CHAPTER XXI
A RAY OF HOPE
A few minutes later the Speciality girls had left Mrs. Haddo's room.There were to be no lessons that day; therefore they could spend theirtime as they liked best. But an enforced holiday of this kind was nopleasure to any of them.
Martha said at once that she was going to seek the twins. "I have leftthem in my room," she said. "They hardly slept all night. I never sawsuch dear, affectionate little creatures. They are absolutelybroken-hearted. I promised to come to them as soon as I could."
"Have you asked them to trust you--to treat you as a true friend?" askedFanny Crawford.
"I have, Fanny; and the strange thing is, that although beyond doubtthey know pretty nearly as much about Betty's secret and about the lostpacket as she does herself, poor child, they are just as reticent withregard to it. They will not tell. Nothing will induce them to betrayBetty. Over and over again I have implored of them, for the sake of herlife, to take me into their confidence; but I might as well have spokento adamant. They will not do it."
"They have exactly the same stubborn nature," said Fanny.
The other girls looked reproachfully at her.
Then Olive said, "You have never liked your cousins, Fanny; and it doespain us all that you should speak against them at a moment like thepresent."
"Then I will go away," said Fanny. "I can see quite well that mypresence is uncongenial to you all. I will find my own amusements. But Imay as well state that if I am to be tortured and looked down on in theschool, I shall write to Aunt Amelia and ask her to take me in untilfather writes to Mrs. Haddo about me. You must admit, all of you, thatit has been a miserable time for me since the Vivians came to theschool."
"You have made it miserable yourself, Fanny," was Susie's retort.
Then Fanny got up and went away. A moment later she was joined by MarthaWest.
"Fanny, dear Fanny," said Martha, "won't you tell me what is changingyou so completely?"
"There is nothing changing me," said Fanny in some alarm. "What do youmean, Martha?"
"Oh, but you look so changed! You are not a bit what you used to be--sojolly, so bright, so--so very pretty. Now you have a careworn, anxiousexpression. I don't understand you in the very least."
"And I don't want you to," said Fanny. "You are all bewitched withregard to that tiresome girl; even I, your old and tried friend, have nochance against her influence. When I tell you I know her far better thanany of you can possibly do, you don't believe me. You suspect me ofharboring unkind and jealous thoughts against her; as if I, FannyCrawford, could be jealous of a nobody like Betty Vivian!"
"Fanny, you know perfectly well that Betty will never be a nobody. Thereis something in her which raises her altogether above the low standardto which you assign her. Oh, Fanny, what is the matter with you?"
"Please leave me alone, Martha. If you had spent the wretched night Ihave spent you might look tired and worn out too. I was turned out of mybedroom, to begin with, because Sister Helen required it."
"Well, surely there was no hardship in that?" said Martha. "I, forinstance, spent the night gladly with dear little Sylvia and Hester; weall had a room together in the lower school. Do you think I grumbled?"
"Oh, of course you are a saint!" said Fanny with a sneer.
"I am not, but I think I am human; and just at present, for someextraordinary reason, you are not."
"Well, you haven't heard the history of my woes. I had to share MissSymes's room with her."
"St. Cecilia's delightful room! Surely that was no great hardship?"
"Wait until you hear. St. Cecilia was quite kind, as she always is; andI was told that I could have a room to myself to-night. I found, tobegin with, however, that most of the clothes I wanted had been leftbehind in my own room. Still, I made no complaint; although, of course,it was not comfortable, particularly as Miss Symes intended to sit up inorder to see the doctors. But as I was preparing to get into bed, thosetwins--those horrid girls that you make such a fuss about,Martha--rushed into the room and put an awful spider into the center ofmy bed, and when I tried to get rid of it, it rushed towards me. Then Iscreamed out, and Susie and Olive came in. But we couldn't catch thespider nor find it anywhere. You don't suppose I was likely to go to bedwith _that_ thing in the room? The fire went nearly out. I was hungry,sleepy, cold. I assure you I have my own share of misery. Then MissSymes came in and ordered me to bed. I went, but hardly slept a wink.And now you expect me to be as cheerful and bright and busy as a beethis morning!"
"Oh, not cheerful, poor Fanny!--we can none of us be that with Betty insuch great danger; but you can at least be busy, you can at least helpothers."
"Thank you," replied Fanny; "self comes first now and then, and it doeson the present occasion;" and Fanny marched to Miss Symes's room.
Martha looked after her until she disappeared from view; then, with aheavy sigh, she went towards her own room. Here a fire was burning. Somebreakfast had been brought up for the twins, for they were not expectedto appear downstairs that morning. The untasted breakfast, however,remained on the little, round table beside the fire, and Sylvia andHetty were nowhere to be seen.
"Where have they gone?" thought Martha. "Oh, I trust they haven't beenso mad as to go to Betty's room!"
She considered for a few minutes. She must find the children, and shemust not trouble any one else in the school about them. Dr. Ashley hadpaid his morning visit, and there was quietness in the corridor justoutside Betty's room. Martha went there and listened. The high-strung,anxious voice was no longer heard crying aloud piteously for what itcould not obtain. The door of the room was slightly ajar. Marthaventured to peep in. Betty was lying with her face towards the wall, herlong, thick black hair covering the pillow, and one small hand flungrestlessly outside the counterpane.
Sister Helen saw Martha, and with a wave of her hand, beckoned the girlnot to come in. Martha retreated to the corridor. Sister Helen followedher.
"What do you want, dear?" said the nurse. "You cannot possibly disturbBetty. She is asleep. Both the doctor and I most earnestly hope that shemay awake slightly better. Dr. Jephson is coming to see her again thisevening. If by that time her symptoms have not improved he is going tobring another brain specialist down with him. Dr. Ashley is to wire himin the middle of the day, stating exactly how Betty Vivian is. If she isthe least bit better, Dr. Jephson will come alone; if worse, he willbring Dr. Stephen Reynolds with him. Why, what is the matter? How paleyou look!"
"You think badly of Betty, Sister Helen?"
Sister Helen did not speak for a moment except by a certain lookexpressed in her eyes. "Another nurse will arrive within an hour," shesaid, "and then I shall be off duty for a short time. What can I do foryou? I mustn't stay whispering here."
"I have come to find dear Betty's little sisters."
"Oh, they left the room some time ago."
"Left the room!" said Martha. "Oh, Sister Helen, have they been here?"
"Yes, both of them, poor children. I went away to fetch some hot water.Betty was lying very quiet; she had not spoken for nearly an hour. Ihoped she was dropping asleep. When I came back I saw a sight whichwould bring tears to any eyes. Her two little sisters had climbed on tothe bed and were lying close to her, one on each side. They didn'tnotice me at all; but as I came in I heard one of them say, 'Don't fret,Bettina; we are going now, at once, to find it.' And then the othersaid, 'And we won't come back until we've got it.' There came the ghostof a smile over my poor little patient's face. She tried to speak, butwas too weak. I went up to one of the little girls and took her arm, andwhispered to her gently; and then they both got up at once, as meekly asmice, and said, 'Betty, we won't come back until we've found it.' Andpoor little Betty smiled again. For some extraordinary reason theirvisit seemed to comfort her; for she sighed faintly, turned on her side,and dropped asleep, just as she is now. I must go back to her at once,Miss--Miss----"
"West," replied Martha. "Martha West is my name."
&nb
sp; The nurse said nothing further, but returned to the sickroom. Marthawent very quickly back to her own. She felt she had a task cut out forher. The twins had in all probability gone out. Their curious reticencehad been the most painful part of poor Martha's night-vigil. She had totry to comfort the little girls who would not confide one particle oftheir trouble to her. At intervals they had broken into violent fits ofsobbing, but they had never spoken; they had not even mentioned Betty'sname. By and by, towards morning, they each allowed Martha to clasp onearm around them, and had dropped off into an uneasy slumber.
Now they were doubtless out of doors. But where? Martha was by no meansacquainted with the haunts of the twins. She knew Sibyl Ray fairly well,and had always been kind to her; but up to the present the youngerVivian girls had not seemed to need any special kindness. They werehearty, merry children; they were popular in the school, and had madefriends of their own. She wanted to seek for them now, but it neveroccurred to her for a single moment where they might possibly bediscovered.
The grounds round Haddo Court were very extensive, and Martha did notleave a yard of these grounds unexplored, yet nowhere could she find thetwins. At last she came back to the house, tired out and very miserable.She ran once more to her own room, wondering if they were now there. Theroom was quite empty. The housemaid had removed the breakfast-things andbuilt up the fire. Martha had been told as a great secret that theVivians possessed an attic, where they kept their pets. She found theattic, but it was empty. Even Dickie had forsaken it, and the differentcaterpillars were all buried in their chrysalis state. Martha quicklyleft the Vivians' attic. She wandered restlessly and miserably throughthe lower school, and visited the room where she had slept, or tried tosleep, the night before. Nowhere could she find them.
Meanwhile Sylvia and Hester had done a very bold deed. They werereckless of school rules at a moment like the present. Their one andonly desire was to save Betty at any cost. They knew quite well thatBetty had hidden the packet, but where they could not tell. Betty hadsaid to them in her confident young voice, "The less you know thebetter;" and they had trusted her, as they always would trust her aslong as they lived, for Betty, to them, meant all that was noble andgreat and magnificent in the world.
It flashed now, however, through Sylvia's little brain that perhapsBetty had taken the lost treasure to Mrs. Miles to keep. She whisperedher thought to Hester, who seized it with sudden rapture.
"We can, at least, confide in Mrs. Miles," said Hetty; "and we can tellthe dogs. Perhaps the dogs could scent it out; dogs are such wonders."
"We will go straight to Mrs. Miles," said Sylvia.
Betty had told them with great glee--ah, how merry Betty was in thosedays!--how she had first reached the farm, of her delightful time withDan and Beersheba, of her dinner, of her drive back. Had not theythemselves also visited Stoke Farm? What a delightful, what a glorious,time they had had there! That indeed was a time of joy. Now was a timeof fearful trouble. But they felt, poor little things! though they couldnot possibly confide either in kind Martha West or in any of theirschool-friends, that they might confide in Mrs. Miles.
Accordingly they managed to vault over the iron railings, get on to theroadside, and in course of time to reach Stoke Farm. The dogs rushed outto meet them. But Dan and Beersheba were sagacious beasts. They hatedfrivolity, they hated unfeeling people, but they respected great sorrow;and when Hetty said with a burst of tears, "Oh, Dan, Dan, darling Dan,Betty, your Betty and ours, is so dreadfully ill!" Dan fawned upon thelittle girl, licked her hands, and looked into her face with all thepathos in the world in his brown doggy eyes. Beersheba, of course,followed his brother's example. So the poor little twins, accompanied bythe dogs, entered Mrs. Miles's kitchen.
Mrs. Miles sprang up with a cry of rapture and surprise at the sight ofthem. "Why, my dears! my dears!" she said. "And wherever is the elder ofyou? Where do she be? Oh, then it's me is right glad to see you both!"
"We want to talk to you, Mrs. Miles," said Sylvia.
"And we want to kiss you, Mrs. Miles," said Hester.
Then they flung themselves upon her and burst into floods of most bitterweeping.
Mrs. Miles had not brought up a large family of children for nothing.She was accustomed to childish griefs. She knew how violent, howtempestuous, such griefs might be, and yet how quickly the storms wouldpass, the sunshine come, and how smiles would replace tears. She treatedthe twins, therefore, now, just as though they were her own children.She allowed them to cry on her breast, and murmured, "Dear, dear! Poorlambs! poor lambs! Now, this is dreadful bad, to be sure! But don't youmind how many tears you shed when you've got Mrs. Miles close to you.Cry on, pretties, cry on, and God comfort you!"
So the children, who felt so lonely and desolate, did cry until theycould cry no longer. Then Mrs. Miles immediately did the sort of thingshe invariably found effectual in the case of her own children. She putthe exhausted girls into a comfortable chair each by the fire, andbrought them some hot milk and a slice of seed-cake, and told them theymust sip the milk and eat the cake before they said any more.
Now, as a matter of fact, Sylvia and Hetty were, without knowing it inthe least, in a starving condition. From the instant that Betty'sserious illness was announced they had absolutely refused all food,turning from it with loathing. Supper the night before was not for them,and breakfast had remained untasted that morning. Mrs. Miles hadtherefore done the right thing when she provided them with a comfortingand nourishing meal. They would have refused to touch the cake had oneof their schoolfellows offered it, but they obeyed Mrs. Miles just asthough she were their real mother.
And while they ate, and drank their hot milk, the good woman went onwith her cooking operations. "I am having a fine joint to-day," shesaid: "corned beef that couldn't be beat in any county in England, andthat's saying a good deal. It'll be on the table, with dumplings tomatch and a big apple-tart, sharp at one o'clock. I might ha' guessedthat some o' them dear little missies were coming to dinner, for Idon't always have a hot joint like this in the middle o' the week."
The girls suddenly felt that of all things in the world they would likecorned beef best; that dumplings would be a delicious accompaniment; andthat apple-tart, eaten with Mrs. Miles's rich cream, would go well withsuch a dinner. They became almost cheerful. Matters were not quite soblack, and they had a sort of feeling that Mrs. Miles would certainlyhelp them to find the lost treasure.
Having got her dinner into perfect order, and laid the table, and puteverything right for the arrival of her good man, Mrs. Miles shut thekitchen door and drew her chair close to the children.
"Now you are warm," she said, "and fed, you don't look half so miserableas you did when you came in. I expect the good food nourished you up abit. And now, whatever's the matter? And where is that darling, MissBetty? Bless her heart! but she twined herself round us all entirely,that she did."
It would be wrong to say that Sylvia did not burst into fresh weeping atthe sound of Betty's name.
But Hester was of stronger mettle. "We have come to you," she said--"Oh,Sylvia, do stop crying! it does no manner of good to cry all thetime--we have come to you, Mrs. Miles, to help us to save Betty."
"Lawk-a-mercy! and whatever's wrong with the dear lamb?"
"We are going to tell you everything," said Hester. "We have quite madeup our minds. Betty is very, very ill."
"Yes," said Sylvia, "she is so ill that Dr. Ashley came to see her twiceyesterday, and then again a third time with a great, wonderful specialdoctor from London; and we were not allowed to sleep in her room lastnight, and she's--oh, she's dreadfully bad!
"They whispered in the school," continued Sylvia in a low tone--"Iheard them; they _did_ whisper it in the school--that perhaps Bettywould--would _die_. Mrs. Miles, that can't be true! God doesn't takeaway young, young girls like our Betty. God couldn't be so cruel."
"We won't call it cruelty," said Mrs. Miles; "but God does do it, allthe same, for His own wise purposes, no doubt. We'll not ta
lk o' that,my lambs; we'll let that pass by. The thing is for you to tell me whathas gone wrong with that bonny, strong-looking girl. Why, when she washere last, although she was a bit pale, she looked downright healthy andstrong enough for anything. Eh, my dear dears! you can't mention hername even now to Dan and Beersheba that they ain't took with fits o'delight about her, dancing and scampering like half-mad dogs, andwhining for her to come to them. There, to be sure! they know you belongto her, and they're lying down as contented as anything at your feet. Idon't expect, somehow, your sister will die, my loves, although gels asyoung as she have passed into the Better Land. Oh, dear, I'm making youcry again! It's good corned beef and dumplings you want. You mustn'tgive way, my dears; people who give way in times o' trouble ain't worththeir salt."
"We thought perhaps you'd help us," said Sylvia.
"Help you, darlings! That I will! I'd help you to this extent--I'd helpyou even to the giving up o' the custom o' Haddo Court. Now, what can Ido more than that?"
"Oh, but your help--the help you can give us--won't do you any harm,"said Hester. "We'll tell you about Betty, for we know that you'll neverlet it out--except, indeed, to your husband. We don't mind a bit hisknowing. Now, this is what has happened. You know we had greattrouble--or perhaps you don't know. Anyhow, we had great trouble--away,away in beautiful Scotland. One we loved died. Before she died she leftsomething for Betty to take care of, and Betty took what she had lefther. It was only a little packet, quite small, tied up in brown paper,and sealed with a good many seals. We don't know what the packetcontained; but we thought perhaps it might be money, and Betty said tous that it would be a very good thing for us to have some money to fallback upon in case we didn't like the school."
"Now, whatever for?" asked Mrs. Miles. "And who could dislike a schoollike Haddo Court?"
"Of course we couldn't tell," said Sylvia, "not having been there; butBetty, who is always very wise, said it was best be on the safe side,and that perhaps the packet contained money, and if it did we'd haveenough to live on in case we chose to run away."
"Oh, missies, did I ever hear tell o' the like! To run away from abeautiful school like Haddo Court! Why, there's young ladies all overEngland trying to get into it! But you didn't know, poor lambs! Well, goon; tell me the rest."
"There was a man who was made our guardian," continued Sylvia, "and hewas quite kind, and we had nothing to say against him. His name is SirJohn Crawford."
"Miss Fanny's father, bless her!" said Mrs. Miles; "and a pretty younglady she do be."
"Fanny Crawford is our cousin," said Sylvia, "and we hate her mostawfully."
"Oh, my dear young missies! but hate is a weed--a noxious weed thatought to be pulled up out o' the ground o' your hearts."
"It is taking deep root in mine," said Sylvia.
"And in mine," said Hester.
"But please let us tell you the rest, Mrs. Miles. Sir John Crawford hada letter from our dear aunt, who left the packet for Betty; and wecannot understand it, but she seemed to wish Sir John Crawford to takecare of the packet for the present. He looked for it everywhere, andcould not find it. Was he likely to when Betty had taken it? Then heasked Betty quite suddenly if she knew anything about it, and Bettystood up and said 'No.' She told a huge, monstrous lie, and she didn'teven change color, and he believed her. So we came here. Well, Betty wasterribly anxious for fear the packet should be found, and one night wehelped her to climb down from the balcony out of our bedroom. No one sawher go, and no one saw her return, and she put the packet awaysomewhere--we don't know where. Well, after that, wonderful thingshappened, and Betty was made a tremendous fuss of in the school. Therewas no one like her, and she was loved like anything, and we were asproud as Punch of her. But all of a sudden everything changed, and ourBetty was disgraced. There were horrid things written on a blackboardabout her. She was quite innocent, poor darling! But the thingswere written, and Betty is the sort of girl to feel such disgracefrightfully. We were quite preparing to run away with her, forwe thought she wouldn't care to stay much longer in theschool--notwithstanding your opinion of it, Mrs. Miles. But all of asudden Betty seemed to go right down, as though some one had felled herwith an awful blow. She kept crying out, and crying out, that the packetwas lost. Anyhow, she thinks it is lost; she hasn't an idea where it canbe. And the doctors say that Betty's brain is in such a curious statethat unless the packet is found she--she may die.
"So we went to her, both of us, and we told her we would go and findit," continued Sylvia. "We have got to find it. That is what we havecome about. We don't suppose for a minute that it was right of Betty totell the lie; but that was the only thing she did wrong. Anyhow, wedon't care whether she did right or wrong; she is our Betty, the mostsplendid, the very dearest girl in all the world, and she sha'n't die.We thought perhaps you would help us to find the packet."
"Well," said Mrs. Miles, "that's a wonderful story, and it's a queersort o' job to put upon a very busy farmer's wife. _Me_ to find thepacket?"
"Yes; you or your husband, whichever of you can or will do it. It isBetty's life that depends upon it. Couldn't your dogs help us? InScotland we have dogs that scent anything. Are yours that sort?"
"They haven't been trained," said Mrs. Miles, "and that's the simpletruth. Poor darlings! you must bear up as best you can. It's a veryqueer story, but of course the packet must be found. You stay here forthe present, and I'll go out and meet my husband as he comes along tohis dinner. I reckon, when all's said and done, I'm a right good wifeand a right good mother, and that there ain't a farm kept better thanours anywhere in the neighborhood, nor finer fowls for the table, norbetter ducks, nor more tender geese and turkeys. Then as to ourpigs--why, the pigs themselves be a sight. And we rears horses, too, andvery good many o' them turn out. And in the spring-time we have younglambs and young heifers; in fact, there ain't a young thing that can beborn that don't seem to have a right to take up its abode at Stoke Farm.And I does for 'em all, the small twinses being too young and the oldtwinses too rough and big for the sort o' work. Well, my dears, I'm goodat all that sort o' thing; but when it comes to dertective business I amnowhere, and I may as well confess it. I am sorry for you, my loves; butthis is a job for the farmer and not for me, for he's always down on thepoachers, and very bitter he feels towards 'em. He has to be sharp andsudden and swift and knowing, whereas I have to be tender and loving andpetting and true. That's the differ between us. He's more the person forthis 'ere job, and I'll go and speak to him while you sit by the kitchenfire."
"Do, please, please, Mrs. Miles!" said both the twins.
Then she left them, and they sat very still in the warm, silent kitchen;and by and by Sylvia, worn out with grief, and not having slept at allduring the previous night, dropped into an uneasy slumber, while Hettystroked her sister's hand and Dan's head until she also fell asleep.
The dogs, seeing that the girls were asleep, thought that they might dothe same. When, therefore, Farmer Miles and his wife entered thekitchen, it was to find the two girls and the dogs sound asleep.
"Poor little lambs! Do look at 'em!" said Mrs. Miles. "They be wore out,and no mistake."
"Let's lay 'em on the sofa along here," said Miles. "While they'rehaving their sleep out you get the dinner up, wife, and I'll go out andput on my considering-cap."
The farmer had no sooner said this than--whispering to the dogs, whovery unwillingly accompanied him--he left the kitchen. He went into thefarmyard and began to pace up and down. Mrs. Miles had told her storywith some skill, the farmer having kept his attention fixed on thesalient points.
Miss Betty--even he had succumbed utterly to the charms of MissBetty--had lost a packet of great value. She had hidden it, doubtless inthe grounds of Haddo Court. She had gone had gone to look for it, and itwas no longer there. Some one had stolen it. Who that person could bewas what the farmer wanted to "get at," as he expressed it. "Until youcan get at the thief," he muttered under his breath, "you are nowhere atall."
But at present he
was without any clue, and, true man of business thathe was, he felt altogether at a loose end. Meanwhile, as he was pacingup and down towards the farther edge of the prosperous-looking farmyard,Dan uttered a growl and sprang into the road. The next minute there wasa piercing cry, and Farmer Miles, brandishing his long whip, followedthe dog. Dan was holding the skirts of a very young girl and shakingthem ferociously in his mouth. His eyes glared into the face of thegirl, and his whole aspect was that of anger personified. Luckily,Beersheba was not present, or the girl might have had a sorry time ofit. With a couple of strides the farmer advanced towards her; dealt someswift lashes with his heavy whip on the dog's head, which drove himback; then, taking the girl's small hand, he said to her kindly, "Don'tyou be frightened, miss; his bark's a sight worse nor his bite."
"Oh, he did terrify me so!" was the answer; "and I've been running forsuch a long time, and I'm very, very tired."
"Well, miss, I don't know your name nor anything about you; but thisland happens to be private property--belonging to me, and to me alone.Of course, if it weren't for that I'd have no right to have fierce dogsabout ready to molest human beings. It was a lucky thing for you, miss,that I was so close by. And whatever be your name, if I may be so boldas to ask, and where be you going now?"
"My name is Sibyl Ray, and I belong to Haddo Court."
"Dear, dear, dear! seems to me, somehow, that Haddo Court and Stoke Farmare going to have a right good connection. I don't complain o' thebutter, and the bread, and the cheese, and the eggs, and the fowls as wesarve to the school; but I never counted on the young ladies takingtheir abode in my quarters."
"What do you mean, and who are you?" said Sibyl in great amazement.
"My name, miss, is Farmer Miles; and this house"--he pointed to hisdwelling--"is my homestead; and there are two young ladies belonging toyour school lying fast asleep at the present moment in my wife'skitchen, and they has given me a problem to think out. It's a mightystiff one, but it means life or death; so of course I have, so to speak,my knife in it, and I'll get the kernel out afore I'm many hours older."
Sibyl, who had been very miserable before she started, who had enduredher drive with what patience she could, and whose heart was burningwith hatred to Fanny and passionate, despairing love for Betty Vivian,was so exhausted now that she very nearly fainted.
The farmer looked at her out of his shrewd eyes. "Being a member o' theschool, Miss Ray," he said, "you doubtless are acquainted with themparticularly charming young ladies, the Misses Vivian?"
"Indeed I know them all, and love them all," said Sibyl.
"Now, that's good hearing; for they be a pretty lot, that they be. Andas to the elder, I never see'd a face like hers--so wonderful, and withsuch a light about it; and her courage--bless you, miss! the dogswouldn't harm _her_. It was fawning on her, and licking her hand, andpetting her they were. Is it true, miss, that Miss Betty is so mightybad?"
"It is true," said Sibyl; "and I wonder----Oh; please don't leave mestanding here alone on the road. I am so miserable and frightened! Iwonder if it's Sylvia and Hester who are in your house?"
"Yes, they be the missies, and dear little things they be."
"And have they told you anything?" asked Sibyl.
"Well, yes; they have set me a conundrum--a mighty stiff one. It seemsthat Miss Betty Vivian has lost a parcel, and she be that fretted aboutit that she's nigh to death, and the little uns have promised to get itback for her; and, poor children! they've set me on the job, and however I'm to do it I don't know."
"I think perhaps I can help you," said Sibyl suddenly. "I'll tell youthis much, Farmer Miles. I can get that packet back, and I'd much ratherget it back with your help than without it."
"Shake hands on that, missie. I wouldn't like to be, so to speak, in athing, and then cast out o' it again afore the right moment. Butwhatever do you mean?"
"You shall know all at the right time," said Sibyl. "Mrs. Haddo is sounhappy about Betty that she wouldn't allow any of the upper-schoolgirls to have lessons to-day, so she sent them off to spend the day inLondon. I happened to be one of them, and was perfectly wretched athaving to go; so while I was driving to the railway station in one ofthe wagonettes I made up my mind. I settled that whatever happened I'dnever, never, never endure another night like the last; and I couldn'tgo to London and see pictures or museums or whatever places we were tobe taken to while Betty was lying at death's door, and when I knew thatit was possible for me to save her. So when we got to the station therewas rather a confusion--that is, while the tickets were beingbought--and I suddenly slipped away by myself and got outside thestation, and ran, and ran, and ran--oh, so fast!--until at last I gotquite beyond the town, and then I found myself in the country; and allthe time I kept saying, and saying, 'I will tell. She sha'n't die;nothing else matters; Betty shall not die.'"
"Then what do you want me to help you for, missie?"
"Because," said Sibyl, holding out her little hand, "I am very weak andyou are very strong, and you will keep me up to it. Please do come withme straight back to the school!"
"Well, there's a time for all things," said the farmer; "and I'm willingto give up my arternoon's work, but I'm by no means willing to give upmy midday meal, for we farmers don't work for nothing--as doubtless youknow, missie. So, if you'll come along o' me and eat a morsel, we'll setoff afterwards, sure and direct, to Haddo Court; and I'll keep you up tothe mark if you're likely to fail."