Saturday morning fortunately proved fine and mild enough to dispel all fears on Mavis's behalf, and the girls were ready and anxious to start long before Dr. Tremayne had finished his work in the surgery. They fumed round the waiting-room door, casting indignant glances at the patients seated within, and hoping their cases were not serious, and would not require much of the doctor's time and attention; then, finding such hanging about rather dispiriting, they went to the garage and helped Tom to polish the brasses of the car—a praiseworthy occupation that kept them busy until the last patient had been dismissed from the surgery.
"Just a few bottles of medicine to make up, and then we're off," said Uncle David, giving some instruments to Jessop to sterilize. "Have you each got a warm scarf, girls? And where's the rug? Tell Tom to put my bag inside the dicky, there won't be room for it in front to-day. You two will have to sit close, but we'll squeeze in somehow."
The little yellow car was only a two-seater, but it held three at a pinch. Mavis, in the middle, sat as far back as possible, so as not to incommode Uncle David's left arm as he drove, while Merle sat a little forward, to give extra room. Jessop tucked the rug over their knees, Tom started the engine, Aunt Nellie waved good-bye out of the open window, and at last they were off, over the bridge and along the road that led to the south. It was a lovely sunny morning, with great fleecy clouds on the horizon, and a blue sky overhead. Small birds were flitting about in the hedges, and large flocks of rooks and starlings were feeding in the ploughed fields. The banks were green with masses of beautiful hart's-tongue ferns, and all nature seemed alive and stirring and thinking of spring. The car whizzed along at a good pace, and they were soon scaling the hill and crossing the portion of the moor that lay between Durracombe and Chagmouth. The glistening drops from yesterday's showers still shone on the brown heather, sheep were feeding on the patches of fine grass, and wild little ponies stampeded away at the approach of the car, as if they were running a race with motor power.
It was so beautiful on the uplands that the girls were quite sorry when the open, hedgeless road dipped between banks into a valley and turned into the orthodox deep Devonshire lane. Down and down they went, so steeply that Uncle David seemed to be hanging on to the brakes, and for at least two miles there was no occasion to use the engine, then quite suddenly they whisked round a bend of the road and caught a glimpse of the village lying below them. Chagmouth came afterwards to mean so much to Mavis and Merle that they never forgot their first sight of it. It burst upon them, a compact mass of picturesque houses lying huddled between two magnificent headlands crowned with gorse and brown bracken.
A rushing stream ran through the valley, flowed under several bridges, and poured itself into the harbour, where gulls were flapping and screaming, and the rising tide was rocking the fishing-boats gently to and fro. Out beyond the jetty white sea-foam was flying round jagged rocks, and a motor-launch was making its way cautiously among chopping waves. Though it was only the first of February, the village, owing to the large number of its half-exotic shrubs, was framed in a setting of green, among which the little colour-washed houses shone like flowers. Seen as a bird's-eye view from the road above, Chagmouth indeed looked like a gigantic flower border with the emerald sea for a lawn. As they dipped downward into the ravine there rose up towards them certain scents and sounds intimately connected with the place, and afterwards indissolubly associated with it in the minds of the two girls—the murmur of running water, the cries of sea-gulls, the twitter of small birds, the salt smell of the sea, the pungent smoke of burning driftwood, and the faint, aromatic odour of moist evergreen shrubs steaming in the sunshine.
Dr. Tremayne halted at a house at the top of the village, and took his car round into the stable-yard. The house was a farm, and he rented rooms there for the purpose of his profession. A brass plate upon the door set forth his surgery hours. People in Chagmouth, unless they were seriously ill, kept their aches and pains until Saturdays, for it was a long way to fetch the doctor from Durracombe to pay a special visit. The waiting-room at Grimbal's Farm was generally full when he arrived, and there were enough messages from patients requiring his attendance to keep him busy for the whole of the day.
When the car had been put safely under cover, Uncle David took Mavis and Merle beneath the great arch of fuchsias that framed the doorway and into the wide, old-fashioned hall, where the farmer's wife, who had been watching for the car, was standing to greet them.
"Well, Mrs. Penruddock, how are you? Anybody waiting for me this morning?" began Uncle David. "You see I've brought my nieces with me to-day. They'll take a look round the place while I'm busy. Can you manage to find any lunch for them, do you think?"
"Of course I can, Doctor," smiled Mrs. Penruddock. "It's a nice day for them to see Chagmouth. It's really quite warm down by the harbour. There are ten people in the waiting-room, and I have the messages here. Mrs. Glyn Williams said there was no hurry, any time would suit her."
"I'll go up in the afternoon then, when I take the Sanatorium. I'll see the people who are waiting now, and then have lunch, please, before I begin my round. Have you a watch, Mavis? That's right! Then run down and look at the sea, you two girls, and be back by one o'clock. Don't forget the time, because I shall have a long round to-day, and must make an early start."