But the heir to all the Talland Estate lay between life and death.
CHAPTER XXI
The Floral Festival
Bevis pulled round after all. As Dr. Tremayne had said, he had youth and a strong constitution on his side. The new method of treatment seemed a miracle, and perhaps also the interview with Tudor, by settling the disturbance in his mind, allowed the medicines to have a fair chance. Nature reasserted herself, drove out baneful microbes, and set that wonderful instrument of hers, the human body, once more in working order. As soon as the fever left him Bevis picked up very fast. There was so much to get well for. The papers, hidden away so long in Mrs. Jarvis's cottage, established without a doubt his claim to the Talland property, and when the necessary formalities could be gone through he would become its legal owner. Naturally the affair was the talk of Chagmouth, and Bevis would have been overwhelmed with visitors and congratulations had not Mrs. Penruddock acted dragon, and kept away all callers except those who had a special permit from the Doctor. Under her excellent nursing he gained strength rapidly, and by the time St. Gervan's Day came round he looked almost his old self again. The floral festival held every year in honour of the patron saint of Chagmouth was an extremely ancient custom dating back probably to dim ages before the dawn of history. The antiquarians of the neighbourhood said it was either a survival from the Romans, or more likely still a relic of Druidism and sun worship. Christianity, finding pagan rites had always heralded the beginning of the summer, had adopted the feast and dedicated it to St. Gervan, an obscure Cornish missionary whose very legend was forgotten. Nothing is so persistent, however, as the survival of an old village fête, and for hundreds of years Chagmouth people, when the anniversary occurred, had decked their boats with flowers, and rowed across the harbour, and round the point to the little old church on the rock. Ages ago Druids had no doubt invoked the heavens to send favourable harvests, in mediæval times the parish priest had probably blessed the fishing boats according to the custom which still obtains at a few places in Brittany, but these points in the old ceremony were now lost, and it had simply become a village holiday. It is likely enough that in these modern times, when few are given to sentiment, the whole thing would have fallen into disuse, had not the Vicar had the happy idea of combining with it a memorial service for those who had "passed on" in the Great War. Chagmouth people might smile at saints' days, and ask who St. Gervan had been, but they remembered their own boys, and would take wreaths to lay round the Celtic cross that had been erected in the little churchyard.
Mavis and Merle were very anxious to see the floral festival, and though the Easter vacation was over, and school had begun again at The Moorings, they were allowed a special holiday for the purpose. That was Mother's doing. She had come to Durracombe with Father for Easter, and had stayed on for some weeks because Aunt Nellie was not very well, and needed extra care. On St. Gervan's day she hired a car from the hotel, and drove over to Chagmouth with the girls in order that they might all see the interesting ceremony. It was years since Mrs. Ramsay had been in the little town, and she was delighted to renew her acquaintance with it. To-day it was entirely en fête. Everybody was down by the quay side, where rowing boats of every description were ready in the harbour. The veriest old cockleshells had been patched up for the occasion, and there were also some motor-launches, and a small pleasure steamer which had made the trip from Port Sennen. All local boats were beautifully decorated with flags and with boughs of lilac or branches of pink hawthorn, and garlands of all kinds of gay cottage blossoms, May tulips, wallflowers, pansies, forget-me-nots, double daisies, pinks, or campanulas. There was great competition in the decorations. The school children had special boats to themselves, and proudly held up banners and little staves upon which were tied round bunches of flowers and flying ribbons. The Provident Societies also had their boats and their banners, and their members wore nosegays in their button-holes.
The Ramsays had been offered places in Mr. Penruddock's boat, and they walked along the quay side to where she was moored. It was really a beautiful and very quaint scene, the harbour with its green, lapping water looking for once like a field of flowers, and the flocks of seagulls wheeling overhead and screaming at the unwonted sight. The Dinah, an old tub that belonged to Grimbal's Farm, had been made unwontedly smart for the occasion with a coat of fresh paint. Boughs of white lilac, wreaths of early roses, forget-me-nots, globe flowers, and starry clematis had fashioned it into quite a bower, the Union Jack fluttered in the stern, and rugs were spread over the seats.
The bell in the little church of St. Gervan's was clanging loudly, and people were beginning to get into their various craft, and push away across the harbour. Merle was carrying her camera, and was busy taking snap-shots of the interesting scene. Mavis, who had leanings towards art, had brought her sketch-book and jotted down impressions in black-lead pencil. For the sake of everybody it was a mercy that the weather, which had been behaving badly of late, held up and gave bursts of brilliant sunshine. It was only a short row from the quay to the old church. The congregation disembarked at a jetty, moored their boats, and climbed the eighty-seven stone steps that led steeply upward. To-day the usually neglected place had been made to look wonderfully spick and span. The grass had been mown between the graves and round the soldiers' monument, where people were already piling up wreaths, floral crosses, and bunches of blossoms. The tower still lacked its coping, and the doorway had sunk yet more, but the windows had been cleaned, and all cobwebs were swept away. Inside the church was decked with beautiful flowers, arum lilies, and roses, and pale-pink peonies and bush lupins, and many lovely half-exotic plants from the gardens of The Warren and the Vicarage. People were taking their places on the old oak benches. The Ramsays went into a seat half-way down the nave, exactly behind the Glyn Williamses, who had arrived in a body, governess and all. Bevis was about to follow when the Vicar came up to him, and after a short whispered conversation motioned him into the Talland family pew. It was Bevis's first visit to church since his illness, and to the whole congregation the Vicar's act seemed a public acknowledgment of the boy's new position in Chagmouth. He flushed scarlet, hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and took his place with a quiet dignity which became both himself and the occasion.
The short service was very simple, partly a thanksgiving, and partly a memorial to those who had given their lives for their country.
Through the open door came the sound of the lap of waves and the screaming of gulls.
"They that go down to the sea in ships," ran the Vicar's text, "that do business in great waters: these see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep."