Miss Drummond. "I came to tell you youhave forgotten the basket."
"No, my dear, no--not forgot. By no means that, lovey; but I has beentook with the rheumatism this past week, and can't move hand nor foot.I was wondering how you'd do without your cakes and tartlets, dear, andto think of them cherries lying there good for nothing on the ground isenough to break one's 'eart."
"So it is," said Susan, giving an appreciative glance toward the opendoor. "They are beautiful cherries, and full of juice, I am sure. I'lltake a few, Betty, as I am going out, and pay you for them another day.But what I have come about now is the basket. You must get the basketaway, however ill you are. If the basket is discovered we are all lost,and then good-bye to your gains."
"Well, Missy, dear, if I could crawl on my hands and knees I'd go andfetch it, rather than you should be worried; but I can't set fool to theground at all. The doctor says as 'tis somethink like rheumatic feveras I has."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," said Susan, not wasting any of her preciousmoments in pitying the poor suffering old woman. "What _is_ to be done?I tell you, Betty, if that basket is found we are all lost."
"But the laurel is very thick, lovey; it ain't likely to be found--itain't, indeed."
"I tell you it _is_ likely to be found, you tiresome old woman, and youreally must go for it or send for it. You really must."
Old Betty began to ponder.
"There's Moses," she said, after a pause of anxious thought; "he's a'cute little chap, and he might go. He lives in the fourth cottagealong the lane. Moses is his name--Moses Moore. I'd give him a pint ofcherries for the job. If you wouldn't mind sending Moses to me, MissSusan, why, I'll do my best; only it seems a pity to let anybody intoyour secrets, young ladies, but old Betty herself."
"It is a pity," said Susan; "but, under the circumstances, it can't behelped. What cottage did you say this Moses lived in?"
"The fourth from here, down the lane, lovey--Moses is the lad's name;he's a freckled boy, with a cast in one eye. You send him up to me,dearie, but don't mention the cherries, or he'll be after stealing them.He's a sad rogue, is Moses; but I think I can tempt him with thecherries."
Susan did not wait to bid poor old Betty "good-bye," but ran out of thecottage, shutting the door after her, and snatching up two or three ripecherries to eat on her way. She was so far fortunate as to find theredoubtable Moses at home, and to convey him bodily to old Betty'spresence. The queer boy grinned horribly, and looked as wicked as boycould look; but on the subject of cherries he was undoubtedlysusceptible, and after a good deal of haggling and insisting that thepint should be a quart, he expressed his willingness to start off atfour o'clock on the following morning, and bring away the basket fromunder the laurel-tree.
CHAPTE
R THIRTY FIVE.
"YOU ARE WELCOME TO TELL."
Annie continued her walk. The circumstances of the last two months hadcombined to do for her what nothing had hitherto effected. When alittle child she had known hardship and privation, she had passedthrough that experience which is metaphorically spoken of as "going downhill." As a baby little Annie had been surrounded by comforts andluxuries, and her father and mother had lived in a large house, and kepta carriage, and Annie had two nurses to wait on herself alone. Thesewere in the days before she could remember anything. With her firstearly memories came the recollection of a much smaller house, of muchfewer servants, of her mother often in tears, and her father