*CHAPTER VIII.*
*"MIND YOU ARE NOT LATE!"*
The days and weeks passed quickly at school, once the new term's workwas well begun, and the half-term holiday was drawing near.
Monica had never forgotten Lily Howell's trick to get her into trouble,but she felt above paying her out, so she left her severely alone. Asit happened, that was perhaps the most trying punishment she could havedevised for a girl of Lily's disposition, who ardently longed to be"taken up" by people such as the Beauchamps, whom her father called "TheQuality"; and Monica's absolute indifference to her piqued her terribly.
Lily was telling her mother about it one day, and complaining of beingsent to Coventry by "that Monica Beauchamp, who gives herself such airs,just for all the world as if she was a duchess!"
Mrs. Howell, a kindly creature of ample proportions, who always feltimpelled to address her magnificent housekeeper as "ma'am," and whonever ceased to wish for the happy olden days when first she had marriedBob Howell, and kept house on little less than a pound a week, sighedfeebly as she looked helplessly at her young daughter, who tyrannisedfrightfully over her "Ma," as she called her.
"Well, I'm sure, my dear," she ventured, "you might be content withhavin' such nice young ladies as the Miss Masters to make friends of,without 'ankerin' after the gentry."
"I do wish you wouldn't leave out all your 'g's,' ma," cried Lily,pettishly; "it's dreadful the way you talk. And as for the Masters,they're only butchers, and I detest being mixed up with shop people."And the girl stamped her foot in disgust.
Mrs. Howell, who was shedding a quiet tear or two over her child'sunkindness, sniffed loudly, and said: "I'm sure shop people is plentygood enough for girls as behaves to their poor ma like you do, and Idon't wonder as this Miss Beauchamp don't take up with you. I wish togoodness your pa had never made a fortune, that I do; for it's a worryfrom mornin' to night, a-mindin' my manners here, and a-shuttin' up mymouth there!" And the poor, lonely woman, surrounded with every luxuryand elegance that money could buy, but who felt less free than a canaryin its cage, wept silently.
For a minute, Lily regarded her with some sort of compunction, but shewas afraid of giving way to her better nature, so merely saying: "Well,I'm sure, ma, there's nothing to cry about," turned on her heel, andleft the room.
And the poor mother, who had strained every nerve, in her younger days,to make her only child's life one of cloudless happiness, realised thatshe and her husband had made a bitter mistake in educating Lily "as alady," for it was only too evident that she now considered herselfimmensely superior to her parents; and as for affection for them she hadlittle or none.
There was little talked of at the High School that second week in Junebut the approaching half-term holiday, and various ways of spending it.Some of the girls, whose homes were at a distance, but who either livedor boarded with friends in Osmington, so as to attend the High School,were looking forward to a week-end at home; while others were going tostay from the Friday to Monday night with relations.
Monica and Olive had discussed several plans for spending thelong-looked-forward-to holiday, each of which was delightful in its ownway. But eventually, with Mrs. Beauchamp's consent, it was decided thatthe first part of the day should be spent picnic-fashion, the girlsreturning to a substantial tea at Carson Rise.
Monica would have preferred having Olive only to spend a long day withher, but Mrs. Beauchamp, who had made the acquaintance of the Franklyntwins, and had taken a great fancy to quiet, nicely behaved Elsa,stipulated that if one sister came, both did; so as Monica said: "Tomake it all square, let's have Amethyst Drury as well."
Accordingly, on the most perfect of sunny June mornings the quartettehaving met at a given spot at eleven o'clock made their way to afavourite place in Disbrowe woods, and prepared to enjoy themselves tothe full.
The same river which ran past the bottom of the Franklyns' garden, amile away, flowed through the pretty little copse which enjoyed theabove grand cognomen, because it was included in the Disbrowe estate,and the few acres of cherished copse seemed like "woods" in thatsuburban neighbourhood. It was in this copse that the Osmington peoplegathered their spring flowers, for the ground was carpeted withprimroses during the month of April; and here, too, the boys and girlswent nutting in the autumn.
But in June there was nothing to gather, so the girls who had broughtwell-filled lunch baskets and books with which to while away the time,gave themselves up to what Olive called "a thorough laze."
Seating themselves in characteristic fashion, Monica and Olive upamongst the low-spreading branches of an old oak, while Amethyst andElsa chose the grassy hillocks caused by its roots, the quartette soonopened their baskets, and the contents disappeared with startlingrapidity. As Monica said, "the river smelt quite sea-i-fied," and gavethem an extra good appetite; indeed, if it had not been for Elsa, poorHero, the collie, who Mrs. Beauchamp had suggested should accompany thegirls for protection's sake, would have fared badly.
However, he managed to make a very good meal, and was lying down fastasleep in the shade, while the girls, whose tongues had grown tired withtalking, were either reading, or lying curled up half asleep on thegrassy slope, gazing dreamily at the river, as it flowed smoothly andsilently on, when they were all aroused by a short sharp bark, followedby a low growl, and Hero had bounded up the slope to a path which ranalong at the top, and which was one of the least frequented paths in thewood.
"Whatever can he see?" cried Monica; "a rabbit, I expect."
"Oh, call him back, Monica, do! Perhaps he will do some mischief," saidElsa.
"Nonsense! He's only chasing a rabbit or a bird."
But even as she spoke there came the sound of feeble crying, as of someone in trouble, and all four girls dropped their books, and ran swiftlyup the incline. Arrived there they found Hero, who was still growlingat intervals, sniffing suspiciously at a large bundle, done up in a redcotton handkerchief, which was lying on the path: and a few steps away,a poor old body, in a quaint poke bonnet and black shawl, was holdingherself up with one hand on the limb of an ash tree, while her other,all knotted with rheumatism, was grasping a stout walking-stick.
Her gown bore traces of Hero's paws, and it was evident from her pantingand half-sobbing breath that she had been very much upset.
As the girls drew near she raised her stick and shook it at the dog,crying, "Oh, the beast, the beast, the wicked beast!" while Monicacaught hold of Hero by his collar and dragged him away from the bundlewhich had great attractions for him.
The situation was not without its comical side, and Olive and Monica,seeing no tragedy in it, both began to titter quite audibly.
"Ah, you may laugh; mebbe 'tis nothin' but sport to young leddies likeyou," cried the little old woman, as she glanced angrily at them. "But'tis a sorry thing for me; I'm fair shattered wi' fright."
"'AH, YOU MAY LAUGH; MEBBE 'TIS NOTHIN' BUT SPORT TOYOUNG LEDDIES LIKE YOU.'"]
"Poor old thing!" whispered Amethyst to Elsa; "see how she is shudderingstill. I should have been afraid of Hero myself, if he had suddenlybounced upon me."
"Yes," was all Elsa said, and the next moment she had slipped up to theold woman, and with a pitiful look in her eyes had taken one of theknotted, wrinkled hands in her own, while she said gently: "We are verysorry, really we are. We wouldn't have let Hero frighten you foranything, if we had known you were here. But people hardly ever comealong this path."
"Ah! little lady, you've got a kind heart, I can see," said the oldgranny, as she looked up into the bright, young face, which evinced realsympathy for her; "not like them two yonder, a-makin' sport o' an oldbody like me. They'll be rewarded one of these days, though."
She clutched her stick tightly and prepared to pick up her bundle; butAmethyst stooped for her and gave it to her with a smile.
"Thank you, my pretty dear. God bless you both for helpin' me. And nowI'll get on a bit, if that there beast 'll le
t me." But even as shespoke, she tottered and would have fallen, but for a helping-hand fromElsa.
"'Tis the rheumatizzy, missy; it ketches me all of a heap like, nows andthens."
"Let us go a little way with her, Thistle," suggested Elsa, and Amethystagreed readily, although their companions tried to persuade them not togo.
"Whereabouts are you going?" asked Elsa.
"To my darter's, missy; Joe Hodges' wife she be as lives over aginDisbrowe House."
"Oh! I know Mrs. Hodges, Elsa," cried Amethyst; "she comes to themothers' meeting. Her husband works for Sir Tudor Disbrowe."
"So he do, missy, and they has a cottage on the estate, so they'vea-told me. But I be a stranger to these parts, and I must have mistookmy way a-crossin' the copse. I tried to foller the 'rections they gaveme at the station, but I made sure I'd took a wrong turn just as thatthere animal a-bounced at me."
"It's more than a mile from here to Mrs. Hodges' cottage," saidAmethyst, somewhat dubiously. She was not quite sure that her goodnature was equal to traversing all that distance with the comical oldwoman.
"Can you walk so far as that, if we help you, do you think?" asked Elsa.
"Oh, my dear young lady," expostulated Granny Wood (as she was generallycalled), "I don't like to let you do it. I really don't."
"Oh, we don't mind, do we, Elsa?" said Amethyst, a littlegrandiloquently. "Just look after our baskets and books till we comeback, you girls." This she called out to Monica and Olive, who hadretreated to a little distance and were watching the proceedings withamusement and contempt.
"You won't find us here when you get back, you needn't fear," retortedOlive. "It's likely to be a lengthy affair! If you're both determinedto go, you'd better take your things with you and meet us at the whitegate in West Lane. What is the time now, Monica?"
"Two o'clock," replied the only owner of a watch among the quartette.
"Well, we'll meet you about three o'clock, and mind you are not late."
"All right," called back Amethyst, as the queer little party set off,the old woman supported by Elsa's strong, young arm on one side and herstick in her right hand, while Amethyst carried the handkerchief bundle.
"We shan't wait after half-past three, whatever happens," shoutedMonica, "so if you're later than that, go straight to Carson Rise."
"Oh, we shall be there in time," returned Amethyst, and the triodisappeared round a turn in the pathway.
"What a fuss about nothing," said Olive, as the girls returned to theirseat by the river, and Monica fastened Hero to the trunk of a tree.
"Yes, perfect twaddle I call it," returned her friend; "but there, ifthey like to do it, it doesn't matter to us." And she took up the bookshe had flung down in her hurry, and hunted about for her place."Babyish sort of story this," she added, as she turned over the pages,"nothing at all exciting in it. How do you like yours, Olive?"
"Oh, pretty fair; it's rather childish, too, but mother is veryparticular about what we read; she won't let us girls look at a novel."
"Grandmother never troubles about what I read," said Monica. "I've gotsome jolly books at home, I'll show them to you after tea. I am readingone now that I wanted to bring out with me, but that little Amethyst'seyes are as sharp as needles, and she might have picked it up. I mustlend it to you when I've done. It's an awfully jolly story called ACruel Fate."
"It sounds nice," said Olive, "but if it's a novel, mother won't let meread it."
"Surely you don't have to show her everything you read?" cried Monica,and there was a suggestion of scorn in her tone, which touched a weakspot in Olive's nature; she could not bear being sneered at.
"Of course not," she replied hastily.
"Well, you shall have it later on."
And then the conversation dropped, and they went on reading.
Meanwhile, the progress that the old granny and and her two youngcompanions made was very slow. The sudden, unexpected appearance of thebig dog had really upset her, and she was very shaky and nervous still.By the time half a mile had been traversed, her feeble steps began toflag, and it was only by dint of resting very often, and leaning veryheavily upon one or other of the girls, that at length the daughter'scottage was reached.
Elsa and Amethyst were by no means sorry when their task was over. Theyhad not thought it would be such a tedious journey, and they were veryglad when they had left the old woman safely ensconced in an armchair byMrs. Hodges' fireside, while that worthy followed them to the gate,overwhelming them with thanks for their very great kindness to her oldmother.
"I'm sure, miss, we never can thank you both enough," she repeated againand again, as she held the little green gate open for them to gothrough.
"Please don't say any more," replied Elsa, earnestly; "we were very gladto do what we could to help your mother."
And as the two girls hastened off, the words the grateful old woman hadrepeated reverently, as they bade her "good-bye," rang in Elsa's earslike a benediction: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these... ye have done it unto ME."
But Amethyst's thoughts were in quite another direction.
"It must be awfully late, Elsa," she said, as they hurried along thequiet road which skirted the copse, and which would bring themeventually to West Lane, where they had arranged to meet the others. "Wewere ages getting there."
"Yes, I suppose it is," replied Elsa, coming back to the present momentwith a start; "why, now I remember it, the grandfather's clock in Mrs.Hodges' room was nearly three o'clock."
"Good gracious!" cried Amethyst. "I never noticed it; let's hope it wasfast. But, anyhow, we shall have a business to reach the white gate intime;" and they quickened their footsteps into a run.
At length the trysting place was reached, and they were glad to findthat they were the first on the spot.
"Now we can have a rest and get back our breath," said Amethyst, as theyperched themselves on the white gate, and fanned their flushed faceswith their straw hats. "Oh, I say, how hot and tired I am!"
"I do wish we knew what the time was," said Elsa, who looked ratherworried.
"Yes, it's a great bother not having a watch, but I'm to have one nextChristmas, so there's not very much longer to wait;" and Amethyst heaveda little sigh of satisfaction. Then she jumped off the gate and raninto the road, as she heard footsteps approaching, expecting it to bethe other two girls, but it was only a nurse pushing a baby in a mailcart.
"Do you think she'd know the time, Elsa?" she said, as she ran back tothe gate.
"You might ask her," replied the elder girl.
The next moment Amethyst returned with a look of incredulous horror onher little flushed face.
"It's actually four o'clock, Elsa! What _shall_ we do?"
With a spring, Elsa was on the ground beside her, and the two girlsgazed at each other in consternation.
"Why, they said they would not wait after half-past three, and they musthave gone long before we came, and here we have been waiting ever solong for them. Oh, it is _too_ bad!" cried Amethyst, nearly in tears.
"That clock must have been dreadfully slow," said Elsa. "Perhaps it wasnot even going. But cheer up, Thistle, we can get to Carson Rise inless than half an hour from here, and we shall be in time for tea. Itwasn't our fault, dear; we couldn't help it, if we are late."
"I don't half like going by ourselves," said Amethyst, as they hurriedalong the hot, dusty road towards Mydenham; "you see, I've never beenthere yet."
"Oh! it will be all right," returned Elsa consolingly. "Mrs. Beauchampis very kind, really, although Monica thinks she is strict. She willunderstand when we explain. I daresay the other two had only just leftwhen we arrived."