Chapter XXXII: Beleaguered

MITTIE did not mean to be half-an-hour absent when she started on her little excursion.

Hermione's "snubbing" had an uncomfortable effect, as such snubbings always had upon Mittie. It was true, as Mrs. Trevor said, that she was not used to them. Much spoiling and very limited scolding had fallen to Mittie's share before she came to Westford. An occasional sharp word from her mother had meant little, and had been always manageable by a tear from Mittie. The child had really been never allowed to feel herself in the way, and her loving sensitive nature suffered keenly from this novel sensation under Hermione's rule.

It was an intense delight to Mittie to think of having her mother back. Other people might count Mrs. Trevor no wise mother, and no very estimable person in some respects, but she was Mittie's mother, and there was genuine and hearty affection between the two.

If only Mittie might have rigged up a big flag of welcome! She confided the notion to Milton, however, and Milton quashed the scheme at once. "Miss Rivers wouldn't like it."

Mittie thought it "funny" that cousin Hermione never seemed to like anything that she wished to do. But she was far too simple and child-like to bear malice. If anybody had asked her within five minutes after if she loved cousin Hermione, she would have answered unhesitatingly, "Oh yes! 'course I do—only not like my Marjory, you know!"

Failing the flag, she thought of the flowers, and here an appeal to Hermione, as present head of affairs, was needful. Poor Mittie was sorely disappointed to fail anew.

One resource remained. Once or twice lately in a walk with Marjory she had found prettily-tinted autumn leaves, yellow and red and golden-brown. "Mother" would surely like some of these placed on her dressing-table.

Hermione did not forbid her to go out, therefore Mittie felt free. She was accustomed to a good deal of liberty for so small a person.

It did not take long to get ready. Hat and jacket were soon donned, and Mittie skipped away through the garden, gloves in hand, bent upon reaching the meadows behind the Rectory. Tinted leaves might be nearer, but there she knew they could be found without doubt.

There they were too; only, as it happened, all the best and prettiest were out of Mittie's reach. She stood beneath tempting branches, and looked up with longing eyes before resolving to go farther.

The next meadow might afford what she wanted. Mittie resolved to venture so far. If she ran fast, going home, she would almost certainly be in time.

A stile had to be climbed, and Mittie found herself in a large field, covered with a succession of long rounded ridges of grass, like petrified earthwaves. Near the encircling hedge grew in one spot a good many scattered small trees, and about half-way between this spot and the centre was a very fine young Wellingtonia, surrounded by a brick wall. A fence had formerly enclosed the Wellingtonia, but the fence having been repeatedly broken down, a wall had been substituted by the owner, who was very proud of his American specimen.

Mittie stole along by the hedge, breaking off here and there a tinted twig which caught her fancy, till she had quite a bouquet of variegated colours. Then she resolved to turn home, but she thought she would take one look in passing at certain small bushes growing just inside the wall which protected the Wellingtonia. So the little feet set off thither at a light run.

Suddenly some sound, or perhaps an instinctive sense of danger, made Mittie turn her head and look back.

To her horror she was being chased. A large bull with lowered horns was rushing at full gallop straight towards her.

Mittie had not known before that any creature beside herself was in the field. Had she seen the animal she would have retreated at once, for years of town-life had made her timid in this respect. Probably he had been browsing behind a group of trees at a short distance till attracted by her running.

One faint shriek burst from the child's lips, but she did not pause. At her utmost speed she fled wildly over the grass towards the Wellingtonia. Happily, she was a fleet runner, as well as a good climber. Many a wall and small tree had Mittie learnt to scale since Westford had been her home. Whether the bull really meant to hurt her, or was merely trying conclusions as to speed, might be questioned, but Mittie had no doubt whatever of his murderous intentions.

Not a dozen clear yards lay between pursuer and pursued when Mittie gained the enclosing wall, but that was enough. She knew of the one rugged and broken corner where she could ascend, and in another instant she had gained the summit, safe, but gasping for breath, blanched with terror, her poor little heart beating so madly that she could scarcely see what lay before her eyes. She dared not drop down within the wall, since it might not be possible to get up again on the other side. There was nothing for it but to sit on the top, which happily offered a fairly broad and secure surface, and to watch with fascinated eyes her terrible foe.

One thing became at once apparent, that the bull had no notion of climbing a wall. Mittie had had her doubts on this head, and was consoled. Finding his prey out of reach, he stopped running, and seemed disposed to take the matter coolly; but he showed no intention of taking himself away. He browsed about carelessly here and there, always within twenty or thirty yards of the enclosure. It would have made little difference if he had gone to the utmost verge of the field. Mittie felt that she could never venture to descend alone, to cross the wide space between the wall and the stile, while the enemy was anywhere within reach. She was on a fortress, practically invested, hopelessly cut off from the rest of the world.

For a while Mittie bore up pluckily. She was accustomed of late to rove about much alone, and to depend upon herself, and she felt no doubt that somebody would soon come to the rescue. Only it did seem very hard not to be at home to welcome her mother, and tears rose with the thought.

The wall seat, though tolerably safe, since Mittie was not given to giddiness, could not be called comfortable. Mittie debated several times whether she might not venture to descend inside. But it would not do. She would be out of sight there, and getting up again might prove impossible, so smooth was the inner surface of the wall.

As time passed and no human being approached Mittie began to realise that things were growing serious. Light faded fast, and soon her little figure would be invisible, even if somebody did pass near. It grew very cold too, and Mittie felt quite chilled and stiff with long exposure. The idea of being all alone here after dark was terrible to the sensitive child. Fortitude failed at last, and she broke into bitter sobs, crying out for help.

In an interval of crying her eyes were caught by a faint light beyond the first meadow. Mittie knew it to be the Rectory light, and the very sight brought a thrill of hope. "O Marjory! Marjory! do come!" wailed Mittie at first; and then— "But Marjory would tell me to ask God," she thought. And with the wailing sobs, which she was too cold and frightened to check, were childish murmurs of prayer and trust. Was ever such pleading unanswered?