THE first two or three weeks of Jock's new life at Lethmere West
went by smoothly. As Mr. Royle had foretold, the hours passed with
increasing speed, and things became more and more full of interest.
Aunt Judith, though not very fond of boys, was really kind, and Grannie
was delightful.
She had grey hair, and Jock counted her tremendously old, though in
point of fact she was hardly more than middle-aged. She loved to have
her little grandson about the place, and Jock soon got into the way
of running to her for sympathy, just as he had done with his mother.
Jock was always thinking of that dear mother, and he longed to see her
again. Still, he was a healthy, merry, high-spirited boy, and everybody
was good to him, and it would not have been natural that he should have
gone on being sad.
The greater part of each day he spent with the Moore children, and more
especially he and Mousie were perpetually thrown together. She really
made a charming little friend for him, for she was full of plans and
ideas. Without being much of a reader, she had a knack of picking up
notions, and of bringing them out in a new shape. Certainly she never
was dull. Jock liked her, and was amused with her funny impulsive
ways. And Mousie was genuinely fond of Jock, though still a trifle
patronising. Perhaps each helped to rub down some of the other's rough
edges. Most boys and girls have certain rough edges, you know, and it
is a good thing that they should be smoothed down early.
The children lived a very free and happy life, allowed as they were to
run all about in the village and in fields adjoining. They were under
orders as to "bounds," which had to be observed, and beyond which they
might not go without leave. By this time Jock pretty well knew which
parts were and which were not "within bounds."
Or at least he ought to have known. But, like many boys of his age, he
was forgetful, and often he trusted to the Moore children to remind him.
For quite a long time, or what Mousie counted to be long, she carefully
avoided leading him into mischief. Indeed she was so extremely
well-behaved through those early weeks that Miss Baynes was heard to
say—"Really, Phœbe is very much improved."
But not long after Phœbe had a wilful fit. It came on quite suddenly,
no one could have said why—least of all Mousie herself. She only felt
as if she couldn't—"couldn't"—go on any longer being good, and as if
she really must—"must"—make a change and do something out of the common.
In plain terms, Mousie wanted desperately to do what she knew she ought
not, and she wanted somebody to do it with her.
It was a sunny soft day in February, just like spring. No one could
dream of frost or snow on such a day. Trees were still leafless, and
hedgerows were for the greater part still bare, but many small bushes
had begun to show signs of stirring life, and some had the green of
early leaves already visible.
Tom had chosen to spend this half-holiday indoors, dabbling with paints
as he loved to do, and Hugh stuck to him faithfully. Mr. Moore was away
for several hours, and Mrs. Moore, as usual, was busied with household
concerns. So it came about, as a matter of course, that Jock and Mousie
were together.
"I'm going to do something," she announced. "Something most awfully
jolly."
"What is it?" Jock asked, always ready.
"You're not to know yet. You've just got to do what I tell you. It's
to be a surprise. I'll settle everything, and you needn't bother. I'm
lots older than you, and I've been here always, and you haven't. So of
course I know. And you've only just got to promise you'll do faithfully
what I tell you. Promise."
"What for? Why must I?"
"'Cause I want some fun. 'Cause I've got something 'loverly' to show
you." Mousie danced on the tips of her tiny toes like an acrobat.
"We've all been most awfully good lately, and I want some fun. Wouldn't
you like some fun too? And won't you like to come somewhere that you
haven't been? But you've got to promise—else I won't take you."
Jock suddenly felt that he did want the "fun," and that he wanted to
go very much—quite desperately. And if he gave this promise, then of
course he must keep it. He always kept his promises. So that would
settle the matter entirely. He wouldn't need to bother any more about
what they were doing, or where they were going. He would only have to
follow Mousie's lead.
All this flashed quickly through Jock's mind. A gentle voice, far down,
did try to murmur something. It tried to say that perhaps things were
not altogether right, and perhaps he had better wait and ask to know
more first. But Jock did not want to hear that little voice, so he
smothered it in a hurry. He did so want the "fun."
"All right—I promise," he said.
"You'll come just where I like, and you'll do just what I tell you, and
you won't ask me any questions."
"I promise," Jock said in a hurry, afraid that he might hear again that
gentle voice.
"Come along then. I've got Artie—all ready."
Artie, being so small a boy, was not allowed to be taken anywhere and
everywhere even "within bounds" by the older children, without leave.
"Have you asked?" Jock began, and Mousie shot at him a needle-like
glance of reminder. He had bound himself to put no questions, and he
stopped helplessly.
Phœbe led the way to a large field behind the house, and there they
found Artie, complacently waiting.
"I told him we'd come. This way."
She flung herself lightly over a stile; she seemed all arms and legs.
Jock was active enough, but he could not rival Mousie. She seemed to
have no weight. Together they hauled Artie over by main force, for he
had no spring in him. Then they went through another meadow, and two
smaller fields, to a rough common. By this time, as Jock knew, they
were well outside "bounds."
"But, I say, Mousie," he objected; and she treated him to another
needle-like glance. He dropped into silence. What else was he to say?
It was difficult. He had given his word. What could he do?
It was perfectly clear to Jock himself what he "wanted" to do. He
wanted with all his heart to see what Phœbe had promised to show him—to
have the "fun."
And he went on. They followed a path through a copse, reaching a gate
which opened into a wood. Jock had not yet been through this wood. He
was to go "some day," when primroses would be in bloom, but it was not
open to the public, and even the Moore children were not supposed to
enter it without permission. Jock tried hard to think that Mousie must
of course have got leave to come.
On and on they rambled, too fast for Artie, who had begun to flag. But
Mousie, bent on carrying out her plan, did not seem to notice him.
After pressing onward for a time, they reached an opening among the
trees, a wide space, grass-grown, closely fringed with bushes and firs.
On the farther side lay a large pond, and it, too, had trees around,
drooping over as if to look at their own reflections in the still water
below.
"There! That's what I wanted to show Jock," announced Mousie in a tone
of triumph. "Isn't it just—just—'loverly'?"
It really was "loverly," to use the funny word which Mousie often
brought out, when excited. The sun shone, lending sparkles to the
grass, and gay tints to the leafless boughs, and radiance to the water.
A great, solid oak-trunk had large sloping branches, one of which hung
far out over the pond. Suddenly Mousie raced to this tree, scrambled up
its rugged trunk, and took her position on the overhanging bough. Then
she began to wriggle along it, her slim black legs dangling on either
side.
Mousie screamed with a half-fearsome delight at finding herself no
longer over dry land. "It's—it's—bee-autiful," she cried. "I can see
right down below—things moving. Oh, I say. Fishes."
"Oh, I say," echoed Jock. "Mousie, I'm coming too. I must come too."
"And me too—me too, Fee," cried Artie.