DREADFULLY FRIGHTENED.
"Miss Bryda," said Uncle Jack at breakfast next morning, "if you knew
what I know you would be a good deal wiser than you are now."
"I dare say I should, Uncle Jack," answered Bryda, pouting. "I
suppose you mean if I knew all the dates of all the Norman kings, and
could speak French without any mistakes, and--and--several other
things."
"Such as how many beans make five? and that useful kind of thing to
know, I suppose? But if I were a little girl, and any one told me
the very nice piece of news which I think I had better not tell you,
why, I should really and truly, I do believe, be obliged to get up
and give the person a kiss. Especially if he was young and very
handsome!" added Uncle Jack, twirling his mustache, and looking very
seriously at his niece. Evidently the only chance of getting this
news was to get up and give him a kiss, which Bryda did, and both she
and Uncle Jack were promptly scolded by grandmother, who said that in
_her_ young days she used to sit still at breakfast till every one
had finished.
Uncle Jack begged her pardon at once, very politely indeed, and then
told Bryda his piece of news.
"I know a field, a very little way off, where there is a hedge simply
crawling with blackberries."
Grandmother was a little deaf, so she did not hear what he said quite
lightly, and with a little scream she said:
"Crawling with black beetles! Oh, John! for pity's sake have them
all killed at once!"
"I will, mother, dear, and they shall be made into jelly for your
dinner," said Uncle Jack, laughing.
But the dear old lady grew quite excited about the black beetles, and
he had with some trouble to explain that a hedge crawling with
blackberries was a way of speaking that he had invented to make Bryda
laugh. "She so seldom does laugh, poor child!" he said.
Well, Uncle Jack was going to shoot this morning, and he would take
Bryda to the blackberry hedge, and leave her there till he came back
again.
So he did; and Bryda, as she marched off with a big basket on her
arm, beside Uncle Jack with a gun, made a little request.
"Might Beppo come and help her? It would be a very little round to
pass old Roger's cottage, Bryda would like it so."
"Why, what a little coax it is!" said Uncle Jack; "and, pray, who is
Beppo?"
Bryda soon explained, telling Uncle Jack all about the little boy who
so much interested her and his poor mother.
"And he's such a nice boy," she ended. "He has curly hair, and big
black eyes, and speaks such very funny English."
"He must be a nice little boy with all those charms!" laughed Uncle
Jack. And to Roger's cottage they went.
Roger was at home, and so was his cat. Uncle Jack began to talk to
the old man. Bryda, after looking round for Beppo, seized the cat,
and sat down on a stool to pretend it was a baby, and put it to
sleep, with her eyes continually fixed on the door of the Italian
woman's room.
[Illustration: Bryda after looking round for Beppo, seized the cat.]
Into this room Uncle Jack went presently, and Bryda was left alone
with Roger. Now was the time to ask him about Liz and his palace
home, and if he was not sorry Liz had died before he could go there.
"Roger," she asked, not quite knowing how to begin, "when did you say
you were going home?"
"As soon as I've finished the bit o' work I've had set me here,
missy. Maybe if I'd made fewer mistakes over it I'd be there by now.
It's, oh! my clumsy hands, never fit to touch it at all!"
"Do you mean your carpentering?" asked Bryda, wondering.
"Not quite that, Miss Bryda," answered the old man, looking away
through the little window. "It's weaving work more than carpentering
work, making a bit of the Bride's beautiful marriage dress. There's
a-many weavers set to that work, missy--ay, many they are! And some
waste the materials and do naught; an' some put gold and silver
thread into the pattern anyhow, an' it's all mixed and spoiled. But
there's some good workers weave the bright threads and the dull
threads as they were meant to be, and work real pearls on it, and
seldom make a fault. That's how my Liz worked; but I've been a
clumsy one--ah, sad and clumsy old Roger's been all his life!"
"When will the wedding be, Roger, and where? Is it to be in the old
church here?"
Roger shook his head.
"When will the dress be finished, missy, the Bride's beautiful dress
that's so long a-makin'? An' where will----"
Here Roger was interrupted, much to Bryda's grief, for Uncle Jack
came out of the sick-room, looking much less cheerful than when he
went in, and leading Beppo by the hand. He spoke in a low tone to
Roger, to whom Bryda saw him give money, and wondered why he should,
when the old man was, she believed, so rich already. Then beckoning
to Bryda, he left the cottage.
"Now, Beppo, you shall go and play with this young lady. Will you be
very good?" he asked, outside.
"Oh, si, si! I mean say, yes, sir!" answered the little Italian,
looking brightly at Bryda, who seemed to him now quite an old friend,
and speaking his queer English.
So Uncle Jack led them both into his blackberry field, which was
quite as good as he had said.
"It's simply beautiful!" Bryda said to Uncle Jack as he went away,
promising to return by and by and fetch them.
Left alone, the two children were happy enough, and their tongues
wagged very fast indeed. Beppo told his little companion about his
own country, where oranges, hanging on dark-green trees, might be had
for the trouble of gathering; and about beautiful vineyards, with
clusters of white and purple grapes, and the merry, merry
vintage-time. Ah! if they could go back to Italy again, he was sure
his dear, dear mother would be quite well again! His father was
dead, and the mother grew poorer and poorer in her own country, and
at last she dreamed night after night that if she would go north to
England she would be able to get money for herself and her boy, and
come home quite rich. But it was not so; people did not seem to like
barrel-organs much, and the little money his mother had had all gone
to buy this instrument.
Often they had been sent from houses with angry words; often they had
nowhere to sleep; often they had nothing to eat.
Bryda had never known real hunger. She had known how pleasant it was
to come in tired and hungry after a long expedition, and how
delicious bread and butter tasted then, and jam! but to ache with
hunger, and, when ready to faint, not to have any food, how terrible
that must be!
But very soon both Bryda and Beppo forgot that there ever had been
any troubles in the world, they were so busy and so happy with the
blackberries.
What a delightful amusement blackberry hunting is! To see the basket
filling fast with the fat, sweet, well-flavored berries; to eat one
after another, because this one is crushed or that one is too nice to
part with, or a third may have a different flavor since it grows on
another bush--how nice it is! We eat, and chatter, and eat again,
till fingers and mouths are stained a dark-red color; and how we
laugh and make fun! Only one thing vexes us--that is, that the very
nicest, finest fellows always _will_ grow right up at the top of the
hedge, just out of reach even of our longest stick! They would be so
nice; but very often, after struggling a good deal, scratching faces
and hands, and getting wet feet by slipping into the ditch, we have
to give it up and own ourselves beaten.
Never mind! we have generally quite enough for the jam or the
puddings we want to make, and in great triumph we go home, each
boasting of having gathered most!
So Bryda and Beppo amused themselves, and wandered on at last to the
other end of the field. Here there was a gate leading into another
field, where was a very high hedge with what seemed to the children
the best blackberries they had seen.
[Illustration: Bryda and Beppo amused themselves wandering about the
field.]
In a moment they were through the bars of the high gate and in the
field. Just as they entered it a loud shout came from before them;
and Bryda, looking across the field, saw the terrible Moll Dawson
waving her hands and shouting to them.
Terrified, she caught Beppo's hand, and dragged him further into the
field. On the side where the blackberries were there were also some
trees, and beyond was a little wood. They might hide in this, and be
safe. If Moll Dawson found them what would she not do? She might
take all their blackberries. She might ill-treat them in some
dreadful way. She was so big and strong, and there was no help near.
What might she not do?
So Bryda and her companion, poor Beppo! who was frightened because
she was frightened--though he did not in the least know why--these
two fled further into the field, while Moll Dawson still beckoned and
called.
Bryda, seeing that the girl did not come into the field, took courage
a little, and looked about her. Oh, terror! if she was frightened
before, she was now as if rooted to the ground with fear.
Sullenly coming toward the poor children, sniffing violently as he
came, and glaring at them with wicked eyes, was an immense bull!
"Run, Beppo!" screamed Bryda. Beppo looked at her a moment. "Run!
I am coming!" she cried; and Beppo was off like the wind toward the
gate where Moll Dawson beckoned.
Bryda, looking round a moment, saw a great board, with "Beware of the
Bull!" nailed against a tree in the middle of the field.
Only for a moment she looked. Was there any hope of her being able
to climb a tree? Which gate was nearest? The dreadful animal was
some little way off. If Bryda ran with Beppo she might escape. In a
second she was off; but, alas! alas! the bull was after her.
He came on bellowing and roaring.
Beppo was safe. He reached the gate before Bryda; but she, rushing
half-blind with terror, tripped as the fierce animal was close behind
her, and with a wild shriek fell flat on her face a yard or two from
the gate.