Gregory, who was looking out of the door and meditating an escape from so much dampness, and a conversation on the whole matter with Kink, exclaimed suddenly, "Hello, I guess this is your mother."
"Yes, it is," cried Patricia, standing up and waving her handkerchief to a lady seated in a milk-cart, which was being driven after them at a tremendous pace. "I wondered who she'd get to bring her here, and it's young Daniel Wilson. Tell your man to stop, please."
Mrs. Mordan, whom Gregory thought both a nice and a pretty lady, leapt out of the milk-cart and ran up the steps of the Slowcoach, and mother and daughter hugged each other for quite two minutes, while Gregory looked at young Daniel Wilson, and Patricia began to cry afresh—this time because she was happy.
Mrs. Mordan was happy too. The grief she had felt for the accident and the injury to poor Snelgrove, whom she had left in agony by the road, passed away when she found her little daughter unhurt.
She sat holding Patricia's hand, and asked Hester a number of questions, and gave her a number of thanks all together.
Gregory meanwhile had got out, and was asking young Daniel Wilson how ponies are shot; and what he did about getting milk to the station when the snow was two feet thick; and if the cows often kicked the buckets over.
"It's not us," said Hester, "it's Kink who was so useful."
"Who is Kink?" Mrs. Mordan asked.
"Our gardener," said Hester, "but he drives the caravan for us;" and gradually she told the whole Slowcoach story.
By this time they were at Ashton, and, after giving instructions about looking after the ponies,—sending for a veterinary surgeon and so forth,—Mrs. Mordan showed Kink the way to Aunt May's house, which they reached just before two.
Aunt May was standing by the gate? with five black spaniels about her, looking anxiously down the road—a tall lady with grey hair and top-boots, and a little whip in her hand.
"No," she said, as Kink stopped at the gate, "I don't want any chairs or kettles mended, or, indeed, anything from you at all."
Kink, however, said nothing, but went to the back of the caravan and helped Mrs. Mordan and Patricia down.
"My precious Lina!" exclaimed Aunt May, when she saw them. "Whatever has happened?"
"I'll tell you about it indoors," said Mrs. Mordan. "These kind people are going to stop here for lunch, if you've got enough."
"Of course there's enough," said Aunt May; "but I thought you were gipsies, or tinkers, or something objectionable. You're not a tinker, are you?" she said to Gregory.
"No," he said, "but I'd like to be a gypsy."
And so they reached the house, which was an old-fashioned one, all among dark trees, with a very soft lawn in front of it.
Aunt May told Kink to go round to the back and be sure not to let Diogenes and the dogs fight, and then she began to call at the top of her voice for Simpkins.
After a while Simpkins appeared—an elderly bald man in a dress suit, who was evidently the butler.
"Simpkins," said Aunt May, "there will be two more to lunch, and there's a caravan at the back belonging to this gentleman here,"—indicating Gregory, who immediately grew three inches all over,—"and please give the driver a good dinner."
"Yes, my lady," said Simpkins; and Hester and Gregory at once began to look at her with round eyes, for they had never before met anyone who was titled—I mean to speak to, although they had seen the Lord Mayor (who is of course a baronet) in his carriage only last November 9.
"And, Simpkins," said Aunt May, "take Mr. What is your name?" she asked Gregory.
"Gregory Bruce Avory," said he.
"Take Mr. Bruce Avory to the Pink Room, and get him some hot water."
"Yes, my lady," said Simpkins, and Gregory grew another inch all over.
And then Aunt May led the others upstairs.
Gregory finished his washing first, and walked to the dining-room, which opened on to the lawn, and was very bright and sweet-smelling. The walls were covered with pictures, and there were roses in blue bowls wherever a place could be found for them.
By the wall, in a row, were five round baskets, and directly Aunt May came in the five black spaniels, who were with her, went each to his basket, and lay there quietly, with his head resting on the edge and his eyes fixed on his mistress. Their names were Mars, Saturn, Orion, Mercury, and Jupiter; and from time to time Aunt May called one to her and gave it a little piece of food, while the others glittered with expectation.
"Now," said Aunt May, "let's get on with our eatin', for I'm sure you're all hungry, and I know I am. Patricia dear, do you think you can eat solid things, or shall we get something else?"
Patricia, however, declared that she could eat anything.
"Mr. Bruce Avory," said Aunt May, "you're drinkin' nothing. Would you rather have lemonade or barley-water?"
Poor Gregory! he knew what he wanted—lemonade—but he didn't know whether he ought to address Aunt May as "My Lady" or "Your Ladyship" or "Lady Rusper." He had tried to get a moment with Hester to ask about it, but without success.
"If she was only our aunt!" he thought, and then said, without using any name at all, that he would like lemonade.
Lady Rusper made them tell her the story all through once again, "right from the beginnin'," as she called it; and just as Hester had got to the end of her part of it a boy arrived leading Marshall, and Patricia leaped up and rushed across the lawn to fondle her pony. Then she dashed back for a piece of sugar, and was off again. The boy said that the blacksmith, who was also a farrier, had seen Marshall, and declared he was quite sound; but Snelgrove was done for completely, and the trap was too badly smashed ever to be much use.
"Put Marshall in the stable," said Aunt May, "and have the trap brought here."
At the news about Snelgrove Patricia began to cry again.
"Well," said Aunt May, "we must see what can be done. I dare say there are more ponies in the world. But I suppose we shall all be driven to motors before long. It's a great shame. I spend most of my time detestin' the things; but they've got to come. And now," she said to Hester, "tell me all about your home and your caravan;" and Hester again told the story, saying "Lady Rusper" with an ease that made Gregory gasp.
After lunch they all went to the stables, where, in a loose-box, beautifully snug in the straw, lay another black spaniel, Venus, with three puppies ("Oh, the darlings!" cried Hester) snuggling to her.
"Do you think your mother would let you keep a spaniel?" Aunt May asked.
"Oh, yes, now we've got Diogenes as a start," she answered.
"Very well, then," said Aunt May, "if you'd like one of these, you shall have it directly it's old enough to be sent away—as a memory of to-day, and as a thankofferin', too. Which would you like," she added, "Psyche, Cicero, or Circe? This is Cicero, this is Circe, and this is Psyche."
"Why do all their names begin with 'S'?" Gregory asked; and it was not till he told Janet about it that he understood why it was that everyone had laughed so.
"And if you may keep two," Aunt May went on, speaking to Gregory, "I shall send you one of the next litter. Vesta is going to have puppies soon. You must write and let me know. And now, if your man has finished, I expect you'd like to be gettin' on, or the others will be nervous about you."
And so, after Hester had chosen Circe, they all said very affectionate farewells, and the Slowcoach rumbled forth again.
Meanwhile, what of Janet and Robert and Mary and Jack and Horace? They had had no adventures at all—nothing but scenery and a pleasant picnic.
Robert had been rightly told about the summit of Bredon Hill, for there the grass is as short as on the South Downs, and there is a deep fosse in which to shelter from the wind.
The hill at this western point ends suddenly, at a kind of precipice, and you look right over the valley of the Avon and the Severn to the Malverns. Just below on the south-west is Tewkesbury, where the Severn and the Avon meet, after that becoming the Severn only all the way to Bristol and the sea. In the far south-west rises the point of the Sugar Loaf at Abergavenny, and the blue distance is Wales—the country of King Arthur and Malory.
To the north-west is the smoke of Worcester, and immediately beneath the hill, winding shiningly about, is the Avon, running by Bredon village and the Combertons and Pershore, past Cropthorne (where Mr. MacAngus was perhaps even now painting) and Wood Norton (where the Duke of Orleans, who ought, Hester held, to be King of France to-day, lives) to Evesham, and the weir where they had rowed about, and so on to Stratford.
Robert's maps, fortified by what he had picked up from the old man last night, told them all these things, and told them also, more or less, what the "coloured counties" were that they could see; for of course Mary wanted to know that: Warwickshire, Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, Worcestershire, Herefordshire, Monmouthshire. After lunch Mary sang the beautiful Bredon Hill song to them; and so they descended to the level ground and to Kink and Hester and Gregory, little expecting to find them with such exciting things to tell.
From Beckford to Oxenton the great story lasted, eked out with questions and answers as it proceeded. Thus, Horace wanted to know why Kink had not sprung to the horses' heads and checked them in their wild career.
"We couldn't see them," said Gregory; "they were coming up behind, and we were sitting in front."
Horace was dissatisfied.
"What frightened them?" Jack wanted to know; but Gregory could not say. Patricia had not explained.
"Fancy not knowing what frightened them!" said Jack.
The fact was that both Jack and Horace were a little overtired, and perhaps a little jealous of the eventfulness of the Slowcoach's day.
They had been talking so hard that they had not noticed the sky; and the splashing of raindrops was the first knowledge they had that a storm was coming. It was nearly seven, and suddenly they all knew that they were very tired and hungry and rather chilly. Kink stopped Moses and suggested camping at once.
"Where?" said Robert.
"Here," said Kink. "Under these trees. There'll be a downpour soon: better get your supper at once."
They therefore did not make any effort to find a farm, but instantly unpacked. Hitherto everything had gone smoothly, but this was a bad evening. Nothing seemed to be in its place, and Hester, whose duty it was to get enough dry wood, had forgotten all about it, and by the time a new bundle could be brought it was damp. Then the matches blew out, and then, when at last the fire was alight, the wind scattered the flames so that there was no heat under the pot for more than a moment at a time. This often happens when you are on caravan excursions.
Mary had arranged for a stew, but she soon discovered that there was no chance of its being done for hours unless it could be moved into the Slowcoach and cooked over the Beatrice stove; but when they got Beatrice out, she was found to be empty, and no more oil was in the can.
"Who is the Keeper of the Oil?" Mary asked severely.
"I am," said Jack.
"Then where is it?" they asked.
"I had it filled at Stratford," said Jack. "Why," he exclaimed, "there's a hole in it! It's all run away! How ghastly! It will be all over everything."
And so it was; and the worst of it was that it had leaked into the biscuits, too. Janet came to the rescue. "We must make it a tongue and banana meal," she said.
"I hate bananas," said Gregory.
"Now, Horace," said Janet, "where's the tin-opener?"
How is it that everything goes wrong at once? Horace had to hunt for the tinopener for twenty minutes, and turn the whole place upside down before he could find it, and then it was too late.
Meanwhile the rain was steadily falling, and Kink and Robert were busy getting up the tents before the ground underneath was too wet. Robert was the only happy one. A few difficulties seemed to him to make the expedition more real.
He came dripping into the Slowcoach and asked for his supper; but Horace was still hunting for the tin-opener.
"Never mind about it," said Robert. "I'll open the thing with the hammer and a knife. But what you want, Horace, is system."
"No; what I want is food," said Horace. "I'm dying."
"So am I," said Gregory.
"Well, eat a crust to go on with," said Janet. "There's the bread."
"I hate crusts," said Gregory.
"Surely crusts are better than dying of starvation," said Mary.
"No," said Gregory, who was prepared to be thoroughly unpleasant. "No, I'd much rather die. I think I shall go to bed."
"Yes," said Robert, "do. People who can't stand a little hunger are no good in caravans."
"Janet," said Gregory, "how can I go to bed with my boots on?"
"Then take them off," said Janet.
"There's a knot," said Gregory.
"Well, you must wait," said Janet. "I can't leave what I'm doing."
"I hate waiting," said Gregory.
Robert, however, became suddenly very stern. He advanced on Gregory with a knife in his hand, and, swooping on the boot, cut both laces. "There," he said, "get into bed, and you must buy some more laces at Cheltenham."
"I hate Cheltenham," said Gregory. But he said no more; he saw that Robert was cross.
When, a little later, Janet took a plate of tongue over to his bunk, he was fast asleep. The others had a dismal, grumpy meal, and they were glad when the washing-up was done and it was bedtime. But no one had a good night. The rain dropped from the trees on to the Slowcoach's roof with loud thuds, and at midnight the thunder and lightning began, and Janet got up and splashed out in the wet to the tent to ask Robert if they ought not to move from under the trees. Robert had been lying awake thinking the same thing, but Kink had gone off with Moses to the nearest farm, and the Slowcoach was far too heavy to move without the horse. Diogenes whimpered on his chain. If he could have spoken, he would have said, like Gregory, "I hate thunder."
"Perhaps it won't get very near us," said Robert. "We must chance it, anyway."
But neither he nor Janet had any sleep until it was nearly time to get up, when the sun began to shine again, and the miseries of the evening and night before were forgotten.
Hester, however, had slept all through it, and had dreamed that ponies were running away with her towards a country entirely peopled by black spaniels and governed by a grey queen in top-boots.
As for Gregory, his dream was that he was Lord Bruce.
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