*CHAPTER XI*
*THE WISHING WELL*
For a while things settled down into smoothly running order. Now thatthe first month had passed the days seemed to slip by in an amazingfashion--as they generally do after the newness of strange surroundingshas worn off. The four girls got on very well together on the whole; ofcourse, there were occasional little breezes--which was only naturalconsidering that four such different temperaments were thrown constantlyinto each other's society; but the breezes never gathered into atempest, and always, before long, the sun was out again.
One of the breezes sprang up during the sixth week on account of aprotest Isobel made regarding Caroline's choice of puddings. It wasCaroline's turn again to arrange the week's meals, and it must certainlybe admitted that to choose suet roly-poly on Monday and Thursday, appledumplings on Tuesday, and boiled treacle roll on Wednesday and Friday,was, to say the least of it, asking for trouble. But when on theSaturday a solidly substantial Christmas pudding appeared, it was toomuch for Isobel, and she protested vigorously at the stodginess ofCaroline's puddings.
Caroline, looking up from the solid slice of pudding on her plate, tookthe remarks badly, and after a few sullen replies got decidedly annoyed.She was making the most of her week, she said, because she knew shewould not get another pudding worth calling a pudding until her turncame round again. Even the glories of Isobel's elaborate puddings--withcream and crystallized cherries on top--had failed to rouse anyenthusiasm in Caroline. Those kinds of pudding were all right to lookat, but they had 'no insides' to them, commented Caroline, as she passedher plate for a third helping of Christmas pudding.
Martha's patience and willingness in making the various kinds of puddingchosen were things to be marvelled at; but she seemed to take greatpride and pleasure in showing her skill at cooking whatever the girlsrequired. To be sure, there was no lack of praise for her from the fourgirls, who thoroughly appreciated her efforts to do her best for them.
"It always does me good to go and have a talk with Martha," Pamela wouldsay. "She's so cheerful--and so willing and unselfish. Nothing is anytrouble to her."
Martha never demurred at nor criticized any of the puddings chosen--noteven Caroline's recurring choice of roly-polies, though she looked atrifle anxious and made them as light as possible.
"And on Friday we'll have boiled treacle roll," Caroline had informedher.
"And what's nicer!" Martha had replied, unaware of the chorus of muffledgroans on the other side of the kitchen door, as three girls, rollingtheir eyes in an exaggerated manner, crept stealthily away along thepassage.
Then on the Saturday had come Isobel's protest. Caroline maintained thatshe had a right to choose any puddings she liked during her week, andwhile quite agreeing with her as to this point, Pamela mentioned thatshe thought it would be more considerate of Caroline if she would makeher choice a little less 'suety.' They discussed the matter thoroughly,and finally came to an agreement, Caroline undertaking to vary herchoice if the others promised to have the kind of pudding that was_really_ a pudding on one day in each week. And so matters werearranged and the breeze blew over.
In spite of lack of encouragement or interest from the others, Carolinehad sent in her name to Lady Prior's secretary as one who was willing tomake things for the bazaar. And there had followed a day when twoladies of the organizing committee had called to see Caroline to talkabout the articles that were most needed for the various stalls. It wasa blissfully important day for Caroline, and she had dreams that nightof crocheted cosy-covers, and little pink silk pin-cushions, andafterward, until the bazaar took place, was scarcely ever seen withoutknitting-needles or sewing of some kind or other in her hands.
The two committee ladies were both very large ladies, and were so wellwrapped up in cloaks and scarves for motoring that they looked evenlarger than they really were. They drove up to the front gate in a verylarge motor car, and being ushered into the drawing-room by therespectful Ellen, both sat down on the small couch, which they succeededin completely obscuring. They were both exceedingly amiable, anddiscussed matters in rather loud and assured voices with the bashfulCaroline, who not only promised to make a number of things for thebazaar, but was eventually persuaded to preside at one of the stalls.
"All the stall-holders are to wear Japanese costumes. A charming idea,don't you think so?" smiled one of the ladies.
"A very, very sweet idea," said the other. "Of course, there will be nobother of getting the costumes ready; we are arranging to hire a numberfor the day. You'll have to come up and choose which one you like whenthe time draws near."
Caroline smiled, and said she thought it a nice idea. Fortunately, thefact that the Japanese style, with chrysanthemums in her hair, would notsuit her in the least did not occur to Caroline. She was not a vain girlwith regard to her appearance, though she was rather proud of heraccomplishments in the sewing line.
But when Isobel heard about the Japanese costume for Caroline she nearlysuffocated herself with laughter at the picture her mind's eye presentedher with of solemn Caroline in a butterfly kimono and chrysanthemumspinned coquettishly above each ear. However, Caroline was not withinhearing when Isobel learnt the news from Beryl, so no harm was done.
Isobel would have liked to join in the bazaar herself, but until sheknew for certain about her relationship with the family at the ManorHouse, she decided that it was better not to lay herself open to thechance of meeting Lady Prior. Of course she had questioned Martha aboutthe Priors, but nothing Martha could tell her shed any light on thePriors' connexions, as Sir Henry was practically a new-comer toBarrowfield, having bought the Manor House on the death of the lateowner a few years ago.
As a rule Martha was a useful mine of information on people and placesin Barrowfield, and many an interesting morsel of gossip had come to thegirls through Martha.
It was through her, for instance, that they first heard of the WishingWell.
One evening when Pamela was showing Martha a sketch she had made of anold barn and some pine trees, Martha said:
"Why, that's near the top of Long Lane, isn't it?--near where theWishing Well is! And a very handsome picture it makes, to be sure."
"The Wishing Well!" said Pamela. "Where's that? It sounds exciting."
"Well, you know as you gets near the top of Long Lane," said Martha,busily stoning raisins into a basin that stood on the kitchen table, "onyour right hand, as you're going up, you pass a white gate that leadsinto a field and an old disused chalk quarry--there's poppies and longgrass growing all about in the summer--and there's a few trees at thetop of the field, at the head of the scooped-out chalk-pit.... Well, afew yards inside the gate, on your left, and almost hidden by anoverhanging hedge, is the well. You probably wouldn't notice it if youwasn't looking for it! But there it is, as sure as I'm sitting here,stoning these raisins--and Ellen will tell you the same as it's thetruth I'm speaking."
"And why is it called a Wishing Well?" inquired Pamela.
"Oh, there's some old story that if you was to write a wish on a pieceof paper and throw it into the well on a moonlight night, whatever youwished would come true," Martha chuckled. "But I don't know as Ibelieves it--though I _did_ have a wish that way once--in my young days,mind you----"
"And did it come true?" asked Pamela, eagerly.
"Well, no--I can't say it did," replied Martha, "but then, according tothe story it was my fault. I ought to have kept it secret, and I wentand spoke it out to some one, not thinking like--and so it didn't cometrue."
"Didn't you wish again ever?"
Martha shook her head. "You can only wish once--according to the story... but mind you, I don't say there's any truth in it, one way or theother."
"But don't you know anyone else who has wished and who has had theirwish granted?" asked Pamela, to whom the idea appealed strongly.
"I can't truthfully say I do--not for certain," said Martha. "Though Iknows
several what have _said_ such and such a thing has happenedbecause they wished it to--down the well--and it's their wish cometrue.... But how do I know they're speaking the truth? Eh? Theymustn't tell what they've wished till it does come true, or else itwon't come true at all. And when a thing happens, it's easy enough tosay you wished it to, isn't it? ... So you see you can't rely on noone--not knowing how honest they are--but can only try for yourself andsee."
"I should love to have a wish," said Pamela, gazing thoughtfully intothe glowing kitchen fire. "I like to _believe_ I believe in WishingWells, and goblins and spells and enchantments and things like that, butI'm not really sure that I _do_.... Anyway, I think we might all go upLong Lane on a moonlight night, and have a wish--_just in case_ itreally is a Wishing Well.... I'm sure Beryl will love the idea--theyall will, I think. You'll tell us just what to do, won't you, Martha?"
Martha laughed. "Yes, indeed," she said. "But, mind you, I don't saythere's anything in it."
The outcome of this conversation was an excursion up Long Lane a fewnights later when the moon was at the full. All four girls entered intothe spirit of the adventure in high spirits, though Caroline ratherspoilt the romantic glamour that Pamela had conjured up by insisting onwearing her goloshes in case she got her feet wet in the damp grass.
"Oh, Caroline, how _can_ you! We ought not to speak of such things asgoloshes--practical, matter-of-fact, everyday goloshes--in the samebreath as Wishing Wells," said Pamela, in a mock tragic voice. "Butstill, I suppose it's very sensible of you," she added, laughing.
The four girls started off up Long Lane, chatting and laughing, eachwith a piece of paper and pencil to write her wish when the well wasreached. It would be so much more romantic, Pamela said, to write itbeside the well in the moonlight, rather than beside the dining-roomtable in the gaslight.
"I hope you each know what you're going to wish," said Isobel. "It'llbe too chilly to stand about making up our minds when we get there."
Long Lane stretched from the blacksmith's forge, that stood on the sameside of Barrowfield Green as Chequertrees, past Tom Bagg's house, and upthe hill to a small inn, and a handful of scattered cottages a mile anda half away. The lane was set with high hedges on either side, and wasa gradual ascent all the way.
As the girls drew near the top end, and the gate leading to the chalkquarry came in sight, they fell silent, each trying to put into shapethe wish she was going to write in a few minutes.
The well was much as Martha had described, though even more hidden andovergrown with trails of creeper from a high bank of shrubs above itthan they had expected to find. Pamela was obliged to draw the trailsaside before they could see the dark, still water.
"Can you see the moon reflected in the water? We must make sure ofthat," reminded Beryl.
Long white clouds were drifting slowly across the face of the moon, butas they passed, and the moon emerged again, her reflection could be seenin the well.
"Yes," said Pamela. "So--now--quick--let's write our wishes and wrap astone inside the papers so that they'll sink--and drop them in the waterwhile the moon's out." She looked up overhead. "It'll be clear for afew minutes now, but there are more clouds coming slowly--a long wayoff--and if they reach her we shall have to wait some minutes for themto pass."
A hurried search for convenient-sized stones was made; and then,silence, while they wrote down their wishes, using the top bar of thewhite gate as a writing-desk.
Pamela was the first to finish. At first Pamela had thought of wishingsomething for Michael; then she had thought of wishing that she couldpaint as well as Elizabeth Bagg; but "Michael and I are young," she hadtold herself, "and we've plenty of years to work in--but Elizabeth Baggis getting old, and she's losing heart--I'll wish something for her....I'll wish that somebody with influence, who can appreciate ElizabethBagg's artistic talent, may see some of her pictures, and that she maysoon obtain the recognition which she well deserves." This was the gistof Pamela's wish. Wrapping a stone inside her paper, she threw it intothe well--the moon's reflection scattering into a hundred shimmers andripples as the stone splashed into the dark water and sank.
Isobel was the next ready. "I wish that I may do nothing to forfeit myfifty pounds," she had written, and her 'wish' followed quickly in thetrack of Pamela's.
For a wonder Caroline was finished third; but she knew when she startedout exactly what she was going to wish. It concerned a little matterthat had been fidgeting her careful soul for the last two days. "I wishI may find my silver thimble." Such was Caroline's wish, and itjourneyed down after the other two just as Beryl finished writing hers.
Beryl had taken longer because she had had some difficulty in framingher wish, although when finished it seemed quite straightforward enough."I wish I may never have to go back and live with Aunt Laura again,"Beryl had written.
"Hurry up, and throw yours in, Beryl--the clouds are coming over," saidPamela, as she and Caroline and Isobel wandered a few paces away towardthe chalk quarry. They were talking casually together when a slightscream from Beryl made them turn hastily round.
Beryl was running swiftly away from the well and toward the gate, whichshe pushed open, and ran into the lane.
The three other girls quickly followed and soon overtook her.
"Beryl! Wait a minute! Wait for us! What's the matter?" they calledas they ran.
Beryl stopped running directly she heard their voices, and came to astandstill. She was looking very pale and scared as they came up toher.
"Whatever is the matter, old girl?" asked Pamela, taking hold of Beryl'sarm.
"Oh, Pamela," she said, "I had just thrown my wish in the well, when thebush--the big overhanging bush close above--gave a rustle, and I heardsome one laugh--such a horrid laugh--as if some one was hiding there,watching us. I--it gave me such a turn--I just ran--I didn't noticewhere you were--I just ran for the gate, to get away quickly."
Beryl seemed quite unnerved, and it was in vain that the others tried topersuade her that it was only her imagination.
"Shall we all go back together and make sure," suggested Pamela, notvery enthusiastically it must be owned; but the others were certain itwould not be wise to do this.
"It might be some horrible old tramp asleep in the hedge," said Isobel."No. Let's get home--it's getting chilly--and we couldn't do any goodreally by going back, could we?"
So they all linked arms, and made their way home, where Martha waswaiting up for them with a jug of hot milk.
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