Far to Seek | Page 8

legs were in a fearful hurry of their own
accord? Besides, Tara was waiting. Somehow Tara seemed the point of
safety. He didn't believe she was ever afraid----
All in a moment the eerie darkness quivered and broke into startling
light. Twigs and leaves and bluebell spears and tiny patterns of moss
seemed to leap at him and vanish as he ran: and two minutes after, high
above the agitated tree-tops, the thunder spoke. No mere growl now;
but crash on crash that seemed to be tearing the sky in two and set the
little hammers inside him beating faster than ever.
He had often watched storms from a window: but to be out in the very
middle of one all alone was an adventure of the first magnitude. The
grandeur and terror of it clutched at his heart and thrilled along his
nerves as the thunder went rumbling and grumbling off to the other end
of the world, leaving the wood so quiet and still that the little hammers
inside seemed almost as loud as the plop-plop of the first big raindrops
on the leaves. But, in spite of secret tremors, he wanted tremendously
to hear the thunder speak again. The childish feeling of pursuit was
gone. His legs that had been in such a fearful hurry, came to a sudden
standstill; and he discovered, to his immense surprise, that he was back
again----
There lay the rug and the cushions under the downward sweeping
branches with their cascades of bright new leaves. No sign of Tara--and
the heavy drops came faster, though they hardly amounted to a shower.
Flinging down bow and arrows, he ran under the tree and peered up
into a maze of silver grey and young green. Still no sign.
"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?"
"'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph. "I'm at
the tipmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous. Come up--quick!"
Craning his neck he could just see one leg and the edge of her frock.

Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to disobey his
mother--not because it was naughty, but it was her.
"I can't--now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining. You must come
down."
"I will--if you come up."
"I tell you, I can't!"
"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away. I can see miles
and miles--to Farthest End."
Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argument with one
tan shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock, and he wanted badly
to tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he go on alone, or should he
climb up and fetch her----?
The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a rustle and a
shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down faster than she cared
about.
Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!"
Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that had
caught in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously--his High
Tower Princess--her hair floating like seaweed, her hands clutching at
the nearest branches that were too pliable for support. If her skirt
should tear, or the bough should break----
"Keep stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and like a squirrel he sped
up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to him as the ground
he walked on.
But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust himself on the
jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight. It looked rather
a dead one, and its sharp end was sticking through a hole in Tara's
frock. He set foot on it cautiously and proffered a hand.

"Now--catch hold!" he said.
Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him with
both hands. The half-dead bough, resenting these gymnastics, cracked
ominously. There was a gasp, a scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly,
dragging her nearer for a firmer foothold.
And suddenly down below Prince began to bark--a deep, booming note
of welcome.
"Hullo, Roy!" It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering Tara up
there? Come out of it!"
Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down--or to
disobey: and they proceeded to come out of it, with rather more haste
than dignity.
Roy, swinging from a high branch for his final jump--a bit of pure
bravado because he felt nervous inside--discovered, with mingled terror
and joy, that his vagrant foot had narrowly shaved Aunt Jane's neat
hard summer hat: Aunt Jane--of all people--at such a moment, when
you couldn't properly explain. He half wished he had kicked the fierce
little feather and broken its back----
He was on the ground now, shaking hands with her, his sensitive
clean-cut face a mask of mere