A SLOW LEARNER.
A few days later Mr. Anketell arrived for a fortnight's holiday, and all
the sad story had to be told to him. He was terribly grieved and upset--
grieved to see his bright, happy Stella so wan and quiet, and troubled
sorely to think Paul had so far forgotten himself and his duty to the
younger ones as to place their lives in danger.
"You cannot expect Michael to look up to you," said his father sternly.
"And you are setting him a very bad example. I shall have to send for one
of the maids to come and look after you all, for we cannot have such
things happening! I will not have your mother so worried and frightened,
and the children's lives jeopardised by your disobedience and
foolhardiness."
And the maid would have been sent for had not Paul given his word to be
more careful and better behaved in future.
Another person with whom Mr. Anketell was very irate was Farmer Minards;
he blamed him greatly for leaving so dangerous a spot unguarded in any
way, and he spoke so plainly about it that that very same day a man went
out with a cartload of white hurdles to place around the margin of the
morass. To every one else they were a comfort and a safeguard, but to
Paul they were a shame and a constant reminder of his foolishness.
"Us'd have the moor speckled all over with white hurdles if we had you
living here for long, sur." They were driving slowly along the road,
Paul sitting beside Muggridge in the cart, when Muggridge pointed with his
whip at the hurdles and laughed. A hot blush rushed over Paul's face, and
a sudden furious anger against his companion surged up in his heart.
How dare he laugh at him, a gentleman, and a visitor?
"_You_ told me anybody light could get across," he said sulkily, and he
looked away across the moor that Muggridge might not see the tears of
anger and mortification which would well up in his eyes.
"So he could."
"Well you couldn't find anyone much lighter than I am, and I went in," and
he shuddered at the recollection.
"Of course you did, and so would any one who hadn't the sense not to go
right slap in the middle as you did. I meant right 'long out the edge,
where Jim has put the hurdles."
Paul laughed contemptuously. "Why, any stupid could do that!" he said
loftily. "Farmer Minards himself could walk there!"
"That just shows how much you know," said Muggridge, with an air of great
knowingness. "It wouldn't bear me, and I ain't what you would call
heavy."
"You are afraid, that's all," said Paul rudely.
For a moment Muggridge looked angry too. "I ain't feared," he said after
a pause, "but I've got too much sense. I can't afford to spoil a pair of
boots, and I doubt if any one would take the trouble to haul me out; but
if they did--why, maister'd give me the sack before the mud had stopped
running off me."
Paul laughed derisively. "It's easy enough to make excuses," he said,
beginning to scramble down from the cart. "You are afraid, that's what it
is, but I'll just show you I am not," and, paying no heed to Muggridge's
call, he ran lightly round outside the hurdles. To his surprise the
ground was almost hard. The man had placed the hurdles further out than
Muggridge had thought, but Paul did not let him know that. The very
spirit of bravado and mischief seemed to fill him as he mocked at his
companion, and then, with a sudden mad impulse, he climbed over and
attempted to run around inside. But here matters were different; the
ground was soft and slimy, his feet stuck and began to sink; he tried to
run lightly, but 'twas no good, and he clung to the hurdles in real fear.
Muggridge, too, was alarmed. He realised suddenly that he was responsible
for the young master's safety, that he had taunted him into his foolhardy
action, and that the episode would not make a pleasant story for either of
them to tell.
Springing out of the cart he ran to Paul's help, and had him out of the
morass and in safety in less time than it takes to tell it. Both were so
alarmed now that all thought of their quarrel had vanished from their
minds. They were grateful that they were safe and the episode had ended
as easily as it had; but their joy was short lived, for at the sight of
Paul's boots they looked at each other with grave faces and frightened
eyes. What was to be done? The state of them was bound to be noticed,
for the weather was fine and dry, Muggridge scraped off what he could with
bits of stick, and tufts of grass, but his efforts were not very
successful, for the mud was thick and clinging, and Paul clambered back
into the cart with a very, very heavy heart. He did not gloss over to
himself the wrongfulness of his behaviour, or the seriousness of the
situation. He was bound to be found out, and then he would perhaps be
sent back to school, or one of the maids would be sent for to take charge
of him, and a flush of shame mounted his forehead at the thought.
Then to avoid all the trouble he knew he would get into, Paul made the
grave mistake people often make when once they have done wrong. To cover
the first fault they commit another, and so start on what is often a long
road of sin and misery, rather than courageously face at once the blame
and punishment they deserve. The rest of the drive he did not enjoy at
all, though it was one of the pleasures he loved most, as a rule; but his
mind was fully occupied in trying to plan how he should escape detection
and punishment.
Muggridge at first promised to clean the boots for him before anybody
could see them, but the delay Paul had caused made them so late in getting
home that he had to go at once to put the horse in his stable, and then
hurry off to his own dinner. Besides, the mud was too wet as yet to be
cleaned off. Paul was terribly upset at that. What _would_ become of
him, he wondered, and how could he manage? By that time all thought of
confessing at once had gone from his mind; it seemed to him impossible to
do it; he could think of nothing but concealment. But, luckily he
thought, when they got back to the house there was no one about.
It was close to the hour for the mid-day dinner. Mrs. Minards and the
maids were busy in the kitchen, Mrs. Anketell and Stella were upstairs in
their rooms. Paul could hardly believe his good fortune when he got past
the windows, into the house, without meeting any one, and as he stood at
the foot of the stairs listening, to try to discover where everyone was,
and could hear no voices or footsteps near, his spirits rose. He crept
upstairs swiftly and stealthily, almost without a sound, except for the
creaking of a board in the passage outside his mother's door. She heard
it, and called out, "Who is that? Is that Paul?" But he went on without
answering, though he felt very mean for doing so, and soon gained his own
room. He was scarcely a moment taking off his muddy boots and hiding them
in the bottom of his play-box; then he put on his slippers, dabbed over
the front of his head with a wet hair brush, smeared a little water over
his face and hands, wiped the dirt off on the towel, and crept downstairs
again in a few moments, as softly as he had crept up.
When Mrs. Anketell came down ten minutes later, saying, "I wish Paul had
come, he will be late for dinner," she found him coiled up in the big
arm-chair with a book on his knee, and apparently absorbed in the story.
He was so deeply absorbed in fact that he did not look up when she spoke,
not, indeed, until she exclaimed, "Oh, Paul, dear, then you are back.
Have you been here long? I did not know you were in the house, and I was
quite anxious about you."
Then he looked up at her with an abstracted air, as though his mind was
still so deep in the story that it was closed to everything, and he could
hardly hear or take in what she was saying. "No-o not very long," he
answered vaguely, and to hide his eyes, which could not meet his mother's,
he dropped them on to the pages again.
"Did you hurry back to go on with your book?" asked his mother, standing
by him, and looking over his shoulder. "I am glad you find it so
interesting. Father was afraid you did not care for it, as you never
looked at it. But why do you hold it upside down, dear?"
Paul coloured hotly, and held his head lower to hide it. "To--to--the
picture looks so funny this way," he said lamely, and then, to his great
relief, the maid said dinner was ready, and he escaped any further
embarrassment for the moment. But only for the moment.