be able to tell him something of his movements, he made towards them,
climbing through a gap in the fence and walking down the sloping side of
the hill to the meadow below.
The boys, catching sight of him, immediately began to huddle together
like a flock of sheep startled by the appearance of some strange dog;
and he could hear them calling out some words of warning, in which his
familiar title "t'parson" could be plainly distinguished.
"The young imps must be doing something wrong, and are afraid of being
found out," thought the vicar. "Never mind, though, I sha'n't be hard
on them, remembering my own young truant!"
As he got nearer, he heard the yelp of a dog as if in pain or alarm.
"They're surely not drowning some poor animal," said the vicar aloud,
uttering the new thought that flashed across his mind. "If so, I shall
most certainly be severe with them; for cruelty is detestable in man or
boy!"
Hurrying on, he soon obtained a clear view of the pond, and he could now
see that not only were a lot of boys clustered together round the edge
of the water, but towards the centre something was floating like a raft
with apparently another boy on it, who was holding a struggling white
object in his arms, from which evidently the yelps proceeded--his ears
soon confirming the supposition.
"Hullo! what are you doing there?" shouted the vicar, quickening his
pace. "Don't hurt the poor dog!"
To his intense astonishment the boy on the floating substance turned his
face towards him, answering his hail promptly with an explanation.
"It's Puck, padie, and I ain't hurting him."
Both the face and the voice were Teddy's!
The vicar was completely astounded.
"Teddy!" he exclaimed, "can I believe my eyes?--is it really you?"
"Yes, it's me, padie," replied the young scapegrace, trying to balance
himself upright on the unsteady platform as he faced his father, but not
succeeding in doing so very gracefully.
"Why, how on earth--or rather water, that would be the most correct
expression," said the vicar correcting himself, being a student of Paley
and a keen logician as to phraseology; "how did you get there?"
"I made a raft," explained Teddy in short broken sentences, which were
interrupted at intervals through the necessary exertion he had to make
every now and then to keep from tumbling into the water and hold Puck.
"I made a raft like--like Robinson Crusoe, and--and--I've brought Puck--
uck with me, 'cause I didn't have a parrot or a cat. I--I--I wanted to
get to the island; b-b-but I can't go any further as the raft is stuck,
and--and I've lost my stick to push it with. Oh--I was nearly over
there!"
"It would be a wholesome lesson to you if you got a good ducking!" said
the vicar sternly, albeit the reminiscences of Robinson Crusoe and the
fact of Teddy endeavouring to imitate that ideal hero of boyhood struck
him in a comical light and he turned away to hide a smile. "Come to the
bank at once, sir!"
Easy enough as it was for the vicar to give this order, it was a very
different thing for Teddy, in spite of every desire on his part, to obey
it; for, the moment he put down Puck on the leafy flooring of the raft,
the dog began to howl, making him take it up again in his arms. To add
to his troubles, also, he had dropped his sculling pole during a lurch
of his floating platform, so he had nothing now wherewith to propel it
either towards the island or back to the shore, the raft wickedly
oscillating midway in the water between the two, like Mahomet's coffin
'twixt heaven and earth!
Urged on, however, by his father's command, Teddy tried as gallantly as
any shipwrecked mariner to reach land again; but, what with Puck
hampering his efforts, and his brisk movements on the frail structure,
this all at once separated into its original elements through the
clothes-line becoming untied, leaving Teddy struggling amidst the debris
of broken rails and branches--Puck ungratefully abandoning his master in
his extremity and making instinctively for the shore.
The vicar plunged in frantically to the rescue, wading out in the mud
until he was nearly out of his depth, and then swimming up to Teddy,
who, clutching a portion of his dismembered raft, had managed to keep
afloat; although, he was glad enough when his father's arm was round him
and he found himself presently deposited on the bank in safety, where
they were now alone, all the village boys having rushed off _en masse_,
yelling out the alarm at the pitch of their voices the moment Teddy fell
in and the vicar went after him.
Both were in a terrible pickle though, with their garments soaking wet,
of course; while the vicar especially was bedraggled with mud from head
to foot, looking the most unclerical object that could be well imagined.
However, he took the whole matter good-humouredly enough, not scolding
Teddy in the least.
"The best thing we can do, my son," he said when he had somewhat
recovered his breath, not having gone through such violent exercise for
many a long day.--"The best thing we can do is to hurry off home as fast
we can, so as to arrive there before they hear anything of the accident
from other sources, or the girls will be terribly alarmed about us."
Teddy, without speaking, tacitly assented to this plan by jumping up
immediately and clutching hold of the shivering Puck, whose asthma, by
the way, was not improved by this second involuntary ducking; and the
two were hastening towards the vicarage when they heard a horse trotting
behind them, Doctor Jolly riding up alongside before they had proceeded
very far along the lane, after clambering out of the field where the
pond was situated.
"Bless me!" cried the doctor; "why, here are you both safe and sound,
when those village urchins said you and Master Teddy were drownded!"
"Ah! I thought these boys were up to something of the sort when they
all scampered off in a batch without lending us a helping hand!" replied
the vicar laughing. "I was just telling Teddy this, thinking the report
would reach home before us."
"Aye, all happen, Vernon? 'Pon my word, you're in a fine mess!"
The vicar thereupon narrated all that had occurred, much to the doctor's
amusement.
"Well," he exclaimed at the end of the story, "that boy of yours is cut
out for something, you may depend. He won't be drowned at any rate!"
"No," said the vicar reflectively; "this is the second merciful escape
he has had from the water."
"Yes, and once from fire, too," put in the other, alluding to the
gunpowder episode. "He's a regular young desperado!"
"I hope not, Jolly," hastily interposed the vicar. "I don't like your
joking about his escapades in that way. I hope he will be good--eh, my
boy?" and he stroked Teddy's head as he walked along by his side, father
and son being alike hatless, their headgear remaining floating on the
pond, along with the remains of the raft, to frighten the frogs and
fishes.
Teddy uttered no reply; but his little heart was full, and he made many
inward resolves, which, alas! his eight-year-old nature was not strong
enough to keep.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
UNAPPRECIATED.
He really did not mean any harm; but mischief is mischief whether
intentional or not, and somehow or other he seemed continually to be
getting into it. Circumstances, over which, of course, he had no
control, continually overruled his anxious desire to be good.
As Doctor Jolly said, with his usual strident hearty laugh that could be
heard half a mile off, and which was so contagious that it made people
smile whose thoughts were the reverse of gay, Teddy was always in hot
water, "except, by Jove, when he plunged into the cold, ho, ho!"
With reference to this latter point, however, it may be mentioned here,
that albeit he had twice been mercifully preserved from drowning, the
vicar, while trustful enough in the divine workings of Providence, did
not think it altogether right to allow Teddy's insurance against a
watery grave to be entirely dependent on chance; and so, that very
evening, when Jupp came up to the house after he had done his work at
the station, he broached the subject to him as soon as the worthy porter
had been made cognisant of all the facts connected with the raft
adventure.
"No," said the vicar, so carried away by his feelings that he almost
added "my brethren," fancying himself in the pulpit delivering a homily
to his congregation generally, instead of only addressing one hearer,
"we ought not to neglect any wise precaution in guarding against those
dangers that beset our everyday lives. Lightly spoken as the adage is,
that `God helps those who help themselves,' it is true enough."
"Aye, aye, sir, and so say I," assented Jupp, rather mystified as to
"what the parson was a-driving at," as he mentally expressed it, by this
grand beginning, and thinking it had some reference to his not being
present at the pond to rescue Teddy in his peril, which he keenly
regretted.
"This being my impression," continued the vicar, completing his period,
as if rounding a sentence in one of his sermons, wherein he was
frequently prone to digress, "and I'm glad to learn from your
acquiescent reply that you agree with me on the main issue, eh?"
Jupp nodded his head again, although now altogether in a fog regarding
the other's meaning.
"Well, then," said the vicar, satisfied with having at last cleared the
ground for stating his proposition, "I want you to devote any leisure
time you may have in the course of the next few weeks to teaching my son
to swim; so that, in the event of his unhappily falling into the water
again, when neither you nor I may be near, he may be able to save
himself--under providence, that is."
"I was just about a-thinking on the same thing, sir, when you began a-
speaking," observed Jupp thoughtfully, scratching his head in his
reflective way as he stood before the vicar cap in hand at the door of
the study, where the conference was being held. "I fancied you didn't
like me taking him down to the river, or I'd have taught him to swim
long ago, I would, sir!"
"Then I may depend on your doing so now, eh?"
"Sartenly, sir! I'll be proud, that I will, to show him," answered Jupp
eagerly, mightily pleased with the task intrusted to him, having long
wished to undertake it; and so, he being willing, and his pupil nothing
loth, Teddy was in a comparatively short space so well instructed how to
support himself in the water that he was quite capable of swimming
across the river without fear of being sucked down into the mill-race--
although he made both his father and Jupp a promise, which he honourably
kept, of never bathing there unless accompanied by either of the two.
Not only this, but he could also essay the muddy depths of the pond in
the meadow whenever the fancy seized him, exploring the little island in
its centre at his own sweet will; and this accomplishment, as will be
seen further on, stood him in good stead at one of the most critical
periods of his life, although this is anticipating.
But, learning swimming, and so lessening the risk attending peril by
water, did not prevent him from getting into scrapes on land; for, he
was a brave, fearless boy, and these very qualities, added to a natural
impulsiveness of disposition, were continually leading him into rash
enterprises which almost invariably ended in mishap and disaster, if not
to himself, to those who unwittingly were involved in his ventures,
alas!
In his ninth year, Jupp got a rise on the line, being promoted to be
assistant station-master at a neighbouring town, which necessarily
involved his leaving Endleigh; and, being now also able to keep a wife
in comfort, the long courtship which had been going on between him and
Mary was brought to a happy conclusion by matrimony, a contingency that
involved the loss to the vicar's household of Mary's controlling
influence, leaving Master Teddy more and more to himself, with no one in
authority to look after him.
Under these circumstances, the vicar, acting on Doctor Jolly's advice,
sent him to a small private school in the village where the farmers'
sons of the vicinity were taught the rudiments of their education, Teddy
going thither every morning and afternoon in company with his sisters
Liz and Cissy, who received lessons from a retired governess dwelling
hard by--the three children returning home in the middle of the day for
their dinner, and again on the termination of their tasks in the
evening.
Miss Conny, who had passed through the same curriculum, had grown too
old for her teacher, and now remained at the vicarage, installed as her
father's housekeeper and head of the family in his absence.
This arrangement worked very well for a time, although Teddy did not
make any very rapid progress at his studies, his mind being more turned
to outdoor sports than book lore; but the association with others made
him, if more manly, less tractable, developing his madcap propensities
to a very considerable extent, if merely from his desire to emulate his
companions.
One day, when going homewards with Liz and Cissy across the fields from
Endleigh, the trio came upon a group of the idle boys of the village who
were assembled in front of an inclosed paddock containing Farmer Giles's
brindled bull, a savage animal, whose implacable viciousness was the
talk of the place; not even the ploughman, with whom he was more
familiar than anyone else, daring to approach him without the protection
of a long-handled pitchfork.
Neither Farmer Giles nor any of his men were about, and the boys, taking
advantage of the opportunity, were baiting the bull by shying clods at
him and otherwise rousing his temper, when Teddy and his sisters came
along.
Teddy fired up at once at the sight.
"You cowards!" he cried; "you stand there behind the fence pelting the
poor animal, but none of you have the pluck to go inside and do it!"
"No more have you, Meaister," retorted one of the biggest of the boys, a
rustic lout of sixteen. "You ain't got the plook t' go inside yoursen!"
"Haven't I?" said Teddy in answer to this taunt; and before his sisters
could prevent him he had darted over to where the boys were standing,
and climbing over the stout five-barred gate that gave admittance to the
inclosure, let himself down into the paddock--confronting the bull
without even a stick in his hand.
The savage animal appeared so much surprised at the temerity of such a
little fellow as Teddy invading his domain, that he allowed him to
advance several steps without making a movement; when, putting down his
head, as if trying the points of his horns, and pawing the ground, he
uttered a wild bellow that brought forth a responsive shriek from Cissy.
"Come back, Teddy, come back!" she screamed, turning quite pale with
fright. "He's coming after you, and will toss you on his cruel horns.
Oh, do come back!"
Teddy, however, still continued advancing towards the infuriated brute,
waving his arms and shouting in the endeavour to intimidate it. He was
sorry he had gone into the paddock; but he had some idea that if he
retreated the bull would make a rush at him, and thought that by showing
he was not afraid, he might presently retire with all the honours of
war, so he preserved a courageous front, although his heart went pit-a-
pat all the while.
Again, the bull lowered his horns and tossed up his head.
He was quite close to him now; and Teddy stopped, the bull eyeing him
and he looking at it steadfastly.
The situation was alarming, so he stepped back gingerly, whereupon the
bull advanced at the same moment, with another loud bellow, the smoke
coming out of his red nostrils, and his little eyes flaming with fire.
This caused all Teddy's courage to evaporate, and the next moment,
forgetting all his previous caution, he turned and ran as hard as he
could for the gate; but, the bull, in two strides, catching him up on
his horns like a bundle of hay, tossed him high in the air, amidst the
screams and shouts of Cissy and Liz and all the village boys commingled,
the triumphant roar of the animal overtopping them all as it bellowed
forth a paean of victory.
Fortunately for Teddy, a pollard elm stood just within the paddock,
breaking his fall as he tumbled towards the ground, where the bull was
looking up awaiting him, with the intention of catching him again on his
horns; and the branches receiving his body in their friendly shelter, he
was saved from tumbling down, when he would have been at the mercy of
his enemy.
Still, there he hung, like Absalom, another naughty boy before him,
suspended by his clothes if not by his hair, the bull bellowing and
keeping guard round the tree to prevent his further escape; and it was
not until the ploughman had been called by one of the village boys and
driven away the animal that Teddy was able to climb down from his
insecure perch and regain the others.
He was glad enough to get out of the paddock, it may be safely asserted;
and then, when he was examined, it was discovered, much to the wonder of
everybody, including himself, that, beyond a scratch or two from the
branches of the elm, he was quite unhurt, in spite of the toss the bull
gave him and his unexpected flight through the air!
But his daring, if unproductive of any evil consequences towards himself
personally, caused harm to others, the ploughman being badly gored while
driving off the violent animal through his missing his footing when
aiming a blow at it with his pitchfork; while poor Cissy was in such a
fright at the mishap, that after screaming herself hoarse she went off
in hysterics, the attack ending in a fit of convulsions on her getting
home, making her so ill that the doctor had to be summoned to bring her
back to consciousness.
Teddy in consequence had a serious lecture from the vicar, who pointed
out to him the difference between real courage and foolhardiness; but
the lesson did not strike very deep, and soon he was his wayward self
again, his sister Conny being too near his own age to have any authority
over him, while his father was too much of a student and dreamer to
exercise any judicious control in restraining his exuberant nature.
By the time he was twelve years of age he was like a wild unbroken colt,
although he had still the same honest outspoken look in his bright blue
eyes, and was a fine manly little fellow who would not have, told a lie
to save himself from punishment, or wilfully hurt chick or child; but,
scapegrace he was still, as he had been almost from his earliest
infancy.
He really could not help it.
When Jupp and Mary paid their periodical visit at the vicarage to see
how the family were getting on, bringing anon another little Jupp with
them, they were certain to hear of something terrible that Master Teddy
had done; for all the village talked of him now and took heed of his
misdeeds, the recital of which, as is usual in such cases, lost nothing
by the telling.
They were only ordinary boyish freaks; but they seemed awful to the
quiet, sleepy countryfolk who inhabited Endleigh.
Once, his grandmother rather unwisely brought down a pistol for him from
London; and Teddy thereupon having his imagination excited by what he
had read of pirates and highwaymen in the works of romance which he
devoured whenever he could get hold of them, went about fancying himself
a bold buccaneer and freebooter, firing at everything moving within as
well as out of range, along the solitary country lanes and hedgerows--
thereby frightening passers-by frequently with untimely shots close to
their ears, and making them believe their last hour had come.
It was in this way that he peppered old Stokes's sow, which was taking a
quiet walk abroad seeking a convenient wallowing place, when the squeals
of the unlucky beast were a nine days' wonder, albeit "it was all cry
and little wool," as the Irishman said when he shaved his pig, the
animal being not much hurt.
Still, old Stokes did not like it, and complained to the squire, who
remonstrated with the vicar, and the latter in his turn lectured Teddy--
the matter ending there as far as he was concerned, although the squeals
of the afflicted sow were treasured up and remembered against him in the
chronicles of Endleigh.
The place was so dull, that having nothing particular to keep him
occupied--for he had long since learned all the village schoolmaster
could teach him, and it was a mere farce his remaining any longer under
his tutelage--the wonder was, not that Teddy got into any mischief at
all, but that he did not fall into more; and Doctor Jolly was
continually speaking to his father about neglecting him in that way,
urging that he should be sent to some good boarding-school at a distance
to prepare him for the university, Mr Vernon intending that the boy
should follow in his own footsteps and go into the church, having the
same living after him that he had inherited from his father.
But the vicar would not hear of this.
"No," said he, "he shall stop here and be educated by me in the same way
as I was educated by my poor father before going to Oxford. He's a
bright intelligent boy--you don't think him an ignoramus, Jolly, eh?"
"Not by any means, by Jove," laughed the doctor. "He knows too much
already. What I think he wants is a little proper restraint and
control. Master Teddy has too much his own way."
"Ah! I can't be hard with him, Jolly," sighed the vicar. "Whenever I
try to speak to him with severity he looks me in the face with those
blue eyes of his, and I think of my poor wife, his mother. He's the
very image of her, Jolly!"
"Well, well," said the doctor, putting the subject away, considering it
useless to press the point; "I'm afraid you'll regret it some day,
though I hope not."
"I hope not, indeed," replied the vicar warmly. "Teddy isn't a bad boy.
He has never told me a falsehood in his life, and always confesses to
any fault he has committed."
"That doesn't keep him out of mischief though," said the doctor grimly
as he went off, atoning to himself for having found fault with Teddy by
giving him a drive out to the squire's, and allowing him to take his
horse and gig back by himself, an indulgence that lifted Teddy into the
seventh heaven of delight.
However, as events turned out, the very means by which the doctor
thought to clear the reproach from his own soul of having advised the
vicar about Teddy, indirectly led to his advice being followed.
On alighting at the squire's and handing him the reins, he told Teddy to
be very particular in driving slowly, the horse being a high-spirited
one, and apt to take the bit in his teeth if given his head or touched
with the whip; so, as long as he was in sight Teddy obeyed these
injunctions, coaxing the bay along as quietly as if he were assisting at
a funeral procession.
Directly he got beyond range of observation from the house, though, he
made amends for his preliminary caution, shaking the reins free, and
giving the horse a smart cut under the loins that made it spring forward
like a goat, almost jumping out of the traces; and then, away it tore
along the road towards the village at the rate of twenty miles an hour,
the gig bounding from rut to rut as if it were a kangaroo, and shaking
Teddy's bones together like castanets.
Once the animal had got its head, the boy found it useless to try and
stop him; while, as for guidance, the horse no more cared about his
pulling at the bit than if he were a fly, plunging onward in its wild
career, and whisking the gig from side to side, so that Teddy was fully
employed in holding on without attempting to pull the reins at all.
For a mile or two the roadway was pretty clear, but on nearing Endleigh
it became narrower; and here, just in front, Teddy could see a loaded
farm wagon coming along.
To have passed it safely either he or the wagoner would have had to pull
up on one side; but with him now it was impossible to do this, while the
driver of the other vehicle was half asleep, and nodding from amidst the
pile of straw with which the wagon was loaded, letting the team jingle
along at a slow walk.
A collision, therefore, was inevitable, and hardly had Teddy come to
this conclusion than smash, bang, it followed!