He was very grubby, and all about his dark grey eyes there were the
marks made by his dirty fingers where he had rubbed away the tickling
tears. The brownish red dust of the Devon lanes had darkened his
delicate white skin, and matted his shiny yellow curls.
As to his hands, with their fat little fingers, with every joint showing
a pretty dimple, they looked white and clean, but that was due to the
fact that he was sitting in a bed of moss by the roadside, where the
water came trickling down from the red rocks above, and dabbling and
splashing the tiny pool, till the pearly drops hung among his dusty
curls, and dotted, as if with jewels, the ragged old blue jersey shirt
which seemed to form his only garment.
This did not fit him, in spite of its elasticity, for it was what a
dealer would have called "man's size," and the wearer was about two and
a half, or at the most three; but the sleeves had been cut so that they
only reached his elbows, and the hem torn off the bottom and turned into
a belt or sash, which was tied tightly round the little fellow's waist,
to keep the jersey from slipping off.
Consequently the plump neck was bare, as were his dirty little legs,
with their dimpled, chubby knees.
While he splashed and dabbled the water, the sun flashed upon the drops,
some of which jewelled the spreading ferns which drooped over the
natural fount, and even reached as high as the delicate leafage of
stunted overhanging birch, some of whose twigs kept waving in the soft
summer breeze, and sweeping against the boy's curly hair.
When the little fellow splashed the water, and felt it fly into his
face, he laughed--burst after burst of silvery, merry laughter; and in
the height of his enjoyment he threw back his head, his ruddy lips
parted, and two rows of pearly teeth flashed in the bright sunshine.
As dirty a little grub as ever made mud-pies in a gutter; but the water,
the ferns, moss, and flowers around were to his little soul the most
delightful of toys, and he seemed supremely happy.
After a time he grew tired of splashing the water, and, drawing one
little foot into his lap, he pursed up his lips, an intent frown
wrinkled his shining forehead, and he began, in the most serio-comic
manner, to pick the row of tiny toes, passing a chubby finger between
them to get rid of the dust and grit.
All this while the breeze blew, the birch-tree waved, and the flowers
nodded, while from out of a clump of ling and rushes there came, at
regular intervals, a low roar like the growl of a wild beast.
After a few minutes there was the _pad, pad_--_pad, pad_ of a horse's
hoofs on the dusty road; the rattle of wheels; and a green gig, drawn by
a sleepy-looking grey horse, and containing a fat man and a broad woman,
came into sight, approached slowly, and would have passed had not the
broad woman suddenly laid her hand upon the reins, and checked the grey
horse, when the two red-faced farming people opened their mouths, and
stared at the child.
"Sakes alive, Izick, look at that!" said the woman in a whisper, while
the little fellow went on picking his toes, and the grey horse turned
his tail into a live chowry to keep away the flies.
"Well, I am!" said the fat man, wrinkling his face all over as he
indulged in a silent laugh. "Why, moother, he's a perfeck picter."
"The pretty, pretty little fellow," said the woman in a genuine motherly
tone. "O Izick, how I should like to give him a good wash!"
"Wash! He's happy enough, bless him!" said the man. "Wonder whose he
be. Here, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give un a kiss, that's what I'm a-going to do," said the
woman getting very slowly out of the gig. "He must be a lost child."
"Well," grumbled the man, "we didn't come to market to find lost
children."
Then he sat forward, with his arms resting upon his knees, watching his
wife as she slowly approached the unconscious child, till she was in the
act of stooping over him to lay her fat red hand upon his golden curls,
when there was a loud roar as if from some savage beast, and the woman
jumped back scared; the horse leaped sidewise; the farmer raised his
whip; and the pair of simple-hearted country folks stared at a
fierce-looking face which rose out of the bed of ling, its owner having
been sleeping face downward, and now glowering at them above his folded
arms.
It was not a pleasant countenance, for it was foul without with dirt and
more foul within from disease, being covered with ruddy fiery blotch and
pimple, and the eyes were of that unnatural hue worn by one who has for
years been debased by drink.
"Yah!" roared the man, half-closing his bleared eyes. "Leave the bairn
alone."
"O Izick!" gasped the woman.
"Here, none o' that!" cried the farmer fiercely. "Don't you frighten my
wife."
"Let the bairn alone," growled the man again.
"How came you by him!" said the woman recovering herself. "I'm sure he
can't be your'n."
"Not mine!" growled the man in a hoarse, harsh voice. "You let the
bairn be. I'll soon show you about that. Hi! chick!"
The little fellow scrambled to him, and putting his tiny chubby arms
about the man's coarse neck, nestled his head upon his shoulder, and
turned to gaze at the farmer and his wife.
"Not my bairn!" growled the man; "what d'yer say to that?"
"Lor, Izick, only look," said the woman in a whisper. "My!"
"Well, what are yer starin' at?" growled the man defiantly; "didn't
think he were your bairn, did you!"
"Come away, missus," said the farmer; and the woman reluctantly climbed
back into the gig.
"It don't seem right, Izick, for him to have such a bairn as that," said
the woman, who could not keep her eyes off the child.
"Ah, well! it ar'n't no business of our'n. Go along!"
This was to the horse, who went off directly in a shambling trot, and
the gig rattled along the road; but as long as they remained in sight,
the farmer's wife stared back at the little fellow, and the
rough-looking tramp glared at her from among the heather and ling.
"Must be getting on--must be getting on," he growled to himself; and he
kept on muttering in a low tone as he tried to stagger to his feet, but
for a time his joints seemed to be so stiff that he could only get to
his knees, and he had to set the child down.
Then after quite a struggle, during which he kept on muttering in a
strange incoherent manner, he contrived to get upon his feet, and stood
holding on by a branch of the birch-tree, while the child stared in his
repellent face.
The next minute he staggered into the road and began to walk away,
reeling strangely like a drunken man, talking wildly the while; but he
seemed to recall the fact that he had left the child behind, and he
staggered back to where a block of stone lay by the water-side, and sat
down. "Here, chick!" he growled.
His aspect and the tone of his voice were sufficient to frighten the
little fellow away, but he did not seem in the least alarmed, and placed
his tiny hands in the great gnarled fists extended to him. Then with a
swing the man threw the child over his shoulder and on to his back,
staggering and nearly overbalancing himself in the act. But he kept his
feet, and growled savagely as his little burden uttered a whimpering
cry.
"Hold on," he said; and the next minute the pretty bare arms were
clinging tightly round his neck, the hands hidden in the man's grizzly
tangled beard; and, pig-a-back fashion, he bore him on along the road.
The sun beat down upon the fair curly head; the dust rose, shuffled up
by the tramp's uncertain step, while the chats and linnets twittered
among the furze, and the larks sang high overhead. This and the heat,
combined with the motion, sufficed to lull the tiny fellow to rest, and
before long his head drooped sidewise, and he was fast asleep.
But he did not fall. It was as if the natural instinct which enables
the young life to maintain its hold upon the old orang-outang was in
force here, so that the child clung tightly to the staggering man, who
seemed thenceforth oblivious of his existence.
The day passed on: the sun was setting fast, and the tramp continued to
stagger on like a drunken man, talking wildly all the time, now babbling
of green leaves, now muttering angrily, as if abusing some one near.
Then came the soft evening-time, as he tottered down a long slope
towards the houses lying in a hollow, indicating the existence of a
goodly town.
And now groups of people were passed, some of whom turned to gaze after
the coarse-looking object with disgust, others with wonder; while the
more thoughtless indulged in a grin, and made remarks indicating their
impressions of where the tramp had been last.
He did not seem to see them, however, but kept on the same incoherent
talking in a low growl, and his eyes glared strangely at objects unseen
by those he passed.
All at once, though, he paused as he reached the broad marketplace of
the town, and said to one of a group of idlers the one word--
"Workus?"
"Eh?"
"Workus!" said the tramp fiercely.
"Oh! Straight avore you. Zee a big wall zoon as yer get over the
bridge."
The man staggered on, and crossed the swift river running through the
town, and in due course reached the big wall, in which was a doorway
with a bell-pull at the side.
A few minutes later the door had been opened, and a stalwart porter
seemed disposed to refuse admission, but his experienced eyes read the
applicant's state, and the door closed upon the strangely assorted pair.