AND THE MUTTLE DEEPING FISHING
Since the strenuous life was found to be so strengthening to the
princess, the Twins stayed in camp a week longer than had been in the
beginning arranged. Thrown into such intimate relations with Miss
Lambart, it was only natural that they should grow very friendly with
her. It was therefore a bitter blow to Erebus to find that she was not
only engaged to their Uncle Maurice but also about to be married to him
in the course of the next few weeks. She grumbled about it to the
Terror and did not hesitate to assert that his bad example in the
matter of the princess had put the idea of love-making into these older
heads. Then, in a heart to heart talk, she strove earnestly with Miss
Lambart, making every effort to convince her that love and marriage
were very silly things, quite unworthy of those who led the strenuous
life. She failed. Then she tried to persuade Sir Maurice of that plain
fact, and failed again. He declared that it was his first duty, as an
uncle, to be married before his nephew, and that if he were not quick
about it the Terror would certainly anticipate him. Erebus carried his
defense to the Terror with an air of bitter triumph; and there was a
touch of disgusted misanthropy in her manner for several days. The
princess on the other hand found the engagement the most natural and
satisfactory thing in the world. Her only complaint was that she and
the Terror were not old enough to be married on the same day as Miss
Lambart.
Probably Miss Lambart and Sir Maurice enjoyed the life at the knoll
even more than the children, for the felicity of lovers is the highest
felicity, and the knoll is the ideal place for them. Sir Maurice
arrived at it not so very much later, considering his urban habit, than
sunrise; and he did not leave it till long after sunset. But the
pleasantest days will come to an end; and the camp was broken up, since
the archduke’s tenancy of the Grange expired, and the princess must
return to Germany. She was bitterly grieved at parting with the Terror,
and assured him that she would certainly come to England the next
summer, or even earlier, perhaps at Christmas, to see him again. It
seemed not unlikely that after her short but impressive association
with the Twins she would have her way about it. Nevertheless, in spite
of her exhaustive experience of the strenuous life, and of the firm
ideals of those who led it, at their parting she cried in the most
unaffected fashion.
Soon after her departure from the Grange the Twins learned that Sir
James Morgan, its owner, had returned from Africa, where he had for
years been hunting big game, and proposed to live at Muttle Deeping, at
any rate for a while. It had always been their keen desire to fish the
Grange water, for it had been carefully preserved and little fished all
the years Sir James had been wandering about the world. But Mr. Hilton,
the steward of the Grange estate, had always refused their request. He
believed that their presence would be good neither for the stream, the
fish, nor the estate.
But now that they were no longer dealing with an underling whom they
felt to be prejudiced, but with the owner himself, they thought that
they might be able to compass their desire. Also they felt that the
sooner they made the attempt to do so the better: Sir James might hear
unfavorable accounts of them, if they gave him time to consort freely
with his neighbors. Therefore, with the help of their literary
mainstay, Wiggins, they composed a honeyed letter to him, asking leave
to fish the Grange water. Sir James consulted Mr. Hilton about the
letter, received an account of the Twins from him which made him loath
indeed to give them leave; and since he had used a pen so little for so
many years that it had become distasteful to him to use it at all, he
left their honeyed missive unanswered.
The Twins waited patiently for an answer for several days. Then it was
slowly borne in upon them that Sir James did not mean to answer their
letter at all; and they grew very angry indeed. Their anger was in
close proportion to the pains they had spent on the letter. The name of
Sir James was added to the list of proscribed persons they carried in
their retentive minds.
It did not seem likely that they would get any chance of punishing him
for the affront he had put on them. Scorching, in his feverish, Central
African way, along the road to Rowington in a very powerful motor-car,
he looked well beyond their reach. But Fortune favors the industrious
who watch their chances; and one evening Erebus came bicycling swiftly
up to the cats’ home, and cried:
“As I came over Long Ridge I saw Sir James Morgan poaching old
Glazebrook’s water!”
The Terror did not cease from carefully considering the kitten in his
hands, for he was making a selection to send to Rowington market.
“Are you sure?” he said calmly. “It’s a long way from the ridge to the
stream.”
“Not for my eyes!” said Erebus with some measure of impatience in her
tone. “I’m quite sure that it was Sir James; and I’m quite sure that it
was old Glazebrook’s meadow. Lend me your handkerchief.”
The handkerchief that the Terror lent her might have easily been of a
less pronounced gray; but Erebus mopped her beaded brow with it in a
perfect content. She had ridden home as fast as she could ride with her
interesting news.
“I wish I’d seen him too,” said the Terror thoughtfully.
“It’s quite enough for me to have seen him!” said Erebus with some
heat.
“It would be better if we’d both seen him,” said the Terror firmly.
“It’s such beastly cheek his poaching himself after taking no notice of
our letter!” said Erebus indignantly.
“Yes, it is,” said the Terror.
She went on to set forth the enormity of the conduct of their neighbor
at considerable length. The Terror said nothing; he did not look to be
listening to her. In truth he was considering what advantage might be
drawn from Sir James’ transgression.
At last he said: “The first thing to do is for both of us to catch him
poaching.”
Erebus protested; but the Terror carried his point, with the result
that two evenings later they were in the wood above the trout-stream,
stretched at full length in the bracken, peering through the hedge of
the wood at Sir James Morgan so patiently and vainly fishing the stream
below.
“He’ll soon be at the boundary fence,” said the Terror in a hushed
voice of quiet satisfaction.
“If only he goes on catching nothing on this side of it!” said Erebus
who kept wriggling in a nervous impatience.
“It’s on the other side of it they’re rising,” said the Terror in a
calmly hopeful tone.
Sir James, unconscious of those eagerly gazing eyes, made vain cast
after vain cast. He was a big game hunter; he had given but little time
and pains to this milder sport; and he came to the fence at which his
water ceased and that of Mr. Glazebrook began, with his basket still
empty of trout. He looked longingly at his neighbor’s water; as the
Terror had said, the trout in it were rising freely. Then the watchers
saw him shrug his shoulders and turn back.
“He’s not going to poach, after all!” cried Erebus in a tone of acute
disappointment.
“Look here: are you really quite sure you saw him poaching at all? Long
Ridge is a good way off,” said the Terror looking across to it.
“I did. I tell you he was half-way down old Glazebrook’s meadow,” said
Erebus firmly.
“It’s very disappointing,” said the Terror, frowning at the disobliging
fisherman; then he added with philosophic calm: “Well, it can’t be
helped; we’ve got to go on watching him every evening till he does. If
he’s poached once, he’ll poach again.”
“Look!” said Erebus, gripping his arm.
Sir James had stopped fishing and was walking back to the boundary
fence. He stood for a while beside the gap in it, hesitating, scanning
the little valley down which the stream ran, with his keen hunter’s
eyes. It is to be feared that he had been too long used to the
high-handed methods that prevail in the ends of the earth where big
game dwell, to have a proper sense of the sanctity of his neighbor’s
fish. Moreover, Mr. Glazebrook was guilty of the practise of netting
his water and sending the trout, alive in cans, to a London restaurant.
Sir James felt strongly that it was his duty as a sportsman to give
them the chance of making a sportsmanlike end.
But Mr. Glazebrook was an uncommonly disagreeable man; and since
Glazebrook farm marched with the western meadows of the Morgans, the
Morgans and the Glazebrooks had been at loggerheads for at least fifty
years. Assuredly the farmer would prosecute Sir James, if he caught him
poaching.
Yet the valley and the meadows down the stream were empty of human
beings; and as for the wood, there would be no one but his own keeper
in the wood. Doubtless that keeper would, from the abstract point of
view, regard poaching with abhorrence. But he would perceive that his
master was doing a real kindness to the Glazebrook trout by giving them
that chance of making a sportsman-like end. At any rate the keeper
would hold his tongue.
Sir James climbed through the gap.
The Twins breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief; and Erebus said in a
tone of triumph: “Well, he’s gone and done it now.”
“Yes, we’ve got him all right,” said the Terror in a tone of calm
thankfulness.
Fortune favored the unscrupulous; and in the next forty minutes Sir
James caught three good fish.
He had just landed the third when the keen eyes of Erebus espied a
figure coming up the bank of the stream two meadows away.
“Look! There’s old Glazebrook! He’ll catch him! Won’t it be fun?” she
cried, wriggling in her joy.
The Terror gazed thoughtfully at the approaching figure; then he said:
“Yes: it would be fun. There’d be no end of a row. But it wouldn’t be
any use to us. I’m going to warn him.”
With that he sent a clear cry of “Cave!” ringing down the stream.
In ten seconds Sir James was back on his own land.
The Twins crawled through the bracken to a narrow path, went swiftly
and noiselessly down it, and through a little gate on to the high road.
As he set foot on it the Terror said with cold vindictiveness: “We’ll
teach him not to answer our letters.”
He climbed over a gate into a meadow on the other side of the road,
took their bicycles one after the other from behind the hedge, and
lifted them over the gate. They reached home in time for dinner.
During the meal Mrs. Dangerfield asked how they had been spending the
time since tea; and the Terror said, quite truthfully, that they had
been for a bicycle ride. She did not press him to be more particular in
his account of their doings, though from Erebus’ air of subdued
excitement and expectancy she was aware that some important enterprise
was in hand; she had no desire to put any strain on the Terror’s
uncommon power of polite evasion.
She was not at all surprised when, at nine o’clock, she went out into
the garden and called to them that it was bedtime, to find that they
were not within hearing. She told herself that she would be lucky if
she got them to bed by ten. But she would have been surprised, indeed,
had she seen them, half an hour earlier, slip out of the back door, in
a condition of exemplary tidiness, dressed in their Sunday best.
They wheeled their bicycles out of the cats’ home quietly, mounted,
rode quickly down the road till they were out of hearing of the house,
and then slackened their pace in order to reach their destination cool
and tidy. They timed their arrival with such nicety that as they
dismounted before the door of Deeping Hall, Sir James Morgan, in the
content inspired by an excellent dinner, was settling himself
comfortably in an easy chair in his smoking-room.
They mounted the steps of the Court without a tremor: they were not
only assured of the justice of their cause, they were assured that it
would prevail. A landed proprietor who preserves his pheasants and his
fish with the usual strictness, _can not_ allow himself to be
prosecuted for poaching.
The Terror rang the bell firmly; and Mawley, the butler, surprised at
the coming of visitors at so late an hour, opened the door himself.
“Good evening, Mr. Mawley, we want to see Sir James on important
business,” said the Terror with a truly businesslike air.
Mawley had come to the Grange in the train of the Princess Elizabeth;
and since he found the Deeping air uncommonly bracing, he had permitted
Sir James to keep him on at the Grange after her return to
Cassel-Nassau. He had made the acquaintance of the Twins during the
last days of her stay, after the camp had been broken up, and had
formed a high opinion of their ability and their manners. Moreover, of
a very susceptible nature, he had a warm admiration of Mrs. Dangerfield
whom he saw every Sunday at Little Deeping church.
None the less he looked at them doubtfully, and said in a reproachful
tone: “It’s very late, Master Terror. You can’t expect Sir James to see
people at this hour.”
“I know it’s late; but the business is important—very important,” said
the Terror firmly.
Mawley hesitated. His admiration of Mrs. Dangerfield made him desirous
of obliging her children. Then he said:
“If you’ll sit down a minute, I’ll tell Sir James that you’re here.”
“Thank you,” said the Terror; and he and Erebus came into the great
hall, sat down on a couch covered by a large bearskin, and gazed round
them at the arms and armor with appreciative eyes.
Mawley found Sir James lighting a big cigar; and told him that Master
and Miss Dangerfield wished to see him on business.
“Oh? They’re the two children who wrote and asked me for leave to fish.
But Hilton told me that they were the most mischievous little devils in
the county, so I took no notice of their letter,” said Sir James.
“Well, being your steward, Sir James, Mr. Hilton would be bound to tell
you so. But it’s my belief that, having the name for it, a lot of
mischief is put down to them which they never do. And after all they’re
Dangerfields, Sir James; and you couldn’t expect them to behave like
ordinary children,” said Mawley in the tone and manner of a persuasive
diplomat.
“Well, I don’t see myself giving them leave to fish,” said Sir James.
“There are none too many fish in the stream as it is; and a couple of
noisy children won’t make those easier to catch. But I may as well tell
them so myself; so you may bring them here.”
Mawley fetched the Twins and ushered them into the smoking-room. They
entered it with the self-possessed air of persons quite sure of
themselves, and greeted Sir James politely.
He was somewhat taken aback by their appearance and air, for his
steward had somehow given him the impression that they were thick,
red-faced and robustious. He felt that these pleasant-looking young
gentlefolk could never have really earned their unfortunate reputation.
There must be a mistake somewhere.
The Twins were, on their part also, far more favorably impressed by him
than they had looked to be; his lean tanned face, with the rather large
arched nose, the thin-lipped melancholy mouth, not at all hidden by the
small clipped mustache, and his keen eyes, almost as blue as those of
the Terror, pleased them. He looked an uncommonly dependable baronet.
“Well, and what is this important matter you wished to see me about?”
he said in a more indulgent tone than he had expected to use.
“We saw you in Glazebrook’s meadow this afternoon—poaching,” said the
Terror in a gentle, almost deprecatory tone.
Sir James sat rather more upright in his chair, with a sudden sense of
discomfort. He had not connected this visit with his transgression.
“And you caught three fish,” said Erebus in a sterner voice.
“Oh? Then it was one of you who called ‘Cave!’ from the wood?” said Sir
James.
“Yes; we didn’t want old Glazebrook to catch you,” said the Terror.
“Oh—er—thanks,” said Sir James in a tone of discomfort.
“That wouldn’t have been any use to us,” said the Terror.
“Of use to you?” said Sir James.
“Yes; if he’d caught you, there wouldn’t be any reason why we should
fish your water,” said the Terror.
Sir James looked puzzled:
“But is there any reason now?” he said.
“Yes. You see, you were poaching,” said the Terror in a very gentle
explanatory voice.
“And you caught three fish,” said Erebus in something of the manner of
a chorus in an Athenian tragedy.
Sir James sat bolt upright with a sudden air of astonished
enlightenment:
“Well, I’m—hanged if it isn’t blackmail!” he cried.
“Blackmail?” said the Terror in a tone of pleasant animation. “Why,
that’s what the Scotch reavers used to do! I never knew exactly what it
was.”
“And we’re doing it. That is nice,” said Erebus, almost preening
herself.
“But this is disgraceful! If you’d been village children—but
gentlefolk!” cried Sir James with considerable heat.
“Well, the Douglases were gentlefolk; and they blackmailed,” said the
Terror in a tone of sweet reason.
“Poaching’s a misdemeanor; blackmailing’s a kind of stealing,” said
Erebus virtuously, forgetting for the moment her mother’s fur stole.
“Poaching’s a misdemeanor; blackmailing’s a felony,” said Sir James
loftily.
The distinction was lost on the Twins; and Erebus said with conviction:
“Poaching’s worse.”
Sir James hated to be beaten; and he looked from one to the other with
very angry eyes. The Twins wore a cold imperturbable air. Their
appearance no longer pleased him.
“It’s your own fault entirely,” said the Terror coldly. “If you’d been
civil and answered our letter, even refusing, we shouldn’t have
bothered about you. But you didn’t take any notice of it—”
“And it was beastly cheek,” said Erebus.
“You couldn’t expect us to stand that kind of thing. So we kept an eye
on you and caught you poaching,” said the Terror.
“Without any excuse for it. You’ve plenty of fishing of your own,” said
Erebus severely.
“And if I don’t give you leave to fish my water, you’re going to sneak
to the police, are you?” said Sir James in a tone of angry disgust.
The Terror flushed and with a very cold dignity said: “We aren’t going
to do anything of the kind; and we don’t want any leave to fish your
water at all. We’re just going to fish it; and if you go sneaking to
the police and prosecuting us, then after you’ve started it you’ll get
prosecuted yourself by old Glazebrook. That’s what we came to say.”
“And that’ll teach you to be polite and answer people next time they
write to you,” said Erebus in a tone of cold triumph.
On her words they rose; and while Sir James was struggling furiously to
find words suitable to their tender years, they bade him a polite good
night, and left the room.
Their departure was a relief; Sir James rose hastily to his feet and
expressed his feelings without difficulty. Then he began to laugh. It
was rather on the wrong side of his face; and the knowledge that he had
been worsted in his own smoking-room, and that by two children,
rankled. He was not used to being worsted, even in the heart of Africa,
by much more ferocious creatures. But after sleeping on the matter, he
perceived yet more clearly that they had him, as he phrased it, in a
cleft stick; and he told his head-keeper that the Dangerfield children
were allowed to fish his water.