Part 8

"It smells delicious, anyway," said Pamela, not knowing quite what to reply.

"Would you like some when it's cool?" asked the little Bagg girl, who was least shy and most generous.

"If you can spare a little bit--yes, I would," laughed Pamela.

"The nutty kind--or the un-nutty kind?" anxiously inquired the elder Bagg boy, in a thick voice. He was rather greedy, and hoped Pamela would say the un-nutty, as he liked the nutty sort best himself. Fortunately she did choose the kind he liked least, and he eyed her with more favour than he had hitherto done.

The eldest of the children, a girl, was about eleven years old, and the youngest was about five. There were four girls and two boys, and Pamela noticed that they were all dressed in sensible linen overalls--things that were strongly made and easily washed. The children seemed to be a healthy, noisy, happy-go-lucky little crowd; but although Pamela was fond of children, she did not pay so much attention to the six little Baggs on this first visit as she did on subsequent occasions. Her attention was centred on their aunt, and her pictures.

While Elizabeth Bagg took Pamela upstairs to her 'studio' the little Baggs disappeared into the kitchen to watch the toffee cooling, and with permission to break some of the toffee that had already set into small pieces; during which operation long and excited arguments seemed to occur with great frequency--arguments that more often than not ended in a scream or a howl. Hearing which, Elizabeth Bagg would put down the picture she was showing Pamela, and with a muttered apology would vanish downstairs, and restore peace.

Elizabeth Bagg's 'studio' was really her bedroom, but in the daytime, when the camp-bedstead was covered with a piece of flowered chintz, and the rest of the bedroom furniture made as inconspicuous as possible, the room served very well as a workroom. The walls were whitewashed, making a good background for Elizabeth's pictures, which were hung thickly all around. A few had frames--but only a few. Most of them were without. She seemed to do all kinds of subjects, from landscapes to quaint studies of children, painted in a bold, unusual style. On an easel by the window stood Elizabeth's latest study, half finished; Pamela was surprised to see that it was a painting of the old windmill that she herself had tried to sketch. As Pamela stood looking at it, she realized that there was something in Elizabeth Bagg's work that she herself would never be able to get. "I'm only a dabbler," thought Pamela to herself. "This is the real thing."

"It's splendid," said Pamela aloud, gazing at the picture with admiration. "Do you know"--she turned impulsively to Elizabeth, who was standing behind her--"it makes me feel as if I want to go home, and tear up all my drawings and start afresh. Your pictures are so--so alive. If only I could get that _living_ touch into my work. But I feel I'll never be able to do it--when I think of my own things--and then look at this."

"I am more than double your age," said Elizabeth Bagg steadily, though her heart was beating rapidly at these, the first words of genuine praise and encouragement that she had had for a long time. "I have been working for many years past."

"That's not it," said Pamela, shaking her head. "There's something in your pictures, that if you had not got it _in_ you, no amount of practice would produce. I can't explain any better than that--but you know what I mean, don't you? I think your work's fine.... Have you ever exhibited any of your pictures anywhere?"

Elizabeth Bagg shook her head.

"No," she replied, and a tinge of colour crept into her cheeks again.

"Oh, but you _should_," said Pamela, enthusiastically, looking at a charming study of a little girl in a red tam-o'-shanter.

Pamela's enthusiasm affected Elizabeth Bagg strangely. She felt suddenly much younger than she had felt for years past. It was so long since anyone had noticed her pictures. Her days were spent in household duties for her brother and the children (just as Martha had told Pamela), with every spare half hour snatched for her painting. Some days, when she knew there would be no half hour to spare, Elizabeth would get up very early in the morning to continue a picture, and would feel all the fresher to face the work afterward, knowing that her picture was progressing, surely if slowly. Twice a week she gave painting lessons at a 'School for the Daughters of Gentlemen' in Inchmoor, a practice at which her brother had ceased to grumble when he found it brought her in a few shillings a week. He considered her 'daubing' a fearful waste of time; she had far better be employed in making a tasty apple-pie or mending the children's stockings, he thought--work for which Elizabeth received her 'board and lodging.' Old Tom Bagg flattered himself that he was good-naturedly indulgent to Elizabeth's little hobby, nevertheless Pamela noticed that there were no pictures of Elizabeth's anywhere about the house--they were all packed away in her own room.

Pamela did not know of the gratitude Elizabeth felt toward her; she only knew that she admired Elizabeth's pictures immensely, and felt a keen interest in the painter of them.

As Elizabeth said she would like very much to see some of Pamela's work, Pamela arranged to bring some round the following day.

And so the friendship began.

When Pamela reached Chequertrees that evening she wrote a long post-card home--for the first month was just ended. Surely there was never a card with so much written on it before--unless it was the card she received from home the following day, telling her that all was well at Oldminster.

*CHAPTER XI*

*THE WISHING WELL*

For a while things settled down into smoothly running order. Now that the first month had passed the days seemed to slip by in an amazing fashion--as they generally do after the newness of strange surroundings has worn off. The four girls got on very well together on the whole; of course, there were occasional little breezes--which was only natural considering that four such different temperaments were thrown constantly into each other's society; but the breezes never gathered into a tempest, and always, before long, the sun was out again.

One of the breezes sprang up during the sixth week on account of a protest Isobel made regarding Caroline's choice of puddings. It was Caroline's turn again to arrange the week's meals, and it must certainly be admitted that to choose suet roly-poly on Monday and Thursday, apple dumplings on Tuesday, and boiled treacle roll on Wednesday and Friday, was, to say the least of it, asking for trouble. But when on the Saturday a solidly substantial Christmas pudding appeared, it was too much for Isobel, and she protested vigorously at the stodginess of Caroline's puddings.

Caroline, looking up from the solid slice of pudding on her plate, took the remarks badly, and after a few sullen replies got decidedly annoyed. She was making the most of her week, she said, because she knew she would not get another pudding worth calling a pudding until her turn came round again. Even the glories of Isobel's elaborate puddings--with cream and crystallized cherries on top--had failed to rouse any enthusiasm in Caroline. Those kinds of pudding were all right to look at, but they had 'no insides' to them, commented Caroline, as she passed her plate for a third helping of Christmas pudding.

Martha's patience and willingness in making the various kinds of pudding chosen were things to be marvelled at; but she seemed to take great pride and pleasure in showing her skill at cooking whatever the girls required. To be sure, there was no lack of praise for her from the four girls, who thoroughly appreciated her efforts to do her best for them.

"It always does me good to go and have a talk with Martha," Pamela would say. "She's so cheerful--and so willing and unselfish. Nothing is any trouble to her."

Martha never demurred at nor criticized any of the puddings chosen--not even Caroline's recurring choice of roly-polies, though she looked a trifle anxious and made them as light as possible.

"And on Friday we'll have boiled treacle roll," Caroline had informed her.

"And what's nicer!" Martha had replied, unaware of the chorus of muffled groans on the other side of the kitchen door, as three girls, rolling their eyes in an exaggerated manner, crept stealthily away along the passage.

Then on the Saturday had come Isobel's protest. Caroline maintained that she had a right to choose any puddings she liked during her week, and while quite agreeing with her as to this point, Pamela mentioned that she thought it would be more considerate of Caroline if she would make her choice a little less 'suety.' They discussed the matter thoroughly, and finally came to an agreement, Caroline undertaking to vary her choice if the others promised to have the kind of pudding that was _really_ a pudding on one day in each week. And so matters were arranged and the breeze blew over.

In spite of lack of encouragement or interest from the others, Caroline had sent in her name to Lady Prior's secretary as one who was willing to make things for the bazaar. And there had followed a day when two ladies of the organizing committee had called to see Caroline to talk about the articles that were most needed for the various stalls. It was a blissfully important day for Caroline, and she had dreams that night of crocheted cosy-covers, and little pink silk pin-cushions, and afterward, until the bazaar took place, was scarcely ever seen without knitting-needles or sewing of some kind or other in her hands.

The two committee ladies were both very large ladies, and were so well wrapped up in cloaks and scarves for motoring that they looked even larger than they really were. They drove up to the front gate in a very large motor car, and being ushered into the drawing-room by the respectful Ellen, both sat down on the small couch, which they succeeded in completely obscuring. They were both exceedingly amiable, and discussed matters in rather loud and assured voices with the bashful Caroline, who not only promised to make a number of things for the bazaar, but was eventually persuaded to preside at one of the stalls.

"All the stall-holders are to wear Japanese costumes. A charming idea, don't you think so?" smiled one of the ladies.

"A very, very sweet idea," said the other. "Of course, there will be no bother of getting the costumes ready; we are arranging to hire a number for the day. You'll have to come up and choose which one you like when the time draws near."

Caroline smiled, and said she thought it a nice idea. Fortunately, the fact that the Japanese style, with chrysanthemums in her hair, would not suit her in the least did not occur to Caroline. She was not a vain girl with regard to her appearance, though she was rather proud of her accomplishments in the sewing line.

But when Isobel heard about the Japanese costume for Caroline she nearly suffocated herself with laughter at the picture her mind's eye presented her with of solemn Caroline in a butterfly kimono and chrysanthemums pinned coquettishly above each ear. However, Caroline was not within hearing when Isobel learnt the news from Beryl, so no harm was done.

Isobel would have liked to join in the bazaar herself, but until she knew for certain about her relationship with the family at the Manor House, she decided that it was better not to lay herself open to the chance of meeting Lady Prior. Of course she had questioned Martha about the Priors, but nothing Martha could tell her shed any light on the Priors' connexions, as Sir Henry was practically a new-comer to Barrowfield, having bought the Manor House on the death of the late owner a few years ago.

As a rule Martha was a useful mine of information on people and places in Barrowfield, and many an interesting morsel of gossip had come to the girls through Martha.

It was through her, for instance, that they first heard of the Wishing Well.

One evening when Pamela was showing Martha a sketch she had made of an old barn and some pine trees, Martha said:

"Why, that's near the top of Long Lane, isn't it?--near where the Wishing Well is! And a very handsome picture it makes, to be sure."

"The Wishing Well!" said Pamela. "Where's that? It sounds exciting."

"Well, you know as you gets near the top of Long Lane," said Martha, busily stoning raisins into a basin that stood on the kitchen table, "on your right hand, as you're going up, you pass a white gate that leads into a field and an old disused chalk quarry--there's poppies and long grass growing all about in the summer--and there's a few trees at the top of the field, at the head of the scooped-out chalk-pit.... Well, a few yards inside the gate, on your left, and almost hidden by an overhanging hedge, is the well. You probably wouldn't notice it if you wasn't looking for it! But there it is, as sure as I'm sitting here, stoning these raisins--and Ellen will tell you the same as it's the truth I'm speaking."

"And why is it called a Wishing Well?" inquired Pamela.

"Oh, there's some old story that if you was to write a wish on a piece of paper and throw it into the well on a moonlight night, whatever you wished would come true," Martha chuckled. "But I don't know as I believes it--though I _did_ have a wish that way once--in my young days, mind you----"

"And did it come true?" asked Pamela, eagerly.

"Well, no--I can't say it did," replied Martha, "but then, according to the story it was my fault. I ought to have kept it secret, and I went and spoke it out to some one, not thinking like--and so it didn't come true."

"Didn't you wish again ever?"

Martha shook her head. "You can only wish once--according to the story ... but mind you, I don't say there's any truth in it, one way or the other."

"But don't you know anyone else who has wished and who has had their wish granted?" asked Pamela, to whom the idea appealed strongly.

"I can't truthfully say I do--not for certain," said Martha. "Though I knows several what have _said_ such and such a thing has happened because they wished it to--down the well--and it's their wish come true.... But how do I know they're speaking the truth? Eh? They mustn't tell what they've wished till it does come true, or else it won't come true at all. And when a thing happens, it's easy enough to say you wished it to, isn't it? ... So you see you can't rely on no one--not knowing how honest they are--but can only try for yourself and see."

"I should love to have a wish," said Pamela, gazing thoughtfully into the glowing kitchen fire. "I like to _believe_ I believe in Wishing Wells, and goblins and spells and enchantments and things like that, but I'm not really sure that I _do_.... Anyway, I think we might all go up Long Lane on a moonlight night, and have a wish--_just in case_ it really is a Wishing Well.... I'm sure Beryl will love the idea--they all will, I think. You'll tell us just what to do, won't you, Martha?"

Martha laughed. "Yes, indeed," she said. "But, mind you, I don't say there's anything in it."

The outcome of this conversation was an excursion up Long Lane a few nights later when the moon was at the full. All four girls entered into the spirit of the adventure in high spirits, though Caroline rather spoilt the romantic glamour that Pamela had conjured up by insisting on wearing her goloshes in case she got her feet wet in the damp grass.

"Oh, Caroline, how _can_ you! We ought not to speak of such things as goloshes--practical, matter-of-fact, everyday goloshes--in the same breath as Wishing Wells," said Pamela, in a mock tragic voice. "But still, I suppose it's very sensible of you," she added, laughing.

The four girls started off up Long Lane, chatting and laughing, each with a piece of paper and pencil to write her wish when the well was reached. It would be so much more romantic, Pamela said, to write it beside the well in the moonlight, rather than beside the dining-room table in the gaslight.

"I hope you each know what you're going to wish," said Isobel. "It'll be too chilly to stand about making up our minds when we get there."

Long Lane stretched from the blacksmith's forge, that stood on the same side of Barrowfield Green as Chequertrees, past Tom Bagg's house, and up the hill to a small inn, and a handful of scattered cottages a mile and a half away. The lane was set with high hedges on either side, and was a gradual ascent all the way.

As the girls drew near the top end, and the gate leading to the chalk quarry came in sight, they fell silent, each trying to put into shape the wish she was going to write in a few minutes.

The well was much as Martha had described, though even more hidden and overgrown with trails of creeper from a high bank of shrubs above it than they had expected to find. Pamela was obliged to draw the trails aside before they could see the dark, still water.

"Can you see the moon reflected in the water? We must make sure of that," reminded Beryl.

Long white clouds were drifting slowly across the face of the moon, but as they passed, and the moon emerged again, her reflection could be seen in the well.

"Yes," said Pamela. "So--now--quick--let's write our wishes and wrap a stone inside the papers so that they'll sink--and drop them in the water while the moon's out." She looked up overhead. "It'll be clear for a few minutes now, but there are more clouds coming slowly--a long way off--and if they reach her we shall have to wait some minutes for them to pass."

A hurried search for convenient-sized stones was made; and then, silence, while they wrote down their wishes, using the top bar of the white gate as a writing-desk.

Pamela was the first to finish. At first Pamela had thought of wishing something for Michael; then she had thought of wishing that she could paint as well as Elizabeth Bagg; but "Michael and I are young," she had told herself, "and we've plenty of years to work in--but Elizabeth Bagg is getting old, and she's losing heart--I'll wish something for her.... I'll wish that somebody with influence, who can appreciate Elizabeth Bagg's artistic talent, may see some of her pictures, and that she may soon obtain the recognition which she well deserves." This was the gist of Pamela's wish. Wrapping a stone inside her paper, she threw it into the well--the moon's reflection scattering into a hundred shimmers and ripples as the stone splashed into the dark water and sank.

Isobel was the next ready. "I wish that I may do nothing to forfeit my fifty pounds," she had written, and her 'wish' followed quickly in the track of Pamela's.

For a wonder Caroline was finished third; but she knew when she started out exactly what she was going to wish. It concerned a little matter that had been fidgeting her careful soul for the last two days. "I wish I may find my silver thimble." Such was Caroline's wish, and it journeyed down after the other two just as Beryl finished writing hers.

Beryl had taken longer because she had had some difficulty in framing her wish, although when finished it seemed quite straightforward enough. "I wish I may never have to go back and live with Aunt Laura again," Beryl had written.

"Hurry up, and throw yours in, Beryl--the clouds are coming over," said Pamela, as she and Caroline and Isobel wandered a few paces away toward the chalk quarry. They were talking casually together when a slight scream from Beryl made them turn hastily round.

Beryl was running swiftly away from the well and toward the gate, which she pushed open, and ran into the lane.

The three other girls quickly followed and soon overtook her.

"Beryl! Wait a minute! Wait for us! What's the matter?" they called as they ran.

Beryl stopped running directly she heard their voices, and came to a standstill. She was looking very pale and scared as they came up to her.

"Whatever is the matter, old girl?" asked Pamela, taking hold of Beryl's arm.

"Oh, Pamela," she said, "I had just thrown my wish in the well, when the bush--the big overhanging bush close above--gave a rustle, and I heard some one laugh--such a horrid laugh--as if some one was hiding there, watching us. I--it gave me such a turn--I just ran--I didn't notice where you were--I just ran for the gate, to get away quickly."

Beryl seemed quite unnerved, and it was in vain that the others tried to persuade her that it was only her imagination.

"Shall we all go back together and make sure," suggested Pamela, not very enthusiastically it must be owned; but the others were certain it would not be wise to do this.

"It might be some horrible old tramp asleep in the hedge," said Isobel. "No. Let's get home--it's getting chilly--and we couldn't do any good really by going back, could we?"

So they all linked arms, and made their way home, where Martha was waiting up for them with a jug of hot milk.

*CHAPTER XII*

*IN WHICH ELIZABETH BAGG PAINTS A PICTURE AND ISOBEL HEARS SOME PLEASANT NEWS*

Pamela's friendship with the Bagg family developed rapidly, and she became a frequent visitor to 'Alice Maud Villa'--much to Isobel's amazement; Isobel was more than amazed, she was scandalized.

"I simply can't understand Pamela," confided Isobel to Caroline. "What can she find in those Baggs? Even if Elizabeth Bagg can sketch a bit--it's no excuse; they're not the _sort_ of people Pamela should like to mix with. After all, Tom Bagg is only the village cabman! You can't get away from the fact, can you now? You know what I mean--they're not Pamela's sort somehow--I really am surprised at her taste."

But Isobel never said anything like this to Pamela. There was a certain air about Pamela at times that even Isobel respected, an air which, in the present case, made Isobel feel instinctively that Pamela would not brook any interference with her friendship with Elizabeth Bagg. So Isobel did not criticize openly Pamela's attitude toward the Baggs; but she criticized, and wondered, and was amazed in private to Caroline, whenever she thought fit.

There were two things that Isobel was trying to avoid. One was meeting old Silas Sluff in the garden, and the other was, asking any more questions of Beryl. To avoid old Silas was fairly easy, as he seemed to be trying to keep out of her sight as much as possible. To refrain from questioning Beryl was hard at first, but, although at times intensely curious about some incident or other in connection with Beryl, Isobel remembered that she must be a sport, and managed to keep her tongue quiet. It needed a great effort sometimes, but she succeeded, which must certainly be put down to Isobel's credit.

As far as Pamela was concerned Isobel's approval or disapproval of her friendship with the Baggs never worried her in the least. The matter never even crossed her mind. She spent many happy hours in Elizabeth Bagg's 'studio' watching Elizabeth paint, or finishing a sketch of her own, helped on by valuable hints and suggestions from Elizabeth, who greatly encouraged Pamela in her work; just as Pamela helped Elizabeth by her interest and genuine admiration for Elizabeth's painting.

Sometimes, when they were both at work in the studio, Pamela would begin to argue with Elizabeth over her attitude toward her brother Tom and his views on her painting.

"He's no right to call it 'wasting time,'" Pamela would protest. "He ought to be _made_ to understand what splendid work you are doing--valuable work, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"He doesn't care for pictures at all," Elizabeth would reply. "And it's no good crossing him--he's been very kind to me, you know, and has given me a roof over my head, and food to eat; I only have to buy my own clothes and my painting materials out of the money I earn by teaching; he provides everything else."