Here was a thrilly adventure, indeed, if she had had time to think of the journey in that light as she followed her guide. But Betty’s mind was working too rapidly as she made two and two into a sensible four, while thinking out the information scraps which Mrs. Grimes had given her.
For “he” must be the poor boy of the adventure on that day when she had clambered out of Witch’s Wood and taken his part against the village urchins who had been ill-treating him. But what could he know of the lost Cup? “Well”—a light seemed to be gradually dawning over things as she thought—“he knew this queer way along from the meadow; and so he’s known the way into our school wood. And he’s been there—Mrs. Grimes says so; and he’s watched me gardening. And he heard me say, on that morning when I was talking to Gerry (and I did say it, for I remember), that I would rather anything happened than that we should lose the Cup. I said, too (I did say it, or else Gerry did), that we wanted to keep it on Midsummer Day. Oh, what comes next? I suppose he mixed it up in his poor head and didn’t understand,” said Betty to herself in a motherly way, just as her thoughts were switched off the matter for a moment by the sound of Anna Grimes’s voice just ahead.
“We’s out of the ditch-like way now, Miss, and here’s the medder. You can stand up now and stretch yerself proper before we goes on. ’Twill on’y be a little ways on now. The van’s down the moor a bit, nearer than we was last time you sees us. Out of the winds—” The queer pilgrimage continued.
It was more than a relief from the strangeness of things when, as the caravan came at last in sight, another vehicle appeared beside it—nothing less ordinary and everyday-looking than the doctor’s car—and the school doctor, Rene’s father, came himself to meet them.
“Tch, tch. What’s this now, Mrs. Grimes? Your husband said you’d gone for the young lady, but I could hardly credit it. Well, I was just off to the school myself, it happens. Now, my dear—Betty Carlyle, isn’t it? you see, I’ve heard all about you from Rene, and I know the story of the Cup, and I’ve heard the end of the tale as told by these good folk here—step straight into my car while I speak to Mrs. Grimes for a minute. And then I’ll take you straight back to St. Benedick’s. This is no place for you, although the good woman no doubt thought she was obeying orders. It appears”—Dr. Fergus turned as he spoke—“that we’ve got your Cup back safely, or, at least, shall have it very shortly, thanks to poor Paul.” His tone changed, and he broke off into a long list of directions as he addressed the van-woman; while Betty, with her heart beating wildly with excitement, possessed her soul in patience until he should be free to appear.
It was almost half an hour later, while driving her back to the school, that Dr. Fergus explained further. “In Witch’s Wood; the poor lad’s hidden it there—in the cottage. It seems that he found out the fact (which no one else among the village people appears to have found out, by the way) that there aren’t such things as ghosts! And he’s evidently adopted the so-called ‘haunted cottage’ there, and has used it as a kind of refuge. He’s got a bad granny, poor boy, who doesn’t do her best by him, and he’s taken to camping there. Plays his pipe, too, there; he’s a bit of a musician, poor lad, as these naturals often are. Spoke of the fairies—well, poor lad, poor lad, he’s got paid out with a bad attack of rheumatic fever for any trespassing he’s done. Oh yes, the Cup’s there, evidently as safe as can be, in the little house. He says he was guarding it for you, Miss Betty; and for you, by the way, he seems to have a genuine devotion. He told me that you wanted it kept safe till Midsummer Day!”
Betty felt a lump in her throat. “He—he’s muddled up what I said! But I did say it,” she whispered; “and it’s kind of him to want to help. I did very little for him, you know. Only——”
“Eh? Well, I daresay you’ll be able to do a bit more in the future, then. I understand that all you Guides are out to help others in need of help, and here’s a genuine case. He’ll be ill for some time, but we’ll get him moved to the infirmary, and he’ll be proud of a little notice, I’m sure. See—” the doctor suddenly slowed down—“here’s my idea, Miss Betty,” said he. “It happens that we’re on the border of Witch’s Wood now, and I’ve the right to go in, I believe. Suppose we leave the car in charge of the reputed witch,” continued Dr. Fergus, clearing the fence as nimbly as a boy and holding out a friendly hand to Betty; “unless, of course, you’d rather stay outside.”
Stay outside! It was with a wildly beating heart, in which excitement and eagerness mingled, that Betty followed the doctor through the wood.
There stood the cottage little and lonely as ever, as they gained the clearing. There, as they crossed the threshold, lay, as before, a rough bordering of flowers and ferns. They had been picked two days ago and were withered now. And there, as they entered the little inner room—filled with withered flowers, surrounded with withered flowers, and shinily polished as ever it had been when in charge of the Daisy patrol—was the Guide Cup!