CHAPTER XVI
Marooned
Amongst other cardinal virtues the practice of philanthropy waszealously cultivated at Marlowe Grange. The girls made garments forthe local hospital, contributed towards a creche for soldiers'children, and on Sunday mornings put pennies into a missionary box.Charity is apt to wax a trifle cold, however, when you never see theobject of your doles; and though ample statistics were provided aboutthe creche babies, and literature was sent describing the Chineseorphans and little Hindoo widows, these pieces of paper informationdid not quite supply the place of a real live protege. It was felt tobe a decided asset to the school when old Wilkinson loomed upon theirhorizon. The girls discovered him accidentally, engaged in themeritorious occupation of carrying his own water from the well. He hadopened a gate for them, and had touched his forelock with the graceand fervour of a mediaeval retainer. His pink cheeks, watery blue eyes,snow-white hair, and generally picturesque personality made the moreenthusiastic members of the art class anxious to paint his portrait.It was ascertained that he subsisted upon an old-age pension of fiveshillings a week, and resided in a romantic-looking, creeper-coveredcottage just between the Grange and the village. To visit oldWilkinson, and present him with potatoes from their own littlewar-gardens, became an immediate institution among the girls. Therewas no doubt about his gratitude. All was fish that came to his net,and he accepted anything and everything, from tea and tobacco to bookswhich he could not read, with the same toothless smile and showers ofblessings. If, as Miss Gibbs suggested, his cottage would have beenimproved by a little more soap and water, and a good stiff broom, thatdid not really matter, as he was generally sitting outside on a benchbeside a beehive, with a black-and-white Manx cat upon his knee, and atame jackdaw hanging in a wicker cage by the window, exactly like acoloured frontispiece in a Christmas number of a magazine.
It was a tremendous blow to the school when the news was circulatedthat old Wilkinson had received notice to quit his cottage. The girlswere filled with indignation against his landlord. The fact that thatlong-suffering farmer had received no rent for the last six months,and badly required the cottage as a billet for lady workers on theland, went for nothing in the estimation of the Grange inmates.Wilkinson, so they considered, was a persecuted old man, about to beevicted from his home, and a very proper object for sympathy andconsideration.
"Something's got to be done for him--that's flat!" declared Raymonde."You don't suppose we can allow him to be taken to the workhouse? It'sunthinkable! He'd break his poor old heart. And we'd miss him so,too. Won't the landlord change his mind and let him stay?"
"Miss Gibbs went to see him about it," vouchsafed Aveline agitatedly,"and she came back and shook her head, and said she couldn't but feelthat the man was only doing his duty, and women were wanted on theland, and must have a place to live in, and someone had to besacrificed."
"He's a victim of the war!" sighed Morvyth. "One of those outsidevictims who don't get Victoria Crosses and military funerals."
"He hasn't come to a funeral yet!" bristled Raymonde. "The old boylooks good for another ten years or so. Don't you go orderingtombstones and wreaths!"
"I wasn't going to. How you snap me up! All the same, I heard MissBeasley tell Miss Gibbs that if he has to go to the workhouse it willbe enough to kill him."
"Then we've absolutely got to keep him alive! Won't anybody in thevillage take him in?"
"No, they're all full up, and say they can't do with him, and hehasn't any relations of his own except a drunken granddaughter in atown slum."
Raymonde sighed dramatically.
"I'm going to think, and think, and think, and think, until I findsome way of helping him," she announced. "It'll be hard work, becauseI hate thinking, but I'll do it, you'll see!"
Raymonde was abstracted that evening, both at preparation and atsupper. In the dormitory she put aside all conversation with a firm:"Don't talk to me, I'm thinking!" She borrowed Fauvette's bottle ofeau-de-Cologne, and went to bed with a bandage tied round her head toassist her cogitations.
"Of course I shan't go to sleep," she assured the others. "I must justlie awake until the idea comes to me. Old Wilkinson's on my mind."
"Glad he's not on mine," gurgled Aveline, settling herself comfortablyon her pillow. "Couldn't you leave him until to-morrow?"
"Certainly not! I shall wake you up and tell you when my ideaarrives."
"Help!" murmured her schoolmate, half-asleep.
That night, when the whole household at the Grange was soundly wrappedin slumber, Aveline was suddenly brought back from a jumbled dream ofpunts, cows, and Latin exercises by feeling somebody shaking herpersistently and urgently.
"What's the matter?" she asked, sitting up in bed. "Is it Zepps?"
"Sh--sh! Don't wake the whole dormitory, you goose!" came Raymonde'svoice in a whisper. "Remember Gibbie's door's wide open, can't you?I've just got my idea."
Aveline promptly lay down again and closed her eyes.
"Won't it keep till to-morrow?" she murmured.
"Certainly not! You've got to hear it now. Move further on--I'm cominginto bed with you. That's better!"
"But I'm so sleepy,"--rather crossly.
"Don't be horrid! You might wake up for once, and listen!"
"I am listening."
"Well, I'll tell you, then. I said to myself when I began to think:'What's wanted is a home for old Wilkinson!' and just now it suddenlyflashed into my head: 'We'll make him one for ourselves!'"
"Where?"
"That's the point. The Bumble says she can't have him at theGrange--Hermie suggested that--and every place one knows of seems tobelong to somebody who wants it--all except the island!"
"What island? The one on the river?"
"No, no! Not so far as that. The island on our moat, I mean. We'llbuild a little house for him, and he can have it all for his veryown."
"Wouldn't it--wouldn't it be rather difficult to build?" gaspedAveline, dazed at the magnitude of her chum's idea.
"Oh, not impossible! There are heaps and heaps of railway sleepersdown in the wood heap, and we could pile them up into a hut. It's onlywhat people do out in Canada. Gibbie's always telling us tales ofwomen who emigrate to the backwoods, and build colonies of log-cabins.Ave, you're not going to sleep again, are you?"
"N--no!" came a rather languid voice; "but how'll we ever get to theisland?"
"We'll make a raft. We'll do it to-morrow, you and I. Don't tell anyof the others yet. Morvyth's been so nasty lately, I'm fed up withher, and Ardiune would only laugh. When we've got the thing reallystarted, we'll take them over and let them help, but not till then.Will you promise to keep it an absolute secret?"
"I'll promise anything you like"--wearily--"if you'll only go back toyour own bed."
"All right, I'm off now--but just remember you're not to mention it toa single soul."
Raymonde, next day, was tremendously full of her new scheme. Itsavoured of romance. Old Wilkinson would be a combination of amediaeval hermit and Robinson Crusoe, and in imagination she alreadysaw him installed in a picturesque log-cabin, with his Manx cat andhis tame jackdaw for company. Naturally the first step was to takepossession of the island. It lay in the middle of the moat, a reedylittle domain covered with willows and bushes. It had never yet beenexplored by the school, for the simple reason that there had been nomeans of gaining access to it. The water was too deep for wading, andMiss Beasley had utterly vetoed the suggestion of procuring a punt.Raymonde had cast longing eyes at it many times before, but not untilnow had she made any real effort to reach it. She thought out herplans carefully during the day--considerably to the detriment of herlessons--and when afternoon recreation time came round she linkedAveline's arm firmly in hers, and led her to the lumber yard. Here,piled up behind the barn, was a large stack of wood stored forfuel--old railway sleepers, bits of broken fencing, packing-cases,tumbled-down trees, and brushwood.
"What we want to make first," she announced, "is a raft. I wonder itneve
r struck me to make it before!"
Now rafts sound quite simple and easy when you read about them inbooks of adventure. Shipwrecked mariners on coral islands in thePacific always lash a few logs together with incredible speed, andperform wonderful journeys through boiling surf to rescue kegs ofprovisions and other useful commodities which they observe floatingabout on the waves. The waters of the moat, being tranquil, andovergrown with duckweed, would surely prove more hospitable than thesurging ocean, and ought to support a raft, of however amateur adescription. Nevertheless, when they began to look round, it was moredifficult than they had expected to find just the right material. Therailway sleepers were too large and heavy, and the fence poles were ofunequal lengths. Moreover, there was nothing with which to lash themtogether, for when Raymonde visited the orchard, intending to purloina clothes-line, she found the housemaid there, hanging up a row ofpantry towels, and was obliged to beat a hurried retreat. After muchhunting about, the girls at last discovered in a corner exactly whatthey wanted. It was the door of a demolished shed, made of stoutplanking, strongly nailed and braced, and in fairly sound condition.Nothing could have been better for their purpose. After first doing alittle scouting, to make sure that the rest of the school were safelyat the other side of the garden, they dragged it down to the edge ofthe moat, returning to fetch two small saplings to act as punt-poles.
"For goodness' sake, let's be quick and get off before anybody comesround and catches us!" panted Raymonde.
"Are you absolutely certain it's safe?" quavered Aveline dubiously.
Raymonde looked at her scornfully.
"Aveline Kerby, if you don't feel yourself up to this business,please back out of it at once, and I'll go and fetch Morvyth instead.She may be a blighter in some things, but she doesn't funk!"
"No more do I," declared Aveline, suddenly assuming an air ofdignified abandon, reminiscent of the heroes of coral-island stories."I'm ready to brave anything, especially for the sake of oldWilkinson. Don't tip the thing so hard at your end! You've made metrap my fingers!"
They launched their craft from the water-garden, treading ruthlesslyon Linda's irises and Hermie's cherished forget-me-nots. It seemed tofloat all right, so they crawled on, and squatted on the cross-beamson either side of it to preserve its balance. A good push with theirpoles sent them well out on to the moat. It was really a delightfulsensation sailing amongst the duckweed and arrow-head leaves, althoughtheir shoes and skirts got wet from the water which oozed up betweenthe planks. The raft behaved splendidly, and, propelled by the poles,made quite a steady passage. They had soon crossed the piece of water,and scrambled out upon the island. It was a rather overgrown, bramblylittle domain, and to penetrate its fastnesses proved a scratchyperformance, resulting in a long rent down the front of Raymonde'sskirt, and several tears in Aveline's muslin blouse, to say nothing ofwounds on wrists and ankles. There was quite a clearing in the middle,with soft, mossy grass and clumps of hemp agrimony, and actually asmall apple-tree with nine apples upon it. They were green and verysour, but the girls each sampled one, with a kind of feeling that byso doing they were taking formal possession of the territory, though,with Paradise for an analogy, it should have been just the reverse.
"We'll have the log-cabin exactly here," said Raymonde, munchingabstractedly. "It'll face the sunset, and he can sit and watch theglowing west, and hear the evening bells, and--and----"
"Smoke his pipe," suggested Aveline unromantically. "He generallyseems most grateful of all when one gives him tobacco."
"We shall be able to see him sitting there," continued Raymonde, inher most meditative mood. "There'll be a rose-tree planted beside thedoor, and nasturtiums and other thingumbobs for the bees. It'll make abeautiful end to his declining years."
"Yes," agreed Aveline, suppressing a yawn. She was not so enthusiasticover the scheme as her chum, and her apple had been much too sour tobe really enjoyed. Raymonde sat twining pieces of grass round herfinger; her eyes were dreamy, and she hummed "Those Evening Bells,"which the singing class had learnt only the week before.
At that identical moment the clang of a very different bell disturbedthe echoes. The girls sprang to their feet.
"Prep.!" they gasped in consternation.
They had absolutely no idea it was so late. Time had simply flown.They must get back immediately, and even then might expect to loseorder marks. Regardless of scratches, they scurried through thebrambles to the place where they had left their raft. To their horrorit was gone! They had forgotten to anchor it, and it had floated outinto the middle of the moat.
This was indeed a predicament! They looked at each other aghast.
"We're marooned, that's what it is!" stammered Aveline. "Raymonde,you're the silliest idiot I've ever met in the course of my life!"
"Well, I like that!"
"Can't help it--it's the truth! Whatever did you bring me out herefor, on such a wild-goose chase?"
"Why, you wanted to come!"
"I didn't! You've landed me in a horrible scrape. I've been late forprep. twice already this week, and Gibbie gave me enough jaw-wag lasttime, so what she'll say this time, goodness knows! How are we evergoing to get back?"
Raymonde shook her head and whistled. She might have attempted todefend herself, but Aveline by this time had begun to sobhysterically, and she knew that arguments were useless. The prospectsof immediate rescue certainly appeared doubtful. Everyone would beindoors for preparation. No doubt they would be missed, and probably amonitress might be sent in quest of them, but the house would besearched first, and then the barns and garden; and it was quiteproblematical whether it would enter into anybody's head to walk tothe edge of the moat, and look across towards the island.
"I suppose you can't swim?" asked Aveline, choking back her sobs, anddabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.
"No; only a little bit when somebody holds me up. Whoever would havethought of that wretched raft floating off in that fashion? It's toosickening!"
"Don't you think we'd better give a good shout?"
The girls put their united lung power into the loudest halloo of whichthey were capable, but it only scared a blackbird in the orchard, andprovoked no human response. They sat down in a place where they couldbe best seen from the mainland, and waited. There were too manybrambles for comfort, and the midges were biting badly. Raymonde beganto wonder whether, after all, the island were as ideal a situation fora residence as she had supposed. Some lines from a parody on one ofRogers's poems flashed into her mind:
"So damp my cot beside the rill, The beehive fails to soothe my ear";
and
"Around my ivy-covered porch Earwigs and snails are ever crawling."
"It mightn't be just the best place in the world for rheumatism," shedecided, "and probably there'd be just heaps of snails and slugs."
"Shall we shout again?" suggested Aveline forlornly.
The chums called, whistled, halloed, and cooeed until they werehoarse, but not a soul took the slightest notice. Time, which had spedso rapidly during their first twenty minutes on the island, nowcrawled on laggard wings. After what appeared to them an absolutelyinterminable period, but which was in reality about an hour and ahalf, the familiar figure of Hermie Graveson suddenly appeared on themainland close to the water-garden. Raymonde and Aveline started up,and emitted yells that would have done credit to a pair of Zuluwarriors on the war-path. Hermie waved frantically, shouted somethingthey could not hear, and ran back towards the house. In a few minutesshe returned with Miss Gibbs. That worthy lady picked up her skirtsand advanced gingerly to the extreme limit of the stones that borderedthe water-garden. She put her hands to her mouth to form aspeaking-trumpet, and bawled a communication of which the maroonedones could only catch such fragments as "How ... get ... doing ..."
On the presumption that it was an enquiry into their means oflocomotion, they pointed sadly to the floating raft. Miss Beasley nowcame hurrying up, surveyed t
he situation, and also attempted toconverse, but with no better success. After an agitated colloquy withMiss Gibbs she retired.
"D'you think they'll have to leave us here for the night?" flutteredAveline anxiously.
"Don't know. It looks like it, unless anyone can swim!" returnedRaymonde, with what stoicism she could muster.
"Perhaps they'll hire a cart to the river, and fetch up a punt?"
"It'll take hours to do that!"
The prospect of supper and bed seemed to be retreating further andfurther into the dim and faraway distance. Aveline remembered that itwas the evening for stewed pears and custard, and tears dripped downher cheeks on to her torn blouse.
"Oh! brace up, can't you?" snapped Raymonde. "It gives me spasms tohear you sniff!"
Aveline was bursting into an indignant retort, when her companionnudged her and pointed to the mainland.
Mackenzie, the old gardener, was coming across the orchard carrying onhis shoulder a very large wash-tub. The cook followed him, bearing aclothes-prop.
"They've the best brains in the house! He's going to rescue us!"exclaimed Raymonde ecstatically.
The prisoners on the island watched with deep interest while Mackenzielaunched his shallop, clambered in, and seizing the clothes-prop fromCook, pushed off cautiously. His craft was very low in the water andlooked particularly wobbly, and they were terribly afraid it wouldupset. In spite of their anxiety they could not help seeing thehumorous side of the episode, and they choked with laughter as the tubgyrated and bobbed about, and the old man clutched frantically at hispole. He made first of all for the floating raft, secured it with apiece of rope, and dragged it to the island. The girls straightenedtheir faces and welcomed him with polite expressions of gratitude.
He received their thanks ungraciously--perhaps he had seen themlaughing--pushed the raft to a spot where they could board it, andremarked tartly:
"Ye deserve to stop where ye are the night, in my opeenion. Get onwith ye now, and paddle yerselves back. Giving a body all thistrouble--and me with my leg bad, too!"
It was possibly a satisfaction to Mackenzie that Miss Beasley sharedhis views as to the culpability of the delinquents and the necessityof giving them their deserts. They were summoned to the study afterprayers.
"What did she say?" whispered Ardiune, Morvyth, and Katherine, as theyescorted the crestfallen pair upstairs to the dormitory.
"All recreation stopped for three days, and learn the whole of Gray'sElegy!" choked the sinners.
"Gray's Elegy! You'll never do it! Oh, you poor chickens! The Bumblecan be a perfect beast sometimes! I say, what was it like on theisland?"
"Top-hole!" responded Raymonde, as she mopped her eyes.
The very next day came the news that the farmer had decided to run upa number of corrugated-iron hutments in one of his own fields toaccommodate his lady workers, and that the Squire had promised to paythe rent of old Wilkinson's cottage so long as he was left thereundisturbed. Everybody felt it was a happy solution of thedifficulty.
"After all, the island might have been rather an awkward place forhim," admitted Raymonde. "I don't know how he'd have got backwards andforwards without a drawbridge."
"Unless he'd used a wash-tub," giggled Aveline. "I shan't forgetMackenzie in a hurry! It was the funniest thing I've ever seen in mylife. Talk of people looking sour! He might have been eating sloes.Cook's taken it personally, I'm afraid. I asked her for some whiteningthis morning to clean my regimental button, and she scowled andwouldn't let me have any--nasty, stingy old thing!"
"It's a weary world!" sighed Raymonde. "Especially when you've got tolearn the whole of Gray's Elegy by heart!"