CHAPTER XIII
Camp Hospitality
The brief visit at the camp was vanishing with almost incrediblerapidity; the week would finish on Saturday, but Miss Gibbs haddecided to stay till Monday morning, so as to put in the full periodof work on Saturday afternoon. Sunday was of course a holiday, and thepickers enjoyed a well-earned rest. Those who liked went to the littlechurch in Shipley village, the clergyman of which also held an outdoorservice in the stackyard at the farm for all whom he could persuade tocome.
In the afternoon the members of the camp gave themselves up tohospitality. They had small and select private tea-parties, andinvited each other, the hostesses generally being "at home" in somecosy spot beneath a tree, or under the shelter of a hedge, where thealfresco repast was spread forth, each guest bringing her own mug andplate. Raymonde, Morvyth, Katherine, and Aveline were the recipientsof a very special invitation, and Miss Gibbs assenting, they acceptedit with glee. Miss Lowe, the artist with whom they had struck up afriendship, had removed on Friday from the camp to lodgings at an oldfarm near the village, and she had asked her four school-girlacquaintances to come for early dinner and tea, so that they mightspend the afternoon with her.
Miss Lowe was an interesting personality. She sketched beautifully,and had shown the girls a few charming specimens of her work. She hadbeen painting in the neighbourhood for some weeks before thestrawberry picking began, and had many quaint accounts to give of herexperiences. Her quarters in the village had been decidedlyuncomfortable, and it seemed very uncertain whether the rooms she hadengaged at the farm would turn out to be any improvement.
"You'll have to take pot-luck if you come to dinner with me," sheannounced to her guests. "I don't believe my landlady has even themost elementary notions of cooking. The meal will probably be asurprise."
"We shan't mind that!" the girls assured her.
Miss Lowe had chosen her lodgings more for the sake of the picturesquethan for creature comforts. The farm-house was an extremely ancientbuilding, and its very dilapidation rendered it a more suitablesubject for her brush. It consisted of a front later-date portion, anda much older part at the back, the two being really separate blocks,connected by a large central hall. This hall, which measured abouttwenty feet square and thirty feet in height, must at one time havebelonged to a family of some pretensions. The walls to a height offifteen feet were covered with splendid oak panelling, grey withneglect, and above that were ornamented with plaster designs inbas-relief--lions, unicorns, wild boars, stags, and other heraldicdevices, a form of decoration which was also continued over theceiling. The back part of the house was evidently the older; the samebeautiful plaster-work was to be seen, both in the bedrooms andkitchen, together with fine black oak beams. There was a winding stairto the upper story, with narrow windows that suggested a castle, andthat dull, dim, soft yellow-brown light about everything which onlyseems reflected from ancient walls. The front portion consisted of twogreat sitting-rooms, one of which was empty, while the other had beenarranged for the accommodation of visitors. Neither walls norwindow-sills had been touched with paint for half a century, and theywere sadly in need of attention. The house was the property of an oldmiser, who refused to spend a penny on repairs, and every year thingswent on from bad to worse. The woodwork of the wide old staircase wasrotting away, most of the doors were off their hinges, and the raincame through several spots in the roof. Like many another finemansion, it had descended from hall to farm-house, and showed now butfaded relics of its former grandeur.
The farmer and his family lived entirely in the back premises, and thewhole of the front was given up to their lodgers.
"I shouldn't like to sleep here alone," said Morvyth, as Miss Loweacted cicerone and showed them through the house. "These long, gloomy,eerie corridors give me the shivers!"
"I felt the same," admitted their friend, "so I persuaded Miss Bartonto join me. She's as mad on the antique as I am, and together we enjoyourselves immensely, though we should each feel spooky alone. Ourfirst business last night was to turn five bats out of our bedroom.There's an open trap-door in the ceiling of the landing, and a wholecolony of them seem to be established up there; they flit up and downthe stairs at dusk! One has to sacrifice comfort to the picturesque. Ithink I begin to have just a glimmer of an understanding why somepeople prefer new houses to old!"
Both Miss Lowe and Miss Barton certainly found their romanticproclivities came into collision with their preconceived ideas of thefitness of things. Mrs. Marsden, their landlady, was a kind soul whodid her best; but she had all her farm work and a large family ofchildren to cope with, so it was small wonder that cobwebs hung in thepassages and the dust lay thick and untouched. It is sometimes wisernot to see behind the scenes in country rooms. Miss Barton had set upher easel in the great hall, and absolutely revelled in painting thegrey oak and plaster-work, nevertheless she had a tale of woe tounfold.
"They use the place as a dairy," she explained, "and they keep themilk in large, uncovered earthenware pots. First I found the cat waslapping away at it, and I jumped up and scared it off; and then thedog strayed in and began to help itself, and I had to rush again andchase it away. Then the unwashed baby, still in its dirty littlenight-gown, brought a mug and kept dipping it into the pot to getdrinks. We're going to take a jug into the field at milking-time thisafternoon, and ensure our particular portion straight from the cow."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Morvyth, looking considerably relieved.
"Perhaps it's as well we don't see most foodstuffs in the making,"moralized Aveline.
"Decidedly! Isn't there a story of a barrel of treacle, and a littlenigger baby being found at the bottom?"
"And an attendant who fell by mistake into the sausage machine," addedMiss Lowe, laughing. "I suppose one ought to be judiciously blind ifone is to preserve one's peace of mind."
"One may shut one's eyes, but one can't do away with one's nose!"persisted Miss Barton. "There was the most horrible and peculiar andobjectionable odour in the hall yesterday morning, all the time I waspainting. I came to the conclusion that a rat must have died recentlybehind the panelling. Then Mrs. Marsden came in with some milk-cans,and she raised a lid from a big pot close to where I was sitting. Whatdo you think was inside? Twelve pounds of beef that she had put downto pickle! I hinted that it was rather high, but she didn't seem toperceive it in the least. She can't have the slightest vestige of anose!"
"Perhaps, like some tribes of Africans, she prefers her meat gamey.Don't look so alarmed, you poor girls, it's not going to appear on ourtable for dinner! I ordered a fowl."
"Which was alive only a couple of hours ago, for I saw the childrenassisting to chase it wildly round the yard and catch it!" put in MissBarton. "We warned you, when we invited you, not to expect too much!"
Mrs. Marsden's training in the domestic arts had evidently beendefective, and her cooking was decidedly eccentric. The fowl turned upat table plucked, certainly, but looking very pale and anaemic withits long untrussed legs sticking helplessly out before it. It was suchan absurd object that as soon as the landlady had departed from theroom the company exploded.
"How am I to carve the wretched thing?" shrieked Miss Lowe. "I hardlyknow where its wings are! I've never before seen a chicken servedabsolutely _au naturel_!"
"I expect it to rise up and walk!" hinnied Miss Barton. "It seemshardly decent to have left its claws on! Look at the sauce! It'ssimply bread and milk! Oh, for the fleshpots of Egypt!"
A ground-rice pudding which followed proved equally astonishing. MissLowe had suggested that an egg would be an improvement in itscomposition, and behold! when it made its appearance there was an eggneatly poached in the middle. The giggling guests rather enjoyed theepisode than otherwise. They had come to be entertained, and theycertainly found plenty to amuse them, especially in the humorousattitude with which their hostesses viewed all the littleinconveniences.
"Perhaps we shall do better at tea-time," said Miss Barton hopefully."Mrs. Mar
sden surely can't go very wrong there. We're going to walk tothe woods this afternoon. I've bespoken Jenny, the fourth child, as aguide. She's the most quaintly fascinating person. I hope she won't belong; we're waiting for her now."
The girls were all impatience to start for the woods, so, as theirlittle guide was already late, Miss Barton went to the kitchen insearch of her, and found her concluding a somewhat lengthy toiletwith the assistance of her family. The choicest possessions of severalmembers, in assorted sizes, seemed to have been commandeered, and shewas finally turned out in a red serge dress, a black jacket much toolarge, a feather boa, and a pair of woollen gloves, which, consideringthat it was quite a hot day, was rank cruelty, though--true daughterof Eve as she was--she seemed so pleased with her appearance thatnothing would induce her to pull off her suffocating grandeur. She wasnot at all shy, and very old-fashioned for her seven years. The girlsfound her conversation most entertaining as they walked along.
"She is absolutely refreshing!" giggled Raymonde. "The way she shakesout her skirts and manoeuvres the sleeves of the big jacket isperfectly lovely. She ought to be a mannikin when she grows up, andtry on coats and mantles in shops. Wouldn't she just enjoy it?"
To Jenny an expedition with six ladies was apparently the opportunityof a lifetime, and she was determined to make the most of it. Shevolunteered to recite, and wound out a long poem in such a rapid,breathless monotone that it was hardly possible to distinguish a word.The party politely expressed gratitude, whereupon she announced: "I'llsay it for you again!" and plunged at once into an encore.
"For pity's sake stop her! I'm getting hysterical!" gurgled Morvyth."She's like a gramophone record that's rather blurred and has been settoo fast. Thank goodness, here's the wood! She can't recite whileshe's climbing that stile."
Everybody decided that the wood was worth the walk. They spent adelicious afternoon lying under the tall straight pines, with thesweet-smelling needles for a bed, watching the delicate and illusiveeffects of light filtering among the shimmering leaves of birches.
"I feel as if I ought to be picking something!" laughed Katherine,throwing pine cones at Raymonde. "If I live to be a hundred, I'llnever forget this strawberry-gathering business. One got to do itautomatically."
"You know the story, don't you, of the old man who described himselfin the census as a picker?" said Miss Barton. "When he was asked toexplain, he said: 'Well, in June I picks strawberries, and then Ipicks beans, and then I picks hops, then when them's over I pickspockets, and then I gets copped and sent to quod, and picks oakum!' Ishouldn't wonder if some of your gipsy friends, Raymonde, could boastof a similar record."
"I don't care--they're top-hole!" declared Raymonde, sticking up forthe tribe.
"Who wants tea?" said Miss Lowe. "We've asked Miss Nelson and MissPorter from the camp, and if we don't hurry back at once, we shallfind them waiting for us when we return, and slanging us for beingrude. Come along!"
Miss Lowe had casually informed Mrs. Marsden that she expected a fewfriends to tea, but had not mentioned anything about specialpreparation, thinking that they would carry the cups and saucers intothe garden, and have it under the trees. Little did they know thesurprise their enterprising landlady had in store for them. When theyarrived at the farm they found her, dressed in her best attire,waiting at the door to receive them, and she proudly ushered them intothe sitting-room, where she had spread forth a meal such as might beset before a particularly hungry assemblage of Sunday Schoolscholars.
A large ham, not yet quite cold, adorned one end of the table, and abig apple-pie the other, while down the centre were seven roundjam-tarts, each measuring about seven inches in diameter. The cruetshad been put in the middle of the table instead of Miss Barton's bowlof flowers, and there were several substantial platefuls ofcurrant-bread. It was an extremely warm afternoon, and even toschool-girl appetites the sight of such plenty at 4 p.m. wasappalling. Miss Lowe's convulsed apologies sent the visitors intoexplosions.
"Look at the tarts!" choked Miss Barton. "They're all made withblack-currant jam! There's one apiece for us, counting the apple-pie.And the currant-bread is half an inch thick! Who'll take a slice oflukewarm ham? Oh, it's positively painful to laugh so hard! I neversaw such a bean-feast in my life!"
"We certainly can't consume all these!" echoed Miss Lowe. "Thechildren must eat up some of them for supper. It will take days to getthrough such a larderful! For once they'll be satiated with jam-tarts.Well, I suppose it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. Still, if thebaby comes to an untimely end through acute dyspepsia, I shan't be inthe least surprised."
Mrs. Marsden seemed determined to entertain her guests, and had yetanother surprise in store for them. She beckoned them into a littleprivate parlour of her own, and showed them the paintings of hereldest boy, a youth of eighteen, who, she proudly assured them, hadnever had a drawing lesson in his life. It was not difficult tobelieve her, for the specimens were so funny that the spectators couldhardly keep their faces straight. Horses with about as much shape asthose in a child's Noah's ark, figures resembling Dutch dolls inrigidity, flowers daubed on with the crudest colours, and the finaleffort, a bird's-eye view of the village, consisting chiefly of tiledroofs and chimney-pots in lurid red and black.
"No doubt it has afforded him the supremest delight," whispered MissLowe to Miss Barton, "and it's evidently a subject of the utmostsatisfaction to his mother, so I won't make carping criticisms, buttake it as a moral for the necessity of due humility over one's ownproductions. Perhaps mine would be as diverting to an Academician ashis are to me."
In the same room Mrs. Marsden showed her visitors a mysteriousoil-painting, black with age and hideous beyond compare, which sheinformed them was an original portrait of Nell Gwynn. She supposed itto be immensely valuable, and was keeping it safe until prices rose alittle higher still, after the war, when she had hopes of launching iton the auction rooms in London, and realizing a sum that would makeher family's fortune.
"An ambition she'll never realize in this wide world," said MissBarton afterwards, "for the thing is absolutely not genuine. It's notthe right period for Nell Gwynn, and it's so atrociously badly paintedthat it's obviously the work of some village artist. She's in for abig disappointment some day, poor woman! I hadn't the heart to squashher, when she seemed so proud of it--especially as she was still alittle huffy that we hadn't consumed her black-currant tarts!"
Though physically they were rather weary, the girls were sorry whentheir week's strawberry picking came to an end. It was found that whentheir canteen bills had been paid, and railway fares subtracted, theyhad each earned on an average a little over five shillings; some whowere quicker pickers exceeding that amount, and others falling below.They decided to pool the general proceeds, and present the sumcleared--L4, 16_s_. 8_d_.--to the Hospital for Disabled Soldiers astheir "bit" towards their country. They went back to school feelinghighly patriotic, and burning to boast of their experiences to thoseslackers who had chosen the parental roof for their holidays.
"I'd have loved it!" protested Fauvette, "but I really did have a verynice time at home. My cousin was back on leave. He's in the FlyingCorps, and he's six feet three in his stockings--and--well--I've gothis photo upstairs, if you'd like to look at it."
"Oh, we're all accustomed to gipsies and poachers now, and don't thinkanything of airmen!" returned Morvyth nonchalantly (she was apt to siton Fauvette). "You should see my snapshots of the strawberrypickers!"
"And mine!" broke in Cynthia Greene. "By the by, I wrote my name andschool address on a card, and packed it inside one of my strawberrybaskets. I put on it: 'Will the finder kindly write to a blue-eyed,fair-haired girl who feels lonely?'"
"Cynthia, you didn't!" exploded the others.
"I did--crystal! Why shouldn't I? Lonely soldiers beg for letters, andit's as lonely at school as in barracks any day, at least I find itso!"
"Suppose somebody takes you at your word and sends an answer?"
"I heartily and sincerely
hope somebody will. It would be absolutelytopping!"