Sally Cocksure

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST

AUTOLYCUS GIVES TROUBLE

Very few at Seascape House, certainly amongst the girls, had been aware of how much personality and influence Miss Cockran possessed, until her ruling hand was removed. While Peter's tongue had dictated her views to the general school public, it had been the fashion to ridicule the Headmistress as a funny old maid, out of date in her educational methods, and only to be obeyed because parents, having paid her their fees, would expect their daughters to try to be patient—at any rate, up to a point.

Not all the elder girls and prefects, by any means, had subscribed to this view, and since Trina Morrison had departed they had more openly maintained that, far from being a back number, the Headmistress of Seascape House was a credit to her profession, and one of the school's chief assets.

"Wonder when she will get back—it is rot her being away now," Sally overheard a voice saying in the hall as she descended the stairs on the fourth day of Miss Cockran's absence. The voice was querulous, and to her surprise Sally saw that it was the usually good-tempered Decima Pillditch who was thus ruffled.

"Perhaps her mother'll die soon," said someone else hopefully, and then, at a shocked remonstrance from the group: "Well, of course, I only meant Miss Cockran would be able to get back quicker."

"Cheeserings is the limit," went on Decima. "There's that shopping party in Parchester, promised on Friday—approved by Miss Cockran and everything—and now her Royal Highness tries to pretend it shouldn't be done."

"Hush!" said another voice. "Here's one of the kids listening—take care."

Sally hurried on her way, trying to pretend she had not been eavesdropping, but really she had been held fascinated by the sudden realisation that prefects are not always in sympathy with those in authority. Decima Pillditch evidently disliked Miss Cheeseman, and the younger girl, who cordially shared this feeling, was pleased. When she arrived in Form, she told Frisky, in an undertone, what she had overheard, and Frisky nodded.

"Too much of the Cheesemonger, and we'd have a revolution," she said, with gloomy joy, and went away to whisper her views to someone else.

No revolution occurred, but it must be confessed that the atmosphere at Seascape House had suddenly become strained. Everywhere, from the Sixth to the Juniors, there was an undercurrent of insubordination, and though the prefects did their best to hold it back, they were obviously half-hearted in their task—like an army employed by the State that is secretly in sympathy with the rebels. Miss Cheeseman, whatever her intention, was not a success as Deputy Head: she had too little sense of humour, and too much conscience in small matters. Insubordination, whether in the form of open defiance or some quite insignificant piece of mischief, she treated with the same rigorous repression, making martyrs of its perpetrators and grumblers of those who listened to their wrongs.

When Frisky Harrison had been sent to bed in the silence dormitory known as "Coventry" for jumping out from behind the gymnasium door to boo at one of her friends, and Cathy Manners of the Upper Fifth deprived of her privileges for eating sweets between classes, there was a general feeling that no one was safe.

"Why doesn't she send the whole school to bed at once, on bread and water?" said Decima, who was still ruffled, loud enough for some of the Juniors to hear. And though Violet Tremson stopped her with a quick: "Best take care, Pilladex," the warning was plainly given in sympathy with the prefect, and not with Miss Cheeseman.

Sally, with a great effort at self-control, avoided any conflict—accepting her Form Mistress's criticisms of her essay without the usual argument in favour of her own views—though on this occasion she would undoubtedly have found popular backing had she done so. It was her terror that if she annoyed Miss Cheeseman the latter would stop her usual walk with Autolycus, and with a beating heart she slipped out of the house that afternoon and went round to fetch him from the stables, where he usually had his dinner.

Fate was against her, for having found Autolycus and started towards the drive, she met Miss Cheeseman walking towards her, with Jakes, the gardener. Since it was impossible to vanish into space, Sally smiled ingratiatingly, and tried to pass unnoticed; but with a movement of her hand the Deputy Principal stopped her.

"Where are you going, child?"

"I'm just exercising Autolycus—Miss Cockran always lets me."

Miss Cheeseman frowned. She had been told a great deal lately of what Miss Cockran did or did not approve, and even to her calm temperament it was somewhat galling.

"Indeed," she said coldly, "and where are you going?"

"Along the road, and then up the lane towards Tadiscombe Farm."

Jakes, who had been listening, and never liked to be shut long out of any conversation, now spat on his hands by way of introducing his remarks, and said:

"It's wildish country up there."

"What do you mean?"

"There do be a lot of poaching along them gravel-pits that b'long to Squire Pearson, and gypsy fellows, they say, about."

"I've never seen a gypsy, and I don't go in the gravel-pits," broke in Sally indignantly, and made an effort to pass.

"Stop, Sally," said Miss Cheeseman, firmly; "I daresay there are no gypsies, but I think it most undesirable that a child of your age should wander about the lanes alone."

"But I shan't be alone, I've got Tolly—he'd bite anyone who attacked me."

"Yes, Miss, and perhaps, it may be, anyone who didn't; skinned my fingers, he did, the last time I was washing him—the little mongrel!"

"It must have been your fault then," said Sally rudely. She disliked the gardener, who seemed to regard all school-girls as his natural enemies.

"Be quiet, Sally, and don't speak in that tone. Understand, I will not have you going out alone. Who is there that doesn't play games? Let me see——"

"I don't know." Sally looked very sullen. Really, she remembered the Cat quite well, and, to her annoyance, so did Miss Cheeseman. A passing Junior was ordered to find Catherine Dowl at once. In the meantime she began to talk about vegetables to the gardener, and Sally, after she had vainly tried to protest against the suggested companionship, was told to be silent and keep the whining Autolycus from walking on the beds.

Presently Catherine appeared, and Miss Cheeseman told her briskly that she and Sally Brendan might go for a walk as far as Tadiscombe Farm, but that they were not on any account to enter the gravel-pit, or wander from the road.

The Cat looked no more pleased with the suggestion than Sally had done.

"Must I go? Quantities of prep.," she mumbled, and was told that the right time for preparation was after tea. Next, it appeared, she had a cold coming, and had meant to stay indoors.

"It would be much better to take a brisk walk, than sit over the playroom fire," said the Deputy Principal firmly; she disliked the Cat as much as any of her companions, but had a secret theory that a little more regular exercise would make her healthier in mind as well as body.

"Now, no more excuses," she said at last. "If you have a cold, Catherine, you can go to Matron as soon as you get in, and I will tell her to give you a dose of cinnamon and another to-night."

Sally could almost have laughed at the Cat's expression, only she was so cross herself.

"Come on—it's no use arguing," she said in an undertone, and presently they set out.

"You'd better be back by 3.30," called Miss Cheeseman after them, but they pretended not to hear, and went on sulkily down the drive. When they reached the road Sally said:

"Look here, I didn't ask you to come, so it's not my fault—and you didn't want to thrust in, so it's not your fault; and I don't see that we need walk together. I'll go in front with Tolly, and you do what you like."

The Cat nodded. She had been muttering all sorts of angry epithets about Miss Cheeseman ever since they moved out of earshot.

"I wish you had set the dog on her," she said. "Then we'd be quit of her for a bit. He looks as if he'd got sharp teeth," and she edged away. She did not like animals.

"You wouldn't mind if he was shot for doing it, I suppose?" returned Tolly's indignant mistress. (In her heart she had never quite parted with the ownership.) "Besides, she's so tough, I expect he'd die in the attempt."

Whistling to him, she set oft at a brisk pace, soon leaving her companion far behind—and for a time thoroughly enjoyed herself—but when they reached Tadiscombe Farm her troubles began. Autolycus, it seemed, had not remained uninfluenced by the spirit of insubordination at Seascape House. Pulled out by sheer force from his favourite rabbit burrow, he barked indignantly at his mistress as soon as he was released, and made straight for the pond where a family of geese were disporting themselves.

There is safety in numbers, and the geese cackled so loudly, and made such a flapping with their wings, that Autolycus, to avoid them, hastily plunged through a hedge—but only to get into further mischief. To judge from the sounds that now ensued, there was a farmyard beyond the hedge, and by the time Sally, jumping a gate and crossing a field, had arrived there, all was in confusion. Pigs ran grunting, this way and that, hens flew cackling to the shelter of the barn, the farmer's wife, trying to head off the intruder, had stumbled and fallen, and now sat on some very dirty cobbles, clasping an empty basin.

"I'm very sorry—very, very sorry," said Sally. "You see he's only a puppy."

"He's a dratted nuisance," said the woman, "that's what he is. Made me spill all these scraps I was taking to the hens, and I wouldn't be surprised if he'd killed one of them. You call him off at once, or I'll summons you."

Sally did not enjoy the next quarter of an hour—for it took her most of that time to secure Autolycus, now thoroughly ashamed and frightened—and the rest to pacify the farmer's wife, who, hunting among the hen-coops, appeared with a dead fowl, and claimed it as a victim of the raid.

"It looks more as if it hadn't had enough to eat," said Sally, who noticed it was very thin. "Perhaps it really died of sickness," but even her courage quailed before the storm this suggestion aroused. Her remark had certainly been unfortunate, and it was not till she produced 5s. 6d. from her pocket and presented it that she was allowed to go, and then only with numerous threats of what would happen if her dog was seen again within the farm precincts.

"Come on, Tolly, you brute, but I'm sure you never touched that fowl," Sally said as she went, dragging him by her handkerchief through his collar, and coming to the gate of the field, she saw Catherine Dowl leaning against it watching.

There was a malicious smile in the corners of her eyes that roused the younger girl's anger to white heat.

"Move, and let me pass, can't you?" she said roughly, and the Cat did so, laughing in her silent way, with her lip drawn back to show her gums.

They walked home as they had come, Sally stalking in front with the now subdued Autolycus, and her companion plodding behind, with sunk shoulders and face turned to the ground.

At the gates Sally paused. "Come on," she said. "We'd better arrive together, or we may be tied hand and foot to one another for the rest of the evening, by way of punishment."

The Cat sniggered. "Don't let that beast of yours bite the gardener," she said. "He'd be sure to be shot then."

"What do you mean? He isn't going to be shot—he's quite a good dog, only he's a puppy—and sometimes excitable."

Again the Cat sniggered, and Sally, stopping in the drive, said fiercely, "What do you mean? Speak out."

"Oh, I meant nothing—just I've never seen him before, except in the grounds, of course, until this afternoon ... he hasn't been exactly good, has he—to-day?"

"I don't believe he ever killed the chicken, if you mean that?"

"You paid some money for it, didn't you?"

Sally was silent for a minute, then she shrugged. "Of course, you'd believe the worst of him you could—but at any rate it's none of your business, so go and drink your cinnamon."

The Cat did not appear to notice the gibe; only when they were parting at the front door she said, with a glance out of the corner of her slanting eyes, "You'd better be careful. If a dog takes to killing chickens, or sheep, I've always heard he can't be cured."

Sally did not trouble to reply. She had noticed the school clock said 3.25, and was determined to take Autolycus for a further run in the grounds before she went in to tidy for tea. It was a strenuous occupation, for Tolly was so thrilled over the numberless rabbit burrows along the cliff that he ran from one to the other, yapping wildly, and covering himself with the sandy mud he kicked up in clouds behind him. His mistress was quite thankful when she had restored him to the stables, and after bestowing an affectionate kiss on his black muzzle, she hastened into the house—her temper largely recovered.

"Sally Brendan, Miss Cheeseman wants you." One of the prefects caught her with this information as she was walking into her class-room for preparation at 5.30.

With a muttered exclamation of annoyance, the younger girl went to the Deputy Principal's study, and knocked.

"You wanted me?" she said briefly.

"Yes. Don't stand by the door as if you were waiting to run away, but come here. I wanted to ask you what exactly happened at Tadiscombe Farm, this afternoon."

"What happened?" said Sally, in apparent amazement—trying to collect her wits. And then bitterly, "I suppose the Cat has been telling."

"If you mean Catherine Dowl, when she went to Matron for her cinnamon, she said enough about the walk to make Matron think it desirable that I should be informed."

"Cad!" said Sally, half under her breath, but sufficiently loud for Miss Cheeseman to grasp its significance.

"Hush, Sally—and remember Catherine Dowl has not blamed you, nor do I—for anything I have heard so far. I consider that dog far too undisciplined to be allowed out alone with anyone so young as you."

"Miss Cockran doesn't think so."

"Miss Cockran is not here."

The Deputy Principal's voice, up to this time, had remained fairly sympathetic; but now it became cold and detached. Bit by bit, she gained the story of the afternoon's adventure, and finally gave her verdict.

"Miss Cockran will, of course, decide as she wishes when she returns, but in the meantime, I do not consider it safe for the dog to leave the grounds at all, nor for you to take him for walks."

"But, Miss Cheeseman, he needs exercise—or——"

"That will do, Sally. Let there be no more argument. It is one of your chief failings."

Sally went out and slammed the door. She was called back, and shut it quietly; then stood making her most hideous grimace at it, only to find Miss Castle's hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Sally, what an infant you are in some ways!" she said, and passed swiftly down the passage.

It was a galling comment—or would have been from anyone else—but the girl suspected underlying sympathy with her mood, and the heat of her anger cooled. After all, it was more the Cat than Miss Cheeseman who had played a dirty game.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND

AUTOLYCUS IS LOST

"Tolly! Tolly! Where are you, Tolly? Come here—good dog!"

It was Thursday afternoon, and Sally, unable to find Autolycus in the stables, was hunting for him up and down the gardens. Jakes, who was digging, paused and rested his hands on his spade to watch her. On his face was a wide grin.

"It ain't no use your calling of 'im, Miss," he drawled at last. "He ain't here."

"Not here? What do you mean? Tell me quick."

Sally's eyes were so tragic that Jakes's grin vanished, and he shook his head.

"It's what I said, Miss—he ain't here—must have runned away, and without his dinner too. I've never knowed him miss his dinner afore this."

"But you must know more about him than that. Tolly was so happy here, and so miserable before. I know he wouldn't run away."

The problem thus presented was too much for Jakes, who stood and scratched his head, in the intervals of shaking it.

"Dogs is queer kittle cattle," was all he volunteered. "But one thing I know, and it's this 'ere—it ain't no bit of use calling 'im: he'll come back when he wants to, and not afore."

He began to dig once more, and Sally fled towards the house, questioning anyone who she thought might be able to help her.

"Came after the dust-bins last night—greedy little beast!—that's all I know of 'im, for I drove him off, as Miss Cockran said to me—'Don't you feed him now—not extra, beyond his ordinary meals'—she says..."

Cook would have talked a great deal more, but the girl left her: there was a large household to cross-examine. Of the maids, however, only one had any information to offer, and that was that she had seen Tolly running round the house early before breakfast; but wasn't sure if it might have been yesterday or the day before.

Impatient at such vagueness, the girl went up to Miss Castle's room, but she was out; while Miss Rogers, when tracked to the playing-fields, proffered no help beyond a little sympathy and the belief that Tolly was such a sensible fellow he would be sure to take care of himself.

"You don't think Miss Cheeseman has had him shot, do you?"

Miss Rogers began to laugh; then stopped, at the earnestness in the girl's eyes.

"No, Sally, I'm sure she hasn't.... What makes you think that?"

"Well, she doesn't like him, and now Miss Cockran's away, and——"

"Oh Sally! Sally! Do you think she'd give such a stab in the back as that—especially when she's very fond of Miss Cockran?"

Sally, with hands clenched to keep back her wretchedness, shook her head. "No, I suppose not ... it was only an idea."

"Well, put it out of your head for a start. I've seen Miss Cheeseman feeding him with biscuits when no one was looking.... Now I must attend to the games, but I'll be sure and make inquiries, so don't lose heart. He'll probably come barking back to-night."

Dejected, but a little relieved that Tolly was at any rate not the victim of a plot, Sally wandered once more towards the school, and crossing the quadrangle, ran into Frisky Harrison, who greeted her with a shout:

"I say, do come and play squash—I've a new ball."

Sally shook her head. "I can't," she said, and was hurrying away when the other caught her by the arm.

"What's the matter—another row?" she asked sympathetically. "Old Cheeserings is the limit. Matron reported me to her to-day for cheek, and here I am—'gated'—no chance of practising for the Form match on Saturday, and——"

"I'm very sorry," said Sally, pulling at her arm to free herself, "but I can't stop—Tolly's lost."

Frisky whistled—then ran after her. "Where? ... How? Can't I help?"

"I'm going to look in the grounds—it's where he generally played, when he was allowed loose—out beyond the gardens, along the cliffs. Why ... he may have ... fallen over, even——"

Horror dawned in her eyes at the thought, but Frisky smote her on the back, "Not he, you ass. Don't go and get the jumps—he was much too cute—but look here, I'll come and help you, and we'll regularly beat the bounds."

"I ... I thought you were 'gated.'"

Frisky dropped an eyelid. "From the playing-fields and shore, my child; but the garden was never mentioned. You run along, and I'll join you there in a jiffy, as soon as I've collected a coat."

They beat the bounds between them until it was nearly tea-time, and the evening shadows were beginning to roll up over the sky. Then at last, Frisky, looking round with a shiver, declared it was no use to hunt any more; but, even as she spoke, Sally, who was bending down by a gorse-bush, cried out:

"Come here quick! I'm sure I heard him bark."

The other ran over, and they knelt side by side, listening.

"There!" said Sally. "There! It's very faint, but oh, can't you hear it?"

"Sorry—but I can't."

Frisky gave another shiver. "Come on, old girl, do," she said coaxingly. "It's rotten bad luck, but I expect he's only gone into the town."

She stopped, for Sally was already running towards the house, and she saw her pause and speak to Jakes, who, spade in hand, had been watching them over the hedge.

Jakes shook his head several times. He was evidently not in an obliging mood; but finally he shifted his spade on to his shoulder, and came striding across.

"It's like this here, Miss," he was saying, as he approached. "It's a regular laby-rinth of burrows—that's what it is—down under this here field. If I was to dig at the mouth of every burrow that's fallen in, you might pay me wages for a month for doing it, and there'd be nothing to show for it at the end, I reckon, but rheumatism in my back."

He laughed at his own wit, and Sally broke in impatiently:

"I'm not asking you to dig at every burrow, but only at the one by the gorse-bush—I heard him bark just now."

"Did you, Miss?"

Jakes looked inquiringly at Frisky, and kneeling down, put his ear to the ground.

"I reckon I don't hear nothing," he grumbled, rising at last.

"See here, Missie, what's the good of my digging?"

"Please dig—you said you would. You promised. I heard him."

Silently, and without enthusiasm, Jakes fell to his task—Sally watching him intently—Frisky with backward glances at the school, where lights were beginning to show in the class-room windows.

"We've missed tea, and they're going to start preparation," she whispered. "Do come, Sally—we'll get in an awful row if we're late." But her companion did not even hear her.

After a minute's indecision, Frisky turned and ran back to the house: but instead of joining her Form at work she threw her coat on to a peg in the cloakroom, and knocked at Miss Castle's door.

Miss Castle was at work, obviously correcting preparation, for she had a pile of note-books heaped before her, and a red pencil in her hand.

"Well, Frisky," she said. "What is it?"

(Everyone except Miss Cheeseman called the girl by her nickname, instead of "Felicia," as she had been christened.)

"Oh, Miss Castle, I'm so worried about Sally Brendan. She has lost Tolly, and she thinks he's down a rabbit burrow, and is making Jakes dig for him, and I know she'll be late for prep.: and there'll be an awful row, and I can't get her away."

Miss Castle rose with a sigh. Since Miss Cockran went home she had had to answer a great many appeals for help, and it was not always easy.

"Where are they?" she asked.

"Out on the cliff ... and oh, you won't be angry with her, will you? And it's not 'telling' my coming to you like this, is it? You see, if Cheese—I mean Miss Cheeseman found her, I know there would be a row."

"I understand," said the other briefly, picking up a small electric torch off the mantelpiece—and then she added with a smile:

"But what about you—you are late for preparation, aren't you? And have you had any tea?"

"No—you see while it was light we thought it best to go on looking, and then, I didn't like to leave Sally and——"

"Quite so. Well, you can tell the prefect in charge you were doing some work for me. Perhaps I'd better write a note."

"Yes, please. Most of them would think I was making it up. Thanks awfully, Miss Castle, and what work shall I do?"

Miss Castle, as soon as she finished the note, went to the cupboard, took out a plate with a cake on it, and cut some slices. "You'd better eat those," she said, "as quickly as you can," and snatching up her coat, disappeared.

By the time she reached the cliff there was a huge earth mound near the gorse-bush, and Jakes had struck work.

"It ain't a bit of good, Miss, and I wasn't paid to excavate—not by Miss Cockran I wasn't, even if it's her own dog."

"There's another way of getting him," said the girl, "and that's through the Portholes."

"What do you mean, Sally?"

It was Miss Castle, and Sally turned to her joyfully. "Oh, Miss Castle, I'm so glad you've come. It's Tolly—he's gone down a rabbit burrow, and the earth must have fallen in, and—I know what's happened—all these burrows lead to the cave where the Portholes are, and he must be there...."

"I don't believe he's there, Miss, that I don't," said Jakes, and spat on the ground to mark his certainty.

"How do you know, Sally? What makes you say it?"

"I heard him—not a regular bark—but faint, with a whine. He must be starving and cold."

"Just himagination!" said Jakes; "that's what it is.... She's got a notion he's there, and so she heard him, but I never heard him ... nor the other young lady."

"Where was it you heard him, Sally?"

Miss Castle went down on her knees as Jakes had done, and listened, while the girl watched her anxiously. At last she rose to her feet, with a sigh and shake of her head.

"I don't hear him," she said. "Perhaps you made a mistake."

"It were one of them sea-gulls—that's what it were—I be sure."

Sally withered Jakes with a glance. "It was Tolly," she said positively. "Do you think I wouldn't know? But we can easily see—there are the Portholes."

"Sally, we can't climb in at the Portholes—there's no way."

"But, Miss Castle, there is—I saw yards and yards of rope in the shed, the other day, and we can lower it over the cliff here...."

"And me climb down, I suppose, for that there dratted little dog, what ain't there—and should never 'ave been at all, to judge by his appearance."

Jakes was at last completely exasperated. "I'm not asking you to climb down," said Sally coldly, "only to lower me—I'm not afraid."

The gardener was about to retort angrily when Miss Castle put up a warning hand.

"We couldn't allow that, my dear," she said quietly, putting her arm round the girl's shoulder. "It would be risking your life, and that is more valuable than Tolly's."

"Riskin'? Throwin' it away, Miss! ... look here——"

Jakes went close to the edge of the cliff, and dug with his toe at a projecting clump of grass and sea pinks. With a very slight effort he dislodged it, and several inches fell away, tumbling down on to the rocks below.

"That might be you, Miss," he said, and there was a pause.

Sally shivered and looked at Miss Castle. "I can't leave him there," she said; "I can't."

"We are not sure he is there," said Miss Castle gently. "He may be in Parchester. I'll ring up the police, and have him put on the Town Crier's list—but you must come indoors now."

Sally went quietly. It seemed as if her determination had suddenly collapsed. When she reached Miss Castle's room, she ate a slice of cake and drank some hot milk mechanically, and even smiled when her companion read her a comic piece out of one of the Juniors' essays. It was obvious, however, that her mind was far away.

"Thank you," she said at last, "thank you very much—I'll go and do some prep, now; may I say I was excused for the first bit?"

"Certainly, I've sent one note already for Frisky, so I may as well send another, I suppose, for you. But look here, child—I want you to try and not worry."

Sally's face was quite blank of expression. "I won't go out and hunt again to-night, if you're afraid of that," she said wearily. "But I can't promise not to think of Tolly."

"No, of course not—but don't imagine he's dead ... he may run in at any minute. I'll go out and call him again, the last thing."

"He's not dead at present," said Sally, "I know that—but I don't think it's any use your calling him. Thanks awfully for thinking of it."

She went out quietly, and shut the door.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD

PORTHOLES

The night that Autolycus was lost, Sally endured the uneasy sleep of a sick-room nurse, with spells of utter weariness and oblivion, broken by a return to real life, when visions of the puppy in various stages of exhaustion floated before her eyes. "Just himagination," she muttered, in scornful imitation of Jakes, and was glad that the school bell's noisy jangle at last allowed her to get up and dress. She was not hungry, and the sight of the plates at breakfast, heaped with large slabs of bread and butter, filled her with nausea, so that she longed to slip away to her classroom and pretend to be busy with her work.

It was an effort not to be rude in response to Frisky's well-meant efforts at consolation.

"Please don't talk of Tolly," she said at last, with a break in her voice, "I ... can't stand it."

Frisky said "Sorry," gruffly, and relapsed into silence.

It was at this minute Sally overheard a piece of conversation that gripped her attention and held it fast. Decima Pillditch was talking to Violet Tremson across the table, some places up towards the Senior end.

"So, of course, I told her that Doris Forbes was leaving this term ... (it is all right, she hasn't come down yet, so she won't hear), and that, as she was both head of the school and games captain, it was simply up to us to do something handsome in the way of a present. I must say Cheeserings seemed to take that in all right—clucked approvingly, and all that; and then I rubbed it in that several of us ought to go into Parchester in consequence, and choose the thing."

"I wonder she didn't offer to do it herself," interposed Cathy Manners. "A dictionary, for instance, or some moral little tale, or Dryden's works, or——"

"Shut up," said Decima. "It's too early in the day to be funny. Anyhow, Cheeserings pursed up her lips, and blinked, and said: 'Which of you?' And I said—you and I, Violet and Cathy perhaps, if we held her by the hand, to be sure she behaves as becomes a Seascaper, and Edith Seymour, and other prefects—most of our crowd who play games, in fact."

"Well, and did she feel she could trust the prefects?"

"Not she, bless her! ... not alone, in a town like Parchester," said Decima bitterly. "Why, we might run away, or go to the Pictures and bring back scarlet fever."

"Then I suppose the whole thing is off. Rotten, I call it!"

"No, it isn't all off. Do give me time to finish. I said 'alone.' She suddenly had a brain wave that Mademoiselle was taking Pat Dolby to the dentist this afternoon, and said we might all go with her, and while Pat writhes in the chair, we can be let off the chain to look at shops."

There were a few seconds' silence.

"I call it humiliating," said one of the prefects; "it's like holding Nanna's hand. I vote we refuse."

"Isn't that cutting off our noses to spite our faces?" asked Violet Tremson quickly. "We do want the present and it is the only way of choosing it."

"It's caving in to Cheeserings, though."

"Well, she can't help being like she is, or she would probably be different," said Violet, "and, after all, Miss Cockran's mother's better, so she may be back any day. Don't let's be idiots."

She had lowered her voice to be audible only at her end of the table, but Sally had caught enough of the conversation for her purpose, and her mind was already at work constructing a plan. By the time she reached her Form, part of her cloud of depression had already lifted; but she was careful to conceal this from Miss Castle when, hanging about in the passage by her class-room door, at the middle of the morning interval, she was able to speak to her for a few minutes.

"Miss Castle ... I ... I suppose you heard nothing last night?"

"No, Sally, I'm afraid not—but I have telephoned to the police, and they have promised to look out for him."

Sally sighed, and looked very woebegone. "It's ... it's the waiting about and doing nothing," she said.

"I know—but you must be brave, my dear—you have plenty of pluck. Do something to occupy your mind."

This was just the advice Sally had expected Miss Castle to give, and though she had angled for it, her expression remained half-sulky, half-weary.

"I can't play games this term ... and ... I just couldn't go for an ordinary walk leading nowhere, when I've always had Tolly before...."

Her voice broke, and the tears came into her eyes. They were real tears, for she had suddenly remembered how Tolly would stand in the stable doorway, and look up at her, and bark—wagging his ridiculously long tail.

Miss Castle put her hand on her shoulder. "You mustn't give up hope like that," she said, and then Sally broke in:

"Miss Castle, some of the Seniors are going to Parchester this afternoon, shopping, and Mademoiselle will be with them, and Pat Dolby—going to the dentist—do you think I could go?"

"Why, Sally ... I've 'phoned to the police, and even sent a notice to put up, and..."

"I know ... and, of course, it doesn't matter ... but I just thought it would be something to do with an object, and I wouldn't have to keep on thinking ... thinking. Of course, if I'd better not——"

She had begun to turn away, when Miss Castle stopped her.

"It's quite a sensible idea," she said slowly. "I'll ask for leave if you like, and will you promise me, in return, that you will try and not worry?"

"Yes, Miss Castle."

Sally did not look at her very straight, but suddenly she caught hold of her hand, and wrung it hard.

"You have been a brick to me," she said, and fled.

It was hardly respectful, or after the custom of Seascape School in its behaviour towards those in authority, but Miss Castle seemed not to mind.

That afternoon, Sally, warned by a message to be ready at 2.15, was waiting on the front doorstep soon after the hour. She had her thick coat on, and a bag in her hand, and kept as much out of the prefects' sight as possible, for she guessed that her addition to the party would not be popular. As it happened, however, though Violet Tremson glanced at her keenly, no one else took any notice of her except Pat Dolby, who, from the folds of the muffler protecting her bad tooth from the air, mumbled suddenly:

"Sorry about the dog!"

Pat had always been one of her special persecutors, and Sally stared at her at first in surprise. Then she said gratefully, "Thanks awfully," and they were silent.

One on either side of Mademoiselle, they walked briskly into Parchester, while the prefects, in groups of two or three, strolled on ahead, obviously disdaining their company.

Sally, as they passed the various plantations of firs, thought of her moonlit expedition alone; and as they drew near to the spot where Tolly had first discovered himself to her by licking her hand, her breath came in a choke. He had trusted her then, and she would not desert him now. It was horrid to deceive Miss Castle, but it couldn't be helped.

While she was still trying to justify herself to her conscience, the beginning of the tram-lines on the far side of the heath came in sight, and she could see that there was a tram just about to start. The Seniors had seen it also, and were running. Sally started to run too. She could hear Mademoiselle call to her to stop, but it was too good an opportunity for the escape she had planned, and, apparently deaf, she continued to race along as hard as she could.

When she was nearly alongside the step, the last prefect had already mounted to the top and disappeared; the conductor had rung his bell.

"Stop! ... take me," called Sally, and putting on a spurt, made a jump. The conductor caught her and grinned. He was young and admired pluck.

"My! but you're some sprinter," he said. "Going on top with the rest?"

Sally shook her head; she had no breath left, and thankfully subsided into a far corner, undiscovered. When the tram arrived in the High Street, and stopped to let her companions dismount, she waited anxiously to see if they would remember or notice her; but to her joy they evidently believed that she had been left behind with Mademoiselle. Laughing and talking, they vanished into a big stationer's, and the tram shot on its way.

"'Ullo!" said the conductor, "not with the rest?" when at last, at the old City Cross, at the bottom of the town, Sally moved to the door. She shook her head, and was glad he did not seem to worry further about her; but it was with relief she heard the bell ring and saw him pass out of sight. There was only one more thing to be done now to avoid unwanted attention, and that was to dispose of her hat, with the Seascape band on it. In this she succeeded by thrusting it down to the bottom of a basket of remnants, at the entrance to a drapery stores. Turning away, she took her old cap out of her pocket, and dragged it on over her eyes.

Now, unless she met anyone from the school, she was safe, and could start unhampered on her expedition—an adventure if ever she had had one—but different from all her other escapades in that no love of notoriety or excitement had led her to plan it.

"I must save Tolly."

That was her one idea, the slogan that inspired her to face the Borley Caves in the damp and dusk of a late November afternoon.

She did not waste more time in Parchester than she could help, merely pausing to make certain purchases that included a lantern, some candles and matches, a piece of raw meat, wrapped in a newspaper, a bottle of milk, and a small loaf of bread. As many of these things as she could fit in she thrust into the bag she had brought, and with the rest under her arm made her way back to the old City Cross, and took the tram labelled "Borley Chine."

It was still fairly light when she reached her destination and hastened away from the rows of lodging-houses, now half empty, down the zig-zag path, towards the pebbly beach. Beyond, lay the ridge of rocks and golden sands which had made the fortunes of Parchester and its neighbourhood during the last half-century.

Sally passed very few people, and they were all coming from the shore; going back, as she recognised, to family tea-parties, round comfortable fires. The thought made her shiver. It had been easy to boast, on a summer afternoon, that she was not afraid to make her way to the Portholes, but now it was all quite different. If it hadn't been for Autolycus, and the look of entreaty in his brown eyes that continually haunted her imagination, she would have turned straight back.

As it was, she climbed steadily over the pebbles, and up the broad slope of rock and shingle that led to the opening of the largest cave. In the narrow entrance it was almost dark, and she paused, to take a last look at the misty landscape—with its deserted shore—and beyond that again at the grey-green sea, empty of any sail, tossing and turning in forlorn monotony.

"How horrible!" she said, though she usually loved the sea; and with hands that trembled lit her candle. Holding the lantern aloft, she surveyed the cave, into which a slit In the cliff admitted her.

It was a circular space, with long shafts of grey rock projecting here and there from the walls, like buttresses on the outside of a church. Water was trickling down them, and forming little pools, while tufts of fern and dank seaweed growths clung to the crevices and dripped.

"Like a vault," said Sally aloud, and jumped at the echo of her own voice, and again, as some bird flapped past her head, scurrying towards the open in terror at the unexpected sounds.

"I wonder which of us was most frightened," she said, and smiled without any amusement as, lowering the lantern, she crossed the cave and passed through the narrow doorway on the other side.

Here a passage began; almost overpoweringly damp and smelly, at times high like the vaulting of a church, at others so low that its dusty roof brushed and crumbled against her cap. Occasionally it widened out into a room, or else it turned, first at one sharp angle and then at another, until all sense of direction became lost.

Once the passage proved so stuffy that the candle, which had been burning low and dim, went out, and Sally had to grope her way until she came once more to a slit in the outer rock, letting in some light, and fresh puffs of air.

"I can't go on," she told herself, as she relit the lantern, "I can't"; but she knew that still less could she turn back, since she was even more afraid of the corners she had passed than of those that lay before her.

All the time she kept wondering where she was—near the coast, she imagined, because she could often hear the monotonous thud of the sea on the rocks, though the gathering dusk hid it from her sight.

"I must be almost under the school," she muttered at last—"I've been stumbling along here for hours and hours. I think I'll begin calling Tolly."

But instead she screamed and then screamed again.

Almost on a level with her face, the lantern had shown her bright eyes staring at her from behind a ledge of rock: and in the same flash, her imagination had pictured the ghost boy she had invented in Miss Castle's room and then forgotten. Had she invented him? Mabel Gosson had given her the idea, that summer afternoon on the beach, and perhaps he was true after all.

Perhaps ... but as Sally leaned against the wall, wiping her forehead and trying to keep herself from screaming once more, relief came. The eyes no longer stared, while the small grey body to which they evidently belonged scuttled down the ledge of rock and ran off, showing a patch of white to the lantern.

"A rabbit!" said the girl, and almost laughed, for here was her theory that the burrows were connected with the caves confirmed: and with that realisation came new courage and hope.

"Tolly!" she shouted. "Tolly! Tolly!" and went on calling as she moved forward.

As she mounted a heap of broken shale, a faint bark sounded in the distance.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH

RECONCILIATION

While Sally was making her journey of exploration through the caves, she had felt as though hours passed: it seemed weeks before, at last, she found Autolycus. The whole thing was like some hideous game of "hunt the thimble," with feeble yapping, now so faint as to be scarcely heard, and then for a moment louder, to guide her, instead of music.

The passage had by this time widened, through an entrance half-blocked with crumbling shale, into a series of caves—some of which, it was obvious, must have been used in the past as a store-house. The walls had been roughly hewn to hold shelves, broken planks lay on the ground, while some empty barrels rotted in pools.

Sally, wriggling through the half-blocked entrance to the last cave on hands and knees, only noted these things with one half of her mind, the other and more active of her brain was intent on what was now an almost continuous whine—full of misery and entreaty.

"Tolly!" she called, "Tolly! Why don't you come?"

And at last, stumbling over an old iron anchor, almost buried beneath a mass of fallen rock, she came upon him—lying on his side—pinned down by a heap of earth and loose stones.

She knelt beside him, kissing him, and he lifted his head and feebly licked her hand, gazing at her with wide brown eyes that expressed their utter confidence in her ability to put things right.

"You are quite safe, Tolly," she whispered in answer, and resting her lantern on the projecting bar of the anchor, began feverishly to clear away the debris that weighed him down. At last he was free; but as she tried to lift him, he yelped, and examining him, she found his leg was hurt.

As gently as she could she raised him, and taking off her thick coat, folded it up to form a cushion, and so made a bed for him in the driest part of the cave. Then she opened her bag, and producing a saucer and the bottle of milk, persuaded him to drink some. It was slow work at first, for the move had evidently jarred his leg, and he would do nothing but lie and whine, with his eyes shut. Gradually, however, he eased his position, and then, when he had taken a little milk, began to revive, and eagerly ate some pieces of raw meat that Sally chopped off for him with her pocket knife. His tail was wagging now, and there came at last something of his old roguish spirit in the cock of his long ears and gleam of his eyes.

"You think we are out of the wood, my lad," said his mistress rather ruefully. "It's well to have a trusting disposition," and with a little shiver she looked round the cave. It was very cold without her great-coat, though she was thankful she had had the sense to put on two warm woollen jumpers underneath as well as a thick scarf. Round her waist were folded coils and coils of rope; and Sally, as she began mechanically to unwind these, laughed, as she thought of what Jakes's indignation must have been when he discovered her theft.

Finding herself too early for the walk that afternoon, she had, on a sudden impulse, dashed round to the stable and outhouses, appropriating quite easily, since it was still Jakes's dinner hour, first a large clasp knife, that she had concealed in her bag, and then the rope, which she had hidden beneath her coat.

Would it be of any use to her? The answer seemed to depend on where she was, and as Autolycus slept—apparently exhausted—Sally lifted the lantern and began a voyage of discovery.

She was in a fairly large cave, not so damp as the one she called the entrance hall, but still in rather a ruinous condition—to judge by its heaps of splintered rock and earth. The roof, especially near the entrance, where she had scrambled through on her knees, must always have been weak, for previous visitors—presumably smugglers—had propped it up with pit-poles, and stretched a pine trunk across, that now sagged ominously over the doorway.

At the opposite side, where she had found the dog, there was a wide fissure in the rocks, filled with earth and rubble. Here the roof sloped so violently that the girl, approaching to examine it, jumped back in dismay as she realised its spongy insecurity.

"Why, it might come down any minute: it might have come down and buried Tolly and me while I was bending over him," were the thoughts that shook her nerve, and turned the caves, not merely into a place of shadowy fear, but of active, lurking danger.

Her candle had now burned very low, and Sally, while she replaced it with another—her fingers trembling as she forced them to do her will—was struck by a fresh thought. Where did the air come from that had nearly extinguished her light, since the wall against which she leaned seemed solid like the others?

Smothering the glow from the lantern with her bag, she peered about her in the dark, until, her eyes growing accustomed to the gloom, she was able to distinguish some kind of opening, a few feet above her head. A wide opening it must be—no, two—for a broad line of shadow was thrown across the cave, in the middle; and then Sally's heart gave a leap. She had reached the Portholes: and was quite close to Seascape House, if only she could make anyone hear her and come to her assistance.

Lifting the light again, she moved her hand along the wall, wondering how she could raise herself to look out—for it was no use shouting while she was in a kind of well—and then, suddenly, Autolycus whined. It was not the whine of pain, but had an undercurrent of growl in it, and Sally, as she turned back from her search, and put her hand on his back to quiet him, could feel that he was tense with excitement.

"He's heard something," she said. "Someone is coming."

Her first feeling was one of joy, for the loneliness and growing sense of insecurity had begun to tell on her nerves, and she was very near tears. Then, as she listened, conscious that there were indeed movements somewhere down the long dark passage by which she had just come, her hope turned to fresh terror. What human being could it be that visited the caves at this hour of the night? No one knew where she was—(how Sally wished, in that minute, that she had left a note for Miss Castle to explain her plan)—smugglers were an order of the past—there was no one ... no one except...

In a flash, there forced itself back into her mind the tale she had deliberately shut out earlier in the afternoon—of the boy who, wandering like herself from Borley Chine, through the labyrinth of passages, had been walled up and starved. In her excited mood he was no longer the hero of a ghost story, but a reality; and drawing a choking breath, she crouched down by the dog, and placing the bag in front of the lantern to hide its light, flattened herself against the wall.

"Quiet, Tolly!" she whispered. "Oh, do be quiet!" But he continued to growl softly, and the footsteps—for she knew they were footsteps now—to draw ever closer.

Of the next few minutes Sally had never any clear recollection. Someone shouted—shouted several times—there was a flash of light, and a sound of falling masonry, mingled with loud barking—and then the pain in her head, which had caught her sharply in the first spasm of fear, became intense and she knew no more.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see Violet Tremson staring down at her—a Violet almost as white as the handkerchief with which she was sponging her forehead.

"The ghost!" Sally gasped; and then, "Where am I?"

"I ... I think we are underneath the Portholes——"

Violet's voice was very unsteady, and the tears had begun to trickle down her face.

"I ... I thought you were dead when I found you," she said, and then the other, in sudden reaction, sat up and laughed.

"It was you who killed me.... I imagined you were the ghost—my ghost," she said; "and I suppose I fainted." She shivered.

In an instant, Violet was on her feet and taking off her own coat.

"You are to put this on at once," she said, and there was so much authority in her tone, and the younger girl was so cold, that she meekly obeyed. Her brain was working furiously now: she had begun to wonder how on earth the other had found her, and why she had come.

"I ... don't understand," she began, but Violet, with a frown, only said—"Presently." She had a soft plaid rug that she wound round her own shoulders, and tied under her arms. This done, she opened a wide rush basket, and began taking out first a huge thermos, and then some buns in a bag.

"Coffee," she said, and pouring some into a mug, made Sally drink from it, afterwards drinking herself.

"Now we shan't get chilled straight off, while we make plans," she said. "And there's more left if we want it. Feel better?"

"Lots, thank you. It was just the fright and finding Tolly hurt."

Violet nodded, and turning the lantern towards the dog, began to feel his leg, with gentle, capable fingers—while he whined softly, and tried to lick her hand.

"I think it's broken," she said at last. "Not badly—but it ought to be set—I wonder where we could get a splint."

She got up from her knees and began to look, and Sally, as she flashed the lantern round the cave, gave an exclamation of horror.

"The door!" she said. "Why, it has fallen in."

"I know—it nearly fell on top of me, because my electric torch went out, and in the dark I caught the rug round one of the props, as I scrambled through, and pulled it too hard trying to get it free. That's what made me so funky and shaken—that, and finding you, as I thought, dead."

She gave a thin little laugh, without much mirth in it, and went to pick up the broken prop.