EXPLORING WITH DICK
The children awoke the following morning to find Dick looking as
well-groomed as though he had not spent the night in a car. He was
gathering sticks and whistling softly to himself.
The children apologized for being so late.
"It was my fault for disturbing you last night," Dick protested.
Then he went on to tell them that the woman at the cottage up the
road would allow them to wash there and that she was going to supply
them with breakfast.
"But we'll cook it ourselves," he added. "It'll be more fun; she's
going to lend us a kettle and a frying-pan. So hurry up, please, I'm
simply ravenous! Sleeping out of doors gives you an appetite, I
find."
It certainly did, the children agreed. They ran off to the cottage,
taking their brush and comb with them--four dishevelled little people
they were, too, but when a quarter of an hour later they returned to
the wood, even Montague presented a fairly respectable appearance.
And then followed the preparing of breakfast. Dick already had the
fire burning, a somewhat smoky one--but what did that matter, wasn't
it the inevitable, almost the correct thing at a picnic? They hung
the kettle over it (the children had brought the breakfast things
with them on their return from the cottage), and Dick made himself
stoker-in-chief. Would the boys gather more sticks? he said, and
would the girls spread the cloth, and after that, would Nancy fry the
eggs and bacon? Would they not, indeed! How eagerly those four
little people threw themselves into their allotted tasks! Mavis
arranged the tea-cups and plates and gathered some scabious flowers
for the cloth while Nancy cut stacks of bread and butter. Then came
the frying of the bacon--and here Nancy began to feel her
responsibilities. To fry eggs and bacon for a grown-up person made
you feel as important as when you poured out coffee for a prior.
"Could you rake the wood away for me?" she enquired, looking gravely
at the uneven heap of burning sticks. "I could fry better on the
ashes I think."
"That's a good idea," Dick said, as he hastened to do her bidding.
How good the bacon smelt as it sizzled in the pan. Nancy felt a
little nervous as to the eggs--would she make a horrid mess of them?
Fortunately, however, they were so new-laid that the yolks simply had
to remain whole, and it was a flushed and excited little girl who in
a few minutes announced that breakfast was ready and would everybody
please gather round at once and eat it while it was hot?
Nobody needed a second bidding, and very soon the whole party was
deep in eggs and bacon, and rather smoky-tasting tea. There was no
salt, for they had finished their own and had forgotten to bring any
from the cottage, but who cared?
"'Tisn't a libation feast, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Billy said.
Everybody was out to make light of any difficulty that should present
itself that morning. They chipped each other in a friendly spirit
that hitherto had been unknown to Montague; at first he was scarcely
sure whether they were joking or serious, but so infectious was the
good-natured banter that, presently, he found himself being drawn
into it and taking laughingly from Billy what he had taken from no
other boy before. And Dick, glancing at his happy face and
remembering the Montague of Riversham, marvelled that so short a time
should so have transformed the boy. Certainly, as regarded him, the
Prior was right to have suggested allowing them to continue their
adventuring.
Billy, teasing, cheeky Billy, was the leader of the fun. Impossible
this morning, he found, to be serious and worry yourself about ways
and means and whether you ought to do this or that. Yesterday it had
rankled with him that there should be real necessity for Dick's
return of their own hospitality, but to-day, in the jolly sunlight,
it seemed a small thing to worry about. Besides, was not a person
who had offered up a libation with you a comrade, and between
comrades was there not always give and take? When _your_ luck
happened to be in, it was your turn to give freely; why grudge the
other fellow the pleasure of doing the honours? So Billy was just
his happy irresponsible self, and it must be confessed he ate his
full share of the fast-diminishing stack of food.
While they were gathering up the breakfast things after the meal was
finished, Dick made a casual reference to the condition of the boys'
faces.
"It was 'cos of me they got smashed about," Mavis explained. "Some
big horrid boys tripped me up, and Billy and Monty settled them!"
"Oh!" Dick could see that the "settling" had been no easy matter,
but he hesitated to question them further, for something in Billy's
attitude suggested that the subject was one he did not wish to
discuss. Curious they should be so reticent about the affair, he
thought. However, no bones were broken, and they were in his care
again now, so there was nothing to worry about.
"And what are your plans for to-day?" he enquired carelessly.
Nancy and Billy looked at each other.
"Why," said Nancy, "we haven't any for this morning. We--we thought
we wouldn't travel to-day."
"Then why not come for a ride in the car? I'm sure those people at
the cottage would let Modestine graze in the paddock for an hour or
so. I wish you'd come--one gets tired of one's own company, you
know."
The children looked at each other again. Why not go? Adventuring
was out of the question until after Mavis had won the prize; besides,
if you were flying along in a car there would not be the long, slow
hours of waiting for the race. With their eyes they signalled "yes"
to each other.
"Thank you ever so much," Nancy replied, "we should like it awfully.
Only, please, could we be quite sure to be back here by two o'clock?"
Dick assented readily, again asking no questions. He could not fail
to notice, however, that there was something behind this desire to
return by two o'clock. There was something, too, behind this hanging
about in one place when yesterday they were all for penetrating
further into the hills. What could be the reason, and why were they
so reticent about it? Dick was finding them a little difficult to
understand. Their characters seemed so frank and open; their manner
to him was so full of comradeship and yet every now and then a wall
of reserve would seem to be between them. As to their engagement for
the afternoon, was it, he wondered, connected with the fight? Ah,
that must be it; hostilities very likely were to be renewed. Well,
he would know this afternoon for he was fully determined not to let
them out of his sight.
However, it was about time to be starting, and everybody bustled
about. There were all the things to be returned to the cottage,
their own blankets to be left there, and Modestine to be taken to her
fresh quarters--a willing Modestine, for the grass along the edge of
the wood had been scanty.
And now that their own adventure was at a standstill everybody began
to take an eager interest in the ride. The hills towards Gleambridge
they wanted to keep for their travels, but would it be possible,
Nancy enquired, to go to that highest hill across the valley, the one
in the far distance?
"Quite possible," was Dick's reply.
"And be back by two o'clock?"
"Yes, and be back by two o'clock."
And with this assurance everybody scrambled into the car and Dick set
out for Birdstone, the highest point in the hills.
Nancy and Mavis sat with him in the front seat, and during that ride
he learned a great deal about the family, about their home, about
Nestcombe and the river and forest. Here, at least, they showed no
reticence. That they worshipped every inch of those home-places was
evident. Their father and mother, Aunt Letty and Uncle Val, how
proud they were of them all, how they adored them, how endless was
their chatter about them. Dick, as he listened, marvelled how they
had ever come to leave such a home.
"The spirit of adventure and the blindness of childhood, I suppose,"
he thought. "By Jove! when they realize what they have done how
miserable they will be, poor kiddies."
Presently they came to a small town that seemed to scramble down the
hill towards the valley; a town of quaint old nooks and corners,
while on the opposite side of the valley, the Gleambridge side, the
loveliest little village they had ever seen, except, of course,
Nestley, played "bo-peep" amongst some pines on the side of the hill.
Nancy indulged in a "spasm" on Mavis when she remembered that
to-morrow, perhaps, they might explore it.
Then on and on again, gradually getting away from the Gleambridge
country. The miles flew past with hills piled up about them. Such
tonic, too, in the air! The children responded to the exhilaration
of it and forgot their troubles, forgot, almost, that Mavis was to
run in the race, for both troubles and race seemed to belong to some
far-off, unreal world.
They were on the main road now and the running was splendid. Yet,
though they were so thoroughly enjoying the ride, in their secret
hearts they were glad that their own private travels did not lie in
this direction. Motoring along good, well-kept roads was one thing,
but to seek adventure or romance here with civilization shouting at
you--no, that would have been impossible.
Presently, they began to climb. Up and up, with deep wooded valleys
dropping away to the right, and yet other hills stretching leftward.
A lonely farm, a cottage here and there, a house; that was all
apparently between them and the very heart of nature. All except
that well-kept road that wound right up here into the loneliness of
the hills, robbing them, for Nancy at least, of the charm she had
found when trudging along the dusty roads across the valley.
Yet, though part of Nancy's mixed little mind disapproved of
civilized hill-roads, another part of her was thoroughly enjoying
itself. Mr. Frampton was so easy to talk to and seemed so interested
in all they told him about themselves. And then again, flying
through the air in a car always intoxicated Nancy. Had Dick been
guided entirely by her wishes he would have exceeded the speed limit
on the lower roads; up here in the hills the going, of course, was
slower.
Quite suddenly, as it seemed to the children, the road opened out on
to a wide plain. A neat, civilized-looking village was spread over
it in orderly fashion, and when they arrived at a somewhat
imposing-looking hotel Dick stopped the car.
"We've reached the top of the hill," he explained. "I'll go in and
make arrangements for lunch, and then we'll explore a bit--there's
plenty of time," he added, noticing anxious puckers in the children's
faces. He knew, of course, that they were thinking about that
mysterious engagement for the afternoon. He began to wonder as he
entered the hotel whether he was right in imagining it to be a fight.
Surely there was something more important to account for what he had
seen in their faces at that moment. Besides (how stupid of him not
to think of this before), Nancy and Mavis would not wish for the
renewal of hostilities. Well, this afternoon he would know.
He rejoined the children after he had made arrangements for an early
lunch, and then they began to explore. The village itself was too
prim to interest them, but what amazed Montague was that there should
be one at all up here. Being used only to the gently undulating
hills of East Anglia, this hill was a mountain to him. How could
they possibly get food for a whole village to such a height, he
wondered? Even the other children, used as they were to finding
houses tucked away in the heights of the forest, even they owned to a
little astonishment at finding so large a village so far away from
the world. They certainly must be glad of the good road that brought
civilization nearer to them. Well-kept roads, even Nancy admitted,
had their uses after all.
However, though the village was not interesting, Dick had something
to show them, he said, that would delight Nancy. He led them off the
main road down a lane where hill-flowers unknown even to the forest
children were rioting along the steep banks. The girls were
enchanted with them, but Dick assured them with a laugh that it was
not flowers he had to show them. He scanned the landscape anxiously.
"Come here, Nancy," he said (Mavis was still picking flowers, and the
boys were scrambling about on the banks), "you can just see them, but
you'll have to look hard--they're barely visible."
Nancy knew by the way Dick spoke that it was something she would like
very much.
"Oh, what is it?" she cried.
Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger, and there, down in the
valley to the left she saw, very faintly, the fair laced tower of
Gleambridge Cathedral. But that was not all. For, following the
pointing finger, she made out with a great deal of eye-straining and
perhaps a little imagination, the towers of two other cathedrals, one
to the north, and the other to the north-east.
Three cathedrals! Three fair towers! Why, one alone sent poetry
dancing through you. Three cathedrals rising out of the mist--a
beautiful valley held in the keeping of three white towers! Nancy's
imagination wanted to get to work at once on a poem. Oh, indeed,
civilized roads were not to be despised if they brought you to this.
And nothing romantic could happen, she had thought, on a motor ride.
Why, that valley was alive with romance for those who had
"imagination eyes"!
Dick watched the animated little face with pleasure. How "alive" the
child was; what an interest she took in everything and everybody.
She dreamed her dreams, but because of this intense "aliveness" she
would never, he knew, develop into a mere dreamer--never could the
word "mooney" be applied to her--except perhaps by a teasing
brother--and, indeed, the quaint mixture that made up her character,
the Aprilness of it was what interested Dick in her. Having no
little sisters of his own, he hoped the future was going to give him
a good deal of Nancy's company.
However, it was time now to be returning to the hotel, and everybody
confessed that they were quite ready for luncheon. This out-of-doors
life made one ravenously hungry, they found.
Fortunately, a generous meal awaited them. Dick led them to a table
laid for five that had been reserved for them. Very grown-up and
important these little people felt as they seated themselves, for it
was the first time any of them had lunched at an hotel. And a waiter
to attend to your wants, too; instinctively they straightened
themselves and tried to live up to the occasion. Oh, indeed, there
was a certain glamour about this civilization, especially the bits
that belonged to the never-before-experienced world.
Immediately after lunch they started on the return journey. Dick
took them another, and shorter, way, yet though the scenery was if
anything more beautiful than that on the morning ride, the children
could take no real delight in it, for the thought of the coming race
crowded out all else. And supposing they should have a puncture, and
not be there in time--the very thought of it made them sick with
apprehension. To be sure they had allowed a good margin, for the
races did not begin until three o'clock, nevertheless they began to
wish that they had not asked Dick to bring them so far.
However, all their fears proved to be groundless, for the clock on
Barsdon church struck two as they climbed the lane that led to their
wood.
What a glorious ride it had been. A shame that part of it had been
spoiled by the thought of the race. Oh, if their misfortune were
only as unreal as it had seemed on their way to Birdstone; if they
could just have spent the afternoon in the wood with kind Mr.
Frampton. They heaped their thanks upon him, but he waived them
aside. The pleasure had been his, he said, and, indeed, secretly he
had rejoiced to have them safely under his eye for so long.
Nancy and Mavis, directly they jumped out of the car, turned to go to
the cottage to wash and do their hair before going down to Barsdon.
"Are you going to Mrs. Hale's?" Dick enquired. "You might tell her
we should like tea at five o'clock, unless," he added, "you would
like to have it at the inn down in Barsdon?"
The wood, they all agreed, would be nicest, and Nancy promised to
deliver Dick's message.
Their preparations were simple, and soon two somewhat nervous-looking
little girls might have been seen hurrying down a field path at the
back of the wood--a short cut to Barsdon of which Mrs. Hale had told
them. "Do you really think I'll win?" Mavis enquired anxiously.
"Why, yes, of course. You always do, so don't worry, Babs!"
"I wish I'd got a better frock on," Mavis continued. "Everybody else
will be dressed up. 'Sides, the mud did stain this one."
Again Nancy consoled her. Nobody would know her and people would be
thinking too much about her pretty way of running to notice her dress.
Mavis was somewhat comforted. Nothing would have induced her to have
appeared in a public place at home in a stained frock, but because
they needed the money so badly she would try not to mind strangers
seeing her in so sorry a garb.
"I'm glad we're miles and miles from home, though," she said, as they
turned into the village. "I'm glad forest people don't come to hill
Flower Shows."