Canning Town Folk

NB: All of the excerpts about folk dancing below are © the estate of Elsie J. Oxenham

Queen of the Abbey Girls (1926)

This is the last book featuring the Pixie, who is seen here at her caravan, now off its wheels and permanently housed in a field near her aunt and uncle's home. The book also features a May ceremony, including the crowning of the May Queen and the dancing around the Maypole, as the now-adult Jen finally becomes a May Queen.

From Chapter 8: 'Crowning Queen Jen'

The next event that Jen remembered clearly was her own Coronation at school, when for one evening, Joy and her lightning wedding dropped into the background, and Jen herself was the centre of all the excitement. It was the tradition of the school, a tradition of ten years now, that the Queen should be chosen at a meeting of the Hamlet Club before Easter, and crowned by the Club, who all brought gifts and danced around the Maypole, at a meeting held at Broadway End, the home of the President, Cicely Everett. But as soon as the summer term began, it was necessary that she should be crowned again at school, as many of the girls were not members of the Hamlet Club but were yet supposed to be under her authority for the year. Jen’s first Coronation had taken place directly after Easter, earlier than usual, as both Cicely and Marguerite were going abroad with their husbands, and it was always desirable to have as full a muster of the old Queens as possible. But the second crowning still had to take place, in the big school hall, a few days after the term began.

“I’m deputed to look after you and explain everything,” said Mary Devine to Ken Marchwood, who was among the visitors on the platform. “If Jen were any one else, I’d be afraid she might collapse, for she only arrived from town two hours ago, just in time for a hurried meal and a quick change. She and Joy have been shopping for two days at express speed from their own account. But Jen never seems tired; she has endless energy.”

They watched the country dances, with their quick changes of formation, their radiant moving colour. The schoolgirls who filled the floor of the hall wore simple dancing-frocks of vivid hues, with no attempt at fancy costume or arrangement of colours, which were allowed to blend at random, with very good effect. The girls were merely enjoying themselves, with no apparent regard for the onlookers, and there was no set appearance of previous arrangement, which might have been suggested had the colours of the dresses been more regularly planned. Some of the dancers wore white caps or bonnets, others had none; there was no other attempt at dressing-up.

“Those without caps are dancing as men,” Mary explained. “But they often forget to put them on when they dance as women. It was the President’s idea when the Club was started. You’ll see her presently; she hasn’t gone abroad yet, and she said she’d come, as she’s very keen on Jenny-Wren, and wanted her to be Queen when she was sixteen and still really at school.”

“Haste to the Wedding,” and “Hey Boys,” and “Gathering Peascods,” were being followed by “Gallopede,” when the two middle lines of dancers, clapping their hands while the top couple swung to the bottom, fell farther apart, and began to cheer, and those dancing in other sets came crowding up behind to watch the procession of Queens.

Queen Miriam, with her white train, Cicely, with her golden one, Joy, in bright green, Joan, in violet, and many another - though Marguerite and one or two were absent - came up the aisle between the walls of girls, each with her train-bearer and attendants. Queen Barbara, Miriam’s little sister, wore a cream-colour, decorated with painted wild roses; after her came Rosamund, her glowing crimson train, with big white roses on it, held up by Maidlin, whose dark rich colour, black eyes and hair, and burning cheeks, were such a contrast to Rosamund’s English fairness.

Rosamund wore a faded wreath. On the platform, when all were in their places and the visitors had been given their seats on the floor of the hall, with the girls crowding behind, Barbara removed the faded flowers and crowned the ex-Queen with forget-me-nots, a thick heavy circlet which Rosamund wore proudly as the token of her popularity. Followed by Maidlin, she came down the steps again, looking very regal, and walked with dignity the full length of the hall, to return in a moment followed by the Queen-Elect.

A great shout went up as Jen appeared, bareheaded, her crown of white starry flowers carried before her on a brown velvet cushion. Her train, carried by the tiniest baby in the school, was of bright beech brown, decorated, as she had explained, with “yellow things that dance” - daffodils and cowslips, buttercups, and a chain of laburnum winding among the rest. “None of your still roses and violets for me!” she had said. “I’ll have flowers that dance in the wind; and leaves - the most dancey things I know!” And among her yellow flowers were dotted dull brown oak leaves and golden triangles from the silver birch. Her great bunch of flowers was chiefly white, to comply with school tradition, but Mary had woven in a few stems of brown and golden wallflowers from the Abbey walls, and Jen was satisfied, as she could not have been without them. Her silver medal, with its date and inscription: “Queen Jen was crowned by the Hamlet Club as its Eleventh Queen,” hung round her neck; she would treasure it all her life; but she had flatly refused to be “Queen Janet.”

“Nobody knows me as anything but Jen. If you turn me into Janet I won’t go,” she had told Joy and Cicely.

Joan and Joy, Cicely and Miriam, and Nesta, Jen’s first dancing partner in the Hamlet Club, all rose to welcome her as she followed Rosamund up the platform steps; for in a very special way she belonged to them and was now entering into a comradeship from which chance had hitherto barred her.

“Come along, Jenny-Wren!” said Cicely, the President, and led her to the empty central throne, while the girls cheered again. “You’re only four years late! You ought to have been Queen when you were sixteen. Better late than never!”

Jen raised her long white robe, and made a sweeping curtsey, as she had so often longed to do when dancing “Hunsdon House.” “Thanks ever so much, Madam President! I’ll try not to disgrace this illustrious company!”

Then she turned, a tall queenly figure, to bow to the girls below.

“Kneel down, Maypole!” Rosamund commanded. “I can’t reach anywhere near your top end. I’ll put it perfectly straight; don’t worry!”

Jen knelt before her, and the white crown was laid on her waving yellow mop. Rosamund bent and kissed her: “I’m supposed to, so I’d better do it. You’ll have to put up with it,” she said, under cover of the cheering. Your crown looks lovely, Jenny-Wren.” She gave her her hand and helped her up.

Jen faced the crowd again, and bowed - to the girls, to Miss Macey, to the guests - with a straight amused glance down at Mary and Kenneth - to the Queens grouped around her. Then, with a little gesture which brought silence at once, she stepped forward, and thanked the girls for their welcome and the Club for the honour it had conferred on her, promised to try to be a good Queen, and expressed her hope that family arrangements would allow her to stay at school for a time at least, so that she might have a chance to do her duty in her new position.

She ended by apologising for her present absence from school. “Circumstances over which I have no control, and which I regret deeply, have made it inevitable.” And everybody looked at Joy, who “glared at Jen,” as Rosamund said afterwards.

Then the Club fell to dancing again; the maypole was brought in and set up, and the girls danced round it, with ribbons and without ribbons, in long lines, and in circles, and in squares. A triumphant “Sellenger’s Round,” ring within ring around the pole, brought the ceremony to a close, and the party broke up. Everybody talked in groups, and the Queens and visitors and the school staff gathered round Jen, to congratulate her and to admire her brown and yellow train.

“You’ve bagged my colours, though,” said Cicely, the golden Queen.

“I never!” the new Queen retorted with spirit. “You have big brown leaves on a gold train. I have tiny yellow dancing things on a train the colour of an autumn beech wood. Mine’s all my own, and my own idea; and it’s topping, and none of you thought it would be.”

“It’s very pretty, Your Majesty,” said the Head Mistress.

“But I think you all ought to have been allowed one dance for yourselves,” said Kenneth Marchwood, as he looked down into the Queen’s flushed and radiant face. “It’s surely hard lines to have to look on all the time. Even I felt I wanted to join in. The dancing was the jolliest sight I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what Andrew said, the day he saw it first,” Jen remarked. “Just you wait ten minutes! I had an idea the other day, and asked Miss Macey, and she gave leave, and everybody liked my plan. You wait!”

The Queens left the Hall in a stately procession, and the schoolgirls who had been crowded into the gallery to watch began to disperse. The dancers still lingered on the floor of the hall, however, and the seniors came in with trays of lemonade and biscuits. Within ten minutes every one had disappeared except the dancing members of the Hamlet Club, and a few favoured visitors, who were put well out of the way on the platform. Kenneth and Andrew Marchwood and Mrs. Shirley were among these; Mary, in a corner, was hastily changing into dancing shoes.

Back to the hall came a laughing crowd of girls in short coloured frocks, who, ten minutes ago, had been regal Queens in white. Their brilliant trains were laid aside; Jen wore her vivid blue, Cicely dark red, Joan grey, and Joy green, Miriam lavender; Rosamund was in golden-brown, Maidlin in daffodil-yellow. With shouts of welcome, the rest ran to claim them as partners; Jen seized Mary by the hand; Joy caught Carry Carter, her maid, and led her into a ring; Cicely nodded to Dorothy Darley, who wore deep purple; Miriam paired off with her little sister, and Joan with Muriel, the Queen who had come after her and who had been her first Maid of Honour, until her promotion to be Queen gave the place to Jen. In two minutes the hall was filled with laughing rings of eight, and the fiddling girl struck up “Newcastle.”

With only those very few and very intimate friends looking on, the girls danced for an hour almost without a pause. In “The Old Mole” their high spirits and forgetfulness of everything but the music nearly took them off their feet; then came “Oranges and Lemons”, more courtly and polite; “Mage on a Cree”, to work off their energy; “The Fine Companion” and “Grimstock”, for contrast; and “Hunsdon House”, - “for manners”, as Rosamund told Kenneth Marchwood; “Childgrove” and “Jack’s Maggot” and “The Queen’s Jig”, in long lines, came between the set dances; and then “We Won’t Go Home Till Morning”, brought Jen’s party to a close.

“Not my party, really,” said the new Queen, as they rolled, exhausted, into the big car. “Joy’s last party - her last as Joy Shirley, anyway! She’ll be Lady Marchwood next time she dances with the Club.”

“Oh, go to sleep, Jenny-Wren!” Joy was touchy on the subject of her future title, for she had had to endure a good deal of teasing. “You’ve had too much excitement for a schoolgirl. It’s gone to your poor little head. Lie still and rest, and remember we’re going back to town early tomorrow, to see that wretched dressmaker. Why she can’t make one or two little frocks without so much fuss and fitting, I don’t know.”

“Well, anyway, it was a very nice Coronation,” said the Queen haughtily.

“And a very nice little Queen,” Joan said laughing.

From Chapter 15: 'The last words of Brownie Robins'

The Wallflower Tea, to which Jen and Rosamund had invited the girls of the Hamlet Club on Friday evening, was the first festivity of the kind since Joy’s marriage. The Club’s country dancing, with its happy, healthy comradeship, lay at the very heart of its life, holding present and old girls together in a common interest and enjoyment. It was the duty of the reigning Queen to see that dance-meetings were held, at school or out of doors, at her home or in Darley’s Barn, where the first dances had been learned, when Cicely Hobart, the first and only President, had been a schoolgirl of fifteen.

So, on the invitation of new Queen and old Queen, the Club came to the Abbey after school, changed into dancing frocks of all colours, and went out to join the many “old girls” who had come to enjoy the dancing.

Jen had taken a half-holiday, and, with Mary’s help, had arranged a long trestle table on the flagged path of the Abbot’s garden, within the Abbey but outside the holy precincts, under the shadow of the high arched refectory windows. The girls sat all up and down the paved paths of the little garden among the old-fashioned flowers, on rugs and mats and cushions; and Ros and Maidie and Sheila, Mary and Jen, waited on them, bringing cups and cakes and sandwiches from the laden table.

Edna Gilks, Molly’s elder sister, sniffed the scented air. “There are pinks, and pansies, and stocks, and mignonette, and roses,” she observed, “but I can smell nothing but wallflowers. Why are they stronger than all the rest put together, Brownie? I don’t believe it’s only those in the bowls; have you scented the air somehow?”

The great brown bowls and the vases on the table were all filled with brown and golden wallflowers; but, beautiful as these were, they hardly seemed enough to overpower the lilies and roses and honeysuckle on every side.

Jen pointed to the plants growing here and there up and down the ruined wall above them. “See those? The whole Abbey is like that, a mass of wallflower. It’s in every crack and on top of every wall. I - er - arranged it so, on purpose for my Wallflower Tea; no artificial scents needed! You can smell the Abbey miles away. All done for your special benefit, my dears.”

“Oh, Brownie, you story! We can see it after tea, can’t we?” Babs Honor pleaded.

“You may look at it, and you may each have a bit to take away. But don’t strip us quite bare! We aren’t going to dance in there, though. Tourists might come; and anyway, there’s the lawn. It’s more suitable.”

After tea and a peep at the festive Abbey, with its June-draped walls of brown and gold, the girls retired to the lawn under the windows of the Hall. Margia Lane brought out her fiddle, and Jen led Sheila to the top of a long line of couples for “Butterfly”.

Mary shook her head in answer to an invitation from Maidlin: “Later on, dear. Not this one;” and, leaving Maidie with Rosamund, she slipped away to see if her own particular guests had arrived.

She met them at the Abbey gate; Nell Bell knew this way into the Hall, and had had instructions to look out for Amy Prittle and take care of her. They were both shy, but Amy, a little slight dark girl, was the shyer of the two; and Nell, whose maternal instinct was being stirred to life by daily work for babies, was encouraging her and taking care of her.

Mary led them to a quiet corner where, sitting half hidden by a honeysuckle bush, they could watch the dancing; and Amy caught her breath at the pretty sight of the lawn, bordered by flowering trees and covered with dancing girls in frocks of vivid colours.

“Nell, you know a few of them,” said Mary. “The tall one in deep blue is the Queen, Jen Robins, Amy. The fair girl in bright brown, with yellow plaits, lives with us here; she’s last year’s Queen, Rosamund. The dark foreign child with her, in the yellow frock, is our Maidlin. The dance is called “The Butterfly”, and it’s very easy, but very jolly. You’ll learn it as soon as you start. Watch carefully, for I want you both to come as soon as I start a new class. I’m sure you’ll like it. Here’s a list of the dances. I must run, for I’ve promised “Gathering Peascods” to Sheila, the little girl in pink who danced with the Queen in that first one.”

Enthralled, the two outsiders watched, and talked in the intervals of Mary, and found themselves drawn together by a common bond of gratitude.

“She understands you so well,” said Nell Bell. “She came and talked to me; and somehow I told her things I’d never meant to tell anybody.”

“I didn’t like her at first,” Amy confessed. “I was in her office, but only a junior. Miss Devine seemed so far away, and so quiet, and she kept so much to herself and never seemed to care about any of us. Then one day she was different; we all said it. We got to know her, and she took an interest in us. I’d been silly, going about with two girls and some boys that I didn’t really like; they went to places I didn’t care for, and I went along because I hadn’t any other friends. But after I got to know Miss Devine, and she let me go to see her sometimes at night, I cut off from the other lot. I couldn’t stand them after her. I couldn’t be friends with that kind if she was willing to put up with me. I’ve been jolly glad ever since; and I’d do anything for her. She doesn’t know, of course; not about them. But I came away from town so that I’d be near her. She’d saved me from trouble; I’d have got into a mess if I’d fooled about with them much longer. They were a fast lot, and not straight. I knew they were rotters; and I just hung on to Miss Devine for all I was worth. She got hold of me just in time.”

“I should tell her,” said Nell Bell. “She got hold of me too. She’s given me a job to do for her; and I’m loving it.”

“I wish she’d ask me to do something for her!” Amy said wistfully. “I’d do it, if it were ever so difficult.”

“Here’s a gentleman!” said Nell Bell. “Isn’t he tall and handsome? But I hope he won’t want to marry Miss Mary and take her away. Though I would, if I were a man.”

“It’s the blue Queen-girl he’s talking to,” Amy said hopefully, as Kenneth Marchwood came across the grass from his big car, standing in the drive, and Jen, hot after a romping set of “Goddesses,” went to greet him and scold him for being late.

“You’ve missed three dances! I wanted you to see the whole party,” she remonstrated.

“I’m sorry to say there’s another intruder coming up the drive. I passed him at the gate,” Kenneth said grimly. “I didn’t offer - yes, here he comes!”

“Dick! Oh - bother the boy!” Jen cried indignantly, as Dicky Jessop’s motor-cycle gasped its way into sight. “I didn’t invite him! You’ll have to entertain him; I’m not going to miss all the dancing!”

“Another man!” said Nelly Bell.

“No, just a boy,” Amy corrected. “But he’s about as old as the Queen; she isn’t grown-up, though she’s so tall.”

“Oh, yes she is. She’s Miss Robins, Miss Joy’s friend. Her frock’s short for dancing,” said Nell. “She’s leaving them together. Miss Rosamund wants her to come and dance.”

With Maidlin and Mary, the two Queens made a set for “Hey Boys”, and discussed Dick’s intrusion while they danced.

“Wish I’d never asked Shee here!” Jen called to Rosamund, as she “gipsied” with Maidie.

“You and your young men, Brownie!” Ros teased, as they ran round one another.

“You can have Dick. I don’t want him,” Jen told her during “siding”.

“Thanks awfully! ‘Fraid he doesn’t want me!” Rosamund “balanced”, crossed, and ran round in the ring.

“He’s an utter nuisance! Ken thinks so, too. I shall tell him not to come any more.”

“Don’t see how you can, if you have Shee here,” said Rosamund, as they armed together. “And you’ll have to stop Ken coming, too. That would be only decent.”

“I shan’t do anything of the kind!” Jen cried indignantly, as she caught Maidie’s hands and pushed her backwards.

“Then get engaged to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Then it would be silly for Dick to come any more. He wouldn’t want to, anyway, if he once knew you were engaged to Ken,” Rosamund said wickedly, as she ran round after her tall “man”.

“What rot you talk!” Jen “pushed and pulled” Maidie into place, “cast” to her left, and bowed to her partner.

“‘Tisn’t rot. It’s common sense,” Rosamund told her, as the dance began again. “You can’t go on playing with two men for ever. And it isn’t fair to them. It isn’t sporting. You ought to let them know what you mean to do.”

“I don’t know myself!” Jen wailed.

“Then make up what you call your mind, and stop being washy,” Rosamund retorted. “You can’t play cricket for always.”

“Rosamund, you’re horrid! I won’t be your “man” any more,” Jen said indignantly.

“You’d better be a “woman”. You’ve got two men already,” Rosamund said hardheartedly. “You’ll have to settle it sometime, Brownie. You might as well get it over. Send them both away, and be done with them, and let’s be jolly again. I tell you, it isn’t sporting to keep two of them hanging round.”

“I don’t want them to hang round,” Jen said haughtily, and fled from Rosamund and Mary, to lose herself among girls who did not understand.

She danced every dance, laughing, excited, till Rosamund said darkly: “Brownie’s fey. She’ll be crying by night!” and Mary took pity on the two lonely men guests and went to entertain them.

“Mary-Dorothy, you’re a sport, and jolly decent. Oh, I am so tired!” Jen sighed, when after a big and impressive “Sellenger’s Round”, the Club had gone home to bed, and Kenneth and Dick had regretfully followed them. “I couldn’t ask any one to stay to dinner, because I know I shall fall asleep before we get to pudding. I hope your girls enjoyed themselves, Mary?” and she rolled into a chair and lay waiting to be fed.

“They loved it. They’re keen to start learning themselves. I’m so glad they’ve made friends; it will be much nicer for them both,” Mary said warmly.

“It’s only nine o’clock, but I’m going right to bed,” Jen announced, as soon as dinner was over. “I’m stiff and weary in every limb, and my eyes keep shutting in spite of me. So, goodnight all! See you later!”

“Well, she didn’t cry. But I consider she’s very much over-excited,” Rosamund said virtuously.

“Why did you want her to cry?” Sheila asked curiously. “Brownie never does, Rosamund!”

“Little girls shouldn’t ask questions. Go to bed, infant,” Rosamund said regally.

From Chapter 16: 'The Pixie's Van

At a village with a pond, and ducks, and a big clock and a little figure of a man, who came out every hour to strike the bell with a hammer, the ‘bus left her and rattled away on through the lanes.

Jen was looking round interestedly, seeking some one to answer her next question, when the Pixie herself came hurrying from a little shop, a big marketing basket on her arm.

“Here you are! We worked it out that this was the earliest ‘bus you could catch. Uncle got down the time-tables, and we saw you’d wired from Wycombe at eight o’clock. Are you nearly dead? Have you had a dreadful journey? It is nice of you to come and look me up, Jenny-Wren!”

“Oh, Pixie, I’ve been half over England, in slow trains, this morning! I’ve been in five counties! Or four; I’m not sure if we really went into the fifth or not, but if we didn’t we came along the edge of it. It is ripping to see you!” Jen said fervently. “Let me carry the basket; yes, to balance my case! That’s better. I left the Hall at six o’clock, before any one was awake; I shoved notes under their bedroom doors. I’ve run away.”

“What fun! Didn’t they know?”

“Not one of ‘em knew. I told Mary, in her note, that I was coming to you. I said to Ros that I’d run away to sea, to be a cabin-boy.”

“You couldn’t have chosen a better day; I’ve a party coming tomorrow, but I’m all alone today. You’ll stay, of course? You couldn’t go back all that way, Jenny-Wren!”

“I don’t think I could, unless I had to!” Jen confessed. “I brought a nightie, just in hopes. But I’ve plenty of money; I could go to a hotel, if you haven’t room, Pixie. Of course I’m dying to sleep in a caravan!”

“You may have to tuck yourself up a bit, as there’s such a lot of you,” the Pixie told her gravely. “But you can have a little bed, if you can get into it.”

“I’ll get into it, if I have to do it in sections,” Jen said happily. “That’s gorgeous! But I haven’t told you why I’ve come.”

“Oh, you haven’t come just to see me and the Van, then?”

“I’ve come because I’m in a hole. You see, Pixie, there are two silly men.”

“Two, Jenny-Wren?” the Pixie’s eyes sparkled. “Isn’t that one too many?”

“It’s two too many!” Jen burst out. “I don’t want either of them. But they will hang round; it’s been going on since before Joy went. I’ve tried to show them I don’t want to be bothered; I make them play cricket, and pretend I’m only a kid and care about nothing but my bowling average, which was disgraceful but is improving, you’ll be glad to hear. But of course I know what they’re after; and Mary-Dorothy’s rubbed it in. And last night we had a country-dance party, and both the bothering men turned up; and Rosamund told me it wasn’t sporting to let them keep on, and I ought to send them both away or get engaged to one of them. I don’t want to be engaged, and I’ve been awake all night thinking about it. So I thought I’d come and ask you what I must do.”

“And who are the men, Jenny-Wren?”

“One’s a silly boy: Dicky Jessop. You’ve heard about Dick and Della, years ago. He’s as silly as he used to be, the absolute limit. I wouldn’t marry him to save my life. The other’s Ken Marchwood.”

“I should send Dicky Jessop away, and marry Ken Marchwood,” said the Pixie promptly.

“No, you wouldn’t; not if you didn’t love him,” Jen retorted, with equal promptitude.

“Quite sure, Jenny-Wren?”

“Certain,” Jen said firmly. “I like him quite a lot; and he’s a jolly good bowler, and very nice and handy to have next door, if you want a man for anything. He was a dear over Joy’s wedding, and no end of a help. But I don’t want him any nearer than next door. And if he went back to Kenya, I should miss him for a week, but that would be all.”

“Would you miss Dicky Jessop for a week, if he went to Africa?”

“Gracious, no! I’d be glad!”

“Then tell him not to come to see you any more. It isn’t fair to let him come, if you’re sure you’ll never want him. If you funk it, you won’t be sporting, Jenny-Wren.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Jen admitted. “But what about Ken, Pixie? He lives next door. I can’t send him away. Besides, he’s good fun.”

“Has he shown any signs of wanting to get beyond the cricket stage?” the Pixie asked seriously.

“Not a sign. He’s rather an angel. He never teases.”

“Then I should go on playing cricket with him. I dare say he’s enjoying it as much as you are. But keep to cricket, and on the cricket level, absolutely, Jenny-Wren. Don’t ever let him say you encouraged him to go beyond that, unless you mean something by it.”

“I don’t; not at present. But I want to wait; I don’t want to be rushed,” Jen confessed.

“You shan’t be rushed. It isn’t fair,” the Pixie said soothingly. “But I’m afraid you’re going to grow up, Jenny-Wren. But isn’t it fun? Growing up is fun, you know.”

“Is it?” Jen sounded doubtful. “I’m not keen on it, Pixie. I want to go on playing cricket.”

“For ever? Oh, but you can’t. You’ve got bigger things to do; much jollier things.”

“Of course I see the advantages of marrying Ken Marchwood,” Jen admitted. “He’s jolly, and good fun. And I’d be Joy’s sister. But I can’t marry him just for that, any more than Joy could marry Andrew to get the Manor. And there are things against it, too. He’d want me to go and live in Africa, and I couldn’t think of it. I could never go so far from Daddy and Mother, not for any man on earth. And it would be so far out of everything, all the fun of life! Joy didn’t seem to mind missing lots of things; she said it was different if Andrew would be there. I don’t feel like that about Ken. He wouldn’t make up for all the other things. And he’d be sure to want me to go to Africa.”

“You don’t love him yet, Jenny-Wren. Don’t worry about it, though! There’s no need for that unless he teases you in earnest. Go on as you are so long as he’s satisfied. If he seems to want more, tell him straight out you can’t give it him at present; and let him stay away if he isn’t content to play cricket. He’s got to wait for you, you know. Now don’t think about him any more! You’ve come here for a holiday from worries. We’re going to take a taxi along to the bungalow; yes, it’s twenty minutes’ walk, and we’ve too much to carry. I’ve a sack of potatoes waiting for me at the place where we get the car; we can’t possibly carry them home.”

“This is very swish!” Jen, and the potatoes, and the suit-case, and the big basket, were all packed into a little car which a girl brought out for them and drove herself. “Is it really a taxi? Looks like your private car, Pixie!”

“I call this road the Flamborough hey,” said the Pixie as they sped past the duck-pond and across the common and down a winding lane with high banks. “When my friends ask me how they can find the Van, I tell them to cast to the right and then three changes of the Flamborough hey; you see?” as they swerved round sudden bends. “Left! Right! Left! These are the bungalows; the last two belong to my people. And the Van’s in the next plot; this is my quarter-acre!” proudly.

“Oh, what topping little gardens!” Jen cried softly, at sight of the low brown-roofed white bungalows, surrounded by seas of flowers; pink and crimson roses hung from pillars everywhere, and great clumps of blue and yellow lupins made broad splashes of soft rich colour.

“You must see them properly after lunch. I’ve got to feed you first; you must be starving. This is my little place,” and the Pixie and the driver-girl hauled out the luggage, while Jen disentangled herself and looked eagerly, and then dazedly, about.

Her first sensation was of bewildered disappointment. In spite of warnings, she had expected to see a gaily-painted caravan, high on its wheels. The long narrow field stretching up the hill, with knee-high grass and buttercups and sorrel, had a kind of shed-arrangement at its higher end, on a little bank. like a bit of fencing on an allotment, and Jen wondered seriously, if this were indeed the Van, what happened when it rained. She felt it would be rude to ask the question, however, and the sky suggested that the weather was set fair; so, puzzled but hopeful, she looked for the entrance to the field.

A tiny rustic gate bore a wooden name-board, “Robin’s Rest.” The path within it led down a bank to a single plank which bridged a swift little stream; an oak tree by the brook stretched its arms over the lower field and gave the only shade.

“We’re glad of that tree. We have meals under it, and the robins live in it,” said the Pixie. “Now if you can manage your case -”

“Oh, are there really robins? I thought perhaps it was a compliment to me,” Jen said seriously. “I’m going to lug those potatoes up for you; and my case. I’m as strong as a horse. But as I’ve only two hands, you’ll have to take the basket. Now, don’t argue, Pixie! I’m going to take that sack. It’s as big as you; the sight of you underneath it would quite spoil my holiday. I tell you, I’m going to have it!”

“Of course, when any one speaks to me like that, I simply wilt,” and the Pixie surrendered gracefully. “Sure it won’t kill you, Jenny-Wren? I’d be sorry to have to bury you by the brook.”

Jen’s laugh bubbled like the brook. “Not this time! Where shall I put it? Oh, there’s the Van! I couldn’t make out where it was. Then that fence is just a screen; what a good idea!”

“It keeps the wind off, and makes an extra room. That’s the kitchen out there; I’ll show you round in a minute,” and the Pixie hauled the potato-sack into a corner, and began to empty her basket of parcels.

The caravan had no wheels, so seemed strangely low down, for a caravan. It was sitting on a broad concrete platform, its door open to the hillside, its back to the road down in the valley. The fence Jen had seen stood screening it from the road, so that it was invisible to anyone approaching until the corner of the screen was passed. This extra wall was of rough wooden fencing and stood several feet from the Van, the space between roofed in, so that there was room for a wooden cupboard, a meat-safe, tables and shelves; jars and pails stood below, for storage or for washing-up purposes.

“It makes a dinky kitchen!” Jen said warmly. “It’s a topping idea! You store things, and cook, and wash up out here, and just live in the Van?”

“I often sleep out here, too. I’ll show you later. Now you’re going to help me get lunch. I’ll put the potatoes on the “Beatrice”; I peeled them before I went out,” and she lit a small oil stove. “They’ll boil very quickly. There’s a tart my Aunty sent in from next door; she thought you’d like it.”

“How jolly of her! That was kind. You’ll let me go and say “thank you,” won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, after we’ve washed up. I must fetch some water; the tap’s halfway down the field,” and the Pixie picked up two big cans. “You go in and look round.”

“Not much! And watch you carrying water? Am I a worm?” and Jen threw off her coat and hat, and annexed one of the cans. “Show me where the water lives, and I’ll carry all you need while I’m here. This is truly rural! Don’t you have a well? Or a pump? I’d love to pump.”

“Oh, no; Company’s water laid on! This track leads you straight to the tap. Here you are!” and they stood together by the tap beside the fence, while the big cans filled slowly.

Jen stood erect and gazed at the opposite green hills, and the woods up and down the valley. The air was very clear, and the colours were vivid; the restful shades of green, the blue above, the masses of colour in the bungalow gardens, the rich soft red-browns of their roofs, the white walls of the nearer one.

She drew a long breath. “What glorious air! Pixie, what a treat this must be after town!”

“Everybody loves it. My friends come and camp down there in the field; or come for the day on Sundays, and I give them hot water and cook for them. I’m going to lend you a pinafore,” the Pixie was eyeing her visitor. “You mustn’t spoil your pretty frock. What a lovely colour it is, Jenny-Wren!”

“Your doing; you had it woven for me. Mary-Dorothy’s going to love hers, too. I’ve heaps to tell you about her; and about Rosamund. You must be a godsend to crowds of people, if you let them come here for Sundays, Pixie; city and office people must love it,” Jen said soberly, as they carried the cans back up the hill.

“Some of the Kibboo Kift are coming next weekend. You know about them, of course. I’ve been teaching a group of them country-dancing. So they’re coming here to camp. Put that on, and save your frock, Jenny-Wren,” and the Pixie tossed her a yellow apron.

“I’m going inside to look round; may I? Do you suppose I can get in all at once?” and Jen stooped to enter the doorway.

“You may have to crawl. Couldn’t you take a tuck somewhere? There’s room enough for me! You do seem to fill it up, don’t you, Jenny-Wren?” the Pixie chuckled.

Jen subsided on the low bed that faced the door and curled her long legs up under her. “I think perhaps I’d better not move about,” she said cautiously. “Can’t we have lunch outside? You find things, and then I’ll come out and help. I simply daren’t move while you’re in here too, or I shall smash up the whole show.”

“Oh, no, you won’t! It can stand a lot. When men come to see me, they always want to come inside, but when they get here they feel just as you do.” The Pixie had raised a hanging table below one of the side windows, and was placing on it brown and green patterned plates she took from a corner cupboard behind the door.

“That’s a good idea; two good ideas!” Jen said with interest. “But the whole Van is full of good ideas; I can see that. It’s simply fascinating! I say, what heaps of places you have for storing things!” as her eyes gradually discovered them; shelves and rails, and bars; and hooks, and nails, and pegs; brackets and little cupboards in unexpected places.

“If you want to unpack your case, put things in here. We haven’t room for drawers,” and the Pixie threw up the top of a broad seat which filled one side of the van, and showed that it was hollow, with plenty of storage space inside.

Jen promptly opened her case, took out slippers and a comb and a parcel, and thrust the case out of sight into the box-seat. “That’s for you. It’s been waiting for weeks, since Joy and I ran down to Farnham to get some extra bits for Mary-Dorothy’s new rooms. I didn’t want to send it by her or any one else, so I saved it up till I’d see you myself.”

“What is it? Something to cook in? Oh, Jenny-Wren, thank you! Thank you ever so much! We’ll cook our dinner in it to-night!” cried the Pixie joyfully, as she unwrapped a casserole dish in the brown and yellow ware. “Just what I was dying for!” she said ecstatically. “And I do love the brown!”

“If you’ll go outside, I’ll hand those things to you through the window. But we can’t both move at once,” Jen remarked, sitting tidily on her feet on the bed.

“There’s more room than you’d think. You’ll soon get used to it,” and her hostess went outside to set up a folding table and chairs.

Then, as Jen was cautiously uncoiling herself, the Pixie came bustling in again. “It’s too hot out there. The sun’s too much. We’ll have lunch in here, with the door and windows open, don’t you think so? We don’t want to be scorched.”

“In here? If you think it’s safe!” Jen said doubtfully. “I’m sorry I’m so huge. I never realised it before.”

“The table goes so. You’ll sit on the bed, and I on the seat, so that I can run out and fetch things. Set the table, Jenny-Wren! You’ll find everything on that slab by the window. The knives and silver are in the cupboard.”

Jen moved about carefully, stifling a laugh when she bruised her shins and elbows on the table. “I say, Pixie, the Van’s getting bigger!” she said solemnly, through the window.

“It will get bigger yet,” the Pixie responded, testing her potatoes. “There’s plenty of room in it really. But it does expand in a wonderful way; everybody says so. You’re getting used to it, Jenny-Wren.

“At first I felt the roof, and the wall, and all the things hanging up, were coming down on top of me. But now I can move about without smashing things. I feel quite bucked!”

“Do you mind me wasting your bread?” Jen was sharing her lunch with two robins and a chaffinch. “I have to feed these little people. Aren’t they tame? And the flowers! And the scent of that grass!”

“I’m going to have it mown. Do you get hay-fever?” the Pixie asked anxiously.

“Never in my life! The flowers in the fields, as I came along, were wonderful; banks of lovely things!”

“Yes, Surrey is beautiful. So is your county, Jenny-Wren, but Surrey’s wonderful.”

“What do you mean by my county?” Jen bristled at once. “We’re in Oxfordshire at the Abbey; and in Bucks when we dance in Wycombe; but I’m a Yorkshire woman through and through; and don’t you forget it, please!”

They took lunch lazily, enjoying the shade and the breeze through the open windows, and gazing out at the blazing sunshine. The Pixie asked many questions, concerning Mary, and Nelly Bell, and Joy; and listened with interest to Jen’s account of Rosamund.

“The child is developing. I expect she has been through some crisis, quite quietly, without any of you realising it; and it has given her something new. She’ll be all the better for it, and you’ll like her far more. What about Maidie?”

Jen knit her brows. “There isn’t much to say about Maidie. She’s taken Joy’s going more quietly than we expected. She doesn’t say much, but I fancy she thinks about Joy a good deal. Ros is being very good to her, seeing her through her school work; but she can’t get Maidie to play as much as she ought to. Doesn’t seem to care about it somehow. Even having the Sheila kid in the house hasn’t made as much difference as I hoped. Maidie’s changed in one way, though. She writes masses to Joy; and she never could write letters. Her epistles used to be the stodgiest things possible, and took her hours to put together. Now she sits and scribbles away to Joy by the yard.”

“That’s good for her. It will give her an outlet. Now you clear away on to the window-sill, and hand the things out to me, and I’ll put on the other kettle and we’ll have hot water for washing.”

“I don’t call this the simple life at all!” Jen said reprovingly, as she plunged her face in a refreshing basin of hot water. “Two and three-course meals; hot water at all hours! It’s luxury, Pixie!”

“I don’t believe in the simple life, if it means going without things you want,” the Pixie retorted. “I do like to be thoroughly comfortable.”

“You manage it,” Jen said laughing.

Then, as they hung up the towel and set off down the hill, carrying a tart-dish which belonged to next door, she gave a delighted cry.

“Pixie! Look at me! Now look at those lupins! Isn’t it clever of me to dress to match your garden?”

The Pixie looked from her purple-blue dress and yellow apron to the great banks of yellow and blue. “You do seem like a bit of the landscape,” she agreed, chuckling.

“Nothing will induce me to part with my pinafore now! I shall wear it as long as I stay here,” Jen assured her fervently.

Chapter 17 - Midsummer Morn

Jen, having been introduced to Uncle and Aunt next door, was personally conducted over their domain; admired every inch of the rock-garden up on the hill, saw the vegetables, strawberries, and lettuces, the seedlings in the little greenhouse, the motor-house, with its wide bridge across the stream, the pillar roses, the bush roses, and the standards, the herbaceous border, the fish-pond, and the would-be-old flags under the pergola, with their First-of-April inscriptions. She was shown over the bungalow, and sat on the seat at the top of the garden with the Pixie’s aunt, looking over the valley and down upon the bungalow and caravan and gardens.

“It’s simply wonderful how perfect you’ve made it in so short a time,” she said. “And you’ve done every bit of the garden yourselves; that must be a heavenly feeling.”

“When I build my bungalow, the Van’s going to be the kitchen,” said the Pixie. “The house will be along the bank right up to the Van, which will be where it is now, and I shall make it the kitchen.”

“What a good idea! But are you really going to build one? When shall you start?”

“When I can afford it. Now come and get the tea. You’ve a lot of carrying up and down to do, Jenny-Wren!”

“But it’s worth it!” Jen said happily, as, after many journeys up and down the slope, the tea-table was ready, close to the bubbling stream and under the shadow of the oak-tree. She sank into one chair and the Pixie into another, and a robin came and sat on a bough just above them and poured out a rippling song.

“You darling! Here, then! Here’s your tea! Do they always come to tea, Pixie?”

“Always; they love to have us sit here. We’ll give them tea here tomorrow. You’ll stay and help me with my party, won’t you?”

“It’s tempting!” Jen sighed. “Of course I ought to go home! There’s school on Monday. But if I didn’t go home, I couldn’t go to school, could I?” she added happily.

“Oh, I think you deserve a holiday, after all that cricket!”

Jen laughed. “What do we do after tea? I’ll wash up.”

“I’ve a frock to finish, and then we’ll take it to the post. It must go off tonight.”

“Frocks! Do you mean to say you work here? But where do you keep frocks in the Van?”

“You’ll see,” and the Pixie swept the dishes together, threw the crumbs to the robins, and set off with the tray, while Jen packed up the chairs and table, and followed meekly.

“You sit on the bed; or outside, if you like,” and the Little One delved into the recesses of the box-seat, and brought out a white bundle, which proved to be a nearly-finished hand-woven frock, wrapped carefully in a sheet.

Jen sat on the doorstep and watched fascinated, as the final stitches were put in, loops and catches added, collar tacked in; the window-flap served as a table, and an iron was heated on the oil stove for pressing; paper and string appeared, also from the interior of the “divan”, the parcel was made up, and Jen found herself setting out for the post office before she had really grasped the fact that the dress was finished.

“You make me breathless!” she remonstrated. “Do you live in an endless whirl? And yet it isn’t a whirl; you keep quite calm over it. But you do get through things at a terrific rate!”

“Oh, that’s practice. I know what I have to do. When we get back, we’ll make your bed, and I’ll take my things outside. I’m going to sleep in the kitchen.”

“Is that because I’m here?” Jen demanded, “and if so, please tell me and turn me out! I thought we slept in layers, like in bunks in a ship. There’s a bed above the one I’ve been sitting on. I’ll sleep up aloft; or you may, if you’re afraid I’d come through on top of you. I’m sure you’d be crushed to death if I did; and I’d be sorry to kill you.”

“That top rail lifts off, and makes a very good bed outside. I often sleep out; I like it. You won’t sleep, you know; nobody ever does the first night.”

“Perhaps I’ll create a record, then, for I didn’t sleep last night. I never lay awake for two nights in my life! But I don’t mind if I don’t sleep,” Jen said happily. “It’s all so queer and new. I shall lie and think about it, and enjoy the quietness and the thought that I’m sleeping in a caravan in a field. It’s Midsummer Eve, you know. I feel the world’s bewitched. Everything’s standing still, and we’re just enjoying ourselves, and I’m not worried any more.”

“We go to bed early,” the Pixie explained. “It gets dark, you know.”

“No, does it? Now, who’d have thought it? What does it do that for? Can’t you break it of the bad habit?”

The Pixie ignored her. “And lamps are such a nuisance. I’d rather go to bed. But we’ll get up early, to make up for it.”

“Does it get chilly and dewy, as well as dark? Or have you any marvellous way of getting over that?”

“I haven’t done anything about the dew yet. But with the stove and lamp going and the door shut, the Van gets warm enough, even in winter. We’ll fill our bottles and then we shall be cosy.”

“Bottles! Pixie, do you mean to say -? Well, this is the simple life, and no mistake!” Jen gave a shout of laughter.

“Oh, you need a bottle if you sleep in a Van. And I use one if I’m sleeping out. You’ll be glad of it by two in the morning,” and the Pixie filled her kettles, and put them on the stoves.

Refusing any lamp, Jen undressed in the half-dark and curled herself up in bed, and was not sorry to hug the bottle. She lay listening to the rustle of the trees, and an occasional night-bird’s cry; and thought of Joy, “on safari” with her husband in the African wilds, and wondered if her night-sounds were the cries of distant leopards and perhaps even lions.

“Pixie! I slept like a top!” her voice rang out exultantly next morning. “I have created a record! I never stirred once!”

“Good for you!” the Pixie appeared with a can of hot water. “It’s a perfect Midsummer Day, Jenny-Wren. It’s going to be hot. Oh, isn’t your hair pretty when it’s untidy!”

Jen made a dash for the looking-glass. “I do look a sight! Never mind; I’ll be very beautiful presently. Oh, what a morning!”

“That’s what the robins think. I’m going to get breakfast. We’ll have it outside, while it’s cool.”

“It’s quite the proper thing to have breakfast with a pixie on Midsummer Morn,” Jen called through the back of the van, as she heard the bacon sizzling in the pan. “But you ought to feed me on dew and honey and rose leaves.”

“Shall I? Would you like rose leaves, really? I’ve a beautiful fresh egg for you,” her little friend tempted.

“I’ll have the egg and bacon. I’ve an idea rose leaves and dew wouldn’t be sustaining. And I need a lot of feeding, because there’s so much of me. Now, what can I do to help?”

“Set the table in the sunshine; there, on the platform. The ground’s still damp. You know where everything is, don’t you?”

“Everything! I can find all your treasures now. I’ve explored all the hidie-holes.”

“I don’t think you have!” said the Pixie. “And is the Van still getting bigger, Jenny-Wren?”

“Big? It’s a mansion! There’s room for six - if they know how to move about carefully!”

“It’s rather a squash for six!” said the Pixie, bringing the teapot. “But it can hold quite a crowd in a sudden storm, if they pack in and sit down. Of course, they don’t have to move.”

They sat out in the early sunshine, bareheaded and enjoying the freshness of the morning, the Pixie in a blue cotton frock, Jen insisting on wearing the yellow pinafore over her purple-blue dress.

“I like to feel like a lupin. I shall go to church in it,” she said.

“We’re rather far from church. And I have to cook for those men who are coming from town. They’ll walk over the hills, so they’ll arrive starving and need a lot of feeding. You can go in and talk to Aunty while I’m busy.”

“Oh, can’t I help? I can do potatoes, Pixie! I’m a Domestic Science student!” Jen said with dignity. “Let me get the dinner for the crowd!”

“Not if I know it! I don’t want your Domestic Science stunts getting in my way. I know where everything is and just what I want to do, and I’ll do it more quickly in my own way, thank you.”

“Oh, well! If you’re going to whisk round as you did with that frock last night, I shall retire,” Jen said laughing. “Why don’t you wave a wand, and be done with it? I believe you do, and everything leaps into its place,” and she withdrew into the safety of the Van and stood leaning on the lower half of the door and gazing up and down the valley.