Chapter 22 Girls of the Forest by L. T. Meade
“OUR FATHER” IS BEST
Pauline and Verena found Miss Tredgold waiting for them. They went into the shop, which was quite one of the best shops in the High Street. There Miss Tredgold asked to see hats, and presently the two girls and their aunt were absorbed in the fascinating occupation of trying on new headgear. Miss Tredgold was buying a very pretty hat for herself also. It was to be trimmed with lace and feathers, and Verena had a momentary sense of disappointment that she was to have nothing so gay to wear on her own head. The attendant who was serving them made a sudden remark.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “this little brown hat trimmed with velvet will exactly suit the dark young lady.” Here she looked at Pauline. “And I should venture to suggest a very little cream-colored lace introduced in front. The autumn is coming on, and the young lady will find this hat very suitable when the weather changes.”
“Well, the weather seems inclined to remain fine,” said Miss Tredgold, glancing out of the window, where a very blue sky met her gaze. There were heavy white clouds, however, drifting quickly across the sky, and the young shop attendant said:
“I hear that there’s a storm expected. And anyhow it is high-tide to-night. The tide will come up and quite cover the White Bay this evening. It is always more or less dangerous there, but it is specially dangerous to-day. I never like these high-tides; children and nursemaids are so apt to forget all about them.”
Miss Tredgold muttered something conventional. Pauline suddenly sat down on a chair.
“How white you are, dear!” said Miss Tredgold. “Would you oblige me,” she added, turning to the attendant, “by bringing this young lady a glass of water?”
But Pauline had already recovered herself.
“Please don’t,” she said. “I want to go out. I want to get the air. Don’t—don’t keep me.”
Her movement was so sudden and so unexpected that neither Miss Tredgold nor Verena had time to say a word. The people in the shop saw a somewhat untidy-looking little girl rush wildly down the stairs and out of doors, and long before Miss Tredgold had time to recover her scattered senses that same little girl was tearing as though on the wings of the wind up the High Street. Panting, breathless, overpowered with emotion, she presently reached the long flat stretch of beach at the farther end of which was the dangerous White Bay. Never in all her life had Pauline run as she did now. Faster and faster flew her feet. There was a noise in her ears as though something was hammering on her brain. She was almost faint with terror. Should she be in time? Should she be too late? Oh! she must be in time.
Presently she saw the far end of the promontory. Her heart gave a bound and almost stood still. What was that white thing curling round it? Water? Oh, yes; but she did not mind. She had waded before now. This was a case of wading again. She reached the spot, and a moment later she had torn off her shoes and stockings, had gathered her skirts round her waist, and was walking through the waves. The water was already over a foot deep. There was also a strong tide, and she had some difficulty in keeping her feet. She managed to hold her own, however, and found herself a minute or two later, drenched all over, panting and trembling, but still safe in the White Bay. To her relief, she saw three terrified children crouching up as near as they dared to the water. Even now a great wave, deeper and stronger than its predecessors, rolled in. It took Pauline off her feet just as she was clambering to dry ground. She recovered herself, ran up to Pen, took her hand, and said:
“We have played pickaback before now. Get on my back this moment; don’t stop to think.”
“I daren’t,” said Pen.
“Little boy—I don’t know your name,” said Pauline—“put Pen onto my back whatever happens.”
Harry Carver sprang towards Pen.
“You must,” he said. “She is brave; she is a true heroine. The lions and tigers would love her. Get on her back and she will return for us. Oh! be quick—do be quick—for we don’t any of us want to be drowned.”
“Can you swim?” asked Pauline. “No; I know you can’t. I haven’t a moment to stay; I’ll come back somehow.”
She struggled towards the water, but Pen scrambled off her back and stood firm on the ground.
“I am bad,” she said—“there never was anybody much badder—but I’m not going first. Take that little girl; I will go afterwards.”
“Come, little girl,” said Pauline.
Harry rushed towards his sister.
“Do go, Nellie. Let mother keep one of us. I don’t mind being drowned—not a bit. You tell mother I don’t mind. Go, Nellie; do go with the big brave girl.”
So Pauline carried Nellie through the rising tide, and, marvellous to relate, did land her safely on the other side.
“Now look here,” she said, “you must rush home as fast as you can, and when you get there you are to say that there are two girls and a boy in the White Bay, and that your people are to bring a boat immediately. Don’t waste a second. Find somebody. If all your people are out, go to ours. Our house is No. 11. You understand? There isn’t a minute to lose.”
“Yes, see you go,” shouted Harry Carver. “And if you are too late, be sure you tell mother that I wasn’t afraid to drown.”
Nellie Carver began to run as fast as she could across the sands. Pauline hesitated for a moment; then she deliberately waded back to the other two. The water was up to her waist now, and she had the greatest difficulty in keeping her feet.
“I couldn’t face anybody again if Pen were drowned,” she said to herself. “If she drowns, so will I. It is the only thing fit for me. Perhaps when God sees that I am sorry, and that I did try to save Pen, He will forgive me; but I am not sure. Anyhow, I deserve to be drowned. I could never, never face the others if Pen were to die because of me.”
She was just able to scramble again out of the water on the White Bay side. The tide was coming in with great rapidity. It was hopeless to think of carrying Pen across.
“Let us go to the top part of the bay, as close to the rocks as possible,” said Pauline; “and don’t let’s be really frightened, for I am sure the boat will be in time.”
“Oh, I am certain of it!” said Harry. “Nellie never does lose her head. She won’t want us to drown, so she’ll hurry up.”
“Give me your hand, Pen,” said Pauline. “You are a very brave little girl to let the other little girl go first. I am glad you did it.”
“Will God remember that about me by-and-by?” asked Pen.
“I hope so,” replied Pauline, with a shiver.
She took Pen’s icy hand and began to rub it.
“It isn’t at all good for you to shiver like this,” she said. “Here is a bright piece of sunshine. Let us run up and down in the sunshine. It doesn’t seem, somehow, as though anybody could drown when the sun shines.”
“Maybe the boat will be in time,” said Harry.
They ran up and down for some time, and then stood quiet. Pauline was very silent. Beside the other two children she felt quite old and grown-up. She had got Pen into this terrible scrape; it was her mission to help them both. If they must all die, she at least would have to show courage. She was not ready to die. She knew that fact quite well. But she had naturally plenty of pluck, and fearful as her present surroundings were, she would not have been afraid but for that ugly black thing which rested on her conscience. Penelope looked full into her face. There was something also pricking Penelope’s conscience. The three children stood close together on the little white patch of sand which had not yet been covered by the waves. The wind was getting up, and the waves were mounting higher; they rushed farther and farther up the bay, and curled and swept and enjoyed themselves, and looked as though they were having a race up the white sands. Pauline made a rapid calculation, and came to the conclusion that they had about half-an-hour to live; for the bay was a very shallow one, and when the wind was in its present quarter the tide rose rapidly. She looked back at the rocks behind her, and saw that high-water mark, even on ordinary occasions, was just above their heads. This was what is called a spring-tide. There was not the least hope.
“If only we could climb up,” she thought.
Then Penelope gave her hand a great tug. She looked down. Pen went on tugging and tugging.
“Look,” she said; “stoop and look.”
In the palm of Pen’s hand lay the thimble.
“Take it,” said Pen. “I comed with it to make mischief, but I won’t never tell now—never. Take it. Put it in your pocket. I am sorry I was so bad. Take it.”
Pauline did take the little gold thimble. She slipped it into her pocket; then she stooped and kissed Pen.
“What are you two doing?” said Harry. “Why don’t you talk to me? Can’t I do something to help? I’m ten. How old are you?”
“I was fourteen a few weeks ago,” said Pauline.
“Granny!” said the boy. “Why, you are quite old; you are withering up. I wouldn’t like to be fourteen. You must know a monstrous lot. You are a very plucky one to come through the water as you did. I wish I could swim, and I wouldn’t let the waves get the better of me; but I’m glad I let Nellie see that I wasn’t afraid of drowning. Do you mind drowning, big, big, old girl?”
“Yes, I do,” said Pauline.
“You have a queer sort of look in your eyes, like the little one has in hers. Are you wicked, too?”
“You have guessed it,” said Pauline.
“I expect we’re all wicked for that matter; but we can say our prayers, can’t we?”
“Yes,” said Pauline, and now her lips trembled and the color faded from her cheeks. “Let us say them together.”
“By-and-by,” said Pen. “We needn’t say our prayers yet. It will be some time afore the water will touch us; won’t it, Paulie?”
Pauline knew that the water would come in very quickly. Harry looked full at Pen, and then he nodded his head. He came to Pauline and whispered something in her ear.
“What is it?” she said.
“She’s little,” he said. “She’s quite a baby—not eight yet. I am ten. When the water begins to come in we’ll lift her in our arms and raise her above it; shan’t we?”
“Yes; that is a very good thought,” said Pauline. She looked back again at the rocks. They were smooth as marble; there did not seem to be a possible foothold. She felt a sense of regret that they had not gone to the farther end of the bay, where the rocks were lower and more indented, and where it might be possible for a brave boy and girl to get temporary foothold; but the sea had already reached those rocks and was dashing round them.
“I wish I had thought of it,” said Pauline.
“What about?”
“The rocks—those rocks out there.”
The words had scarcely passed her lips before Harry darted back. A wave from the incoming tide had rolled over his feet.
Pen uttered a sudden cry:
“I am frightened. I won’t drown. I am awful frightened.”
She began to shriek.
“Try and keep up your courage, darling,” said Pauline. “It won’t be long. It will be quickly over, and I will stay close to you. Paulie will be close to you.”
“Let us get her to stand on our two shoulders, and we’ll lean up against the rocks,” said Harry. “She can steady herself against the rock, and I will support you both. Here, I will hoist her up. Now, missy, you look slippy. That’s it.”
Harry was a very active boy, and he did manage to lift Pen, who was stiff with cold and fright, and miserable with a sense of her own naughtiness, on to Pauline’s and his shoulders. When she was established in that position she was propped up against the rocks.
“Now you are safe,” said Harry, looking back at her and trying to laugh. “We’ll both drown before you. See how safe you are.”
Just for a moment Pen was somewhat consoled by this reflection. But presently a fresh terror seized her. It would be so awful when she was left alone and there was only a dead Pauline and a dead Harry to keep her company. She had never seen anybody die, and had not the least idea what death meant. Her terrors grew worse each moment. She began to cry and whimper miserably, “I wish that boat would come.”
Another wave came in and washed right over both Pauline’s and Harry’s ankles. They were jammed up against the rocks now. This big wave was followed by a second and a third, and soon the children were standing in water very nearly up to their knees.
“Seems to me,” said Harry in a choky voice, “that it is about time we began our prayers. It is like going to sleep at night. Just when you are preparing to sleep you say your prayers, and then you dump your head down on your pillow and off you go to by-bye land. Then mother comes and kisses you, and she says—— Oh, bother! I don’t want to think of that. Let’s try and fancy that it is night. Let’s begin our prayers. Oh, what a wave that is! Why, it has dashed right into my eyes.”
“How far up is the water now, Pauline?” asked Penelope from her position.
“It is not very far up yet,” replied Pauline in as cheerful a tone as she could. “We had better do what Harry says, and say our prayers.”
“Shall us?” said Pen.
“I think so,” replied Pauline.
There was a strange sensation in her throat, and a mist before her eyes. Her feet were so icy cold that it was with difficulty she could keep herself from slipping.
“Which prayer shall we say?” asked Harry. “There’s a lot of them. There’s our special private prayers in which we say, ‘God bless father and mother;’ and then there’s ‘Our Father.’”
“‘Our Father’ is best,” said Pauline.
The children began repeating it in a sing-song fashion. Suddenly Pen violently clutched hold of Pauline.
“Will God forgive our badnesses?” she asked.
“He will—I know He will,” answered Pauline; and just at that instant there came a cry from Harry.
“A boat! a boat!” he shrieked. “And it’s coming our way. I knew Nellie was a brick. I knew she’d do it.”
A boat rowed by four men came faster and faster over the waves. By-and-by it was within a stone’s-throw of the children. A big man sat in the stern. Harry glanced at him.
“Why, it’s father!” he cried. “Oh, father, why did you come home? I thought you had gone away for the day. Father, I wasn’t a bit afraid to drown—not really, I mean. I hope Nellie told you.”
“Yes, my brave boy. Now, see, when I hold out my hand, spring up carefully or the boat will capsize.”
The next instant a stalwart hand and arm were stretched across the rapidly rising waves, and Harry, with a bound, was in the boat.
“Lie down in the boat, and stay as quiet as a mouse,” said his father.
Pauline, already up to her waist in water, struggled a step or two and was dragged into the boat; while two of the men bent over, and, catching Penelope round the waist, lifted her into their ark of shelter.
“It was touch-and-go, sir,” said one of the sailors who had accompanied Harry’s father. “Five minutes later and we could have done no good.”