CHAPTER XX—THE POND IN THE WOODLAND

Some one was kicking his foot He awoke to find Ruddy, hands in pockets, grinning down on him.

“Been op for hoars,” he whispered; “been exploring. Found a ripping pool Want to swim in it?”

Teddy eased his arm from under the little girl and nodded. “Let’s light a fire first. She’ll know then that we’re not far away, and won’t be nervous.”

The blur of foliage quivered with mysteries of a myriad coinings and goings. Everywhere unseen paths were being traveled to unseen houses. Within sight, yet sounding distant, a woodpecker, like a postman going his rounds, was tap-tap-tapping.

Ruddy knelt and struck a match; tongues of scarlet spurted. The camp-fire became a beating heart in this citadel of gray-green loneliness.

Desire lay curled among withered leaves, her face flushed with sleep, her lips parted. At sound of the fire snapping and cracking, she stirred and opened her eyes slowly.

“Oh, don’t leave me. Where are you going?”

“To have a swim,” they told her.

“But mayn’t I come? I promise to sit with my back turned. I promise not to look, honestly.”

Behind a holly, within sight of the pond, they left her. “Oh, dear, I wish I were a boy,” she pouted. “Boys have fathers and they can bathe and—and they can do almost everything.”

While they undressed, she kept on talking.

“It’s the same as if you weren’t there, when I can’t see you. Splash loud when you get into the water.”

As she heard them enter, “Splash louder,” she commanded. “Girls don’t have to be truthful. If you don’t make a noise I’ll look round.”

“Pooh! Look round. Who cares!” cried Ruddy.

“No, don’t—not yet,” shouted Teddy.

Then the sound of their laughter came to her, of the long cool stretch of arms plunging deep and panting growing always more distant.

She couldn’t resist. The babies came into her eyes and her finger went up to her mouth. She turned and saw two sleek heads, bobbing and diving among anchored lilies. Beneath the water’s surface, as though buried beneath a sheet of glass, the ghost of the wood lay shrouded. Trees crowded down to the mossy edge to gaze timidly at the wonder of their own reflection. Across the pond flies zigzagged, leaving a narrow wake behind them. A fish leapt joyously and curved in a streak of silver. With his chin resting in the highest branches, the sun stared roundly and smiled a challenge.

“I will be a boy,” she whispered rebelliously.

Her arms flew up and circled about her neck. Lest her daring should go from her, she commenced unbuttoning in a tremendous hurry.

“Hi, Princess, what are you doing?”

She was busy drawing off her stockings.

“I say, but you can’t do that.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

The scandalized duet of protests continued. Her knight-errants watched her aghast.

Sullen gray eyes glared defiance at them; yet they weren’t altogether sullen, for a glint of mischief hid in their depths.

“I am doing it. You daren’t come out to stop me.”

“We’ll come out if you’ll promise to turn round. We’ll do anything, Princess. You can have the pond all to yourself.”

“Don’t want the pond all to myself, stupids.”

She began to slip off her petticoat. Two shocked backs were turned on her. As the boys retreated further into the lilies, their pleadings reached her in spasms. Their agony at the thought of violated conventions made her relentless.

She was tired of being a girl; tired of being without a father. “I’ll be a boy,” she whispered, “and wear knickerbockers and have a father, like Teddy.” She really thought that, in some occult way, her outrageous conduct would accomplish that. It was all a matter of dress. She chuckled at imagining her mother’s amazement. The still sheet of water was a Pool of Siloam that would heal a little girl of her sex.

“When she’s once got in,” whispered Ruddy, “it won’t be so bad. We can——”

Teddy grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “You shan’t see her. We’ll stay just as far away as——”

A scream startled the air. They swung about. Knee-deep in the pool, at bay and pale as a wood-nymph, was Desire.

“I won’t come out,” she was shouting, “and I’m not a naughty girl.”

Leaning out from the bank, trying to hook her with an umbrella, was a balloon-shaped old lady.

Behind her, peering above the bushes, was the face of Farmer Joseph, his merry eyes screwed up with amusement.

“But you’ll catch cold, darling,” Mrs. Sheerug coaxed. “Oh, dear, oh, dear! What shall I do? Please do come out.”

“I shan’t catch cold either. And if I do come out you’ll only be cross with me.”

“I won’t be cross with you, darling. I’m too glad to find you for that.”

“Did my beautiful mother send you?”

With what guile Mrs. Sheerug answered the boys could only guess by the effect.

“Well, then,” came the piping little voice, “tell Farmer Joseph to stop looking, and you stop poking at me. I don’t like your umbrella.”

They saw her wade out, drops of water falling from her elfin whiteness like jewels; then saw her folded in the bat-like wings of the faery-godmother’s ample mantle. The glade emptied. The wood grew silent They dared to swim to land.

Ruddy was the first to say anything. “Ma—Ma’s a wonder. I oughtn’t to have sent that pigeon till this s’moming.” Then, in a burst of penitence for his zeal, “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled—— I say, I’m beastly sorry.”

He had spoiled everything; there was no denying it There would be no more camp-fires, no more slaying of bird-catchers, no more pretending you were a war-horse with a rescued Princess from Goblinland riding on your back. Teddy was too unhappy to blame or forgive Ruddy. He pulled on his shirt and indulged in reflections.

“Wonder how they found us?” muttered Ruddy. “Must have seen the smoke of our fire. That wasn’t my fault anyhow; you did agree to lighting that.”

“Oh, be quiet,” growled Teddy. “What does anything matter? Who cares now how they found out?”

Ruddy stole away to see what was happening, thinking that he might prove more acceptable elsewhere.

Teddy stared at the pool. Birds flew across its quiet breast; fish leaped; the sun smiled grandly. Everything was as it had been, yet he was altered. They would take her away from him; of that he was certain. Perhaps they would put her on another ship and send her traveling again across the world. There would be other boys who had never had a sister. He hated them. Because he was young, he would have to stay just where he had been always—in Eden Row, where nothing ever happened. The tyranny of it!

He was roused by hearing his name called softly. She was tiptoeing down the glade, dragging Mrs. Sheerug by the hand. Mrs. Sheerug’s other hand still clasped her umbrella.

As he turned, the child ran forward and flung her arms about his neck. “Oh, Teddy, this person says perhaps she’ll help us to find her.” Then, in a whisper, bringing her face so dose that the thistledown of her hair brushed his forehead and his whole world sank into two gray eyes, “The Princess wasn’t very nice this morning—not modest, so this person says. But you don’t mind—say you don’t I did so want to be like you and to do everything that boys do,” and then, long drawn out, when he thought her apology was ended, “Teddy.”

Mrs. Sheerug trundled up, her hands folded beneath her mantle, and looked down at them benevolently.

“Boys aren’t to be trusted; they shouldn’t be left alone with girls, shouldn’t.” Having uttered the moral she felt necessary, she allowed herself to smile through her shiny spectacles. “She’s fond of you, Teddy—a dear little maid. Ah, well! We must be getting back with Farmer Joseph to breakfast.”

In the wagonette, as they drove through the golden morning, few words were said. Mrs. Sheerug sat with Desire cuddled to her, kissing her again and again with a tender worship. Teddy-couldn’t divine why she should do it, since she had never seen her until that morning. He was conscious of a jealousy in Mrs. Sheerug’s attitude—a protective jealousy which made her want to keep touching Desire, the way Hal did, to realize her presence. It was as though they both shared his own dread that at any moment they might lose her.

It was in the late afternoon when Mrs. Sheerug left. Before going she led him aside. “I want to talk to you.” Her cheeks quivered with earnestness. “You did very wrong, my dear, very wrong. Just how wrong you didn’t know. Something terrible might have happened. That little girl’s in great danger. You must keep her in the garden where no one can see her. Promise me you will. I’d take her back to London to-night, only Hal doesn’t know I’ve found out I want to give him the news gently.” She broke off, wringing her hands and speaking to herself, “Why, oh why, was he so foolish? Why did he keep it from me?” Then, recovering, “Either Hal or I will come and fetch her to-morrow. Don’t look so down-hearted, my dear. If the good Lord remembers us, everything may turn out well. If it does, I’ll let you come and see her. Perhaps,” her dim eyes flickered with excitement, “I shall be able to keep her always and make sure that she grows into a good woman. Perhaps.”

She caught the boy to her breast. She was trembling all over and on the verge of tears. When she had climbed into the wagonette, with Ruddy seated beside her, and had lumbered slowly out of the farmyard, she left Teddy wondering: Why had she said “a good woman”? As though there was any doubt that little Desire would grow up good!