THE ADVENTURE IN THE LANE.
Peggy had now been for nearly a week at Seafield, and it had not been
very satisfactorily spent.
She arrived on Monday; that evening she had been scratched by Patrick.
On Tuesday morning she had been stung by the wasps, so all Tuesday and
Wednesday were spent in bed. On Thursday she had discovered the game of
chalk-pounding which led her into such trouble that the half of Friday
was spent in bed. Now, on Saturday, surely things would go better with
her. We shall see if they did.
“Martin is busy this morning,” said Aunt Euphemia, “so you must play in
the garden. Try to play quietly, and not spoil your frock this time.
James is there, so surely you cannot get into any mischief.”
Peggy assured her aunt that she would be as careful as possible, and
went out into the garden full of good resolutions. James was very busy
sweeping the avenue. He did not seem to want to talk, so Peggy left him,
and strayed down to the gate. As she stood and looked through the bars
she saw something so interesting that she at once decided to go out and
see it nearer.
Just outside the gate of Seafield there was a bit of waste ground close
to the seashore. On this bit of ground some people were camped. There
was a caravan hung all over with baskets, and this evidently belonged to
these people—a man and woman and three children. As Peggy came up to
the gate, the man was trying to catch the horses and harness them to the
caravan. She watched this with great interest. Then she saw that there
was a donkey also, so she could not resist the temptation any longer.
Out she went through the gate and spoke to the woman. “If you please,”
she said, “may I pat your donkey?”
The woman smiled and said, “Oh yes, that you may, missie,” and called to
the children to catch the donkey and bring it to Peggy to pat. It was a
lovely donkey, pale brown, with a long black cross upon its back, as all
donkeys have. Peggy had been told the legend about the cross on the
donkeys’ backs, so she stroked the long black mark gravely all the way
down the little beast’s back, remembering about the story.
“Do you live in that nice place among the baskets?” she asked the woman.
“Yes, missie, and drive around the country in it all the day,” said the
woman. “Would you like to come inside and see it?”
Peggy was delighted. She jumped in and saw what a funny little house it
must be to live in.
“We’re just movin’ on, miss,” said the man, coming to the door to help
Peggy out. The horses had been harnessed now, and the donkey was tied to
run behind the caravan.
“Oh, _please_,” said Peggy, “mightn’t I just have the littlest ride with
you? Won’t you take me along the road?”
“Oh yes, missie. ’Twon’t do us no harm,” said the man good-naturedly. He
cracked his whip, and the caravan swayed as if it would fall over to one
side, and then off they went, rumbling slowly along the sea-road. The
woman gave Peggy a seat, and chatted away to her in the kindest way.
“This is fun,” said Peggy, and never gave a thought as to whether she
had been wise in doing this. She told the woman all about herself, and
how she had come to pay her aunt a visit, and how horrid Martin was, and
how nice Janet was. But at last the cart drew up, and the man came to
the door.
“You must be going home, missie,” he said; “I don’t want to take you too
far.” Peggy pleaded just to be taken to the next corner; so he said he
would do that, but she must get out there.
“There’s a good little lady. Run home straight; take the first turn on
the right, and you’ll be home in ten minutes,” he said, lifting Peggy
down.
“I’m _very_ sorry. I would like to drive on and on with you,” said
Peggy. And at that the man reached up to the roof of the caravan, and
pulled down a sweet little green basket, and gave it to Peggy as a
present. Then he cracked his whip again, and the caravan rumbled off
down the road.
Peggy watched till it was out of sight. Then she began to admire her
dear little green basket. “I must fill it with something,” she thought,
and looked round to see what would be nicest to fill it with. There was
a gate close by leading into a field, and Peggy saw such lovely large
ox-eye daisies growing there that she at once wished to have them. The
gate was rather stiff to open, but she managed it, and waded in among
the high grass, and pulled and pulled at the daisies till her basket was
overflowing. By this time she had walked right across the field, and
instead of returning to the gate Peggy stupidly thought she would go
through a gap in the hedge and come round. So through she went, and came
into another road very like the one she had left. She trotted off down
the road, arranging her daisies, and very happy. But after a little she
found it was not the road she had come by, and she began to feel a
little confused. She turned and ran back, but couldn’t see the gap in
the hedge. Then Peggy was frightened. There was no one anywhere near,
and she had no idea how to get home. She ran on, and then ran back,
getting more and more frightened and confused, and at last she sat down
on a heap of stones and began to cry.
Such a feeling of loneliness came over her! She thought that she must
now be miles and miles away from home, and that she would never see it
again. In reality Peggy was only about one mile from Seafield, and if
she had been sensible, and thought how to cross the field with the
daisies again, she would probably have found her way back quite easily.
But it is difficult to be sensible when you are frightened; so instead
of thinking, Peggy sat and cried helplessly by the roadside. It was a
very lonely road. No one passed, and there was not a house in sight
anywhere. She began to feel hungry too, and that made her cry worse, for
she thought she would perhaps never get any food again, and would die of
hunger.
Just then, as Peggy had come to this dismal conclusion, she saw two
figures coming along the road. One was a woman in a shawl carrying a
large basket, the other was a little girl. Peggy ran towards them
crying,—
“Oh, I’ve lost my way; I can’t get home; will you tell me where to go?”
She had been so frightened that she spoke without looking at the woman,
and when she did look at her, she saw that her face was not at all a
pleasant one. She looked very sly and nasty, and Peggy shrank back from
her, and felt inclined to run away—only there was no one else who could
help her.
“Where’s your home then?” said the woman, laying her hand on Peggy’s
shoulder and looking hard at her.
“Oh, my home is with my Aunt Euphemia, and her house is called Seafield,
and I can’t find it,” sobbed Peggy.
“Well, I’ll show you the way back, if you give me something for my
trouble,” the woman said.
“I’ve nothing to give you but my little basket,” said Peggy.
“That pretty dress would please me better, and them brown shoes,” said
the woman. “Just sit down there and take them off; they’ll be about the
size for my Bessie here.”
“I’ll give you my shoes,” said poor Peggy; “but really I can’t give you
my frock, for how could I walk home in my petticoat?”
“Give me the shoes then,” said the woman. So down sat Peggy on the heap
of stones, and tugged off her brown shoes, and handed them to the woman,
who tucked them into her basket. “And now I’ll just have them brown
stockings too,” she said.
Peggy pulled off her stockings, and stood up on her little bare white
feet. “Now, _please_, show me the way home,” she said.
“Well, I must have the frock too. Look at Bessie all in rags,” said the
woman.
She glanced up and down the road to see that no one was coming, and then
hastily began to pull off Peggy’s frock.
“I’m not giving it to you; you’re stealing it from me!” cried Peggy
indignantly. But the woman said that unless she gave her the frock she
would not tell her the way home. So Peggy had just to allow herself to
be undressed on the road.
[Illustration]
The woman packed the dress into the basket. “Now,” she said, “walk right
down the road till you come to where two roads cross, then go to the
right.” Peggy believed her, and ran away down the road as hard as she
could run. In reality the woman knew no more than Peggy about the roads,
for she was a vagrant who was only passing through the country. All she
wanted was to get Peggy as far away as possible.
On and on Peggy ran, always looking for the cross roads that never came.
Her poor little feet were covered with dust, and they began to get very
painful, for she was accustomed to wear shoes always. Then it felt
exceedingly queer to be running along the road in a petticoat. Peggy
didn’t like it at all, but she was getting so tired that she could think
of nothing but how to get home, and home was really getting farther and
farther away from her at every step she took. At last, at the corner of
the road, Peggy saw a trough where horses drink, and she was so tired
and thirsty that she sat down on the edge and began to suck up the water
in the palm of her hand.
As she sat there, she heard the sound of wheels coming along the road,
and a little carriage came in sight, driven by a pretty young lady.
Peggy felt ashamed of her own appearance, sitting there in her petticoat
all covered with dust; but she decided that she must ask the lady to
help her, however queer she was looking. So she ran forward into the
road, and called out as the carriage came up.
The lady stopped her pony, and the groom jumped down and held its head.
“Is anything wrong with you, my dear?” the lady asked. “And how did you
get here without your frock?”
“Oh, I’ve lost my way; I can’t get home,” cried Peggy. And indeed her
tear-stained face and her strange garments told their own story.
The lady told Peggy to jump into the carriage, and then she wrapped her
round in a linen dust-rug to keep her warm.
“If you tell me where you come from I will drive you home, dear,” she
said; and Peggy felt her troubles were ended at last.
It only took half an hour to reach Seafield after all. Peggy was almost
ashamed to have been so frightened when she had been so near home, but
then she had not known.
Oh, what a commotion they found Aunt Euphemia in! She had been searching
far and near for Peggy for two hours, and not a trace of her had been
found. At last Aunt Euphemia had begun to fear that Peggy had been
drowned in the sea; and Martin, who always took the darkest view of
everything, was trying to make her believe this.
“Miss Peggy’s drowned in the firth by this time, ma’am,” she was saying
with a grim shake of her head, just as the carriage containing Peggy
drew up at the door.
Aunt Euphemia ran out to the door, and for the first time in her life
caught Peggy up in her arms and hugged her, she was so glad to get her
alive and well.
And then there was all the story to tell. Peggy was too tired with her
adventures to be able to tell the story so that any one could understand
it. She just told a confused tale of baskets and little girls and a
horrid woman; and then, worn out with it all, she began to cry again
most piteously.
Even Aunt Euphemia didn’t scold her, and Martin brought her a nice
dinner, and made her eat it all up, and then took her upstairs and laid
her down to sleep; and this was the end of Peggy’s adventures for that
day.