CHAPTER XI
Moss Cottage
Though Avelyn was happy enough as a boarder at Silverside, the realfocus and centre of her life lay at Walden. The little house, with itsromantic surroundings, had touched a very deep chord in her nature. Homehad been dear in Harlingden because it was home, but now it was a magicspot, a palace of fairy dreams, a place where new and hithertoundreamed-of interests and ideals had suddenly leaped into being. Theglamour of it seemed to begin when she stepped out of the train atNetherton on Friday afternoons and started on her walk to Lyngates.Different neighbourhoods seem to have different scents. This one smelledof lichens and green ferns, and moist, warm, rain-splashed earth, ahalf-pungent odour that she got used to directly, but which struck herafresh each time as she returned to it. Every inch of the road had growndear to her, and she would welcome each clump of ferns or gurgling reachof stream as if she were greeting old friends. After five days in theprosaic, matter-of-fact, workaday, self-contained little world ofschool, her week-ends seemed to belong to a different planet.
Avelyn was a girl who loved sometimes to be quite alone. She had afavourite seat on the orchard wall among the ivy, where she would curlherself up with her back against an apple tree and watch the landscapebelow. So changeful and wonderful were the effects of storm and sunshineover this valley, that it never looked for one half-hour the same.Sometimes there would be sunrise tints of rose and violet, sometimes asoft yellow haze, sometimes storm-clouds would roll from end to end, orperhaps a magnificent rainbow would span the gorge like an etherealbridge, or, grander still, the lightning would flash its wicked forksover the hills from summit to base, gleaming against a background ofinky darkness.
The very air at Walden seemed softer than at Harlingden. It was a mildautumn; leaves lingered long on the trees and made the woods gorgeous,and traveller's-joy hung in exuberant masses over the hedgerows, like asoft silver cloud trying to veil the growing bareness beneath.
One Saturday early in December Avelyn started off to see Pamela. It wassome distance to Moss Cottage, and, instead of walking by the high road,she meant to take a path that led up the gorge and across the hill. Itwas a glorious morning; a grey wind-swept sky showed, here and there,bright patches of blue between the masses of heavy clouds that wererolling down from the hill-tops like smoke from a cauldron, and fitfulgleams of sunshine, bursting out in wonderful brilliance, mademarvellous effects of light and shadow. The river, winding slowlythrough the marsh lands, was now vivid blue, now inky purple, as itreflected the clouds or the sunshine; a mass of larch-clad hill-sideshowed dark in contrast to the red of the ploughed field on its summit,which was catching the light descending in rays from one bright patchabove. In a few moments all had changed: the larches were tipped withgold, the marsh lands were purest emerald, and the hills veiled in filmymists floating like threads of gossamer down the slopes. Avelyn turnedfrom this wide prospect and plunged up the glen, with her face towardsthe hill whence the mist was rolling. Ages ago a glacier must haveslidden down there, and left its mark on the huge boulders which layscattered everywhere around. Over this rough bed a stream, swollen bydays of incessant rain, thundered along, its brown, peat-stained waterschurned to the whitest spray as it forced its way in leaping cataractsover the rocks. Stepping-stones, which could be easily crossed in July,were deep under feet of foam, and the lower boughs of the trees werewashed and swayed by the flood. It was so sheltered that the gale, whichhad stripped the leaves on the hill-side above, had spared enough hereto tint the gorge with gold and brown. Some of the oaks were stillgreen; a birch displayed the purest Naples yellow; low-growing mountainashes and alders had kept their summer clothing intact, and the thickundergrowth of briar and bramble was verdant as ever. Even morebeautiful, perhaps, were the bare boughs of the hazel copse, theexquisite tender shades of which were such a subtle blending of purplesand greys as to defy the most cunning brush that artist ever wielded,and, contrasted with an occasional pine, or holly, or ivy tree, made adream of delicate colour.
The boulders were almost completely covered with vivid green mosses, insheets so thick and deep and compact that a slight pull would raise ayard at a time. Here and there among them were tiny bright redtoadstools, or some of the larger purple or orange varieties that hadlingered on since October. On a hazel twig Avelyn found the curiousbirds'-nest fungus, with its tiny eggs packed neatly inside. The day wasso mild that a squirrel was taking a whiff of fresh air, waving hisfeathery tail from a fir tree overhead, but at the sight of a humanbeing he disappeared suddenly into a hollow in a big tree, where nodoubt he had established cosy winter quarters. There were fewbirds--perhaps they did not like the dampness or the roar of thewater--but Avelyn caught sight of a dipper darting down the stream, aflight of long-tailed tits twittering noisily for a moment or two on atree-top, and a heron sailing majestically towards the mountains. On thebrambles the unpicked blackberries still hung ripe, though so absolutelysodden and tasteless that they were not worth the eating; there was evena spray of blossom left here and there. A branch of scarlet hips shonebrightly in the sunlight; the birds, sated with yew berries, had sparedit thus far, and it rivalled the holly on the bush close by, whiletrails of bryony berries repeated the colour with varieties of lemonand orange. There were a few wild flowers, even in December--a belatedfoxglove, a clump of ragwort, a blue harebell, or a stray specimen ofbuttercup, campion, herb robert, yarrow, thistle, and actually astrawberry blossom. The tall equisetum lingered on the boggy bank, andferns were everywhere green; great clumps of the common polypody clungto the tree-trunks and flourished on boughs high overhead, and under therocks grew the delicate fronds of the English maidenhair, or the rarerbeech fern.
Avelyn had at last reached the waterfall. The great white cascade leapedover a ledge of rock, and dashed with such thundering force into thepool below that all the air around was filled with floating mist onwhich the sun formed a dancing rainbow. As each neighbourhood has itsown distinctive scent, so each stream has its own peculiar sound, as ifit would give us some message that it has no words to convey. The littlegurgling brook tries to tell us cheery things; the slow-flowing riverhas a sadder story; the trout stream babbles kindly hopes. To Avelyn theleaping, rushing cascade, with its whirl of living, dashing foam, seemedto be calling out in a voice that rose and fell with the roar of thewaters: "Therefore with Angels and Archangels, and with all the companyof Heaven, we laud and magnify Thy glorious name".
She stood a long time gazing at the foam and the mist and the rainbow,then she turned and plunged up among the trees to the head of the glen.Looking back she felt as if she had held Nature, or something biggerthan Nature, tight by the hand.
From the top of the gorge was an easy walk across fields to MossCottage. In spite of the bright morning the little house looked gloomyamong the trees. It always struck Avelyn with an air of extrememelancholy. She was almost morbidly sensitive to impressions. Shedecided that she would not go to the front door, because she would thenbe certain to see Pamela's mother, and somehow she felt ratherfrightened of poor, quiet, retiring Mrs. Reynolds. She knew that herfriend would probably be at work in the garden, so she tacked into thewood and climbed the palings at the back. Only half of the ground behindthe cottage had as yet been brought into cultivation, and the part whereAvelyn descended was still a wilderness. There were large rocks andtangled masses of brambles, and faded clumps of ragwort and teasel, andyellow bracken stumps. Not far away, however, was a newly-dug border,with a spade lying on the ground, and Pamela's hat. Pamela herself wasnot to be seen, but surely she must be somewhere near. Avelyn prowledabout in search of her. She did not want to go up to the cottage, anddecided that if her friend were indoors she would wait until she cameout again. Possibly she might be in the hen-house. That was certainly analternative. She had heard Pamela mention hens. In the distance someroofs were visible which looked like outbuildings. She went toinvestigate. Right in the far corner of the garden, almost indeed in thewood itself, and thickly embedded in trees, she came upon
a ramshackle,tumble-down, two-storied kind of stable. A giant oak, shrouded with ivy,stretched out long protecting arms and almost hid it from view; the roofwas built against the very bole of the tree, whose branches shelteredthe windows. Was Pamela here? Avelyn gave a long coo-e-e and called hername. The next moment a startled face looked out from the upper window.
"Hallo, Pam!" shouted Avelyn gleefully, "I've unearthed you at last, oldsport!"
"Wait a sec. I'll come down," returned her friend in a cautious voice.
Pamela appeared from out the stable door, with a rainbow face in whichstorm and sunshine seemed to be struggling.
"I never expected to see you, Ave! Have you dropped from the skies?"
"No, climbed over the palings. I thought I'd be sure to find yousomewhere about in the garden. I saw your hat, and went to look foryou."
"Yes. I was gardening."
"Is this your hen-house?"
"No, it's not the hen-house, it's--just a kind of stable."
"It reminds me of the Swiss Family Robinson, or Robin Hood's shanty inthe depths of Sherwood Forest. You could climb up that tree if you goton to the roof."
As Avelyn's eyes glanced up the bole of the huge oak Pamela's followedwith a look of strained anxiety. She laid her hand on her friend's armand drew her inside the stable. She seemed ill at ease.
"What's the matter, Pam?"
"Oh, nothing!"
"You're not yourself at all."
"Yes, indeed I am."
"I don't believe you're pleased to see me!"
"Ave! I've been dreaming of you all the morning."
"Then what is it?"
Pamela was silent.
"Something's worrying you. I can see that plainly enough."
"Yes. I own I'm worried."
"Won't you tell me?"
"I can't."
"Is it a secret?"
"It is just at present. I want to think it over."
While she spoke Pamela kept glancing anxiously out at the door. Shesuddenly turned with frightened eyes.
"Ave! Uncle Fritz is coming! You must hide, quick! He mustn't catch youhere for all the world! Run behind this stall. Don't move till he'sgone."
AVELYN, CROUCHED UNDER THE MANGER, COULD HEAR THEBULLYING TONE IN HIS VOICE]
She hustled Avelyn into the darkest corner of the stable, then herselfsat down on the foot of the ladder that led to the floor above. A soundof footsteps brushing the grass was heard from outside, and in anothermoment Mr. Hockheimer entered.
"What are you doing down here?" he asked sharply. "I told you to stopupstairs."
"I've only just come down."
"Any message?"
"No, none at all."
"One might come just when you are fooling about here," he frowned. "Whydon't you do as I tell you?"
Avelyn, crouched under the manger, could not see his face, but she couldhear the bullying tone in his voice.
"Do you think I feed you and educate you for you to do just as youlike?" continued Mr. Hockheimer angrily. "What would become of you if itweren't for me, I should like to know? Another time when I set you to doanything you'll do it, or I'll know the reason why. Here, get up and letme pass!"
He pulled her roughly off the ladder and walked up himself. Hisfootsteps creaked on the boarded floor above, then all was silence.Pamela crept softly up the ladder, peeped into the room above, anddescended as quietly as she came; then, crossing to the stall whereAvelyn was hidden, put her finger on her lips for silence and beckonedher friend towards the door. She led her hurriedly along the garden.Neither spoke a word till they reached the palings.
"I'm awfully sorry I came, Pam!" apologized Avelyn.
"Never mind, you couldn't help it. How should you know Uncle Fritz wouldbe here?"
"I certainly shouldn't have come if I had known."
"Who would? Ave, have you ever seen a little wild linnet get into abird-catcher's net?"
"No."
"I have. It runs and struggles and beats its wings, and the more ittries to escape the worse it gets caught in the meshes. Ave, at presentI feel like that linnet."
"Can't I help you, Pam?"
"Not yet. I want to think. When I really feel you can help me, I shallcome and ask you. You wouldn't fail me?"
"I'd help you for all I'm worth, if it's against your uncle."
Pamela's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm so utterly alone," she faltered. "Mother doesn't understand. SinceFather died she has never cared for anything. She's content to live hereon Uncle's bounty. She's so absolutely trusting and unsuspicious, justlike a child. I never can get her to see things as I do. Although I'mhardly fourteen, I often feel that I know more of the world than shedoes. Just at present Mother is going about with her eyes closed."
"And you?"
"I'm keeping my eyes particularly wide open, and my mouth tight shut,"replied Pamela, as she kissed her friend good-bye and helped her toclimb the palings.
Avelyn went home very thoughtfully. She found the boys digging in thekitchen garden, and confided to them her morning's experience. Theydecided that something mysterious must be going on at Moss Cottage.
"It looks fishy!" said David, slowly scraping the earth off his bootswith the edge of his spade.
"What has that old Hun got up his sleeve?" enquired Anthony, shaking hishead.
"I don't know. After what we saw in the wood I'd believe anything ofhim."
"Shall we tell the Vicar, or somebody?" suggested Avelyn.
"No! no!" protested David emphatically. "Whatever you do, Ave, forgoodness' sake don't blab! We've no proper evidence yet, and if storiesbegin to get about the village he'll know he's suspected, and he'll becareful. Just you leave this to me. It's my first 'case', and I want toworry it out. Remember, I'm going to be a barrister some day, when thewar is over, if I don't go out to France first and get killed. OldHockheimer's deep, but he doesn't know we're watching him. Two Britishboys ought to be a match for a German!"
"I'd shoot him first and watch him afterwards if I had my way," declaredTony bloodthirstily.
It was on that very same afternoon that a fresh planet swam into theWatson horizon, or, in other words, that they made a new acquaintance.The Vicar was distinctly responsible for it. He was standing at the topof the churchyard steps, talking to a somebody, the toe of whose bootalone was visible round the corner, and when he saw Anthony passing inthe road below he beckoned to him. Tony mounted the steps, and foundthat the boot belonged to a young officer in khaki, who stood with hishands behind his back contemplating the tombstones.
"Hallo, sonnie!" said the Vicar affably. "Doing anything special thisafternoon? This is Captain Harper, who's in charge of the camp near theriver. He wants to go and see the Roman fort on the top of Weldon Hill,and he doesn't know the way. Have you time to take him?"
Anthony's grey eyes scanned the Captain's dark ones for one searchingmoment, but in that moment he loved him, and would have offered to actguide to the top of Mount Everest if required.
"I'd like to go," he volunteered. "You don't mind David coming too, doyou?"
"I don't know who David is, but let him come, by all means!" smiled theofficer. "Thanks very much, Mr. Holt, for finding someone to 'personallyconduct' me!"
So it happened that David and Anthony started off with Captain Harper,and by the time they had reached the Roman Camp they had decided thatthey "liked him awfully", and when they returned to Lyngates they feltas if they had known him for years. They talked about school, andfootball, and fishing, and treacling for moths, and a great many otherinteresting topics, and he told them a little about his experiences atthe front, and how he had been wounded.
"How long have you been at Netherton?" asked Anthony as they paused bythe gate of Walden.
"About six weeks."
"I wonder we've not seen you before."
"I've been very busy with my work. Is this where you live?"
"Yes. Come in and see Mother, won't you?"
Captain Harper's g
lance swept the front of the picturesque little house,and finally rested on the patch of ivy-covered wall where Daphne, abewitching, hatless vision, with the sunset gleaming on her bronze hair,stood with unconscious profile turned towards them, planting snowdropbulbs in the crannies.
"If she won't think I'm intruding," he replied diffidently.
But the boys had him each by an arm, and were hauling him in by sheerforce.
"Mother's not one of those horrid stuck-up people who'll offer you twofingers to shake, and wither you up. Just come and speak to her, andjudge for yourself."
"Mr. Holt calls her the very soul of hospitality," declared Anthonyimpressively.