CHAPTER XIII

A SENSATIONAL PAPER-CHASE

Nat set a brisk pace for the first part of the paper-chase, declaring that she liked to get well out of sight of the hounds as soon as possible. She led the way across fields and through copses, over a stream by whose banks each year meadowsweet and herb-willow grew profusely; several times they climbed gates, and once they laid a trail along the bottom of a dry ditch, scrambling through a hole in the hedge at the end. Here Monica accidently brushed by a bed of stinging nettles, but though they must have stung her legs, her companion noticed with satisfaction that she made no complaint, and when Nat chose to set a very hard pace she kept up with dogged determination.

At length they came out upon a stretch of rough common land, where Nat explained that her scheme was to lay a trail right through the Haunted Farm, and thence to make their way back to the school gates as fast as they could. They were walking quickly up a rather steep slope that led to a collection of not very extensive and decidedly dilapidated farm buildings. Monica pricked up her ears.

"Did you say haunted?" she inquired with interest.

"It's only a name," replied Nat with contempt. "It has been unoccupied for the last half-dozen years or more, so of course, folk say no one will live there because it is haunted. The truth is that the land has been bought by a neighbouring farm and these buildings aren't required. Besides, the soil just here is poor and not of great value for farming purposes."

She led the way through the farm gate that hung by one hinge, across a muddy yard, then clambered through a paneless side-window.

The two girls found themselves in a house where dust lay inches thick everywhere and where bats, birds and mice found a pleasant abode. The farmhouse itself was only a cottage, and after passing through two empty rooms they let themselves out by the back door, which was bolted from the inside but not locked.

"Come along," said Nat, "straight down this slope; not too fast, as the grass is rather slippery. Then we'll make tracks for home as quickly as we can. My bag is getting rather light."

"So's mine," said Monica, then added, pointing: "What is that down in the little hollow? Looks like a square fence."

"It's an old well, supposed to be very historical. It's called the Saxons' well, because, when the Saxon army, fighting against the Danish invaders, was encamped behind the earthworks on the hill yonder, it is said they used to steal down and get their water from this well. Whether that is true or not I can't say, but the well is certainly very old. People also say it is so deep no one has ever yet touched the bottom, but I expect that's all rubbish. I've never been right up to it."

"Let us just have a glance at it," suggested Monica. "It's not an ordinary common or garden well, you know."

"Well, just a peep," replied Nat, as they came abreast of the fencing that bordered the well-mouth. Monica pointed to the rusty but stout windlass that was erected over it.

"Is that what the Saxons used to draw up their water?"

"Don't be silly! I suppose the last occupants of the farm used it for watering their cattle." As Nat spoke she slipped through the bars of the fence and, crouching down, tried to peer over the edge of the well, around which the grass grew in thick, coarse tufts. From outside the fence you could only see the outline of the wide, gaping mouth.

"Be careful!" Monica said anxiously, and though she also slipped through the fence, which stood several feet away from the well itself, she was careful to remain standing close beside it with a firm hold on the top bar. She had not Nat's utter contempt of physical danger; moreover, her more vivid imagination was apt to see danger where Nat never thought of looking for it.

How the accident happened neither girl could clearly explain afterwards, but it was probably due to the fact that the high grass and soil around the unusually wide mouth of the well hung treacherously far over the edge. By the irony of fate Nat was just saying: "I should like to know how deep it is. I can't see down it without bending right over----" when her words broke off abruptly as the soil and clumps of grass at the edge gave way under her. She made a desperate but futile effort to recover her balance, then disappeared over the edge amid a shower of dirt and small stones. Monica made one frantic clutch after her and actually succeeded in grasping her sleeve, but the material was torn out of her hand in the same second.

For one awful instant Monica stood rooted to the spot with terror, clutching frantically at the fence. Then, flinging herself flat on the ground, she lay as near the edge of the well as she dared and shouted: "Nat! Nat!" as loudly as she could.

But there was no answer to her frenzied calls. Springing to her feet again she stared wildly round. Not a soul was in sight, nor could she see any signs of habitation. So ignorant was she of this countryside that she did not even know in what direction to search for the nearest house. She might waste a long time wandering vainly about. The hounds were nowhere in view; it might be twenty minutes or more before any of them arrived at this spot. If Nat were injured she would even now be drowning in the well water. What--oh, what could she do?

All these thoughts flashed through Monica's mind in a few fleeting seconds. Then her glance fell upon the windlass and the rope hanging over the well-mouth, falling into the depths below. It was only six years, Nat had said, since the farm had been occupied and the well used. Holding the windlass with one hand she bent forward and, catching the rope with the other, gave it a strong tug. The rope was a stout one, and although frayed on the outside by the weather seemed sound enough.

Monica had already learned to climb the ropes in the gymnasium with confidence, and clutching this rope frenziedly with both hands she swung herself over the well-mouth. For one horrible moment she hung there suspended by her hands; the next she had found and gripped the rope firmly between her feet and was sliding down in a series of jerks, hand over hand. Four--five--six--she counted them to herself, and now her head was considerably below the edge of the well-mouth; then her heart gave a jump of horror, as her feet failed to grip the rope and she realized that she had now come to the end of it before reaching the surface of the water.

[Illustration: "For one horrible moment she hung there suspended by her hands."]

Till then she had purposely refrained from looking below, for the very thought of that gloomy depth turned her sick and giddy. But now, clutching the rope despairingly, she essayed a hasty glance down. In the dim light, about six feet below, she caught the glimmer of water. Again half a dozen thoughts flashed through her mind in one lightning second of time. Should she climb up again or should she drop into the water? If Nat were still alive she might hold her up till the girls traced them to the well. She was a good swimmer and had been accustomed to the water from childhood, but it was the numbing cold she feared--and the water would be very cold indeed this winter day. She dared not waste a precious second in hesitation. With a quick sobbing breath she slid to the very end of the rope and dropped, prepared for an almost instantaneous plunge into icy water.

There was no plunge of any sort, however. Instead, she alighted on her feet quite unhurt in some three or four inches of soft mud and water, and almost before she had recovered from her astonishment a voice, which seemed to come from a spot close to her feet, said in faint tones: "Hallo, is that you, Monica?" and Nat herself rose up in much the same way as did the apparition of the Crowned Child in _Macbeth_--or so it seemed to Monica.

She heard herself laughing shakily. "Then you're not dead after all, Nat! I--I thought you were, as you didn't answer when I called."

Nat, leaning against the chalky side of the well, put her hand up to her head very gingerly. "My head is ringing like--like anything. There's a bump as big as an egg on one side. I suppose I must have struck it against the side when I fell. Probably it stunned me, for I don't remember anything very clearly till you dropped from the skies. How long have I been down here?"

"I don't know. It seems hours since you disappeared over the edge, but I suppose it's really only a minute or two."

"How on earth did you get here? You didn't fall too?"

Monica pointed upwards. "I came down the rope. But it wasn't long enough, so I had to drop. I--I thought perhaps you were hurt." There was a sob in her voice.

"Well, it was a fortunate chance you didn't drop on me, as you might very well have done. There isn't much area space down here. Isn't that rope-end tantalizing, dangling just out of reach! Do you think you could grab it if I lifted you up, or you stood on my back?"

Their united efforts to reach the rope, however, proved unavailing; the end still dangled a few inches too high.

"Oh dear!" said Monica. "I hope we shan't have to wait here much longer. It's so dirty and unpleasant. How long do you think the girls will be? Supposing they lose the trail and fail to track us here!"

It was Nat's philosophy to look on the bright side. "Not they," she replied confidently. "Besides, having come so far they would guess I was making for this point. You can't exactly wander over the country how you like; too many hedges and barbed wire fences about. And if I know Pam and Deirdre and one or two others, they won't be very far behind, either. You know, we wasted several minutes stopping to look at the well. We must shout."

They shouted as loudly as they could, but there was no response.

"Anyway, we know now how deep the well is," remarked Nat, still endeavouring to be cheerful. "Not a bit deep, really, so you can't believe all the exaggerated stories you hear. I wish it were quite dry, though this mud was certainly soft to fall on. I wonder there aren't some stones here. It seems such a fascinating occupation--I mean, throwing stones down wells to hear the splash."

"It's more fascinating than throwing yourself down," sighed Monica, on whose more highly strung nerves the strain of their unpleasant situation was beginning to tell. In response Nat shouted again, but still there was no answer to their cries for help. At last even Nat, whose head was throbbing violently, began to lose heart.

"I feel like Alice in Wonderland," she said dismally. "Only I'm sure she didn't find falling down a rabbit-hole nearly as unpleasant as falling down a well."

Monica giggled a little hysterically. "Or the Dormouse's treacle well," she suggested. "How long do you think we've been down here, Nat? Half an hour?"

"Ten minutes, more likely. Come on, we'd better keep shouting now. It would be awful if they passed us by and left us here."

"They won't do that. I left my bag of scent on the top. They are sure to notice it."

"And I brought mine down with me," said Nat ruefully. "What an ass I was to get so near an overhanging edge like that!"

They kept up their shouts for perhaps another five minutes and at last were rewarded by hearing the confused sounds of many voices from somewhere above; then quite distinctly came Pam's voice.

"My goodness! I believe they are down the old Saxon well. Hang on to my legs, someone. I don't want to slip over," and a head appeared over the edge, peering cautiously down.

"Coo-ee!" sang Nat, and once again came Pam's voice in accents of alarm and astonishment. "Someone's certainly down here. Who is it?"

"It's us," called Nat. "Monica and I."

"Good gracious!" once more ejaculated Pam. "It's both of them. Whatever are you doing down there?"

"Picking daisies," retorted Nat with pardonable exasperation.

"You aren't hurt, I hope?" Pam inquired anxiously.

"Nothing to speak of, but for goodness' sake hurry up and get us out."

"Can't you climb up the rope?"

"No, it's just out of reach. If you can lengthen it by any means, I expect we'd manage it, or you could haul us up."

"Right-oh! We'll soon have you out," Pam promised, and her head disappeared from view as she turned to explain what had happened to the alarmed group of girls who clustered round the fence. There was no time to waste wondering how both girls had managed to get themselves into such an extraordinary predicament.

"Off with your girdles," said Deirdre briskly, "and join them together. Somebody pull up that rope. Be careful how you knot the girdles; no grannies, mind!"

In a very short time they had knotted their tunic girdles firmly together and by this means had lengthened the rope. Then, not without a few decidedly difficult moments, they managed to haul the girls safely to the surface.

Both Monica and Nat, though not seriously injured, were white-faced and shaken, their shoes and stockings were caked with mud and their tunics stained and torn. It was not the time for long explanations, as Deirdre saw at once.

"Let us make our way to the high road as quickly as possible," she said decisively. "Then perhaps we can get a lift. I think we ought to get Monica and Nat back to school as soon as we can.

"Well, I suppose the paper-chase is at an end and we must consider ourselves caught," Nat admitted resignedly.

When they arrived at St. Etheldreda's Nat and Monica were handed into the charge of Miss Perkins, the house mistress, Nat to have her many bruises well rubbed with embrocation and her scratches bathed. Strange to say, she appeared to be the better man of the two in spite of her fall and the blow which had temporarily stunned her, and declared that save for a headache and the soreness of her bruises she felt little the worse. At her own request she was allowed to spend the evening in her study, on condition that she rested and did not talk or excite herself too much.

On the other hand Monica, though she managed to keep a firm hold on herself till they reached the school, partially collapsed afterwards from nervous strain, and Miss Perkins put her to bed in the sick-room, declaring that a good rest was probably all she needed and that doubtless she would be herself again in the morning.

The juniors, and the seniors too, were so excited over this sensational end to the paper-chase that they simply had to spend a considerable time in the common room talking it well over. Meggie, who had seen Miss Perkins taking Monica to the sick-room, was listened to with close attention as she described the incident with relish, concluding: "She wasn't hurt at all--hardly at all, anyway. It was just her nerves, Miss Perkins said. She was very white, and kind of shaking all over."

"What seems so queer to me," remarked Prue, "is how they both managed to get down there. You can understand one slipping over--though that seems rather extraordinary--but not both of them."

Here Olive chimed in. "I heard Glenda say it was Nat who fell in. Monica climbed down the rope after her, but as it wasn't long enough they couldn't get out again."

"Whatever did Monica do that for?" demanded Prue. "I should have thought the most sensible thing to do would be to run to the nearest house for help, or to turn back for the girls who were following them."

Olive shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what her idea was. Lost her head, I expect, and hardly knew what she was doing."

"Still," said Prue reflectively, "it took a little pluck to slide down that rope. An old well isn't a nice thing to lower oneself into, even if it isn't deep. And I saw that rope, too. It hadn't been used for some years and might easily have been more rotten with age and exposure to the weather than it proved to be," and the other girls agreed that, whatever her faults, the black sheep had pluck.

"Isn't it just like Nat to spoil a good paper-chase by falling into a well!" cried Meggie. "Like her, too, to bob up out of it practically unhurt," and the discussion ended in a general laugh.

The next day went by very quietly. Monica did not appear. She had passed a restless night and the Principal agreed with Miss Perkins that it would be best to continue to keep her in absolute quiet in the sick-room for another day or two.

Everyone was looking forward to Friday morning with mixed feelings, among which apprehension played a large part; for the exam results were to be read out at prayers. At St. Etheldreda's term exam lists were not published till the exams were over and all papers marked. Then it was the Principal's custom to read out the position lists at prayers one morning, and make any comments she thought necessary.

The Fifth were particularly interested in their own results that term. All remembered the boasts of the new girl that she could and would wrest Irene's position from her and occupy it herself, and it was common knowledge that in her zeal for swotting she had decorated the walls of her study with useful tit-bits of information. Someone had pointed out that good though Monica's Latin and English subjects were, her maths were very shaky, while she had only attained a Third Form standard in French. When the exam began, however, it was ascertained that the French difficulty would be no hindrance to Monica, for she would take the Third Form paper, and the marks she obtained for it would be included in her total. As for her weakness at maths, in her zeal for her friend's cause Glenda was unkind enough to suggest that she would probably resort to her previous method of overcoming this difficulty and smuggle a book of theorems into the geometry examination. But, though several girls had watched her closely, no one had detected her cheating this time.

"She has learnt her lesson," Glenda observed cynically.

Girls nudged each other meaningly as Miss Julian entered the assembly hall for prayers, carrying sheets of foolscap under her arm. Irene was observed to be looking a little pale and strained. Had this new girl really been in earnest over her boasting, or was it merely a great game of bluff she was putting up to scare them all? Nat was gloomily resigned to her fate and had even ceased trying to remember whether she had or had not headed that last page of her history paper.

The short Sixth Form position list was soon finished. The Sixth, without exception, smiled cheerily from beginning to end of the reading. No one in the Sixth took exams with great seriousness; as long as they pulled through comfortably they were content. They all knew that Madge would be top--her fluent flow of English would secure this position for her; Pam was intelligent, but careless and happy-go-lucky; Deirdre and the other three were not in the least "brainy."

Now it was the Fifth Form's turn. At Miss Julian's first words the tension left Irene's face and a sigh of relief passed her lips. How hard she had studied this last month! Now came her reward. In her mind the Principal's words still rang joyously.

"Irene has maintained her position at the top. I must congratulate her, especially as the mistresses report that she has been working very hard. If she continues in the same way I am sure she will bring honour to the school when the Oxford Senior results are announced. Lorna is second with seventy per cent, two per cent behind Irene, and Glenda and Ida are bracketed third."

The Fifth Stole stealthy and amazed glances at each other as name after name fell from the Principal's lips and still Monica Carr's was not among them. When the list was finished the girls looked at each other with stunned incredulity. Monica's name came last, actually the very last! Nat was fourth from bottom, a feat which left her wondering all through the proceedings which followed how she had possibly achieved it. By the time Miss Julian had finished with the lowest form Nat had decided that she could not, after all, have omitted to head that last page of the history paper.

The Principal did not attempt to read out the lists of the separate subjects, but the head girl of each form was called out to receive them, so that she might pin them up in the classrooms. There the girls were allowed a good ten minutes' grace before the entry of the mistress, to read the lists.

Hubbub reigned in the Fifth formroom. No one appeared to be bothering much over their own marks; all were chiefly concerned with those of the absent Monica, and all seemed to be talking at once.

"Just fancy! I never thought for a minute she would be top, but it's rather a come-down to find herself at the bottom!"

"Great was the fall thereof, n'est-ce pas, likewise nicht-wahr! That's what comes of boasting!"

"Nonsense! In my opinion she knew she hadn't the slightest chance of being top. It was just bluff, to annoy us all--particularly Irene."

"As if she could beat our top girl!"

"Look at her marks, girls--failures in all the maths papers, algebra, geometry and arithmetic. I expect she copied most of her maths prep from Nat. She's done badly in French too, though I suppose that isn't surprising as this was her first term at it. I thought she'd do better in English, though."

"And Latin. Everyone made sure the Ablative Absolute would be top and she's only third. Miss Andrews will look blue."

Here Nat, coming out of an absorbed perusal of her marks to see where she had gained her unexpected rise, thought it time someone spoke a word in defence of the absent victim.

"Monica isn't as stupid as that list makes out," she declared firmly. "She's quite intelligent really, but you can't expect her to do good work after the worrying time she's had. Wondering during exams whether she was going to be expelled or not, cut by the rest of the form--how could you expect anyone to do herself justice, to have her mind on her work sufficiently to obtain good results!"

The majority of the form were willing to agree that there was something in this argument, and if they were rather unsettled for the rest of the day, the mistresses made allowances. Two girls at least passed the time in blissful anticipation of the moment when they should present their reports to their people at home. Both had attained their ambitions, Irene in maintaining her place at the top, Nat in escaping at last the teasing jeers and laughter which hitherto had fallen to her lot.