Diana Dares
If Diana--a modern Eve--hankered after the apples of new experiences,
Wendy succumbed to her persuasions as readily as Adam. The little
purling brook was attractive, mistresses and prefects were safely out of
sight, and schoolmates, if they chanced to appear on the scene, might be
bribed not to blab. In a twinkling laces were unfastened, and two stout
pairs of boots stowed away among the stones, each with its stocking
tucked inside; while two pairs of bare feet went splashing joyously into
the brook. It was fun paddling in the little pools and scrambling over
the rocks, waving a foot occasionally into a foaming fall, and dancing
out on to the grass when the water grew too cold to be endured any
longer. They wandered for some distance up the hill-side, supremely
happy, though taking care not to allow their exuberant spirits to
overflow into song. So far not a soul seemed to have noticed them--they
were enjoying the sweets of undiscovered crime. Suddenly through the
clear autumnal air rang out the shrill, bubbling call of the regimental
whistle with which Miss Todd was wont, on country walks, to collect her
scattered flock. The two sinners jumped so uneasily that Wendy slipped
from a stone and splashed into a pool, with rather disastrous
consequences to her skirt.
"We'd best go back and find our boots," she said, hurriedly wringing the
water from the brown tweed.
They had not realized how far they had roamed up the stream, and the
length of the way back surprised them. It is not an easy matter to hurry
over slippery stones, though they made what speed they could, urged by
another summons from the whistle.
"I think this was the place," declared Diana, at last arriving at
landmarks that seemed familiar. "I left mine just over there."
Both girls sought their hiding-places, but, to their utter dismay, the
boots were missing. They searched about here, there, and everywhere, but
not so much as the tab of a lace could be found. Meanwhile the whistle
sounded impatient blasts.
"What _are_ we to do?" flustered Wendy. "Toddlekins will be furious if
we don't go; and yet how _can_ we go without our boots?"
"We must have mistaken the place," gasped Diana. "Perhaps it was farther
down."
"No, no! I'm certain it was just here."
"Well, we're in a pretty fix, at any rate."
"T-r-r-r-r-ee-ee!" came again from the fell side. To disobey the summons
deliberately was open mutiny. An agitated voice on the bank called to
them.
"Wendy and Diana, can't you hear the whistle? Come this instant!"
It was Stuart Hamilton, who stood beckoning violently.
"We've lost our boots," wailed Wendy.
"Then come without them. Miss Todd has sent me to find you. Hurry up!"
It was a scratchy and painful performance to hurry through heather and
over sharp stones to the spot where the school was assembled. Miss Todd
stood staring at them as they approached, with her "report yourself in
my study" expression. They felt their bare legs and feet most
embarrassingly conspicuous, and wished that fickle fashion had clothed
them in longer skirts.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked the Principal, eyeing their
uncovered extremities severely.
"We've--we've--lost our boots," stammered Diana, speaking for both.
"And why were your boots taken off? You were aware of the rule, for I
happen to know that you had just been reminded of it." (Here Wendy fixed
a reproachful gaze on Geraldine, who coloured slightly.) "You've
deliberately disobeyed orders, and you will be confined to 'bounds' for
a fortnight. It's absolutely essential in our country rambles that
discipline should be kept up, and any girl who breaks rules will stay at
home next time. You deserve to walk back with bare feet, but Miss
Beverley will give you your boots. Put them on at once!"
It was horrible to have to sit down upon the heather and pull on
stockings and boots under the critical supervision of twenty-two pairs
of eyes. Diana's lace broke, and Wendy's fingers seemed all thumbs. Miss
Todd superintended till the last knot had been awkwardly tied, then she
gave the signal for marching. Considerably crestfallen, the delinquents
dropped towards the rear.
"Did Geraldine sneak?" whispered Wendy to Violet.
"No, it wasn't exactly her fault--it was Spot really. He routed out the
boots, and began barking and worrying them, and Miss Beverley rushed up
to see what he'd got--she thought he'd caught an otter or a water-rat.
When she saw it was boots--well----"
"She knew she'd caught us," finished Diana.
"She took the boots straight to Miss Todd, and Toddlekins blew her
whistle and counted us over like sheep to find who was missing. Then she
asked who'd seen you last, and if anyone had given you leave to wade.
She dragged it all out of Geraldine. I don't think Gerry would have told
on her own."
"Spot!" said Diana, turning reproachful eyes on that panting specimen of
the canine race. "I used to think you a dinky little dog, but I'm out of
friends with you now. It's a real mean trick you've played us. Oh! you
needn't come jumping up on me and licking my hand. What possessed you to
unearth those boots? 'Bounds' for a whole fortnight! And I wanted to go
to Glenbury on Wednesday. It's too disgusting for words! Vi, d'you think
if I looked an absolute hallowed saint all Sunday, and Monday, and
Tuesday, Miss Todd would let me go to Glenbury? My name's down for the
exeat, you know."
Violet regarded Diana for a moment or two as if making mental
calculations.
"You couldn't do it," she decided at last. "You couldn't look the least
tiny, weeny atom like a saint if you tried till doomsday. Saints ought
to be thin and wan, with straight noses and fair hair parted in the
middle. You're rosy and substantial, and your nose isn't straight, and
your hair's too brown, and as for your eyes--they've a wicked twinkle in
them the whole time. No, my good girl, whatever else you may do, you
won't succeed in looking saintly."
"Well, I guess I've got some bounce in me, certainly," agreed Diana.
"But I thought perhaps if I went about on tiptoe and whispered,
and"--hopefully--"I could keep my eyes half-shut, couldn't I?"
Violet shook her head decisively.
"That twinkle would ooze out of the smallest chink, and besides, even if
you managed to look a saint, that wouldn't influence Toddlekins. You
don't know her yet. Once she says a thing she sticks to it like glue.
_She_ calls it necessary firmness in a mistress, and _we_ call it a
strain of obstinacy in her disposition. In the old days we could get
round Mrs. Gifford, but now Toddlekins rules the show, you may as well
make up your mind to things and have done with it. What she says is
kismet."
"Why do you want to go to Glenbury?" asked Jess.
"Oh! just a reason of my own," evaded Diana.
"You'll very likely get an exeat the week after," consoled Violet.
"It would be no use to me then," said Diana dismally.
The procession of rush-bearers, each carrying a good-sized sheaf in her
arms, wound down the hill-side to go back to Pendlemere by a different
route. This was a wild track over the moors, past the old slate-quarry,
where rusty bits of machinery and piles of broken slates were lying
about, then over the ridge and down by Wethersted Tarn to the gorge
where the river took its rise. Here a stream of considerable force
thundered along between high walls of rock. It was a picturesque spot;
rowan-trees hung from clefts in the crags, their bright berries
rivalling the scarlet of the hips and haws; green fronds of fern bent at
the water's edge, and brilliant carpets of moss clothed the boulders. At
one point a great tree-trunk, a giant of the fells, rotten through many
years of braving the strong west wind, had fallen and lay across the
torrent. It stretched from bank to bank like a rough kind of natural
bridge, with the stream roaring and foaming only six feet below. The
girls scrambled over its upturned roots, and stood looking at the
straight trunk and withered branches that lay stretched before them.
"Shouldn't care to venture across there," said Loveday with a shiver.
"It looks particularly slippery and horrid," agreed Geraldine.
"The water must be so very deep down there," said Hilary.
"I don't believe there's one of us who'd go across for a
five-pound-note," said Ida. "What offers? Don't all speak at once!"
The girls smiled, and were turning away to follow Miss Todd, when
Geraldine stopped and held up a finger.
"What's that noise?" she asked.
"I don't hear anything but the stream," said Ida doubtfully.
"I do, though," said Diana, who with Wendy and Vi had joined the
seniors. "It sounds like somebody whimpering."
"I'm going down the bank to see."
The others followed Geraldine, and swung themselves down to the water
level. Sitting under the arch formed by the roots of the tree was a
small boy of about seven, rubbing two swimming eyes with two grimy
little fists and sobbing lustily.
"Hallo! What's the matter here?" said Geraldine briskly. "Where do you
come from, and why don't you go home? Are you lost?"
At the mention of "home" the little fellow's tears redoubled, and the
whimper rose to a roar. Ida sat down on the rock beside him, and tried
to comfort him. It was a difficult process to get any coherent or
sensible replies to her questions, but after considerable coaxing, and a
last piece of chocolate which Wendy fortunately fished from her pocket,
she managed to wring from him that his name was Harry, that he lived at
a farm on the other side of the torrent, that he had come down to the
river with several other boys, and that they had dared him to cross by
the fallen tree. Once over, he was too frightened to go back, and, after
waiting and calling to him for some time, the other boys had run away.
How was he going to get home?
The situation was difficult, for there was no bridge across the river
for many miles. Unless the child could go back the way he had come, it
was a problem what was to be done.
"You were a silly boy ever to try to cross," said Geraldine
sententiously.
"They said I durstn't!" sobbed the small sinner.
"Oh, don't scold him!" pleaded Diana. "I do know so exactly how he felt.
I've often been dared to do things myself, and done them, though I
shivered."
"Well, you'd surely never do such a silly thing as cross that tree?"
[Illustration: TWO PAIRS OF BARE FEET WENT SPLASHING JOYOUSLY INTO THE
BROOK]
"Wouldn't I? I believe I'm going to do it now."
"Diana!"
"He's got to get home somehow. Look here, Harry!"--Diana knelt on the
pebbles, and put her arm round the little blue-jerseyed figure--"suppose
I were to go too, would you dare to cross again? We'd both crawl on our
hands and knees."
The sobs stopped, while Harry took a swift survey of her face.
Apparently he found it satisfactory.
"If you'll go first," he stammered.
"Then come along--we've no time to waste," said Diana, springing up and
giving him her hand.
"Diana! You surely don't mean----" began Geraldine in eager
remonstrance.
"Yes, I do!" interrupted Diana. "I've done worse things before, and I'm
not scared. Come on, Harry! We'll have you home in forty cracks."
The girls did not attempt to interfere. They stood and watched while
Diana hauled the little boy up the bank. Perhaps each secretly wished
she were capable of such a piece of pluck. Though the tree was tall
enough to span the stream, its bole seemed very narrow to form a bridge,
and the rounded surface made it all the more slippery; the few branches
here and there were of little help. Diana hoisted up her protege, then
going in front of him began to crawl across on her hands and knees,
speaking to him all the time, so as to encourage him to follow her.
Beneath them the water foamed and roared over the rocks: to slip would
mean to be whirled into the depths of a dark pool below. It was a slow
progress, but inch by inch they crept along till the most dangerous part
was passed, and they had reached comparative safety. The girls cheered
when at last Diana scrambled to her feet and lifted Harry on to dry
ground. A path led up the side of the gorge, and along this he set off
at full speed for home. His preserver stood looking after him for a
minute or two, and then she turned to re-cross her perilous bridge. Six
hands were stretched out to help her as she completed the venturesome
journey.
"You're a trump, Di!"
"_I_ daren't have done it!"
"You've been a guardian angel to that child!"
"Was it _very_ awful?"
"I can't think how you managed it!"
"I nearly screamed when you reached the middle!"
"It felt worse coming back than going," said Diana, brushing her skirt,
which had suffered considerably. "Somehow I minded it more. Well, it's
over now! We'd better be getting on, hadn't we?"
"Yes, indeed; the others will think we're lost," agreed Geraldine.
The t-r-r-ee-ee of the whistle was sounding from the far distance, so
the girls made a spurt and hurried along to catch up the rest of the
party. Geraldine, in virtue of her office as head prefect, briefly
explained to Miss Todd the cause of the delay.
"I shouldn't have let you do it, Diana, if I had been there," said the
Principal. "But I've no doubt the little boy's mother is blessing you.
We should have had to take him to Pendlemere with us, and have sent
somebody from the village to take him home. There would have been no
other way. Remember, though, that I'm responsible for you to your
parents, and I really can't allow these harum-scarum tricks. Suppose
there had been an accident!"
"Dad knows me, and he wouldn't have blamed you," said Diana cheerily.
"He says I'm like a cat with nine lives, or a bad halfpenny that always
turns up again. I've done worse things than this."
"Then you won't do them while you're at this school," returned Miss Todd
firmly, motioning her to walk along in front with Geraldine.
On Monday afternoon, with the aid of some ribbons, the girls made their
rushes into pretty little sheaves. They plaited bands for them, and
twisted them securely. Miss Todd, much interested, superintended their
operations.
"You may pick some flowers from the garden to-morrow, and put garlands
round them," she suggested. "We're reviving a most ancient custom that
dates back to the early days of Christianity in Britain. Pope Gregory IV
recommended that on the anniversaries of the dedication of churches
wrested from the Pagans, the converts should build themselves huts with
the boughs of trees round their churches, and celebrate the day with
feasting. The rush-bearing is probably the last relic of that ancient
ceremony. At one time there was always a village feast in connection
with it, though it degenerated at last into a sort of rustic saturnalia,
and had to be suppressed."
"Old customs are very interesting," said Diana, staring at the Principal
with wide-open, steady eyes.
"I'm glad you find them so."
"It's nice to see them _all_ kept up. If we have the rush-bearing
to-morrow, oughtn't we--just to revive an old ceremony--to have the
feast as well?"
A rustle passed over the school at Diana's temerity. Miss Todd returned
the steady gaze, then the corners of her mouth twitched.
"You've stated the case very accurately. As a matter of fact, I have
ordered seed-cake and scones, and have invited the Vicarage people to
tea."