The many acres of strawberry gardens were situated some little distance from the camp, so that the walk backwards and forwards occupied about a quarter of an hour each way. Once work was begun, nobody returned to the tents except on some very urgent errand, as the loss of time involved would be great. A really valid excuse occurred one morning, however. Aveline missed her watch, and remembered that she had laid it on the breakfast table in the marquee. It seemed very unsafe to leave it there, so she reported the matter to Miss Gibbs, who told her to go at once and fetch it, and sent Raymonde with her, not liking her to have the walk alone. The two girls were rather glad of the excuse. They were not shirkers, but the picking made their backs tired, and the run through the fields was a welcome change. They found the watch still lying on the table in the marquee, and Aveline clasped it round her wrist.

They were leaving the tent when Miss Jones, the canteen matron, bustled in, looking so worried that they ventured to ask: “What’s the matter?”

She stopped, as if it were a relief to explode.

“Matter, indeed! You’ll have no potatoes or vegetables for your dinner, that’s all, and nothing 125 at all for your supper! Mrs. Harper hasn’t turned up, and I can’t leave the place with nobody about. I meant to go to Ledcombe this morning for fresh supplies, and it’s early-closing day, too, the shops will shut at one. Oh, dear! I can’t think what’s to be done! These village helps are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Mrs. Harper, the cook, had failed the camp before, taking an occasional day off, without any previous notice, to attend to her domestic affairs at home. Miss Jones knew from former experience that she would either stroll in casually about midday, or more probably would not come at all until to-morrow. In the meantime fifty people required meals, and the situation was urgent.

“Couldn’t we go to Ledcombe for you?” suggested Raymonde.

The matron’s face cleared; she jumped at the proposition.

“Geordie’s somewhere about the buildings. He’d harness the pony for you, if you can manage to drive. I’ll give you a list of what’s needed. The meat’s come, and I can put that on to stew, and get the puddings ready, and if you’ll be back by eleven there’ll be time to wash the potatoes. It’s only half-past eight now. I’ll write down all I want done.”

It was impossible to go back to the gardens and ask permission from Miss Gibbs. The girls considered that the matron’s authority was sufficient to justify the expedition, which was certainly for the benefit of the camp. Neither of them had ever handled the reins in her life before, so the drive would be a decided adventure. 126

Armed with a long list of necessaries, two huge market baskets, and Miss Jones’s hand-bag containing a supply of money, they started off to the farm to find Geordie, a half-witted boy who did odd jobs about the fold-yard. After a considerable hunt through the barns they discovered him at last inside the pigsty, and bribed him with twopence to go and catch the pony. Dandy was enjoying himself in the field, and did not come readily; indeed, the girls were almost despairing before he was finally led in by his forelock. The little conveyance was a small, very old-fashioned gig, and though in its far-off youth it may have possessed a smart appearance, it was now decidedly more useful than ornamental. The varnish was worn and scratched, the cushions had been re-covered with cheap American cloth, the waterproof apron was threadbare, and one of the splash-boards was split. The harness also was of the most ancient description, and the rough pony badly needed clipping, so that the whole turn-out was deplorably shabby and second-rate.

“It’s hardly the kind of thing one would drive in round the Park!” laughed Aveline.

“Scarcely! It’s the queerest little egg-box on two wheels I’ve ever seen. But what does it matter? Nobody knows us in Ledcombe. The main point is, will it get us over the ground?”

“I wish we’d bicycles instead!”

“But we couldn’t bring back a whole cargo of stores on them. I think it’s top-hole!”

With much laughter and many little jokes the girls tucked themselves into their funny conveyance, evidently greatly to the interest of Dandy, 127 who turned his head anxiously as they mounted the step.

“He do be a wise ’un!” explained Geordie. “You see, sometimes Mr. Rivers takes his father-in-law, as weighs seventeen stone, and, with a calf or maybe a young pig as well, it do make a big load. Dandy don’t be one to overwork hisself. I reckon you’ll have to use the whip to he!”

Neither of the girls had even the most elementary experience of driving, but Raymonde, as the elder, and the one who in general possessed the greater amount of nerve, boldly seized the reins and armed herself with the whip. Geordie released Dandy’s head, and gave him a sounding smack as a delicate hint to depart, a proceeding which brought clouds of dust from his shaggy coat, and caused him to scramble suddenly forward, and plunge down the lane at quite an adventurous and stylish pace.

“If he won’t go, just cuss at him!” yelled Geordie as a last piece of advice.

Though Dandy might make a gallant beginning, he had no intention of breaking the record for speed, and at the end of a few hundred yards dropped into an ambling jog-trot, a form of locomotion which seemed to jolt the badly hung little gig to its uttermost.

“It’s rather a painful form of exercise!” gasped Aveline, setting her feet firmly in an attempt to avoid the jarring. “I believe something must be wrong with the springs. Can’t you make him go faster?”

“Only if I beat him; and then suppose he runs away?”

“Well, if he does, we’ll each cling on to one rein 128 and pull. I suppose driving is pretty much like steering a bicycle. Is the rule of the road the same?”

“Of course. Don’t be silly !”

“Well, I never can make out why it’s different for foot-passengers. Why should they go to the right, and vehicles to the left?”

“You may be certain all motors will take the middle of the road, at any rate. We shall have to be prepared to make a dash for the hedge when we hear a ‘too-hoo’ round the corner. I’ve no mind to be run over and squashed out flat!”

“Like the naughty children who teased Diogenes in an old picture-book I used to have. I always thought it was a lovely idea of his to start the tub rolling, and simply flatten them out like pancakes. I expect it’s a true incident, if we only knew. One of those things that are not historical, but so probable that you’re sure they must have happened. He’d reason it out by philosophy first, and feel it was a triumph of mind over matter. Perhaps his chuckles when he saw the result were the origin of the term ‘a cynical laugh’. The children in the picture looked so exactly like pieces of rolled pastry when the tub had done its work.”

“I don’t think the motors would have any more compunction than Diogenes, so the moral is—give them as wide a berth as possible. If we were driving a big hay-cart, I’d enjoy blocking the way!”

They had turned out of the lane, and were now on the high road to Ledcombe, but progressing at an extremely slow pace. Raymonde ventured to apply the whip, but on the pony’s thick coat it appeared to produce as slight an impression as the 129 tickling of a fly, and, when she endeavoured to give a more efficacious flick, she got the lash ignominiously entangled in the harness. There was nothing for it but to pull up, and for Aveline to climb laboriously from the trap, and release the much-knotted piece of string. Rendered more careful by this catastrophe, Raymonde wielded her whip with caution, and gave what encouragement she could by jerking the reins vigorously, and occasionally ejaculating an energetic “Go on, Dandy!” The pony, however, was a cunning little creature, and, knowing perfectly well that he was in amateur hands, took full advantage of the situation. Under the excuse of a very slight hill he reduced his pace to a crawl, and began to crop succulent mouthfuls of grass from the hedge-bank, as a means of combining pleasure with business. It was only by judicious proddings with the butt-end of the whip that he could be induced to hasten his steps.

In spite of the difficulties with Dandy, the drive was enjoyable. The country was very pretty, for they were nearing the hills, and the landscape was more diversified than in the immediate neighbourhood of the camp. They passed through a beech wood, where the sun was glinting through leaves as transparent and delicate as fairies’ wings.

“I feel like primeval man to-day,” said Aveline. “The wander fever is on me, and I want to see fresh things.”

“We shall be in Ledcombe soon.”

“I don’t mean towns; it’s something much subtler—different fields, unexplored woods, a new piece of river, or even a patch of grass with flowers I haven’t found before.” 130

“I know,” agreed Raymonde. “It’s the feeling one had when one was small, and read about how the youngest prince set out into the great wide world to seek his fortune. I always envied him.”

“Or the knights-errant—they had a splendid time roaming through the forest, and tilting a spear against anyone who was ready for single combat. One might lead a very merry life yet, like Robin Hood and his band, in the ‘good greenwood’, though we shouldn’t be ‘hunting the King’s red deer’.”

“It was pretty much like camp life, I dare say, only a little rougher than ours. More like the gipsy diggings.”

“Talking of gipsies, I believe you’ve conjured them up. That looks like a caravan over there. I expect it is some more of the tribe coming to pick strawberries.”

The gipsies, collected in a group in the roadway, were loudly bewailing a catastrophe, for their horse had just fallen down dead. Until they could obtain another they must needs stay by the roadside, and could not get on to the gardens.

“They’re a handsome set,” said Aveline, taking out her camera, which she had brought with her. “Just look at the children!”

“It’s the mother that attracts me most,” said Raymonde.

The woman, indeed, was a beautiful specimen of Romany blood, tall and dark, with great flashing eyes and coarse black hair. She resembled a man more than the gentler sex. She wore a very short red skirt, and had a little barrel hung over her shoulder by a strap. 131

“I wish I’d brought my camera!” murmured Raymonde. “I simply hadn’t room to stuff it in. It was a choice between it and my night-gear, and I thought Gibbie’d treat me to jaw-wag if I left out my pyjamas.”

Aveline descended from the trap to take her photo, hoping to get a snapshot of the gipsies, just as they were, grouped in dramatic attitudes round the dead horse. At the sight of two well-dressed strangers, however, the tribal instincts asserted themselves, and the woman was pushed hurriedly forward by the rest.

“Tell your fortune, my pretty lady!” she began to Aveline in a half-bold, half-wheedling voice. “Cross the poor gipsy’s hand with a shilling and she’ll read the stars for you!”

“No, thanks!” said Aveline, rather scared by the woman’s jaunty, impudent manner. “I only wanted to take a photo.”

“Cross the gipsy’s hand first, lady, before you take her photo. Don’t you want to know the future, lady? I can read something in your face that will surprise you. Just a shilling, lady—only a shilling!”

The rest of the tribe were approaching the trap and begging from Raymonde, looking so rough and importunate that the girls began to be thoroughly alarmed, and afraid for the safety of the money they had brought with them. Aveline regretted her folly in having dismounted from the gig, and backed towards it again, pestered by the gipsy. She did not want a photo now, only to get away as swiftly as possible. But that the dark-eyed crew did not seem disposed to allow. A dusky hand was 132 laid on the pony’s reins, and a voluble tongue poured forth a jumble of planets and predictions. The situation had grown extremely unpleasant for the girls, when fortunately a cart was seen coming in the distance. The gipsies melted away instantly, Aveline jumped into the trap, and Raymonde whipped up Dandy, who evidently resenting on his own account the tribe’s interference, set off at a swinging pace, and soon left the caravan behind. In another ten minutes they had reached the outskirts of Ledcombe, and arrived at civilization.

The little country town was one of those sleepy places where you could almost shoot a cannon down the High Street without injuring anybody. There were shops with antiquated-looking goods in the windows; a market hall, closed except on Tuesdays; a church with a picturesque tower, a bank, and a large number of public-houses. It seemed to the girls as if almost every other building displayed a green dragon, or a red lion, or a black boar, or some other sign to indicate that the excessive thirst of the inhabitants could be satisfied within. Raymonde felt rather nervous at driving in the town, but fortunately, being a Thursday morning, there was little traffic in the streets. Had it been market day she might have got into difficulties. She sat outside in the gig while Aveline went into the shops and purchased the various commodities on Miss Jones’s list. These were so many, that by the time everything had been bought the gig was crammed to overflowing, leaving only just room for the two girls. Raymonde sat with her feet on a sack of potatoes, Aveline clutched the big baskets full of loaves and vegetables, while parcels were piled up 133 on the floor and on the seat. Their business had taken them longer than they expected, and the church clock warned them that they must hurry if the potatoes were to be cooked in time for dinner. As soon as they were clear of the town, Raymonde attempted to communicate the urgency of the case to Dandy. Her efforts were in vain, however. That faithless quadruped utterly refused to proceed faster than an ambling jog-trot, and took no notice of whipping, prodding or poking, beyond flicking his ears as if he thought the flies were troublesome.

“We shall never get back to the camp at this rate,” lamented Raymonde. “What are we to do?”

“Geordie suggested ‘cuss words’,” grinned Aveline. “I expect that’s what Dandy’s accustomed to from most of his drivers.”

“Don’t suppose he’d be particular as to the exact words,” said Raymonde. “Probably it’s the tone of voice that does it. Let’s wait till he gets to the top of this hill, then I’ll prod him again, and we’ll both growl out ‘Go on!’ and see if it has any effect.”

“If it hasn’t, I shall lead him and run by his head. It would be quicker than this pace.”

“We’ll try shouting first. Here we are at the top of the hill. Now, both together, in the gruffest voice you can muster. Are you ready? One—two—three—Go on, Dandy!”

Whether it was really the result of the deep bass tones, or Raymonde’s unexpected prod, or merely the fact that they had arrived at the summit of the slope, the girls could not determine, but the effect on the pony was instantaneous. He gathered all 134 four legs together, and gave a sudden jump, apparently of apprehension, then set off down the hill as fast as he could tear.

“Hold him in!” yelled Aveline, alarmed at such an access of speed.

“I’m trying to!” replied Raymonde, pulling at the reins as hard as her arms would allow.

Dandy, however, seemed determined for once to show his paces, and took no more notice of Raymonde’s checking than he had previously done of her urgings. The little trap was flying like the wind, when without the least warning a most unanticipated thing happened. The worn, crazy old straps of the harness broke, and the pony, giving a wrench that also snapped the reins, ran straight out of the shafts. The gig promptly fell forward, precipitating both girls, amid a shower of parcels, into the road, where they sat for a moment or two almost dazed with the shock, watching the retreating heels of Dandy as he fled in terror of the dangling straps that were hitting him on the flanks.

“Are you hurt?” asked Raymonde at last, getting up and tenderly feeling her scraped shins.

“No, only rather bruised—and astonished,” replied Aveline.

Then the humour of the situation seemed to strike both, for they burst into peals of laughter.

“What are we to do with the trap?” said Aveline. “We can’t drag it back ourselves. And what about the pony? He’s playing truant!”

“And Mr. Rivers said he was so quiet and well-behaved that a baby in arms could drive him!” declared Raymonde, much aggrieved.

“Well, they shouldn’t patch their harness with 135 bits of string!” said Aveline. “It’s very unsafe. I noticed it before we started out, but I supposed it would be all right. Hallo! Here’s Dandy back! Somebody’s caught him!”

It was the gipsy woman who made her appearance, leading the pony. She looked rather scared, and much relieved when she saw Raymonde and Aveline standing safe and sound in the middle of the road.

“I thought for sure someone was killed!” she remarked when she reached the scene of the accident. Though the girls had been frightened of her before, they were glad to see her now, for they had no notion what to do next. She at once assumed command of the situation, sent one of the children, who had followed her, back to the caravan to fetch her husband, and with his assistance set to work and patched up the harness.

“We’re tinkers by trade, lady, so we know how to put in a rivet or two, enough to take you safely home, at any rate; but they don’t ought to send that harness out again, it’s as rotten as can be. Mr. Rivers’s, did you say? Why, it’s his farm as we’re going to, to pick strawberries, as soon as we can get there, with our horse lying dead!”

A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind, and before the harness was mended the girls had struck up quite a friendship with the gipsies, which was further cemented by the transference of half a crown from Raymonde’s purse to the brown hand of the woman, and the bestowal of the greater part of Aveline’s chocolates into the mouths of the dark-eyed children.

Dandy was placed between the shafts once more, 136 and the parcels were restored to the gig. The girls, being doubtful as to the security of the hastily-mended harness, did not venture to mount inside, but led the pony by the head, lest he should be inspired to race down another hill. It was a slow progress back, and the workers were just returning from the fields as they reached the camp. Naturally there were no potatoes for dinner that day, though Raymonde and Aveline congratulated themselves that the bread was just in time. They were the heroines of the hour when they related their adventures, and even Miss Gibbs did not scold them, though they afterwards heard her remarking to Miss Hoyle that Miss Jones was a poor manager, and ought to make better arrangements about catering.

“Gibbie’s got to let fly at somebody!” chuckled Raymonde. “If it can’t be us, it’s someone else, but she’d better not try criticizing Miss Jones’s methods to her face, or there’ll be fighting in the camp.”

“Wouldn’t I like to see a match between them!” sighed Aveline. “I’d stake my all on Gibbie, any day!”

“I don’t know,” said Raymonde reflectively. “Gibbie has fire and spirit, and powers of sarcasm, and traditions of Scotch ancestry; but there’s a suggestion of icy stubbornness about Miss Jones that looks capable of standing out against anybody with bulldog grit. I believe I’d back Miss Jones, if it came to the point!”