"Don't croak, Mary Morris. Out with the chickens, lay the ham in this
corner, and the cherries will make a picturesque pile in the middle.
Twelve meringues in all, that means a meringue and a half each. We
shall have some difficulty in dividing. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how hungry
I am! I was far too excited to eat anything at supper-time."
"So was I," said Phyllis, coming up and pressing close to Annie. "I do
think Miss Danesbury cuts the bread and butter too thick--don't you,
Annie? I could not eat mine at all, to-night, and Cecil Temple asked me
if I was not well."
"Those who don't want chicken hold up their hands," here interrupted
Annie, who had tossed her brown cap on the grass, and between whose
brows a faint frown had passed for an instant at the mention of Cecil's
name.
The feast now began in earnest, and silence reigned for a short time,
broken only by the clatter of plates, and such an occasional remark as
"Pass the salt, please," "Pepper this way, if you've no objection," "How
good chicken tastes in fairy-land," etc. At last the ginger-beer
bottles began to pop--the girl's first hunger was appeased. Rover
gladly crunched up all the bones, and conversation flowed once more,
accompanied by the delicate diversion of taking alternate bites at
meringues and cheesecakes.
"I wish the fairies would come out," said Annie.
"Oh, don't!" shivered Phyllis, looking round her nervously.
"Annie, darling, do tell us a ghost story," cried several voices.
Annie laughed, and commenced a series of nonsense tales, all of a
slightly eerie character, which she made up on the spot.
The moon riding high in the heavens looked down on the young giddy
heads, and their laughter, naughty as they were, sounded sweet in the
night air.
Time flew quickly, and the girls suddenly discovered that they must pack
up their table-cloth and remove all traces of the feast unless they
wished the bright light of morning to discover them. They rose hastily,
sighing, and slightly depressed now that their fun was over. The white
table-cloth, no longer very white, was packed into the basket, the
ginger-beer bottles placed on top of it, and the lid fastened down. Not
a crumb of the feast remained; Rover had demolished the bones, and the
eight girls had made short work of everything else, with the exception
of the cherry-stones, which Phyllis carefully collected and popped into
a little hole in the ground.
The party then progressed slowly homewards, and once more entered the
dark wood. They were much more silent now; the wood was darker, and the
chill which foretells the dawn was making itself felt in the air.
Either the sense of cold, or a certain effect produced by Annie's
ridiculous stories, made many of the little party unduly nervous.
They had only taken a few steps through the wood when Phyllis suddenly
uttered a piercing shriek. This shriek was echoed by Nora and by Mary
Morris, and all their hearts seemed to leap into their mouths when they
saw something move among the trees. Rover uttered a growl, and, but for
Annie's detaining hand, would have sprung forward. The high-spirited
girl was not to be easily daunted.
"Behold, girls, the goblin of the woods," she exclaimed. "Quiet, Rover;
stand still."
The next instant the fears of the little party reached their culmination
when a tall, dark figure stood directly in their paths.
"If you don't let us pass at once," said Annie's voice, "I'll set Rover
at you."
The dog began to bark loudly, and quivered from head to foot.
The figure moved a little to one side, and a rather deep and slightly
dramatic voice said--
"I mean you no harm, young ladies; I'm only a gypsy-mother from the
tents yonder. You are welcome to get back to Lavender House. I have
then one course plain before me."
"Come on, girls," said Annie, now considerably frightened, while
Phyllis, and Nora, and one or two more began to sob.
"Look here, young ladies," said the gypsy in a whining voice, "I don't
mean you no harm, my pretties, and it's no affair of mine telling the
good ladies at Lavender House what I've seen. You cross my hand, dears,
each of you, with a bit of silver, and all I'll do is to tell your
pretty fortunes, and mum is the word with the gypsy-mother as far as
this night's prank is concerned."
"We had better do it, Annie--we had better do it," here sobbed Phyllis.
"If this was found out by Mrs Willis we might be expelled--we might,
indeed; and that horrid woman is sure to tell of us--I know she is."
"Quite sure to tell, dear," said the tall gypsy, dropping a curtsey in a
manner which looked frightfully sarcastic in the long shadows made by
the trees. "Quite sure to tell, and to be expelled is the very least
that could happen to such naughty little ladies. Here's a nice little
bit of clearing in the wood, and we'll all come over, and Mother Rachel
will tell your fortunes in a twinkling, and no one will be the wiser.
Sixpence apiece, my dears--only sixpence apiece."
"Oh, come; do, do come," said Nora, and the next moment they were all
standing in a circle round Mother Rachel, who pocketed her black-mail
eagerly, and repeated some gibberish over each little hand. Over
Annie's palm she lingered for a brief moment, and looked with her
penetrating eyes into the girl's face.
"You'll have suffering before you, miss; some suspicion, and danger even
to life itself. But you'll triumph, my dear, you'll triumph. You're a
plucky one, and you'll do a brave deed. There--good-night, young
ladies; you have nothing more to fear from Mother Rachel."
The tall dark figure disappeared into the blackest shadows of the wood,
and the girls, now like so many frightened hares, flew home. They
deposited their basket where Betty would find it, under the shadow of
the great laurel in the back avenue. They all bade Rover an
affectionate "good-night." Annie softly unlocked the side door, and one
by one, with their shoes in their hands, they regained their bedrooms.
They were all very tired, and very cold, and a dull fear and sense of
insecurity rested over each little heart. Suppose Mother Rachel proved
unfaithful, notwithstanding the sixpences?