The Floral Festival
Bevis pulled round after all. As Dr. Tremayne had said, he had youth
and a strong constitution on his side. The new method of treatment
seemed a miracle, and perhaps also the interview with Tudor, by settling
the disturbance in his mind, allowed the medicines to have a fair
chance. Nature reasserted herself, drove out baneful microbes, and set
that wonderful instrument of hers, the human body, once more in working
order. As soon as the fever left him Bevis picked up very fast. There
was so much to get well for. The papers, hidden away so long in Mrs.
Jarvis's cottage, established without a doubt his claim to the Talland
property, and when the necessary formalities could be gone through he
would become its legal owner. Naturally the affair was the talk of
Chagmouth, and Bevis would have been overwhelmed with visitors and
congratulations had not Mrs. Penruddock acted dragon, and kept away all
callers except those who had a special permit from the Doctor. Under her
excellent nursing he gained strength rapidly, and by the time St.
Gervan's Day came round he looked almost his old self again. The floral
festival held every year in honour of the patron saint of Chagmouth was
an extremely ancient custom dating back probably to dim ages before the
dawn of history. The antiquarians of the neighbourhood said it was
either a survival from the Romans, or more likely still a relic of
Druidism and sun worship. Christianity, finding pagan rites had always
heralded the beginning of the summer, had adopted the feast and
dedicated it to St. Gervan, an obscure Cornish missionary whose very
legend was forgotten. Nothing is so persistent, however, as the survival
of an old village fete, and for hundreds of years Chagmouth people, when
the anniversary occurred, had decked their boats with flowers, and rowed
across the harbour, and round the point to the little old church on the
rock. Ages ago Druids had no doubt invoked the heavens to send
favourable harvests, in mediaeval times the parish priest had probably
blessed the fishing boats according to the custom which still obtains at
a few places in Brittany, but these points in the old ceremony were now
lost, and it had simply become a village holiday. It is likely enough
that in these modern times, when few are given to sentiment, the whole
thing would have fallen into disuse, had not the Vicar had the happy
idea of combining with it a memorial service for those who had "passed
on" in the Great War. Chagmouth people might smile at saints' days, and
ask who St. Gervan had been, but they remembered their own boys, and
would take wreaths to lay round the Celtic cross that had been erected
in the little churchyard.
Mavis and Merle were very anxious to see the floral festival, and
though the Easter vacation was over, and school had begun again at The
Moorings, they were allowed a special holiday for the purpose. That was
Mother's doing. She had come to Durracombe with Father for Easter, and
had stayed on for some weeks because Aunt Nellie was not very well, and
needed extra care. On St. Gervan's day she hired a car from the hotel,
and drove over to Chagmouth with the girls in order that they might all
see the interesting ceremony. It was years since Mrs. Ramsay had been in
the little town, and she was delighted to renew her acquaintance with
it. To-day it was entirely _en fete_. Everybody was down by the quay
side, where rowing boats of every description were ready in the harbour.
The veriest old cockleshells had been patched up for the occasion, and
there were also some motor-launches, and a small pleasure steamer which
had made the trip from Port Sennen. All local boats were beautifully
decorated with flags and with boughs of lilac or branches of pink
hawthorn, and garlands of all kinds of gay cottage blossoms, May tulips,
wallflowers, pansies, forget-me-nots, double daisies, pinks, or
campanulas. There was great competition in the decorations. The school
children had special boats to themselves, and proudly held up banners
and little staves upon which were tied round bunches of flowers and
flying ribbons. The Provident Societies also had their boats and their
banners, and their members wore nosegays in their button-holes.
The Ramsays had been offered places in Mr. Penruddock's boat, and they
walked along the quay side to where she was moored. It was really a
beautiful and very quaint scene, the harbour with its green, lapping
water looking for once like a field of flowers, and the flocks of
seagulls wheeling overhead and screaming at the unwonted sight. _The
Dinah_, an old tub that belonged to Grimbal's Farm, had been made
unwontedly smart for the occasion with a coat of fresh paint. Boughs of
white lilac, wreaths of early roses, forget-me-nots, globe flowers, and
starry clematis had fashioned it into quite a bower, the Union Jack
fluttered in the stern, and rugs were spread over the seats.
The bell in the little church of St. Gervan's was clanging loudly, and
people were beginning to get into their various craft, and push away
across the harbour. Merle was carrying her camera, and was busy taking
snap-shots of the interesting scene. Mavis, who had leanings towards
art, had brought her sketch-book and jotted down impressions in
black-lead pencil. For the sake of everybody it was a mercy that the
weather, which had been behaving badly of late, held up and gave bursts
of brilliant sunshine. It was only a short row from the quay to the old
church. The congregation disembarked at a jetty, moored their boats, and
climbed the eighty-seven stone steps that led steeply upward. To-day the
usually neglected place had been made to look wonderfully spick and
span. The grass had been mown between the graves and round the soldiers'
monument, where people were already piling up wreaths, floral crosses,
and bunches of blossoms. The tower still lacked its coping, and the
doorway had sunk yet more, but the windows had been cleaned, and all
cobwebs were swept away. Inside the church was decked with beautiful
flowers, arum lilies, and roses, and pale-pink peonies and bush lupins,
and many lovely half-exotic plants from the gardens of The Warren and
the Vicarage. People were taking their places on the old oak benches.
The Ramsays went into a seat half-way down the nave, exactly behind the
Glyn Williamses, who had arrived in a body, governess and all. Bevis was
about to follow when the Vicar came up to him, and after a short
whispered conversation motioned him into the Talland family pew. It was
Bevis's first visit to church since his illness, and to the whole
congregation the Vicar's act seemed a public acknowledgment of the boy's
new position in Chagmouth. He flushed scarlet, hesitated a moment, then
stepped forward and took his place with a quiet dignity which became
both himself and the occasion.
The short service was very simple, partly a thanksgiving, and partly a
memorial to those who had given their lives for their country.
Through the open door came the sound of the lap of waves and the
screaming of gulls.
"They that go down to the sea in ships," ran the Vicar's text, "that do
business in great waters: these see the works of the Lord and His
wonders in the deep."
To Mavis the sunlight and the scent of the flowers and the prayers all
seemed blended together into one beautiful picturesque whole, that
joined ancient and modern and the living and the dead, and united those
who worshipped with their rough forefathers who had carved those quaint
bench ends, or those figures of the saints with the colourings of red,
and blue, and gold.
As Bevis left the cool, flower-decked church, and stepped through the
doorway into the sunshine, the very first person to greet him was Tudor
Williams. The two boys gripped hands heartily, and without a trace of
any former resentment.
"I believe they'll be friends now," said Mavis, as she talked the matter
over with Merle afterwards. "I was afraid the Glyn Williamses would be
bitterly disappointed at the prospect of having to give up The Warren
some day to Bevis, but Tudor never cared much for Chagmouth, and what do
you think Gwen told me just as we were starting back in our boat? Why,
that her father had the offer of Godoran Hall, and all the property and
shooting, and he means to buy it, and go and live there. It will be more
convenient for them close to Port Sennen, and it's a lovely place."
"Oh, hooray! Perhaps they'll ask us to go and see them there sometimes.
I hated them at one time, but I'd be sorry now if I never saw them
again. Funny how one turns round, isn't it?"
"I never believe much in your violent hatreds," laughed Mavis. "You
generally like people in the end."
"Well, I liked Bevis in the beginning."
"So did I. I've always felt what Jessop said about him was true, he's a
'gentleman-born'! I don't mean that he's better than other people just
because he's a Talland and owns the estate, but always, when he was
quite poor and people jeered at him and called him a nobody, he behaved
like a true gentleman. He stuck to Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock and helped
them, though he hated the work on the farm, and he never spoke roughly
and rudely like some of the boys about Chagmouth. He loves books and
natural history and all those nice kinds of things, and he wanted to go
on studying, and yet he didn't shirk a scrap at ploughing, and cutting
hedges, and feeding the poultry. I'm sure if any one in this world
deserves his good luck it's Bevis."
The girls had been uncertain whether they were to go home with Father
and Mother to Whinburn after Easter or stay in Devon, but Dr. Ramsay had
declared that the improvement in Mavis's health was so marvellous that
the experiment was worth continuing.
"You look a different child," he said. "We'll leave you at Durracombe
for another term at any rate."
"And what about the next term after that?" asked Mavis. "It will be
autumn then, and very cold at Whinburn."
"That's a problem that needs carefully thinking out," answered Dr.
Ramsay diplomatically.
He would say nothing further at the time, but later on, before she
returned north, Mrs. Ramsay had a secret to tell to Mavis and Merle.
"How would you like to live always at Durracombe?" she asked them.
"Always? Oh, Mummie! I'd adore it, if only it weren't for you and
Daddy."
"We've missed you loads, Muvvie darling!"
"But suppose we were here, too?"
"Here! All the time?"
Then Mother, very proudly, revealed her great piece of news.
"Father is going to help with the practice. Uncle David has too much
work, and wants somebody to take part of it off his hands. He and Father
will go into partnership as soon as we can sell the practice at
Whinburn. We shall all live here at Bridge House. It's a splendid
arrangement, because then I can take care of Aunt Nellie. She's such an
invalid now that she needs constant nursing. Jessop wants to leave and
keep house for a brother, who is a widower, and Aunt Nellie would be
lost without Jessop, unless she had me to look after her instead. Don't
you think it's a lovely plan?"
"Lovely! It's absolutely splendiferous!"
"And if Daddy brings the Ford car down here I can drive it for him,"
sparkled Merle.
"We'll see about that; you wouldn't have had that wild motoring
expedition if I had been on the spot, you young madcap!"
"But I fetched Mrs. Jarvis, and if I hadn't she might never have known
it was her own son at the hospital, and then she wouldn't have told
about the papers, and Bevis would never have got the Talland property.
It's like the story of the old woman and her pig: the fire began to burn
the stick, and the stick began to beat the dog, and the dog began to
bite the pig, and the pig jumped over the stile, and she got home at
last. We did Bevis a good turn when we tore over to Chagmouth that
evening, didn't we, Mavis?"
"Rather! Though we didn't guess it at the time."
"So 'Whinburn High' will know us no more. Well, we've settled down quite
comfortably at The Moorings. It's rather a decent school now Opal has
gone."
"I hope it will improve very much," said Mrs. Ramsay. "Miss Pollard
tells me that in September she's going to have a first-class English
teacher, a B.A. with plenty of experience, who will run the school on
new lines. Funnily enough, it happens to be Eve Mitchell, who was
educated at St. Cyprian's College, Cousin Sheila's old school. I've
often heard her talk about Eve. _She_'ll soon reorganize The Moorings.
They have such a splendid record at St. Cyprian's for games and musical
societies, and literary clubs, and nature-study unions, and all the rest
of it. It was a school in a thousand, according to Sheila. Miss Pollard
has the promise of ever so many fresh boarders, elder girls, not little
ones. The climate of Durracombe is getting quite a reputation, I hear,
and specially suits anyone who has been born in India. If the numbers
increase so much, particularly in the upper forms, it will give the
school a far better opportunity in every way, especially in games."
"Hooray," exulted Merle joyfully. "That's the one thing where The
Moorings has been really slack. We could do nothing with only that crowd
of kids. But with girls of our own age, and a mistress from St.
Cyprian's, we ought to forge ahead now, and have topping times. I'm
looking forward to the September term."
"And yet I loved the last one," said Mavis. "I feel nothing will ever
quite come up to my first peep at Devonshire, and those Saturdays at
Chagmouth. It was like seeing a new world. It's been a first impression,
a fresh experience, a gorgeous spring, an idyllic few months--what else
can I call it?"
"Call it a very fortunate term," finished Merle.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Punctuation has been made consistent.
The use of "The Glyn Williams" and "The Glyn Williamses", and
spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in
the original publication except as follows:
Page 168 to take you a walk _changed to_
to take you for a walk
Page 199 had brought a thermos flash _changed to_
had brought a thermos flask