When Jerry had invited her P. G. to come to Ganthorne she had made it clear that no entertainment need be expected, “We’re all workers,” Jerry had explained, and Miss Watt had replied that she desired no entertainment, she could amuse herself…but after a day or two Jerry discovered that it was rather nice to have another young woman to talk to, rather pleasant to do things with Jane. They got on very well, for Jane was a good listener and Jerry liked talking…soon Jane knew practically all there was to know about Jerry, but Jerry still knew very little about Jane.
One morning Jerry decided that the horses needed exercise and she invited Jane to accompany her for a ride on the moors. Jane accepted with delight and soon the two of them were walking down to the stables together. On the way they called at the cottage to leave some eggs for the Meltons, for Jerry was of the opinion that Melanie needed extra nourishment—she was far too thin. It was pleasant to call at the cottage nowadays, and to see Melanie’s happy face. It was delightful to see the cottage looking clean and comfortable. The Meltons had brought a few of their own things: a couple of basket chairs, some gaily colored cushions, and a Persian rug. These additions made an astonishing difference to the living room—it looked cozy and pretty, it looked like a home.
“I’ve brought you some eggs,” said Jerry, handing over the little basket. “There are two for you and two for the colonel…and mind you eat yours, Melanie. I’ve written your name on them.”
Melanie laughed, for Mrs. Abbott amused her a good deal. She said, “How did you know I gave the others to Daddy?”
“A little bird told me,” replied Jerry gravely. “And I was very angry. If you give these to Daddy they’ll poison him.”
This alarming prophecy left Melanie unmoved.
“This is my lucky day,” she said, nodding. “I got a parcel from America this morning and now eggs from you.”
“What did you get?” inquired Jerry, for she, also, had a generous friend upon the other side of the Atlantic and occasionally received exciting parcels, full of luscious food.
“I got butter,” replied Melanie, “and sugar, a tin of spiced ham, a tin of marmalade, and a box of candy and some hairpins.”
“Marvelous!” cried Jerry, opening her eyes very wide.
“Yes, isn’t it?” agreed Melanie. “I mean everything is just exactly right. It was frightfully clever of her, wasn’t it? The worst of it is you aren’t supposed to write and thank people. It seems a funny idea—she’ll think it is ungrateful if I don’t write to her.”
“You can write and say thank you very much for your kind thought,” suggested Jane. “Tell her she guessed right; that’s what I always do.”
They both looked at Jane. “I suppose you’ve had parcels, too,” said Melanie.
“Dozens,” replied Jane.
“Have you got cousins in America?” asked Jerry—for this seemed the obvious explanation.
Jane blushed. She said, “Er—no. No, I haven’t really…”
Jerry was a little surprised. There had been no parcels since Jane came to Ganthorne and, now that Jerry thought of it, no letters either—no letters at all—and why had Jane blushed? She realized all of a sudden that she knew very little about her P. G. She must encourage Jane to talk about herself. It’s because I talk all the time, thought Jerry. I talk so much that Jane hasn’t a chance.
They were standing on Melanie’s doorstep, saying good-bye, when there was a clatter of hooves, and a man on a tall raking chestnut came galloping up the drive.
“It’s Archie!” exclaimed Jerry, adding, for the benefit of her two companions. “There’s nothing wrong. Archie always rides like that.”
Archie dismounted at the gate and was introduced by Jerry to her friends.
“It’s funny you haven’t met them before,” she declared. “It just shows what a long time it is since you came over to see me.”
Archie replied that he had been busy with the harvest but that now it was safely in his barns he had time to think of matters of less importance. For instance he had time to think of Jerry. “I suppose I can stay to lunch,” he said confidently.
“I suppose so,” agreed Jerry, who was secretly delighted at his visit. “You may not get much to eat, of course.”
They stood there, chatting. Now that Archie had reached his destination he showed no signs of restlessness or haste. Jerry noticed that he and Melanie were hitting it off very well—they had taken to each other at once. Jane was a little out of it (thought Jerry). She was taking no part in the conversation; after one brief glance Archie had ignored her completely. It was rather naughty of Archie to show his preference so clearly, but Jerry forgave him because it was exactly what she had hoped. Yes, Melanie was the very girl for Archie; they were of the same breed and understood one another perfectly—and what a splendid couple they made, standing there together in the sunshine. Archie so big and broad and robust, Melanie so slight and ethereal…
“What are you dreaming about, Jerry?” asked Archie. “You haven’t heard a word I was saying, have you?”
Jerry had not. She admitted the fact with some embarrassment.
“It was about the trees,” said Archie, looking around. “They’ve grown too big and the cottage is shadowed by them. You ought to have them thinned out.”
“Oh no!” cried Jerry, who hated to lose a tree.
“Don’t be silly,” said Archie in a brotherly way. “It’s bad for the trees to be left so thick and the cottage would get more light and air if they were tidied up and the bushes cut back. I’ll come and do it for you if you like.”
Jerry was about to voice a refusal, but the last sentence made her pause, for if Archie were to come over and cut down the trees he was bound to see a good deal of Melanie.
“Very well,” said Jerry with a sigh. “But you must come yourself, Archie.”
“Of course. I’m not so busy now that the harvest is over. The trees will burn so you’ll score all around.”
They were still discussing the matter and Archie was deciding which trees should be felled and how far the bushes should be cut back, and Jerry was trying to restrain his ardor, when Bobby Appleyard came down the drive, attired for riding. There was no need to introduce him, for he knew everyone.
“Hallo, are you riding this morning?” he asked, looking at Jerry as he spoke.
“Are you?” countered Jerry with a smile.
“Let’s all ride together,” suggested Archie.
“Of course, what fun!” cried Jerry. “We’ll all ride over to Gostown. Melanie can have Dapple; he’s quite up to her weight.”
“I’ve got thousands of things to do,” began Melanie in doubtful tones.
“But this is a holiday,” declared Archie. “I’m having a holiday today and you can have one too.”
After some argument Melanie was persuaded. She ran upstairs to change and the rest of the party drifted down to the stables to get the horses ready. It was only then that Jerry counted heads and realized that she had no steed to offer Bobby Appleyard.
“I’m awfully sorry,” she said. “I never thought—you see we used to have heaps of horses.”
“I’ve got one of my own,” said Bobby proudly. “You said I could keep it here, didn’t you, Jerry.”
“Of course—but I never thought you’d manage to get one,” replied Jerry in surprise.
Bobby disappeared into the stables and after a few moments he returned leading his horse. It was a broken down hunter, long in the tooth and incredibly bony, with ribs that reminded Jerry of a concertina.
“Where on earth did you get it?” she inquired.
“In Wandlebury,” replied Bobby, gazing at her with his sad brown eyes. “It was the only one the man had—and I wanted some kind of a horse to ride with you on the moor—it’s a horse anyhow,” added Bobby.
“Are you sure?” asked Jerry scathingly. “It looks more like a brontosaurus.”
Jerry’s treatment of Captain Appleyard was peculiar. She liked him very much, so her natural manner was friendly and kind, but sometimes when he looked at her with his doggy eyes it gave her an odd sort of feeling—rather like an electric shock—and she pulled herself up with a jerk and was disagreeable. These alternating showers of hot and cold threw the unfortunate young man into a frightful state of confusion and instead of choking him off (as was intended) increased his devotion to Jerry’s person. He never knew where he was with Jerry, and he thought about her all the time, reviewing his own behavior and searching for his faults. Jerry was perfect, of course, so if she was cold to him he must have offended her, he must have said something unpardonable—what on earth had he said? Since the arrival of Miss Watt, things had gone from bad to worse, for Bobby—though by no means clever—was intelligent enough to perceive that he was being thrown at that lady’s head…and he had no use at all for Miss Watt. There was something odd about Miss Watt, and she was dull and uninteresting. Being rather quiet and shy himself, Bobby liked people who were gay and forthcoming, people who had plenty to say…in short he liked Jerry.
Melanie did not take long to change her clothes; she arrived at the stables before the horses were ready…for Bobby and Archie were so anxious to be helpful that they delayed matters a good deal. They rushed about, finding the wrong saddles and strapping them firmly onto the wrong horses and getting in one another’s way. Jerry could have done the whole thing herself in half the time, and done it much better. When it was finished and they were ready to start Jerry discovered that her own particular saddle was on Cæsar’s back. She had intended to ride Starlight and give Cæsar to Jane—but it seemed silly to make a fuss.
The five riders mounted and rode off. As each of them had his or her own ideas of how the cavalcade should be formed there was a good deal of maneuvering for places. At one moment Jane was riding beside Jerry…and then Bobby on his brontosaurus pushed in between them. Melanie, riding ahead by herself, was joined by Jane—and then by Archie. Jerry pushed on and tried to ride off Jane. It was not until they reached the moor that Jerry accomplished her design, namely to pair off Archie and Melanie and keep the other two by her side. She was on the point of congratulating herself on her success when Melanie dropped her crop and Archie dismounted to pick it up for her. The others stopped politely and the whole party was tangled up again.
Now that they were on the moor and the horses felt the springy turf beneath their hooves they began to jog, for they were used to cantering here and were anxious to be off, but Jerry was doubtful of giving the word for she had begun to feel a trifle anxious about Jane. Jane had said she could ride, and so she could; her seat was good and her back was commendably straight, but Starlight was in one of her skittish moods and seemed to be giving a good deal of trouble. Starlight pranced about as if she were five years old instead of nearly twelve. She curveted gracefully and sidled like a crab—and then, suddenly perceiving a small bush at the side of the track, she decided it was a dangerous foe and broke into a headlong gallop.
“Stop! Don’t follow her!” cried Jerry to the others, for Jerry was aware that none of the other horses had the speed to overtake her, and if Starlight heard the thunder of hooves behind her she would merely increase her pace.
“I’ll catch her!” cried Archie. “This brute has a good turn of speed,” and so saying he bounded away in pursuit.
Jerry’s frame of mind was not enviable; she was alarmed and annoyed. She was alarmed about Jane—would Jane be able to stick on until Starlight ran herself out? Would Jane have the sense to keep to the high ground? If not, she might find herself floundering in a bog. Jerry was annoyed with herself for letting Jane ride Starlight before making sure that she could manage her—Jane would have been perfectly safe and comfortable on old Cæsar. Jerry was annoyed with Jane, and with Archie and with her two remaining companions; she would have liked to say a good deal and would have done so if Melanie had not been there.
“Don’t worry,” said Bobby comfortingly. “She’ll be all right. She’s got quite a good seat and there’s no vice in Starlight.”
Jerry was not in the least soothed by these remarks. She would have been better pleased if Bobby had shown anxiety and alarm.
“Of course I’m worried,” said Jerry crossly. “You would be worried if you had a grain of imagination.”
“I mean—” began Bobby, but he spoke too late.
Jerry had shaken Cæsar into a canter and was pursuing the others over the moor.
All three riders had now disappeared around the corner of the wood and Bobby and Melanie were left. Their steeds were slow (Dapple because he was too fat and the brontosaurus because he was too thin). They walked along together in silence, for Bobbie and Melanie were very old friends and did not have to make polite conversation.
“I shall apply for the Glider Corps,” said Bobby at last.
“Don’t be silly, Bobby,” replied Melanie. “You know quite well Daddy needs you in the regiment. He was saying the other day what a good adjutant you were.”
Even this tribute failed to raise Bobby’s spirits. “There are plenty of others who would do just as well,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be happy if you left the regiment.”
“I’m not happy now,” said Bobby with a sigh.
“You’ll get over it.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to get over it, Bobby.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do. What’s the good of beating about the bush? You’re in love—that’s what’s the matter with you.”
“Melly!”
“I don’t blame you, of course,” continued Melanie. “Mrs. Abbott is a perfect lamb—but you’ll just have to get over it.”
Bobby hesitated. He knew Melly so well and of course she always said exactly what she thought—she had no inhibitions whatever—and somehow it was a relief to talk to someone about his troubles. They had been pent up for weeks with no outlet at all. “It’s true, of course,” said Bobby at last. “I know I’m a fool but I can’t help it. That’s why it seemed a good idea to go away.”
“Nonsense,” said Melanie firmly.
“She’s perfect,” said Bobbie. “Nobody could help loving her. It isn’t loving her that makes me unhappy. I wouldn’t mind so much if only she liked me a little.”
“She does like you,” said Melanie.
“Do you really think so?” asked Bobby in surprise.
“It’s because she likes you that she’s horrid to you, Bobby.”
He could not understand that. “But, Melly,” he began.
“She likes you,” said Melanie. “But she doesn’t love you and she never will. She’s devoted to her husband, absolutely devoted.”
“I’m not a rotter,” declared Bobby earnestly. “I mean I don’t want her to love me—not really. I just want a little friendship, that’s all.”
“Be friends with her, then. Be proper friends. Be sensible, Bobby. Don’t moon.”
Bobby was silent for a moment or two and then he chuckled. “Well, I asked for it,” he said.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“You’re like the colonel,” added Bobby. “I mean he can say the most outrageous things…”
Meanwhile Jerry had cantered on around the corner of the wood and on to the wide plain that sloped gently up to the hills near Gostown. She had expected to see Jane and Archie ahead of her but there was no sign of them. The moors were empty. She reined up on the top of a rise and looked all around, up and down the stream and far away toward the distant hills…what could have happened to them? She envisaged all sorts of horrors. Perhaps Starlight had put her foot in a rabbit hole and Jane was lying somewhere with a broken neck…but where was Archie? They couldn’t both be sinking in the bog—or could they? She was beginning to get quite frantic and had almost decided to go home and organize a search party when she suddenly saw the whole party emerge from the wood, they were talking and laughing and appeared quite unharmed. When they saw Jerry they all waved to her gaily and Archie shouted, “There you are! We thought you were lost.”
Jerry was delighted to see them, of course, but all the same there was a queer lump in her throat. I wish Sam were here, she thought as she rode down to meet them.