CHAPTER VI

AN ADVENTUROUS DAY

"HAREBELL, I am going away for a short time. I have arranged that you shall go to the Rectory and sleep there. Mrs. Garland has been kind enough to say that she will have you."

Mrs. Keith said this at breakfast-time. She had been reading a letter, and her face was flushed and eyes very bright. Harebell stared at her for a moment, then said slowly:

"I hope I shall like it."

"It does not matter if you don't," her aunt said quickly. "It is exceedingly kind of Mrs. Garland to be troubled with you; and you must be sure to be as good as possible."

"Where are you going, Aunt Diana?"

"Little girls must not ask inquisitive questions."

Harebell was unabashed. She cocked her head on one side, and regarded her aunt with great interest.

"You look," she said, "as if you're all breaking up and melting inside!"

"Have you finished your breakfast? If so, run and get ready for your lessons."

Harebell left the dining-room rather reluctantly. She found Goody upstairs packing her box, and in a great flutter.

"What's the matter, Goody? Where's Aunt Diana going? She won't tell me."

"Then you mustn't ask me," said Goody sternly. "Eh, dear! I'm all in a tremble! To think that just a letter arriving by post, should shake our quiet household to the very foundations!"

"Aunt Diana is shaken all up wonderful, isn't she!" said Harebell quickly. "If you ask me, Goody, I should say the ice was heaving and cracking and breaking inside her. She has red spots on her cheeks, and she's like you, all of the tremble! But she's still ice to me. She won't tell me nothing. It's—horrid of her!"

"Hush now! Be quiet. You'll be late for your lessons. You're to stay to dinner at the Rectory, and your box will be sent over the first thing this afternoon."

"Am I going for good now? Then I must say good-bye to everybody, and what about Chris? Is he coming with me?"

"Of course not. Run down now and say good-bye to your aunt pretty. I shall never get done in time, and my best bonnet is being cleaned. 'Tis most vexin'."

"But are you going away, Goody, too?"

"I should think I was! Do you think I'd let your aunt go without me? I've maided her for over twenty years, and it may be a bit of nursing I shall have to do. But I'm ready for anything! I always was. And if good is coming to my dear mistress, and the smiles be coming back to her face—well, I'd be willing to work myself to the bone."

"Oh, do tell me, darling Goody, what it's all about." Harebell was frantic with curiosity. She put her small arms round Goody's substantial waist and held her tight. "Is it anything about—about—a gentleman?"

She sank her voice to a whisper. Andy's words came back to her. "Don't you go for to mention his name, or you'll get old Andy into trouble."

Goody broke away from her impatiently.

"Go off to your lessons this minute, and mind you behave yourself at the Rectory, and have pretty manners like a little lady!"

[Illustration: HAREBELL WAS FRANTIC WITH CURIOSITY.]

Harebell sighed disconsolately. She slipped downstairs. The drawing-room door was open. She peeped inside, and saw her aunt sitting at her writing-table, her head bowed in her hands. Some instinct prevented her from going in. She sang out:

"Good-bye, Aunt Diana. I'm just off!"

Mrs. Keith started, then came forward and bent down and kissed her. As she did so, a tear fell on Harebell's cheek.

The child said nothing except:

"May I come over and ride Chris, as I always do?"

"If Mrs. Garland likes you to do so. Andy will be here, but you must do everything that you are told at the Rectory. It is extremely good of them to have you."

Harebell promised she would, then flew off to Andy.

"It's all coming to pass, Andy," she whispered excitedly. "Tears melt ice, and I'm sure my lost uncle is coming home."

Andy shook his head. Evidently he was not in the secret.

"Never heard tell of such fuss and nonsense and mystery," he grumbled. "Mrs. Goodheart is puffed with importance—won't tell a soul what is taking the mistress away."

When Harebell reached the Rectory, Peter and Nan met her with much excitement.

"You're going to sleep with me," said Nan. "I've been helping Susan to make your bed."

"And Nan and I have been making up a new game," said Peter. "If you're good, we'll let you join!"

There was not much time for talk, for lessons began at once. Harebell was inattentive and restless that morning. Miss Forster reproved her sharply more than once. She told her to take her French book to a side table and learn the verb "aimer." Harebell meekly obeyed, but soon her eyes were roving out of the window, and her lesson was forgotten.

"What are you doing?" Miss Forster asked sharply.

Harebell started, then said slowly:

"Thoughts."

Peter sniggled.

"Turn your thoughts upon your verb," said Miss Forster.

"That's just what I'm doing," said Harebell. "I meant to aimer Aunt Diana, but I've never managed to do it yet, and p'r'aps she's gone away from me for good. There is no telling what is going to happen. Even Andy feels that."

"Don't talk any more, but learn your verb."

Miss Forster was very patient with Harebell that morning. She saw her aunt's sudden departure had upset her. When she took the children out at twelve o'clock, she made Harebell walk with her, and let her chatter freely of all that was in her mind. Dinner came, and then lessons till three o'clock. After that the children were free.

Peter and Nan dragged Harebell out into the garden and down to the field where they played cricket.

"Now look here," said Peter. "Listen to our game. You two girls are to be my slaves. I'm going to set you some tasks, and I will stand over you with a whip."

"That doesn't sound at all nice," said Harebell. "What tasks are you going to set us?"

"You'll have to pick blades of grass and fill some baskets. It isn't grass—it's cotton flax. And all the time you're picking, you must settle together how you'll run away from me, I shall be walking up and down slashing my whip. And then you must make up something to send me away, and then I'll give you a quarter of an hour's start. You must go off, and I'll track your footsteps, and if I find you, I warn you, I shall tie you to a tree and flog you to death!"

Nan opened her eyes in horror. Harebell laughed.

"It's very nice for you," she said, "but you and Nan can be the slaves, and I'll be the master!"

Both Peter and Nan exclaimed:

"That would never do. A girl couldn't be a slave master!"

"I could!" said Harebell with great assurance.

Peter felt that if he did not assert himself now, Harebell would prove too much for him.

"If you don't play as I say, I shan't play at all. I shall go for a ride on the donkey!"

"Oh, do play, Harebell! It will be such fun," said Nan, "and he'll never catch us if we get away a quarter of an hour before he does."

Harebell wavered. Then she saw enchanting possibilities, and agreed to join in the game.

Peter got his whip and cracked it in a bloodcurdling way over their heads, whilst they picked the grass, and put it into some baskets which were fetched from the coach-house.

"Now, you lazy lubbers, look alive! No stopping to sneeze or cough! On you go!"

"Yes, yes!" said Nan nervously.

Harebell giggled. Then she stood up. "Look! Your house is on fire and your wife and children are screaming at the windows!"

Peter looked wildly round, then tore into the house. The little girls raced across the field and got out in the road, then they faced each other breathless.

"Where shall we go?" asked Nan.

"Oh, come on to Aunt Diana's! Andy will hide us. He will never come there. No, I tell you a better plan still. You can ride, can't you? Can you stick on behind me if we ride Chris? It will be such fun! He will never track us if we ride away on horseback."

Nan clapped her hands.

"How lovely! Come on, let us run as fast as ever we can."

They reached the house unseen. Harebell gave a peal at the bell which brought Andy in an instant to the door; but he did not look very pleased to see the children.

"Now, Miss Harebell! No sooner gone than back again! What do you want? My orders is not to let any one in!"

"I only want Chris? We are going for a ride on him."

"I knowed I would have you round after that there 'orse. Well, come along; s'pose I shall have to saddle him."

In five minutes' time, both Nan and Harebell were seated astride on Chris, Nan clinging for dear life, with her arms round Harebell's waist. And then away at a gallop they went, down the country lane, past the end of the village, and then along a quiet road, between woods on either side.

[Illustration: NAN WAS CLINGING FOR DEAR LIFE, HER ARMS AROUND HAREBELL'S WAIST.]

"It's like riding through the jungle!" exclaimed Harebell.

Her eyes and cheeks were bright with colour and excitement; Nan was every bit as eager and delighted as she was.

"Faster! Faster!" she urged, "Or we shall be caught!"

Chris had not been out of the stable for two days. He was fresh, and he knew how to go. They passed the woods, then came out on an open common. Chris loved the fresh green turf underfoot. Then they came to cross roads, but neither of them cared where they were going, and straight ahead the pony carried them.

At last he began to flag.

"It's a regular John Gilpin's ride," gasped Nan. "Don't you think we might stop now?"

"Yes."

Harebell pulled up her steed, and both the children slipped off to the ground.

Chris seemed only too glad to rest by the roadside, and was soon munching tufts of grass in a ditch.

"Where do you think we are?" questioned Nan a little anxiously, "I've never been as far as this before."

"In Yorkshire, p'r'aps," said Harebell cheerfully. "We've had a jolly ride, haven't we?"

Nan assented heartily. They were on the high-road, but there were no houses in sight; the trees on either side of them were already bursting into leaf, and in the hedges were sweet-scented clumps of primroses.

"What fun if we were to lose ourselves!" said Harebell.

"I don't see how we could," said Nan in an old-fashioned way. "You see, we must be in a parish, and if we go to the clergyman, he's sure to know father, and would send us home."

"But we've got away from parishes."

"You can't. Dad told us all England is divided up into parishes, and every one belongs to some clergyman."

"How funny!" said Harebell. "And if you have forests and jungles, do they belong to clergymen?"

"We haven't got those kind of wild places."

Then Nan mounted a bank, and peered over the hedge.

"Do you know, Harebell, I believe there are cowslips over in that other field. It looks just like them. Do come and see."

Harebell had never seen cowslips. It was the work of a moment to clamber over a gate and scamper across the field. Nan was right and the two little girls set to work to pick the flowers at once.

"We'll get back in time for tea," said Nan. "What fun! Peter will be looking for us everywhere."

"I hope Chris hasn't moved," said Harebell. "He wouldn't go on without us, would he? He's too sensible for that."

But that was exactly what Chris had done; and when they got back to the road, there was no sign of him. The little girls looked at each other with blank dismay.

"He's gone home," said Harebell, "and now we shall have to walk all the way."

"It's too bad of him! He might have waited for us!" wailed Nan.

"I ought to have tied him up. Now what shall we do? We'd better walk back the way we came, as fast as we can."

They started, but the road seemed unending; and when they came to the cross roads, they were in doubt, as they had not noticed, when they passed them so quickly, which road they had taken.

"I'm sure I remember that gate," said Nan, pointing one way.

"And I'm sure I remember that tree," said Harebell, pointing another way.

But she gave in to Nan.

"Trees are commoner than gates."

The signpost was an old one, and the name on it conveyed nothing to their minds.

They trotted on, not liking to confess to each other how tired they were feeling; but presently they came to a small village.

"I'm perfectly certain we didn't pass this," said Harebell.

"Never mind! Look, there is a church! We'll ask the way to the Rectory."

This was done. A small boy driving a flock of sheep pointed it out to them, and Harebell brightened up.

"This is a kind of adventure," she said. "Do you think they will give us tea?"

They turned in at a large white gate and walked up a well-kept drive. A long, low white house lay before them.

Nan pulled the bell. She was taking things into her own hands; for she felt that she knew about English clergy better than Harebell did.

"Is the Rector in?" she asked grandly.

"The Vicar is," said the servant. "Do you want to see him?"

"Tell him Miss Garland and Miss Darrell are here."

Nan pursed her mouth importantly as she spoke. Harebell began to giggle nervously.

They were shown through a wide hall into the Vicar's study, which was empty.

"Don't you feel rather frightened?" said Harebell.

"Just a little—in my throat!" said Nan.

The door opened and a white-haired old gentleman came in.

He peered at them through his glasses in perplexity.

"I'm afraid, my dears, I don't know you. Are you out of school. What is it you want?"

"We've come for you to help us," said Nan, trying to speak bravely. "We aren't quite sure how to get home, and our pony has run away!"

Her voice quavered a little. Harebell broke in:

"We simply don't know where we are, and it's tea-time, and if Chris tears home without us, they'll think we've fallen off him and been killed on the very spot."

"Ah, that will be very unfortunate! Where do you live?"

"At Little Barcome Rectory," said Nan.

"Why, you must be Garland's little girls! Do you know you're ten miles from home?"

He looked perplexed.

"I don't keep a carriage. My wife is in London. I have only my old horse upon which I ride about, and he isn't fit for you to ride. Sit down, little ones, and I will go out into the village and see what can bedone—"

"There, you see," said Nan triumphantly, "it is quite easy! I told you any clergyman would look after us. And we found one easily."

An elderly servant came into the room a few minutes later, and supplied them with glasses of milk and some cake, which she said her master had ordered for them.

Harebell began to enjoy herself.

"I do love seeing strange rooms and people," she said. "We're having a jolly time, aren't we, Nan? Of course, there's poor Chris, but I'm quite sure he'll go straight home. He's too sensible to lose himself."

"Perhaps a gipsy will steal him on the way," said Nan. "You see, he is sure to be stopped by some one. Horses don't take walks by themselves with saddles on."

Harebell's spirits fell. This was a new fear. When the Vicar returned she looked up at him anxiously.

"It's all right," he said cheerfully; "I've wired to your father to tell him that you're safe with me. And in half an hour, a farmer will call here and take you home in his cart. He is passing through your village to see a sick brother of his there. But it will be a long drive. I must lend you some wraps, for the evenings are still chilly."

"I'm afraid mother will be vexed with us," said Nan with a long face.

Harebell seemed in a dream. Her eyes and attention were riveted on a picture hanging up.

There was an Eastern shepherd standing at the entrance to a sheepfold. His flock were coming in for the night, and he was holding out his arms. They were passing in under them. The picture was called "I am the door."

"Do you like that picture?" asked the Vicar.

"Ever so much," responded Harebell. "I'm so interested about the Door. But I do think some people want a push in. Tom does. He seems as if he can't go in of his own accord—"

"Who is Tom?"

"He's a great friend of mine, who has drunk too much beer, but now he's ill in hospital, and I'm trying to find a cottage and a wife for him; only Aunt Diana says I'm never to speak to him again."

She sighed, then she shook her head with vigour. "But talking is no good. I'm sure he wants a push!"

Then, upon encouragement from the Vicar, she plunged into the story of Tom Triggs. He was interested.

"Tell him he has only one step to take; but it is a step down, and he must bend his head, or he will never get through. A good many are too proud to bend, and so they remain outside."

"But I mustn't talk to him," said Harebell miserably.

"Perhaps your aunt would let you write him a letter."

"Oh, that's a lovely thought! I'll write directly I get back. Can't we go now?"

"Very soon," said the Vicar smiling.

And in a short time, the little girls were packed into a high dog-cart, which a sturdy farmer drove swiftly along in the direction of home.