CHAPTER XIII

EXPLORING WITH DICK

The children awoke the following morning to find Dick looking as well-groomed as though he had not spent the night in a car. He was gathering sticks and whistling softly to himself.

The children apologized for being so late.

"It was my fault for disturbing you last night," Dick protested. Then he went on to tell them that the woman at the cottage up the road would allow them to wash there and that she was going to supply them with breakfast.

"But we'll cook it ourselves," he added. "It'll be more fun; she's going to lend us a kettle and a frying-pan. So hurry up, please, I'm simply ravenous! Sleeping out of doors gives you an appetite, I find."

It certainly did, the children agreed. They ran off to the cottage, taking their brush and comb with them--four dishevelled little people they were, too, but when a quarter of an hour later they returned to the wood, even Montague presented a fairly respectable appearance.

And then followed the preparing of breakfast. Dick already had the fire burning, a somewhat smoky one--but what did that matter, wasn't it the inevitable, almost the correct thing at a picnic? They hung the kettle over it (the children had brought the breakfast things with them on their return from the cottage), and Dick made himself stoker-in-chief. Would the boys gather more sticks? he said, and would the girls spread the cloth, and after that, would Nancy fry the eggs and bacon? Would they not, indeed! How eagerly those four little people threw themselves into their allotted tasks! Mavis arranged the tea-cups and plates and gathered some scabious flowers for the cloth while Nancy cut stacks of bread and butter. Then came the frying of the bacon--and here Nancy began to feel her responsibilities. To fry eggs and bacon for a grown-up person made you feel as important as when you poured out coffee for a prior.

"Could you rake the wood away for me?" she enquired, looking gravely at the uneven heap of burning sticks. "I could fry better on the ashes I think."

"That's a good idea," Dick said, as he hastened to do her bidding.

How good the bacon smelt as it sizzled in the pan. Nancy felt a little nervous as to the eggs--would she make a horrid mess of them? Fortunately, however, they were so new-laid that the yolks simply had to remain whole, and it was a flushed and excited little girl who in a few minutes announced that breakfast was ready and would everybody please gather round at once and eat it while it was hot?

Nobody needed a second bidding, and very soon the whole party was deep in eggs and bacon, and rather smoky-tasting tea. There was no salt, for they had finished their own and had forgotten to bring any from the cottage, but who cared?

"'Tisn't a libation feast, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Billy said.

Everybody was out to make light of any difficulty that should present itself that morning. They chipped each other in a friendly spirit that hitherto had been unknown to Montague; at first he was scarcely sure whether they were joking or serious, but so infectious was the good-natured banter that, presently, he found himself being drawn into it and taking laughingly from Billy what he had taken from no other boy before. And Dick, glancing at his happy face and remembering the Montague of Riversham, marvelled that so short a time should so have transformed the boy. Certainly, as regarded him, the Prior was right to have suggested allowing them to continue their adventuring.

Billy, teasing, cheeky Billy, was the leader of the fun. Impossible this morning, he found, to be serious and worry yourself about ways and means and whether you ought to do this or that. Yesterday it had rankled with him that there should be real necessity for Dick's return of their own hospitality, but to-day, in the jolly sunlight, it seemed a small thing to worry about. Besides, was not a person who had offered up a libation with you a comrade, and between comrades was there not always give and take? When _your_ luck happened to be in, it was your turn to give freely; why grudge the other fellow the pleasure of doing the honours? So Billy was just his happy irresponsible self, and it must be confessed he ate his full share of the fast-diminishing stack of food.

While they were gathering up the breakfast things after the meal was finished, Dick made a casual reference to the condition of the boys' faces.

"It was 'cos of me they got smashed about," Mavis explained. "Some big horrid boys tripped me up, and Billy and Monty settled them!"

"Oh!" Dick could see that the "settling" had been no easy matter, but he hesitated to question them further, for something in Billy's attitude suggested that the subject was one he did not wish to discuss. Curious they should be so reticent about the affair, he thought. However, no bones were broken, and they were in his care again now, so there was nothing to worry about.

"And what are your plans for to-day?" he enquired carelessly.

Nancy and Billy looked at each other.

"Why," said Nancy, "we haven't any for this morning. We--we thought we wouldn't travel to-day."

"Then why not come for a ride in the car? I'm sure those people at the cottage would let Modestine graze in the paddock for an hour or so. I wish you'd come--one gets tired of one's own company, you know."

The children looked at each other again. Why not go? Adventuring was out of the question until after Mavis had won the prize; besides, if you were flying along in a car there would not be the long, slow hours of waiting for the race. With their eyes they signalled "yes" to each other.

"Thank you ever so much," Nancy replied, "we should like it awfully. Only, please, could we be quite sure to be back here by two o'clock?"

Dick assented readily, again asking no questions. He could not fail to notice, however, that there was something behind this desire to return by two o'clock. There was something, too, behind this hanging about in one place when yesterday they were all for penetrating further into the hills. What could be the reason, and why were they so reticent about it? Dick was finding them a little difficult to understand. Their characters seemed so frank and open; their manner to him was so full of comradeship and yet every now and then a wall of reserve would seem to be between them. As to their engagement for the afternoon, was it, he wondered, connected with the fight? Ah, that must be it; hostilities very likely were to be renewed. Well, he would know this afternoon for he was fully determined not to let them out of his sight.

However, it was about time to be starting, and everybody bustled about. There were all the things to be returned to the cottage, their own blankets to be left there, and Modestine to be taken to her fresh quarters--a willing Modestine, for the grass along the edge of the wood had been scanty.

And now that their own adventure was at a standstill everybody began to take an eager interest in the ride. The hills towards Gleambridge they wanted to keep for their travels, but would it be possible, Nancy enquired, to go to that highest hill across the valley, the one in the far distance?

"Quite possible," was Dick's reply.

"And be back by two o'clock?"

"Yes, and be back by two o'clock."

And with this assurance everybody scrambled into the car and Dick set out for Birdstone, the highest point in the hills.

Nancy and Mavis sat with him in the front seat, and during that ride he learned a great deal about the family, about their home, about Nestcombe and the river and forest. Here, at least, they showed no reticence. That they worshipped every inch of those home-places was evident. Their father and mother, Aunt Letty and Uncle Val, how proud they were of them all, how they adored them, how endless was their chatter about them. Dick, as he listened, marvelled how they had ever come to leave such a home.

"The spirit of adventure and the blindness of childhood, I suppose," he thought. "By Jove! when they realize what they have done how miserable they will be, poor kiddies."

Presently they came to a small town that seemed to scramble down the hill towards the valley; a town of quaint old nooks and corners, while on the opposite side of the valley, the Gleambridge side, the loveliest little village they had ever seen, except, of course, Nestley, played "bo-peep" amongst some pines on the side of the hill. Nancy indulged in a "spasm" on Mavis when she remembered that to-morrow, perhaps, they might explore it.

Then on and on again, gradually getting away from the Gleambridge country. The miles flew past with hills piled up about them. Such tonic, too, in the air! The children responded to the exhilaration of it and forgot their troubles, forgot, almost, that Mavis was to run in the race, for both troubles and race seemed to belong to some far-off, unreal world.

They were on the main road now and the running was splendid. Yet, though they were so thoroughly enjoying the ride, in their secret hearts they were glad that their own private travels did not lie in this direction. Motoring along good, well-kept roads was one thing, but to seek adventure or romance here with civilization shouting at you--no, that would have been impossible.

Presently, they began to climb. Up and up, with deep wooded valleys dropping away to the right, and yet other hills stretching leftward. A lonely farm, a cottage here and there, a house; that was all apparently between them and the very heart of nature. All except that well-kept road that wound right up here into the loneliness of the hills, robbing them, for Nancy at least, of the charm she had found when trudging along the dusty roads across the valley.

Yet, though part of Nancy's mixed little mind disapproved of civilized hill-roads, another part of her was thoroughly enjoying itself. Mr. Frampton was so easy to talk to and seemed so interested in all they told him about themselves. And then again, flying through the air in a car always intoxicated Nancy. Had Dick been guided entirely by her wishes he would have exceeded the speed limit on the lower roads; up here in the hills the going, of course, was slower.

Quite suddenly, as it seemed to the children, the road opened out on to a wide plain. A neat, civilized-looking village was spread over it in orderly fashion, and when they arrived at a somewhat imposing-looking hotel Dick stopped the car.

"We've reached the top of the hill," he explained. "I'll go in and make arrangements for lunch, and then we'll explore a bit--there's plenty of time," he added, noticing anxious puckers in the children's faces. He knew, of course, that they were thinking about that mysterious engagement for the afternoon. He began to wonder as he entered the hotel whether he was right in imagining it to be a fight. Surely there was something more important to account for what he had seen in their faces at that moment. Besides (how stupid of him not to think of this before), Nancy and Mavis would not wish for the renewal of hostilities. Well, this afternoon he would know.

He rejoined the children after he had made arrangements for an early lunch, and then they began to explore. The village itself was too prim to interest them, but what amazed Montague was that there should be one at all up here. Being used only to the gently undulating hills of East Anglia, this hill was a mountain to him. How could they possibly get food for a whole village to such a height, he wondered? Even the other children, used as they were to finding houses tucked away in the heights of the forest, even they owned to a little astonishment at finding so large a village so far away from the world. They certainly must be glad of the good road that brought civilization nearer to them. Well-kept roads, even Nancy admitted, had their uses after all.

However, though the village was not interesting, Dick had something to show them, he said, that would delight Nancy. He led them off the main road down a lane where hill-flowers unknown even to the forest children were rioting along the steep banks. The girls were enchanted with them, but Dick assured them with a laugh that it was not flowers he had to show them. He scanned the landscape anxiously.

"Come here, Nancy," he said (Mavis was still picking flowers, and the boys were scrambling about on the banks), "you can just see them, but you'll have to look hard--they're barely visible."

Nancy knew by the way Dick spoke that it was something she would like very much.

"Oh, what is it?" she cried.

Her gaze followed Dick's pointing finger, and there, down in the valley to the left she saw, very faintly, the fair laced tower of Gleambridge Cathedral. But that was not all. For, following the pointing finger, she made out with a great deal of eye-straining and perhaps a little imagination, the towers of two other cathedrals, one to the north, and the other to the north-east.

Three cathedrals! Three fair towers! Why, one alone sent poetry dancing through you. Three cathedrals rising out of the mist--a beautiful valley held in the keeping of three white towers! Nancy's imagination wanted to get to work at once on a poem. Oh, indeed, civilized roads were not to be despised if they brought you to this. And nothing romantic could happen, she had thought, on a motor ride. Why, that valley was alive with romance for those who had "imagination eyes"!

Dick watched the animated little face with pleasure. How "alive" the child was; what an interest she took in everything and everybody. She dreamed her dreams, but because of this intense "aliveness" she would never, he knew, develop into a mere dreamer--never could the word "mooney" be applied to her--except perhaps by a teasing brother--and, indeed, the quaint mixture that made up her character, the Aprilness of it was what interested Dick in her. Having no little sisters of his own, he hoped the future was going to give him a good deal of Nancy's company.

However, it was time now to be returning to the hotel, and everybody confessed that they were quite ready for luncheon. This out-of-doors life made one ravenously hungry, they found.

Fortunately, a generous meal awaited them. Dick led them to a table laid for five that had been reserved for them. Very grown-up and important these little people felt as they seated themselves, for it was the first time any of them had lunched at an hotel. And a waiter to attend to your wants, too; instinctively they straightened themselves and tried to live up to the occasion. Oh, indeed, there was a certain glamour about this civilization, especially the bits that belonged to the never-before-experienced world.

Immediately after lunch they started on the return journey. Dick took them another, and shorter, way, yet though the scenery was if anything more beautiful than that on the morning ride, the children could take no real delight in it, for the thought of the coming race crowded out all else. And supposing they should have a puncture, and not be there in time--the very thought of it made them sick with apprehension. To be sure they had allowed a good margin, for the races did not begin until three o'clock, nevertheless they began to wish that they had not asked Dick to bring them so far.

However, all their fears proved to be groundless, for the clock on Barsdon church struck two as they climbed the lane that led to their wood.

What a glorious ride it had been. A shame that part of it had been spoiled by the thought of the race. Oh, if their misfortune were only as unreal as it had seemed on their way to Birdstone; if they could just have spent the afternoon in the wood with kind Mr. Frampton. They heaped their thanks upon him, but he waived them aside. The pleasure had been his, he said, and, indeed, secretly he had rejoiced to have them safely under his eye for so long.

Nancy and Mavis, directly they jumped out of the car, turned to go to the cottage to wash and do their hair before going down to Barsdon.

"Are you going to Mrs. Hale's?" Dick enquired. "You might tell her we should like tea at five o'clock, unless," he added, "you would like to have it at the inn down in Barsdon?"

The wood, they all agreed, would be nicest, and Nancy promised to deliver Dick's message.

Their preparations were simple, and soon two somewhat nervous-looking little girls might have been seen hurrying down a field path at the back of the wood--a short cut to Barsdon of which Mrs. Hale had told them. "Do you really think I'll win?" Mavis enquired anxiously.

"Why, yes, of course. You always do, so don't worry, Babs!"

"I wish I'd got a better frock on," Mavis continued. "Everybody else will be dressed up. 'Sides, the mud did stain this one."

Again Nancy consoled her. Nobody would know her and people would be thinking too much about her pretty way of running to notice her dress.

Mavis was somewhat comforted. Nothing would have induced her to have appeared in a public place at home in a stained frock, but because they needed the money so badly she would try not to mind strangers seeing her in so sorry a garb.

"I'm glad we're miles and miles from home, though," she said, as they turned into the village. "I'm glad forest people don't come to hill Flower Shows."