“If Miss Fenton encourages Hannah in gadding about, there is not the slightest need for you to take her place, Gay; but, of course, you will please yourself.”
“Oh, I always please myself, Addie,” returned Gay, cheerfully, “and I shall enjoy a gambol among the lanes.”
And, indeed, we had a delightful afternoon gathering wild flowers, and resting ourselves in any shady corner where a fallen tree or stile invited us.
We were gathering some poppies that grew among the corn when Gay called me. She looked a little anxious.
“Merle, I am really afraid there is a storm coming up. You were noticing just now how close and sultry it felt; those clouds look ominous, and we are a mile and a half from Marshlands.”
I felt conscience-stricken at her words. We had been talking and laughing, and had not perceived how the sunshine had faded. Certainly, the clouds had a lurid, thunderous look, and the birds were flying low, and seemed fussy and uncertain in their movements. True, the storm might not break on us for another half-hour; but we should never get the children home in that time. I thought of Reggie with dismay.
“What shall we do, Miss Gay?” I returned, hurriedly. “It would be nearer to Wheeler’s Farm. We might take refuge there.”
“Wait a moment,” was her answer; “we shall be drenched before we get there. The Red Farm is not half a mile off. I think we had better take the children there, and then Mr. Hawtry will send us home in his waggonette. Come—come! Why do you hesitate, Merle? He is father’s old friend; and even Adelaide would find no fault with us if we took refuge at the Red Farm.”
I held my peace, for of course Miss Cheriton must know what her father and sister would approve; but I did not like the notion at all, and I followed her somewhat reluctantly down the field. I would much rather have gone to Wheeler’s Farm and put ourselves under Molly’s protection. Most likely they would have placed a covered cart or waggon at our disposal, and we should all have enjoyed the fun. Gay was so simple and unconventional, that she saw no harm at all in going to the Red Farm; but I knew what Aunt Agatha would say, and I took all my notions of propriety from her.
But the fates were against us, for just as we reached the stile there was Squire Hawtry himself, mounted as usual on Brown Peter, trotting quietly home. He checked Peter at once, and spoke in rather a concerned voice.