_A Warning_
Meanwhile, after walking along for a short distance, Molly thought
it would be wise to look up the names of Mrs Rose’s friends, as the
daylight was beginning to fade and already the moon was mounting the
sky; she had scribbled the names and addresses down on a slip of paper.
She noted, with a slight thrill of pleasure, the jingle of the silver
bracelet as she took the paper out of her pocket. Poor Molly, she could
not feel very happy about the bracelet, of course, as the weight of
Jack’s misfortune still crushed her down; but she was certainly pleased
to possess such a bracelet. Having discovered that one of Mrs Rose’s
friends lived about a quarter of a mile farther on, she determined
to search the road until she came to this house, and then ask if Mrs
Jennet, for that was the friend’s name, would kindly put her up for the
night.
The road now began to grow wilder and more rugged, while here and
there, beside the way, were huge rocks and piles of stones. She passed
an occasional tree, but these had few leaves on their branches, and
were much twisted and bent as though lashed by many storms.
Molly continued to search, but, instead of hurrying along as she had
meant to, she found herself moving slower, and gradually slower still,
and became aware that she was suddenly very tired. She dragged on for a
short distance.
“I can’t do any more searching to-night,” she thought to herself. “I’m
too tired. I’ll just make straight for the house—only I wish it wasn’t
such a long way off. I’ll never get there.”
Molly found great difficulty in keeping her eyes open now; and if she
hadn’t been so thoroughly exhausted and tired she might have been
suspicious of this overwhelming wave of sleep that had seized her. She
was too tired to think or reason, too tired to be suspicious. She only
knew that her feet felt as if they were made of lead, and the only
thing she wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep at once.
“Can’t reach the house,” she murmured, drowsily. “Must go to sleep.”
She stumbled across the road, and threw herself down on the grass by
the wayside. Oh, how delicious it was, just to lie down and go to
sleep! But as her head was sinking back a last wave of consciousness
flashed through Molly’s mind of the foolishness of the thing that she
was doing ... going to sleep by the roadside ... and if the Pumpkin
came along ... she would never be able to save Jack now. At this
thought—she rallied for a moment and pulled herself up into a kneeling
position. She remained thus for a moment or two, with her head drooping
forward. Then she struggled to fight off the wave of sleep that was
coming over her again, and managed to crawl a few paces further on.
Although Molly did not know it at the time, this was one of the most
critical moments in her adventure. If she had given in and gone
comfortably to sleep by the roadside, this story would have had a very
different ending. But Molly did not give in, her desire to find the
Black Leaf and save her brother was so strong, that in spite of the
great odds against her she was able to make one last effort to reach
a place of safety. Though there was still no sign of Mrs Jennet’s
house, there was fortunately a tree close by. And it was toward this
tree that Molly slowly groped her way. She never knew how long it
took her to reach that tree, although it was standing only a few feet
away from her. But with repeated efforts she at length reached it,
and with a great struggle pulled herself up into a standing position,
leaning against the trunk. For some time she stood leaning against the
tree; she could not remember afterward whether she went to sleep for a
while or not—she thought she must have gone to sleep (“Like a horse,
standing up,” she told herself). But she had barely lost consciousness
when again her desire urged her to make another effort.
This was the last effort, and the hardest of all. Molly scarcely knew
how she managed it, but manage she did, to pull herself up into the
tree, and curl up among the lower branches. Then, immediately, she was
asleep.
All through the moonlit night she slept and did not move. And if anyone
passed on the road beneath the tree that night—Molly never knew. And
nobody guessed there was a little girl lying asleep in the gnarled old
tree by the side of the road that led to Lake Desolate. For little
girls who are as tired as Molly must have been have not usually the
strength, nor the will, to climb trees.
At daybreak Molly stirred and threw out her right arm, so that it hung
down a little, over the edge of one of the branches: and the bracelet,
the jingly, silver bracelet, slipped down over her wrist, and as she
moved again, it slid over her hand and fell on to the ground at the
foot of the tree.
After this Molly seemed more restless, and did not sleep so soundly,
though many hours went by, and it was nearly noon before she was
aroused at length by some one exclaiming loudly and persistently from
beneath the tree, and something cold and hard grabbing at her arms and
legs.
Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then became aware that a chubby,
startled-looking little woman in a black and white check dress and a
black bonnet was calling up to her while she made frantic efforts to
catch hold of Molly with the crooked handle of her umbrella.
“Oh, thank goodness, you _’ave_ woke up, which I thought you never was
going to!” cried the plump little woman, dabbing her face with her
handkerchief. “Such a fright as you give me, lying quite still there
and me a-hollering at you for a hour or more, though I’d never a-seen
you if it hadn’t been for your ’and and arm ’anging down out of the
tree....”
“Who are you?” asked Molly drowsily. “I’m glad you did wake me up.”
“Maria Jennet is my name,” was the answer. “I done my best to wake you
up, but my! you do want a bit of waking. Made me quite ’ot, you ’ave.”
“Oh, are you Mrs Jennet?” said Molly. “Mrs Rose’s friend?”
“I am,” said Mrs Jennet emphatically.
“Why, I was on my way to your house last night, when—when ... Oh!”
Molly gave a scream.
“Oh!” screamed Mrs Jennet. “What is it now? You do give a body the
jumps, you do!”
But Molly did not answer. She was gazing with horrified eyes at her
right arm. On the wrist was a long grey stain!
How had it come there? What did it mean? Molly rubbed her arm
vigorously with her pocket-handkerchief—but she could not remove the
stain. She had seen a grey stain like this before; but where?... And
then she remembered. It was on Old Nancy’s finger, the evening she
slept through the sunset hour. Molly then realized what had happened.
[Illustration: “THANK GOODNESS YOU _’AVE_ WOKE UP!”]
“Of course, he was another of them. What a stupid girl I was to trust
him,” she exclaimed. “But where has my bracelet gone! Wait a minute
please,” she continued, in reply to Mrs Jennet’s excited questioning.
“I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.” She climbed down from the
tree and searched about in the grass beneath. “Ah, here it is!” she
cried, and snatched up her bracelet, only to drop it again instantly,
as if it were red-hot coals. For on the inner side of the bracelet she
saw the remains of a dull grey powder still clinging to it. “So that’s
how he did it!” Molly nodded to herself. “That explains things.”
She understood now that the watchmaker was another spy employed by the
Pumpkin, and the bracelet which she had accepted from him had contained
this magic powder which had rubbed off on to her arm, and sent her to
sleep. The old watchmaker was evidently relying on the powder acting
quickly, and Molly, overwhelmed by sleep, being compelled to rest by
the side of the road—or somewhere where the Pumpkin could easily
catch her. Luckily for Molly, she had had enough will power to fight
her way to a place of safety; and luckily, also, the bracelet had
slipped off and so gradually she had regained consciousness again.
Molly had had a very narrow escape, and she felt decidedly bewildered
as to the best way of winning through the difficulties around her. Of
one thing she felt certain, she must be very distrustful of everything
and everybody—except, of course, where people were recommended to
her by some one she could trust. So far, all the links in her chain
of friends had proved good and true; Glan—Old Nancy—Aunt Janet—The
Goblin—Miss Marigold—Mr Papingay—Mrs Rose—and now, Mrs Jennet. She
could trust Mrs Jennet, surely.
Mrs Jennet was bubbling over with curiosity about the stain and the
bracelet, and Molly answering some of her numerous questions, asked her
to lend her the umbrella for a minute. Mrs Jennet watched breathlessly
while Molly dug a little hole with the point, then picked up the
bracelet on the tip of the umbrella and dropped it in the hole and
piled earth and stones on it.
“It might only bring trouble to some one else if I leave it here,” she
said.
Then she accepted Mrs Jennet’s kind and vigorous invitation to go home
with her and ‘have a bite of something’ before proceeding on her way.
As they walked along Molly told her companion a little of what had
already taken place, and what had happened to Jack. At which Mrs Jennet
protested loudly and even wept a little; then stood still in the middle
of the roadway while she told Molly all the horrible things she would
like to do to the Pumpkin if she caught him.
Mrs Jennet’s house was only a short distance away, and stood with
several other houses by the side of the main road—the last dwellings
these before you reached Lake Desolate, which was about two miles
further on, she told Molly. Molly learned that the men from these
houses worked in the mines near by. Mrs Jennet’s husband worked there
and would not be home till evening.
While Mrs Jennet was bustling about, laying the table, and frying
eggs and bacon, Molly got out her map and looked to see where the
mines were. They were not marked on her map at all, and Mrs Jennet
explained, when Molly showed her the map, that the mines were just over
the border of Molly’s square; at which Molly was rather relieved, as
it had struck her that she might have to go down the mines perhaps to
search for the Black Leaf. But on second thoughts she remembered—of
course, the Black Leaf could only grow above ground. This incident,
however, called Molly’s attention to the fact that she was nearing
another border-line of her square. It stretched away to the left of
the road she was soon to go along; so she would not have much country
to search on that side. But there was still a large piece of country
around Lake Desolate.
“Are there no more houses beyond this group?” Molly asked Mrs Jennet,
as they sat down to their meal.
“No. Yes,” said Mrs Jennet. “That is, not until you’ve passed Lake
Desolate. Then there are one or two sheep-farms and cottages on the
’ills. Very lonely they must be, too. There’s very few go to Lake
Desolate now—the road’s so bad—and so lonely. And what’s the good
of going there, there’s nothing to see but the Lake and the ’ills....
’Ave some more bread, duckie.... And there’s all them wild birds
screeching over the Lake. Ugh! Fair gives me the creeps, it does. But
there—I forgot you was going there. Fancy, a bit of a girl like you!
Well, well! P’r’aps you ain’t afraid of being alone though? Eh?”
Molly said she didn’t think she was.
“I’m fond of my own company when I’m with other people,” remarked Mrs
Jennet. “You know what I mean—I feel a little bit lost by myself.”
Everything in Mrs Jennet’s room seemed like herself—plain and plump
and loud, but nevertheless good-natured. The chubby-looking horse-hair
sofa with the round large-patterned cushions reminded Molly strangely
of its owner; and so did the round-backed chairs with their thick arms;
even the carpet was just like Mrs Jennet would have looked if she had
been a carpet. Molly began to wonder what Mr Jennet was like.
“I’ve got a photo of ’im—up there on the mantelshelf—I’ll show you,”
said Mrs Jennet in reply to a question from Molly.
But even as Mrs Jennet handed the photo down, Molly felt she knew what
he would be like. And she was right. He was exactly like Mrs Jennet
would have been if she had been a man.
“He’s a dear old lad,” said Mrs Jennet, eyeing the photo
affectionately. “I wish you could have waited to see ’im—but if you do
find the old Black Leaf ’e’ll get a ’oliday I expect—every one will.
My! Won’t there be celebrations! And we’ll all come down to the City
and see you! ’Ave some more milk, duckie?”
Mrs Jennet chattered gaily on, asking and answering numberless
questions. Molly asked her if she could tell her of any one she could
trust, who lived in the little cottages or farms beyond Lake Desolate.
“Yes, yes. There’s a very nice lady I know lives in one of them—in a
little cottage on the side of the Giant’s ’Ead—that’s the name of the
’ill—it’s shaped on top like a huge ’ead. She’s got a sweet, pretty
cottage—stays there for ’er ’ealth. She’s away sometimes staying with
’er sister in the City, but I should think she’d be ’ome this time of
year. ’Er name’s Lydia North—Miss Lydia we always call ’er. ’Ere, I’ve
got a photo of ’er in my album. I’ll show you. She very kindly give
me one when she knew I collected photos, bless ’er ’eart!” said Mrs
Jennet.
The photo was of a refined, sweet-faced lady. Molly studied it intently
so that she would know Miss Lydia when she saw her.
“Thank you very much,” said Molly. “This will be a great help to me. I
know one person I can trust anyway.”
But Molly was not to get away as easily as that. Once Mrs Jennet had
got her beloved album open she insisted on showing Molly all the photos
of her relatives and friends, including Mrs Rose and Farmer Rose.
“I wish you had a photo of yourself about you,” said Mrs Jennet. “I’d
like you in the album.”
Molly was sorry she couldn’t oblige her hostess, but admired the
collection of photographs with such enthusiasm that Mrs Jennet was
enraptured. At length Molly managed to tear herself away, and bidding
good-bye to Mrs Jennet, and thanking her warmly for all her kindness,
Molly started out once more.
It was now early afternoon. Searching carefully along the road and on
either side of it she proceeded slowly. As she went on, the country
grew wilder and lonelier. The hills rose up on every side, bare,
gaunt hills on which nothing seemed to grow, and at the foot of the
hills great rocks and stones were strewn. Molly soon left all signs of
the miners’ houses behind her, and as she looked back and could see
nothing but the wild scenery all around her—no smoke from a chimney,
no sign of human beings at all—she began to feel very small and lost
and lonely. But she was not afraid. She realized, after thinking things
over, that in the ordinary way the Pumpkin’s spies could not touch
her or make her do things by force; it had to be some carelessness or
weakness in herself which enabled them to obtain a power over her. She
would be very careful in future, and would not trust any one but those
people who she _knew_ were her friends. She would be on her guard all
the time.
She searched carefully for about an hour, in every likely place along
the way, keeping her eyes and ears constantly on the alert. And
presently the latter informed her of the galloping of horse’s hoofs in
the distance. Looking back along the road she saw a cloud of dust, and
by and by a big black horse, on which was seated a man in a slouch
hat and flying cape, became visible. Molly glanced round for a place
of escape, if necessary, or a place to hide; but there was no place to
hide in this barren spot, and no trees near by. So she walked steadily
on. So long as it wasn’t the Pumpkin, the man on the horse could not
touch her against her will—that is, if he was an enemy. Poor Molly
expected every stranger to be an enemy now, of course. Maybe the horse
and rider had no business with her at all. Anyway, they came dashing
along at full speed, thundering on the road behind her.
Molly drew to the side of the road to let them pass. But they did not
pass. She heard, with a sinking heart, the horse gradually slacken its
pace till it came alongside her. The man quickly dismounted, made Molly
a sweeping bow, and handed her a sealed envelope. Then, without a word,
he sprang into the saddle and, turning his horse’s head, galloped back
along the road by which he had come, leaving Molly gazing in surprise
at the envelope in her hand.
It was all over in a minute. The man and the horse had come and gone.
Molly turned the envelope over and over. There was no address on it to
say who it was for or where it had come from. Only the word ‘Immediate’
was printed in the top corner. What ought she to do, she wondered.
Should she open it? Was it meant for her? Was it from a friend—or was
it another trick of the Pumpkin’s? She hesitated, standing still in
the middle of the lonely road. Supposing it was a message—something
about Jack—something really true. Supposing she didn’t open the
envelope—what was she to do with it?
This decided the matter; as she couldn’t think what to do with it if
she didn’t open it, she opened it, very cautiously. And this was the
letter inside it:
DEAR CHILD,
I know all that has happened. This is to tell you that I have
overheard that the Pumpkin has sent out many spies to stop you. One
of them is a little old man; a watchmaker he pretends to be. Do not
trust him.
Another (and this one is the most dangerous of all) is a certain
‘blind’ woman who has been sent out to meet you on the shores of
Lake Desolate. As you value your quest, as you value your poor
brother’s life, do not trust this ‘blind’ woman. Have nothing to do
with her—do not believe a word she says—but go straight on past
the Lake to the Brown Hills beyond. Otherwise, all is at an end for
us.
With affectionate remembrance from
OLD NANCY
Molly read the letter through several times, very carefully. Then she
folded it up and put it in her satchel.