EVERYTHING COMES RIGHT!
Betty was gone! Her clothes were gone, too; and the occupants of the
dormitory had taken it for granted on waking that the energetic
Mascot had risen early as on previous occasions for extra gardening
practice. It was only when, on the sounding of the breakfast-gong,
there appeared no sight of Betty in her usual seat that surprised
comments ran down the garden table.
“Another _mark_! You don’t mean----!”
“Where is Betty Carlyle?” inquired the prefect in charge. “Do any of
you juniors know?”
Not one of them knew, however. A universal shaking of heads
prevailed.
“Go out into the gardens, Gerry,” commanded Miss Drury from the
wallflower table; “she must be there.”
But Betty was not there, though the presence of certain gardening
tools proclaimed the fact that the Mascot must certainly have spent
some time in working close to the sweet-pea hedge.
“Miss Drury, her gardening scissors are there. Some raffia, too.
Just lying about!” Gerry’s eyes were wide.
“Go back to your seat, Gerry, and finish your breakfast. One of the
prefects will go and look for her.” Miss Drury’s tones were as
common-sensible as ever.
But little breakfast was possible for Gerry. She was beginning to
grapple with an idea. Where was Betty? Already all the window-table
girls were beginning to whisper, and the whispers were spreading
round the room. Doron, the prefect who had been sent out to continue
the search, had returned too, and Miss Drury herself had left the
room after requesting Sybil to take her place at the head of the
wallflower table.
“Please say grace when every one has finished, Sybil, and dismiss the
girls to the grounds as usual.”
“Yes, Miss Drury.”
Their tones were level and quiet. Sybil’s tones in pronouncing grace
and in uttering the usual commands were level and quiet too. But it
was quite certain that “something” had happened. Gerry, feeling
strangely desolate without Betty’s presence, made her way into the
grounds alone.
Where was Betty? Was her disappearance in any way connected with the
queer story which she had told Gerry last night? Could it be that--
Her thoughts were broken into by fragments of conversation overheard
from the lips of passing couples.
“On the day of her investiture, too!”
“She looked awfully bothered yesterday evening. And did not say one
word while she was undressing----”
“Do you think it’s anything about the Cup?”
Suddenly, in the midst of the chattering, came the summons from the
bell. Lines were made, as usual, without more speaking; in single
file the girls made their way into the Hall--all but one; the
Mascot’s place was empty, and Gerry felt Miss Carey’s glance rest for
a moment longer upon the vacant space as her eye travelled down the
Hall.
But prayers were said, the roll was called; then, before the order
came to leave the room, the headmistress stood up and looked down
steadily at the lines before her.
“It appears that Betty Carlyle is missing. Will any girl who can
give any reason--possible or probable: any reason at _all_!--for her
absence, stand out from the lines while the rest file out.”
Gerry, three minutes afterwards, found herself standing alone in the
big Oak Room while the headmistress descended from the little
platform and came to her side.
“Well, Geraldine?”
“Miss Carey, I think--I’m almost sure, that Betty has gone to Witch’s
Wood!”
* * * * * *
“But--!” said Betty.
“He’s ill, poor lad, and askin’ for you. Won’t lay quiet. My man
fetched doctor to un last night, and he told us--doctor did--to give
un anything wot he fancied, ’im bein’ in such a bad way. So I come
along ’cos I knew you’d come, little Miss Carlyle--you with the soft
heart as kissed the baby. And sure, too, it’s the Cup he’s talkin’
about, end on. An’ it bein’ Midsummer Day--” The speaker stopped
for breath and mopped a heated brow.
“But who _is_ ‘he’?” inquired Betty, staring.
She had got used to the first surprise--that of suddenly seeing
behind her in the school wood the figure of Anna Grimes of the
caravan, dishevelled and dusty, certainly, but with the delight of
recognition in her eyes. How she had got there Betty hadn’t had time
to consider as yet, owing to the torrent of talk which flowed from
her visitor’s lips.
“I come meself, little Miss Carlyle; me man was against it. But the
poor lad being in such a bad way, I couldn’t cross him, being
soft-hearted myself. Comed up to our van, he did, early yesterday
morning, arsking for water. Fell asleep while he were drinking of
it, he did, poor natural, and I threw a coat over him and let him lay
there. Well, as my man says, the beasts and the poor naturals is
sort of specials, in a manner of speaking, if you takes my meaning,
and we munna go agin them. So, w’en ’e wakes up all shivery and ’ot
at noon, an’ arsks whether it be Midsummer yet, and if so why he be
so cold, and whether t’ Cup be safe, and all about the sweet young
lady wot was afraid to lose it--well, at first we thinks of ’im as
light-’eaded.” Mrs. Grimes stopped for breath.
“Talking about that there Cup ’e were, though,” she went on; “and so
we listens. ‘Miss Betty’s ’er nyme,’ says ’e, quite sensible, too.
‘I’se ’eard the other young ladies call ’er,’ says ’e. ‘My young
lydy she is,’ ses ’e again, ‘wot patched up my cheek. An’ I guv her
my word,’ he goes on, ‘to do summut for ’er in return. Aye, an’ I
done it,’ ses he. All sensible so far, as my Andrew says; but then
the poor natural starts a-crying out with pains in his boneses, and
arsking if it be Midsummer Day yet, ’cos ’e’s got to guv the young
lydy the Cup wot ’e’s kep’ safe for ’er till then. ’E ’eard ’er say
over the garding wall as she was afraid she’d lose it, ses ’e. Well,
an’ ’e got worser at night; and my man goes to fetch doctor. An’
doctor comes and ses ’tis rheumatiz fever caught with laying out o’
nights----”
“I don’t understand one word, I don’t think,” broke in Betty, almost
trembling. “At least I believe I’m beginning to. Only--” She gave
a hurried look around.
“An’ no need for you to, Miss Carlyle, dear. You just come along o’
me. Doctor says ’twill worsen him to keep calling, and it’s calling
out fer you that he’s after. Wants to give her the Cup, so ’e
says----”
“But how? And I ought to ask leave----!”
“Sure, ’tis the doctor’s leave as you’s got. There’s no time to
lose, Miss Carlyle, dear. An’ you can come along this way. ’Tis the
way found by himself, poor natural; but he described of it to me
proper clever. ‘You goes along,’ ses ’e, ‘to that there medder
bordering the road. An’ close by there,’ ses ’e, ‘you’ll see a wide
ditch-like way, with nettles growing thick so as no one notices. Dry
it be in summer, and deep it be; and you goes along careful; and
there be room to walk nigh upstanding all way through medder till you
comes to the wood what belongs to St. Benedick’s school and sees the
flowers. Aye, they’re grand to watch, a-laying secret in the ditch,’
ses he, ‘but the young ladies is grander; but go careful there fer
fear they sees you, and crouch and crawl.’ Well, I promises him to
take that there way, it being a full mile quicker an’ nearer. So,
see here, Miss, step along now; for you’re safe with me, as you
knows, and the lad’s right-down bad wi’ calling for you.”
Hardly knowing what she did, Betty followed Anna Grimes’s lead.
Parting the great tangled mass of grasses and bracken at the side of
the wood, the woman displayed the opening of a wide disused ditch.
She crouched down and started off, while Betty followed on behind.
Here was a thrilly adventure, indeed, if she had had time to think of
the journey in that light as she followed her guide. But Betty’s
mind was working too rapidly as she made two and two into a sensible
four, while thinking out the information scraps which Mrs. Grimes had
given her.
For “he” must be the poor boy of the adventure on that day when she
had clambered out of Witch’s Wood and taken his part against the
village urchins who had been ill-treating him. But what could he
know of the lost Cup? “Well”--a light seemed to be gradually dawning
over things as she thought--“he knew this queer way along from the
meadow; and so he’s known the way into our school wood. And he’s
been there--Mrs. Grimes says so; and he’s watched me gardening. And
he heard me say, on that morning when I was talking to Gerry (and I
_did_ say it, for I remember), that I would rather anything happened
than that we should lose the Cup. I said, too (I _did_ say it, or
else Gerry did), that we wanted to keep it on Midsummer Day. Oh,
what comes next? I suppose he mixed it up in his poor head and
didn’t understand,” said Betty to herself in a motherly way, just as
her thoughts were switched off the matter for a moment by the sound
of Anna Grimes’s voice just ahead.
“We’s out of the ditch-like way now, Miss, and here’s the medder.
You can stand up now and stretch yerself proper before we goes on.
’Twill on’y be a little ways on now. The van’s down the moor a bit,
nearer than we was last time you sees us. Out of the winds--” The
queer pilgrimage continued.
It was more than a relief from the strangeness of things when, as the
caravan came at last in sight, another vehicle appeared beside
it--nothing less ordinary and everyday-looking than the doctor’s
car--and the school doctor, Rene’s father, came himself to meet them.
“Tch, tch. What’s this now, Mrs. Grimes? Your husband said you’d
gone for the young lady, but I could hardly credit it. Well, I was
just off to the school myself, it happens. Now, my dear--Betty
Carlyle, isn’t it? you see, I’ve heard all about you from Rene, and I
know the story of the Cup, and I’ve heard the end of the tale as told
by these good folk here--step straight into my car while I speak to
Mrs. Grimes for a minute. And then I’ll take you straight back to
St. Benedick’s. This is no place for you, although the good woman no
doubt thought she was obeying orders. It appears”--Dr. Fergus turned
as he spoke--“that we’ve got your Cup back safely, or, at least,
shall have it very shortly, thanks to poor Paul.” His tone changed,
and he broke off into a long list of directions as he addressed the
van-woman; while Betty, with her heart beating wildly with
excitement, possessed her soul in patience until he should be free to
appear.
It was almost half an hour later, while driving her back to the
school, that Dr. Fergus explained further. “In Witch’s Wood; the
poor lad’s hidden it there--in the cottage. It seems that he found
out the fact (which no one else among the village people appears to
have found out, by the way) that there aren’t such things as ghosts!
And he’s evidently adopted the so-called ‘haunted cottage’ there, and
has used it as a kind of refuge. He’s got a bad granny, poor boy,
who doesn’t do her best by him, and he’s taken to camping there.
Plays his pipe, too, there; he’s a bit of a musician, poor lad, as
these naturals often are. Spoke of the fairies--well, poor lad, poor
lad, he’s got paid out with a bad attack of rheumatic fever for any
trespassing he’s done. Oh yes, the Cup’s there, evidently as safe as
can be, in the little house. He says he was guarding it for you,
Miss Betty; and for you, by the way, he seems to have a genuine
devotion. He told me that you wanted it kept safe till Midsummer
Day!”
Betty felt a lump in her throat. “He--he’s muddled up what I said!
But I _did_ say it,” she whispered; “and it’s kind of him to want to
help. I did very little for him, you know. Only----”
“Eh? Well, I daresay you’ll be able to do a bit more in the future,
then. I understand that all you Guides are out to help others in
need of help, and here’s a genuine case. He’ll be ill for some time,
but we’ll get him moved to the infirmary, and he’ll be proud of a
little notice, I’m sure. See--” the doctor suddenly slowed
down--“here’s my idea, Miss Betty,” said he. “It happens that we’re
on the border of Witch’s Wood now, and I’ve the right to go in, I
believe. Suppose we leave the car in charge of the reputed witch,”
continued Dr. Fergus, clearing the fence as nimbly as a boy and
holding out a friendly hand to Betty; “unless, of course, you’d
rather stay outside.”
Stay outside! It was with a wildly beating heart, in which
excitement and eagerness mingled, that Betty followed the doctor
through the wood.
There stood the cottage little and lonely as ever, as they gained the
clearing. There, as they crossed the threshold, lay, as before, a
rough bordering of flowers and ferns. They had been picked two days
ago and were withered now. And there, as they entered the little
inner room--filled with withered flowers, surrounded with withered
flowers, and shinily polished as ever it had been when in charge of
the Daisy patrol--was the _Guide Cup_!
Somehow or other at that instant Betty’s eyes filled with tears. Her
heart felt red-hot, and she couldn’t speak. Here was the lost Cup;
but she could only remember poor Paul who had tried to “do something”
for her; poor Paul who had evidently watched her devotedly from the
hollow hiding-place in the ditch while she cleaned the Cup, who had
listened to her words, and who had put his own simple construction on
them, and who had, so unintentionally, helped to bring so much
trouble!
The doctor may have noticed her tears, or he may not; he said
nothing, but he bent down and lifted up the Cup. “We’ll take it
back, just as it is,” he said, “and explain to Miss Carey. Oh yes, I
know all the ins and outs of the story from Rene, and I believe you
Daisies will hold the Cup next year after all now, because----”
But Betty burst in with a choky half-sob. “It isn’t _that_. I don’t
believe the Daisies will even _think_ of that when they see it again!
I don’t believe any of the Guides will, though it will be so lovely
to have it. It’s--oh, it’s all so beautiful and sad, all mixed up
together, for the Cup really to come back on Cup Day, and for me to
be invested with the Cup there, and yet for Paul--” She broke off.
“_That’s_ what we’ll think of,” she choked.
“Look here, then,” said the doctor, placing the Cup in her hands.
“Here’s an idea. I understand from Rene that you’re giving up
mascoting to-day when you become a Tenderfoot, eh? Well, there’s
poor Paul, who hasn’t any one to care much about him, and who seems
to think an uncommon lot of you Guides; suppose you adopt the poor
chap as mascot after this, eh?” The doctor’s voice was very cheery
and kind. “I know Miss Carey, and I rather think----”
“_Oh!_” cried Betty in her most motherly voice, clasping the silver
Cup with its burden of withered flowers while tears of happiness and
trouble chased themselves down her cheeks. “Oh! _do_ let’s hurry
back to St. Benedick’s. I truly believe that Sybil and all the
Guides will say that that would make _everything_ beautiful and
right!”
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT
THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS.