A PAPER CHASE

Sam Stone did not hold out very long. Jill pursued him everywhere, and was never tired of dilating on his selfishness and greediness, in refusing to give up a tenth of his weekly wage.

She was beside herself with delight one day, when he came to her with a two-shilling piece.

"That be my portion for that there scarlet bag, missy," he said. "I'll stick to it for a bit an' give it reg'lar every week, but if-so-be that I be wantin' of it, well I must have it. That's all I can say, an' I hope fayther won't miss his comforts through it!"

"You must never go back from it," said Jill looking up at him solemnly. "It's a vow! You can't break a vow, it's a much more solemn thing than a promise!"

"But I don't mean to make no vow!" said Sam.

That would not suit Jill at all. She talked away to him, and finally threatened that she would get Miss Falkner to come and see him and explain it to him.

"She'll make you see you ought to do it."

"I'll do my best, missy, but 'tis the prayer you say I must make, stumps me. I've been a-looking through the chapter, an' Jacob he spoke up very certain-like about the Lord being his God. I don't set up to be a religious man myself, and I don't want to make no promises that I bain't a-goin' to keep!"

Jill insisted upon getting her Bible and reading the verses through to him.

"Jacob doesn't promise anything wonderful, Sam. He only says if God will be good to him and take care of him, he will make Him his God, and give his tenth to Him. Why the Lord is your God, Sam, isn't He?"

"I don't know what the words mean rightly," said Sam dubiously.

"They just mean that you must belong to God, and He will belong to you. You do belong to Him already, Sam, you know you do!"

"I bain't so sure."

"Oh, Sam! God made you, and keeps you alive every day, and Miss Falkner says it isn't only what God does for us, but Jesus died for us, so that ought to make us belong to Him doubly sure!"

"Well," said Sam after long thought, "I'll come to 'Bethel' to-morrow."

So the next day saw him go through the little ceremony with great feeling and earnestness of purpose, though the effort cost him a good deal.

"I've done it fayther," he said when he went home, "I've tooken the vow for good and all. I thought it were a kind o' game when Miss Jill first brought it up, but I've been readin' the Bible, an' it do seem very plain, an'—an'—well—we do be ungrateful creatures to the good God!"

The scarlet bag grew heavy with coppers as time went on. Norah and Rose Beecher came over to tea one day, and were persuaded to join "Our Tenth Society!"

Jill got to calling it grandly the "O.T.S." and soon had the satisfaction of enrolling Annie the school-room maid as one of its members.

Then came talk of summer holidays. Mona came into the school-room one evening to consult with Miss Falkner about it.

"I suppose you must go home?" she asked. "You would not be able to take the children to the seaside?"

"I am afraid not," said Miss Falkner. "I have a mother who lives quite alone, and who looks for me to come to her whenever I can."

"Ah," said Mona with a little sigh. "You have something that I have not."

Then she added in a different tone—

"I don't know what to do with the children. They play such pranks, and they're too old for nurses. Jack and Jill are quite beyond them."

Miss Falkner could offer no suggestion. Mona went on—

"Miss Webb has offered to look after them, but I want her to come abroad with me, and she cannot do both."

"I suppose you will have to leave them here for their holidays?"

"I see the look in your eyes, Miss Falkner! You think me a selfish wretch for letting my claims on Miss Webb come first. Perhaps you are like Mrs. Errington, who at once saw a solution out of the difficulty. 'Take them to some comfortable farmhouse and look after them yourself!' I told her I should be worn out in twenty-four hours. I often wonder how you can stand it!"

"It is my life-work," said Miss Falkner quietly. "But I am so fond of children that they do not tire me."

"Well," said Mona giving an impatient sigh, "my life-work at present is to amuse myself. I find it hard work sometimes. But as you won't make it easy for me to carry off Miss Webb I suppose I must leave her behind."

And so it was settled. Miss Webb resigned herself to her fate. Mona went to some of her numerous friends, and Miss Falkner took her departure.

The children hovered about her as she packed the day before she went, and hindered rather than helped her.

"Just tell me what your mother and your home is like," said Jill. "I'm going to shut my eyes and pretend I see you. Make yourself saying 'How do you do,' to her."

Miss Falkner smiled.

"Shut your eyes then. A narrow street, and a terrace of small houses with little balconies above. A cab stops at the door, and a young woman—shall I call her?—hurries up the narrow steps. Some one has been watching at the door. A gentle, sweet-faced woman with a bright smile and tired body, comes forward to greet her. Then she takes her to a little upstairs drawing-room, which is full of sweet-smelling flowers, and a canary bird and a big tabby cat—both the best of friends—are also waiting to greet the home-comer. Tea is waiting. A little rosy-cheeked maid brings the kettle in. The windows are open, but the small balcony is full of flowers, and the scent and sight of them makes one forget the narrow, dingy street outside. Can you see my home, Jill? Can you see me sitting down by my mother's side, and saying, 'No more lessons, and no more children for six weeks'?"

"Yes," said Jill with tightly closed eyes, "I can see you; but, oh, Miss Falkner," and here she flung her arms round her governess's neck as she was stooping to put some things in her travelling trunk, "promise on your word and honour that you'll come back to us!"

"Indeed I hope to do so, dear."

"And don't, don't like your mother better than us!"

Miss Falkner could not help laughing. When the very thought of her mother brought a light to her eye and a lump in her throat; when the anticipation of her mother's kiss and greeting was now the first waking thought, how could she explain to a motherless child the strong tie between an only daughter and her mother!

"You must be a good child, Jill, whilst I am away. Let me find you when I come back steadily going forward towards the Golden City. God will help you, darling."

Jill nodded soberly.

"And we'll go on filling our bag. And perhaps the mission church will be built by the time you come back."

Miss Falkner did not damp her hopes. She parted with her little pupils with sincere regret. Bumps sobbed audibly when she wished her good-bye, and Jill crept up to her room to have her weep out in secret. Jack appeared stolidly unconcerned, but when the carriage had taken Miss Falkner away, he went straight to the stables, a forbidden resort.

"Here, Stokes," he called out to one of the grooms, "I've come out here because it's so beastly dull, and I don't care who finds me here; for there isn't a person left in the house that I care about at all!"

For the first few days the children missed their governess very much, then the delights of the holidays took full possession of them. Miss Webb was valiantly trying to do her duty. She took them for drives and for picnics in the woods. She went into the nearest town and bought them outdoor games and story-books; and if she saw them safely to bed at the end of the day without any serious mishap having taken place, she heaved a sigh of relief and said—

"One more day got through safely!"

Jack was her greatest trial. Jill was really trying to be good, but Jack's spirits were hard to restrain, and whatever he did, and wherever he went, Bumps was sure to follow.

One afternoon after their early dinner, Miss Webb retired to her room with a headache. It was a hot, sultry day in August. She left her charges playing a game of cricket on their lawn, and hoped they would stay there till tea-time.

Jill was the first one to give up cricket.

"I'm going to write a letter to Miss Falkner," she said. "You go on playing without me."

"Bumps can't bowl," complained Jack; "she throws the ball up into the sky as if she's aiming at the sun."

"I'll bat," suggested Bumps cheerfully.

"Yes, and I'll put you out, first bowl. There you are, you little stupid!"

Bumps stared blankly at her wicket, then at Jack.

"What shall we do next?" she inquired.

"We'll have a paper chase," suggested Jack, who was never at a loss.

"And where shall we get the paper?" asked Bumps in great glee at the prospect.

"Oh, come on into the house. We'll find it somewhere."

Jack was not particular where he got his paper. Miss Webb's waste-paper basket was first seized, then The Times of the day before and sundry magazines in the drawing-room, then the library was invaded and various papers and circulars abstracted from the writing-table.

"I shall be hare, of course," said Jack as he sat down on the floor with Bumps, and rapidly began to tear his various papers to pieces. "You must give me ten minutes' start, Bumps, by the clock, and then you must follow the paper, and never stop till you catch me up."

"You won't go twenty miles away?" said Bumps very anxiously.

"Of course I won't! And get Jill to come with you. It will be much greater fun if she comes."

Tearing the papers up kept them quiet for a good half-hour, and then Jack started, first taking off his jacket, and making Bumps promise on her honour not to look which way he went.

She waited her ten minutes and then went to Jill.

"Jill, do come and be the other hound. Jack has gone, and oh! he has gone through the thtable, I thee the paper!"

Bumps was too excited to wait. Jill was lying flat on the grass and hardly turned her head. She murmured, "It's too hot," and went on with her writing.

The afternoon wore on. Miss Webb was roused by the tea-bell and went down-stairs congratulating herself upon the quiet behaviour of the children. She found Jill deep in a storybook.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"Paper-chasing," said Jill. "Aren't they stupid, this hot afternoon?"

"But I hope they have not gone far?"

"I don't know. The last time I did it, I was the hare, and I climbed a wall, and fell through a greenhouse the other side, and I was ill for three weeks; the gardener said I might have killed myself."

This was hardly comforting. Miss Webb looked anxiously out of the window.

"If they do not come soon, we must go and look for them. I hope they have not gone outside the grounds!"

"Oh, they mayn't be back till bed-time," said Jill.

"You ought not to have let Bumps go," said Miss Webb sharply. "She is far too small. You ought to have looked after her better!"

Jill did not appear moved in the slightest. She ate her tea and wondered at Miss Webb's concern; but as time went on, and there was no sign of the hare or hound, she began to share Miss Webb's anxiety.

"I'll go and look for them."

Out she ran, and Annie was made to accompany her. They followed the paper down the drive out into the road and across two fields, then it went through a farm-yard up into a loft, down again, and out at a small back gate. The farmer's wife came out and said she had seen both the children, for Bumps had tumbled down in the yard and grazed her knees.

"An' I took her in, an' gave her a piece of plaster, but she were dead set on following the young gentleman."

After going up the lane and going through another field, Annie said she could go no further.

"'Tis getting dark, and they'll most like be home by this time. Come back, Miss Jill. Master Jack ought to be ashamed of himself leading us this chase!"

So they turned back, but when they came in they found that Miss Webb had ordered the gardeners and grooms all out, for they had not returned.

Jill's bed-time came. It grew quite dark, and then at last voices were heard in the hall and Miss Webb rushed out. It was Bumps in the arms of a big farmer.

"I found her in a ditch," he said; "my mare shied as I were-a-drivin' home, and I seed somethin' white by the roadside, and then I seed it were a child. She have hurt her foot, poor little 'un. She must have failed a-tryin' to get over a fence above!"

"Is she dead?" cried Jill, pressing forward, for Bumps hung a limp and apparently lifeless bundle over the farmer's arm.

"Bless 'ee, no! Her be faint an' exhausted, but put her to bed an' she'll be all right in the mornin'. Leastwise if her foot be not injured!"

So poor Bumps was put to bed, and her little swollen foot bathed and bandaged, and after a good deal of petting and feeding, she was able to look up and speak.

"It wath my short legs," she said sadly, and somehow or other this old excuse of hers, which was always brought forward when she had failed to do what the others did, brought the tears as well as a smile to Miss Webb's face. Not a word of blame or reproach was uttered. But when she had dropped into a sound sleep, Miss Webb left her, and her thoughts were now centred on the missing Jack.

The gardeners and grooms failed to trace him, and returned to the house between ten and eleven that night without having found any sign of him. Miss Webb passed a sleepless night, and early in the morning the search was continued.

But Jill was the first in the field. She got up at six o'clock, and with determination in her small face, she trotted off following the paper track.

Over the same ground as the day before she went, but now in the sunshine it was a different matter, and though in some places the paper had disappeared, her sharp eyes tracked it out again, and she went on with renewed vigour.

At last she came to a standstill. The paper was to be seen close to a private plantation. And then it went no further. Jill climbed a low fence in spite of a board with "Trespassers will be prosecuted," and looked in every direction for signs of more paper. But none did she find.

"I'll go through the plantation," she said to herself, "and see where it leads, for I believe that Jack must have come to an end of his paper."

She followed a little beaten track; and presently with joy saw lying in a bush a white cotton pillow-case. It had been missing from Jack's bed the night before and was the bag he carried his paper in. Jill took it up and found it—as she expected—empty. Then she pressed forward, and at last came to the other end of the plantation. A deep and rather wide stream ran between it and a green field, in which there were several horses grazing. She looked down at the stream, then taking off her shoes and stockings she boldly splashed across. She was in the act of putting her stockings on again, when a gruff voice startled her.

"Now here's another of 'em!"

Looking up she encountered the gaze of a stout, red-faced old gentleman.

"Have you seen Jack?" she asked eagerly.

He shook his fist at her.

"Didn't you see my board?" he shouted. "How dare you come on in the face of it, and disturb my birds! If it isn't poachers, it's children now-a-days. I hate 'em both!"

"I'm very sorry," said Jill; "but please where is Jack. He has been away all night, and we can't find him."

"If that impudent boy I caught and thrashed yesterday was Jack, you had better follow him, and if you aren't quick about it you'll get what he got!"

He brandished his stick so fiercely, that Jill fled in terror across the field. Out of a white gate and down a lane she ran, and never stopped till she reached a small cottage. Here she pulled up and breathlessly asked a woman if she had seen her brother.

"Were he a small boy with flannel shirt and trousers, and a straw hat? Then yestere'en 'bout seven o'clock, he came runnin' down the road an' Mike the tinker were in front with his old cart. I seed the boy speak to 'im, and then up he climbed, and away they drove, and I'm afeered that Mike was the worse for drink."

"Where does Mike live?" asked Jill with a sinking heart.

"About four mile from here, but he were a-goin' on his rounds, and his next stopping-place was at Thornton."

Thornton was the nearest town. Jill knew it well, but it was beyond her walking powers.

"I can't think why he hasn't come home," she said half crying. "I don't know what to do."

"Here's some un comin'," said the woman shading her eyes with her hand. "'Tis a man on a hoss."

Jill looked down the road, and when the rider drew near, she saw to her intense delight that it was Sir Henry Talbot.

He stopped his horse directly he saw her.

"What!" he said; "another of you straying. Are you still looking for widows?"

"Oh no," Jill cried; "I'm looking for Jack. He is lost, and I've come out to find him, and a drunk tinker has driven him away!"

Sir Henry nodded gravely.

"I know all about it," he said; "I've sent Jack home in my carriage."

Jill's face brightened at once.

"Oh, I am so glad; why didn't he come home?"

"He couldn't very well. I was driving home last night from a dinner party between twelve and one, and I came upon the tinker and Jack under the cart and horse by the old bridge. It's a wonder they hadn't fallen into the river. The tinker had his ribs broken, and Jack a nasty cut on the head, but my housekeeper plastered him up, and he's quite himself this morning. What scamps you are! How are you going to get home? I think you had better come up on my horse. He'll carry us both."

So in a very short time Jill returned triumphantly to the house riding in front of Sir Henry.

Miss Webb saw them from a window and hurried out.

"How can I thank you, Sir Henry? He has arrived safe and sound. I feel I shall be a white-haired old lady by the time Mona comes back. And now you've brought Jill home. I do feel so grateful."

"But I haven't been lost," said Jill in an aggrieved tone.

And then she ran indoors to find Jack.