“I wonder Miss Giles didn’t miss us!” fretted Verity, trying to throw the blame on somebody.
“It isn’t her fault—fair play to her!” urged Beatrice. “She wasn’t looking after us officially today, you know. On Saturdays we’re supposed to be on our own.”
“I lay the blame on buns!” said Ingred. “We’d have kept with the rest of the school if we hadn’t stopped at that confectioner’s.”
“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk now! What we’ve got to do is to find some means of getting home. We can’t stay here all day.”
“I believe it’s not very far to Waverley from Denscourt,” ventured Beatrice. “If we can manage to walk, I know some people who live at a house there. I’d ask them to lend us our fares, and we could catch a train at Waverley station.”
The idea seemed feasible, and, as it was the only one that suggested itself, they unanimously decided to adopt it. They walked down the steps again, therefore, on to the high road, and, stopping a girl who was passing, asked the way to Waverley.
“It’s a good four miles by the road, but it’s only about two by the fields,” she volunteered in reply. “I think you’d find the path. You go down the road to the right, and turn through the first gate across a field to a farm. Then you keep along the river bank, on the left. You can’t miss it.”
To save two miles in their present predicament was a matter of importance, and they all felt that they would greatly prefer walking through fields to tramping along a dusty high road. Thanking their informant, they took her advice, and set off in the direction which she indicated. After all, the affair was rather an adventure.
“The Mortons are sure to offer us lunch when we get there,” affirmed Beatrice; “of course we shall be fearfully late home, and our people will be getting very anxious about us, but we can’t help that. I was to have gone to a matinée of Carmen this afternoon, but it’s off, naturally! I expect Doris will use my ticket, when I don’t turn up.”
“I meant to wash our dog when I got back!” laughed Ingred. “He’ll have to look dirty on Sunday, now.”
“And I meant to do a hundred things; but what’s the use of talking about them now?” groaned Verity. “Here’s our farm, and that appears to be the river over there. Didn’t that girl say: ‘Keep along to the left’? Perhaps we’d better ask again.”
They verified their instructions from a boy who was standing in the farmyard, whittling a stick, and trudged away over a stubble field and through a turnstile gate. It was quite pretty along the path by the river. There was a tall hedge where hips and haws showed red, and a grassy border where a few wild flowers still bloomed. The sun shed a soft golden autumnal haze over the fields and bushes and the lines of yellow trees.
The girls rather enjoyed themselves; it was an unexpected country excursion, and had all the charm of novelty. They walked about half a mile, chatting about school matters as they went, then suddenly they were confronted by an alternative. A bridge spanned the river, and the broad, well-trodden path along which they had come turned over the bridge. There was indeed a track that continued along the left bank, but it was overgrown, and looked little used. Which were they to take?
That was a question which required discussion.
“The girl said: ‘keep along the river bank on the left,’ ” urged Ingred.
“Yet the path so plainly goes across here,” demurred Verity.
“That’s certainly the left bank, but that way looks as if it led to nowhere,” vacillated Beatrice.
“Can’t we ask anybody?”
“There isn’t a soul in sight.”
“Isn’t there a signpost?”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Then which way shall we go?”
“Better take votes on it.”
“Right-o! I’m for ‘bypath meadow.’ ”
“And I’m for the ‘king’s highway.’ ”
“So am I, so we’re two to one!”
“I’ll give in, then,” said Ingred, “only I’ve a sort of feeling we’re going wrong, all the same!”
The new path led along the opposite bank, and was very much a replica of the former. It ran on and on for what seemed quite a long distance, but they met nobody from whom they could inquire the way. For nearly a quarter of a mile a belt of trees obscured the view, and when at last the prospect could once more be seen, Beatrice stopped short with a groan of despair. On the other side of the water was the unmistakable spire of Waverley church.
“We’ve come wrong, after all!”
“Oh, good night! So we have!”
“What an absolute swindle!”
The girls were certainly not in luck that day. They had missed their path as effectually as they had missed their train. The chimneys of Waverley were in sight, but separated from them by a wide stream, and unless they were prepared to wade, swim, or fly, there was no way of reaching the village.
“There’s nothing for it but to turn back!”
“Why, but that’s miles!”
“Are you sure it’s Waverley over there? Can we ask anybody?”
“No one to ask, worse luck!”
“Yes, there is! I can see some people coming along in a boat.”
Rendered desperate by the emergency, Ingred struggled through the reeds to the very edge of the river, and lifted up her voice in an agonized cry of “Help!”
A punt was drifting slowly with the current, and its occupants, a lady and gentleman, looked with surprise at the agitated girl who was hailing them from the bank. The gentleman at once paddled in her direction, and, running his little craft among the reeds, inquired what was the matter.
“Oh, please, is that Waverley over there?” asked Ingred anxiously. “We’ve lost our way, and we’ve walked miles! Is there any bridge near?”
“That’s certainly Waverley, but there’s no bridge till you come to one a mile and a half down stream.”
Ingred’s face was tragic. She turned to Beatrice and Verity,
