They were an odd couple. The very trains as they sped past level
crossing Number 57 gave a low whistle as if the oddities struck them
afresh each time, and Craddock always went to the side of the cab,
whence he could see those two motionless figures on either side of the
regulation barrier which stood so causelessly in the middle of the
sandy waste.
There must have been a road somewhere, of course, else there would
have been no level crossing, but it was not visible to the passing
eye. Perhaps the drifting sand had covered it up; perhaps no traffic
ever did come that way, and there really was no need for old Dhunnu
and his granddaughter to stand like ill-matched heraldic supporters
displaying a safety signal. But they did.
They had done so ever since Dhunni--for the name had descended to her
in the feminine gender--was steady enough on her feet to stand alone,
and before that, even, she had given "line clear" from her
grandfather's arms. For it was always "line clear." No train ever
stopped at level crossing Number 57 of the desert section. Why should
they? There was nothing to be seen far or near save sand, and the
little square concrete-roofed, red-hot furnace of a place, suggestive
of a crematorium, which happened on that particular railway to be the
approved pattern for a gatekeeper's shelter.
It was very hot in summer, very cold in winter, and that was perhaps
the reason why old Dhunnu suffered so much from malarial fever in the
autumn months; those months which might otherwise have been so
pleasant in the returning cool of their nights, and their promise of
another harvest. The old man used to resent this fever in a dull sort
of way, because it was so unnecessary in that rainless tract. To
quiver and shake in a quartian ague when the battalions of maize are
pluming themselves on their own growth, and the millet-seeds, tired of
cuddling close to each other, are beginning to start on lengthening
stemlets to see the world, was legitimate; but it was quite another
thing to find a difficulty in keeping a signal steady when there was
not a drop of moisture for miles and miles, save in the little round
well which had been dug for the gatekeeper's use.
Dhunnu, however, had served the _Sirkar_ for long years in the
malarial tracts under the hills before he came as a pensioner to level
crossing 57, and when once the marsh-monarch lays firm hold of a man
he claims him as a subject for all time. It was this difficulty, no
doubt, in keeping a signal steady which, joined to the intense
pleasure it gave to the child, had first led to little Dhunni holding
the green flag, while Dhunnu on the other side of the gate kept the
furled red one in his shaking hand ready for emergencies. Then the
train would sweep past like a great caterpillar with red and green
eyes, and red and green lights in its tail, and Craddock would look
out of the cab, and say to himself that time must be passing, since
the child was shooting up into a girl. And still it was always the
green flag; always "line clear."
It became monotonous even to Dhunni who had been brought up to it, and
while her chubby hand clutched the baton firmly she would look
resentfully across at the furled red flag in her grandfather's shaking
hand.
"Lo! _nanna_," she said spitefully, "some day it will shake so that
the cloth will shake itself out, and then----"
He interrupted her with dignity, but in the tone in which a tit-mouse
might reproach a tiger-cat; for Dhunni, as he knew to his cost, had a
temper.
"By God's blessing, oh Dhun devi, that will never be, since east and
west is there no cause sufficient to check progress; and as that is by
order the green flag, so the green flag it will be."
Dhunni made no reply in words. She simply flung the safety signal in
the dust and danced on it with a certain pompous vigour which made the
whity-brown rag of a petticoat she wore as sole garment, cease even
its pretensions to be called a covering. For they were very poor,
these two; that was evident from the lack of colour in their clothing,
which made them mere dusty brown shadows on the background of brownish
dust.
"It shall be the red one some day, _nanna!_ Yea! some day it shall be
the red flag, and then the train will stop, and then--and then," she
gave one vindictive stamp to clinch the matter and walked off with her
head in the air. The old man watched her retreating figure with
shocked admiration, then picked up the dishonoured flag, dusted it,
and rolled it up laboriously.
"Lo!" he muttered as a half-gratified smile claimed his haggard face,
"she is of the very worst sort of woman that the Lord makes. A
virtuous man need be prepared for such as she, so 'tis well she is
betrothed to a decent house. Meanwhile in the wilderness she can come
to no harm."
So far as the displaying of danger signals went, Dhunni herself was
forced to admit the truth of this proposition, for even when the old
man lay quivering and quaking, he kept the key of the box in which the
red flag was locked, safely stowed away in his waistcloth. Once she
tried to steal it, and when discovered in the act, took advantage of
his prostration to argue the matter out at length,--her position being
that the train itself must be as tired of going on, as she was of
watching it. Whereupon he explained to her with feverish vividness the
terrible consequences which followed on the unrighteous stopping of
trains, to all of which she acquiesced with the greatest zest, even
suggesting additional horrors, until it became a sort of game of brag
between them as whose imagination would go the furthest.
Finally, as she brought him a cup of water from the well, she consoled
both herself and him with the reflection that some day he must die of
the fever, and then of course it would not matter to him if the train
stopped or not, while she could satisfy herself as to whether those
funny white people who looked out of the windows were real, or only
stuffed dolls.
"_Arin budzart!_" he whimpered as he lay prostrate and perspiring.
"Have I not told thee dozens of times they are _sahib logues?_ have I
not seen them? have I----"
"_Trra_," replied Dhunni derisively, "that may be. I have not, but I
mean to some day."
Then the old man, adding tears of weakness to the general dissolution,
begged her, if a train must be stopped, to stop a "goods," or even a
"mixed." She argued this point also at length, till the fever fiend
leaving him, Dhunnu resumed his authority and threatened to whack her,
whereupon she ran away, like a wild thing, into the desert.
It was a certain method of escape from the slow retribution of the old
man, but as often as not she would return ere his anger had evaporated
sooner than miss any one of the four caterpillars with the red and
green eyes and the green and red lights in their tails. They had a
fascination for her which she could not resist, so she would take her
whacking and then stand, bruised and sore, but brimful of curiosity,
to give "line clear," as it were, to a whole world of which she knew
nothing. Even that was better than having nothing to do with it at
all.
And then, as her grandfather grew older and feebler, and required a
longer time to fetch the week's supply from the distant hamlet far
over the edge of the sandy horizon, there came at last a day when she
stood all alone in the very centre of the closed gate holding out the
green flag and salaaming obsequiously, for that was what grandfather
had done on one or two occasions when, owing to inconceivable
wickedness, she had been made to watch the passing of civilisation
while tied to a distant bed leg.
Craddock from his cab noticed the grave mimicry and smiled, whereupon
Dhunni smiled back brilliantly. And then something happened which
curiously enough changed her whole estimate of civilisation, and left
her with such an expression on her face that when her grandfather
returned half an hour afterwards, his first thought was for the red
flag. The key was safe in his waistcloth, yet still he began
hurriedly:
"Thou didst not----"
"Nay," she burst out in fury, "I did naught. But they!--_nanna_, I
hate them! I hate them!"
Then it turned out that the white dolls had flung a stone at her--a
hard stone--yes, the pink and white child-dolls had flung a stone at
her just because she had smiled. So with hands trembling with rage she
produced in evidence a large chunk of chocolate.
Dhunnu looked at it in superior wisdom, for there had been white
children sometimes in that surveying camp below the hills.
"'Tis no stone," he said; "'tis a foreign sweetmeat. They meant well,
being ignorant that we eat not such things. When they first come
across the black water they will even fling bread."
As he spoke he threw the offending morsel into the desert and spat
piously. Dhunni looked after it with doubt and regret in her eyes.
"I deemed it a stone," she said at last. "Think you it would have been
sweet, like our sweetmeats?"
"_Ari budzart!_" cried the old man again. "Lakshmi be praised thou
didst take bread for a stone, else wouldst thou have eaten it and have
been a lost soul."
"I would have tried if I liked it, anyhow," said Dhunni shamelessly.
And that night, while her grandfather slept in the red-hot furnace to
avoid the dullness of dawn, the moon found something else on the wide
waste of sand, beside the crematorium and the regulation barrier, to
yield her the tribute of a shadow. It was Dhunni on all fours seeking
high and low for the chunk of chocolate, and when she found it she sat
up with it in her little brown paws and nibbled away at it for all the
world like a squirrel. The result of which experiment being that she
smiled brilliantly at every train from that time forth, perhaps in
hopes of more chocolate, perhaps from gratitude for past chocolate,
perhaps because she really was beginning to be more sensible.
"It is being born to her in lavish manner," said old Dhunnu boastfully
to an emissary of the future mother-in-law, who came as far as the
village to inquire of the future bride's growth and health. "Go, tell
them she gives 'line clear' as well as I do, but that she is not yet
of an age for the married state."
In his heart of hearts, however, he knew very well that the time could
not be far distant when he could no longer delay parting with the
girl, who was fast shooting up into a tall slip of a thing. And then
what should he do, for the fever fiend had a fast grip on him now--a
firmer hold than he had upon life. Sometimes for days and days he
could scarcely creep to the gate when the mail train passed, while, as
for the "goods" and "mixed," these low-caste trains he left entirely
to Dhunni's mercy; and safely, since the desire for the danger signal
seemed to have passed with the possession of responsibility--and
chocolate!
Thus Dhunni, far from the eyes of the world, which would have sent her
remorselessly into the slavery of mother-in-law, grew tall and
slender, and even in her old dust-coloured skirt and bodice caused
Craddock the engine-driver, as he sped by, an occasional pang of
regret as he remembered another tall girl with velvety eyes.
So time passed until, as luck would have it, a wedding-party from the
village where the future mother-in-law resided chose to try a short
cut over the desert, and actually crossed the line at level crossing
Number 57. The result being that Dhunni's readiness for the married
state became known, and a fortnight or so afterwards she sat looking
at the new suit of clothes and some jewels which had been sent to her,
with an intimation that the bridal procession would come for her in a
week's time.
The presents were poor enough in themselves, but then Dhunni had never
seen anything so bright before; except, of course, the red flag. And
though the little round mirror set in the bridal thumb-ring does not
allow of much being seen at a time, Dhunni saw enough to make her eyes
still more velvety, her smile still more bewitching.
"Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain," grumbled her grandfather in
equivalent Hindu, but it had no effect on the girl. All that day she
went about with an odd half-dazed look on her face, and when the women
who had brought the presents left in the afternoon, she went and sat
down by the gate, feeling vaguely that it was some one else and not
the old Dhunnu who was sitting there. The mail train had passed an
hour before, and the "goods" was not due till midnight, so there was
no chance of anything to interrupt the level monotony she knew so
well, and yet, as she sat leaning against the gate-post with the green
flag beside her, she was waiting for something; for what she did not
know. But the certainty that life held something new was thrilling to
her very finger tips.
It was a yellow sunset, full of light and peace. Then out of it came
suddenly a faint roll, as of distant thunder. She was on her feet in
an instant, listening, waiting. Ah! this was new, certainly. This she
had never seen before. An engine with a single carriage coming full
speed out of the golden west. Was she to give "line clear" to this?
or----
The sound of a girl's laugh rang out into the light, and a scarlet
veil, deftly twisted round a baton, hung clear into the line.
"What in the world's the matter?" asked an English boy, as Craddock
and the Westinghouse brake combined brought the final quiver to the
great shining fly-wheel. He was a tall boy, fair-haired, blue-eyed,
imperious. The girl had given a little gasp at the look on his face as
he had leapt from the still moving train to come towards her, though
she now stood looking at him boldly, the improvised signal still in
her hand.
"What is it, Craddock? Ask her. You understand their lingo, I don't."
Craddock, leaning over the side of the cab, surveyed the picture with
a magisterial air. "Sorry I brought 'er up, sir, tho' seein' a red rag
it's kind o' second natur' when your 'and's within reach o' a brake,
sir. And then she never done it before--not all these years."
"But what is it? I don't understand----"
"Saving your presence, sir," replied Craddock cheerfully, "there ain't
no reason you shouldn't, for it don't take any knowledge o' the lingo,
sir; no more o' any kind o' knowledge but what you're up to, sir,
being, as the sayin' is, born o' Adam--o' Adam _an_' Eve. It's
mischief, sir, that's what it is--mischief, and there ain't much
difference in the colour o' that, so far as I see, sir."
The boy's face showed nothing but angry, almost incredulous, surprise
for an instant, then something else crept into it, softening it. "By
George! Craddock," he said argumentatively, "I'd no notion they could
look--er--like that. She is really quite a pretty girl." He could not
help a smile somehow; whereat, to his surprise, she smiled back at
him, the deliberately bewitching smile born of that chunk of
chocolate. It recalled him to a sense of injured importance.
"This is most annoying, and when so much depends on my catching up the
mail," he continued. "She will be stopping the next train too, I
suppose; but it can't be allowed, and she ought to be punished. I'll
take her along and leave her at the first station for inquiry, they
can easily send another signaller by the down train. Tell her,
Craddock."
"Better _pukro_ 'er '_ath_,[47] sir," remarked the latter sagely as he
prepared to descend, "else she might 'oof it into the wilderness like
one of them ravine deer. Just you _pukro_ 'er '_ath_, sir, while I
_samjhao_[48] her."
---------------------
[Footnote 47: Take her hand.]
[Footnote 48: Explain.]
---------------------
Dhunni, however, did not attempt to run, she only shrank a little when
the boy's white hand closed on hers. After that she stood listening to
Craddock's violent recriminations quite calmly. In truth she expected
them, for in those old games of brag with _nanna_ they had gone
further than words, up to hanging in fact. Yet still not so far as
this queer tremor of half-fearful, half-joyful expectation. That was
new, but pleasant, and filled her eyes with such light that Craddock
stroked his corn-coloured beard and shook his head mournfully.
"She's a deal 'arder than I took 'er for, seein' her always as it
were, sir, from a different sp'eer. A deal worse. If I'd a pair o'
bracelets ready they might give 'er a turn, but I've told 'er she'll
go to 'ell in every lingo I know, for fear she mightn't understand,
and I'm blest if she care a hang."
The boy gave a resentful laugh.
"I'll make her care before I've done with her. There! you
there!--what's your name?--stick her with you into the cook room. No;
shove her into my carriage and I'll do _chowkidar_[49] till I can hand
her over. Now, Craddock, on with the steam or I shall miss my
connection. Confound the girl!"
---------------------
[Footnote 49: Watchman.]
---------------------
It was easy to confound her in the abstract; easy also to glower at
the offender crouched in the off corner before you threw yourself into
the arm-chair in the other and began to read the last number of a
magazine by the waning light. But what was to be done when it was
gradually being borne in on you that a pair of velvety eyes, wild as a
young deer's, were watching you fearlessly. She was a good plucked
one, at any rate. Craddock had said she was as hard as nails and a bad
lot. Well, he ought to know; but she did not look bad, not at all. The
eyes were good eyes, full of straightforward curiosity, nothing more.
There she was bending down to try the texture of the carpet with her
finger, as if nothing had occurred--the little monkey--and what white
teeth she had when she met his involuntary smile with another.
After that, under cover of his book, he watched her furtively. It was
what is called an inspection carriage, a regular room on wheels, and
the boy, new to the honour and glory of such a thing, had hung
pictures on its walls, curtains to its windows. There was even a vase
of flowers beside the newly lit lamp on the centre table. The lamp had
a pink shade too, which threw a rosy light on everything, above all on
that slender figure crouching in the far corner. And outside the
golden sunset was fast fading into cold greys.
"You want to know what _that_ is," he said suddenly, in English,
laying down his book and pointing in the direction where her eyes had
been fixed. An expectant look came to them, and he stood for a moment
irresolute. Then he rose with an impatient shrug of his shoulders,
crossed to the small harmonium which lay open, set his foot to the
pedal and struck a single note. She drew back from the sound just, he
thought, as she had drawn back from his hand, and then looked at him
as she had looked at him then. By Jove! she had eyes!
Still looking at her he sat down to the instrument and played a chord
or two out of sheer curiosity. Her finger went up to her lip, she
leaned forward, a picture of glad surprise. And then a sudden fancy
seized him. He had a tenor voice, and there was a song upon the desk.
Singing in a train, even in a single carriage on a smooth line, was a
poor performance, but it would be fun to try.
"The Devout Lover," of all songs in the world! The humour, the bitter
irony of it struck him keenly and decided him. And as he sang he felt
with a certain anger that he had never sung it better--might never
sing it so well again.
When he turned to her again it struck him that she recognised this
also, for she was leaning forward half on her knees, her hands
stretched out over the seat. No one could have listened more eagerly.
In sudden petulance he rose and went to the window. There was only a
bar of gold now on the horizon, and, thank Heaven! they had come
faster than he thought--or he wasted more time in tomfoolery--for they
were already entering the broken ground. That must be the first
ravine, dark as a ditch; so ere long he would be able to get rid of
those curious eyes. Powers above! Was fate against him? Was he never
to arrive at his destination? And what did Craddock mean by putting
the brake hard on again when they were miles away even from a level
crossing? He was out on the footboard as they slackened, shouting
angry inquiries long before Craddock's voice could possibly come back
to him through the lessening rattle.
"Danger signal comin' down the line. On a trolly, I think, sir.
Somethin's wrong."
Apparently there was, and yet the English voice which sang out of the
darkness had a joyful ring of triumph in it, and the friendly hand
which followed the voice, after a minute or two, shook the boy's hand
amid warm congratulations on the narrowest escape; for no one had
thought it could possibly be done, or that warning could possibly be
given in time. It was the veriest piece of luck! Briefly, just after
the mail had passed, a big culvert had given not two miles further
down the line. They had telegraphed the information both ways of
course, though, as no train was due for hours, there was plenty of
time for repairs. Then had come the return wire, telling of the boy's
start to overtake the mail on urgent business. Every one had said it
was too late; and, after all, it had been a matter of five minutes
or less. The veriest luck indeed! If they had been five minutes
earlier ...
The boy looked solemnly at Craddock, and the light of the red lamp,
dim as it was, showed a certain emotion in both faces.
"That's about it, sir," said Craddock, a trifle huskily. "An' I
tellin' her she'd go to 'ell! Lordy! ain't it like a woman to have the
last word?"
He said no more then, but when it had been decided to return the way
they had come, and take a branch line farther down, and when the
trolly with its red signal had slipped back silently into the night,
he came and stood at the carriage door for a moment. And as he looked
at the figure crouching contentedly in the corner, he stroked his
beard thoughtfully again, and went on as if no interval had come
between his last words and his present ones.
"But she saved our lives, sir, by stoppin' us, that's what she done,
sure as my name's Nathaniel James, and when a girl done that, a man's
got nothin' left but, as the sayin' is, to act fair an' square by
her--fair an' square."
"Just so, Craddock," replied the boy, with a queer stiffness in his
voice. "We'll drop her at the gate again, and--and it shall be
just--just as if it--as if it hadn't happened." Then he added in a
lower voice, "Spin along as fast as you can, man, and let's have done
with it."
"I won't leave her a _h_ounce for a whistle, sir," said Craddock
laconically.
So the carriage with the rosy light streaming through the windows shot
forth into the darkness in front, and the sparks from the engine
drifted into the darkness behind, and the roar and the rush drowned
all other sounds. Perhaps Craddock whistled in the cab to make up for
not being able to whistle on his engine. Perhaps the boy sang songs
again in the carriage because he could not speak to the girl. Anyhow,
they were both silent when the fly-wheel quivered into rest once more
beside level crossing Number 57.
"Stop a bit," said a rather unsteady voice as a girl's figure paused
against the rosy light of the open door. "It's too long a step. I'll
lift you down."
Craddock, looking over the side, turned away and gave a sympathising
little cough as if to cover some slighter sound. Perhaps he knew what
would have happened if he had been in the boy's place.
The next instant, some one sprang into the cab and turned the steam
hard on, some one with a half-pained, half-glad look on his face.
"Now then, Craddock, right we are!"
And Craddock, as he bent to look at the indicator, answered, "Right it
is, sir; fair and square. Full pressure and no mischief come of it."
"I hope not," said the boy softly; "but it is a bit hard to know--to
know what is fair and square--with--with some people."
Perhaps he was right; for Dhunni stood gazing after the red and green
lights with a dazed look on her face. The danger signal had come into
her life--the train had stopped, and then--and?