It was rather a beautiful old house--the house where Austin lived.
That is, it was old-fashioned, low-browed, solid, and built of that
peculiar sort of red brick which turns a rich rose-colour with age;
and this warm rosy tint was set off to advantage by the thick mantle
of dark green ivy in which it was partly encased, and by the row of
tall white and purple irises which ran along the whole length of the
sunniest side of the building. There was an ancient sun-dial just
above the door, and all the windows were made of small, square
panes--not a foot of plate-glass was there about the place; and if the
rooms were nor particularly large or stately, they had that
comfortable and settled look which tells of undisturbed occupancy by
the same inmates for many years. But the principal charm of the place
was the garden in which the house stood. In this case the frame was
really more beautiful than the picture. On one side, the grounds were
laid out in very formal style, with straight walks, clipped box
hedges, an old stone fountain, and a perfect bowling-green of a lawn;
while at right angles to this there was a plot of land in which all
regularity was set at naught, and sweet-peas, tulips, hollyhocks,
dahlias, gillyflowers, wall-flowers, sun-flowers, and a dozen others
equally sweet and friendly shared the soil with gooseberry bushes and
thriving apple-trees. Taking it all in all, it was a lovable and most
reposeful home, and Austin, who had lived there ever since he could
remember, was quite unable to imagine any lot in life that could be
compared to his.
Now this was curious, for Austin was a hopeless cripple. Up to the age
of sixteen, he had been the most active, restless, healthy boy in all
the countryside. He used to spend his days in boating, bicycling,
climbing hills, and wandering at large through the woods and leafy
lanes which stretched far and wide in all directions of the compass.
One of his chief diversions had been sheep-chasing; nothing delighted
him more than to start a whole flock of the astonished creatures
careering madly round some broad green meadow, their fat woolly backs
wobbling and jolting along in a compact mass of mild perplexity at
this sudden interruption of their never-ending meal, while Austin
scampered at their tails, as much excited with the sport as Don
Quixote himself when he dispersed the legions of Alifanfaron. Let
hare-coursers, otter-hunters, and pigeon-torturers blame him if they
choose; the exercise probably did the sheep a vast amount of good, and
Austin fully believed that they enjoyed it quite as much as he did.
Then suddenly a great calamity befell him. A weakness made itself
apparent in his right knee, accompanied by considerable pain. The
family doctor looked anxious and puzzled; a great surgeon was called
in, and the two shook their heads together in very portentous style.
It was a case of caries, they said, and Austin mustn't hunt sheep any
more. Soon he had to lie upon the sofa for several hours a day, and
what made Aunt Charlotte more anxious than anything else was that he
didn't seem to mind lying on the sofa, as he would have done if he had
felt strong and well; on the contrary, he grew thin and listless, and
instead of always jumping up and trying to evade the doctor's orders,
appeared quite content to lie there, quiet and resigned, from one
week's end to another. That, thought shrewd Aunt Charlotte, betokened
mischief. Another consultation followed, and then a very terrible
sentence was pronounced. It was necessary, in order to save his life,
that Austin should lose his leg.
What does a boy generally feel under such circumstances? What would
you and I feel? Austin's first impulse was to burst into a passionate
fit of weeping, and he yielded to it unreservedly. But, the fit once
past, he smiled brilliantly through his tears. True, he would never
again be able to enjoy those glorious ramps up hill and down dale that
up till then had sent the warm life coursing through his veins. Never
more would he go scorching along the level roads against the wind on
his cherished bicycle. The open-air athletic days of stress and effort
were gone, never to return. But there might be compensations; who
could tell? Happiness, all said and done, need not depend upon a
shin-bone more or less. He might lose a leg, but legs were, after all,
a mere concomitant to life--life did not consist in legs. There would
still be something left to live for, and who could tell whether that
something might not be infinitely grander and nobler and more
satisfying than even the rapture of flying ten miles an hour on his
wheel, or chevying a flock of agitated sheep from one pasture to
another?
Where this sudden inspiration came from, he then had no idea; but come
it did, in the very nick of time, and helped him to dry his tears. The
day of destiny also came, and his courage was put to the test. He knew
well enough, of course, that of the operation he would feel nothing.
But the sight of the hard, white, narrow pallet on which he had to
lie, the cold glint of the remorseless instruments, the neatly folded
packages of lint and cotton-wool, and the faint, horrible smell of
chloroform turned him rather sick for a minute. Then he glanced
downwards, with a sense of almost affectionate yearning, at the limb
he was about to lose. "Good-bye, dear old leg!" he murmured, with a
little laugh which smothered a rising sob. "We've had some lovely
ramps together, but the best of friends must part."
Afterwards, during the long days of dreary convalescence, he began to
feel an interest in what remained of it; and then he found himself
taking a sort of æsthetic pleasure in the smooth, beautifully-rounded
stump, which really was in its way quite an artistic piece of work. At
last, when the flesh was properly healed, and the white skin growing
healthily again around his abbreviated member, he grew eager to make
acquaintance with his new leg; for of course it was never intended
that he should perform the rest of his earthly pilgrimage with only a
leg and a half--let the added half be of what material it might. And
his excitement may be better imagined than described when, one
afternoon, the surgeon came in with a most wonderful object in his
arms--a lovely prop of bright, black, burnished wood, set off with
steel couplings and the most fascinating straps you ever saw. And the
best of all was the socket, in which his soft white stump fitted as
comfortably as though they had been made for one another--as, in fact,
one of them had been. It was a little difficult to walk just at first,
for Austin was accustomed to begin by throwing out his foot, whereas
now he had to begin by moving his thigh; this naturally made him
stagger, and for some time he could only get along with the aid of a
crutch. But to be able to walk again at all was a great achievement,
and then, if you only looked at it in the proper light, it really was
great fun.
There was, however, one person who, probably from a defective sense of
humour, was unable to see any fun in it at all. Aunt Charlotte would
have given her very ears for Austin, but her affection was of a
somewhat irritable sort, and generally took the form of scolding. She
was not a stupid woman by any means, but there was one thing in the
world she never could understand, and that was Austin himself. He
wasn't like other boys one bit, she always said. He had such a queer,
topsy-turvy way of looking at things; would express the most
outrageous opinions with an innocent unconsciousness that made her
long to box his ears, and support the most arrant absurdities by
arguments that conveyed not the smallest meaning to her intellect.
Look at him now, for instance; a cripple for life, and pretending to
see nothing in it but a joke, and expressing as much admiration for
his horrible wooden leg as though it had been a king's sceptre! In
Aunt Charlotte's view, Austin ought to have pitied himself immensely,
and expressed a hope that God would help him to bear his burden with
orthodox resignation to the Divine will; instead of which, he seemed
totally unconscious of having any burden at all--a state of mind that
was nothing less than impious. Austin was now seventeen, and it was
high time that he took more serious views of life. Ever since he was a
baby he had been her special charge; for his mother had died in giving
him birth, and his father had followed her about a twelvemonth later.
She had always done her duty to the boy, and loved him as though he
had been her own; but she reminded onlookers rather of a conscientious
elderly cat with limited views of natural history condemned by
circumstances to take care of a very irresponsible young eaglet. The
eaglet, on his side, was entirely devoted to his protectress, but it
was impossible for him not to feel a certain lenient and amused
contempt for her very limited horizon.
"Auntie," he said to her one day, "you're just like a frog at the
bottom of a well. You think the speck of blue you see above you is the
entire sky, and the water you paddle up and down in is the ocean. Why
can't you take a rather more cosmic view of things?"
This extraordinary remark occurred in the course of a wrangle between
the two, because Austin insisted on his pet cat--a plump, white,
matronly creature he had christened 'Gioconda,' because (so _he_ said)
she always smiled so sweetly--sitting up at the dinner-table and being
fed with tit-bits off his own fork; and Aunt Charlotte objected to
this proceeding on the ground that the proper place for cats was in
the kitchen. Austin, on his side, averred that cats were in many ways
much superior to human beings; that they had been worshipped as gods
by the philosophical Egyptians because they were so scornful and
mysterious; and that Gioconda herself was not only the divinest cat
alive, but entitled to respect, if only as an embodiment and
representative of cat-hood in the abstract, which was a most important
element in the economy of the universe. It was when Aunt Charlotte
stigmatised these philosophical reflections as a pack of impertinent
twaddle that Austin had had the audacity to say that she was like a
frog.
And now her eaglet had been maimed for life, and whatever he might
feel about it himself her own responsibilities were certainly much
increased. At this very moment, for instance, after having practised
stumping about the room for half-an-hour he insisted on going
downstairs. Of course the idea was ridiculous. Even the doctor shook
his head, while old Martha, who had tubbed Austin when he was two
years old, joined in the general protest. But Austin, disdaining to
argue the point with any one of them, had already hobbled out of the
room, and before they were well aware of it had begun to essay the
descent perilous. Ominous bumps were heard, and then a dull thud as of
a body falling. But a bend in the wall had caught the body, and the
explorer was none the worse. Then Aunt Charlotte, rushing back into
the bedroom, flung open the window wide.
"Lubin!" she shouted lustily.
A young gardener boy, tall, round-faced and curly-haired, glanced up
astonished from his work among the sweet-peas.
"Come up here directly and carry Master Austin downstairs. He's got a
wooden leg and hasn't learnt how to use it."
The consequence of which was that two minutes later Austin, panting
and enraged at the failure of his first attempt at independence, found
himself firmly encircled by a pair of strong young arms, lifted gently
from the ground, and carried swiftly and safely downstairs and out at
the garden door.
"Now you just keep quiet, Master Austin," murmured Lubin, chuckling as
Austin began to kick. "No use your starting to run before you know how
to walk. Wooden legs must be humoured a bit, Sir; 'twon't do to expect
too much of 'em just at first, you see. This one o' yours is mighty
handsome to look at, I don't deny, but it's not accustomed to
staircases and maybe it'll take some time before it is. Hold tight,
Sir; only a few yards more now. There! Here we are on the lawn at
last. Now you can try your paces at your leisure."
"You're awfully nice to me, Lubin," gasped Austin, red with
mortification, as he slipped from the lad's arms on to the grass, "but
I felt just now as if I could have killed you, all the same."
"Lor', Sir, I don't mind," said Lubin. "I doubt that was no more'n
natural. Can you stand steady? Here--lay hold o' my arm. Slow and
sure's the word. Look out for that flower-bed. Now, then, round you
go--that's it. Ah!"--as Austin fell sprawling on the grass. "Now how
are you going to get up again, I should like to know? Seems to me the
first thing you've got to learn is not to lose your balance, 'cause
once you're down 'tain't the easiest thing in creation to scramble up
again. You'll have to stick to the crutch at first, I reckon. Up we
come! Now let's see how you can fare along a bit all by yourself."
Austin was thankful for the support of his crutch, with the aid of
which he managed to stagger about for a few minutes at quite a
respectable speed. It reminded him almost of the far-off days when he
was learning to ride his bicycle. At last he thought he would like to
rest a bit, and was much surprised when, on flinging himself down
upon a garden seat, his leg flew up in the air.
"Lively sort o' limb, this new leg o' yours, Sir," commented Lubin, as
he bent it into a more decorous position. "You'll have to take care it
don't carry you off with it one o' these fine days. Seems to me it
wants taming, and learning how to behave itself in company. I heard
tell of a cork leg once upon a time as was that nimble it started off
running on its own account, and no earthly power could stop it.
Wouldn't have mattered so much if it'd had nobody but itself to
consider, but unluckily the gentleman it belonged to happened to be
screwed on to the top end of it, and of course he had to follow. They
do say as how he's following it still--poor beggar! Must be worn to a
shadow by this time, I should think. But p'raps it ain't true after
all. There are folks as'll say anything."
"I expect it's true enough," replied Austin cheerfully. "If you want a
thing to be true, all you've got to do is to believe it--believe it as
hard as you can. That makes it true, you see. At least, that's what
the new psychology teaches. Thought creates things, you
understand--though how it works I confess I can't explain. But never
mind. Oh, dear, how drunk I am!"
"Drunk, Sir? No, no, only a bit giddy," said Lubin, as he stood
watching Austin with his hands upon his hips. "You're not over strong
yet, and that new leg of yours has been giving you too much exercise
to begin with. You just keep quiet a few minutes, and you'll soon be
as right as ninepence."
Then Austin slid carefully off the seat, and stretched himself full
length upon the grass. "I _am_ drunk," he murmured, closing his eyes,
"drunk with the scent of the flowers. Don't you smell them, Lubin? The
air's heavy with it, and it has got into my brain. And how sweet the
grass smells too. I love it--it's like breathing the breath of Nature.
What do legs matter? It's much nicer to roll over the grass wherever
you want to go than to have the bother of walking. Don't worry about
me any more, nice Lubin. Go on tying up your sweet-peas. I'll come and
help you when I'm tired of rolling about. Just now I don't want
anything; I'm drunk--I'm happy--I'm satisfied--I'm happier than I ever
was before. Be kind to the flowers, Lubin; don't tie them too tight.
They're my friends and my lovers. Aren't you a little fond of them
too?"
Then, left to his own reflections, he lay perfectly peaceful and
content staring up into the sky. For months he had been fated to lead
an entirely new life, and now it had actually begun. His entrance upon
it was not bitter. He had flowers growing by his path, and books that
he loved, and one or two friends who loved him. It was all right! And
that was how he spent his first day of acknowledged cripplehood.