Part 13 (1/2)

”No, Miss Carmel, it was just where you thought you had left it--in the field where you had lunch. I got up early and fetched it before breakfast,” replied Johnson pausing on the doorstep.

”You went all that way! How kind of you! Thank you ever so much!”

exclaimed Carmel, clasping her bangle on her wrist again. ”I can't tell you how pleased I am to have it!”

But Johnson, avoiding her eyes, and seeming anxious to get away from her thanks, was already out of the front door, and half-way across the courtyard to the garage.

”I wonder if English men-servants are always as shy as that?” thought Carmel. ”An Italian would certainly have waited to let me say 'Thank you!'”

CHAPTER X

A Meeting

After a morning in Wells, to look at the Cathedral and other beauty spots, the party motored on to Glas...o...b..ry, where again they called a halt to look at the Abbey and the Museum. Major Rogers was interested in the objects which had been excavated from the prehistoric lake dwellings in the neighborhood, and spent so much time poring over bronze brooches, horn weaving-combs, flint sc.r.a.pers, gla.s.s rings, and fragments of decorated pottery that Sheila lost all patience.

”Is Dad going to spend the whole day in this moldy old museum?” she asked dramatically. ”I hate anything B. C.! What does it matter to us how people lived in pile dwellings in the middle of a lake? To judge from those fancy pictures of them on the wall there they must have been a set of uncouth savages. Why can't we drive on to Dawlish, or some other decent seaside place, instead of poking about in musty cathedrals and tiresome museums? I'm fed up!”

”Now, Sheila, don't be naughty!” whispered her mother. ”I'm only too glad to see your father take an interest in anything. I believe he's enjoying this tour. If you're tired of the museum, go out and look at the shops until we're ready.”

”There aren't any worth looking at in a wretched little country town!”

yawned Sheila. ”No, I really don't want to go over the Abbey either, thanks! I shall sit inside the car and write, while you do the sight-seeing.”

Major Rogers never hurried himself to suit his daughter's whims, so Sheila was left to sit in the car, addressing tragic letters and picture post cards to her friends, and the rest of the party finished examining the museum, and went to view the ruins of the famous Abbey.

”If Sheila prefers to stay outside, she can look after the car,” said her father, ”and I shall take Johnson in with us. He's an intelligent fellow, and I'm sure he appreciates the shows. It's rather hard on him if he never gets the chance to see anything.”

”I believe he goes sight-seeing on his own account when he has the opportunity,” replied Mrs. Rogers, ”but bring him in, by all means. He always strikes me as having very refined tastes. I should think he's trying to educate himself. But he's so reserved, I never can get anything out of him.”

”He seems fond of books,” volunteered Carmel. ”He reads all the time when he's waiting for us in the car.”

Johnson accepted with alacrity the invitation to view the Abbey, and walked round the ruins apparently much interested in what he saw, though, following his usual custom, he spoke seldom, and then only in brief reply to questions. Once, when Major and Mrs. Rogers were puzzling over a Latin inscription, he seemed on the point of making a remark, but apparently changed his mind, and walked away.

”He's almost _too_ well trained!” commented Mrs. Rogers. ”Of course a conversational chauffeur is a nuisance, but I have an impression that Johnson could be quite interesting if he liked. Some day I shall try to make him talk.”

”Better leave him alone,” said Major Rogers. ”I think things do very well as they are.”

From Glas...o...b..ry they motored through the beautiful county of Somerset into leafy Devons.h.i.+re, taking easy stages so as not to overtire the invalid, and halting at any place where the guide book pointed out objects worthy of notice. To please Carmel, they were making in the direction of Tivermouth, where they hoped to arrive in time to meet the Ingletons. They had telegraphed for rooms at the Hill Crest Hotel, and, if the place suited Major Rogers, they proposed to spend a week there.

”There may be perhaps a dance, or a tennis tournament, or something interesting going on!” exulted Sheila, who had urged the decision. ”At any rate there'll be somebody to talk to in a decent hotel--it won't be just all scenery! Let us spin along, Dad, and get there!”

”Hurry no man's cattle!” replied her father. ”Remember, I am out for a 'rabbit' holiday, and I like long rests by the roadside. I'm looking forward to a siesta on the gra.s.s somewhere this afternoon. The scent of the woods does me good.”

So once more the party found a picturesque spot and stopped for lunch and an hour or two of quiet under the trees before they took again to the open road. The spot which they chose this time was on a slope reaching down to a river. Above was a thick belt of pines, and below the water dashed with a pleasant murmuring sound very soothing on a warm afternoon. It was an ideal ”rabbit playground” for Major Rogers, and he established himself comfortably with rugs and cus.h.i.+ons after lunch, hoping to be able to s.n.a.t.c.h some much-needed sleep. Mrs. Rogers took her knitting from her hand-bag, and Sheila, who had a voluminous correspondence, asked Johnson for her dispatch case and began to write letters.

As Carmel had nothing very particular to do, and grew tired of sitting still, she rose presently and rambled down the wood to the river-side.

It was beautiful to stand and watch the water swirling by, to gaze at the meadow on the opposite bank, and to amuse herself by throwing little sticks into the hurrying current. There was an old split tree-trunk that overhung the bank, and it struck her that this would make a most comfortable and delightful rustic seat. She climbed on to it quite easily, crawled along, and sat at the end with her feet swinging over the river. It was such an idyllic situation that she felt herself a mixture of a tree nymph and a water nymph, or--to follow the Major's humor--could almost imagine that she was taking her holiday in the shape of a bird. If she would have been content to remain quietly seated, just enjoying the scenery all might have been well, but unfortunately Carmel made the discovery that by exercising a little energy she could make the stump rock. The sensation was as pleasant as a swing. Up and down and up and down she swayed, till the poor old split tree could bear the strain no longer, and suddenly, with an awful crash, the part on which she rested broke off, and precipitated her into the river. Her cry of terror as she struck the water echoed through the wood. As she rose to the surface she managed to clutch hold of some of the branches and support herself, but she was in a position of great danger, for the stump was hardly holding to the edge of the bank, and in another moment or two would probably be whirled away by the current.

As she shouted again there was a quick dash through the undergrowth, and Johnson the chauffeur shot down through the wood at a speed that could almost compete with the car's. In a bound he jumped the bank, and, plunging into the river, struggled to her help and succeeded in pulling her back out of the current into the shallow water among the reeds at the brink.