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Chapter XI
What Happened on the Haystack

The pity of it was that Uncle John blamed Kathie.

As if she had had anything to do with it!

You see, Jan and I reached home all safe and sound the next morning. Perhaps we were not as miserable or as penitent as we should have been either, and we arrived in style in Mr. McLennan's motor, full of the glory of our adventure, and rather forgetful of baked apple and all that had gone before.

We had slept soundly enough on the floor of the shed till the morning sun, glinting through the cracks in the walls, roused us to our situation. Outside the air was soft and fresh and warm, cleared by the storm of the previous night. All the world was awake and rejoicing in the beauty of the early morning; only the old house remained ghost-like and lonely, touched by the overhanging branches of the trees and covered by the creepers which in their tenderness had grown close around and tried to hide its sadness from the world. We plucked some of the pears which grew in the orchard—great luscious wine pears, which were far larger and juicier and page 143sweeter than any Kamahi could boast. The story said that Mr. Morrison had planted them because his wife loved the fruit, and that they had been in bloom when she arrived. Uncle John told us that this was incorrect, as it was autumn when Mrs. Morrison came, and pears, you know, bloom in the spring. But I liked the story better than any of Uncle's practical, commonsense talk, and loved to think that the fruit was all the sweeter because of the love which had been planted with the trees.

Warmed by the sun, fortified by the pears, Jan and I started to steer the best course we could Kamahiwards. But fortune favoured us, and brought Mr. McLennan to our aid. We met him at the crossroads where we had gone wrong the night before, and neither he nor Denise, who was with him, seemed particularly surprised at the encounter.

"I was on the look out for you," he explained. "A fine fright you've given everyone, young ladies. Your uncles have been scouring the country all night."

"Oh!" said Jan, while the enormity of our offence forced itself home upon me.

"We met Mr. Stephen an hour ago," Denise added, "and Dad said he would cruise around a little in his car and look for you. Where did you spend the night, Ngaire?"

"At Morrison's," I answered, while Jan asked, in page 144rather a subdued voice, if Uncle Stephen had seemed very worried about us.

"Worried!" began Mr. McLennan warmly, but Denise touched his sleeve imploringly. "Time enough to talk about that later," he continued, more kindly. "First thing is to get you home and relieve everyone's anxiety/'

"Did you really sleep at Morrison's?" asked Denise, with wide-open eyes, while Mr. McLennan laughed and said "Ridiculous nonsense!" just as the uncles did, and Jan and I tried to appear modestly unconscious of our own heroism. "I wouldn't have done it for worlds. Of course, I don't believe in ghosts or anything so silly, but there might be rats!"

Which was so exactly what Jan had said the night before that I laughed, and then realised with a shock that we were drawing up before the big white gates of Kamahi.

"No, I won't come in," said Mr. McLennan. "I'll put you down here. Denise and I have to meet the express at eleven. But I shall be passing again in a week or two, and then I mean to carry a certain little woman away with me for a while."

"You'll come, won't you, Ngaire?" Denise looked at me with her wonderful, appealing eyes. You couldn't have resisted them even if you had wanted to (which I didn't).

"That's right. It's settled then. Well look you up page 145very soon. Good-bye, girls, and don't go wandering about the country at night again. It's too hard on your uncles."

They were off, whizzing down the road again, striving to make up the time they had lost in their search for us. Jan and I watched them go and then turned and made our way down the hill-side towards the house.

Uncle Stephen, Uncle Dan and Kathie were on the veranda when we came up the drive under the wattle trees. Kathie looked tumbled and tired, and she had lost all her pretty colour. Uncle Dan was strangely grave, while Uncle Stephen's stoop was a little more pronounced and the fine lines seemed scored more heavily round his eyes. They were talking earnestly, but Kathie caught sight of us and rushed down the steps right into our arms.

"It's them!" she cried gladly, regardless of grammar. "Uncle Stephen, Dan, it's Jan and Ngaire home again!"

She hugged us in turn, a little sob in her voice and something wet on her cheeks that made us feel suddenly very much ashamed of ourselves. Uncle Dan demanded an explanation, the old teasing laugh replacing the unusual gravity, but Uncle Stephen was silent, with stern, set mouth, and eyes that bored us through and through.

"We will hear the particulars later," he said coldly. page 146"Tell Mary to bring some bread and milk. They must be hungry. Take them to the dining-room, Katrine."

Ignoring us, he turned and swung across the lawn to the stables, while Jan blinked fiercely, and we both followed Kathie meekly into the dining-room, where two huge, steaming bowls of bread and milk awaited us. In spite of the pears, Jan and I discovered that we were famished, and applied ourselves vigorously, dealing out information between spoonfuls of bread and milk.

"Slept at Morrison's!" cried Jock, while Pipi gasped, and even Kathie looked suitably impressed. "Why, that's where the ghosts—"

"Reediculous nonsense! But it was well you had some shelter, poor bairns!"

Sympathy from the housekeeper was so rare a thing that Jan and I began rather to plume ourselves on our adventure. Jan detailed the events of the night, dwelling particularly upon the eerie sounds we had heard, and the audience, consisting of Kathie, Maggie, Mary, Mrs. McPherson and the children, hung on our words. Even Uncle Dan seemed interested, though he left us early to make a start on the morning's work, which so far had been quite neglected.

It was all very exciting and gratifying to our vanity, but it came to an end with the entrance of Uncle page 147John, who returned with a search party just as Jan was attacking her tenth sandwich and I was beginning on a fourth helping of bread and milk. Like Uncle Stephen, Uncle John looked both tired and old, but his moustache had an angry perk which drove terror into our hearts. Uncle John's sympathies open very quickly and very widely to anyone in trouble-, but, unfortunately, neither Jan nor I were very much the worse for our adventure. Now Jan suddenly lost interest in her sandwich, and I put down my spoon very quickly.

"Well," demanded uncle in an awful voice, while Jan shook perceptibly and memories of yesterday rushed over my head in accumulated horror, "what have you to say for yourselves?"

But Jan and I, having nothing to say, were discreetly silent.

"You spent the night at Morrison's, I hear," continued uncle. He had met Uncle Dan outside, and was already provided with a rough history of our adventures. "Did it ever strike you that while you were enjoying yourselves the whole station was upset, search-parties out everywhere looking for you, your sister worrying, the little ones crying their eyes out?"

"Oh!" Jan's eyes met Kathie's, while I looked at Jock and Pipi, who were dirty and dusty and generally dishevelled.

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"Enjoying yourselves!" repeated uncle, and though that was hardly the term Jan and I would have applied to our adventures we dared not contradict him.

"And as for your behaviour at Mrs. Owen's"— poor old uncle turned very suddenly to Kathie— "I was humiliated—humiliated. I understood, girl, that you were to be responsible for the education, manners and—er—general appearance of your younger brothers and sisters. And you let them run about like wild Indians—no, not as decent as any self-respecting Indian. Their very clothes are a disgrace."

"I do my best," faltered Kathie, aghast at finding the war carried into her own camp. "I——"

"Speak up!" roared uncle, and the roof shook. "I was ashamed to own them, to think that they were my nieces. Their table manners would disgrace any ploughboy!"

"Oh!" breathed Jan, but Kathie did not speak; she stood looking at uncle, her poor lips trembling, her eyes very wide open. Uncle softened a little at the distress on her face, but he looked at Jan and me and freshened up again. Yet, quite unreasonably, he seemed to hold her responsible for all that we had done that we ought not to have done.

"Am I to write and inform your mother that you are incapable, that the children are running wild, that page 149you are unworthy of the trust reposed in you?" he asked, and then added, visibly relenting, "I had expected better things from you, Katrine—a woman of your age."

And Katrine not yet twenty!

"I—I—" she began again, and somehow she looked so pitiful and so pleading that before I knew what had happened I was right in the middle of a fresh trouble. I wanted uncle to realise that it wasn't her fault, that Jan and I were alone to blame, but he wouldn't listen to me.

"Speak when you're spoken to, miss," he commanded. "Katrine—"

"It isn't Kathie's fault—not a bit of her fault. It's just Jan's and mine. Can't you see it's our fault? Kathie can't help it if our blouses do burst. She is always telling us to be tidy. Why, just before we left she said—" I drew up in a hurry; I had nearly betrayed Jan. "And she can't help our manners. Besides, it wasn't manners, it Was giggles."

"S-s-sh, Ngaire!"

"Oh, do be quiet," entreated Jan in a whisper. "You're only making matters worse."

But though she was right I still rushed ahead, complicating things and, as Kathie pointed out afterwards, losing my temper entirely, and doing far more harm than I did good. Uncle watched me, too astoni-page 150shed for a moment to speak, but Kathie caught hold of my arm imploringly.

"Hush, Ngaire! Ngaire, you must be quiet. She doesn't mean what she says, uncle."

"I do. I tell you it isn't Kathie's fault. How could it be her fault? If you must storm at someone, why don't you storm at Jan and me? We don't mind—we're used to it. Go on! Go on! Go on!"

Perhaps you won't believe me, but I was still speaking to Uncle John. Fancy telling him to "Go on! Goon! Goon!" And the worst of it was he did "Go on! Go on! Go on!"

And I went too.

We set off down the veranda at a trot, Ngaire first, uncle behind. The office door stood conveniently ajar, and Ngaire entered, leaving uncle storming on the threshold.

"You wait there for a while," he said threateningly. "You certainly are the most impertinent child I've ever had the misfortune to meet. No, don't speak! Don't you dare say another word!"

He slammed the door, turned the key in the lock, coughed wrathfully, and went back to the dining-room to finish Kathie off before he started on me.

But I did not await his return. Something hot and angry was surging through me. If I had been smaller I think I would have struck at uncle when page 151he propelled me so suddenly down the front veranda; as it was, I could only rage round the small, dusty office, try the door angrily, and then, mounting the desk, wriggle myself through the little uncurtained window. From there it was an easy drop to the garden outside, and though I scratched myself pretty severely on the climbing rose, I seemed hardly to feel the pain. Uncle Stephen was crossing the lawn, and as I didn't want to meet him just then I slipped round the corner, and then made my way through the plantations and over the paddocks to the big haycock, where Jock, Pipi and I had made a lovely nest. They were there when I arrived, and eyed me curiously.

"Uncle was beginning to remember the pigs that got into the vegetable garden two weeks ago," Jock explained, "so we thought we had better get out."

They had lingered in the dining-room enjoying things as long as they dared, but Uncle John had an unpleasant habit of drawing everyone around into the conversation, and when it begun to wander in their direction, Jock and Pipi, very wisely, made themselves scarce.

They opened their eyes when I appeared.

"Didn't Uncle John lock you in the office? We heard the key squeak."

I threw myself down in the fragrant hay, trying to hide my hot face and to speak as naturally as I page 152could. I had come here to be alone, but nothing short of a direct request would move Jock and Pipi.

"Didn't he?" repeated Jock.

"Of course he did. But I couldn't be bothered to wait. I just got out of the window and came away."

"Oh!" said Jock in admiration, while Pipi's eyes bulged in surprise.

"I wouldn't stay in that office for twenty uncles," I added, basking in their admiration. Then I caught sight of Uncle Dan and Kathie making their way across the paddock to where we lay, half hidden in the hay.

"Looking for you," whispered Pipi. "Let's dip."

"We all "dipped" very quickly, and didn't venture to raise our heads till the sound of voices floating up told us that Uncle Dan and Kathie had settled themselves in the hay at the bottom of the stack, and were preparing for a long stay. They could not see us, snugly ensconsed behind our ramparts above, but we could catch a glimpse of them and hear nearly every word they said. I was going to call out to them and let them know that we were there, but Pipi caught hold of my arm.

"Don't! Let's boo!"

We would have booed, really we would, only the next thing we heard astonished us so much that we hadn't the strength to do it.

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"It's not worth worrying about, darling," said Uncle Dan.

Fancy! And Kathie nineteen, and with her hair up!

"He—he—-c-c-c-called me a w-w-woman," she sobbed.

"He's a beast!"

Pipi giggled.

"He's talking about Uncle John," she whispered in delight.

Over the top of the wall of hay I could just catch a glimpse of Kathie's hair with the glint of the sun on it. It seemed dishonourable to stay and listen, and yet, under the circumstances, we hardly liked to make a move. Jock and I compromised by shrinking back as far as possible and putting our fingers over our ears, but Pipi listened shamelessly, and leaned so far forward that I was afraid she'd slip and fall on top of Uncle Dan.

"Let's—" I began.

"Be quiet!" murmured Pipi, nudging me.

Kathie's voice came floating up again.

"I have tried," she said, and somehow I could feel the tears in her voice, "but—somehow—things go wrong—without any help from me. Ngaire—"

"That youngster's a handful," remarked Uncle Dan with a laugh. "In every scrape that's going. page 154But if I know anything of Uncle John the poor kiddie's in a hole this time."

"Poor Ngaire!" breathed Kathie quite sorrowfully, and then added, as the accumulation of her woes pressed in on her, "And Rob doesn't get on here. And Jock and Pip are everlastingly in some sort of mischief. And Jan and Ngaire made spectacles, of themselves at The Grays yesterday."

"Little scamps! They want a spanking," remarked uncle. "I've a good mind to do it too—if it would ease your mind at all."

You should have heard Jan when Pipi told her. Really, her language was what I've heard Uncle Stephen call "unprintable."

Pipi listened as hard as she could, giggling till I was afraid they would hear her, and leaning over so perilously that I had to grab her pinafore to keep her from falling. Once she stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and gasped out in tiny, tiny whispers that "Uncle Dan was dryin' Kathie's tears." Jock, however, pulled the handkerchief away, as it was one he had lent her, and he didn't want it all made wet.

Then something happened which precipitated the catastrophe which I had feared from the first. Kathie and Uncle Dan were speaking so softly that even Pipi could not catch their words. Suddenly Kathie's voice came floating up distinctly again.

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"Uncle John would never consent, and father wouldn't let us be married for years,"

I looked at Jock and Pipi, but they were too young to grasp the meaning of it all. I knew at once. Kathie was going to marry Uncle Dan. At first I was so surprised that I quite forgot to stuff my fingers into my ears again, but listened just as hard as ever Pipi did, though I didn't peep—really.

"I'll speak to John to-night," said Uncle Dan, but Kathie interrupted him quickly.

"No, not to-night, dear. To-morrow, when he's quietened down a bit and doesn't think quite so badly of me as he does to-day. He was angry with me to-day, Dan."

"Those young scamps!"

"I often wonder—before I met you—" began Kathie, and there was something in her voice that made me feel suddenly very small and mean and uncomfortable. "It seems such a long time ago. I thought you'd be much older, more like the real uncles. You're only a pretence one, you know, and—"

Kathie's voice trailed off indistinctly. Pipi leaned over dangerously. I pulled at her jersey.

"Come back!"

"I won't I want to see. Let me alone! Let me——

Oh! Ah!"

It happened just as I knew it would happen. The page 156hay fell on top of Uncle Dan and Kathie, and we fell on top of the hay.

You never saw two such astonished people in your life. For a moment they stared at us in a kind of horrified silence, then Uncle Dan made a sudden, effective lunge and captured the three of us.

"Where have you been? W-what have you heard?" gasped poor Kathie, giving herself away terribly.

"Yes, where have you been"?" repeated Uncle Dan, shaking us vigorously till our heads nearly fell off. Uncle has a very bad temper; he should count ten before he speaks. It's a good plan. Pipi tried it once, but it didn't answer very well in her case, as by the time she got to seven she was so furious that she scratched Jock's face and stamped on his toes. In the beginning she had only meant to pull his nose.

"I've a very good mind to take you up to the house and get your uncle to give you all a jolly good hiding. The idea of you spying and listening, you mean, deceitful little eavesdroppers."

"Oh!" I said for about the fortieth time that day, while even Pipi had the grace to look ashamed. "Oh!

I'm sorry, 1—

"That will do," said uncle angrily. "Go up to the house at once, and if I catch, sight of any of you page 157again to-day it will be the worse for you. Do you hear? Off with you!"

He turned away with Kathie, and Jock and I turned too—another way. But Pipi lingered, an impish light in her eyes.

"I say! Oh, I say!"

"Well?"

"Nothing—nothing. Shall I tell Uncle John you're going to get married, or shall I wait till he's quietened down a little? How far would you have been if I hadn't called you back, Dan dear?"