The Thirteen Little Black Pigs, and Other Stories

[Illustration: Off we set, in very good spirits,]

"Be sure you are not later in starting than half-past five," said my mother, "so that you can be back before it begins to get dark," for it was already September.

And Molly's mother repeated the warning, only adding, "I am not the least anxious about Molly--she knows the way so well. But it might be puzzling for Thecla, as our lanes are really a labyrinth after dark."

"Oh I am _sure_ I couldn't get lost between here and Three Corners," I said, laughing. "Three Corner Court" was the quaint name of Molly's home.

Well--we found the afternoon only too short--we enjoyed our nice tea very much, and felt rather reluctant to set off as soon as it was over.

"It is barely half-past five," I said. But Molly was very determined.

"We must start," she said. "I feel responsible for you, Thecla, for you will have to come back alone."

"As if I _could_ lose my way, when I have only to come straight back the way you take me," I said, "and I have been a bit of that way before."

We were not going by the road but by a short cut, part of which was a foot-path through the fields, and _generally_, I had driven to Three Corners, so that there was some reason for Molly's carefulness.

"Don't be too sure," she said, "you don't know how like some of the fields are to each other, as well as the lanes. We have regular landmarks we depend upon."

Off we set, in very good spirits, laughing and talking. We laughed and talked a little too much perhaps, for though the very first part of the way was through our own grounds, where I could not of course have gone astray, we soon came to a succession of fields--several of them ploughed land--which certainly were very like each other. We crossed two or three lanes, going a few steps in one direction or the other to get to the gates, and keeping always in the same line ourselves. Suddenly Molly stopped in the middle of a very interesting discussion of a book we had been reading.

"Thecla," she said, "you've come more than half way--you must turn back now, for it will be getting dusk. And oh dear, I didn't point out the old hawthorn at the gate of the great Millside field--and it _is_ so easy to mistake it for Southdown field, and then you'd get all wrong."

[Illustration: It was a ploughed field, and it really was "up"]

"I'm sure I remember it," I said, "and I don't see how I _could_ go wrong if I keep in the same direction."

"Ah, but it's so easy to get out of the same direction without knowing it," she said, "once the sun's gone. Now _do_ be careful," and she repeated a few more warnings.

I kissed her and ran off gaily. For a while all went well. I had crossed two lanes and three grass fields when I found myself for the first time at a loss. Was I to go straight through the gate facing the one I had come out by, or go a little way down the lane? Was this the place to look out for the hawthorn bush? If so, there was no hawthorn bush here, so I decided to go down the lane a little. It seemed a good way before I came to a gate, and when I did, there was no bush or tree of any kind. But I felt sure that up this field was in the right line, so on I went. It was a ploughed field and it really was "up," for it sloped rather steeply. Oh how tired I was when I got to the top! But now I thought all my troubles were over--I had only to go a quarter of a mile along the lane, to reach our own back entrance to the stables.

[Illustration: I was not half-a-mile from the Hall!]

"What a good thing I am so near home," I thought, as I became aware that almost in a moment a thick grey mist had risen--all around was bathed in it, and I ran on as fast as I could.

The mist now and then cleared a little, but the night was falling fast and I saw no sign of the white gates I was looking for. I ran the faster--but the hedges remained unbroken, and after a while I was forced to own to myself that somehow or other I had _got into the wrong lane_! Oh dear! I dared not turn back--I just ran on, and the mist grew thicker again. I soon got so tired, that the temptation was strong to sit down at all costs. And if I had done so I might have fainted or fallen asleep, and not perhaps been found till too late!

It was a dreadful feeling--after a while I think I began to get rather dazed and stupefied, from fatigue and anxiety. I had only just a sort of instinct that at all costs I _must_ keep going.

"The lane must lead to somewhere," I said to myself, though really it seemed as if it was endless. I must have been running, or half running and sometimes walking for nearly an hour when at last--the mist having cleared a little--I saw a light in front, a little to one side. It seemed to bob up and down as I ran--the lane was uneven just here, and once or twice I was afraid it had gone. But no--there it was again, and to my joy I found it came from a cottage window across a field to the right.

"I shall find I am miles and miles from home," I thought, and just fancy my surprise when I knocked at the door and asked my way, to be told that I was not half-a-mile from the hall."

I had gone thoroughly wrong almost from the first, and the long lane skirted the fields away up on higher ground behind our house as it were, where I had had no business to be at all.

They were just sallying out with lanterns to look for me, but they never would have thought of that lane, and there I might easily have been left all night if my strength had really failed.

Oh how glad I was to change my damp clothes and to have a nice hot cup of tea in my mother's room beside the fire!

Since then I have never boasted about being sure to find my way.

EDMUND EVANS, ENGRAVER AND PRINTER, RACQUET COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON, E.C.