"HE IS YOUNG AND OF LITTLE KNOWLEDGE."
The lads found that it was so late when they neared Lunda, that it
would be best to divide, one boat going to Collaster, and the other
proceeding to Westervoe; so Tom and Yaspard (the latter on a kind of
parole) were transferred to the _Osprey_, which immediately made sail
for Collaster, while the Manse boat conveyed the Mitchells to their own
home.
The Holtums were lingering over their supper when Tom presented
himself, bringing his captive with hands fastened together by a lanyard
borrowed from Harry Mitchell for the purpose. The captive's glowing
face, afire with fun and joyous anticipation, did not accord with the
humiliating position in which he was introduced by Tom; and his
reception by the Doctor and Mrs. Holtum certainly did not indicate
anything like hostile feeling.
The lanyard was laughingly untied by the Doctor, who said, as he
released and shook Yaspard's hands, "I am sure you can trust your
prisoner with so much liberty, Tom."
"Of course," said Tom; "I didn't see the fun of roping him at all, but
he would have it so, and the Mitchells said it looked more ship-shape."
"Besides," added Yaspard, "I wanted Uncle Brüs to know that I didn't
come here of my own free will and free-handed."
"I quite understand," replied the Doctor, very much amused at the whole
affair. "But _now_ it is quite proper that your manacles be removed.
You remember how the Black Prince treated his French prisoners? My Tom
must not be less courteous to a Viking! Now, boys, let us hear how all
this came about."
Nothing loth, Tom and Yaspard related their adventures, and very
entertaining these were; but when they described the sending home of
Thor, Dr. Holtum's face grew somewhat grave, and he seemed pondering
within himself.
When Tom had conducted his prisoner to his cell--which was one of the
best bedrooms--and returned to bid good-night, his father said, "Tom,
lad, I am not altogether satisfied that yon corbie was a trustworthy
messenger. Suppose he did _not_ carry news of Yaspard to Moolapund?"
"Yaspard never doubted he would."
The Doctor shook his head. "If," he said, "by any chance they have
_not_ heard of the boy they will be very anxious about him. I think
you must take a note from me to the fishing-station. Some of the boats
will be leaving for the haaf even now, and as they run past Boden, I am
sure one of them will put in there with my letter."
"Let me go with it, father!" Tom cried eagerly. "I am not a bit tired
or sleepy; and it will be such fun. Do let me go!"
Permission was given, a note to Mr. Adiesen written by Dr. Holtum, and
Tom despatched as envoy. He soon found a skipper willing to land him
on Boden, and in the grey, quiet night, this most prosaic of the Lunda
lads was started on a somewhat eerie journey. A great deal of time
would have been lost if the haaf-boat had carried him into Boden voe,
so Tom good-naturedly requested to be put ashore at the nearest point,
determined to walk across the island to Moolapund. Tom had declared
that he was neither tired nor sleepy, but he was both; and by the time
he had walked over a mile of Boden heath he was fain to stop more than
once and take a brief rest. Each time he sat down on the soft,
fragrant verdure, he felt less inclined to get up. How it happened at
last he never knew, but Tom sat down by an old planticrü,[1] and
remained there; and there he was lying in blissful slumber when the sun
was well up over the Heogue, and Gaun Neeven had come out for an early
stroll. He always took his walks abroad when the rest of the Boden
folk were in their beds, therefore it was believed that he seldom went
out at all.
If a philosopher like Mr. Neeven, who had passed through many years of
most exciting life, could be surprised, he was when, coming around the
planticrü, he stumbled upon Tom Holtum, spread out at ease, and
unconscious of his position.
The man stood stock still for some minutes, contemplating the prostrate
figure, until a grim smile gradually spread over his melancholy
countenance; then stooping, he touched Tom's face and said, "Wake up,
lad, wake up!"
Tom's eyes were wide open in a moment, and he sat up and stared at the
disturber of his repose.
"What are you doing here?" Mr. Neeven asked, in his usual stern tones,
which did not help to clarify Tom's understanding of his own position.
He stammered some very incoherent words, which were no explanation at
all, and did not even attempt to get on his feet.
Mr. Neeven was not a patient man. "Get up," he said, "and come with
me. I must know what you mean by skulking about my house in the
night-time."
Tom rose slowly, and then discovered that he was in the near vicinity
of Trullyabister.
"This is a pretty fix," thought he, as he followed Mr. Neeven. "I
believe I'll bolt!"
But a moment's reflection showed him how futile any attempt at escape
would be, so he silently proceeded in Mr. Neeven's wake, repenting him
sorely for being so foolish as to fall asleep that night.
When they were in the dismal apartment where the recluse spent the
greater part of his time poring over books and nursing his gloomy
thoughts, he pointed to a chair, and taking one himself, said briefly--
"Now give a proper account of yourself."
Tom could be concise and to the point in speech as well as Mr. Neeven,
and having recovered his usual _sang-froid_, he explained his
appearance in Boden in few plain words.
It was the first Gaun Neeven had heard of his young relative turning
Viking, and he was surprised to find a strange something within himself
leap and stir warmly at the tale of Yaspard's adventures, even though
told in Tom's unvarnished matter-of-fact style. Was it not a like
"craze" which had rioted within his own blood when he was a boy, and
had sent him out into the world to fight and jostle men, to win renown,
and prove his manhood by risking life and limb in all kinds of mad
adventure? Nothing had so moved that self-contained, moody man for
years, and even obtuse Tom could see that his story had touched some
hidden spring of feeling. The stern lines had relaxed, and there was a
softer though more intense light in the man's eyes.
Taking advantage of what he would have styled "a melting mood," Tom
begged to be allowed to carry his father's letter to its destination.
"And after that," he said, "on the honour of a gentleman, I will come
back to you, and you can make of me what you please."
"The letter shall go to Mr. Adiesen at a proper hour," replied Mr.
Neeven. "He is asleep at present, and I happen to know he is _not_
uneasy about his nephew. You had better lie down on this sofa and
finish your own nap, while I finish my walk. Later I will tell you
what I require you to do."
He walked out of the room, shutting the door with a key, and leaving
Tom a veritable prisoner.
"He might have trusted me," muttered Tom; "but since he hasn't put me
on my honour, I shall do my best to escape---- Gracious! what's that?"
The lad was very wide-awake, and not the least inclined to go to sleep
again. His exclamation had been caused by a curious sharp barking
noise, mingled with plaintive crying, which roused Tom's pity as well
as astonishment. He ran to the window, fancying the sounds came from
that side, and hoping to see something to explain what they meant. He
was not disappointed. The window of the haunted room was not far from
that of Mr. Neeven's sitting-room, and at that window Tom saw the same
unearthly visage which had startled Yaspard and the Harrisons.
"Whe-e-ew!" whistled Tom, thrusting his fists far down his pockets, as
was his wont when the solution of any difficulty penetrated the
somewhat "thick skin" which enveloped his remarkably sound and shrewd
understanding.
He stood some time staring thoughtfully at the creature, who stared
back at him as no lady of modest demeanour ought to have done; but we
must not forget that she was a captive, and looking for a deliverer,
and therefore to be excused in part.
"Poor soul!" muttered Tom, as the baby's wails once more broke the
beautiful silence of that smiling, sun-watched night-time. "It's a
horrible shame. I wish I could let them out. It would serve the old
boy right. But it's too risky a job for me to undertake by myself.
Oh, well! when I get back to Lunda--if I'm not going to be shut up as
she is--I'll get the Manse boys to help. Bet Harry Mitchell will
devise a way of circumventing both Mr. Neeven and Mr. Adiesen."
Then Tom tried the window, hoping to make his exit by it, but found it
was nailed down beyond his power to unfasten.
"Never heard of such a thing in Shetland before," growled Tom. "What's
he afraid of here? One would think Boden was the abode of thieves or
pirates at this rate. Anyway, there are plenty of books about."
He found an interesting book about the buccaneers of the Spanish Main,
so, lying down on the sofa, he was soon lost in the volume, and forgot
that he was in durance vile.
[1] Planticrü,--a _circular_ enclosure.