CHAPTER XV

HALF-CONFESSIONS

And while life was pressing adventure towards the three children down in Barsdon, Dick and Montague were having a dull and miserable time up in the wood.

Dick was not greatly troubled at first at the absence of the two girls; they were probably lingering in the paddock petting Modestine. He lay on the ground smoking, waiting for some move on the part of the boys, for that they should have no share in the mysterious engagement had never occurred to him. To his surprise, however, neither of them for quite a long time showed the slightest inclination to leave the wood. But, presently, through half-closed eyes, he noticed a growing restlessness in Billy. There was an anxious, troubled look on the usually sunny face, and, presently, apparently unable to keep his anxiety to himself, he drew Montague to the edge of the wood and a whispered consultation took place between them. Dick sat up and watched them. Was it the girls Billy was concerned about? Surely in that case he would have consulted with him rather than Montague. Yet they certainly had been gone a long time. He was about to join the two and make casual enquiries regarding the girls' absence when Billy disappeared and Montague, looking depressed and unhappy, re-entered the wood. Now what was to be done? Should he question Montague or wait for further developments? And why should Montague wear that air of depression? And then again, what was he doing with that neat little bundle of wood; why was he cutting it into such short lengths? Apparently the boy had forgotten that he was not alone for, as he worked, he began to talk to himself.

"Hope Billy remembers the tacks if he finds the girls. Wish I'd got 'em now, so I could go down to the Flower Show and sell to the people as they came out. Oh dear, I'm feeling rather lonely; wish _I_ could have gone to find Mavis, but Billy said stay here. Wonder if they'll meet those ruffians who stole the money? P'raps Billy'll take it from them again--then we _shall_ be rich!"

Dick was not near enough to catch all the rumblings, but he had heard enough to arouse his curiosity and some anxiety. He thought it high time to recall himself to Montague's memory.

"Hullo, old chap, what are you doing?" he enquired, rising and sauntering towards him.

"Just making picture frames," Montague replied.

"Picture frames?" Dick repeated. "Won't they be rather in the way on your travels?"

"They're not going on our travels." Then an idea came to Montague. Why not ask Mr. Frampton to buy some? Billy wouldn't let them borrow money from him, but to sell something to him was surely different. "Do you want to buy some?" he asked. "When they're finished, I mean. I can't tack them together till Mavis----"

"Yes?" said Dick. "'Till Mavis----'?"

"Oh, nothing!" Montague replied uncomfortably.

"Look here, old chap," Dick said, seating himself on a log near the boy, "I've not yet heard the full story of yours and Billy's battered faces. I wish you'd tell me all about it. Did anything happen to--well, to make it necessary for you to sell picture-frames?"

Montague, wishing fervently that the others were there to support him, eyed Dick dubiously, but made no reply.

"Don't you trust me?" asked Dick.

Montague nodded.

"Yes, but Billy said----"

"Yes--what did Billy say?"

"Oh, nothing, 'cept that you'd p'raps make us go back if you knew, an' if you didn't do that we'd be sponging on you. But it's all right now--least, it will be when Mavis comes back. I--I wish she'd come--I _wish_ we hadn't let her!"

Montague paused. He was wishing with all his heart that he had not promised Billy to stay in the wood. They ought to have gone together; the anxiety of waiting was becoming almost unendurable, and he would have given much to have been able to share his fears with Dick. Supposing something had happened to little Mavis? Oh, it was terrible to be left behind!

Dick slowly filled his pipe, thinking hard while he pressed the tobacco into the bowl, and glancing from time to time at Montague's troubled face.

"Look here, old chap," Dick began, "you're worried about them, I know. Now, suppose we give them another quarter-of-an-hour, and then if they haven't returned I think you had better tell me where they have gone and we will talk the matter over together and see what can be done. I'm worried, too, you know," he added.

"Are you fond of them?" Montague asked. "Would you mind if anything happened to them?"

"I should mind very much indeed," Dick replied, "if anything happened to any of you four youngsters--but it isn't going to! Now, is it a bargain?" He pulled out his watch and looked at Montague questioningly.

"Yes, if I needn't tell you what Billy wouldn't like me to tell you."

Montague himself would have been quite ready to confess the whole adventure from the very beginning to Dick, feeling sure that the friend who had stood by him so often in the dreadful aunt-days that were already beginning to fade into the remote past, would understand. And, after all, if he insisted on a return, as far as he, Montague, was concerned, it would not greatly matter. Nothing would induce him to return to Riversham, but the children had offered to share their home with him, and he was secretly awaiting with eager interest the day when he should be initiated into the delights of their beloved Nestcombe. The grown-ups? Well, he would tolerate them for the children's sake; yes, even the aunt, since Mavis loved her. Nevertheless, though practically any place would be home for him if the children were there, for Billy's sake he hoped he would not be led to tell Mr. Frampton too much. Billy cared so tremendously about this adventure (that he was the leader Montague had recognized from the beginning), and because Billy had been such a good chum to him, because, moreover, he was beginning to care for him as he had never yet cared for another boy he wanted to stand loyally by his friend and not let him down.

He spent the next fifteen minutes wondering just how little he could tell Dick and hoping against hope that the children would turn up and relieve him of the necessity of saying anything at all. But the fifteen minutes dragged slowly by and they did not come.

"Now," said Dick, glancing at his watch, "the time is up, so let's see what can be done. Tell me--are they in Barsdon?"

"Yes."

"That's all right--then we haven't far to go. Why didn't you go with them?"

"I dunno. I _wanted_ to. It was just Mavis and Nancy really who were to go, and Billy and me were to wait here, only Billy got worried and wished he'd not let Mavis--not let them go and I wished it too, and I wanted to go and fetch them back, and just do the picture-frames, but Billy said no, she was his sister, and he would go and find her and would I wait here 'case they came back another way."

"Yes--but what _is_ it that Mavis went to do?"

"Well, to run in a race at the Flower Show!"

Dick showed his astonishment.

"Run in a race at the Flower Show?" he repeated.

"Yes, for seven-and-sixpence," Montague growled, "'cos nearly all our money was stolen."

Dick began to see daylight, but he looked down at Montague gravely.

"And you boys allowed little Mavis to do that rather than treat me as a comrade?"

Montague said nothing, but he felt horribly ashamed, and very, very unhappy. He began to realize that as he knew Mr. Frampton so much better than the others he ought to have persuaded them to trust him. Very miserably he looked up at Dick.

"It's--it's not exactly _you_--it's your grown-upness, I b'lieve."

Ah, yes, that indeed was it. Dick knew it, and, for the first time in his twenty-one years, hated this barrier he had regarded hitherto as something very wonderful and very desirable. Yet--twenty-one--was it so far from the world of childhood? And what exactly was the barrier; how could it be defined? He had roughed it with them, had shared their picnics, had, he thought, dropped his "grown-upness" entirely. They were fond of him, there was no doubt of that, just as they were of Montague, yet, because of a nameless barrier, they had left him out in the cold, while the penniless boy (for Dick was sure Montague was not worth more than a few pence when he joined the adventurers) they had taken into their entire comradeship. It was impossible, of course, to be either hurt or angry, nevertheless, Dick regretted deeply that these care-free irresponsible little adventurers should think it necessary to shut him out.

"That's it!" he thought. "Irresponsible! The irresponsibility of childhood--these little people knew instinctively that one loses it when manhood comes." Dick suddenly felt very lonely and sighed for that lost boyhood that he had cast off so willingly.

Well, no use wasting time over vain regrets, something must be done immediately. He must run down. to Barsdon in the car; probably, after all, the children were merely waiting for Mavis to receive the prize.

"Wait here for me, Mont, in case I should miss them. And if I find them we'll all go to the Show together this evening."

Montague looked round at the silent wood and the loneliness smote him to the heart.

"You won't be _very_ long, will you?"

"No. If I don't see them soon I'll come back for you and we'll search together. Make a fire and get the kettle boiling," he added, thinking the time would drag less if the boy were occupied, "and don't worry, old chap. I'll find them, or we'll find them together."

For a moment their eyes met, and through the chilling loneliness in the boy's heart there swept a sudden surge of affection and gratitude and trust.

"You an' the Prior," he muttered, "an' my guardian aren't like ordinary grown-ups. I s'pose men are better'n women. I'm _glad_ you're my friend."

Dick, as he drove rapidly down the lane to Barsdon felt absurdly happy at the boy's confidence. Need there be an insurmountable barrier, he wondered?

"Well, at least we're necessary to them sometimes," he thought, "and that is something."

He was just about to make enquiries as to where the Flower Show was being held when, hurrying along the village street towards him he caught sight of three well-known little figures.

"Mr. Frampton!"

Again Dick forgave these troublesome little people the anxiety they had caused him because of that unmistakable ring of gladness in their voices. Again he felt an absurd happiness when they scrambled into the car as though it were their right.

"Where's Monty?" Mavis asked, as Dick turned the car in the direction of the wood.

"Keeping his promise to Billy." Dick spoke somewhat shortly, for he wanted them to realize something of Montague's loneliness without them. "We began to think, you know, that our comrades had deserted us."

"Oh, but we couldn't do that!" Nancy exclaimed impulsively. "We _couldn't_ come sooner--Monty will understand when we explain. And you----" She paused and looked questioningly at Billy. If only she might tell Mr. Frampton _some_ part of the doings of the afternoon--it was hateful to be so secretive. To her delight and surprise Billy nodded consent, and turning again to Dick she began to tell him of Billy's rescue of Nonie.

"I didn't mean that part," Billy broke in. "I meant about us having the money stolen. We _couldn't_ tell you yesterday, Mr. Frampton, and a little while ago we thought we'd _have_ to tell you, 'cos it seemed to be the end of our travels. But it isn't the end after all and yet--oh, well, we just hate not telling you, 'cos we're all kind of chums together, aren't we?"

Very, very slowly Dick drove up the stoney lane, his heart thrilling with happiness as between them (Billy and Mavis who were in the back hanging over the seat) they told the full story of the fight and the lost purse, their shame at having only dry bread to offer him, Mavis's suggestion that she should enter for the race and even (with Mavis's consent) her encounter with the girl from Nestcombe.

Not quite all the story was told in the car. It was a shout of joy from Montague that interrupted the narrative. Poor, poor Monty, how sorry they were to have left him so long; how glad they were to see him again. Oh, it was good to be with these two dear comrades again. And tea was waiting for them? How nice of Mr. Frampton and Monty to have waited for them; they didn't deserve it and yet--and yet, oh, it was not at all easy, they were beginning to find, to know what was the right thing to do. Mr. Frampton and Montague had been worried about them, yes, and lonely, too--this they found out from Monty when, after tea, they were all sitting together quietly near the bower. And they were their comrades, both of them and--and should one hurt one's comrades? But then, it was unthinkingly. Yet again, _why_ not have trusted Mr. Frampton? Wasn't it somehow different between a little band of friends, between out-of-doors comrades? How sorry he seemed that they had not trusted him--yes, there was _his_ point of view.

"I'm sorry," Billy said, "I--I wish we'd told you."

"And, oh, we were so unhappy about Mavis," Nancy added. "That was why Billy left you and Monty alone. But we ought to have told you." She was silent for a moment, then suddenly she asked Dick a question. "What is 'obligations'?" she demanded. "Do you have them towards people--people you like?"

"Yes," Dick replied, wondering what was coming, "sometimes."

Nancy's eyes glowed.

"Oh, do you know," she continued, "I'm just beginning to _feel_ that word--it's getting inside me, and I can hear a song in it. _Some_ words, you know, dance inside me like music--pretty words, I mean, but I never thought 'obligations' would! I thought it was a cold, ugly grown-up word, but it isn't. It's thrilly and--and chummy! I--I can't explain it better than that. _Do_ you understand?"

Yes, Dick understood well enough. How dear these children were, how grateful he was to them for this comradeship they were extending to him. The invisible barrier still was there, they still had not made full confession, nevertheless Dick was convinced that as far as it was possible for them to take a "grown-up" into their childhood's world, they had taken him and he was satisfied.

"And yet," he thought, as he sat watching them, "though 'obligations' has become a living word for Nancy, none of them has even yet realized their obligations to their own people. I wonder when they will?"