The question where to go came next, and, compared with this, all the other preparations had been simple. Here they were, with a caravan, and a horse, and a driver, and a dog, and maps, and a mapmeasurer (do you know what they're called?—they're called wealemafnas), and tents, and—most of all—permission to be entirely alone; and it was not yet decided where they were going.
Of course, as you may suppose, each of the party knew where he or she wanted to go, but that was merely a private matter; no general decision had been come to.
Mr. Crawley, who may be said to have lived for golf, suggested Ashdown Forest, and then, he said, he could look them up from time to time if they made a permanent camp there. But who wants to be looked up by a tutor when one is on a caravan holiday?
Miss Bingham was in favour of an itinerary (as she called it) that embraced two or three cathedral cities.
Mr. Lenox said: "Go to Sussex, and camp under the downs at night and explore them by day."
Mr. Scott, on the other hand, said: "Go to Berkshire and see the White Horse that Tom Hughes scoured and wrote about." And he promised to lend them the book to convert them to this project.
Mrs. Avory declined to express any opinion. "It's your caravan," she said, "and I would much rather you decided everything for yourselves." (What a delightful mother!)
Janet wanted to go to the New Forest, because she had never been there, and now was a chance, and because for many years "The Children of the New Forest" had been her favourite story.
Robert wanted to go to Salisbury Plain and see the sun rise at Stonehenge, and cast an eye over the military operations there.
Jack Rotheram wanted to go to Hambledon, in Hampshire, to see the cradle of cricket, as it is called—the old ground on Broad Half-penny Down where they used to play cricket in tall hats, as described in John Nyren's book, which someone had given him.
Mary Rotheram wanted to go to Bredon Hill in Worcestershire, because she had always wanted to ever since she had learned a song which began:
"In summertime on BredonThe bells they sound so clear;Round both the shires they ring themIn steeples far and near,A happy noise to hear.
"Here of a Sunday morningMy love and I would lie,And see the coloured counties,And hear the larks so highAbout us in the sky."
That line about the coloured counties had always fascinated her: she had longed also to see them, lying beneath her, all spread out. The coloured counties! She talked so enthusiastically and prettily about it that she quite won over Robert, who decided that Bredon would be quite as interesting as Salisbury Plain, and would give him practice, too, in estimating square miles; so that there were two for Bredon Hill, as against one for all the other places.
Gregory, however, was not for Bredon. He wanted to see the flying-ground at Sheppey, which is in a totally different direction, and perhaps induce someone with an aeroplane to give him a lift.
Horace Campbell sided with Gregory, while Hester voted continually and feelingly for Stratford-on-Avon. To see Stratford-on-Avon—that was her idea: to walk through the same streets as her beloved Shakespeare, to see the place where his house had stood, to row on his river, to stand by his tomb!
When the time came to discuss the journey seriously, it was Hester who won. Stratford-on-Avon was decided on, with an extension to Bredon Hill as the farthest point away, returning by way of Cheltenham and Cirencester to Faringdon (for the White Horse), and then taking train for home, and leaving Kink and Moses to do the remaining seventy miles alone.
The distance from Bredon to Faringdon through Cheltenham, Cirencester, and Fairford, was roughly forty-five miles, or five days of nine miles each. Starting at Oxford, as was proposed, they would be three or four days in getting to Stratford, and two days there; three days more, at the most, in getting to Bredon, This would make eleven days altogether, which would make, with rests on the two Sundays, and one whole day at the White Horse, the full fortnight.
This, then, is what was at last decided: that Kink should get the caravan to Oxford and be all ready for the children to join him on the Wednesday morning. They should go down to Oxford on the day before and be looked after by Mr. Lenox's young brother, who was at Oriel.
They should leave Oxford in the caravan on the next morning on their way to Stratford-on-Avon.
The distance from Oxford to Stratford was thirty-nine miles, and it was decided to do this in three days, which meant thirteen miles a day. The first night, therefore, would be spent near Woodstock, the next near Chipping Norton, and the third near Shipston down in the green meadows on the banks of the Stour. At Stratford they would find Mrs. Avory waiting for them, and stay with her at the Shakespeare Hotel for a day or so. By that time they would know exactly how much or how little they liked the caravan, and what things were necessary; and then Mrs. Avory would go back and they would begin their real adventures. Could anything be better? Although, of course, Robert was very contemptuous of the Shakespeare Hotel part of the programme. "The idea of sleeping in a bed!" he said.
The next thing to do was to apportion the various duties. Kink, of course, was arranged for; he was to drive and to look after the horse and sleep as near the caravan as could be managed; while Diogenes was always to be on guard. Kink also was to see about water.
Janet was purser and steward. She had to decide what food was wanted, and to keep the money. Hester was the official letter-writer, and was under a promise to write home every other evening. Robert was the guide and geographer; he kept the maps. He was also the telegraphist. Mary Rotheram, who had taken lessons in cooking, was chief cook, and she was to be helped by Janet. Jack was superintendent of the washing-up, and Horace Campbell was his principal ally. (How tired they got of it!) Jack, Horace, and Robert were carriers between the grocer's, the butcher's, the baker's, and the Slowcoach.
It was arranged that Gregory, being the smallest and weakest, and therefore the least likely to be refused, should go on and ask leave of the farmers on whose land it was proposed to rest the caravan at night. Mary Rotheram should be his companion, and ask for eggs and milk at the same time.
Next came the victualling, and this was exceedingly interesting, although it made great holes in the sovereign box. Janet and Mary Rotheram sat for hours over the Stores List, and they were continually taking important questions to Collins.
"How many tins of mustard ought we to take? A dozen at fourpence?"
"Mustard, Miss Mary? Why, two penny ones would be enough for a month."
(Three and tenpence saved, you see.)
"I say, Collins, how long do eggs boil?"
"Collins, you have to prick sausages, don't you, or else they burst?"
"Collins, how many loaves do eight people want a day?"
"Four, Miss Janet, at the least—large ones."
"Including Kink?" Janet explained.
"Oh, Kink too! Five, then, if not six, the old gormandizer."
"Collins, what's the best part of beef for stewing?"
"Collins, you can put anything into a stew, can't you? Absolutely anything?"
"Collins, if you've put too much pepper into a thing, is there any way of getting it out again?"
Mrs. Avory was very particular about tinned things. "You must have plenty of tongues," she said, "in case the fire won't burn or the meat is too tough;" and privately she instructed Kink to keep an eye on their eating. "They must eat, Kink, don't forget. Never mind what they say; make them eat sensibly." To the stores Mrs. Avory herself added a number of tongues and a good deal of plain chocolate.
The day for Kink's departure—at least three days before the others were to leave—at last arrived, and by eleven o'clock everything was ready: Kink was seated on the shafts, with the reins in one hand, and in the other an ancient map of the road from London to Oxford, which Robert had found in one of his father's Road Books, of which there were many in the library, and had carefully traced. It was calledBritannia Depicta;OR,"Ogilby" Improved,1753, and, so that you may see what kind of help Kink was offered, I have had the map reproduced here. Kink, I may say, having some difficulty in reading even the plain print of the morning paper, held the tracing in his hand only so far as he was in sight. He then folded it up and placed it in his pocket, and when he was in any doubt as to the way, asked the first person he met.
Mr. Lenox and Mr. Scott were both there in time to see the start of the Slowcoach, as they had decided to call it. Also present at the start was the greater part of adult Chiswick and all its children, who filled the street opposite "The Gables" and cheered. Kink accepted their enthusiasm with calm, but as he said afterwards to Collins, "I felt like the Prince of Wales and all the royal family."
Both Mr. Scott and Mr. Lenox brought contributions to the Slowcoach's stores. Mr. Scott's was a large bundle of firelighters and twelve dozen boxes of matches. "You can't have too many matches," he said. Mr. Lenox's was ointment for blisters.
Uncle Christopher was also there to see the start, and he brought with him an envelope. "This envelope," he said, "is not to be opened unless you're in any very serious difficulty. Then open it."
And so, in a scene of wild excitement, Kink cracked his whip, Moses strained at the collar, the Slowcoach creaked heavily out of the yard, and its historic journey was begun.
Mr. Lenox's young brother met the party on the Oxford platform. He was accompanied by two of his friends, who were dressed in grey flannels and straw hats, and were smoking very large and beautiful pipes. Mr. Lenox's young brother introduced these friends as Fizzy and Shrimp, and then they packed themselves into three hansoms and drove off.
Mr. Lenox's young brother led the way with Janet and Mary. Fizzy (at least, Hester thought it was Fizzy, but it may have been Shrimp) came next with Hester, Horace, and Gregory; and then came Shrimp (unless it was Fizzy) with Robert and Jack.
Oxford hansoms are the worst in the world, but seldom has a ride been more delightful. The three hosts pointed out the colleges as they passed, until they came, far too soon, to the Mitre, where they were to sleep.
"Now take your things upstairs and make sure where your rooms are, and tidy up if you want to," said Mr. Lenox's young brother, "and then hop down, and we'll take you to see the caravan, and show you about a little, and perhaps go on the river; and in the evening we're going to have supper in my rooms. Fizzy's going to conjure, and perhaps we'll have charades."
These words made tidying up an even simpler matter than usual, and the party started off.
Kink, it seems, had reached Oxford that morning, and was at the Green Man, where the Slowcoach was an object of extraordinary interest to the neighbourhood. They found him seated on the top step reading the paper, while forty-five children (at least) stared at him. Diogenes lay at the foot of the steps.
Kink was very glad to see them. No, he said, he hadn't had any adventures exactly, but driving a caravan was no work for a modest man who wished for a quiet life among vegetables.
"This," he said, waving his pipe at the increasing crowd, "is nothing. You should have see them at Beaconsfield and High Wycombe. They began by thinking I was Lord John Sanger, and when they were satisfied that I wasn't, they made sure I was a Cheap Jack with gold watches for a shilling each."
"How does it go, Kink?" Robert asked.
"It goes all right," said Kink, "but the crockery wants muffling. You can't hear yourself think when you trot."
"And Diogenes?"
"Diogenes," said Kink, "is a masterpiece. He begins to growl at tramps when they're half a mile away. Why is it, I wonder," Kink added, "that dogs can't abide ragged clothes? This Oxford, they tell me, is a clever place. I wonder if anyone here can explain that?"
Mr. Lenox's young brother and his friends had now to be shown the Slowcoach, which they pronounced "top hole," and then Moses was inspected in his stable; and, this being done, they were ready for the river—or, rather, for the ices at a pastrycook's shop in the High Street—called the High—which were, to precede the river.
Then they all trooped down to the boats and had a perfect hour's rowing; and then they explored Oxford a little, and saw Tom Quad at Christ Church (or "The House," as it is called), and were shown the rooms in which the author of "Alice in Wonderland" lived for so many years; and so right up through the city to Magdalen Grove, where the deer live, and Magdalen Tower, on the top of which the May Day carols are sung.
Mr. Lenox's young brother lived in rooms outside his college; he would not enter the college until next term. They were in Oriel Lane, and exceedingly comfortable, with at least twenty pipes in a pipe-rack on the wall, and at least thirty photographs of his favourite actresses, chiefly Pauline Chase, and five cricket-bats in the corner, and about forty walking-sticks, and a large number of puzzles of the "Pigs in Clover" type, which nearly drove Gregory mad while supper was being prepared.
The preparation consisted merely of the entrance of one man after another carrying silver dishes; for everything was cold, although exceedingly sumptuous and solid. There were chickens all covered with a beautiful thick whitewash, on which little hearts and stars cut out of truffles were sprinkled. There was a tongue all over varnish, like the dainty foot of a giant Cinderella. There were custards and tarts and jellies. There were also bottles exactly like champagne bottles, which, however, contained ginger ale, and for Mr. Lenox's young brother and his friends there were silver tankards of beer. It was, in short, not a supper, but, as Mary Rotheram expressed it, using her favourite adjective at the moment, a supreme banquet.
Then another friend, with spectacles, called the Snarker, came in, and they began. Mr. Lenox's young brother was a very attentive host, and made everyone eat too much. Then he made a speech to propose the health of the Slowcoaches, as he called them, and to wish them a prosperous journey. "That you will all be happy," he said, very gravely, in conclusion, "is our earnest wish. But the one thing which my friends and I desire more than any other—and I assure you that they are with me most cordially in this sentiment (aren't you, Fizzy? aren't you, Shrimp? aren't you, Snarker?)—the one thing that we desire more than any other is, that you may never be run in for exceeding the speed limit." This was a very successful joke.
After supper came Fizzy's conjuring tricks, which were not very bewildering to children who had once had a real conjurer from the Stores, as these had, and then a charade played by Mary, Horace, Fizzy, and Shrimp for the others to guess.
The first act represented a motorist (Fizzy) who ran over and killed an old woman (Mary), and was arrested by a policeman (Horace), and fined eighteenpence by a magistrate (Shrimp).
The second was a cockney scene in which two costers (Fizzy and Shrimp) took their girls (Mary and Horace) to Hampstead Heath to 'ave fun.
The third was Henry VIII. (Shrimp) receiving Anne of Cleves (Fizzy) and her Maid of Honour (Mary), and telling Wolsey (Horace) to prepare the divorce, because she was a "great Flanders mare."
You see the whole word, of course—Car-'ave-Anne.
Finally the Snarker said that they must play one writing game before they went home. The Snarker, it seemed, came from a family which was devoted to writing games, and had even made improvements in "Consequences," which is, when you all know each other extremely well, the best writing game of all. But among strangers, as the Snarker explained, it was not so good, because they can't understand the jokes against uncles and aunts.
They did not, therefore, play "Consequences," but instead wrote what the Snarker called "composite stories." That is to say, they each took a large sheet of paper and began at the top a story, writing as much as they could in two minutes. Then the paper was passed on, and the story continued by the next person, until all had had one turn. Then the original beginners each finished his story, and they were read out.
As there were eleven playing, this meant there were eleven stories; but I will copy only one of them. (Janet kept the papers, or I should not be able to do that.)
This is the one which was begun by Hester, who liked to be serious and mysterious in her work, and was almost vexed when others turned it to nonsense. She called it "The Secret of the Castle," and began it like this:
"It was a dark and gloomy night in the year 1135, when the young Lord Almeric reached his impressive and ancestral home. Nothing could be heard but the sighing of the wind in the turrets and the moaning of Boris, the great wolfhound. Lord Almeric had ridden far, and was tired, and the gloominess of his ancestral home weighed on his spirits, which were naturally buoyant and high. Flinging himself from his gaily comparisoned horse, and tossing the rein with a muttered, 'Here, varlet!' to the waiting groom, he opened the massive doors and entered the hall. What was his amazement to see—"
"Time!" called the Snarker, who had his watch before him, and Hester had to stop.
Gregory came next. His idea of the game was not very clear, to begin with, and he had some difficulty in reading what was written, so he was able to write very little, and that not too helpfully. He therefore wrote words that were always near his heart:
"—a flying-machine."
and that was all.
Then came Janet. Always wishing to be kind and make things easy, she longed to get the story back into the spirit and period of poor little romantic Hester's opening passages. But Gregory had spoiled everything. Janet, however, did her best:
"The young lord drew back with a start, for he could hardly believe his eyes.
"'What,' he exclaimed, 'is this strange mixture of wires and wings? Can my father's astrologer have really done it at last after all these fruitless years? He must indeed have been busy since I rode forth to battle. Eftsoons, do I dream or wake?' He touched the strange thing cautiously, but it did not bite, and gradually there came upon him an exceeding desire to fly. 'By my halidom,' he cried, 'I will e'en inquire further into this mystery—'"
Next came Fizzy, who was bent on being funny at any cost. He wrote:
"—as the man said, sticking his fork into the German sausage. 'What ho, my merry minions, help!' he cried; 'let us draw forth the areoplane into the home meadow, for I would fain experiment with it. A lord is no lord unless he can daunt the swallow and the pigeon. So saying, he rang the alarm-bell, which was only kept for fires and burglaries, and summoned the household. 'A murrain on ye for being so pestilent slow!' he shouted. 'Gadsooth, ye knaves! let loose the petrol, or I soar not into the zenith.'"
Then came Mary, who naturally had no patience with nonsense. She ignored Fizzy's contribution completely, and got back to romance:
"Meanwhile, seated in her room in the home turret sat the lovely Lady Elfrida, the picture of woe. Why did her lord tarry? Had she not heard him ride into the courtyard and give his palfrey to the waiting serf? Yet where was he? He was to spring up the stairs lightly as a roebuck of the mountains to welcome her, and now where was he? Little did she guess—"
Here Shrimp took the paper and wrote:
"—that a brand-new monoplane was blocking up the stairs, so big that not a roebuck on earth could jump it. But what of the secret of the castle? Was that the secret? No. Why did the wind shriek and the deerhound moan? If you would know this, reader, come with me down the dungeon steps and unbar yonder dark door. For there in the dark recess of that terrible cell lay—"
The Shrimp, even although time had not been called, was very glad to leave off here. Robert took the paper. He read the narrative as well as he could, and added these words:
"But I cannot bring my pen to write the word. It was a secret; indeed, the secret of the castle. No wonder that the dog moaned and the wind howled and the Lady Elfrida grieved."
The Snarker, who, after all, had begun the wretched game, and whose duty it was, therefore, to pull this ruin of a story together again, ought to have played fair; but instead he went back to what Fizzy had called an "areoplane," spelling not being taught at Oxford. He therefore wrote:
"And meanwhile, what of the aeroplane? Fortunately, the night was short, and there was soon enough light by which to fly, and in a brief time the seneschals and myrmidons had the great machine in the midst of the tourney-ground, all ready for flight. Lord Almeric seated himself and grasped the lever. A firm push from the willing arms of a hundred carles and hinds, and he was in the air. 'Ah,' he cried, 'odds bodkins, this is indeed life! Never have I felt such sensations. I will never walk or ride again. I will sell my motorcar and my horses and my boots. Flying is for me for ever!"'
Jack now took the paper:
"Lord Almeric was always a very clever man, and it was nothing to him that he had never flown before. He had studied the pictures of the flying men in the illustrated papers while waiting at the dentist's, and he knew the principles of mechanics. No wonder, then, that he flew with perfect control, circling the home turret, where the Lady Elfrida was still weeping, with the greatest ease, and calling to her messages of comfort, which—"
Here the Snarker called "Time!" again, and Mr. Lenox's young brother took the paper:
"—she could not hear. 'Come down, good lord, or of a verity thou wilt fall and crack thy coxcomb!' shouted the major-domo from beneath; but the intrepid Almeric heeded not the warning, and only rose higher and higher, nearer and nearer to the stars. And then, suddenly, there was an awful shriek, and his body was seen to be hurtling steadily and surely towards the earth, gaining speed with every revolution. 'Help, help!' they cried; 'he must be dashed to pieces; nothing can save him.' But at that moment—"
Here Horace had to go on. He was not a literary boy, and it took him more than one minute to read all that had gone before. All he could therefore add was:
"—he woke up. 'Where am I?' he said. 'You have fallen out of bed,' said Lady Elfrida."
Poor Hester! her face was a picture of perplexity and indignation when she came to read the story all through. There was clearly no sensible ending possible, and she therefore merely wrote:
"Not to this day has the secret of the Castle been solved, but visitors are still shown, on payment of a shilling each, the place where Lord Almeric dreamed he fell from a flying-machine in the year 1135."
And then Mr. Lenox's young brother and his friends took them back to the Mitre, and said good-night.
Mr. Lenox's young brother gave them a tremendous breakfast, and called in Fizzy and Shrimp and the Snarker to help, and then Janet paid the bill at the Mitre and bought a few things, including two cold chickens, and they all went down to the little inn yard together and found Kink waiting for them.
Janet, whose duties as paymaster had now begun in earnest, also paid Kink's bill; Robert set his pedometer at zero; and the whole party started, followed by the crowd of idle men and children to which they were destined to become so accustomed. For a caravan with people in it who are not gipsies is still an excitement in England.
Kink drove and the others walked behind, or by the side, or in front—mostly in front, for it was soon discovered that Moses had a slower walk than any other of the party—in fact, two miles an hour was more than his rate, although Kink assured them that he could trot from four to five on the level, and keep it up.
It was a fine but rather windy day, and the dust flew about a little too much; but everything was too fresh and exciting for that to matter. What is a little dust on the first day of a caravan expedition!
Mr. Lenox's young brother and his jolly friends turned back at Wolvercot, as there was work to do even at Oxford. It was not until their last waving handkerchiefs were out of sight that the children really felt themselves at the start of their adventurous enterprise. In fact, Robert put the feeling into words. "Now we're beginning," he said.
Up to this time all had walked; but, glancing at Gregory's lagging legs, Janet soon began to assume the little mother once again. In consultation with Kink, it was decided that on fairly level roads Moses was equal to the Slowcoach plus four passengers, and it was therefore agreed that there should never be more than that number riding at once, but, in order that no one should be too tired, they should take it in turns to enjoy these short periods of ease.
The arrangement made it necessary to appoint a new officer, who was called the Regulator of Rests, and Mary Rotheram was chosen. Her duties were not quite as simple as they sound, because Gregory, the youngest, and Hester, being not very much older and not very strong, were to have more rides than anyone else; Kink also must be allowed to ride a good deal. And this meant a little calculation; but Mary was always good at arithmetic.
Gregory, of course, refused point blank to ride a single yard; but he was rarely sorry, none the less, when the time came to climb the steps and settle down in a chair.
They had lunch that first day near Yarnton, without making any camp or cooking anything. The cooking was to be saved for the evening. They merely tore the two cold chickens to pieces and ate them with bread-and-butter and stone ginger beer from an inn beside the road. It is much the best way with a cold chicken. Afterwards bananas, which someone had told Mrs. Avory were the most sustaining of fruit.
Robert had arranged an easy day to begin with, and they were to go no farther than Woodstock, where, for those not too tired, there was Blenheim to see, the wonderful house of the Duke of Marlborough, and Fair Rosamond's Bower, and the park and the lake. Hester even had hopes of finding a distressed Blenheim spaniel puppy in some romantic sort of way, and adopting it for life.
But there were none of these things for them. Indeed, caravaners very soon get out of the habit of making plans at all. It is all too uncertain. The only things that really are certain are work and delay. They got no nearer to Blenheim than to peer through its gates and to recite, very imperfectly, the verses about old Caspar's work and little Wilhelmine.
At about half-past three they entered Woodstock, and, after passing through the village and doing a little shopping there, surrounded by all Woodstock's children who were not in school, they began to look about for a camping-place. And this needs more thought than one might suppose, for there must be some shelter from the wind, and water must not be too distant. Also one does not want to be very close to a busy and dusty road.
Kink, who had gone off on a little tour of inspection, came back at last and said he had found an excellent field, high and dry, and sheltered too. Stopping a labourer, they found that the farmer was Mr. Gosden, of Blackett's; and Gregory and Mary Rotheram hurried off to the farm-house, which was a few fields off, to ask permission, and get some milk, and perhaps eggs and butter.
They found the door of the kitchen open, but no one there. It was a large, low kitchen, with a very red brick floor, and it led into the dairy, where they could see the flat pans of milk. The fire was burning so brightly that they knew the farmer's wife could not be far away. Over the mantelpiece was a gun. Two or three highly polished and highly coloured grocer's calendars—pictures of beautiful women—were on the walls. Sides of bacon hung from the ceiling. The whole place smelled of wood smoke and plenty. The children noticed all these things as they stood in the doorway, every now and then knocking.
At last they heard steps, and a very wide and smiling woman entered the kitchen from another door.
"Well," she asked, "what can I do for you?"
Gregory, proud to be really beginning his duties, said: "Please, may we camp tonight in one of your fields? We're living in a caravan."
"You've come to the wrong person," said Mrs. Gosden. "That's my husband's affair, and he's rather particular. He's gone to Chipping Norton; but," she added, as Gregory began to look miserable, "he'll be back any minute now. You sit down and have a cup of tea with me and wait for him."
So they sat down, and Mrs. Gosden made the tea, which she took from a highly coloured tin, covered also with beautiful women, and they had with it bread and butter and lettuce, and talked.
"And how do you like gipsying?" Mrs. Gosden asked.
"I think it's going to be splendid," Mary said; "but we've only just begun."
"Then you haven't slept out before?"
"No," said Mary.
"My word!" said Mrs. Gosden; "what sore throats you'll have in the morning! Roughing it's all very well by day, but give me a comfortable bed to lay in of a night. That's me!"
At this moment the sound of wheels was heard, and Mrs. Gosden jumped up and added some hot water to the tea and cut some more bread-and-butter. "That's father," she said, and Mr. Gosden soon after came in.
He was a big man with whiskers under his chin all the way round, but none on the rest of his face.
"Hello!" he said; "visitors!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Gosden, "a young lady and gentleman who are living in a caravan, and want to camp in the hay takers. At least, I think it's the hay takers from what they say of it."
"Ho, do they?" said Mr. Gosden. "A nice state of things," he added with a twinkle, "when every one who comes to ask leave to spoil one of my fields gets a nice tea given them!" and he laughed.
"We shouldn't spoil it," said Gregory.
"Well," said Mr. Gosden, "perhaps you'll tell me how you make a fire. Isn't it on the ground? And what do you do with your rubbish? Clean it up and take it along with you? Not too likely. I've had caravaners here before."
"We will," said Mary, "I promise"—seeing as she spoke the necessity of a new official being appointed at once: the Remover of Camp Litter.
"I said the other day," continued the farmer, "that never again would I let a caravan into my fields, didn't I, Bet? And how can I go back on that?"
"You did say it," said Mrs. Gosden, "true enough, but you're halways breaking your word. You said you'd bring me a new alarm clock the next time you went to Oxford, and I've never got it yet, and that's months ago."
"Never mind," said Mr. Gosden; "it means longer in bed for you. Well," he added to Mary, "I'll come down with you and look at the turnout and see. But I must finish my tea first."
Never, thought Mary, could anyone have eaten so much tea or taken so long over it, and she was in despair about the others waiting in the road, hungry and impatient; but there was nothing for it but to be quiet, and at last Mr. Gosden was ready.
The others, it was true, had become very tired of waiting, but they had spent some of the time in bringing water from the nearest cottage. No one who gets really cross from waiting should ever go away in a caravan. Mr. Gosden had a good look at all of them and at Kink before he said anything. He then gave them leave to camp very near the hedge, and he asked them to promise to be gone by ten the next morning, as he had some cattle coming in, and to clear up thoroughly, and then off he went. He stepped back to tell them to come up to the farm in the morning for milk and butter and to report on their night, and started off once more.
Gregory, who had clearly been puzzling over something, ran after him.
"Well?" said Mr. Gosden.
"Where do they take the hay?" Gregory said.
"Who?" Mr. Gosden asked.
"The hay takers," said Gregory.
"I don't understand," said Mr Gosden.
"What hay takers? It's not a hay meadow. We graze it."
"Mrs. Gosden," said Gregory, "called the field the hay takers."
Mr. Gosden laughed loudly. "That's my missis's pronounciation," he said. "She's much too fond of haitches: she will put them in the wrong place. I often correct her, but it's no use. It's nothing to do with hay. It's the size of the field—the size, don't you see? The eight acres: that's what she meant to say, bless her old heart!"
"Well," said Janet, "that's a very nice start. It would have been horrid if the first farmer had been crusty."
"Ah," said Mary Rotheram, "but you should see his wife! It was she who did it for us really. Perhaps after dinner we might walk up there to thank her."
After dinner! How recklessly young caravaners can talk. But you shall hear....
Kink with much skill got Moses and the Slowcoach into the field and shut the gate, and then the great carriage rocked and swayed over the grass, making no sound but a mixture of creaking and crockery. At last he brought it to a stand just under a tall hedge, and Moses was at once taken out and roped to a crowbar driven in the ground.
"The first thing," said Janet, "is the fire," and Jack and Horace were sent off to collect wood and pile it near the Slowcoach, and fix the tripod over it. As it was quite dry, one of Mr. Scott's lighters soon had it blazing, and Mary, as chief cook, threw quickly into the water in the pot the large piece of brisket they had bought at Woodstock, together with potatoes and carrots and little onions and pepper and salt.
That done, and leaving Horace with strict orders to keep the fire fed, the others began to unpack. First of all mackintosh sheets and rugs were thrown on the ground round the fire, and then Robert and Jack drew out their tent and set it up on the farther side of the fire, some four or five yards away, so that the fire was midway between the tent and the caravan.
The tent was similar to those which gipsies use—not with a central pole, but stretched over half-hoops which were stuck in the ground. It was wide enough for three boys to lie comfortably in their sleeping-bags side by side. Gregory was to sleep in the caravan with the girls; Kink was to go to Woodstock.
Meanwhile, with all of them, except Mary and Gregory, who had done well with Mrs. Gosden's tea, the pangs of hunger were at work, and the steam of the great iron pot hanging over the fire did nothing to allay them. Mary and Janet every now and then thrust a fork into the meat, but its resistance to the point was heart-breaking.
"Hadn't you better have some biscuits to go on with?" Janet said at last; but the others refused. It would spoil the stew, they thought.
"At any rate," Janet said, "let's get everything ready, not only for supper,"—you see, it wasn't called dinner any longer,—"but for washing-up afterwards."
So Kink went off for some more water, and a large basin was set on a box, and dishcloths were put by it; and a rackety search began for plates, and knives and forks, and mugs, and tinned fruits, and more plates and spoons and moist sugar, and all the other things which appear on our tables at mealtimes as naturally as leaves on the trees, but which in a caravan mean so much fuss and perplexity. In fact, all the children returned home with a vastly increased respect for the ability and punctuality of Collins and Eliza Pollard and Jan Masters.
For a while the air was simply full of questions and remarks, some of which I copy down, and you may guess who asked them.
"I say, Janet, where's the tin-opener?"
"Janet, dear, ought we to have napkins?"
"Hester, you little nuisance, get off that box; it's got the bread in it."
"Hester, stop reading and come and help."
"Horace, the fire's nearly out."
"I wish some of you would stop talking and tell me where the tin-opener is."
"Jack, you lazy ruffian, why don't you get some more sticks?"
"I say, Kink, do you think this old brisket will ever be done?"
"Kink, does it ruin potatoes and things to stew too long?"
"Kink, is there any decent way of opening a tin without a tin-opener?"
"I'm perfectly certain the sugar was in this cupboard. Gregory, have you been at the sugar?"
"It's a good deal harder than a rock, still."
"Can you make a tin-opener out of a fork?"
"I am perfectly certain I saw the corkscrew this morning."
"Oh, I say, I didn't come out in this old caravan to die of hunger and neglect."
"Mary, where did you put the milkjug?"
"Let's have that beast of a brisket out and cut him up, and put him in again in smaller pieces."
"Oh, Jack, how clever you are! However did you think of that?"
"I expect it's hunger sharpening his wits."
"I say, it's all very well to say cut him up small; but he's red hot. I'm scalded horribly."
"So am I."
"Yes, and so am I, the way you make him jump about. It splashed right over here."
"Kink, come and help us hold the brisket down while we cut him up."
The result of all this confusion was the appointment of two or three new officials. Horace was made Keeper of the Tinopener, and Gregory Keeper of the Cork screw, while Jack was given the title of Preserver of Enough Oil in the Beatrice Stove, because you can do wonders with a Beatrice stove while waiting for the real fire to burn up—but only if there's oil in it.
Jack's brilliant device of slicing the brisket was successful, and by half-past seven they were seated on their rugs round the fire eating the most supreme stew of the century, as Mary Rotheram called it. They ate it in soup-plates, with a great deal of juice, into which they dropped their bread.
Suddenly old Kink, who had been eating steadily for a quarter of an hour just outside the circle, stepped up to what we may call the supper-table, with his watch in his hand.
"Miss Janet," he said, "there's only a quarter of an hour to get to Woodstock to send off the telegram."
Janet looked at the official telegraphist in alarm. "Oh, Bobbie," she said, "how dreadful if we had missed it! You must simply run!"
Robert sprang to his feet in a moment.
"Give me a shilling," he said. "I'll make it up as I go along. Keep some tinned pears for me."
"I'll come too," said Jack, and off they bolted.
They reached the post-office just in time to despatch this message:
"Avory Gables Chiswick just finished glorious brisket all well love."
On their return Robert and Jack found washing-up in full swing, and were not sorry to be able to eat their pears in comfort and watch the others being busy.
The light was now going fast; the bats flitted over their heads, and there was no sound save the talking and clattering of the washers-up and the grinding of Diogenes's teeth on the brisket bone. Various projects for spending the last hours of the day had been talked of, but now that it was here no one seemed to have the slightest energy left either to walk into Blenheim Park or cross the three or four fields to Blackett's. In fact, they wanted but one thing, and that was to creep into their very novel beds and see what it was like to sleep like gipsies.
Everything was therefore put ready for breakfast. A last load of wood was brought for the fire, Diogenes was transferred to the long rope which enabled him to range all round the camp, and Kink said good night and trudged off to the village inn.
And so the first night began.
Gregory was a little fractious for a while, considering it an indignity to be sleeping in the caravan instead of with the men; but he was no sooner tucked into his berth than he fell asleep and forgot the insult. The girls were also very soon on their little shelves, either sleeping or drowsily enjoying the thought of sleep; but Robert and Jack and Horace did not hurry. The fire was still warm, and they huddled round it with Diogenes, and talked, and listened to Moses crunching the grass, and made plans for the morrow. Then at last they carried the sheeting and the rugs to the tent, and crept into their sacks and prepared to sleep.
With the exception of Gregory, no one slept very well. Hester was frightened by an owl which hooted close to the caravan, and Janet had to hold her hand for quite a long time, which is a very uncomfortable thing to do when you are in the berth below, and then, just as she was going off again, a rabbit, pursued by a stoat, screamed right under their wheels, as it seemed, and Hester's fright began anew.
Jack and Horace were probably a little over excited, for they were very restless; and to be restless on the hard ground—with no springs, as in our beds at home—is to get sore and wakeful; while Robert was intently conscious of every sound and if you sleep in a field you hear thousands of them—all the rustlings of the little shy nocturnal animals, tiny squeakings and shrillings in the grass, as well as the cries of the birds of prey. Now and then, too, a spider ran over his face and made him jump, and very early the strong light poured into the mouth of the tent and made it seem absurd to be in bed any longer.
The result was, that it was not till the morning that they began to sleep properly at all, and that made them much less ready to get up than they had expected to be.