Knock Three Times!

CHAPTER XVI

Molly Accepts a Present

THE farmer’s wife proved a friend indeed to Molly. She gathered the little girl up in her arms and carried her indoors, made her put on some fresh clothes while she dried her wet things before a blazing fire, and not until Molly had emptied a big bowl of hot bread and milk would she let her say a word of thanks or explanation.

Then, when the farmer and Mrs Rose and Molly (wrapped in a warm cloak belonging to the farmer’s wife) sat round the fire, Molly told them her story, weeping afresh at the memory of Jack’s misfortune.

“There, there, my dear,” comforted Mrs Rose, her own eyes full of tears. “It’s no use crying, you know. What you have got to do is to determine to find the Black Leaf, and then, like as not, you’ll get your brother back again.”

“Oh, I am determined to find it,” cried Molly. “I was determined before—but I will—I will find it—whatever happens.”

“You must try to get a good rest to-night, and then you can start off fresh in the morning—and you mustn’t cry any more or you’ll make yourself ill—and then you won’t be able to do anything,” said Mrs Rose.

Molly quite saw the wisdom of Mrs Rose’s words and tried her best to stop crying. But she kept thinking about Jack, and wondering what they were doing to him, and why the Pumpkin had changed him into a likeness of himself. Supposing she had to return home to Mother without Jack. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t, she vowed to herself. She would stay in this country and search and search until the Black Leaf was found, even if she had to wait for years … and here her tears began to flow again.

To distract her, the farmer began talking about the country around and the most likely places to search. He had searched all his own land, he said, directly he heard the Pumpkin was back, and he had helped to prepare some of the beacons on the hills around this district. And he asked Molly if she knew on which hills the beacons were set.

Molly dried her eyes, got her map out, and showed him how the beacon hills were marked, and soon she and the farmer and Mrs Rose were poring over the map, planning out the best routes to take, and discussing the most likely places for search. The farmer showed her all the places where the Leaf was not growing, places he had personally searched; and at Molly’s request he marked these places on the map with a lead pencil. Molly decided to herself that she would leave these marked places until the very last, until she had searched all the more likely parts round about. She felt she could not leave them out altogether, although she trusted the farmer absolutely; she had promised to search each part herself.

When she mentioned Mr Papingay’s name the farmer and his wife smiled, and although they thought he would certainly have searched the Orange Wood as he said he had, yet he was not sure to have done it thoroughly, and they agreed with Molly that it would be as well to go over the ground again if possible. The fact that the Pumpkin was lurking about there made all three of them think that probably the Leaf was growing somewhere near. Of course, this might not be so; it might be only the Pumpkin’s object to prevent Jack and Molly going any further with the search.

“You’ll have to be very cautious, missie, if you go back to the wood,” said Farmer Rose. “It wouldn’t do for you to get caught too.”

“I’ll be very careful—but it won’t do for me to be afraid, or p’r’aps I’ll never get Jack back again,” said Molly. “I mustn’t be afraid of anything now.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the farmer, slapping his knee. “And if there’s anything we can do to help you—you’ve only got to name it—we shall be proud.”

When the farmer’s wife tucked her up in bed, about twenty minutes later, Molly threw her arms round her neck.

“I don’t know why you are so good to me,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’ve given you a lot of trouble, I’m afraid.”

“Not the least bit in the world,” replied the farmer’s wife. “Try to get to sleep, my dear.... P’r’aps to-morrow—who knows what may happen to-morrow!”

Molly was so exhausted that she slept soundly and dreamlessly, in spite of the fact that the wind rattled furiously at her window and roared down the chimney. In the morning she woke with a dreadful, leaden feeling at her heart, but she determined not to brood over yesterday, but to get to work at once.

After breakfast she collected up all the things from Jack’s satchel and put them with her belongings into her own satchel. The farmer’s wife insisted on giving her a big packet of food for luncheon, and told her to come back and sleep at the farm again that night if she ended her day’s search anywhere near.

Molly thanked her gratefully, then started out alone. The rain had ceased, and the wind was much less violent, but it was a grey day with a sky full of scurrying clouds.

And now began a long, wearying time for Molly. Alone, of course, the task of searching was longer and more difficult, though the enthusiasm with which she went to work kept her from realizing this to the full. She went on her way searching eagerly and thoroughly that part of the valley through which the river ran, which came within her square of map; she crossed the water by another bridge about a mile away from the place of last night’s accident, and searched the opposite bank, gradually working her way back to the spot where the Pumpkin had appeared.

Across the water she could see the farm-house, half-way up the hilly road on the other side. Behind her was the stile which she and Jack had clambered over yesterday. Was it only yesterday?—it seemed more like a week ago to Molly. She climbed over the stile again and crossed the field, searching as she went, to the Orange Wood.

Very cautiously she entered the wood, and started her search, ears and eyes constantly on the alert, and hands and feet ready to spring and climb up a tree at any moment, if the need arose. But the need did not arise, and presently Molly found she was back within sight of Mr Papingay’s house. She went extra carefully now, so as not to attract the old man’s attention, and made a tour of the wood near his house, working in a wide circle, so as not to cross the space before his front door. Once she heard his voice calling out to know what Percy was barking at, but she did not see him.

And though at length she searched the whole of the Orange Wood, she did not find the Black Leaf; nor did she see any sign of the Pumpkin or his spies.

So she left the wood behind her, and came back over the river, and made her way to the farm-house again, where she had tea, and told them all about her day’s search. But she would not stay the night there, as there was still a long light evening to work through, and she hoped to get some way on the road to Lake Desolate before the night fell.

“You’ll pass several houses and cottages on the road,” said Mrs Rose, and proceeded to give Molly the names of several friends of hers, whom she could trust. “But be sure to come back here, if you want to.”

Mrs Rose stood at the gate waving her handkerchief to Molly, until the little girl turned round a bend in the road and was lost to sight. Then she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Bless the child,” she said, as she hurried indoors. “She deserves to win.”

From the top of one of the hills close by, Molly found she could get a splendid view of the surrounding country. The clouds had disappeared by now, and it promised to be a beautiful evening and a moonlight night. The river sparkled beneath, and the Orange Wood glowed in the evening sun, while far away, in the distance, she could see the white towers of the City. Looking down at the Orange Wood she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to look for Mr Waffer’s face, as she passed Mr Papingay’s house. What a pity! Jack would have liked to know, when—when she met him again. But she had had so many things to think about in the wood that it is no wonder she forgot about Mr Waffer.

Descending the hill, Molly started on the road to Lake Desolate. It was pretty and green at first with cottages dotted about in small clusters, and presently she passed through a tiny village, where she stopped to inquire and search. But although every one seemed kind, and eager to help, there was nothing to be heard or seen of the Black Leaf.

About half a mile outside the village, Molly came to a few more houses and a small shop. At the door of the shop stood an old gentleman wearing a black skull-cap and a long, shabby coat. When he saw Molly approaching he came out to meet her and, seizing her hand, shook it warmly, saying that he had heard of her goodness in helping with the search and thanked her gratefully.

“I have been keeping a watch on the road for the last few days, missie, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you passed,” he said. “I heard you were coming this way.”

Molly was pleased at his impulsive friendliness, especially as she was feeling very lonely just now. She stopped chatting for a few minutes, and the old gentleman proudly showed her his shop. He was a watchmaker, and the shop was full of watches and clocks of all kinds and sizes. Besides these, he had a small collection of jewellery.

“I expect you wonder at a watchmaker being right out here,” he said, noting Molly’s surprised expression at the contents of his shop. “Many people wonder at first. But I supply the clocks and watches for all the neighbouring towns and villages and even for the City. I send to the City twice a week. I live out here simply because my father and grandfather and great-grandfather have always lived in this place—and because my health won’t permit me to live in crowded towns.... Now, miss, if you will be so good I want you to accept a little present from me, as a token of appreciation of the work you are doing.”

He opened a little box and drew out a dainty, silver bracelet, that jingled as he handled it—just the very kind of bracelet that Molly had longed for on her birthday.

Molly’s face lit up, but she hesitated. Ought she to accept this present from a stranger—especially as she had made up her mind not to trust anybody now, unless she was perfectly sure they were all right. The old watchmaker seemed harmless enough, and he was already looking disappointed at her hesitation. Molly felt it would be unkind to refuse the bracelet, and difficult also. It was not as if he had offered her food or drink, that might be poisoned; nor had he made any effort to entice her into his shop; she had merely stepped inside on the mat and the door had been left wide open. Surely there could be no harm in accepting the bracelet, Molly argued to herself. It was so pretty, and she would like to have it, and anyway, if she felt doubtful afterward she could always get rid of it somehow, when the old gentleman could not see her and be hurt.

“I beg you will accept this bracelet,” said the watchmaker. “I have been keeping it back specially for you.”

So Molly accepted the bracelet, and the old gentleman ‘had the honour,’ as he put it, of seeing her slip it over her right hand, where it gleamed and jingled, and nearly slipped off when she put her arm down straight—just as she had longed for it to do. Molly thanked the old watchmaker and shook hands with him again, as she bid him good-bye.

He stood at his door bowing as Molly went on her way, but no sooner was she out of sight than he returned to his shop and, closing the door, sat down on a stool behind the counter, and began to shake with silent laughter; he continued to laugh, hugging himself while he did so, and rocking backward and forward, and bending himself nearly double, and all this quite noiselessly—the only sounds in the shop being the rapid tick, tick, tick, and the steady tick-tock, of the watches and clocks around him.

CHAPTER XVII

A Warning

MEANWHILE, after walking along for a short distance, Molly thought it would be wise to look up the names of Mrs Rose’s friends, as the daylight was beginning to fade and already the moon was mounting the sky; she had scribbled the names and addresses down on a slip of paper. She noted, with a slight thrill of pleasure, the jingle of the silver bracelet as she took the paper out of her pocket. Poor Molly, she could not feel very happy about the bracelet, of course, as the weight of Jack’s misfortune still crushed her down; but she was certainly pleased to possess such a bracelet. Having discovered that one of Mrs Rose’s friends lived about a quarter of a mile farther on, she determined to search the road until she came to this house, and then ask if Mrs Jennet, for that was the friend’s name, would kindly put her up for the night.

The road now began to grow wilder and more rugged, while here and there, beside the way, were huge rocks and piles of stones. She passed an occasional tree, but these had few leaves on their branches, and were much twisted and bent as though lashed by many storms.

Molly continued to search, but, instead of hurrying along as she had meant to, she found herself moving slower, and gradually slower still, and became aware that she was suddenly very tired. She dragged on for a short distance.

“I can’t do any more searching to-night,” she thought to herself. “I’m too tired. I’ll just make straight for the house—only I wish it wasn’t such a long way off. I’ll never get there.”

Molly found great difficulty in keeping her eyes open now; and if she hadn’t been so thoroughly exhausted and tired she might have been suspicious of this overwhelming wave of sleep that had seized her. She was too tired to think or reason, too tired to be suspicious. She only knew that her feet felt as if they were made of lead, and the only thing she wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep at once.

“Can’t reach the house,” she murmured, drowsily. “Must go to sleep.”

She stumbled across the road, and threw herself down on the grass by the wayside. Oh, how delicious it was, just to lie down and go to sleep! But as her head was sinking back a last wave of consciousness flashed through Molly’s mind of the foolishness of the thing that she was doing … going to sleep by the roadside … and if the Pumpkin came along … she would never be able to save Jack now. At this thought—she rallied for a moment and pulled herself up into a kneeling position. She remained thus for a moment or two, with her head drooping forward. Then she struggled to fight off the wave of sleep that was coming over her again, and managed to crawl a few paces further on.

Although Molly did not know it at the time, this was one of the most critical moments in her adventure. If she had given in and gone comfortably to sleep by the roadside, this story would have had a very different ending. But Molly did not give in, her desire to find the Black Leaf and save her brother was so strong, that in spite of the great odds against her she was able to make one last effort to reach a place of safety. Though there was still no sign of Mrs Jennet’s house, there was fortunately a tree close by. And it was toward this tree that Molly slowly groped her way. She never knew how long it took her to reach that tree, although it was standing only a few feet away from her. But with repeated efforts she at length reached it, and with a great struggle pulled herself up into a standing position, leaning against the trunk. For some time she stood leaning against the tree; she could not remember afterward whether she went to sleep for a while or not—she thought she must have gone to sleep (“Like a horse, standing up,” she told herself). But she had barely lost consciousness when again her desire urged her to make another effort.

This was the last effort, and the hardest of all. Molly scarcely knew how she managed it, but manage she did, to pull herself up into the tree, and curl up among the lower branches. Then, immediately, she was asleep.

All through the moonlit night she slept and did not move. And if anyone passed on the road beneath the tree that night—Molly never knew. And nobody guessed there was a little girl lying asleep in the gnarled old tree by the side of the road that led to Lake Desolate. For little girls who are as tired as Molly must have been have not usually the strength, nor the will, to climb trees.

At daybreak Molly stirred and threw out her right arm, so that it hung down a little, over the edge of one of the branches: and the bracelet, the jingly, silver bracelet, slipped down over her wrist, and as she moved again, it slid over her hand and fell on to the ground at the foot of the tree.

After this Molly seemed more restless, and did not sleep so soundly, though many hours went by, and it was nearly noon before she was aroused at length by some one exclaiming loudly and persistently from beneath the tree, and something cold and hard grabbing at her arms and legs.

Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then became aware that a chubby, startled-looking little woman in a black and white check dress and a black bonnet was calling up to her while she made frantic efforts to catch hold of Molly with the crooked handle of her umbrella.

“Oh, thank goodness, you ’ave woke up, which I thought you never was going to!” cried the plump little woman, dabbing her face with her handkerchief. “Such a fright as you give me, lying quite still there and me a-hollering at you for a hour or more, though I’d never a-seen you if it hadn’t been for your ’and and arm ’anging down out of the tree....”

“Who are you?” asked Molly drowsily. “I’m glad you did wake me up.”

“Maria Jennet is my name,” was the answer. “I done my best to wake you up, but my! you do want a bit of waking. Made me quite ’ot, you ’ave.”

“Oh, are you Mrs Jennet?” said Molly. “Mrs Rose’s friend?”

“I am,” said Mrs Jennet emphatically.

“Why, I was on my way to your house last night, when—when … Oh!” Molly gave a scream.

“Oh!” screamed Mrs Jennet. “What is it now? You do give a body the jumps, you do!”

But Molly did not answer. She was gazing with horrified eyes at her right arm. On the wrist was a long grey stain!

How had it come there? What did it mean? Molly rubbed her arm vigorously with her pocket-handkerchief—but she could not remove the stain. She had seen a grey stain like this before; but where?… And then she remembered. It was on Old Nancy’s finger, the evening she slept through the sunset hour. Molly then realized what had happened.

“Of course, he was another of them. What a stupid girl I was to trust him,” she exclaimed. “But where has my bracelet gone! Wait a minute please,” she continued, in reply to Mrs Jennet’s excited questioning. “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.” She climbed down from the tree and searched about in the grass beneath. “Ah, here it is!” she cried, and snatched up her bracelet, only to drop it again instantly, as if it were red-hot coals. For on the inner side of the bracelet she saw the remains of a dull grey powder still clinging to it. “So that’s how he did it!” Molly nodded to herself. “That explains things.”

She understood now that the watchmaker was another spy employed by the Pumpkin, and the bracelet which she had accepted from him had contained this magic powder which had rubbed off on to her arm, and sent her to sleep. The old watchmaker was evidently relying on the powder acting quickly, and Molly, overwhelmed by sleep, being compelled to rest by the side of the road—or somewhere where the Pumpkin could easily catch her. Luckily for Molly, she had had enough will power to fight her way to a place of safety; and luckily, also, the bracelet had slipped off and so gradually she had regained consciousness again. Molly had had a very narrow escape, and she felt decidedly bewildered as to the best way of winning through the difficulties around her. Of one thing she felt certain, she must be very distrustful of everything and everybody—except, of course, where people were recommended to her by some one she could trust. So far, all the links in her chain of friends had proved good and true; Glan—Old Nancy—Aunt Janet—The Goblin—Miss Marigold—Mr Papingay—Mrs Rose—and now, Mrs Jennet. She could trust Mrs Jennet, surely.

Mrs Jennet was bubbling over with curiosity about the stain and the bracelet, and Molly answering some of her numerous questions, asked her to lend her the umbrella for a minute. Mrs Jennet watched breathlessly while Molly dug a little hole with the point, then picked up the bracelet on the tip of the umbrella and dropped it in the hole and piled earth and stones on it.

“It might only bring trouble to some one else if I leave it here,” she said.

Then she accepted Mrs Jennet’s kind and vigorous invitation to go home with her and ‘have a bite of something’ before proceeding on her way. As they walked along Molly told her companion a little of what had already taken place, and what had happened to Jack. At which Mrs Jennet protested loudly and even wept a little; then stood still in the middle of the roadway while she told Molly all the horrible things she would like to do to the Pumpkin if she caught him.

Mrs Jennet’s house was only a short distance away, and stood with several other houses by the side of the main road—the last dwellings these before you reached Lake Desolate, which was about two miles further on, she told Molly. Molly learned that the men from these houses worked in the mines near by. Mrs Jennet’s husband worked there and would not be home till evening.

While Mrs Jennet was bustling about, laying the table, and frying eggs and bacon, Molly got out her map and looked to see where the mines were. They were not marked on her map at all, and Mrs Jennet explained, when Molly showed her the map, that the mines were just over the border of Molly’s square; at which Molly was rather relieved, as it had struck her that she might have to go down the mines perhaps to search for the Black Leaf. But on second thoughts she remembered—of course, the Black Leaf could only grow above ground. This incident, however, called Molly’s attention to the fact that she was nearing another border-line of her square. It stretched away to the left of the road she was soon to go along; so she would not have much country to search on that side. But there was still a large piece of country around Lake Desolate.

“Are there no more houses beyond this group?” Molly asked Mrs Jennet, as they sat down to their meal.

“No. Yes,” said Mrs Jennet. “That is, not until you’ve passed Lake Desolate. Then there are one or two sheep-farms and cottages on the ’ills. Very lonely they must be, too. There’s very few go to Lake Desolate now—the road’s so bad—and so lonely. And what’s the good of going there, there’s nothing to see but the Lake and the ’ills.... ’Ave some more bread, duckie.... And there’s all them wild birds screeching over the Lake. Ugh! Fair gives me the creeps, it does. But there—I forgot you was going there. Fancy, a bit of a girl like you! Well, well! P’r’aps you ain’t afraid of being alone though? Eh?”