Читать книгу Schoolgirl Jen at the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 4

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“I can’t see anything wrong with it!” Jen said resentfully, as she walked round the doomed tree.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” she cried suddenly, and stood staring in amazement.

A small girl in a red frock was huddled against the massive trunk, in a corner between two big roots. Dark curls hung untidily on her shoulders, which were shaken by bitter sobbing.

Jen stood gazing at her. “I’d better fetch Joan, I don’t know what to do for the kid! Who is she? And what is she doing here? Of course, anyone can come in as far as this—it’s not like the real Abbey.”

The road to the gate-house was open to the lane; the door at which tourists had to pay was farther on, in the wall that enclosed the garth and the ruins. Village folk did not use the gate-house meadow, but there was nothing to prevent them, if they wished to enter.

“I say!” Jen stooped over the child. “What’s up? Has somebody been unkind to you? What’s your name?”

Dark, tear-filled eyes looked up at her in startled dismay. “I’m sorry, Miss Joan—oh, it’s not Miss Joan!” as she saw the yellow plaits and blue eyes.

“Rather not! Do you know Joan? Do you want to see her? She’ll help, if there’s anything the matter.”

“We used to come here. Her used to teach us. But I was one of the littler ones. Her won’t remember me.”

“You’re not a very big one yet, are you? What did Joan teach you? I haven’t heard about that.”

“Drill. Sometimes here and sometimes on the garth. I liked coming to her class.”

“I bet you did! I’m sure it was fun. I shall make Joan tell me about it. But who are you? And what’s the matter with you?”

The child turned to the tree again, and her thin arms reached up the trunk. “They be a’goin’ to cut her down. I heard ’em say it. ’Tis a shame!”

“Oh!” Jen said slowly, and stood staring at her. “I feel just like that myself. But how awfully nice of you to care so much!”

“Miss Joan used to sit here and tell us stories and talk to us. And we had games, touch-last and things like that, and the tree was ‘home’. I doesn’t want the men to take her away.”

“Neither do I, and neither does Joan. But it can’t be helped. Mr. Edwards says it isn’t safe,” Jen explained. “You wouldn’t like it to fall on you, you know.”

“Mr. Edwards, he told Mr. Jaikes. I heard ’im.”

“And you ran away to the tree and howled,” Jen said, with quick understanding. “I felt like that, too. But it’s no use; we can’t save the tree. We can be sorry, but we can’t do anything about it.”

“How sensible!” she thought ruefully. “I didn’t feel sensible when I rushed away from Joan. It’s terribly odd! Finding this kid crying her eyes out has made me see how silly it is. What’s your name?” she asked again. “I shall have to tell Joan about you.”

“Lavinia Miles, please, miss.”

“Lavinia!” Jen grinned. “The whole of it, all the time? I’m just Jen; there couldn’t be a much littler name than mine. What do they call you? Vinny?”

“Mrs. Jaikes, she calls me Vinny. The boys calls me Lav. I hates it!” And Lavinia flushed resentfully.

“I should think so! But Vinny is rather nice. Vinny Miles, did you say? You don’t come from Miles’s farm, up in the hills, do you?”

“King’s Bottom Farm. I comes to village for school.”

“King’s Bottom Farm!” Jen said slowly. “I’ve heard something—yes, I remember. It was John Miles, of King’s Bottom, who gave the old maps to Jandy Mac’s Uncle Tony, and Jandy showed them to us, and we found the tunnels and the highwayman’s treasures and dear old Ambrose’s grave. But the Miles people went to America ten years ago, Joy told us, and the farm was sold to Mr. Jaikes. Did they leave you behind when they went?”

“Yes, miss.” Lavinia sat and stared at her. “My mum died, and I were only two; I’m twelve now. My dad didn’t know what to do ’bout me; the rest were boys and could look arter themselves. My aunty didn’t go to ’Merica, and she said as how she’d keep me here till they got settled down and dad found a job. She went on living at the farm to help Mrs. Jaikes. Then she died, and my dad di’n’t want me; he’d got married to somebody in ’Merica. And Mrs. Jaikes, she don’t want me neither, for she’s got kids of her own. But I hadn’t anywheres to go, so I lives at the farm. I helps her quite a bit.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jen said warmly. “I expect you’re very useful to her. But your new mother in America ought to have you. Does she know you’re stuck here, left on Mrs. Jaikes’s hands?”

“I d’n know, Miss Jen. Mrs. Jaikes said as how she were goin’ to write, but I d’n know if she done it.”

“You couldn’t do it yourself. Not without help,” Jen said thoughtfully. “But somebody could help you. Your father ought to send for you. I shall talk to Joan. Are you so frightfully fond of our tree, Vinny?”

“I loves her,” Vinny said simply. “Because of Miss Joan sittin’ under her, like.”

“Joan could sit somewhere else, if that’s all. I expect you’ve been missing her class, haven’t you?”

“Yes, miss. But she hasn’t no time for us now.”

“I don’t suppose she has. She’s been terribly busy at school. But she might make time now. Are there other girls who want her classes to go on?”

“No,” Vinny said bitterly. “They doesn’t care: it’s on’y me. They says as how we gets enough lessons at school. We got a new teacher, and she gives us drill, and they says it’s plenty.”

“They would,” Jen agreed. “If it’s only you, Vinny Miles, I’m afraid Joan can’t have a drill class for one.”

“Teacher at school don’t tell us stories, like Miss Joan did. She ain’t got the time.”

“It would do you good just to talk to Joan and try to say things as she does,” Jen remarked. “Now, Lavinia, listen to me! It’s no use howling about things that are finished, like those classes, or things that have to happen, like the tree. That’s finished too, though it’s horrible to think of. You came to say good-bye to the tree—it’s what I came to do myself—and you’ve done it. Now you mustn’t cry any more; you mustn’t be silly. I’ll tell Joan about you, and perhaps she’ll think of something that will help; and you’ll go home to Mrs. Jaikes and the children, and you won’t howl any more. You will be sensible, won’t you?”

There was adoring gratitude in the look Lavinia gave her. No one, except Joan, had ever taken trouble about her in this wholesale way before.

“I’ll do it, Miss Jen.”

“Good! Then I’ll go and talk to Joan. She may think of some way to help. Your father ought to look after you now. It’s silly that you should be dumped on poor Mrs. Jaikes, when you’ve a father and brothers in America. You ought to go to them. Perhaps Joan will help you to write a letter. I’ll see what I can do about it. Off you go! You can’t save the tree by clutching hold of it. Good-bye! I expect I’ll see you again. If I’ve gone home, there will still be Joan, and she’s much more use than I am.”

She watched Lavinia as she ran to the entrance and along the lane. Then, with a grave look at the tree, standing majestic and patient, unconscious of its fate, she raced off in the opposite direction, through the Abbey ruins, to find Joan still sitting on the terrace.