CHAPTER III
The Limberlost
Everybody agreed that Marlowe Grange was an ideal spot for a school.The picturesque old orchard and grounds provided an almost unlimitedfield of amusement. Those girls who were interested in horticulturemight have their own little plots at the end of the potato patch, anda delightful series of experiments had been started down by the moat,where a real, genuine water-garden was in process of construction.Here, duly shod in rubber waders, a few enthusiasts toiled almostdaily, planting iris and arrow-head and flowering rush, and sinkingwater-lily roots in old wicker baskets weighted with stones. There waseven a scheme on hand to subscribe to buy a punt, but Miss Beasley hadfrowned upon the idea as containing too great an element of danger,and of consequent anxiety for teachers.
"I don't want a set of Ophelias drowning themselves among the willowsand the long purples!" she remarked firmly. "If we bought a punt, weshould need a drag and a life-belt as well. You shall go for a row onthe river sometimes during the summer, and that must content you.There are plenty of occupations on dry land to amuse yourselveswith."
The Grange certainly contained ample space for interests of everydescription. The old farm buildings made sheds for carpentry andwood-carving, or any other work that was too messy for theschoolrooms. Under the direction of Miss Gibbs, some of the eldergirls were turning the contents of a wood pile into a set of rusticgarden seats, and other industrious spirits had begun to plaitosierwithes into baskets that were destined for blackberry picking inthe autumn. The house itself was roomy enough to allow hobbies tooverflow. Miss Beasley, who dabbled rather successfully inphotography, had a conveniently equipped dark-room, which she lent byspecial favour to seniors only, on the understanding that they left itas they found it. Miss Gibbs had taken possession of an empty attic,and had made it into a scientific sanctum. So far none of the girlshad been allowed to peep inside, and the wildest rumours were afloatas to what the room contained. Batteries and other apparatus had beenseen to be carried upstairs, and those scouts who had ventured alongthe forbidden upper landing reported that through the closed door theycould hear weird noises as of turning wheels or bubbling crucibles. Itwas surmised in the school that Miss Gibbs, having found a congenialmediaeval atmosphere for her researches, was working on the lines ofthe ancient alchemists, and attempting to discover the elixir of lifeor the philosopher's stone. One fact was certain. Miss Gibbs had setup a telescope in her solitary attic. She had bought it second-hand,during the holidays, from the widow of a coastguardsman, and with itsaid she studied the landscape by day and the stars by night. Thegirls considered she kept a wary eye on watch for escaped Germans orZeppelins, and regarded the instrument in the light of a safeguard forthe establishment.
"Besides which, anything's a blessing that takes Gibbie upstairs andkeeps her from buzzing round us all the time," averred Raymonde.
"She's welcome to keep anything she likes in her room, from a stuffedcrocodile to a snake in a bottle!" yawned Fauvette. "All I ask is thatshe doesn't take me up and improve my mind. I'm getting fed up withhobbies. I can't show an intelligent interest in all. My poor littlebrains won't hold them. What with repousse work and stencilling andchip carving, I hardly ever get half an hour to enjoy a book. My ideaof a jinky time is to sit by the moat and read, and eat chocolates. Bythe by, has that copy of _The Harvester_ come yet? Hermie promised toget it for the library."
The girls at the Grange had fashions in books, and at present theywere all raving over the works of Gene Stratton Porter. Even Raymonde,not generally much of a reader, had succumbed to the charms of_Freckles_ and _A Girl of the Limberlost_. The accounts of theAmerican swamp forest fascinated her. It was a veritable "call of thewild."
"I'd give anything--just anything--to get into such a place!" sheconfided to Fauvette. "I'd chance even the snakes and mosquitoes. Justthink of the trees and the flowers and the birds and the butterflies!Why don't we have things like that in England?"
"I expect we do, only one never gets to see them. There's a wood overthere on the hill that looks absolutely top-hole if one could go intoit. Hermie said the other day that the Bumble Bee had buzzed outsomething about taking us all for a picnic there some day. It would berather precious."
Raymonde shook her head reflectively.
"Picnics are all very well in their way, but when you turn aboutthirty people together into a wood, I fancy the birds and butterflieswill give us a wide berth. Freckles found his specimens when he wasalone. You can't go naturalizing in a crowd! Look here! Suppose youand I go and explore. I'll be the Bird Woman, and you can be the SwampAngel."
"Oh, what a blossomy idea! But what about Gibbie? Can we dodge her?"
"We'll wait till she's shut herself up in her attic, and then we'llscoot. Between tea and prep.'s the best time, especially now prep.'sbeen put later."
"You really have the most chubby inspirations, Ray," burbled Fauvette."You're an absolute mascot!"
The idea of posing as the Swamp Angel appealed to Fauvette. She wasconscious that she looked the part. She fingered her fluffy flaxencurls caressingly, and resolved to wear a blue cotton dress for thenext day or two, in case there was a chance of the expedition. Inimagination she was already photographing rare birds and shootingvillains with revolvers, and looking her best through it all.
"I wish I knew how to mix iced drinks," she sighed regretfully. "Onecan't get even the ice over here, not to speak of the bits of cherryand lemon and grape and pineapple that the Angel used for Freckles.Girls in America have a far better time than we have."
"Cheero! We'll get a little fun, you'll see, if we can only circumventthe Wasp."
It was not a remarkably easy matter to leave the premises unobserved.Monitresses had a tiresome habit of hanging about in places where theywere not wanted; Mademoiselle made herself far too conspicuous, andMiss Gibbs seemed everywhere. The chums decided that a too greatattention to duty can degenerate into a fault.
"It's what Miss Beasley said in the Scripture lesson," declaredRaymonde. "Economy over-done turns into parsimony, liberality intoextravagance, self-respect into pride. Gibbie's over-stepping themark, and letting responsibility run to fussiness."
It is hardly possible to tackle a mistress and convince her of herfaults, so Miss Gibbs's pharisaical tendencies went unchecked.Evidently the only possible method was to dodge her. Whether hersuspicions were aroused it is impossible to say, but for several daysshe neglected her attic sanctum and pervaded the garden duringrecreation hours.
Raymonde and Fauvette lay low, and toiled with an amazing spurt ofindustry at osier-weaving.
"You've each nearly finished a basket," said Miss Gibbs approvingly.
"Yes, if we go on working hard this afternoon I think we shall finishthem," replied Raymonde craftily.
"It's nice to have a thing done. I'm glad you've taken to such asensible employment," commented Miss Gibbs.
"We like to have our fingers occupied, and then our minds haven't timeto wander," said Raymonde, quoting so shamelessly from Miss Beasleythat Fauvette kicked her surreptitiously in alarm.
Miss Gibbs regarded her for a moment with suspicion, but her eyes werebent demurely over her basket, and her expression was innocencepersonified.
"It's as well you have something to do under cover, for I think it'sgoing to rain," observed the mistress as she turned to leave thebarn.
The girls watched her cross the courtyard and enter the house; thenFauvette, scooting in by the back way, had the further satisfaction ofseeing the tail of her skirt whisking up the attic stairs. She ranback to report to Raymonde.
"Gibbie's safe in her sanctum. She thinks we're happily employed herefor the next hour. Let's bolt for the Limberlost! There's nobody inthe courtyard."
"Right-o!" echoed Raymonde. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime."
They did not wait to fetch hats, but, strolling down the flagged pathas if for exercise, reached the great gate. Then, glancing cautiouslyround to see that the coast was absolutely clear, they unla
tched thelittle postern door, slipped through, and shut it after them. A momentlater they were running at top speed down the road that led to thewood. It was not a very great distance away, and they had often passednear it in their walks. To scramble over the palings and enter itscool, mysterious shade had been their dream. They were resolved nowto make it a reality.
They had been prepared for something delightful, but not for thelittle terrestrial paradise that spread itself at the farther side ofthe fence. The wood had been thinned comparatively recently, so thatit admitted an unusual amount of light and air. The trees, justbursting into the tender green of early May, spread delicate lacyboughs overhead, like tender fingers held out to guard the treasuresunderneath. The ground below, still moist and boggy from the springrains, was clothed with a carpet of dog violets, growing in suchprofusion that they seemed to stretch in a vista of palest mauve intothe distance. At close intervals among these grew glorious clumps ofgolden cowslips and purple meadow orchis, taller and finer by far thanthose in the meadows, and deliciously fragrant. In the swampy hollowswere yellow marsh marigolds and blue forget-me-nots; on the drier soilof the rising bank the wild hyacinths were just shaking open theirbells, and heartsease here and there lifted coy heads to thesunlight.
Raymonde and Fauvette wandered about in ecstasy, picking great bunchesof the flowers, and running from clump to clump with thrills ofdelight. Surely even Freckles's "Limberlost" could not be morebeautiful than this. A persistent cuckoo was calling in the meadowclose by; a thrush with his brown throat all a-ruffle trilled in abirch tree overhead, and a blackbird warbled his heart out among thehazel bushes by the fence. The girls went peeping here and there andeverywhere in quest of birds' nests, and their diligent search wasamply rewarded. In the hollow of a decaying stump a robin was feedingfive little gaping mouths, the blackbird's mate guarded four speckledeggs, and three separate thrushes had pale-blue treasures inclay-lined cradles amidst the undergrowth.
As they penetrated farther into the wood they struck upon a pondclosely surrounded by sallows and alders. Raymonde peered through theshimmering leaves, and called Fauvette with a cry of joy, for coveringalmost the entire surface of the water was a mass of the gorgeouspale-pink fringed blossoms of the bog bean. The girls had never foundit before, and it was indeed rare for it to be growing in a Midlandcounty. They thought it was the most beautiful flower they had everseen. How to pick any was the difficulty, for even the nearest piecelay fully a yard from the edge of the pond, and the finest blooms werein the middle of the water.
"I'm going to get some somehow, if I have to take off my shoes andstockings!" declared Raymonde.
An easier way than wading, however, presented itself. Close by theside of the pond was a young tree which had been blown over by thespring gales; the forester had chopped it from its roots, but had notyet removed it. By dint of much energy the girls lifted this, andpushed it over the water till part of it rested securely on an alderwhich grew on a little island in the midst. It made a rather shaky butperfectly possible bridge, if not for Fauvette, at least for Raymonde.The latter advanced upon it cautiously but courageously. She tookthree steps, almost slipped, but regained her balance by a miracle,grasped an overhanging bough of the alder, and set a firm foot on theisland. From here, by reaching a long arm, she could gather some finespecimens of the bog bean. She pulled it up in handfuls, with trailingoozy stalks. As she turned to grip the alder branch before venturingback over her primitive bridge, her eye suddenly caught sight of alarge nest built at the extreme brink of the water. It held fourbrowny-speckled eggs, and an agitated moorhen, seeking cover among thereeds, gave the clue to their parentage.
The school was making a collection of birds' eggs for its museum.There were plenty of robins' and thrushes' and blackbirds', and allthe common varieties, but so far not a solitary specimen of amoorhen's egg. Raymonde felt that even at the risk of betraying theirsecret expedition she must secure some of these. She decided to gohalves, to take two and leave two in the nest to console the moorhenwhen she came back. She wrapped them in some grass and packed them inher handkerchief, which she slung round her neck for safety. Thentaking her bunch of bog bean she managed to scramble back to thebank.
The girls were naturalists enough to remove their tree-trunk from theisland, lest it should tempt marauding boys to go across and discoverthe moorhen's nest. They hoped the bird would return and sit againwhen they were out of the way. Each carefully carrying one of theprecious eggs, they went on farther to explore the wood. They had onlywalked a short distance when Fauvette stopped suddenly.
"What's that queer squeaking noise?" she asked.
"Do you hear it too?" confirmed Raymonde.
The girls glanced round, and then looked at each other blankly. Therewas no doubt that the persistent chirruping and peeping came from theeggs in their hands.
"Oh, good night! The wretched things are hatching out!" gaspedRaymonde.
They had indeed robbed the poor moorhen at the very moment when herchicks were in the process of hatching. Already there was a chip inthe side of each egg, and a tiny bill began to protrude, the owner ofwhich was raising a shrill clamour of welcome to the world. The girlslaid them hastily down on the grass.
"Those won't be any use for the museum!" exploded Fauvette.
"I wonder if we ought to put them back," murmured Raymonde, decidedlyconscience-stricken, though somewhat unwilling to venture again overthe slippery tree-trunk.
She might perhaps have braved the crossing, and restored the eggs tothe nest, but at that moment the rain, which had been threatening allthe afternoon, came down in a torrent. She felt it had sealed the fateof the chicks.
"We'll just have to leave them here. It's like murder, but I can'thelp it. If we don't get back quick we shall be drenched."
As the girls turned to retrace their steps they became aware that theywere not alone in the wood. Some distance among the bushes a dark coatand hat were plainly advancing in their direction. Undoubtedlysomebody had been watching them and was following them. Wild visionsof Black Jack and his "Limberlost" gang swam before their eyes, andwith one accord they ran--ran anywhere, panic-stricken, bent only onescaping.
A voice shouted, and it added to their terror, and sent them hurryingon the faster. They imagined oaths and pistol-shots behind them. Suchexciting scenes were all very well in the pages of _Freckles_, butthey would be decidedly out of place in an English wood. When it cameto the point, neither of them possessed the courage and presence ofmind of the Swamp Angel.
Suppose they found themselves bound and gagged, and tied to trees,while some dastardly ruffians hewed down the best timber in the wood?The shouts behind grew nearer. Their pursuer was evidently gainingupon them. Through the pouring rain they struggled on, splashinganyhow through swampy places, regardless of soaked shoes andstockings, pushing through wet bushes and underneath drippingbranches, possessed by the one idea of flight. Down through the hollowwhere they had gathered the forget-me-nots, and up the bluebell bankthey struggled, with never a thought for the flowers; and they werejust about to scramble over some felled trees when Raymonde, who was ayard in advance, caught her foot in a tangle of brier and fell on herhands and knees among the springing bracken. Fauvette, unable to stopherself, collided heavily and collapsed by her side. Too much out ofbreath to stir, the girls lay for a few moments panting.
"Hallo! Wait!" shouted their pursuer.
The rather rasping, authoritative voice was so well known and familiarthat the girls scrambled up and turned round, to find--no desperatevillain armed with revolver and bowie-knife, but Miss Gibbs, in aneat, shiny-black mackintosh and rainproof hat to match. She advancedbreathless and agitated, and very decidedly out of temper.
"You naughty girls! What do you mean by running away like this? Iwatched you through my telescope as you went to the wood, and ofcourse followed you. Why didn't you come at once when I called?"
"We didn't know it was you!" murmured Raymonde, forbearing to explainthat they had taken their m
istress for a ruffian.
Fauvette said nothing. She was looking horribly conscious and caught.Miss Gibbs glared at the guilty pair, and, telling them curtly to comealong, led the way back.
Such a serious breach of school discipline was naturally visited withheavy consequences. For the next three days Raymonde and Fauvettespent their recreation hours indoors, copying certain classic lines of_Paradise Lost_. They were debarred from the purchase of chocolates orany other form of sweetstuff for the period of a month, and made tounderstand that they were under the ban not only of Miss Gibbs's, butalso of Miss Beasley's displeasure.
"I never thought of that wretched telescope," mourned Fauvette. "Justimagine Gibbie spying on us all the time! She must have watched usscramble over the palings into the wood. It's worse than second sight!And then for her to come gallivanting out after us in that swankymackintosh! It gave me spasms!"
"We'd a jinky time, though, first. It was worth being caughtafterwards," maintained Raymonde candidly. "And, you know, in secretthe Bumble Bee was rejoiced to see that bog bean. She won't admit it,of course, but I know it's the discovery of the term. It's recorded inthe Nature Note-book, and the best piece was pressed for the museum.My own private opinion is that both the Bumble and the Wasp will gobuzzing off to that Limberlost, exploring on their own, some day, andI don't blame them. It's a paradise!"
"Most top-hole place I've ever been in in my life!" agreed Fauvette,sighing heavily. "I say, I call it rather appropriate of the Bumble tohave made us copy out _Paradise Lost_!"