Marion St. John Webb

Meanwhile, after walking along for a short distance, Molly thought it would be wise to look up the names of Mrs Rose’s friends, as the daylight was beginning to fade and already the moon was mounting the sky; she had scribbled the names and addresses down on a slip of paper. She noted, with a slight thrill of pleasure, the jingle of the silver bracelet as she took the paper out of her pocket. Poor Molly, she could not feel very happy about the bracelet, of course, as the weight of Jack’s misfortune still crushed her down; but she was certainly pleased to possess such a bracelet. Having discovered that one of Mrs Rose’s friends lived about a quarter of a mile farther on, she determined to search the road until she came to this house, and then ask if Mrs Jennet, for that was the friend’s name, would kindly put her up for the night.

The road now began to grow wilder and more rugged, while here and there, beside the way, were huge rocks and piles of stones. She passed an occasional tree, but these had few leaves on their branches, and were much twisted and bent as though lashed by many storms.

Molly continued to search, but, instead of hurrying along as she had meant to, she found herself moving slower, and gradually slower still, and became aware that she was suddenly very tired. She dragged on for a short distance.

“I can’t do any more searching to-night,” she thought to herself. “I’m too tired. I’ll just make straight for the house—only I wish it wasn’t such a long way off. I’ll never get there.”

Molly found great difficulty in keeping her eyes open now; and if she hadn’t been so thoroughly exhausted and tired she might have been suspicious of this overwhelming wave of sleep that had seized her. She was too tired to think or reason, too tired to be suspicious. She only knew that her feet felt as if they were made of lead, and the only thing she wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep at once.

“Can’t reach the house,” she murmured, drowsily. “Must go to sleep.”

She stumbled across the road, and threw herself down on the grass by the wayside. Oh, how delicious it was, just to lie down and go to sleep! But as her head was sinking back a last wave of consciousness flashed through Molly’s mind of the foolishness of the thing that she was doing ... going to sleep by the roadside ... and if the Pumpkin came along ... she would never be able to save Jack now. At this thought—she rallied for a moment and pulled herself up into a kneeling position. She remained thus for a moment or two, with her head drooping forward. Then she struggled to fight off the wave of sleep that was coming over her again, and managed to crawl a few paces further on.

Although Molly did not know it at the time, this was one of the most critical moments in her adventure. If she had given in and gone comfortably to sleep by the roadside, this story would have had a very different ending. But Molly did not give in, her desire to find the Black Leaf and save her brother was so strong, that in spite of the great odds against her she was able to make one last effort to reach a place of safety. Though there was still no sign of Mrs Jennet’s house, there was fortunately a tree close by. And it was toward this tree that Molly slowly groped her way. She never knew how long it took her to reach that tree, although it was standing only a few feet away from her. But with repeated efforts she at length reached it, and with a great struggle pulled herself up into a standing position, leaning against the trunk. For some time she stood leaning against the tree; she could not remember afterward whether she went to sleep for a while or not—she thought she must have gone to sleep (“Like a horse, standing up,” she told herself). But she had barely lost consciousness when again her desire urged her to make another effort.

This was the last effort, and the hardest of all. Molly scarcely knew how she managed it, but manage she did, to pull herself up into the tree, and curl up among the lower branches. Then, immediately, she was asleep.

All through the moonlit night she slept and did not move. And if anyone passed on the road beneath the tree that night—Molly never knew. And nobody guessed there was a little girl lying asleep in the gnarled old tree by the side of the road that led to Lake Desolate. For little girls who are as tired as Molly must have been have not usually the strength, nor the will, to climb trees.

At daybreak Molly stirred and threw out her right arm, so that it hung down a little, over the edge of one of the branches: and the bracelet, the jingly, silver bracelet, slipped down over her wrist, and as she moved again, it slid over her hand and fell on to the ground at the foot of the tree.

After this Molly seemed more restless, and did not sleep so soundly, though many hours went by, and it was nearly noon before she was aroused at length by some one exclaiming loudly and persistently from beneath the tree, and something cold and hard grabbing at her arms and legs.

Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then became aware that a chubby, startled-looking little woman in a black and white check dress and a black bonnet was calling up to her while she made frantic efforts to catch hold of Molly with the crooked handle of her umbrella.

“Oh, thank goodness, you ’ave woke up, which I thought you never was going to!” cried the plump little woman, dabbing her face with her handkerchief. “Such a fright as you give me, lying quite still there and me a-hollering at you for a hour or more, though I’d never a-seen you if it hadn’t been for your ’and and arm ’anging down out of the tree....”

“Who are you?” asked Molly drowsily. “I’m glad you did wake me up.”

“Maria Jennet is my name,” was the answer. “I done my best to wake you up, but my! you do want a bit of waking. Made me quite ’ot, you ’ave.”

“Oh, are you Mrs Jennet?” said Molly. “Mrs Rose’s friend?”

“I am,” said Mrs Jennet emphatically.

“Why, I was on my way to your house last night, when—when ... Oh!” Molly gave a scream.

“Oh!” screamed Mrs Jennet. “What is it now? You do give a body the jumps, you do!”

But Molly did not answer. She was gazing with horrified eyes at her right arm. On the wrist was a long grey stain!

How had it come there? What did it mean? Molly rubbed her arm vigorously with her pocket-handkerchief—but she could not remove the stain. She had seen a grey stain like this before; but where?... And then she remembered. It was on Old Nancy’s finger, the evening she slept through the sunset hour. Molly then realized what had happened.

“THANK GOODNESS YOU ’AVE WOKE UP!”

“Of course, he was another of them. What a stupid girl I was to trust him,” she exclaimed. “But where has my bracelet gone! Wait a minute please,” she continued, in reply to Mrs Jennet’s excited questioning. “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.” She climbed down from the tree and searched about in the grass beneath. “Ah, here it is!” she cried, and snatched up her bracelet, only to drop it again instantly, as if it were red-hot coals. For on the inner side of the bracelet she saw the remains of a dull grey powder still clinging to it. “So that’s how he did it!” Molly nodded to herself. “That explains things.”

She understood now that the watchmaker was another spy employed by the Pumpkin, and the bracelet which she had accepted from him had contained this magic powder which had rubbed off on to her arm, and sent her to sleep. The old watchmaker was evidently relying on the powder acting quickly, and Molly, overwhelmed by sleep, being compelled to rest by the side of the road—or somewhere where the Pumpkin could easily catch her. Luckily for Molly, she had had enough will power to fight her way to a place of safety; and luckily, also, the bracelet had slipped off and so gradually she had regained consciousness again. Molly had had a very narrow escape, and she felt decidedly bewildered as to the best way of winning through the difficulties around her. Of one thing she felt certain, she must be very distrustful of everything and everybody—except, of course, where people were recommended to her by some one she could trust. So far, all the links in her chain of friends had proved good and true; Glan—Old Nancy—Aunt Janet—The Goblin—Miss Marigold—Mr Papingay—Mrs Rose—and now, Mrs Jennet. She could trust Mrs Jennet, surely.

Mrs Jennet was bubbling over with curiosity about the stain and the bracelet, and Molly answering some of her numerous questions, asked her to lend her the umbrella for a minute. Mrs Jennet watched breathlessly while Molly dug a little hole with the point, then picked up the bracelet on the tip of the umbrella and dropped it in the hole and piled earth and stones on it.

“It might only bring trouble to some one else if I leave it here,” she said.

Then she accepted Mrs Jennet’s kind and vigorous invitation to go home with her and ‘have a bite of something’ before proceeding on her way. As they walked along Molly told her companion a little of what had already taken place, and what had happened to Jack. At which Mrs Jennet protested loudly and even wept a little; then stood still in the middle of the roadway while she told Molly all the horrible things she would like to do to the Pumpkin if she caught him.

Mrs Jennet’s house was only a short distance away, and stood with several other houses by the side of the main road—the last dwellings these before you reached Lake Desolate, which was about two miles further on, she told Molly. Molly learned that the men from these houses worked in the mines near by. Mrs Jennet’s husband worked there and would not be home till evening.

While Mrs Jennet was bustling about, laying the table, and frying eggs and bacon, Molly got out her map and looked to see where the mines were. They were not marked on her map at all, and Mrs Jennet explained, when Molly showed her the map, that the mines were just over the border of Molly’s square; at which Molly was rather relieved, as it had struck her that she might have to go down the mines perhaps to search for the Black Leaf. But on second thoughts she remembered—of course, the Black Leaf could only grow above ground. This incident, however, called Molly’s attention to the fact that she was nearing another border-line of her square. It stretched away to the left of the road she was soon to go along; so she would not have much country to search on that side. But there was still a large piece of country around Lake Desolate.

“Are there no more houses beyond this group?” Molly asked Mrs Jennet, as they sat down to their meal.

“No. Yes,” said Mrs Jennet. “That is, not until you’ve passed Lake Desolate. Then there are one or two sheep-farms and cottages on the ’ills. Very lonely they must be, too. There’s very few go to Lake Desolate now—the road’s so bad—and so lonely. And what’s the good of going there, there’s nothing to see but the Lake and the ’ills.... ’Ave some more bread, duckie.... And there’s all them wild birds screeching over the Lake. Ugh! Fair gives me the creeps, it does. But there—I forgot you was going there. Fancy, a bit of a girl like you! Well, well! P’r’aps you ain’t afraid of being alone though? Eh?”

Molly said she didn’t think she was.

“I’m fond of my own company when I’m with other people,” remarked Mrs Jennet. “You know what I mean—I feel a little bit lost by myself.”

Everything in Mrs Jennet’s room seemed like herself—plain and plump and loud, but nevertheless good-natured. The chubby-looking horse-hair sofa with the round large-patterned cushions reminded Molly strangely of its owner; and so did the round-backed chairs with their thick arms; even the carpet was just like Mrs Jennet would have looked if she had been a carpet. Molly began to wonder what Mr Jennet was like.

“I’ve got a photo of ’im—up there on the mantelshelf—I’ll show you,” said Mrs Jennet in reply to a question from Molly.

But even as Mrs Jennet handed the photo down, Molly felt she knew what he would be like. And she was right. He was exactly like Mrs Jennet would have been if she had been a man.

“He’s a dear old lad,” said Mrs Jennet, eyeing the photo affectionately. “I wish you could have waited to see ’im—but if you do find the old Black Leaf ’e’ll get a ’oliday I expect—every one will. My! Won’t there be celebrations! And we’ll all come down to the City and see you! ’Ave some more milk, duckie?”

Mrs Jennet chattered gaily on, asking and answering numberless questions. Molly asked her if she could tell her of any one she could trust, who lived in the little cottages or farms beyond Lake Desolate.

“Yes, yes. There’s a very nice lady I know lives in one of them—in a little cottage on the side of the Giant’s ’Ead—that’s the name of the ’ill—it’s shaped on top like a huge ’ead. She’s got a sweet, pretty cottage—stays there for ’er ’ealth. She’s away sometimes staying with ’er sister in the City, but I should think she’d be ’ome this time of year. ’Er name’s Lydia North—Miss Lydia we always call ’er. ’Ere, I’ve got a photo of ’er in my album. I’ll show you. She very kindly give me one when she knew I collected photos, bless ’er ’eart!” said Mrs Jennet.

The photo was of a refined, sweet-faced lady. Molly studied it intently so that she would know Miss Lydia when she saw her.

“Thank you very much,” said Molly. “This will be a great help to me. I know one person I can trust anyway.”

But Molly was not to get away as easily as that. Once Mrs Jennet had got her beloved album open she insisted on showing Molly all the photos of her relatives and friends, including Mrs Rose and Farmer Rose.

“I wish you had a photo of yourself about you,” said Mrs Jennet. “I’d like you in the album.”

Molly was sorry she couldn’t oblige her hostess, but admired the collection of photographs with such enthusiasm that Mrs Jennet was enraptured. At length Molly managed to tear herself away, and bidding good-bye to Mrs Jennet, and thanking her warmly for all her kindness, Molly started out once more.

It was now early afternoon. Searching carefully along the road and on either side of it she proceeded slowly. As she went on, the country grew wilder and lonelier. The hills rose up on every side, bare, gaunt hills on which nothing seemed to grow, and at the foot of the hills great rocks and stones were strewn. Molly soon left all signs of the miners’ houses behind her, and as she looked back and could see nothing but the wild scenery all around her—no smoke from a chimney, no sign of human beings at all—she began to feel very small and lost and lonely. But she was not afraid. She realized, after thinking things over, that in the ordinary way the Pumpkin’s spies could not touch her or make her do things by force; it had to be some carelessness or weakness in herself which enabled them to obtain a power over her. She would be very careful in future, and would not trust any one but those people who she knew were her friends. She would be on her guard all the time.

She searched carefully for about an hour, in every likely place along the way, keeping her eyes and ears constantly on the alert. And presently the latter informed her of the galloping of horse’s hoofs in the distance. Looking back along the road she saw a cloud of dust, and by and by a big black horse, on which was seated a man in a slouch hat and flying cape, became visible. Molly glanced round for a place of escape, if necessary, or a place to hide; but there was no place to hide in this barren spot, and no trees near by. So she walked steadily on. So long as it wasn’t the Pumpkin, the man on the horse could not touch her against her will—that is, if he was an enemy. Poor Molly expected every stranger to be an enemy now, of course. Maybe the horse and rider had no business with her at all. Anyway, they came dashing along at full speed, thundering on the road behind her.

Molly drew to the side of the road to let them pass. But they did not pass. She heard, with a sinking heart, the horse gradually slacken its pace till it came alongside her. The man quickly dismounted, made Molly a sweeping bow, and handed her a sealed envelope. Then, without a word, he sprang into the saddle and, turning his horse’s head, galloped back along the road by which he had come, leaving Molly gazing in surprise at the envelope in her hand.

It was all over in a minute. The man and the horse had come and gone. Molly turned the envelope over and over. There was no address on it to say who it was for or where it had come from. Only the word ‘Immediate’ was printed in the top corner. What ought she to do, she wondered. Should she open it? Was it meant for her? Was it from a friend—or was it another trick of the Pumpkin’s? She hesitated, standing still in the middle of the lonely road. Supposing it was a message—something about Jack—something really true. Supposing she didn’t open the envelope—what was she to do with it?

This decided the matter; as she couldn’t think what to do with it if she didn’t open it, she opened it, very cautiously. And this was the letter inside it:

Molly read the letter through several times, very carefully. Then she folded it up and put it in her satchel.