Part 16 (1/2)

But we all thanked nurse very nicely for telling us the story, which was really very interesting.

And it gave us a good deal to talk about.

CHAPTER XI

MISCHIEF IN THE AIR

Yes, it gave us a good deal to talk about. Stories that do that are much the nicest; they seem to make themselves over and over, and to last so long. We talked for some days after that, about what we'd each of us do if _we_ were locked up all night alone in a church, and we made ever so many plans. And the next Sunday--that was our first one at Mossmoor,--when we all came home from church and were at dinner, Serena astonished us very much, when nurse said she'd been a very good girl, for she's generally a dreadful fidget, by saying quite coolly--

'Oh, I didn't mind the sermon a bit to-day, though it was very long. For I was settling all the time what I'd do if I was like Maggie in _that_ church. And I know quite well, only I won't tell any of you. So if ever _I'm_ lost on a Sunday you'll have a nice hunt.'

She tossed back her head the way she does when she means to be aggravating.

'You silly girl,' said Maud in her superior way, 'you couldn't hide in that church not to be found. You're so boasty. And if you did, there'd be no fun in it.'

Serry gave another toss, and a particular sort of a smile. That smile meant mischief.

'Miss Serena's certainly very clever at hiding places,' said nurse. 'But there couldn't be very much cleverness wanted to hide in a church; it's not like finding out queer places you'd never think of in a house. Now, I daresay, Miss Serry, if it came a very wet day again while we're here and Mrs. Parsley let you have a good game, as I've no doubt she would, I daresay you'd keep us hunting like anything.'

'I daresay I could,' said Serry.

But I knew by her voice that _she_ knew that nurse was speaking that way on purpose to put hiding in the church out of her head. For, as I've said, Serry's very queer; for all she's so changeable and flighty, there are times that if she takes up a thing, _nothing_ will get it from her--make her drop it, I mean,--till she's done it. And she'd gone on so about hiding in the church that I think nurse was a little uncomfortable. Perhaps she began to wish she hadn't told us the story of her mother, but I wouldn't say so, for I didn't want to vex her.

She'd been really so very kind.

After that Sunday, however, for some weeks nothing more was said about it, and we left off talking of the Maggie story. We had so many other things to do and to speak about. The weather got all right again, even better than before, for every day now was getting us nearer and nearer into the real summer; though, of course, even in the middle of summer there do come cold wet bits, just like our first day at Mossmoor. But for some time we had nothing but lovely weather.

It's a very drying soil all about Fewforest; after two or three fine days, even in the woods, the ground is so dry that you'd think it hadn't rained since the world was made. It's partly with the trees being mostly firs which are so neat and bare low down--no mess of undergrowth about them. And the soil is very nice, so beautifully clean and crunchy to walk on, for it's made of the p.r.i.c.ks that fall off the firs, in great part. It's perfectly splendid to lie on--springy and yielding and not a bit dirty--your things don't get soiled in the least.

They say, too, that the scent or breath of pines and firs--I think it's rather nice to think it's the sweet breath of the trees, don't you?--is awfully good for coughs or illnesses to do with coughs. So it suited us very well indeed to spend a great part of our time in the woods. And certainly the girls' coughs soon went quite away. I was glad. I really could _hardly_ help hitting them sometimes when they would go on barking and whooping, even though I suppose they couldn't stop it. They still coughed a little if they ran too fast, or if they got excited or angry.

I do believe Serry pretended it sometimes just to be aggravating, for she was in rather an aggravating humour at that time. I think it was partly from not having Hebe, who has such a good way with her, and as Anne and Maud always stick together, you see Serena was rather left to me, and I don't pretend to have a good way with her at all, she makes me so angry. Though we get on a good deal better now than we did then.

Still, on the whole, we were very happy indeed. We did a little lessons--at least Anne and I did regularly. Miss Stirling had set me some Latin and French, and Anne didn't want to get behind me in Latin, so she did it with me, and she was very good in helping me with my French, for she's much farther on than me in French.

That was in the mornings, for an hour or so. Then we used to go what nurse calls a 'good bracing walk,' right over the heath that edges the woods, for two or three miles sometimes. We used to come in for dinner pretty hungry, I can tell you. But Mrs. Parsley didn't mind how much she had to cook for us. She was as pleased as if you'd given her a present when nurse said she never had known our appet.i.tes so good.

Sometimes we met the getting-well children from the Home. But I rather fancy the people there had heard about the whooping-cough; for though the young lady who was with them smiled at us very nicely always, she rather shoo'd them away from us. And it was always the same round-faced, beamy-looking girl--not Miss Cross-at-first, certainly.

Then in the afternoons we mostly played or sat about the woods, coming in for tea, and sometimes, when it was very fine and mild, nurse let us go out again a little after tea. But if it was the least chilly or windy or anything, she wouldn't let the girls go out, and then we sat all together playing games, or now and then telling stories till bed-time.

Very often dear Mrs. Parsley would come in, and we always made her sit down and talk to us. And sometimes I'd go out a stroll by myself in the evening--towards the village generally, for there was often a letter to post or some little message for nurse to the shop. And then I got another reason for walking that way in the evening, which I'll tell you about directly.

We had been five weeks at the farm when one day we got very jolly news from mums. The news had been pretty jolly all the time; Hebe had gone on getting better, though the doctor at Ventnor had thought her very weak at first, and so she and mums had stayed on longer than they'd expected they would. But this letter told that they had really fixed a day for coming back to London, and that the nice Ventnor doctor said no air could be better for Hebe now than Fewforest, and so mums was going to bring her down the very next Friday to be with us for the last three weeks. Mums was coming herself too, to stay from Friday to Monday, for father had to be away with gran those two days. Gran was at Brighton, I think, but he was coming back now mums would be there. There was a postscript to the letter--it was to Anne,--in which mums said she might perhaps want nurse to come up to London for a few hours to see about clothes or something. 'If I do,' she wrote, 'do you think I can trust you and Jack to take care of the two little ones? I am sure Mrs. Parsley would be most kind, but of course I do not want to give her more trouble than we can help.'

'Oh,' said Serena, when Anne had read all that aloud--I wished she had stopped before the postscript--'that would be fun. We'd lead old Jack a dance wouldn't we, Maud? As for Anne, we'd find her a new book, and then she wouldn't trouble us.'

Maud looked at her with scorn, but would not condescend to speak. I do believe from that moment Serry settled to play some kind of trick if we _were_ left alone. But when I said to Anne that I hoped to goodness we shouldn't be left in charge of Serry, she only said it would be all right; Serry made herself out worse than she was, and so on. Anne _is_ so easygoing.

Now I must tell you why I liked strolling down to the church in the evenings. It only began the week before Hebe and mums were to come. I happened to have gone to the village rather late with a letter, and, coming back, I noticed that there was some light in the church, even though it wasn't the time for any service. And, standing still for a moment, suddenly I heard the organ begin. Some one was playing it. The door was a little open, and I went inside the porch and found I could hear quite well. It was beautiful, far nicer than on Sundays, and after a while I heard singing too. Such lovely singing--it was a woman's voice--and she sang some of the things I liked best, and I stayed there listening as long as I dared. The next evening I couldn't come, but the one after that I did, and she was there again, and I listened ever so long. After that I came whenever I could; sometimes she was there and sometimes not,--it was rather fun wondering if she would be. I told Anne about it, and she said she'd like awfully to come with me one evening, but we didn't know how to manage it, for we really couldn't tell Serry.