A DISPUTED STORY
ON reaching Halcyon Villa, Tom found Miss Perry and her nephew in the
garden, the former cutting flowers for the house, and received a
hearty greeting from both of them. He told them all about Nellie's
departure, and then put his request that Peter might be allowed to go
fishing with him in the afternoon.
"Fishing?" cried Miss Perry, in a tone of distinct disapproval;
"no, certainly not. Supposing Peter fell into the water, what then?"
"But I'd see he didn't fall into the water," Tom assured her;
"I'd look after him all right. I thought we might go to the pond
near Hatwell Green—"
"I can't hear of it!" interposed Miss Perry. "I'm very sorry,"
she continued, observing the disappointment on both boys' faces,
"but you must decide on some other form of amusement, my dears.
You could not fish anyway, Peter."
"Oh, yes, I think I could!" Peter answered quickly. "Tom and I have
been talking about it; he has promised to lend me a rod and to bait
the hook—I should feel in a moment if I had a bite."
"Of course you would!" agreed Tom, looking appealingly at Miss Perry;
and he believed it, for Peter's sense of touch, like that of most
blind people, was particularly acute. "The pond is not very deep,"
he added; "I never heard of any one having been drowned there."
"Do, please, let us go, Aunt Harriet!" pleaded Peter.
"No, Peter," Miss Perry answered decidedly, "I cannot permit it.
I have quite made up my mind. If Tom wants to go fishing it must be
without you; but if, on the other hand, he would like to take you
for a walk this afternoon, I shall be pleased for you to accompany
him, and I hope he will return with you to tea."
Having cut all the flowers she required, Miss Perry now left the boys
and went into the house.
"What a pity she should be so nervous about you!" Tom exclaimed,
with a disappointed sigh. "Never mind," he went on, noticing the sad
look on his companion's face, "we will manage to enjoy the afternoon
somehow. We'll—"
"But I don't want to keep you from going fishing!" Peter broke in.
"Do you think it would be any fun going by myself?" asked Tom.
"Rather not! Your aunt said we might go for a walk together, and we
will. I know where I will take you. To the Market Square. The shows
are arriving there for the Fair next week."
"I did not know there was to be a Fair. Aunt Harriet hasn't said
anything about it."
"Oh, I don't suppose she gives it a second thought! But it's rare
fun, Peter. There are sweet-stalls, dozens of them, and
shooting-galleries, and all sorts of shows—this year there'll
be a menagerie. And there are always a dwarf, and a giant, and a fat
woman; and the smallest pony in the world; and the biggest horse;
and a clever donkey who does tricks and knows every word that's said
to him. Last year when the donkey's master gave him a bunch of
flowers and told him to present it to the prettiest lady present,
he gave it to our Nellie! Wasn't it clever of him? I'd never thought
before whether Nellie was pretty or not, but the people all clapped
their hands, so I suppose they agreed with the donkey."
The boys had strolled towards the garden gate whilst talking, and now
stood leaning against it. Tom, who seemed able to think of little
else than the coming fair, was still describing its manifold
attractions, when he caught sight of a little girl wandering
aimlessly along the road, and recognised the child he had seen run
away from the purple-faced woman in the Market Square. He broke off
in the midst of describing the various sorts of roundabouts, and
exclaimed, "Hulloa!"
"Who is it?" inquired Peter, hearing footsteps.
Tom hurriedly explained, watching the child as she approached;
she walked slowly, looking sad and dispirited.
When she was in a line with the gate he addressed her. "Hi, little
girl," he said, "wait a minute, I want to speak to you."
She stopped, fixing a pair of inquiring brown eyes on his face.
She was about Nellie's age, he thought, and would have been
nice-looking if she had not been so pale and thin.
"I say, what made you run away from that woman in the Market Square?"
he asked, curiously. "I was there and saw you."
"I ran away because I was afraid she would beat me," she exclaimed;
"I am afraid of her. She's rough, and hits me about—boxes my ears,
and—oh, she serves me cruelly bad, that she does!"
"What a shame!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "She isn't your mother,
is she?"
"Oh, no, no! She's no relation either! She's Mrs. Sordello—Max
Sordello's a lion-trainer, and she's his wife. I'd run away from them
altogether if I only knew where to go. I can't tell you how unkindly
they treat me, and now—and now—' the child's voice broke with a sob.
"Oh, you poor little girl!" cried Peter. "What are you called?"
"Grace Lee," she replied.
"Haven't you a mother or a father?" inquired Tom.
"No," she said, sadly, "not now. Mother died so long ago that I can't
remember her, and father—he died last year." Her eyes filled with
tears as she spoke, but she went on: "He worked for a showman with a
steam roundabout; he used to take the money, but he had an
accident—fell off the roundabout, and died in hospital. Since then
I've lived with the Sordellos. They were kind at first, but now—oh,
I'm so frightened!" She paused, shuddering. "And I'm so hungry!"
she added.
"Hungry?" cried Peter. "Oh, wait I will get you something to eat in a
minute!" And he hurried off towards the house.
"He's blind," Tom said, nodding at Peter's retreating figure;
"you wouldn't guess it, would you?"
"No, indeed!" cried the little girl, looking greatly shocked. "Oh,
I am so sorry! He is your brother, I suppose?"
"Oh, no! His name is Peter Perry, and he's staying here with his
aunt. I'm a friend of his—Tom Burford. I say, how is it you are
hungry? Haven't you had any breakfast?"
"No. The Sordellos said I shouldn't have it till I had promised—
promised—oh, I mustn't tell you that! If they found out I'd been
telling about them they'd half kill me—yes, they would!"
"It's dreadful you should be so afraid of them. Some one ought
to interfere to prevent their ill-treating you. I'll speak to my
father, and—"
"Oh, no, no!" interrupted the child, evidently alarmed at the idea,
"please don't! If any one interfered it would make things worse
for me, indeed it would!"
At that point in the conversation Peter returned, carrying a paper
bag containing some slices of bread-and-butter and a couple of pieces
of cake. "Here, Grace," he said, kindly, thrusting the bag between
the bars of the gate.
In another minute Grace was eating hungrily. She had finished the
bread-and-butter and one of the pieces of cake, the boys having asked
her all sorts of curious questions meanwhile, when, glancing back
along the road, she started violently, and let the bag containing the
other piece of cake fall to the ground.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom. As he spoke he caught sight of a man
approaching—a tall, slim, very dark man, with coal-black eyes,
a fierce black moustache, and a smiling, though at the same time
sinister, expression of countenance.
"It's Max Sordello!" gasped Grace, in a tone of mingled fear and
dismay; "oh, what shall I do?"
She had turned white to the lips, and was all of a tremor. Tom opened
the gate, and, followed by Peter, stepped to her side. Max Sordello
glanced sharply, but smilingly, from Grace to the boys as he came up
to them. "Grace, child, what are you doing here?" he inquired, in a
voice which was particularly soft in tone. "You should not have
wandered away without your breakfast," he proceeded, glancing at the
paper bag on the ground; "I hope you have not been begging?"
"No," Peter hastened to assure him, she has not. "But she told us
she was hungry, and I got her some bread-and-butter and cake. She has
done nothing wrong."
"I am glad of that, sir," the man said, civilly. He laid his hand
on the little girl's arm as he spoke. "She gives me and my good wife
a world of trouble," he continued; "she's not our own child, but an
orphan we've adopted out of charity, a wild little thing, not very
truthful—"
"I never told a lie in my life!" Grace broke in, with a flash of her
brown eyes, the indignant colour rising to her cheeks.
"That's one, anyway!" retorted Max Sordello. He gripped her hard
by the arm as he spoke.
"Don't you dare be rough with her!" cried Tom, indignantly.
"Rough with her!" echoed the lion-trainer, loosening his grip
immediately; "why, me and my wife have always been kindness itself
to her, the ungrateful little baggage! Where would she be now if we
hadn't taken pity on her? Why, in the workhouse, of course! What has
she been saying against us, young gentleman? Whatever it is, it isn't
true. Come, speak up, Grace! Haven't we let you share our home and
provided for you ever since your poor father died?"
"Yes," answered the child. She seemed about to say more, but, meeting
Max Sordello's eyes, she stood trembling and silent.
"If you have anything to tell against me," said the lion-trainer,
still smiling and speaking very softly, "say it before me; if not,
go home!"
The little girl hesitated a minute, then, without a word, and without
so much as a glance at the two boys, turned away and walked slowly
along the road in the direction of the town.
"A very difficult child to manage," remarked Max Sordello, shaking
his head gravely as he looked after her; "my wife and I are doing
the best we can for her, but she's that disobedient that often we
wish we'd let her go to the workhouse instead of adopting her."
"Hasn't she any relations?" inquired Peter.
"None that I know of, sir. I didn't know much of her father—he was
a gypsy and died as the result of an accident. My wife and I took the
child out of pure good-nature."
"Why did you keep her without her breakfast?" questioned Tom.
"For punishment, sir," Max Sordello answered promptly; "she had
disobeyed and defied my wife, and deserved to be punished. She might
have had her breakfast if she would have promised to be good, but she
wouldn't."
The boys were extremely puzzled. In their hearts they believed that
Grace had been badly treated, but Max Sordello spoke so plausibly
that they began to think it was possible that the little girl might
have given trouble, and reflected that it certainly had been very
kind of the lion-trainer and his wife to adopt her.
"Well, she's not hungry now," Tom said, "and I hope your wife won't
be hard on her when she gets home; I know your wife is rough with
her—I was in the Market Square when the row was going on between them
not an hour ago."
"My wife may be a little heavy-handed, but she wouldn't hurt the
child," Max Sordello answered; "she's too fond of her to do that."
Then, evidently wishing to please the boys, he chirruped to Bounce,
who had come out into the road and, having found the paper bag,
was now eating the last crumb of its contents.
"I wouldn't advise you to interfere with him," said Tom, "he's not
too good-tempered with strangers."
"No, please don't touch him!" said Peter, apprehensively.
Nevertheless, Max Sordello stooped to pat the dog; whereupon Bounce
gave an angry snarl, showing every tooth in his head. Tim, who had
been engaged in watching a cat in a lilac-tree in the garden, hearing
the snarl, came out into the road in haste to ascertain what was
going on, and was just in time to see Max Sordello beating a hasty
retreat. The two dogs looked at each other; then, with one accord,
they rushed after the lion-trainer and barked him out of sight.
"They've not touched him, have they?" questioned Peter, anxiously.
"Oh, no!" Tom answered, reassuringly; "they've only given him a jolly
good fright!"