"I suppose it was always wise to leave a loophole in case the cure didn't come off!" laughed Mavis.

They had been walking by a footpath across the meadows, and found themselves in the little village of Bamberton, a small place with picturesque cottages close to a river. Miss Mitch.e.l.l, who was an enthusiast upon architecture, marched her party off to view the church, much to the disgust of several of them.

"Don't want to see mouldy old churches! I'd rather be out of doors!"

grumbled Merle.

"And there are actually sweet violets growing in a field on the opposite side of the river," said Edith, who knew the neighbourhood.

"Oh, are there? Do let's get some."

"It'll be too late by the time we've been all round the monuments and read the inscriptions and the rest of it!"

"How long will Miss Mitch.e.l.l stay in the church?"

"A good twenty minutes, I daresay. You can't get her away when she starts talking about architecture. Dad took her round our church one day, and I thought she'd never go. Tea was getting cold, but she went on asking questions about windows and pillars and things!"

"Then why shouldn't we slip out and run and get the violets while she's inside the church with the others?"

It was a naughty thing for a monitress to propose, but even Sybil, who happened to overhear, did not wax moral for the occasion.

"I'll come with you!" she said eagerly. "I'm not at all fond of going round churches, and looking at monuments. It always makes me wonder if I'm going to die young! When Miss Mitch.e.l.l took us to Templeton Church and read us the epitaphs, I cried afterwards! There was one about a girl exactly my age. 'Sweet flower, nipped off in early bloom,' it said, or something of the sort."

"Don't be so sentimental!" snapped Merle.

"But come with us if you like. Yes, you too, Beata! But for goodness'

sake don't tell any one else or they'll all want to come, and if the whole lot try to scoot, it will put a stopper on the thing. We'll wait till the others are inside and then just slide off. Mum's the word, though!"

It was quite easy to loiter among the tombstones pretending to read the inscriptions, but the moment Miss Mitch.e.l.l and her audience had safely pa.s.sed through the porch and opened the big nail-studded door, the four confederates turned and fled.

Edith knew a short cut, and took them between rows of graves, regardless of Sybil's protesting shudders, to a tiny stile that led down an alley to the riverside. Here there was a tumbledown wharf, and an old ferryboat which worked on a chain. Years ago a ferryman had had charge of it, but there was so little traffic that it was no longer worth his while, so the boat had been left for pa.s.sengers to use as they liked. It was lying now at the edge of the wharf. The girls, following Edith, stepped in, and began to wind the boat across the river by pulling the chain. It was rather an amusing means of progression, and they enjoyed their 'Dover- Calais crossing,' as they called it. Arrived at the opposite bank, Edith scrambled out.

"Tie the boat up, somebody!" she called, and set off running over the meadow to the hedge where the violets grew.

Somebody is an exceedingly vague term, and generally means n.o.body. Merle and Beata went scampering after Edith, and Sybil, who was last, flung the boat chain hastily round a post and followed her friends. The violets were lovely, sweet-scented and blue and modest and everything that orthodox violets ought to be.

The girls gathered delicious, fragrant little bunches, and felt that they were scoring tremendously over those unfortunates who were receiving information about architecture inside the church.

"We mustn't stay too long!" sighed Edith. "It's a pity, but I'm afraid we really ought to go now. They'll be looking for us if we don't."

So they walked back across the meadow to the bank. Here a most unpleasant surprise greeted them. The boat, into which they had meant to step and ferry themselves back, had drifted into the middle of the river.

"Good gracious! Didn't you tie it up?" exclaimed Edith, aghast.

"Of course I did, but-well, I suppose I didn't tie it tight enough. I never thought it would float away," confessed Sybil.

The boat, though still working on the chain which spanned the river, was quite inaccessible from either side. The girls were in an extremely awkward position. n.o.body knew where they had gone, and unless it occurred to some of their party to come and seek them by the wharf, or unless some chance pa.s.ser-by happened to notice their plight, they might wait for a long time without rescue.

"What are we to do?" fumed Beata. "If we're not back at four the 'sardine-tin' will be waiting for me, and Mr. Vicary will be so cross!

The last time we were late he went and complained to Father and said he'd have to charge us extra for wasting his time. There was an awful row, and Violet scolded Romola and me, although it was really Tattie's fault."

"Can we get to Durracombe on this side of the river?" suggested Sybil.

Edith shook her head.

"We could; but there isn't a bridge till you get to Parlingford, and that's five miles round. I think we'd better stay here."

"I could slay that wretched boat for playing us such a trick!" said Merle.

Meantime Miss Mitch.e.l.l and the rest of the girls had finished their survey of the various monuments, and, catching sight of the church clock, realised how late it was, and that they must start back at once. Of course the four truants were missed, and a hasty search was made for them, in the chancel, and behind the organ, and outside among the tombstones.

"They're not anywhere here!" reported the scouts.

"Then they must have walked on," said Miss Mitch.e.l.l. "Beata knew she had to be back by four o'clock. I expect we shall catch them up on the road.

Come along!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHY DIDN'T 'EE FASTEN UP THE CHAIN"]

So the party set off at full speed, all unwitting that four disconsolate maidens were marooned on the farther side of the river, waiting for some faerie boat to ferry them across. For a long time no knight-errant arrived for their relief, but at last, as chance would have it, an urchin came down on to the wharf, with a string and a bent pin, intent on fishing. He was at least a link with the outer world, and they yelled hopefully to him across the water. He stopped and stared, then took to his heels and ran, but whether in terror or to fetch help they were uncertain. After what seemed a weary while, however, he returned, escorted by his father, who evidently understood the situation, for he shouted something which the girls could not catch, then went away.

"Has he left us to our fate?" asked Merle indignantly.

"Gone to get somebody else, perhaps!" ventured Edith more hopefully.

She proved correct, for after another eternity of time an old man hobbled on to the wharf, unlocked a boat-house, and slowly took out a punt, by means of which he reached the ferry-boat, climbed in, and worked it across the river to the farther bank.

"Why didn't 'ee fasten up the chain?" he asked; but as he was almost stone-deaf he did not understand either their excuses or professions of grat.i.tude, and simply motioned to them to enter.

Arriving back on the wharf the girls, after subscribing a shilling amongst them to reward their rescuer, hurried up to the churchyard, where, of course, there was no sign of their party, then started as fast as they could to walk along the high road. They had gone perhaps half a mile when they heard a warning hoot behind them, and, looking round, what should Merle see but the little Deemster car with Dr. Tremayne at the driving-wheel. She shouted wildly and stopped him.

"Oh, Uncle David! Are you going back to Durracombe? Could you possibly take Beata at any rate! Her car will be waiting for her at school. We'd be everlastingly grateful!"

"I'll try and cram you all in if you like," smiled Dr. Tremayne. "Open the d.i.c.key, Merle!"

It was a decided squash. Edith and Sybil sat in front, and Merle and Beata managed to get together into the little d.i.c.key seat behind, where they each held one another in and clutched the hood for support.

"I have to pay a visit, but I'll run you back first," said Uncle David, setting off at a pace that made Merle and Beata cling for their lives as they whisked round corners. They arrived at 'The Moorings' exactly as the town-hall clock was chiming the quarter after four. Mr. Vicary, his face a study of patience, was standing by the side of the 'sardine-tin,' which was already packed for transit, and whose occupants set up a joyful screech of welcome.

"Of course, if Dr. Tremayne motored you back with Merle it's all right, though you ought to have asked me first," said Miss Mitch.e.l.l, to whom Sybil gave a much edited explanation, omitting the ferry-boat incident altogether, and suppressing the violets.

So the four culprits, who had expected trouble, got off a great deal better than they deserved.

CHAPTER XII

Fifth Form Justice