“It would be rather soon,” Joy acknowledged. “Not being young Jen, we can’t dash into things; Jen was talking of going to school together before they had known one another for five minutes. Selma looked positively scared.”
“She thinks she has come for a fortnight or three weeks,” Joan agreed. “Jen should go more carefully. I hope Selma will stay. I like her. And she’s very pretty!”
“She seems a jolly kid, so part of our question is answered. We know what she’s like and she seems to be all right,” Joy said. “As for the rest—about Angus, I mean—we must wait.”
“She’s older than I expected. I suppose that’s with being in business and meeting older girls. She isn’t just a child, like Jen. I shouldn’t wonder if she has a very good idea of what Angus wants and what she means to do about it. Perhaps she’ll tell us some day. All we can do just now is make friends and help her to be happy. Play to us, Joy! I’ll talk to mother about Selma.”
“Sure it won’t scare her? She won’t know what’s going on. But she’ll have to get used to it.”
“She knows about your music. I found out one thing, by the way. She has the heart of a Viking; she’s an explorer. She wants to see every place in the whole world.”
“That’s a big order! Good for the Viking Daughter!”
“I hope you’ll take her round and show her things. We could have some days in town.”
“She’d better see the Thames, and the Tower, and the Zoo,” Joy assented. “My work’s cut out for me, evidently!”
As the music rose from the hall, Jen tapped on Selma’s door. “It’s all right! I’m not breaking my word to Joan. But I thought you might not understand. That’s Joy; she always plays at night.”
“Angus told me about her music. Is it something she made up herself?”
“No, Chopin,” said Jen proudly. “It’s a Nocturne. She plays it often; that’s how I know.”
Selma, in a crimson dressing-gown, stood listening, the ribbon from her hair in her hand and her curls falling about her face. “It’s lovely,” she said. “How beautifully she plays!”
“I thought I’d better tell you what was happening,” and Jen went back into her own room. “Jolly pretty kid, she is!” she said to herself, as she loosened her long plaits.
CHAPTER 13
SALT ON THE PORRIDGE
Selma slept till ten o’clock next morning, to Jen’s amusement.
“I peeped in without making a sound, Joan, and she’s fast asleep. So I crept away; you wouldn’t believe I could be so quiet! I suppose I mustn’t wake her? I want to talk.”
“Certainly not! Keep on being quiet; or, if it’s too much strain, go out into the garden,” Joan commanded.
Jen grinned. “I can be quiet, if I like. But I could go into the Abbey and tell the cats she’s arrived and that she’s nice. I told them yesterday that we weren’t sure. Joan! Is she in love with Angus?”
“No,” Joan said decisively. “Not yet. But what does it matter to you? You’ve nothing to do with love-affairs!”
“I haven’t had anything so far, but I’d like to help in one. It would be a real thrill.”
“Go and talk to the cats! You needn’t think about love-affairs for years yet.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jen argued. “You might get engaged, and you’ve promised I shall be your bridesmaid, so I’d have to know all about it. I could find out things from Selma and practise on her.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. If you say one single word to upset her or make her feel awkward you’ll go right back to school.”
“How Jack would laugh! I’ll just wait and watch, then. I’ll fetch my coat and go to the Abbey.”
As she ran upstairs, Selma’s door opened, and the visitor peered out, looking frightened. “I slept in. I’ve just this minute wakened up and it’s almost ten. I’m so terribly sorry! Will they be cross?”
Jen gave a shout. “Oh, cheers! I did want you to wake! Hop into bed again and I’ll fetch your breakfast. You’ve had a lovely long sleep!”
“Oh, I could no’ do that! I never stop in bed for my breakfast!”
“You’re going to do it to-day. I’ll tell Joan. We’ll bring a tray in a minute or two.”
But Selma knew her own mind and she began to scramble into her clothes, horrified by her bad behaviour in a strange house. When Joan appeared with a tray, she was washed and half dressed, and was brushing her hair.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’d have been down in five minutes,” she faltered.
“No need to be sorry, but I wish you were still in bed,” Joan said cheerfully. “Pull that small table to the window in the sunshine, Jen. You shall give Selma her breakfast. Are you warm enough in your pretty red gown, Selma? How the colour suits you! Finish doing your hair afterwards; it looks nice all loose. Now, Jen, come and pour the tea. Your porridge is still hot, Selma. I hope we’ve made it properly. What are you looking for?”
Selma had taken the porridge bowl. “The salt,” she explained shyly.
“Salt? What for?” Jen cried, pausing with the teapot in her hand. “There’s the milk, and sugar.”
Selma knit her brows. “Don’t you sprinkle salt on them?”
“On what?” Jen put down the pot and stared at her.
“On them; on the porridge.”
Joan was leaning back against the end of the bed, her eyes dancing. “On the oats, I suppose, Jenny-Wren. You shall have salt, Selma, though it sounds horrid to me. Run and fetch it, Jen! I remember when Jandy Mac had been staying in Scotland she told me her cousins put salt on their porridge and that they always called it ‘them.’ They asked her if she would have a few for her breakfast, meaning a little porridge. Jandy was stunned.”
“Gosh! What a language!” Jen ran to fetch the salt. “Here you are, Selma! Cover them with it, if you like!”
“Just a wee sprinkle!” Selma said anxiously. “I’m sorry if my talk seems odd, but it’s no’ my fault if you eat our porridge and call them ‘it.’ Do you put sugar on yours?”
“A very fair rebuke,” Joan laughed. “Porridge comes from your country, and we ought to speak of it as you do.”
“It’s no’ everybody,” Selma owned. “I know lots of people who say ‘it,’ as you do. But the old country folk say ‘them,’ and I learned it from my mother. We lived in a wee place, and I say the things she used to say.”
“I’m afraid I could never remember to call porridge ‘them.’ ” Joan smiled at her.
“I could never bear it with salt on it,” Jen asserted. “Is it nice, Selma? Is it properly made?”
“Oh, aye, they’re very good.” Selma held firmly to her custom.
Joan laughed again. “I’ll leave you to get on with it. Look after her nicely, Jen!”
Selma’s eyes went to the garden, where the lawns were overhung by great trees. “How bonny it is! I could no’—could not; I’m sorry!—see it last night.”
“Wait till next month, when the trees are all gold and red and brown! The woods are a sight then,” Jen said proudly.
“What did you mean about going to school? You said it twice.”
“We thought perhaps you’d like to go with me. It’s a jolly school, with jolly nice girls. I know you’ve left and grown up, but you might feel it would be fun to go to school again and meet lots of new people. They wouldn’t expect you to work too hard; you wouldn’t be going in for exams. But French, and some other things, are always useful; most people could do with a little more.”
“Very true,” Selma said seriously. “I’d like it; the new ways and the new people. I like new things and having adventures, and it would feel like that. But——”
“Oh, cheers! Then you’ll come, won’t you? It will be sport! Joy will lend you her bike, and we’ll ride together.”
“But is it worth while?” Selma stared at her with wide dark eyes. “How long will I be staying here? It’s a lovely place and I like everybody a lot, but they’ll no’ want me to stay for a lo
ng while! What’s the use of going to school for a week or two?”
“Oh, you’ll stay longer than that! You must, when you’ve come such a long way. We want you to stay with us for ages.”
“But I don’t see why?” Selma began.
“What about your job? Do tell me! I’m aching to know about it. What did you do? Did you give it up to come here?”
Selma’s eyes laughed at her. “I got the sack. But I’ll find another job. Angus will help me.”
“What happened? Why did they get rid of you?” Jen’s questions tumbled out. “Wouldn’t they give you a holiday to come here?”
“I gave the wrong change once too often. And I made other mistakes. I was thinking about coming to England. They got fed up, and they said I’d better go, if I couldn’t keep my mind on my work.”
Jen grinned. “I don’t blame them—or you. What was your work?”
“I was in a big store, with all sorts of departments.”
“Sort of Woolworth’s?”
“Yes, but not quite the same. I was in charge of stationery; I was new, and they thought I’d no’ go far wrong selling packets of envelopes or four-penny exercise books, or pencils. It was all right; the money was good, for a beginner, and there were some jolly girls. My pal was Mollie Macpherson. I promised to write to her.”
“To tell her all about us. You must tell me heaps more about the shop and Mollie, and what you used to do. So you haven’t got a job just now?”
“They’ll take me back. But I’d rather get something better. That was only for a start.”
“Then you must stay here for a long time. You’ll get a better job, if you’ve been back to school for a while.”
Selma looked doubtful. “They’ll no’ want me to stay here for as long as that.”
“I’m sure Angus would like you to stay.”
“Would he so? Aye, I think he would. But it’s no’ Angus’s house.”
“Joy will ask you to stay. She has a plan for to-day, but she won’t tell me what it is. Hurry up and get finished, and we’ll go and ask her. This is bacon,” and Jen lifted the cover. “Shall I give you some? You won’t take long to finish dressing, will you?”
Selma, fed and clothed and with hair neatly bound by a fillet, went down with her presently, pausing to look over the gallery railing into the hall.
“I never saw a house like this before. It’s gey bonny.”
“You’ll soon get used to it. There’s Joy; hi, Joy! Here’s Selma! What are we going to do to-day?”
CHAPTER 14
OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY
Joy came in by one of the long windows, her hands full of crimson dahlias. “Here, Joan! You arrange them better than I do. Well, Dark Daughter of the Vikings, how do you like my house?”
“It’s wonderful,” Selma said shyly. “I’ve no’ been anywhere like this before. But I slept in. I’m terribly sorry.”
Joy stared. “Slept in? Of course you did! You didn’t think we expected you to sleep out, did you?”
“I mean I didn’t wake up. I’m sorry to be so late.”
“Oh, you overslept! What a funny way to put it! Best thing you could do; you were dead beat last night. Are you rested and ready for anything?”
“Tell us, Joy!” Jen pleaded, not interested in strange idioms at the moment.
“I thought the Viking Daughter might like an adventure. Can you walk, Janet Selma?”
“I can walk fifteen miles, or more, if you want me to.” Selma’s face lit up eagerly.
“Then, my children, we will walk over the hills to Wycombe. No car for you to-day! There’s shopping to be done, so the Viking Daughter will explore; she’ll have seen quite a lot of new places by the time we come home.”
“Oh, good! I love the hills!” Jen cried.
“Hills?” Selma’s eagerness deepened.
“Oh, not mountains! Do you remember Rykie’s scorn of our hills, Jen? Just some little chalk mounds and green uplands, but quite steep, all the same, Janet Selma.”
“I’m coming too.” Joan took the flowers. “Mother insists on it. There are some things she wants; embroidery silks.”
“And she won’t trust me to choose them!” Joy said mournfully. “Oh, all right! Four’s a better party than three.”
“And we’re going to buy a hat for Selma,” Joan added, “so that she can go to church with us to-morrow. I want to help her to choose it. The service will be strange to you, Selma, but I’m afraid our village can’t provide a Church of Scotland, and it’s too far to go to London. I’ll take care of you and tell you what to do.”
Selma looked startled. “Do you do very odd things in English churches?”
Joy and Jen laughed at the alarm in her face. “You can’t think how funny we are!” Jen chuckled.
“Don’t tease!” Joan scolded. “No, Selma, but you won’t know when to stand up and things like that. I’ll sit by you and prompt you.”
“We sha’n’t be home for lunch, if we start buying hats,” Joy said.
“No, we’ll take sandwiches and have a big tea at night. Jen and Selma shall help to cut and spread.”
“Take some apples. I could live on apples and bread and butter,” Joy remarked. “Could you, Viking Daughter?”
“I could so!”
“I do like the way you say that!” Joan laughed. “It sounds so emphatic.”
“What do I say?” Selma looked puzzled.
“I could so! It sounds as if you really meant it. But I want to show you the Abbey.”
“You can do that to-morrow,” Joy decreed. “We can’t do shopping on Sunday, but you can take her round the Abbey and tell her all the stories.”
“What is the Abbey? Please, I don’t understand.”
“You will, when you’ve seen it,” Jen told her. “Come and spread potted meat!” and they vanished to the kitchen.
Selma appeared presently ready for the hills, wearing a short scarlet coat over her dark green frock. “I thought my big coat would be too heavy for walking,” she explained, seeing Joy’s eyes on her.
“Quite right.” Joy approved her choice. “No hat? Good!”
“I’ve a hood with my mackintosh. Will I take that?”
Joy cast an experienced eye at the sky. “You won’t need it. It will keep fine till night.”
“Then I’ll no’ wear anything on my head. I like that much better,” Selma said happily.
They set out by a curious flight of steps, mossy and slippery, running straight up through the woods behind the house; then by footpaths cutting across white roads and climbing steeply, to a quarry at the top of the hill. There, while they rested and gazed down at the Hall and its gardens and out over miles of green country fading into blue haze, Jen told the story of the Monks’ Path, by which they had come, and of the old men who had toiled up here to pray and meditate.
“You’ll understand all about the monks and the hermit, when you’ve seen the Abbey,” Joan said.
“Forward, children! We’ve a long way to go,” and Joy set out across the hills.
“Oh, I like this!” Selma cried. “The wind’s fine! I like your hills! We have moors at home, near Inverkip.”
Joy looked at her with approval as she went, gazing straight forward, head well up, hair blown back.
“Well done, Viking Daughter! That’s the way to walk! ‘Over the hills and far away,’ should be your motto!”
“It feels like an adventure. I don’t know where I’m going.”
“And that’s what you like?” Joan smiled at her.
“Aye, I do so! I mean, yes, I do like going ahead to new things.”
“You must find a better job than serving in a shop. It’s not good enough for an explorer, and that’s what you are at heart.”
“I told Angus I’d put on slacks and cut my hair and go as a cabin-boy on a steamer.”
“Oh, good sport!” Jen cried.
“We might find something even better than that for you, when the time comes,” Joan sai
d.
They sat on the hillside, on ground-sheets which Joy had rolled and carried on her back, and ate their sandwiches and fruit, and gazed out over a new countryside, of hills and woods and villages.
Selma told of her expeditions at home.
“I mind one day, in the holidays——”
“Just a minute!” Jen begged. “When you say ‘mind’ like that, you mean ‘remember,’ don’t you? I’m beginning to learn the language!”
“I expect it means ‘I call to mind.’ ” Joan smiled at Selma.
“I remember one day,” Selma said, with dignity, “when I started off very early and caught a bus to Gourock and went on the Arrochar boat, which was lying at the pierhead. We went to Kilcreggan and Cove and then across to Blairmore, near the castle that has my name, Dunselma, and then up Loch Long to Ardentinny. There’s no pier at Ardentinny.”
“How I love those weird names!” Joy said.
“And she says them so beautifully,” Jen added. “The one that’s all r’s; I love that one!”
“I didn’t go on to Arrochar that day,” Selma continued, unheeding their comments. “I got off the boat at Ardentinny——”
“But you said there was no pier!”
“The ferry comes out to meet the steamer, a big heavy boat, with two or three men to help you ashore. Glen Finart opens out there, and I climbed and climbed, with walls of hill and heather on each side and a wee burn splashing down all the way. I came to the top of the glen and looked over the other side, and there lay Loch Eck, a narrow shining bit of water, reaching both ways. I’d have liked to go down and walk by it, but there was no’ time for that; I wanted to catch the steamer again on its way down the loch. So I ate my scones and apples”—with a glance at Joy—“and drank from the burn; it was very wee up there. Then I went down Glen Finart again and got the ferry to the steamer. I never forgot that day. I walked to Loch Eck from Kilmun, another time, but I always think of it as I saw it from Whistlefield, lying far away below me.”
“But did you go all alone?” Joan asked.
Selma gave her a swift smile. “I did so! That’s how I like to do. But I was well scolded when I got home, for no’ telling where I was going. They said, if anything had happened to me, they’d no’ have known where to look for me; I might have sprained my ankle, they said, and I’d have lain there for hours, or days. But I knew I’d no’ fall. It was after mother died, and I did no’ think to tell anybody else.”
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