"Well, what did you think of that, old girl?" asked Peter Pax of Tottie,
on issuing from the Literary Message-Boys' Hall, after having performed
his duties there.
"It was wonderful. I 'ad no idear that the Post-Office was so old or so
grand a' institootion--But please don't forget father," said Tottie,
with an anxious look at the battered clock.
"I don't forget 'im, Tot. I've been thinkin' about 'im the whole time,
an' I've made up my mind what to do. The only thing I ain't sure of is
whether I shouldn't take my friend Phil Maylands into partnership."
"Oh, please, don't," pleaded Tottie; "I shouldn't like 'im to know about
father."
"Well, the less he knows about 'im the better. P'r'aps you're right.
I'll do it alone, so you cut away home. I'll go to have my personal
appearance improved, and then off to Charing Cross. Lots of time,
Tottie. Don't be anxious. Try if you can trust me. I'm small, no
doubt, but I'm tough.--Good-night."
When Abel Bones seated himself that night in a third-class carriage at
Charing Cross, and placed a neat little black hand-bag, in which he
carried his housebreaking tools, on the floor between his feet, a small
negro boy entered the carriage behind him, and, sitting down directly
opposite, stared at him as if lost in unutterable amazement.
Mr Bones took no notice of the boy at first, but became annoyed at last
by the pertinacity of his attention.
"Well, you chunk of ebony," he said, "how much are you paid a week for
starin'?"
"No pound no shillin's an' nopence, massa, and find myself," replied the
negro so promptly that Bones smiled in spite of himself. Being,
however, in no mood for conversation, he looked out at the carriage
window and let the boy stare to his heart's content.
On drawing up to the platform of the station for Rosebud Cottage, Mr
Bones seemed to become anxious, stretched his head out at the carriage
window, and muttered to himself. On getting out, he looked round with a
disappointed air.
"Failed me!" he growled, with an anathema on some one unknown. "Well,
I'll do it alone," he muttered, between his teeth.
"O no! you won't, my fine fellow," thought the negro boy; "I'll help you
to do it, and make you do it badly, if you do it at all.--May I carry
your bag, massa?" he added, aloud.
Mr Bones replied with a savage kick, which the boy eluded nimbly, and
ran with a look of mock horror behind a railway van. Here he put both
hands to his sides, and indulged in a chuckle so hearty--though
subdued--that an ordinary cat, to say nothing of a Cheshire one, might
have joined him from sheer sympathy.
"O the brute!" he gasped, on partially recovering, "and Tottie!--
Tottie!! why she's--" Again this eccentric boy went off into subdued
convulsions, in which state he was discovered by a porter, and chased
off the premises.
During the remainder of that night the "chunk of ebony" followed Mr
Bones like his shadow. When he went down to the small public-house of
the hamlet to moisten his throat with a glass of beer, the negro boy
waited for him behind a hay-stack; when he left the public-house, and
took his way towards Rosebud Cottage, the boy walked a little behind
him--not far behind, for the night was dark. When, on consulting his
watch, with the aid of a match, Bones found that his time for action had
not arrived and sat down by the side of a hedge to meditate, the chunk
crept through a hole in the same hedge, crawled close up like a panther,
lay down in the grass on the other side, and listened. But he heard
nothing, for the burglar kept his thoughts, whatever they might have
been, to himself. The hour was too still, the night too dark, the scene
too ghostly for mutterings. Peering through the hedge, which was high
and thick, the boy could see the red glow of Mr Bones's pipe.
Suddenly it occurred to Pax that now was a favourable opportunity to
test his plan. The hedge between him and his victim was impassable to
any one larger than himself; on his side the ground sloped towards a
plantation, in which he could easily find refuge if necessary. There
was no wind. Not a leaf stirred. The silence was profound--broken only
by the puffing of the burglar's lips. Little Pax was quick to conceive
and act. Suddenly he opened his mouth to its widest, took aim where he
thought the ear of Bones must be, and uttered a short, sharp, appalling
yell, compared to which a shriek of martyrdom must have been as nothing.
That the effect on Bones was tremendous was evinced by the squib-like
action of his pipe, as it flew into the air, and the stumbling clatter
of his feet, as he rushed blindly from the spot. Little Pax rolled on
the grass in indescribable ecstasies for a few seconds, then crept
through the hole, and followed his victim.
But Bones was no coward. He had only been taken by surprise, and soon
stopped. Still, he was sufficiently superstitious to look frequently
over his shoulder as he walked in the direction of Miss Stivergill's
Cottage.
Pax was by that time on familiar ground. Fearing that Bones was not to
be scared from his purpose by one fright, he made a detour, got ahead of
him, and prepared to receive him near the old well of an adjoining farm,
which stood close by the road. When the burglar's footsteps became
audible, he braced himself up. As Bones drew near Pax almost burst his
little chest with an inhalation. When Bones was within three feet of
him, he gave vent to such a skirl that the burglar's reason was again
upset. He bounded away, but suddenly recovered self-possession, and,
turning round, dashed at the old well, where Pax had prematurely begun
to enjoy himself.
To jump to his feet and run like the wind was the work of a moment.
Bones followed furiously. Rage lent him for the moment unwonted power.
He kept well up for some distance, growling fiercely as he ran, but the
lithe limbs and sound lungs of the boy were too much for him. He soon
fell behind, and finally stopped, while Pax ran on until out of breath.
Believing that he had now rid himself of some mischievous boy of the
neighbourhood, the burglar turned back to transact his business at
Rosebud Cottage.
Peter Pax also turned in the same direction. He felt that things were
now beginning to look serious. To thwart Mr Bones in his little game
by giving information as to his intentions, would have been easy, but
then that would have involved his being "took," which was not to be
thought of. At the same time, it was evident that he was no longer to
be scared by yells.
Somewhat depressed by his failure, Pax hastened towards the cottage as
fast as he could, resolved to give his enemy a last stunning reception
in the garden, even although, by so doing, he would probably scare Miss
Stivergill and her household out of their wits.
He reached the garden some minutes before Bones, and clambered over the
wall. While in the very act of doing so, he felt himself seized by the
throat and nearly strangled.
"Now then, young 'un," growled a deep voice, which was not that of
Bones, "what little game may you be up to?"
"Ease your grip and I'll tell you," gasped Pax.
It was the constable of the district who had caught him. That faithful
guardian of the night, having been roused by the unwonted yells, and
having heard Pax's footsteps, had followed him up.
"I'm not a burglar, sir," pleaded Pax, not well knowing what to say.
Suddenly he opened his mouth in desperation, intending to give one final
yell, which might scare Bones from his impending fate, but it was nipped
in the bud by the policeman's strong hand.
"Ha! you'd give your pal a signal, would you?" he said, in a gruff
whisper. "Come now, keep quiet if you don't want to be choked. You
can't save 'im, so you'd better give in."
Poor Pax now saw that nothing more could be done. He therefore made a
virtue of necessity, and revealed as much of the object of his mission
as he deemed prudent. The man believed him, and, on his promising to
keep perfectly still, released him from his deadly grip.
While the policeman and the boy lay thus biding their time in the
shrubbery, Bones got over the wall and quietly inspected the premises.
"I'll let him begin, and take him in the act," whispered the policeman.
"But he's an awful big, strong, determined feller," said Pax.
"So am I," returned the policeman, with a smile, which was lost in the
dark.
Now it so happened that Miss Lillycrop, who had been spending that day
with Miss Stivergill, had been induced to spend the night also with her
friend. Of course these two had much to talk about--ladies generally
have in such circumstances--and they were later than usual in going to
bed. Mr Bones was therefore, much against his will, obliged to delay
the execution of his plans. Little dreaming that two admirers lay in
ambush about fifty yards off, he retired to a dark corner behind a bit
of old wall, and there, appropriately screened by a laurel bush, lit his
pipe and enjoyed himself.
"My dear," said Miss Stivergill to her friend about midnight, "we must
go to bed. Do you go up to my room; I'll follow after looking round."
It was the nightly practice of this lady to go over her premises from
cellar to garret, to make quite sure that the servant had fastened every
bolt and bar and lock. She began with the cellars. Finding everything
right there, she went to the dining-room windows.
"Ha! the gipsy!--unbolted, and the shutters open!" exclaimed Miss
Stivergill, fastening the bolt.
"H'm! The old fool," thought the burglar, observing her tall square
figure while thus engaged, "might as well bolt the door of Newgate with
a steel pen. Cottage window-gear is meant for show, not for service,
old girl."
"I look round regularly every night," observed Miss Stivergill, entering
her bedroom, in which Miss Lillycrop usually occupied a chair bed when
on a visit to The Rosebud. "You've no idea how careless servants are
(`Haven't I, just?' thought her friend), and although I have no personal
fear of burglars, I deem it advisable to interpose some impediments to
their entrance."
"But what would you do if they did get in?" asked Miss Lillycrop, in
some anxiety, for she had a very strong personal fear of burglars.
"Oh! I have several little plans for their reception," replied the
lady, with a quiet smile. There's a bell in the corner there, which was
meant for the parish church, but was thought to be a little too small.
I bought it, had a handle affixed to it, as you see, and should ring it
at an open window if the house were attempted.
"But they might rush in at the door and stop you--kill you even!"
suggested the other, with a shudder.
"Have you not observed," said Miss Stivergill, "that I lock my door on
the inside? Besides, I have other little appliances which I shall
explain to you in the morning, for I scorn to be dependent on a
man-servant for protection. There's a revolver in that drawer beside
you"--Miss Lillycrop shrank from the drawer in question--"but I would
only use it in the last extremity, for I am not fond of taking human
life. Indeed, I would decline to do so even to save my own, but I
should have no objection to maim. Injuries about the legs or feet might
do burglars spiritual as well as physical good in the long-run, besides
being beneficial to society.--Now, my dear, good-night."
Miss Stivergill extinguished the candle as violently as she would have
maimed a burglar, and poor Miss Lillycrop's heart leapt as she was
suddenly plunged into total darkness--for she was naturally timid, and
could not help it.
For some time both ladies lay perfectly still; the hostess enjoying that
placid period which precedes slumber; the guest quaking with fear caused
by the thoughts that the recent conversation had raised.
Presently Miss Lillycrop raised herself on one elbow, and glared in the
direction of her friend's bed so awfully that her eyes all but shone in
the dark.
"Did you hear THAT, dear?" she asked, in a low whisper.
"Of course I did," replied Miss Stivergill aloud. "Hush! listen."
They listened and heard "that" again. There could be no doubt about
it--a curious scratching sound at the dining-room window immediately
below theirs.
"Rats," said Miss Stivergill in a low voice.
"Oh! I _do_ hope so," whispered Miss Lillycrop. She entertained an
inexpressible loathing of rats, but compared with burglars they were as
bosom friends whom she would have welcomed with a glad shudder.
In a few minutes the scratching ceased and a bolt or spring snapped.
The wildest of rats never made a sound like that! Miss Lillycrop sat
bolt up in her bed, transfixed with horror, and could dimly see her
friend spring from her couch and dart across the room like a ghostly
phantom.
"Lilly, if you scream," said Miss Stivergill, in a voice so low and
stern that it caused her blood to curdle, "I'll do something awful to
you.--Get up!"
The command was peremptory. Miss Lillycrop obeyed.
"Here, catch hold of the bell-handle--so. Your other hand--there--keep
the tongue fast in it, and don't ring till I give the word."
Miss Lillycrop was perfect in her docility.
A large tin tea-tray hung at the side of Miss Stivergill's bed. Beside
it was a round ball with a handle to it. Miss Lillycrop had wondered
what these were there for. She soon found out.
Miss Stivergill put the dressing-table a little to one side, and placed
a ewer of water on it.
At that moment the dining-room window was heard to open slowly but
distinctly.
Miss Stivergill threw up the bedroom window.
The marrow in Miss Lillycrop's spine froze.
Mr Bones started and looked up in surprise. He received a deluge of
water on his face, and at the same moment a ewer burst in atoms on the
gravel at his feet--for Miss Stivergill did nothing by halves. But
Bones was surprise-proof by that time; besides, the coveted treasure was
on the sideboard--almost within his grasp. He was too bold a villain to
be frightened by women, and he knew that sleeping country-folk are not
quickly roused to succour the inmates of a lonely cottage. Darting into
the room, he tumbled over chairs, tables, work-boxes, fire-irons, and
coal-scuttle.
"Ring!" said Miss Stivergill sharply. At the same moment she seized the
tea-tray in her left hand and belaboured it furiously with the
drumstick.
"Ring out at the window!" shouted Miss Stivergill.
Miss Lillycrop did so until her spinal marrow thawed.
The noise was worse than appalling. Little Pax, unable to express his
conflicting emotions in any other way, yelled with agonising delight.
Even the hardened spirit of Bones trembled with mingled feelings of
alarm and surprise. He found and grasped the coveted box, and leaped
out of the window with a bound. It is highly probable that he would
have got clear off but for the involuntary action of Miss Lillycrop. As
that lady's marrow waxed warm she dashed the great bell against the
window-sill with such fervour that it flew from her grasp and descended
full on the burglar's cranium, just as he leaped into the arms of the
policeman, and both fell heavily to the ground. The guardian of the
night immediately jumped up uninjured, but Bones lay prone on the green
sward--stunned by the bell.
"That's well done, anyhow, an' saved me a world o' trouble," said the
constable, looking up at the window as he held the burglar down, though
there was little necessity for that. "You couldn't shy me over a bit of
rope, could you, ma'am?"
Miss Stivergill, to whom nothing seemed difficult, and who had by that
time stopped her share in the noise, went into a cupboard and fetched
thence a coil of rope.
"I meant it to be used in the event of fire," she said quietly to her
friend, who had thrown herself flat on her bed, "but it will serve other
purposes as well.--There, policeman."
She threw it down, and when Bones recovered consciousness he found
himself securely tied and seated in a chair in the Rosebud kitchen--the
policeman looking at him with interest, and the domestics with alarm.
Miss Stivergill regarded him with calm severity.
"Now he's quite safe, ma'am, but I can't venture to take 'im to the
station alone. If you'll kindly consent to keep an eye on him, ma'am,
till I run down for a comrade, I'll be greatly obleeged. There's no
fear of his wrigglin' out o' that, ma'am; you may make your mind easy."
"My mind is quite easy, policeman; you may go. I shall watch him."
When the man had left, Miss Stivergill ordered the servants to leave the
kitchen. Little Pax, who had discreetly kept out of range of the
burglar's eye, went with them, a good deal depressed in spirit, for his
mission had failed. The burglary had not indeed, been accomplished,
but--"father" was "took."
When Miss Stivergill was left alone with the burglar she gazed at him
for some time in silence.
"Man," she said at length, "you are little Bones's father."
"If you means Tottie, ma'am, I is," replied Bones, with a look and tone
which were not amiable.
"I have a strong feeling of regard for your child, though not a scrap of
pity for yourself," said Miss Stivergill, with a frown.
Mr Bones muttered something to the effect that he returned the
compliment with interest.
"For Tottie's sake I should be sorry to see you transported," continued
the lady, "therefore I mean to let you off. Moreover, bad as you are, I
believe you are not so bad as many people would think you. Therefore
I'm going to trust you."
Bones looked inquiringly and with some suspicion at his captor. He
evidently thought there was a touch of insanity about her. This was
confirmed when Miss Stivergill, seizing a carving-knife from the
dresser, advanced with masculine strides towards him. He made a
desperate effort to burst his bonds, but they were too scientifically
arranged for that. "Don't fear," said the lady, severing the cord that
bound the burglar's wrists, and putting the knife in his hands. "Now,"
she added, "you know how to cut yourself free, no doubt."
"Well, you _are_ a trump!" exclaimed Bones, rapidly touching his bonds
at salient points with the keen edge.
In a few seconds he was free.
"Now, go away," said Miss Stivergill, "and don't let me see you here
again."
Bones looked with admiration at his deliverer, but could only find words
to repeat that she _was_ a trump, and vanished through the back-door,
just as a band of men, with pitchforks, rakes, spades, and lanterns,
came clamouring in at the front garden gate from the neighbouring farm.
"What is it?" exclaimed the farmer.
"Only a burglar," answered Miss Stivergill.
"Where is he?" chorussed everybody.
"That's best known to himself," replied the lady, who, in order to give
the fugitive time, went into a minute and slow account of the whole
affair--excepting, of course, her connivance at the escape--to the great
edification of her audience, among whom the one who seemed to derive the
chief enjoyment was a black boy. He endeavoured to screen himself
behind the labourers, and was obviously unable to restrain his glee.
"But what's come of 'im, ma'am?" asked the farmer impatiently.
"Escaped!" answered Miss Stivergill.
"Escaped!" echoed everybody, looking furtively round, as though they
supposed he had only escaped under the dresser or into the keyhole.
"Escaped!" repeated the policeman, who entered at the moment with two
comrades; "impossible! I tied 'im so that no efforts of his own could
avail 'im. Somebody _must_ 'ave 'elped 'im."
"The carving-knife helped him," said Miss Stivergill, with a look of
dignity.--"Perhaps, instead of speculating how he escaped, policeman, it
would be better to pursue him. He can't be very far off, as it is not
twenty minutes since he cut himself free."
In a state of utter bewilderment the policeman rushed out of the
cottage, followed by his comrades and the agriculturists. Peter Pax
essayed to go with them, but was restrained by an iron grip on his
collar. Pulling him back, Miss Stivergill dragged her captive into a
parlour and shut the door.
"Come now, little Pax," she said, setting the boy in a chair in front of
her, "you needn't try to deceive _me_. I'd know you among a thousand in
any disguise. If you were to blacken your face with coal-tar an inch
thick your impertinence would shine through. You know that the burglar
is little Bones's father; you've a pretty good guess that I let him off.
You have come here for some purpose in connection with him. Come--out
with it, and make a clean breast."
Little Pax did make a clean breast then and there, was washed white,
supped and slept at The Rosebud, returned to town next day by the first
train, and had soon the pleasure of informing Tottie that the intended
burglary had been frustrated, and that her father wasn't "took" after
all.