Ten minutes later the three girls had taken up their position in the kitchen garden in a spot which to the town-bred girl seemed ideal for comfort and beauty. The strawberry-bed ran along the base of an old brick wall on which the branches of peach-trees stretched out in the formal upward curves of great candelabra. An old apple-tree curved obligingly over the gravel path to form a protection from the sun, and it was the prettiest thing in the world to glance up through the branches with their cl.u.s.ters of tiny green apples, and see the patches of blue sky ahead. Darsie sat stretching out her hand to pluck one big strawberry after another, an expression of beatific contentment on her face.

"Yes--it's scrumptious to live in the country--in summer! If it were always like this I'd want to stay for ever, but it must be dreadfully dull in winter, when everything is dead and still. I shouldn't like it a bit."

"No! No!" the Percival girls protested in chorus. "It's beautiful always, and livelier than ever, for there's the hunting. Hunting is just _the_ most delightful sport! We hunt once a week always, and often twice--the most exciting runs. We are sorry, absolutely sorry when spring comes to stop us."

"Oh, do you hunt!" Darsie was quite quelled by the thought of such splendour. In town it was rare even to see a girl on horseback; a hunt was a thing which you read about, but never expected to behold with your own eyes. The knowledge that her new friends actually partic.i.p.ated in this lordly sport raised them to a pinnacle of importance. She munched strawberries in thoughtful silence for several moments before recovering enough spirit to enter another plea in favour of town.

"Well, anyway--if you _don't_ hunt, it must be dull. _And_ lonely!

Aren't you scared to death walking along dark lanes without a single lamppost? I should live in terror of tramps and burglars, and never dare to stir out of the house after three o'clock."

"No you wouldn't, if you were accustomed to it. Our maids come home quite happily at ten o'clock at night, but if they go to a city they are nervous in the brightly lit streets. That's curious, but it's true. We used to leave doors and windows open all day long, and hardly trouble to lock up at night, until a few months ago when we had a scare which made us more careful. Till then we trusted every one, and every one trusted us."

"A scare!" Darsie p.r.i.c.ked her ears, scenting an excitement. "What scare? Do tell me! I love gruesome stories. What was it? Thieves?"

Noreen nodded solemnly.

"Yes! It's gruesome enough. Simply horrid for us, for so many other people lost their--but I'll tell you from the beginning. It was the night of the Hunt Ball at Rakeham, and the house was crammed with visitors. We were allowed to sit up to see them all start. They looked so lovely--the men in their pink coats, and the ladies in their very best dresses and jewels. Well, it was about half-past seven; the ladies had gone upstairs to dress about half an hour before, when suddenly there was a great noise and clamour, and some one shouted 'Fire!' and pealed an alarm on the gong. No one knew where it was, but you never heard such a hubbub and excitement. Doors opened all down the corridors, and the ladies rushed out in dressing-gowns and dressing- jackets, with hair half done, or streaming down their backs, shrieking and questioning, and clinging to one another, and rushing downstairs.

The men were more sensible; they took it quite calmly, and just set to work to put the fire out. It was in a little room on the second floor, and the strange thing was that it hadn't been used for months, and no one could account for there being a fire there at all. After a little time one of the men came out into the corridor, and said: 'There's something wrong about this--this is not the result of accident! I don't like the look of it at all.' Then he turned to the ladies, who were all huddled together, gasping and questioning, with their maids and the other servants in the background, and said: 'Ladies! I advise you to go back to your rooms as quickly as possible. There is not the slightest danger, but it might be just as well to look after your jewellery!'

"You should have heard them shriek! They turned and rushed like rabbits, and the maids rushed after them, shrieking too, but that was nothing to the noise two minutes after, when they got back to their rooms and found their jewels gone! They were laid out ready to be put on, on the dressing-tables, and the alarm had been cleverly timed to give the ladies enough time to get half dressed, but not enough to have put on their jewellery. Only one out of all the party had put on her necklace. She _was_ pleased!

"Well, they shrieked, and shrieked, and some of the men left the fire and came upstairs to the rescue. Captain Beverley was the smartest, and he just tore along the corridor to a dressing-room over the billiard- room, and there was a man letting himself drop out of the window, and scrambling over the billiard-room roof to the ground! Captain Beverley gave the alarm, and the servants rushed out to give chase. It was very dark, and they could not tell how many men there were, for they kept dodging in and out among the trees. Some people said there were only two, and some said they saw four, but only one was caught that night--an idle, loafing young fellow who had been staying at the village inn for a few weeks, pretending to be a city clerk convalescing after an illness.

The worst of it was that he had only a few of the smaller things in his pockets, none of the really big, valuable pieces."

"Goodness!" Darsie's eyes sparkled with animation. "That _was_ an excitement. I wish I'd been here. Go on! What happened after that?"

"Oh, my dear, the most awful evening! The visitors had all brought their very _best_ things, as the Hunt Ball is a great occasion, and they almost all cried, and one poor lady went into hysterics. Her father had been an amba.s.sador and had all sorts of wonderful orders and things which she had had made into brooches and pendants, and they could never be replaced, no matter how much money she spent. Dinner was the most weepy meal you can imagine, and only one or two of the sensible ones went on to the ball. The others stayed at home and moped, and mother had to stay, too. Poor dear! she had to keep calm, and comfort every one else, when she'd lost all her own pet things. There was one string of pearls which has been in our family for generations, and each new owner adds a few more pearls, so that it gets longer and longer, and more and more valuable. It would have belonged to Ralph's wife some day. He was so funny about it, so disappointed! He kept saying: 'Poor little girl! it _is_ rough luck!' We said: 'Why pity her, when you haven't the least idea who she is?' He said: 'Why not, when I know very well that I _shall_ know some day!'"

Darsie smiled with politely concealed impatience. She was not in the least interested in Ralph's problematical wife, but she was devoured with anxiety to hear further particulars of the exciting burglary.

"Well, well! Go on! You said they only caught one man that night.

That means, I suppose--"

"Yes!" Noreen sighed tragically. "That was the saddest part of it.

The next morning they found another man lying just outside the walled garden. He had scrambled up, holding on to the fruit-trees, and had then jumped down and broken his leg, and he was not a stranger, but one of our very own men--an under-gardener whom we had all liked so much.

Father believed that he had been bribed and led away by the man from London, and offered to let him off if he would tell all he knew, how many thieves there had been, and give the names and descriptions of the ones who had escaped, but he wouldn't. Nothing would make him speak.

We all tried in turns, and then the Vicar came and was shut up with him for an age, but it was no use. They say 'there's honour among thieves,'

and it's true. He wouldn't give the others away, so the two were sent to prison together, and they are there still. Father says they won't mind a few months' imprisonment, for when they come out they will get their share of the money and be quite rich. They'll probably sail off for America or Australia and buy land, and live in luxury ever after.

It _is_ a shame! Father and mother feel it awfully. Such a dreadful thing to happen when you ask your friends to stay!"

"Yes! it's a comfort to have nothing to lose. Mother has one diamond ring, which she always wears above the wedding one, and there's nothing else worth stealing in the house, except watches and silver spoons, so that Aunt Maria need fear no qualms on account of her present visitor.

No one will set her house on fire on account of my jewels--a few gla.s.s beads and a gold safety-pin, all told! You see them before you now!"

Darsie tossed her head and pointed towards her treasures with an air of such radiant satisfaction that Noreen and Ida dropped the effort to be polite, and pealed with delighted laughter.

"You _are_ a funny girl! You do amuse us. It's so nice to have a new friend. The girls near here are so deadly dull. You seem so full of spirit."

"Too full. It runs away with me. I act first and think afterwards.

_Not_ a good principle for a working life," p.r.o.nounced Miss Darsie sententiously as she searched among the green leaves for a strawberry sufficiently large and red to suit her fastidious taste. The Percivals watched her with fascinated gaze. An hour before they would have professed the most profound pity for a girl who lived in a street, owned neither horse nor dog, and looked forward to earning her own living, but it was with something more closely resembling envy that they now regarded Darsie Garnett, weighted as she was with all these drawbacks.

There was about her an air of breeziness, of adventure, which shook them out of their self-complacence. It no longer seemed the all-important thing in life to belong to a county family, attend the hunt, and look forward to a presentation at Court; they felt suddenly countrified and dull, restricted in aim and interest.

It was while Darsie was still conversing in airy, discursive fashion, and her companions listening with fascinated attention, that footsteps were heard approaching, and Ralph's tall figure appeared at the end of the path. He was evidently taking a short cut through the grounds, and as Darsie was out of his line of vision, being planted well back among the strawberry plants, he saw only his two sisters, and advanced to meet them with cheerful unconcern.

"Hulloa! Here's luck! Hasn't she come?"

"Oh, yes! But it is luck all the same. Look for yourself!" cried Noreen gleefully, pointing with outstretched hand to where Darsie sat, a pale blue figure among a nest of greenery, her little, flushed, laughing face tilted upward on the long white throat, her scattered locks ashine in the sun. With the air of a queen she extended finger-tips crimson with the strawberry juice towards the newcomer, and with the air of a courtier Ralph Percival stooped to take them in his own.

For a moment they stared full into each other's eyes, while the bewilderment on the young man's face slowly gave place to recognition.

"Glad to see you again, Princess Goldenlocks! Let me congratulate you on the breaking of the spell. Who was the kind fairy who set you free to appear among us in your rightful guise?"

He spoke like a book; he looked tall and handsome enough to be a prince himself. Darsie forgave him on the instant for his former lack of respect, and bent upon him her most dimpling smile.

"I freed myself. I wove my own spell, and when I was tired of it I broke loose."

Ralph looked down at her with a slow, quizzical smile.

"You had better be careful! Spells are awkward things to move about.

They might alight, you know, on some other shoulders, and not be so easily shaken off!"

His eyes, his voice, added point to the words. It was the first, the very first compliment which Darsie had ever received from masculine lips, and compared with the blunt criticisms of Dan Vernon, she found it wonderfully stimulating.

"Come along, girls!" cried Ralph with a sudden return to a natural, boyish manner. "There's a whole hour yet before tea, and we can't sit here doing nothing. Let's go down to the river and punt. Do you punt, Miss Garnett? I'll teach you! You look the sort of girl to be good at sport. You'll pick it up in no time."

The three girls rose obediently and followed Ralph's lead riverwards, while Noreen and Ida, gesticulating and grimacing in the background, gave the visitor to understand that a great honour had been bestowed upon her, and that she might consider herself fortunate in being the recipient of an unusual mark of attention.

CHAPTER TEN.

A TREATY.

If there were innumerable good points in an acquaintance with the Percival family, there was certainly the inevitable drawback, for on the days when she was alone with her great-aunt, Darsie was rendered lonelier and more restless than before by the knowledge that a couple of miles away were three agreeable young companions who would be only too pleased to include her in their pastimes. The different points of view held by youth and age were, as usual, painfully in evidence. Darsie considered that it would be desirable to meet the Percivals "every single day"; Aunt Maria was glad that you had enjoyed yourself; was pleased that you should meet young friends, and suggested a return invitation, "some day next week!" pending which far-off period you were expected to be content with the usual routine of morning drive, afternoon needlework, and evening patience. Really--really--really, to have lived to that age, and to have no better understanding! Letters from the seaside did not tend to soothe the exile's discontent. It seemed callous of the girls to expatiate on the joys of bathing, fishing, and generally running wild, to one who was practising a lady- like decorum in the society of an old lady over seventy years of age, and although Dan kept his promise to the extent of a letter of two whole sheets, he gave no hint of deploring Darsie's own absence. It was in truth a dull, guide-booky epistle, all about stupid "places of interest"

in the neighbourhood, in which Darsie was frankly uninterested. All the Roman remains in the world could not have counted at that moment against one little word of friendly regret, but that word was not forthcoming, and the effect of the missive was depressing, rather than the reverse.

Mother's letters contained little news, but were unusually loving-- wistfully, almost, as it were, _apologetically_ loving! The exile realised that in moments of happy excitement, when brothers and sisters were forgetful of her existence, a shadow would fall across mother's face, and she would murmur softly, "_Poor_ little Darsie!" Darsie's own eyes filled at the pathos of the thought. She was filled with commiseration for her own hard plight... Father's letters were bracing.

No pity here; only encouragement and exhortation. "Remember, my dear, a sacrifice grudgingly offered is no sacrifice at all. What is worth doing, is worth doing well. I hope to hear that you are not only an agreeable, but also a cheerful and cheering companion to your old aunt!"

Darsie's shoulders. .h.i.tched impatiently. "Oh! Oh! Sounds like a copy- book. _I_ could make headlines, too! Easy to talk when you're not tried. Can't put an old head on young shoulders. Callous youth, and crabbed age..."

Not that Aunt Maria was really crabbed. Irritable perhaps, peculiar certainly, finicky and old-fashioned to a degree, yet with a certain bedrock kindliness of nature which forbade the use of so hard a term as _crabbed_. Since the date of the hair episode Darsie's admiration for Lady Hayes's dignified self-control had been steadily on the increase.

She even admitted to her secret self that in time to come--far, far-off time to come,--she would like to become like Aunt Maria in this respect and cast aside her own impetuous, storm-tossed ways. At seventy one _ought_ to be calm and slow to wrath, but at fifteen! Who could expect a poor little flapper of fifteen to be anything but fire and flame!

Wet days were the great trial--those drizzling, chilly days which have a disagreeable habit of intruding into our English summers. Darsie, shivering in a washing dress, "occupying herself quietly with her needlework" in the big grim morning-room, was in her most p.r.i.c.kly and rebellious of moods.

"Hateful to have such weather in summer! My fingers are so cold I can hardly work."

"It is certainly very chill."

"Aunt Maria, couldn't we have a fire? It would be _something_ cheerful to look at!"