“Say!” cried Patty. “Delicious!”
Without more words the little girls ran off to the orchard, and nurse’s remarks with regard to the difference between lies and tarradiddles were forgotten for the time being.
The days went on, but Pen did not forget. There came a morning when, a letter having arrived from Aunt Sophy saying that Pauline was much better—in fact, quite herself again—and that she and both the girls would be home in about a week, the little girl was rendered desperate.
“I has no time to lose,” she said to herself. “I am ’termined to go; I am going some fashion or t’other.”
On this occasion she took a bolder step than she had yet attempted. She resolved to walk alone the entire distance between The Dales and The Hollies, which was about three miles. Pen was the sort of child who was never troubled by physical fear. She also knew the Forest very well. She had but to slip away; none of her sisters would miss her. Or if nurse wondered where she was, she would conclude that Pen was keeping her elder sisters company. If the girls wondered, they would think she was with nurse. Altogether the feat was easy of accomplishment, and the naughty child determined to go. She started off an hour after breakfast, opened the wicket-gate, let herself out, and began to walk quickly. These were the days of early autumn, when the Forest was looking its best; the trees were beginning to put on their regal dresses of crimson and brown and gold. Already the rich red leaves were dropping to the ground. The bracken was withering to a golden brown, and the heather was a deep purple. Everywhere, too, little bluebells sprang up, looking as if they were making fairy music. There were squirrels, too, darting from bough to bough of the beech-trees; and rabbits innumerable, with white-tipped tails, disappearing into their various holes. A walk in the Forest on this special day was the sort to fascinate some children, but Pen cared for none of these things. Her way lay straight before her; her object was never for a moment forgotten. She meant to reach the sea by some means or other.
She was a somewhat tired and hot little person when at last she appeared outside the broad gravel walk that led to The Hollies; and it so happened that when she entered this walk her courage was put to a severe test, for Lurcher, the farmer’s bulldog, happened to be loose. As a rule he was kept tied up. Now, Lurcher was a very discerning person. He attacked beggars in a most ferocious manner, but as to ladies and gentlemen a fierce bout of barking was sufficient. Pen, however, looked like neither a beggar nor a lady or gentleman. Lurcher did not know what to make of Pen. Some one so small and so untidy could scarcely be a visitor. She was much too short and much too stout, and her little legs were bleeding from the thorny brambles that she had come through during her journey. Accordingly Lurcher, with a low growl and a swift bound, pinned poor little Pen by the skirt of her short frock. He was sufficiently a gentleman not to hurt her, but he had not the least idea of letting her go. He pinned her even more firmly when she moved an inch away from him, and when she raised her voice he growled. He not only growled, but he shook her dress fiercely. Already she felt it snap from its waistband under Lurcher’s terrible teeth. She was a very brave child, but her present predicament was almost more than she could bear. How long it lasted no one quite knew. Then there came a stride across the gravel, a shout from Farmer King, and Pen was transferred from the ground into his sheltering arms.
“You poor little thing!” he said. “You poor little bit of a lass! Now, you don’t tell me you are one of the Dales? You have their eyes—black as black most of them are. Are you a Dale?”
“Course I am,” answered Penelope. “I’m Penelope Dale. He’s a shocking bad dog. I never thought I could be frightened. I was ’termined to come, but I never thought you kept such a shocking, awful dog as that.”
“I am more sorry than I can say, my little dear. I wonder now who let the brute out. He’ll catch it from me, whoever he is. Here, Nancy! Hullo, Nancy! Come along here, quick!”
Nancy, looking fresh and smiling, stepped out of the open French window.