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diff --git a/12316-0.txt b/12316-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e17a66 --- /dev/null +++ b/12316-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11266 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12316 *** + +Transcriber's note: This was one of the most enjoyable e-texts that I + have prepared but also one of the most difficult. + Many of the characters use the working class slang + and dialect of 100 years ago and the author sticks + to this consistently throughout the book. At times + there seems to be as many apostrophes as characters! + The printers have spaced these out and I hope that + I have joined them up acceptably for our purpose. + + Chapter X of the original book contained a diagram + of a tattoo, and another diagram appeared in Chapter + XX. Text has been added to substitute for these + diagrams. + + + + + +TRUE TILDA + +By "Q" (A.T. QUILLER-COUCH) + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I AT THE SIGN OF THE GOOD SAMARITAN. + +II HOW TRUE TILDA CAME TO DOLOROUS GARD + +III A KIDNAPPING + +IV IN WHICH CHILDE ARTHUR LOSES ONE MOTHER AND GAINS ANOTHER + +V TEMPORARY EMBARRASSMENTS OF A THESPIAN + +VI MR. MORTIMER'S ADVENTURE + +VII IN WHICH MR. HUCKS TAKES A HAND + +VIII FLIGHT + +IX FREEDOM + +X THE FOUR DIAMONDS. + +XI THE "STRATFORD-ON-AVON" + +XII PURSUED + +XIII ADVENTURE OF THE FURRED COLLAR + +XIV ADVENTURE OF THE PRIMROSE FETE + +XV ADVENTURE OF THE FAT LADY + +XVI ADVENTURES OF THE "FOUR ALLS" AND OF THE CELESTIAL CHEMIST + +XVII BY WESTON WEIR + +XVIII DOWN AVON + +XIX THE S.S. _EVAN EVANS_ + +XX INISTOW FARM + +XXI THE HUNTED STAG + +XXII THE VOYAGE + +XXIII THE ISLAND + +XXIV GLASSON IN CHASE + +XXV MISS SALLY BREAKS THE DOORS + +XXVI THE RESCUE + + EPILOGUE + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +AT THE SIGN OF THE GOOD SAMARITAN + + +"_That it may please Thee to preserve all that travel by land or by +water . . . all sick persons, and young children._"--THE LITANY. + +"I love my love with a H'aitch, because he's 'andsome--" + +Tilda turned over on her right side--she could do so now without pain-- +and lifting herself a little, eyed the occupant of the next bed. +The other six beds in the ward were empty. + +"I 'ate 'im, because--look 'ere, I don't believe you're listenin'?" + +The figure in the next bed stirred feebly; the figure of a woman, +straight and gaunt under the hospital bedclothes. A tress of her hair +had come uncoiled and looped itself across the pillow--reddish auburn +hair, streaked with grey. She had been brought in, three nights ago, +drenched, bedraggled, chattering in a high fever; a case of acute +pneumonia. Her delirium had kept Tilda--who was preternaturally sharp +for her nine years--awake and curious during the better part of two +night-watches. Thereafter, for a day and a night and half a day, the +patient had lain somnolent, breathing hard, at intervals feebly +conscious. In one of these intervals her eyes had wandered and found +the child; and since then had painfully sought her a dozen times, and +found her again and rested on her. + +Tilda, meeting that look, had done her best. The code of the show-folk, +to whom she belonged, ruled that persons in trouble were to be helped. +Moreover, the long whitewashed ward, with its seven oblong windows set +high in the wall--the smell of it, the solitude, the silence--bored her +inexpressibly. She had lain here three weeks with a hurt thigh-bone +bruised, but luckily not splintered, by the kick of a performing pony. + +The ward reeked of yellow soap and iodoform. She would have exchanged +these odours at the price of her soul--but souls are not vendible, and +besides she did not know she possessed one--for the familiar redolences +of naphtha and horse-dung and trodden turf. These were far away: they +had quite forsaken her, or at best floated idly across her dreams. +What held her to fortitude had been the drone and intermittent hoot of a +steam-organ many streets away. It belonged to a roundabout, and +regularly tuned up towards evening; so distant that Tilda could not +distinguish one tune from another; only the thud of its bass mingled +with the buzz of a fly on the window and with the hard breathing of the +sick woman. + +Sick persons must be amused: and Tilda, after trying the patient +unsuccessfully with a few jokes from the _repertoire_ of her own +favourite clown, had fallen back upon "I love my love"--about the only +game known to her that dispensed with physical exertion. + +"Sleepin', are you? . . . Well, I'll chance it and go on. I 'ate 'im +because he's 'aughty--or 'igh-born, if you like--" + +The figure beneath the bedclothes did not stir. Tilda lifted herself an +inch higher on the elbow; lifted her voice too as she went on: + +"And I'll take 'im to--'OLMNESS--" + +She had been watching, expecting some effect. But it scared her when, +after a moment, the woman raised herself slowly, steadily, until +half-erect from the waist. A ray of the afternoon sun fell slantwise +from one of the high windows, and, crossed by it, her eyes blazed like +lamps in their sockets. + +"--And feed 'im on 'am!" concluded Tilda hurriedly, slipping down within +her bedclothes and drawing them tight about her. For the apparition was +stretching out a hand. The hand drew nearer. + +"It's--it's a name came into my 'ead," quavered the child. + +"Who . . . told . . . you?" The fingers of the hand had hooked +themselves like a bird's claw. + +"Told me yerself. I 'eard you, night before last, when you was talkin' +wild. . . . If you try to do me any 'arm, I'll call the Sister." + +"Holmness?" + +"_You_ said it. Strike me dead if you didn'!" Tilda fetched a grip on +herself; but the hand, its fingers closing on air, drew back and +dropped, as though cut off from the galvanising current. She had even +presence of mind to note that the other hand--the hand on which the body +propped itself, still half-erect, wore a plain ring of gold. +"You talked a lot about 'Olmness--and Arthur. 'Oo's Arthur?" + +But the patient had fallen back, and lay breathing hard. When she spoke +again all the vibration had gone out of her voice. + +"Tell them . . . Arthur . . . fetch Arthur . . . ." The words +tailed off into a whisper. Still the lips moved as though speech +fluttered upon them; but no speech came. + +"You just tell me where he is, and maybe we'll fetch 'im," said Tilda +encouragingly. + +The eyes, which had been fixed on the child's, and with just that look +you may note in a dog's eyes when he waits for his master's word, +wandered to the table by the bedside, and grew troubled, distressful. + +"Which of 'em?" asked Tilda, touching the medicine bottles and glasses +there one by one. + +But the patient seemed to shake her head, though with a motion scarcely +perceptible. + +She could talk no more. + +Tilda lay back thinking. + +"Sister!" she said, twenty minutes later, when the Second Nurse entered +the ward. The Second Nurse had charge just now, the matron being away +on her August holiday. + +"Well, dear?" + +"She wants something." Tilda nodded towards the next bed. + +"To be sure she does, and I'm going to give it to her." The Second +Nurse, composed in all her movements, bent over the medicine table. + +"Garn!" retorted Tilda. "It's easy seen you wasn' brought up along with +animals. Look at the eyes of her." + +"Well?" The Second Nurse, after a long look at the patient, turned to +Tilda again. + +"You mind my tellin' you about Black Sultan?" + +"Of course I do. He was the one with the bearing rein and the white +martingale. Miss Montagu rode him." + +"Right-O!" Tilda nodded. "Well, they used to come on next turn to mine, +which was the Zambra Fambly, as before the Crowned 'eads--only there +wasn' no fambly about it, nor yet no 'eads. Me bein' 'andy an' dressed +up, with frizzy 'air, they stood me on a tub with a 'oop, makin' believe +'twas for Miss Montagu to jump through; but of course she didn', reely. +When she came round to me she'd only smile and touch me playful under +the chin; and that made the sixpenny seats say, ''Ow womanly!' or, 'Only +think! able to ride like that and so fond of children!' Matter of fact, +she 'ad none; and her 'usband, Mike O'Halloran, used to beat her for it +sometimes, when he'd had a drop of What-killed-Aunty. He was an +Irishman." + +"You didn't start to tell me about Mr. O'Halloran." + +"No. He wasn' your sort at all; and besides, he's dead. But about +Black Sultan--Miss Montagu used to rest 'im, 'alf-way in his turn, while +the clown they called Bimbo--but his real name was Ernest Stanley--as't +a riddle about a policeman and a red 'errin' in a newspaper. She always +rested alongside o' me; and I always stood in the same place, right +over a ring-bolt where they made fast one of the stays for the trapeze; +and regular as Black Sultan rested, he'd up with his off hind foot and +rub the pastern-bone, very soft, on the ring-bolt. So one day I +unscrewed an' sneaked it, jus' to see what he'd do. When he felt for it +an' missed it, he gave me a look. That's all. An' that's what's the +matter with '_er_." + +"But what can she be missing?" asked the Second Nurse. "She had nothing +about her but an old purse, and nothing in the purse but a +penny-ha'penny." + +"It don't sound much, but we might try it." + +"Nonsense!" said the Second Nurse; but later in the evening she brought +the purse, and set it on the table where the patient's eyes might rest +on it. For aught she could detect, they expressed no thanks, gave no +flicker of recognition. But the child had been watching them too, and +was quicker--by one-fifth of a second, perhaps. + +It was half-past eight, and the sister turned low the single gas-jet. +She would retire now to her own room, change her dress for the +night-watching, and return in about twenty minutes. The door had no +sooner closed upon her than Tilda stretched out a hand. The sick woman +watched, panting feebly, making no sign. The purse--a cheap thing, +stamped with forget-me-nots, and much worn at the edges where the +papier-mache showed through its sham leather--contained a penny and a +halfpenny; these, and in an inner stamp-pocket a scrap of paper, folded +small, and greasy with handling. + +Still peering across in the dim light, Tilda undid the broken folds and +scrambled up to her knees on the bed. It cost her a twinge of pain, but +only by standing upright on the bed's edge could she reach the +gas-bracket to turn the flame higher. This meant pain sharper and more +prolonged, yet she managed it, and, with that, clenched her teeth hard +to keep down a cry. The child could swear, on occasion, like a trooper; +but this was a fancy accomplishment. Just now, when an oath would have +come naturally to a man, she felt only a choking in the throat, and +swallowed it down with a sob. + +On the paper were four lines, written in pencil in a cramped hand; and, +alas! though Tilda could read print, she had next to no acquaintance +with handwriting. + +The words were a blur to her. She stared at them; but what she saw was +the gaze of the sick woman, upturned to her from the bed. The scrap of +paper hid it, and yet she saw. She must act quickly. + +She gave a reassuring nod, turned the gas-jet low, and slid down into +bed with the paper clenched in her hand. But as her head touched the +pillow she heard a rustling noise, and craned up her neck again. +The patient had rolled over on her left side, facing her, fighting for +breath. + +"Yes, yes," Tilda lied hardily. "To-morrow--Arthur--they shall send for +him to-morrow." + +"Four," said the sick woman. The word was quite distinct. Another word +followed which Tilda could not catch. + +"Four o'clock, or may be earlier," she promised. + +"L--l--lozenges," the tongue babbled. + +Tilda glanced towards the medicine table. + +"Diamonds," said the voice with momentary firmness; "four +diamonds . . . on his coat . . . his father's . . . his . . . ." + +"Four diamonds, yes?" the child repeated. + +"Ned did them . . . he told me . . . told me . . . ." But here the voice +wavered and trailed off into babble, meaningless as a year-old infant's. +Tilda listened hard for a minute, two minutes, then dropped her head +back on her pillow as the door-handle rattled. It was the Second Nurse +returning for night duty. + +Early next morning the doctor came--a thin young man with a stoop, and a +crop of sandy hair that stood upright from his forehead. Tilda detested +him. + +He and the Second Nurse talked apart for quite a long while, and paid no +attention to the child, who lay shamming a doze, but with her ears open. + +She heard the doctor say-- + +"She? Oh, move her to the far end of the ward." + +The Second Nurse muttered something, and he went on-- + +"She is well, practically. All she wants now is someone to keep an eye +on her, make her lie up for a couple of hours every day, and box her +ears if she won't." + +"That's me," thought Tilda. "I'm to be moved out of the way because +t'other's going to die; and if she's going to die, there's no time to be +lost." + +She stirred, lifted her head, and piped-- + +"Doctor!" + +"Hullo, imp! I thought you were sleeping." + +"So I was. I sleep 'eaps better now." She drew her hurt leg up and +down in the bed. "Doctor, I 'd be all right, certain sure, if you let +me out for arf-an-hour. Sister let me sit out for ever so long +yestiday, an' while she was dustin' out the men's ward I practised +walkin'--all the lenth of the room an' back." + +"When I told you never, on any account!" the Sister scolded. + +"If I'd only the loan of a crutch!" pleaded Tilda; "an' it couldn' do me +no 'arm in this weather." + +"Pining for liberty, hey?" said the doctor. (She saw what was passing +through his mind, and despised him for it.) "Well, suppose, now, we let +you out for just half an hour?" + +Tilda clapped her palms together, and her eyes shone. To herself she +said: "Kiddin' of me, that's what they are. Want to get me out of the +way while they shift the beddin'. Lemme get back my clothes, that's +all, an' I'll teach him about pinin' for liberty." + +"But," said the doctor severely, lifting a finger, "you're to keep to +the pavement mind--just outside, where it's nice and shady. Only so far +as the next turning and back; no crossing anywhere or getting in the way +of traffic, and only for half an hour. The chimes from St. Barnabas +will tell you, if you can't read the clock." + +She had learnt to read the time before she was five years old, and had a +mind to tell him, but checked herself and merely nodded her head. + +"Half an hour, and the pavement only. Is that understood?" + +"Honest!" + +It annoyed her--when, an hour later, she began to dress for the +adventure--to find herself weaker than she had at all supposed. +Although she forbore to mention it to the Second Nurse, there was an +irresponsible funny feeling in her legs. They seemed to belong to her +but by fits and starts. But the clothes were hers: the merino skirt a +deal too short for her--she had grown almost an inch in her bed-lying-- +the chip hat, more badly crushed than ever, a scandal of a hat, but +still hers. The dear, dear clothes! She held them in both hands and +nuzzled into them, inhaling her lost self in the new-old scent of +liberty. + +When at length her hat was donned, the notion took her to stand by the +sick woman's bed to show herself. + +Consciousness had drained away deep into the sick woman's eyes. +It wavered there darkly, submerged, half-suspended, as you may see the +weed waver in a dim seapool. Did a bubble, a gleam, float up from the +depths? At any rate, the child nodded bravely. + +"Goin' to fetch 'im, don't you fret!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HOW TRUE TILDA CAME TO DOLOROUS GARD + + +"_Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set. And blew 'Childe Roland to +the Dark Tower came.'_" BROWNING. + +Fifty years before, the Hospital of the Good Samaritan had been the pet +"charity" of a residential suburb. Factories and slums had since +crowded in upon it, ousting the residents and creeping like a tide over +the sites of their gardens and villas. The street kept its ancient +width, and a few smoke-blackened trees--lilacs, laburnums, limes, and +one copper-beech--still dignified the purlieus. Time, ruthless upon +these amenities, had spared, and even enlarged, the hospital. + +It stood on the shaded side of the street. Nevertheless, the sunshine, +reflected from the facade of mean houses across the way, dazzled Tilda +as she crossed the threshold of the great doorway and hopped down the +steps. There were five steps, and on the lowest she paused, leaning a +moment on her crutch before taking the final plunge into liberty. + +Then, while she stood blinking, of a sudden a yellowish brown body +bounded at her out of the sun-dazzle, pushed her tottering, danced back, +and leapt at her again, springing to lick her face, and uttering sharp, +inarticulate noises from a throat bursting with bliss. + +"'Dolph! O 'Dolph!" + +Tilda sank on the lowest step and stretched out both arms. The dog, +rushing between them, fairly bowled her backwards; lit in her lap and +twisted his body round ecstatically, thrusting, nuzzling at her bosom, +her neck, her face--devouring her with love. In her weakness she caught +him around the chest, close behind the forelegs, and hugged him to her. +So for a quarter of a minute the two rocked together and struggled. + +"'Dolph! O good dog! . . . Did Bill send yer?" + +'Dolph, recoiling, shook his neck-ruff and prepared for another spring; +but Tilda pushed him back and stood up. "Take me along to him," she +commanded, and lifted her face impudently to the clock-face of St. +Barnabas above the mean roofs. "Barnabas, are yer? Then give my +compliments to the doctor, you Barnabas, an' tell 'im to cheese it." +'Dolph--short for Godolphus--pricked both ears and studied the sky-line. +Perceiving nothing there--not even a swallow to be chased--he barked +twice (the humbug!) for sign that he understood thoroughly, and at once +fell to new capers by way of changing the subject. Tilda became severe. +"Look here, Godolphus," she explained, "this is biz-strict biz. You +may wag your silly Irish tail, but that don't take _me_ in. +Understand? . . . Well, the first thing you 'ave to do is take me to Bill." + +Godolphus was dashed; hurt, it may be, in his feelings. Being dumb, he +could not plead that for three weeks daily he had kept watch on the +hospital door; that, hungry, he had missed his meals for faith, which is +the substance of things unseen; that, a few hours ago, having to choose +between half-gods assured and whole gods upon trust--an almost desperate +trust--he had staked against the odds. Or, it may be, he forgot all +this, and only considered what lay ahead for the child. At any rate, +his tail, as he led the way, wagged at a sensibly lower angle. + +"Bill can read any kind of 'andwriting," said Tilda, half to herself and +half to the dog. "What's more, and whatever's the matter, Bill 'elps." + +So she promised herself. It did not strike her that 'Dolph--who in an +ordinary way should have been bounding ahead and anon bounding back to +gyrate on his hind legs and encourage her--preferred to trot ahead some +thirty or forty yards and wait for her to overtake him; nor that, when +she came up, he avoided her eyes, pretending that here a doorstep, there +a grating or water-main absorbed his curiosity. Once or twice, indeed, +before trotting off again, he left these objects of interest to run +around Tilda's heels and rub against her crutch. But she was busy with +her own plans. + +So through a zig-zag of four or five dingy streets they came to one she +recognised as that leading into the Plain, or open space where the +show-people encamped. At its far end 'Dolph halted. His tail still +wagged, but his look was sidelong, furtive, uneasy. + +Tilda, coming up with him, stood still for a moment, stared, and caught +her breath with a little gasp of dismay. + +The Plain was empty. + +Circus and menagerie, swing-boats, roundabouts, shooting-galleries--all +were gone. The whole area lay trampled and bare, with puddles where the +steam-engines had stood, and in the puddles bedabbled relics of paper +brushes, confetti bags, scraps torn from feminine flounces, twisted +leaden tubes of "ladies' tormentors" cast away and half-trodden into the +mire; the whole an unscavenged desolation. Her folk--the show-folk--had +deserted her and vanished, and she had not a penny in her pocket. +It cost Tilda all her pluck to keep what she called a tight upper lip. +She uttered no cry, but seated herself on the nearest doorstep-- +apparently with deliberation, actually not heeding, still less caring, +to whom the doorstep belonged. + +"Oh, 'Dolph!" she murmured. + +To her credit, in the act of appealing to him, she understood the dog's +heroism, and again stretched forth her arms. He had been waiting for +this--sprang at her, and again was caught and hugged. Again the two +forlorn ones rocked in an embrace. + +Brief ecstasy! The door behind them was constructed in two portions, of +which the upper stood wide, the lower deceptively on the latch. Against +this, as she struggled with Godolphus's ardour, Tilda gave a backward +lurch. It yielded, flew open, and child and dog together rolled in +across the threshold, while a shop-bell jangled madly above them. + +"Get out of this--you and your nasty cur!" + +Tilda picked up herself and her crutch, and stood eyeing the shopwoman, +who, summoned by the bell, had come rushing from an inner room, and in +no sweet temper. From the woman she glanced around the shop-- +a dairy-shop with a marble-topped counter, and upon the counter a pair +of scales and a large yellow block of margarine. + +"It was a naccident," said Tilda firmly and with composure. "And my dog +isn' a nasty cur; it only shows your ignorance. Be quiet, 'Dolph!" + +She had to turn and shake her crutch at Godolphus, who, perceiving his +mistress's line of action, at once, in his impulsive Irish way, barked +defiance at the shopwoman. + +But the shopwoman's eyes rested on the crutch, and the sight of it +appeared to mollify her. + +"My gracious! I do believe you 're the child was hurt at Maggs's Circus +and taken to hospital." + +Tilda nodded. + +"Did you see me?" + +"Carried by on a stretcher--and your face the colour of _that_." +The woman pointed to the marble counter-top. + +"I was a serious case," said Tilda impressively. "The people at the +Good Samaritan couldn' remember admittin' the likes of it. There were +complications." + +"You don't say!" + +"But what's become of Maggs's?" + +"Maggs's left a week ago come Tuesday. I know, because they used to buy +their milk of me. They were the first a'most, and the last was the +Menagerie and Gavel's Roundabouts. _They_ packed up last night. +It must be a wearin' life," commented the shopwoman. "But for my part I +like the shows, and so I tell Damper--that's my 'usband. They put a bit +of colour into the place while they last, besides bein' free-'anded with +their money. Light come light go, I reckon; but anyway, it's different +from cows. So you suffered from complications, did you?" + +"Internal," Tilda assured her in a voice as hollow as she could make it. +"I must have spit up a quart of blood, first an' last. An' the medicine +I 'ad to take! You wouldn' think it, but the colour was pale +'eliotrope." + +"I wonder," said Mrs. Damper sympathetically--"I wonder it stayed in +the stomach." + +"It didn'." + +"Wouldn' you fancy a glass o' milk, now?" + +"It's very kind of you." Tilda put on her best manners. "And 'ere's +'ealth!" she added before sipping, when the milk was handed to her. + +"And the dog--wouldn' '_e_ like something?" + +"Well, since you mention it--but it's givin' you a 'eap of trouble. If +you 'ave such a thing as a bun, it don't matter 'ow stale." + +"I can do better 'n that." Mrs. Damper dived into the inner room, and +re-emerged with a plateful of scraps. "There's always waste with +children," she explained, "and I got five. You can't think the load off +one's shoulders when they're packed to school at nine o'clock. +And that, I dessay," she wound up lucidly, "is what softened me t'ards +you. Do you go to school, now?" + +"Never did," answered Tilda, taking the plate and laying it before +Godolphus, who fell-to voraciously. + +"I 'd like to tell that to the attendance officer," said Mrs. Damper in +a wistful tone. "But p'r'aps it might get you into trouble?" + +"You 're welcome." + +"He do give me a lot of worry; and it don't make things easier Damper's +threatenin' to knock his 'ead off if ever he catches the man darkenin' +our door. Never been to school, aven't you? I 'd like to tell 'im, and +that, if there's a law, it ought to be the same for all. But all my +children are 'ealthy, and that's one consolation." + +"'Ealth's the first thing in life," agreed Tilda. "So they've all +cleared out?--the shows, I mean." + +"Every one--exceptin' the Theayter." + +"Mortimer's?" Tilda limped to the open door. "But I don't see him, +neither." + +"Mortimer's is up the spout. First of all, there was trouble with the +lodgings; and on top of that, last Monday, Mr. Hucks put the bailiffs +in. This mornin' he sent half a dozen men, and they took the show to +pieces and carried it off to Hucks's yard, where I hear he means to sell +it by public auction." + +"Who's Mr. Hucks?" + +"He's the man that farms the Plain here--farms it _out_, I mean," Mrs. +Damper explained. "He leases the ground from the Corporation and lets +it out for what he can make, and that's a pretty penny. Terrible +close-fisted man is Mr. Hucks." + +"Oh!" said Tilda, enlightened. "When you talked of farmin', you made me +wonder . . .So they're all gone? And Wolverhampton-way, I reckon. +That was to be the next move." + +"I've often seen myself travellin' in a caravan," said Mrs. Damper +dreamily. "Here to-day an' gone to-morrow, and only to stretch out your +hand whether 'tis hairpins or a fryin'-pan; though I should never get +over travellin' on Sundays." Here, while her eyes rested on the child, +of a sudden she came out of her reverie with a sharp exclamation. +"Lord's sake! You ain't goin' to tell me they've left you in 'ospital, +stranded!" + +"That's about it," said Tilda bravely, albeit with a wry little twist of +her mouth. + +"But what'll you do?" + +"Oh, I dunno . . . We'll get along some'ow--eh, 'Dolph? Fact is, I got +a job to do, an' no time to lose worryin'. You just read _that_." + +Tilda produced and handed her scrap of paper to Mrs. Damper, who took +it, unfolded it, and perused the writing slowly. + +"Goin' there?" she inquired at length. + +"That depends." Tilda was not to be taken off her guard. "I want you to +read what it says." + +"Yes, to be sure--I forgot what you said about havin' no schoolin'. +Well, it says: 'Arthur Miles, surname Chandon, b. Kingsand, May 1st, +1888. Rev. Dr. Purdie J. Glasson, Holy Innocents' Orphanage, Bursfield, +near Birmingham '--leastways, I can't read the last line clear, the +paper bein' frayed; but it's bound to be what I've said." + +"Why?" + +"Why, because that's the address. Holy Innocents, down by the canal-- +I know it, o' course, _and_ Dr. Glasson. Damper supplied 'em with milk +for over six months, an' trouble enough we had to get our money." + +"How far is it?" + +"Matter of half a mile, I should say--close by the canal. You cross it +there by the iron bridge. The tram'll take you down for a penny, only +you must mind and get out this side of the bridge, because once you're +on the other side it's tuppence. Haven't got a penny? Well,"--Mrs. +Damper dived a hand into her till--"I'll give you one. Bein' a mother, +I can't bear to see children in trouble." + +"Thank you," said Tilda. "It'll come in 'andy; but I ain't in no +trouble just yet." + +"I 'spose," Mrs. Damper ventured after a pause, "you don't feel like +tellin' me what your business might be down at the orphanage? Not that +I'm curious. + +"I can't." This was perfectly true, for she herself did not know. +"You see," she added with a fine air of mystery, "there's others mixed +up in this." + +Mrs. Damper sighed. + +"Well, I mustn' detain you . . . This Arthur Miles Chandon--he's not a +friend of yours by any chance?" + +"He's a--sort of connection," said Tilda. "You know 'im, p'r'aps?" + +"Dear me, no!" + +"Oh,"--the child, without intending it, achieved a fine irony-- +"I thought you seemed interested. Well, so long! and thank you again-- +there's a tram stoppin' at the corner! Come along, 'Dolph!" + +She was not--she had said it truthfully--by any means in trouble just +yet. On the contrary, after long deprivation she was tasting life +again, and finding it good. The streets of this Bursfield suburb were +far from suggestive of the New Jerusalem--a City of which, by the way, +Tilda had neither read nor heard. They were, in fact, mean and squalid, +begrimed with smoke and imperfectly scavenged. But they were, at least, +populous, and to Tilda the faces in the tram and on the pavements wore, +each and all, a friendly--almost an angelic--glow. The tram-car rolled +along like a celestial chariot trailing clouds of glory, and 'Dolph, +running beside it and threading his way in and out between the legs of +the passers-by, was a hound of heaven in a coat effluent of gold. +Weariness would come, but as yet her body felt no weariness, buoyed upon +a spirit a-tiptoe for all adventure. + +The tram reached the iron bridge and drew up. She descended, asked the +conductor to direct her to Holy Innocents, and was answered with a jerk +of the thumb. + +It stood, in fact, just beyond the bridge, with a high brick wall that +turned off the street at right angles and overhung the towpath of the +canal. Although in architecture wholly dissimilar, the building put her +in mind of the Hospital of the Good Samaritan, and her spirits sank for +a moment. Its facade looked upon the street over a strip of garden +crowded with dingy laurels. It contained a depressingly large number of +windows, and it seemed to her that they were at once bare and dirty. +Also, and simultaneously, it occurred to her that she had no notion what +step to take next, nor how, if she rang the bell, to explain herself. +She temporised therefore; whistled to 'Dolph, and turned aside down the +steps leading to the towpath. She would con the lie of the land before +laying siege--the strength of the castle before summoning the defence. + +The castle was patently strong--strong enough to excuse any +disheartenment. Scarcely a window pierced its narrow butt-end, four +stories high, under which the steps wound. It ended just where they met +the towpath, and from its angle sprang a brick wall dead-blank, at least +twelve feet high, which ran for eighty or ninety yards along the +straight line of the path. Across the canal a row of unkempt cottage +gardens sloped to the water, the most of them fenced from the brink of +it with decayed palings, a few with elder bushes and barbed wire to fill +up the gaps, while at least two ended in moraines of old meat tins and +shards of crockery. And between these containing banks wound the canal, +shallow and waveless, with noisome weeds trailing on its surface afloat +amid soot and iridescent patches or pools of tar. In the cottage +gardens not a soul was at work, nor, by their appearance, had a soul +worked in them for years past. The canal, too, was deserted, save for +one long monkey-boat, black as Charon's barge, that lay moored to a +post on the towpath, some seventy-odd yards up stream, near where the +wall of the Orphanage ended. Beyond this, and over a line of ragged +thorns, the bulk of a red-brick Brewery--its roof crowned with a +sky-sign--closed the view. + +The monkey-boat lay with her stem down-stream, and her after-part--her +habitable quarters--covered by a black tarpaulin. A solitary man was at +work shovelling coal out of her middle hold into a large metal bucket. +As Tilda hobbled towards him he hoisted the full bucket on his +shoulders, staggered across the towpath with it, and shot its contents +into a manhole under the brick wall. Tilda drew near and came to a +halt, watching him. + +"Afternoon," said the man, beginning to shovel again. + +"Afternoon," responded Tilda. + +He was a young man--she could detect this beneath his mask of coal dust. +He wore a sack over his shoulders, and a black sou'wester hat with a +hind-flap that fell low over his neck. But she liked the look in his +eyes, though the rims of them were red and the brows caked with grit. +She liked his voice, too. It sounded friendly. + +"Is this the Orph'nige? What they call 'Oly Innercents?" she asked. + +"That's so," the young coalheaver answered. "Want to get in?" + +"I do an' I don't," said Tilda. + +"Then take my advice an' don't." + +He resumed his shovelling, and Tilda watched him for a while. + +"Nice dorg," said he, breaking off and throwing an affable nod towards +Godolphus who, having attracted no attention by flinging himself on the +grass with a lolling tongue and every appearance of fatigue, was now +filling up the time in quest of a flea. "No breed, but he has points. +Where did you pick him up?" + +"He belongs to a show." + +"Crystal Pallus?" + +"And," pursued Tilda, "I was wonderin' if you'd look after him while I +step inside?" + +She threw back her head, and the man whistled. + +"You're a trustin' one, I must say!" + +"You'd never be mean enough to make off with 'im, an' I won't believe it +of you," spoke up Tilda boldly. + +"Eh? I wasn' talkin of the dorg," he explained. "I was meanin' the +Orph'nage. By all accounts 'tisn' so easy to get in--an' 'tis a sight +harder to get out." + +"I've _got_ to get in," urged Tilda desperately. + +"I've a message for someone inside. His name's Arthur Miles Chandon." + +The young coalheaver shook his head. + +"I don't know 'im," he said. "I'm new to this job, an' they don't talk +to me through the coal-'ole. But you seem a well-plucked one, and what +with your crutch--How did you come by it?" + +"Kick of a pony." + +"Seems to me you've been a good deal mixed up with animals, for your +age. What about your pa and ma?" + +"Never 'ad none, I thank Gord." + +"Eh?" The young man laid down his shovel, lifted the flap of his +sou'wester, and scratched the back of his head slowly. "Let me get the +hang o' _that_, now." + +"I've seen fathers and mothers," said the sage child, nodding at him; +"and them as likes 'em is welcome to 'em." + +"Gor-a-mussy!" half-groaned the young man. "If you talk like that, +they'll take you in, right enough; but as to your gettin' out--" + +"I'll get out, one way or 'nother--you see!" Tilda promised. "All you +'ave to do is to take charge o' this crutch an' look after the dog." + +"Oh, I'll look after 'im!" + +The child shook a forefinger at 'Dolph, forbidding him to follow her. +The dog sank on his haunches, wagging a tail that swept the grasses in +perplexed protest, and watched her as she retraced her way along the +towpath. + +Tilda did not once look back. She was horribly frightened; but she had +pledged her word now, and it was irredeemable. From the hurrying +traffic of the street she took a final breath of courage, and tugged at +the iron bell-pull depending beside the Orphanage gate. A bell clanged +close within the house, and the sound of it almost made her jump out of +her boots. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A KIDNAPPING + + +"_And with that sound the castle all to-brast; so she took him, and they +two fared forth hand in hand." "QUEST OF THE GRAIL." + + +The front door opened, and a slatternly woman in a soiled print dress +came shuffling down the flagged pathway to the gate. She wore cloth +boots, and Tilda took note that one of them was burst. + +"Go away," said the woman, opening the gate just wide enough to thrust +out her head. "We don't give nothing to beggars." + +"I could 'a told _you_ that," retorted Tilda. "But as it 'appens, I +ain't one." She pointed to a brass letter-plate beside the wicket--it +was pierced with a slit, and bore the legend, _For Voluntary Donations_. +"Seems you collect a bit, though. Like it better, I dessay." + +"Look here, if you've come with a message, let's 'ave it, an' take +yourself off. It's washing-day in the 'ouse, an' I'm busy." + +"Ah!" said Tilda politely, "I'm glad I came before you begun. +I want"--here she unfolded her scrap of paper and made pretence to +read--"I want to see the Reverend Doctor Purdie J. Glasson." + +"Then you can't," snapped the woman, and was about to shut the door in +her face, but desisted and drew back with a cry as a formidable yellow +dog slipped through the opening, past her skirts, and into the garden. + +It was 'Dolph, of course. Anxiety for his mistress had been too much +for him, and had snapped the bonds of obedience; and knowing full well +that he was misbehaving, he had come up furtively, unperceived. +But now, having crossed the Rubicon, the rogue must brazen things out-- +which he did by starting a cat out of one of the dingy laurels, +chivvying her some way into the house, and returning to shake himself on +the front doorstep and bark in absurd triumph. + +"'Dolph! 'Dolph!" called Tilda. + +"Belongs to you, does he? Then fetch him out at once! You, and your +dogs!" + +"I'm fetchin' him fast as I can." + +Tilda pushed past her, and advanced sternly to the front doorstep. +"'Dolph, come here!" she commanded. 'Dolph barked once again defiantly, +then laid himself down on the step in abject contrition, rolling over on +his back and lifting all four legs skyward. + +Tilda rolled him sideways with a slap, caught him by the scruff of the +neck, and began to rate him soundly. But a moment later her grasp +relaxed as a door opened within the passage, and at the sound of a +footstep she looked up, to see a tall man in black standing over her and +towering in the doorway. + +"What is the meaning of this noise?" demanded the man in black. He was +elderly and bald, with small pig-eyes, grey side-whiskers, and for mouth +a hard square slit much like that of the collecting-box by the gate. +A long pendulous nose came down over it and almost met an upthrust lower +jaw. He wore a clerical suit, with a dingy white neck-tie; the skin +about his throat hung in deep folds, and the folds were filled with an +unpleasing grey stubble. + +"If--if you please, sir, I was comin' with a message, an' he started +after a cat. I can't break 'im of it." + +"Turn him out," said the man in black. He walked to the gate and held +it open while Tilda ejected Godolphus into the street. "I never allow +dogs on my premises." + +"No, sir." + +"Now tell me your message." + +"It's about a--a boy, sir," stammered Tilda, and felt a horrible fear +creeping over her now that she approached the crisis. "That is, if +you're the Reverend Doctor Glasson." + +"I am Doctor Glasson. Well?" + +"It's about a boy," harked back poor Tilda. "He's called Arthur Miles +Surname Chandon--an' he was born at a place called Kingsand, if that's +any 'elp--an' there's somebody wants to see 'im most particular." + +"Come indoors." + +Doctor Glasson said it sharply, at the same time turning right about and +leading the way towards the house. Tilda followed, while behind her the +excluded 'Dolph yapped and flung himself against the gate. But the gate +was lined on the inside with wire-netting, and the garden wall was +neither to be leapt nor scaled. + +In the porch Dr. Glasson stood aside to let the servant precede them +into the house, looked after her until she vanished down the length of a +dark passage that smelt potently of soapsuds and cabbage-water, and +motioned the child to step within. She obeyed, while her terror and the +odours of the house together caught her by the throat. But worse was +her dismay when, having closed the front door, the Doctor bolted it and +slipped a chain on the bolt. + +"The first door to the left, if you please." He stepped past her and +pushed it open, and she entered, albeit with quaking knees. The room--a +large and high one--was furnished barely and like an office--with a red +flock wall-paper, a brown linoleum on the floor, and in the centre of +the linoleum a bulky roll-top desk and a Windsor chair. Other Windsor +chairs stood in array against the walls, and a couple of rosewood +bookcases with glass fronts. There was also by the fireplace an +armchair covered with American leather, a rag-work hearth-rug, and a +large waste-paper basket stuffed with envelopes and circulars. Over the +mantelshelf hung a print in an Oxford frame, with the title _Suffer +Little Children to Come unto Me_, and a large stain of damp in the lower +left-hand corner. The mantelshelf itself supported a clock, a pair of +bronze candlesticks, a movable calendar, a bottle of paste, and a wooden +box with _For the Little Ones_ painted on it in black letters. + +All this the child took in almost at a glance, and notwithstanding that +the room was dark. Yet it had two large windows, and they were +curtainless. Its gloom came of the thick coating of dirt on their upper +panes, and a couple of wire blinds that cut off all light below. + +Doctor Glasson had walked straight to his desk, and stood for a few +moments with his back to the child, fingering his papers and apparently +engaged in thought. By-and-by he picked up a pair of spectacles, +turned, and adjusted them slowly whilst he stared down on her. + +"Where did you get this information?" + +Tilda's first impulse was to show him her scrap of paper, but she +thought better of it. She would keep it back while she could, as a +possible trump card. Besides, she feared and distrusted this man with +the little eyes. Seen through glasses they were worse than ever. + +"He's wanted by someone very particular," she repeated. + +"By whom? Speak up, child! Who sent you?" + +Heaven knows to what invisible spirits the child appealed. They were +certainly disreputable ones, as will be seen; but they heard her prayer, +and came to her now in her extremity. Hardly knowing what she did, she +opened on this man a pair of eyes seraphically innocent, and asked-- + +"W'y, haven't you seen my aunt?" + +"Your aunt?" + +"She _promised_ to call here at twelve-thirty, an' I was to meet her. +But"--here Tilda had to keep a tight hold on her voice--"per'aps I'm +early?" + +"It's close upon one o'clock," said Doctor Glasson, with a glance +towards the mantelshelf. "What is your aunt's name, and her business?" + +"She's called Brown--Martha Brown--_Mrs._ Martha Brown, and she keeps a +milliner's shop in the Edgeware Road, London," panted Tilda. + +"I should have asked, What is her business with me?" Doctor Glasson +corrected his question severely. + +"I think--I dunno--but I _think_, sir, she might be wantin' to enter me +for a orphlan. My pa, sir, was knocked down an' killed by a motor-car. +It was in the early days," pursued Tilda, desperate now and aghast at +her own invention. The lies seemed to spring to her lips full grown. +"Pa was a stableman, sir, at Buckin'am Palace, and often and often I've +'eard 'im tell mother what'd be the end of 'im. He 'd seen it in a +dream. And mother, _she_ was a stewardess in a Sou'-Western boat that +got cut in two last year. Maybe you read of it in the papers?" + +Tears by this time filled the child's eyes. She was casting about to +invent a last dying speech for her mother, when Doctor Glasson +interrupted. + +"If your aunt wishes to place you here, it might perhaps be managed, for +a consideration. Just now we have no room for-er--non-paying children. +But you began by asking for Arthur Miles." + +"Surname Chandon." + +"Yes--quite so--Chandon." He picked up a pencil and a half-sheet of +paper from the desk, and wrote the name. "Born at Kingsand--I think you +said Kingsand? Do you happen to know where Kingsand is? In what +county, for instance?" + +But Tilda had begun to scent danger again, she hardly knew why, and +contented herself with shaking her head. + +"Someone wants to see him. Who?" + +"She's--an invalid," Tilda admitted. + +"Not your aunt?" + +"She's a--a _friend_ of my aunt's." + +Doctor Glasson pulled out a watch and compared it with the clock on the +mantelshelf. While he did so Tilda stole a look up at his face, and +more than ever it seemed to her to resemble a double trap--its slit of a +mouth constructed to swallow anything that escaped between nose and +chin. + +"Your aunt is far from punctual. You are sure she means to call?" + +"Sure," answered Tilda still hardily. "'Twelve-thirty' was her last +words when she left me at the doctor's--my 'ip bein' 'urt, sir, through +tumblin' out of a nomnibus, three weeks ago. But you never can depend +on 'er to a few minutes up 'an down. She gets into the streets, +watchin' the fashions, an' that carries 'er away. P'r'aps, sir, I 'd +better go back into the street and 'ave a look for her." + +"I think you had better wait here for her," said Doctor Glasson, +shutting his lips with a snap. "There are some picture-books in the +drawing-room." + +He led the way. The drawing-room lay at the back of the house--an +apartment even more profoundly depressing than the one she had left. +Its one important piece of furniture was a circular table of rosewood +standing in the centre of the carpet under a brass gaselier, of which +the burnish had perished in patches; and in the centre of the table +stood a round-topped glass case containing a stuffed kestrel, with a +stuffed lark prostrate under its talons and bleeding vermilion wax. +Around this ornament were disposed, as the Doctor had promised, a number +of albums and illustrated books, one of which he chose and placed it in +her hands, at the same time bringing forward one of a suite of rosewood +chairs ranged with their backs to the walls. He motioned her to be +seated. + +"You shall be told as soon as ever your aunt arrives." + +"Yes, sir," said Tilda feebly. For the moment all the fight had gone +out of her. + +He stood eyeing her, pulling at his bony finger-joints, and seemed on +the point of putting some further question, but turned abruptly and left +the room. + +As the door closed--thank Heaven, at least, he did not bolt this one +also!--a dry sob escaped the child. Why had she told that string of +falsehoods? She was trapped now--imprisoned in this horrible house, not +to be released until this fictitious aunt arrived, which, of course, +would be never. The book on her lap lay open at a coloured lithograph +of Mazeppa bound upon his steed and in full flight across the Tartar +steppes. She knew the story--was it not Mr. Maggs's most thrilling +"equestrian _finale_," and first favourite with the public? At another +time she would have examined the picture eagerly. But now it swam +before her, unmeaning. She closed the book, threw a glance around the +four corners of the room, another at the stuffed kestrel--whose pitiless +small eye strangely resembled Doctor Glasson's--and dragged herself to +the window. + +The lower panes of the window were filled with coloured transparencies +representing in series the history of the Prodigal Son. They excluded a +great deal of daylight and the whole of the view. Even by standing on +tip-toe she could not look over them, and she dared not try to raise the +sash. + +By-and-by a thought struck her. She went back to her chair, lifted it, +carried it to the window and climbed upon it; and this was no small feat +or succession of feats, for as yet her thigh pained her, and fear held +her half-paralysed. + +What she looked upon was an oblong space enclosed by brick walls ten or +twelve feet high, and divided by a lower wall--also of brick--into two +parallelograms of unequal width. Of these the wider was a gravelled +yard, absolutely bare, in extent perhaps an acre; and here, in various +knots and groups, were gathered some two dozen children. Alongside of +the yard and upon its left--that is to say, as Tilda guessed, between it +and the canal--ran a narrower strip of kitchen garden, planted with +leeks, cabbages, potatoes, and ending in a kind of shed--part +glass-house, part out-house--built in lean-to fashion against the +terminal wall, which overtopped it by several feet. The children in the +yard could not look into this garden, for the dividing wall reached far +above their heads. + +Tilda, too, had no eyes for the garden, after a first glance had assured +her it was empty. The children engaged all her attention. She had +never seen anything like them; and yet they were obviously boys and +girls, and in numbers pretty equally divided, What beat her was that +they neither ran about nor played at any game, but walked to and fro--to +and fro--as though pacing through some form of drill; and yet again they +could not be drilling, for their motions were almost inert and quite +aimless. Next, to her surprise, she perceived that, on no apparent +compulsion, the boys kept with the boys in these separate wandering +groups, and the girls with the girls; and further that, when two groups +met and passed, no greeting, no nod of recognition, was ever exchanged. +At any rate she could detect none. She had heard tell--indeed, it was +an article of faith among the show-children with whom she had been +brought up--that the sons and daughters of the well-to-do followed weird +ways and practised discomfortable habits--attended public worship on +Sundays, for instance, walking two and two in stiff raiment. But these +children were patently very far from well-to-do. The garments of some +hung about them in rags that fell short even of Tilda's easy standard. +The spectacle fascinated her. For the moment it chased fear out of her +mind. She was only conscious of pity--of pity afflicting and +indefinable, far beyond her small understanding, and yet perhaps not +wholly unlike that by which the great poet was oppressed as he followed +his guide down through the infernal circles and spoke with their +inhabitants. The sight did her this good--it drove out for a while, +along with fear, all thought of her present situation. She noted that +the majority were in twos or threes, but that here and there a child +walked solitary, and that the faces of these solitary ones were hard to +discern, being bent towards the ground . . . + +The door-handle rattled and called her back to terror. She had no time +to clamber down from her chair. She was caught. + +But it was a woman who entered, the same that had opened the front gate; +and she carried a tray with a glass of water on it and a plate of +biscuits. + +"The Doctor told me as 'ow you might be 'ungry," she explained. + +"Thank you," said Tilda. "I--I was lookin' at the view." + +For an instant she thought of appealing to this stranger's mercy. +The woman's eyes were hard, but not unkind. They scrutinised her +closely. + +"You take my advice, an' get out o' this quick as you can." + +The woman thumped down the tray, and made as if to leave the room with a +step decisive as her speech. At the door, however, she hesitated. + +"Related to 'im?" she inquired. + +"Eh?" Tilda was taken aback. "'Oo's 'im?" + +"I 'eard you tell the Doctor you wanted to see 'im." + +"An' so I do. But I'm no relation of 'is--on'y a friend." + +"I was thinkin' so. Lawful born or come-by-chance, the child's a +little gentleman, an' different from the others. Blood al'ays comes +out, don't it?" + +"I s'pose so." + +Tilda, still perched on her chair, glanced out at the children in the +yard. + +"You won't see 'im out there. He's in the shed at the end o' the +kitchen garden, cleanin' the boots. If you've got anything good to tell +'im, an' 'll promise not to be five minutes, I might give you a run +there while the Doctor's finishin' his dinner in his study. Fact is," +added this strange woman, "the child likes to be alone, an' sometimes I +lets 'im slip away there--when he's good, or the Doctor's been extra +'ard with 'im." + +"Beats 'im?" asked Tilda, and suddenly, still erect on her chair and +looking down on the woman, felt her courage flowing back full and +strong. "He's a beast, then." + +"You musn' talk like that," said the woman hurriedly, with a glance back +at the half-open door. "Hut he's 'ard if you cross 'im--an' the child's +pay bein' be'ind--'and--" + +"What's your name?" demanded Tilda. + +"Sarah 'Uggins." + +"Miss or Missis?" + +"What's that to you?" + +The blood surged into the woman's face, and she eyed the child +suspiciously under lowered brows. Tilda slipped down from her chair. +She had a sense of standing dangerously on the edge of something evil, +forbidden. If only she could scream aloud and rush out--anywhere--into +the open air! + +"I--I was only wantin' to speak polite," she stammered. "I been +impident to yer. But O, Sarah 'Uggins--O, ma'am--'elp me see 'im an' +get away, an' I'll bless yer name fur ever and ever! Amen." + +"Nip in front o' me," said the woman, "and be quick, then! First +turnin' to the right down the stairs, an' don't clatter yer boots." + +Tilda obeyed breathlessly, and found herself in a dark stone stairway. +It led down steeply to the basement, and here her guide overtook and +stepped ahead of her. They passed through two dirty kitchens, through a +wash-house littered with damp linen and filled with steam from a copper +in the corner, and emerged upon a well-court foetid with sink-water and +decaying scraps of vegetables. They had met no one on their way, and it +crossed Tilda's mind--but the thought was incredible--that Sarah Huggins +served this vast barracks single-handed. A flight of stone steps led up +from this area to the railed coping twenty feet aloft, where the sky +shone pure and fresh. + +"Up there, an' you 're in the garden." Tilda ran, so fast that at the +head of the steps she had to clutch at the railing and draw breath. + +The garden, too, was deserted. A gravelled path, scarcely four feet +wide, ran straight to the end of it, and along this she hurried, not +daring to look back, but aware that all the back windows were following +her--watching and following her--with horrible curtainless eyes. + +The garden, planted for utility, was passably well kept. It contained, +in all its parcelled length, not a single flower. At the very end a few +currant bushes partially hid the front of the shed and glass-house. +They were the one scrap of cover, and when she reached them she had a +mind to crouch and hide, if only for a moment, from the staring windows. + +Her own eyes, as she passed these bushes, were fastened on the shed. +But it seemed that someone else had discovered shelter here; for with a +quick, half-guttural cry, like that of a startled animal, a small figure +started up, close by her feet, and stood and edged away from her with an +arm lifted as if to ward off a blow. + +It was a small boy--a boy abominably ragged and with smears of blacking +thick on his face, but for all that a good-looking child. Tilda gazed +at him, and he gazed back, still without lowering his arm. He was +trembling, too. + +"Doctor Livingstone, I presume?" said Tilda, lifting the brim of her +chip hat and quoting from one of Mr. Maggs's most effective dramatic +sketches. But as the boy stared, not taking the allusion, she went on, +almost in the same breath, "Is your name Arthur--Arthur Miles?" + +It seemed that he did not hear. At any rate he still backed and edged +away from her, with eyes distended--she had seen their like in the ring, +in beautiful terrified horses, but never in human creatures. + +--"Because, if you 're Arthur Miles, I got a message for you." + +A tattered book lay on the turf at her feet. She picked it up and held +it out to him. For a while he looked at her eyes, and from them to the +book, unable to believe. Then, with a noise like a sob, he sprang and +snatched it, and hid it with a hug in the breast of his coat. + +"I got a message for you," repeated Tilda. "There's someone wants to +see you, very bad." + +"You go away!" said the boy sullenly. "You don't know. If _he_ catches +you, there's no chance." + +Tilda had time in her distress to be astonished by his voice. It was +pure, distinct, with the tone of a sphere not hers. Yet she recognised +it. She had heard celestial beings--ladies and gentlemen in Maggs's +three-shilling seats--talk in voices like this boy's. + +"I've took a 'eap o' trouble to find yer," she said. "An' now I've done +it, _all_ depends on our gettin' out o' this. Ain't there no way? _Do_ +try to think a bit!" + +The boy shook his head. + +"There isn't any way. You let me alone, and clear." + +"He can't do worse'n kill us," said Tilda desperately, with a look back +at the house. "S'help me, let's try!" + +But her spirit quailed. + +"He won't kill you. He'll catch you, and keep you here for ever and +ever." + +"We'll try, all the same." + +Tilda shut her teeth and held out a hand--or rather, was beginning to +extend it--when a sound arrested her. It came from the door of the +glass-house, and as she glanced towards it her heart leapt and stood +still. + +"'Dolph!" + +Yes, it was 'Dolph, dirty, begrimed with coal; 'Dolph fawning towards +her, cringing almost on his belly, but wagging his stump of a tail +ecstatically. Tilda dashed upon him. + +"Oh, 'Dolph!--_how?_" + +The dog strangled down a bark, and ran back to the glass-house, but +paused in the doorway a moment to make sure that she was following. +It was all right. Tilda had caught the boy's hand, and was dragging him +along. 'Dolph led them through the glass-house and down a flight of +four steps to the broken door of a furnace-room. They pushed after him. +Behind the furnace a second doorway opened upon a small coal-cellar, +through the ceiling of which, in the right-hand corner, poured a +circular ray of light. The ray travelled down a moraine of broken coal, +so broad at the base that it covered the whole cellar floor, but +narrowing upwards and towards the manhole through which the daylight +shone. + +Down through the manhole, too--O bliss!--came the sound of a man's +whistle. + +"_Ph'ut! Phee-ee--uht!_ Darn that fool of a dog! _Ph'w_--" + +"For the Lord's sake!" called Tilda, pushing the boy up the coal-shute +ahead of her and panting painfully as her feet sank and slid in the +black pile. + +"Eh? . . . Hullo!" A man's face peered down, shutting off the daylight. +"Well, in all my born days--" + +He reached down a hand. + +"The boy first," gasped Tilda, "--and quick!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +IN WHICH CHILDE ARTHUR LOSES ONE MOTHER AND GAINS ANOTHER. + + +"_But and when they came to Easter Gate, +Easter Gate stood wide; +'y' are late, y' are late,' the Porter said; +'This morn my Lady died.'_"--OLD BALLAD. + +"Well, in all my born days!" said the young coalheaver again, as he +landed the pair on the canal bank. + +He reached down a hand and drew up 'Dolph by the scruff of his neck. +The dog shook himself, and stood with his tail still wagging. + +"Shut down the hole," Tilda panted, and catching sight of the iron +cover, while the young man hesitated she began to drag at it with her +own hands. + +"Steady on there!" he interposed. "I got five hundred more to deliver." + +"You don't deliver another shovelful till we're out o' this," said Tilda +positively, stamping the cover in place and standing upon it for safety. +"What's more, if anyone comes an' arsks a question, you ha'n't seen us." + +"Neither fur nor feather of ye," said the young man, and grinned. + +She cast a look at the boy; another up and down the towing-path. + +"Got such a thing as a cake o' soap hereabouts? You wouldn', I +suppose--" and here she sighed impatiently. + +"I 'ave, though. Always keeps a bit in my trouser pocket." He produced +it with pride. + +Said Tilda, "I don't know yername, but you're more like a Garden Angel +than any I've met yet in your walk o' life. Hand it over, an' keep a +look-out while I wash this child's face. I _can't_ take 'im through the +streets in this state." She turned upon the boy. "Here, you just kneel +down--so--with your face over the water, an' as near as you can manage." +He obeyed in silence. He was still trembling. "That's right, on'y take +care you don't overbalance." She knelt beside him, dipped both hands in +the water, and began to work the soap into a lather. "What's the +'andiest way to the Good Samaritan?" she asked, speaking over her +shoulder. + +"Meanin' the 'orspital?" + +"Yes." She took the boy's passive face between her hands and soaped it +briskly. "The 'andiest way, _an'_ the quietest, for choice." + +"The 'andiest way," said the young coalheaver, after considering for +half a minute, "an' the quietest, is for me to cast off the bow-straps +here an' let her drop across stream. You can nip up through the garden +yonder--it don't belong to nobody just now. That'll bring you out into +a place called Pollard's Row, an' you turn straight off on your right. +First turnin' opposite on the right by the 'Royal Oak,' which is a +public-'ouse, second turnin' to the left after that, an' you're in Upper +Town Street, an' from there to the Good Samaritan it's no more 'n a +stone's throw." + +Tilda was silent for a few moments whilst she fixed these directions in +her mind. + +"It do seem," she said graciously while she dried the boy's face with +the skirt of her frock, "like as if you 'd dropped 'ere from 'eaven. +What we should a-done without you, I can't think." + +"You'd best thank that dog o' your'n." The young man bent to cast off +his rope. "He broke away from me once, an' I made sure I'd lost 'im. +But by-an'-by back he came like a mad thing, an' no need to tell me you +was inside there. He was neither to hold nor to bind, an' I do believe +if he hadn't thought o' the manhole he'd 'a-broke the wall down, or elst +his 'eart." + +"When I tell you 'e got me in as well as out--But, good sake, I musn' +stand 'ere talkin'! Gimme my crutch, an' shove us across, that's a dear +man." + +She pushed the boy before her on to the barge. 'Dolph sprang on board +at their heels, and the young coalheaver thrust the bows across with his +pole. The canal measured but seventeen or eighteen feet from brink to +brink, and consequently the boat, which was seventy feet long at least, +fell across at a long angle. The garden on the opposite shore was +unfenced, or rather, its rotten palings had collapsed with time and the +pressure of a rank growth of elder bushes. + +"So long, an' th' Lord bless yer!" + +Tilda took the boy's hand and jumped ashore. + +"Same to you, an' wishin' you luck!" responded the young coalheaver +cheerfully. "Look 'ere," he added, "if you get in trouble along o' +this, I'm willin' to stand in for my share. Sam Bossom's my name-- +employ of Hucks, Canal End Basin. If they lag you for this, you just +refer 'em to Sam Bossom, employ of Hucks--everyone knows Hucks; an' I'll +tell 'em--well, darned if I know what I'll tell 'em, unless that we was +all under the influence o' drink." + +"You're a white man," responded Tilda, "though you don't look it; but +there ain't goin' to be no trouble, not if I can 'elp. If anyone arsks +questions, you han't seen us, mind." + +"Fur nor feather of ye," he repeated. He watched the pair as they dived +through the elder bushes; saw them, still hand in hand, take the path on +the left side of the garden, where its party hedge could best screen +them from the back windows of the Orphanage; and poled back +meditatively. + +"Got an 'ead on her shoulders, that child!" On their way up the garden +Tilda kept silence. She was busy, in fact, with Sam Bossom's +complicated itinerary, repeating it over and over to fix it in her mind. +She was fearful, too, lest some inquisitive neighbour, catching sight of +them, might stop them and challenge to know their business. The streets +once gained, she felt easier--easier indeed with every yard she put +between her and that house of horrors. But the streets, too, held their +dangers. The bells had rung in the elementary schools; all respectable +boys and girls were indoors, deep in the afternoon session, and she had +heard of attendance officers, those prowling foes. + +At the end of Pollard's Row--a squalid street of tenement houses--she +suffered indeed a terrible scare. A benevolent-looking middle-aged +lady--a district visitor, in fact--emerging from one of these houses and +arrested perhaps at sight of the crutch or of the boy's strange rags, +stopped her and asked where she was going. + +Tilda fell back on the truth. It was economical. + +"To the 'orspital," she answered, "the Good Samaritan." + +Then she blundered. + +"It's 'ereabouts, ain't it, ma'am?" + +"Not very far," replied the lady; "two or three streets only. Shall I +show you the way? I have plenty of time." + +"Thank you," said Tilda (she was suffering a reaction, and for a moment +it dulled the edge of her wits), "but I know the Good Samaritan, an' +they know all about me." + +"What's the matter?" + +"'Ip trouble, ma'am. I been treated for it there these three weeks." + +"That is strange," said the lady. "You have been going there for three +weeks, and yet you don't know your way?" + +"I been a in-patient. I was took there"--she was about to say "on a +stretcher," but checked herself in time--"I was took there in the +evenin' after dark. Father couldn' take me by day, in his work-time. +An' this is my first turn as day-patient, an' that's why my brother 'ere +is let off school to see me along," she wound up with a desperate rush +of invention. + +"You don't live in my district? What's your father's name?" + +"No, ma'am. He's called Porter--Sam Porter, an' he works on the +coal-barges. But I wouldn' advise you, I reely wouldn', because +father's got opinions, an' can't abide visitors. I've 'eard 'im threaten +'em quite vi'lent." + +"Poor child!" + +"But I won't 'ave you say anything 'gainst father," said Tilda, taking +her up quickly, "for 'e's the best father in the world, if 'twasn' fur +the drink." + +The effect of this masterstroke was that the lady gave her a copper and +let her go, wishing her a speedy recovery. The gift, although she took +it, did not appear to placate Tilda. She hobbled up the next street +with quickened pace, now and then muttering angrily. + +"Serves me right!" she broke out at length. "Bill--you don't know Bill, +but 'e's the wisest man in the 'ole world, _an'_ the kindest, _an'_ the +bestest. Bill would 'a-slapped my ear if 'e 'd 'eard me jus' now. +Near upon gave the show away, I did, an' all through wantin' to 'ear +somebody else tell what I knew a'ready. Never let nobody else make sure +for you--that's one o' Bill's sayin's. Take warnin' by me, an' don't +you ever forget it, Arthur Miles." + +The boy had not spoken all the way. He glanced at her timidly, and she +saw that he did not understand. Also it was plain that the streets, +with their traffic, puzzled him; at the approach of every passer-by he +would halt uncertainly, like a puppy not yet way-wise. By-and-by he +said-- + +"But if that's so, you must be my sister." + +"I'm not," said Tilda sharply. "What put it into your 'ead?" + +"You told the lady--" he began. + +"Eh? So I did. But that was all flam." He could make nothing of this. +"I was kiddin' of 'er--tellin' what wasn' true," she explained. + +He walked forward a few steps with a frown--not disapproving, but +painfully thinking this out. + +"And about the Hospital--wasn't that true either?" + +"Yes," Tilda nodded. "We're goin' to the 'orspital all right. +That's why I came to fetch yer. There's someone wants to see yer, ever +so bad." + +"I know about the Good Samaritan," announced the boy. + +Tilda stared. + +"I bet yer don't," she contradicted. + +"He found a man, a traveller, that some thieves had hurt and left by the +road. Going down to Jericho, it was; and he poured oil and wine into +his wounds." + +"Oh, cheese it!" said Tilda. "Oo's a-kiddin' now? An' see 'ere, Arthur +Miles--it don't matter with me, a lie up or down; I'm on'y Tilda. +But don't you pick up the 'abit, or else you'll annoy me. I can't tell +why ezactly, but it don't _sit_ on you." + +"Tilda?" The boy caught up her name like an echo. "Tilda what?" + +"The Lord knows. Tilda _nothin'_--Tilda o' Maggs's, if you like, an' +nobody's child, anyway." + +"But that isn't _possible_," he said, after thinking a moment. +"They called me that sometimes, back--back--" + +"At the Orph'nige, eh? 'Oo called you that? The Doctor? No," said +Tilda hurriedly, as he halted with a shiver, "don't look be'ind; 'e's +not anywhere near. An' as for the Good Samaritan, you're wrong about +that, too; for _'ere's_ the Good Samaritan!" + +She pointed at the building, and he stared. He could not comprehend at +all, but she had switched him off the current of his deadly fear. + +"Now you just wait 'ere by the steps," she commanded, "an' 'Dolph'll +wait by you an' see you come to no 'arm. Understand, 'Dolph? I'm goin' +inside for a minute--only a minute, mind; but if anybody touches Arthur +Miles, you _pin_ 'im!" + +'Dolph looked up at his mistress, then at the boy. He wagged his tail, +not enthusiastically. He would fain have followed her, but he +understood, and would obey. + +Tilda went up the steps, and up the stairs. On the landing, as chance +would have it, she met the Second Nurse coming out from the ward, with a +sheet in one hand and a tray of medicines in the other. + +"You extremely naughty child!" began the Second Nurse, but not in the +shrill tone nor with quite the stern disapproval the child had expected. +"When the doctor told you half an hour exactly, and you have been +_hours!_ What _have_ you been doing?" + +"Lookin' up the old folks," she answered, and took note first that the +medicine bottles were those that had stood on the sick woman's table, +and next that the Second Nurse, as she came out, transferred the sheet +to her arm and closed the door behind her. + +"You must wait here for a moment, now you have come so late. I have had +to give you another bed; and now I've to fetch some hot water, but I'll +be back in a minute." + +"Folks don't make beds up with hot water," thought Tilda. + +She watched the nurse down the passage, stepped to the door, and turned +the handle softly. + +There was no change in the ward except that a tall screen stood by the +sick woman's bed. Tilda crept to the screen on tip-toe, and peered +around it. + +Ten seconds--twenty seconds--passed, and then she drew back and stole +out to the landing, closing the door as softly as she had opened it. +In the light of the great staircase window her face was pale and +serious. + +She went down the stairs slowly. + +"Seems I made a mistake," she said, speaking as carelessly as she could, +but avoiding the boy's eyes. "You wasn' wanted up there, after all." + +But he gazed at her, and flung out both arms with a strangling sob. + +"You won't take me back! You'll hide me--you won't take me back!" + +"Oh, 'ush!" said Tilda. "No, I won't take yer back, an' I'll do my +best, but--oh, 'Dolph!"--she brushed the back of her hand across her +eyes and turned to the dog with the bravest smile she could contrive-- +"to think of me bein' a mother, at _my_ time o' life!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +TEMPORARY EMBARRASSMENTS OF A THESPIAN. + + +"_Sinner that I am," said the Showman, "see how you are destroying and +ruining my whole livelihood!_"--DON QUIXOTE. + +Mr. Sam Bossom, having poled back to the towpath, stepped ashore, made +fast his bow moorings, stood and watched the two childish figures as +they passed up the last slope of the garden out of sight, and proceeded +to deliver his remaining hundredweights of coal--first, however, peering +down the manhole and listening, to assure himself that all was quiet +below. + +"If," said he thoughtfully, "a man was to come an' tell me a story like +that, I'd call 'im a liar." + +Twice or thrice before finishing his job he paused to listen again, but +heard nothing. Still in musing mood, he scraped up the loose coal that +lay around the manhole, shovelled it in, re-fixed the cover, and tossed +his shovel on board. His next business was to fetch a horse from the +stables at the Canal End and tow the boat back to her quarters; and +having taken another glance around, he set off and up the towpath at a +pretty brisk pace. It would be five o'clock before he finished his +work: at six he had an engagement, and it would take him some time to +wash and titivate. + +Canal End Basin lay hard upon three-quarters of a mile up stream, and +about half that distance beyond the bend of the Great Brewery--a +malodorous pool packed with narrow barges or monkey-boats--a few loading +leisurably, the rest moored in tiers awaiting their cargoes. +They belonged to many owners, but their type was well nigh uniform. +Each measured seventy feet in length, or a trifle over, with a beam of +about seven; each was built with rounded bilges, and would carry from +twenty-five to thirty tons of cargo; each provided, aft of its hold or +cargo-well, a small cabin for the accommodation of its crew by day; and +for five-sixths of its length each was black as a gondola of Venice. +Only, where the business part of the boat ended and its cabin began, a +painted ribbon of curious pattern ornamented the gunwale, and terminated +in two pictured stern-panels. + +Wharves and storehouses surrounded the basin, or rather enclosed three +sides of it, and looked upon the water across a dead avenue (so to +speak) of cranes and bollards; buildings of exceedingly various height +and construction, some tiled, others roofed with galvanised iron. +Almost every one proclaimed on its front, for the information of the +stranger, its owner's name and what he traded in; and the stranger, +while making his choice between these announcements, had ample time to +contrast their diversity of size and style with the sober uniformity +that prevailed afloat. + +The store and yard of Mr. Christopher Hucks stood at the head of the +basin, within a stone's-throw of the Weigh Dock, and but two doors away +from the Canal Company's office. It was approached through +folding-doors, in one of which a smaller opening had been cut for +pedestrians, and through this, on his way to the stables in the rear, +Mr. Sam Bossom entered. He entered and halted, rubbing his eyes with +the back of his hand, which, grimed as it was with coal grit, but +further inflamed their red rims. In the centre of the yard, which had +been empty when he went to work, stood a large yellow caravan; and on +the steps of the caravan sat a man--a stranger--peeling potatoes over a +bucket. + +"Hullo!" said Sam. + +The stranger--a long-faced man with a dead complexion, an abundance of +dark hair, and a blue chin--nodded gloomily. + +"The surprise," he answered, "is mutual. If it comes to _that_, young +man, you are not looking your best either; though doubtless, if washed +off, it would reveal a countenance not sicklied o'er with the pale cast +of thought--thought such as, alas! must be mine--thought which, if +acquainted with the poets, you will recognise as lying too deep for +tears." + +"Governor settin' up in a new line?" asked Sam, slowly contemplating the +caravan and a large tarpaulin-covered wagon that stood beside it with +shafts resting on the ground. + +"If, my friend, you allude to Mr. Christopher Hucks, he is not setting +up in any new line, but pursuing a fell career on principles which (I am +credibly informed) are habitual to him, and for which I can only hope he +will be sorry when he is dead. The food, sir, of Mr. Christopher Hucks +is still the bread of destitution; his drink, the tears of widows; and +the groans of the temporarily embarrassed supply the music of his +unhallowed feast." + +"There is a bit o' that about the old man, until you get to know him," +assented Sam cheerfully. + +"Mr. Christopher Hucks--" began the stranger with slow emphasis, +dropping a peeled potato into the bucket and lifting a hand with an open +clasp-knife towards heaven. + +But here a voice from within the caravan interrupted him. + +"Stanislas!" + +"My love?" + +"I can't find the saucepan." + +A lady appeared at the hatch of the doorway above. Her hair hung in +disarray over her well-developed shoulders, and recent tears had left +their furrows on a painted but not uncomely face. + +"I--I--well, to confess the truth, I pawned it, my bud. Dear, every +cloud has its silver lining, and meanwhile what shall we say to a simple +fry? You have an incomparable knack of frying." + +"But where's the dripping?" + +Her husband groaned. + +"The dripping! The continual dripping! Am I--forgive the bitterness of +the question--but am I a stone, love?" + +He asked it with a hollow laugh, and at the same time with a glance +challenged Sam's approval for his desperate pleasantry. + +Sam jerked his thumb to indicate a wooden out-house on the far side of +the yard. + +"I got a shanty of my own across there, _and_ a few fixin's. If the van's +anchored here, an' I can set you up with odds-an'-ends such as a +saucepan, you're welcome." + +"A friend in need, sir, is a friend indeed," said the stranger +impressively; and Sam's face brightened, for he had heard the proverb +before, and it promised to bring the conversation, which he had found +some difficulty in following, down to safe, familiar ground. "Allow me +to introduce you--but excuse me, I have not the pleasure of knowing your +name--" + +"Sam Bossom." + +"Delighted! 'Bossom' did you say? B--O--double S--it should have been +'Blossom,' sir, with a slight addition; or, with an equally slight +omission--er--'Bosom,' if my Arabella will excuse me. On two hands, Mr. +Bossom, you narrowly escape poetry." (Sam looked about him uneasily.) +"But, as Browning says, 'The little more and how much it is, the little +less and what miles away.' Mine is Mortimer, sir--Stanislas Horatio +Mortimer. You have doubtless heard of it?" + +"Can't say as I 'ave," Sam confessed. + +"Is it possible?" Mr. Mortimer was plainly surprised, not to say hurt. +He knit his brows, and for a moment seemed to be pondering darkly. +"You hear it, Arabella? But no matter. As I was saying, sir, I desire +the pleasure of introducing you to my wife, Mrs. Mortimer, better known +to fame, perhaps, as Miss Arabella St. Maur. You see her, Mr. Bossom, +as my helpmeet under circumstances which (though temporarily +unfavourable) call forth the true woman--naked, in a figurative sense, +and unadorned. But her Ophelia, sir, has been favourably, nay +enthusiastically, approved by some of the best critics of our day." + +This again left Sam gravelled. He had a vague notion that the lady's +Ophelia must be some admired part of her anatomy, but contented himself +with touching his brow politely and muttering that he was Mrs. +Mortimer's to command. The lady, who appeared to be what Sam called to +himself a good sort, smiled down on him graciously, and hoped that she +and her husband might be favoured with his company at supper. + +"It's very kind of _you_, ma'am," responded Sam; "but 'fact is I han't +knocked off work yet. 'Must go now and fetch out th' old hoss for a +trifle of haulage; an' when I get back I must clean meself an' shift for +night-school--me bein' due early there to fetch up leeway. You see," he +explained, "bein' on the move wi' the boats most o' my time, I don't get +the same chances as the other fellows. So when I hauls ashore, as we +call it, I 'ave to make up lost time." + +"A student, I declare!" Mr. Mortimer saluted him. Rising from the steps +of the caravan, he rubbed a hand down his trouser-leg and extended it. +"Permit me to grasp, sir, the horny palm of self-improvement. A scholar +in humble life! and--as your delicacy in this small matter of the +saucepan sufficiently attests--one of Nature's gentlemen to boot! +I prophesy that you will go far, Mr. Bossom. May I inquire what books +you thumb?" + +"Thumb?" Sam, his hard hand released, stared at it a moment perplexed. +"That ain't the _method_, sir; not at our school. But I'm gettin' +along, and the book is called Lord Macaulay." + +"What? Macaulay's _Essays?_" + +"It's called _Lays_, sir--Lord Macaulay's _Lays_. The rest of the class +chose it, an' I didn' like to cry off, though I 'd not a-flown so high +as a lord myself--not to start with." + +"The _Lays of Ancient Rome?_ My dear Bossom--my dear Smiles--you'll +allow me to dub you Smiles? _On Self Help_, you know. I like to call +my friends by these playful sobriquets, and friends we are going to be, +you and I. My dear fellow, I used to know 'em by heart--" + + 'Lars Porsena of Clusium + By the nine gods he swore--' + +"--Is that the ticket, hey?" + +Mr. Mortimer clapped him on the shoulder. "Dang it!" breathed Sam, +"how small the world is!" + +"Smiles, we must be friends. Even if, for a paltry trifle of seven +pounds fifteen and six, I am condemned by your master (whom you will +excuse my terming a miscreant) to eke out the dregs of my worthless +existence in this infernal yard--no, my loved Arabella, you will pardon +me, but as a practical man I insist on facing the worst--even so I have +found a congenial spirit, a co-mate and brother in exile, a Friend in my +retreat Whom I can whisper: 'Solitude is sweet.' Pursue, my dear +Smiles! You are young: hope sits on your helm and irradiates it. +For me, my bark is stranded, my fortunes shipwrecked, my career trickles +out in the sands. Nevertheless, take the advice of an Elder Brother, +and pursue. By the way"--Mr. Mortimer drew from his breast-pocket the +stump of a half-consumed cigar--"I regret that I have not its fellow to +offer you; but could you oblige me with a match?" + +Sam produced a couple of sulphur matches. + +"I thank you." Mr. Mortimer lit and inhaled. "A--ah!" he sighed between +two luxurious puffs. "Connoisseurs--epicures--tell me a cigar should +never be lit twice. But with tobacco of this quality--the last of the +box, alas! All its blooming companions--and, between you and me, +smuggled." He winked knowingly. + +Just then a hooter from the Great Brewery announced five o'clock. +Sam groaned. He had engaged himself to the schoolmaster for an hour's +private tuition before the Evening Class opened, and Mr. Mortimer's +fascinating talk had destroyed his last chance of keeping that +engagement. Even if he dropped work straight away, it would take him a +good three-quarters of an hour to clean himself and don his best suit. + +He was explaining this to Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer when, his eyes resting +on the empty shafts of the wagon, a happy thought occurred to him. + +"O' course," he began, "--but there, I don't like to suggest it, sir." + +"Say on, my friend." + +"Well--I was thinkin' that you, may be, bein' accustomed to hosses--" + +"My father," put in Mr. Mortimer, "rode to hounds habitually. A _beau +ideal_, if I may say so, of the Old English squire. It is in the +blood." + +"I _know_ it's a come-down," Sam owned. "And a shilling at most for +overtime--meanin' no offence--" + +Mr. Mortimer waved a hand. + +"If," said he, "it be a question of my rendering you any small service, +I beg, my friend--I command--that all question of pecuniary recompense +be left out of the discussion." + +Sam, feeling that he had to deal with a noble character, explained that +the job was an easy one; merely to lead or ride one of the horses down +the hauling-path to where the boat lay, to hitch on the tackle, cast off +straps, pull up and ship the two crowbars to which they were made fast, +and so take the tiller and steer home. The horse knew his business, and +would do the rest. + +"And you can't mistake the boat. _Duchess of Teck_ is her name, an' she +lies about three ropes' lengths this side of the iron bridge, just as +you come abreast o' the brick wall that belongs to the Orph'nage." + +"Bring forth the steed," commanded Mr. Mortimer. "Nay, I will accompany +you to the stables and fetch him." + +"_And_ the saucepan! Don't forget the saucepan!" Mrs. Mortimer called +after them in a sprightly voice as they crossed the yard together. + +"Ha, the saucepan!" Within the stable doorway Mr. Mortimer stood still +and pressed a hand to his brow. "You cannot think, my dear Smiles, how +that obligation weighs on me. The expense of a saucepan--what is it? +And yet--" He seemed to ponder. Of a sudden his brow cleared. +"--Unless, to be sure--that is to say, if you should happen to have a +shilling about you?" + +"I got no change but 'arf-a-crown, if that's any use," answered the +charmed Sam. + +"Nothing smaller? Still," suggested Mr. Mortimer quickly, "I could +bring back the change." + +"Yes, do." + +"It will please Arabella, too. In point of fact, during the whole of +our married life I have made it a rule never to absent myself from her +side without bringing back some trifling gift. Women--as you will +understand one of these days--set a value on these _petits soins_; and +somewhere in the neighbourhood of the iron bridge a tinsmith's should +not be hard to find . . . Ah, thanks, my dear fellow--thanks +inexpressibly! Absurd of me, of course; but you cannot think what a +load you have taken off my mind." + +Sam unhitched one of a number of hauling tackles hanging against the +wall, and led forth his horse--a sturdy old grey, by name Jubilee. +Casting the tackle carelessly on the animal's back, he handed Mr. +Mortimer the headstall rope, and left him, to return two minutes later +with the saucepan he had promised. + +"She must use this one for the time," he explained. "And afterwards +yours will come as a surprise." + +"It must be so, I suppose," assented Mr. Mortimer, but after a pause, +and reluctantly, averting his eyes from the accursed thing. + +To spare him, Sam hurried across to deliver it to the lady, who awaited +them in the doorway: and thus approaching he became aware that she was +making mysterious signals. He glanced behind him. Plainly the signals +were not directed at her husband, who had halted to stoop and pass a +hand over old Jubilee's near hind pastern, and in a manner almost more +than professional. Sam advanced, in some wonder. Mrs. Mortimer reached +down a shapely hand for the pan-handle, leaned as she did so, and +murmured-- + +"You will not lend money to Stanislas? He is apt, when the world goes +ill with him, to seek distraction, to behave unconventionally. It is +not a question of drowning his cares, for the least little drop acting +upon his artistic temperament--" + +But at this moment her husband, having concluded his inspection of the +grey, called out to be given a leg-up, and Sam hurried back to oblige. + +"Thank you. Time was, Smiles, when with hand laid lightly on the +crupper, I could have vaulted." + +Overcome by these reminiscences, Mr. Mortimer let his chin sink, his +legs dangle, and rode forward a pace or two in the classical attitude of +the Last Survivor from Cabul; but anon looked up with set jaw and +resolution in his eye, took a grip with his knees, and challenged-- + + "Give a man a horse he can ride, + Give a man a boat he can sail, + And his something or other--I forget + the exact expression-- + On sea nor shore shall fail!" + +--"Fling wide the gate, Smiles!" He was now the Dashing Cavalier, +life-sized. "Take care of yourself, poppet!" + +He gave his bridle-rein a shake (so to speak), turned, blew a kiss to +his spouse, dug heel and jogged forth chanting-- + + "_Tirra tirra_ by the river + Sang Sir Lancelot!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MR. MORTIMER'S ADVENTURE. + + +"_Old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?_"--HAMLET + +All the way along the canal bank Mr. Mortimer continued to carol. +Mercurial man! Like all actors he loved applause, but unlike the most +of them he was capable of supplying it when the public failed; and this +knack of being his own best audience had lifted him, before now, out of +quite a number of Sloughs of Despond and carried him forward singing. + +He had left care behind him in Mr. Hucks's yard, and so much of noble +melancholy as he kept (for the sake of artistic effect) took a tincture +from the sunset bronzing the smoke-laden sky and gilding the unlovely +waterway. Like the sunset, Mr. Mortimer's mood was serene and golden. +His breast, expanding, heaved off all petty constricting worries, +"like Samson his green wythes": they fell from him as he rode, and as he +rode he chanted-- + + "The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves + And flamed upon the brazen greaves + Of bold Sir Lancelot . . ." + +Old Jubilee--if, like John Gilpin's horse, he wondered more and more-- +was a philosophical beast and knew his business. Abreast of the boat, +beside the angle of the Orphanage wall, he halted for his rider to +alight, and began to nose for herbage among the nettles. Nor did he +betray surprise when Mr. Mortimer, after a glance down the towpath +towards the iron bridge and the tram-lights passing there, walked off +and left him to browse. + +Fifteen minutes passed. The last flush of sunset had died out of the +sky, and twilight was deepening rapidly, when Mr. Mortimer came +strolling back. Apparently--since he came empty-handed--his search for +a saucepan had been unsuccessful. Yet patently the disappointment had +not affected his spirits, for at sight of Old Jubilee still cropping in +the dusk he stood still and gave utterance to a lively whoop. + +The effect of this sobered him. Old Jubilee was not alone. Hurriedly +out of the shadow of the Orphanage wall arose a grey-white figure--a +woman. It seemed that she had been kneeling there. Now, as Mr. +Mortimer advanced, she stood erect, close back against the masonry, +waiting for him to pass. + +"'S a female," decided Mr. Mortimer, pulling himself together and +advancing with a hand over his brow, the better to distinguish the +glimmer of her dress. "'S undoubtedly a female. Seems to be looking +for something . . ." He approached and lifted his hat. "Command me, +madam!" + +The woman drew herself yet closer under the shadow. + +"Go your way, please!" she answered sharply, with a catch of her breath. + +"You mishun'erstand. Allow me iggs--I beg pardon, eggs--plain. +Name's Mortimer--Stanislas 'Ratio, of that ilk. A Scotch exshpression." +Here he pulled himself together again, and with an air of anxious +lucidity laid a precise accent on every syllable. "The name, I flatter +myself, should be a guarantee. No reveller, madam, I s'hure you; +appearances against me, but no Bacchanal; still lesh--shtill _less_ I +should iggs--or, if you prefer it, eggs--plain, gay Lothario. Trust me, +ma'am--married man, fifteen years' standing--Arabella--tha's my wife-- +never a moment's 'neasiness--" + + 'Two shouls'--you'll excuse me, souls--' with but a single thought, + Two hearts that beat ash one.' + +"Between you and me, ma'am, we have thoughts of applying for Dunmow +flitch. Quaint old custom, Dunmow flitch. Heard of it, I dareshay?" + +"I wish you would go about your business." + +Mr. Mortimer emitted a tragic laugh. + +"I will, madam--I will: if it please you witness to what base uses we +may return, Horatio. Allow me first remove mishunderstanding. +Preshumed you to be searching for something--hairpin for exshample. +Common occurrence with my Arabella. No offensh--merely proffered my +shervices . . . The deuce! What's _that?_" + +The woman seemed inclined to run, but stood hesitating. + +"You heard it? There! close under the wall--" + +Mr. Mortimer stepped forward and peered into the shadow. He was +standing close above the manhole, and to the confusion of all his senses +he saw the cover of the manhole lift itself up; saw the rim of it rise +two, three inches, saw and heard it joggle back into its socket. + +"For God's sake go away!" breathed the woman. + +"Norrabit of it, ma'am. Something wrong here. Citizen's duty, anything +wrong--" + +Here the cover lifted itself again. Mr. Mortimer deftly slipped three +fingers under its rim, and reaching back with his other hand produced +from his pocket the second of Sam's two matches. + +"Below there!" he hailed sepulchrally, at the same moment striking the +match on the tense seat of his trousers and holding it to the aperture. +"Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness . . . Eh? . . . Good Lord!"-- +he drew back and dropped the match--"it's a clergyman!" + +He clapped down the cover in haste, sprang to his feet, and lifting his +hat, made her the discreetest of bows. He was sober, now, as a judge. + +"A thousand pardons, madam! I have seen nothing--believe me, nothing." + +He strode in haste to Old Jubilee's headstall and began to back him +towards the boat. The woman gazed at him for a moment in mere +astonishment, then stepped quickly to his side. + +"I didn' know," she stammered. "You don't look nor talk like a bargee." + +Here her voice came to a halt, but in the dusk her eyes appeared to +question him. + +"Few of us are what we seem, ma'am," Mr. Mortimer sighed. "Bargee for +the nonce I am, yet gentleman enough to understand a delicate situation. +Your secret is safe with me, and so you may tell your--your friend." + +"Then you must a-seen them?" she demanded. + +"Them?" echoed Mr. Mortimer. + +"No," she went on hurriedly, mistaking his hesitation. "They made you +promise, an' I don't _want_ to know. If I knew, he'd force it out o' +me, an' then he 'd cut my heart out." + +She glanced over her shoulder, and Mr. Mortimer, interpreting the +glance, nodded in the direction of the manhole. + +"Meanin' his Reverence?" he asked. + +"His name's Glasson. The Orph'nage belongs to him. It's a serious +thing for him to lose one o' the children, and he's like a madman about +it ever since . . ." She broke off and put out a hand to help him with +the haulage tackle. "Where are you taking her?" + +"Her? The boat? Oh, back to Hucks's--Christopher Hucks, Anchor Wharf, +Canal End Basin. 'Anchor,' you'll observe,--supposed emblem of Hope." +He laughed bitterly. + +"Yes, yes," she nodded. "And quick--quick as ever you can! Here, let +me help--" She caught at one of the two crowbars that served for +mooring-posts and tugged at it, using all her strength. "He'll be +coming around here," she panted, and paused for a moment to listen. +"If he catches me talkin', God knows what'll happen!" She tugged +again. + +"Steady does it," said Mr. Mortimer; and having helped her to draw the +bar up, he laid it in the boat as noiselessly as he could and ran to the +second. "There's no one coming," he announced. "But see here, if +you're in fear of the man, let me have another go at the manhole. +He may be down there yet, and if so I'll give him the scare of his life. +Yes, ma'am, the scare of his life. You never saw my Hamlet, ma'am? +You never heard me hold parley with my father's ghost? Attend!" + +Mr. Mortimer stepped to the manhole and struck thrice upon it with his +heel. + +"Glasson!" he called, in a voice so hollow that it seemed to rumble down +through the bowels of earth. "Glasson, forbear!" + +"For God's sake--" The woman dragged at his shoulder as he knelt. + +"All is discovered, Glasson! Thy house is on fire, thy orphans are +flown. Rake not the cellarage for their bones, but see the newspapers. +Already, Glasson, the newsboys run about the streets. It spreads, +Glasson; may'st hear them call. Like wildfire it spreads. ''Orrible +discovery of 'uman remains! A clergyman suspected!'" + +Here Mr. Mortimer, warm to his work, let out a laugh so blood-curdling +that Old Jubilee bolted the length of his rope. + +"The boat!" gasped the woman. + +"Eh?" + +Mr. Mortimer turned and saw the boat glide by the bank like a shadow; +heard the thud of Old Jubilee's hoofs, and sprang in pursuit. The woman +ran with him. + +But the freshest horse cannot bolt far with a 72-feet monkey-boat +dragging on his shoulders, and at the end of fifty yards, the towrope +holding, Old Jubilee dropped to a jog-trot. The woman caught her breath +as Mr. Mortimer jumped aboard and laid hold of the tiller. But still +she ran beside panting. + +"You won't tell him?" + +Mr. Mortimer waved a hand. + +"And--and you'll hide 'em--for he's bound to come askin'--you'll hide +'em if you can--" + +Mr. Mortimer heard, but could not answer for the moment, the steerage +claiming all his attention. When he turned towards the bank she was no +longer there. He looked back over his shoulder. She had come to a dead +halt and stood watching, her print gown glimmering in the dusk. And so, +as the boat rounded the bend by the Brewery, he lost sight of her. + +He passed a hand over his brow. + +"Mysterious business," he mused; "devilish mysterious. On the face of +it looks as if my friend Smiles, not content with self-help in its +ordinary forms, has been helping himself to orphans! Must speak to him +about it." + +He pondered, gazing up the dim waterway, and by-and-by broke into a +chuckle. + +He chuckled again twenty minutes later, when, having stabled Old +Jubilee, he crossed the yard to sup and to season the meal with a +relation of his adventure. + +"Such an encounter, my poppet!" he announced, groping his way across to +the caravan, where his spouse had lit the lamp and stood in the doorway +awaiting him. "Smiles--our ingenuous Smiles--has decoyed, has laid me +under suspicion; and of what, d'you think? Stealing orphans!" + +"Hush!" answered Mrs. Mortimer. "They 're here." + +"They? Who? . . . Not the bailiffs? Arabella, don't tell me it's the +bailiffs again!" + +Mr. Mortimer drew back as though a snake lay coiled on the caravan +steps. + +"It's not the bailiffs, Stanislas; it's the orphans." + +"But--but, my sweet, there must be some mistake. I--er--actually, of +course, I have nothing to do with any orphans whatsoever." + +"Oh, yes, you have," his wife assured him composedly. "They are inside +here, with a yellow dog." + +While Mr. Mortimer yet reeled under this news the door of the courtyard +rattled and creaked open in the darkness. A lantern showed in the +opening, and the bearer of it, catching sight of the lit caravan, +approached with quick, determined strides. + +"Can you inform me," asked a high clerical voice, "where I can find Mr. +Christopher Hucks?" + +The stranger held his lantern high, so that its ray fell on his face, +and with that Mr. Mortimer groaned and collapsed upon the lowest step, +where mercifully his wife's ample shadow spread an aegis over him. + +"Mr. Hucks, sir?" Mrs. Mortimer answered the challenge. "I saw him, +not twenty minutes ago, step into his private office there to the left, +and by the light in the window he's there yet." + +"But who is it?" she asked, as the stranger, swinging his lantern, +marched straight up to Mr. Hucks's door. + +"Good Lord, it's the man himself--Glasson! And he's come for his +orphans." + +"He shan't have 'em, then," said Mrs. Mortimer. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +IN WHICH MR. HUCKS TAKES A HAND. + + +"_A many-sided man._"--COLERIDGE ON SHAKESPEARE. + +Let Mr. Christopher Hucks introduce himself in his own customary way, +that is, by presenting his card of business:-- + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ +| | +| CHRISTOPHER HUCKS | +| | +| ANCHOR WHARF, CANAL END BASIN, BURSFIELD | +| CANAL CARRIER, LIGHTERMAN, FREIGHTER AND WHARFINGER | +| BOAT BUILDER, COAL AND GENERAL MERCHANT | +| AUCTIONEER, PRACTICAL VALUER, HOUSE AND ESTATE AGENT | +| | +| --------------- | +| | +| FIRE, LIFE, ACCIDENT AND PLATE GLASS INSURAMCES EFFECTED | +| FIRE AND INCOME TAX CLAIMS PREPARED AND ADJUSTED | +| LIVE STOCK INSURED AGAINST DEATH FROM ACCIDENT OR DISEASE | +| SERVANTS REGISTRY OFFICE | +| | +| ----------------- | +| | +| AGENT FOR JOHN TAYLOR AND CO.'S PHOSPHATE AND SOLUBLE BONE | +| MANURES | +| COPPERAS, CHARCOAL, ETC., FOR SEWAGE AND OTHER PURPOSES | +| ACIDS AND ANILINES FOR THE TEXTILE TRADES | +| | +| ----------------- | +| | +| VALUATIONS FOR PROBATE EMIGRATION AGENT | +| PRIVATE ARRANGEMENTS NEGOTIATED WITH CREDITORS | +| | +| ----------------- | +| | +| N.B.--ALL KINDS OF RIVER AND CANAL CRAFT BUILT OR REPAIRED, | +| PURCHASED, SOLD, OR TO LET. NOTE THE ADDRESS | +| | + + +Mr. Hucks, a widower, would have to be content in death with a shorter +epitaph. In life his neighbours and acquaintances knew him as the +toughest old sinner in Bursfield; and indeed his office hours (from 9 +a.m. to 9 p.m. nominally--but he was an early riser) allowed him scant +leisure to practice the Christian graces. Yet though many had occasion +to curse Mr. Hucks, few could bring themselves to hate him. The rogue +was so massive, so juicy. + +He stood six feet four inches in his office slippers, and measured +fifty-two inches in girth of chest. He habitually smoked the strongest +shag tobacco, and imbibed cold rum and water at short intervals from +morning to night; but these excesses had neither impaired his +complexion, which was ruddy, jovial and almost unwrinkled, nor dimmed +the delusive twinkle of his eyes. These, under a pair of grey bushy +brows, met the world humorously, while they kept watch on it for +unconsidered trifles; but never perhaps so humorously as when their +owner, having clutched his prey, turned a deaf ear to appeal. For the +rest, Mr. Hucks had turned sixty, but without losing his hair, which in +colour and habit resembled a badger's; and although he had lived inland +all his life, carried about with him in his dress, his gait, his speech +an indefinable suggestion of a nautical past. If you tried to fix it, +you found yourself narrowed down to explaining it by the blue jersey he +wore in lieu of shirt and waistcoat. (He buttoned his braces over it, +and tucked its slack inside the waistband of his trousers.) Or, with +luck, you might learn that he habitually slept in a hammock, and +corroborate this by observing the towzled state of his back hair. But +the suggestion was, in fact, far more subtle, pervasive--almost you +might call it an aroma. + +The Counting House--so he called the single apartment in which he slung +his hammock, wrote up his ledgers, interviewed his customers, and in the +intervals cooked his meals on an oil-stove--was, in pact, a store of +ample dimensions. To speak precisely, it measured thirty-six feet by +fourteen. But Mr. Hucks had reduced its habitable space to some eight +feet by six, and by the following process. + +Over and above the activities mentioned on his business card, he was a +landlord, and owned a considerable amount of cottage property, including +a whole block of tenement houses hard by The Plain. Nothing could be +simpler than his method of managing this estate. He never spent a penny +on upkeep or repairs. On a vacancy he accepted any tenant who chose to +apply. He collected his rents weekly and in person, and if the rent +were not forthcoming he promptly distrained upon the furniture. + +By this process Mr. Hucks kept his Counting House replete, and even +crowded, with chattels, some of which are reckoned among the necessaries +of life, while others--such as an accordion, a rain-gauge, and a case of +stuffed humming-birds--rank rather with its superfluities. Of others +again you wondered how on earth they had been taken in Mr. Hucks's +drag-net. A carriage umbrella, for example, set you speculating on the +vicissitudes of human greatness. When the collection impinged upon Mr. +Hucks so that he could not shave without knocking his elbow, he would +hold an auction, and effect a partial clearance; and this would happen +about once in four years. But this clearance was never more than +partial, and the residuum ever consisted in the main of musical +instruments. Every man has his own superstitions, and for some reason +Mr. Hucks--who had not a note of music in his soul--deemed it unlucky to +part with musical instruments, which was the more embarrassing because +his most transitory tenants happened to be folk who practised music on +the public for a livelihood--German bandsmen, for instance, not so well +versed in English law as to be aware that implements of a man's trade +stand exempt from seizure in execution. Indeed, the bulk of the +exhibits in Mr. Hucks's museum could legally have been recovered from +him under writ of replevy. But there they were, and in the midst of +them to-night their collector sat and worked at his ledger by the light +of a hurricane lamp. + +A knock at the door disturbed his calculations. + +"Come in!" he called, and Dr. Glasson entered. + +"Eh? Good evenin'," said Mr. Hucks, but without heartiness. + +He disliked parsons. He looked upon all men as rogues more or less, but +held that ministers of religion claimed an unfair advantage on the +handicap. In particular this Dr. Glasson rubbed him, as he put it, the +wrong way. + +"Good evening," said Dr. Glasson. "You will excuse my calling at this +late hour." + +"Cert'nly. Come to pay for the coals? Fifteen tons best Newcastle at +eighteen shillin' makes thirteen ten, and six pounds owin' on the last +account--total nineteen ten. Shall I make out the receipt?" + +"You don't seriously expect me, Mr. Hucks, to pay for your coals on the +same day you deliver them--" + +"No," Mr. Hucks agreed, "I didn' _expect_ it; but I looked for ye to pay +up the last account before I sent any more on credit. I've told +Simmonds he was a fool to take your order, and he'll get the sack if it +happens again. Fifteen tons, too! But Simmonds has a weak sort of +respect for parsons. Sings in the choir somewhere. Well, if you ain't +come to pay, you've come for something; to explain, may be, why you go +sneakin' around my foreman 'stead of dealin' with me straight an' +gettin' 'no' for an answer." + +"Your manner is offensive, Mr. Hucks, but for the moment I must overlook +it. The fact is, I want information, if you can give it, on an urgent +matter. One of my charges is missing." + +"Charges?" repeated Mr. Hucks. "Eh? Lost one of your orphans? Well, I +haven't found him--or her, if it's a girl. Why don't you go to the +police?" + +"It is a boy. Naturally I hesitate to apply to the police if the poor +child can be recovered without their assistance. Publicity in these +matters, as no doubt you can understand--" + +Mr. Hucks nodded. + +"I understand fast enough." + +"The newspapers exaggerate . . . and then the public--even the +charitable public--take up some groundless suspicion--" + +"Puts two and two together," agreed Mr. Hucks, still nodding, "and then +the fat's in the fire. No, I wouldn' have the police poke a nose into +the 'Oly Innocents--not if I was you. But how do _I_ come into this +business?" + +"In this way. One of your employees was delivering coal to-day at the +Orphanage--" + +"Fifteen ton." + +"--and I have some reason to believe that the child escaped by way of +the coal-cellar. I am not suggesting that he was helped." + +"Aren't you? Well, I'm glad to hear you say it, for it did look like +you was drivin' at something o' the sort. I don't collect orphans, for +my part," said Mr. Hucks with a glance around. + +"What I meant to say was that your man--whoever he was--might be able to +give some information." + +"He might," conceded Mr. Hucks guardedly, "and he mightn't; and then +again he might be more able than willin'." + +"Must I remind you, Mr. Hucks, that a person who abets or connives at +the sort of thing we are discussing is likely to find himself in +trouble? or that even a refusal of information may be awkwardly +construed?" + +"Now see here, Glasson"--Mr. Hucks filled his pipe, and having lit it, +leaned both elbows on the table and stared across at his visitor-- +"don't you ride the high horse with me. A moment ago you weren't +suggestin' anything, and you'd best stick to that. As for my man-- +whoever he was--you can't charge him with stealin' one o' your blessed +orphans until you lay hold on the orphan he stole and produce him in +court. That's _Habeas Corpus_, or else 'tis _Magna Charter_--I forget +which. What's more, you'd never face a court, an' you know it." +He cast a curious glance at the Doctor's face, and added, "Sit down." + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"Sit down. No, not there." But the warning came too late. "Not hurt +yourself, I hope?" he asked, as the Doctor rubbed that part of himself +which had come into collision with the sharp edge of a concertina. +"Clear away that coil of hose and take a seat on the packing-case +yonder. That's right; and now let's talk." He puffed for a moment and +appeared to muse. "Seems to me, Glasson, you're in the devil of a hurry +to catch this child." + +"My anxiety is natural, I should hope." + +"No it ain't," said Mr. Hucks with brutal candour. + +"And that's what's the matter with it. What's more, you come to me. +Now," with continued candour, "I ain't what you might call a model +Christian; but likewise you don't reckon me the sort that would help you +pick up orphans just for the fun of handin' 'em over to you to starve. +So I conclude," Mr. Hucks wound up, "there's money in this somewhere." + +Doctor Glasson did not answer for a few seconds. He seemed to be +considering. His eyes blinked, and the folds of his lean throat worked +as if he swallowed down something. + +"I will be frank with you, Mr. Hucks," he said at length. "There may or +may not be, as you put it, money in this. I have kept this child for +close upon eight years, and during the last two the Orphanage has not +received one penny of payment. He was brought to us at the age of two +by a seafaring man, who declared positively that the child was not his, +that he was legitimate, and that he had relatives in good position. +The man would not tell me their names, but gave me his own and his +address--a coast-guard station on the East coast. You will pardon my +keeping these back until I know that you will help me." + +"Go on." + +"Sufficiently good terms were offered, and for six years my charges were +regularly met without question. Then payment ceased. My demands for an +explanation came back through the Dead Letter Office, and when I +followed them up by a journey to the address given, it was to learn that +my man--a chief boatman in the coast-guard service--had died three +months before, leaving no effects beyond a pound or two and the contents +of his sea-chest--no will--and, so far as could be traced, no kith or +kin. So far, Mr. Hucks, the business does not look promising." + +"All right, Glasson. You keep a child for two years on charity, and +then get into a sweat on losing him. I trust your scent, and am not +disheartened--yet." + +"The boy has considerable natural refinement." + +"You didn't keep him for _that_?" + +"It has often suggested to me that his parentage was out of the +ordinary--that he probably has relatives at least--er--well-to-do. +But the main point is that he did not escape to-day of his own accord. +He was kidnapped, and in circumstances that convince me there has been a +deliberate plot. To my mind it is incredible that these children, +without collusion--" But here Doctor Glasson pulled himself up and sat +blinking. + +"Eh? Was there more than one?" queried Mr. Hucks, sharp as a knife. + +"There was a small girl, not one of my charges. She called on me +shortly after midday with a story that an aunt of hers, who may or may +not exist, but whom she pretended to anticipate, took an interest in +this child. While she waited for this aunt's arrival, the--er--matron, +Mrs. Huggins, incautiously allowed her access to the kitchen garden, +where--without my knowledge and against my rules--the boy happened to be +working. The pair of them have disappeared; and, further, I have +convinced myself that their exit was made by way of the coal-shaft." + +"A small girl, you say? What age?" + +"About ten, as nearly as I can guess. A slip of a child, very poorly +dressed, and walking with a decided limp." + +"I follow you this far," said Mr. Hucks, ruminating. "--Allowin' +there's a plot, if 'tis worth folks' while to get hold o' the child, +'tis worth your while to get him back from 'em. But are you sure +there's a plot? There it don't seem to me you've made out your case." + +Mr. Hucks said it thoughtfully, but his mind was not working with his +speech. The coals, as he knew--though he did not propose to tell the +Doctor, at any rate just yet--had been delivered by Sam Bossom. +Of complicity in any such plot as this Sam was by nature incapable. +On the other hand, Sam was just the fellow to help a couple of children +out of mere kindness of heart. Mr. Hucks decided to have a talk with +Sam before committing himself. He suspected, of course--nay, was +certain--that Glasson had kept back something important. + +Thus his meditations were running when the Doctor's reply switched the +current in a new direction. + +"You have not heard the whole of it. As it happens, the man in charge +of the coal-boat was not, as I should judge, one of your regular +employees--certainly not an ordinary bargeman--but a person whose speech +betrayed him as comparatively well educated." + +"Eh?" Mr. Hucks sat upright and stared. + +"I am not suggesting--" + +"No, damme--you 'd better not!" breathed Mr. Hucks. + +"Very possibly he had bribed your man with the price of a pot of beer. +At all events, there he was, and in charge of the boat." + +"You saw him? Spoke to him?" + +"To be accurate, he spoke to me--down the coal-shaft, as I was examining +it. I judged him to be simulating drunkenness. But his voice was a +cultivated one--I should recognise it anywhere; and Mrs. Huggins, who +saw and spoke with him, describes him as a long-faced man, of +gentlemanly bearing, with a furred collar." + +"Good Lord! Mortimer!" ejaculated Mr. Hucks, but inwardly. + +"I need hardly point out to you that a bargee in a furred collar--" + +"No, you needn't." Mr. Hucks rose from his chair. "See here, Glasson, +you've come with a notion that I'm mixed up in this. Well, as it +happens, you're wrong. I don't ask you to take my word--I don't care a +d--n whether you believe me or not--only you're wrong. What's more, +I'll give no promise to help--not to-night, anyway. But I'm goin' to +look into this, and to-morrow I'll tell you if we play the hand +together. To-morrow at nine-thirty, if that suits? If not, you can go +and get the police to help." + +"Time may be precious," hesitated Glasson. + +"Mine is, anyway," Mr. Hucks retorted. "Let me see you out. No, it's +no trouble. I'm goin' to look into this affair right away." + +He handed the Doctor his lantern, opened the door for him, and walked +with him three parts of the way across the yard. As they passed the +caravan door his quick ear noted a strange sound within. It resembled +the muffled yap of a dog. But Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer did not keep a +dog. + +He halted. "There's the gate. Good night," he said, and stood +watching while Glasson passed out. Then, swinging on his heel, he +strode back to the caravan. + +"Mortimer!" he challenged, mounting to the third step and knocking. + +"Ha! Who calls?" answered the deep voice of Mr. Mortimer after two +seconds' interval. + +"Hucks. And I want a word with you." + +The door opened a little way . . . and with that someone within the van +uttered a cry, as a dark object sprang out over the flap, hurtled past +Mr. Hucks, and hurled itself across the court towards the gate. + +"'Dolph! 'Dolph!" called an agonised voice--a child's voice. + +"The dog's daft!" chimed in Mr. Mortimer. + +"'E'll kill 'im!" + +As Mr. Hucks recovered his balance and stared in at the caravan doorway, +now wide open, from the darkness beyond the gate came a cry and a fierce +guttural bark--the two blent together. Silence followed. Then on the +silence there broke the sound of a heavy splash. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FLIGHT. + + +"_So all night long and through the dawn the ship cleft her way." +--ODYSSEY, ii. + +Mr. Hucks ran. Mr. Mortimer ran. As they reached the gate they heard +the voice of Doctor Glasson uplifted, gurgling for help. + +They spied him at once, for by a lucky chance his lantern--one of the +common stable kind, with panes of horn--had fallen from his grasp as he +pitched over the edge of the basin. It floated, bobbing on the waves +cast up by his struggles and splashings, and by the light of it they +quickly reached the spot. But unluckily, though they could see him well +enough, they could not reach Doctor Glasson. He clung to the head-rope +of a barge moored some nine feet from shore, and it appeared that he was +hurt, for his efforts to lift himself up and over the stem of the boat, +though persistent, were feeble, and at every effort he groaned. +The dog--cause of the mischief--craned forward at him over the water, +and barked in indecent triumph. + +Mr. Mortimer, who had gone through the form of tearing off his coat, +paused as he unbuttoned his waistcoat also, and glanced at Mr. Hucks. + +"Can you swim?" he asked. "I--I regret to say it is not one of my +accomplishments." + +"I ain't goin' to try just yet," Mr. Hucks answered with creditable +composure. "They 're bound to fetch help between 'em with the row they +'re making. Just hark to the d--d dog." + +Sure enough the alarm had been given. A voice at that moment hailed +from one of the boats across the water to know what was the matter, and +half a dozen porters, canal-men, night watchmen from the warehouses, +came running around the head of the basin; but before they could arrive, +a man dashed out of the darkness behind the two watchers, tore past +them, and sprang for the boat. They heard the thud of his feet as he +alit on her short fore-deck, and an instant later, as he leaned over the +stem and gripped Dr. Glasson's coat-collar, the light of the bobbing +lantern showed them his face. It was Sam Bossom. + +He had lifted the Doctor waist-high from the water before the other +helpers sprang on board and completed the rescue. The poor man was +hauled over the bows and stretched on the fore-deck, where he lay +groaning while they brought the boat alongside the quay's edge. By this +time a small crowd had gathered, and was being pressed back from the +brink and exhorted by a belated policeman. + +It appeared as they lifted him ashore that the Doctor, beside the +inconvenience of a stomachful of dirty canal water, was suffering +considerable pain. In his fright (the dog had not actually bitten him) +he had blundered, and struck his knee-cap violently against a bollard +close by the water's edge, and staggering under the anguish of it, had +lost his footing and collapsed overboard. Then, finding that his +fingers could take no hold on the slippery concrete wall of the basin, +with his sound leg he had pushed himself out from it and grasped the +barge's head-rope. All this, between groans, he managed to explain to +the policeman, who, having sent for an ambulance stretcher, called for +volunteers to carry him home; for home Dr. Glasson insisted on being +taken, putting aside--and with great firmness--the suggestion that he +would be better in hospital. + +Sam Blossom was among the first to offer his services. But here his +master interposed. + +"No, no, my lad," said Mr. Hucks genially, "you've behaved pretty +creditable already, and now you can give the others a turn. The man's +all right, or will be by to-morrow; and as it happens," he added in a +lower tone, "I want five minutes' talk with you, and at once." + +They watched while the sufferer was hoisted into his stretcher. So the +escort started, the policeman walking close behind and the crowd +following the policeman. + +"Now," said Mr. Hucks as they passed out of sight, "you'll just step +into the yard and answer a few questions. You too, sir," he turned to +Mr. Mortimer and led the way. "Hullo!"--he let out a kick at Godolphus +snuffling at the yard gate, and Godolphus, smitten on the ribs, fled +yelping. "Who the devil owns that cur?" demanded Mr. Hucks, pushing the +gate open. + +"I do," answered a voice just within, close at his elbow. "An' I'll +arsk you not to fergit it. Ought to be ashamed o' yerself, kickin' a +pore dumb animal like that!" + +"Eh?" Mr. Hucks passed down into the darkness. "Sam, fetch a +lantern . . . So you 're the young lady I saw just now inside o' the +van, and unless I'm mistaken, a nice job you're responsible for." + +Tilda nodded. 'Dolph's indiscretion had put her in a desperate fix; but +something told her that her best chance with this man was to stand up to +him and show fight. + +"Is he drowned?" she asked. + +"Drowned? Not a bit of it. Only a trifle wet, and a trifle scared-- +thanks to that poor dumb animal of yours. A trifle hurt, too." + +"I'm sorry he wasn't drowned," said Tilda. + +"Well, you 're a nice Christian child, I must say. Start with +kidnappin', and then down on your luck because you haven't wound up with +murder! Where's the boy you stole?" + +"In the caravan." + +"Fetch him out." + +"Shan't!" + +"Now look here, missie--" + +"I shan't," repeated Tilda. "Oh, Mr. Bossom, you won't let them! +They're strong, I know . . . but he's got a knife that he took when +Mr. Mortimer's back was turned, and if they try to drag 'im back +to that Orph'nige--" + +"Stuff and nonsense!" Mr. Hucks interrupted. "Who talked about handin' +him back? Not me." + +"Then you won't?" + +"I'm not sayin' that, neither. Fetch the boy along into my Counting +House, You and me must have a talk about this--in fact, I want a word +with everybody consarned." + +Tilda considered for a moment, and then announced a compromise. + +"Tell you what," she said, "I don't mind comin' along with you first-- +not if you let 'Dolph come too." + +"I shan't let him murder _me_, if that's in your mind." + +Mr. Hucks grinned. + +"You can call the others in if he tries," Tilda answered seriously. +"But he won't, not if you be'ave. An' then," she went on, "you can arsk +me anything you like, an' I'll answer as truthful as I can." + +"Can't I see the boy first?" asked Mr. Hucks, hugely tickled. + +"No, you can't!" + +"You're hard on me," he sighed. The child amused him, and this +suggestion of hers exactly jumped with his wishes. "But no tricks, +mind. You others can look after the boy--I make you responsible for +him. And now this way, missie, if you'll do me the honour!" + +Tilda called to 'Dolph, and the pair followed Mr. Hucks to the Counting +House, where, as he turned up the lamp, he told the child to find +herself a seat. She did not obey at once; she was watching the dog. +But 'Dolph, it appeared, bore Mr. Hucks no malice. He walked around for +thirty seconds smelling the furniture, found a rag mat, settled himself +down on it, and sat wagging his tail with a motion regular almost as a +pendulum's. Tilda, observing it, heaved a small sigh, and perched +herself on the packing-case, where she confronted Mr. Hucks fair and +square across the table. + +"Now you just sit there and answer me," said Mr. Hucks, seating himself +and filling a pipe. "First, who's _in_ this?" + +"Me," answered Tilda. "Me and 'im." + +Mr. Hucks laid down his pipe, spread his fingers on the table, and made +as if to rise. + +"I thought," said he, "you had more sense in you 'n an ord'nary child. +Seems you have less, if you start foolin'." + +"I can't 'elp 'ow you take it," Tilda answered. "I got to tell you +what's true, an' chance the rest. Mr. Sam Bossom, 'e gave us a 'and at +the coal-'ole, an' Mr. Mortimer got mixed up in it later on; an' that's +all _they_ know about it. There's nobody elst, unless you count the +pore woman at the orspital, an' _she's_ dead." + +"That aunt of yours--is _she_ dead too?" + +Tilda grinned. + +"You've been talkin' to Glasson." + +"P'r'aps," suggested Mr. Hucks, after a shrewd glance at her, "you'd +best tell me the story in your own way." + +"That's what I'd like. You see," she began, "I been laid up three +weeks in 'orspital--the Good Samaritan, if you know it--along o' bein' +kicked by a pony. End o' last week they brought in a woman--dyin' she +was, an' in a dreadful state, an' talkin'. I ought to know, 'cos they +put her next bed to mine; s'pose they thought she'd be company. All o' +one night she never stopped talkin', callin' out for somebody she called +Arthur. 'Seemed as she couldn' die easy until she'd seen 'im. Next +day--that's yesterday--her mind was clearer, an' I arsked her who +Arthur was an' where he lived, if one had a mind to fetch 'im. I got +out of her that he was called Arthur Miles Surname Chandon, an' that he +lived at 'Oly Innercents. So this mornin', bein' allowed out, I went +down to the place an' arsked to see Arthur Miles Surname Chandon. First +thing I noticed was they didn' know he was called Chandon, for Glasson +took a piece o' paper an' wrote it down. I was afraid of Glasson, an' +pitched that yarn about an aunt o' mine, which was all kid. I never 'ad +no aunt." + +"What's your name, by the way?" + +"Tilda." + +"Tilda what?" + +"That's what they _all_ arsks," said Tilda wearily. "I dunno. If a +body _can't_ do without father an' mother, I'll make up a couple to +please you, same as I made up a aunt for Glasson. Maggs's Circus is +where I belong to, an' there 'twas Tilda, or 'The Child Acrobat' when +they billed me." + +"You don't look much like an acrobat," commented Mr. Hucks. + +"Don't I? Well, you needn't to take _that_ on trust, anyway." + +The child stepped down from the packing-case, stretched both arms +straight above her, and began to bend the upper part of her body slowly +backward, as though to touch her heels with the backs of her fingers, +but desisted half-way with a cry of pain. "Ow! It hurts." She stood +erect again with tears in her eyes. "But 'Dolph will show you," she +added upon a sudden happy thought, and kneeling, stretched out an arm +horizontally. + +"Hep, 'Dolph!" + +The dog, with a bark of intelligence, sprang across her arm, turned on +his hind legs, and sprang back again. She crooked her arm so that the +tips of her fingers touched her hip, and with another bark he leapt +between arm and body as through a hoop. + +"He don't properly belong to me," explained Tilda. "He belongs to Bill, +that works the engine on Gavel's roundabouts; but he larned his tricks +off me. That'll do, 'Dolph; go an' lie down." + +"He's a clever dog, and I beg his pardon for kicking him," said Mr. +Hucks with a twinkle. + +"He's better 'n clever. Why, 'twas 'Dolph that got us out." + +"What, from the Orph'nage?" + +"Yes." Tilda described how the Doctor had shut her in his drawing-room, +how she had escaped to the garden and found the boy there, and how +'Dolph had discovered the coal-shaft for them. "An' then Mr. Bossom 'e +'elped us out an' put us across the canal. That's all the 'and '_e_ +took in it. An' from the canal I 'urried Arthur Miles up to the Good +Samaritan; but when we got there his mother was dead--becos o' course +she must a-been his mother. An' so," Tilda wound up, "I turned-to an' +adopted 'im, an' we came along 'ere to arsk Mr. Bossom to 'elp us. +An' now--if you give 'im up it 'll be a burnin' shame, an' Gawd'll pull +your leg for it." + +"That's all very well," said Mr. Hucks after a few moments' thought. +"That's all very well, missie," he repeated, "but grown-up folks can't +take your easy way wi' the law. You're askin' me to aid an' abet, +knowin' him to be stolen; an' that's serious. If 'twas a matter between +you an' me, now--or even between us an' Sam Bossom. But the devil is, +these playactors have mixed themselves up in it, and the Doctor is warm +on Mortimer's scent." + +"I thought o' that d'reckly he told me. But O, Mr. 'Ucks, I thought on +such a neav'nly plan!" Tilda clasped hands over an uplifted knee and +gazed on him. Her eyes shone. "They told me you was keepin' them here +for debt; but that's nonsense, becos they can't never pay it back till +you let 'em make money." + +"A fat lot I shall ever get from Mortimer if I let him out o' my sight. +You don't know Mr. Mortimer." + +"Don't I?" was Tilda's answer. "What d'yer take me for? Why +_everybody_ knows what Mr. Mortimer's like--everybody in Maggs's, +anyway. He's born to borrow, Bill says; though at _Hamlet_ or _Seven +Nights in a Bar-Room_ he beats the band. But as I said to his wife, +'Why shouldn' Mr. 'Ucks keep your caravan against what you owe, an' loan +you a barge? He could put a man in charge to look after your takin's, +so's you wouldn' get out o' reach till the money was paid: an' you could +work the small towns along the canal, where the shows don't almost never +reach. You won't want no more'n a tent,' I said, 'an' next to no +scenery; an' me an' Arthur Miles could be the _Babes in the Wood_ or the +_Princes in the Tower_ for you, with 'Dolph to fill up the gaps.'" + +"Darn _me_," said Mr. Hucks, staring, "if you're not the cleverest for +your size!" + +"'Eav'nly--that was Mrs. Mortimer's word for it; an' Mr. Mortimer said +'twas the dream of 'is life, to pop--" + +"Eh?" + +"It began with pop--to pop something Shakespeare in places where they +'adn't 'eard of 'im. But you know 'is way." + +Mr. Hucks arose, visibly pondering. 'Dolph, who had been keeping an eye +on him, rose also, and 'Dolph's tail worked as if attached to a steam +engine. + +"There's a cargo, mostly beer, to be fetched up from Stratford," said +Mr. Hucks after a pause. "Sam Bossom might take down the _Success to +Commerce_ for it, and he's as well out o' the way wi' the rest o' you." + +Tilda clapped her hands. + +"Mind you," he went on, "I'm not includin' any orphan. I got no consarn +with one. I haven't so much as seen him." + +He paused, with his eyes fixed severely on Tilda's. + +She nodded. + +"O' course not." + +"And if, when you go back to the van and tell the Mortimers, you should +leave the door open for a minute, forgetful-like, why that's no affair +o' mine." + +"I'm a'most certain to forget," owned Tilda. "If you'd been brought up +half yer time in a tent--" + +"_To_ be sure. Now attend to this. I give Sam Bossom instructions to +take the boat down to Stratford with three passengers aboard--you and +the Mortimers--as a business speckilation; and it may so happen--I don't +say it will, mind you--that sooner or later Mortimer'll want to pick up +an extry hand to strengthen his company. Well, he knows his own +business, and inside o' limits I don't interfere. Still, I'm financin' +this voyage, as you might say, and someone must keep me informed. F'r +instance, if you should be joined by a party as we'll agree to call +William Bennetts, I should want to know how William Bennetts was doin', +and what his purfessional plans were; and if you could find out anything +more about W. B.--that he was respectably connected, we'll say--why so +much the better. Understand?" + +"You want Mr. Mortimer to write?" asked Tilda dubiously. + +"No, I don't. I want _you_ to write--that's to say, if you can." + +"I can print letters, same as the play-bills." + +"That'll do. You can get one o' the Mortimers to address the envelopes. +And now," said Mr. Hucks, "I 'd best be off and speak to Sam Bossom to +get out the boat. Show-folks," he added thoughtfully, "likes travellin' +by night, I'm told. It's cooler." + +Two hours later, as the Brewery clock struck eleven, a canal-boat, towed +by a glimmering grey horse, glided southward under the shadow of the +Orphanage wall. It passed this and the iron bridge, and pursued its way +through the dark purlieus of Bursfield towards the open country. +Its rate of progression was steady, and a trifle under three miles an +hour. + +Astride the grey horse sat Mr. Mortimer, consciously romantic. +The darkness, the secrecy of the flight--the prospect of recovered +liberty--beyond this, the goal! As he rode, Mr. Mortimer murmured +beatifically-- + +"To Stratford! To Stratford-on-Avon!" Sam Bossom stood on the small +after-deck and steered. In the cabin Mrs. Mortimer snatched what repose +was possible on a narrow side-locker to a person of her proportions; and +on the cabin floor at her feet, in a nest of theatrical costumes, the +two children slept dreamlessly, tired out, locked in each others arms. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +FREEDOM. + + +"_O, a bargeman's is the life for me, +Though there's nothin' to be seen but scener-ee!_"--OLD SONG. + +A pale shaft of daylight slanted through the cabin doorway. It touched +Tilda's eyelids, and she opened them at once, stared, and relaxed her +embrace. + +"Awake?" asked Mrs. Mortimer's voice from the shadow above the locker. +"Well, I'm glad of that, because I want to get to the stove. Sardines," +said Mrs. Mortimer, "you can take out with a fork; but, packed as we +are, when one moves the rest must follow suit. Is the boy stirring +too?" + +"No," answered Tilda, peering down on him. But as she slipped her arm +from under his neck, he came out of dreamland with a quick sob and a +shudder very pitiful to hear and to feel. "Hush!" she whispered, +catching at his hand and holding it firmly. "It's _me_--Tilda; an' you +won't go back there never no more." + +"I--I thought--" said he, and so with an easier sob lay still. + +"O' course you did," Tilda soothed him. "But what's 'appened to the +boat, ma'am?" + +"We are at anchor. If you want to know why, you had best crawl out and +ask Mr. Bossom. He gave the order, and Stanislas has gone ashore to buy +provisions. Marketing," said Mrs. Mortimer, "is not my husband's strong +point, but we'll hope for the best." + +The cabin doorway was low as well as narrow. Looking through it, Tilda +now discerned in the gathering daylight the lower half of Sam Bossom's +person. He sat with his legs dangling over the break of the stairway, +and as the children crawled forth they perceived that he was busy with a +small notebook. + +"Why are we stoppin' here?" demanded Tilda, with a glance about her. + +The boat lay moored against the bank opposite the towpath, where old +Jubilee stood with his face deep in a nosebag. He stood almost directly +against the rising sun, the effect of which was to edge his outline with +gold, while his flank presented the most delicate of lilac shadows. +Beyond him stretched a level country intersected with low hedges, all +a-dazzle under the morning beams. To the left the land sloped gently +upward to a ridge crowned, a mile away, by a straggling line of houses +and a single factory chimney. Right astern, over Mr. Bossom's shoulder, +rose the clustered chimneys, tall stacks, church spires of the dreadful +town, already wreathed in smoke. It seemed to Tilda, although here were +meadows and clean waterflags growing by the brink, and a wide sky all +around, that yet this ugly smoke hung on their wake and threatened them. + +"Why are we stoppin'?" she demanded again, as Sam Bossom, with a hurried +if friendly nod, resumed his calculations. + +"And four is fifteen, and fifteen is one-an'-three," said he. "Which," +he added, looking up as one who would stand no contradiction, "is the +'alf of two-an'-six . . . You'll excuse me, missy, but business first +an' pleasure afterwards. We're stoppin' here for the day." + +"For the day?" echoed Tilda, with a dismayed look astern. "An' we've +on'y come this far!" + +"Pretty good goin', _I_ should call it," Mr. Bossom assured her +cheerfully. "Six locks we've passed while you was asleep, not countin' +the stop-lock. But maybe you 're not used to travel by canal?" + +"I thank the Lord, no; or I'd never 'ave put Mr. 'Ucks up to it. +Why, I'd _walk_ it quicker, crutch an' all." + +"What'd you call a reas'nable price for eggs, now--at this time o' +year?" asked Mr. Bossom, abstractedly sucking the stump of a pencil and +frowning at his notebook. But of a sudden her words seemed to strike +him, and he looked up round-eyed. + +"You ain't tellin' me _you_ put this in 'Ucks's mind?" + +"'Course I did," owned Tilda proudly. + +"An' got me sent to Stratford-on-Avon!" Mr. Bossom added. "Me that +stood your friend when _you_ was in a tight place!" + +"No, I didn'. It was 'Ucks that mentioned Stratford--said you'd find a +cargo of beer there, which sounded all right: an' Mortimer jumped at it +soon as ever he 'eard the name. Mortimer said it was the dream of his +youth an' the perspiration of his something else--I can't tell the ezact +words; but when he talked like that, how was I to guess there was +anything wrong with the place?" + +"There ain't anything wrong wi' the _place_, that I know by," Mr. Bossom +admitted. + +"But I remember another thing he said, because it sounded to me even +funnier. He said, 'Sweet swan of Avon upon the banks of Thames, that +did so please Eliza and our James.' Now what did he mean by that?" + +Mr. Bossom considered and shook his head. + +"Some bank-'oliday couple, I reckon; friends of his, maybe. But about +that swan--Mortimer must 'a-been talkin' through his hat. Why to get to +the Thames that bird'd have to go up the Stratford-on-Avon to Kingswood +cut, down the Warwick an' Birmingham to Budbrooke--with a trifle o' +twenty-one locks at Hatton to be worked or walked round; cross by the +Warwick an' Napton--another twenty-two locks; an' all the way down the +Oxford Canal, which from Napton is fifty miles good." + +"She'd be an old bird before she got there, at our pace," Tilda agreed. +"But, o' course, Mr. Bossom, if we want to get to Stratford quick, an' +you don't, you'll make the pace what you like an' never mind us." + +"Who said I didn' want to get to Stratford?" he asked almost fiercely, +and broke off with a groan. + +"Oh, it's 'ard!--it's 'ard! . . . And me sittin' here calcilatin' eggs +an' milk domestic-like and thinkin' what bliss . . . But you don't +understand. O' course you don't. Why should you?" + +Tilda placed her hands behind her back, eyed him for half-a-minute, and +sagely nodded. + +"Well, I never!" she said. "Oh, my goodness gracious mercy me!" + +"I can't think what you 're referrin' to," stammered Mr. Bossom. + +"So we're in love, are we?" + +He cast a guilty look around. + +"There's Mortimer, comin' down the path, an' only two fields away." + +"And it's a long story, is it? Well, I'll let you off this time," said +Tilda. "But listen to this, an' don't you fergit it. If along o' your +dawdlin' they lay hands on Arthur Miles here, I'll never fergive you-- +no, never." + +"You leave that to me, missie. And as for dawdlin', why if you +understood about canals you 'd know there's times when dawdlin' makes +the best speed. Now just you bear in mind the number o' things I've got +to think of. First, we'll say, there's you an' the boy. Well, who's +goin' to look for you here, aboard an innercent boat laid here between +locks an' waitin' till the full of her cargo comes down to Tizzer's +Green wharf or Ibbetson's? Next"--he checked off the items on his +fingers--"there's the Mortimers. In duty to 'Ucks, I got to choose +Mortimer a pitch where he'll draw a 'ouse. Bein' new to this job, I'd +like your opinion; but where, thinks I, 'll he likelier draw a 'ouse +than at Tizzer's Green yonder?--two thousand op'ratives, an' I doubt if +the place has ever seen a travellin' theayter since it started to grow. +Anyway, Mortimer has been pushin' inquiries: an' that makes Secondly. +Thirdly, I don't know much about play-actors, but Mortimer tells me he +gets goin' at seven-thirty an' holds 'em spellbound till something after +ten; which means that by the time we've carted back the scenery _an'_ +shipped _an'_ stowed it, _an'_ got the tarpaulins on, _an'_ harnessed +up, we shan't get much change out o' midnight. Don't lose your patience +now, because we haven't come to the end of it yet--not by a long way. +By midnight, say, we get started an' haul up to Knowlsey top lock, which +is a matter of three miles. What do we find there?" + +"Dunno," said Tilda wearily. "A brass band per'aps, an' a nillumynated +address, congratylatin' yer." + +Sam ignored this sarcasm. + +"We find, likely as not, a dozen boats hauled up for the night, blockin' +the fairway, an' all the crews ashore at the 'Ring o' Bells' or the +'Lone Woman,' where they doss an' where the stablin' is. Not a chance +for us to get through before mornin'; an' then in a crowd with everybody +wantin' to know what Sam Bossom's doin' with two children aboard. +Whereas," he concluded, "if we time ourselves to reach Knowlsey by seven +in the mornin', they'll all have locked through an' left the coast +clear." + +Said Tilda, still contemptuous-- + +"I 'd like to turn Bill loose on this navigation o' yours, as you call +it." + +"Oo's Bill?" + +"He works the engine on Gavel's roundabouts; an' he's the best an' the +cleverest man in the world." + +"Unappre'shated, I spose?" + +"Why if you 'ad Bill aboard this boat, in less'n a workin' day he'd 'ave +her fixed up with boiler an' engine complete, an' be drivin' her like a +train." + +Mr. Bossom grinned. + +"I'd like to see 'im twenty minutes later, just to congratilate 'im. +You see, missie, a boat can't go faster than the water travels past +'er--which is rhyme, though I made it myself, an' likewise reason. +Can she, now?" + +"I s'pose not," Tilda admitted doubtfully. + +"Well now, if your friend Bill started to drive th' old _Success to +Commerce_ like a train, first he'd be surprised an' disappointed to see +her heavin' a two-foot wave ahead of her--maybe more, maybe less--along +both banks; an' next it might annoy 'im a bit when these two waves fell +together an' raised a weight o' water full on her bows, whereby she 'd +travel like a slug, an' the 'arder he drove the more she wouldn' go; let +be that she'd give 'im no time to cuss, even when I arsked 'im perlitely +what it felt like to steer a monkey by the tail. Next _an'_ last, if he +should 'appen to find room for a look astern at the banks, it might vex +'im--bein' the best o' men as well as the cleverest--to notice that he +'adn't left no banks, to speak of. Not that 'twould matter to 'im +pers'nally--'avin' no further use for 'em." + +Tilda, confounded by this close reasoning, was about to retreat with +dignity under the admission that, after all, canal-work gave no scope to +a genius such as Bill's, when 'Dolph came barking to announce the near +approach of Mr. Mortimer. + +Mr. Mortimer, approaching with a gait modelled upon Henry Irving's, was +clearly in radiant mood. Almost he vaulted the stile between the field +and the canal bank. Alighting, he hailed the boat in nautical +language-- + +"Ahoy, Smiles! What cheer, my hearty?" + +"Gettin' along nicely, sir," reported Mr. Bossom. "Nicely, but peckish. +The same to you, I 'ope." + +"Good," was the answer. "Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we +run ourselves aground. Bestir, bestir!" + +Tilda, who for the last minute or so had been unconsciously holding +Arthur Miles by the hand, was astonished of a sudden to find it +trembling in hers. + +"You mustn' mind what Mr. Mortimer says," she assured the child +encouragingly--"it's on'y his way." + +Mr. Mortimer stepped jauntily across the gang-plank, declaiming with so +much of gesture as a heavy market-basket permitted-- + + "The pirates of Parga, who dwell by the waves, + And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, + Shall leave by the beach, Smiles, the long galley and oar--" + + +"I have done it, Smiles. In the words of the old-time classical +geometer, I have found it; and as he remarked on another occasion +(I believe subsequently), 'Give me where to stand, and I will move the +Universe.' His precise words, if I recall the original Greek, were _Dos +Pou Sto_--and the critical ear will detect a manly--er--self-reliance in +the terse monosyllables. In these days," pursued Mr. Mortimer, setting +down the market-basket, unbuttoning his furred overcoat, extracting a +green and yellow bandanna from his breastpocket and mopping his heated +brow, "in these days we have lost that self-confidence. We are weary, +disillusioned. We have ceased to expect gold at the rainbow's foot. +Speaking without disrespect to the poet Shelley"--here he lifted his hat +and replaced it--"a new Peneus does _not_ roll his fountains against the +morning star, whatever that precise--er--operation may have been. +But let us honour the aspiration, Smiles, though the chill monitor +within forbid us to endorse it. 'A loftier Argo'"--Mr. Mortimer +indicated the _Success to Commerce_ with a sweep of the hand-- + + "A loftier Argo cleaves the main + Fraught with a later prize; + Another Orpheus--you'll excuse the comparison--sings again, + And loves, and weeps--and dies." + +"Stanislas, you have not forgotten the eggs, I hope?" interposed the +voice of Mrs. Mortimer from the cabin. + +"I have not, my bud. Moreover, as I was just explaining to our friend, +I have secured a _Pou Sto_--a hall, my chick--or perhaps it might be +defined more precisely as a--er--loft. It served formerly--or, as the +poets would say, whilom--as a barracks for the Salvation Army; in more +recent times as a store for--er--superphosphates. But it is commodious, +and possesses a side-chamber which will serve us admirably for a +green-room when the proprietor--an affable person by the name of Tench-- +has removed the onions at present drying on the floor; which he has +engaged to do." + +"Are you tellin' me," inquired Sam, "that you've been and 'ired the +room?" + +"At the derisory charge of four-and-six for the night. As a business +man, I believe in striking while the iron is hot. Indeed, while we are +on the subject, I may mention that I have ordered the bills. _Professor +and Madame St. Maw_--my Arabella will, I know, forgive my reverting to +the name under which she won her maiden laurels--it cost me a pang, my +dear Smiles, to reflect that the fame to be won here, the honour of +having popularised HIM, here on the confines of his native Arden, will +never be associated with the name of Mortimer. _Sic vos non vobis_, as +the Mantuan has poignantly observed. But for the sake of the children-- +and, by the way, how do my bantlings find themselves this morning? +Tol-lollish, I trust?--for the sake of the children it was necessary, as +we used to say with the Pytchley, to obscure 'the scent. Talking of +scent, Smiles, it might be advisable--what with the superphosphates and +the onions--to take some counteracting steps, which your ingenuity may +be able to suggest. The superphosphates especially are--er--potent. +And, by one of those coincidences we meet, perhaps, oftener than we +note, Mr. Tench's initial is 'S'--standing for Samuel." + +Mr. Mortimer extracted an egg from his basket and rubbed it with his +bandanna thoughtfully before passing it down to his wife. + +"So you've been an' ordered the bills too?" murmured Mr. Bossom. +"And what will the bills run to?--if, as the treasurer, I may make so +bold." + +"To the sum of five shillings precisely, which will, of course, be +hypothecated as a first charge upon our takings, and which I ask you, my +dear Smiles, as treasurer to debit to that account in due form, here and +now." It would have been hard to conceive any manner more impressively +business-like than Mr. Mortimer's as he made this demand. "You will +excuse my putting it so plainly, Smiles, but I may venture a guess that +in the matter of conducting a theatrical tour you are, comparatively +speaking, a tiro?" + +"I've got to account to 'Ucks, if that's what you mean," Sam assented. + +"The bill, Smiles, is the theatrical agent's first thought; the +beginning which is notoriously half the battle. For three-inch +lettering--and to that I restricted myself--five shillings can only be +called dirt cheap. Listen--" + + PROFESSOR AND MADAME ST. MAUR, + OF THE LEADING LONDON THEATRES + + + PART I.--WITH VOICE AND LUTE, A POT-POURRI + PART II.--AN HOUR WITH THE BEST DRAMATISTS + + THE WHOLE TO CONCLUDE WITH THAT + SIDE-SPLITTING DUOLOGUE ENTITLED, + + 'COURTSHIP IN THE RAIN' + + + PASSION WITH REFINEMENT AND MIRTH WITHOUT VULGARITY + + _Reserved Seats, One Shilling. Unreserved, Sixpence._ + _Gallery (limited), Threepence only_ + + DOORS OPEN AT 7.30; TO COMMENCE AT 8. + CARRIAGES AT HALF-PAST TEN + + +"Why carriages?" asked Mr. Bossom. + +"It's the usual thing," answered Mr. Mortimer. + +"You bet it isn't, at Tizzer's Green. Well, the first job is breakfast, +an' after breakfast we'll get Old Jubilee round by the footbridge an' +make shift to borrow a cart down at Ibbetson's, for the scenery. +You didn' forget the bacon?" + +Mr. Mortimer unwrapped a parcel of greasy paper and exhibited six +slices. + +"A Baconian--O, Shakespeare, forgive!" He said this in a highly jocular +manner, and accompanied it with a wink at Tilda, who did not understand +the allusion. But again she felt the child's hand thrill and tremble, +and turned about, eyeing him curiously. Her movement drew upon him the +Mortimerian flow, ever ebullient and ever by trifles easily deflected. + +"Yes, Arthur Miles--if I may trouble you to pass it down to the cook's +galley--thank you; these eggs too--be careful of them--Yes, we are bound +for Stratford-on-Avon, Shakespeare's birthplace!" Again he lifted and +replaced his hat. "Enviable boy! What would young Stanislas Mortimer +not have given at your age to set eyes on that Mecca! Yet, perchance, he +may claim that he comes, though late, as no unworthy votary. +A Passionate Pilgrim, shall we say? Believe me, it is in the light of a +pilgrimage that I regard this--er--jaunt. Shall we dedicate it to +youth, and name it Childe Arthur's Pilgrimage?" + +By this time smoke was issuing in a steady stream from the stove-pipe +above the cabin-top, and presently from within came the hiss and +fragrance of bacon frying. Sam Bossom had stepped ashore, and called to +the children to help in collecting sticks and build a fire for the +tea-kettle. Tilda, used though she was to nomad life, had never known +so delightful a picnic. Only her eyes wandered back apprehensively, now +and then, to the smoke of the great town. As for Arthur Miles--Childe +Arthur, as Mr. Mortimer henceforth insisted on their calling him--he had +apparently cast away all dread of pursuit. Once, inhaling the smell of +the wood fire, he even laughed aloud--a strange laugh, and at its close +uncannily like a sob. Tilda, watching him quietly, observed that he +trembled too--trembled all over--from time to time. She observed, too, +that this happened when he looked up from the fire and the kettle; but +also that in looking up he never once looked back, that his eyes always +wandered along the still waterway and to the horizon ahead. +This puzzled her completely. + +Breakfast followed, and was delightful, though not unaccompanied by +terrors. A barge hove in sight, wending downwards from Bursfield, and +the children hid. It passed them, and after ten minutes came a couple +from the same direction, with two horses hauling at the first, and the +second (which Sam called a butty-boat) towed astern. Each boat had a +steersman, and the steersman called to Sam and asked for news of his +young woman; whereupon Sam called back, offering to punch their heads +for twopence. But it was all very good-natured. They passed on +laughing, and the children re-emerged. The sun shone; the smoke of the +embers floated against it, across the boat, on the gentlest of breezes; +the food was coarse, but they were hungry; the water motionless, but Mr. +Mortimer's talk seemed to put a current into it, calling them southward +and to high adventures--southward where no smoke was, and the swallows +skimmed over the scented water-meads. Even the gaudily-painted cups and +saucers, which Mr. Mortimer produced from a gaudily-painted cupboard, +made part of the romance. Tilda had never seen the like. They were +decorated round the rims with bands of red and green and yellow; the +very egg-cups were similarly banded; and portraits of the late Queen +Victoria and the Prince Consort decorated the cupboard's two panels. + +Breakfast over, she helped Mr. Mortimer to wash up, and while she helped +was conscious of a new and uncomfortable feeling, of which she could +make no account with herself. It was not the stuffiness of the cabin +that oppressed her; nor the dread of pursuit; nor anxiety for Arthur +Miles, lest he should run off and fall into mischief. By stooping a +little she could keep him in view, for he had settled himself on the +after-deck, and was playing with 'Dolph--or, rather, was feeling +'Dolph's ears and paws in a wondering fashion, as one to whom even a dog +was something new and marvellous; and 'Dolph, stretched on his side in +the sunshine, was undergoing the inspection with great complaisance. +No; the cause of her restlessness was yet to seek. + +She went out and sat upon the cabin step for awhile, deep in thought, +her eyes fixed on Sam Bossom, who, just beyond the cabin roof, was +stooping over the well and untying its tarpaulins. By and by she sprang +to her feet and walked forward to him. + +"Mr. Bossom," she said with decision, "I know what's the matter with +me." + +"Then," answered Sam, "you 're luckier than most people." + +"I want a wash." + +"Do you, now? Well, as to that, o' course you're the best judge; but I +'adn't noticed it." + +"You wouldn't, 'ardly," said Tilda, "seein' as I 'ad one on'y yestiddy. +But that's the worst of 'orspitals. They get you inside, an' a'most +before you know where you are, they've set up a 'abit. I dessay it'll +wear off, all right; but oh, Mr. Bossom--" + +"Would you mind callin' me Sam? It's more ushual." + +"Oh, Mr. Sam, this mornin' I'm feelin' it all over. If I got a pailful +out o' the canal, now?" + +"I wouldn' recommend it--not 'ereabouts." Sam, eyeing her with his head +cocked slightly aside, spoke gently as one coaxing a victim of the drink +habit. "But, as it 'appens, a furlong this side of Ibbetson's you'll +find the very place. Take Arthur Miles along with you. He'll be +thankful for it, later on--an' I'll loan you a cake o' soap." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE FOUR DIAMONDS. + + +"_Where the hazel bank is steepest, +Where the shadow falls the deepest, +Where the clustering nuts fall free, +That's the way for Billy and me._"--JAMES HOGG. + +The spot was a hollow between two grassy meadows, where a brook came +winding with a gentle fall, under coverts of hazel, willow and alder, to +feed the canal. It was a quite diminutive brook, and its inflow, by the +wharf known as Ibbetson's, troubled the stagnant canal water for a very +short distance. But it availed, a mile above, to turn a mill, and-- +a marvel in this country of factories--it had escaped pollution. +Below the mill-dam it hurried down a pretty steep declivity, dodging its +channel from side to side, but always undercutting the bank on one side, +while on the other it left miniature creeks or shoals and spits where +the minnows played and the water-flies dried their wings on the warm +pebbles; always, save that twice or thrice before finding its outlet it +paused below one of these pebbly spits to widen and deepen itself into a +pool where it was odds that the sun, slanting through the bushes, showed +a brown trout lurking. + +By such a pool--but they had scared away the trout--our two children +were busy. Tilda, her ablutions over, had handed the cake of soap to +Arthur Miles, scrambled out on the deeper side, and ensconced herself in +the fork of an overhanging hazel-mote; where, having reached for a +cluster of nuts and cracked them, she sat and munched, with petticoat +dripping and bare legs dangling over the pool. + +"Be sure you don't fergit be'ind the ears," she admonished the boy. +"You may think you're on'y a small boy an' nobody's goin' to search yer +corners; but back at the Good Samaritan there was a tex' nailed up-- +_Thou Gawd seest me_; and Sister said 'E was most partic'lar just in the +little places you wouldn't think." + +By her orders the boy had stripped off shirt and stockings, and stood +now almost knee-deep in the water, lathering his hair and face and neck +and shoulders with vigour. Tilda observed that his skin was delicately +fair and white. She had never seen a more beautiful boy. But he was +slender, and would need mothering. + +"You're comin' to it nicely," she called down to him. "It feels funny +to start with, but in the end you'll a'most get to like it." + +"I _do_ like it." + +She considered for a while. + +"If that's so," she said, "you 'd better strip all over an' 'ave done +with it. I was bringin' you to it gradual." + +"But--" + +"Oh, _that's_ all right. I knows my manners. Be quick as you can, so's +not to catch cold, an' I'll take a stroll up the bank an' give a call if +anyone's comin'." + +She scrambled back to firm ground and set off for a saunter up stream, +pausing here to reach for a nut, there to pluck a ripe blackberry, and +again to examine a tangle of bryony, or the deep-red fruit of the +honey-suckle; for almost all her waking life had been spent in towns +among crowds, and these things were new and strange to her. She met no +one on her way until, where the stream twisted between a double fold of +green pasture slopes, she came to the mill--a tall rickety building, +with a tiled roof that time had darkened and greened with lichens, and a +tall wheel turning slowly in a splash of water, and bright water dancing +over a weir below. In the doorway leaned a middle-aged man, powdered +all over with white, even to the eyelids. He caught sight of her, and +she was afraid he would be angry, and warn her off for trespassing; but +he nodded and called out something in a friendly manner--"Good day," +perhaps. She could not hear the words for the hum of the weir and the +roaring of the machinery within the building. + +It was time to retrace her steps, and she went back leisurably, peering +for trout and plucking on the way a trail of the bryony, berried with +orange and scarlet and yellow and palest green, to exhibit to Arthur +Miles. She found him seated on the near bank, close beside her +hazel-mote. He did not hear her barefooted approach, being absorbed in +the movements of a wagtail that had come down to the pebbly spit for its +bath; and Tilda started scolding forthwith. For he sat there naked to +the waist, with his shirt spread to dry on the grass. He had given it a +thorough soaping, and washed it and wrung it out: his stockings too. + +"You'll catch yer death!" threatened Tilda. + +But he was not shivering--so blandly fell the sun's rays, and so gently +played the breeze. + +"I can't make you out," she confessed. "First when I came on yer--an' +that was on'y yestiddy--you was like a thing afraid o' yer own shadder. +An' now you don't appear to mind nothin'--not even the chance o' bein' +found an' took back." + +The boy drew a long breath. + +"You're shakin' with cold, though. There! What did I tell yer?" But a +moment later she owned herself mistaken. He was not cold at all. + +"It's all so--so good," he murmured, more to himself than to her. + +"What's good?" + +He reached out for the trail of bryony in her lap and fingered it +wonderingly, without speaking for a while. Then, lifting his hand, he +laid it for a moment against her upper arm--the lightest touch--no more. + +"You," he said. "You--and everything." + +"Of all the queer boys--" she began, and broke off with a catch of the +breath. "Hulloa!" + +The boy looked up to see her eyes fixed, round and wide, on his naked +shoulder. + +"What's that mark you got there?" she demanded. + +"This?" He put up a hand to a pattern of four diamonds joined in a +horizontal line. "I don't know. I've wondered sometimes--" + +"But you must 'ave come by it some'ow. Can't you remember?" + +He shook his head. + +"It has been there always. And yet I couldn't have been born with it." + +"'Course yer couldn'," she agreed + +The mark was pencilled in thin lines of red a little below the right +shoulder, across the width of the deltoid muscle, and in figures about +half an inch tall. "'Course yer couldn'," she repeated. "That's +tattooin', if ever there was tattooin'; an', what's more," she went on, +nodding her head with great positiveness, "I know who done it, leastways +I know part of 'is name . . . Don't stare, now; lemme _think_ . . . Yes, +it's plain as plain. 'Four di'monds,' she said; an' di'monds they are, +same as on a pack o' cards--me all the time thinkin' of them as the +ladies wear on their fingers. But 'on his coat,' she said; nothin' +about yer shoulder." + +"'She'? Who was 'she'?" asked the boy. "Never you mind," said Tilda +hurriedly. "But him as done it was called Ned. Now try to think if you +ever came across a party as was called Ned?" + +"There was a boy called Ned at Holy Innocents; but he died in the time +we all had sore throats--and, besides, he was the youngest of us. +I don't remember any other." + +"Any sailor-man, then? It's mostly sailors that know about tattooin'." + +"Oh, yes," he answered promptly, to her surprise. "There were lots of +sailors--five or six, I think. They had long glasses, and used to watch +the sea. And one played music on a thing that went _so_." + +He brought his hands together, drew them wide, and brought them together +again--the palms open. + +"That would be a concertina," nodded Tilda, "or elst an accordion. Now +try to think, becos' all this is very important . . . Where was this +place? and what like was it?" + +He considered for a while, frowning to help his memory. + +"There was a line of white houses, and one had red flowers in the window +. . . and a pole, with flags on it . . . and ships passing . . . and +from the houses a path went down to the sea. I remember quite well what +it was like down there . . . with waves coming in, but not reaching to +us, and sand where I played, and rocks, and pools full of shells and +brown flowers. There were shells, too, on the rocks, with live things +inside--though they never moved. I don't think I knew their name; but I +know it now. They were called 'scammels.'" + +"I've ate limpets," said Tilda; "limpets an' whelks. But I never 'eard +o' scammels. An' you don't remember the name o' this place?" + +"It must have been the Island," said the boy slowly. + +"Wot Island? Island's a sort o' place, but no place in partic'lar." + +"I don't know . . . It must have been the Island, though." + +"Now listen. Did you ever 'appen to 'ear tell of 'Olmness?" + +She asked it eagerly, watching his face. But it gave no answer to her +hopes. His eyes were dreamy. The word, if it struck at all on his +hearing, struck dully. + +"I don't see that the name matters," he said after a long pause, +"so long as it's the Island. We 're going there, and we shall find out +all about it when we get to Stratford." + +"Shall we?" asked Tilda, considerably astonished. "But _why,_ in the +world?" + +"Because . . . Didn't you hear Mr. Mortimer say that Shakespeare was +born there?" + +"I did," said Tilda. "'Ow's that goin' to 'elp us?" + +"I don't know," the boy confessed, dragging a book from his pocket. +It was a ragged copy of the "Globe" Shakespeare, lacking its covers and +smeared with dirt and blacking. "But he knows all about the Island." + +"So _that,_" said Tilda, "is what 'urt me in the night! It made my ribs +all sore. I fergot the book, an' thought you must be sufferin' from +some kind o' growth; but didn't like to arsk till I knew yer better-- +deformed folks bein' mostly touchy about it. When you stripped jus' +now, an' nothin' the matter, it puzzled me more'n ever. 'Ere--show me +where 'e tells about it," she demanded, taking the volume and opening it +on her lap. + +"It's all at the beginning, and he calls it _The Tempest_ . . . But it +will take you ever so long to find out. There was a ship wrecked, with +a wicked duke on board, and he thought his son was drowned, but really +it was all brought about by magic . . . In the book it's mostly names +and speeches, and you only pick up here and there what the Island was +like." + +"But what makes you sure it's _your_ Island?" + +"You wait till we get to Stratford and ask him," said the boy, nodding, +bright and confident. + +"Arsk'oo? Shakespeare? Sakes alive, child! Don't yer know 'e's been +dead these 'undreds o' years?" + +"Has he?" His face fell, but after a moment grew cheerful again. +"But that needn't matter. There must be heaps of people left to tell us +about it." + +Tilda closed the book. She had learnt a little, but had been +disappointed in more. She felt desperately sorry for the child with +this craze in his head about an Island. She had a suspicion that the +memories he related were all mixed up with fictions from the play. +As she put it to herself, "'E don't mean to kid, but 'e can't 'elp +'isself." But there was one question she had omitted and must yet ask. + +"You said, jus' now, you used to play by the sea, somewheres beneath +that line o' white houses you was tellin' of. Well, you couldn' a-got +down there on your own, at that age--could yer, now? W'ich means you +must a-been carried." + +"I suppose so." + +"No supposin' about it. You _must_ a-been. Wot's more, you talked +about the waves comin' in an' not reachin'--'us,' you said. 'Oo was it +with yer? Think now! Man or woman?" + +"A woman," he answered after a pause, knitting his brows. + +"Wot like?" + +Then happened something for which--so quiet his words had been--Tilda +was in no wise prepared. He turned his eyes on her, and they were as +the eyes of a child born blind; blank, yet they sought; tortured, yet +dry of tears. His head was tilted back, and a little sideways. So may +you see an infant's as he nuzzles to his mother's breast. The two hands +seemed to grope for a moment, then fell limp at his side. + +"Oh, 'ush!" besought Tilda, though in fact he had uttered no sound. +"'Ush, an' put on your shirt, an' come 'ome! We'll get Mrs. Mortimer to +dry it off by the stove." + +She helped him on with it, took him by the hand, and led him back +unresisting. + +They reached the canal bank in time to see Sam Bossom leading Old +Jubilee down the towpath, on his way to borrow a cart at Ibbetson's. +And 'Dolph--whom Tilda had left with strict orders to remain on board-- +no sooner caught sight of the children than he leapt ashore and came +cringing. + +The dog appeared to be in mortal terror; a terror at which the children +no longer wondered as they drew near the boat. Terrible sounds issued +from the cabin--cries of a woman imploring mercy, fierce guttural oaths +of a man determined to grant none. + +"Good Lord!" exclaimed Tilda, gripping Arthur Miles more tightly by the +hand and hurrying him into a run. "Whatever's taken the couple?" + +She paused at the gangway and listened, peering forward. + +"Oh, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!" wailed the voice of Mrs. +Mortimer. + +"Down, base one!" shouted her husband's. + +"Kill me to-morrow; let me live to-night!" + +"Nay, if you strive--a little more stress, dear, on 'to-night,' if I may +suggest--Nay, if you strive--!" + +"Shall we take it again, Stanislas? You used to take the pillow at +'Kill me not.'" + +"I believe I did, my bud. We are rusty--a trifle rusty--the both of +us." + +"Kill me to-morrow; let me live--" entreated Mrs. Mortimer. + +"What's all this, you two?" demanded Tilda, springing down the cabin +steps and hurling herself between them. + +"Hullo! Come in!" answered Mr. Mortimer genially. "This? Well, I hope +it is an intellectual treat. I have always looked upon Mrs. Mortimer's +Desdemona as such, even at rehearsal." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE "STRATFORD-ON-AVON" + + +"_Day after day, day after day +We stuck._"--COLERIDGE, + Rime of the Ancient Mariner + +"Well, and 'ow did the performance go off?" + +When Tilda awoke at seven o'clock next morning, the _Success to +Commerce_ had made three good miles in the cool of the dawn, and come to +anchor again (so to speak) outside the gates of Knowsley top lock, +where, as Sam Bossom explained later, the canal began to drop from its +summit level. Six locks, set pretty close together, here formed a +stairway for its descent, and Sam would hear no word of breakfast until +they had navigated the whole flight. + +The work was laborious, and cost him the best part of an hour. For he +had to open and shut each pair of gates single-handed, using a large +iron key to lift and close the sluices; and, moreover, Mr. Mortimer, +though he did his best, was inexpert at guiding the boat into the +lock-chamber and handling her when there. A dozen times Sam had to call +to him to haul closer down towards the bottom gates and avoid fouling +his rudder. + +The children watched the whole operation from shore, now and then +lending their small weight to push open the long gate-beams. 'Dolph, +too, watched from shore; suspiciously at first, afterwards with a +studied air of boredom, which he relieved by affecting, whenever the +heel of a stern-post squeaked in its quoin, to mistake it for a rat--an +excuse for aimless snuffling, whining and barking. And Mrs. Mortimer +looked on from the well by the cabin door, saucepan in hand, prepared to +cook at the shortest notice. It was fascinating to see her, at first in +the almost brimming lock, majestically erect (she was a regal figure) +challenging the horizon with a gaze at once proud, prescient of +martyrdom, and prepared; and then, as Sam opened the sluices, to watch +her descend, inch by inch, into the dark lock-chamber. Each time this +happened Mr. Mortimer exhorted her--"Courage, my heart's best!"--and she +made answer each time, "Nay, Stanislas, I have no terrors." + +Mr. Mortimer, at the fifth lock, left Old Jubilee and walked around to +remark to Tilda that on the boards some such apparatus--"if it could be +contrived at moderate expense"--would be remarkably effective in the +drowning scene of _The Colleen Bawn_; or, in the legitimate drama, for +the descent of Faustus into hell; "or, by means of a gauze transparency, +the death of Ophelia might be indicated. I mention Ophelia because it +was in that part my Arabella won what--if the expression may be used +without impropriety--I will term her spurs. I am given to understand, +however," added Mr. Mortimer, "that the apparatus requires a +considerable reservoir, and a reservoir of any size is only compatible +with fixity of tenure. An Ishmael--a wanderer upon the face of the +earth--buffeted this way and that by the chill blast of man's +ingratitude, more keenly toothed (as our divine Shakespeare observed) +than winter's actual storm--but this by the way; it is not mine to +anticipate more stable fortune, but rather to say with Lear--" + + "'Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!'" + +"I merely drop the suggestion--and I pass on." + +He folded his arms and passed on. That is to say, he strode off in a +hurry at a summons from Sam to stand by and pole the boat clear as the +lower lock-gates were opened. + +Somehow Tilda divined that Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer were in high spirits +this morning, and it was with reasonable confidence that, after they had +moored below locks and breakfasted, she sought Sam--who had withdrawn to +the bows with his account book--and inquired how the performance had +gone off. + +"There was a small misunderstandin' at the close," he answered, looking +up and pausing to moisten the lead of his pencil, "owin' to what the +bills said about carriages at ten-thirty. Which the people at Tizzer's +Green took it that carriages was to be part of the show, an' everyone to +be taken 'ome like a lord. There was a man in the gallery, which is +otherwise back seats at threppence, got up an' said he'd a-come on that +contrack, an' no other. Mortimer made 'im a speech, and when that +wouldn' do I copped 'im on the back o' the neck." + +"An' after that, I s'pose, there was a free fight?" + +"No," said Sam; "you 'd be surprised how quiet 'e took it. 'E was +unconscious." + +She eyed him thoughtfully. + +"It don't seem like you, neither," she said, "to strike a man so 'ard, +first blow." + +"You're right, there; it _ain't_ like me, an' I felt sorry for the +fella'. But I 'ad to relieve my feelin's." + +"What was the matter with yer feelin's?" + +"'Arrowed--fairly 'arrowed." Sam shot an uneasy glance aft towards the +cabin top where Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer sat amicably side by side, he +conning a part while she mended a broken string on her guitar. Beyond +them, stretched on the after deck with 'Dolph for company, Arthur Miles +leaned over the gunwale, apparently studying the boat's reflection in +the water. "Between you an' me," Sam confessed, "I can't get no grip on +play-actors; an' I'm sorry I ever took up with 'em." He consulted his +accounts. "He cleared three pound twelve an' nine las' night--but 'ow? +That Mortimer carried on something 'ateful. There was 'is wife--you +wouldn' think it in ordinary life, but, dressed up, she goes to your +'eart; an' she wore, first an' last, more dresses than you could count. +First of all she 'it a little tambourine, an' said she was a gipsy maid. +'I'm a narch little gipsy,' she said, 'an' I never gets tipsy'--" + +"Why _should_ she?" + +"'But I laugh an' play,' she said, 'the whole o' the day, such a +nartless life is mine, ha, ha!' which wasn' none of it true, except +about the drink, but you could see she only done it to make 'erself +pleasant. An' then she told us ow' when they rang a bell somebody was +goin' to put Mortimer to death, an' 'ow she stopped that by climbin' up +to the bell and 'angin' on to the clapper. Then in came Mortimer an' +sang a song with 'er--as well 'e might--about 'is true love 'avin' 'is +'eart an' 'is 'avin' 'ers, an' everyone clappin' an' stampin' an' +ancorein' in the best of tempers. Well, an' what does the man do after +an interval o' five minutes, but dress hisself up in black an' call 'er +names for 'avin' married his uncle? This was too much for the back +seats, an' some o' them told 'im to go 'ome an' boil 'is 'ead. But it +'ad no effect; for he only got worse, till he ended up by blackin' 'is +face an' smotherin' 'er with a pillow for something quite different. +After that he got better, an' they ended up by playin' a thing that made +everybody laugh. I didn' 'ear it, but took a walk outside to blow off +steam, an' only came back just as the fuss began about the carriages. +Fact is, missy, I can't abear to see a woman used abuseful." + +"That's because you 're in love," said Tilda. "But, if you'll listen to +me, women ain't always what you take 'em for." + +"Ain't they?" he queried. "I'd be sorry to believe that; though 'twould +be 'elpful, I don't mind tellin' you." + +"I've known cases--that is, if you _want_ to be cured--" + +"I do, an' I don't," he groaned. But it was clear that in the main he +did not; for he changed the subject hastily. "See 'ere, would you mind +takin' 'old o' the book an' checkin' while I counts out the money. +Total takin's--four, three, three--less 'ire of 'all, four-an'-six--" + +"I can read figures an' print," owned Tilda, "but 'andwriting's too +much for me; an' yours, I dare say, isn' none o' the best." + +"I've improved it a lot at the night school. But what is it puzzlin' +you?" he asked, looking up as he counted. + +She held out the book, but not as he had handed it. The light breeze +had blown over two or three of its leaves, covering the page of +accounts. + +"Oh, _that?_" he stammered, and a blush spread to his ears. "I didn' +mean you to see--" + +"What is it?" + +"Well--it's potery, if you must know. Leastways it's meant to be +potery. I make it sometimes." + +"Why?" + +"To relieve my feelin's." + +"'Pears to me your feelin's want a deal o' relievin', one way an' +another. Read me some." + +"You're sure you won't laugh?" + +"Bless the man! 'Ow can I tell till I've 'eard it? Is it meant to be +funny?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, I'm not likely to laugh. It don't come easy to me, any'ow: +I seen too many clowns." + +She handed him the book. He chose a poem, conquered his diffidence, and +began-- + + "Stratford-on-Avon, Stratford-on-Avon-- + My heart is full of woe: + Formerly, once upon a time + It was not ever so." + + "The love that then I faltered + I now am forced to stifle; + For the case is completely altered + And I wish I had a rifle." + + "I wish I was wrecked + Like Robinson Crusoe, + But you cannot expect + A canal-boat to do so." + +"Perhaps I ought to explain, though?" he suggested, breaking off. + +"If you don't mind." + +"You see I got a brother--a nelder brother, an' by name 'Enery; an' last +year he went for a miner in South Africa, at a place that I can't +neither spell nor pronounce till it winds up with 'bosh.' So we'll call +it Bosh." + +"Right-o! But why did he go for that miner? To relieve 'is feelin's?" + +"You don't understand. He went out _as_ a miner, havin' been a pit-hand +at the Blackstone Colliery, north o' Bursfield. Well, one week-end-- +about a month before he started--he took a noliday an' went a trip with +me to Stratford aboard this very boat. Which for six months past I'd +'ad a neye upon a girl in Stratford. She was a General--" + +"Salvation Army?" + +"--A Cook-general, in a very respectable 'ouse'old--a publican's, at the +'Four Alls' by Binton Bridges. Me bein' shy--as you may 'ave noticed-- +I 'adn't, as you might say, put it to 'er; an' likewise until the matter +was settled I didn' like to tell 'Enery. But I interjuced 'im--the same +bein' 'er Sunday out; an' afterwards, when he called 'er a monstrous +fine girl, I felt as 'appy as if he'd given me ten shillin'. Which only +proves," Sam commented bitterly, "what I say in the next verse--" + + "I'd rather be in prison + Than in this earthly dwellin', + Where nothin' is but it isn'-- + An there ain't no means of tellin'!" + +"--Which when, the night before he started, he comes to me an' says that +he an' Mary 'ave made a match of it, an' would I mind keepin' an eye on +'er an' writin' regilar to say 'ow she was gettin' on, it fair knocked +me out." + +"You never told 'im?" + +"I didn' like to. To start with 'e was always my fav'rite brother, an' +I couldn' bear his startin' in low sperits an' South Africa such a +distance off; beside which, I told mysel', the girl must surely know 'er +own mind. So now you know," concluded Sam, "what I means by the nex' +verse--" + + "Stratford-on-Avon, Stratford-on-Avon-- + My true love she is false; + I 'd rather not go to Stratford-on-Avon + If I could go anywheres else." + +"But you promised to keep an eye on her." + +"'Enery 'ears from me regilar," said Sam evasively. + +"If you don't pay 'er no visits," Tilda insisted, "the more you write +the more you must be tellin' lies; an' that's not fair to 'Enery." + +Sam considered this for a while, and ended by drawing a folded scrap of +paper from his trouser-pocket. + +"I don't tell no more than can't be 'elped, missie. You just list'n to +this." + +He read:-- + + Dear Brother 'Enery,--This comes opin' to find you + well as it leaves me at Stratford. M. sends her love, an' you + will be pleased to 'ear she grows beautifuller every day an' in + character likewise. It do seem to me this world is a better + place for containin' of her; an' a man ought to be 'appy, dear + 'Enery, when you can call 'er mine--" + +"That don't seem right to me some'ow," commented Tilda. + +Sam scratched his head. + +"What's wrong with it?" + +"'Pears to me it ought to be 'yours'--'When you can call her yours.'" + +"I don't like that neither, not altogether. S'pose we scratch it out +an' say, 'A man ought to be 'appy when 'e can call 'er 'isn'? That what +schoolmaster calls the third person." + +"There didn' ought to be no third person about it," said Tilda severely; +"on'y 'Enery an' 'er. Well, go on." + +"I can't. That's so far as I've written up to the present. It's a +rough copy, you understand; an' at Stratford I allow to write it out +fair an' post it." + +Tilda took a turn at considering. + +"The further I go on this v'yage," she announced,--"w'ich, per'aps, +'twould be truthfuller to say the longer it takes--the more I seems to +get mixed up in other folks' business. But you've done me a good turn, +Sam Bossom; an' you've been open with me; an' I reckon I got to keep you +straight in this 'ere. There! put up yer verses while I sit an' think +it out." + +"You don't like 'em?" + +Sam was evidently dashed. + +"If on'y I 'ad Bill 'ere--" + +"Ha, yes: _'im!_ '_E_'d put a boiler inside 'em, no doubt; an' a +donkey-engin', an'--" + +"What'yer talkin' about? . . . Oh, yer verses! Bless the man, I wasn' +thinkin' of yer verses. I was wantin' Bill 'ere, to advise somethin' +practical. Lor' sake! Look at Arthur Miles there, the way 'e's leanin' +overboard! The child'll drown' isself, nex' news!" She rose up and ran +to prevent the disaster. "'Pears to me there's a deal o' motherin' to +be done aboard this boat. Trouble aft, an' trouble forrard--" + +She was hurrying aft when Mr. Mortimer intercepted her amidships. +He held a book in one hand, and two slips of paper in the other. + +"Child," he asked, "could you learn a part?--a very small part?" + +"'Course I could," answered Tilda promptly; "but I ain't goin' to play +it, an' don't yer make any mistake. 'Ere, let me get to Arthur Miles +before 'e tumbles overboard." + +She darted aft and dragged the boy back by his collar. + +"What d'yer mean by it, givin' folks a shock like that?" she demanded. + +"I was looking at the pictures," he explained, and showed her. + +The _Success to Commerce_ bore on her stern panels two gaily painted +landscapes, the one of Warwick Castle, the other of ruined Kenilworth. +Tilda leaned over the side and saw them mirrored in the still water. + +"And then," the boy pursued, "down below the pictures I saw a great ship +lying in the seaweed with guns and drowned men on the deck and the +fishes swimming over them. Deep in the ship a bell was tolling--" + +"Nonsense!" Tilda interrupted, and catching up a pole, thrust it down +overside. "Four feet at the most," she reported, as the pole found +bottom. "You must be sickenin' for somethin'. Put out your tongue." + +"A child of imagination," observed Mr. Mortimer, who had followed her. +"Full fathom five thy father lies--" + +"'Ush!" cried Tilda. + +"--Of his bones are coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes--" + +The boy sat and looked up at the speaker, staring, shivering a little. + +"You know? You know too?" he stammered. + +"He knows nothin' about it," insisted Tilda. "Please go away, Mr. +Mortimer?" + +"A young Shakespearian? This is indeed delightful! You shall have a +part, sir. Your delivery will be immature, doubtless; but with some +tuition from me--" + +"If you try it on, I'll tell 'Ucks," the girl threatened, by this time +desperate. "You're like all the actors--leastways you're like all that +ever I met; an', take it 'ow you will, I got to say it. Once get +started on yer own lay, an' everything elst goes out o' yer 'eads. +You don't mean to 'urt, but selfish you are and 'eedless, an' somebody +'as al'ays the world's trouble clearin' up the mess. 'Ere, 'and me the +part you was tellin' about; an' I'll learn it an' say it, though not +within a 'undred miles of Glasson--which," she added, "I'll be an old +woman before that, at the rate we're goin'. But you don't drag Arthur +Miles into it, an' I give you fair warnin'. For, to start with, 'e's +'idin', an' 'tis only to keep 'im 'id that I got 'Ucks to let yer loose. +An' nex' 'e's a gentleman, and why you should want to mix 'im up with +yer Shakespeares I can't think." + +It is doubtful if Mr. Mortimer heard the conclusion of her outburst. +At the mention of Mr. Hucks he pressed a palm dramatically to his +forehead; and now, withdrawing it, he handed her the two slips of paper +with great politeness. + +"True, I had forgotten," he murmured. "Take your time, child--you will +take your time, I beg." + +He waved his hand, and withdrew to rejoin his wife on the cabin-top. +Tilda studied the slips of paper, while Arthur Miles edged away again +towards the gunwale for another look into the magic water. + +"Stop that!" she commanded, glancing up and catching him in the act. +"Stop that, and read these for me: I can't manage handwriting." + +The boy took the first slip obediently and read aloud-- + +"_Madam, a horseman comes riding across the hill. The sun flashes full +on his arms. By my halidame 'tis the Knight Hospitaller!_" + +"That seems pretty fair rot," criticised Tilda. "Let's 'ave the other." + +"_ Madam, he has reined up his steed. He stands without._" + +Here Arthur Miles paused and drew breath. + +"Without what?" + +"It doesn't say. _He stands without: he waves a hand. Shall I go ask +his errand? _" + +"Is that all? . . . And Mortimer reckons I'll take from 'ere to +Stratford learnin' that little lot! Why, I can do it in arf-a-minute, +an' on my 'ead. You just listen. _Madam, a 'orseman_--No, wait a +moment. _Madam, a Norseman_--" Tilda hesitated and came to a halt. +"Would you mind sayin' it over again, Arthur Miles?" she asked politely. + +"_Madam, a horseman comes riding_--" + +"That'll do. _Madam, a--H--h--horseman_--Is that better?" + +"You needn't strain at it so," said the boy. "Why, you're quite red in +the face!" + +"Oh, yes, I need," said Tilda; "first-along, any'ow." She fell silent +for a space. "That Mortimer," she conceded, "isn' quite the ass that 'e +looks. This 'as got to take time, after all." She paused a moment in +thought, and then broke out, "Oh, Arthur Miles, the trouble you're +layin' on me--First, to be a mother--an' that's not 'ard. But, on top +o' that, lady!" + +"Why should you be a lady?" he asked. + +"Why?" Tilda echoed almost bitterly. "Oh, you needn' think I'll want +to marry yer when all's done. Why? Oh, merely to 'elp you, bein' the +sort you are. All you've got to do, bein' the sort you are, is to sit +quiet an' teach me. But I got to be a lady, if it costs me my shift." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +PURSUED. + + +At ten o'clock Sam harnessed up again, and shortly before noon our +travellers left the waterway by which they had travelled hitherto, and +passed out to the right through a cut, less than a quarter of a mile +long, where a rising lock took them into the Stratford-on-Avon Canal. + +Said Sam as he worked the lock, the two children standing beside and +watching-- + +"Now see here, when you meet your clever friend Bill, you put him two +questions from me. First, why, when the boat's through, am I goin' to +draw the water off an' leave the lock empty?" + +Before Tilda could answer, Arthur Miles exclaimed-- + +"I know! It's because we 're going uphill, and at the other locks, when +we were going downhill, the water emptied itself." + +"Right, so far as you go," nodded Sam. "But why should a lock be left +empty?" + +The boy thought for a moment. + +"Because you don't want the water to waste, and top gates hold it better +than lower ones." + +"Why do the top gates hold it better?" + +"Because they shut _with_ the water, and the water holds them fast; and +because they are smaller than the bottom gates, and don't leak so much." + +"That's very cleverly noticed," said Sam. "Now you keep your eyes alive +while we work this one, an' tell me what you see." + +They watched the operation carefully. + +"Well?" he asked as, having passed the _Success to Commerce_ through, he +went back to open the lower paddles--or slats, as he called them. + +"I saw nothing," the boy confessed disappointedly, "except that you +seemed to use more water than at the others." + +"Well, and that's just it. But why?" + +"It has something to do, of course, with going up-hill instead of +down . . . And--and I've got the reason somewhere inside my head, but I +can't catch hold of it." + +"I'll put it another way. This boat's mod'rate well laden, an' she +takes more water lockin' up than if she was empty; but if she was empty, +she'd take more water lockin' down. That's a fac'; an' if you can give +me a reason for it you'll be doin' me a kindness. For I never could +find one, an' I've lain awake at nights puzzlin' it over." + +"I bet Bill would know," said Tilda. + +Sam eyed her. + +"I'd give somethin'" he said, "to be sure this Bill, as you make such a +gawd of, is a real person--or whether, bein' born different to the rest +of yer sex, you've 'ad to invent 'im." + +Many locks encumber the descending levels of the Stratford-on-Avon +Canal, and they kept Sam busy. In the intervals the boat glided deeper +and deeper into a green pastoral country, parcelled out with hedgerows +and lines of elms, behind which here and there lay a village half +hidden--a grey tower and a few red-tiled roofs visible between the +trees. Cattle dotted the near pastures, till away behind the trees--for +summer had passed into late September--the children heard now and again +the guns of partridge shooters cracking from fields of stubble. But no +human folk frequented the banks of the canal, which wound its way past +scented meadows edged with willow-herb, late meadow-sweet, yellow tansy +and purple loosestrife, this last showing a blood-red stalk as its bloom +died away. Out beyond, green arrowheads floated on the water; the +Success to Commerce ploughed through beds of them, and they rose from +under her keel and spread themselves again in her wake. Very little +traffic passed over these waters. In all the way to Preston Bagot our +travellers met but three boats. One, at Lowsonford Lock, had a pair of +donkeys ("animals" Sam called them) to haul it; the other two, they met, +coming up light by Fiwood Green. "Hold in!" "Hold out!" called the +steersmen as the boats met. Sam held wide, and by shouts instructed Mr. +Mortimer how to cross the towropes; and Mr. Mortimer put on an extremely +knowledgeable air, but obeyed him with so signal a clumsiness that the +bargees desired to know where the _Success to Commerce_ had shipped her +new mate. + +The question, though put with good humour, appeared to disturb Sam, who +for the rest of the way steered in silence. There are three locks at +Preston Bagot, and at the first Mr. Mortimer took occasion to apologise +for his performance, adding that practice made perfect. + +"I wonder, now," said Sam delicately, "if you could practise leavin' off +that fur collar? A little unhandiness'll pass off, an' no account +taken; but with a furred overcoat 'tis different, an' I ought to +a-mentioned it before. We don't want the children tracked, do we? +An' unfort'nitly you're not one to pass in a crowd." + +"You pay me a compliment," Mr. Mortimer answered. "Speaking, however, +as man to man, let me say that I would gladly waive whatever show my +overcoat may contribute to the--er--total effect to which you refer. +But"--here he unbuttoned the front of his garment--"I leave it to you to +judge if, without it, I shall attract less attention. _Laudatur_, my +dear Smiles, _et alget. Paupertas, dura paupertas_--I might, perhaps, +satisfy the curious gazer by producing the--er--pawntickets for the +missing articles. But it would hardly--eh, I put it to you?" + +"No, it wouldn'," decided Sam. "But it's unfort'nit all the same, an' +in more ways'n one. You see, there's a nasty 'abit folks 'ave in these +parts. Anywheres between Warwick an' Birming'am a native can't 'ardly +pass a canal-boat without wantin' to arsk, ''Oo stole the rabbit-skin?' +I don't know why they arsk it; but when it 'appens, you've got to fight +the man--or elst _I_ must." + +"I would suggest that, you being the younger man--" + +"Well, I don't mind," said Sam. "On'y the p'int is I don't scarcely +never fight without attractin' notice. The last time 'twas five +shillin' an' costs or ten days. An' there's the children to be +considered." + +During this debate Tilda and Arthur Miles had wandered ashore with +'Dolph, and the dog, by habit inquisitive, had headed at once for a +wooden storehouse that stood a little way back from the waterside-- +a large building of two storeys, with a beam and pulley projecting from +the upper one, and heavy folding-doors below. One of these doors stood +open, and 'Dolph, dashing within, at once set up a frantic barking. + +"Hullo!" Tilda stepped quickly in front of the boy to cover him. +"There's somebody inside." + +The barking continued for almost half a minute, and then Godolphus +emerged, capering absurdly on his hind legs and revolving like a +dervish, flung up his head, yapped thrice in a kind of ecstasy, and +again plunged into the store. + +"That's funny, too," mused Tilda. "I never knew 'im be'ave like that +'cept when he met with a friend. Arthur Miles, you stay where you +are--" She tiptoed forward and peered within. "Lord sake, come an' +look 'ere!" she called after a moment. + +The boy followed, and stared past her shoulder into the gloom. +There, in the centre of the earthen floor, wrapped around with straw +bands, stood a wooden horse. + +It was painted grey, with beautiful dapples, and nostrils of fierce +scarlet. It had a tail of real horse-hair and a golden mane, and on its +near shoulder a blue scroll with its name _Kitchener_ thereon in letters +of gold. Its legs were extended at a gallop. + +"Gavel's!" said Tilda. "Gavel's, at ten to one an' no takers! . . . But +why? 'Ow?" + +She turned on 'Dolph, scolding, commanding him to be quiet; and 'Dolph +subsided on his haunches and watched her, his stump tail jerking to and +fro beneath him like an unweighted pendulum. There was a label attached +to the straw bands. She turned it over and read: _James Gavel, +Proprietor, Imperial Steam Roundabouts, Henley-in-Arden. Deliver +Immediately_ . . . "An' me thinkin' Bill 'ad gone north to +Wolver'ampton!" she breathed. + +Before the boy could ask her meaning they heard the rumble of wheels +outside; and Tilda, catching him by the arm, hurried him back to the +doors just as a two-horse wagon rolled down to the wharf, in charge of +an elderly driver--a sour-visaged man in a smock-frock, with a +weather-stained top hat on the back of his head, and in his hand a whip +adorned with rings of polished brass. + +He pulled up, eyed the two children, and demanded to know what they +meant by trespassing in the store. + +"We were admirin' the 'orse," answered Tilda. + +"An' likewise truantin' from school," the wagoner suggested. "But +that's the way of it in England nowadays; the likes o' me payin' rates +to eddicate the likes o' you. An' that's your Conservative Government + . . . Eddication!" he went on after a pause. "What's Eddication? +Did either o' you ever 'ear tell of Joseph Arch?" + +"Can't say we 'ave." + +"He was born no farther away than Barford--Barford-on-Avon. But I +s'pose your schoolmaster's too busy teachin' you the pianner." + +Tilda digested the somewhat close reasoning for a moment, and answered-- + +"It's fair sickenin', the amount o' time spent on the pianner. Between +you an' me, that's partly why we cut an' run. You mustn' think we 'ate +school--if on'y they'd teach us what's useful. 'Oo's Joseph Arch?" + +"He was born at Barford," said the wagoner; "an' at Barford he lives." + +"'E must be a remarkable man," said Tilda, "an' I'm sorry I don't know +more of 'im. But I know Gavel." + +"Gavel?" + +"'Im as the 'orse belongs to; an' Bill. Gavel's a remarkable man too in +'is way; though not a patch on Bill. Bill tells me Gavel can get drunk +twice any day; separate drunk, that is." + +"Liberal or Conservative?" + +"Well," hesitated Tilda, playing for safety, "I dunno as he 'd tell, +under a pint; but mos' likely it depends on the time o' day." + +"I arsked," said the wagoner, "because he's hired by the Primrose Feet; +an' if he's the kind o' man to sell 'is princerples, I don't so much +mind 'ow bad the news I breaks to him." + +"What news?" + +The man searched in his pocket, and drew forth a greasy post card. + +"He sent word to me there was six painted 'osses comin' by canal from +Burning'am, to be delivered at the Wharf this mornin'; an' would I fetch +'em along to the Feet Ground, Henley-in-Arden, without delay?" + +"Henley-in-Arden!" exclaimed a voice behind the children; whereat Tilda +turned about with a start. It was the voice of Mr. Mortimer, who had +strolled across from the lock bank, and stood conning the wagon and +team. "Henley-in-Arden? O Helicon! If you'll excuse the remark, sir. +OParnassus!" + +"Maybe I might," said the wagoner guardedly, "if I understood its +bearin's." + +"Name redolent of Shakespeare! Of Rosalind and Touchstone, Jaques and +Amiens, sheepcrooks and venison feasts, and ballads pinned to oaks! +What shall he have who killed the deer, Mr.--?" + +"'Olly," said the wagoner. + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"'Olly--James 'Olly and Son, Carters an' 'Auliers." + +"Is it possible? . . . better and better! Sing heigho! the Holly, this +life is most jolly. I trust you find it so, Mr. Holly?" + +"If you want to know," Mr. Holly answered sourly, "I don't." + +"You pain and astonish me, Mr. Holly. The penalty of Adam, the season's +difference"--Mr. Mortimer turned up his furred collar--"surely, sir, you +will allow no worse to afflict you? You, a dweller on the confines of +Henley-in-Arden, within measurable distance, as I gathered?" + +"Mile an' a 'arf." + +"No more? O Phoebus and the Nine!" + +"There _was_," said Mr. Holly, "to 'a been six. An' by consequence here +I be with a pair of 'osses an' the big wagon. Best go home-along, I +reckon, an' fetch out the cart," he grumbled, with a jerk of his thumb +indicating a red-tiled building on the hillside, half a mile away. + +"Not so." Mr. Mortimer tapped his brow. "An idea occurs to me--if you +will spare me a moment to consult with my--er--partner. A Primrose +Fete, you said? I am no politician, Mr. Holly, but I understand the +Primrose League exists--primarily--or ultimately--to save our world-wide +empire. And how shall an empire stand without its Shakespeare? +Our tent and appliances will just load your wagon. As the younger Dumas +observed, 'Give me two boards, two trestles, three actors'--but the +great Aeschylus did with two--'two actors,' let us say--'and a +passion'--provided your terms are not prohibitive . . . Hi, Smiles! +Approach, Smiles, and be introduced to Thespis. His charge is three +shillings. At the price of three shillings behold, Smiles, the golden +age returned! Comedy carted home through leafy ways shall trill her +woodnotes--her native woodnotes wild--in Henley-in-Arden!" + +The wagon had been packed and had departed, Mrs. Mortimer perched high +on a pile of tent cloths, and Mr. Mortimer waving farewells from the +tail-board. + +The two children, left with instructions to keep near the boat and in +hiding, had made a nest for themselves among the stalks of loosestrife, +and sat watching the canal for sign of a moorhen or a water-rat. +The afternoon was bright and very still, with a dazzle on the water and +a faint touch of autumn in the air--the afterglow of summer soon to pass +into grey chills and gusts of rain. For many minutes neither had +spoken. + +"Look!" said Tilda, pointing to a distant ripple drawn straight across +the surface. "There goes a rat, and I've won!" + +The boy said-- + +"A boat takes up room in the water, doesn't it?" + +"0' course it does. But what's that got to do with rats?" + +"Nothing. I was thinking of Sam's puzzle, and I've guessed it. A boat +going downwards through a lock would want a lock full, all but the water +it pushes out from the room it takes up. Wouldn't it?" + +"I s'pose so," said Tilda doubtfully. + +"But a boat going up will want a lock full, and that water too. And +that's why an empty boat going downhill takes more water than a loaded +one, and less going up." + +To Tilda the puzzle remained a puzzle. "It _sounds_ all right," she +allowed. "But what makes you so clever about boats?" + +"I've _got_ to know about them. Else how shall we ever find the +Island?" + +She thought for half a minute. + +"You're sure about that Island?" she asked, a trifle anxiously. + +Arthur Miles turned to her with a confident smile. + +"Of course I'm sure." + +"Well, we'll arsk about it when we get to Stratford-on-Avon." + +She was about to say more, but checked herself at sight of a barge +coming down the canal--slowly, and as yet so far away that the tramp of +the tow-horse's hoofs on the path was scarcely audible. She laid a hand +on 'Dolph's collar and pressed him down in the long grass, commanding +him to be quiet, whilst she and the boy wriggled away towards an alder +bush that stood a furlong back from the bank. + +Stretched at length behind the bush, she had, between the fork of its +stem, a clear view of the approaching boat. Its well coverings were +loose, and by the upper lock gate the steersman laid it close along +shore and put out a gang-plank. His mate, after fitting a nosebag on +the horse, came at a call to assist him, and together they lifted out a +painted wooden steed wrapped in straw, and carried it to the store. + +Having deposited it there, they returned and unloaded another. Five +horses they disembarked and housed thus; and then, like men relieved of +a job, spat on their hands and turned to work their boat down through +the locks. For twenty minutes the children lay prone and watched them, +Tilda still keeping a hand on the scruff of 'Dolph's neck. Then, as the +boat, having gained a clear reach of water, faded down in the gathering +dusk, she arose and stretched herself. + +"For anyone but Bill I wouldn' risk it," she said. "But maybe his +credit depends on gettin' them 'osses delivered to-night." + +She took Arthur Miles by the hand, found the road, and dragged him +uphill at a trot towards the group of red brick buildings that showed +between the trees. + +The buildings consisted of a cottage and a long stable or coach-house +contiguous. This presented a blank white-washed wall to the road, but a +Gloire de Dijon rose spread itself over the cottage front, almost +smothering a board with the inscription: _S. Holly and Son, Carters and +Hauliers_. + +Tilda knocked, and her knock was answered by a sour-visaged woman. + +"Well, an' what can I do for you?" asked the woman, staring down from +her doorstep on the children. + +"If you please, ma'am, is Mr. 'Olly at 'ome?" + +"No, he ain't." + +"I knew it," said Tilda tranquilly. "But by all accounts 'e's got a +son." + +"Eh?" + +The woman still stared, divided between surprise and mistrust. + +"You're mistakin'," Tilda pursued. "I ain't come with any scandal about +the fam'ly. A grown-up son, I mean--with a 'orse an' cart. Because, if +so, there's five gallopin' 'orses down at the wharf waitin' to be taken +over to Henley-in-Arden." + +"Oh?" said the woman. "My 'usband left word Gustavus was to fetch 'em +along if they arrived. But who sent you with the message?" + +"I've a friend in Gavel's business," Tilda answered with dignity. +"'E's what you might call Gavel's right 'and man--an' 'e's 'andy with +'is right, too, when 'e's put out. If 'e should 'ear--I'm advisin' for +yer _good_, mind--if 'e should 'ear as five 'orses was 'ung up on the +wharf 'ere through S. 'Olly an' Son's neglect, you may look out for +ructions. An' that's all I promise." + +She turned back towards the wharf, and even as Arthur Miles turned to +follow they could hear the woman calling loudly, summoning her son from +his tea in the kitchen. + +"I reckon," commented Tilda, "I put the fear o' Bill into that woman. +You may 'a noticed I didn' like her looks." + +She led the way back to the wharf in some elation. Twilight was +gathering there and over the canal. She had rounded the corner of the +store, when, happening to glance towards the _Success to Commerce_, +moored under the bank a bare twenty yards away, she halted, and with a +gasp shrank close into the shadow. + +"Collar 'Dolph! Grip old on 'im for the Lord's sake!" she whispered, +and clutched Arthur Miles by the arm. + +On the bank beside the boat stood a man. + +"But what's the matter?" the boy demanded. + +"'Ush! Oh, 'ush an' lie close! It's Glasson!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +ADVENTURE OF THE FURRED COLLAR. + + +"'_Do you know me, my lord?' +'Excellent well; you are a fishmonger._'"--HAMLET. + +He stood on the edge of the wharf--a black figure in an Inverness cape-- +with his back towards the angle of the store where the children hid. +There was no mistaking him. For two nights he had haunted Tilda's +dreams; and she could have picked him out, even in the twilight, from +among a thousand. + +She gave another gasp, and with that her presence of mind returned. +He had not seen them; he was watching the barge. The angle of the store +would still hide them if they tip-toed to the wharf gate. But they must +be noiseless as mice; they must reach the road, and then-- + +She caught up 'Dolph by the scruff of his neck, tucked him under her +arm, and whispered to Arthur Miles to steal after her. But before she +had taken three paces another fright brought her heart into her mouth. + +Footsteps were coming down the road. They could not belong to the +wagoner's son. He would be bringing his horse and cart. The footsteps +were light, too--light and hurried, and not to be associated with +hobnailed boots. + +Almost desperate at this cutting off of retreat, Tilda pulled Arthur +Miles towards a wooden stairway, unrailed, painted over with Stockholm +tar, built against the outside of the store, and leading to its upper +chamber. + +"Up! and quick!" she commanded, pushing him before her. She followed +panting, leaning against the wall for support, for 'Dolph was no light +burden, and his weight taxed her hurt leg painfully. + +The door of the loft stood ajar. She staggered in after the boy, +dropped the dog, and closed all but a chink, at which she posted +herself, drawing quick breaths. + +In the darkness behind her Arthur Miles listened. The footsteps drew +nearer, paused, and after a moment were audible again in the yard below. + +"Good Lord--it's Gavel!" + +"Eh?" The boy drew closer to her shoulder. + +"It's Gavel, come in a sweat for 'is 'orses. I didn' reckernise 'im for +the moment--dressed out in a fur coat an' Trilby 'at. But it's Gavel, +an' 'e's walkin' straight into Glasson's arms. Stand by to do a bolt +soon as 'e turns the corner." + +"But I don't see what he has to do with--with--" Arthur Miles hesitated +before the terrible name. + +"Glasson? Oh, nothin'; on'y ten to one Gavel's met with the Mortimers, +an', Glasson bein' on the track already--W'y, what elst is the man 'ere +for?" + +"He shan't take me," said the boy after a pause, and in a strained low +voice which, nevertheless, had no tremor in it. "Not if I throw myself +off the ladder." + +"You stop that talk, please," threatened Tilda. "It's wicked; an' +besides, they 'aven't caught us yet. Do what I tell yer, an' stand by +to bolt." + +She crept to the other door, which commanded the canal front, unbarred +it softly, and opened the upper hatch a few inches. Through this +aperture, by standing on tip-toe, she could watch the meeting of the two +men. + +"When I call, run for yer life." + +But a minute--two minutes--passed, and the command did not come. +Arthur Miles, posted by the bolt-hole, held his breath at the sound of +voices without, by the waterside. The tones of one he recognised with a +shiver. They were raised, and although he could not catch the words, +apparently in altercation. Forgetting orders, he tip-toed across to +Tilda's elbow. + +Mr. James Gavel, proprietor of Imperial Steam Roundabouts--as well as of +half a dozen side-shows, including a Fat Lady and a Try-your-Strength +machine--was a small man with a purplish nose and a temper kept +irritable by alcohol; and to-day the Fates had conspired to rub that +temper on the raw. He swore aloud, and partly believed, that ever since +coming to Henley-in-Arden he was bewitched. + +He had come at the instance, and upon the guarantee, of Sir Elphinstone +Breward, Baronet, C.B., K.C.V.O., a local landowner, who, happening to +visit Warwick on County Council business, which in its turn happened to +coincide with a fair day, had been greatly struck by the title +"Imperial" painted over Mr. Gavel's show, and with soldierly promptness +had engaged the whole outfit--Roundabouts, Fat Lady and all--for his +forthcoming Primrose Fete. + +If beside his addiction to alcohol Mr. Gavel had a weakness, it was the +equally British one of worshipping a title. Flattered by the honest +baronet's invitation, he had met it almost more than half-way; and had +dispatched six of his shabbiest horses to Birmingham to be repainted for +the fete, and labelled "Kitchener," "Bobs," "Cecil Rhodes," "Doctor +Jim," "Our Joe," and "Strathcona"--names (as he observed) altogether +more up to date than the "Black Prince," "Brown Bess," "Saladin," and +others they superseded. + +Respect for his patron had further prompted Mr. Gavel, on the morning of +the fete, to don a furred overcoat, and to swear off drink for the day. +This abstinence, laudable in itself, disastrously affected his temper, +and brought him before noon into wordy conflict with his engineer. +The quarrel, suppressed for the time, flamed out afresh in the +afternoon, and, unfortunately, at a moment when Sir Elphinstone, as +chairman, was introducing the star orator from London. Opprobrious +words had reached the ears of the company gathered on the platform, and +Sir Elphinstone had interrupted his remarks about Bucking Up and +Thinking Imperially to send a policeman through the crowd with +instructions to stop that damned brawling. + +If the great Napoleon may be forgiven for losing his temper when at five +in the afternoon from the slope of La Belle Alliance he watched the +Prussians breaking through the opposite woods, while Grouchy yet +tarried, let it be pleaded in excuse for Mr. Gavel that ever since +eleven a.m. he had been awaiting the arrival of his six newly-painted +horses. The Birmingham decorator had pledged himself to deliver them +early at Preston Bagot, and Mr. Gavel knew him for a man of his word. +He had made arrangements for their prompt conveyance to the field. +He did not doubt, but he was undeniably anxious. + +Imagine, then, his feelings when at four o'clock or a little later a +wagon--the wagon of his hiring--rolled into the enclosure bringing one +horse only, and in place of the others a pile of tent-cloths and +theatrical boxes, on which sat and smiled Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, his +professional rivals. + +He had been drinking ginger-ale all day, and in copious draughts. +It must be confessed that he lost his temper woefully, and so +vociferously that Sir Elphinstone this time descended from the platform, +and strode across the meadow to demand what the devil he meant by it. +Nor was even this the last drop in the cup of Mr. Gavel's bitterness; +for the baronet, struck by Mr. Mortimer's appearance and genteel +address, at once invited him to set up his tent and save the situation +so desperately compromised. + +Sam Bossom, perceiving that the wagon stood on ground well adapted for +pitching a tent, cheerfully proceeded to unload. Mr. Gavel watched in +speechless rage. Old Holly, the carrier, suggested that there was no +need to give up hope of the horses. They might turn up yet before dark. +Boats came down the canal at all hours of the day. + +"Then why couldn't you have waited and given 'em a chance?" foamed the +proprietor; and commanding Holly to turn the empty wagon and follow, he +strode off in the direction of the Wharf. The afternoon was hot. +His furred coat oppressed him; his shoes--of patent leather, bought +ready-made--pinched his feet. On the road he came to a public-house, +entered, and gulped down two "goes" of whisky. Still the wagon lagged +behind. Re-emerging, he took the road again, his whole man hot within +his furred coat as a teapot within a cosy. + +In this temper, then, Mr. Gavel came to the wharf at Preston Bagot +locks, and finding the _Success to Commerce_ moored there with a tall +man apparently in charge, demanded if he came from Birmingham. + +"Or thereabouts," answered the tall man, eyeing him. "From there or +thereabouts. And, if I mistake not, you are the--er--person of whom I +came in search." + +The man's voice took Mr. Gavel somewhat aback. It did not resemble an +ordinary bargee's. But at the moment he could no more check the +explosion of his wrath than you can hold back a cork in the act of +popping from a bottle of soda-water. + +"Curse your laziness!" exploded Mr. Gavel; "and this is your notion of +searching for me, is it?" + +"It appears to be a pretty successful one," said Dr. Glasson. +"I've discovered you, anyhow; and now I suggest to you that swearing +won't help the reckoning between us." + +"Oh, stow your fine talk! I've heard of sea-lawyers, and I suppose +you're a canal specimen. Carriage was paid at the other end, and you +know it. I catch you here loafing, and I'm going to dispute the bill-- +which means that you'll get the sack, my friend, whether I recover the +money or no. Pounds out of pocket I am by this, not to speak of +reputation. Where are they? Where have you put 'em?" + +"That's what I'll trouble _you_ to answer, sir." + +"My hosses! . . . You don't mean to tell me--" Mr. Gavel smote his brow. +"But you said just now you were looking for me!" he cried. + +"You act well, sir," said Dr. Glasson sternly. "It is your profession. +But, as it happens, I have made inquiries along the canal, and am proof +against your bluster. A boat, the _Success to Commerce_--a bargeman in +a furred overcoat--the combination is unusual, and not (I put it to you) +likely to be repeated on this short stretch of waterway. Confess, Mr.-- +confess, sir, your game is up. Kidnapping is an ugly offence in this +country, and, in short, I advise you without more ado to hand over the +two children." + +Mr. Gavel leaned back against a crane for support. + +"Children? What children?" he repeated, staring. + +Clearly here was some hideous blunder, and he perceived at length that +the person addressing him in no way resembled a bargee. + +"But--but my hosses?" he gasped. + +Just then the sound of wheels fell on his ears, and both men faced +about. Mr. Gavel made sure that this must be old Holly with his wagon. +But no; there came around the corner a cart with a single horse, driven +by a lad; and the lad, pulling up before the store, went in, and in less +than a minute reappeared staggering under a heavy burden. + +"But, Hallo!" cried Mr. Gavel, pulling himself together, and striding +towards the cart. "It _is_--" he began incredulously; but after a +second look raised his voice in triumphant recognition and demand. +"My hosses! What are you doing with my hosses?" + +"Yours, be they?" the lad answered. "Well, I'm takin' 'em to Henley, as +you sent word." + +"_I_ sent word?" echoed Mr. Gavel. + +"_Somebody_ sent word," the lad persisted. "An' in the devil of a +'urry, 'cordin' to the child what brought it. But, as I said to mother, +where's the sense in sendin' messages by children?" + +"Children?" + +"There was two on 'em--a boy an' a girl--" + +"Ah!" interrupted Dr. Glasson. "Describe them, please." + +The lad scratched his head. + +"Mother took the message. I was indoors, havin' tea, an' didn' see more +'n a glimpse. But here comes father," he added briskly, as again wheels +were heard on the road, and old Holly drove into the yard with his +belated wagon. + +"You must admit, sir," said Dr. Glasson, addressing Mr. Gavel, "that +circumstances are beginning to look too strong for you." + +"Oh, to--with circumstances!" retorted Mr. Gavel. "Mortimer's in this, +for a fiver. I don't see how--I don't make head or tail of it; but the +tail you've got hold of belongs to the wrong dog. Kidnapping, is it? +A couple of children you want? Suspect me, do you? Well, suspect away. +_I_ don't mind. I've got my hosses; and when we're loaded up you can +climb on board the wagon, if you like, and we'll pay a call on Mortimer. +I bet he's your man; and the harder you pinch Mortimer to make him +squeal, the better you'll please me." + +"Arthur Miles," demanded Tilda in a harsh whisper, "what're yer doin' +'ere?" + +"Listening," answered the boy simply. + +"I 'opes yer likes it! . . . We're in a tight corner, Arthur Miles, an' +nothing for it but bolt while they're talkin'." + +"We might hide here in the dark--but, of course, you know best." + +"O' course I do," Tilda agreed. "'Ide 'ere? An' who's to warn the +Mortimers?" + +She stooped and again caught 'Dolph under her arm. Then she +straightened herself up and stood listening to the voices, clearly +audible from the entrance of the store below. + +"Tip-toe, mind! There's on'y a board between us--and quiet, for your +life!" + +They stole to the steps and paused for a moment, peering into the gloom. +Here too their enemies' voices were audible, but around the corner of +the store, the coast was clear. They crept down the steps and gained +the road. In the highway Tilda drew breath. + +"Things look pretty bad," she said; "but things ain't altogether so bad +as they look. Where we're goin' we'll find Bill; an' Bill's a tower o' +strength." + +"But we don't even know the way," objected Arthur Miles. + +"No, but 'Dolph does. 'Ere, 'Dolph"--she set down the dog--"you got to +lead us where the others went; an' at the end of it there's a little +surprise for yer. 'Ear?" + +'Dolph heard, shook himself, wagged his tail, and padded forward into +the gathering darkness; ran a little way and halted, until they overtook +him. He understood. + +"If they catch up with us we must nip into a gateway," panted Tilda. + +But as yet there was no sound of wheels on the road behind. They passed +the Hollys' cottage and stable, and braved the undiscovered country. +The road twisted between tall hedgerows, black in the shadow of elms. +No rain had fallen for many days, and the powdered dust lay so thick +underfoot, that twice or thrice Tilda halted--still holding the boy's +hand--in doubt if they had wandered off upon turf. But always, as they +hesitated thus, 'Dolph came trotting back to reassure them. + +In this manner, trotting and pausing, they had covered a bare +three-quarters of a mile when there smote on their ears a throbbing of +the air--a thud-thud which Arthur Miles took for the beat of a factory +engine, so like it was to the echoes that had floated daily, and all day +long, across the Orphanage wall; but Tilda, after hearkening a moment, +announced it to be the bass of Gavel's steam organ. The hoot of a +whistle presently confirmed her guess. + +'Dolph was steering them steadily towards the sound; and a glow in the +sky, right ahead and easily discernible, would have guided them even +without his help. Tilda recognised that glow also. + +"And the best is, it means Bill," she promised. + +But they did not catch the tune itself until they were close upon the +meadow. At the top of a rise in the road it broke on them, the scene +almost simultaneously with its music; and a strange scene it was, and +curiously beautiful--a slope, and below the slope a grassy meadow set +with elms; a blaze of light, here and there in the open spaces; in one +space a steam roundabout revolving with mirrors, in another the soft +glow of naphtha-lamps through tent cloth; glints of light on the +boughs, dark shadows of foliage, a moving crowd, its murmur so silenced +by music and the beat of a drum that it seemed to sway to and fro +without sound, now pressing forward into the glare, now dissolving into +the penumbra. + +Arthur Miles paused, trembling. He had never seen the like. But Tilda +had recovered all her courage. + +"This," she assured him, "is a little bit of all right," and taking his +hand, led him down the slope and posted him in the shadow of a +thorn-bush. + +"Wait here," she enjoined; and he waited, while she descended cautiously +towards the roundabout with its revolving mirrors. + +He lost sight of her. He lay still where she had commanded him to lie, +watching the many twinkling lights, watching the roundabout turn and +flash and come to a stop, watching the horseplay of boys and maidens as +one set clambered off laughing and another pressed forward into their +places. The tune droned in his ears, came to an end, went on again. +He drowsed to its recurrent beat. From his couch in the wet shadow he +gazed up at the stars riding overhead, above the elms. + +At the end of twenty minutes Tilda stole back to him; and, softly though +she came, her footfall woke him out of his dreams with a start. +Yet, and though he could barely discern her from the shadow of the +thorn-bush, he knew on the instant that she brought disappointment. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +"Everything's the matter. Bill's gone!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +ADVENTURE OF THE PRIMROSE FETE. + + +"_Confusion and Exeunt._"--OLD STAGE DIRECTION. + +"Gone?" echoed the boy blankly. + +"'Ad a row with Gavel this very aft'rnoon. Got the sack, with a week's +pay, an' packed up his kit after tea an' 'ooked it. Bess Burton told +me all about it, knowin' me an' Bill to be friends--she's the woman +sits at the pay-table an' gives the change. 'E wouldn' tell nobody +where 'e was goin'. Ain't cryin' about it, are yer?" + +"No," he answered, as she peered close to him in the darkness. +"Only we'd built everything on Bill, hadn't we?" + +Tilda did not answer this question. + +"That's the way with Bill," she said loyally. "Folks never know 'is +worth till they miss 'im. Bess allowed to me that before the evenin's +out Gavel will be offerin' 'is shirt to 'ave 'im back--an' Bess don't +know the worst neither. They've put on a boy to work the engine, an' +Bill 'as told me things about that boiler o' Gavel's . . . I couldn' get +near enough to read the pressure, but by the way 'e was pilin' in +coal--" + +She broke off and gazed down the slope. Even as once the poet Gray +looked down from the Windsor's heights up the distant prospect of Eton +College, so did she regard the cluster of naphtha lights around the +galloping horses on which, unconscious of their doom, the little victims +played. + +"But there's no call to give up an' cry about it," she resumed bravely. +"We're in a tight place, but it's our turn to play. (That's another +sayin' o' Bill's. Oh, dear, I wish you'd known 'im!) You see, we know +where Glasson is an' what 'e's up to, an' can look out accordin'. +That's one card to us. An' the next is, I've seen Sam Bossom an' warned +'im. 'E was standin' outside 'is show, an' not darin' to go in; the +reason bein' Mortimer 'ad picked up a girl from the shootin' gallery, +that used to belong to 'is company, and 'e an' she an' Mrs. Mortimer are +doing the last act of _Othello_ life size an' tuppence coloured, an' Sam +says 'e can't look on an' command 'is feelin's. 'E was considerable +surprised to see me, an' started scoldin'; but I left 'im promisin' that +'e'd put a stop to Glasson some'ow, if it had to be on the point o' the +jaw; an' we're to nip across and 'ide under the Grand Stand until he +comes for us or sends word. See it?" + +She pointed across to a crowded platform on the farther slope--a +structure of timber draped with scarlet cloth, and adorned with palms +and fairy lamps. It stood on the rise a little above and to the left of +the roundabout, the flares of which lit up the faces and gay dresses of +Sir Elphinstone's guests gathered there to watch the show. + +The two children made down the slope towards it, very cautiously, +fetching a circuit of the crowd. But as they reached the bottom of the +dip, on a sudden the crowd spread itself in lines right across their +path. Along these lines three or four men ran shouting, with ropes and +lanterns in their hands; and for one horrible moment it flashed on Tilda +that all this agitation must be the hue-and-cry. + +"Clear the course! Course, course! Just startin'--the great Ladies' +Race! Clear the course!" + +So it was only a race, after all! Tilda gripped the boy's hand tightly, +and held him at stand-still some paces in rear of the crowd. But of +this caution there was little need. All the faces were turned the other +way; all the crowd pressed forwards against the ropes which the +lantern-bearers drew taut to fence off the course. A pistol-shot +cracked out. Someone cried, "They're off!" and a murmur grew and +rolled nearer--rising, as it approached, from a murmur into great +waves--waves of Homeric laughter. + +The race went by, and a stranger race Tilda had never beheld. +The competitors were all women, of all ages--village girls, buxom +matrons, withered crones--and each woman held a ladle before her in +which an egg lay balanced. Some were in sun-bonnets, others in their +best Sunday headdress. Some had kilted their skirts high. Others were +all dishevelled with the ardour of the race. The leader--a gaunt +figure with spoon held rigidly before her, with white stockinged legs, +and a truly magnificent stride--had come and passed before Tilda could +believe her eyes. After a long interval three others tottered by in a +cluster. The fifth dropped her egg and collapsed beside it, to be +hauled to her feet and revived by the stewards amid inextinguishable +laughter from the crowd. In all, fourteen competitors rolled in, some +with empty ladles, some laughing and protesting that not a step farther +could they stir. But, long before the crowd closed in, Tilda saw the +winner breast a glimmering line of tape stretched at the end of the +course, and heard the shouts saluting her victory. + +"But who is it?" + +"Miss Sally!" + +"Miss Sally, if ever you heard the like! . . . But there! blood will +tell." + +"It's years since I seen her," said a woman. + +"You don't say! Never feared man nor devil, my mother used to tell. +An' to run in a race along with the likes of Jane Pratt! But you never +can reckon wi' the gentry--what they'll do, or what they won't." + +"With half the county, too, lookin' on from the Grand Stand! I bet Sir +Elphinstone's cussin'." + +"And I'll bet Miss Sally don't care how hard he cusses. She could do a +bit o' that too in her time, by all accounts." + +"Ay, a monstrous free-spoken lady always. Swearin' don't sit well upon +womankind, I allow--not as a rule. But when there's blood, a damn up +or down--what is it? For my part I never knew a real gentleman--or lady +for that matter--let out a downright thumper but I want to cry +'Old England for ever!'" + +Finding it hopeless to skirt the crowd, the children made a plunge +through it, with 'Dolph at their heels. But as the crush abated and +they breasted the farther slope, Tilda made two discoveries; the first, +that whereas a few minutes since the platform had held a company of +people among its palms and fairy-lamps, it was now deserted; the second, +that the mob at the winning-post had actually shouldered Miss Sally, and +was carrying her in triumph towards the platform, with a brass band +bobbing ahead and blaring _See, the Conquering Hero comes!_ + +This second discovery was serious, for the procession's line of march +threatened to intercept them. But luckily the bandsmen, who set the +pace, moved slowly, and by taking hands and running the children reached +the platform in time, skirted its darker side, and dived under its +scarlet draperies into the cavernous darkness beneath the boards. + +Here they drew breath, and Tilda again clutched the dog. They were in +time, but with a very little to spare. In less than a minute the mob +surged all around the platform, shouting, hooraying. + +"Three cheers for Miss Sally! The Ham--where's the Ham? Give Miss Sally +the Ham! Silence, there--silence for Sir Elphinstone! Speech from Sir +Elphinstone! Speech!" + +By and by the hubbub died down a little, but still there were cries of +"Sir Elphinstone for ever!" "Miss Sally for ever!" and "Your sister's +won the Ham, sir!" A high-pitched voice on the outskirts of the throng +began to chant-- + + "For really it was a remarkable 'am!" + +But got no further, being drowned first by sporadic, uneasy laughter, +and then by a storm of hisses. A tremendous roar of laughter followed, +and this (although Tilda could not guess it) was evoked by Miss Sally's +finding the ham where it stood derelict on a table among the greenhouse +plants, lifting it off its plate and brandishing it before the eyes of +her admirers. + +Tilda could see nothing of this. But she was listening with all her +might, and as the uproar died down again she caught the accents of a +man's voice attempting a speech. + +"My friends," it was saying, still lifting itself higher against the +good-humoured interruptions, "my very good friends--impossible not to be +gratified--expression of good will--venture to say, on the whole-- +thoroughly enjoyable afternoon. My sister"--(interruptions and cheers +for Miss Sally)--"my sister begs me to say--highly gratified--spirit of +the thing--but, if I may plead, some degree of fatigue only natural-- +won't misunderstand if I ask--disperse--quietly as possible--eh? +Oh, yes, 'God save the King,' by all means--much obliged, reminder-- +thank you--yes, certainly." + +Thereupon the band played the National Anthem, and the throng, after yet +another outbreak of cheering, dispersed. Followed a silence in the +darkness under the platform, broken only by the distant thudding bass of +the roundabout's steam organ; and then between the boards there sounded +a liquid chuckle, much like a blackbird's, and a woman's voice said-- + +"Come, my dear brother, say it out! The Countess has gone; everybody +has gone--she must have stampeded 'em, by the way--and as the Jew said, +when a thunderstorm broke on the picnic, 'Here's a fuss over a little +bit of ham!' Well, my dear, there has always been this about Sally-- +a man can swear before her _sans gene_. So, to give you a start, how +did they take it?" + +"If after these years I didn't know you to be incorrigible--" growled +the voice of Sir Elphinstone. + +"'For ladies of all ages,' the bills said." + +"'Ladies!'" + +"I am quoting your own bill--I'll bet a fiver, too, that you drafted it. +Anyway, I'm rising forty--though I'd defy 'em to tell it by my teeth. +And since they passed me for a lady--oh, Elphinstone, it _was_ a lark! +And I never thought I had the wind for it. You remember Kipling--you +are always quoting that young man--" + + 'The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a + barren doe.' + +"Well, that's how it was: 'Like a barren doe,' I give you my word." + +"My dear Sally!" + +"Shameless, was it? My dear Elphinstone, you've only to bill it, and +I'll do Lady Godiva for 'em next year--at _my_ time of life. But if you +don't like Kipling, what do you say to this?" + + 'For really this was a remarkable Ham, + A twenty-pound solid Imperial Ham, + And old Mrs. Liddicott + Tucked up her petticoat--' + +"Which reminds me that the crowd specially cheered my white Balbriggans. +They are out of date, but I could never fancy my legs in anything but +white." + +"What on earth are you reading?" + +"The local paper--Opposition. Haven't you seen it? There's a whole +column in verse about you, Elphinstone; hits you off to a hair, and none +so badly written. I'd a mind to show it to the Countess and Lady Mary, +but slipped it under the table cloth and at the last moment forgot it in +your eloquence. You really must listen--" + + 'Sir Elphinstone Breward + He rang for his steward, + And "Damme," said he, looking up from his letters, + This side of the county + That feeds on my bounty + 's forgotten all proper respect of its betters.' + +"The devil!" interrupted Sir Elphinstone. "It's that dirty little +Radical, Wrightson." + +"You recognise the style? It gets neater, to my thinking, as it goes +on--" + + 'Agitators and pillagers + Stir up my villagers-- + Worst of those fellows, so easily led! + Some haven't food enough, + Else it ain't good enough, + Others object to sleep three in a bed.' + + 'Deuce take their gratitude! + "Life"--that's the attitude-- + "Dullish and hard, on the parish half-crown!" + Dull? Give 'em circuses! + Hard? Ain't there work'uses? + What _can_ they see to attract 'em to town?' + +"--Neat, in its way," commented Miss Sally, pausing. + +"Neat? _I_ call it subversive and damnable!" + +"Listen! The next is a stinger--" + + 'Something quite recent, now: + "Drainage ain't decent," now: + Damme, when _was_ it? I've known, if you please, + Old tenants, better ones, + Crimean veterans-- + Never heard _they_ required w.c.'s--' + +"My _dear_ Sally!" + +"I read you the thing as it's printed," said Miss Sally, with another +liquid chuckle. + +["Ain't it just 'eavingly?" whispered Tilda below, clutching the boy's +arm while she listened. + +"What?" + +"The voice of 'er. If I could on'y speak words that way!"] + +"He goes on," pursued Miss Sally, "to tell how you and Saunders--that's +your new bailiff's name, is it not?--cooked up this woman's race between +you as a step towards saving the Empire. The language is ribald in +places, I allow; but I shouldn't greatly wonder if that, more or less, +is how it happened. And any way I've come to the rescue, and kept the +Imperial Ham in the family." + +"I have sometimes thought, Sally--if you will forgive my putting it +brutally--that you are half a Radical yourself." + +Thereat, after a moment's pause, the lady laughed musically. Almost in +the darkness you could see her throwing back her head and laughing. +She had a noble contralto voice, with a rich mannish purr in it. + +"You are mistaken, Elphinstone. But even so, my excellent brother, you +might understand it--if your estate lay in the west and ran with Miles +Chandon's." + +Tilda's small body stiffened with a gasp, 'Miles Chandon'--the name had +sounded on her hearing distinct as the note of a bell. There was no +mistake: it hummed in her ears yet. Or was it the blood rushing to her +ears as she sat bolt upright in the darkness, listening, breathing hard? + +Sir Elphinstone, for some reason, had not answered his sister. When at +length he spoke, it was in a changed tone, at once careless and more +affectionate. + +"See anything of Chandon in these days?" + +"Nothing at all; or--to put the same thing differently--just so much of +him as his tenants see. We were talking of tenantry. Miles Chandon +leaves everything to his steward. Now, between ourselves, all stewards, +land agents, bailiffs--whatever you choose to call 'em--are the curse of +our system, and Miles Chandon's happens to be the worst specimen." + +"H'm," said Sir Elphinstone reflectively. "Poor devil!" he added, a few +moments later, and then--Miss Sally giving him no encouragement to +pursue the subject--"Ten minutes past seven--the car will be waiting. +What do you say to getting home for dinner?" + +"If I may bring the Ham." Miss Sally laughed and pushed back her chair. +"Wait a minute--we will wrap it up in the poem. 'Exit Atalanta, +carrying her Ham in a newspaper'--how deliciously vulgar! Elphinstone, +you have always been the best of brothers; you are behaving +beautifully--and--and I never could resist shocking you; but we're pretty +fond of one another, eh?" + +"I've consistently spoilt you, if that's what you mean," he grumbled. + +They were leaving the platform. Tilda whispered to the boy to take hold +of 'Dolph. + +"And I'm goin' to leave yer for a bit." She edged past him on hands and +knees towards the vallance draperies. "You 'eard what she said? +Well, keep quiet 'ere an' don't be frightened. If Sam comes, tell 'im +I'll be back in five minutes." + +She dived out beneath the vallance, caught a glimpse of Miss Sally and +Sir Elphinstone making their way at a brisk pace through the crowd, and +hurried up the slope in pursuit. It was difficult to keep them in +sight, for everyone made way upon recognising them, but showed less +consideration for a small panting child; and the head of the field, by +the exit gate, was packed by a most exasperating throng pressing to +admire a giant motor-car that waited in the roadway with lamps blazing +and a couple of men in chauffeurs' dress keeping guard in attitudes of +sublime _hauteur_. Sir Elphinstone, with Miss Sally on his arm, reached +the car while yet Tilda struggled in the gateway. A policeman roughly +ordered her back. She feigned to obey, and dropping out of sight, +crawled forth past the policeman's boots, with her head almost butting +the calves of a slow-moving yeoman farmer. Before she could straighten +herself up Sir Elphinstone had climbed into the car after his sister, +and the pair were settling down in their rugs. One of the chauffeurs +was already seated, the other, having set the machine throbbing, was +already clambering to his seat. The crowd set up three parting cheers, +and Miss Sally, remembering her Ham, held it aloft in farewell. + +But while Miss Sally waved and laughed, of a sudden, amid the laughter +and cheers and throbbing of the motor, a small child sprang out of the +darkness and clung upon the step. + +"Lady! Lady!" + +Miss Sally stared down upon the upturned face. + +"Miles Chandon, lady?--where does 'e live?--For the Lord's sake--" + +But already Sir Elphinstone had called the order. The car shot away +smoothly. + +"Elphinstone--a moment, please! Stop! The child--" + +"Eh? . . . Stop the car! . . . Anything wrong?" + +Miss Sally peered back into the darkness. + +"There was a child . . . We have hurt her, I fear. Tell George to jump +down and inquire." + +But Tilda was not hurt. On the contrary, she was running and dodging +the crowd at that moment as fast as her hurt leg permitted. For in the +press of it, not three yards away, by the light of the side lamp, she +had caught sight of Dr. Glasson and Gavel. + +They were on foot, and Gavel had seen her, she could make no doubt. +He was bearing down straight upon her. + +Not until she had run fifty yards did she pluck up courage to look back. +Gavel was nowhere in sight. The car had come to a standstill, and the +people were yelling. Was it after her? Was _this_ the hue-and-cry? + +They were certainly yelling--and behaving too, in the strangest fashion. +They seemed by one impulse to be running from the car and crowding back +towards the gate. They were fighting--positively fighting--their way +into the field. The police could not stop them, but were driven in with +a rush; and in the centre of this rush Tilda caught sight of Gavel +again. His back was turned to her. He was struggling for admission, +and like a maniac. Glasson she could not see. + +Sir Elphinstone had climbed out of the car, and came striding back +demanding to know what was the matter. It stuck in his head that a +child had been hurt, perhaps killed. + +A dozen voices answered-- + +"The roundabouts!" "Explosion at the roundabouts!" "Engine blown up-- +twenty killed an' injured, they say!" + +"Explosion? . . . Nonsense!" + +Tilda saw him thrust his way into the gateway, his tall figure towering +above the pack there as he halted and gazed down the hill. In the +darkness and confusion it was easy enough for her to scramble upon the +hedge unobserved, and at the cost of a few scratches only. From the top +of the hedge she too gazed. + +The roundabout had come to a standstill. Around it, at a decent +distance, stood a dark circle of folk. But its lights still blazed, its +mirrors still twinkled. She could detect nothing amiss. + +What had happened? Tilda had forgotten Miss Sally, and was anxious now +but for Arthur Miles. A dozen fears suggested themselves. She ought +never to have left him. . . . + +She dropped from the hedge into the field, and ran downhill to the +platform. It stood deserted, the last few fairy-lamps dying down amid +the palms and greenery. In the darkness at its rear there was no need +of caution, and she plunged under the vallance boldly. + +"Arthur! Arthur Miles! Are you all right? . . . Where are you?" + +A thin squeal answered her, and she drew back, her skin contracting in a +shudder, even to the roots of her hair. For, putting out her hand, she +had touched flesh--naked, human flesh. + +"Wh--who are you?" she stammered, drawing back her fingers. + +"I'm the Fat Lady," quavered a voice. "Oh, help me! I'm wedged here and +can't move!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +ADVENTURE OF THE FAT LADY. + + +"_Gin a body meet a body._"--BURNS. + +"But what's 'appened?" demanded Tilda, recovering herself a little. +"And ow? And oh! what's become of the boy, Arthur Miles?" + +"There _is_ a boy, somewhere at the back of me," the Fat Lady answered; +"and a dog too. You can talk to them across me; but I couldn't move, +not if I was crushin' them ever so." + +Tilda called softly to the prisoners, and to her relief Arthur Miles +answered out of the darkness, assuring her, albeit in a muffled voice, +that they were both safe. + +"But what's the _meanin'_ of it?" Tilda demanded again. + +"The igsplosion's the meanin' of it." + +"But there ain't _been_ no explosh'n. And anyway," said Tilda, "you +ain't tellin' me you been _blown_ 'ere?" + +"Igsplosion or no igsplosion," replied the Fat Lady incontestably, +"'ere I h'am." + +"_Sure_ yer can't move?" Tilda coaxed. + +At this the Fat Lady showed some irritation. + +"I ought to know what I'm capable of by this time. . . . If you could +run along and fetch somebody with a tackle and pulley now--" + +"I got a friend comin' presently. 'E's quite a 'andy young feller, +_an'_ tender-'earted: 'e won't leave yer like this, no fear. . . . But, +o' course, it'll be a shock to 'im, 'appenin' in upon us an' findin'-- +well, so much _more_'n 'e expected. I'm thinkin' 'ow to break it to 'im +gently, 'ere in the dark." Tilda considered for a while. "It might +'elp if I knew yer name. 'Twouldn' be fair--would it?--to start off +that we'd got a surprise for 'im, an' would 'e guess?" + +"He'll find out, fast enough, when he strikes a light," said the Fat +Lady between resigned despair and professional pride. "But my name's +Mrs. Lobb, when you introjuice him." + +"Widow?" + +"I don't know why you should suppose it." + +"No," said Tilda after musing a moment; "there ain't no real reason, o' +course. On'y I thought--An' you not mentionin' a nusband, under the +circumstances." + +To her astonishment, Mrs. Lobb gave way and shook with mountainous sobs. + +"I'm a maiden lady," she confessed, "and I'll conceal it no longer, +when, God knows, I may be lyin' here punished for my vanity. . . . But +'twasn't all vanity, neither: it sounded more comfortable. If it had +been vanity, I'd ha' chosen Montmorency or St. Clair--not Lobb. +Wouldn't I now? . . . Of course, you won't understand, at your age; but +there's a sort of _sheltered_ feelin'. An' I'm a bundle of nerves. +You should see me," wound up Mrs. Lobb enigmatically, "with a mouse." + +But at this moment Tilda whispered "'Ush!" Someone was stealthily +lifting the vallance. "Is that you, Sam?" she challenged. + +"Aye, aye, missie. All safe?" + +"_And_ snug. . . . Can yer risk striking a match? Fact is, we got a +lady friend 'ere, an' she wants yer 'elp badly." + +Sam struck a sulphur match. + +"Good Lord!" he breathed, staring across the blue flame, and still as he +stared his eyes grew larger and rounder. + +"'Er name's Lobb," explained Tilda. "I oughter a-told yer." + +"'Ow did it 'appen?" asked Sam in an awed voice. + +"Igsplosion," said the Fat Lady. + +"Is--is there _goin'_ to be one?" + +The match burned low in Sam's trembling fingers, and he dropped it with +an exclamation of pain. + +"There _was_ one," said the Fat Lady. "At Gavel's roundabouts. +Leastways, the folks came chargin' into my tent, which is next door, +cryin' out that the boiler was blowin' up. I travel with Gavel, sir--as +his Fat Lady--" + +"Oh!" Sam drew a long breath. + +"Which, when I heard it, sir, and the outcries, I burst out through the +back of the tent--bein' a timorous woman--and ran for shelter. +My fright, sir, I'll leave you to imagine. And then, as I crawled under +the boards here, a dog flew at me--and bein' taken unawares--on all +fours, too--I rolled over with my legs twisted--and here I am stuck. +There's one joist pinnin' my left shoulder, and my leg's jammed under +another; and stir I cannot." + +Sam lit another match. + +"I was fearin'--" he began, but broke off. "If you could manage, ma'am, +to draw up your knee an inch or so--or if you wouldn' mind my takin' a +pull--" + +"Not at all," said Mrs. Lobb. "I'm used to bein' pinched." + +Sam gripped the knee-pan firmly, and hauled. + +"O-ow!" cried Mrs. Lobb. But the wrench had set her free to uncross her +legs, and she did so, murmuring her gratitude. + +There had been (Sam now explained) a false alarm. In the midst of +the merry-making, and while the roundabouts were crowded and going +at full speed, the boy in charge of the engine had taken occasion +to announce to the lady at the pay-table that his pressure was a +hundred-and-forty-seven, and what had taken the safety valve he couldn't +think. Whereupon the lady at the pay-table had started up, scattering +her coins, and shrieked; and this had started the stampede. "Which," +added Sam in a whisper to Tilda, "was lucky for us in a way; becos +Glasson, after tacklin' Mortimer be'ind the scenes an' threatenin' to +have his blood in a bottle, had started off with Gavel to fetch the +perlice. An' the question is if they won't be watchin' the gates by +this time." + +"In _my_ young days," announced the Fat Lady, with disconcerting +suddenness, "it was thought rude to whisper." + +Tilda took a swift resolution. + +"The truth is, ma'am, we're in trouble, an' 'idin' 'ere. I wouldn' dare +to tell yer, on'y they say that people o' your--I mean, in your--" + +"Profession," suggested the Fat Lady. + +"--Are kind-'earted by nature. I belongs, ma'am--leastways, I _did_,-- +to Maggs's Circus--if you know it--" + +"I've heard Maggs's troupe very well spoken of. But, as you'll +understand, I do very little visitin'." + +"I was 'appy enough with Maggs's, ma'am. But first of all a pony laid +me up with a kick, an' then I stole Arthur Miles 'ere out of the 'Oly +Innercents--" + +Tilda broke down for a moment, recovered herself, and with sobs told her +story. + +For a while, after she had ended it, the Fat Lady kept silence. Sam, +breathing hard, still doubtful of the child's bold policy, feared what +this silence might portend. + +"Give me your hand, young man," said the Fat Lady at length. + +Sam reached out in the darkness, and grasped hers fervently. + +"I didn't ask you to shake it. I want to be helped out to the fresh +air, and then these children'll march straight home with me to my +caravan." + +"But," stammered Sam, not yet clear that he had found an ally, "--but +that's leadin' 'em straight into Gavel's arms!" + +"Young man," replied the lady austerely, "it leads into no man's arms." +But a moment later she dropped her voice, and added with a touch of +pathos, "I'm the loneliest woman in the world, outside of show hours; +and if you thought a little you might know it." + +"I see," said Sam contritely. + +"And, what's more, inside my own caravan I've my wits about me. +Outside and among folks--well, maybe you've seen an owl in the daylight +with the small birds mobbin' him. . . . Now about yourself and the +Mortimers--from this child's story there's no evidence yet to connect +her or the boy with either of you. The man Hucks knows, and that +carrier fellow at the wharf saw them for a minute, with Mortimer +standin' by. But that's no evidence for the police; and, anyway, this +Glasson can't touch you until he gets hold of the children. If you'll +leave it to me, he shan't do that for twenty-four hours. And now--isn't +it time you were packing up your show? You'll be gettin' back to the +boat to-night, I suppose? What about the Mortimers?" Sam explained +that he would be driving back with the tent, and intended to sleep on +board. The Mortimers would repose themselves at a small public-house, +"The Vine Leaf." In the morning they would join forces again and proceed +to Stratford. Address there: "The Red Cow." + +He delivered this explanation jerkily, in the intervals of lugging the +lady forth from her durance. Tilda, scrambling forth ahead of her, +noted with inexpressible relief that the aspect of the field was +entirely changed. The crowd had melted away, the flares of the +roundabout were extinguished, and a faint glow of lamplight through +canvas told where the Mortimer's tent, far to the left, awaited +dismemberment. Five or six lanterns dotted the lower slopes, where the +smaller shows--the Aunt Sally, the coconut shies and the swing-boats-- +were being hastily packed. Overhead, in a clean heaven, rode the stars, +and by their glimmer the children saw their new protectress draw herself +up in all her Amazonian amplitude. She wore a low bodice of pink, with +spangles, and a spangled skirt descended to her knees. Beneath them her +columnar calves were bare as an infant's. She extended an arm, and +pointed towards her caravan. + +"Bear around to the right," she commanded. "Keep a look-out on me when +I get to the van, and creep up as quietly as you can when I reach the +step and bend to pull up my socks. Good night, young man--one good turn +deserves another: and now be off, you two . . . Yes, you may bring the +dog. Only I hope he doesn't suffer from fleas, for a flea with me is a +serious matter." + +They ran around, gained the steps in safety, and were admitted to the +Fat Lady's virgin bower. It lay in darkness, and enjoining them to +stand still and keep silence, she drew the blinds discreetly before +lighting her lamp. She did this (Tilda noted) with extreme deftness, +reaching out a hand to a dark shelf and picking up the match-box as +accurately as though she saw it. At once, too, Tilda noted that in the +lamp's rays the whole interior of the caravan shone like a new pin. +A stove stood at the end facing the doorway, and beside the stove a +closed washstand of polished teak. A dressing-table, a wardrobe, and a +dresser-sideboard fitted with lockers occupied one side; along the other +ran a couch with a padded back, which, let down, became a mattress and +converted the couch into a bed. All the lockers gleamed with brasswork; +all the draperies were of muslin or dimity, immaculately white; and +looking-glass panelled the doors of every cupboard. These many mirrors +caused the interior to appear even fuller of the Fat Lady than it +actually was. They reflected her from every angle, and multiplied her +into a crowd. + +"Dear me!" she said, glancing around on these reflections, "I'll have to +turn you out again while I undress. But that won't take long, and +you'll be safe enough beneath the van." + +So after providing them with a hunk of cake apiece from one of the +sideboard lockers, and peeping forth to make sure the coast was clear, +she dismissed them with instructions to creep into the darkness under +the steps, and there lie quiet until she summoned them. + +Ten minutes later she leaned forth again and called "Coo-ee!" very +softly, and they returned to find her in the white bed, recumbent in a +coquettish nightgown. She had folded and stowed her day garments away-- +Tilda could not imagine where--and a mattress and rugs lay on the floor, +ready spread for the children. Nor was this all. On the sideboard +stood a plateful of biscuits, and on the stove a spirit-lamp, with a +kettle already beginning to sing, and a teapot and three cups and +saucers. + +With a turn of the hand, scarcely stirring from her recumbent posture, +the Fat Lady closed the door and shot its small brass bolt. Then with a +quick series of movements, reaching forward as soon as the kettle +boiled, she filled the teapot, emptied the rest of the boiling water +into the flashing nickel basin of the washstand, set down the kettle, +turned and shut a cold-water tap, and invited the children to wash +before supping. + +The aroma of the tea--real China tea it was--and the fragrance of +scented soap--genuine Old Brown Windsor--went straight through their +senses to the children's hearts. In all their lives they had known no +experience so delicious. + +Mrs. Lobb noted with approval that the boy drew aside and yielded Tilda +the first turn at the basin. When his came she watched him, and by and +by observed, "He washes like a gentleman, too." + +"Not," she explained as the children drank their tea--"not that I have +ever seen a gentleman wash. But women know what's dainty." Here she +fell into a muse. "I've often pictered Mr. Lobb washing. These little +things make so much difference." She sighed. "Well now, if you've +finished your supper, we'll say our prayers and get to sleep." + +"Prayers?" queried Tilda. + +As a rule, when anything happened outside her experience she sat quiet +and let it happen, reserving criticism. But, chancing to look up, she +had seen the boy wince at the word. + +Mrs. Lobb, less observant, had taken down a Bible from the shelf above +her. She opened it and read-- + + 'And they departed from Kibroth-hattaavah, and encamped at + Hazeroth. And they departed from Hazeroth, and pitched in Rithmah. + And they departed from Rithmah, and pitched at Rimmoth-parez--' + +"It don't always apply," she explained, breaking off, "but takin' it +straight through, you'd be surprised how often it sends you to sleep +with a bit of comfort." + +She read half a dozen verses, closed the book, and recited the Lord's +Prayer-- + +"' . . . For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever +and ever. Amen.' Now we'll go to sleep, and don't be frightened when +they harness up in an hour or two. We'll be in Stratford before +daybreak. Good night, my dears--you may reach up and give me a kiss +apiece if you 're so minded; and I hope to goodness you don't snore!" + +When they awoke, sure enough Mrs. Lobb announced that they had reached +Stratford. In their dreams they had felt the van moving; but now it had +come to a standstill, and, peeping forth, they saw that it stood in a +broad green meadow and but a little way from a river. There were swans +on the river, paddling about or slowly drifting in the pale light; and +across the river they saw many clustered roofs, with a church spire to +the left set among noble elms. + +"That's where Shakespeare's buried," said the Fat Lady; "and the great +brick building yonder--to the right, between us and the bridge--that's +the Memorial Theatre where they act his plays. There's his statue, too, +beside the water, and back in the town they keep the house he was born +in. You can't get away from Shakespeare here. If you buy a bottle of +beer, he's on the label; and if you want a tobacco-jar, they'll sell +you his head and shoulders in china, with the bald top fitted for a +cover. It's a queer place, is Stratford." + +The boy gazed. To him it was a marvellous place; and somewhere it held +his secret--the secret of the Island. + +"Talkin' of beer," said Tilda, "we mustn' forget Sam Bossom. At the +'Red Cow,' he said." + +"But that won't be till evening," the Fat Lady warned her. +"And meantime what am I to do with you. You can't hide here all day: +for one reason, I got to get up and dress. And it may be dangerous in +the town for you before nightfall. Luckily, Gavel don't know either one +of you by sight; but there's the chance of this Glasson havin' come +along with him. For all I know, Gavel may have given him a shake-down, +and Gavel's is the next van but one." + +The children implored her to let them forth before the rest of the +show-people awoke. They would fend for themselves, Tilda engaged, and +remain in hiding all day along the river-bank below the town. +Really, when the Fat Lady thought it over, this appeared the only +feasible plan. But first she insisted on cooking them a breakfast of +fried sausages and boiled eggs, which she managed to do without stirring +from her couch, directing Tilda how to light the stove, and where to +find the utensils and the provender; and next she packed a basket for +them with a loaf of bread and some slices of cold ham. + +Thus furnished, they bade her good-bye for the day, left the dubious +'Dolph in her charge, and tip-toeing past the rear of the caravan where +slept the dreaded Gavel, gained the meadow's end, passed a weed-grown +ruinated lock below the churchyard, and struck into a footpath that led +down-stream between the river and a pretty hanging copse. Below this a +high road crossed the river. Following it, they passed over a small +tributary stream that wound between lines of pollard willows, and so +headed off to their right and regained the Avon's bank. + +The boy led. It seemed that the westward-running stream called to him, +and that his feet trod to the tune of it. Tilda remembered this later. +He was always a silent boy, and he gave no explanation; but she saw +that the running water woke a new excitement in him. So long as they +had followed the stagnant canal he had been curious, alert, inquisitive +of every bend and bush. It was as if he had understood water by +instinct, and yet the water had hitherto baffled and disappointed him. +Now it ran, and he ran too. She had much ado to keep pace with him. By +and by she halted by a clump of willows and seated herself, announcing +hypocritically that she was tired. + +He heard, and came back contritely. + +"I forgot," he said. "What has become of your crutch?" + +"I left it be'ind yesterday, in the boat. There wasn' no time to go +back for it." + +"I am very sorry." + +Tilda's conscience smote her. + +"There ain't no reason to fret about _me_," she said reassuringly. +"But what's taken you? There's no catchin' up with the water, however +fast you run." + +"It leads down to the Island. It _must_," he announced, conning the +stream. + +"Think so?" + +She too conned it, but could read nothing of his faith in the wimpled +surface. + +"Sure." + +The light in his eyes impressed if it did not convince her. + +"Well, maybe we'll 'ave a try to-morrow," she conceded after a while. +"But business is business. We must get back to Stratford an' consult +Sam Bossom. And then there's a letter to be written to 'Ucks. +I promised 'im, you know." + +They shared their meal by the river bank; and when it was eaten, sat for +a time on the scooped-out brink while Avon ran at their feet--Arthur +Miles searching again in the thumbed pages of _The Tempest_ for a hint +that might perchance have escaped him; Tilda as sedulously intent on a +page of a ladies' newspaper in which the bread had been wrapped. + +It informed her, under the heading of _Answers to Correspondents by +"Smart Set,"_ of an excellent home for Anglo-Indian children (gravel +soil), of a new way to clean Brussels lace, of the number of gowns +required in these days for a week-end visit, of a scale of tips for +gamekeepers. It directed her to a manicure, and instructed her how to +build a pergola for an Italian garden, supposing that she lived in +Suffolk and could spare half an acre facing east. She drank in all this +information with an impartial appetite. + +"What a favourite it is still, the mushroom 'at!" she spelled out +slowly. "W'y the other day, at Messrs. Freebody and Williams's in +Regent Street, there it confronted me again in a whole bevy of new model +shapes. The medium, in brown Ottoman silk, fronted with wings of fine +brown or blue lustre, is quite ridiculously cheap at 27s. 6d. And a +large hat in black satin, swathed with black chiffon in which lurks just +a touch of real ermine, asks you no more than 35s. 9d. Truly age cannot +wither nor custom stale the infinite variety of the mushroom.'" + +"What nonsense are you reading?" the boy demanded. + +"Nonsense?" echoed Tilda. "What's nonsense? It's--it's 'eavingly--and +anyway it ain't no farther off than your Island." + +They resumed their way, slightly huffed one with another; passed a group +of willows; and came to a halt, surprised and irresolute. + +In the centre of a small sunny clearing they beheld a tent, with the +litter of a camp equipage scattered on the turf about it; and between +the tent and the river, where shone the flank of a bass-wood canoe +moored between the alders, an artist had set up his easel. He was a +young man, tall and gaunt, and stood back a little way from his canvas +with paint-brush held at a slope, while across it he studied the subject +of his picture--a grey bridge and the butt-end of a grey building, with +a sign-board overtopping the autumnal willows. + +For a few seconds the children observed him in silence. But some sound +must have warned him; for by and by he turned a quick, eager face, and +caught sight of them. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, scanning them rapidly up and down. "The very +thing!--that is to say"--after a second and more prolonged scrutiny-- +"the boy. He just fills the bill. 'Youthful Shakespeare Mews his +Mighty Youth. The scene: Binton Bridges, beside Avon.'" + +"Binton Bridges?" echoed Tilda, and walked forward to scan the +sign-board. + +"I must put that down," said the artist, drawing out a notebook and +pencil. "Ignorance of Juvenile Population in respect of Immediate +Surroundings. Implied Reproach against Britain's Primary Schools." + +But by this time the girl was standing under the sign-board and staring +up at it. Four figures were depicted thereon in gay colours--a king, a +priest, a soldier, and a John Bull farmer. Around them ran this +legend-- + + "RULE ALL, + PRAY ALL, + FIGHT ALL, + PAY ALL." + +"Do you 'appen to know, sir," she asked, coming back, "if there's a +young woman employed 'ere?" + +"There is," answered the artist. "I happen to know, because she won't +let me paint her, although I offered ten dollars." + +"That's a good sign," said Tilda. + +"Oh, is it now?" he queried, staring after her as she marched boldly +towards the house and was lost to sight between the willow-stems. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +ADVENTURES OF THE "FOUR ALLS" AND OF THE CELESTIAL CHEMIST + + +"'_Friend Sancho,' said Don Quixote, 'this Island that I promised you +can neither stir nor fly._'"--CERVANTES. + +"Now what precisely did your sister mean by that?" asked the artist, +withdrawing his gaze and fixing it on Arthur Miles. + +"She is not my sister," said the boy. + +The artist--he was an extraordinarily tall young man, with a keen +hatchet face, restless brown eyes, and straight auburn hair parted +accurately in the middle--considered for a moment, then nodded. + +"That's so. It comes out, soon as you talk . . . Well, see here now, +we'll start right away. That's how Art hits me--once I take hold of a +notion, I must sling in and get going. It's my temperament; and what's +Art--right _there_, please--what's Art, after all, but expressed +temperament? You catch the idea? You're the Infant Shakespeare, the +youth to fortune and to fame unknown--" + + 'His listless length at noontide would he stretch'-- + +"Stretch what you have of it--" + + 'And pore upon the brook that babbles by.' + +"But I don't want you to paint me," rebelled the boy. + +"Goodness! Why not?" + +For a moment or two Arthur Miles faced the question almost sullenly. + +"I don't want my likeness taken," he explained at length. + +"My young friend," the artist cheerfully assured him, "if that's your +trouble, dismiss it. I can't paint a likeness for nuts." + +"You are sure?" + +"Well, I should say I have a grounded expectation, seeing that I claim a +bigger circle of friends than any other fellow that ever studied with +Carolus; and apart from their liking for me, their conviction that never +under any circumstances could I catch a likeness is about the only thing +they have in common. I don't say it's the cement of their friendship; +but, anyway, it's an added tie." + +"If Tilda doesn't mind--" + +The boy hesitated, with a glance over his shoulder. + +"We'll consult the lady when the portrait's finished. If she +recognises you, I'll destroy the canvas; and I can't say fairer than +that . . . No, I shan't regret it. We'll call it an offering to the +gods . . . And now," pursued the young man, flinging in a charcoal +outline in fiery haste, "we'll consider the brakes open." + +It took him perhaps thirty seconds to block in the figure, and at once +he fell to mixing his palette, his fingers moving with a nervous, +delicate haste. He held a brush between his teeth during the operation; +but no sooner was it over, and the gag removed, than his speech began to +gush in quick, impetuous jerks, each jerk marking an interval as, after +flinging a fresh splash of paint upon the canvas, he stepped back half a +pace to eye its effect. + +"That's my theory--what's Art but temperament? expressed temperament? +Now I'm a fellow that could never stick long to a thing--never in my +life. I've not told you that I'm American, by the way. My name's +Jessup--George Pulteney Jessup, of Boise City, Idaho. My father--he's +about the most prominent citizen in the State of Idaho. You don't get +any ways far west of the Rockies before you bump against Nahum P. +Jessup--and you'll be apt to hurt yourself by bumping too hard. . . . My +father began by setting it down to fickleness. He said it came of +having too much money to play with. Mind you, he didn't complain. +He sent for me into his office, and 'George,' he said, 'there's some +fathers, finding you so vola_tile_, would take the line of cutting down +your allowance; but that's no line for me. To begin with,' he said, +'it would set up a constraint between us, and constraint in my family +relations is what, God helping me, I'll never allow. And next, whatever +I saved on you I'd just have to re-invest, and I'm over-capitalised as +it is--you 'd never guess the straits I'm put to daily in keeping fair +abreast of fifteen per cent., which is my notion of making two ends +meet. And, lastly, it ain't natural. If a man's born vola_tile_, +vola_tile_ he is; and the sensible plan, I take it, is to lean your ear +to Nature, the Mighty Mother, and find a career that has some use for +that kind of temperament. Now,' said my father, 'I know a little about +most legitimate careers, from ticket-punching up to lobbying, and +there's not one in which a man would hand in testimonials that he was +vola_tile_. But,' says my father, 'what about Art? I've never taken +stock of that occupation, myself: I never had time. But I remember once +in New York going to a theatre and seeing Booth act William +Shakespeare's _Macbeth_; and not twenty minutes later, after all the +ghosts and murderings, I happened into a restaurant, and saw the same +man drinking cocktails and eating Blue Point oysters--with twice my +appetite too. And Booth was at the very top of his profession.'" + +"Yes," said Arthur Miles, by this time greatly interested. "That's like +Mr. Mortimer, too." + +"Mortimer?" Mr. Jessup queried; and then, getting no answer, "Is he an +actor?" + +The boy nodded. + +"A prominent one?" + +"I--I believe so. I mean, he says he _ought_ to be." + +"I'd like to make his acquaintance. It's queer, too, a child like you +knowing about actors. What's your name?" + +"I don't know," said Arthur Miles, with another glance in the direction +of the inn, "that Tilda would like me to tell." + +The young artist eyed him. + +"Well, never mind; we were talking about my father. That's how he came +to send me to Paris to study Art. And since then I've done some +thinking. It works out like this," he pursued, stepping back and +studying his daub between half-closed eyes, "the old man had struck ore +as usual. I never knew a mind fuller of common sense--just homely +common sense--but he hadn't the time to work it. Yet it works easy +enough if you keep hold of the argument. The Old Masters--we're always +having it dinned into us--didn't hustle; they mugged away at a Saint, or +a Virgin and Child, and never minded if it took 'em half a lifetime. +Well, putting aside their being paid by time and not by the job--because +comparisons on a monetary basis ain't fair, one way or another--for +better or worse, Carpaccio hadn't a dad in the Oil Trust--I say, putting +this aside, the credit goes to their temperament, or, if you like, part +to that and part to their environment. It wasn't _in_ them to hustle: +they felt no call for it, but just sat and painted and took their meals +regular. Now that spacious holy sauntering don't figure in my bill. +When I get hold of a notion--same as this Infant Shakespeare, f'r +instance--it's apt to take hold on me as a mighty fine proposition; and +then, before I can slap it on canvas, the thing's gone, faded, extinct, +like a sunset." He paused and snapped his fingers expressively. +"I paint like Hades, but it beats me by a head every time." + +--"And what's the reason? I'm fickle, you say. But that's my +temperament, and before a man kicks against _that_ he ought to be clear +whether it's original sin or the outcome of his environment. See what I +mean?" + +Arthur Miles was too truthful to say that he did. Indeed, he understood +next to nothing of this harangue. But the young American's manner, so +eager, so boyishly confidential, set him at his ease; while beneath this +voluble flow of talk there moved a deeper current for which, all +unconsciously, the child's spirit thirsted. He did not realise this at +all, but his eyes shone while he listened. + +"I'll put it this way: We're in the twentieth century. Between the old +masters and us something has happened. What? Why Speed, sir--modern +civilisation has discovered Speed. Railways--telegraphs--'phones-- +elevators--automobiles--Atlantic records. These inventions, sir"--here +as will happen to Americans when they philosophise, Mr. Jessup slipped +into an oratorical style--"have altered man's whole environment. +Velasquez, sir, was a great artist, and Velasquez could paint, in his +day, to beat the band. But I argue that, if you resurrected Velasquez +to-day, he'd have to alter his outlook, and everything along with it, +right away down to his brush-work. And I go on to argue that if I can't +paint like Velasquez--which is a cold fact--it's equally a fact that, if +I could, I oughtn't. Speed, sir: that's the great proposition--the +principles of Speed as applied to the Fine Arts--" + +Here he glanced towards the clearing between the willows, where at this +moment Tilda reappeared in a hurry, followed--at a sedater pace--by a +young woman in a pale blue sunbonnet. + +"Oh, Arthur Miles, it's just splendid!" she announced, waving a letter +in her hand. And with that, noting the boy's attitude, she checked +herself and stared suspiciously from him to the artist. "Wot yer doin' +to 'im?" she demanded. + +"Painting his portrait." + +"Then you didn't ought, an' 'e'd no business to allow it!" + +She stepped to the canvas, examined it quickly, anxiously, then with a +puzzled frown that seemed to relax in a sigh of relief-- + +"Well, it don't seem as you've done much 'arm as yet. But all the same, +you didn't ought." + +"I want to know what's splendid?" the artist inquired, looking from her +to the girl in the sun-bonnet, who blushed rosily. + +Tilda, for her part, looked at Arthur Miles and to him addressed her +answer-- + +"'Enery's broke it off!" + +"Oh!" said the boy. He reflected a moment, and added with a bright +smile, "And what about Sam?" + +"It's all 'ere"--she held out the letter; "an' we got to take it to 'im. +'Enery says that waitin's a weary business, but 'e leaves it to 'er; +on'y 'e's just found out there's insanity on _'is_ side o' the family. +That's a bit 'ard on Sam, o' course; but 'Enery doesn' know about Sam's +feelin's. 'E was just tryin' to be tactful." + +"You'll pardon my curiosity," put in young Mr. Jessup; "but I don't seem +to get the hang of this. So far as I figure it up, you two children +jump out of nowhere and find yourselves here for the first time in your +lives; and before I can paint one of you--and I'm no snail--the other +walks into a public-house, freezes on to an absolute stranger, bustles +her through one matrimonial affair and has pretty well fixed her with +another. As a student of locomotion"--he turned and stared down upon +Tilda--"I'd like you to tell me how you did it." + +"Well," she answered, "I felt a bit nervous at startin'. So I walked +straight in an' ordered two-penn'orth o' beer--an' then it all came +out." + +"Was that so?" He perpended this, and went on, "I remember reading +somewhere in Ruskin that the more a man can do his job the more he can't +say how. It's rough on learners." + +But Tilda was not to be drawn into a disputation on Art. + +"Come along," she called to the boy. + +"You mean to take him from me in this hurry? . . . Well, that breaks +another record. I never up to now lost a model before I'd weakened on +him: it's not their way." + +"That young man," said Tilda as, holding Arthur Miles by the hand, she +drew him away and left the pair standing where the level sun slanted +through the willows--"that young man," she repeated, turning for a last +wave of the hand to the girl in the sunbonnet, "is 'e a bit touched in +'is 'ead, now?" + +The dusk gathered as they retraced their way along Avon bank, and by the +time they reached the fair meadow the shows were hanging out their +lights. The children gave the field a wide berth, and fetching a +circuit, reached a grey stone bridge over which the road led into the +town. + +They crossed it. They were now in Stratford, in a street lit with +gas-lamps and lined with bright shop-windows; and Tilda had scarcely +proceeded a dozen yards before she turned, aware of something wrong with +the boy. In truth, he had never before made acquaintance with a town at +night. Lamps and shop-fronts alike bewildered him. He had halted, +irresolute. He needed her hand to pilot him. + +She gave it, puzzled; for this world so strange to him was the world she +knew best. She could not understand what ailed him. But it was +characteristic of Tilda that she helped first and asked questions +afterwards, if she asked them at all. Usually she found that, given +time, they answered themselves. It was well, perhaps, that she asked +none now. For how could the boy have explained that he seriously +believed these shops and lighted windows to be Eastcheap, Illyria, +Verona, and these passers-by, brushing briskly along the pavements, to +be Shakespeare's people--the authentic persons of the plays? He halted, +gazing, striving to identify this figure and that as it hurried between +the lights. Which was Mercutio ruffling to meet a Capulet? Was this +the watch passing?--Dogberry's watch? That broad-shouldered man--could +he be Antonio, Sebastian's friend, lurking by to his seaport lodging? + . . . + +They were deep in the town, when he halted with a gasp and a start that +half withdrew his hand from her clasp. A pale green light shone on his +face. It shone out on the roadway from a gigantic illuminated bottle in +a chemist's shop; and in the window stood three similar bottles, each +with a gas-jet behind it--one yellow, one amethystine violet, one ruby +red. + +His grip, relaxed for a second, closed on her fingers again. He was +drawing her towards the window. They stared through it together, almost +pressing their faces to the pane. + +Beyond it, within the shop, surrounded by countless spotlessly polished +bottles, his features reflected in a flashing mirror, stood an old man, +bending over a mahogany counter, while with delicate fingers he +rearranged a line of gallipots in a glass-covered case. + +"Is--is he--" + +The boy paused, and Tilda heard him gulp down something in his throat. + +"Suppose," he whispered, "if--if it should be God?" + +"Ga'r'n!" said Tilda, pulling herself together. + +"You're sure it's only Prospero?" he asked, still in a whisper. + +Before she could answer him--but indeed she could have found no answer, +never having heard of Prospero--the boy had dragged her forward and +thrust open one of the glass swing-doors. It was he who now showed the +courage. + +"My lord!" + +"Hey?" The old chemist looked up over his spectacles, held for an +instant a gallipot suspended between finger and thumb, and set it down +with nice judgment. He was extremely bald, and he pushed his spectacles +high up on his scalp. Then he smiled benevolently. "What can I do for +you, my dears?" + +The boy stepped forward bravely, while Tilda--the game for once taken +out of her hands--could only admire. + +"If you would tell us where the Island is--it is called Holmness--" + +Tilda caught her breath. But the old chemist still bent forward, and +still with his kindly smile. + +"Holmness?--an island?" he repeated in a musing echo. "Let me see--" + +"We ain't _sure_ it's an island, sir," put in Tilda, plucking up her +courage a little. + +"It will be in the Gazetteer, of course," said the old chemist with a +happy thought; "and you'll find that in the Free Library." + +"Gazetteer"--"Free Library." To Tilda these were strange words--names +of wide oceans, perhaps, or of far foreign countries. But the boy +caught at the last word: he remembered Prospero's-- + + "Me, poor man, my library + Was dukedom large enough," + +And this made him more confident than ever. + +"But why do you want to know?" the old chemist went on. "Is it home +lessons?" + +"'E," said Tilda, indicating Arthur Miles, "'e wants to find a relation +'e's got there--a kind of uncle--in 'Olmness, w'ich is in the +Gazetteer," she repeated, as though the scent lay hidden in a nest of +boxes, "'w'ich is in the Free Library." + +"If you don't mind waiting a moment, I'll take you there." + +The children gasped. + +He turned and trotted around the back of his mirrored screen. +They heard him call and announce to someone in the back parlour--but the +boy made sure that it was to Miranda in her inner cave--that he was +going out for a few minutes; and by and by he reappeared, wearing a dark +skull-cap, with an Inverness cape about his shoulders, and carrying in +his hand a stout staff. He joined them by lifting--another marvel--a +mahogany flap and walking straight through the counter! and so led the +way out of the shop and up the street to the right, while the children +in delicious terror trotted at his heels. + +They came to an open doorway, with a lamp burning above it. +Dark wavering shadows played within, across the threshold; but the old +man stepped through these boldly, and pushed open the door of a lighted +room. The children followed, and stood for a moment blinking. + +The room was lined with books--shelves upon shelves of books; and among +their books a dozen men sat reading in total silence. Some held thin, +unbound pages of enormous size--Arthur Miles was unacquainted with +newspapers--open before them; all were of middle age or over; and none +of them showed surprise at the new-comers. The old chemist nodded to +one or two, who barely returned his nod and forthwith resumed their +studies. + +He walked straight across the room--this was wonderful too, that he +should know, among so many books, exactly where to search--adjusted his +spectacles, stooped with palms on knees, peered for ten seconds or so +along the backs of a row of tall volumes, drew forth one, and bearing it +to the table, laid it open under the lamplight. + +"Let me see--let me see," he muttered, turning the pages rapidly. +"H--H.O.--here we are! Hockley--Hoe--no." He turned another three or +four pages. "Holbeach--Hollington--Hollingwood--Holme--ah, here we have +it!--Holmfirth, Holme Fell, Holme Moss, HOLMNESS." + +He paused for a moment, scanning the page while they held their breath. +Then he read aloud, yet not so as to disturb the other students-- + +"'_Holmness_. An Island or Islet in the Bristol Channel--'" + +"Ah!" The boy let his breath escape almost in a sob. + +"'Uninhabited--'" + +The old chemist looked up over the rims of his spectacles; but whether +questioning or because the sound had interrupted him, Tilda could not +determine. + +"Yes," said the boy eagerly. "They thought that about--about the other +Island, sir. Didn't they?" + +The old man, either not hearing or not understanding, looked down at the +page again. He read out the latitude and longitude--words and figures +which neither of the children understood. + +"'Extreme length, three-quarters of a mile; width at narrowest point, +165 yards. It contains 356 acres, all of short grass, and affords +pasturage in summer for a few sheep from the mainland. There is no +harbour; but the south side affords fair anchorage for vessels +sheltering from N.W. winds. The distance from nearest point of coast is +three and three-quarter miles. Reputed to have served anciently as +_rendezvous_ for British pirates, and even in the last century as a +smugglers' _entrepot_. Geological formation--'" + +"Is that all?" asked Tilda as the old man ceased his reading. + +"That is all." + +"But the river will take us to it," said the boy confidently. + +"Hey? What river?" + +"Why _this_ river--the Avon. It leads down to it--of course it must!" + +"Why, yes," answered the old chemist after considering a while. "In a +sense, of course, it does. I hadn't guessed at your age you'd be so +good at geography. The Avon runs down to Tewkesbury, and there it joins +the Severn; and the Severn leads down past Gloucester and into the +Bristol Channel." + +"I was sure!" + +The boy said it in no very loud tone: but something shook in his voice, +and at the sound of it all the readers looked up with curiosity--which +changed, however, to protest at sight of the boy's rags. + +"S--sh--sh!" said two or three. + +The old chemist gazed around apologetically, closed the volume, replaced +it, and shepherded the children forth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +BY WESTON WEIR. + + +"_Down below the Weir Brake +Journeys end in lovers' meeting: +You and I our way must take, +You and I our way will wend +Farther on, my only friend-- +Farther on, my more than friend-- +My sweet sweeting._"--COUNTRY SONG. + +In a private apartment of the Red Cow Public-house Sam Bossom sat +doggedly pulling at a short pipe while Mr. Mortimer harangued him. + +On the table stood a cheap, ill-smelling oil-lamp between two mugs of +beer. Sam had drawn his chair close, and from time to time reached out +a hand for his mug, stared into its depths as though for advice, and +gloomily replaced it. For the rest, he sat leaning a little forward on +his crossed arms, with set, square chin, and eyes fixed on a knot in the +deal table top. + +Mr. Mortimer stood erect, in a declamatory attitude, with his back to +the exiguous fire. In the pauses of his delivery, failing to draw +response from Sam, he glanced down at his wife for approval. But she +too, seated on a low stool, made pretence to be absorbed in her +knitting; and her upward look, when her lord compelled it, expressed +deep sympathy rather than assent. + +"Consequently," perorated Mr. Mortimer, "I conceive my personal +obligations to Mr. Hucks to be satisfied; practically satisfied, even in +law; as keen men of business, and allowing for contingencies, satisfied +abundantly. To liquidate the seven pounds fifteen and six owing to your +master you have, on your own admission, six-seven-nine in hand. We--my +Arabella and I--are offered a fortnight here at forty-four shillings +_per_ week between us. Not princely, I own. But suffer me to remind +you that it realises the dream, as perchance it affords the opportunity, +of a lifetime. She will be Ophelia. She, the embodiment (I dare to say +it) of Shakespeare's visionary heroine, will realise his conception +here, on this classic ground. And if, at short notice, I must content +myself with doubling the parts of Guildenstern and First Gravedigger, +believe me I do so cheerfully, pending fuller--er--recognition." + +"My Stanislas demeans himself by accepting them," said Mrs. Mortimer, +still with her eyes on her knitting. + +"I should hope so, my poppet. Still, there is Fat in the First +Gravedigger; and as our Gallic neighbours put it, everything comes to +him who knows how to wait." + +"All very well," observed Sam, withdrawing the pipe from his mouth. +"But 'ow about the children? I put it to _you_, ma'am." + +"Ah, poor things!" sighed Mrs. Mortimer, and hesitated. She was about +to say more, when her husband interrupted-- + +"I trust--I sincerely trust--that my failings, such as they are, have +ever leaned to the side of altruism. Throughout life I have been apt to +injure myself in befriending others; and you see "--Mr. Mortimer +flourished a hand--"where it has landed me. We have convoyed these +children to Stratford, to use the language of commerce, as _per_ +contract. To ask me--to ask Mrs. Mortimer--to dance attendance upon +them indefinitely, at the sacrifice of these golden prospects--" + +But at this point someone tapped at the door. + +"Come in!" called Sam, swinging around in his chair, and with that, +jumping to his feet, let out a cheerful "hooray!" + +"Same to you," said Tilda, nodding, as she admitted Arthur Miles and +closed the door behind him. "Anything to eat in this public?" + +"I'll order in supper at once," said Sam. + +"No you won't; not for five minutes any'ow. Well, 'ere we are--and 'ow +'ave you three been gettin' along since I saw yer last?" + +"Oh, _we're_ all right; but all the better for seein' you. That's +understood." + +"W'ich I looks towards yer, and I likewise bows," said Tilda graciously. +"But what's the matter?" she asked, glancing from one to the other. +"A stranger might say as you wasn' the best o' friends." + +"Nothin'," answered Sam after a slight pause. "Bit of a argymint-- +that's all." + +"Wot about?" + +"'Tisn worth mentionin'." Sam glanced at the other two. "The theayter +'ere's offered Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer an engagement." + +"Well?" + +"We was discussin' whether they ought to take it." + +"W'y not?" + +"Well, you see--Glasson bein' about--" + +"After them too, is 'e? Don't mean ter say _they've_ been an' lost +their fathers an' mothers? No? Then I don't see." + +"Them 'avin' contracted to look after you--" + +He paused here, as Tilda, fixing him with a compassionate stare, began +to shake her head slowly. + +"You don't deserve it--you reelly don't," she said, more in sorrow than +in anger; then with a sharp change of tone, "And you three 'ave been +allowin', I s'pose, that our best chance to escape notice is travellin' +around with a fur coat an' a sixty-foot Theayter Royal? . . . W'y, wot +was it put Glasson on our tracks? . . . Oh, I'm not blamin' yer! +Some folks--most folks, I'm comin' to think--just can't 'elp +theirselves. But it's saddenin'." + +"0' course," suggested Sam, "I might take on the job single-'anded. +My orders don't go beyond this place; but the beer'll wait, and 'Ucks +per'aps won't mind my takin' a 'oliday--not if I explain." + +Tilda regarded him for a while before answering. When at length she +spoke, it was with a fine, if weary, patience--"Got pen-an'-ink, any of +yer?" + +Mrs. Mortimer arose, stepped to a bundle of shawls lying in a Windsor +chair, unwrapped a portable writing-case which appeared to be the kernel +of the bundle, and laid it on the table--all this with extreme docility. + +"I'll trouble you to do the writin'," said Tilda, laying a sheet of +paper before Sam after she had chosen a pen and unsnapped the ink-case. + +"Why not Mortimer?" he protested feebly. + +"I wouldn' make Arguin' a 'abit, if I was you." + +Sam collapsed and took the pen from her, after eyeing the palms of his +hands as though he had a mind to spit on them. + +"Now write," she commanded, and began to dictate slowly. + +She had taken command of the room. The Mortimers could only stand by +and listen, as helpless as Arthur Miles. She spoke deliberately, +patiently, indulging all Sam's slowness of penmanship-- + +"'DEAR Mr. 'UCKS,--This comes 'opin' to find you well as it leaves us +all at present. I promised to write in my own 'and; but time is +pressin', as I am goin' to tell you. So you must please put up with Mr. +Bossom, and excuse mistakes. I will sign this to let you know there is +no fake. We are at Stratford-on-Avon: w'ich for slow goin' must be a +record: but all well and 'earty. Mr. M. 'as 'ad luck with 'is actin'--' +'Ow much?" + +"Six-seven-nine," answered Sam as he caught up with her. + +"Clear?" + +Sam nodded. "Barrin', o' course, the bill for to-night's board an' +lodgin'." + +"'--Up to date 'e 'as paid S. Bossom over six pound, and 'as picked up +with an engagement 'ere. Dear sir, you will see there's no risk, and +S. Bossom will stay 'ere a week an' collect the balance.'" + +"The Lord forbid!" Sam protested, laying down his pen. + +"I'd like to know oo's writin' this letter--you or me?" She pointed to +the paper. "Go on, please. 'Dear sir, a party as we will call W. B. +'as joined the company. W'ich is strange to say--'" + +"Who's _he?_" + +Sam looked up again, but Tilda's finger still pointed firmly. + +"'W'ich 'e too continues 'earty; but You-know-Oo is close after 'im; +and so, dear sir, 'avin' 'eard of an Island called 'Olmness, we are off +there to-morrow, and will let you know further. W'ich I remain yours +respectfully--' Now 'and over the pen an' let me sign." + +"'Olmness? Where's 'Olmness?" + +She took the pen from him and slowly printed TILDA, in roman capitals; +examined the signature, made sure it was satisfactory, and at length +answered-- + +"It's a Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel, w'ich is in the Free +Library. We've just come from there." + +"An' you reckon I got nothin' better to do than go gallivantin' with +you, lookin' for islands in the Bristol Channel?" + +"--W'en I said, on'y a minute back," she answered with composure, "that +we were leavin' you in Stratford for a week." + +"Ho!" he commented scornfully. "Leavin' me, are you? _You_ leavin' +_me?_ . . . Well, if that ain't good, I declare!" + +She looked at him as one disdaining argument. + +"I'll tell you all about it termorrow. Let's 'ave in supper now; for +we're 'ungry, Arthur Miles an' me, an' the Fat Lady'll be expectin' us. +Between two an' three miles down the river there's a lock, near a place +they call Weston--you know it, I reckon? Well, meet us there +termorrow--say eight o'clock--an' we'll 'ave a talk." + +"The child," said Mr. Mortimer, "has evidently something up her sleeve, +and my advice is that we humour her." + +Tilda eyed him. + +"Yes, that's right," she assented with unmoved countenance. "'Ave in +supper and 'umour me." + +The supper consisted of two dishes--the one of tripe-and-onions, the +other of fried ham. There were also potatoes and beer, and gin, Mr. +Mortimer being a sufferer from some complaint which made this cordial, +as Mrs. Mortimer assured them, "imperative." But to-night, "to +celebrate the reunion," Mr. Mortimer chose to defy the advice of the +many doctors--"specialists" Mrs. Mortimer called them--who had +successively called his a unique case; and after a tough battle--his +wife demurring on hygienic, Sam on financial, grounds--ordered in a +bottle of port, at the same time startling the waitress with the demand +that it must not be such as that-- + + "She set before chance-comers, + But such whose father-grape grew fat + On Lusitanian summers." + +That the beverage fulfilled this condition may be doubted. But it was +certainly sweet and potent, and for the children at any rate a couple of +glasses of it induced a haze upon the feast--a sort of golden fog +through which Mr. Mortimer loomed in a halo of diffusive hospitality. +He used his handkerchief for a table-napkin, and made great play with it +as they do in banquets on the stage. + +He pronounced the tripe-and-onions "fit for Lucullus," whatever that +might mean. He commended the flouriness of the potatoes, in the cooking +of which he claimed to be something of an amateur--"being Irish, my dear +Smiles, on my mother's side." He sipped the port and passed it for +"sound, sir, a wine of unmistakable body," though for bouquet not +comparable with the contents of a famous bin once the pride of his +paternal cellars at Scaresby Hall, Northamptonshire. He became +reminiscential, and spoke with a break in his voice of a certain-- + + "Banquet hall deserted, + Whose lights were fled, + Whose garlands dead, + And all but he [Mr. Mortimer] departed." + +Here he wiped his eyes with the handkerchief that had hitherto done duty +for napkin, and passed, himself, with equal adaptability to a new +_role_. He would give them the toast of "Their Youthful Guests."-- + +"They are, I understand, about to leave us. It is not ours to gaze too +closely into the crystal of fate; nor, as I gather, do they find it +convenient to specify the precise conditions of their departure. But of +this"--with a fine roll of the voice, and a glance at Mrs. Mortimer--" +of this we may rest assured: that the qualities which, within the span +of our acquaintance, they have developed, will carry them far; yet not +so far that they will forget their fellow-travellers whose privilege it +was to watch over them while they fledged their wings; and perhaps not +so far but they may hear, and rejoice in, some echo of that fame which +(if I read the omens aright)"--here again he glanced at his wife-- +"the public will be unable much longer to withhold." + +Altogether, and in spite of his high-flown language, Mr. Mortimer gave +the children an impression that he and his wife were honestly sorry to +part with them. And when the supper--protracted by his various arts to +the semblance of a banquet of many courses--came at length to an end, +Mrs. Mortimer dropped a quite untheatrical tear as she embraced them and +bade them good-bye. + +Sam Bossom walked with them to the bridge and there took his leave, +promising to meet them faithfully on the morrow by Weston Lock. + +"Though," said he, "there be scenes hereabouts that I finds painful, and +I'm doin' a great deal to oblige you." + +"It's a strange thing to me," said Tilda reflectively, gazing after him +until his tall figure was lost in the darkness between the gas-lamps, +"'ow all these grown-ups get it fixed in their 'eads that _they're_ +doin' the pertectin'. I reckon their size confuses 'em." + +They found the Fat Lady sitting up and awaiting them in some anxiety. + +"It's on account of the dog," she explained while 'Dolph devoured them +with caresses. "I managed to keep him pretty quiet all day, but when +the time came for me to perform, and I had to leave him locked in the +van here, he started turnin' it into a menagerie. Gavel has sent around +twice to say that if it's a case of 'Love me, love my dog,' him and +me'll have to break contracts." + +"Leadin' this sort o' life don't suit 'im," said Tilda. + +"No," Mrs. Lobb agreed; "he's drunk as a lord again, and his temper +something awful." + +Tilda stared. + +"I meant the dog," she explained. + +So the children, looking forth and judging the coast clear, took +Godolphus for a scamper across the dark meadow. They returned to find +their hostess disrobed and in bed, and again she had the tea-equipage +arrayed and the kettle singing over the spirit-lamp. + +"It's healthful, no doubt--all this exercise," she remarked with a +somewhat wistful look at their glowing faces; "but it's not for me," she +added. "There's another thing you've taught me. I've often wondered, +sittin' alone here--supposin' as there had really been a Mr. Lobb--how I +could have done with the children. Now, my dears, it's pleasant havin' +your company; but there's an anxiety about it that I find wearin'. +A week of it, and I'd be losin' flesh. And the moral is, if you're an +artist you must make sacrifices." + +The Fat Lady sighed. She sighed again and more heavily as, having +extinguished the lamp, she composed herself to sleep. + +Early next morning they bade her farewell, and departed with her +blessing. Now Tilda the match-maker had arranged in her mind a very +pretty scene of surprise and reconciliation. But, as she afterwards +observed, "there's times when you worrit along for days together, an' no +seemin' good of it; an' then one mornin' you wakes up to find everything +goin' like clockwork, an' yerself standin' by, an' watchin', an' feelin' +small." + +So it happened this morning as they drew near to Weston. There in the +morning light they saw the broken lock with a weir beside it, and over +the weir a tumble of flashing water; an islet or two, red with stalks of +loosestrife; a swan bathing in the channel between. And there, early as +they came, Sam Bossom stood already on the lock-bank; but not awaiting +them, and not alone. For at a distance of six paces, perhaps, stood the +girl of the blue sun-bonnet, confronting him. + +Tilda gasped. + +"And I got 'er promise to wait till I called 'er. It's--it's +unwomanly!" + +Sam turned and caught sight of them. He made as though to leave the +girl standing, and came a pace towards them, but halted. There was a +great awe in his face. + +"'Enery's broke it off!" he announced slowly, and his voice trembled. + +"I could a-told yer that." Tilda's manner was short, as she produced +the letter and handed it to him. "There--go to 'im," she said in a +gentler voice as she slipped past the girl. "'E's good, as men go; and +'e's suffered." + +She walked resolutely away down the path. + +"But where are you going?" asked Arthur Miles, running and catching up +with her. + +"Farther on, as usual," she snapped. "Can't yer see they don't want +us?" + +"But why?" + +"Because they're love-makin'." + +He made no answer, and she glanced at his face. Its innocent wonderment +nettled her the more, yet she had no notion why. She walked on faster +than ever. In the clearing by the "Four Alls" they came on the young +American. He had packed up his camp furniture, and was busy stowing it +in the canoe. + +"Hullo!" he greeted them. "Can't stay for another sitting, if that's +what you're after." + +With Tilda in her present mood the boy felt a sudden helplessness. +The world in this half-hour--for the first time since his escape--had +grown unfriendly. His friends were leaving him, averting their faces, +turning away to their own affairs. He stretched out his hands. + +"Won't you take us with you?" + +Mr. Jessup stared. + +"Why, certainly," he answered after a moment. "Hand me the valise, +there, and nip on board. There's plenty of room." + +He had turned to Tilda and was addressing her. She obeyed, and handed +the valise automatically. Certainly, and without her help, the world +was going like clockwork this morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +DOWN AVON. + + +"_ O, my heart! as white sails shiver, + And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide, + How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, + That moving speck on the far-off side._"--JEAN INGELOW. + +They were afloat: Arthur Miles in the bows, Tilda amidships, and both +facing Mr. Jessup, who had taken the stern seat, and there steered the +canoe easily with a single paddle, as the Indians do. + +They shot under the scour of a steep bank covered with thorns and +crab-apple trees and hummocks of sombre grass. Beyond this they drifted +down to Welford Weir and Mill, past a slope where the yellowing +chestnuts all but hid Welford village. They had to run the canoe ashore +here, unlade her of the valises and camp furniture, and carry her across +the weir. The children enjoyed this amazingly. + +"Boy, would you like to take a paddle?" asked Mr. Jessup. + +Now this was what Arthur Miles had been desiring for twenty minutes +past, and with all his soul. So now, the canoe having been launched +again and Tilda transferred to the bows, he found himself perched +amidships, with his gaze fixed on the reaches ahead, and in his hand a +paddle, which he worked cautiously at first, following Mr. Jessup's +instructions. But confidence soon grew in him, and he began to put more +vigour into his strokes. "Right, sonny," and "Better and better" +commented his instructor, for the child took to it as a duck to water. +In twenty minutes or so he had learnt to turn his paddle slantwise after +the stroke, and to drag it so as to assist the steering; which was not +always easy, for here and there a snag blocked the main channel, or a +pebbly shallow where the eye had to search for the smooth V that signals +the best water. Tilda watched him, marvelling at his strange aptitude, +and once, catching her eye, he nodded; but still, as he mastered the +knack, and the stroke of the paddle became more and more mechanical, his +attention disengaged itself from the moment--from the voice of Mr. +Jessup astern, the girl's intent gaze, the swirl about the blade, the +scent and pageant of the green banks on either hand--and pressed forward +to follow each far curve of the stream, each bend as it slowly unfolded. +Bend upon bend--they might fold it a hundred deep; but somewhere ahead +and beyond their folding lay the Island. + +In this wise they passed under a grassy hillside set with trimmed elms, +and came to Grange Mill and another portage; and below Grange to +Bidford, where there is a bridge of many arches carrying the old Roman +road called Icknield Street; and from the bridge and grey little town +they struck into a long reach that ran straight into the dazzle of the +sun--through flat meadows at first, and then, with a turn, under the +steep of Marcleeve Hill, that here borders Avon to the south for miles. +Here begin the spurs of the Cotswolds--scars of green and red marle +dotted with old thorn trees or draped with ash and maple, or smothered +with trails of the Traveller's Joy. + +Mr. Jessup, whose instructions had become less and less frequent, and +indeed were by this time patently superfluous, so quick the boy showed +himself to anticipate the slightest warning, hereabouts engaged Tilda in +converse. + +"He's a wonder, this child! I don't know where he comes from, or you, +or how far you 're willing I should take you. In fact, there's an +unholy flavour of kidnapping about this whole adventure. But I guess, +if I wanted to return you, there are no railways hereabouts. We must +strike the first depot we come to, and I'll frank you back, with +apologies to your parents." + +"We got none," Tilda assured him. + +"For a steady-going country like England that's unusual, eh?" + +"There is a bit o' that about us," she conceded after a pause. + +"But you must belong to somebody?" he urged. + +"_He_ do . . . And that's what I got to find out. But it'll be all +right when we get to 'Olmness." + +"Holmness?" queried Mr. Jessup. "Where's Holmness?" + +"It's an Island, in the Bristol Channel, w'ich is in the Free Library. +We're goin' that way, ain't we?" + +"That's our direction, certainly; though we're a goodish way off." + +"No 'urry," said Tilda graciously. "We'll get there in time." + +Mr. Jessup smiled. + +"Thank you. I am delighted to help, of course. You'll find friends +there--at Holmness?" + +She nodded. + +"Though, as far as that goes," she allowed yet more graciously, "I'm +not conplainin'. We've made friends all the way yet--an' you're the +latest." + +"I am honoured, though in a sense I hardly deserve it. You did--if I may +say--rather take charge of me, you know. Not that I mind. This is my +picnic, and I don't undertake to carry you farther than Tewkesbury. +But is does occur to me that you owe me something on the trip." + +Tilda stiffened. + +"You can put us ashore where you like," said she; "but one d. is all I +'ave in my pocket, as may be 'twould a-been fairer t' a-told yer." + +The young man laughed outright and cheerfully as he headed the canoe for +shore. They were close upon another weir and an ancient mill, whence, +as they landed for another portage, clouds of fragrant flour-dust issued +from the doorway, greeting their nostrils. + +"It's this way," he explained. "I'm here to sketch Shakespeare's +Country, and the trouble with me is, I've a theory." + +"It's--it's not a bad one, I 'ope?" + +She hazarded this sympathetically, never having heard of a theory. +It sounded to her like the name of an internal growth, possibly +malignant. + +"Not half bad," he assured her. He was cheerful about it, at any rate. +"I'm what they call an Impressionist. A man--I put it to you--has got +to hustle after culture in these days and take it, so to speak, in +tabloids. Now this morning, before you came along, I'd struck a +magnificent notion. As I dare say you've been told, the way to get at +the essence of a landscape is to half-close your eyes--you get the +dominant notes that way, and shed the details. Well, I allowed I'd go +one better, and see the whole show in motion. Have you ever seen a +biograph--or a cinematograph, as some call it?" + +"'Course I 'ave," said Tilda. "There was one in Maggs's Circus." + +"Then you'll have no trouble in getting the hang of my idea. +My complaint with Art is that it don't keep itself abreast of modern +inventions. The cinematograph, miss, has come to stay, and the Art of +the future, unless Art means to get left, will have to adopt its +principles . . . Well, I couldn't put Shakespeare's country into motion; +but on the river I could put myself in motion, which amounts to the same +thing. With the cinematograph, I grant you, it's mostly the scene +that's that in motion while _you_ sit still; but there's also a dodge by +which _you're_ in the railway car and flying past the scenery." + +Tilda nodded. + +"Maggs 'ad 'old of that trick too. 'E called it _A Trip on the Over'ead +Railway, New York._" + +"Right; and now you see. I allowed that by steering down Avon and +keeping my eyes half closed, by the time I reached Tewkesbury I'd have +Shakespeare's environment all boiled down and concentrated; and at +Tewkesbury I 'd stop and slap in the general impression while it was +fresh. But just here I ran my head full-butt against another principle +of mine, which is _plein air_." + +"Wot's that?" + +"Why, that a landscape should be painted where it stands, and not in the +studio." + +"You couldn' very well paint with one 'and an' paddle with the other," +she began; but added in a moment, "Why there's Arthur Miles, o' course! +doin', as ush'al, while the others are talkin'. That child brings luck +w'erever 'e goes." + +"You think that I could change places and trust him to steer." + +"Think? Why for the las' ten minutes 'e _'as_ been steerin'?" + +So below Cleeve they changed places, Mr. Jessup settling himself +amidships with his apparatus for sketching, while Arthur Miles was +promoted--if the word may be allowed--to the seat astern. For a while +he took his new responsibility gravely, with pursed lips and eyes intent +on every stroke of the paddle, watching, experimenting, as a turn of the +wrist more or less righted or deflected the steering. But in a few +minutes he had gained confidence, and again his gaze removed itself from +the swirl around the blade and began to dwell on the reaches ahead. + +They were entering the rich vale of Evesham. On their left the slopes +of Marcleeve Hill declined gradually to the open plain; on their right, +behind a long fringe of willows, stretched meadow after meadow, all +green and flat as billiard-tables. They were passing down through the +scene of a famous battle. But the children had never heard of Evesham +fight; and Mr. Jessup had mislaid his guide-book. He sat with +half-closed eyes, now and again dipping his brush over the gunwale, and +anon, for a half-minute or so, flinging broad splashes of water-colour +upon his sketching-pad. + +They were nearing the ferry at Harvington, and already began to lift the +bold outline of Bredon Hill that shuts out the Severn Valley, when +without warning the boy broke into song . . . + +It was the strangest performance. It had no tune in it, no intelligible +words; it was just a chant rising and falling, as the surf might rise +and fall around the base of that Island for which his eyes sought the +green vale right away to the horizon. + +Mr. Jessup looked up from his work. His eyes encountered Tilda's, and +Tilda's were smiling. But at the same time they enjoined silence. + +The boy sang on. His voice had been low and tentative at first; but +now, gathering courage, he lifted it upon a note of high challenge. He +could not have told why, but he sang because he was steering towards his +fate. It might lie far, very far, ahead; but somewhere ahead it lay, +beyond the gradually unfolding hills; somewhere in the west these would +open upon the sea, and in the sea would be lying his Island. His song +already saluted it. + +"I am coming!" it challenged. "O my fate, be prepared for me!" + +So they floated down to Harvington Mill and Weir; and as Mr. Jessup +half-turned his head, warning him to steer for shore, the boy's voice +faltered and dropped suddenly to silence, as a lark drops down from the +sky. Tilda saw him start and come to himself with a hot blush, that +deepened when she laughed and ordered 'Dolph to bark for an encore. + +They ported the canoe and luggage down a steep and slippery overfall, +launched her again, and shot down past Harvington Weir, where a crowd of +small sandpipers kept them company for a mile, flitting ahead and +alighting but to take wing again. Tilda had fallen silent. By and by, +as they passed the Fish and Anchor Inn, she looked up at Mr. Jessup and +asked-- + +"But if you want to paint fast, why not travel by train?" + +"I thought of it," Mr. Jessup answered gravely. "But the railroad +hereabouts wasn't engineered to catch the sentiment, and it's the +sentiment I'm after--the old-world charm of field and high-road and +leafy hedgerow, if you understand me." Here he paused of a sudden, and +laid his sketch-block slowly down on his knee. "Je-hosaphat!" he +exclaimed, his eyes brightening. "Why ever didn't I think of it?" + +"Think of wot?" + +He nodded his head. + +"You'll see, missie, when we get to Evesham! You've put a notion into +me--and we're going to rattle up Turner and make him hum. The +guide-books say he spent considerable of his time at Tewkesbury. +I disremember if he's buried there; but we'll wake his ghost, anyway." + +So by Offenham and Dead Man Eyot they came to the high embankment of a +railway, and thence to a bridge, and a beautiful bell-tower leapt into +view, soaring above the mills and roofs of Evesham. + +At Evesham, a little above the Workman Gardens, they left the canoe in +charge of a waterman, and fared up to the town, where Mr. Jessup led +them into a palatial hotel--or so it seemed to the children--and ordered +a regal luncheon. It was served by a waiter in a dress suit; an ancient +and benign-looking person, whose appearance and demeanour so weighed +upon Tilda that, true to her protective instinct, she called up all her +courage to nod across the table at Arthur Miles and reassure him. +To her stark astonishment, the boy was eating without embarrassment, as +though to be waited on with this pomp had been a mere matter of course. + +When the cheese was brought, Mr. Jessup left them on a trivial pretext, +and absented himself so long that at length she began to wonder what +would happen if he had "done a bilk," and left them to discharge the +score. The waiter hovered around, nicking at the side-tables with his +napkin and brushing them clean of imaginary crumbs. + +Tilda, eking out her last morsel of biscuit, opined that their friend +would surely be back presently. She addressed the remark to Arthur +Miles; but the waiter at once stepped forward. + +"It is to be 'oped!" said he, absent-mindedly dusting the back of a +chair. + +Just at this moment a strange throbbing noise drew him to the window, to +gaze out into the street. It alarmed the children too, and they were +about to follow and seek the cause of it, when Mr. Jessup appeared in +the doorway. + +"I've managed it!" he announced, and calling to the waiter, demanded the +bill. + +The waiter turned, whisked a silver-plated salver apparently out of +nowhere, and presented a paper upon it. + +"Nine-and-six--_and_ one is ten-and-six. I thank you, sir," said the +waiter, bowing low. + +He was good enough to follow them to the doorway, where Mr. Jessup waved +a hand to indicate a motor standing ready beside the pavement, and told +the children to tumble in. + +"I've taken your tip, you see." + +"My tip?" gasped Tilda. + +"Well, you gave me the hint for it, like Sir Isaac Newton's apple. +I've hired the car for the afternoon; and now, if you'll tuck yourselves +in with these rugs, you two'll have the time of your lives." + +He shut the door upon them, and mounted to a seat in front. The car was +already humming and throbbing, and the hired chauffeur, climbing to a +seat beside him, started her at once. They were off. + +They took the road that leads northward out of Evesham, and then, +turning westward, rounds the many loops and twists of Avon in a long +curve. In a minute or so they were clear of the town, and the car +suddenly gathered speed. Tilda caught her breath and held tight; but +the pace did not seem to perturb the boy, who sat with his lips parted +and his gaze fixed ahead. As for Mr. Jessup, behind the shelter of the +wind-glass he was calmly preparing to sketch. + +They had left the pastures behind, and were racing now through a land of +orchards and market gardens, ruled out and planted with plum trees and +cabbages in stiff lines that, as the car whirled past them, appeared to +be revolving slowly, like the spokes of a wheel. Below, on their left, +the river wandered--now close beneath them, now heading south and away, +but always to be traced by its ribbon of green willows. Thus they spun +past Wyre, and through Pershore--Pershore, set by the waterside, with +its plum orchards, and noble tower and street of comfortable red +houses--and crossed Avon at length by Eckington Bridge, under Bredon +Hill. Straight ahead of them now ran a level plain dotted with poplars, +and stretched--or seemed to stretch--right away to a line of heights, +far and blue, which Mr. Jessup (after questioning the chauffeur) +announced to be the Malverns. + +At Bredon village just below, happening to pass an old woman in a red +shawl, who scurried into a doorway at the toot-toot of their horn, he +leant back and confided that the main drawback of this method of +sketching (he had discovered) was the almost total absence of middle +distance. He scarcely saw, as yet, how it could be overcome. + +"But," said he thoughtfully, "the best way, after all, may be to ignore +it. When you come to consider, middle distance in landscape is more or +less of a convention." + +Nevertheless Mr. Jessup frankly owned that his experiments so far +dissatisfied him. + +"I'll get the first principles in time," he promised, "and the general +hang of it. Just now I'm being fed up with its limitations." + +He sat silent for a while gazing ahead, where the great Norman tower and +the mill chimneys of Tewkesbury now began to lift themselves from the +plain. And coming to the Mythe Bridge, he called a halt, bade the +children alight, and sent the car on to await him at an hotel in the +High Street, recommended by the chauffeur. + +"This," said he, examining the bridge, "appears to be of considerable +antiquity. If you'll allow me, I'll repose myself for twenty minutes in +the hoary past." Unfolding a camp stool, he sat down to sketch. + +The children and 'Dolph, left to themselves, wandered across the bridge. +The road beyond it stretched out through the last skirts of the town, +and across the head of a wide green level dotted with groups of +pasturing kine; and again beyond this enormous pasture were glimpses of +small white sails gliding in and out, in the oddest fashion, behind +clumps of trees and--for aught they could see--on dry land. + +The sight of these sails drew them on until, lo! on a sudden they looked +upon a bridge, far newer and wider than the one behind them, spanning a +river far more majestic than Avon. Of the white sails some were tacking +against its current, others speeding down stream with a brisk breeze; +and while the children stood there at gaze, a small puffing tug emerged +from under the great arch of the bridge with a dozen barges astern of +her in a long line--boats with masts, and bulkier than any known to +Tilda. They seemed to her strong enough to hoist sail and put out to +sea on their own account, instead of crawling thus in the wake of a tug. + +There was an old road-mender busy by the bridge end, shovelling together +the road scrapings in small heaps. He looked up and nodded. His face +was kindly, albeit a trifle foolish, and he seemed disposed to talk. + +"Good day!" said Tilda. "Can you tell us where the boats are goin'?" + +The old road mender glanced over the parapet. + +"Eh? The trows, d'ee mean?" + +"Trows? Is that what they are?" + +"Aye; and they be goin' down to Glo'ster first, an' thence away to +Sharpness Dock. They go through the Glo'ster an' Berkeley, and at +Sharpness they finish." + +"Is that anywhere in the Bristol Channel?" The old man ruminated for a +moment. + +"You may call it so. Gettin' on for that, anyway. Fine boats they be; +mons'rously improved in my time. But where d'ee come from, you two?-- +here in Tewkesbury, an' not to know about Severn trows?" + +"We've--er--jus' run over here for the afternoon, in a motor," said +Tilda--and truthfully; but it left the old man gasping. + +The children strolled on, idling by the bridge's parapet, watching the +strong current, the small boats as they tacked to and fro. Up stream +another tug hove in sight, also with a line of trows behind her. This +became exciting, and Tilda suggested waiting and dropping a stone--a +very small one--upon the tug's deck as she passed under the archway. + +"If only she could take us on!" said Arthur Miles. + +"We'd 'ave to drop a big stone for _that_," Tilda opined. + +And with that suddenly 'Dolph, who had been chasing a robin, and +immersed in that futile sport, started to bark--uneasily and in small +yaps at first, then in paroxysms interrupted by eager whines. + +"W'y wot the matter with 'im?" asked Tilda. + +"Look now!" + +For the dog had sprung upon the parapet and stood there, with neck +extended and body quivering as he saluted the on-coming tug. + +"'E can't see . . . No, surely, it can't be--" said Tilda, staring. + +The tug was so near by this time that they could read her name, _Severn +Belle_, on the bows. Two men stood on her deck--one aft at the tiller +(for she had no wheel-house), the other a little forward of midships, +leaning over the port bulwarks; this latter a stoker apparently, or an +engineer, or a combination of both; for he was capless, and wore a +smoke-grimed flannel shirt, open at the breast. + +Tilda could see this distinctly as the tug drew near; for the man was +looking up, staring steadily at the dog on the parapet. His chest was +naked. A cake of coal-dust obscured his features. + +"It can't be," said Tilda; and then, as the tug drew close, she flung +herself against the parapet. "Bill! Oh, Bill!" + +"Cheer-oh!" answered a voice, now already among the echoes of the arch. + +"Oh, Bill! . . . _Where?_" She had run across the roadway. "Oh, Bill-- +take us!" + +The boy running too--yet not so quickly as 'Dolph--caught a vision of a +face upturned in blankest amazement as tug and barges swept down stream +out of reach. But still Tilda hailed, beating back the dog, to silence +his barking. + +"Oh, Bill! Where're yer goin'?" + +As she had cried it, so in agony she listened for the response. +It came; but Arthur Miles could not distinguish the word, nor tell if +Tilda had heard better. She had caught his hand, and they were running +together as fast as their small legs could carry them. + +The chase was hopeless from the first. The tug, in midstream, gave no +sign of drawing to shore. Somehow--but exactly how the boy could never +tell--they were racing after her down the immense length of the green +meadow. + +It seemed endless, did this meadow. But it ended at last, by a grassy +shore where the two rivers met, cutting off and ending all hope. +And here, for the first and only time on their voyage, all Tilda's +courage forsook her. + +"Bill! Oh, Bill!" she wailed, standing at the water's edge and +stretching forth her hands across the relentless flood. + +But the dog, barking desperately beside her, drowned her voice, and no +answer came. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE S.S. EVAN EVANS + + +"_Then three times round went our gallant ship._"--OLD SONG. + +The time is next morning, and the first grey hour of daylight. +The scene, an unlovely tidal basin crowded with small shipping-- +schooners and brigantines dingy with coal-dust, tramp steamers, tugs, +Severn trows; a ship lock and beyond it the river, now grown into a +broad flood all grey and milky in the dawn. + +Tilda and Arthur Miles sat on the edge of the basin, with Godolphus +between them, and stared down on the deck of the _Severn Belle_ tug, +waiting for some sign of life to declare itself on board. By leave of a +kindly cranesman, they had spent the night in a galvanised iron shed +where he stored his cinders, and the warmth in the cinders had kept them +comfortable. But the dawn was chilly, and now they had only their +excitement to keep them warm. For some reason best known to himself the +dog did not share in this excitement, and only the firm embrace of +Tilda's arm around his chest and shoulders held him from wandering. +Now and again he protested against this restraint. + +Tilda's eyes never left the tug; but the boy kept intermittent watch +only, being busy writing with the stump of a pencil on a scrap of paper +he had spread on the gritty concrete. Somewhere in the distance a +hooter sounded, proclaiming the hour. Still but the thinnest thread of +smoke issued from the tug's funnel. + +"It's not like Bill," Tilda muttered. "'E was always partic'lar about +early risin' . . . An' I don't know what _you_ feel like, Arthur Miles, +but _I_ could do with breakfast." + +"And a wash," suggested the boy. + +"It don't look appetisin'--not even if we knew 'ow to swim," said Tilda, +relaxing her watch for an instant only, and studying the water in the +basin. "We must 'old on--'old on an' wait till the clouds roll by--that +was one of Bill's sayin's. An' to think of 'im bein' so near!" +Tilda never laughed, but some mirth in her voice anticipated Bill's +astonishment. "Now read me what yer've written." + +"It's no more than what you told me." + +"Never mind; let's 'ear if it's c'rect." + +Arthur Miles read-- + + 'DEAR MR. HUCKS,--This comes to say that we are not at Holmness + yet, but getting on. This place is called Sharpness, and does a + big trade, and the size of the shipping would make you wonder, + after Bursfield. We left S.B. and the M.'s at Stratford, as _per_ + my favour--' + +"What does that mean?" asked the scribe, looking up. + +"It's what they always put into business letters." + +"But what does it mean?" + +"It means--well, it means you're just as sharp as th' other man, so 'e +needn't try it on." + + '--as _per_ my favour of yesterday. And just below Stratford we + picked up with a painter from America, but quite the gentleman, as + you will see by his taking us on to a place called Tukesberry in a + real moter car.' + +[Let it be pleaded for Arthur Miles that his spelling had been +outstripped of late by his experience. His sentences were as Tilda had +constructed them in dictation.] + + 'Which at Tukesberry, happening to come across a gentleman friend of + mine, as used to work for Gavel, and by name William, this American + gentleman--' + +"Sounds odd, don't it?" interposed Tilda. + +"There's too much about gentlemen in it," the boy suggested. + +"Well, but _you're_ a gentleman. We shall find that out, right enough, +when we get to 'Olmness. 'Ucks don't know that, and I'm tonin' 'im up +to it. . . . You 'aven't put in what I told yer--about me tellin' Mr. +Jessup as Bill was my brother-in-law an' 'is callin' back to us that +'e'd look after us 'ere." + +"No." + +"W'y not?" + +There was reason for Tilda's averted gaze. She had to watch the tug's +deck. But why did her face flush? + +"Because it isn't true." + +"It got us 'ere," she retorted. "True or not, 'twouldn't do yer no 'arm +to allow _that_, seemin' to me." + +Although she said it defiantly, her tone carried no conviction. + +Arthur Miles made no response, but read on-- + + '--this American gentleman paid our fares on by railway to join him, + and gave us half a suffering for X.'s.' + +"Is that right?" + +"Sure," said Tilda. "Gold money is all sufferin's or 'arf-sufferin's. +I got it tied in a corner o' what Miss Montagu taught me to call my +shimmy--shifts bein' vulgar, she said." + + '--So here we are, and W.B. capital. Which we hope to post our next + from Holmness, and remain,' + 'Yours respectfully,' + 'TILDA. + + 'William will post this.' + +"But you're not sure of that, you know," he urged. Hereat Tilda found +the excuse she wanted for losing her temper (for her falsehood--or, +rather, the boy's pained disapproval of it--yet shamed her). + +"'Oo brought yer 'ere, I'd like to know? And where'd yer be at this +moment if 'twasn't for me an' 'Dolph? In Glasson's black 'ole, that's +where yer'd be! An' now sittin' 'ere so 'igh-an'-mighty, an' +lecturin'!" + +The boy's eyes had filled with tears. + +"But I'm not--I'm not!" he protested. "Tilda!--" + +"As if," she jerked out between two hard, dry sobs (Tilda, by the way, +never wept)--"as if I wasn' _sure_, after chasin' Bill all this way on +purpose, and 'im the best of men!" + +Just at this moment there emerged from the after-companion of the +_Severn Belle_, immediately below them, a large head shaped like an +enormous pear--shaped, that is, as if designed to persuade an upward +passage through difficult hatchways, so narrow was the cranium and so +extremely full the jowl. It was followed by a short bull neck and a +heavy pair of shoulders in a shirt of dirty grey flannel; and having +emerged so far, the apparition paused for a look around. It was the +steersman of yesterday afternoon. + +"'Ullo, below there!" Tilda hailed him. + +"'Ullo yerself!" The man looked up and blinked. "W'y, if you ain't the +gel and boy?" + +"Where's Bill?" she asked, cutting him short. + +"Bill?" + +"Yes, Bill--w'ich 'is full name is William; an' if 'e's sleepin' below +I'd arsk yer to roust 'im out." + +"Oh," said the stout man slowly, "Bill, is it?--Bill? Well, he's gone." + +"Gone?" + +"Aye; 'e's a rollin' stone, if you wants my pinion--'ere ter-day an' +gone ter-morrow, as you might put it. There's plenty o' that sort +knockin' around." + +"D'yer mean--ter say as Bill's--_gone?_" + +"Maybe I didn' make myself clear," answered the stout man politely. +"Yes, gone 'e 'as, 'avin' only shipped on for the trip. At Stourport. +Me bein' short-'anded and 'im fresh off the drink." + +"But Bill doesn't drink," protested Tilda, indignant in dismay. + +"Oh, doesn't 'e? Then we're talkin' of two different parties, an' 'ad +best begin over again. . . . But maybe," conceded the stout man on +second thoughts, "you only seen 'im sober. It makes a difference. +The man I mean's dossin' ashore somewhere. An', I should say, drinkin' +'ard," he added reflectively. + +But here Godolphus interrupted the conversation, wriggling himself +backwards and with a sudden yap out of Tilda's clutch. Boy and girl +turned, and beheld him rush towards a tall, loose-kneed man, clad in +dirty dungaree, dark-haired and dark-avised with coal-dust, who came +slouching towards the quay's edge. + +"Bill! Oh, Bill!" Tilda sprang up with a cry. Perhaps the cry was +drowned in the dog's ecstatic barking. The man--he had obviously been +drinking--paid no attention to either; or, rather, he seemed (since he +could not disregard it) to take the dog's salutation for granted, and +came lurching on, fencing back 'Dolph's affectionate leaps. + +"G'way!" + +He advanced unsteadily towards the edge of the basin, not perceiving, or +at any rate not recognising the children, though close to them. + +"Let my cap be'ind," he grumbled; "elst they stole it." + +He drew himself up at the water's edge, a dozen yards or so wide of the +_Severn Belle's_ stern. + +"Oh, Bill!" Tilda flung herself before him as he stood swaying. + +"'Ullo!" He recognised her slowly. "And wot might _you_ be doin' 'ere? +Come to remember, saw you yesterday--you _and_ your frien'. Yes, o' +course--ver' glad t' meet yer--_an'_ yer friend--any friend o' yours +welcome, 'm sure." + +He stretched out a hand of cordiality towards Arthur Miles. + +"Oh, Bill--we've been countin' on yer so--me an' 'Dolph. This is Arthur +Miles, an' I've told 'im all along as you're the best and 'elpfullest +o' men--an' so you are, if you pull yerself together. 'E only wants to +get to a place called 'Olmness, w'ich is right below 'ere--" + +"'Olmness?" + +"It's an Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel. It--it _can't_ be +far, Bill--an' I got 'arf-a-sufferin'--" + +"Where?" asked Bill with unexpected promptness. + +"Never you mind, just now." + +Bill assumed an air of injured but anxious virtue. + +"'Course, if you don't _choose_ to trust me, it's another matter . . . +but I'd like to know you came by it honest." + +"Of course she did!" Arthur Miles spoke up to the rescue hotly. + +Bill turned a stare on him, but dropped it, somewhat abashed. + +"Oh, well, I'm not sayin' . . ." he muttered sulkily, and then with a +change of tone, "But find yer an Island--somewheres in the Bristol +Channel--me! It's ridicklus." + +Tilda averted her face, and appeared to study the masts of the shipping. +Her cheek was red and something worked in her throat, but in a few +seconds she answered quite cheerfully-- + +"Well, the first thing is to pick up a breakfast. If Bill can't find us +an Island, maybe 'e can show us a respectable 'ouse, where they make +their cawfee strong--an' not the 'ouse where 'e slept last night, if +it's all the same to 'im." + +They found a small but decent tavern--"The Wharfingers' Arms, _Shipping +Gazette_ daily"--and breakfasted on coffee and boiled eggs. The coffee +was strong and sticky. It did Bill good. But he persisted in treating +the adventure as a wild-goose chase. He had never heard of Holmness. +It was certainly not a port; and, that being so, how--unless they +chartered a steamer--could they be landed there? + +"That's for you to find out," maintained Tilda. + +"Well," said he, rising from the meal, "I don't mind lookin' around an' +makin' a few inquiries for yer. But I warn yer both it's 'opeless." + +"You can post this letter on yer way," she commanded. "I'll pay fer the +breakfast." + +But confidence forsook her as through the small window they watched him +making his way--still a trifle unsteadily--towards the docks. For a +little distance 'Dolph followed him, but halted, stood for a minute +wagging his tail, and so came trotting back. + +"'E'll manage it," said Tilda at length. + +Arthur Miles did not answer. + +"Oh, I know what you're thinkin'!" she broke out. "But 'tisn' everyone +can look down on folks bein' born with _your_ advantages!" She pulled +herself up sharply, glancing at the back of the boy's head: for he had +turned his face aside. "No--I didn' mean that. An'--an' the way you +stood up fer me bein' honest was jus' splendid--after what you'd said +about tellin' lies, too." + +They wandered about the docks all day, dodging official observation, and +ate their midday crust behind the cinder-shed that had been their +shelter over-night. Tilda had regained and kept her old courage, and in +the end her faith was justified. + +Towards nightfall Bill sought them out where he had first found them, by +the quay-edge close above the _Severn Belle_. + +"It's all right," he said. "I done it for yer. See that boat yonder?" +He jerked his thumb towards a small cargo steamer lying on the far side +of the basin, and now discernible only as a black blur in the foggy +twilight. "She's the _Evan Evans_ of Cardiff, an' bound for Cardiff. +Far as I can larn, Cardiff's your port, though I don't say a 'andy one. +Fact is, there's no 'andy one. They seem to say the place lies out of +everyone's track close down against the Somerset coast--or, it may be, +Devon: they're not clear. Anyway," he wound up vaguely, "at Cardiff +there may be pleasure steamers runnin', or something o' the sort." + +"Bill, you're an angel!" + +"I shipped for a stoker," said Bill. + +"But what'll it cost?" + +"I don't want ter speak boas'ful, after the tone you took with me this +mornin'"--Bill spoke with scarcely dissembled pride--"but that's where +the cleverness comes in. You see, there ain't no skipper to 'er-- +leastways not till ter-morrow. The old man's taken train an' off to +Bristol, to attend a revival meetin', or something o' the sort--bein' +turned pious since 'is wife died, w'ich is about eighteen months ago. +I got that from the mate, when 'e shipped me. The mate's in charge; +with the engineer an' two 'ands. The engineer--'e's a Scotchman--'as as +much whisky inside 'im already as a man can 'old an' keep 'is legs; an' +the 'ole gang'll be goin' ashore again to-night--all but the mate. +The mate 'as to keep moderate sober an' lock 'er out on first 'igh water +ter-morrow for Kingroad, where she'll pick up the old man; and as +natcher'lly 'e'll want _somebody_ sober down in the engine-room, 'e's +got to rely on me. So now you see." + +"I think I see," said Tilda slowly. "We're to ship as stowaways." + +"You may call it so, though the word don't 'ardly seem to fit. I've +'eard tell of stowaways, but never as I remember of a pair as 'ad the +use of the captain's cabin, and 'im a widower with an extry bunk still +fitted for the deceased. O' course we'll 'ave to smuggle yer away +somewheres before the old man comes aboard. But the mate'll do that +easy. 'E promised me." + +"Bill, you _are_ an angel!" + +It was, after all, absurdly easy, as Bill had promised; and the easier +by help of the river-fog, which by nine o'clock--the hour agreed upon-- +had gathered to a thick grey consistency. If the dock were policed at +this hour, no police, save by the veriest accident, could have detected +the children crouching with 'Dolph behind a breastwork of +paraffin-casks, and waiting for Bill's signal--the first two or three +bars of _The Blue Bells of Scotland_ whistled thrice over. + +The signal came. The gang-plank was out, ready for the crew's return; +and at the head of it Bill met the fugitives, with a caution to tread +softly when they reached the deck. The mate was nowhere to be seen. +Bill whispered that he was in his own cabin "holding off the drink," +whatever that might mean. + +He conducted them to the after-companion, where, repeating his caution, +he stepped in front of the children and led the way down a narrow +twisting staircase. At the foot of it he pushed open a door, and they +gazed into a neat apartment, panelled with mirrors and bird's-eye maple. +A swing-lamp shone down upon a white-covered table; and upon the table +were bread and cheese and biscuits, with a jug of water and glasses. +Alongside the table ran two bunks, half-curtained, clean, cosy and +inviting. + +"Say what yer like," said Tilda half an hour later as, having selected +their bunks, the children composed themselves to sleep, "but Bill 'as +the 'ead of the two." + +"Which two?" asked the boy, not quite ingenuously. + +"As if I didn' know yer was comparin' 'im with Sam Bossom all day! W'y, +I seen it in yer face!" Getting no answer, she went on after a pause, +"Sam 'd never a' thought o' this, not if 'e'd lived to be a 'undred." + +"All the same, I like Sam better," said the boy sleepily. + +They slept soundly after their wanderings. The crew returned shortly +before half-past eleven, and tumbled aboard "happy and glorious"--so +Bill afterwards described their condition, in the language of the +National Anthem. But the racket was mainly for'ard, and did not awake +the children. After this, silence descended on the _Evan Evans_, and +lasted for five long hours. Still they slept; and the voice of the +mate, when a little before dawn he started cursing and calling to the +men to tumble up, was a voice heard in dreams and without alarm. + +It was, as a matter of fact, scarcely more operative in the forecastle +than in the cabin. But Bill in the intervals of slumber had visited the +furnaces, and kept up a good head of steam; and in the chill of dawn he +and the mate cast off warps and (with the pilot) worked the steamer out +through the ship lock, practically unaided. The mate, when not in +liquor, was a first-class seaman; and Bill, left alone between the +furnaces and the engines, perspired in all the glory of his true +vocation. + +The noise of hooting, loud and protracted, awoke Tilda at last, and she +raised herself in her bunk to stare at the apparition of Bill in the +cabin doorway--a terrifying apparition, too, black with coal-dust and +shining with sweat. + +"Wot's 'appened?" + +For one moment her sleepy brain confused him with the diabolical noise +overhead. + +"Nothin'," he answered, "'cept that you must tumble out quick, you two. +We're off Avonmouth, an' the whistle's goin' for the old man." + +They tumbled out and redded up the place in a hurry, folding away the +rugs and linen--which Bill, with his grimed fingers, did not dare to +touch--and stowing them as he directed. A damp fog permeated the cabin. +Even the engine-room (Bill reported) was full of it, and how the mate +had brought her along through it and picked up Avonmouth was a marvel. + +"Single-'anded too, as you may say. 'E's a world's wonder, that man." + +The children too thought it marvellous when they reached the deck and +gazed about them. They could spy no shore, not so much as a blur to +indicate it, but were wrapped wholly in a grey fog; and down over the +steamer's tall sides (for she was returning light after delivering a +cargo of Welsh coal) they stared upon nothing but muddy water crawling +beneath the fog. + +They heard the mate's voice calling from the bridge, and the fog seemed +to remove both bridge and voice to an immeasurable height above them. + +It was just possible to descry the length of the ship, and they saw two +figures bestir themselves forward. A voice answered, "Aye, aye, sir!" +but thickly and as if muffled by cotton wool. One of the two men came +running, halted amidships, lifted out a panel of the bulwarks, set in a +slide between two white-painted stanchions, and let down an +accommodation ladder. + +"_Evan Evans_, ahoy!" came a voice from the fog. + +"Ahoy, sir!" sang out the mate's voice high overhead, and between two +blasts of the whistle, and just at this moment a speck--a small blur-- +hove out of the grey on the port side. It was the skipper arriving in a +shore boat. + +The children dodged behind a deck-house as he came up the ladder--a thin +little man habited much like a Nonconformist minister, and wearing--of +all amazing head-gear--a top-hat, the brim of which shed moisture in a +steady trickle. A grey plaid shawl swathed his shoulders, and the +fringe of this dripped too, as he gained the deck and stepped briskly +aft, without so much as a word to the men standing at the head of the +ladder, to whom after a minute the mate called down. + +"Sam Lloyd!" + +"Aye, aye, sir!" + +"What did 'e say?" + +"Nothin', sir." + +Apparently the children were not alone in finding this singular, for +after another minute the mate descended from the bridge, walked aft, and +followed his chief down the companion. He stayed below for close on a +quarter of an hour, the steamer all this while moving dead slow, with +just a lazy turn now and then of her propeller. When he returned it was +with a bottle in his hand and a second bottle under his arm. + +"Cracked as a drum," he announced to the seaman Lloyd on his way back to +the bridge. "Says 'e's 'ad a revelation." + +"A wot?" + +"A revelation. Says 'e 'eard a voice from 'eaven las' night, tellin' +'im as Faith was dead in these times; that if a man only 'ad faith 'e +could let everything else rip . . . and," concluded the mate heavily, +resting his unoccupied hand on the ladder, "'e's down below tryin' it." + +The seaman did not answer. The mate ascended again, and vanished in the +fog. After a pause a bell tinkled deep down in the bowels of the ship. +Her propeller began to churn the water, very slowly at first, then with +gathering speed, and the _Evan Evans_ forged ahead, shouldering her way +deeper and deeper into the fog. + +It had certainly grown denser. There was not the slightest reason for +the children to hide. No one came near them; they could see nothing but +the wet and dirty deck, the cook's galley close by (in which, as it +happened, the cook lay in drunken slumber) and a boat swinging on davits +close above their heads, between them and the limitless grey. Bill had +disappeared some time before the skipper came aboard and was busy, no +doubt, in the engine-room. In the shrouded bows one of the crew was +working a fog-horn at irregular intervals, and for a while every blast +was answered by a hoot from the steam-whistle above the bridge. + +This lasted three hours or more. Then, though the fog-horn continued +spasmodically, the whistle fell unaccountably silent. The children +scarcely noted this; they were occupied with staring into the fog. + +Of a sudden the bridge awoke to life again, and now with the bell. +_Ting . . . ting, ting, ting--ting--ting, ting, ting_ then _ting, ting_ +again. + +The fog-horn stopped as though to listen. By and by, as from minute to +minute the bridge continued this eccentric performance, even the +children became aware that something was amiss. + +Abruptly the ringing ceased, ceased just as a tall man--it was the +Scotch engineer--emerged from somewhere below and stood steadying +himself by the rail of the ladder. + +"What the deevil?" he demanded angrily, staring aloft. "What the +deev--" + +Here he collapsed on the lowest step. (A Glasgow man must be drunk +indeed before he loses his legs.) + +The seaman Sam Lloyd came running, jumped over the engineer's prostrate +body and climbed to the bridge. There was a brief silence, and then he +shouted down-- + +"Dave! Dave Morgan!" + +"Ahoy! What's wrong there?" + +Another seaman came staggering aft. + +"Run, one o' you an' fetch up th' old man. Mate 'e's dead drunk 'ere, +an' the ship pointin' any way this 'arf hour." + +"I--I canna," said the engineer, raising himself erect from the waist +and collapsing again; but the other staggered on and disappeared down +the companion hatchway. Two or three minutes passed before he +re-emerged. + +"It's no go," he shouted up. "Skipper says as we must 'ave Faith. +Called me an onbelievin' generation o' vipers, an' would I kindly leave +'im alone to wrastle." + +"Faith?" fairly yelled the voice from the bridge. "Tell 'im the man's +lyin' 'ere outside o' three pints o' neat Irish--tell 'im she's been +chasin' 'er own tail for this two--three hours--tell 'im the sound o' +breakers is distinkly audibble on the lee bow--tell 'im--oh, for Gawd's +sake tell 'im anythink so's it'll fetch 'im up!" + +Dave Morgan dived down the companion again, and after a long interval +returned with the skipper at his heels. The old man was bare-headed +now, and the faint breeze, blowing back his grey locks, exposed a high +intellectual forehead underset with a pair of eyes curiously vague and +at the same time introspective. + +The old man clutched at the coaming that ran around the hatchway, +steadied himself, and gazed around upon the fog. + +"'Eavenly Father!" he said aloud and reproachfully, "_this_ won't do!" + +And with that he came tripping forward to the bridge with a walk like a +bird's. At the sight of Tilda and Arthur Miles, who in their plight had +made no effort to hide, he drew himself up suddenly. + +"Stowaways?" he said. "I'll talk to you presently." He stepped over +the engineer. "Heh? What's the matter?" he called up as he put his +foot on the ladder. + +"Mate's drunk an' 'ncapable, sir," answered the seaman from above. + +"What o' that?" was the unexpected reply. "Let the poor body lie, an' +you hold her to her course." + +"But she's chasin' 'er tail, sir. She's pointin' near as possible due +south at this moment, an' no tellin' 'ow long it's lasted--" + +"Then bring her round to west--west an' a point south, an' hold her to +it. You've got no _Faith_, Samuel Lloyd,--an' me wrestlin' with the +Lord for you this three hours. See yonder!"--the skipper waved a hand +towards the bows, and his voice rose to a note of triumph. + +Sure enough, during the last two or three minutes the appearance of the +fog had changed. It was dense still, but yellower in colour and even +faintly luminous. + +From the bridge came no answer. + +"Liftin', that's what it is, an' I ask the Lord's pardon for lettin' +myself be disturbed by ye." + +The skipper turned to leave the ladder, of which he had climbed but half +a dozen steps. + +"Liftin' it may be "--Lloyd's voice arrested him--"but we're ashore +somewheres, or close upon it. I can 'ear breakers--" + +"Eh?" + +"Listen!" + +The skipper listened, all listened, the fog the while growing steadily +more golden and luminous. + +"Man, that's no sound of breakers--it's voices!" + +"Voices!" + +"Voices--voices of singin'. Ah!"--the skipper caught suddenly at the +rail again--"a revelation! Hark!" + +He was right. Far and faint ahead of the steamer's bows, where the fog, +meeting the sun's rays, slowly arched itself into a splendid halo-- +a solid wall no longer, but a doorway for the light, and hung with +curtains that momentarily wore thinner--there, where the water began to +take a tinge of flame, sounded the voices of men and women, or of +angels, singing together. And while the crew of the _Evan Evans_ +strained their ears the hymn grew audible-- + + 'Nearer--and nearer still, + We to our country come; + To that celestial Hill, + The weary pilgrim's home! . . .' + +Arthur Miles had clutched Tilda's hand. She herself gazed and listened, +awe-struck. The sound of oars mingled now with the voices, and out of +the glory ahead three forms emerged and took shape--three boats moving +in solemn procession. + +They were of unusual length, and black--at any rate, seen against that +golden haze, they appeared black as Erebus. In the bows of each sat a +company of people singing as they pulled at the long oars; and in the +stern of each, divided from the rowers by the cargo--but what that cargo +was could not yet be distinguished--stood a solitary steersman. + +Patently these people were unaware of the steamer's approach. They were +heading straight across her path--were, in fact, dangerously close--when +at length the seaman on the bridge recovered presence of mind to sound +her whistle, at the same time ringing down to stop the engines. + +As the whistle sounded the singing ceased abruptly, the steersmen thrust +over their tillers in a flurry, and of the rowers some were still +backing water as the boats drifted close, escaping collision by a few +yards. + +"Ahoy there!" + +"Ahoy!" came the answer. "Who are you?" + +"The _Evan Evans_, of Cardiff," responded the skipper between his +hollowed palms. + +"Whither bound?" + +"Cardiff." + +The foremost boat was close now and drifting alongside. Arthur Miles +and Tilda stared down upon the faces of the rowers. They were eight or +ten, and young for the most part--young men of healthy brown complexions +and maidens in sun-bonnets; and they laughed, with upturned eyes, as +they fell to their oars again to keep pace with the steamer's slackening +way. The children now discerned what cargo the boats carried--each a +score or two of sheep, alive and bleating, their fleeces all golden in +the strange light. + +An old man stood in the stern of the leading boat. He wore a long white +beard, and his face was extraordinarily gentle. It was he who answered +the skipper. + +"For Cardiff?" he echoed. + +"Aye, the _Evan Evans_, of Cardiff, an' thither bound. Maybe you've +heard of him," added the skipper irrelevantly. "A well-known Temperance +Reformer he was." + +The old steersman shook his head. + +"You're miles away out o' your course, then--five an' twenty miles +good." + +"Where are we?" + +"Right south-west--atween Holmness and the land. You've overshot +_everything_. Why, man, are ye all mazed aboard? Never a vessel comes +hereabouts, and 'tis the Lord's mercy you han't run her ashore." + +"The Lord will provide," answered the skipper piously, "Which-a-way lies +Cardiff, say you?" + +The old man pointed. But while he pointed Tilda ran forward. + +"'Olmness? Is it 'Olmness?" + +He stared up. + +"Holmness it is, missie? But why?" + +"An' you'll take us off? We're 'ere with a message. It's for Miles +Chandon, if you know 'im." + +"Surely," the old man answered slowly. "Yes, surely--Sir Miles. +But who can have a message for Sir Miles?" + +"For Miss Sally, then. You know Miss Sally?" + +The old man's look changed in a moment. + +"Miss Sally? Why o' course--Do we know Miss Sally?" he was appealing to +the crew of men and maidens forward, and they broke into a chime of +laughter. + +"What's this?" demanded the skipper, stepping forward. "Here's a +couple of stowaways. I know nothing about 'em. It's your risk if you +choose to take 'em off." + +"If she've a message for Miss Sally--" answered the old steersman after +a pause. + +"It's life an' death!" pleaded Tilda. + +The steamer, the upturned faces below, the fog all around--she saw it as +in a dream, and as in a dream she heard herself pleading . . . + +"Get out the ladder, there!" called the skipper. + +They were in the boat, still as in a dream, sitting among these strange, +kindly people. In a dream, too, she was waving to Bill, who had come up +from below and leant over the bulwarks, staring as steamer and boats +fell apart in the fog. Then, at a word from the bridge, he waved his +hand for the last time and ran below. In a minute or so the _Evan +Evans_ began to feel around and edge away for the northward. + +She faded and was lost in the vaporous curtain. Still the children +gazed astern after her over the backs of the huddled sheep. The rowers +had fallen to singing again--men and maidens in harmony as they pulled-- + + 'The ransom'd sons of God, + All earthly things we scorn, + And to our high abode + With songs of praise return! . . .' + +Of a sudden, while they sang and while the children gazed, the fog to +northward heaved and parted, pierced by a shaft of the sinking sun, and +there in a clear hollow lay land--lay an Island vignetted in the fog, +with the light on its cliffs and green slopes--an Island, resting like a +shield on the milky sea. + +"Look!" + +Arthur Miles clutched Tilda by the arm and pointed. + +The old steersman turned his head. + +"Aye," said he, "she looks pretty of an evening sometimes, does +Holmness." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +INISTOW FARM. + + +"_Clean, simple livers._"--CRASHAW. + +The rowers in the leading boat were seven--four young men and three +young women; and they pulled two to an oar--all but the bowman, a young +giant of eighteen or thereabouts, who did without help. A fourth young +woman sat beside, suckling a baby. And so, counting the baby and the +two children and the old steersman, whom they all addressed as +"Father," and omitting 'Dolph and the sheep, they were twelve on board. +The second and third boats had half a dozen rowers apiece. The second +was steered by a wizened middle-aged man, Jan by name. Tilda learned +that he was the shepherd. More by token, he had his three shaggy dogs +with him, crowded in the stern. + +At first these dogs showed the liveliest interest in 'Dolph, raising +themselves with their forepaws on the gunwale, and gazing across the +intervening twenty yards of water. But they were dignified creatures, +and their self-respect forbade them to bark. 'Dolph, who had no +breeding, challenged back loudly, all his bristles erect--and still the +more angrily as they forbore to answer; whereat the young men and women +laughed. Their laughter would have annoyed Tilda had it been less +unaffected; and, as it was, she cuffed the dog so sharply that he ceased +with a whine. + +She had never met with folk like these. They gave her a sense of having +reached the ends of the earth--they were so simple and strong and +well-featured, and had eyes so kindly. She could understand but a bare +third of what they said, their language being English of a sort, but +neither that of the gentry--such as Arthur Miles spoke--nor that of the +gypsies; nor, in short, had she heard the human like of it anywhere in +her travels. She had never heard tell of vowels or of gutturals, and so +could not note how the voices, as they rose and fell, fluted upon the +one or dwelt, as if caressingly, on the other. To her their talk +resembled the talk of birds, mingled with liquid laughter. + +Later, when she came to make acquaintance with the Scriptures and read +about the patriarchs and their families, she understood better. +Laban with his flocks, Rebekah and her maidens, the shepherds of +Bethlehem--for all of them her mind cast back to these innocent people, +met so strangely off an unknown coast. + +For she had come by water; and never having travelled by ship before, +and being wholly ignorant of geography and distances, she did not dream +that the coast towards which they were rowing her could be any part of +England. + +It loomed close ahead now--a bold line of cliff, reddish brown in +colour, but with patches of green vivid in the luminous haze; the summit +of the cliff-line hidden everywhere in folds of fog; the dove-coloured +sea running tranquilly at its base, with here and there the thinnest +edge of white, that shone out for a moment and faded. + +But now the cliffs, which had hitherto appeared to run with one +continuous face, like a wall, began to break up and reveal gullies and +fissures; and as these unfolded, by and by a line of white cottages +crept into view. They overhung a cove more deeply indented than the +rest, and close under them was a diminutive grey pier sheltering a +diminutive harbour and beach. + +And now the voyage was soon ended. The boat shot around the pier-end +and took ground upon firm shingle. The others, close in her wake, ran +in and were beached alongside, planks were laid out from the gunwales, +and in half a minute all hands had fallen to work, urging, persuading, +pushing, lifting the sheep ashore, or rounding them up on the beach, +where they headed hither and thither, or stood obstinately still in +mazed fashion, all bleating. The middle-aged shepherd took command of +these operations, no man gainsaying, and shouted here, there and +everywhere, sparing neither age nor sex, but scolding all +indiscriminately, hallooing to his dogs and waving his arms--as his +master described it later--"like a paper man in a cyclone." And the dogs +were silent no longer, but coursed the beach with short, fierce yelps, +yet always intent on their business, as 'Dolph discovered when, spurred +on by his theatrical instincts, he made a feint of joining in the sport. +A snap of teeth close to his fore-legs sent him back yelping, and he +retired in dudgeon to a heap of seaweed; but by and by, when the sheep +were gathered into a compact crowd, he made a really heroic effort to +divert attention back to his own talents. + +"Look to the dog, there--look to 'en!" cried a maiden of eighteen, +pointing and then resting a hand on either hip while she laughed. + +This was Chrissy (short for Christiana), the prettiest, though not the +youngest of the girls. Beside her there were Dinah (it was she who +suckled the baby) and Polly, and Rose and Sabina, and Charity; and of +the young men John Edward, and William, 'Rastus, Donatus and Obed. +These were of the sons and daughters of the old steersman, with others +of whom Tilda had not yet learnt the names. There was Old William +also--Dinah's husband--a young man of thirty or so, but serious for his +years; and Old William's two sisters, Sheba and Bathsheba--the younger a +maiden, but the elder married to a youth they called Daniel; and Festus, +who appeared to be courting Chrissy; and Roger, the young giant who had +pulled the bow oar, and was courting nobody as yet. Quick though Tilda +was to find her feet in a crowd and distinguish names and faces, she +found the numbers bewildering. To Arthur Miles they were but a phantom +throng. He stood on the beach amid the small tumult and, while the +sheep blundered by, gazed back upon the Island, still in view, still +resting like a shield out yonder upon the milky, golden sea. + +As yet Tilda could not know that the old man had been married twice, +that these stalwart youths and maidens were his offspring by two +mothers. Indeed, they might all have been his, and of one womb, so +frankly and so gently spoken they were one to another. Only the +shepherd kept scolding all the while, and with vigour, using his brief +authority which no one--not even his master--attempted to dispute. +While this was going on two farm-boys from the rearmost boat had run up +the hill, and by and by returned, each cracking a whip and leading a +pair of horses harnessed to a lumbering hay-wagon. All scrambled on +board, romping and calling to Tilda and Arthur Miles to follow their +example; and so, leaving the shepherd to follow with his collected +flock, the procession started, the horses plunging at the first steep +rise from the beach. + +Half-a-dozen children had collected on the beach and ran with them, +cheering, up the hill, and before the cottage doorways three or four +women, wives and widows, stood to watch the procession go by. +These (someone told Tilda) were all the inhabitants left, their men-folk +having sailed away west and north a month ago for the fishery. + +"Wish 'ee well, Farmer Tossell!" cried one or two. "Sheep all right, I +hope?" + +"Right as the bank, my dears!" called back the old patriarch, waving a +whip he had caught from one of the farm-boys. "The same to you, an' +many of 'em!" + +They mounted the hill at a run, and when the horses dropped to a walk +Farmer Tossell explained to Arthur Miles, who had been thrust forward +into a seat--or rather perch--beside him, that this bringing home of the +sheep from Holmness was a great annual event, and that he was lucky, in +a way, to have dropped in for it. + +"The whole family turns out--all but the Old Woman an' Dorcas. Dorcas +is my eldest. They're t'home gettin' the supper. A brave supper +you'll see, an' the preacher along with it. I dunno if you 're saved. + . . . No? P'r'aps not, at your age. I was never one for hurryin' the +children; bruisin' the tender flax, as you might say. . . But you +mustn't be upset if he _alloods_ to you. . . . A very powerful man, when +you're used to 'en. So you've a message for Miss Sally? Know her?" + +The boy had to confess that he did not. + +"Curious!" the farmer commented. "She's one of the old sort, is Miss +Sally. But you can't get over to Culvercoombe to-night: to-morrow +we'll see. . . . What's your name, by the way?" + +"Arthur Miles." + +"And your sister's?" + +"She's called Tilda; but she--she isn't really--" + +Farmer Tossell was not listening. + +"You'll have to sleep with us to-night. Oh," he went on, +misinterpreting the boy's glance behind him (he was really seeking for +Tilda, to explain), "there's always room for one or two more at Inistow: +that's what you might call our motto; and the Old Woman dotes on +children. She ought to--havin' six of her own, besides nine of my first +family." + +The wagon had reached a short break in the ascent--you might liken it to +a staircase landing--where the road ran level for about fifty yards +before taking breath, so to speak, for another stiff climb. Here a +by-road led off to the right, and here they turned aside. + +The road ran parallel, or roughly parallel, with the line of the cliffs, +between low and wind-trimmed hedges, over which, from his perch beside +Farmer Tossell, the boy looked down across a narrow slope of pasture to +the sea. The fog had lifted. Away and a little above the horizon the +sun was dropping like a ball of orange flame in a haze of gold; and +nearer, to the right of the sunset, lay the Island as if asleep on the +waves, with glints of fire on the pointed cliffs at its western end, and +all the rest a lilac shadow resting on the luminous water. + +He gazed, and still gazed. He heard no longer, though the farmer was +speaking. There was indeed some excuse, for the young men and girls +had started another hymn, and were singing with all their voices. +But he did not even listen. + +The road rose and dipped. . . . They came to a white-painted gate, which +one of the young men sprang down to open. The last glow of the sunset +fell on its bars, and their outline repeated itself in dazzling streaks +on the sky as the horses wheeled to the left through the gateway, and +the boy turned for a last look. But Holmness had disappeared. A brown +ridge of stubble hid it, edged and powdered with golden light. + +Turning from the sea, the wagons followed a rutted cart-track that wound +downhill in a slow arc between an orchard hedge and an open meadow +dotted with cattle. High beyond the orchard rose a cluster of elms, +around which many rooks were cawing, and between the elms a blue smoke +drifted. There too the grey roof of the farmhouse crept little by +little into sight; and so they came to a second gate and the rick-yard; +and beyond the ricks was a whitewashed doorway, where a smiling elderly +woman stood to welcome them. This was Mrs. Tossell, forewarned many +minutes since by their singing. + +She had come straight from preparing the feast, and her face was yet +flushed with the heat of the kitchen fire. The arrival of the extra +mouths to be fed did not put her out in the least. But she looked the +children over with eyes at once benevolent and critical--their clothes +and their faces--and said frankly that they wanted a wash, which was +only too evident, the _Evan Evans_ being a peculiarly grimy boat, even +for a collier. + +"The sooner the better," agreed Tilda with the utmost alacrity. + +"Well, and I'm glad you take it like that," said their hostess, nodding +approval. She called "Hepsy! Hepsy!" and an elderly serving-woman +answered the summons. "Run, Hepsy, and fill the wash-house boiler," she +commanded. + +Within twenty minutes two long wash-trays stood ready and steaming--one +for Tilda in the wash-kitchen itself, the other for Arthur Miles in a +small outhouse adjoining; and while the children revelled in this +strange new luxury, Mrs. Tossell bethought her of certain garments in a +press upstairs--a frock and some underclothing long since outgrown by +Sabina, a threadworn shirt and a suit that had formerly habited Obed, +her youngest, all preserved and laid away on the principle (as she put +it) that "Store is no Sore." + +It was Chrissy, the pretty girl, who carried his clean garments to +Arthur Miles; and he, being caught naked in the wash-tub, blushed +furiously. But Chrissy was used to brothers, and took stock of him +composedly. + +"My!" she exclaimed, "what pretty white skin you've got!" And with that +her quick eyes noted the mark on his shoulder. "Well, I never--but +that's funny!" + +"What's funny?" asked the boy. + +"I'll tell you later, in the kitchen," she promised, and went off to +Tilda. + +The kitchen was of noble size--far larger even than the refectory at +Holy Innocents' Orphanage--and worthy of the feast Mrs. Tossell had +arrayed there to celebrate the sheep-bringing. The table, laden with +hot pies, with dishes of fried rasher and hog's-puddings, +black-puddings, sausages, with cold ham and cold ribs of beef, with +apple tarts, junkets, jellies, syllabubs, frumenties, with mighty +tea-pots and flagons of cider, ran close alongside the window-seat where +the children were given their places, and whence, turning their heads, +they looked out upon a garden set with clipped box-trees, and bordered +with Michaelmas daisies, and upon a tall dove-cote of many holes and +ledges crowded with pigeons settling down to their night's rest. On the +outside of the table ran an unbacked bench, and at top and bottom stood +two ample elbowed chairs for the farmer and his wife; but Mrs. Tossell +had surrendered hers to a black-coated man whom all addressed as +"Minister," though in talk among themselves they spoke of him rather as +The Rounder. Before the company sat he delivered a long grace with much +unction. Tilda--a child of the world, and accustomed to take folks as +she found them--eyed him with frank curiosity; but in Arthur Miles his +black coat and white tie awoke a painful association of ideas, and for a +while the child sat nervous and gloomy, without appetite to eat . . . +Tilda for once was unobservant of him. The Minister, with his long thin +neck, straggling black beard, weak, eloquent mouth and black, shining +eyes--the eyes of a born visionary--failed, as well they might, to +suggest a thought of Dr. Glasson. She was hungry, too, and her small +body glowing deliciously within her clean garments. Amid all this +clatter of knives and forks, these laughing voices, these cheerful, +innocent faces, who could help casting away care? + +Now and again her eyes wandered around the great kitchen--up to the +oaken roof, almost black with age, and the hams, sides of bacon, bundles +of potherbs, bags of simples, dangling from its beams; across to the +old jack that stretched athwart the wall to the left of the fireplace--a +curious apparatus, in old times (as Chrissy explained to her) turned by +a dog, but now disused and kept only as a relic; to the tall settle on +the right with the bars beneath the seat, and behind the bars (so +Chrissy averred) a couple of live geese imprisoned, and quietly sitting +on their eggs amid all this uproar; to the great cave of the fireplace +itself, hung with pothooks and toothed cramps, where a fire of logs +burned on a hearthstone so wide that actually--yes, actually--deep in +its recess, and behind the fire, were set two smoke-blackened seats, one +in each farther angle under the open chimney. + +Before the feast had been twenty minutes in progress the farmer looked +up and along the table and called for lights. His eyes, he explained, +were not so young as they had been. Roger--tallest of the young men-- +jumped up and lit two oil-lamps that hung from the beams. The lamps had +immense reflectors above them, made of tin; but they shone like silver, +and Tilda took them for silver. + +"That's cheerfuller!" shouted Farmer Tossell with a laugh of great +contentment, and fell-to again. + +But as the light wavered and anon grew steady, Chrissy leaned over +Tilda, touched Arthur Miles on the shoulder, and pointed to the wall +opposite. Tilda stared also, following the direction of her finger. + +The lamp-light, playing on the broad chimney-piece with its brass +candlesticks and china ornaments, reached for a yard or so up the wall, +and then was cut off by the shadow of the reflectors. But in that +illuminated space, fronting the children, stood out a panel of plaster, +moulded in high relief, overlaid with a wash of drab-coloured paint. +The moulding was of a coat-of-arms--a shield surrounded by a foliated +pattern, and crossed with the same four diamond device as was tattooed +on Miles Arthur's shoulder--this with two antlered stags, collared, with +hanging chains for supporters; above it a cap of maintenance and a +stag's head coupe for crest; and beneath a scroll bearing some words +which Tilda could not decipher. She glanced at Chrissy, alert at once +and on the defensive. She had recognised the four diamonds, but all the +rest was a mere mystery to her. + +"He's got just that mark on his shoulder," said Chrissy, meeting her +gaze and nodding towards the shield. + +"Has he?" said Tilda disingenuously. + +But she was jealous already, and by habit distrustful of her sex. + +"Didn't you know? I noticed it, just now, when he was stripped. And I +thought for a moment . . . you two coming and asking for Sir Miles. + . . . But I'm always supposing some secret or other. Mother says it +comes of muzzing my head with books, and then putting two and two +together and making 'em five. . . . It's fanciful, of course"--here +Chrissy sighed--"things don't happen like that in real life. . . . But +there's always been stories about Sir Miles; and when I saw the mark--it +_is_ queer, now--" + +But Tilda kept a steady face, her eyes fixed on the escutcheon. + +"What does it mean?" she asked. "I don't know about these things." + +"Why it's Sir Miles's coat-of-arms; of the Chandons, that is. Inistow +Farm used to belong to them--belonged to them for hundreds of years, +right down to the time Miss Sally bought it. Father farmed it under +them for thirty years before that, and his father, and his grandfather, +and his great-greats--back ever so long. He was terribly put out when +it changed hands; but now he says 'Thank the Lord' when he talks of it." + +"Changed hands?" Tilda found herself echoing. + +"Yes. Inistow has belonged to Miss Sally these five years now. I +thought maybe you'd be knowing all about her and Sir Miles--coming like +this and inquiring for them. She's a good one, is Miss Sally; but when +a woman sees a man poor--well, of course, that's her revenge." + +"Is--is Sir Miles _poor?_" + +Tilda's hopes were tottering, falling about her, she hardly knew how or +why. Vaguely she had been building up a fabric of hope that she was +helping Arthur Miles home to a splendid inheritance. Such things +happened, almost as a matter of course, in the penny fiction to which +her reading had been exclusively confined. To be sure, they never +happened--they were wildly unlikely to happen--in the world of her own +limited experience. But in the society to which the boy belonged by his +gentle manners and his trick of speech, which could only come as a +birthright--in that rarefied world where the ladies wore low gowns, with +diamonds around their necks, and the gentlemen dined in fine linen with +wide shirt-fronts--all life moved upon the machinery of romance. +The books said so; and after that romance she had been pursuing, by +degrees more consciously, from fugitive hints almost to certainty that a +few hours would give it into her grasp. And now-- + +"Is--is he poor?" she repeated. She could not understand it. +The story-books always conducted the long-lost heir to rank and wealth +in the end. + +"Well, he don't _spend_ money, they say," answered Chrissy. "But nobody +knows for certain. His tenants never see him. He's always abroad: +he's abroad now--" + +"Abroad?" + +This was worse and worse. + +"Or else shut up at Meriton--that's the great house--with a lot of nasty +chemicals, trying to turn copper pennies into gold, they say." + +Tilda caught at this hope. + +"P'r'aps 'e'll manage it, one of these days." + +"That's silly. Folks have been trying it for hundreds of years, and +it'll never be done." + +"And 'Olmness? 'As Miss Sally bought 'Olmness too?" + +"No; he wouldn't part with it, for some reason. But father rents the +grazing from him; same as before, when th' island belonged to Inistow +Farm. There's a tale--" + +But Tilda was not to hear the tale, for just now Mrs. Tossell pushed +back her chair, and at her signal the feast ended. All left the table, +and exchanged their benches for the settle or for chairs which they drew +in a wide semicircle around the fireplace. Across the warm chord of +this semicircle the sheep-dogs, stretched before the blaze, looked up +lazily, and settled themselves to doze again. 'Dolph, lying a little +apart (for they declined to take notice of him), copied their movements +in an ingratiating but not very successful attempt to appear bred to the +manner. + +Tilda remarked that the company took their new positions with some +formality. The shepherd alone comported himself carelessly, slouching +around to the back of the fire, where he lit a clay pipe from the embers +and seated himself on one of the ingle-ends, so that his tobacco smoke +had a clear passage up the chimney. Then, almost before the children +knew what was happening, the Minister gave out a hymn. + +All sang it lustily, and when it was ended all dropped on their knees. +The Minister broke into prayer--at first in smooth, running sentences, +formal thanksgivings for the feast just concluded, for the plenty of +seedtime and harvest, for the kindly fruits of the earth, with +invocations of blessing upon the house and the family. But by and by, +as these petitions grew more intimate, his breath came in short gasps. +"O the Blood!" he began to cry; "the precious Blood of Redemption!" +And at intervals one or other of his listeners answered "Amen!" +"Hallelujah!" Tilda wondered what on earth it was all about; wondered +too--for she knelt with her back to the great fireplace--if the shepherd +had laid by his pipe and was kneeling among the ashes. Something in the +Minister's voice had set her brain in a whirl, and kept it whirling. + +"Glory! Glory! The Blood! Glory be for the Blood!" + +And with that, of a sudden the man was shouting a prayer for _her_--for +her and Arthur Miles, "that these two lambs also might be led home with +the flock, and sealed--sealed with the Blood, with the precious Blood, +with the ever-flowing Blood of Redemption--" + +Her brain seemed to be spinning in a sea of blood . . . Men and women, +all had risen from their knees now, and stood blinking each in the +other's faces half-stupidly. The Minister's powerful voice had ceased, +but he had set them going as a man might twirl a teetotum; and in five +or six seconds one of the men--it was Roger, the young giant--burst +forth with a cry, and began to ejaculate what he called his +"experience." He had been tempted to commit the Sin without Pardon; had +been pursued by it for weeks, months, when alone in the fields; had been +driven to wrestle with it in hollows and waste places, Satan always at +his ear whispering to him to say the words of blasphemy, to cross the +line, to have rest of mind though it were in damnation. To Tilda this +was all mere gibberish, but to the youth and to his hearers all real and +deadly earnest. His words came painfully, from a dry throat; the effort +twisted him in bodily contortions pitiful to see; the sweat stood on +his handsome young forehead--the brow of a tortured Apollo. And the +circle of listeners bent forward to the tale, eager, absorbed, helping +out his agony with groans and horrified murmurs. They held their +breath, and when he reached the crisis, and in a gush of words related +his deliverance--casting up both arms and drawing one long shuddering +breath--they could almost see the bonds burst on the muscles of his +magnificent chest, and broke afresh into exultant cries: "Glory!" +"Hallelujah!" "The Blood--the Blood!" while the shepherd in the +ingle-nook slowly knocked out the ashes of his pipe against the heel of +his boot. He was a free-thinker, an ex-Chartist, and held himself aloof +from these emotions, though privileged, as an old retainer, to watch +them. His face was impassive as a carved idol's. + +The young giant dropped back into his chair, and doubtless a second +spiritual gust was preparing to shake the company--you could feel it in +the air--when Godolphus intervened. That absurd animal, abashed by a +series of snubbings, probably saw a chance to rehabilitate himself. +For certain during the last few minutes he had been growing excited, +sitting up with bright eyes, and opening and shutting his mouth as in a +dumb effort at barking. Now, to the amazement of all, including the +sheep-dogs, he lifted himself upon his hind legs and began to gyrate +slowly. + +Everyone stared. In the tension nobody yet laughed, although Tilda, +throwing a glance toward the chimney-corner, saw the shepherd's jaw +relax in a grin. Her head yet swam. She felt a spell upon her that +must be broken now or never. + +"'Dolph!" she called, and wondered at the shrill sound of her own voice. +"'Dolph!" She was standing erect, crooking her arm. The dog dropped on +his fore-paws, crouched, and sprang through the hoop she made for him; +crouched, sprang back again, alighted, and broke into a paean of +triumphant yelps. + +Tilda was desperate now. With a happy inspiration she waved her hand to +the ancient jack against the wall, and 'Dolph sprang for it, though he +understood the command only. But he was a heavy dog, and as the rusty +machine began to revolve under his weight, his wits jumped to the +meaning of it, and he began to run like a turnspit demented. + +"Faster! 'Dolph!" + +The Minister had arisen, half-scandalised, on the point of calling for +silence; but his eyes fell on Tilda, and he too dropped back into his +chair. The child had raised both arms, and was bending her body +back--back--until her fingers touched the hem of her skirt behind her. +Her throat even sank out of view behind her childish bust. The +shepherd's pipe dropped, and was smashed on the hearthstone. There was +a silence, while still Godolphus continued to rotate. Someone broke it, +suddenly gasping "Hallelujah!" + +"Amen! Tis working--'tis working!" + +In despite of the Minister, voice after voice took up the clamour. +Farmer Tossell's louder than any. And in the height of the fervour +Tilda bent her head yet lower, twisted her neck sideways, and stared up +at the ring of faces from between her ankles! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE HUNTED STAG. + + +"_Three hundred gentlemen, able to ride, + Three hundred horses as gallant and free, + Beheld him escape on the evening tide + Far out till he sank in the Severn Sea . . . + The stag, the runnable stag._"--JOHN DAVIDSON. + +Early next morning the two children awoke in clean beds that smelt +deliciously of lavender. The feeling was so new to them and so +pleasant, that for a while they lay in luxurious ease, gazing out upon +so much of the world as could be seen beyond the window--a green +hillside scattered with gorse-bushes, sheeted with yellowing brake-fern +and crossed by drifting veils of mist: all golden in the young sunshine, +and all framed in a tangle of white-flowered solanum that clambered +around the open casement. Arthur Miles lay and drank in the mere beauty +of it. How should he not? Back at the Orphanage, life--such as it +was--and the day's routine had always taken care of themselves; he had +accepted, suffered them, since to change them at all lay out of his +power. But Tilda, after a minute, sat upright in her bed, with knees +drawn up beneath the bedclothes and hands clasped over them. + +"This is a good place," she announced, and paused. "_An'_ decent +people, though rummy." Then, as the boy did not answer, "The best thing +we can do is stay 'ere, if they'll let us." + +"Stay here?" he echoed. There was surprise in the echo and dismay. +"But why should we stay here?" + +"W'y not?" + +She had yet to break it to him that Sir Miles Chandon was abroad, and +would (so Miss Chrissy had told her) almost certainly remain abroad for +months to come. She must soften the blow. + +"W'y not?" she repeated. "They're kind 'ere. If they'll keep us we can +look about an' make inquiries." + +"But we must get to the Island." + +"The Island? Oh, yes, I dessay we'll get there sometime or another. +What're you doin'?" she asked, for he had leapt out of bed and run to +the window. + +"Looking for it." + +But the Island was not visible. This gable of the house fronted a steep +coombe, which doubtless wound its way to the sea, since far to the right +a patch of sea shone beyond a notch in the enfolding slopes. + +"It'll stay there, don't you fret," Tilda promised. "'Wish I could be +as sure that _we'd_ stay _'ere_: though, far as I can see, we're safe +enough for a few days. The old lady's puzzled about me. I reckon she +don't attend circuses--nor the Minister neither--an' that Child-Acrobat +turn fairly fetched 'em. They set it down to the 'fects of grace. I +'eard them talkin' it over, an' that was 'ow the Minister put it-- +whatever 'e meant." + +"Well, but wasn't it?" + +Arthur Miles had come back from the window, and stood at the foot of the +bed in a nightshirt many sizes too large for him. + +"Wasn't it _wot?_" + +"Hadn't--hadn't it anything to do with the praying?" + +"Garn!" Tilda chuckled. "But I'm glad it took _you_ in too. +The foolishness was my overdoin' it with 'Dolph. Dogs don't 'ave any +religion, it seems; and it rattled 'em a bit, 'is be'avin' like a person +that 'ad just found salvation. The Minister talked some science about +it to Mother Tossell--said as 'ow dogs 'adn't no souls but a 'eap of +_sympathy_; and it ended by 'er 'avin' a good cry over me when she +tucked me up for the night, an' sayin' as after all I might be a brand +plucked from the burnin'. But it didn' take in Miss Chrissy, as I could +tell from the look in 'er eyes." + +Whatever Miss Chrissy's doubts may have been, she chose a curious and +perhaps a subtle method of expressing them. After breakfast she took +Tilda to her room, and showed her a small volume with a cloth binding +printed over with blue forget-me-nots and a gilt title, _The Lady's +Vade-Mecum, or How to Shine in Society_. It put forth a preface in +which a lady, who signed herself "One of the Upper Ten Thousand" but +gave no further clue to her identity, undertook (as she put it) +"to steer the aspirant through the shoals and cross-currents which beset +novitiate in the _haut-ton_;" and Miss Chrissy displayed the manual +shyly, explaining that she had bought it in Taunton, and in a foolish +moment. "It flies too high for me. It says, under 'Cards,' that no +lady who respects herself would talk about the 'Jack of Spades'; but +when I played _Fives and Sevens_ at the last harvest supper but one, and +started to call him a Knave, they all made fun of me till I gave it up." +She opined, nevertheless, that Tilda would find some good reading in it +here and there; and Tilda, sharp as a needle, guessed what Miss Chrissy +meant--that a study of it would discourage an aspirant to good society +from smiling up at it between her ankles. She forgave the divined +intention of the gift, for the gift itself was precisely what her soul +had been craving. She borrowed it for the day with affected +nonchalance--Tilda never gave herself away--and hugged the volume in her +pocket as she and Arthur Miles and 'Dolph explored the coombe's downward +windings to the sea. + +A moor stream ran down the coombe, dodging and twisting between the +overlaps of the hills, and ended in a fairy waterfall, over which it +sprang some thirty feet to alight on a beach of clean-washed boulders. +Close beside the edge of the fall stood a mud-walled cottage, untenanted +and roofless, relic of a time when Farmer Tossell's father had +adventured two or three hundred pounds in the fishery, and kept a man +here with two grown sons to look after his nets. Nettles crowded the +doorway, and even sprouted from crevices of the empty window sockets. +Nettles almost breast-high carpeted the kitchen floor to the +hearthstone. Nettles, in fact--whole regiments of nettles--had taken +possession and defended it. But Tilda, with the book in her pocket, +decided that here was the very spot for her--a real house in which to +practise the manners and deportment of a real lady, and she resolved to +borrow or steal a hook after dinner and clear the nettles away. +Farmer Tossell had promised the children that on the morrow he would +(as he put it) ride them over to Miss Sally's house at Culvercoombe, to +pay a call on that great gentlewoman; to-morrow being Sunday and his day +of leisure. But to-day he was busy with the sheep, and the children had +a long morning and afternoon to fill up as best they might. + +Arthur Miles did not share Tilda's rapture over the ruined cottage, and +for a very good reason. He was battling with a cruel disappointment. +All the way down the coombe he had been on the look-out for his Island, +at every new twist and bend hoping for sight of it; and behold, when +they came here to the edge of the beach, a fog almost as dense as +yesterday's had drifted up Channel, and the Island was invisible. +Somewhere out yonder it surely lay, and faith is the evidence of things +not seen; but it cost him all his fortitude to keep back his tears and +play the man. + +By and by, leaning over the edge of the fall, he made a discovery that +almost cheered him. Right below, and a little to the left of the rocky +pool in which the tumbling stream threw up bubbles like champagne, lay a +boat--a boat without oars or mast or rudder, yet plainly serviceable, +and even freshly painted. She was stanch too, for some pints of water +overflowed her bottom boards where her stern pointed down the beach-- +collected rain water, perhaps, or splashings from the pool. + +The descent appeared easy to the right of the fall, and the boy +clambered down to examine her. She lay twenty feet or more--or almost +twice her length--above the line of dried seaweed left by the high +spring tides. Arthur Miles knew nothing about tides; but he soon found +that, tug as he might at the boat, he could not budge her an inch. +By and by he desisted and began to explore the beach. A tangle of +bramble bushes draped the low cliff to the right of the waterfall, and +peering beneath these, he presently discovered a pair of paddles and a +rudder, stored away for safety. He dragged out one of the paddles and +carried it to the boat, in the stern-sheets of which he made his next +find--five or six thole-pins afloat around a rusty baler. He was now as +well equipped as a boy could hope to be for an imaginary voyage, and was +fixing the thole-pins for an essay in the art of rowing upon dry land, +when Tilda, emerging from the cottage (where the nettles stung her legs) +and missing him, came to the edge of the fall in a fright lest he had +tumbled over and broken his neck. Then, catching sight of him, she at +once began to scold--as folks will, after a scare. + +"Come down and play at boats!" the boy invited her. + +"Shan't!" snapped Tilda. "Leave that silly boat alone, an' come an' +play at houses." + +"Boats aren't silly," he retorted; "not half so silly as a house without +any roof." + +"A boat out of water--bah!" + +Here Tilda was forced to stoop and rub her calves, thus in one moment +demonstrating by word and action how much she had to learn before +qualifying to shine in Society. + +So for the first time the two children quarrelled, and on the first day +that invited them to cast away care and be as happy as they listed. +Arthur Miles turned his back upon Tilda, and would not budge from his +boat; while Tilda seated herself huffily upon a half-decayed log by the +cottage doorway, with 'Dolph beside her, and perused _The Lady's +Vade-Mecum_. "A hostess," she read, "should make her preparations +beforehand, and especially avoid appearing _distraite_ during the +progress of dinner. . . . Small blunders in the service should either be +ignored, or, at the worst, glided over with a laughing apology. . . . +A trace too much of curacao in the _salade d'oranges_ will be less +easily detected and, if detected, more readily pardoned, than the +slightest suspicion of _gene_ on the part of the presiding goddess. . . +In England it is customary to offer sherry with the soup, but this +should not be dispensed lavishly. Nursed by a careful butler +(or parlour-maid, as the case may be), a single bottle will sherry +twelve guests, or, should the glasses be economical, thirteen. Remember +the Grecian proverb, 'Meden agan,' or 'In all things moderation.'" +All this Tilda read in a chapter which started with the sentence, +"A dinner is a Waterloo which even a Napoleon may lose; and it is with +especial care, therefore, almost with trepidation, that we open this +chapter. We will assume that our pupil has sufficiently mastered those +that precede it; that she is apparelled for the fray, her frock modest +but _chic_, her _coiffure_ adequate . . .'" This was going too fast. +She harked back and read, under _General Observations_, that "It is the +hall-mark of a lady to be sure of herself under all circumstances," and +that "A lady must practise self-restraint, and never allow herself to +exhibit temper." + +"And I'm showin' temper at this moment! Oh, 'Dolph"--she caught the dog +close to her in a hug--"the lot we've got to learn!" + +'Dolph might have answered that he for his part was practising +self-restraint, and practising it hard. He loved his mistress before +all the world, but he had no opinion of books, and would have vastly +preferred to be on the beach with Arthur Miles, nosing about the boat or +among the common objects of the seashore. + +By this time Arthur Miles, too, was feeling lonely and contrite. +On their way back to dinner--signalled by the blowing of a horn in the +farm-place--he ranged up beside Tilda and said gently, "I'm sorry," upon +which, to her astonishment, Tilda's eyes filled with tears. She herself +could not have said it; but somehow it was just by differing from her +and from other folks that this boy endeared himself. + +The reconciliation made them both very happy, and after dinner--to which +the whole family, the shepherd and half a dozen labourers assembled, so +that Tilda marvelled how, even with a fireplace so ample, Mrs. Tossell +managed to cook for them all--Arthur Miles boldly approached Chrissy and +got her to persuade her sweetheart, Festus, to lend him a hook. +Armed with this, the children retraced their steps down the coombe. +The fog had lifted a little, and in the offing Holmness loomed out +dimly, with a streak of golden light on the water beyond its westernmost +cliffs. But the boy nerved himself; he would not loiter to gaze at it, +but strode into the cottage and began hacking with great fierceness at +the nettles, which Tilda--her hands cased in a pair of old pruning +gloves--gathered in skirtfuls and carried out of door. Godolphus, in +his joy at this restored amity, played at assisting Arthur Miles in his +onslaught, barking and leaping at the nettles, yet never quite closely +enough to endanger his sensitive nose. + +They had been engaged thus for half an hour, perhaps, when they heard a +horn sounded far up the coombe. It had not the note of Mrs. Tossell's +dinner-horn; it seemed to travel, too, from a distance beyond the farm, +and as Tilda listened, it was followed by a yet fainter sound, as of +many dogs baying or barking together. 'Dolph heard it, yapped +excitedly, and made a dash out through the doorway. But, when Tilda +followed, the sounds had died away. The coombe was silent save for the +chatter of the fall and the mewing of an army of sea-gulls up the vale, +where, on the farthest slope in sight, young Roger paced to and fro with +a team of horses breaking up the stubble. + +Tilda whistled 'Dolph back and fell to work again, filling her lap with +nettles; but the load was scarcely complete before the dog, who had been +whimpering and trembling with excitement, made another dash for the +open, his yells all but drowning a thud of hooves with which a dark body +hurled itself past the doorway, between the children and the sunshine, +and so leapt clear for the beach over the fall. + +Tilda, running to the doorway, saw the animal leap, but in so quick a +flash that she noted nothing but its size, and mistook it for a +riderless, runaway horse. Then as it appeared again and with three +bounds cleared the beach and plunged into the sea, she knew that it was +no horse but a huge stag--even such a stag as she had seen portrayed on +menagerie posters--a huge Exmoor stag leaping dark against the sun, but +with a flame along the russet-gold ridge of his back and flame tipping +his noble antlers as he laid them back and breasted the quiet swell of +the waves. + +The hounds were close upon him. Not until they were close had he +quitted his hide-hole in the stream, where for the last time he had +broken the scent for them. This was the third stream he had used since +they had tufted him out of the wood where through the summer he had +lorded it, thirty-five miles away; and each stream had helped him, and +had failed him in the end. He had weakened the scent over stony ridges, +checked it through dense brakes of gorse, fouled and baffled it by +charging through herds of cattle and groups of hinds of his own race +couching or pasturing with their calves; for the stag-hunting season was +drawing close to its end, and in a few weeks it would be the hinds' +turn. But the hinds knew that their peril was not yet, and, being as +selfish as he, they had helped him but little or not at all. And now +his hour was near. + +For even while the children gazed after him the hounds came streaming +down the coombe in a flood, with a man on a grey horse close behind +them; and behind him, but with a gap between, a straggling line of +riders broke into sight, some scarlet-coated, others in black or in +tweeds. The man on the grey horse shouted up the hill to Roger, who had +left his team and was running. Away over the crest above him two +labourers hove in sight, these also running at full speed. And all-- +hounds, horses, men--were pouring down the coombe towards the beach. + +The hounds swept down in a mass so solid and compact that Tilda dragged +Arthur Miles into the doorway, fearful of being swept by them over the +edge of the fall. Past the cottage they streamed, down over the grassy +cliff, and across the beach. 'Dolph, barking furiously by the edge of +the waves, was caught and borne down by the first line of them--borne +down and rolled over into the water with no more ceremony than if he had +been a log. They did not deign to hurt him, but passed on swimming, and +he found his feet and emerged behind them, sneezing and shaking himself +and looking a fool. He was, as we know, sensitive about looking a fool; +but just then no one had time to laugh at him. + +The riders had arrived, and reined up, crowding the ledge before the +cottage, and the most of them stood raising themselves in their +stirrups, gazing after the stag that now, with little more than his +antlers visible like a bleached bough moving on the flood, swam strongly +out into the golden mist still cloaking the Island. Moment by moment he +out-distanced the wedge-shaped ripple where the heads of the tired pack +bobbed in pursuit; for here, as always in water, the deer held the +advantage, being able to float and rest at will while the hound must +always ply his forelegs or sink. The huntsman, however, judged it +impossible that he could reach Holmness. He and a dozen gentlemen had +dismounted, clambered down beside the fall, and were dragging the boat +down the beach to launch her, when Roger and the two labourers burst +through the throng and took charge; since to recover a deer that takes +to the sea means a guinea from the hunt. And the boat was necessary +now, for as the Inistow men launched her and sprang aboard the leading +hounds realised that their quarry could not be headed, or that their +remaining strength would scarcely carry them back to shore, and gave up +the chase. By this the hunted stag gained another respite, for as the +rowers pulled in his wake they had to pause half a dozen times and haul +on board a hound that appeared on the point of sinking. + +At the last moment the huntsman had leapt into the stern-sheets of the +boat. He had his knife ready, and the rowers too had a rope ready to +lasso the stags' antlers when they caught up with him. Ashore the +huddled crowd of riders watched the issue. The children watched with +them; and while they watched a sharp, authoritative voice said, close +above Tilda's ear-- + +"They won't reach him now. He'll sink before they get to him, and I'm +glad of it. He's given us the last and best run of as good a season as +either of us can remember--eh, Parson?" + +Tilda looked up with a sudden leap of the heart. Above her, on a raw +roan, sat a strong-featured lady in a bottle-green riding-habit, with a +top hat--the nap of which had apparently being brushed the wrong way-- +set awry on her iron-grey locks. + +The clergyman she addressed--a keen-faced, hunting parson, elderly, +clean-shaven, upright as a ramrod on his mud-splashed grey--answered +half to himself and in a foreign tongue. + +"Latin, hey? You must translate for me." + +"A pagan sentiment, ma'am, from a pagan poet . . . If I were Jove, that +stag should sleep to-night under the waves on a coral bed. He deserves +it." + +"Or, better still, swim out to Holmness and reign his last days there, a +solitary king." + +The Parson shook his head as he gazed. + +"They would be few and hungry ones, ma'am, on an island more barren than +Ithaca; no shady coverts, no young ash shoots to nibble, no turnip +fields to break into and spoil . . . Jove's is the better boon, by your +leave." + +"And, by Jove, he has it! . . . Use your eyes, please; yours are better +than mine. For my part, I've lost him." + +They sat erect in their saddles, straining their gaze over the sea. + +"It's hard to say--looking straight here against the sun, and with all +this fog drifting about--" + +But here a cry, breaking almost simultaneously from a score of riders, +drew his attention to the boat. + +"Yes, the boat--they have ceased pulling. He must have sunk!" + +"God rest his bones--if a Christian may say it." + +"Why not, ma'am?" + +But as he turned to her the lady turned also, bending down at a light +eager touch on her stirrup. + +"Oh, ma'am! . . . Oh, Miss Sally!" + +Miss Sally stared down into the small upturned face. + +"Eh? . . . Now where in the world have I seen _you_ before? Why, mercy, +if it ain't the child Elphinstone ran over!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE VOYAGE. + + +"_Many a green isle needs must be . . . _"--SHELLEY. + +The boat had given up its search, and returned to shore. The hunt had +wound back up the coombe in a body, and thence homeward in the failing +light over the heather, breaking up into small parties as their ways +parted, and calling good nights after the best run of the season. +But Miss Sally and Parson Chichester sat talking in the best parlour at +Inistow, and still sat on while the level sunset shone blood-red through +the geraniums on the window-ledge, and faded and gave place to twilight. + +They had heard the children's story; had turned it inside out and upside +down, cross-questioning them both; and had ended by dismissing them for +the time. To-morrow, Miss Sally promised, Farmer Tossell should be as +good as his word, and ride them over to Culvercoombe, where perhaps she +might have a few more questions to put to them. For the present she and +Mr. Chichester had enough to talk over. + +The interview had lasted a good hour, and Arthur Miles was glad to +regain his liberty. The boy's manner had been polite enough, but +constrained. He had stripped and shown the mark on his shoulder; he had +answered all questions truthfully, and Miss Sally's readily--with the +Parson he had been less at home--but he had managed to convey the +impression that he found the whole business something of a bore; and, +indeed, he asked himself, Where was the point of it? If only, instead +of asking questions, they would take him to the Island now! . . . + +But when he would have followed Tilda from the room, she took hold of +him, pushed him out, and closing the door upon him, turned back and +walked up to the two elders where they sat. + +"You mus'n' judge Arthur Miles by to-day," she pleaded, meeting the +amused, expectant twinkle in Miss Sally's eye. "'E didn't show at 'is +best--along of _'im_." + +She nodded towards the Parson. + +"Eh, to be sure," said Mr. Chichester, "what you may call my _locus +standi_ in this affair is just nothing at all. If the child had +demanded my right to be putting questions to him, 'faith, I don't know +what I could have answered." + +"It ain't that at all," said Tilda, after considering awhile. +"It's your bein' a clergyman. 'E's shy of clergymen. If ever you'd +seen Glasson you wouldn' wonder at it, neither." + +"I'd like to persuade him that the clergy are not all Glassons. +Perhaps you might ask him to give me a chance, next time?" + +"Oh, _you?_" Tilda answered, turning in the doorway and nodding gravely. +"_You're_ all right, o' course. W'y, you sit a hoss a'most well enough +for a circus!" + +"That child is a brick," laughed Miss Sally as the door closed. + +"At this moment," said Mr. Chichester, "I should be the last man in the +world to dispute it. Her testimonial was not, perhaps, unsolicited; +still, I never dreamed of one that tickled my secret vanity so happily. +I begin to believe her story, and even to understand how she has carried +through this amazing anabasis. Shall we have the horses saddled?" + +He rang the bell. Mrs. Tossell answered it, bringing with her a tray of +cold meats, apple tart, syllabubs, glasses, and a flagon of home-made +cider. Yes, to be sure, they might have their horses saddled; but they +might not go before observing Inistow's full ritual of hospitality. + +Miss Sally plied (as she put it) a good knife and fork, and the Parson +was hungry as a hunter should be. They ate, therefore, and talked +little for a while: there would be time for talk on the long homeward +ride. But when, in Homer's words, they had put from them the desire of +meat and drink, and had mounted and bidden Mrs. Tossell farewell, Parson +Chichester reopened the conversation. + +"You believe the child's story, then?" + +"Why, of course; and so must you. Man alive, truth was written all over +it!" + +"Yes, yes; I was using a fashion of speech. And the boy?" + +"Is Miles Chandon's son. On that too you may lay all Lombard Street to +a china orange." In the twilight Miss Sally leaned forward for a moment +and smoothed her roan's mane. "You know the history, of course?" + +"Very little of it. I knew, to be sure, that somehow Chandon had made a +mess of things--turned unbeliever, and what not--" + +"Is that all?" Miss Sally, for all her surprise, appeared to be +slightly relieved. "But I was forgetting. You're an unmarried man: a +wife would have taught you the tale and a hundred guesses beside. +Of all women in the world, parsons' wives are the most inquisitive." + +Mr. Chichester made no reply to this. She glanced at him after a pause, +and observed that he rode with set face and looked straight ahead +between his horse's ears. + +"Forgive me," she said. "When folks come to our time of life without +marrying, nine times out of ten there has been a mess; and what I said a +moment since is just the flippant talk we use to cover it up. By 'our +time of life' I don't mean, of course, that we're of an age, you and I, +but that we've fixed our fate, formed our habits, made our beds and must +lie in 'em as comfortably as we can manage. . . . I was a girl when +Miles Chandon came to grief; you were a grown man--had been away for +years, if I recollect, on some missionary expedition." + +"In north-east China." + +"To be sure, yes; and, no doubt, making the discovery that converting +Chinamen was as hopeless a business as to forget Exmoor and the +Quantocks." + +"I had put my hand to the plough--" + +"--and God by an illness gently released it. I have heard . . . Well, +to get back to Miles Chandon. . . . He was young--a second son, you'll +remember, and poor at that; a second lieutenant in the Navy, with no +more than his pay and a trifling allowance. The boy had good +instincts," said Miss Sally with a short, abrupt laugh. "I may as well +say at once that he wanted to marry me, but had been forced to dismiss +the notion." + +Again she paused a moment before taking up the story. + +"Well, his ship--the _Pegasus_--was bringing him home after two years on +the Australian station. . . . Heaven help me! I'm an old sportswoman +now, and understand something of the male animal and his passions. +In those days I must have been--or so it strikes me, looking back--a +sort of plain-featured Diana; 'chaste huntress'--isn't that what they +called her? At any rate, the story shocked, even sickened, me a little +at the time. . . . It appears that the night before making Plymouth +Sound he made a bet in the wardroom--a bet of fifty pounds--that he'd +marry the first woman he met ashore. Pretty mad, was it not?--even for +a youngster coming home penniless, with no prospects, and to a home he +hated; for his father and mother were dead, and he and his elder brother +Anthony had never been able to hit it off. . . . On the whole, you may +say he got better than he deserved. For some reason or other they +halted the _Pegasus_ outside the Hamoaze--dropped anchor in Cawsand Bay, +in fact; and there, getting leave for shore, the young fool met his fate +on Cawsand quay. She was a coast-guard's daughter--a decent girl, I've +heard, and rather strikingly handsome. I'll leave it to you what he +might have found if he'd happened to land at Plymouth. . . . He got more +than half-drunk that night; but a day or two later, when the ship was +paid off, he went back from Plymouth to Cawsand, and within a week he +had married her. Then it turned out that fate had been nursing its +stroke. At Sidmouth, on the second day of the honeymoon, a redirected +telegram reached him, and he learnt that by Anthony's death Meriton was +his, and the title with it. He left his bride at once, and posted up to +Meriton for the funeral, arriving just in time; and there I saw him, for +we all happened to be at Culvercoombe for the shooting, and women used +to attend funerals in those days. . . . No one knew of the marriage; but +that same evening he rode over to Culvercoombe, asked for a word with me +in private, and told me the whole story--pluckily enough, I am bound to +say. God knows what I had expected those words in private to be; and +perhaps in the revulsion of learning the truth I lashed out on him. + . . . Yes, I had a tongue in those days--have still, for that matter; +not a doubt but I made him feel it. The world, you see, seemed at an +end for both of us. I had no mother to help me, and my brother +Elphinstone's best friend wouldn't call him the man to advise in such a +business. Moreover, where was the use of advice? The thing was done, +past undoing. . . Oh," Miss Sally went on, "you are not to think I +broke my heart over it. As I've tried to explain, I was disgusted +rather: I loathed the man, and--and--well, this is not the history of +Sally Breward, so once more we'll get back to Miles Chandon. . . . He +rode off; but he didn't ride back to Sidmouth. In his rage he did a +thing that, I now see, was far baser than his original folly. I saw it +as soon as my mind cleared; but--since this is a confession of a sort-- +I didn't see it at the time, for I hated the woman. He wrote her a +letter; stuck a cheque inside, I dare say--he was brute enough just +then; and told her she might claim her price if she chose, but that he +would never see her again. . . . She went back to her coast-guard +people." + +"It would seem," said Mr. Chichester gravely, as she paused for a while, +"that he did not even supply her with alimony--that is, if the child's +story be true." + +"Probably she refused to accept any. I think we must suppose that, in +justice to her--and to him. Let me finish my confession. . . . +I thought I could never endure to look on the woman; I have never, as a +fact, set eyes on her. I don't know that she ever knew of my existence. +If we meet, t'other side of the grave, there'll be a deal to be +discussed between us before we straighten things out; but I'll have to +start by going up and introducing myself and telling her that, in the +end, she beat me. . . . Yes, parson, you'll hardly believe it, but one +day, finding myself in Plymouth, I took a boat from Admiral's Hard, and +crossed over to Maker Parish to make inquiries. This was two years +later, and she had gone--moved with her father (God help her, like me +she hadn't a mother) to some station on the east coast--the folk in +Cawsand and Kingsand couldn't tell me where. But they told me a child +had been born; which was new to me. They weren't sure that it was +alive, and were wholly vague about the father--called him Chandon, to be +sure, but supposed the name to be spelt with an 'S' as pronounced; told +me he was an officer in the Navy, reputed to be an earl's son. Gossip +had arrived no nearer. She was respectable, all agreed; no doubt about +her marriage lines; and the register confirmed it, with the right +spelling--the marriage and, ten months later, the boy's christening. +Arthur Miles was the name. That is all, or almost all. It seems that +towards the end of his time there her father became maudlin in his wits; +and the woman--her maiden name had been Reynolds, Helen Reynolds--relied +for help and advice upon an old shipmate of his, also a coast-guard, +called Ned Commins. It was Ned Commins they followed when he was moved +to the east coast, the father being by this time retired on a pension. +And that is really all. I was weary, ashamed of my curiosity, and +followed the search no further." + +"You must follow it now," said Parson Chichester quietly. + +"That's understood." + +"What do you propose as the first step?" + +"Why, to ride to Meriton to-morrow, and get Miles Chandon's address. +He's somewhere in the South of France. It's ten years or so since we +parted, that evening of the funeral; but a telegram from me will fetch +him, or I am mistaken." + +"Let me save you some trouble. To-morrow is Sunday, and my parishioners +will be glad enough to escape a sermon at Morning Service. Let me cut +the sermon and ride over to Meriton, get the address and bring it to +Culvercoombe. I ought to reach there by three in the afternoon, but the +precise hour does not matter, since in these parts there's no +telegraphing before Monday." + +"That's a good neighbourly offer, and I'll accept it," answered Miss +Sally. "I could ride over to Meriton myself, of course. But Tossell +has promised to bring the children to Culvercoombe in the early +afternoon, and this will give you an excuse to be present. Some +questions may occur to you between this and then; and, anyway, I'd like +to have you handy." + +No more was said. They parted, having come to a point where the rising +moon showed their paths lying separate across the moor. Their lonely +homes lay eight miles apart. Even by daylight one unaccustomed to the +moor could hardly have detected the point where the track divided in the +smothering heather. But these two could have found it even in the dark; +being hunters both, and children of the moor, born and bred. + +Had they known it, even while they talked together, something was +happening to upset their plans for the morrow, and for days to come. + +The children, as they left the parlour, had been intercepted by Mrs. +Tossell with the information that tea was ready for them in the kitchen. + +"Wot, another meal?" said Tilda. + +Twenty-four hours ago a world that actually provided too much to eat +would have been inconceivable by her. But already the plenty of Inistow +was passing from a marvel into a burden. It seemed to her that the +great kitchen fire never rested, as indeed it seldom did. Even when the +house slept, great cauldrons of milk hung simmering over the hot wood +ashes. + +Tea over, the children started once again for their waterfall; and this +time in haste, for the hollow of the coombe lay already in shadow, and +soon the yellow evening sunlight would be fading on its upper slopes. +Arthur Miles hungered for one clear view of his Island before nightfall; +Tilda was eager to survey the work accomplished that afternoon in the +cottage; while 'Dolph scampered ahead and paused anon, quivering with +excitement. Who can say what the dog expected? Perchance down this +miraculous valley another noble stag would come coursing to his death; +and next time 'Dolph would know how to behave, and would retrieve his +reputation--to which, by the way, no one had given a thought. But dogs +can be self-conscious as men. + +Lo! when they came to the ledge above the fall, Holmness was visible, +vignetted in a gap of the lingering fog, and standing so clear against +the level sunset that its rocky ledges, tipped here and there with +flame, appeared but a mile distant, or only a trifle more. He caught +his breath at sight of it, and pointed. But Tilda turned aside to the +cottage. This craze of his began to annoy her. + +She was yet further annoyed when he joined her there, ten minutes later, +and appeared to pay small attention, if he listened at all, to her plans +for to-morrow, before the ride to Culvercoombe. There could be no more +nettle-clearing to-day. Dusk was gathering fast, and in another hour +the moon would rise. So back once more they fared, to find Mrs. +Tossell busily laying supper; and close after supper came prayer, and +bedtime on the stroke of nine. + +An hour later Tilda--who slept, as a rule, like a top--awoke from uneasy +dreams with a start, and opened her eyes. A flood of moonlight poured +in at the window, and there in the full ray of it stood Arthur Miles, +fully dressed. + +The boy let drop the window-curtain, and came across to her bed. + +"Are you awake?" he whispered. "Get up and dress--we can do it easily." + +"Do what?" + +"There's a tank just under the window--with a slate cover: we can lower +ourselves down to it from the sill, and after that it's not six feet to +the ground." + +"What's up with you?" She raised herself, and sat rubbing her eyes. +"Oh, get yer clothes off an' go back to bed! Walkin' in yer sleep you +must be." + +"If you won't come with me, I'm going alone." + +"Eh?" She stared at him across the moon-ray, for he had gone back to the +window and lifted the curtain again. "But _where_ in the world?" + +"To Holmness." + +"'Olmness? . . . It's crazed you are." + +"I am not crazed at all. It's all quite easy, I tell you--easy and +simple. They've left the boat afloat--I've found out how to get to +her--and the night is as still as can be. . . . Are you coming?" + +"You'll be drowned, I tell you--drowned or lost, for sure--" + +"Are you coming?" + +He did not reason with her, or she would have resisted. He spoke very +calmly, and for the first time she felt his will mastering hers. +One thing was certain--she could not let him go alone. . . . She threw +back the bedclothes, slipped out, and began to dress, protesting all the +while against the folly of it. + +To reach the ground was mere child's-play, as he had promised. From the +broad window-ledge to the slate tank was an easy drop, and from the tank +they lowered themselves to a gravelled pathway that led around this +gable of the house. They made the least possible noise, for fear of +awakening the farm-dogs; but these slept in an out-house of the great +farmyard, which lay on the far side of the building. Here the moon +shone into a diminutive garden with box-bordered flower-beds, and half a +dozen bee-skips in row against a hedge of privet, and at the end of the +gravelled walk a white gate glimmering. + +Arthur Miles tip-toed to the gate, lifted its latch very cautiously, and +held it aside for Tilda to pass. They were free. + +"Of all the madness!" she muttered as they made for the coombe. + +The boy did not answer. He knew the way pretty well, for this was their +fourth journey. But the moonlight did not reach, save here and there, +the hollows through which the path wound, and each step had to be +carefully picked. + +"Look 'ere," she essayed again after a while, "I won't say but this is a +lark, if on'y you'll put that nonsense about 'Olmness out of yer mind. +We can go down to the cottage an' make believe it's yer ancesteral +'ome--" + +"Wh'st!" he commanded sharply, under his breath. + +She listened. Above the murmur of the stream her ears caught a soft +pattering sound somewhere in the darkness behind. + +"What is it?" She caught at his arm. + +"I don't know. . . . Yes I do. 'Dolph?--is it 'Dolph? Here then-- +_good_ dog!" + +And sure enough 'Dolph came leaping out of the darkness, heaven knows +by what instinct guided. 'Dolph, too wise to utter a single bark, but +springing to lick their hands, and fawning against their legs. + +The dog's presence put new courage into Tilda, she scarcely knew why, +and henceforth she followed more confidently. With a stumble or two, +but no serious mishap, they groped their way down the coombe, and coming +to the ledge, saw the beach spread at their feet in the moonlight and +out on the water the dark boat heaving gently, a little beyond the edge +of the waves' ripple. The tide had receded since their last visit, and +Arthur Miles knew nothing about tides. But he had discovered the trick +of the boat's moorings. The farm-men, returning from their pursuit of +the stag, had dropped a small anchor attached to a shore-line, by which +at high-water they could draw her in and thus save themselves the +present labour of hauling her up the steep beach. But the weather being +fair, they had suffered high-water to pass, and let her ride out the +night as she lay. + +Arthur Miles knew the bush to which the shore-end of the line was +attached, and scrambling down beside the fall, found it easily and +untied it. As a fact (of which, however, he was quite unaware), he had +very little time to lose. In another twenty minutes the boat's keel +would have taken ground immovably. He ran down the beach, coiling the +slack of the line as he went; tugged at the anchor, which yielded +readily; found it; and almost at the same moment heard the boat's nose +grate softly on the pebbles. The beach shelved steeply, and her stern +lay well afloat; nor was there any run of sea to baffle him by throwing +her broadside-on to the stones. He hurried Tilda aboard. +She clambered over the thwarts to the stern-sheets, 'Dolph sprang after +her, and then with the lightest push the boy had her afloat--so easily +indeed that she had almost slid away, leaving him; but he just managed +to clutch the gunwale close by the stem and to scramble after. + +He seized an oar at once and thrust off. Next came the difficult job of +working her round and pointing her nose for the sea. Of rowing he knew +nothing at all, nor could Tilda help him. He could but lift the clumsy +oar, and ply it with the little skill he had learnt on the voyage down +Avon, as one plies a canoe-paddle. Even to do this he was forced to +stand erect in the stern-sheets: if he sat, the awkward pole would +over-weight his strength completely. But the boy had a native sense of +watermanship, and no fear at all; and the boat, being a stable old tub, +while taxing all his efforts, allowed a margin for mistakes. Little by +little he brought her round, and paddled her clear of the cove into +open water. + +Even then he might have desisted. For although the moon, by this time +high aloft behind his right shoulder, shone fair along the waterway to +the Island, the grey mass of which loomed up like the body of a +sea-monster anchored and asleep in the offing, he soon discovered that +his own strength would never suffice to drive the boat so far. +But almost on the moment of this discovery he made two others; the +first, that the tide--or, as he supposed it, the current--set down and +edged the boat at every stroke a little towards the Island, which lay, +in fact, well down to the westward of the cove, and by half a mile +perhaps; the second, that out here a breeze, hitherto imperceptible, was +blowing steadily off the land. He considered this for a while, and then +ordered Tilda, who by this time was shivering with cold, to pull up the +V-shaped bottom-board covering the well in the stern and fix it upright +in the bows. She did this obediently, and, so placed, it acted as a +diminutive sail. + +Seeing that she still shivered, he commanded her to take the other oar, +seat herself on a thwart forward, and do her best to work it as they had +seen the farm-hands pulling after the stag. Again she obeyed, and he +fixed the thole-pins for her, and lifted the oar into place between +them. But with the first stroke she missed the water altogether, and +with the next caught a crab, which checked the boat dead. This would +never do; so, and still to busy her and keep her warm with exercise, +rather than in hope of help from her, he instructed her to stand with +her face to the bows, and push with the oar as she had seen him pushing. + +He expected very little from this; but Tilda somehow caught the knack +after a few strokes, and for half a mile it helped them greatly. +By this time they were both warm enough, but desperately tired. So far +as they could judge, half of the distance was accomplished. They could +certainly not work back against the breeze blowing more and more freshly +off the land. + +With a little steering on the boy's part they might even have trusted to +this breeze to carry them the rest of the way, had it not been for the +ebb tide. This too had steadily increased in strength, and now, unless +a miracle happened, would sweep them far to the westward of their goal. +Hitherto they had been working their oars one on each side of the boat. +Now Tilda shifted hers across, and they pushed together; but all in +vain. The tide steadily forced them sideways. They were drifting past +the westernmost end of the Island, and the Island still lay more than a +mile off. + +For the next ten minutes neither spoke; and it may stand to Tilda's +credit that she uttered no reproach at all. At slow intervals she +lifted the oar and pushed with it; but she had none of the boy's native +instinct for managing it, and her strokes grew feebler. At length she +lifted the heavy shaft a little way, and let it fall with a thud on the +gunwale. She could do no more, and the face she turned to him in the +moonlight was white with fatigue. + +"I just _can't_," she panted. "It's dead beat I am." + +"Lie down," he commanded, pointing to the bottom boards. "Here--take my +coat--" + +He picked his jacket up from the stern-sheets and tossed it to her. +His face was white and wearied almost as hers, yet, strange to say, +quite cheerful and confident, although patently every second now was +driving the boat down Channel, and wider of its goal. For a moment it +appeared that she would resist. But, as she caught the coat, weakness +overcame her, her knees gave way, and she dropped in a huddled heap. +'Dolph ran to her with a sharp whine, and fell to licking the hand and +wrist that lay inert across the thwart. The touch of his tongue revived +her, and by and by she managed to reach out and draw his warm body close +to her, where he was content to lie, reassured by the beating of her +heart. + +"That's right!" + +The boy spread his jacket over her, and went aft again. He did not +resume his paddling, for this indeed was plainly useless. Already on +his right hand the Island was slipping, or seemed to be slipping, away +into darkness. But he did not lose it, for after a while the climbing +moon stood right above it, linking it to the boat by a chain of light +that rippled and wavered as if to mock him. + +But he was not mocked. He had faith all the while. He longed for the +secret by which that shining chain could be hauled upon, by which to +follow up that glittering pathway; but he never doubted. By whatever +gods might be, he had been brought thus far, and now sooner or later the +last miracle was bound to happen. He had been foolish to struggle so, +and to wear Tilda out. He would sit still and wait. + +And while he sat there and waited he began, of a sudden and at unawares, +to sing to himself. It was the same tuneless chant that had taken +possession of him by Harvington-on-Avon; but more instant now and more +confident, breaking from him now upon the open sea, with moon and stars +above him. Tilda did not hear it, for she slept. He himself was hardly +conscious of it. His thoughts were on the Island, on the miracle that +was going to happen. He did not know that it had already begun to +happen; that the tide was already slackening; nor, had he marked it, +would he have understood. For almost an hour he sang on, and so slipped +down in the stern-sheets and slept. + +By and by, while he slept, the tide reached its ebb and came stealing +back, drawing with it a breeze from the south-west. + +He awoke to a sound which at first he mistook for the cawing of rooks-- +there had been many rooks in the trees beyond the wall of Holy +Innocents, between it and the Brewery. But, gazing aloft, he saw that +these were sea-gulls, wheeling and mewing and making a mighty pother. +And then--O wonder!--as he rubbed his eyes he looked up at a tall +cliff, a wall of rock rising sheer, and a good hundred feet from its +base where the white water was breaking. The boat had drifted almost +within the back-draught, and it was to warn him that the gulls were +calling. + +"The Island! The Island!" + +He caught up his oar and called to Tilda. She struggled up sleepily, +and gasped at the sight. + +"You must take an oar and help!" he called. "There must be a landing +near, if we work her round the point--" + +And, sure enough, around the point they opened a small cove, running +inwards to a narrow beach of shingle. A grassy gully wound up from the +head of the cove, broadening as it trended to the left, away from the +tall rocks of the headland; and at the sight of this 'Dolph began +barking furiously, scaring fresh swarms of sea-birds from their +roosting-ledges. + +They were in quiet water here, and in less than two minutes--the boy +steering--the boat's stem grated softly on the shingle and took ground. +'Dolph sprang ashore at once, but the children followed with some +difficulty, for they were cold and stiff, and infinitely weary yet. +It seemed to them that they had reached a new world: for a strange light +filled the sky and lay over the sea; a light like the sheen upon grey +satin, curiously compounded of moonlight and dawn; a light in which the +grass shone a vivid green, but all else was dim and ghostly. + +Scarcely knowing what they did, they staggered up the beach a little +way, and flung themselves down on the shingle. + +Two hours passed before Arthur Miles awoke. The sun had climbed over +the low cliff to the eastward of the cove, and shone on his lids. +It seemed to him that his feet were lying in water. + +So indeed they were, for the tide had risen and .was running around his +ankles. But while he sat up, wondering at this new marvel, Tilda gave a +cry and pointed. + +The boat had vanished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE ISLAND. + + +"_Be not afraid; the isle is full of noises, +Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not._"--THE TEMPEST. + +"Well," said Tilda dolefully, "I guess that about settles us!" + +The boy, his hands thrust into his breeches' pockets, stared over the +sea for a while. + +"I don't see that it matters much," he answered at length, withdrawing +his gaze. "You know well enough we could never have worked her back +again." + +"Oh, indeed? And 'ow are we goin' to pick up our vittles? I don't know +what _you_ feel like, but I could do with breakfast a'ready." + +"Perhaps 'Dolph can catch us a rabbit," he suggested hopefully after a +pause. "I heard Roger say last night that Holmness swarmed with +rabbits." + +"Rabbits?" said Tilda with scorn. "D'yer know 'ow to skin one if we +caught 'im?" + +"No, I don't," he confessed. + +"And when he's skinned, there's the cookin'; and we 'aven't so much as a +box of matches. . . . That's the worst of boys, they 're so +unpractical." + +"Well, then, we can hunt for gulls' eggs." + +"That's better; if," she added on an afterthought, "gulls 'appen to lay +eggs at this time of year--which I'll bet they don't." + +"Look here," said the boy severely, "we haven't searched yet. +What's the use of giving in before we've _tried?_ Nobody starves on the +Island, I tell you; and--and I can't bear your talking in this way. +It isn't _like_ you--" + +"I can't _'elp_ it," owned poor Tilda with a dry sob. + +"--breaking down," he continued, "just when we've reached, and all the +rest is going to happen just as the book says." + +"That's likely!" + +"It's certain." He pulled out the tattered, coverless volume. "Why, I +do believe"--he said it with a kind of grave wonder--"you're hankering +after that silly cottage!" + +"Of course I am," she confessed defiantly, for he exasperated her. +"We'd promised to ride over an' see Miss Sally this afternoon, an' I +wanted to spend the 'ole mornin' learnin' 'ow to be a lady. . . . +I don't get _too_ much time for these little things." + +The protest was weak enough, and weakly uttered. Until the moment of +embarking on this expedition Tilda had been throughout their wanderings +always and consciously the leader--her will the stronger, her's to +initiate and to guide. But now he stuck his hands deeper into his +pockets. + +"That's all very well," he replied; "but you can't get to Miss Sally's +to-day. So who's unpractical now? Let's find the cave first, and have +breakfast; and then, if you're tired of exploring, you can sit on +cushions all day, and read your book and learn how to be a princess-- +which is ever so much higher than an ordinary lady." + +"Cave? _Wot_ cave? _Wot_ breakfast? _Wot_ cushions? Oh, I do +believe, Arthur Miles, you've gone stark starin' mad!" + +"Why," he reasoned with her, "on a seashore like this there are bound to +be caves; the only trouble will be to find the right one. And as for +breakfast, it was you that talked about it just now." + +His persistence, his gentleness, the careful lucidity of his craze drove +her fairly beside herself. + +"Oh," she cried again, "if you ain't mad, then I must be, or elst I'm +sickenin' for it! It don't much matter, any'ow. We got to starve 'ere +an' die, an' the sooner the better." + +She walked across the beach to a smooth slab of rock and seated herself +sullenly, with her eyes on the distant mainland. They were misty with +tears of anger, of despair. But he could not see them, for she had +resolutely turned her back on him. Had she broken down--had she uttered +one sob even--the boy would have run to her side. As it was, he gazed +at her sorrowfully. . . . She had lost her temper again, and it spoiled +everything. But the spell of the Island was on him. Above, in the +sunlight, the green gully wound upward and inland, inviting him; and +here on the shingle at his feet sat 'Dolph and looked up at him, with +eyes that appealed for a ramble. The dog's teeth chattered, and small +suppressed noises worked in his throat. + +"Very well," called the boy, "I am going, and you can sit there or +follow, as you like." + +He swung on his heel and set forth, 'Dolph scampering ahead and barking +so wildly that the noise of it scared the birds again in flock after +flock from their ledges. + +On the ridge the boy halted for a moment and looked down. But Tilda sat +stubbornly on her rock, still with her back turned. + +She had pulled out her book, the _Lady's Vade-Mecum_, but only for a +pretence. She did not in the least want to read, nor could her eyes +just now have distinguished a word of the text. She was wholly +miserable; and yet, curiously enough, after the first minute her misery +did not rest on despair, or at any rate not consciously. She was +wretched because the boy had broken away and gone without her, and +'Dolph with him--'Dolph, her own dog. They were ungrateful. . . . +Had not everything gone right so long as they had obeyed her? While +now--They would find out, of course. Even Arthur Miles would begin to +feel hungry after a while, and then--'Dolph might keep going for a time +on rabbits, though as a circus-dog he was not clever at sport. + +Yes, she had a right to be indignant. She had lost command for a +moment, and Arthur Miles had straightway led her into this trap. . . . +This was all very well, but deep down beneath the swellings of +indignation there lurked a thought that gradually surmounted them, +working upwards until it sat whispering in her ear. . . . They were in a +tight place, no doubt, . . . but was she behaving well? Now that the +mess was made and could not be unmade, where was the pluck--where was +even the sense--of sitting here and sulking? Had she stuck it out, why +then at the end she could have forgiven him, and they would have died +together. . . . She stared forlornly at the book, and a ridiculous +mocking sentence stared back at her: "It is often surprising into what +tasty breakfast dishes the cunning housewife will convert the least +promising materials." In a gust of temper she caught up the book and +hurled it from her. + +And yet . . . with all these birds about, there must surely be eggs. +She had not a notion how gulls' eggs tasted. Raw eggs! they would +certainly be nasty; but raw eggs, after all, will support life. +Moreover, deliverance might come, and before long. The Tossells, when +they found the boat missing, would start a search, and on the Island +there might be some means of signalling. How could she be forgiven, or +forgive herself, if the rescuers arrived to find Arthur Miles dead and +herself alive? + +With that a dreadful apprehension seized her, and she stood erect, +listening. . . . She had let him go alone, into Heaven knew what perils. +He was searching along the cliffs, searching for a cave, and very likely +for gulls' eggs on the way. . . . What easier than to slip and break his +neck? She listened--listened. But the sound of 'Dolph's barking had +long ago died away. . . . Oh, if he were dead, and she must search the +Island alone for him! + +Poor child! for the moment her nerve deserted her. With a strangling +sob she ran towards the beach-head, and began to clamber up the low +cliff leading to the gully. + +"Til-da! Hi! Til-da!" + +From the ledge of the cliff she stared up, and with another sob. +High on the ridge that closed the gully stood Arthur Miles, safe and +sound. He was waving both arms. + +"I've found it!" he called. + +"Found w'ot?" + +"The House." He came running down to meet her as she scrambled her way +up the gully. "It's not a Cave, but a House." They met, both panting. +"You were right, after all," he announced, and in a voice that shook +with excitement. He had forgotten their quarrel; he had no room for +remembrance of it; sheer joy filled him so full. "It's not a Cave, but +a House; and with _such_ things to eat!" + +"Things to eat?" she echoed dully, and for an instant her heart sank +again at the suspicion that after all he was mad, and here was another +proof of it. But her eyes were fixed on something he held out in his +hand. "What's that you've got?" + +"Marmalade--real marmalade! And a spoon too--there are heaps of spoons +and cups and glasses, and a fire ready laid. And--see here--biscuits!" +He produced a handful from his pocket. "I brought these things along +because you said you were hungry." + +Still incredulous, distrusting her eyes, Tilda watched him dip out a +small spoonful of marmalade and spread it on the biscuit. She took it +and ate, closing her eyes. The taste was heavenly. + +"Oh, Arthur Miles, where are we?" + +"Why, on the Island. Didn't I tell you it was going to be all right?" + +He said it in mere elation, without a hint of reproach. + +"I'm so sorry." + +"Sorry? What is there to be sorry about? Come along." + +They climbed the turfy slope in silence, Tilda too deep in amaze for +speech. By and by she asked irrelevantly-- + +"Where is 'Dolph?" + +"Eh? 'Dolph? He was with me five minutes ago. Off chasing rabbits, I +expect. He has missed catching about two dozen already." + +"Isn't that his bark? Listen . . . away to the right." + +They stood still for a while. + +"Sounds like it," said the boy; "and yet not exactly like." + +"It's 'Dolph, and he's in some sort of trouble. That's not 'is usual +bark." + +"We'd best see what it is, I suppose, and fetch him along." +Arthur Miles struck aside from the line they had been following, and +moved after the sound, not without reluctance. "It may be only a +vision," he said gravely. "Remember the hounds that ran after Caliban +and the others?" + +But as they trended towards the edge of the cliffs the barking grew +louder, and was recognisably 'Dolph's; and so they came to a wide +shelving amphitheatre of turf overgrown with furze and blackthorn. +It curved almost as smoothly as the slope of a crater, and shelved to a +small semi-circular bay. There, on the edge of the tide, danced 'Dolph +yelping; and there, knee-deep in water, facing him with lowered head, +stood a magnificent stag--yes, the stag of yesterday! When Arthur Miles +caught at Tilda's arm and proclaimed this, at first she doubted. But he +pointed to the antlers, glinting bright in the sunshine. He did not +know the names for them, but whereas the left antler bore brow, bay, +tray, and three on top, the top of the right antler, by some +malformation, was not divided at all, and even a child could see this +and guess it to be unusual. He was a noble stag nevertheless. The sun +shone down on his russet-gold flanks as he stood there fronting the dog +with his deadly brow-points. And 'Dolph kept to the edge of the water, +leaping forward a little and anon leaping back, and at each leap +emitting a futile yelp. + +The children stared, wondering how he could have driven so noble a +quarry; until, as Arthur Miles called down, he lifted his head and gazed +up at them for a moment. Then he turned slowly, as it were +disdainfully, and they divined the truth--that the long swim of +yesterday had broken his gallant strength, and he had come down to the +beach to die. He turned and lurched heavily down into deep water, laid +himself gently afloat, and struck out as if heading for the main. +But the main and his own heathery moors lay far distant, a blue-grey +line in the haze to the southward. Perhaps his spirit regained them as +his body slowly sank. The children watched it sink until only the +antlers showed above water like a forked bough adrift on the tideway. +They drifted so for a few seconds; then dipped out of sight, and were +gone. + +The children stood for a full minute gazing at the water where he had +disappeared. Then Arthur Miles whistled to 'Dolph, who came bounding up +the slope, and together all three struck inland again, but in silence. +They were awed by the Island and its wonders. + +The Island, as they climbed to its grassy chine, gradually revealed +itself as a hill of two peaks, united by a long saddle-back. The most +of this upland consisted of short turf, with here and there a patch of +stones. In all the prospect was no single tree, scarcely a furze-bush +even--the furze grew only on the southern slopes, low down; and Tilda +strained her eyes vainly for sight of the House. + +But in the very dip of the saddle was a gully, much like the one by +which they had ascended, but steeper and dipping to the north. Before +they reached it, before she could detect it even, Arthur Miles pointed +to where it lay; and they had scarcely turned aside to follow it before +a chimney--a genuine red-brick chimney--rose into sight above the dying +bracken. + +A minute later, and she was looking down on a broad slated roof, on a +building of one story, stuck here in a notch of the gully, and in the +lee of almost every wind that could blow. Its front faced her as she +descended. It had a deep, red-tiled verandah, and under the verandah a +line of windows, close-shuttered all but one. This one stood next to +the front door, on the right. + +The boy, still leading, ran down the sloping path to the door, and +lifted the latch. Tilda halted just within the threshold, and looked +about her. + +The kitchen, on which the door opened, was well furnished, with an open +hearth, and a fire laid ready there, and even a row of saucepans +twinkling above the mantel-shelf. + +Arthur Miles waved a hand around, and pointed to another door at the end +of the kitchen. + +"There's a heap of rooms in there. I didn't stay to search. But look +at this!" + +He unhitched a card which hung above the mantel-shelf. On it was +written:-- + + "The provisions here are left for any mariners who may + find themselves shipwrecked on this Island. All such + are welcome to make use of what accommodation they find + here. Casual visitors will kindly respect the intention + with which this house is kept open, and will leave the + place strictly as they find it." + + "(Signed) MILES CHANDON, Bart." + +From the next room came the sound of a window opened and a shutter +thrown wide, and Tilda's voice announced-- + +"Well, I never! Beds!" + +"Beds?" + +"Beds--_and_ sheets--_and_ blankets." Tilda reappeared in the doorway. +"A 'ole reel 'ouse! But why?--and 'ow in the world?" + +Arthur Miles held out the card. + +"It's for sailors shipwrecked here." + +Tilda studied the notice. + +"And we 're shipwrecked! Well, if this ain't the loveliest. A reel +'ouse, with reel beds an' sorsepans!" + +Her jaw dropped. + +"An' I flung that blessed book away just as it was tellin' about +breakfast dishes!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +GLASSON IN CHASE. + + +"_Prospero: Hey, Mountain, hey! +Ariel: Silver, there it goes, Silver!_"--THE TEMPEST. + +Like most men of fifty or thereabouts, and like every man who finds +himself at that age a bachelor rector of a remote country parish, +Parson Chichester had collected a number of small habits or +superstitions--call them which you will: they are the moss a sensible +stone gathers when it has ceased rolling. He smoked a pipe in the house +or when he walked abroad, but a Manila cheroot (he belonged to the age +of cheroots) when he rode or drove; and he never rode on a Sunday, but +either walked or used a dog-cart. Also by habit--or again, if you +please, superstition--he preached one sermon, not necessarily a new one, +every week. + +To-day he had broken through this last custom, but observed the others. +After an abbreviated Morning Service he lit a cheroot, climbed into his +dog-cart, and drove off towards Meriton at a brisk pace, being due to +perform his errand there and report himself at Meriton by three in the +afternoon. For luncheon he carried a box of sandwiches and a flask of +whisky and water. His horse--a tall, free-stepping bay, by name +Archdeacon--was, properly speaking, a hunter, and the Parson, in driving +as in riding him, just rattled him along, letting him feel the rein but +seldom, or never using it to interfere with his pace. + +The entrance gates at Meriton are ancient and extremely handsome, +wrought of the old iron of East Sussex, and fashioned, somewhere in the +mid-eighteenth century, after an elaborate Florentine pattern--tradition +says, by smiths imported from Italy. The pillars are of weather-stained +marble, and four in number, the two major ones surrounded by antlered +stags, the two minor by cressets of carved flame, symbolising the human +soul, and the whole illustrating the singular motto of the Chandons, +"_As the hart desireth._" On either side of the gates is a lodge in the +Ionic style, with a pillared portico, and the lodges are shadowed by two +immense cedars, the marvel of the country-side. + +But to-day the lodges stood empty, with closed doors and drawn blinds-- +the doors weather-stained, the blinds dingy with dust. Weeds overgrew +the bases of the pillars, and grass had encroached upon all but a narrow +ribbon scored by wheel-ruts along the noble drive. Parson Chichester +pulled up, and was about to dismount and open the gates for himself, +when he caught sight of a stranger coming afoot down the drive; and the +stranger, at the same moment catching sight of the dog-cart, waved a +hand and mended his pace to do this small service. + +"Much obliged to you," nodded Parson Chichester pleasantly, after a +sharp and curious scrutiny. For the stranger was a parson too by his +dress--a tall, elderly man with grey side-whiskers and a hard, square +mouth like the slit of a letter-box. The clergy are always curious +about one another by a sort of freemasonry, and Parson Chichester knew +every beneficed clergyman in the diocese and most of the unbeneficed. +But who could this be? And what might be his business at Meriton, of +all places? + +The stranger acknowledged his thanks with a slight wave of the hand. + +"A fine day. I am happy to have been of service." + +It was curious. Each paused for a second or so as if on the point of +asking a question; each waited for the other to speak; then, as nothing +came of it, each bowed again, and thus awkwardly they parted. + +Parson Chichester drove on with a pucker between the eyebrows and a +humorous twitch in the corners of his mouth. So when two pedestrians, +strangers, meet and politely attempt to draw aside but with misdirected +_chasses_ that leave them still confronting one another, they disengage +at length and go their ways between irritation and amusement. + +Meriton, one of "the stately homes of England," is a structure in the +Palladian style, injudiciously built on the foundations of an older +house dating from the fifteenth century, when sites were chosen for the +sake of a handy supply of water, and with little regard to view or even +to sunshine. It occupies a cup of the hills, is backed by a dark +amphitheatre of evergreen trees, and looks across a narrow valley. The +farther slope rises abruptly, and has been converted into a park, so to +speak, against its will. The stream that flows down the valley bottom +has likewise been arrested by art and forced to form a lake with a +swannery; but neither lake nor swannery is entirely convincing. It was +not, however, its architect's fault that to Parson Chichester the place +looked much more stately than homelike, since every window in its really +noble facade was shuttered and sightless. + +The great entrance porchway lay at the back of the house, in the gloom +of a dripping cliff. Here the Parson climbed down and tugged at an iron +bell-handle. The bell sounded far within the house, and was answered +pretty promptly by the butler, a grizzled, ruddy-faced man, who (it was +understood) had followed Sir Miles out of the Service, and carried +confirmation of this in the wrinkles about his eyes--those peculiar, +unmistakable wrinkles which are only acquired by keeping look-out in +many a gale of wind. + +"Ah? Good morning, Matters!" said Parson Chichester. "Sorry to disturb +you, but I've driven over to ask for Sir Miles's address." + +"Certainly, sir. That's curious too," added Mr. Matters half to +himself. "His address . . . yes, to be sure, sir, I'll write it down +for you. But you must let me get you something in the way of luncheon +after your drive. Sir Miles would be annoyed if you went away without-- +though, the house being closed, you'll pardon deficiencies. As for the +horse, sir--" + +"I hope I know how to stable him," struck in the Parson. "But I won't +stay--thank you all the same. I've eaten my sandwiches on the road, and +couldn't make a second meal if you paid me. What's curious, by the +way?" + +"I beg your pardon, sir?" + +"I am quoting you. 'Curious,' you said." + +"Ah, to be sure, sir. Well, less than half an hour ago there was a +stranger here--a clergyman too--putting the very same question." + +"I met him at the lodge gates. Oldish man, grey whiskers, mouth like a +trap." + +"That's him, sir." + +"It's a coincidence, certainly. The more remarkable, I guess, because +Meriton nowadays is not much infested with parsons. 'Wonder who he was, +and what he wanted?" + +"He would not give his name, sir. He wanted the address." + +"You gave it to him?" + +"I did not, sir." + +"Was he annoyed?" + +"He was, sir; very much annoyed. He said words to himself, which unless +I'm mistaken--" + +Matters paused. + +Parson Chichester laughed. + +"If you had refused _me_, you 'd have heard 'em quite distinctly." + +"Yes, sir. The address is, Grand Hotel, Monte Carlo. I heard from Sir +Miles only yesterday. You understand, sir, that as a rule he does not +choose for everyone to know his movements." + +"I do, and am obliged by your confidence. I want it for Miss Sally +Breward; and, if this reassures you, I shall give it to her and to no +one else." + +"I thank you, sir; it was unnecessary. But I may tell you, sir, that +Sir Miles has a very high opinion of Miss Sally, as I happen to know." + +"We all have, Matters. . . . Well, I have what I came for, and will be +driving back to Culvercoombe with it. So good day, and thank you!" + +"I thank _you_, sir." + +Mr. Matters bowed. + +Parson Chichester turned Archdeacon, and put him at his best trotting +speed--by a single hint from the reins, no whip needed. This time he +had to descend and open the lodge gates for himself. A mile and a half +beyond them the road crossed one of the many high brows of the moor, and +here on the rise he discerned a black-habited figure trudging along the +road ahead. + +He recognised the stranger at once, and reined up as he overtook him. + +"Good day again, sir! Can I offer you a lift?" + +"I thank you," said the stranger. "I am bound for a place called +Culvercoombe." + +"Why, and so am I! So you must give me the pleasure." + +"You are exceedingly kind." + +He clambered up, not very skilfully, and the dog-cart bowled on again. + +For a while the two kept silence. Then Parson Chichester made an +opening-- + +"You don't belong to these parts?" he asked. + +"No. . . . Pardon my curiosity, but are you a friend of Miss Breward's?" + +"I believe she would allow me to say 'yes.' By the way, hereabouts we +call her Miss Sally. Everyone does--even the butler at Meriton, with +whom I was speaking just now." + +"Indeed? . . . I am wondering if you would presently add to your +kindness by giving me an introduction to her? Trust me," he went on, +staring down the road ahead and answering Parson Chichester's quick +glance without seeming to perceive it, "you will incur no +responsibility. I am not a mendicant priest, and only ask her to favour +me with an address, which I believe she can easily give." + +"An address?" + +The stranger's somewhat grim mouth relaxed a little at the corners. + +"The English language," he said, "is full of distracting homonyms. I am +not asking her for a sermon, but to be directed where a certain +gentleman resides--at present, I have reason to believe, abroad--where, +for instance, a letter will reach him." + +"Sir Miles Chandon?" + +"Precisely. You have hit it. . . . But, to be sure, you were talking +just now with his butler. A worthy fellow, I dare say, though +suspicious of strangers." + +Parson Chichester felt pretty much of a fool, and the more annoyed +because unable to detect anything offensive in the tone of the rebuke-- +if, indeed, a rebuke had been implied. + +"Folk in these parts see few strange faces," he said lamely. + +"It was the kinder of you to offer me a lift. I had heard, by the way, +that Sir Miles's butler did not come from these parts, but was a +much-travelled man." + +"That is so." + +Mr. Chichester felt that he was getting very markedly the worst of this +conversation, and decided to let it drop. But just as he had arrived at +this decision the stranger faced around and asked-- + +"Perhaps _you_ know Sir Miles's present address?" + +At this point-blank question Mr. Chichester's face grew very red indeed. +He had brought it on himself. Denial was useless. + +"Perhaps I do," he answered. "But you were going to ask Miss Sally for +it, and we will leave it to her." + +"Quite right," the stranger assented. "Here is my own card, though it +will convey nothing to you." + +But it conveyed a great deal. Parson Chichester reached across with his +disengaged right hand, took the card and read-- + + The Reverend Purdie J. Glasson, LL.D., + Holy Innocents' Orphanage, + Bursfield. + +The words danced before his eyes. Imagine some unskilled player pitted +against an expert at cards, awake at one moment to his weakness, and the +next overwhelmingly aware that his opponent, by an incredible blunder, +is delivered into his hands. The elation of it fairly frightened Mr. +Chichester, and he so far forgot himself as to take up his whip and +administer a sharp flick on Archdeacon's shoulder--an outrage which the +good horse, after an instant of amazement, resented by a creditable +attempt to bolt. This was probably the best that could have happened. +It gave the Parson a job he understood, and for five minutes effectually +prevented his speaking. + +They had almost reached the entrance gate of Culvercoombe before he +reduced the affronted horse to a trot, and Doctor Glasson, who had been +clutching the rail of the dog-cart in acutest physical terror, had no +nerve as yet to resume the conversation. A lodge-keeper ran out and +opened the gate (service under Miss Sally was always alert), and they +rolled smoothly down the well-gravelled drive through an avenue of +yellowing sycamores. + +A couple of aged mastiff bitches--mothers in their time, and now +great-grandmothers, of a noble race--lay sunning themselves before the +house-porch. They recognised the parson's dog-cart and heaved +themselves up, wagging their tails to welcome a respected, if rare, +visitor; but growled at sight of his companion. Their names were +Tryphena and Tryphosa. + +Parson Chichester alighted and rang the bell, after handing the reins to +Doctor Glasson with an apology. + +"I'll get the groom sent round in a moment," he explained, and to the +butler who opened the door, "Miss Sally is expecting me, eh, Butts?" + +"In the yellow drawing-room, y'r worship." + +The Parson was a magistrate, and, for no known reason, Butts always +addressed him as such. + +"Very well, I'll find my way to her. Send someone around to take the +dog-cart, and as soon as he comes, take this gentleman inside until your +mistress rings. Understand?" + +"I understand, y'r worship." + +"Then be as brisk as you can, for the horse is fresh to-day." + +"He 'as aperiently been workin' hisself into a lather, y'r worship," +said Butts. "Which I 'ave noticed, sir, your 'abit--or, as I may say, +your custom--of bringin' 'im in cool." + +But Parson Chichester had left him, and was making his way across the +hall to the yellow drawing-room, which he entered with little ceremony. +Miss Sally rose to receive him. She had been sitting in its oriel +window with a small table before her, and on the table a Bible. This +was her rule on a Sunday afternoon, and every Sunday after luncheon she +donned a pair of spectacles. Butts, who knew her habits to a hair, +brought the spectacles once a week and laid the book open at his +favourite passages. For aught it mattered, he might have opened it +upside-down. + +"You're pretty punctual," said Miss Sally. "Before your time, if +anything." + +"Yes; the horse bolted, or tried to," Mr. Chichester explained. +"Guess whom I've brought with me." + +"Not Miles Chandon?" + +"No; he's at Monte Carlo. His address, the Grand Hotel. Guess again." + +"Don't be foolish and waste time. The children may be arriving at any +minute." + +"You must keep 'em out of the way, then." + +"Why?" + +"Because I've brought him." + +"'Him'? You'll excuse me--" + +"Glasson." + +"Glasson?" Her eyes opened wide. "You've brought Glasson? Well, I must +say you're clever." + +"On the contrary, I've been infernally stupid. I met him coming down +the drive from Meriton. He had been pumping Matters for Sir Miles's +present address--which he didn't get. What's his game, do you think?" + +"Blackmail." + +"That crossed my mind too. He seems a deep one, and I don't like his +looks." + +"You are sure it is Glasson?" + +Parson Chichester produced the card, badly crumpled, from his +riding-glove. Miss Sally pushed her Sunday spectacles higher on her +brows and examined it with her clear eyes. + +"This," she said "is going to be a treat. The man cannot possibly have +guessed that the children are in this neighbourhood. You haven't +enlightened him, I hope?" + +"Certainly not," Mr. Chichester answered indignantly. + +"Well, you said a moment since that you'd been infernally stupid, and I +don't yet know what form it took." + +"I let him know what I'd discovered--that he had been pumping Matters +for Sir Miles's address." + +"There is no harm in that. He can have the address from me as soon as +he likes." + +"But surely you see through his game? He has tracked out the boy's +parentage, and he's out after blackmail." + +"To be sure he is; and, what's more, he's going to have a run for his +money. What on earth is the matter outside?" + +For a noise of furious barking had broken out suddenly, and, as she +spoke, there mingled with it a sound very like a human scream. + +Miss Sally hurried out to the hall, the parson close at her heels. +They had scarcely crossed the threshold when Doctor Glasson staggered by +them like a maniac, with Tryphosa hanging on to his clerical skirts and +Tryphena in full cry behind. Butts brought up the rear of the chase, +vainly shouting to call them off. + +"Down, Tryphosa!" Miss Sally ran in, planted a well-directed kick on the +mastiff's ribs, caught her by the scruff of the neck and banged her +ears. "Back, you brutes!" + +Catching a dog-whip down from the rack, she lashed and drove them +yelping; while Glasson flung himself on a couch and lay panting, with a +sickly yellow face and a hand pressed to his heart. + +"Oh, ma'am, your lady dogs!" + +"'Bitches' in the country, Doctor Glasson. I must apologise for them. +Butts, bring some brandy and water to the drawing-room. . . . Not +bitten, I hope? If the skin's broken we had better cauterise." + +Miss Sally confessed afterwards that she would have enjoyed operating on +the man with a red-hot poker: "and I'd have used the biggest poker in +the house." But Doctor Glasson arose, felt himself, and announced that +it was unnecessary. + +"Mr. Chichester tells me you wish for Sir Miles Chandon's address. +He was, until a couple of days ago, at the Grand Hotel, Monte Carlo, and +I have no doubt is there yet." + +Doctor Glasson's face fell somewhat. + +"I thank you," he murmured. "It is a long distance." + +"A letter will reach him in less than two days." + +"Yes," said Glasson, and said no more. + +"But a letter addressed to him at Meriton would, of course, be +forwarded. So I conclude you wish to see him personally. Are you-- +pardon the question--a friend of his?" + +"Not a personal friend, ma'am. I came to see him on a matter of +business." + +"From Bursfield," said Miss Sally, with a glance at the card. + +It was a superstition with Glasson to tell the truth about trifles. + +"From Plymouth, to be exact, ma'am. I have been indulging in a--er-- +brief holiday." + +"Ah," thought Miss Sally to herself, "researching, no doubt!" + +Aloud she said-- + +"Well, I am sorry, sir; but Monte Carlo's the address, and that's all I +can do for you except to offer you some refreshment, and--yes, let me +see--you are returning to-night?" + +"As speedily as possible, ma'am." + +"Sunday trains are awkward. There is one at Fair Anchor at 4.35, and +after that no other until the 7.12, which picks up the evening mail at +Taunton. You are on foot, I understand, and will certainly not catch +the first unless you let my man drive you over." + +Doctor Glasson was evidently anxious to get away at the earliest moment. +He protested, with many thanks, that he was trespassing on her kindness. + +"Not a bit," said Miss Sally; "and you shall be as comfortable as we can +make you in the barouche. Mr. Chichester, would you mind stepping out +and ringing them up at the stables, while Butts is bringing the brandy?" + +The Parson guessed that she was sending him with a purpose; and he was +right, for he had scarcely left the room when, on an excuse, she +followed him. + +"Tossell and the children are about due. This man must not see them, of +course. As you leave the stables you go up on the Inistow road and head +'em off--keep 'em out of sight until the barouche is past the +cross-roads and on the way to Fair Anchor." + +He nodded, and having left his order with the coachman, climbed by a +footpath to a rise of the moor whence he commanded a view of the +cross-roads on his right, and on his left of the road running +northward like a pale ribbon across the brown heather. Neither vehicle +nor horseman was in sight. Nor, though he waited more than half an +hour, did any appear coming from the direction of Inistow. + +At the end of that time, however, he saw the barouche roll past the +cross-roads towards Fair Anchor. The coast was clear. So, wondering a +little at the farmer's delay, he wended his way back to Culvercoombe. +To his amazement, in the hall he ran against Butts carrying a +portmanteau, and at the same moment Miss Sally issued from the yellow +drawing-room with a Bradshaw in her hand. + +"Where are the children?" she asked. + +"Nowhere in sight." + +"That's odd. Tossell's punctual in everything as a rule--rent included. +Well, I must leave you to keep an eye on them. . . . Do you know +anything about Bursfield? The best hotel there, for instance? I see +there are two advertised here, The Imperial--everything's Imperial +nowadays--with a night-porter and a lift--I detest lifts--never use +'em--and the Grand Central, family and commercial, electric light. +I abominate commercials, but they know how to feed. Why the deuce can't +these people advertise something worth knowing? Electric light--who +wants to eat overdone steaks by electricity?" + +"But, my dear lady, why this sudden curiosity about Bursfield and its +hotels?" + +"Because, my dear man, I'm going there, to-night; by the 7.12. Butts +has just carried my portmanteau upstairs." + +"Your portmanteau?" + +"Yes; I don't believe in trunks and dress boxes--my things will bear +folding, and Humphreys"--meaning her maid--"is already folding 'em. +Man, don't stare. I'm going to have the time of my life at Bursfield in +Glasson's absence. You saw Glasson depart? Well, he didn't tell; but +you may pack me in another portmanteau if he's not posting off to Monte +Carlo." + +"Well?" + +"Well, he won't find Miles Chandon there. Because why? Because +I've written out this telegram, which I'll trouble you to send as soon +as the post office opens to-morrow. Nuisance there's no telegraphing in +the country on Sundays. I thought of getting a porter to dispatch it +for me at Taunton; but it wouldn't reach Monte Carlo until some +unearthly hour, and we've plenty of time. Miles Chandon will get it +to-morrow, probably just as Glasson is beginning to get on terms with +the Channel crossing. He's the very subject for sea-sickness, the +brute! . . . And the two will probably pass one another at some time in +the middle of the night, while I'm sleeping like a top after a happy day +at Bursfield." + +"You count on Chandon's coming?" + +"Here's the telegram--'_Return Meriton Wednesday at latest. Important. +Sally Breward._'" + +"Will that fetch him?" + +"Of course it will. Miles Chandon owes me something, as I think I told +you, and is a gentleman moreover." + +"Oh, very well, I'll send it, and I have only one other question. +What precisely is your business at Bursfield?" + +Miss Sally grinned. + +"Hay-making," she answered, "while the sun shines--that is to say, in +Glasson's absence. I propose to make a considerable deal of hay. +Something will depend on Mr. Hucks; but from the child's account of him, +I build great hopes on Mr. Hucks. . . . There's one thing more. I've +sent the barouche to the station. If I drive my own cart over to Fair +Anchor, there's nobody but Butts to bring it back, and you know Butts's +driving. If I take the brown, the brown'll bolt with him, and if I take +the chestnut filly he'll let her down. So I must commandeer you and +Archdeacon." + +Accordingly Parson Chichester drove Miss Sally over to the station, and +bestowed her comfortably in the 7.12 up train. She was in the highest +spirits. Having dispatched her and watched the train out of sight, the +parson lit his lamps, climbed into his dog-cart again, and headed +Archdeacon back for home. + +He had struck the Inistow road, when his ear caught the beat of hoofs +approaching at a gallop through the darkness. He quartered and cried +hullo! as the rider drew close. On the moors it was unusual to meet a +rider at night; nobody rode so hard unless for a doctor, and no doctor +dwelt in this direction. + +"Hullo, friend!" + +"Hullo!" + +The rider reined up, and by the light of his lamps Parson Chichester +recognised the young giant Roger. + +"What's your errand, my friend?" + +"To Culvercoombe. The children--" + +"Miss Sally has left by the night train. I drove her over to Fair +Anchor myself. What of the children? We were expecting them all the +afternoon." + +"They are gone--lost! Last night, as we reckon, they took the boat and +made a bolt for it. All this day we've been searching, and an hour +agone word comes from the coast-guard that the boat has driven ashore, +empty, on Clatworthy beach." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +MISS SALLY BREAKS THE DOORS. + + +"_And to shew Thy pity upon all prisoners and captives._"--THE LITANY + +Mr. Hucks sat in his counting-house, counting out his money--or so much +of it as he had collected from his tenantry on his Saturday rounds. +It amounted to 12 pounds 2 shillings and 9 pence in cash; but to this +must be added a caged bullfinch, a pair of dumb-bells, a down mattress +and an ophicleide. He had coveted the ophicleide for weeks; but he knew +how to wait, and in the end it had fallen to his hand--if the simile may +be permitted--like a ripe peach. + +The clock at the Great Brewery struck ten, the hour at which the banks +opened. Mr. Hucks whistled to himself softly, but out of tune--sure +sign that he was in a good humour--as he closed the neck of his +money-bag and tied the string with a neat knot. Just as he was +reaching, however, for coat and walking-stick, someone knocked at the +door. + +"Come in!" he called, and resumed his seat as a lady entered--a stranger +to him. At first glance he guessed she might be the wife of some +impecunious musician, come to plead for restitution of an instrument. +Such things happened now and again on Monday mornings; nor was the +mistake without excuse in Miss Sally's attire. When travelling without +her maid she had a way of putting on anything handy, and in the order +more or less as it came to hand. Without specifying, it may be said +that two or three articles usually ranked as underclothing had this +morning partially worked their way up to the top stratum, and that by +consequence her person presented more than one example of what +geologists call a "fault"--though it is actually rather a misfortune. +As for her hat, she had started by putting it on sideways, and then, +since it would not "sit," and she had mislaid her hat-pins, had bound it +boldly in place with a grey woollen comforter, and knotted the ends +under her chin. What gave Mr. Hucks pause was, first, the brusqueness +of her entry, and next, the high clear tone of her accost. + +"Mr. Christopher Hucks?" + +"At your service, ma'am." + +"I hope so, because I want your help." + +"As for that, ma'am, I don't know who sent you; but it ain't generally +reckoned in my line." + +Miss Sally glanced round the counting-house. + +"You have the materials for doing quite a lot of miscellaneous good in +the world. But I'm not come to borrow money, if that makes you +easier--" + +"It do, ma'am." + +"--and I don't know a note of music." + +"Me either," murmured Mr. Hucks regretfully. + +"That being so, we'll come to business. May I take a seat?" + +"Where you--" He was going to say "please," but substituted "choose" + +"Thank you. My name's Breward--Sally Breward, and I live at a place +called Culvercoombe, on the Devon and Somerset border. My business is +that I'm interested in a couple of children, about whom you know +something. They broke out, some days ago, from an Orphanage kept here +by one Glasson; and I gather that you gave them a helping hand." + +"Whoever told you that--" began Mr. Hucks. + +"Nobody told me. I said that I gathered it. The girl never gave you +away for a moment. We will agree, if you prefer it, that I put two and +two together. But look here: you can be open with me or not, as you +please; I'm going to be open with you. And first let me say that the +boy is pretty certainly the son of a neighbour of mine, and heir to +considerable estates." + +Mr. Hucks whistled softly to himself. + +"As for the girl who helped him to escape, she's probably just what she +says--a show-child who, happening to be laid up lame in hospital, +chanced on this scent, and has held to it--to make an addition of my +own--with the pluck of a terrier." + +Mr. Hucks nodded, but would not commit himself. + +"Where are they now?" he asked. "In your keepin'?" + +"That's just the trouble." Miss Sally unfolded a scrap of +pinkish-coloured paper. "I left them in good keeping with an honest +farmer and his wife--tenants of mine; I had a telegram sent to the boy's +father, who is abroad; and I posted up here by night mail to satisfy +myself by a few inquiries." + +"You've seen Glasson, then?" Mr. Hucks interrupted. + +"I have; but not in any way you suspect. I haven't called, for +instance, at the Orphanage--though I intend to. Glasson's not at home. +He was down in my neighbourhood yesterday afternoon, nosing around for +information." + +"Then he knows the children are thereabouts?" + +"No, he does not. But has been pushing researches. He has learnt who +is the boy's probable father, and where he lives--at a place called +Meriton. He came to Meriton to get the father's foreign address, and +when the butler refused it, he called on me." + +"I see." Mr. Hucks nodded. "And you refused it too?" + +"I did better. I gave it to him--" + +"Eh?" + +"--at the same time taking care that the father--his name is Chandon, by +the way, and he's a baronet--should get a wire from me to come home by +the first train he can catch. By this means, you see, I not only get +Glasson out of the neighbourhood, where he might have run against the +children, or picked up news of them, but I send him all the way to the +South of France expressly to find his bird flown. It's cruel, I grant +you; but I've no tenderness for blackmailers--especially when they keep +Orphanages." + +"You're right there. You've no call to waste any pity on Glasson. +But the question is, Will he come? The father, I mean." + +"Certainly, since I tell him," Miss Sally answered with composure. + +"And him a bart--a bloomin' bart--what the Tichborne chap used to call a +bart of the B.K.!" + +Mr. Hucks stared at his visitor with rounded eyes, drew a long breath, +puffed out his cheeks and emitted it, and wound up by removing his hat +and laying it on the ledge of the desk. + +"Well," said he, "you've done it clever. You've done it so mighty +clever that I don't see why you come to me to help. _I_ can't order +barts about." + +"No," said Miss Sally; "in this part of the business I fear you cannot +help. Read _that_, please." + +She spread open the telegraph form which she had been holding all this +while, and laid it on the desk before him. + + "Breward, Grand Central Hotel, Bursfield." + "'Regret to say children missing. Supposed left + Inistow Cove Tossell's boat Saturday night. Boat + found ashore Clatworthy Beach. Search parties along + coast. Will report any news.--Chichester.'" + +"When did you get this, ma'am, making so bold?" + +"At nine this morning. If you look, you will see the telegram was +handed in at 8.37, and received here at 8.50--is it not? The sender is +a Mr. Chichester, a clergyman and a friend of mine." + +"Aye," said Mr. Hucks, after slowly examining the telegram and the +office stamp. He raised his formidable grey eyes and fixed them full on +Miss Sally. + +"Oh," she said after awhile, but without blanching, "I see what's in +your mind." + +"No you don't," he answered abruptly. "It _did_ cross my mind, but it's +not there any longer. You're straight. And you're quality--though +maybe your kind don't answer to the pictcher-books. . . . Well, about +this wire now. . . . What's your opinion?" + +"Why, that the children are lost." + +"Meanin' by that drowned--or just missing?" + +"From that message what must one conclude?" + +"Well," said Mr. Hucks slowly, after another perusal of the telegram, +"I don't conclude much from it; but from my knowledge of the gal-child, +I jolly well conclude that they're no more drowned than you or me. +They've just made another bolt for it, and the shipwrecked boat's no +more than a blind." + +"They were comfortable enough at Inistow Farm. Why should they want to +bolt?" Miss Sally urged. + +"Because, ma'am, that gal has a business conscience developed to a +degree I never struck yet in man or woman. You've dealt open with me, +and I'll deal open with you. I _did_ help that pair to give Glasson the +slip; not from any kindheartedness, I'd have you to know, if you're +thinkin' to accuse me of it; but as a kind of by-speculation. For I saw +that dirty thief Glasson was mad to get the boy back, and it seemed to +me there was likely some money in it. I gave 'em their chance, yes; +because it happened so, and I couldn't see no other way. Now, observe +me--that gal knew all the time I wasn't doing it for my health, as you +might say; she knew well enough I was just as hard as Glasson, though +maybe in a different way. She knew this, and as things turned out, she +might have run off with the boy and snapped her fingers at me. But does +she? Nothing o' the sort. She freezes to her bargain, same as if she'd +all a lawyer's knowledge and none of his conscience. First, she clears +me back every penny I've invested in Mortimer, and with interest; and +I'm the first man that ever invested on that scamp and saw his money +again. When that's paid she strikes out on a trail of her own--but not +to lose herself and the boy: not she. At every halt she reports herself +and him; and by her last I was to write to her at a place called +Holmness, which I posted a letter there yesterday." + +"Holmness!" ejaculated Miss Sally. "Holmness, did you say?" + +"That's so. Might it be anywhere in your parts?" + +"Of course it is. But Holmness, my good sir, is an island." + +"She mentioned that, now I come to think of it. Island or not, she'll +get there, if she bursts; and I won't believe other till I hear from the +Dead Letter Office." + +"You addressed a letter to Holmness? . . . But it's too absurd; the +place is a mere barren rock, three good miles from the mainland. +Nothing there but rabbits, and in summer a few sheep." + +"Mayhap she didn't know it when she gave the address. But," persisted +Mr. Hucks doggedly, "she's there if she's alive. You go back and try." + +[He gave Tilda, as the reader knows, more credit than she deserved; but +from this may be deduced a sound moral--that the value of probity, as an +asset in dealing, is quite incalculable.] + +Miss Sally considered for a full minute--for two minutes, Mr. Hucks +watching her face from under his shaggy eyebrows. + +"It is barely possible," she owned at length. "But supposing they have +reached Holmness, it can only be to starve. Good Lord! they may be +starving to death there at this moment!" + +Mr. Hucks kept his composure. + +"It's plain to me you haven't measured that gal," he said slowly. +"Is this Holmness in sight from the farm--whatever you call it--where +they were missed?" + +"Right opposite the coast there." + +"And not more than three miles away? Then you may take it she won't +have started without provisions. It wouldn't be her way." + +[Again, the reader perceives, he gave Tilda undeserved credit; but +always in this world the Arthur Miles's will be left out of account by +men of business, to upset again and again their calculations.] + +"So," he continued, "there's no need for you to be running and sending +telegrams to folks there to chivvy 'em. Take the next train home and +pick up the credit yourself." + +"Mr. Hucks," said Miss Sally after a pause, "you are a remarkable man. +I am half inclined to believe you; and if you should prove to be right, +I shall not know how to repay you." + +"Well," said Mr. Hucks, "it seems likely I've helped, after all. +I'm not pressing for payment; though, as between persons of business, +I'm glad you mention it." + +"If these children are recovered, you shall name any price in reason. +But there is another matter in which you can help me, I hope. I want +admission to Glasson's Orphanage." + +"The 'Oly Innocents? It goes by nomination, and I'm not a subscriber," +said Mr. Hucks with a grin, which Miss Sally ignored. + +"Will it be enough if I call and ask to be shown over the institution?" + +"Quite enough--to get the door slammed in your face." + +"Well, I mean to have a look inside, even though I get you to put me in +a sack and lower me into the coal-cellar." + +"That's an idea, though," said Mr. Hucks rising. + +He went to the door and, stepping into the yard, emitted a loud roar +like the bellow of a bull. Apparently it was his method of telephoning +to his employees. After a moment a distant voice called back, +"Aye, aye, boss!" + +"Where's Sam Bossom?" + +"In the stables." + +"Then send him along here, and tell him to look sharp. He's the man for +our job," explained Mr. Hucks, returning to the counting-house; +"and maybe you'll like to make his acquaintance, too, after what you've +'eard." + +"Before he comes I should like even better to hear your plan of +campaign; for it seems that you have one." + +"I have; but it being what you might call a trifle 'igh-'anded, I wasn't +proposin' to drag a lady into it--leastways, not to make her an +accomplice before the fac'." + +"I'll risk that," she assured him. + +"Well, you see, Glasson owes me for coal; thirteen ten on the last lot +delivered, and six pounds owin' before that--total nineteen ten. +I warned him he'd got the last lot out o' me by a trick; an' I'm goin' +to send Sam to see if there's a chance to recover it. That'll be by +the back way--same as the children got out. Eh? Here's the man," he +wound up as Sam Bossom's honest face appeared in the doorway. + +"Good morning, Mr. Bossom." Miss Sally held out a hand. "I'm proud to +make your acquaintance." + +"Thank ye, ma'am." Sam looked at the hand, but rubbed his own up and +down the seat of his trousers. "What for, if it's not makin' too bold?" + +"The lady here," explained Mr. Hucks, "is a friend of two children that +broke out of 'Oly Innocents t'other day--as it maybe you'll remember. +What's more, she 's brought news o' them." + +"Oh!" said Sam, his face clearing. "Doin' pretty well, I 'ope?" + +"They were quite well when I left them, two days ago. Come, shake hands +and tell me. How is everyone at the 'Four Alls'?" + +"If it 'adn't been for them children--" blurted Sam, and came to a full +stop. + +Miss Sally nodded. + +"They are wonders, those Babes in the Wood; and the funniest thing about +'em is, while they went along asking their way, they were all the time +teaching it to others." + +"Well," struck in Mr. Hucks, while Sam scratched his head over this, +"I suggest the conspiracy may just as well get going at once. Sam, I +want you to step along to 'Oly Innocents with us, and on the road I'll +fix up _your_ modest hopper'andy." + +Of this _modus operandi_ the opening move was made as the trio reached +the confines of the Orphanage premises. Here, by the angle of the red +brick wall, Mr. Bossom halted to strike a match for his pipe. He struck +it upon the iron cover of the manhole, and thus made opportunity to +assure himself that the cover was still removable. Satisfied of this, +he lit his pipe and stood for a minute puffing at it, and staring, now +at the stagnant canal water, now after the retreating figures of Miss +Sally and Mr. Hucks, as without a backward look they passed down the +towpath to the Iron Bridge. + +At the bridge they turned, as Tilda had turned, to the left, and came, +as Tilda had come, to the Orphanage gate with its box labelled, +"For Voluntary Donations." + +Mr. Hucks rang the bell; and after a minute or so Mrs. Huggins, +slatternly as ever, opened the front door and came shuffling down the +pathway. + +"Eh?" said she, halting within the gate, a pilaster of which hid Miss +Sally from her. "Mr. 'Ucks? And what might _you_ be wantin', Mr. +'Ucks?" + +"Nineteen pound ten," Mr. Hucks answered tersely. + +"Then you can't 'ave it." + +"That's a pity." He appeared to ruminate for a second or two. "And I +can't offer to take it out in orphans, neither. Very well, then, I must +see Glasson." + +"You can't; 'e's not at 'ome." + +"That's a worse pity. Hist, now!" he went on with a sudden change of +tone, "it's about the runaways. I've news of 'em." + +He said it at the top of his voice. + +"For the Lord's sake--" entreated the woman, glancing nervously across +his shoulder at the traffic in the street. "The Doctor don't want it +discussed for all the town to 'ear." + +"No, I bet he don't. But it's your own fault, missus. This side o' the +gate a man can't scarcely hear hisself speak." + +"Come in, then, if you've brought news. The Doctor'll be glad enough +when 'e comes back." + +"Will he?" Mr. Hucks, as she opened, planted his bulk against the gate, +pushing it back and at the same time making way for Miss Sally to follow +him. "Yes, I got news; but here's a lady can tell it better than me-- +'avin' come acrost them right away down in Somerset." + +Mrs. Huggins stepped forward, but too late. "I don't want no crowd in +'ere," she muttered, falling back a pace, however, as Miss Sally +confronted her. + +"You'll have one in two two's if you make any disturbance," Miss Sally +promised her, with half a glance back at the street. "Show me into the +house, if you please." + +"Shan't." + +The woman placed herself in the pathway, with arms akimbo, barring her +passage. + +"You behave very foolishly in denying me," said Miss Sally. + +"Maybe; but I got my orders. _You_ never took no orders from a man, I +should say--not by the looks o' yer." + +"You are right there." + +Miss Sally regarded her with a smile of conscious strength, stern but +good-natured. Her gaze wandered past the woman's shoulder, and the +smile broadened. Mrs. Huggins saw it broaden, and cast a look behind +her, towards the house--to see Mr. Bossom, coal-grimed but cheerful, +grinning down on her from the front door-step. + +"It's a trap!" she gasped, shooting a venomous look at Mr. Hucks. + +"It _looks_ like one," said Miss Sally, stepping past her; "and I shall +be curious to know, by and by, who baited it." + +"Where shall I take ye, ma'am?" asked Sam Bossom. + +"Show me the children first, if you please." + +He walked before her down the unsavoury passage. He was unacquainted +with the interior, and knew only that the way through the kitchens, by +which he had come, led to the kitchen garden and missed the children's +quarters. Avoiding this, and opening a door at random--a door on his +right--he stepped into the bare drawing-room. Miss Sally followed, and +Mrs. Huggins at her heels, protesting. Mr. Hucks brought up the rear. +Finding himself in an apartment which apparently led nowhither, Sam +would have turned and shepherded the party back into the corridor; but +Miss Sally strode past him, attempted to fling up the window-sash, but +in vain, and looking over it, beheld what Tilda had beheld--the +gravelled yard, the children walking listlessly to and fro, the groups +passing and repassing with scarce a lift of the eyes, the boys walking +with the boys and the girls with the girls. + +"But it is horrible--horrible!" cried Miss Sally. "Mr. Hucks, lend me +your stick, if you please. This window won't open." + +He passed his stick to her, supposing that she meant in some way to +prise the window open. But she took it and deliberately smashed a +pane--two panes--all the six panes with their coloured transparencies of +the Prodigal Son. And the worst was, that the children in the yard, as +the glass broke and fell, scarcely betrayed surprise. One or two +glanced furtively towards the window. It seemed that they dared do no +more. + +"Save us!" exclaimed Miss Sally. "They're starving; that's what's the +matter!" + +"They are not, ma'am!" still protested Mrs. Huggins. + +"Tut, woman, don't talk to _me_. I've bred cattle, and I know. Fetch +me +a list of the pious persons that have lent their names to this swindle. +You, Mr. Hucks, take me upstairs; I'll explore this den from garret to +basement, though it cost my stomach all that by the smell I judge it +will. And you, Sam Bossom--here's a five-pound note: take it to the +nearest pastry-cook's and buy up the stock. Fetch it here in cabs; hire +every cab you meet on the way; and when you've brought 'em, tell 'em to +wait!" + +An hour later a procession of fifteen cabs drove up to the Grand Central +Hotel, Bursfield, to the frank dismay of hall-porters and manager; a +dismay which Miss Sally accepted with the lordliest indifference. + +"You see that they're stowed," she advised Mr. Hucks shortly, as they +helped the dazed children to alight. "And if there's any difficulty, +send the manager to me. He'll find me in the telegraph office." +She consulted a prospectus of the Holy Innocents, extorted from Mrs. +Huggins. "I shall be there for an hour at least. There are two dozen +patrons on this list--besides a score of executive committee, and I'm +going--bless you, Mr. Hucks--to give those philanthropists the dry +grins." + +"A telegram for you, ma'am," said the hall-porter, advancing with a +nervous eye on the children congregated, and still congregating, in the +hall. + +Miss Sally took it and read:-- + + "Coming Fair Anchor, 4.30 Tuesday. Chandon." + +She knit her brows and examined the telegraph form carefully. +The message was forwarded from Fair Anchor. It had been handed in at +the Monte Carlo post office on Sunday night, addressed to Culvercoombe, +but at what hour she could not decipher. The Fair Anchor office was +closed on Sunday, and opened on Monday at eight o'clock. The telegram +had been received there at 8.12; had been taken to Culvercoombe, and +apparently re-transmitted at 12.15. All this was unimportant. But how +on earth had her telegram, to which this was evidently a reply, reached +Monte Carlo on Sunday evening--last evening? + +She considered awhile, and hit on the explanation. Parson Chichester +last evening, calling on the coast-guard in his search, must have used +their telephone and got the message through by some office open on +Sundays. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE RESCUE + + +"_O, who lives on the Island, + Betwix' the sea an' the sky? +--I think it must be a lady, a lady, +I think it must be a genuwine lady, + She carries her head so high._"--OLD BALLAD. + +In the moonlit garden of the Casino at Monte Carlo Miles Chandon smoked +a cigar pensively, leaning against the low wall that overlooks the +pigeon-shooters' enclosure, the railway station and the foreshore. +He was alone, as always. That a man who, since the great folly of his +life, had obstinately cultivated solitude should make holiday in Monte +Carlo, of all places, is paradoxical enough; but in truth the crowd +around the tables, the diners at the hotel, the pigeon-shooters, the +whole cosmopolitan gathering of idle rich and predatory poor, were a +Spectacle to him and no more. If once or twice a day he staked a few +napoleons on black or red in the inner room of the Casino, it was as a +man, finding himself at Homburg or Marienbad, might take a drink of the +waters from curiosity and to fill up the time. He made no friends in +the throng. He found no pleasure in it. But when he grew weary at home +in his laboratory, or when his doctor advised that confinement and too +much poring over chemicals were telling on his health, he packed up and +made for Monte Carlo, or some other expensive place popularly supposed +to be a "pleasure-resort." As a matter of fact, he did not understand +pleasure, or what it means. + +Finding him in this pensive attitude in the moonlit garden by the sea, +you might guess that he was sentimentalising over his past. He was +doing nothing of the sort. He was watching a small greyish-white object +the moon revealed on the roof of the railway station below, just within +the parapet. He knew it to be a pigeon that had escaped, wounded, from +the sportsmen in the enclosure. Late that afternoon he had seen the +poor creature fluttering. He wondered that the officials (at Monte +Carlo they clean up everything) had not seen it before and removed it. +He watched it, curious to know if it were still alive. He had a fancy +at the back of his head--that if the small body fluttered again he would +go back to his rooms, fetch a revolver, and give the _coup de grace_. +And he smiled as he played with the fancy, foreseeing the rush of +agitated officials that a revolver-shot in the gardens would instantly +bring upon him. It would be great fun, explaining; but the offence no +doubt would be punishable. By what? Banishment, probably. + +He turned for a moment at the sound of a footstep, and was aware of his +man Louis. + +"A telegram, sir." + +"Eh? Now who in the world--Matters hasn't burnt down Meriton, I hope?" + +He opened the telegram and walked with it to the nearest of the electric +lamps; read it, and stood pondering. + +"Louis, when does the new night-express leave for Paris?" + +"In twenty-five minutes, sir." + +"Then I've a mind to catch it. Put up a travelling-suit in my bag. +I can get out of these clothes in the train. You had better pack the +rest, pay the bill, and follow to-morrow." + +"If you wish it, sir. But if I may suggest--" + +"Yes?" + +"In twenty minutes I can do all that easily, and book the +sleeping-berths too. I suggest, sir, you will find it more comfortable, +having me on the train." + +"Admirable man--hurry up, then!" + +The admirable man saluted respectfully and retired "hurt," as they say +in the cricket reports. He never hurried; it was part of the secret by +which he was always punctual. At the station he even found time to +suggest that his master might wish to send a telegram, and to dispatch +it. + +This was on Sunday. They reached London late on Monday evening, and +there--Louis having telegraphed from Paris--Sir Miles found his +favourite room ready for him at Claridge's. Next morning, as his hansom +drew up a few minutes after eleven o'clock by the entrance to Paddington +Station, he observed that the porter who stepped forward from the rank +to attend on him, did so with a preoccupied air. The man was grinning, +and kept glancing along the pavement to his right. + +"Luggage on the cab just behind," said Sir Miles, alighting. +"Never mind me; my man will take the tickets and get me a seat. +But what's the excitement here?" + +"Lady along there, sir--offering to fight her cabby. Says he can't +drive for nuts--" + +"Hullo!" + +Sir Miles looked, recognised Miss Sally, and walked briskly towards her. +She caught sight of him and nodded. + +"Thought you would come. Excuse me a moment." + +She lifted her voice and addressed the cabby again-- + +"Oh, you can talk. They taught you that at the Board School, no doubt. +But drive you cannot; and talk you would not, if you knew the respect +due to a mouth--your own or your horse's." + +With this parting shot she turned to Sir Miles again, and held out her +hand. + +"Tell your man he needn't trouble about a seat for you. I've engaged a +compartment where we can talk." + +"Well?" he asked, ten minutes later, lowering his newspaper as the train +drew out of the station. + +"Well, in the first place, it's very good of you to come." + +"Oh, as for that . . . You know that if I can ever do you any service--" + +"But you can't. It was for your own sake I telegraphed." + +"Mine? Is Meriton really burnt to the ground, then? But even that news +wouldn't gravely afflict me." + +"It isn't--and it would. At any rate, it might now, I hope," said Miss +Sally enigmatically. + +He waited for her to continue. + +"Your wife's dead!" she said. + +She heard him draw a quick breath. + +"Indeed?" he asked indifferently. + +"But your son isn't--at least, I hope not." + +He looked up and met her eyes. + +"But I had word," he said slowly, "word from her, and in her own +handwriting. A boy was born, and died six or seven weeks later--as I +remember, the letter said within a week after his christening." + +Miss Sally nodded. + +"That settles it," she said; "being untrue, as I happen to know. +The child was alive and hearty a year after the christening, when they +left Cawsand and moved to the East coast. The fact is, my friend, you +had run up--if not in your wife, then in the coastguardsman Ned +Commins--against a pride as stubborn as your own. They wrote you a +lie--that's certain; and I'm as hard as most upon liars; but, +considering all, I don't blame 'em. They weren't mercenary, anyway. +They only wanted to have no more truck with you." + +"Have you seen the boy?" + +Again Miss Sally nodded. + +"Yes, and there's no doubting the parentage. I never saw that +cross-hatched under-lip in any but a Chandon, though you _do_ hide it +with a beard: let alone that he carries the four lozenges tattooed on +his shoulder. Ned Commins did that. There was a moment, belike, when +they weakened--either he or the woman. But you had best hear the story, +and then you can judge the evidence for yourself." + +She told it. He listened with set face, interposing here and there to +ask a question, or to weigh one detail of her narrative against another. + +"If the children should be lost--which God forbid!" she wound up, "--and +if I never did another good day's work in my life, I'll remember that +they started me to clear that infernal Orphanage. It's by the +interposition of Heaven that you didn't find me on Paddington platform +with three-and-twenty children under my wing. 'Interposition of +Heaven,' did I say? You may call it, if you will, the constant and +consistent foolishness of my brother Elphinstone. In every tight corner +of my life I've learnt to trust in Elphinstone for a fool, and he has +never betrayed me yet. There I was in the hotel with these +twenty-three derelicts, all underfed, and all more or less mentally +defective through Glasson's ill-treatment. Two or three were actually +crying, in a feeble way, to be 'taken home,' as they called it. They +were afraid--afraid of their kind, afraid of strange faces, afraid of +everything but to be starved and whipped. I was forced to send out and +buy new clothes for some, there and then; and their backs, when I +stripped 'em, were criss-crossed with weals--not quite fresh, you +understand, for Glasson had been kept busy of late, and the woman +Huggins hadn't his arm. Well, there I was, stranded, with these +creatures on my hands, all of 'em, as you may say, looking up at me in a +dumb way, and wanting to know why I couldn't have let 'em alone--and if +ever I smash up another Orphanage you may call me a Turk, and put me in +a harem--when all of a sudden it occurred to me to look up the names of +the benevolent parties backing the institution. The woman had given me +a copy of the prospectus, intending to impress me. I promised myself +I'd rattle these philanthropists as they 'd never been rattled before in +their lives. And then--why had I ever doubted him?--half-way down the +list I lit on Elphinstone's name. . . . His place is at Henley-in-Arden, +you see, and not far from Bursfield. . . . So I rattled the others +(I spent three-quarters of an hour in the telegraph office, and before +eleven last night I had thirty-two answers. They are all in my bag, and +you shall look 'em over by and by, if you want to be tickled), but I +sent Elphinstone what the girl Tilda would call a cough-drop. It ran to +five sheets or thereabouts, and cost four-and-eightpence; and I wound up +by telling him I meant every word I'd said. He's in Bursfield at this +moment, you may bet, carting those orphans around into temporary +quarters. And Elphinstone is a kind-hearted man, but orphans are not +exactly his line--not what he'd call congenial to him." + +"But these two? You seem to me pretty sure about finding them on +Holmness: too sure, I suggest. Either you've forgotten to say why +you're certain, or I may have missed--" + +"You are getting keen, I see. No, I have no right to be sure, except +that I rely on the girl--and on Hucks. (You ought to know Hucks, by the +way; he is a warrior.) But I _am_ sure: so sure that I have wired for a +steam-launch to be ready by Clatworthy pier. . . . Will you come?" + +"I propose to see this affair through," he said deliberately. + +Miss Sally gave him a sharp look, and once again nodded approval. + +"And, moreover, so sure," she went on, "that I have not wired to send +Chichester in search. That's worrying me, I confess; for although Hucks +is positive the girl would not start for Holmness without provisions-- +and on my reading of her, he's right--this is Tuesday, and they have +been missing ever since Saturday night, or Sunday morning at latest." + +"If that is worrying you," said Chandon, "it may ease your mind to know +that there is food and drink on the Island. I built a cottage there two +years ago, with a laboratory; I spent six weeks in it this summer; and-- +well, ships have been wrecked On Holmness, and, as an old naval officer, +I've provided for that sort of thing." + +Miss Sally slapped her knee. (Her gestures were always unconventional.) + +"We shall find 'em there!" she announced. "I'm willing to lay you five +to one in what you like." + +They changed at Taunton for Fair Anchor. At Fair Anchor Station Sir +Miles's motor awaited them. It had been ordered by Parson Chichester, +instructed by telegram from Taunton. + +The parson himself stood on the platform, but he could give no news of +the missing ones. + +"We'll have 'em before nightfall," promised Miss Sally. "Come with us, +if you will." + +So all three climbed into the motor, and were whirled across the moor, +and down the steep descent into Clatworthy village, and by Clatworthy +pier a launch lay ready for them with a full head of steam. + +During the passage few words were said; and indeed the eager throb of +the launch's engine discouraged conversation. Chandon steered, with his +eyes fixed on the Island. Miss Sally, too, gazed ahead for the most +part; but from time to time she contrived a glance at his weary face-- +grey even in the sunset towards which they were speeding. + +Sunset lay broad and level across the Severn Sea, lighting its milky +flood with splashes of purple, of lilac, of gold. The sun itself, as +they approached the Island, dropped behind its crags, silhouetting them +against a sky of palest blue. + +They drove into its chill shadow, and landed on the very beach from +which the children had watched the stag swim out to meet his death. +They climbed up by a pathway winding between thorn and gorse, and on the +ridge met the flaming sunlight again. + +Miss Sally shielded her eyes. + +"They will be here, if anywhere," said Sir Miles, and led the way down +the long saddle-back to the entrance of the gully. + +"Hullo!" exclaimed he, coming to a halt as the chimneys of the bungalow +rose into view above the gorse bushes. From one of them a steady stream +of smoke was curling. + +"It's a hundred to one!" gasped Miss Sally triumphantly. + +They hurried down--to use her own expression--like a pack in full cry. +It was Parson Chichester who claimed afterwards that he won by a short +length, and lifting the latch, pushed the door open. And this was the +scene he opened on, so far as it has since been reconstructed:-- + +Tilda stood with her back to the doorway and a couple of paces from it, +surveying a table laid--so far as Sir Miles's stock of glass and cutlery +allowed--for a dinner-party of eight. She was draped from the waist +down in a crimson window-curtain, which spread behind her in a +full-flowing train. In her hand she held her recovered book--the +_Lady's Vade-Mecum_; and she read from it, addressing Arthur Miles, who +stood and enacted butler by the side-table, in a posture of studied +subservience-- + + "Dinner bein' announced, the 'ostess will dismiss + all care, or at least appear to do so: and, 'avin' + marshalled 'er guests in order of precedence (see + page 67 supra) will take the arm of the gentleman + favoured to conduct 'er. Some light and playful + remark will 'ere be not out of place, such as--" + +"Well, I'm d--d, if you'll excuse me," ejaculated Miss Sally. + +Late that night, in his smoking-room at Meriton, Sir Miles Chandon +knocked out the ashes of his pipe against the bars of the grate, rose, +stretched himself, and looked about him. Matters had left a bedroom +candle ready to hand on a side-table, as his custom was. But Sir Miles +took up the lamp instead. + +Lamp in hand, he went up the great staircase, and along the unlit fifty +yards of corridor to the room where his son lay. In all the great house +he could hear no sound, scarcely even the tread of his own foot on the +thick carpeting. + +He opened the door almost noiselessly and stood by the bed, holding the +lamp high. + +But noiselessly though Sir Miles had come, the boy was awake. Nor was +it in his nature, being awake, to feign sleep. He looked up, blinking a +little, but with no fear in his gentle eyes. + +His father had not counted on this. He felt an absurd bashfulness tying +his tongue. At length he struggled to say-- + +"'Thought I'd make sure you were comfortable. That's all." + +"Oh, yes--thank you. Comfortable and--and--only just thinking a bit." + +"We'll have a long talk to-morrow. That girl--she's a good sort, eh?" + +"Tilda? . . . Why, of course, she did it _all_. She's the best in the +world!" + + + +EPILOGUE + + +The time is seven years later--seven years and a half, rather; the +season, spring; the hour, eight in the morning; and the place, a corner +of Culvercoombe, where Miss Sally's terraced garden slopes to meet the +wild woodland through an old orchard billowy overhead with pink and +white blossom and sheeted underfoot with blue-bells. At the foot of the +orchard, and on the very edge of the woodland, lies a small enclosure, +where from the head of the slope you catch sight, between the apple +trees, of a number of white stones glimmering; but your eyes rest rather +on the figure of a girl who has just left the enclosure, and is mounting +the slope with a spade on her shoulder. + +You watch her, yourself invisible, while she approaches. You might gaze +until she has passed, and yet not recognise her for Tilda. She wears a +coat and skirt of grey homespun, fashioned for country wear yet +faultless in cut, the skirt short enough to reveal a pair of trim ankles +cased in shooting-gaiters. Beneath her grey shooting-cap, also of +homespun, her hair falls in two broad bands over the brows, and is +gathered up at the back of the head in a plain Grecian knot. By the +brows, if you had remarked them in days gone by, when neither you nor +she gave a second thought to her looks, you might know her again; or +perhaps by the poise of the chin, and a touch of decision in the eyes. +In all else the child has vanished, and given place to this good-looking +girl, with a spring in her gait and a glow on her cheek that tell of +clean country nurture. + +At the head of the path above the orchard grows an old ash tree, and so +leans that its boughs, now bursting into leaf, droop pendent almost as a +weeping willow. Between them you catch a glimpse of the Bristol +Channel, blue-grey beyond a notch of the distant hills. She pauses here +for a look. The moors that stretch for miles on all sides of +Culvercoombe are very silent this sunny morning. It is the season when +the sportsman pauses and takes breath for a while, and neither gun nor +horn is abroad. The birds are nesting; the stag more than a month since +has "hung his old head on the pale," and hides while his new antlers are +growing amid the young green bracken that would seem to imitate them in +its manner of growth; the hinds have dropped their calves, and fare with +them unmolested. It is the moors' halcyon time, and the weather to-day +well befits it. + +Tilda's face is grave, however, as she stands there in the morning +sunshine. She is looking back upon the enclosure where the white stones +overtop the bluebells. They are headstones, and mark the cemetery where +Miss Sally, not ordinarily given to sentiment, has a fancy for interring +her favourite dogs. + +You guess now why Tilda carries a spade, and what has happened, but may +care to know how it happened. + +Sir Elphinstone is paying a visit just now to Culvercoombe. +He regards Tilda with mixed feelings, and Tilda knows it. The knowledge +nettles her a little and amuses her a good deal. Just now Miss Sally +and he are improving their appetites for breakfast by an early canter +over the moor, and no doubt are discussing her by the way. + +Last night, with the express purpose of teasing him, Miss Sally had +asked Tilda to take up a book and read to her for a while. The three +were seated in the drawing-room after dinner, and Sir Elphinstone +beginning to grow impatient for his game of piquet. On the hearth-rug +before the fire were stretched Godolphus and three of Miss Sally's prize +setters; but Godolphus had the warmest corner, and dozed there +stertorously. + +The book chanced to be Gautier's _Emaux et Camees_, and Tilda to open it +at the _Carnaval de Venise_-- + + "Il est un vieil air populaire + Par tous les violons racle, + Aux abois de chiens en colere + Par tous les orgues nasille." + +She read the first verse with a pure clear accent and paused, with a +glance first at the hearth-rug, then at Sir Elphinstone in his chair. +Perhaps the sight of him stirred a small flame of defiance. At any rate +she closed the book, went straight to the piano, and recklessly rattled +out the old tune, at once so silly and haunting. Had she not heard it a +thousand times in the old circus days? + +Her eyes were on the keyboard. Hardly daring to lift them, she followed +up the air with a wild variation and dropped back upon it again--not +upon the air pure and simple, but upon the air as it might be rendered +by a two-thirds-intoxicated coachful of circus bandsmen. The first +half-a-dozen bars tickled Miss Sally in the midriff, so that she laughed +aloud. But the laugh ended upon a sharp exclamation, and Tilda, still +jangling, looked up as Sir Elphinstone chimed in with a "What the +devil!" and started from his chair. + +'Dolph was the cause of it. 'Dolph at the first notes had lifted his +head, unobserved. Then slowly raising himself on his rheumatic +fore-legs, the old dog heaved erect and waddled towards the piano. +Even so no one paid any heed to him until, halting a foot or so from the +hem of Tilda's skirt, he abased his head to the carpet while his +hind-legs strained in a grotesque effort to pitch his body over in a +somersault. + +It was at this that Sir Elphinstone had exclaimed. Tilda, glancing down +sideways across her shoulder, saw and checked a laugh. She understood. +She let her fingers rest on a crashing chord, and rose from the +music-stool as the dog rolled over on his flank. + +"'Dolph! My poor old darling!" + +She knelt to him, stretching out her arms. The candlelight fell on +them, and on the sheen of her evening frock, and on the small dark curls +clustering on the nape of her bowed neck; and by the same light 'Dolph +lifted his head and gazed up at her. That look endured for five +seconds, perhaps; but in it shone more than she could remember, and more +than she could ever forget--a life's devotion compressed into one last +leap of the flame, to expire only with life itself. As her hands went +swiftly down to him, his tongue strove to lick them; but his head fell +back, and his spirit went out into whatever darkness the spirits of dead +dogs possess. + +You know now why Tilda is not riding this morning, why she carries a +spade on her shoulder, and why her face on this sunny morning wears a +pensive shadow as she gazes back through the orchard trees. But 'Dolph, +the circus mongrel, sleeps among hounds of nobler breed, and shall have +a stone as honourable as any. + +Now, if you were to look more closely, you might perceive a small stain +of green on the front of the homespun skirt otherwise so trim, and might +jump to the erroneous conclusion that before leaving the enclosure she +had knelt to say a prayer over the snapping of this last tie with her +old disreputable life. It is not precisely Christian, perhaps, to pray +over a dog's grave; but I am pretty sure that Parson Chichester, who has +made some tentative openings towards preparing Tilda for Confirmation, +would overlook the irregularity, and even welcome it as a foreshadowing +of grace. But Parson Chichester is a discerning man, as well as an +honest; and for some reason, although Tilda has long passed the normal +age to be prepared for that rite, he has forborne to press her as yet +even to be baptised. It will all come in time, he hopes; but he has a +queer soul to deal with. + +--A queer soul, and (as he perceives) a self-respecting one. If she +come to it, she will come in her own time. So let it be confessed, as a +secret she would be extremely annoyed to hear revealed, that she did +indeed kneel five minutes since, but with no thought of religion; to try +rather, over 'Dolph's grave, if she could bend her body back in the old +acrobatic trick. + +She could not, of course. She had known that she could not even as-- +with a glance around her to make sure she was unobserved--she had made +the effort. Time had taken away the old Tilda with the old 'Dolph. +She was a girl grown, a girl with limbs firmed by outdoor sports and +country living. And she had learnt much--so much, that to have learnt +it she had necessarily forgotten much. You or I, meeting her this +morning for the first time, had made no doubt of her being a young lady +of rather exceptional breeding. + +She looked back to the spot where 'Dolph rested among dogs of loftiest +race. She knew that Sir Elphinstone and Miss Sally were discussing her +while they rode, and she could hear two words Sir Elphinstone let fall. +She repeated them to herself--"Nobody's child." + +She did not remember that she had once thanked her gods for it. + +The rural postman carried a brass cowhorn, and made a practice of +sounding it as he mounted the road leading to Culvercoombe. Its note, +sounding through the clear morning air, aroused Tilda from her brown +study, and she ran lightly up the slope to catch him on the upper +terrace. + +He handed her the day's mail--a dozen letters or more, and among them +one addressed to her. In the whole world was but one handwriting that +ever came for her; recognisable always, though with each post it grew +firmer in character. + +The envelope bore an Italian stamp and a Neapolitan postmark. +Arthur Miles was a midshipman now, soon to be a second-lieutenant; his +ship, the _Indomitable_, attached to the Mediterranean fleet. She broke +the seal. . . . The letter was a boyish one, full of naval slang, +impersonal, the sort of letter growing boys write to their mothers. +But Arthur Miles had no mother; and if he wrote to his father, Tilda +knew that he wrote more formally. + +"We were sent up here," the letter said, "on getting word that Vesuvius +meant to erupt badly, and that we might be useful. But the show seems +to be hanging fire, and we may be ordered back to Malta at any moment. +Half a dozen of us made up a picnic yesterday, to have a look at the +crater at close quarters. We cooked some eggs on it, to show our +unconcern, and while we were cooking them up came an American, who had +pitched camp in the foolhardiest spot. Guess why--to paint it! +Guess who he was--why, Jessup! Do you remember Jessup? He introduced +himself, and I knew him at once; but he did not know me, and I did not +enlighten him. He said that the Art of the Future must depend on the +development of wireless telegraphy, and that in the meanwhile he was +just marking time with earthquakes." + +Tilda, having read thus far, looks up at the sound of horses' hoofs. +Miss Sally and Sir Elphinstone are returning from their ride. + +"And, after all, why not?" Miss Sally is saying. + +"The very mistake his father made!" + +"Homoeopathy is one of my fads, remember." + +"A nobody's child!" + +"True; and so would _he_ have been, but for her." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12316 *** |