"JOCK—that's right. Mr. Moore promised to send you quickly."
Miss Baynes stood in the hall, packing eatables into a basket. A second
basket, already packed, stood near. The latter seemed very full, for
the lid would not quite shut, and it had to be tied with string.
"I want you to come with me for a long walk through the wood. You have
never been there before."
"Right through to the other side?"
"Yes, through part of it. And I should like to bring you back by a
different path, a very pretty way. It is longer, so we cannot go there
first, with these baskets to carry. I have heard of a poor old body
living in that direction, ill and badly off, so I am taking her a
supply of food. And—I thought I should like a companion. Would you like
to come with me?"
Jock thought he would, for Aunt Judith looked very bright and kind. He
said "Yes" heartily.
And as she closed the second basket, she added—"We will have our tea in
the wood."
"Real tea!—And make it ourselves?"
"Real tea, and made on the spot. I am taking a spirit-lamp and a
kettle."
That did sound "something like." Jock loved anything in the shape of a
pic-nic, and what boy does not?
"You will have to help me by carrying the tea-basket. It is not so
heavy as the other, and after we have had our tea, it will be quite
light."
"Oh, but mayn't I take the heavy one, please? Do let me." Jock squared
his shoulders with vigour.
"No, I think not—thanks all the same. You are not quite full-grown yet,
and we have a long walk before us."
Ten minutes later they set off. Aunt Judith was a first-rate walker,
like Jock. She was also very strong, and she seemed to make nothing of
the really heavy basket which she had to bear. She went briskly, and
chatted and told stories in a way that Jock had not expected. It was
not her usual habit.
A more perfect afternoon for a long ramble could hardly have been
found. The sun blazed in the sky as if it had been August, while the
trees, only half in leaf, still wore their wonderful early green, and
the birds sang as if wild with gladness. Jock would not soon forget
this day, for it was to mean the ending of a certain punishment, and
the lifting of a little grey cloud. Also it was to bring a sudden call
on his courage, which he might or might not meet bravely.
The way to the wood was in itself a good walk, and by the time they
got there, Jock's arms were aching with their load, much as Artie's
little legs had ached on a former occasion. On arriving at the pond, he
thought of that day.
But it looked so different now. Trees and plants seemed all alive, and
the branches which hung over the water already showed signs of bursting
into leaf. From the wood beyond came a glint of clustering blue-bells.
"Oh, Aunt Judith! Oh!" he cried.
"Yes, it is a very pretty spot. You have never been here before."
"Yes—"
"Have you? I thought—" and she waited for him to speak.
"Only once." He remembered that he must not betray Mousie.
"When was that?"
"The day when I—when I hadn't no business to come."
"I see. The day you went out of bounds. And you came as far as this?"
Jock was silent. Aunt Judith seemed to be thinking. "Put your basket
down for a few minutes. We have another two miles to walk before we get
our tea. Are you tired?"
Jock indignantly repudiated the idea, but he was glad to fling himself
flat with extended arms, and the aching in them speedily stopped.
Silence followed, broken by Aunt Judith.
"Jock, you have borne your punishment well," she said, and he sat up.
She went on in her quiet tone—"I have been watching you, and I have
seen it. I think you have tried to be patient. And I have noticed
something else—that you have spoken the truth. And if you say you will
do a thing, you do try to do it. You have not disobeyed again—wilfully.
Of course you have forgotten things sometimes, but that is different. I
have been noticing carefully—all the while."
Jock's eyes were fixed on hers. He wondered what might be coming next.
"And I do feel now that you are to be trusted. I cannot help believing
that there must have been some mistake that day—at least that things
were more difficult for you than I knew. I want you to understand now
that I do trust you, and do believe what you say—that I can depend on
your word, even if things might seem to go against you."
The boy only said "Yes—" but his face glowed.
Aunt Judith bent over and gave him one of her quick kisses, not like
those of Mummie or Grannie, but yet really kind.
"And now," she said briskly, "we have to get on. Are your arms rested?"
Jock was ready for anything, and supremely happy. He had seldom felt
more happy. Dad would be so glad—if he knew what had gone before. But
of course he did not know.
With two more short rests, they followed the path till, leading
straight through the wood, it entered on open country beyond, on roads
and fields with hedges and scattered trees.
But before they reached that boundary, Aunt Judith left the path, and
led Jock to a sheltered spot, still among trees, where they found a
tiny spring. Water came bubbling softly out of the ground, and ran away
in a baby stream, and here they were to have their pic-nic tea. By this
time they needed it.
Aunt Judith unpacked the basket, giving its contents to Jock, and he
had the pleasure of arranging them on the grass. First he spread a
newspaper to serve as a table-cloth, and neat square pieces of white
paper to do for plates—being lighter to carry than real plates—and a
teapot. Next, a packet of tea appeared, and another of sugar, and a
bottle of milk. Also came bread-and-butter, and sandwiches and cakes
and even jam-tarts. Jock surveyed them with great satisfaction. He
was not a greedy boy, but tea in a wood was a rare event, and he was
extremely hungry. He could not help wishing that Mousie might have
shared his enjoyment.
Then the spirit-lamp had to be lighted, and the kettle filled with
water from the spring.
Persuading the water to boil proved no easy matter. Every breath of
moving air set the flame flickering, and kept the water cool. Aunt
Judith at length crouched close on one side, and she made Jock on the
other side hold up a newspaper for shelter. And at last, a rush of
steam proclaimed success. The tea was made, and a second kettleful was
put on to boil, and the two sat down to their feast.
Aunt Judith seemed to enjoy it all. Jock had never known her so merry.
He ate twice as much as she did, and she plainly expected that he
should. When the little meal came to an end, all the eatables had
vanished—which was just as well, since it meant less weight in the
basket to be carried.
Then scraps of paper were carefully twisted up and hidden away or
buried in the ground. "It's horrid to leave untidiness and mess in
nature," Aunt Judith said energetically, while this went on. "Mind you
never do, Jock; 'never' leave bits of paper or string lying about. It's
so—vulgar!" she added indignantly.
And when everything had been put away, they set off again, very much
refreshed, to find the old woman in her cottage.
"I think that's been most awfully jolly," Jock said joyously. "Do you
like picnicking, Aunt Judith?"
"Immensely," she answered. "I love it, Jock. And I like to have you
with me. We will do it again before long."