Читать книгу Two Girls in the Wild - Mabel Winifred Knowles - Страница 4

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“Whoop-ee!” squealed Pearl in delight. She had grabbed at Mrs. Ginger’s tail, but only got scratched for her pains. It was Pansy’s chance now, and with the thought of the murdered chick to encourage her she flung her sack.

Mrs. Ginger whirled about and was clear in a tick; but Andy was not to be beaten by two girls, even if the latter were the sportiest he had ever met.

Rushing to the attack, he drove the ginger one into a corner, and was valiantly defying scratches when Pearl came to the rescue with the scarf she wore in place of waist-belt.

“It’s quite a fair punishment,” she said, as Andy in triumph tied the forlorn little corpse round Mrs. Ginger’s neck. “I hope it will cure her. Scr—r—r—”

With a yaul of defiance the big cat fled, and Pearl, tearing headlong to speed her on her way, very nearly collided with a fat little old gentleman who was coming down the drive.

The old gentleman swerved, Pearl flopped, the cat vanished, but not before Mr. Salford had seen the chick tied round her neck.

“You wretched girl!” he cried, “you have been tormenting my poor Charmian. You heartless child. Who are you, and how dare you behave so abominably?”

Pearl laughed.

“Don’t worry,” she urged; “it’s your cat that’s been tormenting. She killed one of Cousin Janet’s chicks. We’ve been teaching her a lesson. Are you coming right along to the house?”

Mr. Salford, still boiling, replied he was coming along, to see Miss Dangeldie and request an explanation.

“You’ll have to wait,” said Pansy. “Cousin Janet’s out, but you can come and see the garden boy. He’ll put you wise about the cat.”

Mr. James Salford nearly choked, not with laughter, but wrath. But he came down to the house—and of course believed those wicked young women had been fibbing, since Cousin Janet had returned home during the cat-hunt and was feeling in just the right mood to sympathize with the cat owner.

In vain the girls pointed out that they had been the avengers of her own hapless chicken.

“If the chickens were out, it was entirely Andy’s fault,” said Miss Janet. “I blame him wholly for the accident, and you girls, mere strangers, had certainly no right to take matters into your own hands. You will apologize to Mr. Salford at once.”

Pearl wrinkled her brow.

“Wouldn’t it sure be better to ask the cat’s pardon?” she asked. And Mr. Salford quite agreed with his neighbour in saying the speaker was an impudent chit.

“We don’t seem to fit a bit in Kelsie Grange,” said Pearl to her sister as they cuddled down in bed that night. “I feel like a bomb on the verge of exploding. We don’t mean to do mischief—but it comes, and then Cousin Janet scratches. Did she say anything to you this evening about our staying here?”

“Yes,” said Pansy, “she said our darling Dad must have been out of his mind, leaving things as he has, and trusting us as he has. She says he left it in his will we should choose whether we stay in England or not, and we were not to go to school. Cousin Janet washes her hands of us, though I did say we had been in a convent school at Los till a year ago.”

“I mean to be on best behaviour,” said Pearl, “till Lizzie Quant writes. Then, if we can’t go back to California, I—um—I shall burst.”

And she was quite half indignant that Pansy should laugh at her.

For the next week those girls jogged along about as well as square pegs do fit in round holes.

Their only friend was Andy. Jean would have been friends but dared not because of Grizel. Andy, however, managed to avoid old Gregory the gardener, and showed these amusing comrades some of the most explorable places round about.

“I like Monk’s Tower best,” said Pearl. “One evening, Pansy, we will come by moonlight and see the monk burying his treasure. What fun!”

Pansy brightened at this. She was pining for the West even more than Pearl, though she did her bravest best to try to settle down. Dad had said he would like them to come back to the Old Country if possible, and Pansy was intensely loyal to her dead father’s wishes. Still—he had not known about Aunt Ann.

Andy had promised to take them to Rallan Water, some five miles distance across the moors, one Saturday afternoon. There was no fishing near the Grange, and these restless girls were beginning to need some other occupation than exploring.

“Couldn’t we dig in the garden, or help one of the farmers?” begged Pansy. But Cousin Janet only pursed her lips.

“It would be a very great deal more to the point,” she retorted tartly, “if you were both to do some sewing—or knitting.”

Sewing! The very word gave Pearl chills down the back, but Pansy had more idea of the job. So there they both sat in Cousin Janet’s drab little drawing-room stitching away, with groans galore from Pearl, who pricked herself, dropped her cotton, and lost her needle twenty times a minute.

“It’s no use, Pansy,” she said at last. “I never shall stitch. If I had to wait till I made my own clothes, I guess I should tar and feather myself. I like first aid, and I love cooking, but needles and cottons are some nightmare.”

“There’s Andy looking around,” said Pansy cheerfully. “It’s Saturday, and I expect his mother doesn’t want him to go shopping after all. Perhaps he’ll take us fishing; but we’d best climb out of the window or Grizel will stop us.”

Andy greeted his chums in beaming silence. He was “verra Scotch”, but his bump of adventurousness was well developed. Though too shy to ask questions of distant California and ranch life, he drank in every word the girls told him, and I am sure he believed they were real heroines.

The fish in Rallan Water were not rising to the occasion. Pansy was readiest to listen to Andy’s plea that patience might change their luck, but Pearl took the first chance of being out of sight of her companions to lay down her rod to fish by itself. The restlessness was badly in Pearl’s bones, and as she climbed back up the bank her blue eyes twinkled. In the field to the right were horses. Oh yes, she knew that. Pearl kept her eyes “skinned”, as the old stockman on the ranch used to say. Leaving Pansy the persevering to coax the coyest of trout, Miss Pearl crept off. She had stalked many a deer along the rocky cañons of California, and had lassoed many a wild colt or skittish mustang on her father’s ranch. Already she marked a defiant little bay horse which kicked up his heels over there.

And meantime Pansy, having landed her trout and feeling as proud as Wellington on the field of Waterloo, was calling Pearl and Andy to admire. Only Andy responded. He looked with the cold eyes of jealousy on that fish, then relentingly at the flushed face under its linen cap.

“It’s a verra fine fish,” said he, “but——”

Pansy did not wait for “buts”.

“Where’s Pearl?” she asked. “Pearl-o! Paul Pry! Pickles! Come and admire. Don’t turn green on the way, though. A fish! A fish!”

No answer. Pansy was prompt in action. Leaving fish and rod on the bank, she raced along to where, behind drooping alders, she expected to find Pearl. It really gave her a shock to see Pearl’s rod—a mere bean stick, mark you!—floating down stream.

Pansy gasped.

“Pearl!” she shrieked. “You’ve—not—fallen—in?” Even in that moment’s panic she could not imagine Pearl drowning in silence. And a bellow from Andy should soon have set her mind at rest.

“She’s yonder!” cried Andy, stuttering in his excitement. “She’s up on Sir Oswald’s bay colt—him that broke young Colin.”

Pansy shaded her eyes with a sun-tanned hand, whilst, instead of echoing Andy’s horror, she fell a-laughing. For what colt could break Pearl? Had she not been the dandiest little broncho-buster in California—and her horsemanship the pride of Pine Tree Ranch?

Away dashed Pansy towards the field where Pearl sat astride that impish colt—bare-back.

She had found a rope, somewhere, for Pearl was a maid with a purpose and had magiced Rufus to speaking terms. Even now the indignant bay was being lured by her sing-song coaxing.

“Hecks!” panted Andy, keeping astride with Pansy; “if it’s no’ Sir Oswald himsel’! There’ll be trouble.” And being a true son of Adam, Andy remembered the fish—the rods—and other trifles needing attention.

Pansy was not such a coward, and by the time she reached the gate Pearl was off her steed and was being talked to by its indignant owner.

“Ought I to sure say I’m sorry?” asked Pearl innocently when the great man paused for breath; “or to say the truth, which is that I enjoyed it fine?”

Poor Sir Oswald! He heard one of the grooms giggling in the background, and was further irritated by the appearance of Pansy, who looked like a ruffled hen in defence of a chick.

“If you’re staying at the Grange,” he said, “I shall make a point of calling on Miss Dangeldie and requesting her to keep you in order. It’s a miracle the bay’s knees are not cut—and your neck broken.”

Pearl kissed the bay’s nose.

“He’s a darling,” she purred. “Don’t I wish he were mine! May I finish breaking him in for you?”

“No, you may not!” roared Sir Oswald in such stentorian tones that the bay jerked free of his captor and galloped to the other end of the field.

“We’d better be going home,” urged Pansy. “Come, Pearl, it’s no use trying to explain. I guess the people here don’t understand horses same as we’ve learned to do.”

She didn’t mean to be rude, but just honestly pitied the ignorance of these Old Country people. But she left Sir Oswald on the verge of apoplexy.

Somehow, Pearl’s escapade rather spoiled the day’s sport. Andy had proved disappointing, and he had had no business to carry off the fish. Pansy could not help wondering, either, what effect Sir Oswald’s complaint would have on the top of Mr. Salford’s. They were not left long in doubt. Cousin Janet received her letter from the Court next morning, and the storm burst during breakfast.

“You’ve made it impossible for me to keep you a week longer,” she said, “and I’m thankful to say I have found a home for you. Lawyer Trimburn’s sister is willing to have you; you will go on Friday.”

Pansy and Pearl listened in awe. They had had no idea how shameful their conduct had been till Cousin Janet painted it for them. Pansy had to bite her lips hard to keep back the tears, and Pearl, seeing this, subsided meekly. But oh, what sort of bogey was Lawyer Trimburn’s sister?

“Let’s forgive Andy and ask him,” suggested Pearl. But though they did so they received no comfort.

“Kirstie Trimburn,” said Andy, “is just an auld maid who lives by her lone in the town, wi’ three cats and a parrot. There’s nae garden to speak of, an’ they say she’s sae mean that she’ll serve a kipper for the whole three meals o’ a day.”

“I’m not going there,” said Pearl stormily. “Do you hear what he says, Pansy? We should be starved. Oh, can’t we go home?”

“Pine Tree Ranch is sold,” sighed Pansy, “but any day we might hear from Lizzie. Let’s hope the letter will come to-morrow.”

“Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,” said Pearl. “I feel it’ll be like prison. Let’s run away—and ask the post office people to keep the letter when it comes. I like the post office girl; she sells the bramble drops.”

Pansy did not reply. She felt immensely responsible and unhappy. Things were going from bad to worse. First Dad’s death, then the finding Aunt Ann gone, the tragedy of not being wanted, and finally a fate as bad as prison.

“Cousin Janet does not like us,” she agreed, “and Dad didn’t send us to her. But I guess he’d make us stay—till we hear from Lizzie.”

“Listen to me, Pansy Peter,” said Pearl. “I a-m n-o-t going to a horrid old miser maid who counts the grains of porridge in a plate. You know I should only do something outrageous, so it is better to be wise first. I’m going to run away from Kelsie Grange and live out at Three Stacks Farm over the moors. I’m sure they’ll take us.”

“No,” said Pansy, “no, Paul, we must stay.”

“If I were a coyote of the prairee,” hummed Pearl. “What say, Peter? Well, I’ll have to go alone, that’s all.”

But she was peeping from under her lashes as she spoke, and knew she should be winning the day. Pearl was the more daring of the sisters. Maybe Dad had spoiled her a bit. Pansy was more of a sober-sides. But be sure if anyone were in a hole Pansy would be there.

Honestly, both girls would have been loyal to Cousin Janet had the latter held out one finger of friendship; but had she not instead shown them plainly they were nothing but a nuisance?

And so that night when Pansy woke up to see Pearl half dressed by the window she did not hesitate.

If Pearl would go, Pansy must go with her.

Having got her way, Pearl was sugar-sweet.

“Best of Peters!” she coaxed. “Of course, I never would have gone alone, so don’t look reproachful. To-morrow, poor Kirstie will have cooked her kipper of welcome in vain. We shall have some time at Three Stacks Farm. The farmer is real nice, and if we don’t find all the way there to-night we shall to-morrow. Cousin Janet will not trouble to look far.”

Pansy sighed.

“We’ll have to come back for our things when we hear from Lizzie,” said she, “and it won’t be nice.”

“Nicer than kill-joy Kirstie,” persisted Pearl. “Oh, don’t moors look fine by moonlight. Who believes in fairies?” And away she danced, skipping as wildly as any audacious Puck.

Andy had told the girls the chief tracks across the moors, and the two reached the Court woods without adventure. It was a glorious night and the moonlight bright as day.

“Do you remember Long Will’s ghost story?” began Pearl, but Pansy caught her arm.

“Look,” she whispered, “there are some men down there in the ditch. See—see—quite a bunch. They must be deer stealers—or—what is the word over here? It’s the same as rustlers.”

“Don’t remember,” said Pearl, “but we’ll sure scare them. They’ll have jumpy nerves, I reckon. Down, Pansy, against that tree there. Now Jean says all Scotsmen believe in ghosts.”

And Pansy only just had time to place herself in hiding behind that tree when to her horror a weird and plaintive wail, likest thing to the mourn of a wolf, filled the air.

It was Pearl’s “startler”, and its effect was instantaneous. The poachers—a well-known gang, long wanted by Sir Oswald and his friends—were on their feet at once, and six took to instant flight.

The remaining two also fled, but, unluckily for two other people, took the track past the alders.

Pansy, believing the men to have gone, peeped round the edge of her tree—coming face to face with Red Tam o’ the Glen, who with a snarl of rage leapt forward.