Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration]
ERIC, A WAIF
A Story of Last Century
BY
EMMA LESLIE
Author of
"The Story of a Christmas Sixpence," "Audrey's Jewels," etc.
London
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW 65 ST PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164 PICCADILLY
BUTLER & TANNER
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS
FROME, AND LONDON
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER
I. ERIC HUNTER
II. AT THE MAGPIE
III. A FATAL JOURNEY
IV. ENGLISH SLAVES
V. THE VOYAGE
VI. A NEW HOME
VII. A WILD GOOSE CHASE
VIII. CONCLUSION
ERIC, A WAIF.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
ERIC HUNTER.
"SO the old witch is dead, and Dame Willoughby may hope to raise a
whole brood of chickens, and Farmer Sawyer need not fear his cheese
will be spoiled;" and the speaker lifted his broad-brimmed tattered
hat, and wiped the perspiration from his brow, looking expectantly at
the landlord of The Magpie as he did so.
"That news is worth a horn of ale, isn't it, Master Tyler?" he asked,
when he found it met with little response.
"Humph! The news might have been better, and it might have been worse.
The poor woman was a stranger in these parts, I'll allow, but that
was all that could be proved against her. Where's the boy?" added the
landlord, with a little more interest.
"Him they call Eric? Did ever an English-born lad have such a name as
that?" said the other in a grumbling tone, as he slowly raised the horn
of ale to his lips before answering the landlord's question. "He'll be
up there with his mother, I suppose; the two were always together."
"Poor little chap, he'll find the world a hard place, I'm afraid, now
his mother has gone."
"Serve 'em right. They should ha' bided in their own parish, and not
come poking their noses where they wasn't wanted," said the other.
The landlord made no reply to this, for he knew the man did but express
the sentiment of the whole neighbourhood in the words he had spoken.
Summerleigh was a quiet, self-contained little village on the edge
of Epping Forest, far enough from London to be very jealous of the
intrusion of strangers if they stayed more than a night at the inn,
unless they happened to be visitors at the Hall. So when the poor woman
came with her only son, a lad of ten, to occupy the little cottage that
had stood tenantless so long on the edge of the forest clearing, the
whole parish was stirred to discover who she was and why she came there.
She said herself that it was for the fresh air of the forest; but
nobody believed this, any more than they believed that fresh air made
any difference to people's health; they chose to believe any but this
simple reason for seeking a home in their locality.
They soon discovered that she was poor, but industrious, for mother and
son worked in the garden early and late, selling the herbs they raised,
and also salves and lotions made from them, until the rumour spread
somehow, that the knowledge she possessed of the healing qualities of
herbs and simples growing about the forest had not been gained by any
good means. In other words, she was a witch, and people professed to be
afraid of buying her salves.
Then another overheard her singing a hymn one day to the hum of her
spinning-wheel as she sat at work, and this was held to be proof that
she was a Methodist, which was quite as bad as being a witch, and
equally punishable by law, at the time of which we write.
That Mrs. Hunter had not sought to make friends among her gossiping
neighbours was sufficient for either or both of these charges to be
deemed capable of proof, by those who openly declared they hated all
strangers, so that it was not wonderful that she lived an isolated
life. That she did not mind this, but seemed to find her boy Eric an
all-sufficient companion and friend, was another wonder to Summerleigh,
and one it bitterly resented; for there was small scope for persecuting
a woman so independent as Mrs. Hunter, especially as they were glad to
buy her herbs, because they could not get them so good anywhere else.
How long the poor woman had been ill before she died, none seemed to
know. The landlord of The Magpie asked several of his customers who
dropped in during the evening, but none seemed to know anything about
it, or had troubled to inquire. All seemed to know of her death, but
nothing beyond this fact.
When closing time came, John Tyler made a great business of looking
over the stables before shutting them, and when he went back to the inn
parlour, where his wife was waiting for him to go up to bed, he said,
"If old Toby don't soon come back, I shall have to get somebody else to
look after things out there."
"I should think so, indeed," said Mrs. Tyler tartly. "You might have
looked after somebody else a month ago. When are you coming upstairs?"
she added, as he turned to secure the wooden latch of the door.
There was no more said that night, but the next morning, when Tyler was
dressing himself, he remarked, in a casual way, "I think I shall get a
boy to take old Toby's place."
His wife laughed. "So you've come to my way of thinking at last, John
Tyler," she said, as she briskly tied the strings of her white muslin
cap before going downstairs.
Eric Hunter's name had not been mentioned; but that was the lad Tyler
had in his mind when he spoke to his wife. And after breakfast, he went
across the garden and orchard, and out into the forest road, for that
was the nearest way to the widow's cottage, and he had made up his mind
to see Eric at once and conclude the business, for fear another village
lad should come after the place.
Eric was fourteen now, a tall, sturdy lad, strong and healthy, in spite
of his refined face, that flushed crimson when he opened the door and
saw the landlord of The Magpie standing on the step.
"Mother is dead, sir," he said, in a quiet, weary tone, as though it
was an everyday fact he was speaking of.
"Yes, my boy, I heard about it yesterday, and I thought I would just
step up and see if things had been put comfortable for her." And there
the landlord stopped, and gazed round the little bare room.
The widow's spinning-wheel stood in one corner, a small deal table in
the centre, and two rush-bottomed chairs were placed back against the
wall, but all was scrupulously clean and neat.
"I've done everything that mother told me, you will see, sir." And the
boy led the way into an inner room, and there, in the dim light, Tyler
saw the outlined figure of the poor woman, with a sheet carefully drawn
over it. "Mother told me I was to do that, and then wait until God sent
help to me, and I've been waiting, only somehow it seemed a long time.
Did God send you, sir?" asked the boy, as though he had expected a less
commonplace messenger than the landlord of The Magpie.
The question evidently puzzled the man a good deal, for God was not
in all his thoughts, as He was in Eric's; but the sight of the clean,
tidy home made him think Eric would make an excellent ostler, and so
he said, as he scratched his head thoughtfully, "I don't understand
much about parson's work; I've got enough to do to mind The Magpie and
please The Magpie's missis, and so I've come to see if you'd lend a
hand in the stable, as Toby don't seem likely to get better yet awhile."
Eric was a little puzzled, but at last he said, "Do you mean me to help
with the horses, sir?"
"To be sure I do; that's what I've come to see you about, my lad,"
replied Tyler, with another look round the room.
"Thank you, sir," answered the boy eagerly; "I've always loved horses,
and wanted to have something to do with them. Mother said if it was
good for me to be with the beasts, God would let me do it some day; so
that I am sure God sent you, though you may not quite understand it,
any more than I do."
"Then you'll come to The Magpie?" said Tyler.
"Oh yes, sir, and thank you; but—but—didn't God say anything about
burying mother?" added the boy in a changed tone, the tears filling his
eyes, though he tried to wink them away, for fear his visitor should
see them.
"Hasn't anybody been to see about that? Haven't you got any friends or
relatives?" exclaimed the landlord in a helpless tone.
"No, sir; there's only mother and me. The doctor came to see her last
week, and he told me when he went away that she couldn't live long, and
yesterday she said she was going home to God, and I should have to stay
here a bit without her." And again the tears rose to his eyes, in spite
of all his efforts to keep them back.
"Bless me, somebody must come and see about the business for you,"
interrupted his visitor; and he turned away to go to the parish clerk,
who lived at the other end of the village, nearly two miles off.
When he got home about an hour later, it was to hear that old Toby had
hobbled out to resume his work. Some rumour had reached him of a boy
being engaged to do this for the future, which made the old fellow
decide that he could "look after things in the stable" once more; and
so the landlord was met with the news of his return as soon as he got
back.
"It's lucky you hadn't engaged a boy," said Mrs. Tyler, looking keenly
at her husband as she spoke; "for if you had, there's no telling but
what you might think of keeping the two, soft as you are; but I asked
Marple if you had been after his Jack."
"I should want a boy a long time before I took Jack Marple,"
interrupted Tyler, with some spirit; "but all the same, I have engaged
a boy. Widow Hunter's son is a decent lad."
"The witch-wife's boy?" almost screamed Mrs. Tyler.
"Nobody can prove she was a witch, any more than they can prove she
was a Methodist," said Tyler angrily. Though, as he thought of Eric's
talk, he feared the latter charge would be easy enough of proof, and he
decided to give the boy a word of warning to keep all such thoughts to
himself for the future.
Fortunately for the landlord, customers arrived the next minute, and so
he left his wife to exhaust her grumbling on Betty, while he went to
the cellar to draw the cider that had been called for, and to ascertain
whether the visitors who had just alighted from a post-chaise would
want dinner prepared for them.
That his services should be required so soon was a real grievance to
old Toby, who had seated himself in a sunny corner of the gateway, with
a fixed determination that he would not move again until he went home
at night, when this obnoxious chaise arrived; and the occupants were so
inconsiderate as to say that they were going to spend some hours in the
forest, and would want the horse fed and rubbed down, and the chaise
looked over, as one wheel had sunk in the rutty road rather deeper than
usual.
To hear the old man's grumbling maledictions on all strangers who came
to Summerleigh annoyed the landlord, and seeing Eric pass down the
road, he called to him.
"Are you busy just now, my lad?" he said, when Eric came up.
"No; I'm only going to see if parson is at home, to tell him about
mother," he replied.
"Well, I can tell you that parson went to London three days ago, and
won't be back for another week; but Mr. Jackson is going to see about
your mother's funeral. He is a friend of mine," added Tyler.
"Thank you, sir. Can I do anything for you now?" said Eric, with a
glance towards the stable-yard.
"Yes—no—I've visitors, and old Toby is in the stable; but—"
"You would like me to help Toby with the horse?" said Eric eagerly.
"That's just about it, my lad; but I'm not sure how he'll take your
help."
Eric did not wait to hear more, but ran down the stable-yard to where
the old man was fumbling with the buckles of the harness, and swearing
at the horse, which was impatient to get out of the shafts and into the
cool stable.
"Here, you boy, just come here and undo this," called the old man when
he heard Eric approaching; "they don't know how to make straps now;
every man seems to forget how things ought to be done," he grumbled,
as he seated himself on an upturned bucket to superintend the cleaning
and feeding of the horse; for, as Eric had proved himself handy in
unfastening the buckles, the old man set him to feed the horse, and
then to rub it down before leading it to the stable for a rest.
Eric took a real interest in his work, patting the horse and stroking
him as he slowly munched his food, and rubbing him down with as
gentle a touch as possible, so that Toby, finding his work done so
well for him, was disposed to be civil to the boy, until just as the
work was over, he discovered who he was. Then he burst into a storm
of passionate protests against all strangers, be they witches or
Methodists, declaring that he believed he was himself bewitched by the
boy to let him do this work for him.
"That's all very well, Toby," said the landlord, who had stepped
outside to see how Eric was getting on; "you take good care not to find
fault until the work is done. Ah, and well done, too," said the master,
as he slowly walked round the horse and surveyed it with a critical eye.
"Send him away, master, send him away!" foamed old Toby, hobbling to
his feet, and trying to seize Eric.
"Now go and sit down, and be reasonable, Toby, and we may be able to
settle this matter without any fuss. Before you came back this morning,
I had arranged with this lad that he should come and help me in the
stable."
"Don't you think I would save you from it, master?" said old Toby
imploringly. "Remember what his mother was—a witch woman, if ever there
was one. Don't you think old Toby would save you from that, master?"
And there was no doubt of the old man being genuinely concerned for his
master's welfare.
"Now look here, that talk about Mrs. Hunter being a witch is all
moonshine, and I mean to give the lad a trial here in the stable. If
you choose to come back and overlook things for me, well and good; but
if you won't work with the lad fairly and squarely, as an Englishman
should, then say so at once, and I shall know what to be about."
"Why, master, he's bewitched you as well as me," said the old fellow
complainingly.
"Very well; if you think that, keep away from The Magpie for the
future, and we will manage the stables by ourselves without your help,"
said the landlord.
But this did not at all suit old Toby, much as he might dislike Eric,
and even fear him, as he doubtless did; for to lose his occupation
entirely would never do; so he went back to his seat grumbling about
new men and new ways; which the landlord understood well enough as a
slight reminder that he could not boast of being born in Summerleigh,
as Toby himself could.
The landlord did not wish old Toby to give up his post as ostler of The
Magpie. It would pay him much better to keep old Toby, and to have Eric
to do his work, for Toby by himself drove customers away, but since he
had come back, it would not do to let him say he would not work with
Eric; so that the landlord was quite as much disposed to settle the
matter in a friendly fashion as the old ostler was.
So, while Eric was set to sweep up the stable and yard, Tyler talked
to the old man, and at last it was settled that he should come every
day and overlook the affairs of the stables, while Eric was to do the
actual work, and get his food from the kitchen, which, with occasional
tips from customers, would be considered remuneration enough—at least
for the present.