A Heather Holiday E-Book

May Wynne

• Herausgeber: Alien Ebooks
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 185

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Three siblings — Ross, Wendy, and Diccon Carsedale — are thrilled to spend their summer holiday at their aunts' home in Scotland. The children quickly befriend local girl Lettice and her cousin Malcolm, forming a merry band of adventurers.

Together they explore mysterious ruins, go on daring seaside escapades, and uncover long-buried secrets. But when the children's curiosity leads them to a forbidden wing of the house, they learn a painful family history. As summer progresses, the young friends must navigate pranks gone awry, dangerous rescues, and the complexities of growing up, all while savoring the beauty and wonder of the Scottish countryside.

Leseprobe

A

HEATHER HOLIDAY

BY

MAY WYNNE

Contents

Chap.

I.

Hurrah for Scotland!

II.

Cats and Clean Faces

III.

A New Friend

IV.

A Visit to the Castle

V.

The Tenant of the Cave

VI.

The Secret

VII.

The Secret Told

VIII.

Malcolm

IX.

Curlew’s Isle

X.

The Pele Tower

XI.

Fairies and Fish

XII.

The Unexpected Haul

XIII.

Magpies and Ices

XIV.

The Cricket Match

XV.

Tam’s Revenge

A Heather Holiday

CHAPTER I

Hurrah for Scotland!

“Is all the luggage out? Diccon, have you got the rug? Oh, please don’t let the train go on till——!”

Ross and Diccon roared.

It was so like little mother Wendy to fluster, and, of course, there was no need, for already the very slowest and solemnest of Scottish porters was collecting their luggage and putting it upon a truck, whilst Diccon had rolled himself up in the rug, pretending it was a kilt and that he was dancing a reel.

“Aunt Margaret has sent a donkey-cart,” said Ross, “but it couldn’t possibly hold all our boxes and us. I shall walk. It’s jollier anyway.”

The boy in charge of the donkey-cart grinned.

“It’s not a mile to the house if ye gang over the moors,” he directed; “it’s the only one in sight, so ye can’t miss it.”

“And it will be nice to stretch our legs,” agreed Wendy. “Come, Diccon.”

But Diccon was already ahead of them, scrambling up a heathery bank beyond which stretched purple moors.

“Hurrah!” he shouted. “Come on. There’s a r-river.”

Ross obeyed the summons at once, leaving Wendy to call and plead in vain, for what boy could resist the joy of tumbling head over heels in that gorgeous carpet of heather, after coming from a home, which, though it was the dearest of homes really, would have been a hundred times nicer had it not been set amongst scores of other houses in a long, dull street! Towns are very nice for lots of things, Ross used to say, but not to live in.

And this summer holiday was such a surprise. Never before had the aunts invited their nephews and niece to Scotland, and now they had been asked to spend a whole month at Glenagrie. It just fitted in, too, since Mother and Dad had to go to London. So everyone was pleased—and was going to be more pleased still now the long-looked-forward-to time was here.

Mother had had a quiet talk with them last night. This was their first visit away from home without her, and there were several promises to be made. Not a whole lot, though. Mother knew if there were too many asked for, some would be rather like pie-crust! But she could trust her three to be loyal to their word, and really try not to worry the aunts, and to remember what she and Dad would like them to do. Wendy had explained that she would take care of Diccon, who had rather a way of forgetting things. Diccon was the youngest, and I really don’t know why, but I do find myself that youngest ones are generally pickles!

“It will be tea-time,” called Wendy, “and the donkey-cart will nearly be there first. Don’t forget Glenagrie is near the sea, boys. The sea is better than a river.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Ross, as he and Diccon came panting back; “we must plan right from the beginning about collections. We ought to collect everything we can. I’m sure there are all sorts of ripping things to find. If only it is fine the aunts won’t be troubled with us much.”

“Look!” replied Wendy, “the donkey-cart boy has turned in at those gates. Shall we run?”

Each of the boys took a hand, and away they ran with Wendy between them, singing the most jumbly tune, which began and ended with: “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! here we are in Scotland!”

Flint Grange was a very old house surrounded by very old trees, so that there was no chance of looking out over the moors or getting a glimpse of the sea.

Diccon liked the trees best, but that was because he was a climber, and had been nicknamed “Squirrel” by Dad.

A very big woman opened the door to the travellers. She was not young, and her hair was quite grey, but she did not look cross, though her mouth snapped in a very determined way.

“Ye’re just in time, bairns,” said she; “I wouldn’t have been keeping my leddies waitin’ another five minutes for their tea.”

Wendy looked at her shyly.

“Are you the Jean Aunt Meg wrote about?” she asked.

Jean nodded, and marshalled them along to a cosy, old-fashioned room with a long table covered with cakes and fruit. Such nice cakes, such luscious fruit, though only a passing glance could be given as the children went forward to greet the aunts.

What funny, dear old ladies, they thought, and there did not look to be such a lot of difference in their ages, though, of course, there must have been, as they were mother and daughter.

“I am your Great-Aunt Margaret,” said the elder little old lady. “Dear me, Meg! how young it makes me feel to see Ella’s children here in the old house.”

Aunt Meg had not quite such white hair as her mother, and not quite so many wrinkles. Her manner was brisker too and she talked rather jerkily.

“I’m not your auntie at all, really, my dears,” she told the three, “but your second cousin. Auntie, however, sounds more respectful, and so Auntie it shall be. Now, Jean will take you upstairs to your rooms to wash your hands, and by that time the kettle will have boiled; so run along, and don’t waste time now peeping out of windows. You are going to have a whole month in which to learn all about Flint Grange.”

Wendy felt the least bit shy. The aunts were not one atom like Mother, who was so cosy and so darling. Aunt Meg was rather more like a schoolmistress who had a great many orders to give; but before tea was over both Wendy and the boys began to discover that Aunt Meg’s brisk way hid a very kind heart. Aunt Margaret was rather too deaf to enter into conversation, and indeed there was not much talking of any kind during the first part of the meal.

It was a lovely tea, too. Everything so homemade and scrumptious, from brown scones to golden honey.

Neither of the aunts seemed the least shocked at their visitors’ appetites, though it must have astonished them to see plate after plate being emptied.

“Good children! Glad to see you don’t gobble,” said Aunt Meg. “And now I must put on my glasses to have a better look at you. Ross is the eldest, of course. How old are you, Ross? Bless the boy! you’re the image of your father, my dear.”

“I was thirteen last birthday,” said Ross. “Wendy is a year younger, and Diccon a year younger still. Dad calls us the three steps. He was awfully sorry he couldn’t come to Glenagrie. He told us all about the ruin and the moors and the sea.”

“And about your coming back to Flint Grange after twenty years,” added Wendy.

“I wish it was our home too,” said Diccon.

Aunt Meg smiled at Diccon. Everyone did smile at him, he was so pretty, with fair curls and big grey eyes with curly lashes. Dad said appearances were terribly deceitful with Diccon, who looked as if he were a little angel of goodness instead of being the biggest pickle to be found.

Wendy and Ross were not pretty, but they had honest blue eyes and quite nice features. Wendy had long hair, which she wore in a pigtail, and such clever fingers for untangling fishing-tackle or planting ferns in the home rockery. And Wendy’s fingers were forever wanting to be busy too. She loved jobs, and adventures, and always to be with the boys; and the boys loved having her, though just now and again they teased her for wanting to take care of them.

Ross was much too independent to want to be taken care of. If you had asked him what he meant to be when he was a man he would have told you a trapper in Canada, a prospector in Africa, or a cowboy in America. It all depended what book of adventure he had been reading.

There are not a great many adventures to be found in a town, where you attend day-school and are keen on gardening in a tiny back garden and trying to be a real companion to Dad; but Ross was already brimming over with the certainty that they were going to meet adventures by the score at Glenagrie.

“It is too far for you to go down to the sea this evening,” said Aunt Meg; “but you may go out for an hour in the garden. Don’t go too near the bees, though, as they are not in a very good temper.”

No second invitation was needed. Away scampered the three to explore that quaint, old-fashioned garden, the big orchard, the sheds, the yard, the chicken-houses, and the piggery.

Alan, the garden boy, was just turning out the donkey into the orchard when the visitors came up to him. He seemed quite friendly, but said he was afraid a certain William would not be wanting him to show them around on the morrow.

“There’s ower much work,” said Alan, “and Mither always tells me when the pay’s guid the work must match; but I’ll take ye down to the cove to-morrow evenin’ if ye like, and I ken ye’ll want to see the old ruin. It was Kerstone Monastery in the old days, and a fine place for a climb.”

“It’s the sea I want to see most,” said Ross. “And oh, you others, just look at that dog! Isn’t it a topper?”

Alan went with them to introduce Kelpie, the sheep-dog, who welcomed the strangers with boisterous barkings and boundings, but in the friendliest spirit. The hour slipped by far too soon, and three very reluctant pairs of feet returned slowly to the Grange.

“Boys,” said Wendy, “how funny we are! We’ve seen everything out of doors, and made friends of Alan and Kelpie, the buns, and Mollie the cow, but we’ve never even seen the kitchen.”

Ross and Diccon were quite shocked at their own neglect. Cooks are such interesting people, they all felt, and ought to rank as friends at once. Off they trooped to find the aunts’ cook, who happened to be making the soup when they entered. She was a nice cook, they all saw that! She had the rosiest face and the biggest smile, which stretched right across her face when Ross picked up Black Mark the cat.

“Isn’t he fat,” said Wendy, “and he’s purring as loud as a kettle. Do you mind us coming into your kitchen, Mrs. Cook? We do at home, and we never steal things; we only like to help. Once I made a cake.”

“And once we had a pain in our chests,” teased Diccon; “but, never mind, Scotland’s such a hungry place I believe I could almost eat Wendy’s cake!”

Cook—her name was Elspeth—only laughed and said she had wee brothers at home; then she went to a larder and brought out a big round of shortbread, which quite made Diccon forget to be insulted at being called wee!

“It’s a very old house, isn’t it?” said Wendy. “I don’t think we have been into half of it yet. Is it too late to take peeps this evening?”

Elspeth shook her head.

“Jean would be callin’ ye in to bed if she wasna busy scoldin’ her niece about the washing,” she explained. “And for the house, there’s the old wing ye’ll not be allowed to go into. It’s locked up and the key in Jean’s pocket—and bairns, bairns, ye’d best be goin’, for that’s Jean’s voice I hear.” And, all in a bustle, Elspeth returned to her soup-making, whilst the children slipped back into the passage just as Jean came marching along.

It was no use protesting they were far too wide awake to go to bed, for really the long journey had made even Ross sleepy; so Jean had it all her own way, as she packed them off to the two rooms prepared for them. Wendy’s room was quite close to that of the aunts, and the window looked out on to the orchard. The boys’ was at the end of the passage, and all the view they got was a high garden-wall and a shrubbery.

“I don’t mind,” said Diccon; “bedrooms are stupid places. When I’m a man I shall go and explore the country where the treemen live. It would be jolly to have an apple tree for a bed, and whenever you woke to be able to stretch up and pick an apple.”

“Pig,” retorted Ross sleepily; “apples aren’t ripe all the year round. How would you like an apple-tree bed at Christmas?”

A snore answered him!

CHAPTER II

Cats and Clean Faces

“It’s no use looking for Diccon any longer,” said Ross impatiently; “he knew we were going down to the sea directly after breakfast, and it’s past ten. He must have gone off alone.”

Little mother Wendy looked distressed. Diccon ought to have waited, and, alas! so often his explorations ended in trouble. But Ross really had no patience to spare this morning, and it was just possible Diccon had gone off to the village with Alan, who went to the post at half-past nine. So away ran the two elders, eager to see if the tide was low and how “Dad’s rocks” were looking. Dad’s cave would have to be explored too, and friends made amongst the fisher-folk, some of whom might possibly remember about the boy called Graham Carsedale who had lived here a quarter of a century ago.

The tide was not very obliging, and the great jagged rocks stood out island-fashion amongst the tossing waves. Ross sighed. If only Wendy had been a brother he would have had a fine adventure jumping from rock to rock.

“No sign of a cave,” said Wendy. “Shall we go back over the moors and come down to the shore this afternoon? We might bring those holland bags Mother made us and start collecting shells and stones, and perhaps seaweed.”

“I suppose we shall have to,” replied Ross. “I say, what jolly cliffs! That one over there looks as if it were split in half; it must be the Ravine. Isn’t it horrid to want to do at least four things at once?”

“It’s nasty—and nice,” said Wendy; “but I think the best thing is to make a day’s plan before breakfast. Then we shall keep together. Suppose we go back for Diccon and then explore the Monastery? We might have time before dinner.”

Ross broke into a trot. He was certainly a young man in a hurry to-day! Excitement made him a little bit irritable; he hated delay in his plans, and, as is so often the way, it happened to be a morning of delays, for, as they neared the Grange, they were startled by the loudest and most indignant of caterwaulings.

Ross looked all round. Wendy clung to his arm.

“It must be a cat,” she said, so comically that Ross nearly laughed. No mistake about it being a cat! but where was it? Poor puss was evidently suffering badly, and it did not mean to suffer in silence either.

“Miau—mi-ow!” it wailed, and swore. Wendy had scrambled up beside Ross, and her sharp eyes just spied the sufferer half-hidden by dock leaves near the wood.

“It’s Black Mark!” she exclaimed; “he must be caught in a trap. Oh, Ross, do make haste!”

They both made so much haste that they nearly fell on their noses. Scottish walls were steadier than their own Yorkshire walls, but the moss made them slippery.

“It is a trap,” said indignant Ross; “how horribly cruel! Here, Wendy, put your cap over his head whilst I put my foot on the trap. He’d bite his dearest friend if he could at this moment, and it would not be his fault.”

Wendy pulled off her red-stocking cap and gingerly tried to place it over the cat’s head. It was a wonder she did not get bitten, for oh! what a temper Black Mark was in. He had been so busy lying there to pounce on a saucy, half-grown rabbit that he had never noticed the trap.

Ross’s weight soon drew the iron teeth apart, and the boy—who loved all animals—had no fear in lifting the sleek black creature up into his arms, soothing him with caresses.

Wendy tore a strip off her handkerchief and bound up the bleeding leg quite cleverly.

“He’s a wounded hero,” she said. “We had better take him to Jean. It would hurt puss awfully to put iodine on, but it would be safer.”

Ross looked wistfully across the moors. If they went back to the Grange there would be no time to explore the ruins, so that would have to wait till to-morrow; but Ross was too kind to regret lost minutes now, for what would Black Mark have done if they had not come along?

Meantime, you will be wondering what had happened to Diccon, who had left the breakfast table never in the least intending to hide from his brother and sister. But if there was one thing more than another Diccon loved it was climbing, and the ivied wall of the old wing of the Grange had proved too tempting for him.

Such strong roots would easily bear his weight, and he would love to peep in through the window of the shut-up room. He and Ross had discussed and guessed all sorts of things about those rooms which no one ever entered. Perhaps they were haunted! Perhaps some mysterious prisoner had once been kept there! Perhaps a hidden treasure had been stored there and forgotten! It was not an easy clamber, and Diccon nearly fell back amongst the laurels when a great bird flew out in his face.

“There may be a nest,” he thought; but there was not a nest at all, though Mr. Paul Pry found something which seemed to him far more interesting.

A door handle—actually a door handle—ever so old and dusty!

“There must have been a door here,” thought Diccon. “How exciting! There must have been a mystery, or people would not have let the ivy grow up.”

He looked up at the window and noticed that the blind was drawn so closely that he could not see into the room. No, the door handle was the most exciting. Out came his pocket-knife, and, opening the bigger blade, Diccon began to cut away at the ivy strands, which clung so fast round the old, old door. Bother! Of course the knife broke, but Diccon was much too interested to give up his job. Away he scuttled towards the potting-shed, where he had an idea all sorts of knives and tools were to be found. Here he discovered William, the gardener, who glared at him as if he were a natural enemy.

“Ye’ll no be tramplin’ over the flower-border, laddie,” said William.

Diccon looked the picture of innocence.

“We never trample flower-beds,” he replied. “You see, at home there aren’t any. And we always help Dad with the rockery. But have you a knife? I wanted to help Aunt Meg by cutting the ivy round the little old door in the wall. I’m sure she’d be pleased.”

William’s eyes nearly goggled out of his head.

“Pleased!” he gasped. “Hechs! but when I heard there were children comin’ I knew what it meant. You leave the ivy to gang its own gait, laddie, and say nothing about yon door.”

Diccon was not the least abashed.

“Is it a mystery?” he asked breathlessly. “Do tell me! Is there a ghost in the old wing? Ross and I do want to know. We shouldn’t tell Wendy, of course, in case she got nervous; but it would be ripping to——”

William laid his hand on Diccon’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, laddie,” said he. “It’s a grand thing to mind your ain business. If the leddies wanted you bairns to ken the story of the closed wing they’d be the first to tell ye, just as I’d have had the ivy cut round the wall by that door if the door was for use. So now ye’re warned, and if ye’ve the proper sperrit ye’ll let well alone.”

Diccon sighed.

“That means I’m to leave the door alone, doesn’t it?” he said. “What a pity! And now I expect Ross and Wendy have gone. I did hear them calling, but I wanted the door to be a surprise. Never mind, I’ll help you instead.”

Even William could not help smiling. Diccon had such a cheerful way with him and he never doubted the finding of friends, so that William actually gave way and allowed him to weed the shrubbery path.

Weeding is quite a good job, but the shrubbery path was dull. Diccon preferred the one by the bee-hives. He wanted to watch the bees—and to see if those big red plums were soft and ripe.

Very few weeds were disturbed along by those plum trees, and Diccon worked well at eating all those plums which really would have gone bad had not some obliging person picked them. The largest and fattest, however, he put in his hat and carried indoors for Elspeth and Jean, who in return might tell him stories about Glenagrie, and if there were real smugglers’ caves to be discovered.

Alas! only Jean happened to be in the scullery, and at sight of Diccon she uttered a cry of disgust.

“Oh, laddie!” she exclaimed, “have ye been up the chimney to blacken your face like that? And those hands—smotherin’ all ye’ll be touchin’. It’s soap and water ye want this minute.”