Return to Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

in sight, so she slung the textbooks which she carried in a strap, against his shins. “Stow that!” she said, using an expression she had picked up from him.

      Wright saw by her expression that she was not herself.

      “What’s up?” he asked.

      “I have a sore knee. Will you drive me to meet George’s car?”

      “Is that the knee you hurt yesterday?”

      “Yes. It’s not very bad. Just stiff. Will you take me to meet George?”

      “Sure I will.” He brought out the car. She threw her books into it and climbed stiffly on to the seat.

      Wright regarded her with concern. “You don’t look much like riding Jester at the Show,” he said.

      “Don’t you worry. I’ll ride him.”

      “What about your mother?”

      “She’ll never know.”

      “She’ll know, if you win a prize.”

      “I’ll bear the consequences.”

      As they sat in the car waiting for George Fennel they made their plans.

      Three days later Adeline went to school as usual but, after the school lunch she went to the mistress of her form and, pleading that she was not well, asked to be allowed to go home. Indeed the mistress thought the child did not look well. She looked flushed and tired.

      But Adeline’s spirits were high as she got into Mr. Crowdy’s car, in which he sat waiting for her outside the school. She gave a little grunt of satisfaction when they left the city streets and sped along a country road.

      “How’s the knee?” he asked solicitously.

      “Pretty fair,” she answered non-committaly. “Might be better and might be worse.”

      “When you’re at the Show you’ll forget all about it. That’s the way when I’ve anything wrong with me. Now I’ll tell you a little story to cheer you up. There was once a man who hadn’t much money but he had a hunter he loved better than anything on earth. One day he went into the stable and found that the horse had got a terrible bad chill. It was shaking from head to foot. He put its blanket on it but it didn’t stop shivering. Then he went to the house and found his wife in bed with a cold. He went straight to the bed and pulled the blankets off her and carried them out and heaped them on the horse.”

      “Good for him!” said Adeline. “Did the horse get better?”

      “Sure.”

      “And did the wife?”

      “Sure. When he went back to the house she was up and laying the supper table.”

      As there were no longer any large shows, the small ones drew large crowds. When Adeline and Mr. Crowdy arrived there was already a dense throng about the ring. Wright met them with Adeline’s riding clothes in a suitcase. She changed into them in the club house. There were a number of people about who knew her so she did not lack companionship but she was not in a sociable mood. To await the events in which she was taking part, in stoical endurance of the throbbing pain in her knee, then to take her part with credit to herself and to her mount, was her one concern. No one would have guessed, to see the gallant little figure taking the jumps, that each jolt of landing caused her acute pain. A small set smile was on her lips and remained there when the judges awarded her a first and a second, and when photographers took her picture, mounted on Jester. In the applause of the crowd she forgot the pain for a space. She had upheld the honour of the Jalna stables. Wright too had done well. He beamed at her as he helped her to alight.

      “I guess you’re feeling pretty good now, eh?” he said.

      “No, Wright, I’m not,” she answered, in a trembling voice. “I want to go home.” Tears rained down her cheeks.

      Back at Jalna, when the horses had been taken out of the van and after he and the farmhand had made them comfortable, Wright turned anxiously to the child. She had been sitting on a low wooden stool watching them.

      “Come into the office,” he said, “and let’s see that knee.”

      He led her into the little room that Renny used as an office and lifted her to the desk. She sat there relaxed, her legs dangling. “It doesn’t pain quite so badly now,” she said, in a small voice. But she gave a sharp cry when Wright pulled off her boot. When the knee was bared he drew back horrified.

      “Cripes!” he exclaimed. “This is an awful leg. Why, miss, you oughtn’t to have ridden at that show today. You ought to have told me how bad it was.”

      “It does look pretty bad, doesn’t it?” she agreed, with a certain pride.

      “Bad!” he repeated desperately. “It’s a hell of a knee.”

      At that moment he saw Rags passing the window carrying a basket of broccoli. Wright tapped sharply on the pane and beckoned to Rags who, scenting trouble of some sort, hurried in. When the knee was exhibited to him, he scratched his grizzled head and threw Wright an eloquent look.

      “Could your wife make some sort of a poultice for it?” asked Wright.

      “Naow. The only thing to do for that there knee is to send for the doctor.”

      Wright and Adeline looked at each other aghast.

      “We can’t,” she declared. “Mummy mustn’t know.”

      “Now, look ’ere,” said Rags, “would you rather lose your leg or ’ave your mother knaow?”

      Adeline grinned. “Lose my leg,” she said.

      Rags said to Wright, “If I was you I’d ’ate to take the responsibility of keeping this from the missus.”

      “I guess you’re right.”

      “I’ll take the blame,” said Adeline, “if we’ve got to tell. Come on, let’s have it over with.”

      Wright gave her a reproachful look. “You shouldn’t have let me in for this, miss,” he said. “If ever you’d showed me that knee! By gum, I’ll catch it for this! Come, get on my back and I’ll carry you to the house.” He bent himself in front of her. She bestrode his back, clasping his neck. So they went to the house; Rags, with a desperate air, carrying her boot.

      Alayne was leading Archer upstairs to oversee his preparations for the evening meal. Tomorrow she had to take him to the hospital to have his tonsils out. She was filled with shrinking from the operation. As she looked down at the little boy she had a painful yearning to protect him. She was halfway up the stairs when Rags appeared in the hall below. He said, mysteriously:

      “Please, madam, would you mind stepping down’ere. Wright ’as something he feels ’e ought to show you.”

      “Whatever is wrong now?” demanded Alayne, irritably.

      “I think you ought to come down and see, madam. It’s Miss Adeline— she’s ’urt ’erself.”

      Alayne flew down the stairs, Archer close behind.

      “She’s ’ere at the back of the ’all.” Rags led the way to where Adeline was standing. Wright skulked in a dim corner behind her.

      “Adeline!” cried Alayne. “Where are you hurt?”

      The child, standing on one leg, held up her knee.

      Alayne, bending over it, gave a cry of distress.

      “It’s dreadful!” she exclaimed. “It’s not a fresh injury. When did you do it? Was it the other evening when I smelled iodine in your room? Why — you have on your riding things! Adeline, were you riding at the Show?”

      Adeline hung her head. “Yes, Mummy.”

      Alayne now saw Wright. “This is your doing!” she exclaimed, in a voice