Mountain of Adventure (Enid Blyton's Adventure Series)

by Enid Blyton

  ‘I want this one,’ cried Lucy-Ann, pulling at a sturdy animal that threw his head back continually, and stamped now and then. ‘I like him. What is his name, Trefor?’

  Trefor said something nobody understood. Effans translated. ‘His name is Clover. This one is Grayling, and that one is Dapple. The other two are Buttercup and Daisy.’

  Lucy-Ann had Clover. Jack had Grayling, and Dinah had Dapple. Bill had Buttercup, and Philip had Daisy. Each of them was delighted with his or her own special donkey.

  ‘Let’s ride them now,’ said Jack, mounting his little beast. ‘Come on, Bill. Aunt Allie, get on. We’ll go for our first ride now – up the path and back again.’

  With Effans and his wife looking on in delight, the six rode off on their donkeys. They would not go fast uphill, and Bill warned each child not to try and make them. ‘They’ll trot coming down all right,’ he said. ‘But it’s heavy going for them uphill, with our weight on their backs.’

  It was great fun riding the grey donkeys up the steep mountain path. Mrs Mannering was nervous at first when she came to the rocky bits, but her donkey was as sure-footed as the others, and went steadily along on even the stoniest parts.

  Bill rode close by in case Mrs Mannering needed help, but she didn’t. The four children, of course, would have scorned any help. They were all used to riding horses, and the donkeys were very easy to manage.

  ‘Now we’ll turn back,’ called Bill. So they all turned and went homewards. Snowy came too, of course, having leapt and bounded ahead of them all the way, apparently under the impression that he was leading them.

  ‘That was fun,’ said Lucy-Ann, as they trotted homewards, the donkeys going faster now that they were on a downhill road. Mrs Mannering didn’t like the trotting so much as the ambling.

  ‘My donkey is a very bumpy one,’ she said to Bill. ‘When I go down he comes up and when I go up he goes down, so we keep meeting with a bump!’

  Everyone laughed. They were all sorry when they reached the farmhouse, for by that time they felt as if they could go trotting on for ever. But a meal was ready for them on the table, and Mrs Evans was beaming at the door, so they didn’t lose much time in taking the donkeys to the field and carrying their harness to the stables.

  ‘You’ll be quite used to riding a donkey by next week,’ Bill said to Mrs Mannering. ‘By the time Wednesday comes you’ll be ready to set off and you’ll feel as if you’d ridden a donkey all your life!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure I shall,’ said Mrs Mannering. She felt something pecking at her foot and looked under the table. She saw a fat brown hen there and pushed it away. ‘Shoo! Stop pecking my foot!’

  The hen shooed, only to be replaced by Snowy, who, pushed off Philip’s knee as he sat at table, was amusing himself by trying to eat shoe-laces under the table. Mrs Mannering pushed him him away too, and Snowy went to chew the hem of Mrs Evans’ dress. She never noticed things like that, so Snowy had a nice long chew.

  The next day the girls and Mrs Mannering were so stiff with their donkey-ride that they could hardly walk. The boys and Bill were all right, but Mrs Mannering groaned as she came down the stairs.

  ‘Good gracious! I feel like an old old lady! I’ll never be able to ride a donkey again!’ she said.

  But the stiffness wore off, and the six of them soon got used to riding their donkeys day after day into the mountains. There were some lovely rides and magnificent views. Snowy came with them always, never tired, leaping along gaily. Kiki rode on Jack’s shoulder, occasionally taking a flight into the air to scare any bird that happened to be flying overhead. They flew off quickly, full of astonishment when Kiki told them to wipe their feet.

  ‘Two days more and it’s Wednesday,’ said Lucy-Ann happily. ‘We’ll be quite ready then – able to ride for hours and hours.’

  ‘Yes – off to the Vale of Butterflies!’ said Jack. ‘I

  wonder what it’s like! I imagine it to be full of wings of all colours. Lovely!’

  ‘Oh, hurry up and come, Wednesday!’ said Dinah. ‘Only forty-eight hours – and then, off we go!’

  But something unexpected happened in that forty-eight hours – something that quite upset their lovely plans!

  6

  Off to the Vale of Butterflies

  It happened the very next day. It was when Mrs Mannering had gone with Mrs Evans to the big barn. The door suddenly blew shut, and caught her hand in it, trapping it tightly.

  Mrs Mannering screamed. Mrs Evans ran to open the door, but poor Mrs Mannering’s hand was badly bruised and crushed.

  Bill was very concerned. ‘I must take you down to the doctor,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the car. Where are the children? Out on their donkeys? Tell them where we’ve gone, Mrs Evans, when they come back. They needn’t worry. I’ll have Mrs Mannering’s hand seen to, and properly bandaged. I don’t expect it will be very much, but I’d like her to have it X-rayed in case any small bone is broken.’

  Looking rather white, Mrs Mannering was driven off by Bill, down the steep mountain road to the town that lay some way off in the next valley. It was about fifteen miles and soon Mrs Mannering was in hospital having her hand X-rayed and bound up.

  The children were very upset when they heard what had happened. ‘Poor Mother!’ said Philip. ‘It must have hurt dreadfully when her hand got caught in that heavy door.’

  ‘Indeed to gootness, it did,’ said Mrs Evans, who looked quite upset too. ‘She gave one scream, poor soul, and then made not a sound, whateffer. Now don’t look so sadly – she’ll be back tonight.’

  ‘Will she be able to go off to the mountains tomorrow?’ asked Lucy-Ann. ‘How can she ride with a bad hand?’

  ‘Well, there now, she can’t,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘But she can stay here with me and I’ll look after her for you. You can go with Mr Cunningham and David.’

  ‘But will Bill go if Mother’s hurt?’ wondered Philip. ‘He thinks the world of her. Oh, blow! It’s bad luck for this to happen just when we had such a lovely plan. Poor Mother! I do hope her hand’s better now.’

  Mrs Mannering arrived back in Bill’s car that evening, just before high tea. She looked better, and made light of her hand.

  ‘We’ve had it X-rayed,’ said Bill. ‘She’s broken a tiny bone just here,’ and he showed them where, on the back of his hand. ‘It’s got to be bandaged and kept at rest. I’m to take her down to have it seen again in three days’ time.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, dears,’ said Mrs Mannering. ‘And Bill, you don’t need to take me down, you know. I’m quite able to drive myself down even with an injured hand. Take the children on their trip tomorrow. I can’t bear to have them disappointed.’

  ‘What! And leave you like this!’ said Bill. ‘Don’t be silly, Allie. I shall take you down myself in the car on Friday. The children can go with David, if he’ll take them on by himself. It’s a perfectly ordinary trip, and they’ll be back in a few days’ time. They can all ride their donkeys as easily as David – and probably they’ll enjoy a trip without us!’

  ‘We’d much rather you and Aunt Allie came,’ said Jack. ‘But as you can’t, it’s decent of you to let us go alone. We’ll be perfectly all right, Bill. David knows the way, and we can all look after ourselves.’

  So it was settled that the four children should go by themselves on the donkeys with their guide David, taking with them tents, bedding and food. Philip questioned Bill to make sure that his mother’s hand was not seriously hurt.

  ‘Oh, no – it will soon be right,’ said Bill. ‘But I want to be sure she doesn’t use it, and I want to take her down to the doctor in three days’ time. I’m sorry not to come with you – but you’ll be all right by yourselves. I don’t see that you can get into any trouble, or any startling adventure, going donkey-riding in the mountains with David. Maybe we can all go together, later on.’

  The children were very excited that night, getting ready the things they wanted to take. They had two small tents, a sleeping-bag each, two gro
und-sheets, cameras, field-glasses, a change of clothes – and food.

  The food was Mrs Evans’ care. Bill watched her packing up what she thought they would eat in the next few days.

  ‘I didn’t like to stop her,’ he told the others. ‘But, honestly, she’s packed enough for a month. She’s put in a whole ham!’

  ‘Golly!’ said Jack. ‘What else?’

  ‘A tongue or two, hard-boiled eggs, tins of all kinds, plum-cake and goodness knows what!’ said Philip. ‘We shall feast like kings.’

  ‘Well,’ began Lucy-Ann, ‘I always think that we eat twice as much in the open air, because food tastes so . . .’

  ‘Much nicer!’ chorused everyone. Lucy-Ann always said that at least a dozen times each holidays. She laughed.

  ‘Well, anyway, it will be nice to have as much as ever we can eat. There’s David too – we’ve got to take food for him as well.’

  ‘He doesn’t look as if he’d eat much,’ said Dinah. ‘Skinny little fellow, he is!’

  ‘You’d better go to bed early, children,’ said Mrs Mannering a little later. ‘You’ll have a long ride tomorrow, according to Effans.’

  ‘All right. It’ll make tomorrow come all the sooner!’ said Lucy-Ann. ‘How’s your hand feel, Aunt Allie?’

  ‘It’s quite comfortable, thank you,’ said Mrs Mannering. ‘I’m sure I could have gone with you tomorrow, really!’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t,’ said Bill hastily, half afraid that Mrs Mannering would try to be foolish and go with the others after all. She laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry! I’m going to be sensible – and, dear me, it will be quite a change to be rid of four noisy ruffians and an even noisier bird for a few days, Bill, won’t it?’

  All the children were awake very early the next day. Snowy the kid, who was a real sleepy-head in the mornings, didn’t want to wake up at all, and snuggled deeper into Philip’s blankets as the boy tried to get out of bed.

  Kiki took her head from under her wing and scratched her poll. ‘Dithery Slithery,’ she remarked, which meant that she had spied Philip’s slow-worm. It was coiled up in a corner of the room. It would very much have liked to sleep on Philip’s bed, but it was afraid of Snowy, who had a habit of nibbling anything near him.

  The boys got up and looked out of the window. It was a really perfect day. The mountains towered up into the fresh morning sky, as beautiful as ever.

  ‘They look as if someone had just been along and washed them,’ said Jack. ‘The sky looks washed too – so very very clean and new.’

  ‘I like the feel of an early morning,’ said Philip, putting on his shorts. ‘It has a special new feel about it – as if it was the first morning that ever happened!’

  Snowy went over to the corner where Sally the slow-worm was, and the slow-worm at once wriggled away under the chest of drawers. Philip picked her up and she slid gracefully into his pocket.

  ‘Have to get you a few flies for breakfast, Sally,’ said Philip. ‘Shut up, Kiki – you’ll wake the rest of the household with that awful cough.’

  Kiki could give a terrible, hollow cough at times, which she had copied from an old uncle of Jack’s, and she was practising it now. She stopped when Philip spoke to her, and hopped to Jack’s shoulder.

  ‘Funny bird, silly bird,’ said Jack affectionately, scratching her neck. ‘Come on, Philip – let’s see if the girls are up.’

  They were just getting up, both of them thrilled at the fine day and the idea of going camping in the mountains. ‘Have you got that horrid slow-worm on you?’ asked Dinah fearfully, looking at Philip.

  ‘Yes, somewhere about,’ said Philip, feeling all over him. ‘There’s one thing about Sally Slithery – she does get about!’

  Dinah shuddered and went to wash in the bathroom. Snowy the kid was there, nibbling the cork bath-mat, which he evidently thought was delicious.

  ‘Oh, Snowy! Mrs Evans won’t be at all pleased with you!’ said Dinah, and shooed the kid out of the door. He went to find Philip. He was quite one of the family now.

  Mrs Mannering’s hand was stiff and sore that morning, but she said very little about it, not wanting to upset the children. She was glad it was such a lovely day for them, and watched with amusement as Mrs Evans carefully packed up all the food she had prepared for the children to take with them.

  ‘If you eat all that you’ll never be able to ride home on the donkeys,’ she said. ‘You’ll be too fat.’

  ‘They must not go hungry,’ said kind Mrs Evans. ‘There! I think I have thought of everything. Children, you must use one donkey for the food and the other for everything else, look you. I will see that David straps everything on well.’

  The children listened to her kind, lilting voice as they sat at breakfast. They felt very happy, and the only thing that spoilt their pleasure was the fact that Bill and Mrs Mannering were not coming with them. On the other hand, they would be freer without grown-ups!

  Kiki gave a hiccup, with one eye on Mrs Mannering. She looked at the parrot severely. ‘Kiki! You did that on purpose. Do you want your beak smacked?’

  ‘Pardon,’ said Kiki, and went off into a cackle of laughter. Effans choked over his bacon, trying to laugh with his mouth full, and went purple in the face. His bacon went down the wrong way, and he got the hiccups too.

  ‘Pardon, look you!’ he said to Mrs Mannering, with such a horrified look on his face that everyone roared with laughter.

  ‘Now here is David, all ready for you!’ cried Mrs Evans from the door, where she had gone to chase away a turkey that had suddenly appeared. It made a gobbling noise that scared Snowy terribly. Kiki, of course, at once gobbled too, and the turkey looked into the kitchen in amazement. ‘Shoo!’ said Mrs Evans. ‘Good morning, David, it’s early you are, and a nice day you have brought with you!’

  ‘Indeed to gootness I have,’ said David and smiled timidly at the company in the big kitchen. His donkeys crowded round him, sturdy and patient, their harness clinking and glinting.

  ‘Come on!’ yelled Jack, suddenly feeling too excited to sit at the table any longer. ‘Come on! Let’s pack the things on the donkeys and go!’

  They all rushed out. Soon David and Effans were strapping everything on two donkeys. One donkey had big panniers each side for food. The other had the things strapped across his broad little back. They stood perfectly still, their ears twitching as a fly or two settled on them.

  ‘Well – are we ready to start?’ said Philip. ‘I think we’ve got everything. Oh, gosh, where are my field-glasses?’

  At last everyone and everything was ready. It had been explained to David that Bill and Mrs Mannering could not come, and Effans had said he would care for the two extra donkeys till the children came back. David did not seem too pleased to think he was to go alone with the children. He looked rather alarmed, Bill thought. Poor fellow! Bill wished it was Effans who was going with the children, not David. Still, the children were used to camping out and could be trusted to be sensible.

  ‘Goodbye!’ called everyone. ‘See you in a few days’ time. Take care of your hand, Mother! Now we’re off – off to the Vale of Butterflies! Goodbye, everyone!’

  7

  On the way

  With Bill, Mrs Mannering, Effans and Mrs Evans waving and calling goodbye, the party set off on their donkeys. They had to go up by Trefor the shepherd’s little cabin, and the donkeys picked their way steadily up the steep hillside.

  Snowy ran beside them, bobbing about under the donkeys’ bodies as he pleased. They seemed to like him, and Dapple kept putting his head down to the kid whenever he came near. Kiki was perched as usual on Jack’s shoulder, jogging up and down contentedly, snapping her beak, and making a few quiet remarks into Jack’s ear.

  They came to Trefor’s cabin. He was on the hillside, seeing to a sick sheep. He came to meet them, his untidy hair blowing in the wind, and his eyes shining as blue as forget-me-nots.

  There was a conversation between the two men in Welsh. David soun
ded rather complaining. Trefor seemed to be pooh-poohing what he said. David got out a map that Bill had given him, and appeared to be saying that he didn’t understand it at all.

  Trefor then spoke earnestly, pointing in this direction and that, poking David with his finger every time he wanted to make a point go home. The children thought he must be telling David the exact way to go.

  ‘I hope David really does know the way,’ said Jack. ‘He might have thought Bill would help him with the map if Bill had been going. It looks to me as if he’s telling Trefor he’s not too certain of the way.’

  ‘Well, what does it matter?’ said Philip, pushing Snowy off with his hand as the kid tried to jump up on to his donkey with him. ‘I’d like to see the Vale of Butterflies – but so long as we go off camping in those gorgeous mountains, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Yes. We shall see heaps of birds and animals anyway,’ said Jack, feeling that Philip was right. ‘Come on, David! Let’s go!’

  David leapt on to his donkey at once. He called goodbye to Trefor, and the little company set off once more, taking a narrow path along the mountain-side that went neither very far up, nor very far down.

  It was glorious riding there, so high, looking down on the valley far below. It was partly in the sun and partly in the shadow, for the sun was not yet high. Swallows flew round them catching flies, their steel-blue wings gleaming in the sun. Kiki watched them out of her sharp eyes. She had often tried fly-catching herself, but she knew she was no good at it. Anyway, flies didn’t taste as good as fruit!

  They ambled on until everyone felt hungry and thirsty. They came to a copse of birch-trees with a small stream near by.

  ‘Let’s picnic here,’ said Philip, sliding off his donkey. ‘In the shade of those trees. I’m absolutely cooked with the sun.’

  David saw to the donkeys, taking them to the stream for water. He then let them wander free, for they came most obediently at his call, and could be trusted not to go too far away. They went to the shade of the trees and stood there, swishing their long grey tails, enjoying the rest.