CHAPTER XIV

Whitweek with Linda

The Easter holidays were short and sweet. The brief fortnight seemed to be over almost before Sylvia had realized she was at home, and both she and her mother found it harder than ever to part when the last day arrived. There was one compensation, however, which consoled Sylvia for saying goodbye. Mercy Ingledew had spent the vacation with Miss Coleman, and on her way back to Aberglyn was allowed to accept Mrs.

Lindsay's invitation to stay a couple of days with Sylvia and travel with her to school, while Miss Coleman went to see a relation at Llangollen. The visit was a great success. Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay were delighted with Mercy and glad that their little daughter should have made so charming a friend among the elder girls, while Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed both acting hostess and the return journey together to Heathercliffe House.

It was now the summer term, which most of the girls considered the pleasantest time of the year. Every available moment was spent out-of-doors. Tennis and croquet were in full swing, and the younger ones amused themselves with rounders and hide-and-seek. Sylvia, who a year ago had affected to dislike running about, might now be seen racing round the garden as enthusiastically as anybody at a game of "follow my leader" or "I spy", and she would have been utterly astonished if anyone had reminded her of her former tastes.

The school was granted a brief holiday at Whitsuntide, and as it seemed hardly worth while to make the long journey home for so short a period, Sylvia was very delighted when she was allowed to accept Mrs.

Marshall's invitation to return with Linda and spend the few days at Garth Avon. Both little girls looked forward to the event with keen pleasure. It was the first time that Sylvia had ever paid a visit by herself, and she felt quite grown-up when she thought about it.

They were to go by train as far as Conway, where Mr. Marshall was to meet them and drive them home in the dogcart to Craigwen, the place where his house was situated. Miss Coleman saw them off at Aberglyn, giving many last injunctions not to lean against the carriage door, or hang out of the window, or otherwise misbehave themselves, and to be sure not to get out at a wrong station, which did not seem a very probable mistake, as Linda knew the line so well. She added a word to the guard which caused him to come and peep at them with a smiling face, and a.s.sure them that he would see them safely to Conway, and they need not be in the least afraid. Linda and Sylvia were rather insulted.

"He needn't treat us like babies!" said Linda. "I've come alone more than once. It's all Miss Coleman's fussiness. We might be going to London, instead of only to Conway. There, we're off at last!"

The guard had put the children in a first-cla.s.s compartment and locked the door, so that they had it all to themselves. They leaned back luxuriously, each in a corner, admiring the photographs which adorned the part.i.tions or the view of the sea from the windows. They were in the highest spirits, and to travel thus seemed a very good beginning to a journey which was all too short. They were quite loath to get out when the train reached Conway, but the stop was of the briefest, and the friendly guard whisked both them and their bags from the carriage in a hurry, and, blowing his whistle, jumped into his van as it pa.s.sed him.

"There's Daddy!" cried Linda, running to meet her father, who was waiting for them on the platform, and seizing his hand. "Oh, Daddy dear, did you let Scamp come with you? And have you brought Bess or Beauty in the trap?"

"Bess," said Mr. Marshall, when he had welcomed Sylvia. "And Scamp is tied up outside. I didn't dare to let him into the station. Are these two bags all you've brought with you? Give them both to me."

Scamp was a lively little fox terrier, which seemed so pleased to see Linda again that he nearly overwhelmed her with his affection, and ran round and round, barking like a mad creature, till Mr. Marshall picked him up and put him in the back of the trap.

"He ran the whole way here," he said, "so I think it would be too far for him to trot home as well, though he never appears to be the least tired."

There was just room on the front seat for Linda and Sylvia side by side, Sylvia in the middle, and Linda at the end, because she was less likely to fall out. Mr. Marshall touched Bess with his whip, and they started off through the old streets, past the castle, under the arched gateway, and away towards the mountains that rose up before them in the distance. It was all new country to Sylvia, who much admired the view when they had climbed the great hill out of the town, and could see the beautiful expanse of the Vale of Conway stretched below them, with the silvery river winding through its midst. She thoroughly enjoyed the drive. Bess, the brown cob, went along at a good fast pace, and so soon covered the ground that by four o'clock they had pa.s.sed under the tall avenue of beeches that shaded the road, and drawn up at the hospitable doorway of Garth Avon. It was a pretty, oldfashioned house, overgrown with creepers, and at present the walls were a ma.s.s of beautiful pink and white roses, which scented the air with their fragrance. In front was a lawn, where garden seats, basket chairs, and a table spread with a white cloth and cups and saucers had a very inviting appearance.

"I knew you would like to have tea out-of-doors," said Mrs. Marshall, kissing both the children. "Ellen has made an iced spongecake on purpose, and baked some scones, and when Mrs. M'Allister heard you were coming home, she sent over a box of real Scotch shortbread.

Linda, take Sylvia upstairs, and then you can bring her into the garden again when you have washed your hands. Lizzie has carried up your bags."

Sylvia was to sleep with Linda in the spare bedroom, a pleasant room with an oriel window, and a large bed hung with blue curtains, that looked big enough to hold four little girls instead of two.

"My own room is over the porch," said Linda, "but it only has one very small bed in it, and Mother thought you'd feel lonely if you slept here quite by yourself. It's much nicer to be together as we are at school, isn't it?" To this Sylvia cordially agreed.

"The boys are coming home too, this evening," continued Linda.

"They're going to bicycle all the way from Rhyl. Their school doesn't break up until afternoon, so they couldn't start until four. I expect they'll have a nice ride, if Artie's tyre keeps up. He was afraid he had a puncture. Hilda hasn't any holiday at Whitweek in London. She's not so well off as when she was at Miss Kaye's, but she'd got beyond even the first cla.s.s, you know. She's seventeen, and she's to leave altogether soon. I wish you'd seen her!"

It was very pleasant sitting at tea in the dear old garden. The beds were a blaze of flowers, and so were the tall vases which ornamented the flight of steps leading down to the tennis lawn. Scamp joined the party, and also a large white Persian cat, which astonished Sylvia by sitting up and begging as cleverly as her canine companion, with whom she seemed on excellent terms.

"Scamp is very fond of s...o...b..ll," said Linda, "but he hates all other cats, and he'd kill them if he could catch them. One day, in Conway, he saw a white puss rather like ours, and it was so funny to watch him, because he couldn't make up his mind whether he ought to lick it or chase it."

"How beautifully clean she is!" said Sylvia, taking the pretty soft creature on her lap, and stroking the long, silky fur. "Do you wash her?"

"We do sometimes," replied Linda. "But she doesn't like it at all, poor dear. It takes three of us to manage it, two to hold her, and the other to soap and rinse her. I never try it without the boys. Once I thought I had such a splendid idea. I was going to try dry cleaning. I rubbed her fur thoroughly well with flour, and I was just brushing it out again when she screwed herself from my arms and jumped through the open window. It was pouring with rain, and when she came back she was simply a pudding. I didn't know what to do, and the boys were away; so I let out the parrot, and put her inside the cage, and then watered her with the watering can till I got the paste off her."

"Poor p.u.s.s.ie, what a shame!" said Sylvia.

"So it was, but I really couldn't help it that time. She should keep herself clean, and then she wouldn't need to go through such troubles.

Would you like to come and see the hens and my bantams?"

There was a stableyard at the back of the house which led into a field where the fowls were kept. They were a pet hobby with Mrs. Marshall, who spent many hours among her poultry, and had a particularly good strain of white Leghorns which she greatly valued. There were a number of neat wire runs, each with its small wooden henhouse, and in several of these were interesting families of chickens, varying in size from sweet fluffy atoms, as yellow as canaries, to long-legged creatures which Sylvia thought were not pretty at all.

"They haven't grown their full feathers yet," said Linda. "They're ugly ducklings still, but they'll be very handsome by and by. Look at this fussy old hen. I set her myself during the Easter holidays. She was so broody that she actually insisted on sitting on a Liebig pot. I suppose she took it for an egg. She'd have wondered why it didn't hatch, I expect, if I hadn't given her some real eggs instead."

"You seem to know all about keeping hens," said Sylvia.

"I know a little more now, but I made a most dreadful mistake once.

Mother told me to go to the henhouse, and see if there were any eggs to send to Aunt Edith. I knew that sometimes the hens laid in the barn, so I thought I would go there instead. I hunted about and found a nest with ten lovely brown eggs in it. They were quite warm, so I was sure they must be perfectly fresh, and I put them in my basket and carried them to the house. Mother was in a hurry for the post; she didn't ask where I had got them, but only said I had been quick, and packed them up in a box at once. Next morning she went to the barn to feed a broody hen that was sitting there on some very particular eggs that she had bought specially, and to her horror she found them all gone! They would have hatched in a few days, so you can imagine how angry she felt, and what a scolding she gave me for not going to the henhouse as I was told. I think it was even worse, though, for Aunt Edith. She had meant to make a Simnel cake with the eggs Mother sent her, and she broke one after another, and each had a little chicken inside it!"

"How dreadful!" laughed Sylvia; "I should think she didn't made her cake."

"Not with our eggs at any rate, and she's always teased me dreadfully about it since. Now I want to show you the bantams. I like them best, because they're my own."

The bantams had a special wired run to themselves. They were extremely neat little birds, with prettily marked plumage, so tame that they flew readily on to their mistress's outstretched arm to eat the bread she had brought for them. Linda showed Sylvia their small house with much pride, and was particularly pleased to find two tiny eggs in the nesting box.

"We can each have one for breakfast to-morrow morning," she declared; "they must have laid them on purpose for us. I only got my bantams at Easter, and these are their first eggs. I'm hoping so much that one of the little hens will sit. Wouldn't it be lovely to have some wee chicks about as big as tomt.i.ts?"

Sylvia had not much experience with pets, but she was deeply interested in Linda's possessions: the starling that lived in a cage in the kitchen, and had learnt to say: "Come kiss me!" and "Who's at the door?"; the dormouse that was kept in a cosy box lined with hay, and would scamper round the table in the evenings and eat the nuts which were given him like a miniature squirrel; and Bute, the rough, bouncing yard dog, that slept in the big kennel, and was not allowed to come into the house at all.

"There's something else I'd like you to see," said Linda, taking Sylvia's arm, and leading her on to the lawn again, then through a small door into the kitchen garden, a delightful walled enclosure, full of currant and gooseberry bushes, young apple trees, early vegetables, and pot herbs, with patches of pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots growing in between, and great fragrant bushes of rosemary, lavender, and southernwood, which smelled most delicious when the children rubbed them between their hands. In a corner under a blossoming syringa was a little grave, with a small tombstone at its head, on which was roughly carved the following inscription:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF JOCK THE BEST AND MOST FAITHFUL DOG THAT EVER LIVED Died February 27, 1907 Aged 8 Years.

"It needs cleaning up and weeding," said Linda. "We always keep it very tidy when we're at home, but of course, when the boys are away too, there's n.o.body to look after it. It's rather nicely done, isn't it?"

"Very," said Sylvia. "Who did it?"

"Oswald. He's clever with his hands, and he chipped it out with a chisel. It took him a frightfully long time, but he said Jock deserved it. We couldn't let him be forgotten."

"What kind of a dog was he?"

"I'm afraid he was only a mongrel; he was big, and grey, and s.h.a.ggy, but we thought him lovely. There never was another so nice."

"Not even Scamp?"

"No, not quite. Jock was such a friend, and so obedient and gentle. We got him from a farm when he was a tiny puppy; the farmer was just going to drown him, but Oswald begged so hard to be allowed to keep him instead, that Mother said he might. Our nurse was quite angry at first; she said he'd be as much trouble as another child to look after, but he was so good, she soon grew fond of him, and he used to live in the nursery. Artie was a baby then, and Jock would keep guard over his cradle, or watch him when he was put to roll on a rug in the garden, and no matter how much Artie pulled his hair, he never dreamt of biting. He used to sleep on the mat at the door of our bedroom, and the first thing in the morning he'd come running in, wagging his tail.

"One summer we went to stay at Llandudno, and Mother said we musn't take Jock with us, because the people at the lodgings wouldn't care to have him. We were dreadfully sorry to leave him behind, and I'm sure he knew we were going without him, for he cried so. Father said he must be tied up in the stable to prevent him from following the trap, and we all went to say goodbye to him; even Nellie, our nurse, kissed him on the nose.

We missed him so much that evening when we got to Llandudno, but next morning, when we were sitting at breakfast, we heard a whining and scratching at the door, and in rushed Jock, with about half a yard of rope dangling at his neck. He must have gnawed it through, and set off after us. But wasn't it clever of him to know where we'd gone, and to find out the very house where we were staying? Father said he must have heard us talking about Llandudno, and have asked all the other dogs he met on the road which was the right way! Mother was afraid we should have to send him home again, but when the landlady heard what he'd done, she allowed him to stay, and he went everywhere with us, and was no trouble to anybody.

"One day Nellie took us a long walk on the Great Orme's Head. We had baskets with us, and we wandered about picking blackberries the whole afternoon. Artie was quite a little fellow then, not more than three years old; he hadn't even been put into knickerbockers. I suppose we were so busy filling our baskets that n.o.body noticed him; at any rate he managed to run away from Nellie, and go close to the edge of the cliff where there were some blackberries growing. We think he must have been trying to lean down to gather them, and have overbalanced himself, because we suddenly heard him shrieking at the pitch of his voice, and when we rushed to see what was the matter, there was our baby hanging over the cliffside, just caught by the brambles, and Jock holding on to his kilt like grim death. Artie was howling, and Jock was making the queerest noise; he couldn't bark properly, because he daren't open his mouth for fear of letting go Artie's clothes. Nellie pulled them both back together, and sat down on the gra.s.s and cried, and we all hugged Jock and kissed him. Mother said afterwards she thought he must have been allowed to find his way to Llandudno on purpose to save Artie's life.

"After that, of course, he was a greater pet even than he'd been before, and we never went away from home without taking him. Granny used to put in a special invitation to Jock when she asked us, and she made him a little cake once on his birthday, and sent it to him by post. He ate it in three gulps.

"We were so dreadfully sorry when he died. Hilda said she'd like to go into mourning, and Artie and I inked black edges to some sheets of tiny notepaper, and wrote on them to tell Granny and Aunt Edith. We had a beautiful funeral for him, and made wreaths to lay on his grave, and planted the prettiest flowers we could dig up out of our gardens on it. It was Oswald who thought of the stone during the Easter holidays. It wasn't finished until Hilda had gone back to London, so she hasn't seen it yet. I'm sure she'll like it."