AN UNFORESEEN EXPERIENCE
It was wonderful how quickly Edgar improved in health and spirits after
his arrival at the Mill House. In a very few days he was able to join
his cousins in their amusements, and showed no sign of spoiling their
pleasure as they had feared he would do. Surely some great change
had taken place in the boy to make him so different from the old
Edgar, who had set his own pleasure above every other consideration,
for now, though the selfishness he had cultivated so long peeped out
occasionally, he was evidently trying to check it, and—a more difficult
task still—he was earnestly endeavouring to be straightforward in word
and deed. Much to his relief no one mentioned the subject of the Calais
Noble, not even Polly, who, however, made him give her a description of
his accident, afterwards remarking that it could have been actually no
worse than a nightmare such as she had frequently experienced herself
when she had dreamt of falling over a precipice and had awakened to
find herself safe in bed.
"Yes, it was just like that," Edgar replied, "only I awoke with a
frightful headache. Wasn't I surprised to see Cousin Becky there!
Mother says she shall never be able to repay her for her kindness to
me."
"And yet Aunt Janie wouldn't ask her to stay at the Rookery when she
wrote about coming to Beaworthy," Polly reminded him, for she had an
excellent memory. "Cousin Becky belongs more to us than she does to
you, Edgar, you must see that," she added; and her cousin did not argue
the point.
All too quickly the August days passed by, and Mr. Trent's three weeks'
holiday was nearly spent when he received a letter—as welcome as it
was unexpected—from his employer, telling him he could be spared from
the office for another week. Everyone was delighted, and Polly fairly
lost her head and capered round the dining-room in her excitement on
learning the contents of her uncle's letter.
"A whole week longer in this beautiful place!" she exclaimed
ecstatically. "Oh, I do hope the weather will continue fine so that we
can spend most of the time out-of-doors! What are we all going to do
to-day?"
"I intend to hire a pony carriage—there is one to be had in the
village—and take your mother and Cousin Becky for a drive this
afternoon, Polly," her father informed her. "So you young people will
have to find your own amusements."
"We can easily do that," she replied; and the boys agreed.
Accordingly, after dinner, when their elders had started for their
drive, the children, left to their own devices, wandered through the
village to the beach. The tide was out, and they walked round the
cliffs, pretending they were explorers in a strange country where they
had to guard against sudden attacks from wild beasts and savages. This
game amused them for some time; but it was tiring making their way on
the wet sand, and when they came to a pretty little cove, they sat down
beneath the shelter of the cliffs to rest.
"We're safe here," remarked Edgar, "because if the tide came in and we
couldn't get back to Lynn by the shore, the cliffs are not very steep,
we could easily climb them."
"Yes I but it takes the tide a long time to come in," Polly replied. "I
don't think it's low water yet."
"Oh yes, it is," corrected her cousin. "Jabez Triggs told me it would
be low water at three o'clock, and it must be quite that. Why, it's
past four," he amended, as he took out his watch and looked at it. "How
the afternoon has flown!"
"And what an age we've been coming here!" exclaimed Roger, surprised at
the time.
"We've had a fine game," said the little girl, taking off her
broad-brimmed straw hat and fanning her hot face with it. "How we
shall think and talk of all the fun we've had here when we get home—to
Beaworthy, I mean! I wonder if we shall come to the Mill House another
year? I asked Cousin Becky, and she said it was quite possible."
"I never enjoyed a holiday so much in my life before," Edgar declared.
"I'd much rather stay at a village than at a larger place. Last year we
went to Bournemouth, and I had a dreadfully slow time. I say, what an
old chap Jabez Triggs is, isn't he?"
"Yes, but I like him," Roger answered, "he tells such exciting stories.
What do you think he told me yesterday? Why, that not very many years
ago there were acres of land between the village and the sea, and now
you know the houses are close to the beach."
"How's that?" questioned Polly.
"Because the sea is gradually sucking away the land," her brother
explained.
"Some people believe there are villages buried beneath the sea, and the
fisher folk say they can sometimes hear the bells ringing in church
towers—"
"Under the sea?" interposed Edgar unbelievingly.
"Yes, but perhaps that's not true, they may only fancy it," Roger
admitted. "But Jabez says every storm takes away a bit of the land,
that's quite certain. He remembers when he was a boy that a whole row
of cottages was washed away one night; he pointed out to me the spot
where they used to stand, and even when it's low tide it's covered with
deep water now."
Polly gave a little shudder, and listened in silence whilst her
companions continued their conversation. She was glad there had been no
storm during their sojourn at the Mill House, for the thought of the
encroaching sea was somewhat alarming to her mind.
"I think it's about time we went home," she observed at length, as she
put on her hat and rose to her feet. "The tide seems to be coming in
very fast now, so we ought to be going, for I know one can only get to
this cove at low water."
"Polly is nervous," said Roger teasingly. "All right, we'll come; but
there's no need to hurry."
The little girl was not certain of that; however, she held her peace
and walked ahead of the boys in the direction of the point which hid
the cove from sight of the village of Lynn. By-and-by she turned and
came running back. "It's no good going on," she informed them, a
startled expression in her eyes, "for the tide's come in, and—and—"
She paused, looking anxiously at the cliffs which she knew they would
now be obliged to climb, and she shuddered as she reflected how easily
she became giddy. "I wish we'd turned back before," she added with a
tremble in her voice.
The boys hastened on to the point, but they could not get around it,
for, as Polly had represented to them, the sea had come in, and they
were cut off from Lynn. However, they were not in the least dismayed.
"This is something like an adventure," Roger said as he and his cousin
joined his sister again. "Why, Polly, how scared you look! We can
easily get home by the cliffs."
"You may, but I can't," Polly replied despondently. "I shall be sure to
get giddy and fall."
"Oh, nonsense!" her brother exclaimed impatiently. "You'll be all
right. I'll go ahead and give you a hand. It will be rare fun, you'll
see."
Polly doubted it, and the expression of her face was so dolorous that
her companions both burst out laughing. Greatly offended, she turned
from them and made her way towards the base of the cliffs, her figure
held very upright—as though she had swallowed a poker, as she heard
Roger tell Edgar—and her heart indignant against her brother and cousin
alike. Her eyes were full of angry tears which blurred her sight; and
perhaps that accounted for what followed; for, suddenly, she slipped on
a piece of seaweed and fell, twisting her ankle as she did so.
"Oh, Polly, you should be more careful!" exclaimed Roger as he darted
forward and assisted his sister to get up. She clung to him for a
minute, then sank back on the ground. "What's the matter?" he asked
anxiously.
"I've hurt my foot, Roger; I can't go any further."
"But, Polly, you must," he insisted, with a swift glance seawards.
"And I tell you I can't," she said, beginning to cry. "I can't walk,
it—it hurts me."
"Oh, here's a pretty kettle of fish!" cried Roger, looking despairingly
at his sister.
"Can't you really walk, Polly?" questioned Edgar. "At any rate, try."
She made the attempt; but the few steps she took caused her keen pain;
to climb the cliff was out of the question. "She can't do it," Edgar
said decidedly. "It's cruel to try and make her. Don't cry, Polly.
We'll go back to Lynn and get a boat to fetch you."
"But supposing the tide comes up before you have time to get the boat
here?" she inquired. "It's coming in very fast. Oh, do you mean to say
you are going to leave me alone?"
"One of us will stay with you if you wish it," said Roger, beginning to
realise the gravity of their position. "I'll stay whilst Edgar—"
"No, you go, Roger, because you'll be quicker than I could be," Edgar
interrupted. "You can run much faster than I can, and when you reach
the top of the cliff you must run all the way to Lynn, because—because
I think there isn't much time to waste," he concluded in rather a
trembling tone.
"Yes, yes, you go, Roger," urged Polly eagerly, for she had more
confidence in her brother than in her cousin. "Edgar's quite right, he
wouldn't be so quick as you."
"All right, then; I'm off," Roger answered. "I won't be longer than I
can possibly help. Don't get low-spirited, Polly."
They watched him nimbly climb the side of the cliff, which presented
no difficulties to him, for he was sure-footed and possessed a steady
head. On reaching the summit he shouted and waved his handkerchief
encouragingly, then disappeared from view. Polly heaved a sigh of
relief, and expressed a hope that they would not have a great while
to wait, to which her companion made no response. He was watching the
incoming tide, and trying to calculate how long it would be before it
would reach the bottom of the cliffs; he trusted nothing would happen
to delay Roger on his mission.
"It's good of you to stay with me," Polly said gratefully, at length.
"I suppose it was selfish of me not to want to be left alone. Isn't it
nearly time for the boat to come?"
Edgar shook his head and he became silent, whilst they both listened to
the soft lap-lap of the waves as they slowly drew nearer and nearer.
Polly crouched on the ground close to the cliff, her face pale and
frightened, and Edgar stood by her side, eagerly watching the point
around which the expected boat must appear. Slowly the time dragged on
until Roger had been gone more than an hour, and only about a dozen
yards of sand divided the children from the water now.
"What shall we do if the tide comes right up to us?" asked Polly, in
a voice which betrayed the intensest anxiety. "Shall you climb up the
cliff?"
"And leave you? No, no, I won't do that. But I think we shall see a
boat soon now. I wonder which of us will see it first."
He tried to speak cheerily for the sake of his companion, but a sense
of terrible fear and hopelessness was creeping over him. He glanced at
Polly; but instead of watching for the boat, she had covered her face
with her hands, and he guessed she was praying. Then from the depths
of his heart he prayed, too; and, mingled with his earnest petition
for deliverance from the incoming tide was the prayer that, whatever
happened, he might not, on this occasion, prove himself a coward.