SUMMER holidays were in full swing, more than half over in fact. But it
was too early yet to begin to think of their ending. Mousie and Jock
were one day lounging comfortably on a small bench, close to the pond
in Mrs. Baynes' garden, to which Jock had found his way on the very
first morning after his arrival.
It had been surrounded then by white-robed grass and rocks, but now the
rocks were clothed in an abundance of leaves and flowers, and the water
glistened merrily in gay sunshine. Dim signs of future autumn might be
detected in certain spots near, a yellow leaf or a reddish cluster,
whispering softly of what lay ahead. But these tokens could at present
be ignored.
The children had been racing about since breakfast till both were
tired, and this was a delightful place for a rest.
Birds overhead twittered and talked, one to another, in their own
pretty language, and bees were hard at work darting in and out of their
favourite blossoms. Close to Mousie's elbow a fine large humble-bee,
clothed in rich velvet, kept bouncing from one flower to another
in search of what she needed, and Mousie leant over to watch these
proceedings.
"You dear old fatty!" she murmured. "I do love humble-bees—don't you,
Jock? Ever so much more than the littler sorts of bees. Tom says I
oughtn't, 'cause it's the littler sorts that give us honey. But all the
same I do. I just love the old dears."
Jock did not hear. He was thinking about his mother. Not sadly, for
he was a happy boy ready to make the best of things, yet still with a
great longing to see her again. It seemed such an immense time since
she went away. And he had not the faintest idea of what was coming to
him that very hour—coming fast and near. If he had guessed!—But he
could not know.
Mousie, too, had been plunged in thought, till the plump humble-bee
drew her attention. She had gone back in memory to the day when Miss
Baynes broke her arm, and when she herself had at last spoken out
bravely about her own wrong-doing.
And though she had lost the longed-for prize, she was glad—glad—to
have confessed the truth. She knew now that it was far better to have
lost a watch than to have gone on deceiving, with always that weight
on her mind. Also, Jock and she by this time were real friends, much
more real than before. Mousie, it is true, still commonly took the
lead, and sometimes drew Jock into mischief, but she had not again
tried deliberately to make him do what was forbidden and to hide it
afterwards.
Judith Baynes was much better, though her arm was still of little use,
for it had been severely twisted and strained as well as broken. She
had borne with courage many weeks of great suffering, and she and Jock
were on the happiest terms. He often wondered how it was that he had
disliked her.