E-text prepared by Lionel Sear
PAUL THE COURAGEOUS.
by
MABEL QUILLER-COUCH
1901
This e-text was prepared from a reprint of a version published in 1901.
CONTENTS.
Chap.
I. A DISAPPOINTMENT.
II. HOW PAUL BORE IT.
III. PAUL'S HOPES RISE.
IV. THE REWARD OF OVER-CONFIDENCE.
V. THE RESCUE.
VI. A SLOW LEARNER.
VII. A TROUBLESOME PAIR OF BOOTS.
VIII. A MIDNIGHT SEARCH.
IX. THE OPEN WINDOW.
X. RUMOUR AND APPREHENSION.
XI. A TEST OF BRAVERY.
XII. STELLA'S ADVENTURE.
XIII. PAUL CONFESSES.
CHAPTER I.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
Slewbury was a very fine town in its way; a little quiet and sleepy
perhaps, as country towns often are, but it was large and handsome, and
beautifully situated on the side of a steep hill. It had a grand
market-place, a large town-hall where concerts were often given, and some
well-kept public gardens, of all of which the Slewbury people were very
proud, and justly so.
But then, as Paul Anketell and his friends often remarked, "What was there
for boys?" There was absolutely nothing. No river, no sea, no mountains,
or anything. All there was for them in the way of amusement was to go for
walks and pick flowers, and wander about a field or two. Certainly one
could climb a tree, and whittle sticks or make whistles, but one could not
be doing that all the time. No, Paul had long since come to the
conclusion that Slewbury was a miserable place in which to live; he hated
it; and he could not understand why his father had ever settled there.
When he was a man, he declared over and over again to Stella and Michael,
he would have a house close to a river, a mountain, and the sea, then he
would have boats and rods, and a sailing boat, so that he would never be
hard up for something to do. To a great extent Paul was right; Slewbury
was a dull, sleepy and prim old town, but boys ought to be able to make
amusements for themselves anywhere; they should have resources within
themselves. Paul had loads of toys, and books, and tools, and a nice
large garden to play in when the weather was fine. But he was a restless
boy, full of longing for adventure and travel, and new sights, and sounds,
and experiences, and the happiest time of the whole year to him was the
summer holiday when all the family went away to the sea, or to some
beautiful spot amongst the mountains.
True, the sea had always been the English sea--at least it had come to
them at an English seaside town--and the mountains had been either Welsh
or Scotch mountains, but the three little Anketells were true British
children and were quite sure there could be no more beautiful mountains or
coasts anywhere in the world.
As soon as the Christmas holidays were over and school work had set in,
the children began to think of where they should go when the summer
holidays came, and what they would do, and many and many a discussion they
had as to their favourite spots, and whether they should go to an old
favourite, or try a new one. Plans were made, toys collected, and boxes
packed long before the happy day came, but it all added to the pleasure
and excitement and importance of the long-looked-forward-to event.
But dearly as they loved their own country, they had no objection to going
further afield, and when one day Mr. Anketell suggested that that year
they should spend their holiday in Norway, their excitement knew no
bounds. All previous travels and expeditions seemed to sink into
insignificance beside this. To be actually going to live, and sleep, and
eat, on board a real steamer, and to cross the sea to another land seemed
to them a splendid outlook. Every book and picture that could tell them
anything about Norway was eagerly hunted up, all the Norwegian fairy tales
were read again and again, until Stella and Michael at last felt quite
sure that they would meet fairies, and dwarfs, and Vikings wherever they
went. They had no idea what a Viking was like, but they thought it must
be something between a giant and a knight, with all the good qualities of
both.
There never could have been a greater inducement to learn geography and
history than this long-talked-of trip. All through the term Stella and
Mike studied the map of Norway until they very nearly knew it by heart,
and when Paul came home for the Easter holidays they met him brimful of
information on the subject. But Paul was not going to allow himself to be
taught anything by 'the children,' as he called them, and he soon had them
sufficiently awed by his superior knowledge and loftier understanding.
He cared nothing for fairies, and quickly dashed all Stella's hopes of
seeing any, but he could teach them a great deal about the sports, and the
shooting, and the other attractions to be found there--at least, he
thought he could--but his father and mother had often to smile to
themselves as they listened to the marvellous stories he told the
children, and sometimes they had to check him to set him right on various
points, a thing he objected to very much indeed. For Paul had read so
much, heard so much, and thought so much of the marvels of that northern
land, that nothing was too impossible and improbable for him to believe,
and one night, just as he was going to bed, a new idea came to him, an
idea so splendid that it prevented for a long time his going to sleep, and
even after he was asleep he dreamed the whole night through that he was
having a terrific fight with a huge bear, and when he awoke in the morning
and thought that his dream might very likely prove a reality, he hardly
knew how to contain himself until he had made sure.
He tumbled into his bath and out again, and into his clothes in a shorter
time than it usually took him to make up his mind to get out of bed; and
rushing downstairs two or three steps at a time, burst like a tornado into
the dining-room, where his father and mother had assembled for prayers.
"I say," he shouted, without a thought as to whether he was interrupting
any conversation--"oh, I say, father, mother, aren't there big white bears
in the Norwegian fjords, white Polar bears, I mean? And shall we see
them, and if there are, may we go hunting when we are there? It would be
simply splendid; I'd rather go bear-hunting than anything; it would be
grand to kill a bear."
He had been so eager to get down and satisfy himself on this point that he
had not stayed to dress himself properly, and he burst into the room with
his collar unfastened, and his tie missing altogether. He was so eager,
too, that he did not notice the anxiety on his parents' faces, or in their
manner, and only wondered why they looked at him so sadly, and without
answering any of his burning questions.
At last he grew impatient. "Father, do tell me, shall you take your guns
with you? and mayn't I have one?"
"Hush, hush, dear, do not be so excitable! There are no bears to shoot
where we thought of going, nor wild animals of any kind, you may be quite
sure, or we should not have dreamed of taking Stella and Michael there for
their holidays."
"But, mother, dear, they would be quite safe with father and me to take
care of them. Do let's go to a part where there are bears! I'd give
anything to bring home a fur rug with a great head on it, and say I'd shot
it myself."
"Paul, do not talk any more now. Father is dreadfully worried, and has a
very great deal to think of. You understand, dear. Now fasten your
collar and go to your place, I hear the servants coming in to prayers."
And Mrs. Anketell stooped and kissed him. "Pray God to help dear father
in his troubles," she whispered, "and make us all brave to bear our
share."
Paul went to his seat quietly, wondering very much what it all meant.
Surely his father had plenty of courage to face anything and everything,
and he knew that he himself had. As for his mother and Stella--well,
mother did not need to be brave with father to take care of her, and
Stella was only a girl, and no one would expect much of her; as for
Michael, he was only six, a mere baby. He sat in his chair puzzled, and
wondering, and coming no nearer a solution of his mother's meaning. But
Paul was soon to learn it, and he never forgot the hour which followed,
when the servants had left the room, and he and his father and mother were
seated alone at the table.
The urn was hissing and singing, the sweet spring sunshine shone in on the
silver on the table, on the bright covers, and on the big bowl of yellow
daffodils on the old oak sideboard. A deep consciousness of all these
details, and of the beauty of the scene, was impressed on his mind then--
though at the time he was wholly unaware of the fact--and through all his
after life remained with him so vividly that he could recall every detail
of the scene, and the look of everything in the low, familiar room as it
was that morning. He could recall, too, the unusual gravity of his
parents, the anxious face of his mother, and how the tears sprang to her
eyes when his father looked up and noticed her anxiety and tried to cheer
her.
"Darling, you must not take it so hardly," he said tenderly; "things might
be much worse. With some self-denial and economy we shall weather this
storm, as we did many when first we were married." Then they smiled at
each other, and Paul saw that they grew happier again at once.
"Shall I tell the boy about it now?" asked Mr. Anketell. "He must know
sooner or later."
Mrs. Anketell looked at Paul for a moment with an expression on her face
that he could not read, but he thought she looked sorry about something,
and very, very sad; then she looked away at her husband and nodded assent.
"Paul, my son," said his father, turning to him and laying his hand gently
on the boy's arm, "I want you to listen to me, and give me your whole
attention. You are old enough now to be our confidant in many things, and
of course you will understand that what we may confide in you we trust to
your honour to respect as a confidence, and to speak about to no one."
Paul said, "Yes, father," in rather a frightened voice. He knew that it
was considered 'sneakish' to tell a secret, but he had never dreamed that
secrets could be such very solemn things.
"Well, my boy, we have met with a very great misfortune, and have lost a
large sum of money, and from being a comparatively wealthy man, I have
suddenly become a comparatively poor one. If only I myself were concerned
I would not care, but for your mother's sake, and for the sake of you
children, I am very much troubled and grieved. I am afraid we shall all
have to give up many things, and do without many things, and save in every
way we can."
Paul had grown very grave, and for a moment he sat thinking, wondering
what he could do; he was very anxious to help. "Father," he cried, at
last, "I know one way we can save a good bit of money every year: I can
leave school, and I could go out to work. I know Farmer Vinning would
give me a job; he said he wished he had a boy half as spry as I am, and--
and then I could bring home my wages every week to mother." And for the
moment Paul could not see what hardship people found in being economical.
But his father only shook his head and laughed.
"It would be poor economy to take you away from school for a long time
yet, my son," he said. Then, seeing how Paul's face fell, he went on:
"The things we can do for the greatest advantage to others and ourselves,
too, are not always the things we would like best to do. To be a real
help and comfort to us, you must stick at your work as hard as you can,
and make the best use possible of the next few years. Then you will, I
hope, be able not only to help your mother, but to give them all a home if
they should need one."
"But I want to help now," said Paul, dolefully. To work harder at school
seemed a very poor way of saving money.
"You will be able to, dear, at once, too. We shall all have to give up
something, many of the things we care for most. You can help by giving up
cheerfully," said his mother.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Paul, still doleful.
"It means more than you can imagine now," she said, softly; "a trouble
bravely born and smiled over is lightened for everyone of half its
weight."
"Can't I give up my music;" Paul burst in on his mother's speech, too
eager to notice what she was saying.
Mrs. Anketell laughed in spite of her sadness. "We are very anxious to
give you all as good an education as is possible, and for the sake of the
future you must not give up any of it yet. No, what we shall have to give
up will be our pleasures. The horses must go, all but Nell for father,
and Jumbo for the hard work. Some of the servants will have to go, too, I
am afraid," she said, looking at her husband, and once more the anxious
look came back to her eyes.
"I can clean boots," said Paul, "and I can wash the dog-cart."
"Very good," said Mr. Anketell, encouragingly. "You can learn to work in
the garden, too. A boy of your age can give a good deal of help there."
Now, if there was one thing more than another that Paul hated, it was
gardening, and his response to this suggestion was not hearty.
Mrs. Anketell was silent for a few moments, then she said with, Paul
thought, but little concern, "We shall have to give up the Norwegian
cruise, of course, John; but that is only a trifle compared with other
things."
Paul's heart seemed to leap right up into his throat, and then sank right
down, down, as, it seemed to him, no one's heart could ever have sunk
before. He could not believe but that there was some mistake, that his
ears were deceiving him. "What did you say, mother?" he cried. "Give up
the Norwegian cruise! Oh, no, no, we couldn't give that up! We _must_ go
to Norway; we can save in other ways--I'll begin at once. I won't want
any new clothes for a year, and I'll go back to school without a hamper,--
but we _must_ go to Norway."
"I see you have already begun to save your neckties," said his father
mischievously; but Paul was far too much upset to laugh at anything.
"Father, we _must_ go!" he cried. "We have counted on it for weeks, and
had planned everything, and--"
"So had we, Paul, and it will be a keen disappointment to us, keener than
you can understand; but it has to be, and we must put a brave face on it.
This is the first trial, my boy. It is very easy to talk of trials, and
how we will face them; but it is the actual facing them, not the talking,
that tries our courage and shows what we are made of. It requires no
courage to give up what we care little or nothing about. Be as brave as
you know how to be over this disappointment, my boy, and don't add to your
mother's troubles by grumbling and complaining. We feel terribly any pain
that this loss may bring to you children, and to know you are fretting and
grumbling will make it a hundred times harder for us."
"Of course we will go somewhere for the summer holidays," said Mrs.
Anketell gently. "Stella and Michael will need a change before winter,
and father needs one too, I am sure."
"Not as much as you do, dear," he said, tenderly, looking sadly at her
pale face.
She shook her head and smiled. "I don't deny I shall be glad of one; in
fact we shall all be better for it," she said; "but it must be a much less
expensive one than the one we planned."
Here was another grievance to add to his list. Paul's feelings were hurt
that he had been left out as not requiring a change, and altogether the
blow which he had had was too much for him to bear well at the first
shock; so that he felt a very unhappy and ill-used boy as he left the
table and made his way slowly up to the nursery.