“A PUNITIVE EXPEDITION.”
In spite of the boys’ efforts to conceal the failure of their first
essay in knightly deeds, there was no doubt that it had a very
depressing effect on their ardour.
Indeed, the grand project might quite possibly have languished and died
out, if it had not been for a fresh impetus given to it from outside.
This came in the form of a letter from Mrs. Durand.
Faith had sent an account of their scheme to her mother, who entered so
cordially into their project, that she wrote, promising to award as her
own prize one golden sovereign to the best deserving of the knights. She
only stipulated that the record of the noblest deed of each should be
submitted to her for consideration.
Fay and Phoena were to be responsible for the accuracy of the list,
which was to be endorsed by all the other members’ signatures.
“I’m glad,” ended Mrs. Durand, “that you’ve taken little Gaston into
your number. A Gaston should do doughty deeds to keep up the reputation
of such a bright name in the rolls of chivalry; besides, it would have
been unkind, and therefore unknightly, to have left him out.”
Fay was careful to read this last remark out, and though it was received
with evident dissatisfaction, it nevertheless bore fruit.
Fired now by the prospect of winning a “golden opinion” the boys set to
work to consider what enterprise they could next take in hand.
Phoena furnished them with an object on which to expend their zeal.
In a certain village, Playden by name, through which they had driven,
coming from the station, she had noticed a thrush hung up in a cage
outside a cobbler’s door. The poor bird was beating itself so wildly
against the bars that Phoena felt certain that it could not have been
bred in its wicker prison, and must, therefore, have been only recently
captured.
“Now that really is a poor distressed creature that ought to be
succoured,” she declared; “I’ve thought of it ever since I saw it.”
“It shall regain its liberty before sunset,” said Jack, solemnly.
“And vengeance shall overtake its persecutors,” added Phil.
“If necessary the whole cottage shall be burnt to the ground, as a
warning to all the surroundings,” added Andrew.
“I’ve got a whole big match box in my pocket,” whispered Hubert to Phil.
“Bring it with you,” replied the latter, to Hubert’s excessive joy.
“How far off is the village?” asked Fay, not daring to show the immense
alarm with which the prospect of this punitive expedition filled her.
“Oh!” said Phoena, who had evidently given much thought to the subject,
“it’s only about a mile off; if the boys go now they will have plenty of
time to free the captive and return for dinner.”
“It rather depends,” said Andrew, “upon the amount of resistence we may
encounter.”
“It’s to be hoped there’ll be a jolly lot,” said Jack.
“But please remember,” Fay ventured to say, “that you must not behave
like a horde of savages. After all, the bird is not your property, and
if you want to set it free, you must start by offering to buy it.”
“I think,” said Andrew, grandly, “you may leave us to conduct the matter
so as to preserve our own honour. And now,” turning to Hubert, “you
valet, wind your horn and assemble our lieges.”
The horn was a tin pipe, from whose slender interior, at the expense of
much puffing, Hubert managed to extract a thin shrill note.
Phil and Jack being already on the field, that summons would have been
the merest formality, had Gaston not been allowed to respond to it.
But to Marygold’s delight, when poor little Delzant came flying across
the paddock in answer to the horn, he was graciously permitted to set
forth in company with his brothers-in-arms.
“There’s a short cut across the fields,” began Phoena, but a frown from
Faith stopped her.
“No short cuts for us,” replied Andrew, who privately hated fields which
might hold cattle of uncertain temper, “we march to glory on a straight
and open road.”
“Hear, hear,” from the rest of the company.
Therewith those gallant redressers of wrong sallied forth to execute
justice on the unsuspecting, and, to all appearances, law-abiding
population of the small village of Playden.
“There they go,” said Di; she had clambered up to the top of a high
gate, and was standing on the bar. “Hubert’s heading them with his pipe,
thank goodness that he’s not blowing it very loud, and Gaston is
following him. The others are marching abreast, because I suppose they
are all of equal rank, just behind Gaston. It’s such a lonely road that
they’re not likely to meet anybody. I wonder how they’ll get on.”
“I’ll never forgive them, if they come back without the bird,” said
Phoena, quite fiercely.
“I’m sorry for the poor bird,” said Fay, “still, I wish Phoena, that
you’d never told them about it. You don’t know what it may lead to.”
“Oh! you coward, Fay,” cried Phoena, “how would wrongs ever get righted
if people stayed to think what it might lead to? When would they do
anything grand if they always stopped to count the cost?”
“Well, I’m going to see what this’ll lead to,” retorted Fay, flushing
angrily. “I’m going to take the short cut across the fields, and get to
Playden before the boys arrive, and offer to buy the thrush. I’m quite
sure it’s the only way to prevent a row.”
“Oh, you traitor,” cried Di; whilst Phoena added, “If you do that,
you’ll encourage all the village to imprison other birds.”
“I don’t care,” said Faith, “that’s what I’m going to do,” and with
Marygold for a companion, she set off at a brisk rate through the
fields.
“We won’t come with you,” said Di and Phoena together.
But Faith had not gone far before Marygold, looking behind her,
announced with great excitement, that the two girls were following them.
“But they bobbed and hid behind the haystack when they saw me looking,”
said Marygold.
“I thought they’d come,” laughed Fay, “but I expect we should have done
as well if they’d kept their word and stayed at home.”