The Adventurous Seven.

by Bessie Marchant.

CHAPTER I

The Great Idea

The village schoolroom was packed as full as it would hold, and the air was so thick that, as Sylvia said, it could almost be scooped up with a spoon. The lecturer was stout and perspiring freely, but he meant to do his duty at all costs, and he rose to the occasion with tremendous vigour, declaiming in really fine style:

"It is a poor man's paradise, and there is no place on the face of this earth to rival it. You reach it by a pleasure cruise across summer seas, to find it has the finest scenery your eyes have ever beheld and a climate that is not to be beaten."

"Hear, hear!" shouted Rumple, clapping vigorously. He had led the applause from the very beginning of the lecture, only it was a little awkward for the lecturer that he mostly broke into the middle of a sentence instead of waiting for a pause, as a more judicious person might have done.

"Encore!" yelled Billykins, forgetting for the moment that it was not a concert, and, as the lecture had already lasted for upwards of an hour and a half, it might have proved a little tedious to some of the audience if it had been repeated from the very beginning.

The rows of people sitting in the seats behind broke into a wild uproar of stamping, thumping, and clapping which lasted for nearly five minutes, and, of course, raised more dust to thicken the atmosphere.

The pause gave the lecturer time to recover his breath and wipe some of the perspiration from his face; it also made him rather cross, for he had somehow got the idea that he was being laughed at, which was quite wrong, because all seven of the Plumsteads, from Nealie down to Ducky, thought that he was doing very well indeed.

"If you don't believe what I say," concluded the lecturer, "just come out to New South Wales and see for yourselves if I have not told you the plain, unvarnished truth; and I repeat what I have said before, that although it is no place for the idle rich, for the man or the woman who wants to work it is not to be beaten."

It was at this moment that Nealie leaned forward to whisper to Rupert, who sat on the other side of Don and Billykins:

"Would it not be lovely for us all to go? Just think how we could help dear Father, and he would not be lonely any more."

"Rather!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Rupert, making a noise which was first cousin to a whistle; then he pa.s.sed the whisper on to Sylvia and Rumple, and that was how the great idea started.

When the lecture was over they all crowded forward to speak to the lecturer, explaining in a rather incoherent fashion the reason of their keen interest in what he had been saying, and their hard and fast intention to emigrate as soon as possible.

"Our father lives in New South Wales; but most likely you have met him,"

said Nealie, whose knowledge of Australian geography was rather vague, and who supposed that, as the lecturer came from Sydney, he would most probably know everyone who lived in the country known as New South Wales.

"I can't remember him offhand, young lady, but perhaps if you tell me his name I may recollect whether I have met him," said the lecturer, smiling at her in a genial fashion.

"He is Dr. Plumstead, and he is very clever," said Nealie, giving her head the proud little tilt which it always took on when she spoke of her father. She was very much of a child, despite her nineteen years, and she never seemed able to understand that her father was not at the top of his profession.

"Father is very much like Rumple, only, of course, bigger," broke in Billykins, who could never be reduced to silence for many minutes together nor yet be thrust into the background.

But Rumple blushed furiously at being dragged into notice in such a way, and, turning his head abruptly, gave the lecturer no chance of comparing his face with those of possible acquaintances on the other side of the world.

"Most likely I have met him. I see so many people, far too many to be able to recall their names at will," said the lecturer; but then the vicar came up to claim his attention and the seven could get no further chance to talk to him.

They set off home then; and as it was so dark, and a drizzling rain was falling, Nealie took Ducky on her back, while Sylvia and Rumple helped Rupert, who was lame, leaving Don and Billykins to bring up the rear.

The nearest way was down through Boughlee Wood, but this route was not to be thought of in the dark. It was not even wise to take the short cut across Kennel Hill, so they tramped along the hard road, splashing through the puddles and talking like a set of magpies about the lecture, the lecturer, and their own determination to emigrate at once.

"No one wants us here, and there is nothing to do except get into mischief," said Sylvia, with a sigh.

"Father will be glad to have us, of course, and we will make him so very happy!" cried Nealie, and then Ducky leaned forward to kiss her on the nose, hugging her so tightly that it was quite wonderful she was not choked.

"But how are we to get to Australia?" panted Rupert, who was finding the pace rather trying.

"We must ask Mr. Runciman to let us have the money," said Nealie. "I should think that he would be glad to do it, for then he will get rid of us, don't you see? And he is always grumbling about our being such a dreadful expense."

"Mr. Runciman is horrid!" burst out Ducky, giving Nealie another hug. "I just hate him when he says nasty things to you, Nealie."

"Of course we are an expense to him, especially when dear Father is not able to send enough money to keep us, and we have all got such big appet.i.tes," said Nealie, with a sigh.

"I am hungry now, dreadfully hungry," put in Billykins from the rear.

"Shall we go to see Mr. Runciman to-morrow?" asked Rumple.

"We can't manage to get back before dark, I am afraid, and Mrs. Puffin makes such a fuss if we are out after dark; just as if anyone would want to run away with the seven of us," returned Nealie in a scornful tone.

"We can go in the morning, for the vicar is going to a Diocesan Conference, and he has given us a holiday. He told me about it to-night," said Rupert.

"That will be lovely. Then we will have Aunt Judith's chair for you and Ducky, it will be just a jolly jaunt for us; only we must be at The Paddock early, to catch Mr. Runciman before he goes out," said Nealie.

"I would rather walk----" began Ducky, with a touch of petulance in her voice, but Nealie stopped her quickly with a whisper:

"You must ride, darling, or Rupert won't have the chair, and a long walk does take it out of him so badly you know."

"If we have the chair, Don and I will be the horses, and we will go down Coombe Lane at a gallop," said Billykins, with a festive prance.

"That will be perfectly lovely, only Rupert will have to hold me tightly or I shall be tossed out at the turn, and I might damage my nose again,"

replied Ducky, with a gleeful chuckle.

By this time they had reached Beechleigh, and turning short across the green by the pond they tramped in at the gate of the funny little house where their great-aunt, Miss Judith Webber, had lived and died, and which was the only home they had known since Ducky was a tiny babe.

Mrs. Puffin, a lean little widow of mouldy aspect, opened the door to let them in and exclaimed loudly to see how damp they were.

"Now you will all be catching colds, and I shall have to nurse you," she said in a woebegone tone, as she felt them all round. "If you must go out in the wet in this fashion, why can't you take umbrellas?"

"Because we haven't got them," answered Nealie, with a laugh. She mostly laughed about their limitations, because it made them just a little easier to bear. "The little boys had the last umbrella that we possess to play at Bedouin tents with on Tuesday, and they had a sad accident and broke three of its ribs, poor thing. But we shall not catch cold, Mrs. Puffin, because we are all going straight to bed."

"But I am hungry," protested Billykins.

"I know, and so am I; but we will all have a big piece of seed cake when we get into bed, and go to sleep to dream of big bowls of steaming porridge with brown sugar on the top," said Nealie; and the vision proved so alluring that all seven trooped up the dark stairs and crowded into the small bedrooms, feeling quite cheerful in spite of tired limbs, hunger, and the discomfort of damp clothes.

But their voices hushed, and a wistful look crept into their faces, as they pa.s.sed the door leading into Aunt Judith's empty bedroom. The old lady had loved them so dearly, and they had given her love for love in unstinted measure, so that now she was dead there was an awful blank in their hearts and their lives.

Being very tired and very healthy, however, they went to sleep directly they tumbled into bed; indeed Ducky could not keep awake long enough to eat her cake, so Nealie laid it on the chair by the little girl's bed for her to find when she opened her eyes in the morning.

Sleep was longer in coming to Nealie than to the others. She was older than they were, and had been mother to them so long that she was apt to be thinking out ways and means when she ought to have been asleep.

It would be too utterly delightful to go out to Australia and live with her father. It was nearly seven years since she had seen him, and her heart was always aching at the thought of his lonely exile.