A SPRAINED ANKLE
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was a great walker and took many long, long tramps
around the countryside. The villagers had got quite used to the
spectacle of the white-haired lady clad in a short skirt of stout tweed
and heavy laced boots. White hair is not always the accompaniment of
trembling fingers, black silk gowns and knitting.
But her habit of taking lonely walks brought about an accident that
might have been serious if it had not been for the twins’ love of
exploring.
Branching off the main road that led from Sunnycrest to the village was
a winding lane known as Birch Lane, which had a little story attached to
it. The road had been built long ago by a very rich man as the avenue
leading to his big country house. It was built below the level of the
ground with grassy terraces sloping up on each side, along the base of
which beautiful birch trees had been planted. But the rich man lost all
his money and became too poor to build his house. The lane was left
deserted and uncared-for, the graceful trees grew bent and gnarled and
some of them died; the grass terraces slipped and caved in until they
became only clay banks.
Jane and Christopher had often looked up the gloomy little roadway, now
no more than a mere cow-path, and asked many questions concerning it.
They both had a great longing to “explore” its depths, each for a
different reason. Jane was sure that the fairies danced there and felt a
breathless hope of one day catching them at it. Christopher, on the
other hand, thought it not unlikely that a stray wolf or even a bear
might be prowling around the tiny wilderness.
As the lane was only a mile distant from Sunnycrest, grandmother said
they might go on a voyage of discovery—“only you go on voyages in a
boat,” Christopher had corrected her—whenever Joshua could spare Jo
Perkins to go with them. Jane rebelled at this, for she was sure the
fairies would never appear before a great big boy of fourteen. But
grandmother was firm on this point; so the trio started off one sunny
afternoon, Jo Perkins carrying a basket containing quite a day’s
provisions “in case they might get hungry before supper-time,” Huldah
explained.
Christopher and Perk discussed fishing, rabbit-shooting and other manly
topics while Jane skipped along in silence, her big eyes shining and her
little mouth smiling at her thoughts.
“I shouldn’t be a single bit surprised to see some, even with Perk
along,” she whispered to herself. “The books say they dance at night in
the moonlight; but I am sure fairies must love the sunshine, it is so
bright and goldy—just like themselves. And I should think they’d feel
perfectly safe to dance in such an out-of-the-waysy place when most
people are taking naps.”
The lane was very quiet and very beautiful. The sun shone down through
the dancing leaves of the birch trees in flickering rays that might well
have been the gleam of a fleeing fairy; the white tree trunks glimmered
like pillars of silver. The silence was so great that to have it broken
by the growl of a bear or, indeed, the snarl of a tiger, would not have
been in the least astonishing or out of the way. But no such sound broke
the summer stillness.
Indeed, it looked as if the children were to have the whole length of
the deserted lane to themselves. They walked along the top of the bank,
alert and watchful for any adventure, Christopher chattering as usual,
Jane quiet and content.
“There ain’t much use in goin’ any farther,” said Jo Perkins at last.
“There’s only one more turnin’, an’ that comes out into Pete Hull’s cow
pasture. An’ this basket’s powerful heavy to lug so far. I say we help
make it a bit lighter by disposin’ of some of the contents,” he added in
a suggestive tone.
“Oh, Perk, please let us go just to the last turn, and then we’ll eat
our lunch,” coaxed Jane.
So they walked on for another three minutes until a sudden sweep of the
road showed them a broad space of golden sunshine and green grass. It
was there that the poor rich man’s house was to have stood, tall and
stately, with white columns and terraced gardens; alas, it was now only
a pasture for cows.
The wide field with the cows lazily browsing gave the children a homely,
comfortable sense of security. They felt that they had penetrated a
mysterious wild and were back again in civilization. Jo Perkins had
already begun to unpack the basket and Christopher was watching him with
his soul—or more literally his stomach—in his eyes, when Jane’s
attention was suddenly attracted by the flutter of something white down
in the lane below them. She knelt on the edge of the bank and peered
over, in breathless excitement. Was she to see a really-truly fairy at
last?
What she did see surprised her so that she almost lost her balance and
tumbled over the edge of the bank. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was seated on the
roots of an old birch tree, her back against the clay bank, the yellow
clay of which clung to her jacket when she leaned forward to catch
Jane’s eye. But she did not get up.
“Oh, you blessed child!” she called. “Never was I so thankful to see any
one in the whole of my life! I have sprained my ankle and cannot move a
step. The fairies must have sent you! I began to think I should have to
sit here forever and forever.”
At once there was a grand excitement. The three children, basket and
all, came tumbling down the bank to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s side, every
one talking and suggesting aid at once. After the first moment of flurry
Perk pocketed half a dozen doughnuts, to fortify him on the way, and
bolted for home at top speed to fetch help. Jane and Christopher busied
themselves in trying to make Mrs. Hartwell-Jones more comfortable. By
leaning on Christopher’s stalwart little shoulder she managed to get
upon one foot and move to a drier, sunnier spot where she sat upon
Jane’s jacket and leaned against Christopher’s—which arrangement the
twins insisted upon in spite of her protests.
“For you see you might get inflammation or something dreadful if you
catch cold in your hurt foot,” Jane explained in her most motherly
manner.
To beguile the time of waiting for Jo Perkins’s return they lunched out
of Huldah’s generous basket and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones explained every
detail of her accident, in answer to Christopher’s rapid questions,
trying to identify for his satisfaction the exact root which had twisted
her foot, and even what she had been thinking about not to have noticed
the rough place. Jane listened with interest and sympathy but she said
nothing. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s impulsive words: “I believe the fairies
must have sent you” still rang in her ears. Had the fairies guided her
to that last turn? She shuddered as she thought that if Jo Perkins had
had his way they would have stopped short of that final bend and then
perhaps Mrs. Hartwell-Jones would have had to sit on and on through the
chilly evening and perhaps the night. Blessed fairies!
“If Letty had been with us to-day, she would have helped me watch for
the fairies,” she broke out suddenly.
“Did Letty believe in fairies?”
“Yes, she told me so. She said she loved fairy stories. I wish——” Jane
paused and her eyes grew wistful. “I wish Letty hadn’t had to go off in
such a hurry the other day. She looked so sad. You know her mother died
and she told me on the train platform that day that her brother had died
too. I don’t believe she has anybody now. And she didn’t even have time
to tell me where she was going.”
“Oh, she’ll turn up again; people always do,” declared Christopher
cheerfully. “I don’t see why you need be so sorry for Letty. It must be
jolly fun, belonging to a circus.”
“I wonder if she still has Punch and Judy. They were such cunning
ponies, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones.”
“I see that a circus is to visit Hammersmith before very long,” replied
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “Do you suppose it could possibly be the one to
which your little friend belongs?”
“Oh, I wonder if it is! I hadn’t thought of that!” exclaimed Jane in
great excitement. “Oh, I wish—I hope it will be!”
When the carriage arrived—the big family carryall it was, with Joshua
driving, grandmother was in it. She would not hear of Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones’s taking the long, jolty drive to the village. She was to
come directly to Sunnycrest and there be nursed and cared for until her
foot was well again. By the most wonderful good luck Dr. Greene had
driven past the gate of Sunnycrest just as Jo Perkins delivered his
message, had been hailed, brought back and was at that moment waiting to
see the patient.
Joshua assisted Mrs. Hartwell-Jones carefully into the carriage, the
children tucked themselves and the hamper in, and they drove rapidly
away from the deserted lane, looking more mysterious than ever under the
lengthening shadows of the afternoon sun; left it to the bees and the
rabbits and—perhaps—to the fairies. Who knows?