Fair Maids of February
Mavis and Merle had lunch with Uncle David in the parlour at Grimbal's
Farm. It was a quaint, old-fashioned house-place, with a horsehair sofa,
a cabinet full of best china, some enlarged family photographs in gilt
frames, a very ancient piano, and a round table. It had the faint,
musty, shut-up scent that clings to a room which is used only once a
week, but a blazing fire of logs, and a bunch of snowdrops on the table,
helped to give it a more occupied air. To the girls it was all part of
their delightful new experience at Chagmouth. Everything was different
from home, and therefore interesting, and when Mrs. Penruddock brought
in a bowl of Devonshire cream with the roasted apples they felt they
were indeed in a land of plenty. When the meal was over, Dr. Tremayne
retired into his dispensary to make up medicines, telling the girls to
wait about for him and not go too far away, as he would soon be starting
on his round, and would take them in the car.
Of course they did not want to stay in the house, so, accepting Mrs.
Penruddock's invitation "Go just wherever you like", they started to
explore the farm premises. Clumps of snowdrops were growing among the
grass in the orchard under old apple trees, some of whose branches held
boughs of mistletoe. Bulbs were pushing up in the garden, and the daphne
mezereon was out already in the warm corner near the bee-hives. Through
the stackyard flowed the stream which was such a feature of Chagmouth,
and here its glittering, tumbling waters had been harnessed to turn a
waterwheel that worked a churn, a turnip-cutter, and other farm
implements. The wheel at present was still, and the girls could go quite
close and examine it. It was a picturesque affair, yellow with lichen
and moss, and with green ferns growing on the wall against which the
water dripped. It was so utterly different from the unlovely, whirling,
modern machinery to which they were accustomed in Whinburn that they
climbed down the steep, narrow steps to get a nearer view. Birds were
flitting hither and thither like dainty water nixies, great sprays of
periwinkle trailed down the banks, and the stream danced by with a
gurgling murmur as if it were trying to put some story into words.
Mavis, standing on the lowest of the steps, and leaning against a blade
of the waterwheel, threw sticks on to its bosom and watched them as they
bobbed along on their way towards the sea.
"Hello!" called a voice from above. "If you don't want to get knocked
into the water you'd better come up. The wheel will be turning in
another moment. We didn't know you were down there."
The girls made a hurried ascent of the steps, and came scrambling up
into the stackyard. The stream might have its attractions, but they had
no wish to try a February bath in it. At the top, by the door of the
churning-shed, stood a boy of perhaps sixteen, a dark, good-looking boy,
with clear brown eyes that sparkled and twinkled like the dancing water
below. He held out a strong hand and helped them up the last of the
awkward steps.
"Dr. Tremayne sent me to look for you," he volunteered, "and a hunt I've
had. I thought you must have gone down the town. I wouldn't have found
you, only I heard your voices. He's ready to start, and in two minds
whether to set off without you or not."
"Is he waiting? Oh, I'm so sorry! Where's the car? On the road by the
front door? Can we cut across the orchard here? Oh, thanks! We won't be
two seconds," and Mavis, scrambling over a fence, made a bee-line for
the house in hot haste.
"We'd no idea it was so late," added Merle, scurrying after her with
only half a glance at the knight who had come to their rescue.
The boy stood watching their race across the orchard with an amused look
in his dark eyes, then he picked up a piece of rope and went away down
the stackyard to the stables, whistling softly to himself as he walked.
The girls arrived at the front door of the farm at the very eleventh
hour, for Dr. Tremayne had started the engine, and was on the point of
setting forth for his visits. They scrambled into the car, pouring out
breathless apologies.
"You were nearly left behind," he commented. "I've a long round and
couldn't wait, but I thought you'd like to come with me to the
Sanatorium; there's such a glorious view up there. It would have been a
pity to miss it. Yes, put that scarf round your neck, Mavis, certainly!"
as a scrimmage went on between the two girls, Merle trying to force
wraps upon her sister, which the latter fiercely resisted.
"I hate to be eternally coddled," protested Mavis.
"You know what Mother said. You must put on extra things in the car,
especially when you're so hot with running. She told me to make you."
"Right-o! only don't quite smother me, please," agreed Mavis, giving up
the struggle and submitting to the warm scarf. "Anything for a quiet
life. Do keep still, and sit more forward, can't you? Uncle David hasn't
room to drive. Are you going straight to the Sanatorium now, Uncle?"
"I must call at The Warren first to see Mrs. Glyn Williams. That's the
house, the white one among the trees. They've a beautiful sheltered
garden there. I wish I could grow early vegetables like they do. They
seem to escape all the frosts. It's the most forward bit of land in the
countryside."
In another minute they had passed the great gates and were motoring up
the laurel-bordered drive to the house. Dr. Tremayne stopped his car on
the carriage sweep opposite the glass front door, drew off his thick
gauntlet gloves, took his case of instruments, and rang the bell.
"You'd rather stay with the car than come inside?" he asked the girls.
"I shall probably be perhaps twenty minutes--not longer, I hope! Walk
about, Mavis, if you feel chilly. I'm sure Mrs.----" but at that moment
the butler opened the door, and the rest of the doctor's sentence went
unspoken.
For a space of five minutes the Ramsays stayed quietly in the car, then
Merle began to grow restless. She amused herself by inspecting the
various levers.
"I could start as easily as anything," she announced airily.
"Oh, Merle, _don't_! Uncle David will be so angry if you play any of
your pranks with the car. Let us get out and walk about till he comes
back. I'm tired of sitting still."
Anxious to keep her sister away from temptation, Mavis hustled her out
of the car on to the drive, and began to pace up and down the carriage
sweep. But this did not content lively Merle. She wanted to sample the
garden.
"Uncle David was just going to tell us to go when he went indoors," she
contended, and there seemed so much truth in her argument that Mavis
yielded, though slightly against her better judgment.
It was so warm that they took off their coats and left them inside the
car, then they selected an interesting-looking path among the bushes,
and started to explore. Certainly it was a delightful garden; it had
lawns and shrubberies and flower-borders, and a brook with a rustic
bridge over it, and a glade that looked a veritable fairies'
dancing-place. Mavis and Merle were thoroughly enjoying themselves. They
were in no particular hurry, because they thought when Uncle David came
out of the house and missed them he would sound his motor-horn as a
signal for them to return. They walked on, therefore, some considerable
way along the course of the little brook. Quite suddenly they heard
voices, and from a path slightly ahead two girls turned into the glade.
The Ramsays remembered them instantly. They had been present at the
dancing-class yesterday, and it was indeed the elder of them who had
behaved with such extreme rudeness to Merle in the ladies' chain. The
recognition seemed to be mutual. They came forward briskly towards Mavis
and Merle, who stood still, feeling decidedly caught, but determined to
hold their own.
"Hello! What are you doing here in our garden?" began the elder girl
inhospitably.
"Looking at your flowers," answered Merle.
"Well, I must say that's rather cool. Don't you know you're
trespassing?"
"No, I don't!"
"Well, you are at any rate. These are private grounds."
"So I suppose, but we're not doing them any harm by walking round them."
"Oh, Merle, _do_ let us explain properly," put in Mavis, trying to stop
this unseemly fencing. "We came with our uncle, Dr. Tremayne, and we got
tired of sitting in the car waiting for him, so we took a walk. We
didn't think anyone would mind."
"Is Dr. Tremayne your uncle? Why didn't you say so before?"
"You never gave us a chance!" snapped Merle. "Of course he's our uncle.
There goes his hooter. We must scoot back, because he'll be in a hurry
to start."
"I can show you a short cut," volunteered the younger girl, speaking for
the first time, and running in front she led the way, between bushes and
through a vegetable garden, back to the carriage sweep opposite the
front door.
Here Dr. Tremayne was hooting loudly to recall his wandering nieces, and
looked not a little relieved at their appearance.
"I thought I'd lost you again," he said, as they came up. "So you've
been making friends with Babbie? Where's Gwen? Is her wrist better? I
wanted to look at it. Yes, fetch her, please, Babbie! I may as well see
her while I'm here."
Mavis and Merle, with eyes fixed on the distant landscape, sat in the
car while Dr. Tremayne made a hurried examination of Gwen Williams's
wrist. They did not look in her direction as they drove away, though
they nodded a stately good-bye to Babbie.
"Think of meeting _that_ girl here," whispered Merle to Mavis. "Isn't
she odious?"
"I wish we'd never gone into their garden," Mavis whispered back. "If
there's anything in the world I hate it's being caught."
The brief episode had upset them both. They did not care to explain it
to Uncle David, and sat rather silent and glum as he drove up the road
to the Sanatorium. It was not flattering to have been taken for
trespassing trippers, which was evidently what Gwen had supposed them to
be. Her reception had certainly been most impolite, and was calculated
to hurt anybody's feelings. They cheered up a little when they reached
the top of the hill, and began to forget about it, for in front lay such
a view of cliff and sea and sky as to send all cobwebs flying away to
the region where dismal things belong. The Sanatorium had been built in
a glorious situation, and surely no place in Devon had a more beautiful
prospect from its open windows. Dr. Tremayne halted outside the gate for
a few moments, and pointed out to his nieces certain distant features of
interest, such as the lighthouse, and Port Sennen harbour. He was
expatiating upon the clearness of the afternoon, when a voice called him
by name, and, turning round, the girls saw, hurrying along the road
after them, the boy who had helped them up the steps from the waterwheel
at Grimbal's Farm. His dark face looked hot. He had evidently been
running fast.
"I hoped I'd just catch you, Doctor," he exclaimed breathlessly. "You
left this in the surgery, and I was sure you'd want it."
"My stethoscope! Great Scott! I thought it was in my pocket. Thanks,
Bevis! I should have had to go back for it. I suppose you came by the
cliff path?"
"Yes, it saves half a mile at least."
"You're going home that way? I wonder if my nieces would care to go with
you for the sake of the walk. Girls, would you rather wait in the car
outside the Sanatorium or try the path along the cliffs to Chagmouth?
Bevis would act guide."
After their previous experience of waiting for Uncle David, Mavis and
Merle did not hesitate a moment, and accepted their escort with
alacrity. A ramble would be far more fun than sitting still in the car,
or wandering surreptitiously round a strange garden. Dr. Tremayne was in
a hurry, so the moment they had scrambled out he pulled his
starting-lever and set off again.
"We'll meet at the farm. Mrs. Penruddock will give you some tea. I shall
be back by five, so be ready for me then," he called, as he drove away
along the road through the Sanatorium grounds.
Left behind, Mavis and Merle felt their first and most obvious duty was
to make friends with the boy who was to act as their guide back to
Chagmouth. Beyond the fact that his name was Bevis they knew absolutely
nothing about him. They wondered whether he belonged to Grimbal's Farm,
or was merely a visitor there. His dark, alert face and his speech and
general bearing marked him as utterly different from homely Mr. and Mrs.
Penruddock. Merle, calling up a mental vision of the stout, ruddy-haired
woman who had charge of the surgery, and the slow, heavy-featured farmer
whom she had seen in the stackyard, decided hastily, "They can't be his
father and mother!" Whoever he might be he was a handsome boy, with a
look of natural distinction about him, that "stamp of the gods", which
is the hall-mark of a noble mind, quite irrespective of the accident of
birth. His dark hair had a crisp curl in it, and his mouth held
beautiful curves when he smiled. Merle, who had lately taken several
violent prejudices, in this instance decided hotly in his favour. Merle
never liked people by halves. All her world consisted of foes or chums.
Bevis, who had readily accepted the office of guide, seemed doing his
best to make himself agreeable. He led the way along a path across some
fields and on to the headland that skirted the sea. There was a track
here among the gorse and dead bracken, so faint indeed that the girls
would not have found it for themselves, though Bevis walked along
confidently. Below them lay the sea, and great jagged rocks, round which
crowds of gulls were whirling and calling, and here and there flew a
cormorant, like a black sheep among the white flock, diving occasionally
under the waves in quest of fish. There could hardly be a pleasanter
companion than Bevis. He knew the names of all the birds, and could tell
where he had found their nests. He pointed out two distant black specks,
that to the girls might have been anything, but which he assured them
represented a pair of choughs that built every year on the cliffs.
"We tried to get some eggs," he explained, "but the nest was in such an
awkward place, we couldn't reach it even with a rope."
"Do you mean to tell me you'd let yourself dangle over the edge there to
collect eggs?" asked Mavis. "Don't you turn dizzy?"
"Not a bit. As long as I know the rope isn't frayed, I'm all right.
There's something rather jolly about hanging in mid-air. I feel like a
bird myself. I once got a hooded crow's egg from that cliff over there.
I gave it to our school museum."
"Do you go to school near here?" asked Merle, hoping to draw some
information. But Bevis shook his head.
"I've left now," he said briefly, and changed the subject.
As they neared Chagmouth the track they had followed led them down the
side of the cliff to where some allotment gardens lay under the shelter
of the headland. Many of these were neglected and uncultivated, but a
few showed signs of recent digging. Bevis, pausing by a small wooden
gate, pointed downwards.
"That's ours," he explained, "and if you don't mind I want to fetch my
knife. I believe I left it there yesterday when I was working. I won't
be a minute if you can wait."
"Oh, do let us come too, please!" urged the girls.
So they all went down, scrambling along a kind of sheep track till they
reached the level patch of rich soil below. The little plot of land was
mostly devoted to vegetables, but it also held a few fruit-trees and
some flowers. There was a fallen stump in its midst, which made a
capital seat, and here the girls settled themselves to rest while Bevis
looked for his knife. Snowdrops grew in profusion around them, lifting
tall stalks and pure white heads above the herbage through which they
had pushed. The late afternoon sun just touched the roofs of the little
fishing-town below, though the beach lay in shadow. Up among the woods
some glass windows gleamed like gold.
"Is that The Warren, where we went with Uncle David?" asked Merle, as
Bevis came back, pocketing his knife. "Whose place is it? It has lovely
grounds."
"Yes, that's The Warren sure enough. Whose place is it? Why, it belongs
to General Talland. He's the landlord of most of Chagmouth."
"I thought some people named Williams lived there?"
"So they do, but they don't own the village, however much they may think
it. They only _rent_ the house--it's not theirs. We Chagmouth folks
don't want one of your fine society squires thrust down our throats.
We'll manage our own affairs."
Bevis spoke bitterly, with a look towards the house on the wooded hill
that sent no goodwill towards its occupants. Merle, burning to relate
her experiences at The Warren, was about to ask more, but Bevis turned
abruptly away. He was friendly, but so plainly reserved that nobody with
an ounce of tact would have tried to force his confidence. Even Merle,
not usually over-discreet, had the sense to keep back the dozen
questions that rose to her lips. Their companion was bending among the
grass and brambles picking snowdrops. He gathered the finest ones, with
the longest stalks, arranged them into two exactly equal bunches, then
offered them shyly to the girls.
"We call them 'Fair Maids of February' about here," he said. "It's the
first of February to-day, and you're the 'fair maids', so you ought to
have some of your own flowers if you care to take them."
"Oh, thanks!" (Mavis and Merle were flattered by the compliment). "We'll
love to have them. We'll take them home in the car. What beauties they
are! I never saw such big ones before. Did you plant them here?"
"I put a few bulbs down years ago, and they've spread. They will if you
never touch them. Shall we go on now? Mother'll have some tea ready for
you, I expect. The Doctor generally gets his at the Sanatorium. I
promised to make up some medicines for him, so I must hurry back."
The girls followed, considerably mystified. Bevis's connection with
Grimbal's Farm was a puzzle. He left them in the stackyard and plunged
into one of the barns, and later on they caught a glimpse of his dark,
curly head through the door of the dispensary. They did not see him
again before they left. Mrs. Penruddock, kind but too busy for
conversation, brought the tray into the parlour and left them to have
their tea, and they had scarcely finished eating saffron-cake and
hard-bake when Dr. Tremayne arrived, in a violent hurry to get back to
Durracombe. So they scrambled into their coats and wraps, picked up
their bunches of snowdrops, and took their seats in the car, and next
moment they were off up the steep hill that led out of the ravine.
Before they whirled round the corner they turned their heads for one
last peep at Chagmouth. The little town lay huddled in twilight, and the
sea behind was dim as the sky, but the brook purred joyously on its
pebbly course among the gardens, and the faint scent of burning
driftwood was wafted up from below.
"This day's going to be specially marked in my diary," murmured Merle.
"It's been a day of days."
"I feel somehow as if it were the beginning of something else," answered
Mavis. "Uncle David, you'll bring us here again, won't you?"
"Any Saturday that's fine."
"Then I shall simply live for fine Saturdays and Chagmouth. It's the
loveliest place I've ever seen. I don't believe there's anything else
like it in the whole of the wide world, or anywhere else out of
Paradise. That's how I feel about it!"