Letty and the Twins Part 4

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was a great walker and took many long, long tramps around the countryside. The villagers had got quite used to the spectacle of the white-haired lady clad in a short skirt of stout tweed and heavy laced boots. White hair is not always the accompaniment of trembling fingers, black silk gowns and knitting.

But her habit of taking lonely walks brought about an accident that might have been serious if it had not been for the twins' love of exploring.

Branching off the main road that led from Sunnycrest to the village was a winding lane known as Birch Lane, which had a little story attached to it. The road had been built long ago by a very rich man as the avenue leading to his big country house. It was built below the level of the ground with gra.s.sy terraces sloping up on each side, along the base of which beautiful birch trees had been planted. But the rich man lost all his money and became too poor to build his house. The lane was left deserted and uncared-for, the graceful trees grew bent and gnarled and some of them died; the gra.s.s terraces slipped and caved in until they became only clay banks.

Jane and Christopher had often looked up the gloomy little roadway, now no more than a mere cow-path, and asked many questions concerning it.

They both had a great longing to "explore" its depths, each for a different reason. Jane was sure that the fairies danced there and felt a breathless hope of one day catching them at it. Christopher, on the other hand, thought it not unlikely that a stray wolf or even a bear might be prowling around the tiny wilderness.

As the lane was only a mile distant from Sunnycrest, grandmother said they might go on a voyage of discovery-"only you go on voyages in a boat," Christopher had corrected her-whenever Joshua could spare Jo Perkins to go with them. Jane rebelled at this, for she was sure the fairies would never appear before a great big boy of fourteen. But grandmother was firm on this point; so the trio started off one sunny afternoon, Jo Perkins carrying a basket containing quite a day's provisions "in case they might get hungry before supper-time," Huldah explained.

Christopher and Perk discussed fis.h.i.+ng, rabbit-shooting and other manly topics while Jane skipped along in silence, her big eyes s.h.i.+ning and her little mouth smiling at her thoughts.

"I shouldn't be a single bit surprised to see some, even with Perk along," she whispered to herself. "The books say they dance at night in the moonlight; but I am sure fairies must love the suns.h.i.+ne, it is so bright and goldy-just like themselves. And I should think they'd feel perfectly safe to dance in such an out-of-the-waysy place when most people are taking naps."

The lane was very quiet and very beautiful. The sun shone down through the dancing leaves of the birch trees in flickering rays that might well have been the gleam of a fleeing fairy; the white tree trunks glimmered like pillars of silver. The silence was so great that to have it broken by the growl of a bear or, indeed, the snarl of a tiger, would not have been in the least astonis.h.i.+ng or out of the way. But no such sound broke the summer stillness.

Indeed, it looked as if the children were to have the whole length of the deserted lane to themselves. They walked along the top of the bank, alert and watchful for any adventure, Christopher chattering as usual, Jane quiet and content.

"There ain't much use in goin' any farther," said Jo Perkins at last.

"There's only one more turnin', an' that comes out into Pete Hull's cow pasture. An' this basket's powerful heavy to lug so far. I say we help make it a bit lighter by disposin' of some of the contents," he added in a suggestive tone.

"Oh, Perk, please let us go just to the last turn, and then we'll eat our lunch," coaxed Jane.

So they walked on for another three minutes until a sudden sweep of the road showed them a broad s.p.a.ce of golden suns.h.i.+ne and green gra.s.s. It was there that the poor rich man's house was to have stood, tall and stately, with white columns and terraced gardens; alas, it was now only a pasture for cows.

The wide field with the cows lazily browsing gave the children a homely, comfortable sense of security. They felt that they had penetrated a mysterious wild and were back again in civilization. Jo Perkins had already begun to unpack the basket and Christopher was watching him with his soul-or more literally his stomach-in his eyes, when Jane's attention was suddenly attracted by the flutter of something white down in the lane below them. She knelt on the edge of the bank and peered over, in breathless excitement. Was she to see a really-truly fairy at last?

What she did see surprised her so that she almost lost her balance and tumbled over the edge of the bank. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was seated on the roots of an old birch tree, her back against the clay bank, the yellow clay of which clung to her jacket when she leaned forward to catch Jane's eye. But she did not get up.

"Oh, you blessed child!" she called. "Never was I so thankful to see any one in the whole of my life! I have sprained my ankle and cannot move a step. The fairies must have sent you! I began to think I should have to sit here forever and forever."

At once there was a grand excitement. The three children, basket and all, came tumbling down the bank to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's side, every one talking and suggesting aid at once. After the first moment of flurry Perk pocketed half a dozen doughnuts, to fortify him on the way, and bolted for home at top speed to fetch help. Jane and Christopher busied themselves in trying to make Mrs. Hartwell-Jones more comfortable. By leaning on Christopher's stalwart little shoulder she managed to get upon one foot and move to a drier, sunnier spot where she sat upon Jane's jacket and leaned against Christopher's-which arrangement the twins insisted upon in spite of her protests.

"For you see you might get inflammation or something dreadful if you catch cold in your hurt foot," Jane explained in her most motherly manner.

To beguile the time of waiting for Jo Perkins's return they lunched out of Huldah's generous basket and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones explained every detail of her accident, in answer to Christopher's rapid questions, trying to identify for his satisfaction the exact root which had twisted her foot, and even what she had been thinking about not to have noticed the rough place. Jane listened with interest and sympathy but she said nothing. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's impulsive words: "I believe the fairies must have sent you" still rang in her ears. Had the fairies guided her to that last turn? She shuddered as she thought that if Jo Perkins had had his way they would have stopped short of that final bend and then perhaps Mrs. Hartwell-Jones would have had to sit on and on through the chilly evening and perhaps the night. Blessed fairies!

"If Letty had been with us to-day, she would have helped me watch for the fairies," she broke out suddenly.

"Did Letty believe in fairies?"

"Yes, she told me so. She said she loved fairy stories. I wish--" Jane paused and her eyes grew wistful. "I wish Letty hadn't had to go off in such a hurry the other day. She looked so sad. You know her mother died and she told me on the train platform that day that her brother had died too. I don't believe she has anybody now. And she didn't even have time to tell me where she was going."

"Oh, she'll turn up again; people always do," declared Christopher cheerfully. "I don't see why you need be so sorry for Letty. It must be jolly fun, belonging to a circus."

"I wonder if she still has Punch and Judy. They were such cunning ponies, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones."

"I see that a circus is to visit Hammersmith before very long," replied Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. "Do you suppose it could possibly be the one to which your little friend belongs?"

"Oh, I wonder if it is! I hadn't thought of that!" exclaimed Jane in great excitement. "Oh, I wish-I hope it will be!"

When the carriage arrived-the big family carryall it was, with Joshua driving, grandmother was in it. She would not hear of Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones's taking the long, jolty drive to the village. She was to come directly to Sunnycrest and there be nursed and cared for until her foot was well again. By the most wonderful good luck Dr. Greene had driven past the gate of Sunnycrest just as Jo Perkins delivered his message, had been hailed, brought back and was at that moment waiting to see the patient.

Joshua a.s.sisted Mrs. Hartwell-Jones carefully into the carriage, the children tucked themselves and the hamper in, and they drove rapidly away from the deserted lane, looking more mysterious than ever under the lengthening shadows of the afternoon sun; left it to the bees and the rabbits and-perhaps-to the fairies. Who knows?

CHAPTER IV

GREEN APPLES

"I have a piece of good news," announced grandfather one afternoon a few days later, as he came up on the front veranda. He had driven into the village directly after the noon-day dinner and had just returned. "Where is your grandmother?"

Then he stopped short and eyed the children keenly. They were each sitting in a big chair, in att.i.tudes too much doubled up for mere cozy comfort, and they were neither of them talking-a fact sufficient in itself to make one suspect that everything was not just as it should be.

They sprang up with a.s.sumed spryness at sound of grandfather's voice.

"What's the news? Tell us!" cried Christopher.

"Yes, do, please," echoed Jane.

Grandfather thought they looked pale.

"Where is your grandmother?" he repeated.

"She is sitting with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones has a headache."

"Hum. And what have you two been doing, without any one to look after you?"

"Playing, sir."

"Playing where?"

A spasm crossed Jane's face. She swallowed hard and began to talk very fast.

"We've just been playing out in the orchard with my dolls-where I play most every afternoon, grandfather. Juno brings her pups out there and--"

She swallowed hard again.

Christopher collapsed suddenly into the nearest chair and bent double with a howl of pain. Jane began to cry.

"Playing in the orchard," repeated grandfather gravely, looking at them each in turn. "Oh, why didn't I have Perk stay in from the fields to look after you! Kit, how many green apples did you eat?"

"I don't exactly know, sir," came a small voice from the depths of a big chair. "I lost count after the eighth but it wasn't many more."

"More than eight!"