TOM'S PRESENCE OF MIND
THE boys did not come across either little Grace Lee or the Sordellos
when they visited the Market Square in the afternoon; they did not
stay there long, for Tom soon realised that the bustle and confusion
attending the arrival and fixing of the shows had a bewildering
effect on his companion. After Bounce had fought twice, and Tim had
brought trouble upon himself and his master by pouncing on a cat,
which belonged to a showman who had a great gift for strong language,
and Peter had been nearly trampled upon by a van-horse, they turned
their backs on the busy scene, and, before long, reached the country.
"Where are we going?" asked Peter by and by. He had dropped Tom's arm
which he had been holding, and now, calling Bounce to him, put the
dog on the leash. "I'd better lead him," he said, "or he may get away
hunting in the woods again."
"We're on the road to Hatwell Green," Tom informed him; "let us go on
and see if there are any gipsies encamped on the green; I should
think some will come for the Fair."
"Oh, yes! I'm afraid you left the Market Square on my account, Tom?"
"Oh, never mind that! If I had known there would be such a crowd
I wouldn't have taken you there. It wasn't a place for the dogs
either; there were so many other dogs about, and then that cat!"
"The dogs and I have spoilt your afternoon!"
"Oh, no, you have not! When I saw how you were getting pushed about,
I knew we had made a mistake in going to the Square; but—why, how
grave you are looking! You surely don't think I was selfish enough
to want to stay?"
"No, I don't think that! You're not a bit selfish. You're just the
opposite! And you're very, very kind! If you weren't you wouldn't
be so patient with me."
"Nonsense!" cried Tom, laughing, and colouring at this frank
praise. "What a chap you are, Peter! You talk in such a serious,
old-fashioned way sometimes—that's because you don't go to school
and knock about with other boys, I expect."
"I dare say," agreed Peter. "Nellie and your Mother must be arriving
at Broadstairs about now, mustn't they?" he asked a moment later.
"Yes. Oh, Peter, I do hope Nellie will get quite, quite well at
Broadstairs! I know Mother and Father are really dreadfully anxious
about her, though they don't say much. I've begun to miss her
already. Do you know that when I went home to dinner I quite forgot,
for a minute, when I opened the front door, that she wasn't somewhere
about; I nearly shouted out 'Nellie!'—meaning, of course, to tell her
all about that poor little girl, Grace Lee. Oh, by the way, I've been
thinking! You heard Max Sordello say that Grace's father was a gipsy,
didn't you? Well, did it strike you that she might be related
to Moses Lee?"
"No. Do you think she can be? You asked Max Sordello if she had any
relations, but he didn't seem to know of any."
"He mightn't. Anyway, if we find the Lees at Hatwell Green, I shall
speak to them about Grace."
But the Lees' yellow and red caravan was not at Hatwell Green when
they reached there, and the only living objects to be seen were an
aged donkey and half-a-dozen geese. The boys threw themselves down on
the ground in the shadow of a hedge to rest, whilst they continued
their conversation.
"What do you mean to be when you're a man?" Peter asked by and by.
Tom sighed. "I'm afraid I shall have to be a clerk like Father,"
he said, a distinct note of distaste in his voice.
"What would you like to be?"
"I can't make up my mind. When I was quite a little boy I wanted
to be something grand—a knight-errant. Don't laugh!"
Peter was not laughing; on the contrary, he was very serious.
"A knight-errant?" he said questioningly, his face full of interest.
"Yes. Mother used to tell me about knights-errant when I was a little
chap. They were knights who travelled about in search of adventures,
and they were always very brave men who were kind to people
in trouble, and gentle with women and children, and they weren't
afraid of anything. Of course there aren't any knights-errant
nowadays."
"What a pity!" exclaimed Peter regretfully.
"Yes, it's a great pity," he went on; "for you would have made a very
good knight-errant."
"Oh, I don't know about that!" Tom replied modestly, though secretly
flattered.
"Oh, yes, you would!" Peter persisted, "for you are very brave,
you don't seem afraid of anything or any one, and you'd always be
kind to people in trouble if you could. You'd give a lot, I know,
to be able to help poor little Grace Lee, wouldn't you?"
"It makes me furious to think of that great fat Mrs. Sordello,
with her ugly purple face, hitting her about and swearing at her!"
cried Tom. "Of course I'd help her if I could!"
Peter nodded. "Yes," he said, "of course you would. But a great many
people wouldn't bother about her at all. Oh, I consider it was
splendid of you to speak to Max Sordello in the way you did! 'Don't
you dare be rough with her!' you said, and you can't think how
awfully stern your voice sounded."
"I felt so angry with the brute, Peter; he'd got hold of the poor
little thing's arm and was hurting it. The more I think of him the
more I feel sure he told us lies this morning, and that Grace spoke
the truth."
"I told Aunt Harriet about her," said Peter; "but she thought the
Sordellos must be very kind people to have adopted her, and that she
must be a naughty little girl. What does your father think?"
"I haven't told him about her yet; at dinner-time we talked mostly
of Nellie—she's the apple of Father's eye, you know."
"Oh, I expect so! I wish I had a sister, Tom."
"I dare say you do. It must be awfully dull for you, living alone
with your father. What sort of a man is he? Anything like my father,
I wonder?"
"He's a good deal older than your father, I should say. No, I don't
think he is in the least like Mr. Burford."
"He's very rich, isn't he? I heard Father tell Mother so; he said
he was a partner in one of the biggest firms of shipowners in the
world. It must be jolly to have a rich father—not that I'd change
mine for a millionaire!"
There was a note of affectionate pride in Tom's voice as he spoke;
Peter heard it, and his dark, rather grave countenance lit up with
an understanding smile.
"I don't suppose either of us would like to change fathers,"
he replied in his quaint, old-fashioned way.
"Peter," Tom said, after a brief silence, "which would you rather be,
rich and blind, or poor and able to see?"
"Why, poor and able to see, of course," Peter answered decidedly.
He paused momentarily, then continued: "I shouldn't so much mind
being blind if it wasn't for Father—if he didn't trouble about it,
I mean. I heard him tell some one once that he would make any
sacrifice if by doing it he could give me my sight. I'm glad you're
going to see my Father, Tom; you know he's coming to Chilaton at the
end of the month, and Aunt Harriet says she shall insist on his
staying a few days at any rate."
"I shall like to see him," Tom admitted frankly; "he's going to take
you back with him, isn't he?"
"I believe so. He misses me, I expect—not that he sees a great deal
of me when I'm at home, because he's away in the city all day, but we
generally have a little while together in the evening. Listen! What's
that row?"
"I don't hear anything."
"I do. Your ears are not as sharp as mine. It's far away, but it's
coming nearer. I hear dogs barking, and men's voices shouting, and a
cow bellowing."
"A cow bellowing?" echoed Tom. He listened intently, then sprang
to his feet.
"Yes, I hear now," he said quickly; "there's something being driven
along the road. We'd better get somewhere out of the way." He had no
fear of cows or any kind of cattle himself, but he was anxious to put
Peter in a place of safety; so he hurried him across the green to a
five-barred gate in the hedge. The gate was locked, but the blind boy
climbed it easily, and dropped into the meadow on the other side,
whilst Tom held Bounce, and Tim dragged himself through the bars.
"I must lift Bounce over," Tom said; "he's too big to get between
the bars like Tim. Steady, Bounce!"
With some difficulty, for Bounce was a good weight, he succeeded in
lifting the dog over the gate, Peter receiving him on the other side.
"Quick, quick, Tom!" cried Peter nervously; "I believe there's a mad
bull coming! Listen how it's bellowing! Oh, here you are! That's
right! What a fearful noise! Can you see what's going on?"
"Yes! It's not a bull, but a cow, with two sheep-dogs and two drovers
after it. How the drovers are yelling! Oh, I say, what a shame!
One of the dogs bit the cow on the leg then! Oh! She's going for him
with her horns! There, now, the other dog's bitten her! What are they
trying to do? Hi, you men, there, call back those dogs of yours and
let that poor brute go on quietly, do you hear?"
The men heard, and one of them shouted something in reply which the
boys did not catch.
"I hate to see cattle driven," Tom said; "they get so badly treated,
poor things. Those drovers ought to be taken up for driving a cow as
fast as that and letting their dogs worry her; it's dreadfully cruel
of them. I wonder where they're taking her? She looked terribly wild.
They'll never be able to drive her through the town, if that's their
intention; but perhaps they mean to put her in a field somewhere on
the road. I don't suppose she'd have hurt us, but it's as well to be
on the safe side of the gate, isn't it?"
"Yes, indeed," agreed Peter, who was looking very concerned. "I hate
to think of animals being served badly," he said; "do you think the
dogs were injuring the cow, Tom?"
"They seemed to be very rough with her, I thought. Which way shall
we go home, Peter?"
"If we go through the woods and fields I shall have to lead Bounce,"
Peter answered, "but we'll go which way you like, of course."
"Oh, Bounce shan't have his walk spoilt!" Tom said, good-naturedly.
"We'll return by the road; then you can let him run."
Five minutes later they had turned their backs on Hatwell Green, and
were walking towards the town, the two dogs running on ahead. At the
first turn in the road Tom remarked that he saw a caravan, and added
excitedly that it was a red and yellow one and might be the Lees'.
"Is it coming this way?" asked Peter, eagerly.
"It's drawn up beside the hedge. Oh, it is the Lees'! I recognise
the horse, and—yes, there's Moses himself standing by it! Oh, Peter,
listen! The cow is coming back. I understand now—the dogs were trying
to turn her! How stupid of me not to think of that before!"
"Is there anywhere we can go to get out of her way?" asked Peter.
"I'm afraid not, unless you can climb the hedge. Try—I'll help you!"
"You'd better look out for yourself, Tom!"
"No, no! This way! Come!"
The cow, still pursued by the drovers and the sheep-dogs, had rushed
past the caravan. Tom succeeded in dragging his companion part way up
the hedge, and was hoping the infuriated animal would pass them by,
when Bounce and Tim suddenly dashed to meet her, barking. She lowered
her head to charge them, but, at that minute, Peter slipped and fell
into the hedgerow, thus drawing her attention to him. He did not
himself realise to the full the danger of his position; but Tom,
of course, did, and took immediate action. Tearing off his coat,
he sprang into the road, and, as the cow was making for Peter,
flung it, with sure aim, over her face and horns.