“QUITE ’STRORDINARY FUN.”
Certainly if ear-piercing shrieks constituted “strordinary fun” Hubert’s
statement was fully justified.
From the very onset the game was wildly exciting, even to the bigger
boys. Even Phil, as he jeered the ogre from the tall oak, forgot to call
it a baby game, and as Jack executed his “flying squirrel trick,” which
meant taking flying leaps from branch to branch, in order to view the
land, he began to think that, after all, this sport with the infants was
rather fine.
Faith, meanwhile, played her part as an anxious parent perfectly. Hither
and thither she fluttered between the different points of danger, with
out-stretched arms and skirts, like a good old hen protecting her
precious bantlings.
In and out of the hazel bushes and the briar tangles--ay, even into
nettle-beds--the infants dashed, caring nothing for pricks and stings
and scratches, so long as they could evade the long arm of Jack, the
ogre’s caterer, and escape the fierce eyes of the ogre and his wife.
These latter would now and again show themselves, glaring ferociously
through the bushes, and clamouring loudly for fresh food to be brought
to their larder.
After a time, Faith allowed herself to be taken prisoner, and for a
moment quite a solemn awe fell upon her companions whilst they watched
the proceeding which followed in the ogre’s camp.
First, the captive was securely bound to the slim stem of a birch, then
the ogre called on his wife and cook to come and judge if she were fit
for immediate dressing.
With rounded eyes and parted lips the three little ones waited almost
breathlessly, whilst Di, supported by Phoena,
[Illustration: “She shall be fed up on snail soup,” said the Ogre.
_p. 45._]
who carried a long iris leaf to represent a knife, advanced to make the
inspection.
Di thrust her fingers into Faith’s cheeks, examined her tongue to see if
it would “pay for salting,” pinched her arms, and finally agreed with
the cook that she must be cooped up and fattened.
“She shall be fed up on snail soup and luscious slimy slugs,” said the
ogre--Andrew was always good at acting,--whilst Di added:
“Tadpole tea is even more nourishing than Bovril, and I’ve seen many
skeletons grow stout on caterpillars in oil.”
“See that she has them then,” said the ogre, in a voice that sounded
like thunder, “but for our immediate food, my dear wife, we must catch
some smaller fry.”
“Yes,” replied the ‘dear wife,’ “one of those little dears yonder, if
nicely stuffed and roasted, would make a tasty morsel for supper.
Suppose we order that little girl with the cloud of golden hair, which,
by the way, would make quite a pretty table garnish.”
Diana’s tone was so business-like that Marygold almost shook in her
shoes.
“Or that tender youth crouching beside that ash,” said the ogre,
pointing to Gaston, “he’d make a toothsome savoury. Ah!” catching sight
of Hubert, who peeped out from the edge of a nettle-bed, “there’s a pair
of those small boys, I see. Jack, my caterer, catch them at once, and
have them served for supper as grilled green goslings.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Jack, “they’ll make delicious mouthfuls for your
greedy-ship and lady. Now, if you will withdraw, and pretend to sleep, I
will proceed to secure these desirable young dishfuls.”
Thus pressed, the ogre household retired into semi-privacy, and
immediately afterwards the air was rent with the sound of loud snoring.
“They’re only pretending to sleep,” Marygold explained to Gaston,
dragging him behind some hazel bushes, whence he could see the sham
sleepers. “They think that we haven’t heard them making their wicked
plans, you know. But, oh! look at Phil.”
Armed with a long thistle, Phil was advancing stealthily upon the ogre,
who was leaning against the trunk of a tree, snoring lustily, with
fast-closed eyes. In another minute Phil would have tickled the ogre’s
nose with the spikey weapon he carried.
But Gaston, untrained in the tactics of ogre warfare, instead of
observing the breathless silence maintained by the others, gave vent to
a loud giggle. This instantly roused the ogre to a knowledge of his
danger, and caused Phil to be ignominiously routed.
In the general confusion which ensued Marygold was captured and bound to
a tree, with the delightful prospect of being turned into a white soup
before sunset.
“You little duffer,” cried Phil, savagely, turning upon the trembling
Gaston, “you spoilt all the sport with that idiotic giggle of yours. Now
you shall be punished for that by being delivered up to the ogre in
exchange for Faith.”
“Yes, master Froggy,” put in Jack, seeing that Gaston really looked
alarmed, “you’ll have to pay for that giggle with your blood, so come
on.”
Planting his heels firmly together, Gaston resisted resolutely.
It might be all play, still, the big English boy’s voice sounded very
angry, and his face looked very fierce.
“Come on,” said Phil, giving Gaston a desperate tug.
“Oh! but, but, I pray you, have pity,” began the boy.
But his entreaty for pity came too late. Negotiations with the ogre,
initiated by Jack, were already begun.
And now Phil was addressing the ogre himself.
“Look here, you old wretch,” he was saying, “respect our flag of
truce,”--here he waved his handkerchief--“and we’ll parley with you.”
And as the ogre graciously signified his consent, Phil went on:
“Here’s a handsome offer, a jolly little roasting pig, a real Paris
_nouverty_, all ready for dressing, which we’ll give in exchange for the
victim that you caught first.”
“And if you don’t say ‘Yes,’” put in Hubert, who was well versed in the
customs of the game, “we’ll sell him cheap at the nearest cannibal
market, so you’d better make up your mind quick.”
Very pompously the ogre advanced.
“Let the article for exchange be exposed,” he said, “and on the faith of
an ogre no unfair advantage shall be taken.”
By this time poor Gaston was on the brink of tears. The sudden change in
the complexion of affairs from all the previous screaming, shouting, and
running, to the dignified air of solemnity which now invested the
proceedings, filled him with alarm. Consequently, when, at a sign from
Phil, Hubert advanced, and, seizing Gaston by one arm, helped to drag
“the article” forward for closer inspection, all notion of it being only
a game disappeared from Gaston’s mind, and he really thought that he was
facing certain death.
He was rather a baby for his age, but then he had never had elder
brothers, and this was his first experience of big English boys and of
ogres.
“He--he won’t really eat me,” he faltered.
“Eat you! of course he will. Skin, bones, and grizzle,” said Phil,
thoroughly enjoying Gaston’s dismay; “someone always has to be eaten up
at the end of the game to make it real.”
“But--but the last time that you did play, who was eated up then?”
enquired Gaston, with not unnatural curiosity still holding back.
“Oh, an awfully jolly little chap,” said Phil, cheerfully, “very like
you. I don’t think he would have minded it much if they hadn’t eaten so
much mustard with him.”
“They won’t have of mustard to eat with me,” cried Gaston, “for Mrs.
Busson was this morning not able to find any.”
“Pepper’ll do as well, or better,” said Phil, coolly, “hurry up, we’re
not going to wait any longer. Don’t you hear the ogre sharpening his
front teeth on the backbone of the giant that he ate for breakfast this
morning? Come on, I say.”
“But no, no, I won’t come, I won’t,” yelled Gaston, trying to throw
himself on the ground. “I won’t be eated, I won’t be eated!”
Vainly he looked round for succour. His last friend, Marygold, was
herself a captive, and of course, Jack, the caterer, was not on his
side.
“Be good enough to come on, gentlemen,” said the ogre, “having begun
proceedings, you’re bound to go on with them. Shall my official, Jack,
come to your assistance?”
Thereupon Jack came forward, and now, to his exceeding terror, Gaston
found himself lifted bodily between the two bigger boys and carried
forcibly into the clutches of the ogre.
The latter began to examine him at once. By this time, Gaston was a
quaking jelly.
“Hm,” pronounced the ogre, “he’ll do fairly well, provided he’s eaten at
once. Cook, come here and take my orders.”
Then, as Gaston fought and struggled with all his might, the ogre
remarked, “Now, no struggling, if you please. Don’t you know that
over-exertion on your part will spoil your flavour, and make you
horribly tough? Jack, my caterer, I fear we shall have to chastise this
small object before cooking him, as an example to others, you know.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Jack, “a nice chance of dinner we should have, if
all the legs of mutton took to kicking us, and all the calves’ heads
began to butt at us.”
“Well, make up your mind, Mr. Ogre,” said Phil, “are you prepared to
take over this little porker, or not?”
“I am,” was the reply, “and as he persists in showing fight, we’ll see
what a little beating will do for him. It answers admirably in the case
of beefsteaks, you know. Take charge of him, Jack.”
“All right,” said that official; then, with a wink at Phil, “just hold
him down a minute, while I tie his pettitoes together. Mr. Ogre, kindly
assist us.”
“Don’t be afraid,” whispered Hubert in Gaston’s ear, as he lay on the
ground, “they won’t really hurt you, Phil won’t let them.”
But _playing_ at bullying is a dangerous game with the best intentioned
of schoolboys, and Andrew was the prince of bullies when he was secure
from any risk to his own precious person. With such a tiny victim as
poor Gaston, he felt perfectly safe. But he had reckoned without his
host, or at any rate, without his host’s teeth.
For as soon as he came within biting range of Gaston, the latter, who,
as we said, had long ago forgotten that he was supposed to be playing,
caught Andrew’s hand between his teeth, and hung on to his fingers for
dear life.
Andrew danced and yelled with pain.
“You nasty, abominable little wretch,” he shrieked, “won’t I pay you out
for this.”
“What are you about, boys?” cried Faith, who, tied up with her back to
this exciting scene, was terrified at these alarming sounds. “Di, do go
and see what they are doing.”
But Di was busy now giving chase to Hubert, whom she had been stealthily
trying to capture, so she had no ears for Fay.
As to Phoena, no one heeded her gentle remonstrances.
“It’s only fun, Gaston,” she assured him.
“Of course it is, we’re only rotting you,” said Phil.
“Oh, are we,” cried Andrew, savagely, breaking off a stout hazel switch
as he spoke, “we’ll see about that; ogre or no ogre, I’ll teach him to
bite me again. Hold him down, Jack, and I’ll give him the jolliest
licking he’s ever yet had.”
And before anyone could stop him, Andrew had delivered a cruel cut on
Gaston’s small prostrate person.
A piercing yell from the victim rang and echoed again through the wood.
“You shall have plenty more,” said Andrew, lifting the switch to strike
afresh, but the elder boys fell upon him.
“Shut up, will you,” they cried, “it’s beastly mean to hit such a little
chap. Trying to kick him now, are you? You’d better.” And without more
ado the cousins, aided by Hubert, who had returned, panting, but free,
brought Andrew to the ground for the second time that afternoon.
“Now we’ll see if a little beating won’t make _him_ tender,” said Jack,
wrenching the stick from Andrew.
So it fell out that the rod which he had prepared for another’s back,
fell upon Andrew’s own in no very gentle strokes.
“There, I’ll be bound that’s the best licking you’ve ever had in your
life,” cried Jack, with genuine satisfaction. “Shouldn’t be surprised if
it made a man of you, old chap,” he added, breaking the stick in two
pieces and flinging the fragments high up into a tree.
Too mortified to howl, and too cowardly to retaliate, Andrew skulked off
in sullen silence.
Gaston was nowhere to be seen. Once freed from his tormentors’ clutches
he had flown out of sight and sound of the copse.
“He went so fast, I believe he flew,” said Hubert, who, if the truth
must be told, had been so absorbed in watching Andrew’s chastisement,
that he had had no attention to spare for anything else.