The Happy Adventurers - Lydia Miller Middleton (fastest ebook reader .txt) 📗

and looked round the garden. Although the sun was so warm and bright the flowers were those which grow in springtime in England. Daffodils, narcissus, freesias, and violets grew thickly in the borders and under the trees, which seemed to be mostly fruit-trees, though Mollie did not recognize them all. Peach and apricot were in bloom; fig trees and mulberry trees spread out their broad leaves; and an immense vividly scarlet geranium dazzled even Mollie’s modern eyes. It was a funny mixture of seasons, she thought.

Suddenly Prudence jumped to her feet, letting all her dandelions drop unheeded. “There’s Hugh!” she exclaimed; “he is calling us. The house must be finished. Come on, Grizzel, leave your old chain—come on, Mollie.”

Grizzel shook her head and set all the red curls bobbing; “I must finish my chain first. You go. I won’t be long.”

Prudence and Mollie jumped the flowerbeds again, Laddie, who had fallen comfortably asleep among the dandelions, deciding after a few lazy blinks to stay where he was. A slender boy in grey was waiting for them in the veranda. He was like Prue, but fairer, and his eyes were peculiarly clear and thoughtful.

“Come on,” he said, “I’m ready for the furnishings now. What I want is: first, a carpet; second, curtains; and third—third—a tin-opener; but there is no great hurry for that. Where can I get a carpet?”

“Schoolroom hearthrug,” Prudence suggested promptly. “No one will notice, and it’s pretty shabby since I dropped the red-hot poker and you spilt the treacle-toffee.”

“And the curtains?”

“You can have the striped blanket off my bed,” said Prue, after a moment’s consideration, “we can cut it in halves.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mollie. “Cut a blanket in halves! What will your mother say to that?”

“Mamma won’t know,” Prudence replied calmly. “She never looks at my bed, and, if she did, she would forget it had ever had a striped blanket on it. Come on, Mollie, we’ll get the things and smuggle them across while no one is looking.”

Mollie felt shocked for a minute. Doing things behind backs was all against Guide Law, and at home she would almost as soon think of chopping up her own feet as of cutting up Mother’s blankets to play with. But, she reflected, different times have different ways; there was no Guide Law in 1878, and perhaps Prue’s mother was very extra strict, in which case “all’s fair in love and war”, so she followed Prue into the house. It was, to her eyes, an unusual sort of house, all built on the ground floor, so that there was no staircase. The front door opened into a square hall with doors on all sides. Prue pushed one open and they passed through into a bedroom, very plainly furnished with two little beds, two chests of drawers, a wash-stand, and a chair. They pulled the white cover off one bed and hauled away a blanket, cheerfully striped in scarlet, purple, yellow, and green, with a few black and white lines thrown in here and there. Mollie thought it would be rather a difficult blanket to forget about. Prue replaced the white cover, spreading it smoothly and neatly, rolled up the blanket, and made for the door again.

Hugh had disappeared. They walked down the veranda, passing several open French windows through which Mollie caught a glimpse of sitting-rooms, and crossed a paved courtyard, at the farther side of which was a red brick house with a wooden porch in front of it.

“The schoolroom is here,” Prudence explained, “because Mamma doesn’t like noise. It’s a very good plan for us; we can do lots of things we couldn’t do if we were in the house. Miss Wilton is our governess; she has gone home to-day to nurse a sister with bronchitis. I’m sorry for the sister, but it’s a treat for us, especially as Hugh has got a half-holiday. Mamma is out, Bridget has taken Baby for a walk, and Mary is talking to her sweetheart across the fence, so we’ll get the hearthrug without any questions.”

As she talked, Prudence led the way into the schoolroom. It was plainly furnished and not very tidy, but it had a homely look—in fact it reminded Mollie of the nursery in North Kensington, so that, for one very brief moment, she almost felt homesick. But Prudence gave her little time to indulge in this luxurious sensation (because having a home nice enough to be sick for is a luxury in its way), and Mollie had merely taken in a general impression of books, toys, and shabbiness, when Prudence called her to help with the hearthrug. It certainly was shabby and by no means added to the beauty of the room. They rolled it up with the blanket inside, and, carrying it between them, they left the schoolroom, crossed the courtyard again, scrambled over a low stone wall, and arrived at the foot of a tall tree.

It was a very large tree. Its trunk, grey, smooth, and absolutely straight, rose from the ground for fourteen feet without a branch or foothold of any description. At that height its thick boughs spread out in a broad and even circumference, and across two of these boughs was built a hut, perhaps five by seven feet in area, and high enough for a child of ten to stand upright in. It had a floor, four walls, and a roof, an opening for a door, and three smaller openings for windows. At the door sat Hugh, waiting for the girls and their bundle. When they came to a standstill below him he let down a rope.

“Tie the things on and I’ll haul them up,” he ordered; “and then you two climb up and give me a hand. Better send Mollie up first, as the ladder is a bit shaky till you know it, and Prue can hang on to it below.”

Mollie noticed then that a narrow green ladder leant up against the smooth trunk; it looked as if an unwary step would send it flying, and she put a reluctant foot on the lowest rung. The ground below was hard and stony, most uninviting for a fall.

“You are quite safe so long as you push and don’t pull,” Prudence assured her. “I am holding on here, and the ladder is firmer than it looks.”

Mollie mounted with gingerly tread, but reached the top safely and crawled into the hut through the little door. She was quickly followed by Prudence, and the two girls examined the interior with interest. There was not very much room; two could sit down with comfort, three would be slightly crowded, and four would be a tight fit but not impossible.

“You won’t be able to lay the carpet with all of us inside,” said Mollie, as she felt the big roll at her back.

“One of you had better stay out,” said Hugh. “There are seats all over the tree.”

Mollie put her head out at the door and looked up into the branches. They were very much forked, and upon every difficult branch Hugh had nailed steps and made a railing. In some of the forks he had inserted wooden seats, others he had left to nature. The topmost seat was almost at the summit of the tree, and behind it was firmly lashed a flagpole, with a Union Jack hanging limply in the still air, and a lantern with green and red glass on two of its sides. Near the door of the little house there hung from a stout branch a curious-looking canvas bag, broadly tubular in shape, and with a small brass tap at the lower end. The tree was thickly foliaged, but the leaves were delicate and lacy, and, though they formed an admirable screen for the climbers, a good view of the surrounding country was to be obtained between them, and even through them in some places. Mollie decided to climb to the top and look about.

“That’s our look-out,” Hugh explained. “We can see the enemy from there a long time before the enemy can see us.”

“‘O Pip’, is what we call it,” said Mollie. “Who is the enemy?”

“It all depends,” Hugh replied evasively. “Now, Prue, look alive.”

Mollie was a level-headed climber when she had something reasonably solid beneath her feet; no one unfamiliar with the vagaries of the green ladder could be expected to climb it with enthusiasm. She crawled out of the house by the little door again, found her road to the nearest staircase, and climbed this way and that among the leafy branches till she reached the Look-out. There she settled herself comfortably and examined her surroundings near and far, whilst the other two laid the carpet and tacked up the blanket, now cut into three strips by Prudence.

“She looks as if she were hemming sheets for missionaries,” Mollie said to herself, as she watched Prudence doing execution on the blanket with a large pair of scissors. “It would be almost impossible for any girl to be as good as Prue looks; it’s her eyelashes, and the way she does her hair.”

After admiring the well-planned architecture of the tree Mollie turned her attention to the scenery. At her feet lay the garden with the long, vine-wreathed house and the red schoolroom at one side. It was a large garden, stretching far behind the house, and, as Mollie surveyed the rows of almond trees which outlined its boundaries, she felt some respect for Grizzel’s perseverance. “If she has laid a chain right round that she knows how to stick to a thing,” she thought, as she caught sight of the little blue figure still sitting amongst the golden dandelions. “It’s a pity she doesn’t do something more worth while. She would make a good Guide.” Looking beyond the garden, Mollie could see the town of Adelaide. It was a white town among green trees, with many slender spires and pointed steeples piercing the blue sky, many gardens and meadows, and a silvery streak of river winding across it like a twisted thread. A semicircle of softly swelling hills enclosed the town upon two sides, some of them striped with vineyards, some wooded, and some brilliantly yellow, for the dandelions seemed to be spread over the country like a carpet. Mollie shook a wise head at such waste of good land, for of what use are dandelions! In the far distance she could see a straight white road leading from the town into the hills. She thought she would like to follow that road and see what happened to it in the end. “I had not the least idea,” she murmured to herself, “that Adelaide and Australia were like this; not the very least. There must be a great deal of world outside England, when you come to think of it. When I am grown-up—”

“Come down, Mollie,” called Prue. “The house is beautiful now; come and see it.”

It certainly looked very snug, with the carpet, whose shabbiness was not noticeable in the dim light, and the gaily striped curtains, which had been tacked up and fastened back from the windows. They had added a set of shelves made out of a box covered with American leather and brass-headed nails. A few books lay upon one shelf, and on another stood a collection of cups, saucers, and plates, cracked, perhaps, and not all matching, but suggestive of convivial parties and good cheer. In one corner lay a cushion embroidered in woolwork with magenta roses, pea-green leaves, and orange-coloured daisies, all upon a background of ultramarine blue. Mollie thought it gave an effective touch to the somewhat scanty furnishing—in fact, it was the only furniture there was, except the shelves.

“How perfectly ripping!” Mollie exclaimed enthusiastically. “If I had this house I would live in it all the time. It is much nicer