A BELT of rhododendrons grew close down to one side of our pond; and
along the edge of it many things flourished rankly. If you crept through
the undergrowth and crouched by the water's rim, it was easy--if your
imagination were in healthy working order--to transport yourself in a
trice to the heart of a tropical forest. Overhead the monkeys chattered,
parrots flashed from bough to bough, strange large blossoms shone all
round you, and the push and rustle of great beasts moving unseen
thrilled you deliciously. And if you lay down with your nose an inch or
two from the water, it was not long ere the old sense of proportion
vanished clean away. The glittering insects that darted to and fro on
its surface became sea-monsters dire, the gnats that hung above them
swelled to albatrosses, and the pond itself stretched out into a vast
inland sea, whereon a navy might ride secure, and whence at any moment
the hairy scalp of a sea-serpent might be seen to emerge.
[Illustration: '_It was easy . . . to transport yourself in a trice to
the heart of a tropical forest_']
It is impossible, however, to play at tropical forests properly, when
homely accents of the human voice intrude; and all my hopes of seeing a
tiger seized by a crocodile while drinking (_vide_ picture-books,
_passim_) vanished abruptly, and earth resumed her old dimensions, when
the sound of Charlotte's prattle somewhere hard by broke in on my
primæval seclusion. Looking out from the bushes, I saw her trotting
towards an open space of lawn the other side the pond, chattering to
herself in her accustomed fashion, a doll tucked under either arm, and
her brow knit with care. Propping up her double burthen against a
friendly stump, she sat down in front of them, as full of worry and
anxiety as a Chancellor on a Budget night.
Her victims, who stared resignedly in front of them, were recognisable
as Jerry and Rosa. Jerry hailed from far Japan: his hair was straight
and black, his one garment cotton of a simple blue; and his
reputation was distinctly bad. Jerome was his proper name, from his
supposed likeness to the holy man who hung in a print on the staircase;
though a shaven crown was the only thing in common 'twixt Western saint
and Eastern sinner. Rosa was typical British, from her flaxen poll to
the stout calves she displayed so liberally; and in character she was of
the blameless order of those who have not yet been found out.
I suspected Jerry from the first. There was a latent devilry in his
slant eyes as he sat there moodily; and knowing what he was capable of,
I scented trouble in store for Charlotte. Rosa I was not so sure about;
she sat demurely and upright, and looked far away into the tree-tops in
a visionary, world-forgetting sort of way; yet the prim purse of her
mouth was somewhat overdone, and her eyes glittered unnaturally.
'Now, I'm going to begin where I left off,' said Charlotte, regardless
of stops, and thumping the turf with her fist excitedly: 'and you must
pay attention, 'cos this is a treat, to have a story told you before
you're put to bed. Well, so the White Rabbit scuttled off down the
passage and Alice hoped he'd come back 'cos he had a waistcoat on and
her flamingo flew up a tree--but we haven't got to that part yet, you
must wait a minute, and--where had I got to?'
Jerry only remained passive until Charlotte had got well under way, and
then began to heel over quietly in Rosa's direction. His head fell on
her plump shoulder, causing her to start nervously.
Charlotte seized and shook him with vigour. 'O Jerry,' she cried
piteously, 'if you're not going to be good, how ever shall I tell you my
story?'
Jerry's face was injured innocence itself. 'Blame if you like, Madam,'
he seemed to say, 'the eternal laws of gravitation, but not a helpless
puppet, who is also an orphan and a stranger in the land.'
'Now we'll go on,' began Charlotte once more. 'So she got into the
garden at last--I've left out a lot but you won't care, I'll tell you
some other time--and they were all playing croquet, and that's where the
flamingo comes in, and the Queen shouted out, "Off with her head!"'
At this point Jerry collapsed forward, suddenly and completely, his bald
pate between his knees. Charlotte was not very angry this time. The
sudden development of tragedy in the story had evidently been too much
for the poor fellow. She straightened him out, wiped his nose, and,
after trying him in various positions, to which he refused to adapt
himself, she propped him against the shoulder of the (apparently)
unconscious Rosa. Then my eyes were opened, and the full measure of
Jerry's infamy became apparent. This, then, was what he had been playing
up for! The rascal had designs, had he? I resolved to keep him under
close observation.
'If you'd been in the garden,' went on Charlotte reproachfully, 'and
flopped down like that when the Queen said "Off with his head!" she'd
have offed with your head; but Alice wasn't that sort of girl at all.
She just said, "I'm not afraid of you, you're nothing but a pack of
cards"--O dear! I've got to the end already, and I hadn't begun hardly!
I never can make my stories last out! Never mind, I'll tell you another
one.'
Jerry didn't seem to care, now he had gained his end, whether the
stories lasted out or not. He was nestling against Rosa's plump form
with a look of satisfaction that was simply idiotic; and one arm had
disappeared from view--was it round her waist? Rosa's natural blush
seemed deeper than usual, her head inclined shyly--it must have been
round her waist.
'If it wasn't so near your bedtime,' continued Charlotte reflectively,
'I'd tell you a nice story with a bogy in it. But you'd be frightened,
and you'd dream of bogies all night. So I'll tell you one about a White
Bear, only you mustn't scream when the bear says 'Wow,' like I used to,
'cos he's a good bear really----'
Here Rosa fell flat on her back in the deadest of faints. Her limbs were
rigid, her eyes glassy. What had Jerry been doing? It must have been
something very bad, for her to take on like that. I scrutinised him
carefully, while Charlotte ran to comfort the damsel. He appeared to be
whistling a tune and regarding the scenery. If I only possessed Jerry's
command of feature, I thought to myself, half regretfully, I would never
be found out in anything.
'It's all your fault, Jerry,' said Charlotte reproachfully, when the
lady had been restored to consciousness: 'Rosa's as good as gold except
when you make her wicked. I'd put you in the corner, only a stump hasn't
got a corner--wonder why that is? Thought everything had corners. Never
mind, you'll have to sit with your face to the wall--so. Now you can
sulk if you like!'
Jerry seemed to hesitate a moment between the bliss of indulgence in
sulks with a sense of injury, and the imperious summons of beauty
waiting to be wooed at his elbow; then, over-mastered by his passion, he
fell sideways across Rosa's lap. One arm stuck stiffly upwards, as in
passionate protestation; his amorous countenance was full of entreaty.
Rosa hesitated--wavered--yielded, crushing his slight frame under the
weight of her full-bodied surrender.
Charlotte had stood a good deal, but it was possible to abuse even her
patience. Snatching Jerry from his lawless embraces, she reversed him
across her knee, and then--the outrage offered to the whole superior sex
in Jerry's hapless person was too painful to witness; but though I
turned my head away the sound of brisk slaps continued to reach my
tingling ears. When I dared to look again, Jerry was sitting up as
before; his garment, somewhat crumpled, was restored to its original
position; but his pallid countenance was set hard. Knowing as I did,
only too well, what a volcano of passion and shame must be seething
under that impassive exterior, for the moment I felt sorry for him.
Rosa's face was still buried in her frock; it might have been shame, it
might have been grief for Jerry's sufferings. But the callous Japanese
never even looked her way. His heart was exceeding bitter within him. In
merely following up his natural impulses he had run his head against
convention, and learned how hard a thing it was; and the sunshiny world
was all black to him. Even Charlotte softened somewhat at the sight of
his rigid misery. 'If you'll say you're sorry, Jerome,' she said, 'I'll
say I'm sorry, too.'
Jerry only dropped his shoulders against the stump and stared out in the
direction of his dear native Japan, where love was no sin, and smacking
had not been introduced. Why had he ever left it? He would go back
to-morrow! And yet there were obstacles: another grievance. Nature, in
endowing Jerry with every grace of form and feature, along with a
sensitive soul, had somehow forgotten the gift of locomotion.
There was a crackling in the bushes behind me, with sharp short pants as
of a small steam-engine, and Rollo, the black retriever, just released
from his chain by some friendly hand, burst through the underwood,
seeking congenial company. I joyfully hailed him to stop and be a
panther, but he sped away round the pond, upset Charlotte with a
boisterous caress, and seizing Jerry by the middle, disappeared with him
down the drive. Charlotte panting, raved behind the swift-footed avenger
of crime; Rosa lay dishevelled, bereft of consciousness; Jerry himself
spread helpless arms to heaven, and I almost thought I heard a cry for
mercy, a tardy promise of amendment. But it was too late. The Black Man
had got Jerry at last; and though the tear of sensibility might bedew an
eye or two for his lost sake, no one who really knew him could deny the
justice of his fate.
[Illustration]
'YOUNG ADAM CUPID'
NOBODY would have suspected Edward of being in love, had it not been
that after breakfast, with an overacted carelessness, 'Anybody who
likes,' he said, 'can feed my rabbits,' and he disappeared, with a
jauntiness that deceived nobody, in the direction of the orchard. Now
kingdoms might totter and reel, and convulsions play skittles with the
map of Europe; but the iron unwritten law prevailed, that each boy
severely fed his own rabbits. There was good ground, then, for suspicion
and alarm; and while the lettuce leaves were being drawn through the
wires, Harold and I conferred seriously on the situation.
It may be thought that the affair was none of our business; and indeed
we cared little as individuals. We were only concerned as members of a
corporation, for each of whom the mental or physical ailment of one of
his fellows might have far-reaching effects. It was thought best that
Harold, as least open to suspicion of motive, should be despatched to
probe and peer. His instructions were, to proceed by a report on the
health of our rabbits in particular; to glide gently into a discussion
concerning rabbits in general, their customs, practices, and vices; and
to pass thence, by a natural transition, to the female sex, the inherent
flaws in its composition, and the reasons for regarding it (speaking
broadly) as dirt. He was especially to be very diplomatic, and then to
return and report progress. He departed on his mission gaily; but his
absence was short, and his return, discomfited and in tears, seemed to
betoken some want of parts for diplomacy. He had found Edward, it
appeared, pacing the orchard, with the sort of set smile that
mountebanks wear in their precarious antics, fixed painfully on his
face, as with pins. Harold had opened well, on the rabbit subject, but,
with a fatal confusion between the abstract and the concrete, had then
gone on to remark that Edward's lop-eared doe, with her long hindlegs
and contemptuous twitch of the nose, always reminded him of Sabina
Larkin (a nine-year-old damsel, child of a neighbouring farmer): at
which point Edward, it would seem, had turned upon and savagely
maltreated him, twisting his arm and punching him in the short ribs. So
that Harold returned to the rabbit-hutches preceded by long-drawn wails:
anon wishing, with tears and sobs, that he were a man, to kick his
love-lorn brother; anon lamenting that ever he had been born.
I was not big enough to stand up to Edward personally, so I had to
console the sufferer by allowing him to grease the wheels of the
donkey-cart--a luscious treat that had been specially reserved for me, a
week past, by the gardener's boy, for putting in a good word on his
behalf with the new kitchen-maid. Harold was soon all smiles and grease;
and I was not, on the whole, dissatisfied with the significant hint that
had been gained as to the _fons et origo mali_.
Fortunately, means were at hand for resolving any doubts on the subject,
since the morning was Sunday, and already the bells were ringing for
church. Lest the connexion may not be evident at first sight, I should
explain that the gloomy period of church-time, with its enforced
inaction and its lack of real interest--passed, too, within sight of all
that the village held of fairest--was just the one when a young man's
fancies lightly turned to thoughts of love. The rest of the week
afforded no leisure for such trifling; but in church--well, there was
really nothing else to do! True, noughts-and-crosses might be indulged
in on flyleaves of prayer-books while the Litany dragged its slow length
along; but what balm or what solace could be found for the Sermon?
Naturally the eye, wandering here and there among the serried ranks,
made bold untrammelled choice among our fair fellow-supplicants. It was
in this way that, some months earlier, under the exceptional strain of
the Athanasian Creed, my roving fancy had settled upon the baker's wife
as a fit object for a life-long devotion. Her riper charms had conquered
a heart which none of her be-muslined tittering juniors had been able to
subdue; and that she was already wedded had never occurred to me as any
bar to my affection. Edward's general demeanour, then, during morning
service was safe to convict him; but there was also a special test for
the particular case. It happened that we sat in a transept, and, the
Larkins being behind us, Edward's only chance of feasting on Sabina's
charms was in the all-too fleeting interval when we swung round
eastwards. I was not mistaken. During the singing of the Benedictus the
impatient one made several false starts, and at last he slewed fairly
round before 'As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be' was
half finished. The evidence was conclusive: a court of law could have
desired no better.
The fact being patent, the next thing was to grapple with it; and my
mind was fully occupied during the sermon. There was really nothing
unfair or unbrotherly in my attitude. A philosophic affection such as
mine own, which clashed with nothing, was (I held) permissible; but the
volcanic passions in which Edward indulged about once a quarter were a
serious interference with business. To make matters worse, next week
there was a circus coming to the neighbourhood, to which we had all been
strictly forbidden to go; and without Edward no visit in contempt of law
and orders could be successfully brought off. I had sounded him as to
the circus on our way to church, and he had replied briefly that the
very thought of a clown made him sick. Morbidity could no further go.
But the sermon came to an end without any line of conduct having
suggested itself; and I walked home in some depression, feeling sadly
that Venus was in the ascendant and in direful opposition, while
Auriga--the circus star--drooped declinant, perilously near the horizon.
By the irony of fate, Aunt Eliza, of all people, turned out to be the
_Dea ex machinâ_. The thing fell out in this wise. It was that lady's
obnoxious practice to issue forth, of a Sunday afternoon, on a visit of
state to such farmers and cottagers as dwelt at hand; on which occasion
she was wont to hale a reluctant boy along with her, from the mixed
motives of propriety and his soul's health. Much cudgelling of brains,
I suppose, had on that particular day made me torpid and unwary. Anyhow,
when a victim came to be sought for, I fell an easy prey, while the
others fled scatheless and whooping. Our first visit was to the Larkins.
Here ceremonial might be viewed in its finest flower, and we conducted
ourselves, like Queen Elizabeth when she trod the measure, 'high and
disposedly.' In the low oak-panelled parlour cake and currant wine were
set forth, and, after courtesies and compliments exchanged, Aunt Eliza,
greatly condescending, talked the fashions with Mrs. Larkin; while the
farmer and I, perspiring with the unusual effort, exchanged remarks on
the mutability of the weather and the steady fall in the price of corn.
(Who would have thought, to hear us, that only two short days ago we had
confronted each other on either side of a hedge? I triumphant,
provocative, derisive? He flushed, wroth, cracking his whip, and
volleying forth profanity? So powerful is all-subduing ceremony!) Sabina
the while, demurely seated with a _Pilgrim's Progress_ on her knee, and
apparently absorbed in a brightly-coloured presentment of 'Apollyon
Straddling Right across the Way,' eyed me at times with shy interest;
but repelled all Aunt Eliza's advances with a frigid politeness for
which I could not sufficiently admire her.
[Illustration: '_Who would have thought . . . that only two short days
ago we had confronted each other on either side of a hedge_']
'It's surprising to me,' I heard my aunt remark presently, 'how my
eldest nephew, Edward, despises little girls. I heard him tell Charlotte
the other day that he wished he could exchange her for a pair of
Japanese guinea-pigs. It made the poor child cry. Boys are so
heartless!' (I saw Sabina stiffen as she sat, and her tip-tilted nose
twitched scornfully.) 'Now this boy here----' (my soul descended into my
very boots. Could the woman have intercepted any of my amorous glances
at the baker's wife?) 'Now this boy,' my aunt went on, 'is more human
altogether. Only yesterday he took his sister to the baker's shop, and
spent his only penny buying her sweets. I thought it showed such a nice
disposition. I wish Edward were more like him!'
I breathed again. It was unnecessary to explain my real motives for that
visit to the baker's. Sabina's face softened, and her contemptuous
nose descended from its altitude of scorn; she gave me one shy glance of
kindness, and then concentrated her attention upon Mercy knocking at the
Wicket Gate. I felt awfully mean as regarded Edward; but what could I
do? I was in Gaza, gagged and bound; the Philistines hemmed me in.
The same evening the storm burst, the bolt fell, and--to continue the
metaphor--the atmosphere grew serene and clear once more. The evening
service was shorter than usual, the vicar, as he ascended the pulpit
steps, having dropped two pages out of his sermon-case--unperceived by
any but ourselves, either at the moment or subsequently when the hiatus
was reached; so, as we joyfully shuffled out I whispered Edward that by
racing home at top speed we should make time to assume our bows and
arrows (laid aside for the day) and play at Indians and buffaloes with
Aunt Eliza's fowls--already strolling roostwards, regardless of their
doom--before that sedately stepping lady could return. Edward hung at
the door, wavering; the suggestion had unhallowed charms. At that
moment Sabina issued primly forth, and, seeing Edward, put out her
tongue at him in the most exasperating manner conceivable; then passed
on her way, her shoulders rigid, her dainty head held high. A man can
stand very much in the cause of love: poverty, aunts, rivals, barriers
of every sort, all these only serve to fan the flame. But personal
ridicule is a shaft that reaches the very vitals. Edward led the race
home at a speed which one of Ballantyne's heroes might have equalled but
never surpassed; and that evening the Indians dispersed Aunt Eliza's
fowls over several square miles of country, so that the tale of them
remaineth incomplete unto this day. Edward himself, cheering wildly,
pursued the big Cochin-China cock till the bird sank gasping under the
drawing-room window, whereat its mistress stood petrified; and after
supper, in the shrubbery, smoked a half-consumed cigar he had picked up
in the road, and declared to an awe-stricken audience his final, his
immitigable resolve to go into the army.
The crisis was past, and Edward was saved! . . . And yet . . . _sunt
lachrymæ rerum_ . . . to me watching the cigar-stump alternately pale
and glow against the dark background of laurel, a vision of a tip-tilted
nose, of a small head poised scornfully, seemed to hover on the
gathering gloom--seemed to grow and fade and grow again, like the grin
of the Cheshire cat--pathetically, reproachfully even; and the charms of
the baker's wife slipped from my memory like snow-wreaths in thaw. After
all, Sabina was nowise to blame: why should the child be punished?
To-morrow I would give them the slip, and stroll round by her garden
promiscuous-like, at a time when the farmer was safe in the rickyard. If
nothing came of it, there was no harm done; and if on the contrary. . . !
[Illustration]