“What a wicked, wretched man to leave the gate unlocked! I’ll ask father to have him discharged at once,” cried Jean hotly. “It’s wicked, criminal carelessness. We might all have been killed.”
From the bottom of the hedge crawled the scratched and blackened figures of the two schoolboys.
“I say!” gasped Jack, breathless. “What a lark! What a blooming lark!”
Chapter Nine.
Treasure Trove!
Miggles did not easily recover from her fright. The good body was in precarious health: it was only the power of mind over body which kept her going, and when the motive power was temporarily eclipsed it was startling, even alarming, to behold the corresponding physical change. The light faded from the eyes; the chin dropped; a dozen unsuspected lines furrowed the face; beaming middle-age was transformed in a moment into suffering age.
“I think, my dears,” she announced apologetically, “so sorry to spoil your walk, but I think I’ll go home! Bulls, you know, bulls! They are disconcerting. When you’ve lived all your life in towns you are not accustomed... I’ve got a little,” she gasped painfully, “stitch in my side! It will soon be gone.”
The grey hue of her face showed only too plainly the explanation of that stitch. Miggles knew it herself, but, as ever, preferred to make light of her ailments. She leant on Piers’s arm, glancing affectionately in his face, and made no objections when Vanna came forward to support her on the other side.