THE CYCLING EXPEDITION
The room commonly known as the "boot-room" was crowded to overflowing
with girls. Most of the house, in fact, with the exception of the
half-a-dozen senior girls, seemed to be there. The hockey players
were busy changing their muddy boots and washing their hands in the
basins, where there was plenty of hot water and soap. The rest were
all busy chattering excitedly to them about the match. Needless to
say, the whole house was jubilant and hardly knew how to contain
itself.
Amidst the babel of excited tongues, a remark from one of the team
was always listened to with respect and interest. "Who would have
dreamed it?" Babs was declaiming. "Shan't we crow over the other
houses now! I really can't imagine how we did it."
"There's no use blinking at the facts," retorted Peggy, bluntly.
"'Twas Duane that did most of the doing. We all did our best, but it
was Duane who won the match for us."
"There wasn't a player on the field to touch her," declared Daisy.
"Yes," agreed Peggy. "Didn't she run those last two dashes down the
field! There wasn't one who could overtake her. And when she shot
for goal, she didn't give the goalkeeper much chance."
"Her shooting always was fine," another girl remarked. "I can
remember it in the matches last year."
"But doesn't it seem simply rotten," came from Peggy, slowly, "that a
player like her shouldn't be in the school eleven, playing for the
school. Of course I know--" she paused, uncomfortably. "Well, I
suppose it's her own fault and the hockey club were right enough to
drop her and--and all that. But, dash it all, it seems such a waste!
I bet she's the finest centre-forward Easthampton's ever had."
"And knowing that she can play like that," added Daisy, thoughtfully,
"she must hate being out of all the big matches."
Little Erica Salter had been standing near by listening eagerly,
motionless, her hands hanging down by her sides, her eyes, with a
very rapt look in them, fixed on Daisy and Peggy as they were
speaking. The emotional, sensitive child was plainly stirred to the
depths by the thrilling happenings of the afternoon, of which the
tingling sense of excitement and triumph still pervaded the whole
atmosphere. She spoke up suddenly, when Daisy had finished:
"But supposing--just supposing Duane never did it after all?"
"Well then, it would be jolly hard lines on her, that's all I can
say," replied Peggy. "But I don't see why we need bother our heads
about that. Duane must have done it. Nobody else could have."
"But supposing another girl had done it, and kept it secret?"
"Then all I can say is that she'd be the meanest sort of creature
alive," returned Peggy, decidedly, "and if she were ever found out,
the girls would jolly well make the school too hot to hold her."
Erica clasped her hands nervously together, and said with solemn
conviction, "I'm sure she would deserve everything she got."
Just at that moment the door opened, and in came Duane, Kitty and the
other hockey players, having washed and cleaned themselves in their
own cubicles. They had come to change their muddy footgear.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Duane, in her soft familiar drawl. "What a
crowd! The whole house seems to have assembled in the boot-room,
evidently under the mistaken impression that it's a hotel lounge.
Clear out, you kids. Don't you know tea bell's gone?"
There was a general scramble for the door. Kitty, drawing on a pair
of indoor shoes, was overcome with laughter at the sight. In a very
short time the room was cleared of all except the hockey players
themselves.
"Hurry up, girls," Duane advised. "You know Miss Carslake hates
anyone to be late in to meals. Everyone ready?"
Daisy stretched her arms above her head. "Oh dear! I'm sure I shall
be stiff all over to-morrow. But it was worth being stiff for the
rest of the term. I say, Duane," she added, half hesitating, half
wistfully. "We didn't let you down, did we? Towards the end, you
know."
Duane, her hand on the door-handle, turned and faced them, lounging
back against the door with easy, unstudied grace, aristocrat in every
line of her.
"Let me down?" she repeated. "No, of course you didn't. I tell you
what, you kids, you played up like heroes, and the house ought to be
jolly proud of you. Kitty and Bertha were as good as the school
backs any day, while Peggy's run got us the first goal, and France
rose to the occasion nobly at the last one. Anyway, you've given the
old place the shock of its life." She smiled at them with eyes that
had grown suddenly brilliant, and for the moment everyone, even
Kitty, forgot all about the Richoter and all that had happened the
previous term.
"But it was you who scored the goals," said Peggy, honestly.
"Of course," returned Duane, lightly. "Didn't I tell you that was my
one particular forte. Wait tell our next house match and we'll see
what we can do then."
She pushed open the door and led the way out, France remarking that
Miss Carslake could hardly row them for being a few minutes late for
once, after the glory they had brought upon the house.
The next day, Wednesday, being half-holiday, Miss Carslake had
arranged to take some of the girls on a cycling expedition to the
downs, where recent excavations had disclosed traces of both early
Celtic and later Roman habitation. The house mistress, who took the
senior history classes in the school, was apt to wax enthusiastic
over neolithic remains or mediæval architecture, and during the
summer months organized many walking or cycling expeditions to see a
prehistoric barrow on the downs, or a little village church with a
Norman chancel, or an architectural curiosity such as a low side
window or a hagioscope.
Some twelve or fifteen girls had given in their names to the head
prefect as desirous of going. Duane was in her study that evening,
making out this list, when there came a timid tap on the door and
Erica Salter entered.
"Hallo! What is it?" inquired Duane, glancing up. "You, Erica!
What's up?"
"Nothing," said Erica. "That is--" She glanced at Kitty, who was
also in the room writing letters, but there was evidently nothing to
be afraid of from that quarter, and Erica continued, "That is to say,
I--I want you to ask Miss Carslake if I can come to-morrow to
Stretton Downs, Duane."
"You! 'Fraid not, Erica. You're too small."
"I'm not so very," protested Erica. "And I'm used to cycling. I've
got my bike here."
"It's too far for you," said Duane decidedly. "Nine miles there and
back."
"But I've often cycled as much as that in a day, at home in the
holidays. Really and truly I have."
"Bertha's not going, is she?" asked Duane, glancing down at her list.
"No. She doesn't want to. She said she hated anything to do with
history. But ask her if I haven't cycled just as far these summer
holidays."
Duane hesitated. "But what on earth do you want to go for, kid?" she
said somewhat impatiently. "You're not interested in Celtic and
Roman remains. Goodness knows if I am, for that matter, but I
suppose I'm expected to be."
Kitty, of course, had been listening to this conversation. Something
in the child's obvious eagerness touched her. Besides, Erica had
never looked very well since that bad attack of influenza the last
term. Her face was paler and thinner, her dark eyes looked bigger.
It even seemed to Kitty that there was something strained and tense
in her expression and attitude, though probably that was merely
imagination on her part. She broke in with:
"Oh, let her go, Duane, as she seems so very keen. If she gets tired
I'll undertake to give her a push."
Duane shrugged her shoulders in her characteristic fashion. "I
suppose, since Kitty takes your part, I shall have to put your name
down. Kitty's quite capable of pushing herself and you too; in fact,
she'd doubtless enjoy the double burden."
Kitty glanced sharply at Duane. Was she trying to be nasty, or was
it merely her flippant, cynical way of talking? Impossible to tell.
Kitty glanced once more at Erica, who was exclaiming gratefully, "Oh,
thank you _ever_ so much, both of you! You _are_ two dears," and
said in a low voice to Duane:
"I don't think the child's looking very fit, do you?"
Duane frowned slightly, then turned to Erica. "I suppose you haven't
anything on for the rest of the evening?"
"No. Nothing special. I wanted to read, but it's so noisy in the
common-room. It makes my head ache."
"Sit down in that chair then, for a bit," said Duane abruptly,
pointing with the handle of her pen to the easy chair in front of the
hearth. "Kitty and I are both busy, so it will be quiet enough in
here."
The child hesitated, flushing up. "Are you sure I shan't be in your
way?"
"Quite."
"Then I should just love to."
She curled herself up in the chair before the fire, and there was
silence in the room, broken only by the scratching of pens. Erica
sat quiet and still, her dreamy gaze wandering from Duane to Kitty,
and from Kitty to Duane, and in her soft dark eyes was the
whole-hearted if childish hero-worship that is so common and natural
between small schoolboys and girls and their seniors, the girls and
boys who are at top of the school. Presently, the warmth from the
fire making her drowsy, she dropped off to sleep, her head against
the back of the chair.
"She's asleep," said Kitty softly, glancing up. "I thought she
looked tired." She nibbled her pen-handle, then went on
hesitatingly, "I say, Duane, I'm--I don't pretend to be very
observant and all that, but it has struck me that the kid is--is
worrying over something--has got something on her mind."
Duane did not look very much impressed. "What on earth should she
have on her mind? Besides, there's her sister. It's her business to
see if the kid's worried by anything."
"Well, I don't know much about Bertha," went on Kitty, hesitating.
"To tell you the truth, I never did take to her much. But----"
"Oh, I'm not her great chum, either," interrupted Duane. "Still, I
do happen to know that Bertha thinks the world of Erica and can be
trusted to look after her as much as anybody. But I think the child
gets bad attacks of homesickness, all the same. However, she'll grow
out of that in time. All decent girls are happy enough at
Easthampton."
Some inexplicable impulse prompted Kitty's next words:
"Are you?"
"Do you mean to infer that I'm not decent?" said Duane dryly.
Kitty flushed crimson.
"You know I didn't mean that."
"No, I didn't. I thought perhaps you were still thinking of the
Richoter," returned Duane calmly.
"Well, I wasn't," said Kitty bluntly. "I was merely asking a
straightforward question. I'm afraid I'm not used to playing about
with words, and I'm not clever at it like you."
"It comes in handy sometimes," murmured Duane.
"Yes, I suppose it does, when you don't want to give a
straightforward answer to a straightforward question," retorted Kitty.
"Or when you don't want to tell the truth," added Duane, with
laughter in her eyes. "Hallo, there goes the junior bell." She laid
her hand on Erica's shoulder, and shook her gently. Erica opened her
eyes and blinked drowsily.
"Your bell has gone, kiddie," said Duane. "I tell you what. I'm
going to carry you upstairs to bed and send Bertha along with a glass
of hot milk. You'll sleep like a top after that."
"But--I'm much too heavy," protested Erica, as the head prefect
stooped and lifted her out of the chair in her strong young arms.
Duane laughed contemptuously.
"Oh, I'm pretty strong, in spite of my frail appearance."
She turned at the doorway, evidently holding with ease the younger
girl, whose fair silky hair formed a striking contrast to her own
dark colouring, and glanced across at Kitty, saying flippantly:
"Don't look too despondent, Kitty. Cheer yourself up with the
thought that you won't have to listen to my gifted conversation much
longer. Hilary returns to-morrow evening. She'll tell you plenty of
home truths if you want straightforward answers. Sorry it's not in
my line."
When she had disappeared Kitty put down her pen and stretched
herself, then gazed round the little room. It would seem quite
strange to be back again in her own study. She really had got quite
used to the company of France and Duane, and their somewhat unusual
little ways. In fact, Kitty was rather troubled and uneasy when she
discovered that not only had she got used to the present arrangement,
but that she did not look forward at all to going back to the old one.
"Of course that's only because changing about is rather upsetting,"
she reproved herself. "Francie's a dear in many ways, but you don't
really want to stay on here with Duane, of all girls." Why, she had
nearly provoked a squabble that very evening! Kitty felt she had not
yet recovered her equanimity from the little passage of arms.
* * * * * *
"Oh, dash!" Kitty surveyed her bicycle gloomily.
"What's up?" Duane, her foot on her pedal ready to mount, paused and
looked back.
"My back tyre's down as flat as a pancake."
"A puncture?"
"'Fraid so," replied Kitty gloomily. "I'll see if I can pump it up,
though."
A brief examination proved the fact beyond a doubt. Kitty looked at
Duane. The two had been the last to leave the farmhouse--where the
cycling party had had tea--and were the only girls left behind, the
others having ridden on a minute or two before Kitty's discovery.
"You ride on and overtake the others," she said. "I'll mend the
puncture and come on afterwards. If I scorch I might catch you up
some time. Only it won't be long before it gets dark."
"Oh, I'll lend a hand," said Duane good-naturedly. "I've got my
lamps. Besides, Miss Carslake wouldn't like one of us to be left
alone."
"As to that, I'm quite capable of looking after myself," returned the
Australian girl rather impatiently. "But it's good of you to stay,
though, and keep me company."
The two girls were accustomed to mending their own punctures. They
had some difficulty at first in locating this one, but with the aid
of a bucket of water borrowed from the obliging farm people, found it
and patched it up.
"That's done at last!" exclaimed Kitty with a sigh of relief, as she
unscrewed her pump. "Now we can get on. Hallo, who on earth's this?
Why," in great amazement, "it's Bertha! What on earth is she doing
here?"
They hailed her, and in another minute Bertha had ridden up and
jumped off her bicycle. They could see that she was in a state of
great agitation.
"Is Erica with you?" she called out breathlessly.
"Erica? No, she's with the others, I expect," answered Kitty
quickly. "They went on ahead some time ago. Didn't you pass them?"
"Yes. She wasn't with them. They told me she was behind with you.
I wasn't sure of it, but I just said nothing and came on to find you."
"But what are you doing here, Bertha?" asked Duane, for Bertha had
not been one of the members of the cycling party.
"As you know," Bertha answered hurriedly, "I went over to Sheerston's
this afternoon. When I came back I found Erica had left this note
behind for me, and I can tell you it nearly knocked me over when I
read it. I borrowed a bike from one of the girls and came on as fast
as I could, hoping to get here before you left." She had pulled an
envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and handed it over to Duane.
The head prefect read it through quickly and silently. Her face was
grave when she handed it back.
"Great Scott! So that's why she was so anxious to come on the
cycling expedition, is it? Poor little kid! But why on earth should
she choose this way in which to run away from school?"
"I knew she was unhappy," replied Bertha, in a curiously hard tone.
"She's been miserable ever since she's been back. I don't know what
made her make up her mind, but she told me she wished she could run
away home. I told her not to be silly and that I shouldn't hear of
such a thing. I meant to see she didn't get any pretext for
permission to go into town. Then, as she says here, one of the
weekly boarders told her she knew this part of the country, and you
were going not far from her home, at Frattenton, and Frattenton's on
the main line for _our_ home--no changing."
"Where exactly is this place, Frattenton?" asked Duane quickly.
"The other side of the downs--four or five miles away. The road to
it runs right over the downs."
"And it's the nearest railway station from here?"
"Yes."
During the couple of minutes taken by this hurried conversation,
Kitty had stood silent, listening, not knowing what was really the
matter, but gathering that it was something serious.
Neither offered to show her the note; she realized that there was
some mystery about it that Duane and Bertha both knew all about, but
that they did not wish to share with anyone else. She did not ask
any questions, but waited to see what would be required of her.
Duane turned to her.
"Erica's gone," she explained. "She's run away home. She's slipped
off across the downs to Frattenton, to the railway station there."
Kitty nodded.
"What's to be done?" she said curtly. "I don't like the look of
those downs. There's a heavy mist coming on and it's already getting
dark."
"Let's hope she's there by now then," said Duane. "Look here, two of
us had better ride after her, and the third one return to school and
let Prinny know what's up."
"Who's to go back?" asked Bertha.
"You had better," answered Duane, speaking in decisive tones for
once. "You're done up already with scorching so hard, I can see, and
you've got no lamps. Kitty and I are fresh. That is to say, if
Kitty doesn't mind a tiring ride now."
"I'm on," said Kitty briefly.
"Then we'll make a start. Cheer up, Bertha. We'll see she's safe
somewhere or other and find out what's happened to her, all right."
"I know you will." Bertha tried to muster up a smile as she turned
her bike round. "You're a sport if ever there was one, Duane."
The next instant she had disappeared round the bend, and Duane and
Kitty were left alone again, this time with a feeling of
responsibility resting heavily upon them.
"Better just ask about the road, at the farm," suggested Kitty
sensibly. "We neither of us know it."
A few brief questions elucidated the information that the road wound
over the downs to Frattenton, that it was a lonely road, but that
there were few turnings of any importance, and then one had to keep
to the left. The two girls mounted and sped off, determined to cover
the greater part of the way before darkness settled down.
The first mile was a long drag uphill, but the girls struggled gamely
on. Presently, to their relief, they found themselves on high but
fairly level ground, and were too hot with their exertions to feel
the chill, penetrating damp that was settling upon everything. They
made short work of the next couple of miles.
Up till now they had met no sign of habitation. Here, however, at
the corner of a cross-road, was a small, thatched cottage. The place
looked deserted, but remembering the directions given them, they held
on to the left. The road dropped down into a little hollow. Here
they came across another house, a square, stone farm-house this time,
with three or four children and a couple of dogs playing about in the
roadway.
They dismounted and inquired of the eldest child if she had seen a
girl of about her own age, riding a bicycle, pass by within the last
half-hour. The girl shook her head, and on being questioned declared
that they had been playing in the road for quite a long time, but
that she had seen no one pass except Farmer Wootten's wagon. The
smaller children said the same.
Duane looked at Kitty rather perplexedly.
"Funny they should have missed her. She can't have passed here very
long ago."
The girls mounted again, but had not gone very far--only round the
next bend--when they came across a horse and cart and two road
menders, just preparing to leave their work of laying down granite
and start their return journey to Frattenton. Here the two cyclists
were brought "up against it" very definitely, for both men stated
positively and convincingly that no one had passed that way for the
last hour save a man driving a farm wagon, for they had been working
on the road all the time.