"GUARD TURN OUT!"
"He felt for them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world.
He was not envious ... but wished to be as lovely as they."--_The Ugly
Duckling_.
"It is jolly to be here at Brenlands again," said Jack, as he sat
dangling his legs from the kitchen table, and munching one of the sweet
pods of the peas which his aunt was shelling. "I've been looking
forward to it ever since last summer."
"Yes, and a pretty fuss I had to get you to accept my first
invitation," answered Queen Mab; "I thought you were never going to
condescend to favour us with your company. However, I've got you all
here again, and it _is_ jolly; and what's more, you managed to turn up
at the proper time yesterday instead of coming half a day late, as you
did last year, you rascal!"
The boy laughed. "Oh, well! you may put that down to Val," he
answered. "He's quite taken me in hand lately, and has been in an
awful funk for fear I should get into another row just before the
holidays. You know those penny toys you get with a little thing like a
pair of bellows under them that squeaks--well, I got a bird the other
day and pulled off the stand, and stuck it in my shoe so that I could
make a noise with it when I walked. Whenever I moved about in class,
old Ward used to beseech me with tears in his eyes to wear another pair
of boots. I used to come squeaking into assemblies a bit late on
purpose, and send all the fellows into fits. It was a fearful joke;
but poor old Val got quite huffy about it, and kept saying I should be
found out, and that there was no sense in my 'monkey tricks,' as he
called them."
"So they are," answered Queen Mab, smiling in spite of herself. "I
should have thought you were old enough to find some more sensible
amusement than putting pieces of penny toys in your boots. You may
laugh at Valentine if you like, but I can tell you this, he's very fond
of you, and that's the reason why he doesn't like to see you in
trouble."
"I know he is," returned the boy briskly. "He's a brick; and I like
him better than any other chap in the school."
Queen Mab went on shelling her peas, and Jack remained perched on the
end of the table, quite content to continue watching her nimble fingers
and sweet, restful face. It certainly was jolly to be back again at
Brenlands. He was no longer the ugly duckling; Helen and Barbara were
like sisters, and he got on with them swimmingly; all kinds of splendid
projects were on the carpet, and there were plenty of long summer days
to look forward to in which to carry them out. To be a careless dog of
a schoolboy, ready for anything in the way of larks and excitement, and
paying precious little attention to one's books or conduct record,
might be a fascinating sort of existence; yet somehow it was not
altogether unpleasant, once in a way, to become for a time a member of
a more civilized and refined society, where gentler treatment
encouraged gentler manners, where hearts were thought of as well as
heads, where there was no black list, and where no one would have made
a boast of being on it, had such a thing existed.
This year the mimic war operations were of a more advanced kind than
had ever been attempted before. A fortress built of clay and pebbles
was mined and blown up; and there still being some powder left, Jack
successfully performed the feat of blowing himself up, and in doing so
sustained the loss of an eyebrow. In order that this catastrophe
should not alarm Queen Mab, the missing hair was replaced by burnt
cork; but Jack, forgetting what had happened, sponged his face and
rushed down to tea, where Barbara, after regarding him for a few
moments in silence, leaned across the table and remarked, with a wise
shake of her head, "Yes, I see--you've been shaving."
But what proved a source of endless delight to the two boys was an old,
military bell-tent which Queen Mab had bought for their special use and
amusement. They pitched it on a corner of the lawn, and were always
repairing thither to read, and talk, and hold councils of war. It was
delightful to speculate as to what doughty warriors might have been
sheltered beneath it; and to imagine that sundry small rents and
patches must be the result of the enemy's fire, and not due to the wear
and tear of ordinary encampments.
Not satisfied with living in it by day, they determined to pass a night
there also, and would not rest content until their aunt had given them
permission to try the experiment.
"All we want," said Valentine, "is a mackintosh to spread on the
ground, and a few rugs and sofa cushions, and a candle and a box of
matches."
"Very well, you can have plenty of those," answered Queen Mab; "perhaps
some day you won't be so well off, Valentine."
She spoke lightly enough, and with no foreshadowing of a visionary
picture, often to haunt her mind in the days to come, of men lying
silently under a clear, starlit sky, with belts on, rifles by their
sides, and bayonets ready fixed.
The two boys prepared to put their project into immediate execution;
and in connection with this their first but by no means last experience
of a night under canvas, they were destined to fall in with a little
adventure which must be recorded.
Shortly before the commencement of the holidays a lot of strawberries
had been stolen from the garden, and Queen Mab feared lest a similar
fate should overtake a fine show of pears which were just getting ripe.
"Well, good-night," she said, as she prepared to close the door on the
two adventurers; "if you're cold, and want to come in, throw some
pebbles up at my window."
"Oh, we shan't want to come in," answered Jack stoutly. "If you hear
any one coming to steal the fruit, you shout, 'Guard turn out!' and
we'll nab 'em."
The boys settled down like old campaigners. "Awful joke, isn't it?"
said Jack.
"Yes, prime!" answered Valentine; "soldiering must be jolly."
Half an hour passed.
"I say," murmured Valentine, "this ground seems precious hard!"
"Yes," answered his companion. "I've tried lying on it every way, and
I believe my bones are coming through my skin."
A long pause, and then, "I say, don't you think it's nearly morning?"
"Oh, no! the church clock has only just struck one."
The darkness seemed to lengthen out into that of a polar winter instead
of a single night. At length the canvas walls began to grow grey with
dawn, and Jack awoke with a shiver, wondering whether he had really
been asleep or not.
"It's beastly cold," he muttered.
"Yes," answered Valentine. "I thought it was never going to get light.
Look here, I'm determined I _will_ sleep! What's the good of my being
a soldier if I can't sleep in a tent?"
He turned over on his face, and had just dropped off into a doze, when
he was awakened by Jack, who had reached over and was shaking his arm.
"I say--Val--who was that?"
"Who's what?" was the drowsy answer.
"Why! didn't you hear? Some one just walked down the path. It can't
be Jakes; it isn't five o'clock."
Valentine rubbed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then suddenly sat
up broad awake.
"The pears!" he whispered.
Both boys sprang up, unlaced the door of the tent, and sallied forth in
the direction of the fruit garden.
"Don't make a row; walk on the grass border. Hist! there he is!"
There he was, sure enough; a boy about their own age, calmly picking
pears and dropping them into a basket. Jack and Valentine slowly crept
down by the side of the raspberry bushes, like Indians on a war-trail.
"Now then!" murmured the former, "charge!"
The thief jumped as if a gun had been fired off behind him, and started
to run, but before he could reach the path he was fairly collared. He
struggled violently, and then commenced to kick, whereupon his arm was
suddenly twisted behind his back, a style of putting on the curb-rein
with which fractious small boys will be well acquainted.
"Woa! steady now, 'oss!" said Jack facetiously. "Keep your feet quiet,
or I shall put the screw on a bit tighter. Now then, what shall we do
with him?"
"Put him into the tool shed," answered Valentine.
The culprit, finding himself fairly mastered, became more docile. His
captors, however, turned a deaf ear to his pleadings to be let go; and
thrusting him into the little outhouse, turned the key in the lock, and
then began to wonder what they should do next.
"Well," said Jack, "we've got a prisoner of war now, and no mistake.
What shall we do with the beggar? go for a policeman?"
"No, we don't want to get the chap sent to prison."
"If we tell Aunt Mab she'll let him go, and he ought to be punished."
"Of course he does--young villain! It's like his cheek coming here and
bagging all the fruit."
"I have it!" said Jack, suddenly struck with a bright idea. "We'll
lick him!"
Valentine hesitated. "I don't like setting on a chap two against one,"
he answered. "I don't mind a stand-up fight."
"Well, that's what I mean," answered Jack joyously. "Look here!" he
continued, hammering on the door of the shed--"look here, you inside
there! I'm going to punch your head for stealing those pears. If you
like to come out I'll fight you, and then you can go; if not, you can
stay where you are. Will you come?"
"Yes," answered the prisoner sullenly.
Twenty years ago a fight was not quite such a rare occurrence at
Melchester School as it would be to-day. Jack threw off his coat with
alacrity.
"Now, Val, you watch; and if the beggar tries to bolt, you leg him
down."
With a dogged look the stranger took up his ground, and on the signal
being given for the commencement of hostilities, lowered his head, and
made a wild rush at his antagonist. The latter stepped aside, and
greeted him with a smart cuff on the side of the head. Once more the
visitor came on like a runaway windmill, but this time Jack walked
backward and refused the encounter.
"Oh, look here," he cried, in an injured tone, "can't you do any better
than that? Can't you stand up and hit straight? Don't you know how to
box?"
"No."
"Well, what's the good of saying you'll come out and fight? What's
your name?"
"Joe Crouch."
"Well then, Joseph, you'd better take your hook. There's your old
basket, only just leave those pears behind; and don't come here again,
or we'll set the bobby on your track."
Crouch marched off, evidently astonished at finding himself at liberty
to depart. When he reached the gate, he turned, and touched his cap.
"Morning, gen'lemen," he said, and so disappeared. Valentine laughed,
and regarded his cousin with a queer look in his face.
"You are a rum fellow, Jack; you're always wanting to fight somebody.
When you get two fellows against you like Garston and Rosher, you go at
it like a tiger; and then another time, just because you get hold of a
chap who can't knock you down, you back out and make peace."
"Well," answered the other, "there's no sport in licking a chap like
that. I'll tell you what, I'm frightfully hungry."
The two adventurers had plenty to tell at breakfast that morning, and
the interest in their capture lasted throughout the day. In the
evening the young folks went out a favourite walk through the lanes and
fields. Valentine and Barbara were running races on the way home; but
Jack lingered behind with Helen, who was gathering ferns.
"Let me carry your basket," he said.
"Oh, don't you trouble; you'd rather run on with Val and Barbara."
"I expect you don't want me. I know you think I've got no manners, and
in that you're about right."
"No, I don't think anything of the kind," said Helen, laughing. "I
shall be very glad if you will carry the basket, because I want to talk
to you."
"Now for a lecture," said Jack to himself.--"All right, fire away!"
"Well," began the girl, looking round at him with a twinkle in her eye,
"I want to know why you didn't set Val on to fight that boy this
morning, instead of offering to do it yourself."
"Oh, I don't know! It was my own idea; besides, I'm bigger and
stronger."
"You mean you did it so that Val shouldn't get hurt, in the same way
that you grappled with those three fellows who were ill-treating him at
school."
"Pooh! he didn't tell you that, did he? He always lets you know all
the bothers I get into. You'll think I do nothing but fight and kick
up rows; and," added the speaker, with a pathetic look of injured
innocence, "I've been behaving jolly well lately."
"I think you're a dear, good fellow for defending Val," said Helen
warmly, "and I've been wanting to thank you ever since."
"It was nothing. 'Twasn't half as much as he did for me when he
climbed that tree and freed my bootlace. I wish he wouldn't go telling
you everything that happens at school."
"You were saying a day or so ago," said the girl, slyly, "that you
didn't care for anybody, or for what people thought of you."
"Yes, I do," answered the ugly duckling; "I care a lot what you folks
think of me at Brenlands."
"Why?"
"Why, because you're all better than I am, and yet you never try to
make me feel it; but I do all the same. And I love you three and Queen
Mab; and I love the place; and I should like to live here always. But
outside of that," he added quickly, "I don't care a button for
anything."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."
"But it's a fact."
"You mean," she answered gently, "that you've said it so often that at
last you're beginning to believe it's true."
A few mornings later, when the boys came down to breakfast, they were
surprised, on looking out of the window, to see no less a personage
than Joe Crouch weeding the garden path.
"I found he was out of work, and his parents wretchedly poor," said
Queen Mab; "so I said he might come and help Jakes by doing a few odd
jobs. You know the old maxim," she added, smiling--"the beet way to
subdue an enemy is to turn him into a friend."
The two boys took considerable interest in Crouch, regarding him as
their own particular protege. Joe, for his part, seemed to remember
their early morning encounter with gratitude, as having been the means
of landing him in his present situation. He had apparently a great
amount of respect for Jack, and seeing the latter cutting sticks with a
blunt knife, asked leave to take it home with him, and brought it back
next day with the blades shining like silver, and as sharp as razors.
One afternoon, when the boys were lying reading in the tent, Barbara
suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and stamping her foot, cried,
"_Bother_!"
"What's up with you, Bar?"
"Why, that wretched Raymond Fosberton is in the house talking to Aunt
Mab. He's walked over from Grenford; and he is going to stay the
night."
Valentine groaned, and Jack administered a kick to an unoffending
camp-stool.
"What does he want to come here for, I wonder?" continued Barbara.
"Silly monkey! you should just see him in his white waistcoat and shiny
boots--faugh!" And she choked with wrath.
Raymond's presence certainly did not contribute very much to the
happiness of the party. He monopolized the conversation at tea-time,
was very high and mighty in his manner, and patronized everybody in
turn. He lost his temper playing croquet, and broke one of the
mallets; and later on in the evening he cheated at "word-making," and
because he failed to win, pronounced it a "stupid game, only fit for
kids."
In Barbara, however, he found his match. She cared not two straws for
all the Fosbertons alive or dead; and when the visitor, who had been
teasing her for some time, went so far as to pull her hair, she
promptly dealt him a vigorous box on the ear, a proceeding which so
delighted the warlike Jack that he chuckled till bed-time.
Every one felt relieved when it came to tea-time on the following day.
Raymond had announced his intention of walking home in the cool of the
evening, and Queen Mab proposed that his cousins should accompany him
part of the way.
They had walked about a mile, Jack and Helen being a little in advance
of the others, when the girl caught hold of her cousin's arm.
"Oh, look!" she said, "there's a man coming who's drunk."
"Never mind," answered Jack stoutly; "he won't interfere with us."
The man, who had reeled into the hedge, suddenly staggered back into
the middle of the road, and stood there barring the way.
"'Ello! Misser Fenleigh," he began, "'ow're you to-night, sir?"
Jack stared at the speaker in astonishment, and then recognized him as
the same man who had spoken to them in Melchester.
"Look here!" he said hotly. "I've told you twice I don't know you.
You just stand clear and let us pass."
By this time the remainder of the party had come up.
"Why, 'ere's Misser Fosbe'ton," continued the man, with a tipsy leer.
"Now I jus' ask you, sir, if these two gen'lemen don't owe me some
money for a drink."
Raymond's face flushed crimson, and then turned white.
"You've had too much already, Hanks," he said sharply; "just shut up,
and stand out of the road."
"Oh, no offence!" muttered the man, staggering aside to let the cousins
pass; "'nother time'll do jus' the same."
"Look here, Raymond, who is that fellow?" asked Valentine, as soon as
they had got out of earshot of the stranger, "Twice he's come up to us
in the street at Melchester, saying he knows us, and wanting money; and
the last time, old Westford saw us talking to him, and we got into a
beastly row, and were gated for a fortnight. Who is he?"
"Oh, he's a lazy blackguard called Ned Hanks; he's always poaching and
getting drunk. He never does any work, except now and then he collects
rags and bones, and sells them in Melchester."
"How does he know you?"
"He lives close to Grenford, and every one knows me there."
"But how does he know _us_?"
"I can't say. Haven't you ever seen him at Brenlands?"
"No, never."
"Well, I suppose he must have found out your name somehow; and he's
always cadging for money for a drink. Don't you trouble to come any
further. By-the-bye, next year I'm going to set up in diggings at
Melchester. I shall be articled to a solicitor there; and if you
fellows are still at the school, we might go out together."
"Confound that man!" said Jack, on the following morning; "I should
like to find out who he is, and why he always speaks to us. I wonder
if Crouch knows anything about him."
Joe Crouch was questioned, and admitted that he knew the man Hanks well
by sight, and had sometimes spoken to him.
Jack explained the reason of his inquiry. "The fellow's got us into
one row already. Why should he always be bothering us for money?"
Joe Crouch stood thoughtfully scratching his head for a moment with the
point of the grass clippers.
"I dunno, sir," he answered; "but maybe I might find out."