107CHAPTER IXA Week on the Land
The vacations at the Grange were arranged in rather an unusual fashion, a full week’s holiday being given at Whitsuntide instead of the ordinary little break at half-term. This year Miss Gibbs, who was nothing if not patriotic, evolved a plan for the benefit of her country. She saw an advertisement in the local newspaper, stating that volunteers would soon be urgently needed to gather the strawberry crop upon a farm about fifteen miles away, and begging ladies of education to lend their services. Such a splendid opportunity of war work appealed to her. She wrote at once for particulars, and after some correspondence and a visit to the scene of action, announced her scheme to the school. She proposed that any girls who cared to devote their holidays to a useful end should join a camp of strawberry-pickers who were to be employed on the farm.
“It is being arranged by a Government bureau,” she explained, “and many people will be coming who, like ourselves, want to help to bear their country’s burdens—university students, journalists, social workers, hospital nurses, matrons of institutions, and mistresses and scholars from other108schools. We shall sleep in tents, and lead an absolutely outdoor life. It will be a healthy way of passing a week, as well as a benefit to the nation. Any girl who would like to do her share may give me her name this afternoon, and Miss Beasley will write to her parents for permission for her to join the camp.”
Outside in the quadrangle the school talked over the proposition at its leisure.
“Will they let us eat the strawberries?” asked Fauvette anxiously.
“Certainly, you little glutton!” snapped Veronica. “You’ll be allowed to stuff till you loathe the very thought of swallowing a strawberry. But you’ll have to pick hard and do your share, or they’ll turn you off!”
The monitresses were fired with the idea, and all, except Linda, had decided to “do their bit.” Their enthusiasm spread downward like a wave. Before the day was over, eighteen girls had given in their names as volunteers, Raymonde, Morvyth, Katherine, and Aveline being among the number.
“I would like to have joined you, really!” protested Fauvette, “only I know I’ll be so dreadfully home-sick all the rest of the term if I don’t go home, and––”
“Don’t apologize, child!” interrupted Raymonde. “Nobody in their senses expects you to go. You’d be a huge embarrassment to the rest of us. Blue-eyed darlings, all baby-ribbon and fluffy hair, aren’t meant for hard work. Why, you’d pick about six strawberries in an hour, and eat three-quarters of them! Go home and be petted, by all means! We don’t want you weeping yourself to sleep at night,109it disturbs the dormitory. The country’ll survive without your services!”
Raymonde’s harum-scarum mind was for once really filled with a wish to help. She meant to do her full share of work. Also she was determined to enjoy herself. The prospect of camp-life was alluring. There was a gipsy smack about it that satisfied her unconventional instincts. It seemed almost next door to campaigning.
“If I’d only been a boy, I’d have run away to the front long ago!” she announced.
“Girls have their own chances in life as well as boys now,” said Hermie. “Wait till you’ve finished with school, then you must try to find your niche in the world. There’s plenty of pioneer work for women to do yet. They haven’t half exploited the colonies. Once we show we’re some good on the land, why shouldn’t the Government start us in co-operative farms out in New Zealand or Australia? It ought to be done systematically. Everything’s been so haphazard before. Imagine a farm all run by girls educated at our best secondary and public schools! It would be ideal. I’m yearning to try it.”
Hermie’s aspirations towards field labour and a colonial future had been greatly spurred on lately by the advent of some lady labourers on a farm near the Grange. For the last fortnight the milk had been delivered, not by the usual uncouth boy, but by a charming member of the feminine sex, attired in short smock, knickers and gaiters, and a picturesque rush hat. Hermie had entered into conversation with her, and learned that she was a clergyman’s daughter, that she milked six cows morning and evening, and went round with the110cart delivering the milk, and that she was further concerned with the care of poultry, pigs, and calves. The glamour of her experiences made Hermie wish that the Grange were full of pigs instead of pupils.
“I’d rather attend to a dozen nice little black Berkshires than act monitress to those juniors!” she sighed. “There would really be more satisfaction in it. And as for Raymonde Armitage and her set—give me young calves any day!”
Miss Gibbs was extremely busy making preparations for the expedition. The farmer undertook to provide tents for the party, and bags of hay to sleep upon, but each member must bring her own pillow, blankets, mug, knife, fork, spoon and plate, as well as her personal belongings. These latter were whittled down to the smallest capacity, for there would be little room to stow them away in the tents. Stout boots, waterproofs, and hockey caps were taken, in case the weather might change, the girls wearing their usual Panama school hats on fine days. In order to prevent difficulty with the ordinary strawberry-pickers, they were to be paid for their work according to the amount accomplished, and were each to contribute ten shillings towards the canteen, the tents being provided free.
“But suppose we don’t each earn ten shillings?” asked Daphne the cautious.
“Whoever doesn’t will have to make up the balance from her own pocket,” said Miss Gibbs. “If the ordinary pickers can pay their way, I suppose we can do the same, but it will mean sticking at it hard, and no shirking. We must show what we’re made of!”
On the Friday before Whitsun week an excited111little party of eighteen stood with bags and bundles ready to start, Miss Gibbs bustling round them like a fussy hen with a large brood of chicks, giving ever so many last directions and injunctions, which seemed rather superfluous as she was going with them, and would have them under her charge the whole time. They went by rail to Ledcombe, the nearest station to Shipley, where the strawberry gardens were situated. The scene on the platform when they arrived was certainly new and out of the common. A train had just come in from London, bringing pickers from the slums. It was labelled “Strawberry Gatherers Only,” and its cargo was lively, not to say noisy. There were elderly men, younger ones unfit for military service, women with bawling babies, girls shouting popular songs, and a swarm of turbulent children. Whole families had apparently set forth to spend a few weeks helping at the fruit harvest, combining a holiday in the country with profit to their pockets.
“We’re not going among that crew, I hope?” said Daphne, staring rather aghast at the unkempt crowd.
“Certainly not; we shall have our own quarters,” returned Miss Gibbs, marshalling her flock to the gate of exit. Drawn up outside the station were six large hay wagons, and on one of these hung a placard: “Marlowe Grange.” Miss Gibbs made for it immediately, turning out some struggling slum children who had already climbed in and taken temporary possession, and stowed the baggage inside.
“There’s plenty of room for us all,” she announced, “but you’ll each have to sit on your own112bundle. I’m glad I stipulated that they should reserve us a wagon for ourselves.”
Judging by the rabble who were swarming on to the other hay carts, the girls also considered it a cause for rejoicing. Their own vehicle started first, and began to jolt slowly down the country road, its occupants sitting as steadily as they could on their knobbly luggage, and indulging in decidedly feminine squeals when, as often happened, an extra hard jog threw them together. After four miles of this rather exciting journey they reached the farm. Their driver stopped at a gate, and, pointing across a field to some tents, indicated that this was their destination. He could take them no nearer, and they must convey their own bags and bundles over the pasture.
Hauling their own luggage with them was no light task, and they were heartily tired of their burdens before they reached the tents. Three of these, labelled Marlowe Grange, they appropriated; then Miss Gibbs, after a brief confabulation with the canteen matron, beckoned to her flock.
“I hear we must go at once and secure first pick of the hay sacks,” she said. “Come along, all of you!”
Over three more fields and two stiles they came to the farm buildings, where, spread out on hurdles, were a number of large sacks, mercifully clean. An individual in charge, wearing a faded blue suit and a two days’ growth of stubbly beard, told them briefly to help themselves, and then take their sacks to the barn and fill them with hay. Preparing their own mattresses was a new experience, but an amusing one. It was fun stuffing the sweet-smelling113hay into the rough canvas bags, and more fun still carrying the bulky bedding back over fields and stiles to the tents. Here, amid a chaos of unpacking, they at last disposed their belongings to their satisfaction.
Their special little colony consisted of nine tents and a marquee for meals. It was in charge of a matron, who directed the canteen, and was responsible for the comfort and order of the camp. In each tent hung a list of rules respecting hours of rising and going to bed, meals, and general conduct. As there was no servant except the cook, the task of washing up must be shared by all in rotation, the matron having authority to apportion the work. No lights or talking were to be allowed after 10.30 p.m.
By the time the girls had settled all their possessions it was seven o’clock, and the rest of the camp returned from the strawberry fields. Supper was served in the marquee, everybody sitting on benches round wooden tables without cloths. The company proved pleasant and congenial; there were fifty in all, including some students from Ludminster University, and eight girls and two teachers from a secondary school at Tadbury. The slum party, it seemed, were lodged in the big barns behind the farm, while some caravans of gipsy pickers had possession of a corner of a field some distance away.
Supper finished, most of the workers sat about and rested. A few, possessed of superfluous energy, took a walk to the village a mile off, but the generality were very tired. A gramophone in the marquee blared away at popular songs, and the114more lively spirits joined in the choruses; one or two even attempted to dance on the grass. Miss Gibbs had already struck up a friendship with a lady journalist, and some of the girls began to make overtures to the Tadbury scholars, who looked rather a jolly little set. Everybody retired early, as they would have to be up at 5.30, and in the fields by seven.
The Marlowe Grange contingent were much exercised as to the best way to place their mattresses. They did not know whether to sleep with their heads or their feet to the tent-pole, and finally decided in favour of the former. Going to bed was a funny business in so very small a space, with no chairs or places to put clothes down, and only one tin basin amongst six to wash in. It was funnier still when they attempted to lie down on their mattresses. A bag stuffed with hay is so round that it is very difficult to keep upon it without rolling off, and there was much pommelling and flattening before the beds were at all tenable. At last everyone was settled, the lights were out, and the campers, rolled in their blankets, tried to compose themselves to sleep.
Raymonde, whose billet was opposite the door of the tent, could see out, and watch the stars shining. She lay awake a long time, with her eyes fixed on a bright planet that moved across the little horizon of sky visible to her, till it passed out of sight, and at length she too slept.
115CHAPTER XThe Campers
Life began at the camp soon after 5 a.m., when the more energetic spirits tumbled off their hay sacks, flung on dressing-gowns, and scrambled for turns at the bath tent. Fetching water for the day was the first business of the morning, and those on bucket duty trotted off to the stream, two fields away, joking and making fun as they went, but returning more soberly with the heavy pails. The 6.15 breakfast tasted delicious after their early outing, and most of the workers seemed in good spirits. By seven o’clock the whole party were down in the gardens. The Marlowe Grange girls had never seen strawberries by the acre before, and they were amazed, almost daunted, at the sight of the vast quantity of fruit that must be gathered. They were told off to a certain portion of the field, given baskets, and shown where to bring them when full. Each novice, for the first day, was expected to work near an experienced hand, who could show her what was required, as the picking, though quick, must be careful, so as not to bruise the strawberries. Raymonde and Morvyth found themselves under the wing of a Social Settlement secretary, a business-like dame who had picked116the previous summer, and understood the swiftest methods. Close by, they could hear Miss Gibbs being instructed by the lady journalist, with whom she had apparently cemented a friendship.
It was a point of honour to fill the baskets with the utmost possible speed, and everybody worked steadily. There was no rule against eating the fruit, but the pay was according to the number of baskets handed in, so that shirkers would find themselves unable to earn their keep. It was a rather back-breaking employment, but otherwise pleasant, for the day was fine, the larks were singing, and wild roses and honeysuckle bloomed in the hedgerows. The slum pickers at the other side of the field toiled away with practised fingers. Many of them came every year, and would return in September for the hop harvest. The small children played under the hedge and took charge of the babies, who cried and slept alternately, poor little souls! without receiving much attention from the hardworking mothers.
The slum contingent was a subject of much amusement and curiosity to the Marlowe Grange platoon. Though they occupied different portions of the field, they would meet when they went to deliver baskets. The rollicking good nature and repartees of some of these people, especially of the gipsies, were often very funny. They would chaff the agent who registered their scores, with a considerable power of humour, and the Grange girls, waiting in line for their turns, would chuckle as they overheard the conversations.
At eleven everybody ate lunch which they had brought with them, then worked till one, when they117returned to the camp for dinner. Picking went on again from two till six, with an interval at four o’clock for tea, which was brought down to the gardens in large cans, and poured into the workers’ own mugs. It was almost the most acceptable meal of the day, taken sitting under the hedge, with the scent of roses in the air, and the summer sunshine falling across the fields.
By the end of the first evening, the Grange girls decided that, though they wished they had cast-iron backs, the experience on the whole was great fun. They liked the camp life, and even their hay-sack beds.
“I vote we don’t sleep with our heads to the tent-pole to-night, though,” said Raymonde. “You flung out your arms, Morvyth, and gave me such a whack across the face! I wonder I haven’t a black eye. Let’s turn the other way, with our feet to the pole.”
“Right you are! I’m so sleepy, I don’t mind which end up I am, if I can only shut my eyes!” conceded Katherine, yawning lustily.
“I shan’t need rocking, either,” agreed Morvyth.
Perched on her hay-bag, Raymonde was very soon in the land of Nod. She was dreaming a confused jumble about Miss Gibbs and gipsies and strawberries, when she suddenly awoke with a strong impression that someone was pulling her hair. She sat up, feeling rather scared. The tent was perfectly quiet. The other girls lay asleep, each on her own sack with her feet to the central pole.
“I must have dreamt it!” thought Raymonde, settling down again.118
She had scarcely closed her eyes, however, before she heard a curious noise in the vicinity of her ear, and something unmistakably gave her plait a violent wrench. She started up with a yell, in time to see an enormous head withdraw itself from the tent door. A clatter of hoofs followed.
“What’s the matter?” cried the girls, waking at the disturbance; and “What is it?” exclaimed Miss Gibbs, aroused also, and hurrying in from the next-door tent. But Raymonde was laughing.
“I’ve had the fright of my life!” she announced. “I thought a bogy or a kelpie was devouring me, but it was only Dandy, the old pony. He stuck his head round the tent door, and mistook my hair for a mouthful of grass, the wretch!”
“I’ve seen him feeding near the tents before,” said Valentine. “There’s some particular sort of grass here that he specially likes. It’s rather the limit, though, to have him coming inside!”
“He oughtn’t to be allowed in this field at night,” declared Miss Gibbs. “I shall speak to Mr. Cox, and ask to have him put in another pasture. We can’t close our tent doors, or we should be suffocated. I hope we shan’t have any other nocturnal visitors! It’s a good thing we have no valuables with us. I don’t trust those gipsies.”
Miss Gibbs’s fears turned out to be only too well founded, for, on the morning but one following, there was a hue and cry in the camp. The larder had been raided during the night, and all the provisions stolen. The canteen matron and the cook were in despair, as nothing was left for breakfast, and the workers would have gone hungry, had not119a deputation of them visited the farm, and begged sufficient bread and jam to provide a meal.
“A lovely ham gone, and four pounds of butter, and a joint of cold beef, and all the bread!” mourned the distracted matron. “I shall have to go in to Ledcombe again this morning for fresh supplies, and I believe Mr. Cox wants the pony himself.”
“We ought to be able to track the thieves,” said Miss Gibbs firmly. “There should be an inspection at lunch-time, and anyone seen eating ham should be under suspicion.”
“They’d be far too clever to eat it publicly,” objected Miss Hoyle, the lady journalist. “Gipsies are an uncommonly tricky set. They probably had a midnight feast, and finished the last crumb of our provisions before daybreak. We shall get no satisfaction from Mr. Cox. He’ll say he’s not responsible.”
“Then we must take precautions that it doesn’t happen again,” decreed Miss Gibbs. “Isn’t it possible to procure a lock-up meat safe? I never heard of a camp being without one.”
“Perhaps you haven’t had much experience,” remarked the canteen matron icily. She thought Miss Gibbs “bossy” and interfering, and considered that she knew her own business best, without suggestions from outsiders.
The Grange girls chuckled inwardly to hear their teacher thus snubbed. They hoped a retort and even a wrangle might follow; but Miss Gibbs had too much common sense, and, restraining herself, stalked away with as unconcerned an aspect as possible.120
“Look here, old sport!” whispered Raymonde to Morvyth, “somebody ought to take this matter up. I consider it’s a job for us. Let’s watch to-night, and see if we can’t catch the prowling sneaks. Are you game?”
“Rather! It’s a blossomy idea, only don’t let Gibbie get wind of it.”
“Do I ever go and tell Gibbie my jinky little plans? It’s not this child’s usual way of proceeding.”
Raymonde and Morvyth had intended to run this little expedition “on their own,” but in the end they were obliged to let the rest of the tent into the secret, as it was impossible to go to bed fully dressed without exciting comment. Their comrades refused to be left out, so it was decided that all six, under Raymonde’s leadership, should mount guard over the larder. They drew their blankets up to their noses, and pretended to be very sleepy when Miss Gibbs came to take a last look at them before retiring. Apparently she noticed nothing unusual, for she only glanced quickly round, and went softly away. The self-constituted sentries allowed nearly an hour to pass before they dared to venture forth. Until that time the camp was not really quiet. The university students were a lively set, apt to keep up their fun late, and the secondary school girls often talked persistently, to the annoyance of their neighbours. At last, however, all lights were out, and a profound silence reigned. Not even an owl hooted to-night, and, as Dandy had been banished from the field, even his crunching of the grass was absent. Raymonde crept from her blankets and listened. Her companions, to judge121from their breathing, were sound asleep. She felt much tempted to awaken only Morvyth, but she knew that if she omitted to call the others, their reproaches next morning would be too unbearable. So she roused the five. Taking torchlights, ready but not switched on, they stole from the tent towards the scene of action.
The larder was only a portion of the marquee curtained off, so it was really an easy prey for marauders. The girls could not quite decide where would be their best post for sentry duty; whether to dispose themselves in positions outside, or to keep guard within the tent. As it was rather a cold night, they plumped for the latter. Cautiously as Indians on the war trail, they crept across the marquee towards the farther corner where the stores were kept. Raymonde, as leader, went first, with her body-guard in close attendance behind her. Very, very gently she drew back the curtains and entered the larder. It was pitch-dark in here, and she began to grope her way along the wall. Then she stopped, for in front of her she fancied she heard breathing. She listened—all was silent. She started again, intending to go to the far side of the table. She put out her hand to guide herself, and came in contact with something warm and soft, like human flesh. In spite of herself she could not suppress an exclamation. It was too horrible, actually to touch a burglar! She had not bargained to find one already in possession of the larder. Instantly the girls behind her flashed on their torchlights, and the little sentry party found themselves confronted with—Miss Gibbs!
Yes, it was Miss Gibbs, crouching down near122the table with Miss Hoyle, the lady journalist, close to her, both looking very determined, and ready to tackle any number of gipsy thieves. The astonishment was mutual.
“What are you doing here, girls?” asked Miss Gibbs sharply, the schoolmistress in her rising to the surface.
“Only trying to guard the larder!” faltered Raymonde.
“That’s just what we’re doing,” explained Miss Hoyle.
At that moment the matron put in an appearance. She also had been on the qui vive in defence of her stores, and hearing voices, was sure she had trapped the thieves. She had already passed on the alarm, and in a few moments, acting on a preconcerted signal, Mr. Cox and several of the farm hands burst upon the scene, ready to knock down and secure intruders. Explanations naturally followed. It seemed that nearly everyone in the camp had private and separately arranged watch parties, each unconscious of the others’ vigilance, and that all had mistaken their neighbours for burglars. No one quite knew at first whether to be annoyed or amused, but in the end humour won, and a general laugh ensued. As nobody felt disposed to spend the whole night on sentry duty, the matter was settled by Miss Corley and Miss Hoyle proposing to bring their beds and sleep in the marquee for the future.
“I wake easily, so I should hear the very faintest footstep, I’m sure,” said Miss Hoyle. “I’m going to keep a revolver under my pillow, too, and I hope you’ll spread that information all over the gardens,123and add that I’m accustomed to use it, and would as soon shoot a man as look at him.”
Whether through fear of Miss Hoyle’s bloodthirsty intentions, or with a shrewd suspicion that Mr. Cox was on the watch, the marauders did not repeat their midnight visit, and left the camp in peace. Miss Hoyle seemed almost disappointed. Being a journalist, she had perhaps hoped to make copy of the adventure, and write a sparkling column for her newspaper. The Grange girls decided that it was not the revolver, but the dread of Miss Gibbs which had scared away the gipsies.
“They’ve seen her in the fields, you know, and I should think one look would be enough,” said Morvyth. “She has a ‘Come here, my good man, and let me argue the matter out with you’ expression on her face this last day or two that should daunt the most foolhardy. If she caught a burglar she’d certainly sit him down and rub social reform and political economy into him before she let him go!”
124CHAPTER XICanteen Assistants
The many acres of strawberry gardens were situated some little distance from the camp, so that the walk backwards and forwards occupied about a quarter of an hour each way. Once work was begun, nobody returned to the tents except on some very urgent errand, as the loss of time involved would be great. A really valid excuse occurred one morning, however. Aveline missed her watch, and remembered that she had laid it on the breakfast table in the marquee. It seemed very unsafe to leave it there, so she reported the matter to Miss Gibbs, who told her to go at once and fetch it, and sent Raymonde with her, not liking her to have the walk alone. The two girls were rather glad of the excuse. They were not shirkers, but the picking made their backs tired, and the run through the fields was a welcome change. They found the watch still lying on the table in the marquee, and Aveline clasped it round her wrist.
They were leaving the tent when Miss Jones, the canteen matron, bustled in, looking so worried that they ventured to ask: “What’s the matter?”
She stopped, as if it were a relief to explode.
“Matter, indeed! You’ll have no potatoes or vegetables for your dinner, that’s all, and nothing125at all for your supper! Mrs. Harper hasn’t turned up, and I can’t leave the place with nobody about. I meant to go to Ledcombe this morning for fresh supplies, and it’s early-closing day, too, the shops will shut at one. Oh, dear! I can’t think what’s to be done! These village helps are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Mrs. Harper, the cook, had failed the camp before, taking an occasional day off, without any previous notice, to attend to her domestic affairs at home. Miss Jones knew from former experience that she would either stroll in casually about midday, or more probably would not come at all until to-morrow. In the meantime fifty people required meals, and the situation was urgent.
“Couldn’t we go to Ledcombe for you?” suggested Raymonde.
The matron’s face cleared; she jumped at the proposition.
“Geordie’s somewhere about the buildings. He’d harness the pony for you, if you can manage to drive. I’ll give you a list of what’s needed. The meat’s come, and I can put that on to stew, and get the puddings ready, and if you’ll be back by eleven there’ll be time to wash the potatoes. It’s only half-past eight now. I’ll write down all I want done.”
It was impossible to go back to the gardens and ask permission from Miss Gibbs. The girls considered that the matron’s authority was sufficient to justify the expedition, which was certainly for the benefit of the camp. Neither of them had ever handled the reins in her life before, so the drive would be a decided adventure.126
Armed with a long list of necessaries, two huge market baskets, and Miss Jones’s hand-bag containing a supply of money, they started off to the farm to find Geordie, a half-witted boy who did odd jobs about the fold-yard. After a considerable hunt through the barns they discovered him at last inside the pigsty, and bribed him with twopence to go and catch the pony. Dandy was enjoying himself in the field, and did not come readily; indeed, the girls were almost despairing before he was finally led in by his forelock. The little conveyance was a small, very old-fashioned gig, and though in its far-off youth it may have possessed a smart appearance, it was now decidedly more useful than ornamental. The varnish was worn and scratched, the cushions had been re-covered with cheap American cloth, the waterproof apron was threadbare, and one of the splash-boards was split. The harness also was of the most ancient description, and the rough pony badly needed clipping, so that the whole turn-out was deplorably shabby and second-rate.
“It’s hardly the kind of thing one would drive in round the Park!” laughed Aveline.
“Scarcely! It’s the queerest little egg-box on two wheels I’ve ever seen. But what does it matter? Nobody knows us in Ledcombe. The main point is, will it get us over the ground?”
“I wish we’d bicycles instead!”
“But we couldn’t bring back a whole cargo of stores on them. I think it’s top-hole!”
With much laughter and many little jokes the girls tucked themselves into their funny conveyance, evidently greatly to the interest of Dandy,127who turned his head anxiously as they mounted the step.
“He do be a wise ’un!” explained Geordie. “You see, sometimes Mr. Rivers takes his father-in-law, as weighs seventeen stone, and, with a calf or maybe a young pig as well, it do make a big load. Dandy don’t be one to overwork hisself. I reckon you’ll have to use the whip to he!”
Neither of the girls had even the most elementary experience of driving, but Raymonde, as the elder, and the one who in general possessed the greater amount of nerve, boldly seized the reins and armed herself with the whip. Geordie released Dandy’s head, and gave him a sounding smack as a delicate hint to depart, a proceeding which brought clouds of dust from his shaggy coat, and caused him to scramble suddenly forward, and plunge down the lane at quite an adventurous and stylish pace.
“If he won’t go, just cuss at him!” yelled Geordie as a last piece of advice.
Though Dandy might make a gallant beginning, he had no intention of breaking the record for speed, and at the end of a few hundred yards dropped into an ambling jog-trot, a form of locomotion which seemed to jolt the badly hung little gig to its uttermost.
“It’s rather a painful form of exercise!” gasped Aveline, setting her feet firmly in an attempt to avoid the jarring. “I believe something must be wrong with the springs. Can’t you make him go faster?”
“Only if I beat him; and then suppose he runs away?”
“Well, if he does, we’ll each cling on to one rein128and pull. I suppose driving is pretty much like steering a bicycle. Is the rule of the road the same?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly !”
“Well, I never can make out why it’s different for foot-passengers. Why should they go to the right, and vehicles to the left?”
“You may be certain all motors will take the middle of the road, at any rate. We shall have to be prepared to make a dash for the hedge when we hear a ‘too-hoo’ round the corner. I’ve no mind to be run over and squashed out flat!”
“Like the naughty children who teased Diogenes in an old picture-book I used to have. I always thought it was a lovely idea of his to start the tub rolling, and simply flatten them out like pancakes. I expect it’s a true incident, if we only knew. One of those things that are not historical, but so probable that you’re sure they must have happened. He’d reason it out by philosophy first, and feel it was a triumph of mind over matter. Perhaps his chuckles when he saw the result were the origin of the term ‘a cynical laugh’. The children in the picture looked so exactly like pieces of rolled pastry when the tub had done its work.”
“I don’t think the motors would have any more compunction than Diogenes, so the moral is—give them as wide a berth as possible. If we were driving a big hay-cart, I’d enjoy blocking the way!”
They had turned out of the lane, and were now on the high road to Ledcombe, but progressing at an extremely slow pace. Raymonde ventured to apply the whip, but on the pony’s thick coat it appeared to produce as slight an impression as the129tickling of a fly, and, when she endeavoured to give a more efficacious flick, she got the lash ignominiously entangled in the harness. There was nothing for it but to pull up, and for Aveline to climb laboriously from the trap, and release the much-knotted piece of string. Rendered more careful by this catastrophe, Raymonde wielded her whip with caution, and gave what encouragement she could by jerking the reins vigorously, and occasionally ejaculating an energetic “Go on, Dandy!” The pony, however, was a cunning little creature, and, knowing perfectly well that he was in amateur hands, took full advantage of the situation. Under the excuse of a very slight hill he reduced his pace to a crawl, and began to crop succulent mouthfuls of grass from the hedge-bank, as a means of combining pleasure with business. It was only by judicious proddings with the butt-end of the whip that he could be induced to hasten his steps.
In spite of the difficulties with Dandy, the drive was enjoyable. The country was very pretty, for they were nearing the hills, and the landscape was more diversified than in the immediate neighbourhood of the camp. They passed through a beech wood, where the sun was glinting through leaves as transparent and delicate as fairies’ wings.
“I feel like primeval man to-day,” said Aveline. “The wander fever is on me, and I want to see fresh things.”
“We shall be in Ledcombe soon.”
“I don’t mean towns; it’s something much subtler—different fields, unexplored woods, a new piece of river, or even a patch of grass with flowers I haven’t found before.”130
“I know,” agreed Raymonde. “It’s the feeling one had when one was small, and read about how the youngest prince set out into the great wide world to seek his fortune. I always envied him.”
“Or the knights-errant—they had a splendid time roaming through the forest, and tilting a spear against anyone who was ready for single combat. One might lead a very merry life yet, like Robin Hood and his band, in the ‘good greenwood’, though we shouldn’t be ‘hunting the King’s red deer’.”
“It was pretty much like camp life, I dare say, only a little rougher than ours. More like the gipsy diggings.”
“Talking of gipsies, I believe you’ve conjured them up. That looks like a caravan over there. I expect it is some more of the tribe coming to pick strawberries.”
The gipsies, collected in a group in the roadway, were loudly bewailing a catastrophe, for their horse had just fallen down dead. Until they could obtain another they must needs stay by the roadside, and could not get on to the gardens.
“They’re a handsome set,” said Aveline, taking out her camera, which she had brought with her. “Just look at the children!”
“It’s the mother that attracts me most,” said Raymonde.
The woman, indeed, was a beautiful specimen of Romany blood, tall and dark, with great flashing eyes and coarse black hair. She resembled a man more than the gentler sex. She wore a very short red skirt, and had a little barrel hung over her shoulder by a strap.131
“I wish I’d brought my camera!” murmured Raymonde. “I simply hadn’t room to stuff it in. It was a choice between it and my night-gear, and I thought Gibbie’d treat me to jaw-wag if I left out my pyjamas.”
Aveline descended from the trap to take her photo, hoping to get a snapshot of the gipsies, just as they were, grouped in dramatic attitudes round the dead horse. At the sight of two well-dressed strangers, however, the tribal instincts asserted themselves, and the woman was pushed hurriedly forward by the rest.
“Tell your fortune, my pretty lady!” she began to Aveline in a half-bold, half-wheedling voice. “Cross the poor gipsy’s hand with a shilling and she’ll read the stars for you!”
“No, thanks!” said Aveline, rather scared by the woman’s jaunty, impudent manner. “I only wanted to take a photo.”
“Cross the gipsy’s hand first, lady, before you take her photo. Don’t you want to know the future, lady? I can read something in your face that will surprise you. Just a shilling, lady—only a shilling!”
The rest of the tribe were approaching the trap and begging from Raymonde, looking so rough and importunate that the girls began to be thoroughly alarmed, and afraid for the safety of the money they had brought with them. Aveline regretted her folly in having dismounted from the gig, and backed towards it again, pestered by the gipsy. She did not want a photo now, only to get away as swiftly as possible. But that the dark-eyed crew did not seem disposed to allow. A dusky hand was132laid on the pony’s reins, and a voluble tongue poured forth a jumble of planets and predictions. The situation had grown extremely unpleasant for the girls, when fortunately a cart was seen coming in the distance. The gipsies melted away instantly, Aveline jumped into the trap, and Raymonde whipped up Dandy, who evidently resenting on his own account the tribe’s interference, set off at a swinging pace, and soon left the caravan behind. In another ten minutes they had reached the outskirts of Ledcombe, and arrived at civilization.
The little country town was one of those sleepy places where you could almost shoot a cannon down the High Street without injuring anybody. There were shops with antiquated-looking goods in the windows; a market hall, closed except on Tuesdays; a church with a picturesque tower, a bank, and a large number of public-houses. It seemed to the girls as if almost every other building displayed a green dragon, or a red lion, or a black boar, or some other sign to indicate that the excessive thirst of the inhabitants could be satisfied within. Raymonde felt rather nervous at driving in the town, but fortunately, being a Thursday morning, there was little traffic in the streets. Had it been market day she might have got into difficulties. She sat outside in the gig while Aveline went into the shops and purchased the various commodities on Miss Jones’s list. These were so many, that by the time everything had been bought the gig was crammed to overflowing, leaving only just room for the two girls. Raymonde sat with her feet on a sack of potatoes, Aveline clutched the big baskets full of loaves and vegetables, while parcels were piled up133on the floor and on the seat. Their business had taken them longer than they expected, and the church clock warned them that they must hurry if the potatoes were to be cooked in time for dinner. As soon as they were clear of the town, Raymonde attempted to communicate the urgency of the case to Dandy. Her efforts were in vain, however. That faithless quadruped utterly refused to proceed faster than an ambling jog-trot, and took no notice of whipping, prodding or poking, beyond flicking his ears as if he thought the flies were troublesome.
“We shall never get back to the camp at this rate,” lamented Raymonde. “What are we to do?”
“Geordie suggested ‘cuss words’,” grinned Aveline. “I expect that’s what Dandy’s accustomed to from most of his drivers.”
“Don’t suppose he’d be particular as to the exact words,” said Raymonde. “Probably it’s the tone of voice that does it. Let’s wait till he gets to the top of this hill, then I’ll prod him again, and we’ll both growl out ‘Go on!’ and see if it has any effect.”
“If it hasn’t, I shall lead him and run by his head. It would be quicker than this pace.”
“We’ll try shouting first. Here we are at the top of the hill. Now, both together, in the gruffest voice you can muster. Are you ready? One—two—three—Go on, Dandy!”
Whether it was really the result of the deep bass tones, or Raymonde’s unexpected prod, or merely the fact that they had arrived at the summit of the slope, the girls could not determine, but the effect on the pony was instantaneous. He gathered all134four legs together, and gave a sudden jump, apparently of apprehension, then set off down the hill as fast as he could tear.
“Hold him in!” yelled Aveline, alarmed at such an access of speed.
“I’m trying to!” replied Raymonde, pulling at the reins as hard as her arms would allow.
Dandy, however, seemed determined for once to show his paces, and took no more notice of Raymonde’s checking than he had previously done of her urgings. The little trap was flying like the wind, when without the least warning a most unanticipated thing happened. The worn, crazy old straps of the harness broke, and the pony, giving a wrench that also snapped the reins, ran straight out of the shafts. The gig promptly fell forward, precipitating both girls, amid a shower of parcels, into the road, where they sat for a moment or two almost dazed with the shock, watching the retreating heels of Dandy as he fled in terror of the dangling straps that were hitting him on the flanks.
“Are you hurt?” asked Raymonde at last, getting up and tenderly feeling her scraped shins.
“No, only rather bruised—and astonished,” replied Aveline.
Then the humour of the situation seemed to strike both, for they burst into peals of laughter.
“What are we to do with the trap?” said Aveline. “We can’t drag it back ourselves. And what about the pony? He’s playing truant!”
“And Mr. Rivers said he was so quiet and well-behaved that a baby in arms could drive him!” declared Raymonde, much aggrieved.
“Well, they shouldn’t patch their harness with135bits of string!” said Aveline. “It’s very unsafe. I noticed it before we started out, but I supposed it would be all right. Hallo! Here’s Dandy back! Somebody’s caught him!”
It was the gipsy woman who made her appearance, leading the pony. She looked rather scared, and much relieved when she saw Raymonde and Aveline standing safe and sound in the middle of the road.
“I thought for sure someone was killed!” she remarked when she reached the scene of the accident. Though the girls had been frightened of her before, they were glad to see her now, for they had no notion what to do next. She at once assumed command of the situation, sent one of the children, who had followed her, back to the caravan to fetch her husband, and with his assistance set to work and patched up the harness.
“We’re tinkers by trade, lady, so we know how to put in a rivet or two, enough to take you safely home, at any rate; but they don’t ought to send that harness out again, it’s as rotten as can be. Mr. Rivers’s, did you say? Why, it’s his farm as we’re going to, to pick strawberries, as soon as we can get there, with our horse lying dead!”
A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind, and before the harness was mended the girls had struck up quite a friendship with the gipsies, which was further cemented by the transference of half a crown from Raymonde’s purse to the brown hand of the woman, and the bestowal of the greater part of Aveline’s chocolates into the mouths of the dark-eyed children.
Dandy was placed between the shafts once more,136and the parcels were restored to the gig. The girls, being doubtful as to the security of the hastily-mended harness, did not venture to mount inside, but led the pony by the head, lest he should be inspired to race down another hill. It was a slow progress back, and the workers were just returning from the fields as they reached the camp. Naturally there were no potatoes for dinner that day, though Raymonde and Aveline congratulated themselves that the bread was just in time. They were the heroines of the hour when they related their adventures, and even Miss Gibbs did not scold them, though they afterwards heard her remarking to Miss Hoyle that Miss Jones was a poor manager, and ought to make better arrangements about catering.
“Gibbie’s got to let fly at somebody!” chuckled Raymonde. “If it can’t be us, it’s someone else, but she’d better not try criticizing Miss Jones’s methods to her face, or there’ll be fighting in the camp.”
“Wouldn’t I like to see a match between them!” sighed Aveline. “I’d stake my all on Gibbie, any day!”
“I don’t know,” said Raymonde reflectively. “Gibbie has fire and spirit, and powers of sarcasm, and traditions of Scotch ancestry; but there’s a suggestion of icy stubbornness about Miss Jones that looks capable of standing out against anybody with bulldog grit. I believe I’d back Miss Jones, if it came to the point!”