A PICNIC AND AN ADVENTURE
"Beneath the trees we'll have one day
Of frolicsome employment,
And birds shall sing and winds shall blow
To help us to enjoyment."
The changed conditions at The Hollies, added to my long Christmas
holiday, had completely brought me back to my usual health and high
spirits, and I soon found the ordinary work of the class to be well
within my capacities. Now that Miss Percy's continual nagging was
removed I felt a different girl, and began to enjoy thoroughly my
school-life once more. Miss Hope, our new mistress, was one of those
bright sunny souls who seem able to bring the very best out of all those
who are near them. She made few rules, trusting much to our sense of
honour and good feeling, and so well did we respond to her kindness that
there was soon quite a different tone in the class, for the thought of
grieving her would deter us from wrong-doing far more easily than all
Miss Percy's threats of punishment. She had no favourites, but I think
that Cathy and I, as being more interested than the others in the
botany and natural history, which were her special subjects, came in for
an extra share of her affection, and I know we both worshipped her with
that depth of devotion which school-girls are ever ready to offer to a
teacher whom they really respect and love.
As the summer came on, with the long light days, we were taken out more
frequently for expeditions over the delightful Derbyshire moors. These
Saturday-afternoon rambles were looked forward to throughout the whole
week, and we would return from them with such red cheeks and hearty
appetites that I think Mrs. Marshall was amply satisfied with the result
of her new regulations. We all felt it a decided innovation when she
proposed a picnic instead of the usual mild garden-party with which we
had been accustomed to celebrate her birthday on the first of June.
"It's to be a real, genuine, grown-up kind of picnic too," said Janet.
"Not just going for a walk and taking milk and biscuits with you. There
are to be five wagonettes, and we're to drive all the way to Redburn and
have tea at a farm on the side of the scar."
"There's a glorious little wood there," said Cathy, "where
lilies-of-the-valley grow wild. Miss Hope says she believes they'll
just be in flower. It will be perfectly delightful if we find them."
"Mrs. Thompson at the farm makes the most splendid girdle-cakes," put in
Millicent. "I know, because I went there once before when Mother took
her Sunday-school treat, and they were absolutely delicious. You eat
them hot out of the oven, with loads of honey."
"I hope it will be fine to-morrow," I said. "I suppose we shall go
another day if it rains, but a thing never seems quite the same if it is
put off."
"Fine? Of course it will be fine!" said Janet. "The sky is as clear as
it can be, and the moon is new, and the little soldier is standing at
his door in the barometer in my bedroom, and the cattle are grazing
uphill, and the pimpernel is out by the gate, and Miss Buller's hair is
in curl, and the midges are biting horribly, so if you can prophesy rain
after that, Miss Philippa, you don't know the English climate, that's
all I can say."
"I never prophesy till I know," I replied, laughing. "But I think after
such a list of good omens the weather could hardly, for shame,
disappoint us, though I can't give the English climate much of a
character, after all."
Janet was right, for the first of June proved to be a glorious day,
bright and clear, with a cloudless sky, and a fresh wind blowing down
from the moors. Punctually at half-past one the wagonettes drove up to
the door, and with much excitement we packed ourselves into them, Cathy
and I, after a scramble with Janet, securing the coveted seats next to
our dear Miss Hope. It was an eight-mile drive through the most charming
scenery. The white limestone road first followed the river bank amid
beautiful woods, green with all the wealth of early summer foliage and
literally carpeted with bluebells, while on the far side of the river
rose steep cliffs covered from base to summit with oak-trees, the pinky
brown of their opening leaves making a rich contrast to the dark pines
which interspersed them here and there. Leaving the woods behind us we
wound slowly up the steep slope, between rough stone walls or banks of
grass and furze, the great bare rolling hills stretched out before us,
where the sheep were cropping the short sweet grass that grew between
the clumps of sedge and rushes, and the larks were singing loudly and
joyfully as they rose from their nests among the heather. Redburn
proved to be a quaint little old-world gray-stone village, set in a dip
amongst the moors, where it might receive some slight shelter from the
bitter north wind which blew from the hills in winter-time. We rattled
through its steep cobbled streets, making a brief pause at the church,
where some ancient stone coffins and carved choir stalls were to be
seen, and then on again, over the mountain-side, till we finally drew up
in the farmyard of Ingledew Grange, where Mrs. Thompson, the farmer's
wife, in a clean print dress and snowy apron, was waiting to receive us
with many smiles and words of welcome.
"I'm fain glad it's turned out a fine day for ye, that I am," she said.
"Ye'll be nigh clemmed after your drive, I take it, and more than ready
for your teas. I won't be above a few minutes in mashin' the pots, but
if ye care to take a turn round the garden whilst the cakes is a-gettin'
out of the oven ye can go where ye like."
We certainly agreed with her that the fresh moorland air had given a
keen edge to our appetites, and she hastened to finish her preparations,
while we prowled about the sweet old garden, where the little June roses
hung white over the rustic porch, and the peacocks on the lawn below
were spreading their glorious tails to the sunshine.
We had tea at long tables in a great farm-kitchen, the high roof of
which had black oak rafters arched like those of a church, while the
flagged floor was strewn with the finest white sand. Everything was as
neat and clean as constant scrubbing and scouring could make it; the oak
furniture shone with polishing, on a fine old dresser was spread out a
goodly array of blue willow-pattern china, while the brightest of copper
sauce-pans and pewter pots adorned the plain, whitewashed walls.
Millicent had certainly not overstated the quality of the cakes, nor the
freshness of the large brown eggs, nor the sweetness of the honey with
its delicious flavour of moorland heather, nor the dark barley bread,
nor the rich cream which Mrs. Marshall poured into our tea-cups with a
lavish hand. It was a real old-fashioned farmhouse tea, and we did
justice to it with such ample country appetites, that I think even Mrs.
Thompson was satisfied that we had enjoyed ourselves. We dispersed
afterwards in little groups for a ramble round the fields, and in the
pretty shady wood which lay at the foot of the dell.
"Lilies-of-the-valley?" said Mrs. Thompson, in response to our eager
enquiries. "Ay, there's a many of them down in yon clough. We call 'em
'snow-bobs' about here. Ye can pluck till ye're tired if ye've a mind."
"Come along, Phil!" cried Cathy; and we started down the path between
the springing corn, running for pure joy of the fresh air and sunshine,
and snatching as we passed at the lacy flowers of the wild cornel which
hung over the hedgerow like masses of snow. A broad brook flowed through
the little glade, and on either side, under the shade of the overhanging
trees, grew the lilies-of-the-valley in such sweet profusion that the
whole air seemed full of their delicious perfume. We ran here and there
half wild with delight, burying our noses in the fragrant blossoms, and
picking until our hands were full.
"Aren't they glorious?" said I.
"Simply perfect!" said Cathy.
"I want to sniff them all up!" said Janet, who with a few other girls
had followed us.
"The fourth class are coming down the hill," said Ernestine. "They'll
have to be quick, or they won't find any left."
"There are plenty on the other side of the water," I said, "if we could
only manage to get over. I should like to pick a particularly nice
bunch for Mrs. Marshall"; and I looked doubtfully at the trunk of a tree
which had been laid across the brook to serve as a rough kind of bridge.
There had been some attempt at a handrail, for a long pole swung from
two ropes tied to the trees on either side, but it was of such a very
shaky and insecure description that it would be barely sufficient to
steady one's self by in the crossing.
"It doesn't look at all safe," declared Janet. "You won't catch me
trying such a perilous path for all the flowers in the world."
"I think I shall venture," I said, "the lilies look so much finer over
there. Only mind you don't shake the pole while I'm crossing; it's
unsteady enough as it is."
The round tree-trunk did not make a very firm foothold, and the swinging
handrail felt the most insecure of supports when I started on to the
bridge. I went along with great caution, one step at a time, trying to
balance myself steadily and not to think of the rushing water below.
"Very good! Very good indeed!" called Cathy from the bank.
"Don't hurry. Keep steady. You're half-way over!" cried Janet.
"It looks easy enough, I shall come too," exclaimed Ernestine. She
seized the handrail as if to follow me, but the sudden touch on the
shaking pole was too much for my frail balance--the rail swayed
violently and swung away out of my clutching grasp, my foot slipped, and
with a shriek of terror I found myself flung into the stream below.
Luckily it was neither deep nor dangerous, but even half a yard of water
is quite enough to get very wet in, and I was a moist and draggled
object by the time I had struggled back to dry land.
"It's all your fault, Ernestine!" I cried wrathfully as I regained the
bank. "I told you not to shake the handrail, and you knew it would upset
me!"
"You're the meanest thing in the world, Ernestine Salt!" declared Cathy,
her cheeks crimson with indignation as she tried to wring the water from
my dripping skirts. "Don't speak to me; I never intend to be friends
with you again."
"You did it on purpose," began Janet. "I know you did. You're always
playing sneaking tricks on Philippa when you think no one will find you
out."
"You needn't think you're going to stay here with us," said Blanche
Greenwood, hotly. "Because we don't want you. We didn't ask you to come,
and you may go away and walk by yourself."
"I've no wish to stay with you, I'm sure," replied Ernestine with equal
temper. "I would rather have your room than your company. I've picked
all the lilies I want, so you're welcome to any that are left, so far as
I'm concerned, if that's why you wish to get rid of me."
And with this parting shot, she took her flowers and walked slowly away
in the opposite direction to that in which we had come, by a small path
that led from the wood up on to the moor beyond.
"You're terribly wet, Phil; your boots are simply squelching with water.
I don't know what Mrs. Marshall will say!" said Cathy, as she hurried me
back to the farm as fast as possible, to be dried.
Somewhat to my relief, neither Mrs. Marshall nor any of the teachers was
there. Like ourselves they were all trying to make the best of the fine
afternoon out-of-doors.
"Deary me! Who'd have thought of you falling into that bit of a brook?"
said Mrs. Thompson, aghast, as I walked into the kitchen in my moist
skirts. "We must get you out of those wet things, honey. I've some
clothes of my Lizzie's as would fit you while your own is at the fire."
Lizzie's skirt was decidedly too short for me, and Lizzie's boots were
equally large and roomy; her stockings, moreover, were of thick,
home-knitted worsted, very hot and uncomfortable; but I was grateful for
anything in the circumstances, and would, I believe, have worn a pair of
sabots if they had been offered to me.
"We shall just have time for a walk, Cathy, after all," I said. "It
can't be very late yet, and we don't start home until six o'clock. Let
us go up that path through the glen that led on to the moors."
"Nay! Don't go there!" called out Mrs. Thompson, who happened to
overhear my remark just as we left the house. "There's a bull up on yon
moor as isn't safe at all. It do run folks sometimes. I thought ye had
been with the rest when I warned ye all. Keep in our own fields, and
ye'll be right enough, but don't go roamin' far away."
"Never mind," said Cathy. "We'll go back to the wood, at any rate, and
pick some more lilies, if there are any left."
We wandered slowly down the lane, gathering the dog-violets from the
banks, and having an unsuccessful hunt for birds' nests in the hedge.
The girls were all gone from the glen, only a few dropped flowers
remaining to show where they had been, and Cathy and I sauntered to the
little bridge to take a look at the scene of my catastrophe.
"You see how the handrail shakes about," I said, as I swung it out with
a touch. "And directly Ernestine took hold of it---- Oh, Cathy! I never
thought of Ernestine before! Don't you remember she went up the path
towards the moors? She can't know that the bull is there, and she's gone
quite alone!"
"Let us run after her," said Cathy. "Perhaps, after all, she mayn't have
walked very far, and we shall be in time to warn her."
"Quick! quick!" I cried. "Mrs. Thompson said the bull was so dangerous.
Oh! we _must_ stop her!"
We raced as fast as my heavy country boots would allow along the narrow
path through the wood, and over the stile into the meadow beyond,
calling "Ernestine" as we ran, but hearing no reply to our shouts. Among
the deep clover and up the steep hill-side we panted, following the
plain direction of the path, till, clambering over the irregular steps
which led across the high stone wall, we found ourselves on the open
moor at last.
"Oh, look! look!" cried Cathy, grasping my arm. "There it is!"
And she pointed as she spoke to the summit of a small hill close by,
where, outlined against the blue sky beyond, rose the enormous form of
the great black bull, which stood there pawing the ground impatiently,
and tossing his giant horns as though he were warning trespassers to
beware of venturing upon his domains. Slightly lower down among the
furze and the heather, and only about three hundred yards away from us,
we could distinguish Ernestine's blue dress, and the flutter of the red
ribbon in her hat. She was walking slowly along, stooping every now and
then to pick a flower, or pausing to look at the scene around her, and
evidently utterly unconscious of the huge monster which was grazing on
the hill-side above her. We called wildly to her, but the wind was in
the opposite direction, and she could not hear us.
"We _must_ save her, Cathy!" I cried. "Perhaps the bull won't see us.
Let us follow her quietly, and tell her to come back before it's too
late."
[Illustration: "I FOUND MYSELF FLUNG INTO THE STREAM BELOW"]
But the bull had seen her already, and with a low roaring noise it began
to move slowly down the side of the hill, snuffing the air as it went.
Roused at last by the sound, Ernestine turned round. For one moment she
stood almost fixed to the spot with horror, then with a wild shriek of
fear she flung down her flowers, and ran back as fast as she could in
the direction of the stile over the wall.
"Stop! Stop! Don't run! It will be sure to follow you!" shouted Cathy;
but even if Ernestine heard her, I doubt if she would have had the
self-control to stay her flying footsteps. It was too late, for with a
loud bellow the great animal was rushing madly after her down the slope.
It seemed impossible that she could reach the wall in time. There was
only a moment in which to save her, but I had read in books that a bull
always charges blindly, and quick as thought I pulled off my jacket, and
dashed forward.
"Run, Ernestine! Run!" I cried. "Run, Cathy! The stile! The stile!"
It was almost upon her, but even as it put down its head to charge, I
flung my jacket over its horns, and, taking advantage of the few seconds
of delay thus gained, I fled on wings of terror after the others to the
stile. How I scrambled over, I can never remember; I know I fell on
Cathy and Ernestine at the bottom. We all lay there for a few moments
nearly dead with fright, imagining that the bull would leap after us,
but the wall was high, and the stile very steep, and though we could
hear its angry mutterings within a few feet of us, it was not able to
clear so great an obstacle.
"Let us get away!" cried Ernestine. "Oh! it's terrible, terrible to
think that dreadful beast is still so near us!"
She made an effort to rise; then, groaning with pain, she sank back on
to the ground, and buried her face in her hands.
"I can't walk!" she moaned, "I've broken my foot. Go, girls, and leave
me! If I have to die, I must."
"What nonsense!" said Cathy. "You're not going to die yet. I expect you
twisted your ankle when you fell. You're quite safe here, for the bull
can't leap a six-foot wall, or climb up crooked stone steps. We'll go
for help, and Mr. Thompson and one of the men must come to carry you
back to the farm."
"You go, Cathy," I said, "and I'll stay with Ernestine. She'd feel
dreadfully frightened to be left here all alone, with the bull close
by, although it can't get at us now. If you run all the way, you'll
very soon be back with help."
Cathy started off at once at a brisk trot, and we watched her as she
hurried down the clover-field and the meadow, and disappeared into the
wood below.
I turned to Ernestine, who still sat under the wall where she had
fallen, white to the lips, and trembling all over with pain.
"I'm afraid your foot's hurting you very much," I said. "Let me take
your boot off, and I'll get some water to bathe it for you."
I was obliged to cut both her boot-lace and her stocking with my
penknife, for her ankle was already so swollen that she could scarcely
bear to have it touched. I soaked my handkerchief in a little pool of
water, and bound up the foot as carefully as I could.
"Don't cry!" I said. "They'll soon be here with help, and you can lie on
the carriage-seat and keep your foot up all the way home. Does it hurt
you very dreadfully?"
"It does hurt, but it isn't that!" sobbed Ernestine. "You've saved my
life, Philippa, and--I've been so horribly nasty to you, ever since you
came to school! I _meant_ to shake that handrail to-day, and send you
into the brook; it wasn't an accident at all!"
I stroked her hand softly.
"I don't think you'd do it again," I said. "It's all right about the
bull. Don't let us talk of it now. I want to put another bandage on your
poor foot."
"But I will talk of it!" she said. "I've been most disgustingly mean.
I'll be very different to you afterwards, if you'll be friends with me.
Will you?"
"Of course I will," I said heartily; and I put my arms round her neck,
and kissed her.
Mr. Thompson soon arrived with a couple of strong farm-men, and between
them they carried my poor groaning school-mate back to the farm, where
Mrs. Marshall was waiting, full of alarm at the chapter of accidents
which had happened. It was a painful journey home for Ernestine, and it
was many weeks before her sprained ankle would allow her to walk, or
take any part in our school games again. I think I was able to make the
dull hours she had perforce to spend on her sofa pass a little more
brightly for her, and she was grateful to me beyond words.
"No, don't!" I said, when she tried once to stammer out her thanks.
"We've forgotten all that old time. It's no use remembering bygones.
We're going to start afresh now, and we'll all give you ever such a
jolly welcome when you're well enough to come into school again."
And so my last trouble at The Hollies had passed away, for Miss Percy's
hard discipline had resolved itself into the genial sway of Miss Hope,
and Ernestine Salt, who had been the one stormy element in my class, now
wrote herself upon the list of my friends.