CHAPTER IX

THE CYCLING EXPEDITION

The room commonly known as the "boot-room" was crowded to overflowing with girls. Most of the house, in fact, with the exception of the half-a-dozen senior girls, seemed to be there. The hockey players were busy changing their muddy boots and washing their hands in the basins, where there was plenty of hot water and soap. The rest were all busy chattering excitedly to them about the match. Needless to say, the whole house was jubilant and hardly knew how to contain itself.

Amidst the babel of excited tongues, a remark from one of the team was always listened to with respect and interest. "Who would have dreamed it?" Babs was declaiming. "Shan't we crow over the other houses now! I really can't imagine how we did it."

"There's no use blinking at the facts," retorted Peggy, bluntly. "'Twas Duane that did most of the doing. We all did our best, but it was Duane who won the match for us."

"There wasn't a player on the field to touch her," declared Daisy.

"Yes," agreed Peggy. "Didn't she run those last two dashes down the field! There wasn't one who could overtake her. And when she shot for goal, she didn't give the goalkeeper much chance."

"Her shooting always was fine," another girl remarked. "I can remember it in the matches last year."

"But doesn't it seem simply rotten," came from Peggy, slowly, "that a player like her shouldn't be in the school eleven, playing for the school. Of course I know--" she paused, uncomfortably. "Well, I suppose it's her own fault and the hockey club were right enough to drop her and--and all that. But, dash it all, it seems such a waste! I bet she's the finest centre-forward Easthampton's ever had."

"And knowing that she can play like that," added Daisy, thoughtfully, "she must hate being out of all the big matches."

Little Erica Salter had been standing near by listening eagerly, motionless, her hands hanging down by her sides, her eyes, with a very rapt look in them, fixed on Daisy and Peggy as they were speaking. The emotional, sensitive child was plainly stirred to the depths by the thrilling happenings of the afternoon, of which the tingling sense of excitement and triumph still pervaded the whole atmosphere. She spoke up suddenly, when Daisy had finished:

"But supposing--just supposing Duane never did it after all?"

"Well then, it would be jolly hard lines on her, that's all I can say," replied Peggy. "But I don't see why we need bother our heads about that. Duane must have done it. Nobody else could have."

"But supposing another girl had done it, and kept it secret?"

"Then all I can say is that she'd be the meanest sort of creature alive," returned Peggy, decidedly, "and if she were ever found out, the girls would jolly well make the school too hot to hold her."

Erica clasped her hands nervously together, and said with solemn conviction, "I'm sure she would deserve everything she got."

Just at that moment the door opened, and in came Duane, Kitty and the other hockey players, having washed and cleaned themselves in their own cubicles. They had come to change their muddy footgear.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Duane, in her soft familiar drawl. "What a crowd! The whole house seems to have assembled in the boot-room, evidently under the mistaken impression that it's a hotel lounge. Clear out, you kids. Don't you know tea bell's gone?"

There was a general scramble for the door. Kitty, drawing on a pair of indoor shoes, was overcome with laughter at the sight. In a very short time the room was cleared of all except the hockey players themselves.

"Hurry up, girls," Duane advised. "You know Miss Carslake hates anyone to be late in to meals. Everyone ready?"

Daisy stretched her arms above her head. "Oh dear! I'm sure I shall be stiff all over to-morrow. But it was worth being stiff for the rest of the term. I say, Duane," she added, half hesitating, half wistfully. "We didn't let you down, did we? Towards the end, you know."

Duane, her hand on the door-handle, turned and faced them, lounging back against the door with easy, unstudied grace, aristocrat in every line of her.

"Let me down?" she repeated. "No, of course you didn't. I tell you what, you kids, you played up like heroes, and the house ought to be jolly proud of you. Kitty and Bertha were as good as the school backs any day, while Peggy's run got us the first goal, and France rose to the occasion nobly at the last one. Anyway, you've given the old place the shock of its life." She smiled at them with eyes that had grown suddenly brilliant, and for the moment everyone, even Kitty, forgot all about the Richoter and all that had happened the previous term.

"But it was you who scored the goals," said Peggy, honestly.

"Of course," returned Duane, lightly. "Didn't I tell you that was my one particular forte. Wait tell our next house match and we'll see what we can do then."

She pushed open the door and led the way out, France remarking that Miss Carslake could hardly row them for being a few minutes late for once, after the glory they had brought upon the house.

The next day, Wednesday, being half-holiday, Miss Carslake had arranged to take some of the girls on a cycling expedition to the downs, where recent excavations had disclosed traces of both early Celtic and later Roman habitation. The house mistress, who took the senior history classes in the school, was apt to wax enthusiastic over neolithic remains or mediæval architecture, and during the summer months organized many walking or cycling expeditions to see a prehistoric barrow on the downs, or a little village church with a Norman chancel, or an architectural curiosity such as a low side window or a hagioscope.

Some twelve or fifteen girls had given in their names to the head prefect as desirous of going. Duane was in her study that evening, making out this list, when there came a timid tap on the door and Erica Salter entered.

"Hallo! What is it?" inquired Duane, glancing up. "You, Erica! What's up?"

"Nothing," said Erica. "That is--" She glanced at Kitty, who was also in the room writing letters, but there was evidently nothing to be afraid of from that quarter, and Erica continued, "That is to say, I--I want you to ask Miss Carslake if I can come to-morrow to Stretton Downs, Duane."

"You! 'Fraid not, Erica. You're too small."

"I'm not so very," protested Erica. "And I'm used to cycling. I've got my bike here."

"It's too far for you," said Duane decidedly. "Nine miles there and back."

"But I've often cycled as much as that in a day, at home in the holidays. Really and truly I have."

"Bertha's not going, is she?" asked Duane, glancing down at her list.

"No. She doesn't want to. She said she hated anything to do with history. But ask her if I haven't cycled just as far these summer holidays."

Duane hesitated. "But what on earth do you want to go for, kid?" she said somewhat impatiently. "You're not interested in Celtic and Roman remains. Goodness knows if I am, for that matter, but I suppose I'm expected to be."

Kitty, of course, had been listening to this conversation. Something in the child's obvious eagerness touched her. Besides, Erica had never looked very well since that bad attack of influenza the last term. Her face was paler and thinner, her dark eyes looked bigger. It even seemed to Kitty that there was something strained and tense in her expression and attitude, though probably that was merely imagination on her part. She broke in with:

"Oh, let her go, Duane, as she seems so very keen. If she gets tired I'll undertake to give her a push."

Duane shrugged her shoulders in her characteristic fashion. "I suppose, since Kitty takes your part, I shall have to put your name down. Kitty's quite capable of pushing herself and you too; in fact, she'd doubtless enjoy the double burden."

Kitty glanced sharply at Duane. Was she trying to be nasty, or was it merely her flippant, cynical way of talking? Impossible to tell.

Kitty glanced once more at Erica, who was exclaiming gratefully, "Oh, thank you _ever_ so much, both of you! You _are_ two dears," and said in a low voice to Duane:

"I don't think the child's looking very fit, do you?"

Duane frowned slightly, then turned to Erica. "I suppose you haven't anything on for the rest of the evening?"

"No. Nothing special. I wanted to read, but it's so noisy in the common-room. It makes my head ache."

"Sit down in that chair then, for a bit," said Duane abruptly, pointing with the handle of her pen to the easy chair in front of the hearth. "Kitty and I are both busy, so it will be quiet enough in here."

The child hesitated, flushing up. "Are you sure I shan't be in your way?"

"Quite."

"Then I should just love to."

She curled herself up in the chair before the fire, and there was silence in the room, broken only by the scratching of pens. Erica sat quiet and still, her dreamy gaze wandering from Duane to Kitty, and from Kitty to Duane, and in her soft dark eyes was the whole-hearted if childish hero-worship that is so common and natural between small schoolboys and girls and their seniors, the girls and boys who are at top of the school. Presently, the warmth from the fire making her drowsy, she dropped off to sleep, her head against the back of the chair.

"She's asleep," said Kitty softly, glancing up. "I thought she looked tired." She nibbled her pen-handle, then went on hesitatingly, "I say, Duane, I'm--I don't pretend to be very observant and all that, but it has struck me that the kid is--is worrying over something--has got something on her mind."

Duane did not look very much impressed. "What on earth should she have on her mind? Besides, there's her sister. It's her business to see if the kid's worried by anything."

"Well, I don't know much about Bertha," went on Kitty, hesitating. "To tell you the truth, I never did take to her much. But----"

"Oh, I'm not her great chum, either," interrupted Duane. "Still, I do happen to know that Bertha thinks the world of Erica and can be trusted to look after her as much as anybody. But I think the child gets bad attacks of homesickness, all the same. However, she'll grow out of that in time. All decent girls are happy enough at Easthampton."

Some inexplicable impulse prompted Kitty's next words:

"Are you?"

"Do you mean to infer that I'm not decent?" said Duane dryly.

Kitty flushed crimson.

"You know I didn't mean that."

"No, I didn't. I thought perhaps you were still thinking of the Richoter," returned Duane calmly.

"Well, I wasn't," said Kitty bluntly. "I was merely asking a straightforward question. I'm afraid I'm not used to playing about with words, and I'm not clever at it like you."

"It comes in handy sometimes," murmured Duane.

"Yes, I suppose it does, when you don't want to give a straightforward answer to a straightforward question," retorted Kitty.

"Or when you don't want to tell the truth," added Duane, with laughter in her eyes. "Hallo, there goes the junior bell." She laid her hand on Erica's shoulder, and shook her gently. Erica opened her eyes and blinked drowsily.

"Your bell has gone, kiddie," said Duane. "I tell you what. I'm going to carry you upstairs to bed and send Bertha along with a glass of hot milk. You'll sleep like a top after that."

"But--I'm much too heavy," protested Erica, as the head prefect stooped and lifted her out of the chair in her strong young arms.

Duane laughed contemptuously.

"Oh, I'm pretty strong, in spite of my frail appearance."

She turned at the doorway, evidently holding with ease the younger girl, whose fair silky hair formed a striking contrast to her own dark colouring, and glanced across at Kitty, saying flippantly:

"Don't look too despondent, Kitty. Cheer yourself up with the thought that you won't have to listen to my gifted conversation much longer. Hilary returns to-morrow evening. She'll tell you plenty of home truths if you want straightforward answers. Sorry it's not in my line."

When she had disappeared Kitty put down her pen and stretched herself, then gazed round the little room. It would seem quite strange to be back again in her own study. She really had got quite used to the company of France and Duane, and their somewhat unusual little ways. In fact, Kitty was rather troubled and uneasy when she discovered that not only had she got used to the present arrangement, but that she did not look forward at all to going back to the old one.

"Of course that's only because changing about is rather upsetting," she reproved herself. "Francie's a dear in many ways, but you don't really want to stay on here with Duane, of all girls." Why, she had nearly provoked a squabble that very evening! Kitty felt she had not yet recovered her equanimity from the little passage of arms.

* * * * * *

"Oh, dash!" Kitty surveyed her bicycle gloomily.

"What's up?" Duane, her foot on her pedal ready to mount, paused and looked back.

"My back tyre's down as flat as a pancake."

"A puncture?"

"'Fraid so," replied Kitty gloomily. "I'll see if I can pump it up, though."

A brief examination proved the fact beyond a doubt. Kitty looked at Duane. The two had been the last to leave the farmhouse--where the cycling party had had tea--and were the only girls left behind, the others having ridden on a minute or two before Kitty's discovery.

"You ride on and overtake the others," she said. "I'll mend the puncture and come on afterwards. If I scorch I might catch you up some time. Only it won't be long before it gets dark."

"Oh, I'll lend a hand," said Duane good-naturedly. "I've got my lamps. Besides, Miss Carslake wouldn't like one of us to be left alone."

"As to that, I'm quite capable of looking after myself," returned the Australian girl rather impatiently. "But it's good of you to stay, though, and keep me company."

The two girls were accustomed to mending their own punctures. They had some difficulty at first in locating this one, but with the aid of a bucket of water borrowed from the obliging farm people, found it and patched it up.

"That's done at last!" exclaimed Kitty with a sigh of relief, as she unscrewed her pump. "Now we can get on. Hallo, who on earth's this? Why," in great amazement, "it's Bertha! What on earth is she doing here?"

They hailed her, and in another minute Bertha had ridden up and jumped off her bicycle. They could see that she was in a state of great agitation.

"Is Erica with you?" she called out breathlessly.

"Erica? No, she's with the others, I expect," answered Kitty quickly. "They went on ahead some time ago. Didn't you pass them?"

"Yes. She wasn't with them. They told me she was behind with you. I wasn't sure of it, but I just said nothing and came on to find you."

"But what are you doing here, Bertha?" asked Duane, for Bertha had not been one of the members of the cycling party.

"As you know," Bertha answered hurriedly, "I went over to Sheerston's this afternoon. When I came back I found Erica had left this note behind for me, and I can tell you it nearly knocked me over when I read it. I borrowed a bike from one of the girls and came on as fast as I could, hoping to get here before you left." She had pulled an envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and handed it over to Duane. The head prefect read it through quickly and silently. Her face was grave when she handed it back.

"Great Scott! So that's why she was so anxious to come on the cycling expedition, is it? Poor little kid! But why on earth should she choose this way in which to run away from school?"

"I knew she was unhappy," replied Bertha, in a curiously hard tone. "She's been miserable ever since she's been back. I don't know what made her make up her mind, but she told me she wished she could run away home. I told her not to be silly and that I shouldn't hear of such a thing. I meant to see she didn't get any pretext for permission to go into town. Then, as she says here, one of the weekly boarders told her she knew this part of the country, and you were going not far from her home, at Frattenton, and Frattenton's on the main line for _our_ home--no changing."

"Where exactly is this place, Frattenton?" asked Duane quickly.

"The other side of the downs--four or five miles away. The road to it runs right over the downs."

"And it's the nearest railway station from here?"

"Yes."

During the couple of minutes taken by this hurried conversation, Kitty had stood silent, listening, not knowing what was really the matter, but gathering that it was something serious.

Neither offered to show her the note; she realized that there was some mystery about it that Duane and Bertha both knew all about, but that they did not wish to share with anyone else. She did not ask any questions, but waited to see what would be required of her.

Duane turned to her.

"Erica's gone," she explained. "She's run away home. She's slipped off across the downs to Frattenton, to the railway station there."

Kitty nodded.

"What's to be done?" she said curtly. "I don't like the look of those downs. There's a heavy mist coming on and it's already getting dark."

"Let's hope she's there by now then," said Duane. "Look here, two of us had better ride after her, and the third one return to school and let Prinny know what's up."

"Who's to go back?" asked Bertha.

"You had better," answered Duane, speaking in decisive tones for once. "You're done up already with scorching so hard, I can see, and you've got no lamps. Kitty and I are fresh. That is to say, if Kitty doesn't mind a tiring ride now."

"I'm on," said Kitty briefly.

"Then we'll make a start. Cheer up, Bertha. We'll see she's safe somewhere or other and find out what's happened to her, all right."

"I know you will." Bertha tried to muster up a smile as she turned her bike round. "You're a sport if ever there was one, Duane."

The next instant she had disappeared round the bend, and Duane and Kitty were left alone again, this time with a feeling of responsibility resting heavily upon them.

"Better just ask about the road, at the farm," suggested Kitty sensibly. "We neither of us know it."

A few brief questions elucidated the information that the road wound over the downs to Frattenton, that it was a lonely road, but that there were few turnings of any importance, and then one had to keep to the left. The two girls mounted and sped off, determined to cover the greater part of the way before darkness settled down.

The first mile was a long drag uphill, but the girls struggled gamely on. Presently, to their relief, they found themselves on high but fairly level ground, and were too hot with their exertions to feel the chill, penetrating damp that was settling upon everything. They made short work of the next couple of miles.

Up till now they had met no sign of habitation. Here, however, at the corner of a cross-road, was a small, thatched cottage. The place looked deserted, but remembering the directions given them, they held on to the left. The road dropped down into a little hollow. Here they came across another house, a square, stone farm-house this time, with three or four children and a couple of dogs playing about in the roadway.

They dismounted and inquired of the eldest child if she had seen a girl of about her own age, riding a bicycle, pass by within the last half-hour. The girl shook her head, and on being questioned declared that they had been playing in the road for quite a long time, but that she had seen no one pass except Farmer Wootten's wagon. The smaller children said the same.

Duane looked at Kitty rather perplexedly.

"Funny they should have missed her. She can't have passed here very long ago."

The girls mounted again, but had not gone very far--only round the next bend--when they came across a horse and cart and two road menders, just preparing to leave their work of laying down granite and start their return journey to Frattenton. Here the two cyclists were brought "up against it" very definitely, for both men stated positively and convincingly that no one had passed that way for the last hour save a man driving a farm wagon, for they had been working on the road all the time.