Chapter X: Was It Worth While?

"NO, no, not Artie. Not for anything," shrieked Mousie. "Stay where you are, Artie. You're too small—ever so much too small. I don't believe Jock can do it either."

Jock not do what a girl could do! She could not have said anything more certain to bring him after her. "Of course I can," he shouted.

"Well, mind you take care. Stay where you are, Artie boy."

Artie obeyed, glad to rest his fat little legs, and Jock scrambled with some difficulty up the rough and sloping trunk. A few seconds more and he too sat astride the big low-curving bough. Then, following Mousie's lead, he wriggled along it, till they both were over the water, the bough swaying to and fro.

"Oh-h-h—" Jock breathed in a tone, half of rapture, half of uneasiness. "Oh—I say—Mousie—I say—"

"Hold tight. Isn't it fun? Let's make it swing more."

"Mousie—don't." Jock clutched the bough.

"Well—I won't. Dad said it was ever so deep just here. Yes, he brought us—one day. And he said—" Mousie's voice trailed into silence.

"Did he say you—wasn't to come?"

"Yes—'course he did." Mousie's tone was defiant. "And I wanted to come—most frightfully. So we're here. And I'm glad. I'm most awfully glad. It's such fun."

"You didn't ask if we might?"

"No, I didn't ask—nothing nor nobody. I knew they'd all say No. And I didn't want to have a No. I wanted to bring you, and I just—went and did it. So there!"

Jock was thinking soberly. "I say—hadn't we better go back?"

"What for? We've done it now. I don't mind—do you? It's just—lovely here." Something in the tone showed that Mousie was not quite happy. Stolen waters may be sweet, but they are apt to turn sour, and Phœbe, perhaps, had begun to taste the sourness.

Jock said no more, but he started to wriggle backward towards the edge of the pond, and he found this feat not so easy as the wriggling forward had been, especially when Phœbe began to follow him.

"Hold tight," she cried again. "Don't let go, whatever you do."

But her movements set the bough swinging again, and just as Jock reached the edge of the water, he overbalanced, and went down on the ground with a sharp thud, his right arm striking a projecting root.

Phœbe reached the same spot with all speed, slid down the tree, and ran to his side.

Jock was pulling himself up, with a rather white and bewildered look. "It—doesn't matter," he said.

"You aren't hurt, are you? What 'did' make you fall? Jock—you're not going to cry?"

Jock shook his head. "My arm hurts," he said.

"Pull off your coat, and let's see." The womanly side of Mousie came to the fore, and she knelt beside him, helping to bare his arm. An "Oh" of pity followed, at the sight of blood oozing from a red patch. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You poor, dear pet."

"It doesn't matter," repeated Jock manfully, though he winced at her touch.

"I'm sure it hurts frightfully." Mousie kissed the top of his head, and he endured this, since no one was at hand to see. "Never mind. I'll do it up, and it'll soon get all right. Here's my hanky—it's almost quite clean, and—I'll just dip it in the water. There—that's right." Deftly enough for so small a maiden, she folded the wet handkerchief round his arm, and tied the corners together.

"It doesn't hurt so much now, does it? I s'pose we'd better go home." Mousie gazed blankly round. "Why—where's Artie?"

Jock, too, stared about. No Artie was to be seen.

"Artie—Artie—" called Mousie in high shrill tones. "Ar-tie. We're going home. Come along, Artie!"

Jock joined in with the summons. But they called in vain. No answer came. The wood was very still. Artie had completely vanished.

XI. "WHERE, AND OH WHERE?"

THE two children stared hard, each at the other, blank dismay in both their faces.

"He can't have got far," Jock sensibly observed. "I shouldn't wonder if he thought he'd go home. And we'll find him there, all right."

"Oh no, no, we shan't. I know we shan't."

"Why not?"

"He couldn't. He doesn't know the way. He's lost, quite lost. And p'raps we'll never find him again," sobbed Mousie. "And it's all my fault—every bit my fault."

Jock thoughtfully offered his own pocket-handkerchief, which—like the one which encircled his arm—was "almost quite clean." She accepted the loan, but wept on. "I wouldn't cry if I was you," Jock suggested. "It's no good. He's got to be found."

"But we don't know where he is."

"He hasn't gone far. Why—he couldn't, in such a scrap of time. Where does this path go?"

"Oh, on and on in the wood. And it's a most awfully big wood—there's miles and miles. Dad said so. He said—anybody might get lost in it."

"Well, come along. I'm sure Artie hasn't run miles." Jock felt himself all at once the man in charge, able to take the lead. "Come."

Hand in hand they followed the path, skirting the pond, and then plunged deep among tall forest trees. As they went, they again and again raised the call of—"Artie!—Artie!"—but with no result. It seemed to them both that they had walked an immense distance, when Jock at length called a halt!

"I say—he's never come all this way. He couldn't. Let's go back, and see if he's at the pond, waiting for us."

Despondingly Mousie agreed, and they trudged back, to find themselves close to the pond much sooner than they expected. But no Artie appeared. The two stood, a forlorn little couple, wondering what on earth was to be done. What "could" have become of Artie?

Mousie's small face had grown white and peaked, and her eyes had black shades under them. She dropped down on the grass, murmuring hopelessly—"I'm so tired. I can't walk any more. And Artie is quite—quite—lost. And we'll never see him again. And by-and-by it'll be dark—and I'm so hungry—and Artie will starve. And we'll starve too. And we'll be like the Babes in the Wood. You won't mind, will you, Jock darling?"

"Jock darling" felt that he would mind it very much indeed. He was not at all disposed for such a dismal ending to their half-holiday.

"Nonsense, Mousie," he said. "Don't be such a silly. We've got to go home, and tell them, and then they'll come and find Artie."

"I can't. Oh, I couldn't—possibly. I never could do that. They'd be so angry."

"Well—and if they are—what then? If we can't find him, you've just got to tell, you know. And we've got to make haste."

Mousie shook a despairing head. She was crouching in a little heap on the ground, a picture of hopelessness, her small hands propping up her little pointed chin, as she gazed blankly around.

"I couldn't possibly tell," she wailed. "And you can't possibly go home and tell about me, Jock, because that would be so mean—wouldn't it? And you promised, too. I don't see how we can be like the Babes in the Wood—'cause there's no blackberries. D'you think the birds would really and truly come and cover us up? It would take such a lot of leaves."

Jock was about to say again—"Don't be such a goose—" when his eyes were caught by a tiny streak of scarlet, which certainly did not belong to grass or trees. It came through some thin underwood. And with a startled "I say!" Jock rushed thither. Mousie followed.

Behind a clump of bushes, reposing peacefully in a small hollow, they found a plump and round-faced little boy, sound asleep, nestling close to a big tree-root, which one fat arm embraced.

"Artie!" cried the enraptured Phœbe, and she went down by his side, hugging and kissing with her usual vehemence. "Oh, you darling—how could you? And never to hear all our shouting. Jock, isn't he funny? Wake up, wake up, Artie boy! Oh, you dear, silly old thing!"

Mousie went into fits of laughter as the sleeper slowly opened his eyes and sat up, drowsy and bewildered still. He looked vaguely round, and yawned.

"What did make you come here?" Mousie demanded.

Artie smiled his blandest. "I dunno. 'Cause I'd got a leg-ache."

"You'd no business to do it. You gave us such a fright—didn't he, Jock? And you mustn't have any more leg-ache. We've got to hurry home now, as fast as ever we can. And—mind, Artie—you needn't say anything to anybody about us coming here. Not unless you're asked outright."

"Needn't I?"

"Not unless you want to get Sis punished. You don't want that, do you?"

Artie smiled still more broadly.

"'Course I don't."

"Well, then, you can just say we've had lots of fun, playing about. That's quite perfectly true, and you needn't say any more. If we get back in time for tea, we shan't be asked, most likely. Everybody will only just think we've been in the fields."

Mousie, of course, knew she was doing wrongly. She knew she had no business to lead her little brother into deceit. But she resolutely turned her mind from this side of the question, as she pulled him up and they set off at a brisk pace homeward. Jock on one side and Mousie on the other side helped Artie's slower movements. Once Mousie, who kept silence most of the way, looked anxiously at Jock, and said—

"You won't tell?"

"No," came promptly.

"If you do, I shall get a black conduct-mark. And it will be my very first this year. And I've tried so awfully hard not to have one. I do want so awfully much to get Mr. Royle's prize in June. And I shouldn't have a chance—not one wee-est little scrap of a chance. I don't want the second-best prize. I want the best. Do—do—promise faithfully you won't tell. Please, dear, darling Jock."

"I've said I won't." Jock spoke gruffly, for he saw difficulties ahead. "All the same, you might have told me what you meant to do, not got me to go like this. It wasn't fair."

"Why, you wanted it every bit as much as me—you know you did."

"Yes, I daresay—after you'd made me want. I didn't before. And you never said one word about not getting leave—nor going out of bounds—not one word."

"You might have guessed," retorted Mousie, nose in air. "If I'd got leave, of course I wouldn't have had to make you promise. And—that wouldn't have been any fun—either."

Jock walked sturdily on in silence, and Mousie studied his looks with troubled eyes.

"I don't think you'd got any right—" he said at length.

"But you'll forgive me, Jock darling—won't you? And you'll belong to me—just the same—won't you?"

"I—dunno. I'll—see."

The corners of Mousie's mouth went down in dismal curves, but Jock would discuss the question no further.

By dint of racing the small boy out of breath and off his legs, they arrived in good time. The bell which summoned them to tea had not begun to sound when Mousie and Artie reached their back-garden, and Jock quitted them there, tearing at his best pace for home.

Aunt Judith had been away all the afternoon, and no one had missed him. No particular questions were asked as to what he had done, but Jock could not feel happy. He had never been used to hide things from his mother, and it did not seem right now. He was at a loss what to do.