Part 5

The winning of it depended mainly on general conduct, though of course lesson-hours were included, and due attention to tasks is a part of "conduct." A black mark was given only in the case of serious wrong-doing, such as grave disobedience or deceit or deliberate untruth, and one black mark would shut off all possibility of the first prize. Tom had once won it and Hugh once, and Mousie's pride was awake. She had set her heart on success this year. It was a pity that she had not thought of the prize when her naughty fit was "on." But in such moods she seldom looked ahead or thought of anything except just the absorbing wish of the moment.

Jock knew himself to be included in the number of those who might get a prize, though, as he would only have tried for part of the year, he could hardly hope for the first. But since the "pond day" he had given up the idea. Though not told in so many words that he would have a black mark against his name, he felt no doubt on the question. Aunt Judith was sure to have told Mr. Royle all about him, he thought.

"Oh dear, oh dear, what 'does' eight times seven come to?" sighed Mousie. "I do hate these horrid seven timeses and eight timeses. If it was tens or fives, I wouldn't mind. Eight times one is—"

"Is it?"—in a muffled tone from behind Tom's book.

"I mean—eight times one is eight, and eight times two is sixteen, and eight times three—"

"My dolly's got a new hat," Bertha was heard informing Artie. "She's such a good girl. I haven't had to put her in the corner, not once to-day."

Artie squatted on his heels, surveying the big doll's staring blue eyes.

"I'd lots rather have a box of soldiers," he remarked.

"'Cause you got to be a man," suggested Bertha.

"And when I'm a man, I'm going to be a naroplane."

"Flying-man, you mean," chuckled Jock.

Then Mr. Moore came in.

"Hallo, Artie, what are you after? Never mind—I'm going to release you all. I'm wanted in a hurry at Lethmere East. And it's a glorious day, so you shall have an extra run. Won't do anybody any harm. Jock, I've just seen Miss Baynes, and she wants you for a walk through the woods. So you'd better be off in double-quick time. Rather lucky that I have to go, for my watch has stopped, and old Barnet must put it right."

Artie found his feet and came close, with an air of interest. "Won't it go? Show me, daddy. Has it got something gone wrong in its little tummy?"

"Just that exactly!"—and Mr. Moore broke into a shout of laughter as he opened the back of the watch. "Wants a lot of doctoring. No ticking, you see. Tummy very much out of order. Now, children, put away your books. Jock, be off—you're wanted quickly."

Jock was not over-keen after the proposed walk. He loved rambles, but he did not so greatly love being with Aunt Judith. Things had gone of late with tolerable smoothness; still, the punishment which Miss Baynes had pronounced was a real one, and he had not found it easy to bear.

Sometimes, especially in the earlier weeks, wrath would take hold of him, and he would feel that he "couldn't bear Aunt Judith," and he would show this in his manner, and Aunt Judith would call him naughty, and Grannie would look sad.

Still, of late the condition of affairs had mended, and you need not suppose that all this had been bad for Jock. Like everybody else, he had his little troubles, and the very fight that he often made to bear it "like a soldier" was good. It helped to make him stronger in will and braver in character. And in general, despite this particular trouble, he had been busy and happy enough.

He had seen the Captain two or three times since their long talk, and had had kind and cheery words from him. Also he had been to the Great House with Aunt Judith, and old Mr. Royle had taken the boy into his study, and had shown him some wonderful South American butterflies and other curiosities, which interested him immensely.

Mousie and he had been together much as usual. Jock was not a boy to nurse vindictive or sulky feelings, even when really offended; still, he did think Mousie had used him ill. They played together as before, but there was not quite so much of a growing friendship between the two, and Mousie knew this, if Jock did not.

She seized upon him now, as Mr. Moore disappeared. "Jock—Jock—don't go. I want you."

"I've got to go."

"Not this d'rectly minute. There's no hurry."

"Yes, there is. Mr. Moore said so."

"Couldn't you ask if you might come back? I do want you—most awfully."

"Oh, bosh—you've got all the others."

Mousie put her head on one side, and smiled her sweetest. "I don't want the others. I want 'you'."

"Well, I can't help it. It's no good bothering."

"Wouldn't you 'rather' be with me?"

Jock was not in a mood for sentiment. "Why, I'm with you all the time. And I've got to go. I don't care."

He twitched his sleeve out of her grasp and ran, leaving a disconsolate little maiden.

XVI. THE POND AGAIN

"JOCK—that's right. Mr. Moore promised to send you quickly."

Miss Baynes stood in the hall, packing eatables into a basket. A second basket, already packed, stood near. The latter seemed very full, for the lid would not quite shut, and it had to be tied with string.

"I want you to come with me for a long walk through the wood. You have never been there before."

"Right through to the other side?"

"Yes, through part of it. And I should like to bring you back by a different path, a very pretty way. It is longer, so we cannot go there first, with these baskets to carry. I have heard of a poor old body living in that direction, ill and badly off, so I am taking her a supply of food. And—I thought I should like a companion. Would you like to come with me?"

Jock thought he would, for Aunt Judith looked very bright and kind. He said "Yes" heartily.

And as she closed the second basket, she added—"We will have our tea in the wood."

"Real tea!—And make it ourselves?"

"Real tea, and made on the spot. I am taking a spirit-lamp and a kettle."

That did sound "something like." Jock loved anything in the shape of a pic-nic, and what boy does not?

"You will have to help me by carrying the tea-basket. It is not so heavy as the other, and after we have had our tea, it will be quite light."

"Oh, but mayn't I take the heavy one, please? Do let me." Jock squared his shoulders with vigour.

"No, I think not—thanks all the same. You are not quite full-grown yet, and we have a long walk before us."

Ten minutes later they set off. Aunt Judith was a first-rate walker, like Jock. She was also very strong, and she seemed to make nothing of the really heavy basket which she had to bear. She went briskly, and chatted and told stories in a way that Jock had not expected. It was not her usual habit.

A more perfect afternoon for a long ramble could hardly have been found. The sun blazed in the sky as if it had been August, while the trees, only half in leaf, still wore their wonderful early green, and the birds sang as if wild with gladness. Jock would not soon forget this day, for it was to mean the ending of a certain punishment, and the lifting of a little grey cloud. Also it was to bring a sudden call on his courage, which he might or might not meet bravely.

The way to the wood was in itself a good walk, and by the time they got there, Jock's arms were aching with their load, much as Artie's little legs had ached on a former occasion. On arriving at the pond, he thought of that day.

But it looked so different now. Trees and plants seemed all alive, and the branches which hung over the water already showed signs of bursting into leaf. From the wood beyond came a glint of clustering blue-bells.

"Oh, Aunt Judith! Oh!" he cried.

"Yes, it is a very pretty spot. You have never been here before."

"Yes—"

"Have you? I thought—" and she waited for him to speak.

"Only once." He remembered that he must not betray Mousie.

"When was that?"

"The day when I—when I hadn't no business to come."

"I see. The day you went out of bounds. And you came as far as this?"

Jock was silent. Aunt Judith seemed to be thinking. "Put your basket down for a few minutes. We have another two miles to walk before we get our tea. Are you tired?"

Jock indignantly repudiated the idea, but he was glad to fling himself flat with extended arms, and the aching in them speedily stopped. Silence followed, broken by Aunt Judith.

"Jock, you have borne your punishment well," she said, and he sat up. She went on in her quiet tone—"I have been watching you, and I have seen it. I think you have tried to be patient. And I have noticed something else—that you have spoken the truth. And if you say you will do a thing, you do try to do it. You have not disobeyed again—wilfully. Of course you have forgotten things sometimes, but that is different. I have been noticing carefully—all the while."

Jock's eyes were fixed on hers. He wondered what might be coming next.

"And I do feel now that you are to be trusted. I cannot help believing that there must have been some mistake that day—at least that things were more difficult for you than I knew. I want you to understand now that I do trust you, and do believe what you say—that I can depend on your word, even if things might seem to go against you."

The boy only said "Yes—" but his face glowed.

Aunt Judith bent over and gave him one of her quick kisses, not like those of Mummie or Grannie, but yet really kind.

"And now," she said briskly, "we have to get on. Are your arms rested?"

Jock was ready for anything, and supremely happy. He had seldom felt more happy. Dad would be so glad—if he knew what had gone before. But of course he did not know.

With two more short rests, they followed the path till, leading straight through the wood, it entered on open country beyond, on roads and fields with hedges and scattered trees.

But before they reached that boundary, Aunt Judith left the path, and led Jock to a sheltered spot, still among trees, where they found a tiny spring. Water came bubbling softly out of the ground, and ran away in a baby stream, and here they were to have their pic-nic tea. By this time they needed it.

Aunt Judith unpacked the basket, giving its contents to Jock, and he had the pleasure of arranging them on the grass. First he spread a newspaper to serve as a table-cloth, and neat square pieces of white paper to do for plates—being lighter to carry than real plates—and a teapot. Next, a packet of tea appeared, and another of sugar, and a bottle of milk. Also came bread-and-butter, and sandwiches and cakes and even jam-tarts. Jock surveyed them with great satisfaction. He was not a greedy boy, but tea in a wood was a rare event, and he was extremely hungry. He could not help wishing that Mousie might have shared his enjoyment.

Then the spirit-lamp had to be lighted, and the kettle filled with water from the spring.

Persuading the water to boil proved no easy matter. Every breath of moving air set the flame flickering, and kept the water cool. Aunt Judith at length crouched close on one side, and she made Jock on the other side hold up a newspaper for shelter. And at last, a rush of steam proclaimed success. The tea was made, and a second kettleful was put on to boil, and the two sat down to their feast.

Aunt Judith seemed to enjoy it all. Jock had never known her so merry. He ate twice as much as she did, and she plainly expected that he should. When the little meal came to an end, all the eatables had vanished—which was just as well, since it meant less weight in the basket to be carried.

Then scraps of paper were carefully twisted up and hidden away or buried in the ground. "It's horrid to leave untidiness and mess in nature," Aunt Judith said energetically, while this went on. "Mind you never do, Jock; 'never' leave bits of paper or string lying about. It's so—vulgar!" she added indignantly.

And when everything had been put away, they set off again, very much refreshed, to find the old woman in her cottage.

"I think that's been most awfully jolly," Jock said joyously. "Do you like picnicking, Aunt Judith?"

"Immensely," she answered. "I love it, Jock. And I like to have you with me. We will do it again before long."

XVII. SO SLIPPERY

THEY found the old woman indoors; in fact she never could be anywhere else, since she had nearly lost her walking powers, and was only just able to creep about the room. A married daughter, living not far off, used to come in and see to her wants once or twice a day. But most of the time, she had to manage for herself as best she could. The basketful of good things, brought by Aunt Judith, was very welcome; and then Aunt Judith had to sit by her ever so long, listening to the tale of all her troubles.

Time went faster than anybody knew, while the old woman talked and her visitor listened.

Jock had been sent into the little garden, to amuse himself. He picked a big bunch of blue-bells from a bank near, and watched the bees, and listened to the birds, and could have gone on so for hours.

When at length Aunt Judith came out, a change had come over the sky. There was a grey mistiness everywhere, and clouds were gathering. Aunt Judith looked up and around.

"Oh, I don't think it means rain at present," she said. "So we will keep to our plan, Jock—if you feel inclined for so much walking. I suppose it will be about a mile and a half longer than the way we came; and it means going through a lovely little valley. They would call it a 'Combe' in Devonshire, and we always do call it so, Grannie and I. It is said to be really a very old and disused quarry—all grown over and full of trees. What do you feel like?"

Jock declared himself perfectly rested, and ready for any length of walk. He was eager to try the new route. One heavy basket, still unpacked, had been left with the old woman; and the other was almost empty. So they could go unburdened.

At a steady pace they set off, and after about a mile re-entered the wood, but in a different part. And by the time that they emerged from the wood, the weather had changed still more. The sky was growing black, and the whole scene looked dark. Aunt Judith began rather to regret having chosen the longer way. Now, however, it was too late to turn back.

So they trudged on, beguiling their walk by stories. Jock loved telling stories of his home-life and his school-fellows, and Aunt Judith seemed to enjoy hearing them. But the beauty of the day was gone.

"Well, if rain does come, it can't be helped," Aunt Judith said cheerfully. "You and I are not sugar or salt, so we shall not melt. I wish we had an umbrella—but who could dream that it would be wanted? Perhaps we may get in dry, after all."

She had hardly spoken the words when some heavy slow drops fell, each making a big round mark on the ground, and then, all at once, came a furious downpour. It was quite a deluge. And Aunt Judith had on only a thin jumper with a thin serge skirt, for she always dressed lightly in summer.

"We must find shelter," she said. "Run, Jock—run."

They raced together as fast as wind and laughter would allow, towards a shed—a very tumble-down affair—in a field close by. It gave protection from the rain, and hardly had they arrived before a sharp pelt of hail rattled on all around.

"Good thing we got here in time." Aunt Judith shook her skirt, like a dog coming out of a pond, and felt Jock over to see if he were very wet. "Well, it can't be helped," she said once more. "We must wait till the storm is over."

They had to wait a good while. Though the hail lessened, the rain kept on.

"I wonder what o'clock it is." She took out her watch, and then put it to her ear. "Stopped! Now I wonder why."

"Mr. Moore's watch wouldn't go neither."

"Something in the weather, perhaps. How tiresome. It must have stopped while we were having our tea; and I have not the faintest idea how long it is since then. I've never given it a thought."

Jock laughed. He found all this very good fun.

"We must get on as fast as we can—directly we can start. I shouldn't much care to go through the Combe in the dark—it means a pretty stiff path to the bottom. Beyond the Combe will not matter, for we get then to a level high road. I wish the rain would stop."

Apparently the rain was in no hurry. They waited and waited, till Aunt Judith's patience was nearly at an end. The growing darkness might be only due to clouds and rain, but it "might" mean—lateness.

Another sharp burst of hail came, quite a bombardment of sharp little pellets rattling on the crazy roof of their shelter. And this time when it stopped, the rain also lessened. All at once the clouds broke, and patches of blue sky became visible. Then, suddenly, the sun shone out, brightly, radiantly, lighting up the gloom with warm gladness.

At all events, he had not set yet, but the setting was very near, for he was low down, close to the horizon. Judith knew now that she and Jock could not possibly get home till after dark. The most she could hope for was that they might reach and pass the little Combe, while still able to see their way.

Off they set, going at a fine pace, for there was no time to be lost. Jock enjoyed himself immensely. Coming darkness meant only the more fun. They hurried on with increasing speed, as Aunt Judith found the distance greater than she had expected. It was years since she had taken this walk, and the friend who then went with her declared it to be at least twice as long as the other way. Aunt Judith had positively argued that it was nothing of the sort, but only a mile and a half farther, and she generally held fast to her own opinions. Now, however, as they pressed on and on, she began seriously to wonder whether she had not been in the wrong and her friend in the right. The walk seemed endless, and the sun had long set, yet still the Combe lay ahead.

"At last!" Aunt Judith said with relief, when a hill loomed in front of them.

"Have we got to go over the top of that hill?"

"Not over it. The Combe is on one side, some way up, and this path leads us straight through, and comes out at the farther end, close to a good road. Then we turn to the left, and just keep straight on."

Soon they reached the edge of the Combe, and in front lay a deep hollow, with steep sides, clothed in masses of trees, big ones fringing the outer verge, and smaller ones crowded together below. It looked very dark, and the path which they had to go down was not only steep and narrow, but the heavy rain had made it sticky and slippery. Aunt Judith had not reckoned on anything of this kind. She was not so good at climbing as at walking, for the simple reason that the country round her home gave few opportunities for practice.

"Take care, Jock; be careful. Don't slip, whatever you do. It would be a very unpleasant roll to the bottom."

Jock laughed and agreed. He still thought it all amazing fun. But a little note of anxiety had crept into Aunt Judith's voice.

As they slowly and cautiously made their way down, the remaining twilight was almost cut off by high rocks and overhanging trees. However charming a place in sunlight, it certainly did look rather dismal now. Jock wished that they could have come earlier.

"Take care!" again exclaimed Aunt Judith, as she slid sharply a foot or more downward, clutching at bushes.

Jock followed, not at all alarmed, and still ready for a laugh. The next few steps were steeper still, and she paused, not seeing how to manage them.

[Illustration: SHE WENT ROLLING, ROLLING, FALLING, FALLING, DOWN THE WHOLE DESCENT]

"I don't like this," she said. "I believe the grass would be easier. Wait a moment—while I try it."

Jock obeyed. He was just behind and above her. She struggled carefully to the side of the narrow path, and stepped off on the strip of grass which bordered it.

And in one instant, before Jock could dream of what would happen, her feet seemed to slide away from her on the wet, smooth, slippery surface, and she went rolling, rolling, falling, falling, down the whole descent, till stopped at the bottom. One quick "Oh!" at the first moment was the only sound she made.

XVIII. WHAT WAS HE TO DO?

JOCK too cried "Oh!"—a very startled "Oh!" He was sorely frightened. "Aunt Judith," he called. "Aunt Judith, are you hurt? Please tell me."

No answer came. In the dim light, Jock could just make out a motionless form on the ground. The whole place was quite still, not a sound to be heard, except one or two little "chirps" from a sleepy bird.

Jock felt dreadfully alone and afraid. But he was a plucky little fellow; and he knew at once that there was only one thing to be done, and that was to get down as soon as possible.

So, though he was shaking all over, he went down, step by step, holding firmly to small bushes at the side, sometimes slipping and sliding, yet each time recovering himself. And at last, he arrived at the spot where Aunt Judith lay—her face quite white, her eyes closed, one arm flung out, and the other doubled beneath her.

Jock came close, trembling. He was very much upset, and no wonder. It was enough to frighten a little fellow only eight years old. To see poor Aunt Judith lying there, still and silent, was awful. Perhaps she was dead. This thought gripped him. What if the fall had killed her? And, oh, what was he to do?