An Awkward Predicament
For some days Katrine had been convinced that there was another artist
in the neighbourhood. She had caught a glimpse of an easel fixed in a
field, she had found a tube of paint lying in the road, and had noticed
upon a paling the scrapings of a palette. She had not yet, however, been
vouchsafed a sight of the stranger, against whom she had conceived a
violent prejudice. She had come to regard Heathwell as the private
sketching property of herself and Miss Aubrey, and regarded the
new-comer in the light of a poacher on their art preserves. He or
she--she did not even know the sex of the intruder--might very well have
chosen some other village, in her opinion, instead of fixing upon this
particular Paradise. All the same, she was inquisitive, and would have
liked very much to see the unknown artist's work. One afternoon Miss
Aubrey took the Marsdens to a little subject in a meadow on the road to
the river. She watched them begin to draw in a picturesque railing and
hawthorn stump, then went herself to another position in the field. Left
alone, the girls worked for some time in silence, Katrine with
whole-hearted absorption, and Gwethyn in a more dilettante fashion. The
latter did not care to stick at things too long. She soon grew tired,
and threw down her brush.
"Ugh! It makes me stiff to sit so still. I'm going to walk round the
pasture. Do come, Katrine! Oh, how you swat! You might take two minutes'
rest. We're just above the road here, and I believe somebody's sitting
down below. I can smell tobacco. I'm going to investigate."
Gwethyn came back in a few moments with her eyes dancing.
"It's an artist!" she whispered. "He's painting in the road exactly
below us. I can see his picture through the hedge. Come and look!"
Such exciting information broke the spell of Katrine's work. She put
down her palette at once, and followed Gwethyn. It was impossible to
resist taking a peep at the interesting stranger's sketch.
"You must promise not even to breathe. I should be most annoyed if he
happened to see us," she declared.
"All right! I'll be mum as a mouse, and walk as softly as a pussy-cat.
I'll undertake it won't be my fault if he divines our existence."
Very gently the two girls crept along the edge of the pasture, trying
not to rustle the grass, and heroically refraining from conversation.
"Here we are!" signalled Gwethyn at last, pausing at a thin place in the
hedge, which might have been made on purpose for a peep-hole. Through a
frame of sycamore leaves they could peer into the road exactly at the
spot where the rival easel was pitched. The artist's back was towards
them; they could see nothing but his tweed suit, his grey hair under a
brown hat, and the skilful right hand which kept dabbing subtle
combinations of half-tones upon his canvas. He seemed utterly
unconscious of their presence, and worked away in sublime ignorance that
two pairs of eyes were following every stroke of his brush. He was no
amateur, that was plain. The girls were sufficient judges of painting to
recognize that though the sketch was still at an elementary stage he had
made a masterly beginning. Katrine watched quite fascinated, trying to
decide what colours he was using, and in what proportion he had mixed
them. If she could only see his palette, she might perhaps discover the
secret of that particularly warm shadow he was in the act of placing
under the near tree. She craned her head a little forward through the
hedge. Gwethyn, equally anxious to see everything possible, pressed
closely behind her. Whether it was the heat of the sun, or whether a
sycamore leaf tickled the end of her nose, I cannot tell. The cause is
immaterial, but the awful and tangible result was that Katrine--Katrine,
who prided herself upon prunes and prism--burst without warning into a
violent and uncontrollable sneeze! Naturally the artist turned at the
unwonted sound, to catch an astonishing vision of two dismayed faces
peeping like dryads from the greenery behind him.
Katrine dashed off like a thief detected red-handed, but she had hardly
gone a yard when Gwethyn seized her by the arm.
"Katrine! Stop! There's no need to run in that silly way. Can't you see
it's Mr. Freeman?"
"What's the matter, girls?" asked Miss Aubrey, who had walked up to
correct their drawings.
Katrine felt caught on both sides, but there seemed nothing for it but
to pass off the affair as well as she could.
"We've met an old friend of my father's," she explained. "I suppose we
may say 'How do you do?' to him over the hedge?"
If the girls were surprised to see Mr. Freeman, he was equally
astonished to find them at Heathwell.
"Didn't know you were at school here. It's a grand part of the world for
sketching. Never saw so many paintable bits in my life. My diggings are
in the village. Yes, come down and look at my picture, if you like."
Mr. Freeman had often been a guest at the Marsdens'. The girls knew him
well. He had criticized Katrine's earliest art efforts, and had painted
a portrait of Gwethyn when she was about seven years old. He seemed to
have grasped the humour of the present situation, for he gazed up the
bank with twinkling eyes. Katrine hastily introduced Miss Aubrey over
the top of the hedge, not a very dignified method of presenting a
friend, but the only one available. Fortunately Miss Aubrey was not Mrs.
Franklin! An invitation to make a nearer acquaintance with the picture
was irresistible. Katrine took her teacher by the arm, and pulled her
gently in the direction of the gate. She offered no objection.
"I was most extremely glad for Mr. Freeman to meet Miss Aubrey," Katrine
confided to Gwethyn afterwards. "Two such good artists positively ought
to know each other. They've each got a picture in the Academy,
and--isn't it funny?--in the very same room--numbers 402 and 437!"
"They seemed to find plenty to talk about," returned Gwethyn. "I hope
Mr. Freeman really will look us up at school."
Not only did their artist friend take an early opportunity of calling on
them at Aireyholme, but he asked Miss Aubrey to bring them to see his
sketches in the little studio he had rigged up in the village. It was a
treat to be shown his charming interpretations of Heathwell and its
inhabitants. He had already requisitioned some of the Gartley children
as models, and was in ecstasies over their picturesque appearance. His
study of the High Street at sunset was a poem on canvas.
"This beats every other place I've ever stayed at for painting," he
announced. "Now I've found this studio, I shall stop here for the
summer. There's any amount to be done."
"You'll certainly find plenty of subjects round about," agreed Miss
Aubrey.
"I wonder if the painting is altogether the whole of the attraction,"
mused Gwethyn, who in some respects was wise beyond her years.
* * * * *
Miss Aubrey was an immense favourite at Aireyholme, but among all the
girls she had no stancher and more whole-hearted admirer than Githa
Hamilton. Githa was not demonstrative--she never said much; but whenever
possible she haunted her idol like a drab little shadow, watching her
with adoring eyes, and hanging upon her words. Miss Aubrey had a very
shrewd suspicion that Githa was lonely at home and left out at school.
Realizing her peculiar disposition, she made no great fuss over her, but
every now and then managed unobtrusively to include the girl in some
special expedition or particular treat. At an early date in June she
arranged to take a few members of the painting class on a Saturday
excursion to Chiplow, where a fine old abbey would provide a capital
subject for an afternoon's sketching.
Chiplow was on a different line of railway from Carford, therefore the
Heathwell local trains were of little use in getting there. The quickest
route was to bicycle to Chorlton Lacy, a station on the South Midland
line, seven miles away, whence they could book excursion tickets to
Chiplow. Only girls possessing bicycles were available for the jaunt,
and as for one reason or another several of these were obliged to be
excluded, Miss Aubrey invited Githa to accompany them and make up the
dozen required for the issue of the special cheap holiday bookings. The
poor little Toadstool turned up radiant with delight, and looking really
almost pretty in her khaki-coloured cycle costume, scarlet tie, and
poppy-trimmed Panama. A Union Jack fluttered from her newly-polished
machine, and in the basket which hung from the handle-bars she had a
store of home-made toffee as well as her sketch-book.
In first-rate spirits the party set off along the road, riding in style
through the village, with much ringing of bells to scare away children.
They free-wheeled for nearly a mile downhill, and then had a splendid
level stretch of road beside the river bank.
"We're getting along capitally," said Miss Aubrey. "At this rate we
shall be at the station half an hour too soon."
"Unless we meet with some excitement!" ventured Gwethyn hopefully.
If Gwethyn craved for excitement, she was soon to find it. They had not
gone half a mile farther before their way was barred by an enormous
bull, which, to judge by a gap in the hedge, must have broken out of a
neighbouring field. There it stood, in a dip of the road, right in their
path, tossing its great head, pawing the ground, and bellowing lustily.
The cyclists jumped off their machines, decidedly scared by the
apparition that faced them.
"Oh, but doesn't it look a splendid subject?" gasped Katrine, whose
artistic instincts were uppermost even at such a crisis. "If we could
only draw it!"
"Don't be idiotic!" cried Nan Bethell. "It would be like taking a
snapshot of a lion when it's rushing at you with open jaws!"
"I'm sure Rosa Bonheur or Lucy Kemp-Welch would have sketched it."
"Then they'd have been impaled, one on each horn, and serve them right
for tempting Providence. Look at the dust the creature's raising in the
road!"
All the party were in consternation. Miss Aubrey, who felt the
responsibility of her charge, and moreover had a natural fear of bulls,
for once almost lost her presence of mind.
"What are we to do? It would be madness to try and ride past it. I
suppose we shall have to turn back home," she fluttered.
"Can't we call for help? Halloo!" shouted some of the girls.
"There's nobody about."
"I see a hat in that field!"
"It's only a scarecrow!"
Then Githa, who had been standing silently by her bicycle, suddenly
assumed direction of the situation.
"Stop shouting! You'll excite the bull!" she commanded. "Now let us
stack our machines in the ditch, and climb over this fence into the
field. Come along, quick! This way!"
It seemed such excellent advice that even Miss Aubrey obeyed quite
meekly. Leaving their bicycles below, they all scrambled hastily up the
bank and over some hurdles into a field.
"We're safe, but we shall lose our train!" lamented Gladwin Riley.
"Not a bit of it! We'll turn up in time at the station, you'll see!"
replied Githa. "Just leave it to me!"
She broke a stick from the hedge, picked up several large stones, and
then ran along the meadow for some distance and climbed another fence.
All at once the girls realized her intention. She was descending into
the road in the rear of the bull.
"Stop her! Stop her!" shrieked Miss Aubrey.
By that time, however, Githa was half-way down the bank. Before the bull
had time to realize her presence and turn round, she began a vigorous
onslaught with stones upon his hind quarters, shouting at the pitch of
her lungs. Her sudden attack had exactly the effect she hoped. The
bull, enraged by the noise and the stones, rushed blindly forward along
the road, passing the bicycles without notice, and stampeding in the
direction of Heathwell.
"Someone will stop him before he gets into the village," murmured Miss
Aubrey at the top of the bank.
The brave little Toadstool received an ovation as the rest of the party
climbed down from the post of vantage. She took her honours
ungraciously.
"What's the use of making a fuss? Anyone with two grains of sense would
have thought of it. For goodness' sake, let me get on my machine! We
haven't overmuch time, and we don't want to miss our train standing
palavering."
"How just exactly like Githa Hamilton!" commented Hilda Smart, as the
girls resumed their interrupted ride.
After all, they arrived at the station with five minutes to spare, just
long enough to book their excursion tickets and to leave their bicycles
in the left-luggage office. They were fortunate enough to find an empty
carriage, and crammed themselves in somehow; it was rather a tight fit
for a dozen, but it felt so much jollier to be all together. Chiplow was
an hour's journey away; a few of the party had been there before, but to
most it was a new experience. The abbey was one of the show places of
the county, and the old town had a historic reputation. There was plenty
to be seen in the streets alone: the houses were of the sixteenth
century, and very picturesque--many of them with carved wooden pillars,
and with dates and coats-of-arms over the doorways. Miss Aubrey took
her charges into the church, a dim, ancient edifice with a leper window,
a sounding-board over the pulpit, and, almost hidden away in the
transept, a "ducking-stool for scolds". The girls looked at the curious
old instrument of punishment with great curiosity; and Githa, who had
brought her camera, took a time exposure of it.
"Poor old souls!" said Katrine. "It was too bad to souse them in the
pond just because they waxed too eloquent. I've no doubt the husbands
deserved it. If everybody who talks too much nowadays were treated to
the cold-water cure, we should be a taciturn set."
"It might be a wholesome warning in some cases," laughed Miss Aubrey.
"It's really very trying when people babble on all about nothing, and
insist upon one's listening to them."
After lunch at a cafe in the town, the party adjourned to the abbey, a
most romantic ruin, standing among woods by the side of a river. The
monks of old must have been true artists to choose such unrivalled sites
on which to rear their glorious architecture. It was an exquisite jewel
in a perfect setting, and Miss Aubrey was soon in ecstasies over
delicate pieces of tracery and perpendicular windows. She set her class
to work on an arched gateway overhung by a graceful silver-birch tree.
It was not a particularly easy subject, and most of them did not
accomplish more than the drawing, though Katrine and Nan managed to put
on a little colour during the last half-hour. Everyone was very loath to
leave when Miss Aubrey at last declared it was time to close the
sketch-books. Their train was due at six, and they must have tea before
starting, so it was impossible to linger any longer.
Katrine had bought a guide-book at the abbey, and studied it over the
tea-table at the cafe. She was dismayed to find how many objects of
interest in the town they had missed.
"I should like to see the old house where Mary Queen of Scots stayed,"
she exclaimed. "It's only just down the street here. Miss Aubrey,
Gwethyn and I have finished tea; may we go and look at it? We'll be ever
so quick."
"You can if you like, but don't miss the train. If you turn up Cliff
Street, exactly opposite the hospital, it will bring you straight to the
station, and save your walking back here. Six o'clock, remember!"
"Oh, thank you! There's heaps of time. Come, Gwethyn!"
The Marsdens marched off with their guide-book, and easily found the old
house in question, which was now used as an Alms Hospital for
superannuated and disabled soldiers. They so dutifully curtailed their
inspection of it, that Katrine declared they might safely go and look at
the ruins of the city gate, which, according to her guide, must be quite
close by. Whether the book was unreliable, or whether Katrine, in her
haste, missed the right turning, is uncertain, but after wandering
vainly round several streets the girls found themselves down by the bank
of the river.
"You said we had plenty of time, but you didn't look at your watch,"
panted Gwethyn. "If that clock over there is right, we shall never catch
our train. Oh, you are a genius to-day! A prince of path-finders!"
Katrine came to a sudden halt. Gwethyn's remarks were unpalatable, but
strictly true. There were exactly ten minutes to spare. To go back to
the station would require at least twenty.
"It's the only train available by our excursion tickets," wailed
Gwethyn. "I believe there's a later one about nine or ten o'clock, but
they'll make us pay the difference between cheap bookings and ordinary
fare."
"I can see the glass roof of the station across the river, and there's a
bridge in front of us. It's probably a short cut, and will save half the
distance," announced Katrine hopefully. "Come along! Perhaps we can just
do it!"
The girls scurried forward in frantic haste. What convenient things
bridges were! Why, of course, there was the railway quite close on the
other side. They tore across the creaking planks in triumph, feeling
that every step brought them nearer to the station. But alas! for the
vanity of human wishes! The farther side of the bridge was closed by a
turnstile, and a fiend in human form was basely and mercenarily
demanding the one thing in the world which at present they could not
muster--a penny toll! It seemed absurd to be in the depths of
destitution, but it was the fact. They had given the money for the day's
excursion to Miss Aubrey, who acted as paymaster for the whole party,
and the few pence they had kept they had spent on the guide-book and
some chocolates. To be at one's last penny is a proverbial expression,
but Katrine and Gwethyn had never before realized the dire extremity of
being absolutely without a single specimen of that useful coin of the
realm. They rummaged in their pockets, hoping against hope that some
stray copper might have slipped into an obscure corner, and have been
overlooked. Gwethyn even felt the bottom of her coat, in case a
threepenny-bit could have strayed between the material and the lining.
In the meantime the keeper of the bridge stood with outstretched hand,
awaiting his dues, casting an impatient eye back into his toll-house,
where his tea was rapidly cooling upon the table.
"We find we haven't any money with us," faltered Katrine at last. "Would
you please let us through without, and we'd send you stamps to-morrow?"
"Couldn't do it," responded the man surlily. "This bridge is a cash
concern, and I never give credit."
"But we want to catch a train," pleaded Gwethyn, "and there isn't time
to go back through the town."
"Our tickets are only available by this train, and our friends are
waiting for us at the station," added Katrine.
"I've heard tales like this before! Don't you try to come over me! You
either pays your pennies, or you won't go through this gate!"
"If we left something as a pledge?" cried Katrine in despair. "Here's my
paint-box, or my coat, or--yes, even my watch!"
"You must let us pass!" declared Gwethyn tragically.
"Must, indeed! I'm put here in charge of the bridge, and a pretty thing
it would be if I was to let everyone through scot-free! I've my orders,
and I'll do my duty," said the toll-keeper officiously, waving away the
articles which Katrine was vainly trying to press upon him.
The poor girls were waxing hysterical. The precious moments were
hurrying by, and already a suggestive whistle in the distance gave
ominous warning of the approaching train. To be left behind in Chiplow
was a prospect too appalling even to contemplate. They had serious
thoughts of either attempting to push past the official, or to make a
dash and climb the railings, both of which proceedings would be equally
undignified and illegal.
At this desperate and critical moment a little figure suddenly rushed up
from behind--a gasping, panting figure, with hair flying in wild elf
locks, and pale cheeks scarlet for once.
"Open the gate quick!" it commanded. "Threepence? Here you are! Come on!
We'll just do it!"
There was no time even to greet their deliverer. The three girls simply
tore along the road that led to the station, with their eyes fixed on
the signal, which was already down. The Toadstool was swift of foot, and
had indomitable pluck, or, winded already, she could never have managed
that last wild spurt.
"Caught it by the skin of our teeth!" exclaimed Katrine a minute and a
half later, as, nearly exhausted, the girls were hustled into a
compartment by the distracted Miss Aubrey, just the moment before the
train started. "Oh, dear! I've never had such a scramble in all my life!
I'm half dead!"
"Githa Hamilton, you're an absolute trump!" whispered Gwethyn, when she
recovered sufficient breath for speech. "That horrid man wouldn't let us
through. We should have had to stop in Chiplow. It was good of you to
come after us!"
"No, it wasn't!" snapped the Toadstool rather gaspily. "I did it to
please Miss Aubrey; I didn't care twopence about you two. She was
getting anxious, so I said I'd follow you and round you up somehow. A
precious job I had, asking people if they'd seen two girls in Panama
hats! Whatever induced you to go down by the river? You pair of sillies!
It would have just served you jolly well right if you'd been left in
Chiplow after all!"