A CONFESSION.
“Oh, Tom,” said Minnie, “is not this a terrible misfortune that has
happened to poor Mrs. Bright?”
Tom gave a sort of grunt of assent.
“And the baby so ill! Mother doubts if he will live over the night! I
am glad that you found the doctor so soon. But what can have become
of dear little Johnny? The Barnes and the Smiths have been all on the
search; they say that if the wind had not been blowing the dust so
much along the lane, the little fellow might have been tracked by his
footsteps. No one can imagine where he can have gone,--he is so very
young,--so unable to wander far. Poor Polly! I am so sorry for her!”
“I wish that you would not be talking for ever about Johnny!” exclaimed
Tom in a petulant tone.
“How can one think or talk of anything else?” replied Minnie sadly,--“I
did so love that noble boy!”
“Have done with it!” cried her brother, more angrily than before.
Minnie looked at him with pain, and then said in a low tone, “I thought
that you had even joined in the search.”
“I have joined,--I would give anything to find him!” exclaimed Tom,
striking his hand on the table as he spoke, with such passionate energy
that he almost startled his sister.
“Did you see nothing of the dear child,” said Minnie, as a thought
suddenly occurred to her, “when you came to our cottage,--just before
you went for the doctor, you know?”
“Didn’t I tell you that I wanted to hear no more about the matter!”
cried Tom, his whole face becoming the colour of crimson.
Minnie’s eyes were fixed upon him, steadily, earnestly; rude, bold
boy as he was, he shrank from her piercing gaze. Going nearer to her
brother, and speaking very distinctly, but in a voice hardly above a
whisper, she said, “I believe that you know more about Johnny than you
will tell.”
“Believe what you like, and let me alone.”
“Tom, I implore you, hide nothing from us. Oh, think of the misery of
the poor broken-hearted mother!” and she laid her hand upon his arm.
“Speak another word and I’ll strike you!” cried Tom, roughly shaking
her off.
“Strike me if you will, but I _must_ speak. Where did you see that
child last?”
“You can get nothing out of me,” growled Tom.
“Then I must call those who can,” said Minnie firmly, turning round
as if to quit the cottage. “This is a matter of life or death.” She
looked pale, but very determined.
“Whom are you going to call?” said Tom, his manner betraying some fear.
“My mother--if necessary, the clergyman--or--the magistrate!”
Tom caught her by the arm as he exclaimed, “Stop, Minnie, oh,
stop,--you shall hear all and judge! I don’t know where the boy is,--I
would give my right hand that I did. It is true that I saw him last,
and I have searched all the place again and again. You would not betray
me--you would not, Minnie?--you might ruin me, but could not help
Johnny. Sit down here, and listen to me quietly, and you shall know
everything that has happened!”
Minnie sat down beside him, her heart beating fast. He gave her a short
but true account of what had passed, omitting, however, some little
particulars which we shall relate more at length.
You will remember that we left poor Johnny crying in the lane, vainly
trying to call back his sister, as she hurried in pursuit of the
pedlar. When the child found his terrors unheeded, his loud roar
gradually sank into a low broken sob, he scrambled to his feet, rubbed
his plump dusty hand across his eyes to brush away the tears, and began
to think of trotting back to the cottage.
Just as the little fellow was commencing his journey, he heard a voice
call him from the other side of the hedge which bordered the narrow
lane. At first, fancying that it might be silly Sally, with whom he
had been threatened, Johnny was inclined to run the faster for the
call; but he soon knew Tom, when he saw him clambering over and holding
something in his hand.
“Here’s something for you, my jolly little man!” cried Tom, who amused
himself sometimes by playing with, but more often by teasing, his
little rosy-cheeked neighbour.
“What got?” asked the child, as Tom jumped down beside him. Johnny was
always sparing of his words.
[Illustration: A NEST OF LITTLE BIRDS.]
“A nest of little birds that was swinging on a bough. I knocked off the
nest, and down came the birds!”
“All dead!” said Johnny sadly.
[Illustration: TOM TEASING JOHNNY]
“Why, yes; you see they had some way to fall. The little things broke
their necks, so there was an end of them.”
“Poor ’ittle birds! knocked off tree!” said the pitying child. Tom was
provoked at seeing the pity.
“What a silly little goose you are, Johnny! It was fine fun to set nest
and all a-flying, and finish the whole family at once!”
But whatever might be the opinion of Tom, the plump little cottager
kept to his own, and only more sadly repeated the words, “Poor ’ittle
birds! knocked off tree!”
“Oh, if you’ve such a fancy for swinging on a tree, we’ll have you
up directly, and make an ‘’ittle bird of you!’” And laughing at the
struggles and entreaties of the child, Tom suddenly lifted him over
the hedge, and followed him into the field, flinging the wretched dead
birds into a ditch.
In vain Johnny kicked and pushed and roared; Tom was a remarkably tall
and strong boy, and catching the poor child up in his arms, he ran
with him across the field. There was another hedge at the opposite
side, which Tom passed as easily as he had done the first, and they now
found themselves at the edge of a wood, thickly filled with trees of
various sizes.
It was a delight to Tom to cause terror and alarm; no feeling of pity
with him ever cut short a joke. In a few moments poor Johnny was
perched upon a branch, clinging and roaring with all his might.
“There, ‘’ittle bird,’ I hope that you like your bough. Shall I shake
it an _’ittle_, just to give you a nice swing? Hold tight, mind you
don’t fall, or you’ll break your fat neck as the _’ittle_ birds did!”
Then he began to sing--
“Hushaby, baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Down comes poor baby, cradle and all!”
How long Tom might have gone on tormenting the child no one can tell,
if suddenly he had not been struck by the appearance of a curious bee,
which had alighted for a moment upon a wild flower near.
“Oh, what a splendid bee!” he cried, leaving hold of the branch to
which Johnny still clung. “Sit you there till I catch it. Isn’t it a
beauty!--I never saw such fine purple wings!”
My reader has probably guessed that it was poor Violetta whose
fatal beauty had attracted his eye. Johnny and his terrors all were
forgotten, while Tom rushed forward in eager pursuit; the frightened
child stopping his crying to watch the chase, which ended in Tom’s
securing his prize in his handkerchief.
Impatient to carry it at once to a safe place, afraid of its either
escaping or being crushed in his hold, Tom, whose cottage was so near
that he could reach it in a few minutes, sprang over the hedge, and
ran fast across the field. Thus Johnny was left in a position of some
peril. Not knowing how long the boy’s absence might be, he shouted as
loudly and as vainly after Tom as he before had done after his sister.
“And did you not return soon?” cried Minnie, as Tom reached this part
of his story.
“How could I? Mother sent me off directly for the doctor.”
“Oh, why, why did you not tell her?”
“Very likely, indeed, that I should tell her that I had left little
Johnny sticking in a tree? I could only hope that he would stick there
until I could get back. I returned at full speed from the doctor’s, I
can assure you; but when I reached the wood not a trace of the little
fellow could I find.”
“O Tom,” exclaimed Minnie, with a look of horror, “such a terrible
thought has struck me!”
“I daresay that it has struck me before,” gloomily replied her brother.
“Was it, oh! was it far from the well?”
“If he’s there,” said Tom in a hollow voice, “he’s dead long before
now.”
“Did you search there?”
“I looked down, and saw nothing.”
“Looked down! O Tom, this is worse than mockery! If the waters were
above him--it is so deep--so dark!--”
“What is to be done?” exclaimed the boy.
“Some one must go down in the bucket. Oh, there is not a moment to be
lost!” Minnie would have rushed from the cottage, but her brother held
her fast.
“There is no use in rousing the village _now_!” he cried. “Do you mean
to ruin, to destroy me? Minnie, if you betray me--if it is found that
the child is drowned--people will say that--that,”--and his look of
terror told a great deal more than his words.
“But you never threw him in--it was only foolish play.”
“Who can prove that? O Minnie, would you bring me to a jail, or perhaps
to worse?”
“Then let us go ourselves,” exclaimed the little girl, divided between
anxiety for her brother and fears for the lost child. “I must either go
or send; and if there is danger to you--”
“We will go--do anything, only in pity be silent! Minnie, Minnie, you
cannot tell how miserable I am!”
Without pausing another moment, both ran out of the cottage, only
fearful lest they should be seen and detained. Tom helped Minnie over
the low hedge; but she hardly needed help, so eager was she to reach
the well. The rose-tint of sunset had now given place to evening’s
gray, the dew was falling, dark clouds gathered over the sky; but
heeding nothing, pausing for nothing, the Wingfields pressed on, and
were soon standing by the side of the well.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]