CHAPTER III.
ADVENTURERS FOUR.
Surely only youth and health would look forward with glorious anticipations to a five-mile drive on a bitter winter day, in a little open carriage!
The four adventurous Altruists were certain they were going to enjoy themselves, and no sooner were they fairly on their way than they began to justify their own predictions. For the sake of extra excitement, they took it in turns to drive; but it was impossible for them to take it in turns to talk, so they all chattered at once. This did not help the driving, which was mixed in character. Nobody could quite tell, as the ribbons changed hands, what might be the next diversion; and, of course, this uncertainty was the best part of the fun. At last the pony settled, under the capable guidance of Florry, into a steady trot; and the Altruists settled, at the same propitious moment, into a steady discussion of their proposed Christmas feast for the Woodend villagers.
This feast had been for some weeks under consideration at the Society’s meetings, and the arrangement of its details was far advanced. The Altruists intended that it should be a grand manifesto of their good-will to all the working-folk.
“We are to have a present for everybody,” declared Austin loudly, “and we boys must do our share. I am making my third stool. No one can say that stools are not useful things in cottages.”
“But they will not furnish a house,” objected Max; “and I want very badly a complete rig-out for a two-roomed shanty. I have a man on my list who was sold up last week by his Jew of a landlord—old Fenn. Poor Johnson was a decent chap, but when they turned him out he just went to the bad.”
“He can’t have gone very far in a week,” remarked Austin, who had not taken kindly the allusion to his handiwork.
“He went to Fenn’s Home Farm, and tried to burn the ricks. Fortunately he didn’t succeed; and when Dad heard he was to be taken up, we went and begged Johnson off. We’re going bail for him, that if they’ll let him alone he’ll keep straight; and Dad has got him some rough work in the gardens. But his wife and child had to go to the workhouse; and now the idea is to start them all afresh in one of Ventnor’s little places. They’ll want only a few things to begin with. What do you say, Frances? Shall we give him one of Austin’s stools for a Christmas-box?”
“Something else as well,” said Frances, beaming on her ally.
“I don’t mind making him an extra big stool, which might do for a table,” said Austin graciously.
“Guy is mending-up some old chairs,” said Frances.
“Mamma will let me have one of her patchwork-carpets,” said Florry. “She makes them out of odd pieces begged from friends, and they are quite warm and cheerful.”
“Mrs. Temple offered me an old bedstead and bedding only the other day,” cried Frances. “How fortunate for poor Johnson! I’ll ask Mamma for a chest of drawers.”
“And the Altruists as a body can easily produce a ‘harlequin’ set of plates and cups and dishes,” said Florry.
“I have some spare pots and pans in my stores,” added Frances proudly. “I declare, Max, your friend sha’n’t wait till Christmas to set up housekeeping!”
“You are all awfully kind,” said Max gratefully. The boy’s eyes were actually moist, and he hung his head; but in a moment had recovered sufficiently to shout in vigorous crescendo:
“Your reins are crossed, Florry! Mercy on us, we’re in the ditch!”
They were not quite there, thanks to the pony’s objections to lead the way. Rough pulled his head free indignantly, and was allowed to steer his own course in peace.
The Altruist quartette presently arrived safely in Exham. Max, who was then the whip, made for a respectable inn, where the travellers left the much-enduring Rough to take a rest, while they attended to business.
“Ladies, do we have the honour of accompanying you?” asked Austin, with a grand bow; “or do we go off on our own hook?”
“As though we would take you two imps into shops with us!” said Frances. “Go and buy your things and we’ll get ours, then we can meet at Thorn’s and have tea. Thorn is our confectioner, and Mamma said we might order what we liked.”
“Good for Mater,” chuckled Austin. “But in the meantime, can you girls really do without us?”
“We’ll try to,” said Frances severely; “and mind you scamps keep out of mischief. Come on, Florry.”
The girls linked arms and marched off, affecting the superior and independent airs so tantalizing to the best of boys. Max and Austin watched their departure with mischievous eyes.
“They’re too cocky for anything,” declared Austin.
“I believe they’ll buy up all the red stuff in Exham,” said Max. “Observe the lofty tilt of Florry’s head. Mark the aggressive decision of Frances’s step. They’ll conquer or die!”
“I say, Max,” giggled irreverent Austin, “let’s tag on to them a bit. Our shopping won’t be a scrap of fun. We’ve just to leave an order at the timber-yard, and call in at the ironmonger’s for nails and screws and a few other things. Frances has disappeared into that big draper’s, and there goes Florry after her. Let’s get through our timber business, and then have a lark with the girls. We’ll make the counter-Johnnies sit up.”
“Won’t Frances be wild?”
“Not she!—come on, Max!” Away went the pair, arm in arm, with the mincing steps they intended as an imitation of their comrades’ sedate town manners.
Frances could bear a good deal, but her soul quailed when her eyes lighted on the figures of the two boys stealing up the shop in the wake of a frock-coated person, of whom they had just inquired where they should discover “the young ladies who were buying up the establishment’s entire stock of red flannel”.
“We have not yet finished our business,” remarked Austin, while he seated himself with easy grace on an offered chair; “but we could not resist peeping in as we passed to see how you girls were getting on.”
“We have not finished either,” said Frances, regarding her brother’s demure face uneasily. “We have bought our crimson serge and our calico, but we still want scarlet flannel and red knitting-wool. Also tapes, buttons, hooks, cottons, and needles.”
“I have bought a bradawl and a pound of French nails,” said Austin gravely. “I am yet in need of a yard-measure, a few miles of string, some boot-buttons, a shaving-strop, and a packet of tin-tacks.”
“For my part,” said Max, “I require a lawn-mower, a type-writer, a bottle of blacking, and a pork-pie.”
“With these few necessaries,” added Austin, “we hope to complete the persecuted Johnson’s start in housekeeping. And—Timbuctoo! I’d nearly forgotten his wife’s mangle!”
“A stool and a blanket to be thrown in promiscuous,” said Max; “and a few yards of crimson stuff for a table-cover would be received with thanks. Ah! and we have secured a very nice jam-pot for an ink-bottle. Further suggestions gratefully acknowledged.”
“When you boys try to be funny the result is sad,” said Frances, feeling her dignity compromised by the mirth on the cadaverous countenance of the shop-assistant, who had left off serving her in order to appreciate the young gentlemen’s sallies. “Come, Florry,” continued the ruffled damsel, “let’s try Mason’s for the flannel: Miss Carlyon said it was good there.”
The petrified assistant, seeing that the stern eyes of a superior hard-by were fixed on him, glanced appealingly at the boys, but Miss Morland kept sedately on her path to the door.
“Won’t he get a wigging!” laughed unrepentant Austin, following humbly in the rear. “I say, Max, this establishment will lose the Altruist custom. I back Mason’s for scarlet flannel!”
But Max was inclined to think the joke weak, and positively refused to peril the receipts of the draper across the road. Instead, he dragged off Austin to transact legitimate business; and the ironmonger had the benefit of their wit and wisdom for the next few minutes.
The girls were chattering briskly as they came out of Mason’s.
“It was a splendid bargain,” declared Frances, who, as an administrator of charity funds, had taken her first lessons in economy. “Fifty yards of scarlet flannel for fifty shillings! Did you see what a heap more they had of it? The man said it was ‘a manufacturer’s stock’.”
“I love manufacturers’ stocks!” ejaculated Florry.
“So do I, when they’re Altruist flannel,” said Frances fervently. “Now we had better go to meet the boys at Thorn’s. Poor boys! they have had no delicious bargains. Perhaps it is a little dull buying nails. I wish I hadn’t been huffy with Austin; boys hate prim, fussy sisters. I’ll tell you what, Florry, we’ll make it up to the poor things. We shall get first to Thorn’s, and we’ll order all the goodies they like best. Max prefers jam-sandwiches, and Austin likes méringues; and they’re both fearfully fond of very plummy cake. Thorn’s cake is capital.”
The girls walked on rapidly, and made, as they went, plans for the sumptuous entertainment of the boys.
“We’ll heap coals of fire on their heads,” said Florry. “They will be torn by an anguished repentance. Here we are. Look at those lovely chocolates in the window!”
“Let’s have loads of chocolates.”
“I like chocolate-almonds the best,” said Florry pensively; “they are superb.”
“The boys like toffy and hardbake and Turkish-delight. Do you know, Florry, I read in a tiresome book that the real Turkish-delight isn’t a bit like the English one! Wasn’t it horrid of the author to say so? I’ve never really enjoyed it since.”
“It was cruel.”
“And both Max and Austin love Scotch shortbread.”
“Perhaps Scotch shortbread isn’t a bit like the English.”
“It isn’t,” said Frances contemptuously; “but you can get the real thing at Thorn’s. Let’s go in. I don’t see the boys anywhere, so we shall have time to order a beautiful tea for them—jam-sandwiches, and méringues, and plummy cake, and shortbread, and toffy, and hardbake, and Turkish-delight. Oh! and Bath-buns and gingerbread. I should like a little bread-and-butter. The boys think it is not worth while to have any bread-and-butter when they are out for a lark.”
Frances pushed open the glass door and entered. “Florry,” she whispered, “do make haste into the side-room and secure the nicest table. Stay! I’ll come too; and if we lay a few parcels down nobody will steal our chairs. We must have the table next the window, it’s such fun watching the carriages and people in the street. We can come back to do our ordering.”
The girls advanced boldly to take by storm (if necessary) the chosen spot.
“Oh! I say! What—!”
The most popular table in Thorn’s private tea-room was already occupied. On two of the four chairs in front of it sat Max and Austin, bolt upright, their countenances wearing an expression of almost seraphic calm. The table was covered with good things. The girls looked, and saw jam-sandwiches, méringues, plum-cake, shortbread, Bath-buns, gingerbread, and a little—a very little—bread-and-butter. Glass sweetmeat dishes contained chocolate-creams, chocolate-almonds, toffy, hardbake, and Turkish-delight. Max mounted guard over a laden tea-tray.
No sooner did they behold the astonished faces of their comrades than the boys rose, and with their finest company manners offered the best places to the girls.
“Ladies,” said Austin, “we hurried here that we might have time to order a most beautiful tea for you. We have done our utmost. You see before you all the goodies you like best; and we have not even forgotten that Frances has a weakness for bread-and-butter.”
“Or that Florry adores chocolate-almonds.”
“We wished to show you,” said Austin, “that we bear no malice.”
“We wished,” said Max, “to heap coals of fire on your heads.”
The November day had drawn on to dusk before Frances could persuade herself and the others that it was time to start for home. The boys were despatched to fetch the pony-carriage, and requested to call on their way back for the biggest parcels, which would be awaiting them at the drapers’ shops. Frances and Florry summoned a smiling waitress, and asked her to fill some bags with the numerous goodies left from the feast.
“For the boys are sure to be hungry again before we reach home,” said Frances. “Snow has been falling for the last hour; and we shall have to drive cautiously along the country lanes, they are so dark. And poor Rough is not properly shod for the snow yet.”
The girls, with their bags and parcels, were standing ready at the door of the confectioners, and looking out with amused and interested faces as the boys drove up.
“I say,” cried Max, “it’s a good thing we brought lots of rugs and wraps—we’re in for a storm.”
“Really a storm, Max?” inquired Frances, feeling that she ought to provide prudence for the party. “Do you think we shall get home all right with just Rough? Oughtn’t we to leave him here and hire a proper horse and carriage from the hotel?”
“It might be safer,” admitted Max, “but it would be awfully slow.”
“I’m going to drive Rough,” said Austin promptly, “come with me who will.”
“I will,” cried Florry, whose eyes sparkled at the prospect of the mildest adventure.
“I’ll go with Frances,” said Max quietly.
“We’ll all go together,” decided Frances, satisfied with her virtuous suggestion. “Max had better drive, though; he knows the roads so well.”
The four packed themselves and their parcels tightly into the trap. Rough was already tossing his head in disgust with the rapidly-falling snow-flakes, which were driven by a bitter north wind into his eyes and ears, half-blinding him, and tickling him unpleasantly. The boys had proposed that the girls should take the front seat, because they would then have the wind behind them; but Frances insisted on giving her place to Austin, who was subject, when he caught cold, to a bad kind of sore throat.
The snow, which in the streets of Exham partially melted on the ground, already lay thickly on the country roads, where it froze as it fell. The pony-carriage had hardly turned into the narrow lanes leading in the direction of Woodend before the youngsters found that the storm, prophesied by Max, was on them. The snow was hurled at their heads by a cutting blast, which flung the heavy white flakes into deep drifts at the sides of the roads most exposed to it. The pace had to be very slow and the driving very careful; but Max’s attention was lured from his duty as charioteer when the merry talk of his companions invited him to join their discussions. The quartette were still warm and cosy among their rugs, and they were enjoying the faint trace of danger which gave zest to their adventurous journey.
Rough was not enjoying himself at all. The boys had strapped a small blanket over him, but this was not much of a protection from a winter storm. At length he came to a full stop at the foot of a hill, which he greatly objected to tackle with a carriage-load behind him. The young people took the hint, and sprang out. They were in a sheltered road, with trees overhead; but half-way up the hill some branches, brittle with frost, were snapped by the gale and blown down into the lane. One of the boughs struck Frances, another fell on Rough. Neither girl nor pony was hurt, but both might have been.
“Hallo!” called out Max, “that was no joke! I have known serious accidents from falling branches. We had better avoid these lanes bordered by great trees, and choose the more open roads. You know there are two ways to Woodend. The one by Rowdon Common is a little further round, but it will be safer both for Rough and for us.”
“Then we’ll take it,” said Frances; “for though you might get on all right without me if another bough came in my direction, I don’t know how you would manage without Rough.”
They climbed the rest of the hill, and then again settled themselves in the trap. A little further on, Max took the turning whence he could guide Rough home by the longer route. And now troubles began to descend on our Altruists. First, Rough turned sulky, and tried to loiter, refusing to respond heartily even when the whole quartette shouted encouragement; because he knew very well the quickest route to Woodend. Next, the carriage-candles began to flicker in a manner promising speedy extinction.
“Goodness!” murmured Austin, when this second fact was obvious to the party. “The stable-boy told me the candles were very short, and wanted to put in new ones; but I was in such a hurry, I said they would just do.”
There was a chorus of reproachful groans.
“Suppose we put out one of the lights?” suggested sensible Florry. “If we burn the two separately, they’ll last longer.”
Even this ingenious resource did not greatly prolong the time during which the pony and Max were able to see their way. When the second candle failed him, the driver pulled up, and peered forward into the darkness.
“If you could see me, my friends,” he remarked ruefully, “you would notice that I am looking serious.”
“Then perhaps it’s just as well that the light of your countenance has gone out with the candles, Max,” said Florry. “If you could see us, you would know that we are not particularly cheerful.”
“Oh, come!” cried Austin, “let’s keep up our spirits somehow. What are you going to do, Max?”
“Lead Rough!” laughed the other boy. “I ought to know ‘every foot of the ground’, as people say; but it’s only when folks are out in a blinding snowstorm on a pitch-dark evening that they discover the shakiness of their geography. However, I know we must soon turn to the right, and then keep on straight up another hill to Rowdon Common. Our road borders the Common for half a mile, and then branches off downhill again. Once we are clear of the Common, we shall be all right.”
They were not to reach that condition very easily. Max led Rough onward, and found the necessary turning to the right; and along the uphill road the youngsters all walked, to lighten the pony’s burden, until Frances took alarm on Austin’s account. After much persuasion she induced the boy to get back into the trap, and Florry to go with him to spare his pride. She and Max trudged on side by side. Presently both observed that Rough showed signs of distress. Though close to the little animal they could hardly see him, but they could hear his laboured breathing.
“Hallo! he is going rather lame,” said Max. “Surely he can’t have had a stone in his shoe all this time? We’ll stop and find out.... Why! this is worse than a stone—he has lost a shoe!”
There was nothing to be done now, except to let the pony go at his own pace, and keep him to the side of the road where the snow lay thinnest. At a very leisurely rate the party journeyed up the remainder of the hill, Rough stumbling badly every now and then.
“Here we are, at last!” sighed Max, as the road again became level, and the increased severity of the storm, reaching them across the high, open country, told the travellers that they were on the edge of Rowdon Common. “We have a rough stone wall on one side of us now, and a pretty wide ditch on the other; so we must jog along carefully.”
Max and Frances both decided to go on walking; and Florry, after whispering persuasions to Austin, joined them, in order to relieve Rough a little more.
Poor Austin’s temper suffered from his indignation at this attempt on the girls’ part to “coddle” him. The liveliest recollections of his latest bad throat never sufficed to keep him out of danger if he possibly could get into it. Max and his companions just then halted for a moment under lee of the wall, intending to give Rough a breathing-time; and Austin, in a fit of impatience, seized the reins as they hung loose, and tugged them heedlessly.
The culprit’s ill-temper vanished as he and the trap and the pony swerved all together and turned clean over into the ditch, now half-covered by a deep drift. Frances and the others, in the better light of the open ground, saw the rapid movement of the little carriage, and for an instant held their breath; then peals of laughter from Austin assured them that he was safe, and the three rushed to the rescue.
Austin pulled himself out of the snow, and wriggled from Frances’s grasp.
“I’m all right, Sis; don’t worry! Damp? Oh, well, not particularly. I’m going to help Max to get Rough on his legs. This is rough on Rough, isn’t it? Ho, ho!”
But Frances, who knew that her brother was something more than “damp”, could hardly speak. Her sufferings were far greater than the patient’s when Austin had quinsy; and she blamed herself bitterly for not insisting on the obviously prudent course she had suggested in Exham. A strong carriage and sturdy horse would long ago have conveyed the quartette safely to Woodend; and now here they were, up on the Common, exposed to the force of the storm, and with no prospect of speedy escape. Austin would be certain to take cold if his damp clothes were not soon dried. The poor pony, after his fall and fright, would surely be quite disabled.
Indeed, Rough, when again on his feet, stood shivering and snorting, and positively refused to move further.
“I’m afraid he’s used up,” said Max anxiously; “and I think—really I do—that we shall be in the same plight if we try to struggle against the storm. The wind is a perfect hurricane up here, and freezingly cold. Girls, I believe we had better spread our macintoshes on the snow, roll up in our rugs, and bivouac in the shelter of the wall. It is so low it will not protect us unless we squat on the ground.”
The youngsters were all in agreement, and at once set to work to carry out Max’s plan. The macintoshes were spread, the carriage-cushions fetched to provide seats, the parcels were ranged to act as “cover” on the exposed side, rugs and wraps were dealt out to everybody, and the bags of “goodies” were thankfully seized. While Austin and the girls finished the camp, Max laid the thick skin carriage-mat along Rough’s back, fastened it round him with his own blanket, and led the pony close up to the wall.
The buns and cakes were distributed by Frances, who had no heart to eat, but knew that moaning over Austin would not help him. He was wedged in tightly between the girls, and submitted like a lamb to be enveloped in wraps. Max took the outside place, and fed Rough with biscuits.
In spite of all precautions, the little group grew colder and damper; in spite of the most energetic attempts at cheerfulness, their spirits sank lower. The storm showed no signs of abating. While the youngsters were slowly being forced to recognize that their position was not only uncomfortable but perilous, a strong though flickering light, as of a powerful lantern swayed by the wind, was seen approaching them along the road from the direction of Woodend. The four watched it with keen eagerness. It came nearer—came close. It was a lantern, indeed, fixed to the front of a great hooded waggon drawn by two powerful horses.
The pony-carriage still lay half in, half out of the ditch. Max sprang to his feet and ran forward to warn the waggoner, who, having caught sight of the obstructions in his path, was already drawing up by the wall. The man was known to Max as a servant employed by a big farmer of the neighbourhood, and the boy lost no time in shouting to the amazed driver a cheery greeting and a peremptory demand for help out of his own dilemma. Not many words were needed. Job Benson recognized Max, and was quite willing to aid him and his companions.
Max rushed back to the others.
“Hurry, Austin! Up with you, girls! Here’s relief for the garrison at last! This waggoner is going to Rowdon Smithy before turning across country to his master’s farm; and he says he will take us as far as the smithy, where we shall get safe shelter until we’ve a chance to make our way home. We’ll tether Rough to the waggon, and the sight of his fellow-gees will encourage him to follow them. We must leave the trap in the ditch till to-morrow. Now let’s make haste, or the horses won’t stand.”
Rugs and shawls and bundles were grasped by the willing hands of the rescued travellers. Into the great waggon and its welcome shelter climbed the girls and boys as best they could, while the good-natured driver offered everybody a helping hand and heartily bade the whole troop welcome.
“I know the old man at the smithy,” said Max to his comrades, “and I’m sure he’ll give us a rest and a warm. Dad’s attending him just now; nothing much wrong but old age, you know. His name is William East, and he has a grandson, Jim, who is no end of a nice chap.”
The waggon followed a road across the Common for a time, and then, turning down a lane to lower ground, touched one of the country roads to Exham. Standing level with the road, a little back among a group of trees, were the cottage and outbuildings of Rowdon Smithy.