“It’s no use! We shall have to go back!”
But the lady was whispering something to the gentleman, and he beckoned to the girls with a smile.
“Don’t run away!” he said. “Look here, we’ll punt you across if you like.”
“Like!” The girls hardly knew how to express their gratitude.
“The three of you’d be too heavy a load. I think I’d better take just one at a time. Can you manage to get in? It’s rather swampy here. Give me your hand!”
Ingred splashed ankle deep in oozy mud as she scrambled on board, but that was a trifle compared with the relief of being ferried over the river. Her knight-errant was neither young nor handsome, being, indeed, rather bald and stout, but no orthodox interesting hero of fiction could have been more welcome at the moment. She tendered her utmost thanks as she landed, again with damage to her shoes, on the rushy bank opposite. Their friends in need, having successfully punted over Beatrice and Verity also, bade them a laughing goodbye, and resumed their easy course down stream, leaving three very grateful girls behind them.
“That’s helped us out of a fix! Don’t say again we’ve no luck!” cried Beatrice, wiping her boots carefully on the grass.
“They were angels in disguise!” sighed Ingred.
“Rather stout angels!” chuckled Verity. “Now, how are we going to get out of this field?”
“Over the hedge, I suppose. There’s a piece of fence that looks climbable!” returned Beatrice, swinging herself up with elephantine grace, and dropping with a heavy thud on the other side. “Oh! good biz! We’re on a cinder path!”
They were indeed in a back lane which led at the bottom of some gardens, then behind a row of stables, and finally through a gate on to the high road.
“I know where we are now!” exclaimed Beatrice gleefully. “It’s only quite a short way to the Morton’s. They live in the next terrace but two. I believe we’re within measurable distance of some lunch.”
This was such good news that they strode along in renewed spirits. Considering all, they thought the adventure was turning out well. A meal would undoubtedly be most acceptable, if Beatrice’s friends were hospitable enough to offer it.
“It’s the fourth house,” said Beatrice, “the one with the copper beech over the gate. Linden Lea—yes, here we are! Oh, I say, what are all the blinds down for?”
The girls faced each other blankly.
“Is anyone dead?” faltered Ingred.
“I’ll ring and inquire, at any rate,” murmured Beatrice.
So she rang, and rang again and yet again. She could hear the bell clanging quite plainly and unmistakably somewhere in the back regions, yet nobody came to the door.
“It’s funny! I don’t hear anybody in the house either,” she remarked. “Their dog generally barks at the least sound.”
At that moment a small face peeped over the top of the wall which divided the garden from that of the next house, and a childish voice asked:
“Do you want the Mortons?”
“Yes. Isn’t anybody in?”
“They’re all gone away to Llandudno, for a month.”
“All? Isn’t anyone here?”
“No, the house is locked up.”
Here a warning call of “Willie!” caused their informant to disappear as suddenly as he had come, but the girls had heard enough. All their hopes were suddenly blighted. They had arrived at the end of their journey only to draw a blank. They were indeed in a worse position than when they had missed the train at Denscourt, for they were farther from home, and it was much later. Almost ready to cry, they turned down the garden again.
“We’ve got to get home tonight somehow!” said Ingred through her set teeth.
“Shall we go to the police station?” quavered Verity.
“And give ourselves up like lost children? No, it’s too undignified! Wait a moment, I’ve got an idea!” said Beatrice. “We passed the post office just now, and I noticed it had a ‘Public Telephone.’ I’ll ring up Mother and tell her where we are, and ask her to come over for us.”
“But you can’t telephone for nothing, and we haven’t so much as a solitary penny amongst us!”
“I know. I thought I’d explain that to the people at the post office, and ask them to let me have the call, and Mother will pay when she comes. I could give them my watch as a security.”
“It’s worth trying!”
So, with just a little grain of hope, they retraced their steps to the post office, which was also a stationer’s and newsagent’s. Nobody was in the shop, but when the girls thumped on the counter a rosy-cheeked young person appeared from the back regions.
“Want to telephone without paying? It’s against the post office rules,” she snapped, as Beatrice briefly explained the circumstances.
“My mother will pay when she comes, and if you’d take my watch—”
“I can’t go against post office rules! All calls must be paid for beforehand. That’s our instructions.”
“But just for once—”
“What’s the matter, Doris?” asked a voice, and a kindly-looking little man emerged from the back parlor, wiping his mouth hastily, and took his place behind the counter. Beatrice turned to him with eagerness, and again stated the urgency of their peculiar situation.
“Well, of course we’ve our instructions from the post office, and we’ve got to account for the calls, but in this particular case we might let you have one, and pay afterwards,” he replied. “Oh, never mind the watch; it’s all right!”
Beatrice lost no time in ringing up Number 167 Grovebury, and to her immense delight, when she got the connection, she heard her mother’s voice at the instrument. A short explanation was all that was necessary.
“Stay where you are at the Waverley post office, and I will get a taxi and fetch you myself immediately,” returned Mrs. Jackson. “It’s the greatest relief to know what has become of you. I was going to ring up the police station, and describe you as ‘missing!’ ”
The girls had to wait nearly three-quarters of an hour before the taxi made its appearance, and the welcome form of Mrs. Jackson stepped out of
