back.
Pat started off briskly and gaily, feeling very independent and daring and grown-up. How Judy would stare when she sauntered into the kitchen and announced carelessly that she had walked home from the Bay Shore all alone in the dark. âOh, oh, and ainât ye the bould one?â Judy would say admiringly.
And thenâ¦the dark chilly night seemed suddenly to be coming to meet herâ¦and when the road forked she wasnât sure which fork to takeâ¦the left one?â¦oh, it must be the left oneâ¦Pat ran along it with sheer panic creeping into her heart.
It was dark nowâ¦quite dark. And Pat suddenly discovered that to be alone on a strange road two miles from home in a very dark darkness was an entirely different thing from prowling in the orchard or running along the Whispering Lane or wandering about the Field of the Pool with the homelights of Silver Bush always in sight.
The woods and groves around her, that had seemed so friendly on the golden September day were strangers now. The far, dark spruce hills seemed to draw nearer threateningly. Was this the right road? There were no homelights anywhere. Had she taken the wrong turn and was this the âlineâ road that ran along the back of the farms between the two townships? Would she ever get home? Would she ever see Sid againâ¦hear Winnieâs laugh and Cuddlesâ dear little squeals of welcome? Last Sunday in church the choir had sung, â The night is dark and I am far from home .â She knew what that meant now as she broke into a desperate little run. The white birches along the roadside seemed to be trying to catch her with ghostly hands. The wind wailed through the spruces. At Silver Bush you never quite knew how the wind would come at youâ¦from behind the church barn like a cat pouncingâ¦down from the Hill of the Mist like a soft bird flyingâ¦through the orchard like a playmateâ¦but it always came as a friend. This wind was no friend. Was that it crying in the spruces? Or was it the Green Harper of Judyâs tale who harped people away to Fairyland whether they would or no? All Judyâs stories, enjoyed and disbelieved at home, became fearfully true here. Those strange little shadows, dark amid the darkness, under the fernsâ¦suppose they were fairies. Judy said if you met a fairy you were never the same again. No threat could have been more terrible to Pat. To be changedâ¦to be not yourself!
That wild, far-away noteâ¦was it the Peter Branaghan of another of Judyâs tales, out on the hills piping to his ghostly sheep? And still no lightâ¦she must be on the wrong road.
All at once she was wild with terror of the chill night and the eerie wind and the huge, dark pathless world around her. She stopped short and uttered a bitter little cry of desolation.
âCan I help you?â said a voice.
Someone had just come around the turn of the road. A boyâ¦not much taller than herselfâ¦with something queer about his eyesâ¦with a little blot of shadow behind him that looked like a dog. That was all Pat could see. But suddenly she felt safeâ¦protected. He had such a nice voice.
âIâ¦think Iâm lost,â she gasped. âIâm Pat Gardinerâ¦and I took the wrong road.â
âYouâre on the line road,â said the boy. âBut it turns and goes down past Silver Bush. Only itâs a little longer. Iâll take you home. Iâm Hilary Gordonâ¦but everybody calls me Jingle.â
Pat knew at once who he was and felt well acquainted. She had heard Judy talk about the Gordons who had bought the old Adams farm that marched with Silver Bush. They had no family of their own but an orphan nephew was living with them and Judy said it was likely he had poor pickings of it. He did not go to the North Glen school for the old Adams place was in the South Glen school district, but they were really next-door neighbors.
⢠â¢
Pat started off briskly and gaily, feeling very independent and daring and grown-up. How Judy would stare when she sauntered into the kitchen and announced carelessly that she had walked home from the Bay Shore all alone in the dark. âOh, oh, and ainât ye the bould one?â Judy would say admiringly.
And thenâ¦the dark chilly night seemed suddenly to be coming to meet herâ¦and when the road forked she wasnât sure which fork to takeâ¦the left one?â¦oh, it must be the left oneâ¦Pat ran along it with sheer panic creeping into her heart.
It was dark nowâ¦quite dark. And Pat suddenly discovered that to be alone on a strange road two miles from home in a very dark darkness was an entirely different thing from prowling in the orchard or running along the Whispering Lane or wandering about the Field of the Pool with the homelights of Silver Bush always in sight.
The woods and groves around her, that had seemed so friendly on the golden September day were strangers now. The far, dark spruce hills seemed to draw nearer threateningly. Was this the right road? There were no homelights anywhere. Had she taken the wrong turn and was this the âlineâ road that ran along the back of the farms between the two townships? Would she ever get home? Would she ever see Sid againâ¦hear Winnieâs laugh and Cuddlesâ dear little squeals of welcome? Last Sunday in church the choir had sung, â The night is dark and I am far from home .â She knew what that meant now as she broke into a desperate little run. The white birches along the roadside seemed to be trying to catch her with ghostly hands. The wind wailed through the spruces. At Silver Bush you never quite knew how the wind would come at youâ¦from behind the church barn like a cat pouncingâ¦down from the Hill of the Mist like a soft bird flyingâ¦through the orchard like a playmateâ¦but it always came as a friend. This wind was no friend. Was that it crying in the spruces? Or was it the Green Harper of Judyâs tale who harped people away to Fairyland whether they would or no? All Judyâs stories, enjoyed and disbelieved at home, became fearfully true here. Those strange little shadows, dark amid the darkness, under the fernsâ¦suppose they were fairies. Judy said if you met a fairy you were never the same again. No threat could have been more terrible to Pat. To be changedâ¦to be not yourself!
That wild, far-away noteâ¦was it the Peter Branaghan of another of Judyâs tales, out on the hills piping to his ghostly sheep? And still no lightâ¦she must be on the wrong road.
All at once she was wild with terror of the chill night and the eerie wind and the huge, dark pathless world around her. She stopped short and uttered a bitter little cry of desolation.
âCan I help you?â said a voice.
Someone had just come around the turn of the road. A boyâ¦not much taller than herselfâ¦with something queer about his eyesâ¦with a little blot of shadow behind him that looked like a dog. That was all Pat could see. But suddenly she felt safeâ¦protected. He had such a nice voice.
âIâ¦think Iâm lost,â she gasped. âIâm Pat Gardinerâ¦and I took the wrong road.â
âYouâre on the line road,â said the boy. âBut it turns and goes down past Silver Bush. Only itâs a little longer. Iâll take you home. Iâm Hilary Gordonâ¦but everybody calls me Jingle.â
Pat knew at once who he was and felt well acquainted. She had heard Judy talk about the Gordons who had bought the old Adams farm that marched with Silver Bush. They had no family of their own but an orphan nephew was living with them and Judy said it was likely he had poor pickings of it. He did not go to the North Glen school for the old Adams place was in the South Glen school district, but they were really next-door neighbors.
⢠â¢
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