SILVERSANDS TOWER.
"Say, what deeds of ancient valour
Do thy ruined walls recall?"
Four o'clock on the next afternoon found Belle tapping at the door of
the little back sitting-room in No. 4 with a very important face.
"Why, what's the matter?" she exclaimed, as she entered in response to
Mrs. Stewart's "Come in," for Isobel was sitting in the big armchair
propped up with cushions, looking as limp as a rag and as white as a
small ghost.
"It's only one of her bad headaches," replied Mrs. Stewart; "I think it
must be the heat. She ought not to have played cricket this morning in
the blazing sun.--No, Isobel, you mustn't try to get up. Belle may sit
here and talk to you for a few minutes, but I'm afraid I can't ask her
to stay long."
"I'm _so_ sorry!" said Belle, sitting down on the arm of the big chair
and squeezing her friend's hand. "I've brought an invitation. It's
mother's birthday on Saturday, and she's going to give a picnic at
Silversands Tower, and ask all the Sea Urchins. Won't it be splendid
fun? You simply _must_ be better by then. It will be quite a large
party: Mr. Chester and a good many other grown-up people are
coming.--Mother wonders if your foot will be well enough, Mrs. Stewart?
She would be so pleased to see you, if you don't mind so many children."
"Thank you, dear; but I can scarcely manage to hobble on to the beach at
present," replied Mrs. Stewart, "so I fear it is out of the question for
me, much as I should have enjoyed it. Isobel, of course, will be only
too delighted to accept. I believe the very thought of it is chasing
away her headache."
"We're to drive there on two coaches," said Belle, "and have tea in the
ruins, and afterwards we can play games or ramble about in the woods.
There'll be twelve grown-up people and twenty children. We didn't invite
the Wrights' baby, because mother said it was too young, and she really
couldn't stand it. She's asked all the Rokebys, even Cecil, though he
_is_ rather a handful sometimes; but Mr. Rokeby's coming, I expect, and
he'll keep him in order. The Wrights are bringing an aunt who's just
arrived back from a visit to Paris. I'm afraid we shall scarcely get
them to talk English. And Mrs. Barrington hasn't decided yet whether
she'll let Ruth and Edna go--she says it depends upon how they do their
health exercises; but they're going to try and get their father to
persuade her. Well, I mustn't stay now if your head aches, but I'm very
glad you can come; I think we shall have a glorious time, and I _do_
hope Saturday will be fine."
Not one of the numerous members of the Sea Urchins' Club could have been
more anxious for a brilliant day than Isobel. She tapped the glass in
the hall with much solicitude, and even paid a visit to her friend the
coastguard to inquire his opinion as to the state of the weather; and
having carefully examined a threatening bank of clouds through his
telescope, and ascertained that the objectionable little sailor was
peeping from his barometer, she came home in rather low spirits, in
spite of his assurances that "if it did splash a bit, it wouldn't be
nowt." Luckily her fears proved groundless. Saturday turned out
everything that could be desired in the way of sun and breeze, and two
o'clock found a very excited group of children gathered outside Marine
Terrace, where two yellow coaches, hired specially from Ferndale for the
occasion, were in waiting to drive the party to the Tower.
Barton, Mrs. Stuart's maid, was busy packing the insides with baskets of
tea-cups and hampers of provisions, and some of the smaller boys had
already climbed to the top with a view of securing the box-seats, whence
they were speedily evicted by the younger guard, who had his own notions
about reserving the best places, and who, having already had a scuffle
with Arnold Rokeby on the subject of the unauthorized blowing of his
horn, was disposed to resent undue interference with his privileges.
There were quite enough older people to keep the children in order,
which seemed a fortunate thing, to judge from the effervescing nature of
their spirits. Mrs. Stuart had invited several of her friends, among the
number an athletic young curate named Mr. Browne, who tucked both Arnold
and Bertie Rokeby easily under one arm, and held them there as in a
vice, while he dangled Charlie Chester in mid-air with the other hand--a
feat of prowess which so excited their admiration that they clung to him
like burrs for the rest of the afternoon. The Wrights had turned up in
full force, with the aunt and mademoiselle, and were commenting upon the
horses and the general arrangements in their best English-French; while
even the little Barringtons had been allowed, after all, to join the
fun, though at the last moment, much to Ruth's disgust, their mother
had decided to accompany them, to see that they did not race about in
the sun or eat indigestible delicacies.
It took a long time to settle all the guests in their seats, and to stow
away the lively members of the party where they could not get into
mischief, yet would not interfere with the comfort of their more
sober-minded elders, was as difficult a problem as the well-known puzzle
of the fox, the goose, and the bag of corn; but eventually things were
arranged to everybody's satisfaction. Bertie Rokeby, who had announced
his intention of taking the journey hanging on to the leather strap at
the back beside the guard, was safely wedged between his long-suffering
mother and the jovial curate; while Charlie Chester had been allowed to
screw into a spare six inches of box-seat next to the driver, who held
out a half-promise that he might hold the reins going uphill. The whole
company seemed in the gayest of spirits and the most sociable of moods.
Mr. Chester, who was something of a wag, kept both coaches in a roar
with his jokes, and a fashionably-dressed young lady in pince-nez, who
had looked rather unapproachable at first, proved to have her pockets
overflowing with chocolates, which she distributed with a liberal hand,
and was voted by the boys in consequence a "regular out-and-outer."
The last comers being at length seated, and the last forgotten basket
put inside, the guards blew their horns, the drivers whipped up, and the
two coaches set off with a dash, to the admiration of all the visitors
in Marine Terrace, and the rejoicing of a small crowd of barefooted boys
from the town, who had assembled to watch the start, and who ran
diligently for nearly half a mile behind them shouting, "A 'alfpenny!
Give us a 'alfpenny!" with irritating monotony, and eluding the skilful
lashes of the coachmen's long whips with considerable agility. It was
not a very great distance to the Tower, and the children thought the
drive far too short, and were quite loath, indeed, to come down when the
horses stopped before the gray old gateway, and the guards, who had been
rivalling one another in solos on the horn, joined in a farewell duet to
the appropriate air of "Meet me again in the evening."
The ruined castle made a charming spot for an out-door party. Situated
at the foot of a tall wooded hill called the Scar, its battered walls
faced the long valley to the north, up which in the olden days a strict
watch must have been kept for Border raiders. The ancient turreted keep,
with its tiny loophole windows, was still standing, half covered with
ivy, the hairy stems of which were as thick as small trees, and a narrow
winding staircase led on to the battlements, from whence you might see,
on the one hand, the green slopes of the woods, and on the other the
yellow cliffs which bounded the blue waters of the bay. Inside the keep
was a large square courtyard, where in times gone by the neighbouring
farmers would often drive their cattle for safety when the gleam of the
Scottish pikes and the smoke of burning roofs were seen to northward.
The heavy portcullis hung yet in the gateway, and though the drawbridge
was long ago gone, and the moat was dry, the fragments of an outer wall
and a portion of a barbican remained to show how powerful a protection
was needed in the days when might was right, and each man must guard his
goods by the strength of his own hand. The courtyard now was covered
with short green grass spangled with daisies, where a pair of tame
ravens were solemnly hopping about, while the ivy was the home of
innumerable jackdaws that flapped away at the approach of strangers,
uttering their funny spoilt "caw," as if indignant at having their
haunts disturbed.
Visitors were admitted to the castle by an old woman, who looked almost
as ancient as the ruin itself, and who insisted upon giving a full
account of the dimensions, situation, and history of the place, which
she had learnt from the guide-book, and which she repeated in a high,
sing-song voice, without any pauses or stops, as if she were saying a
lesson. She followed the various members of the party for some time,
trying to make them keep together and listen to her explanations; but as
they much preferred to explore on their own account, she was obliged to
subside at last to her little kitchen under the archway, and employ
herself in the more practical business of boiling the water for tea. All
the guests were very soon distributed about the ruins, some admiring the
view from the battlements, some peering into the darkness of the
dungeons, and others trying to re-people the guardroom and the
banqueting-hall with knights and dames of old, and to imagine the clink
of armour and the clash of swords in the courtyard below. The Rokeby
boys were imperilling their limbs by a climb after jackdaws' nests,
oblivious of the fact that it was long past the season for eggs, and
the young birds, already in glossy black plumage, were flying round as
if in mockery at their efforts. Austin Wright, after a vain attempt to
establish an acquaintance with the ravens, had been seen racing as if
for his life with the pair in hot pursuit of his small bare legs; while
Charlie Chester, in an essay to investigate the interior of the well,
very nearly fell to the bottom, being only saved by the tail of his
jacket, which luckily caught on a prickly bramble bush, and held him
suspended over the dark gulf till he was rescued by his indignant
father.
In the meantime tea had been spread in the courtyard. Two great hissing
urns were carried from the kitchen and placed upon the grass, and both
grown-ups and children, abandoning the study of mediaeval history or the
pursuit of jackdaws, collected together to discuss sandwiches, cakes,
and jam puffs, in spite of Mr. Chester's laughing protestations that
such modern luxuries were out of place, and an ox roasted whole or a red
deer pasty would have been a more appropriate feast for the occasion.
Even the ravens came hopping round at the sight of the cups and plates,
and waxed quite friendly on the strength of sundry pieces of bun and
bread and butter, which they snapped up with voracious bills, growing
too forward, indeed, as the meal progressed, for they stole the curate's
tartlet, which he had laid down in an unguarded moment on the grass, and
shamelessly snatched Bertie Rokeby's sponge-cake out of his very hand.
"I'm sure the Wrights enjoyed themselves," Isobel told her mother
afterwards. "Harold had seven rice buns and ten victoria biscuits, and
Charlotte and Aggie ate a whole plateful of cheese-cakes between them.
Belle says they always have the most enormous appetites, and at her last
party Eric took four helpings of turkey; he just gulped it down, and
kept handing up his plate while the others were eating their first
serving, and after that he tasted every different dish on the table.
It's a great trial for the Wrights to go to parties at the Barringtons;
they never get half enough supper, though they have the most delightful
magic lanterns and conjurers. Ruth and Edna were scarcely allowed to eat
anything at tea. Mrs. Barrington picked all the raisins out of Edna's
bun, and made Ruth put back the jam tart she'd just taken. She said if
they were really hungry they might eat some plasmon biscuits she had
brought with her, but they mustn't touch pastry; and Ruth was so savage,
she filled her pocket with queen-cakes when her mother wasn't
looking--she said she didn't mean to come away without having tasted
anything nice after all."
If the Barringtons were obliged to rise with unsatisfied appetites, the
same certainly could not be said of the other guests; the piles of good
things disappeared with much rapidity, and at last even the insatiable
Eric Wright declined another bun. It was at this point that Mrs. Stuart
produced a special basket, which she had reserved for a final surprise,
and raising the lid, disclosed a row of marvellous little cakes, each
made in the exact form of a sea urchin, with spines of white sugar, and
the inside filled with vanilla cream.
"It's a delicate compliment to the Sea Urchins' Club," she said. "It was
my own idea. I sent to my confectioner at home, and asked him what he
could manage in the matter. I think he has carried it out very well. The
cakes look so natural, you could almost imagine they had been fished out
of the water."
Quite a howl of delight went up from the young guests, who had never
seen such appropriate confectionery before, and the basket was handed
round by Belle amid a chorus of thanks, the United Sea Urchins consuming
their own effigies with much appreciation, even Ruth and Edna, at the
special request of Mrs. Stuart, being allowed for once to share the
treat, though only on the distinct understanding that they submitted
peaceably to a dose of Gregory's powder if the unwonted dainties
disagreed with them.
Tea being over, the party broke up to amuse itself in various ways, most
of the children playing at hide-and-seek among the crumbling walls, or
chasing each other up the winding staircase, while a few more
adventurous spirits took the opportunity of exploring the dungeons with
a candle. It was deliciously creepy down there; you could still see the
iron stanchions by which the wretched prisoners had been chained to the
wall, and the little hole through which their daily portions of food had
been handed in to them, and could imagine, if you were fond of recalling
the past, how from their beds of straw they would watch the light fading
from the tiny barred window, and shiver as they heard the rats gnawing
at the stout oak door, or felt a toad crawl over their feet in the murky
darkness. Some of the grown-ups had been busy marking out bounds in the
courtyard, and soon enlisted every one in an exciting game of prisoner's
base. Mr. Chester and the curate made the most successful captains,
directing the proceedings with great spirit, and sometimes by a bold
dash rescuing the more important of their prisoners, and Bertie Rokeby
covered himself with glory by quietly walking to the "prison" while the
opposite side was occupied in a hardly-contested struggle, and
unsuspectedly freeing all the captives one by one. It was warm work,
however, on a hot August day, and after a time the Wrights, never good
runners, subsided, panting, on to a piece of ruined wall, and even the
enthusiastic curate, who had pulled off his coat, and was prosecuting
the game in his shirt sleeves, began to show signs of flagging zeal.
"I'm done up!" cried Mr. Chester at last, flinging himself under the
shade of a small elder tree near the banqueting-hall. "I haven't a leg
left to stand on, and I'm hoarse with shouting orders. You'd better give
in, and do something quiet. I don't want to see another boy or girl for
the space of the next half-hour, so scoot, all of you, anywhere, and
leave Mr. Browne and myself to enjoy a smoke in peace."