Likely or unlikely, it was the very thing which had happened. The cowslips on the other side of the railings were larger and finer, and Bess, having no fear of horses, had climbed over and wandered some way down the field. Only about twenty yards from her the lanky foal was gambolling round its mother, a big draught mare, cropping the grass innocently enough at present, and apparently not perceiving trespassers.
If Bess could retreat quietly and unnoticed from the field all might be well. Ingred did not dare to call for fear of attracting the mare’s attention. If Bess would only turn round she might wave to her. But Bess kept her back to the fence and had no idea of danger. There was only one course open to Ingred. She slipped over the railings and went along the meadow to warn her schoolfellow. In a few quiet words she explained the situation.
“Don’t run,” she whispered. “Let us walk back and perhaps it will take no notice of us.”
The girls went as softly as possible, looking over their shoulders every now and then to see that all was safe. Of bulls they had a wholesome terror, but they had had no previous experience of a savage horse.
They were about fifteen yards from the railings, when the mare, which hitherto had been feeding quietly, raised her head and lumbered round. She saw strangers in her territory; her primeval instinct was to protect her foal, and she came tearing across the field with wild eyes and lip turned back from gleaming teeth. The girls fled for their lives. It was a question of which could reach the railings first, they or the dangerous brute whose huge hoofs thundered behind them. Ingred, who was the taller and the stronger of the two, seized Bess by the hand and literally dragged her along. Together they tumbled over the fence somehow and rolled down the bank into the safe shelter of some gorse bushes. For a moment they were afraid the mare would leap after them, but the height of the rails balked her; apparently she was satisfied with routing the enemy and returned across the field to her foal. The girls, with shaking knees, got up and hurried towards the lane where they had left Miss Strong.
“You’ve saved my life, Ingred!” gasped Bess, as they went along.
“No, I haven’t!” choked Ingred. “At least, it was my fault you ever went into the field at all. Miss Strong told me to tell you the horse was savage, and you were such a long way off picking cowslips that I didn’t trouble to go after you. I trusted to Verity telling you.”
“Verity ran the other way with Kitty.”
“I know. Well, at any rate, it was my fault and I’m ready to take the blame. Precious row I shall get into with the Snark!”
“Why should we say anything about it?”
“Not say anything?”
“There’s really no need. It’s over and done with now. I don’t want to get you into a scrape. I vote we just keep it to ourselves.”
Ingred paused, with her hand on the gate, and gazed with unaffected astonishment at her companion.
“Bess Haselford, you’re the biggest trump I’ve ever met! It’s only one girl in a thousand who’d want to cover up a thing like that. Most people would make such a tale of it, and pose as an injured martyr whom I’d nearly murdered. I’m sure Francie would, or even Verity.”
“You put yourself into danger to come and warn me!”
“Well, it was the least I could do!”
“Let’s forget about it then. And don’t tell any of the girls, in case they blab. It would make Miss Strong so nervous, she’d be scared about our going into any fields for ever afterwards.”
“Right-o, I won’t tell, but I shan’t forget. As I said before, I think you’re the biggest trump on the face of the earth.”
“Cuckoo!” rang out Linda’s voice from the bank.
“Where are you girls?” shouted Miss Strong from the lane.
“Coming!” called Ingred, as she latched the gate and hurried with Bess to rejoin the rest of the party.
XVIII
Bess at Home
The Pilgrims, after a glorious tramp down the dale of Beechcombe, reached Pursborough without further adventure, and spent the night there. They gave an hour next morning to inspecting the glorious old church and the ruins of the castle, then once more resumed the Roman road. It was the last day of their tour, so they made the best of it. They explored some delightful woods, followed the course of a fascinating stream, ate their lunch in a picturesque quarry, had an early tea at a wayside inn which rivalled “The Pelican” in quaintness, and finally reached Ribstang in time to catch the 5:20 train to Grovebury. The conclusion of the excursion meant the close of the holiday, for school would begin again on the following Monday. Everybody had enjoyed it immensely, and everybody was only too sorry it was over. To Ingred it marked an epoch. She had suddenly made friends with Bess Haselford. Now she viewed Bess with unprejudiced eyes she realized what an exceedingly nice and attractive girl she really was. The adventure in the field had flung them together, and—much to the astonishment of the others, who did not know their secret—they had walked the whole way from Pursborough to Ribstang in each other’s company.
“I can’t make out Ingred!” declared Verity. “Here she’s been abusing Bess, and calling her a bounder, and now she’s hanging on her arm! The way some people turn round is really most extraordinary—”
“ ‘There’s naught so queer as folks!’ ” quoted Linda. “Glad Ingred’s come to her senses, at any rate. I always thought she was perfectly beastly to Bess!”
“So she was. I wonder Bess will put up with her now. I’m sure I wouldn’t!”
Bess, however, was of a forgiving disposition, and let
