Part 1 (1/2)
The Happy Adventurers
by Lydia Miller Middleton
CHAPTER I
How it Began
”Dear, dear!” said Grannie, ”woes cluster, as my mother used to say”
”Let us hope that this is the last woe, and that now the luck will turn,” said Aunt Mary
Mollie did not say anything She had sh the worst of hershort of a hammer and two tacks could fasten that ser So she closed her eyes and lay back on the cushi+ons, feeling that Fate had done its worst and that no more bloere possible in the immediate future
Grannie fetched an eiderdown and tucked it cosily round the patient, who looked pale and chilly even on this fine warm day in June, while Aunt Mary tidied away the rees left by the doctor
”The best thing noill be a little sleep,” said Grannie, looking doith kind old eyes at her granddaughter, ”a little quiet sleep and then a nice tea, with the first strawberries fro, and Susan shall give us soain and tried to look pleased, but even the thought of strawberries and cream could not , she still felt rather sick
”That will be lovely,” she said, as gratefully as she could, ”and now I think I _will_ try to go to sleep, and perhaps forget things for a little while--” and, in spite of all her efforts, a few tears insisted upon rolling down her cheeks as she thought of home, and Mother's disappointment, and the dull time that lay before her
Mollie Gordon's home was in London, in the soton, where her father, Dr Gordon, had a large but not particularly lucrative practice, and hertill Sunday night There were five children: Mollie and her twin brother dick; Jean, Billy, and Bob They lived in a large, ugly house, one of a long row of ugly houses in a dull gardenless street, where the sidewalks were paved, and the plane trees which bordered the road were stunted and dusty
In the near neighbourhood ran a railway line, a car line, and four bus routes, so that noise and dust were familiar elements in the Gordons' lives--so fao Mollie had been in the full swing of mid-tera; the days had been too short for all she wanted to get into them, and, if she had been allowed, she would certainly have followed the poet's advice to ”steal a few hours froht”, but, fortunately for herself, she had a sensible mother whose views did not coincide with the poet's
And then in the ht herself quite indispensable to the school play, the hockey team, and her Patrol, she fell ill with measles She was not very ill, so far as measles went, but her eyes remained obstinately weak, and so it was decided that she should be sent down to the country to stay with Grannie, do no lessons at all, and spend as much time as possible in the open air Luckily, or unluckily, according to the point of view, none of the other children had caught the disease, so that Mollie went alone to Chauncery, as Grannie's house in Sussex was called
Chauncery was an old-fashi+oned house standing in a beautiful garden surrounded by fields and woods If Mollie could have had a coe, she would have been perfectly happy there, in spite of frustrated a allowed to read; but the very word ”hbours, so that no one came to keep her company, and she sometimes felt very lonely
Nevertheless, she had accoolf with Aunt Mary, driving the fat pony, and learning to ed to ”put in a very decent time”, as she expressed it Till this third misfortune befell her
”First hed to Aunt Mary on theafter her accident; ”what _can_ I do to pass the time? It's all very well for Baden-Powell to talk, but I can't sing and laugh all day for a week; it would drive you crazy if I did I have smiled till my mouth aches What shall I do next?”
”You poor chicken!” Aunt Mary exclai sympathy ”You have had a run of bad luck and noYou can't read and you can't se about knitting? Suppose we knit a scarf in school colours for dick, or a juet wool in the village That would do to begin with, till I think of soreed that it certainly would be better than doing nothing, though hardly an exciting occupation for an active girl of thirteen
So the scarf was set agoing, whilst Grannie read aloud, and the first half of the first day was got through pretty well But after lunch the day darkened and rain began to fall in heavy slate- coloured streaks, pouring down the -panes and streaht into a disarden It was depressing weather even for people ere quite well, and poor Mollieit hard to keep up her spirits She was tired of knitting, tired of being read aloud to, and tired of writing letters to her faraphs of your father when he was little?” suggested Grannie at last ”He was the most beautiful infant I ever saw” She opened a cupboard door as she spoke, and presently caraph- albums, the kind of albums to be found in country houses, filled with carte-de-visite photographs of old-fashi+oned people, all standing, apparently, in the sa one hand on the sa crinoline skirts, and had hair brushed in sh foreheads; the e, and those boys and girls taken separately looked altogether too good for this world
Mollie smiled at the picture of her father, a fat, soleht, but did not say, that he was a reratulated herself that she took after her h, of course, Father, as she knew him, was not in the least like that infant At the rest of the photographs she looked politely, but it was hard work to keep fro, and at last her ape
”That's right,” said Grannie, ”now I'll tuck you up and lower the blinds, and you'll have a nice little nap till tea-time”
Mollie closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep would not co walk and the fresh air of out-of-doors, so she gave it up, opened her eyes again, and lay wakefully thinking of ho clock on the o very, very slowly, its tick loud and deliberate, as though it would say: ”Don't think you are going to get off one single h, and there are still two hours till tea-tiainst the , the wind ot steadily darker
”Oh dear!” Mollie whispered to herself, ”what _can_ I do to make the time pass?”