THE SPRING SONG
By the same Writer.
THE BRACKNELS.
FOLLOWING DARKNESS.
THE GENTLE LOVER.
AT THE DOOR OF THE GATE.
W. B. YEATS: A CRITICAL STUDY.
THE SPRING SONG
By
FORREST REID
‘I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic sprite.’
――DONNE
London
EDWARD ARNOLD
41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W
1916
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I THE BEGINNING OF THE ADVENTURE 1
II IN THE LANE 8
III NEW ARRIVALS 19
IV AT THE WINDOW 39
V THE GARDEN DOOR 48
VI MUSIC 69
VII QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 78
VIII GREY WEATHER 88
IX POUNCER 114
X THROUGH THE DARKNESS 129
XI INSPECTOR DORSET 137
XII THE SPRING SONG 167
XIII THE PERFUMES OF ARABIA 176
XIV THE RECOGNITION 186
XV DANGER 196
XVI GRIF RECEIVES A VISITOR 212
XVII FANTASY 223
XVIII GRIF AWAKENS 233
XIX DOCTOR O’NEILL CALLS IN A SPECIALIST 237
XX MISS JOHNSON’S BIRTHDAY 248
XXI PALMER AT WORK 259
XXII FIRE 281
XXIII THE GLITTERING NET 292
XXIV GRIF FALLS ASLEEP 305
THE SPRING SONG
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNING OF THE ADVENTURE
‘So fair a summer look for never more.’
――_Thomas Nashe._
Leaning back against the leather cushion of the railway-carriage,
Griffith Weston was conscious of an endless panorama of fields and
meadows, of green hedges and white hawthorn, and blazing, yellow furze.
The whole landscape was bathed in a crude glare of June sunlight, and
the heat, and the vivid glittering light, and the rushing train, made
his head ache.
He wore a light, loose, flannel suit, without a waistcoat, and his
wide short trousers left his knees bare. A dark olive-green silk tie
brought out unnecessarily the sallowness of his complexion; his straw
hat lay on the seat beside him. He was not in the least a handsome boy,
but his expression was pleasing. He looked quiet rather than shy; he
looked intelligent, sensitive, and sweet-tempered. His eyes, beneath
their drooping lids, had something of that sleepy gentleness which
characterizes the angels and youths of Perugino, but the wide space
between them gave the whole countenance, with its beautiful forehead, a
kind of grave nobility and innocence.
A more brilliant colour glowed clearly enough in the fresh, ruddy
cheeks of the sisters and brother who sat opposite him――Barbara, Ann,
and Jim. Miss Johnson also sat on that side of the carriage, and
Pouncer was at present invisible, somewhere under the seat.
The little boy’s position, in its comparative isolation, was
characteristic; also the attitude of a watchful, listening silence he
maintained amid the chatter of the others. His tutor had left a day or
two ago, and he was now more or less independent, travelling by the
same train as Miss Johnson and her pupils, but distinctly not of their
party.
The eldest of these pupils, Barbara, dressed in white muslin, with
slim, black, neatly-stockinged legs, and folded hands, looked demure
and slightly priggish. Ann, who was fat, and had reddish hair and
freckles, looked only very simple and plain. Her mouth was, as usual,
slightly open, her hot little hands were not folded, and in no way
did she present so lady-like an appearance as Barbara. One cannot
be lady-like and breathe through one’s mouth, Miss Johnson had told
her that very day, and poor Ann had felt at once that she was doomed.
Jim, in his white sailor-suit, was fidgety and vivacious, hovering
perilously on the obscure borderline which, in Miss Johnson’s opinion,
separated the lively from the naughty.
It was not till the train drew in at a station that Pouncer made an
appearance. He did so suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box, and rushed to
the window to look out, breathing noisily on the glass, and pushing
aside Ann, who got in his way. There he remained, a ridiculous leather
muzzle dangling under one ear, till the guard arrived with a basin of
water. Pouncer lapped up the water with a big splashing red tongue,
stopping every now and then to roll his round eyes and give a wag of
his tail. With the amazing popularity of all bulldogs, he had managed
in the space of some two minutes to attract the charmed attention of
quite a group of persons. The group included the stationmaster, several
boys, a postman, one or two porters, a sporting gentleman, and a lady
who played the mandoline. Intending travellers, however, passed on in
search of another compartment....
Again they tore through the glare and the heat. Jim’s black head was
nodding now against Miss Johnson’s very angular elbow, and Grif, too,
began to grow drowsy. He wondered what it would be like at grandpapa’s.
Only Edward――who was to come on later from school――and Barbara had been
there before. Edward and Barbara had given innumerable accounts of
their previous visit, entering into all details, but things for Grif
often had a mysterious way of turning out to be quite different from
other people’s descriptions of them. _His_ things were rarely _their_
things; and it came into his sleepy head that everybody’s things must
be unlike everybody else’s. _His_ trees, for instance, were not Jim’s
or Barbara’s, or Ann’s or Edward’s. They were just _his_――or _were_
they his? Was he not rather theirs? Why, if he was not, did they
stoop down with long green arms to catch him? and why was there such
a roaring in their branches as he had never heard before? He tried
to escape, to run away, but they closed him in on every side; they
clutched him, and he tore at their green, shadowy embrace, scattering
the leaves in showers....
“By Jove, I’ve been asleep!” he thought, as the crash of another train
whizzing by awoke him with a start. He smiled at Miss Johnson, whose
glittering pince-nez was fixed upon him with an expression at once
severe and anxious.
His smile was intended to be reassuring, but he knew from past
experience that Miss Johnson would not be reassured. If she took
nothing to do with his education, she had, since his father and mother
were started on their travels in the East, taken a great deal to do
with him in other ways. It was rather a bore, of course, but then
it would soon be over, for in the autumn he was going to school――to
the same school as Edward. Miss Johnson had remarked that it would
remove a load from her mind when he actually went, and he knew he
should have gone a year ago had his people only been able to convince
themselves that he was strong enough. This, in fact――this question of
his strength――was just the mental load Miss Johnson had alluded to. For
that matter, he couldn’t remember a time when it _wasn’t_ there for
some one――a thing to be discussed and described――discussed even with
Grif himself. If they would only let him alone, he thought, he would be
all right. But they never would. Miss Johnson, indeed, made more fuss
than anybody else ever had. She did nothing but fuss. She was fussing
now because he had fallen asleep, just as she had fussed at other times
because he had remained awake. You would think from what she said
that he could _help_ being liable to catch colds which passed almost
immediately into high fevers; could help a nocturnal restlessness which
led him fine dances in dreamland, and sometimes, though not lately, had
even led him from the safety of bed. Then, out of blind wanderings, he
had awakened, bewildered and cold, recognizing nothing about him in the
darkness except that he was not where he ought to be, tucked up, snugly
and warmly, between his blankets....
The engine whistled and began to slow down. Miss Johnson removed her
glasses and began to polish them. Pouncer again appeared.
“Here we are, children! Get everything ready. Ann, don’t forget your
parcels!”
There was haste, excitement, and some unnecessary zeal, to which
Pouncer contributed. Overcoats and bundles were pulled down from the
racks on to the seats, and also on to the floor. Miss Johnson dropped
first her umbrella and then her bag, and Pouncer found them both.
“There’s Aunt Caroline!” screamed Ann from the window, pushing back Jim
and Barbara with a vigorous elbow. “Stop! Oh, don’t crush so!”
Pouncer was making frantic efforts to oust Ann from her position, while
Grif fumbled with the leash. Aunt Caroline, tall and fair and smiling,
stood on the platform. A porter swung open the door and Pouncer was
first out after all, though his victory caused the overturning of Ann,
who had become amazingly entangled with the leash.
“Oh, Bouncer, you’re awful!” poor Ann breathed plaintively, as she sat
enmeshed on the floor of the railway-carriage. She arose, to be scolded
by Miss Johnson for having dirtied her muslin.
Aunt Caroline was talking.
“Well, chicks, you’re not roasted alive, are you? How do you do, Miss
Johnson? Ann, dear, you look positively boiling! Don’t bother about
your gloves: nobody wears gloves here.”
Ann stuffed them back into her pocket with a sigh of relief.
“We must go and help Miss Johnson to see about the luggage. There’s
a man waiting for it with a cart. There’s the trap, too, but it
won’t hold us all I’m afraid. Somebody will have to walk and keep me
company.”