A College Girl, Mrs George de Horne Vaizey [good non fiction books to read txt] 📗

At the very first glimpse the usual temptation for idle hands stared her in the face, for there on the jetty lay, not only the long punt-pole, but also the dainty little paddle which she had handled under Ralph’s instructions the week before. It had been quite easy, ridiculously easy; the girls declared that she took to it as to the manner born; she had paddled the whole boatload for quite a considerable distance. Naturally it would be much easier and lighter to paddle for oneself alone. The chain holding the punt to the jetty could easily be slipped from its ring; there was not, could not be, any danger in paddling peacefully along a quiet little backwater. Of course, prudent people would say—Aunt Maria would say— But then if you waited until all the prudent people on earth approved of all that you did, you might sit with your hands crossed in your lap for the rest of your life!

Darsie tossed her head with the defiant little jerk which meant that she was going to do it, and she didn’t care, and the consequences could look after themselves. In another moment the punt was free from the chain, and was being paddled slowly down the stream. Really, she told herself, the solid old craft was as safe as a house; so big, so heavily built was it that it seemed curious, not that its progress should be slow but that it should move at all in response to the efforts of one inexperienced girl! Glancing over, Darsie could see the weeds rising from the bed of the stream, sometimes so high that they caught in the paddle as it worked and greatly impeded its force; still she was steadily moving along, and, fired with ambition, her eyes fell on a willow-tree standing out from the bank some hundred yards ahead, and she determined to persevere until the point should be reached. To declare she had paddled “some way”—“quite a long way”—would probably be discounted to mean but a few yards by the Percival sisters, but “to the willow and back” was a definite feat which could not be gainsaid. So Darsie worked and strained till her arms ached and her cheeks flamed, till the punt, moving heavily through the weeds, ran at last beneath the willow branches and found a natural anchorage.

Well, it was good to lie back against the cushions and rest one’s weary arms and back! Darsie peeped at her watch, saw with relief that she had still a good quarter of an hour to spare, and abandoned herself to a lazy enjoyment of the situation.

And then the inevitable happened, for the soothing influence of the shaded light lulled the tired senses into deeper and deeper unconsciousness, until at last the fringed eyelids ceased to flicker, and remained peacefully closed, and, like a happy, tired child, Darsie rested her cheek on her hand and slept.

Subsequent comparisons proved that her doze might have lasted for half an hour or more, before a sudden movement of the punt roused her with a start. She sat up, blinked sleepily around, and discovered to her surprise that the punt had moved from its anchorage and drifted into the centre of the stream. It had appeared so safely moored against the tree that she was puzzled to understand how this had come about, but as the movement had roused her from sleep she was glad that it had occurred, and, seating herself steadily, lifted her paddle to work her way back to the jetty.

As she settled herself, however, Darsie’s attention was arrested by the manner in which the banks seemed to be slipping past; she turned her head over her shoulder, and discovered that in the minute which had elapsed since she had awakened from sleep the willow-tree had been left several yards behind. Some mysterious change seemed to have passed over the surface of the still, almost stagnant, waters; they were flowing as with a tide, the rippling movement stirring the weedy banks. Darsie used her paddle automatically, but its puny force seemed superfluous, for the punt was moving of itself, quickly and still more quickly, swinging broadside to the stream in defiance of her efforts to keep it straight. Darsie ceased to struggle and leaned forward on the paddle to consider the situation. Then, for the first time, she became aware that the former stillness of the stream was replaced by a harsh, continuous noise, which seemed momentarily to increase in volume. What could it be? She stared around with puzzled eyes, but there was no hint of alarm in her bewilderment. A child of the city, she was inured to sudden and inexplicable noises; it was only when the punt swung heavily round a bend that she realised the seriousness of her position. The mill was working! One of the infrequent experimental trials of which she had heard was even now in process, the great moss-covered wheel was revolving creakily on its axle, waking the sleeping river into life, and the heavy punt was bearing down, more and more rapidly towards the crazy wooden gates!

In a second all that she had heard on this subject from the Percival family flashed through Darsie’s brain. The gates were frail, so eaten by long action of water, that at the impact of a heavy mass they would almost certainly burst apart, and then—what would happen to the punt and to its hapless occupant? Would she be hurled against a broken boulder, wedged helplessly beneath the débris, or rushed forward into the swirl of the millpond itself? Whatever happened it seemed certain that danger—and serious danger—loomed close at hand, unless she could succeed in overmastering the current and landing the punt safely at the little jetty. At this moment it was not fear but rather an exhilarating tingling of excitement of which Darsie was most aware. Here was an adventure—a full-fledged adventure, such as came but seldom to break the monotony of life!

For the sake of her future credit she must bear herself bravely, be swift, resourceful, energetic. With all her strength she plied the paddle to and fro, but for all the effect produced she might as well have sat still upon her cushions. It would have required an experienced hand to guide the heavy punt through the sweeping current, and under Darsie’s unpractised strokes it twisted, and turned, and revolved in aimless and disconcerting circles... No matter! she was determined to win; by hook or by crook she must make the left side of the stream and gain an anchorage. The jetty or the millpond—that was the alternative, and it was one to put power into the arm and give staying power to the laboured breath! The moments were flying now, the banks seemed to be flitting past more quickly than ever. Darsie tried to convert the paddle into an oar, with which to steer more vigorously for the desired bank; then came a breathless second of suspense, followed by a sickening realisation of failure. The punt had swept past the jetty at a distance just wide enough to make it impossible to grasp the chain, and was now bearing straight for the wooden gates!