A Terrible Tomboy Part 16

A more draggled and disreputable-looking pair of children it would have been impossible to find. Bobby's sailor-suit was all stained with mud, where he had fallen into the bog, and smears of the same material seemed to have distributed themselves over his chubby face. There were several rents in his stockings, while the brim and crown of his straw hat had parted company, showing his crop of brown curls through the gap between.

As for Peggy, a young gipsy tramp would have looked more respectable, for the brown holland dress, which had started out stiff and clean yesterday morning, was smeared with whinberry juice, black smudges from the kettle, and green stains from the mossy stones in the stream, and clung around her bare legs in damp, clammy folds, while the drenching rain had reduced the poppies in her hat to a scarlet pulp, which dripped down in crimson tears upon her cheek. The sun, s.h.i.+ning out brilliantly as they reached civilization once more, seemed to make the forlorn plight of the wayfarers look worse than ever. If there had been any possible way home, except through the village, I think Peggy would have begged Father to take it, and she wished that, like Lady G.o.diva, she could have shut the people up in their cottages until she had pa.s.sed by.

'I know they'll all stand and stare at my bare legs and queer sandals,'

she groaned. 'Those horrid, rude Watkin boys are sure to see me, and call names next time, when Father's not there, and Mrs. Price will come fussing out of the post-office to ask if there has been an accident; she always wants to poke her nose into everything!'

The Watkin boys, however, were away, engaged in a raid for early apples in the orchards of long-suffering neighbours, while Mrs. Price was taking tea in her back-parlour, and indulging in such spicy gossip with her particular friend Miss Jones that the children pa.s.sed by unnoticed, and Peggy began to congratulate herself that they were almost out of danger.

But alas! things rarely happen as we expect in this world. They had crossed the bridge, and were turning away up the lane to the Abbey, when the sound of wheels was heard behind them, and, in the smart carriage which rolled by, whom should Peggy recognise but the supercilious faces and elegant costumes of Phyllis and Marjorie Norton. Her cup of humiliation was filled to the brim.

'And they knew me at once, I'm sure,' she lamented to Lilian afterwards, 'for they both looked at each other, and Phyllis laughed in that horrid, sneering way she has. I know she'll tell the Middletons, and they'll think it so queer. I don't much mind Marjorie, but of all people in this world I simply _detest_ Phyllis Norton!'

CHAPTER XI

A NEW FRIEND

'Good-morrow to the day so fair, Good-morrow, sir, to you.'

One hot afternoon, when the holidays were about three weeks old, found Peggy wandering disconsolately round the farmyard alone. Lilian was away, spending a few days in Shrewsbury with a distant cousin; Father had gone to Warford, and had taken Bobby with him; even Rollo had disappeared on some mysterious errand not entirely disconnected with bones, so the young lady was left for once to her own devices.

Aunt Helen had broadly hinted that an hour's practice of much-neglected pieces upon the piano in the Rose Parlour would be a profitable means of employing the time, and the fear lest this threat should become an actual command caused Peggy to shun the neighbourhood of the house with elaborate care, and betake herself, with a selection of pets, to the barn.

But the rabbits were stupid and sleepy this afternoon. Even Jack, the magpie, seemed to feel the heat, and refused to amuse his young mistress, while p.r.i.c.kles snored on in his box of hay, oblivious to all coaxings and blandishments.

'Bother the creatures!' said Peggy at last, giving it up in despair. 'If they want to go to sleep, I suppose they must! I wonder if it would be worth while going down to the harvest field? I'm afraid David wouldn't let me drive the reaper. No, I know what I'll do.'

And she jumped up, full of a new idea which had suddenly flashed into her mind.

Down the pasture she pelted, her red hat looking like a new species of poppy among the gra.s.s, and, taking a flying leap over the fence, made her way along the dusty road to a place where a large willow overhung the path.

The tree was old, so old and decayed that the upper side of the trunk had worn away altogether, leaving nothing but a hollow, crumbling sh.e.l.l, as rotten and dry as matchwood. Into this cavity Miss Peggy proceeded to creep, where, concealed by the new branches which had grown from the old stump, she found she could lie at full length, quite hidden from sight, while through a hole in the bark she could obtain an excellent view of every one who pa.s.sed in the road below. The first to come by was Mr.

Griffiths, the stout old miller, mounted on his equally fat horse, the two jogging comfortably along, almost asleep in the suns.h.i.+ne. Peggy allowed him to get well beneath her, then, taking a pebble from her pocket, she let it fall plump in the middle of his white hat. The miller sat up with a jump, and reined in the old horse, staring into the tree with such blank amazement on his rubicund countenance that Peggy had to stuff her fingers into her mouth to stifle her mirth.

'Shoo! Hi!' cried Mr. Griffiths, clapping his hands.

But, like Brer Rabbit, Peggy 'lay low and said nuffin',' and the old man rode slowly on, turning round in his saddle for a last lingering look as he went.

Encouraged by this success, Peggy's next venture was on a pedlar, who came down the road with a pack on his back and a thick stick in his hand. I am afraid this time her stone was bigger, for it bounced with such effect on his shoulder, that he turned round with a flow of language far from elegant, shaking his fist at the tree with so much fury that Peggy was in terror lest he should climb up to find the author of the a.s.sault; but he evidently thought the day too hot for such exercises, and with a final abusive epithet walked away muttering curses on all the children in creation.

'It's not safe to use stones,' thought Peggy. 'They know someone must be up here to drop them. I'll try little pieces of wood instead, and then they'll think it's a bird or a squirrel.'

After that, she had excellent sport, for the women were beginning to return from Warford Market with their empty baskets, and she was able to cause wonder and mystification in many a rustic breast, without the slightest chance of discovery.

She was growing almost tired of the fun, when she heard a cheery whistle, and a boy of about fourteen came sauntering slowly down the road. He was rather a nice-looking boy, with merry brown eyes, a freckled nose, and frizzy chestnut hair, which stood up like a mop all over his head, and he had a particularly jolly, breezy air about him.

Peggy had acquired such practice at her interesting occupation by this time that she was able to drop her piece of wood neatly down the back of his neck exactly at the moment he pa.s.sed below.

'h.e.l.lo!' cried the boy, turning round, and flinging a stone into the tree. 'A squirrel, I'll be bound! I guess it's no use you hiding 'way up there, old fellow! I'll unearth you before you're much older!' And he commenced such an onslaught of stones that, to avoid the descending shower, Peggy tried to creep deeper into the hollow cavity where she was lying.

But the poor, rotten old tree could stand the strain no longer, and, with an awful crash, down came the overhanging bough, bringing Peggy to the ground with a good deal more speed than elegance.

'I say! What the d.i.c.kens! Great Scott! Are you hurt?' exclaimed the boy, regarding with much astonishment the crumpled heap of sailor frock, brown curls, and splinters of willow-wood that had suddenly descended at his feet.

Peggy got up, feeling tenderly at her s.h.i.+ns, which had suffered most in the fall.

'I don't think I'm quite killed,' she replied slowly. 'But I've no doubt there'll be heaps of bruises to-morrow.'

'So you were the squirrel! It was rather a cute dodge, and well done. I guess you're something of a tomboy, young lady, aren't you?' said the boy, grinning appreciatively.

'No, I'm not,' said Peggy, indignant at the old reproach; 'I'm only fond of a little fun. I know who _you_ are. You're the boy who's staying with Miss Forster at the Willows. I saw you in church on Sunday;' and she nodded convincingly.

'Why, I believe I saw you, too! You dropped your collection money, and made a rabbit out of your pocket-handkerchief,' chuckling at the remembrance.

'Aren't you Miss Forster's nephew? What's your name? Why have you never been to Gorswen before? Where is your home?' asked Peggy, wondering at his slight American accent.

The boy whistled.

'Whew! what a catechism! My name's Archie, if you want to know, and my G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmother gave it to me at my baptism. Yes, Miss Forster is my aunt, and I haven't been to Gorswen before, because I was raised in Colorado, and that's a little too far for chance visits; but I'm going to locate here now most of the time, I guess. Is there anything else you would like to ask?'

And the brown eyes looked at her quizzically.

'Yes, I should,' admitted Peggy frankly. 'I want to know what you're doing in the corner of Miss Forster's garden. I can hear you sawing and hammering there every morning.'

'I wonder you don't come to see!'

'Well, I would if anyone _invited_ me!'

The boy laughed.

'All right!' he said good-naturedly. 'Come along now, and I'll show you, if you like. If we cut over the hedge here we can drop straight down into the garden without going round by the road. I guess a girl who can climb a tree to play squirrel won't shy at a fence. Eh, Miss Tomboy?'

Peggy replied by lightly vaulting over the obstacle, and following her new friend with much prompt.i.tude, giving him a condensed history of herself and family as she ran to keep up with his long strides.

'Here we are!' cried the boy, jumping over the little stream that bounded the Willows garden, and watching Peggy's heroic leap after with an eye of secret approval. 'There, now, if you want to see what I have been doing, you can!'

He put his hands in his pockets, and whistled carelessly, but it was evident, all the same, that he was pleased to show off his handiwork, even to a little girl. Peggy gave a gasp of astonishment and delight, for by the side of the stream was fixed the prettiest little miniature water-wheel, which was turning round as merrily as the miller's own.

'Oh, how lovely!' she cried. 'You don't mean to say you made that yourself?'

For the efforts of Joe and Bobby at carpentry were generally of a very rough description.

'Of course I did. Do you reckon I'd get the village joiner to fix it?

Precious much good he'd be at a job like this, the clumsy old idiot! But the wheel's nothing. Come over here, and you'll see what it turns!'

'A grindstone! How splendid! Why, it's going round ever so fast when you put on that catch!'