“Then I’d better bring provisions for camping out. There’s a fall of the barometer, and all the village weather-prophets tell me we are to have snow; besides, there’s some rough road between here and Exham. Look out for storms to-morrow, Frances! Now, I’ll be off with my booty. Baker sold to a fellow-cad the last frock I begged for Polly; but I’ll dare him to touch this beauty. Keep your eyes open, and they’ll be gladdened by the sight of the Altruist baby!”
Max went away happy. All his father’s poor patients enjoyed his personal attentions, and not a few considered the Doctor’s son as good an adviser as the Doctor himself. Max tried to be discreet, but his boyish habit of telling the unvarnished truth to any village sneak or bully sometimes brought him into awkward predicaments.
CHAPTER III.
ADVENTURERS FOUR.
Surely only youth and health would look forward with glorious anticipations to a five-mile drive on a bitter winter day, in a little open carriage!
The four adventurous Altruists were certain they were going to enjoy themselves, and no sooner were they fairly on their way than they began to justify their own predictions. For the sake of extra excitement, they took it in turns to drive; but it was impossible for them to take it in turns to talk, so they all chattered at once. This did not help the driving, which was mixed in character. Nobody could quite tell, as the ribbons changed hands, what might be the next diversion; and, of course, this uncertainty was the best part of the fun. At last the pony settled, under the capable guidance of Florry, into a steady trot; and the Altruists settled, at the same propitious moment, into a steady discussion of their proposed Christmas feast for the Woodend villagers.
This feast had been for some weeks under consideration at the Society’s meetings, and the arrangement of its details was far advanced. The Altruists intended that it should be a grand manifesto of their good-will to all the working-folk.
“We are to have a present for everybody,” declared Austin loudly, “and we boys must do our share. I am making my third stool. No one can say that stools are not useful things in cottages.”
“But they will not furnish a house,” objected Max; “and I want very badly a complete rig-out for a two-roomed shanty. I have a man on my list who was sold up last week by his Jew of a landlord—old Fenn. Poor Johnson was a decent chap, but when they turned him out he just went to the bad.”
“He can’t have gone very far in a week,” remarked Austin, who had not taken kindly the allusion to his handiwork.
“He went to Fenn’s Home Farm, and tried to burn the ricks. Fortunately he didn’t succeed; and when Dad heard he was to be taken up, we went and begged Johnson off. We’re going bail for him, that if they’ll let him alone he’ll keep straight; and Dad has got him some rough work in the gardens. But his wife and child had to go to the workhouse; and now the idea is to start them all afresh in one of Ventnor’s little places. They’ll want only a few things to begin with. What do you say, Frances? Shall we give him one of Austin’s stools for a Christmas-box?”