CHAPTER X
A PICNIC AND AN ADVENTURE
"Beneath the trees we'll have one day Of frolicsome employment, And birds shall sing and winds shall blow To help us to enjoyment."
The changed conditions at The Hollies, added to my long Christmasholiday, had completely brought me back to my usual health and highspirits, and I soon found the ordinary work of the class to be wellwithin my capacities. Now that Miss Percy's continual nagging wasremoved I felt a different girl, and began to enjoy thoroughly myschool-life once more. Miss Hope, our new mistress, was one of thosebright sunny souls who seem able to bring the very best out of all thosewho are near them. She made few rules, trusting much to our sense ofhonour and good feeling, and so well did we respond to her kindness thatthere was soon quite a different tone in the class, for the thought ofgrieving her would deter us from wrong-doing far more easily than allMiss Percy's threats of punishment. She had no favourites, but I thinkthat Cathy and I, as being more interested than the others in thebotany and natural history, which were her special subjects, came in foran extra share of her affection, and I know we both worshipped her withthat depth of devotion which school-girls are ever ready to offer to ateacher whom they really respect and love.
As the summer came on, with the long light days, we were taken out morefrequently for expeditions over the delightful Derbyshire moors. TheseSaturday-afternoon rambles were looked forward to throughout the wholeweek, and we would return from them with such red cheeks and heartyappetites that I think Mrs. Marshall was amply satisfied with the resultof her new regulations. We all felt it a decided innovation when sheproposed a picnic instead of the usual mild garden-party with which wehad been accustomed to celebrate her birthday on the first of June.
"It's to be a real, genuine, grown-up kind of picnic too," said Janet."Not just going for a walk and taking milk and biscuits with you. Thereare to be five wagonettes, and we're to drive all the way to Redburn andhave tea at a farm on the side of the scar."
"There's a glorious little wood there," said Cathy, "wherelilies-of-the-valley grow wild. Miss Hope says she believes they'lljust be in flower. It will be perfectly delightful if we find them."
"Mrs. Thompson at the farm makes the most splendid girdle-cakes," put inMillicent. "I know, because I went there once before when Mother tookher Sunday-school treat, and they were absolutely delicious. You eatthem hot out of the oven, with loads of honey."
"I hope it will be fine to-morrow," I said. "I suppose we shall goanother day if it rains, but a thing never seems quite the same if it isput off."
"Fine? Of course it will be fine!" said Janet. "The sky is as clear asit can be, and the moon is new, and the little soldier is standing athis door in the barometer in my bedroom, and the cattle are grazinguphill, and the pimpernel is out by the gate, and Miss Buller's hair isin curl, and the midges are biting horribly, so if you can prophesy rainafter that, Miss Philippa, you don't know the English climate, that'sall I can say."
"I never prophesy till I know," I replied, laughing. "But I think aftersuch a list of good omens the weather could hardly, for shame,disappoint us, though I can't give the English climate much of acharacter, after all."
Janet was right, for the first of June proved to be a glorious day,bright and clear, with a cloudless sky, and a fresh wind blowing downfrom the moors. Punctually at half-past one the wagonettes drove up tothe door, and with much excitement we packed ourselves into them, Cathyand I, after a scramble with Janet, securing the coveted seats next toour dear Miss Hope. It was an eight-mile drive through the most charmingscenery. The white limestone road first followed the river bank amidbeautiful woods, green with all the wealth of early summer foliage andliterally carpeted with bluebells, while on the far side of the riverrose steep cliffs covered from base to summit with oak-trees, the pinkybrown of their opening leaves making a rich contrast to the dark pineswhich interspersed them here and there. Leaving the woods behind us wewound slowly up the steep slope, between rough stone walls or banks ofgrass and furze, the great bare rolling hills stretched out before us,where the sheep were cropping the short sweet grass that grew betweenthe clumps of sedge and rushes, and the larks were singing loudly andjoyfully as they rose from their nests among the heather. Redburnproved to be a quaint little old-world gray-stone village, set in a dipamongst the moors, where it might receive some slight shelter from thebitter north wind which blew from the hills in winter-time. We rattledthrough its steep cobbled streets, making a brief pause at the church,where some ancient stone coffins and carved choir stalls were to beseen, and then on again, over the mountain-side, till we finally drew upin the farmyard of Ingledew Grange, where Mrs. Thompson, the farmer'swife, in a clean print dress and snowy apron, was waiting to receive uswith many smiles and words of welcome.
"I'm fain glad it's turned out a fine day for ye, that I am," she said."Ye'll be nigh clemmed after your drive, I take it, and more than readyfor your teas. I won't be above a few minutes in mashin' the pots, butif ye care to take a turn round the garden whilst the cakes is a-gettin'out of the oven ye can go where ye like."
We certainly agreed with her that the fresh moorland air had given akeen edge to our appetites, and she hastened to finish her preparations,while we prowled about the sweet old garden, where the little June roseshung white over the rustic porch, and the peacocks on the lawn belowwere spreading their glorious tails to the sunshine.
We had tea at long tables in a great farm-kitchen, the high roof ofwhich had black oak rafters arched like those of a church, while theflagged floor was strewn with the finest white sand. Everything was asneat and clean as constant scrubbing and scouring could make it; the oakfurniture shone with polishing, on a fine old dresser was spread out agoodly array of blue willow-pattern china, while the brightest of coppersauce-pans and pewter pots adorned the plain, whitewashed walls.
Millicent had certainly not overstated the quality of the cakes, nor thefreshness of the large brown eggs, nor the sweetness of the honey withits delicious flavour of moorland heather, nor the dark barley bread,nor the rich cream which Mrs. Marshall poured into our tea-cups with alavish hand. It was a real old-fashioned farmhouse tea, and we didjustice to it with such ample country appetites, that I think even Mrs.Thompson was satisfied that we had enjoyed ourselves. We dispersedafterwards in little groups for a ramble round the fields, and in thepretty shady wood which lay at the foot of the dell.
"Lilies-of-the-valley?" said Mrs. Thompson, in response to our eagerenquiries. "Ay, there's a many of them down in yon clough. We call 'em'snow-bobs' about here. Ye can pluck till ye're tired if ye've a mind."
"Come along, Phil!" cried Cathy; and we started down the path betweenthe springing corn, running for pure joy of the fresh air and sunshine,and snatching as we passed at the lacy flowers of the wild cornel whichhung over the hedgerow like masses of snow. A broad brook flowed throughthe little glade, and on either side, under the shade of the overhangingtrees, grew the lilies-of-the-valley in such sweet profusion that thewhole air seemed full of their delicious perfume. We ran here and therehalf wild with delight, burying our noses in the fragrant blossoms, andpicking until our hands were full.
"Aren't they glorious?" said I.
"Simply perfect!" said Cathy.
"I want to sniff them all up!" said Janet, who with a few other girlshad followed us.
"The fourth class are coming down the hill," said Ernestine. "They'llhave to be quick, or they won't find any left."
"There are plenty on the other side of the water," I said, "if we couldonly manage to get over. I should like to pick a particularly nicebunch for Mrs. Marshall"; and I looked doubtfully at the trunk of a treewhich had been laid across the brook to serve as a rough kind of bridge.There had been some attempt at a handrail, for a long pole swung fromtwo ropes tied to the trees on either side, but it was of such a veryshaky and insecure description that it would be barely sufficient tosteady one's self by in the crossing.
"It doesn't look at all
safe," declared Janet. "You won't catch metrying such a perilous path for all the flowers in the world."
"I think I shall venture," I said, "the lilies look so much finer overthere. Only mind you don't shake the pole while I'm crossing; it'sunsteady enough as it is."
The round tree-trunk did not make a very firm foothold, and the swinginghandrail felt the most insecure of supports when I started on to thebridge. I went along with great caution, one step at a time, trying tobalance myself steadily and not to think of the rushing water below.
"Very good! Very good indeed!" called Cathy from the bank.
"Don't hurry. Keep steady. You're half-way over!" cried Janet.
"It looks easy enough, I shall come too," exclaimed Ernestine. Sheseized the handrail as if to follow me, but the sudden touch on theshaking pole was too much for my frail balance--the rail swayedviolently and swung away out of my clutching grasp, my foot slipped, andwith a shriek of terror I found myself flung into the stream below.Luckily it was neither deep nor dangerous, but even half a yard of wateris quite enough to get very wet in, and I was a moist and draggledobject by the time I had struggled back to dry land.
"It's all your fault, Ernestine!" I cried wrathfully as I regained thebank. "I told you not to shake the handrail, and you knew it would upsetme!"
"You're the meanest thing in the world, Ernestine Salt!" declared Cathy,her cheeks crimson with indignation as she tried to wring the water frommy dripping skirts. "Don't speak to me; I never intend to be friendswith you again."
"You did it on purpose," began Janet. "I know you did. You're alwaysplaying sneaking tricks on Philippa when you think no one will find youout."
"You needn't think you're going to stay here with us," said BlancheGreenwood, hotly. "Because we don't want you. We didn't ask you to come,and you may go away and walk by yourself."
"I've no wish to stay with you, I'm sure," replied Ernestine with equaltemper. "I would rather have your room than your company. I've pickedall the lilies I want, so you're welcome to any that are left, so far asI'm concerned, if that's why you wish to get rid of me."
And with this parting shot, she took her flowers and walked slowly awayin the opposite direction to that in which we had come, by a small paththat led from the wood up on to the moor beyond.
"You're terribly wet, Phil; your boots are simply squelching with water.I don't know what Mrs. Marshall will say!" said Cathy, as she hurried meback to the farm as fast as possible, to be dried.
Somewhat to my relief, neither Mrs. Marshall nor any of the teachers wasthere. Like ourselves they were all trying to make the best of the fineafternoon out-of-doors.
"Deary me! Who'd have thought of you falling into that bit of a brook?"said Mrs. Thompson, aghast, as I walked into the kitchen in my moistskirts. "We must get you out of those wet things, honey. I've someclothes of my Lizzie's as would fit you while your own is at the fire."
Lizzie's skirt was decidedly too short for me, and Lizzie's boots wereequally large and roomy; her stockings, moreover, were of thick,home-knitted worsted, very hot and uncomfortable; but I was grateful foranything in the circumstances, and would, I believe, have worn a pair ofsabots if they had been offered to me.
"We shall just have time for a walk, Cathy, after all," I said. "Itcan't be very late yet, and we don't start home until six o'clock. Letus go up that path through the glen that led on to the moors."
"Nay! Don't go there!" called out Mrs. Thompson, who happened tooverhear my remark just as we left the house. "There's a bull up on yonmoor as isn't safe at all. It do run folks sometimes. I thought ye hadbeen with the rest when I warned ye all. Keep in our own fields, andye'll be right enough, but don't go roamin' far away."
"Never mind," said Cathy. "We'll go back to the wood, at any rate, andpick some more lilies, if there are any left."
We wandered slowly down the lane, gathering the dog-violets from thebanks, and having an unsuccessful hunt for birds' nests in the hedge.The girls were all gone from the glen, only a few dropped flowersremaining to show where they had been, and Cathy and I sauntered to thelittle bridge to take a look at the scene of my catastrophe.
"You see how the handrail shakes about," I said, as I swung it out witha touch. "And directly Ernestine took hold of it---- Oh, Cathy! I neverthought of Ernestine before! Don't you remember she went up the pathtowards the moors? She can't know that the bull is there, and she's gonequite alone!"
"Let us run after her," said Cathy. "Perhaps, after all, she mayn't havewalked very far, and we shall be in time to warn her."
"Quick! quick!" I cried. "Mrs. Thompson said the bull was so dangerous.Oh! we _must_ stop her!"
We raced as fast as my heavy country boots would allow along the narrowpath through the wood, and over the stile into the meadow beyond,calling "Ernestine" as we ran, but hearing no reply to our shouts. Amongthe deep clover and up the steep hill-side we panted, following theplain direction of the path, till, clambering over the irregular stepswhich led across the high stone wall, we found ourselves on the openmoor at last.
"Oh, look! look!" cried Cathy, grasping my arm. "There it is!"
And she pointed as she spoke to the summit of a small hill close by,where, outlined against the blue sky beyond, rose the enormous form ofthe great black bull, which stood there pawing the ground impatiently,and tossing his giant horns as though he were warning trespassers tobeware of venturing upon his domains. Slightly lower down among thefurze and the heather, and only about three hundred yards away from us,we could distinguish Ernestine's blue dress, and the flutter of the redribbon in her hat. She was walking slowly along, stooping every now andthen to pick a flower, or pausing to look at the scene around her, andevidently utterly unconscious of the huge monster which was grazing onthe hill-side above her. We called wildly to her, but the wind was inthe opposite direction, and she could not hear us.
"We _must_ save her, Cathy!" I cried. "Perhaps the bull won't see us.Let us follow her quietly, and tell her to come back before it's toolate."
"I FOUND MYSELF FLUNG INTO THE STREAM BELOW"]
But the bull had seen her already, and with a low roaring noise it beganto move slowly down the side of the hill, snuffing the air as it went.Roused at last by the sound, Ernestine turned round. For one moment shestood almost fixed to the spot with horror, then with a wild shriek offear she flung down her flowers, and ran back as fast as she could inthe direction of the stile over the wall.
"Stop! Stop! Don't run! It will be sure to follow you!" shouted Cathy;but even if Ernestine heard her, I doubt if she would have had theself-control to stay her flying footsteps. It was too late, for with aloud bellow the great animal was rushing madly after her down the slope.It seemed impossible that she could reach the wall in time. There wasonly a moment in which to save her, but I had read in books that a bullalways charges blindly, and quick as thought I pulled off my jacket, anddashed forward.
"Run, Ernestine! Run!" I cried. "Run, Cathy! The stile! The stile!"
It was almost upon her, but even as it put down its head to charge, Iflung my jacket over its horns, and, taking advantage of the few secondsof delay thus gained, I fled on wings of terror after the others to thestile. How I scrambled over, I can never remember; I know I fell onCathy and Ernestine at the bottom. We all lay there for a few momentsnearly dead with fright, imagining that the bull would leap after us,but the wall was high, and the stile very steep, and though we couldhear its angry mutterings within a few feet of us, it was not able toclear so great an obstacle.
"Let us get away!" cried Ernestine. "Oh! it's terrible, terrible tothink that dreadful beast is still so near us!"
She made an effort to rise; then, groaning with pain, she sank back onto the ground, and buried her face in her hands.
"I can't walk!" she moaned, "I've broken my foot. Go, girls, and leaveme! If I have to die, I must."
"What nonsense!" said Cathy. "You're not going to die yet. I expect youtwisted your ankle when you fell. You're quite safe here, for the bull
can't leap a six-foot wall, or climb up crooked stone steps. We'll gofor help, and Mr. Thompson and one of the men must come to carry youback to the farm."
"You go, Cathy," I said, "and I'll stay with Ernestine. She'd feeldreadfully frightened to be left here all alone, with the bull closeby, although it can't get at us now. If you run all the way, you'llvery soon be back with help."
Cathy started off at once at a brisk trot, and we watched her as shehurried down the clover-field and the meadow, and disappeared into thewood below.
I turned to Ernestine, who still sat under the wall where she hadfallen, white to the lips, and trembling all over with pain.
"I'm afraid your foot's hurting you very much," I said. "Let me takeyour boot off, and I'll get some water to bathe it for you."
I was obliged to cut both her boot-lace and her stocking with mypenknife, for her ankle was already so swollen that she could scarcelybear to have it touched. I soaked my handkerchief in a little pool ofwater, and bound up the foot as carefully as I could.
"Don't cry!" I said. "They'll soon be here with help, and you can lie onthe carriage-seat and keep your foot up all the way home. Does it hurtyou very dreadfully?"
"It does hurt, but it isn't that!" sobbed Ernestine. "You've saved mylife, Philippa, and--I've been so horribly nasty to you, ever since youcame to school! I _meant_ to shake that handrail to-day, and send youinto the brook; it wasn't an accident at all!"
I stroked her hand softly.
"I don't think you'd do it again," I said. "It's all right about thebull. Don't let us talk of it now. I want to put another bandage on yourpoor foot."
"But I will talk of it!" she said. "I've been most disgustingly mean.I'll be very different to you afterwards, if you'll be friends with me.Will you?"
"Of course I will," I said heartily; and I put my arms round her neck,and kissed her.
Mr. Thompson soon arrived with a couple of strong farm-men, and betweenthem they carried my poor groaning school-mate back to the farm, whereMrs. Marshall was waiting, full of alarm at the chapter of accidentswhich had happened. It was a painful journey home for Ernestine, and itwas many weeks before her sprained ankle would allow her to walk, ortake any part in our school games again. I think I was able to make thedull hours she had perforce to spend on her sofa pass a little morebrightly for her, and she was grateful to me beyond words.
"No, don't!" I said, when she tried once to stammer out her thanks."We've forgotten all that old time. It's no use remembering bygones.We're going to start afresh now, and we'll all give you ever such ajolly welcome when you're well enough to come into school again."
And so my last trouble at The Hollies had passed away, for Miss Percy'shard discipline had resolved itself into the genial sway of Miss Hope,and Ernestine Salt, who had been the one stormy element in my class, nowwrote herself upon the list of my friends.
The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story Page 11
