The Campers
Life began at the camp soon after 5 a.m., when the more energetic
spirits tumbled off their hay sacks, flung on dressing-gowns, and
scrambled for turns at the bath tent. Fetching water for the day was
the first business of the morning, and those on bucket duty trotted
off to the stream, two fields away, joking and making fun as they
went, but returning more soberly with the heavy pails. The 6.15
breakfast tasted delicious after their early outing, and most of the
workers seemed in good spirits. By seven o'clock the whole party were
down in the gardens. The Marlowe Grange girls had never seen
strawberries by the acre before, and they were amazed, almost daunted,
at the sight of the vast quantity of fruit that must be gathered. They
were told off to a certain portion of the field, given baskets, and
shown where to bring them when full. Each novice, for the first day,
was expected to work near an experienced hand, who could show her what
was required, as the picking, though quick, must be careful, so as not
to bruise the strawberries. Raymonde and Morvyth found themselves
under the wing of a Social Settlement secretary, a business-like dame
who had picked the previous summer, and understood the swiftest
methods. Close by, they could hear Miss Gibbs being instructed by the
lady journalist, with whom she had apparently cemented a friendship.
It was a point of honour to fill the baskets with the utmost possible
speed, and everybody worked steadily. There was no rule against eating
the fruit, but the pay was according to the number of baskets handed
in, so that shirkers would find themselves unable to earn their keep.
It was a rather back-breaking employment, but otherwise pleasant, for
the day was fine, the larks were singing, and wild roses and
honeysuckle bloomed in the hedgerows. The slum pickers at the other
side of the field toiled away with practised fingers. Many of them
came every year, and would return in September for the hop harvest.
The small children played under the hedge and took charge of the
babies, who cried and slept alternately, poor little souls! without
receiving much attention from the hardworking mothers.
The slum contingent was a subject of much amusement and curiosity to
the Marlowe Grange platoon. Though they occupied different portions of
the field, they would meet when they went to deliver baskets. The
rollicking good nature and repartees of some of these people,
especially of the gipsies, were often very funny. They would chaff the
agent who registered their scores, with a considerable power of
humour, and the Grange girls, waiting in line for their turns, would
chuckle as they overheard the conversations.
At eleven everybody ate lunch which they had brought with them, then
worked till one, when they returned to the camp for dinner. Picking
went on again from two till six, with an interval at four o'clock for
tea, which was brought down to the gardens in large cans, and poured
into the workers' own mugs. It was almost the most acceptable meal of
the day, taken sitting under the hedge, with the scent of roses in the
air, and the summer sunshine falling across the fields.
By the end of the first evening, the Grange girls decided that, though
they wished they had cast-iron backs, the experience on the whole was
great fun. They liked the camp life, and even their hay-sack beds.
"I vote we don't sleep with our heads to the tent-pole to-night,
though," said Raymonde. "You flung out your arms, Morvyth, and gave me
such a whack across the face! I wonder I haven't a black eye. Let's
turn the other way, with our feet to the pole."
"Right you are! I'm so sleepy, I don't mind which end up I am, if I
can only shut my eyes!" conceded Katherine, yawning lustily.
"I shan't need rocking, either," agreed Morvyth.
Perched on her hay-bag, Raymonde was very soon in the land of Nod. She
was dreaming a confused jumble about Miss Gibbs and gipsies and
strawberries, when she suddenly awoke with a strong impression that
someone was pulling her hair. She sat up, feeling rather scared. The
tent was perfectly quiet. The other girls lay asleep, each on her own
sack with her feet to the central pole.
"I must have dreamt it!" thought Raymonde, settling down again.
She had scarcely closed her eyes, however, before she heard a curious
noise in the vicinity of her ear, and something unmistakably gave her
plait a violent wrench. She started up with a yell, in time to see an
enormous head withdraw itself from the tent door. A clatter of hoofs
followed.
"What's the matter?" cried the girls, waking at the disturbance; and
"What is it?" exclaimed Miss Gibbs, aroused also, and hurrying in from
the next-door tent. But Raymonde was laughing.
"I've had the fright of my life!" she announced. "I thought a bogy or
a kelpie was devouring me, but it was only Dandy, the old pony. He
stuck his head round the tent door, and mistook my hair for a mouthful
of grass, the wretch!"
"I've seen him feeding near the tents before," said Valentine.
"There's some particular sort of grass here that he specially likes.
It's rather the limit, though, to have him coming inside!"
"He oughtn't to be allowed in this field at night," declared Miss
Gibbs. "I shall speak to Mr. Cox, and ask to have him put in another
pasture. We can't close our tent doors, or we should be suffocated. I
hope we shan't have any other nocturnal visitors! It's a good thing we
have no valuables with us. I don't trust those gipsies."
Miss Gibbs's fears turned out to be only too well founded, for, on the
morning but one following, there was a hue and cry in the camp. The
larder had been raided during the night, and all the provisions
stolen. The canteen matron and the cook were in despair, as nothing
was left for breakfast, and the workers would have gone hungry, had
not a deputation of them visited the farm, and begged sufficient
bread and jam to provide a meal.
"A lovely ham gone, and four pounds of butter, and a joint of cold
beef, and all the bread!" mourned the distracted matron. "I shall have
to go in to Ledcombe again this morning for fresh supplies, and I
believe Mr. Cox wants the pony himself."
"We ought to be able to track the thieves," said Miss Gibbs firmly.
"There should be an inspection at lunch-time, and anyone seen eating
ham should be under suspicion."
"They'd be far too clever to eat it publicly," objected Miss Hoyle,
the lady journalist. "Gipsies are an uncommonly tricky set. They
probably had a midnight feast, and finished the last crumb of our
provisions before daybreak. We shall get no satisfaction from Mr. Cox.
He'll say he's not responsible."
"Then we must take precautions that it doesn't happen again," decreed
Miss Gibbs. "Isn't it possible to procure a lock-up meat safe? I never
heard of a camp being without one."
"Perhaps you haven't had much experience," remarked the canteen matron
icily. She thought Miss Gibbs "bossy" and interfering, and considered
that she knew her own business best, without suggestions from
outsiders.
The Grange girls chuckled inwardly to hear their teacher thus snubbed.
They hoped a retort and even a wrangle might follow; but Miss Gibbs
had too much common sense, and, restraining herself, stalked away with
as unconcerned an aspect as possible.
"Look here, old sport!" whispered Raymonde to Morvyth, "somebody ought
to take this matter up. I consider it's a job for us. Let's watch
to-night, and see if we can't catch the prowling sneaks. Are you
game?"
"Rather! It's a blossomy idea, only don't let Gibbie get wind of it."
"Do I ever go and tell Gibbie my jinky little plans? It's not this
child's usual way of proceeding."
Raymonde and Morvyth had intended to run this little expedition "on
their own," but in the end they were obliged to let the rest of the
tent into the secret, as it was impossible to go to bed fully dressed
without exciting comment. Their comrades refused to be left out, so it
was decided that all six, under Raymonde's leadership, should mount
guard over the larder. They drew their blankets up to their noses, and
pretended to be very sleepy when Miss Gibbs came to take a last look
at them before retiring. Apparently she noticed nothing unusual, for
she only glanced quickly round, and went softly away. The
self-constituted sentries allowed nearly an hour to pass before they
dared to venture forth. Until that time the camp was not really quiet.
The university students were a lively set, apt to keep up their fun
late, and the secondary school girls often talked persistently, to the
annoyance of their neighbours. At last, however, all lights were out,
and a profound silence reigned. Not even an owl hooted to-night, and,
as Dandy had been banished from the field, even his crunching of the
grass was absent. Raymonde crept from her blankets and listened. Her
companions, to judge from their breathing, were sound asleep. She
felt much tempted to awaken only Morvyth, but she knew that if she
omitted to call the others, their reproaches next morning would be too
unbearable. So she roused the five. Taking torchlights, ready but not
switched on, they stole from the tent towards the scene of action.
The larder was only a portion of the marquee curtained off, so it was
really an easy prey for marauders. The girls could not quite decide
where would be their best post for sentry duty; whether to dispose
themselves in positions outside, or to keep guard within the tent. As
it was rather a cold night, they plumped for the latter. Cautiously as
Indians on the war trail, they crept across the marquee towards the
farther corner where the stores were kept. Raymonde, as leader, went
first, with her body-guard in close attendance behind her. Very, very
gently she drew back the curtains and entered the larder. It was
pitch-dark in here, and she began to grope her way along the wall.
Then she stopped, for in front of her she fancied she heard breathing.
She listened--all was silent. She started again, intending to go to
the far side of the table. She put out her hand to guide herself, and
came in contact with something warm and soft, like human flesh. In
spite of herself she could not suppress an exclamation. It was too
horrible, actually to touch a burglar! She had not bargained to find
one already in possession of the larder. Instantly the girls behind
her flashed on their torchlights, and the little sentry party found
themselves confronted with--Miss Gibbs!
Yes, it was Miss Gibbs, crouching down near the table with Miss
Hoyle, the lady journalist, close to her, both looking very
determined, and ready to tackle any number of gipsy thieves. The
astonishment was mutual.
"What are you doing here, girls?" asked Miss Gibbs sharply, the
schoolmistress in her rising to the surface.
"Only trying to guard the larder!" faltered Raymonde.
"That's just what we're doing," explained Miss Hoyle.
At that moment the matron put in an appearance. She also had been on
the qui vive in defence of her stores, and hearing voices, was sure
she had trapped the thieves. She had already passed on the alarm, and
in a few moments, acting on a preconcerted signal, Mr. Cox and several
of the farm hands burst upon the scene, ready to knock down and secure
intruders. Explanations naturally followed. It seemed that nearly
everyone in the camp had private and separately arranged watch
parties, each unconscious of the others' vigilance, and that all had
mistaken their neighbours for burglars. No one quite knew at first
whether to be annoyed or amused, but in the end humour won, and a
general laugh ensued. As nobody felt disposed to spend the whole night
on sentry duty, the matter was settled by Miss Corley and Miss Hoyle
proposing to bring their beds and sleep in the marquee for the
future.
"I wake easily, so I should hear the very faintest footstep, I'm
sure," said Miss Hoyle. "I'm going to keep a revolver under my pillow,
too, and I hope you'll spread that information all over the gardens,
and add that I'm accustomed to use it, and would as soon shoot a man
as look at him."
Whether through fear of Miss Hoyle's bloodthirsty intentions, or with
a shrewd suspicion that Mr. Cox was on the watch, the marauders did
not repeat their midnight visit, and left the camp in peace. Miss
Hoyle seemed almost disappointed. Being a journalist, she had perhaps
hoped to make copy of the adventure, and write a sparkling column for
her newspaper. The Grange girls decided that it was not the revolver,
but the dread of Miss Gibbs which had scared away the gipsies.
"They've seen her in the fields, you know, and I should think one look
would be enough," said Morvyth. "She has a 'Come here, my good man,
and let me argue the matter out with you' expression on her face this
last day or two that should daunt the most foolhardy. If she caught a
burglar she'd certainly sit him down and rub social reform and
political economy into him before she let him go!"