THE FUGITIVE.
QUEENIE was very much surprised when she found that Bertie had taken her
at her word, and had not tried to follow her or coax her out of her fit
of temper. As soon as her pride would allow her, she turned to look
back, and saw Bertie quietly climbing the fence and pursuing his way
home again, without a single lingering backward glance at his offended
companion.
Queenie was so much astonished by this unexpected display of spirit,
that she stood quite still for several minutes, and then suddenly began
to laugh. It occurred to her that Bertie was only doing exactly what she
would have done in his place, and she was sensible enough as well as
generous enough to see that she could not reasonably take offence at
conduct so very like her own.
“After all, it was my fault,” she said to herself. “I told him to go,
which wasn’t quite polite, as he was my guest. I hope papa will not come
after me and ask where he is. He would not like me to be rude. Bertie
was rude too; he had no business to speak of me and David as if we were
anything to do with one another—and to call him _gooder_ than me!”
Queenie often became ungrammatical when she was put out. “I’ll soon show
him that I’m not going to put up with that sort of thing.” The little
girl tossed her curly head, and her face assumed its expression of
greatest dignity, which was, however, soon replaced by a look of regret
and sorrow. “But I wish he had not gone, all the same. I do like having
a boy to play with, and he was a nice little boy, I think, although he’s
not a bit like any one I’ve ever seen before.”
Queenie pursued her way to the house in rather a melancholy mood,
feeling as if a promising beginning to friendship had suddenly been
nipped in the bud. She was afraid to stay in the garden, lest her father
should see her and ask what had become of Bertie, so she wandered rather
aimlessly into the house and up the staircase to the corridor where the
nurseries were situated. These were shut off from the rest of the house
by a red baize door, and as Queenie heard this swing to behind her this
afternoon, and saw the row of doors belonging to the “boys’ rooms,”
which were never banged now, and only shut in cold emptiness and
vacancy, she said once more softly to herself,—
“I do hate term-time. It is quite horrid when all the boys are away.”
Then Queenie stopped short suddenly, for she saw something that puzzled,
and for a moment rather startled her.
The door of one of these empty rooms moved, and opened quite slowly a
very little way. The sun was shining upon the panels from the window at
the end of the passage, otherwise her attention might hardly have been
attracted by anything so slight as the movement of the door; but as it
was she stood quite still, gazing with all her eyes, and wondering in a
half-fearful fashion what could have opened it.
The next thing she saw was an eye cautiously applied to the chink of the
door. She was quite certain that it was an eye, although the chink was
so narrow that she could see nothing else, and only a glimpse of the
eye.
Queenie was not a timid child. She did not shriek or rush screaming
away; but she was a little afraid, for she could not imagine who could
be hiding in the empty room, and she did not much think that her nurse
was up-stairs.
But as she stood there quite still, wondering what she should do, a head
was suddenly popped round the door, a smothered, laughing voice cried,
“Queenie!” in a sort of whisper, and the head was instantly withdrawn.
Queenie uttered a little shriek of ecstasy, and made a dash at the door.
“Phil!” she cried, with breathless eagerness.
The closed door opened suddenly, she was pulled in with unceremonious
haste, and the door was closed and bolted behind them in a moment of
time.
Queenie was so bewildered by this mysterious appearance of her favorite
brother, that she was absolutely tongue-tied. She could only gasp out,—
“Phil!”
And the curly-headed lad, his eyes full of laughter and his face
brimming over with fun, caught his little sister round the waist, and
executed the wildest of war-dances without speaking a single word.
At last, when both were fairly exhausted, he flung himself upon his bed
and burst into a fit of tumultuous yet noiseless laughter.
Queenie’s eyes were quite round with astonishment. She was too much
perplexed and surprised to join in her brother’s mirth.
“Phil,” she said at last, in her little imperious way, “do tell me what
it is. I don’t understand. Why have you come home now?”
The boy sat up on his bed and laid his finger on his lips. His eyes were
sparkling with mischief, yet his face wore a look of preternatural
gravity.
“Hush!” he said, in a tragic whisper; “if any one hears us I am lost!”
“What do you mean, Phil?”
Queenie, however, lowered her voice to a whisper. If she did not believe
in danger, at least she scented mischief, and her eyes began to shine
like Phil’s with the anticipation of coming fun.
“Is anybody about?” asked Phil, cautiously.
“I don’t know. Shall I go and see?”
“Yes, do; and bring me something to eat if you can. I’m half famished.”
Queenie asked no more questions for the moment; but, after listening
intently at the door, to make sure there was nobody outside, she glided
out into the corridor and dashed across to the nursery. Nobody was
there. She had announced her intention of spending the afternoon in the
garden, so that her nurse had left her usual domain and had gone
elsewhere. She might, of course, be back at any moment, as the child
well knew, and she did not waste a moment in the fulfilment of her task.
Queenie was quite the spoiled darling of the household, and all the
servants vied with each other to do her pleasure, and give her
everything they thought she could want. The cook made her cakes of every
description, of which she had quite a collection in the nursery
cupboard; the butler gave her more figs and plums, almonds and raisins
and crystallized fruits than she could possibly consume; and, as a
natural consequence, Queenie could provide a feast for herself or
anybody else at a moment’s notice, and in less time than it has taken to
explain all this she had filled a little basket with all sorts of good
things, and had rushed back to Phil as silently and swiftly as a bird.
The schoolboy’s eye sparkled as the contents of the basket were emptied
upon the bed. He snatched up the most substantial of the cakes and set
to work upon it with ravenous eagerness.
Queenie saw at a glance that it would be hopeless to expect him to speak
until he had satisfied his hunger. She sat down upon the bed also,
nibbled at a date, and tried to hazard a guess as to what could possibly
have happened.
Phil was the youngest of the boys, and had not yet gone to Eton, being
still at a preparatory school. He was nearly thirteen, and in September
he was to join his brothers, and become a public schoolboy, which was
the summit of his present ambition; this therefore was his last term at
Dr. Steele’s school, where all the Arbuthnot boys had received their
early education; and what made him suddenly turn up at home, when the
first month of term-time had not expired, was more than his little
sister could imagine. She knew he always professed to hate Dr. Steele’s
establishment; but by his own account he always managed to have plenty
of fun there.
Phil was not long in making away with all the good things his sister had
brought him. When the last mouthful had been consumed, he heaved a sigh
and said,—
“Ah, now I feel rather better; but I’ve had no dinner, and hardly any
breakfast. Queenie, you’ll have to hide me somewhere for a few days, and
feed me secretly, like people used to do in the olden times. I’m a
fugitive, you know, in peril of my life.”
Queenie’s eyes dilated slowly.
“Oh, Phil!” she said, in awestruck tones; “what have you done?”
“I’ve run away,” he answered, the gravity of his face belied by the
mirthful twinkle of his eye,—“I’ve run away, Queenie, to save Dr. Steele
the pain and trouble of sending me away.”
“Oh!” breathed Queenie, her mouth growing as round as her eyes as she
began to understand a little. She had often heard it said that Phil
would undoubtedly be expelled some day, if he could not conquer his
predilection for playing pranks, and she had secretly wished that he
might. “So you have been getting into a row, have you, Phil?”
She spoke in an eager whisper, for she delighted in Phil’s natural bias
towards mischief and bravado. She never felt more entirely proud of her
brother than when listening to accounts of his reckless disregard for
rules and his calm defiance when detected. I am afraid Queenie is not
the only little girl in existence who shares in this admiration for
lawlessness and mischief; and perhaps those of us who have not grown too
old to remember how we felt when we were young may understand this
naughty feeling, and perhaps sympathize a little with it. After all, if
boys never got into mischief, the nursery would be a duller place than
it is; and so long as they can be manly and truthful and honest with it
all, it is not so very hard to forgive a little “kicking over the
traces,” which is common and natural to two-legged as well as
four-footed creatures, when first they begin to run in harness. As a
rule, they do no great harm, and steady down to the collar in due time.
“Do tell me all about it, Phil,” pleaded Queenie, very eagerly. “Have
you got into a very bad row this time?”
Queenie must be forgiven if she used slang words now and then. With four
brothers to teach her, she could hardly have escaped.
Phil looked at his sister, and winked his eye in a very knowing way.
“I’ve not got into a row at all. I just cut and ran before there was
time for the explosion. I’m a fugitive, Queenie! I’ve run away! and now
you’ve got to hide me!”
“Oh, Phil! Why!”
The boy showed his white teeth in one of his own merriest smiles.
“Hush! that’s part of the plan. I want to give them a good scare, and
then they’ll be so glad to get me safe home they’ll never think of
putting me into disgrace; and we’ll just have a jolly summer together,
Queenie, you and I, until September comes and I go to Eton. You’ll help
me, won’t you? and then we’ll have the best times we ever had in our
lives.”
Queenie’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh, Phil, how splendid! But won’t they send you back to Dr. Steele’s?”
“Not they! Besides, he would not have me at any price, the old buffer.
He says I’m worse than all the rest of the four dozen put together. Oh
no, trust him! He’ll not have me back; and if we only manage to give
them a scare at this end, I shall be received with open arms, and
they’ll be so glad to get me home safe that they’ll never remember to
scold.”
“But what have you done, Phil?” asked Queenie. “I want to know all about
it.”
Phil grinned from ear to ear.
“Oh, it was such a lark! I’d do it again to-morrow if I had the chance.
I do love to rile old Higgins! You know who old Higgins is, don’t
you?—the under-master next to Steele himself,—a horrid old curmudgeon
whom we all detest. Steele is bad enough, but Higgins!—such a name
too!—Higgins! It’s enough to put any fellow’s monkey up to be bullied by
a creature with a name like that! Well, this is how it was, you know.
Steele had to go away for a day or two, and of course Higgins was left
boss of the place, and began his usual bullying tricks, keeping us twice
as strict as the Doctor does, and giving us twice the punishment we
ought to have if ever he caught us at anything.”
“What a horrid creature!” interposed Queenie, with sympathetic
indignation.
“So he is; but we weren’t going to be done by him, you bet. I’m not the
fellow to sit quiet and be bullied, and there were plenty of fellows
ready to join with me. You know, on the 1st of May every year, there is
a big fair at Blexbury, three miles away, and of course we’re not
allowed to go. It’s long out of bounds, and then a fair’s considered an
awful bad sort of place. I’m sure I don’t know why, for there’s nothing
but fun, and gingerbread, and merry-go-rounds, and shooting-galleries,
and things that couldn’t hurt anybody. Anyhow, of course, we weren’t
allowed to go, and of course lots of us do go every year.”
“Do you?”
“Why, to be sure we do; and this year there were to be fireworks in the
evening too, and we meant to go twice, first in the afternoon, and then
at night. It was a half-holiday, you know,—Saturday,—so nothing could
have been better; and old Higgins gave out after morning school that no
boy was to go beyond bounds that day, on pain of—I don’t know
what—unheard-of penalties.”
Queenie drew a long breath.
“But you went?”
“Of course we went—a dozen of us at least, and old Higgins too, and we
dodged him about up and down the fair, and led him such a dance. Oh,
didn’t he get wild, and didn’t the people laugh at him! And didn’t the
little boys throw mud, and the women tell him he ought to be ashamed of
himself, chasing about the lads who only wanted to enjoy themselves and
get a little fun. Some of the fellows kept out of sight, but I didn’t
care; I let him see me fast enough, and, as he always hated me, he
pretended he only saw me, and only really tried to catch me.”
“And did he?”
Phil laughed uproariously and kicked up his heels with joy.
“Catch me! I should just think he didn’t. I’d like to have seen him do
it. Everybody was on my side. The men hid me in their tents and the
women in their stalls, and wouldn’t let him come in at any price; and
the menagerie-man—he _was_ a jolly fellow—he beckoned me to come up into
his circus place, and when old Higgins came rushing up after me, he just
opened the cage of a big monkey, who sprang out at old Higgins, whipped
off his hat and chawed it up, and gave him _such_ a scratch all down his
nose! He’ll carry that scratch to the end of time, I know. After that he
thought he’d had enough, and went home without his hat in such a sweet
temper. And that night we screwed him up in his room, after all the
servants had gone to bed, and let off fireworks under his window.”
Queenie’s delight knew no bounds. Phil was more of a hero than ever.
“Go on! go on!” she cried. “What happened next day?”
“Next day was yesterday, and Sunday, you know; and old Higgins was so
used up with rage that he could not appear all day. I was ordered to my
room; but I said, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ and went a walk
instead. I knew it was all up with me by that time. The Doctor was
coming back on Monday morning,—to-day you see,—so I didn’t trouble to
wait for him, but just bolted before any one was astir. I didn’t go to
the town or station, where we’re pretty well known, but cut across
country for ten miles to a big junction, where I was not likely to be
noticed. I’d just money enough for my ticket and some rolls, and that’s
all I’ve had to eat since morning. You must manage to give me a good
feed somehow, soon, and to look after me for a few days; for I mean to
give Higgins and Steele a good fright before I’ve done with them.”
“Did nobody see you get in?” asked Queenie, excitedly.
“No, not a soul. I took good care of that. I managed beautifully, for I
didn’t mean anybody but you to know. You’ll keep the secret, won’t you,
Queenie? It will be _such_ a lark having the whole country raised after
me, and me here all the time.”
Queenie’s eyes sparkled.
“Like Cassy in ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin.’ Oh yes, Phil, I’ll hide you if I
can! only—only—won’t papa and mamma be frightened too?”
“Oh no, I don’t think so—not for a day or so. They know I can take care
of myself well enough. I want them to be just frightened enough to be
very pleased to see me back, and we’ll not let them get more frightened
than will be just right.”
Queenie was satisfied with this compromise. She was eager to carry out
Phil’s scheme, for she had a keen love for adventure and romance, and it
seemed to her a delightfully romantic thing to hide away her fugitive
brother whilst his cruel and inhuman schoolmasters hunted high and low
for him. Her zeal was great, and Phil knew he could trust both her
courage and discretion, and the main difficulty was to know how and
where to dispose of himself.
“You had better stop here for to-night,” said Queenie, with her little
air of command; “nobody will come till the housemaid goes round in the
morning; I don’t know if she comes every day when you are all away.
There is the wardrobe cupboard you could hide in, if you heard anybody
coming, but I’ll take care nobody does to-day. To-morrow morning early,
I think, you’ll have to get out of the window and down by the ivy and
hide somewhere in the garden till we can settle something. If I were
you, I’d get over the fence and hide in one of the Squire’s shrubberies,
and I’ll come to you as soon as ever I can.”
Phil nodded his head approvingly.
“That’s the sort of thing, Queenie, that’s the sort of thing;” and after
ten minutes’ animated discussion their plans till the morrow were all
carefully laid. Then Queenie had to effect her escape unseen, for
nursery tea was imminent; and then there was the difficult and delicate
task of obtaining some substantial supplies and conveying them to Phil.
Queenie, however, proved herself equal to the occasion. She wandered
innocently down to the housekeeper’s room, where she was always welcome,
and paid a visit to cook in the larder, and admired very much a row of
meat pies that she had lately taken from the oven.
As she was wandering about in the aimless way that children do when they
find themselves amongst indulgent old servants, who are pleased to see
them about their premises, she was aware of a commotion in the servants’
hall.
“Cook!” cried a voice from thence,—“only think, cook, a telegram has
just come from the master to say that Master Phil has run away from
school, and can’t be heard of anywhere!”
Cook threw up her hands in dismay at the news, and hurried away to learn
all particulars. Queenie was sharp enough to know that for the next few
minutes all the servants would be congregated together to hear the news
and discuss it with keen interest and wonder. She therefore acted with
care and deliberation, took down one savory pie from the shelf,
rearranging the rest so that it was not likely to be missed, and stole
quietly and coolly away with her prize, no hurried movement or undue
excitement hindering her from carrying out her design in the best
possible way.
Bread and all other additions were easily obtained from the nursery
table, and Phil supped sumptuously that night.
The little girl was told nothing about her brother, for which she was
glad, in case her face might betray her; but when she went down to
dessert that evening, she fancied her mother seemed rather nervous and
put out, and she was a little troubled at first; but as she left the
room, she was reassured by hearing her father say,—
“Of course I will go over to-morrow and see about it, but you may trust
Phil for looking after himself. He’ll come to no harm, you may be sure;
he’ll be turning up like a bad halfpenny somewhere before another day is
out. You see if he doesn’t.”
And Queenie laughed quietly to herself as she ran up-stairs to her
nursery, very full of importance and delight.
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