THE DERELICT CAR
After breakfast the following morning they gathered at the edge of
the wood and scanned a grey, unpromising sky anxiously. What did Mr.
Frampton think of the weather? Did he think it would be possible for
them to sleep out-of-doors to-night?
Dick shook his head.
"It will rain before the day is out," he replied. "The wind will
keep it off for a time, I think, but you'll certainly have to find a
cottage this evening."
Billy and Nancy exchanged troubled glances. Seven-and-sixpence would
not go very far, they knew, if some of it had to be used for sleeping
accommodation, for they could not hope to find another Priory.
Dick, of course, knew that they were worried, and just before they
were about to set out on their travels he made a proposal to them.
"I wonder," he began, as he lifted Mavis into the saddle, "if you
would strike a bargain with me to-day? You invite me to lunch, and
let me invite you to tea at a cottage I know at a gem of a village
called Omberley. Probably we could stay there for the night, if need
be, and that," he added with a smile, "I should like to be _my_ part
of the programme. Will you let your big chum do this?"
How could they refuse when he seemed to wish it so much? Was he not
now one of themselves--almost? For the quiet, happy hours spent
together in the wood last night had strengthened the bond of
comradeship between them; Dick and the two elder children had been
keenly alive to it, and it was this that had made it possible for him
to make his suggestion.
"But can you spare the time to be with us so much?" Nancy enquired.
"Oughtn't you to be looking after other travellers?"
Dick re-assured her. It was children that he was mainly responsible
for. Of course, when anybody needed a hand with a car he must give
it, but otherwise he was at their service. In fact he had mentioned
them in his report to his employers, and they were fully satisfied
that he was doing his job in looking after them.
"But where is Omberley?" they asked. "Is it on the Gleambridge road?"
Dick gave them the direction. They could easily reach it by the
afternoon, he said, and once there he was sure they would not want to
leave it. And then there was the common up above it--such a common!
And beyond the village on the edge of the common _perhaps_ a glimpse
of the cathedral! The cathedral? Nancy responded instantly. To see
it from this side of the hills--had that not been the desire of her
heart for the last two days? The Birdstone glimpse, being so shadowy
and remote did not count, she said--though it had resulted in a poem!
"Don't make too sure of seeing it," Dick advised her. "It will
probably be blotted out to-day even if the rain keeps off."
He arranged a time for lunch in case they should not meet before
then, and at the same time fixed tea at Omberley for about six
o'clock. He meant, of course, to keep a casual eye on them in
between whiles, but because of the new comradeship between them,
because of their trust in him he did not wish to hamper their
movements or rob their adventure of any of its charm.
The children set off down the hill to Barsdon in high spirits.
Modestine, refreshed by her long rest, was in her most angelic mood,
and seemed glad to be with the children again after her lonely day in
the meadow.
Montague, before they reached the village, put his hand in his pocket
and produced five shining shillings. The other children looked at
them in blank astonishment.
"It's for picture-frames," he explained. "Mr. Frampton ordered five
while you were getting Modestine ready this morning, and he's going
to take a photo of each of us and of Modestine and keep them in the
frames _always_. So we've twelve-and-sixpence now," he added
proudly, handing the money over to Billy. "Twelve-and-fivepence when
we've bought the tin-tacks."
"How ripping!" Billy exclaimed, accepting the money unhesitatingly.
"Let's get a really decent lunch, shall we? We can buy it in
Barsdon."
Barsdon shops, however, had nothing very exciting to offer them.
Bread and cheese, some rather dry-looking corned beef, a large bag of
buns and dough-nuts and some sour-looking apples was the best they
could do. As far as they themselves were concerned, it was good
enough, but they would certainly have liked something better to have
offered Mr. Frampton.
They passed very near to the Brimscombes' house and looked about
eagerly for some sign of Nonie or her mother, but neither of them was
to be seen. Reluctantly they passed on down the Gleambridge road and
soon Barsdon lay behind them. Just a cluster of houses amidst the
hills it seemed now as they looked back, nevertheless to the children
it was unforgettable. So much had happened there, such a mixture of
trouble and happiness, yet, somehow, the troubles seemed to have
faded into unimportance, and their thoughts lingered about the
happiness. Nonie and her mother and "When we come to stay at
Barsdon"--that was all the talk now, and the hills piled up about
them were simply excluded by the vision. And adventure? Well, of
course, there had been no _real_ adventure in Barsdon, but _could_
adventure, they wondered, be more thrilling, more interesting than
the finding of Nonie and Mrs. Brimscombe?
There was a chilliness in the air this morning that sent them
hurrying on. The sun came out fitfully, but whether it was there or
not seemed to make very little difference to-day. How could you be
anything but care-free when you felt yourselves to be almost
millionaires? Once or twice Dick passed them and paused each time
for a chat. How nice to meet someone you knew, they thought; what a
friendliness it gave to the hills.
Presently Nancy's imagination found a way through the fun and
laughter and pointed out to her the beauty of the hills on this grey,
gleamy day. Being so much a child of sunshine and shadows herself
she loved a day such as this; it exhilarated her, and the hills, with
their intense, dusky curtain of mist against the silver of the sky,
were to her even more attractive than in the clear sunlight.
The morning slipped happily by, and just before one o'clock they
found Dick waiting for them half-way up a gentle slope.
"I was beginning to feel hungry," he announced when they came up with
him, "and I thought this bit of grass would make a decent
camping-ground; it would be colder on the top. Is anybody else ready
for lunch?" he enquired, with a smile.
Were they not? Who would not be in this keen hill air? Even Aunt
Hewlett would have been satisfied with their capacity for putting
away food to-day.
"We _always_ seem to eat a lot out of doors," Nancy sighed, as after
the last bun had disappeared they attacked a bag of chocolates Dick
had provided. "We're just as bad at picnics at home, and when we go
fishing in Daddy Petherham's boat--well!"
"Some day," said Dick, "you must come on the river with me."
"When we get home?" Nancy exclaimed. "How lovely! Oh, but," she
added, remembering his wardenship, "what about your work?"
"It's only a temporary job," Dick replied.
"How rotten!" said Billy. "That'll mean finding another one, won't
it?"
"Oh, I shall do that easily enough," Dick replied lightly, as he
helped them fix their blankets on to the saddle.
They felt, when presently they turned to wave good-bye, that they
were leaving an old friend behind them.
"It must be because it's an out-of-doors friendship," Nancy said, "it
makes a difference, just as it does to one's appetite!"
The road at the top of the hill opened out into a wide, sweeping
common, much more interesting-looking than the flat plain they had
found at the top of Birdstone. However, there was no time for even
Nancy to set her imagination at work upon the view, for a car just
ahead with someone lying under it, evidently busy with repairs,
attracted their attention. Exactly why someone lying under a car
should prove more attractive than the hills that had lured them from
home they could not have explained. People and things and happenings
always seemed to be pushing themselves in front of the hills--that
was all they knew about the matter.
"We'd better see if they want help," Billy said. "I could run back
and call Mr. Frampton."
When they came up with the car they discovered that the person who
was lying under it was a girl. In the car was a thin, elderly
person, who was leaning out and abusing the girl in a shrill,
high-pitched voice She had evidently worked herself up into a
decidedly bad temper.
"She's an aunt!" Montague whispered. "A great-aunt!"
He stared at the girl who was grappling with the repairs, less in
sympathy, it must be confessed, than curiosity; he was experiencing a
certain unholy satisfaction that someone else, not he, was the
sufferer this time.
"That's the kind of thing _I_ had to put up with," he whispered
bitterly to Mavis. "'Spect she's feeling jolly miserable!"
At this moment the girl wriggled out from under the car. To
Montague's utter astonishment, however, the crushed, miserable
expression he had expected to see was not there. The girl was
actually smiling kindly and good-humouredly (almost as one would
smile at a troublesome child) at the bad-tempered aunt-person.
"Don't stand staring, Monty dear," Mavis whispered hastily. "It's
not polite."
Meanwhile, Billy, feeling far more scared than he ever had done of
Aunt Hewlett, advanced towards the occupant of the car.
"Have you had a breakdown?" he asked politely. "'Cos the Warden of
the Hills is only a little way down the hill, and we could call him
for you if you would like us to."
"The what?" shrieked the old lady.
"The Warden of the Travellers in the Hills!" Billy repeated.
"Mr. Frampton, you know," Nancy further explained. "He has to help
travellers when things go wrong."
The young lady looked interested, but the old lady after
staring--very rudely, the children thought--shouted:
"Warden fiddlesticks! Some infamous wretch, I'll be bound!"
Now Montague, though his own aunt might occasionally be too much for
him, felt a strong desire working within him to battle with this
"stranger-aunt," as he called her to himself, and before either of
the others could defend their friend he had stepped forward.
"Mr. Frampton's no more a wretch than you are," he growled, glaring
at the old lady with all his old, impish defiance, "an' nobody'd
better say he is to me--that's all! He's my friend; he's the friend
of us all, isn't he, Nancy?"
Nancy was about to reply, but the old lady interrupted her.
"Go on, boy!" she cried. "Let me hear the fate of anyone who
persists in calling him the names he deserves!"
"Well, they'd better _not_ persist!" Montague rumbled darkly. "It's
lies if they do!"
The old lady cackled out her enjoyment of what she considered,
apparently, a joke, and whispered something to the girl about
"delightful subterranean rumblings," then, suddenly her mood changed
again, and, regardless of the children's offer, she bade the girl get
to work again on the car, abusing her peevishly for her incapability
and enquiring what time she proposed to arrive at Gleambridge.
The girl, with a hopeless shake of her head and a smile for the
children, again slid under the car, and the old lady, to their
surprise, subsided into her seat and closed her eyes.
Montague leaned down to the girl behind the car.
"Do you hate that aunt?" he whispered.
The girl raised herself and shook her head.
"No--I like her. But she's not my aunt--I'm her companion."
"Oh!" Montague was decidedly disappointed.
"Why is she so horrid to you?" Nancy whispered. "Don't you mind it?"
"Not in the least," the girl replied. "She can't help it, poor dear.
It's nerves. Besides, I've been a Red Cross nurse, and had
experience with matrons and things!"
They looked mystified.
"She's a lamb compared with hospital matrons," the girl explained.
"Besides, she's fond of me. To-morrow she'll give me a spanking box
of 'chocs' or a new frock to make up for this."
"How queer!" Nancy exclaimed.
"You see," the girl whispered, "this car is a good old 'has-been,'
and she knows it, but nothing on earth will induce her to admit as
much, because her only son who was killed in the war bought it.
She'll keep it till it drops to pieces, and continue abusing the
roads and me--but she knows I understand."
"Here's Mr. Frampton!" cried Mavis, who was waiting patiently near by
with Modestine.
"Oh," Nancy sighed in relief, "I'm so glad! He'll make it go if
anyone can."
Dick, seeing the children, drew up and waited expectantly. Nancy ran
to him and whispered an explanation of the affair.
"Do make it go for her and if the old lady is horrid to you don't
mind--it's only nerves! We told her you were the Warden and she
wasn't very nice."
"All right," Dick replied, "I'll see what can be done. But don't
wait for me," he added. "It's time you were getting on to Omberley."
He feared that the tactless old lady might give him away, and this he
would not have had happen just now for the world.
The children reluctantly bade the girl good-bye.
"Just when you get interested, on you always go again," Nancy sighed.
"If she'd been an aunt," Montague growled, "then she wouldn't have
been sorry to-morrow. Aunts aren't ever sorry--not _great_-aunts,"
he added hastily, seeing protest in Mavis's attitude.