In the Mist of the Mountains Part 33

"Not a bit," said Effie stoutly.

"But," said Paul, looking at the opening of the bower as if she would dash out, "we promised your mother."

Effie and Florence cut off any possible escape by jumping up and standing with their backs to the opening. "It's too late, we've caught it by now,--haven't we, Eff?" said Florence.

"Of course we have," said Effie, "we've got it as much as you have now.

Oh we are glad. Aren't we, Florence?"

"Rather," said Florence.

"Won't your Aunt Kate be coming after you?" asked Paul, looking fearfully along the side of the gorge for the sight of a stout figure of vengeance crus.h.i.+ng downwards to separate them.

"She thinks we're only a little way in front," chuckled the naughty children.

"But who's taking care of you?" persisted Paul.

"Oh, Miss Dora and Miss Bee said they would, but they always let us do anything," said Effie easily, "it was such a lovely chance."

"Well, I think you are big sillies," said Pauline virtuously, but she began untwisting Effie's tight brown curls and twisting them together again in the way she had ever loved to do.

While as to Lynn and Florence, they were almost rubbing noses in the joy of the reunion.

"It's just _too_ dreadful at the hotel," said Effie, "we'd rather be at school. There's nothing to do all day."

"'Cept walk along the road with nurse, and mind you don't get your good school frock spoiled"--Effie's was the complaint. "Can't have fun in the hotel garden or you spoil their silly old beds."

"Can't shout in the house or a lot of old ladies put their fingers up at you."

"Can't make a mud pie like at your house, 'cause you've got to be clean all the time."

The angry duet went on and on till the spirits of the little holland frocks were somewhat relieved, after the restrictions imposed upon them by the residence of their parents for a "holiday" in a fas.h.i.+onable hotel.

"We just long and long for 'Greenways'."

"We talk in bed about the fun we used to have in the orchard till we nearly cry. Don't we, Eff?"

"Rather," said Effie, mournfully, "but now we'll be able to come, 'cause we'll all have whooping cough, too. Frank and Ted and Nellie all say they'd rather have it than stop away from 'Greenways' any longer."

Up through the ferns came the thin note of Miss Bibby's cooee.

"Coo-ee-ee," shouted Pauline instantly in return. Then looked a little troubled, for cooee was to be interpreted that all was well.

"At all events it's not our fault," she said resignedly.

A stout figure of vengeance was indeed coming along the path in the shape of Uncle Hugh.

Tiny Nellie Gowan who could never keep a secret ten minutes had suddenly revealed the horrifying fact that "Effie and Florence were going to run and run till they catched the whooping cough and all could go to m.u.f.fie's house again."

So Hugh had followed in their wake promptly enough, but then he was stout, while they were slim, and the race was consequently not to him.

He drove Paul and Lynn downwards with threats of dry bread and spring water for lunch. And he bore his nieces, who cheerfully exculpated their friends from blame, back to the tables at the foot of the first Fall, where Kate and the others were beginning to spread the lunch.

And here nothing in the shape of wrath and reproaches and argument could shake them from the position behind which they had entrenched themselves, namely that since the coughing would have to be done by themselves it mattered nothing to anybody if the affliction came upon them.

Kate unpacked the baskets with a melancholy air. It was useless, of course, to preserve an appearance of anger towards the offenders, but a bad quarter of an hour was undoubtedly in store for her with their mother.

Hugh was optimistic. He declared that the whooping cough microbe meeting the fresh air microbe on such a fighting ground as a mountain gully would be "laid out in one act."

He stretched himself along a seat and indulged in a smoke after his exertions, while Kate and Florence and Effie made all ready for lunch.

Dora and Beatrice had gone to sit in the "Lovers' Nook" and try to feel romantic. Kate had rejected their offers of a.s.sistance in her work.

"Why did you send away my little girls?" said Hugh lazily,--"I don't mean bad little girls like those," he looked at the shamelessly cheerful Florence and Effie, who were gathering ferns for the tables, "but my good little girls."

"Silly little things," said Kate, "they get on my nerves frightfully. I wanted to keep my faculties clear for my work."

"Ah," said Hugh, looking at his pipe, "they strike you that way, do they, K? They seem rather charming to me to-day. Perhaps apart--one cannot have both unfortunately--perhaps one at a time, K, they might seem to have more--er sense, eh?"

His hat was over his eyes, Kate could only see his mouth.

"Oh, my little me," said the woman's heart, "the boy is serious!"

She cut up a lettuce before she could trust herself to speak and even ate a few shreds in her agitation.

When she did speak her tone was motherly.

"Hughie," she said, "they are charming little girls,--for a summer day on the mountain. But we're in our autumn now, you and I, and for daily companions.h.i.+p I a.s.sure you you would get more satisfaction from Lynn or m.u.f.fie."

The hat was pushed an inch or two lower still.

"K--you're a good sort, of course, but--I get lonely sometimes, girl."

"Yes, yes, boy. G.o.d knows it's natural. But--not a pretty b.u.t.terfly, Hugh. A woman nearer your own age, dear boy, some one to be a restful companion for you, able to appreciate your work, and fit in with your angles instead of your having to attempt to unmake yourself at your age and fit into hers."

"All right, don't disturb me, I'm going to sleep," said Hugh sulkily.

What was the use of asking a woman's advice on any subject under the sun?

The escaped caddies brought down more hampers. In the strap of one of them were the morning letters, forgotten till now.

Hugh opened them irritably, while Kate meekly went on with her task of making a salad.

She was engaged in the critical operation of squeezing the juice from her sliced cuc.u.mber, by pressing the top plate heavily down on the bottom one, when the author gave so sudden and strong an exclamation that she dropped the whole concern.

"What Tommy rot is this?" he demanded of her angrily. "What lunatic trick have you played me now, Kate? Where's the last number of the _Melbourne Review_?"

She took the letter from his hand and read it. It was from the editor of the _Review_, a one time "chief" of Hugh's.

"I enclose you cheque for ten guineas as arranged," it said, "and, of course, now you're a celebrity, old man, I've had to print it and be thankful. But you wouldn't have had the cheek to send me a rotter of a story like that six years ago, and you know it. You want a change, that's what it is, old man, you're attempting too much. Take a run over to New Zealand, or go home. And if you've been turning out any more stories like this choice _Hypocrites_, take my advice and burn 'em before you blast your brand-new reputation."