The pony walked on, sometimes a little quicker, sometimes a little
slower, while Geoff dreamed. No doubt the pony too had his own thoughts.
His opinion was that summer had come again. He was rather a pampered
little pony, who had never been put to any common use, who had never
felt harness on his back, or a weight behind him, or even the touch of
a whip beyond that of Geoff's little switch; and he had come so far and
had trotted so long that he was hot, and did not like it. He had come
so far that he no longer knew which was the direction of home and the
comfortable cool stable, for which he began to puff and sigh. When they
came to a cross-road he sniffed at it, but never could be sure. The
scent seemed to lie one time in one way, another time in another. Not
being able to make sure of the way home, the pony made it up to himself
in a different direction. He sauntered along, and cooled down. He took a
pull at the grass, nearly snatching the loose reins out of Geoff's small
hands. Then, after having thus secured the proper length, he had a
tolerable meal, a sort of picnic refreshment, not unpleasant; and the
grass was very crisp and fresh. He began to think that it was for this
purpose, to give him a little beneficial change of diet, that he had
been brought out. It was very considerate. Corn is good, and so even is
nice dry, sweet-smelling hay. But of all things in the world, there is
nothing so delightful as the fresh salad with all its juices, the nice
sweet grass with the dew upon it, especially when it is past the season
for grass, and you have been ridden in the sun.
Geoff's mind was pleasurably moved in a different way. The freedom, the
silence, the fresh air, entered into his little being like wine. He had
not much experienced the delights of solitude. A sickly child, who has
to be watched continually, and who is alone in the sense of having no
playmates, no one of his own age near him, has less experience than the
robust of true aloneness. He had been always with his mother, always,
in his mother's brief absences,--so brief that they scarcely told in
the little story of his life,--under the charge of the nurse, who was
entirely devoted to him. He knew all the stories she had to tell by
heart, and yet would have them repeated, with a certain pleasure in the
sound of the words. But his mother,--he never could be sure what she was
going to say. To question her was the chief occupation of his life, and
she never was weary of replying. His days were full of this perpetual
intercourse. So it happened that to get out alone into the absolute
stillness, broken only by the rustle of the leaves, the sound of the
wind as it brought them down, the twitter of the birds, the tinkle of
the little stream, was a new delight to Geoff, unlike anything that had
gone before. And to see miles and miles before him, to see all round,
roads stretching into the unknown, houses and churches and woods, all
nameless and new; was he riding out to seek his fortune, was he going
to conquer the world, was he the prince riding to the castle where the
Sleeping Beauty lay? Or was he going on unawares to the ogre's castle,
where he was to kill the giant and deliver the prisoners?
The little boy did not, perhaps, put these questions into form, but they
were all in his mind, filling him with a vague, delicious exhilaration.
He was all of them put together, and little Geoff Markland beside. He was
afraid of nothing: partly, perhaps, because of his breeding, which
had made it apparent to him that the world chiefly existed for the
purpose of taking care of Geoff; and partly from an innate confidence
and friendliness with all the world. He had no serious doubt that ogres,
giants, and other unpleasant people did exist to be overcome; but so
far as men and women were considered, Geoff had no fear of them, and
he was aware that even in the castle of the ogre these natural aids
and auxiliaries were to be found. He wandered on, accordingly, quite
satisfied with his fancies, until the pony gave that first jerk to the
reins and began his meal. Geoff pulled him up at first, but then began
to reflect that ponies have their breakfast earlier than boys, and that
even he himself was beginning to feel that the time for eating had come.
"We can't both have luncheon," said the little man, "and I think you
might wait, pony;" but he reflected again that, if he could put out his
hand and reach some bread and butter, he would not himself, at that
moment, be restrained by the thought that pony's hunger was unsatisfied.
This thought induced him to drop his wrists and leave pony free. They
formed an odd little vignette on the side of the road: the pony, with
his head down, selecting the juicy spots; the little boy amicably
consenting, with his hands upon its neck. Geoff, however, to those who
did not know that he was consenting, and had philosophically made up his
mind to sanction, in default of luncheon for himself, his pony's meal,
looked a somewhat helpless little figure, swayed about by the movements
of his little steed. And this was how he appeared to the occupants of
a phaeton which swept past, with two fine bay horses, and all their
harness glittering and jingling in the sun. There was a lady in it,
by the driver's side, and both greeted the little boy with a burst
of laughter. "Shall I touch him up for you?" the gentleman cried,
brandishing his whip over the pony's head. This insult went to Geoff's
soul. He drew himself up out of his dreaming, and darted such a glance
at the passers-by as produced another loud laugh, as they swept past.
And he plucked the pony's head from the turf with the same startled
movement, and surprised the little animal into a canter of a dozen paces
or so, enough, at least, he hoped, to show those insolent people that he
could go, when he liked. But after that the pony took matters into his
own hand.
It was beginning to be afternoon, which to Geoff meant the decline of
the day, after his two o'clock dinner. He had no dinner, poor child, and
that afternoon languor which the strongest feel, the sense of falling
off and running low, was deepened in him by unusual emptiness, and that
consciousness of wrong which a child has who has missed a meal. Pony,
after _his_ dinner, had a more lively feeling than ever that the stable
at home would be cool and comfortable, and, emboldened by so much salad,
wanted to turn back and risk finding the way. He bolted twice, so that
all Geoff's horsemanship and all his strength were necessary to bring
the little beast round. The little man did it, setting his teeth
with childish rage and determination, digging his heels into the fat
refractory sides, and holding his reins twisted in his little fists with
savage tenacity. But a conflict of this sort is very exhausting, and to
force an unreasonable four-footed creature in the way it does not want
to go requires a strain of all the faculties which it is not easy to
keep up, especially at the age (not all told) of nine. Geoff felt the
tears coming to his eyes; he felt that he would die of shame if any one
saw him thus almost mastered by a pony, yet that he would give anything
in the world to see a known face, some one who would help him home. Not
the phaeton, though, or that man who had offered to "touch him up." When
he heard the wheels again behind him Geoff grew frantic. He laid his
whip about the pony's sides, with a maddening determination not to be
laughed at again. But circumstances were too strong for Geoff. The pony
made a spring forward, stopped suddenly: and Geoff, with a giddy sense
of flying through the air, a horrible consciousness of great hoofs
coming down, lost all knowledge of what was going to happen to him, and
ended in insensibility this wild little flight into the unknown.
It was well for Geoff that some one who had been crossing a field close
by, at this climax of his little history, saw the impending accident,
and sprang over the stile into the road at the decisive moment; for the
driver of the phaeton could scarcely, with the best will in the world,
have otherwise avoided mischief, though he pulled his horses back on
their hindquarters in the sudden alarm. Theo Warrender flung himself
under the very hoofs of the dashing bays. He seized the child and flung
him out on the edge of the road, but was himself knocked down, and lay
for a moment not knowing how much he was himself hurt, and paralysed
by terror for the child, whom he had recognised in the flash of the
catastrophe. There was a whirl of noise for a moment, loud shrieks from
the lady, the grinding of the suddenly stopped wheels, the prancing
and champing of the horses, the loud exclamations of the man who was
driving, to the groom who sprang out from behind, and to his shrieking
companion. The groom raised Geoff's head, and propped him on the grass
at the roadside, while Warrender crept out from the dangerous position
he occupied, his heart sick with alarm. "He's coming to," said the groom.
"There is no harm done. The gentleman's more hurt than the boy." "There
is nothing the matter with me," cried Warrender, though the blood was
pouring from his forehead, making bubbles in the dust. When Geoff opened
his eyes he had a vision first of that anxious, blood-stained countenance;
then of a bearded face in an atmosphere of cigar smoke, which reminded
him strangely, in the dizziness of returning consciousness, of his
father, while the carriage, the impatient bays, the lady looking down
from her high seat, were like a picture behind. He could not remember at
first what it was all about. The bearded man knelt beside him, feeling
him all over. "Does anything hurt you, little chap? Come, that's brave.
I think there's nothing wrong."
"But look at Theo! Theo's all bleeding," said Geoff, trying to raise
himself up.
"It's nothing,--a trifle," said Warrender, feeling, though faint, angry
that the attention of the stranger should be directed to his ghastly
countenance. He added, "Don't wait on account of him. If you will let
your man catch the pony, I'll take him home."
Then the lady screamed from the phaeton that the little darling must be
given to her, that he was not fit to get on that pony again, that he
must be driven to Underwood. She called her companion to her, who swore
by Jove, and plucked at his moustache, and consulted with the groom, who
by some chance knew who the child was. The end of the discussion was
that Geoff, to his own great surprise, and not without a struggle, was
lifted to the phaeton and placed close to the lady, who drew him to
her, and kept him safe within her arm. Geoff looked up at the face that
bent so closely over him with a great deal of curiosity and a mingled
attraction and repulsion. In his giddy state, it seemed to him another
phase of the dream. The sudden elevation, the rush of rapid motion, so
different from his slow and easy progress, the two bays dashing through
the air, the lady's perfumery and her caresses, all bewildered the boy.
Where were they taking him? After all, was there really some ogre's
castle, some enchanted palace, to which he was being swept along without
any will of his? The little boy was disturbed by the kisses and caresses
of his new friend. He was neither shy nor forward; but he felt himself
too old to be kissed, and a little indignant, and slightly alarmed, in
the confusion of his shaken frame, as to where he was being taken and
what was going to happen to him. The bays were grand and the lady was
beautiful; but as Geoff looked at her, holding himself as far away as
was possible within the tight reach of her arm holding him, he thought
her more like the enchantress than the good, lovely fairy queen, which
had been his first idea. She was not like the ogre's wife he knew so
well,--that pathetic, human little person, who did what she could to
save the poor strayed boys; but rather of ogre kind herself, kissing him
as if she would like to put a tooth in him, with loud laughter at his
shrinking and indisposition to be caressed. Geoff also felt keenly the
meanness of forsaking Theo, and even the pony, who by this time, no
doubt, must be very sorry for having thrown him, and very much puzzled
how to get home. Would the groom (left behind for the purpose) be able
to catch him? All these things much disturbed Geoff's thoughts. He paid
little attention to the promises that were made to him of tea and nice
things to eat, although he was faint and hungry; feeling not altogether
certain, in his little confused brain, that he might not, instead of
eating, be eaten, although he was quite aware at the same time that this
was nonsense, and could not be.
But when the phaeton turned in at the gate of the Elms, and Geoff saw
the high red brick house, surrounded with its walls, like a prison, or
like the ogre's castle itself, his perturbation grew to a climax. The
vague alarm which takes complete possession of a child when once aroused
in him rose higher and higher in his mind. When the lady sprang lightly
down, and held out her arms to receive him as he alighted, the little
fellow made a nervous leap clear of her, and stood shaking and quivering
with the effort, on his guard, and distrustful of any advance. "Nobody
is going to harm you, my little fellow," said the man, kindly enough:
while the lady asked why he was frightened, with laughter, which confused
and alarmed him more and more; for Geoff was accustomed to be taken
seriously, and did not understand being laughed at. He wanted to be
civil, notwithstanding, and was about to follow in-doors, plucking up
his courage, when a glance round, which showed him how high the walls
were, and that the gates had been closed, and that in the somewhat
strait inclosure inside there was no apparent outlet by which he could
communicate with the world in which his mother and Theo and everybody
he knew were left behind, brought a thrill of panic, which he could
not overcome, through him. As he paused, scared and frightened, on the
threshold, he saw at the farther end of the inclosure a door standing a
little ajar, at which some one had entered on foot. Geoff did not pause
to think again, but made for the opening with a sudden start, and, when
outside, ran like a hunted hare. He ran straight on seeing houses before
him where he knew there must be safety,--houses with no high walls,
cottages such as a small heart trusts in, be it beggar or prince. He
ran, winged with fear, till he got as far as Mrs. Bagley's shop. It was
not far, but he was unused to violent exertion, and his little body and
brain were both quivering with excitement and with the shock of his fall.
The dread of some one coming after him, of the house that looked like a
prison, of the strangeness of the circumstances altogether, subsided at
the sight of the village street, the church in the distance, the open
door of the little shop. All these things were utterly antagonistic to
ogres, incompatible with enchantresses. Geoff became lively again when
he reached the familiar and recognisable; and when he saw the cakes in
Mrs. Bagley's window, his want of a dinner became an overpowering
consciousness. He stopped himself, took breath, wiped his little hot
forehead, and went in in a very gentlemanly way, taking off his hat,
which was dusty and crushed with his fall, to the astonished old lady
behind the counter. "Would you mind giving me a cake or a biscuit?" he
said. "I don't think I have any money, but I am going to Mrs. Warrender's,
if you will show me where that is, and she will pay for me. But don't do
it," said Geoff, suddenly perceiving that he might be taken for an
impostor, "if you have any doubt that you will be paid."
"Oh, my little gentleman," cried Mrs. Bagley, "take whatever you please,
sir! I'm not a bit afraid; and if you was never to pay me, you're but a
child, if I may make bold to say so; and as for a cake or a---- But if
you'll take my advice, sir, a good bit of bread and butter would be far
more wholesome, and you shall have that in a moment."
"Thank you very much," said Geoff, though he cast longing eyes at the
cakes, which had the advantage of being ready; "and please might I have
a chair or a stool to sit down upon, for I am very tired? May I go into
that nice room there, while you cut the bread and butter? My mother,"
said the boy, with a sigh of pleasure, throwing himself down in Mrs.
Bagley's big chair, which she dragged out of its corner for him, "will
be very much obliged to you when she knows. Yes, I am only a child," he
continued, after a moment; "but I never thought I was so little till I
got far away from home. Will you tell me, please, where I am now?"
Mrs. Bagley was greatly impressed by this little personage, who looked
so small and talked with such imposing self-possession. She set down
before him a glass of milk with the cream on it, which she had intended
for her own tea, and a great slice of bread and butter, which Geoff
entered upon without further compliment. "This is Underwood," she said,
"and Mrs. Warrender's is close by, and there's nobody but will be ready
to show you the way; but I do hope, sir, as you haven't run away from
home."
"Oh no," said Geoff, with his mouth full of bread and butter, "not at
all. I only came to see Theo,--that is Mr. Warrender's name, you know.
To be sure," he added, "mamma will not know where I am, and probably she
is very frightened; that is something like running away, isn't it? I
hope they have caught my pony, and then when I have rested a little I
can ride home. Is that a nice house, that tall red house with the wall
round it, or do they shut up people there?"
"Ah, that's the Elms," said the old lady, and she gave a glance which
Geoff did not understand to the young woman who was sitting at work
behind. "I don't know as folks is ever shut up in it," she said,
significantly; "but don't you never go there, my little gentleman, for
it ain't a nice house."
"The like of him couldn't get no harm--if even, Granny, it was as bad as
you think."
"There is nobody as wouldn't get harm, man or woman, or even children,"
cried Granny dogmatically. "It was the last place as poor Lord Markland
was ever in afore his accident, and who knows----"
Geoff put down his bread and butter. "That's my father," he said. He did
not use the more familiar title when talking to strangers. "Did he know
those people? Perhaps his horses got wild escaping from them."
Mrs. Bagley lifted up her hands in awe and wonder. "My stars!" she said,
"I thought I had seen him before. Lizzie, it's the little lord."
"That is what the lady called me," said Geoff, "as if it was my fault.
Do they set traps there for people who are lords?"