TAKING REFUGE
It was a Saturday afternoon.
Ferdy, as he lay on his couch in the oriel window, looked out half
sadly. The lawn and garden-paths below were thickly strewn with fallen
leaves, for the summer was gone--the long beautiful summer which had
seemed as if it were going to stay "for always." And the autumn was
already old enough to make one feel that winter had started on its
journey southwards from the icy lands which are its real home.
There were no swallow voices to be heard.
Oh no; the last of the little tenants of the nests overhead had said
good-bye several weeks ago now. Ferdy's fancy had often followed them in
their strange mysterious journey across the sea.
"I wonder," he thought, "if they really _were_ rather sorry to go this
year--sorrier than usual, because of me."
He took up a bit of carving that he had been working at; it was meant to
be a small frame for a photograph of Chrissie, and he hoped to get it
finished in time for his mother's birthday. It was very pretty, for he
had made great progress in the last few months. In and out round the
frame twined the foliage he had copied from the real leaves surrounding
his dear window, and up in one corner was his pet idea--a swallow's
head, "face," Ferdy called it, peeping out from an imaginary nest
behind. This head was as yet far from completed, and he almost dreaded
to work at it, so afraid was he of spoiling it. To-day he had given it a
few touches which pleased him, and he took it up, half meaning to do a
little more to it, but he was feeling tired, and laid it down again and
went back to his own thoughts, as his blue eyes gazed up dreamily into
the grey, somewhat stormy-looking autumn sky.
Some changes had come in the last few months. Dr. Lilly was at home
again, so Ferdy and Christine no longer had entire possession of their
dear governess, though they still saw her every day except Sunday, and
sometimes even then too. Ferdy was, on the whole, a little stronger,
though less well than when able to be out for several hours together in
the open air. What the doctors now thought as to the chances of his ever
getting quite well, he did not know; he had left off asking. Children
live much in the present, or if not quite that, in a future which is
made by their own thoughts and feelings in the present. And he had grown
accustomed to his life, and to putting far before him, mistily, the
picture of the day when he _would_ be "all right again." He had not
really given up the hope of it, though his mother sometimes thought he
had.
The truth was that as yet the doctors did not know and could not say.
But the present had many interests and much happiness in it for Ferdy,
little as he would have been able to believe this, had he foreseen all
he was to be deprived of in a moment that sad May morning.
His friendship for Jesse was one of the things he got a great deal from.
Nothing as yet was settled about the boy's future, eager though Mr.
Brock was to see him launched in another kind of life. For both Mr.
Ross and Dr. Lilly felt that any great step of the sort must first be
well thought over, especially as Jesse was now working steadily at
Farmer Meare's and earning regular wages, and seemingly quite contented.
Though he had had his troubles too. Some of his old wild companions were
very jealous of him and very spiteful; and bit by bit a sort of league
had been started against him among the worst and roughest of the
Draymoor lads, several of whom were angry at not being allowed to join
the class in the shed at Bollins, some still more angry at having been
sent away from the class, for Jesse and his friend Barney who acted as a
sort of second in command were very particular as to whom they took as
pupils. Or rather as to whom they _kept_; they did not mind letting a
boy come two or three times to see "what it was like," but if he turned
out idle or disturbing to the others, and with no real interest in the
work, he was told in very plain terms that he need not come back.
They were patient with some rather dull and stupid lads, however. Barney
especially so. For he was very "quick" himself. And some of these dull
ones really were the most satisfactory. They were so _very_ proud of
finding that they could, with patience and perseverance, "make"
something, useful at any rate, if not highly ornamental. No one who has
not been tried in this way knows the immense pleasure of the first
feeling of the power to "make."
These things Ferdy was thinking of, among others, as he lay there
quietly this afternoon. He was alone, except for an occasional "look in"
from Thomas or Flowers, as Mr. Ross had taken his wife and Christine for
a drive.
Ferdy had grown much older in the last few months in some ways. He had
had so much time for thinking. And though he did not, as I have said,
trouble himself much about his own future, he thought a good deal about
Jesse's.
There was no doubt that Jesse was _very_ clever at carving. Ferdy knew
it, and saw it for himself, and Miss Lilly thought so, and the old
doctor thought so; and most of them all, Mr. Brock thought so. But for
some weeks past Mr. Brock's lessons had stopped. He had been sent away
by the firm at Whittingham who employed him, to see to the restoration
of an old house in the country, where the wood carving, though much out
of repair, was very fine, and required a careful and skilful workman to
superintend its repair.
So there seemed to be no one at hand quite as eager about Jesse as Ferdy
himself.
"The winter is coming fast," thought the little invalid, "and they can't
go on working in the shed. And Jesse may get into idle ways again--he's
not learning anything new now. It fidgets me so. I'd like him to be sent
to some place where he'd get on fast. I don't believe he cares about it
himself half as much as I care about it for him. And he's so taken up
with his 'pupils.' I wonder what could be done about getting some one to
teach them. Barney isn't clever enough. Oh, if only mamma wouldn't be so
afraid of my tiring myself, and would let me have a class for them up
here in the winter evenings! Or I might have two classes,--there are
only ten or twelve of them altogether,--and once a week or so Mr. Brock
might come to help me, or not even as often as that. If he came once a
fortnight or even once a month he could see how they were getting
on,--_extra_ coming, I mean, besides his teaching me, for of course the
more I learn the better I can teach them. And another evening we might
have a class for something else--baskets or something not so hard as
carving. Miss Lilly's learning baskets, I know. And then Jesse wouldn't
mind leaving his pupils. Oh, I do wish it could be settled. I wish I
could talk about it again to Dr. Lilly. I don't think Jesse's quite
am--I can't remember the word--caring enough about getting on to be
something great."
Poor Jesse, it was not exactly want of ambition with him. It was simply
that the idea of becoming anything more than a farm-labourer had never
yet entered his brain. He thought himself very lucky indeed to be where
he now was, and to have the chance of improving in his dearly loved
"carving" without being mocked at or interfered with, neither of which
so far had actually been the case, though there had been some unpleasant
threatenings in the air of late. His efforts to interest and improve the
boys of the neighbourhood had been looked upon with suspicion--with more
suspicion than he had known till quite lately, when he and Barney had
been trying to get some one to lend them a barn or an empty room of any
kind for the winter.
"What was he after now? Some mischief, you might be sure, or he wouldn't
be Jesse Piggot."
So much easier is it to gain "a bad name," than to live one down.
"Oh," thought little Ferdy, "I do _wish_ something could be settled
about Jesse."
He was growing restless--restless and nervous, which did not often
happen. Was it the gloomy afternoon, or the being so long alone, or
what? The clouds overhead were growing steely-blue, rather than grey.
Could it be going to thunder? Surely it was too cold for that. Perhaps
there was a storm of some other kind coming on--heavy rain or wind,
perhaps.
And mamma and Chrissie would get _so_ wet!
If only they would come in! Ferdy began to feel what he very rarely
did--rather sorry for himself. It was nervousness, one of the troubles
which are the hardest to bear in a life such as Ferdy's had become and
might continue. But this he was too young to understand; he thought he
was cross and discontented, and this self-reproach only made him the
more uncomfortable. These feelings, however, were not allowed to go very
far that afternoon. A sound reached Ferdy's quick ears which made him
look up sharply and glance out of the window. Some one was running
rapidly along the drive towards the house.
It was Jesse.
But fast as he came, his way of moving told of fatigue. He had run far,
and seemed nearly spent.
Ferdy's heart began to beat quickly, something must be the matter. Could
it be an accident? Oh! if anything had happened to his father and mother
and Chrissie, and Jesse had been sent for help! But in that case he
would have gone straight to the stable-yard, and as this thought struck
him, Ferdy breathed more freely again. Perhaps, after all, it was only
some message and nothing wrong, and Jesse had been running fast just for
his own amusement.
The little boy lay still and listened. In a minute or two he heard
footsteps coming upstairs. Then a slight tap at the door--Thomas's
tap--and almost without waiting for an answer, the footman came in.
"It's Jesse, Master Ferdy," he began. "Jesse Piggot. He's run all the
way from Bollins, and he's pretty well done. He's begging to see you.
He's in some trouble, but he won't tell me what. I'm afraid your mamma
won't be best pleased if I let him up, but I don't know what to do, he
seems in such a state."
Ferdy raised himself a little on his couch. There must be something very
much the matter for Jesse, merry, light-hearted Jesse, to be in a
"state" at all.
"Let him come up at once, Thomas, I'll put it all right with mamma," he
began, but before Thomas had time for any more hesitation the matter was
taken out of his hands by Jesse's short-cropped, dark head appearing in
the doorway.
"Oh, Master Ferdy!" he exclaimed, in a choking voice, "mayn't I come
in?"
"Of course," said Ferdy quickly. "It's all right, Thomas," with a touch
of impatience, "I'll call you if I want you," and Thomas discreetly
withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"They're after me, Master Ferdy," were Jesse's first words, "at least
I'm afraid they are, though I tried my best to dodge them."
"Who?" exclaimed Ferdy.
"The p'lice and Bill Turner's father, and a lot of them, and oh, Master
Ferdy, some one called out he was killed!"
"Who?" said Ferdy again, though his own cheeks grew white at Jesse's
words. "And what is it that's happened, and what do you want me to do.
You must tell me properly, Jesse."
It said a good deal for Ferdy's self-control that he was able to speak
so quietly and sensibly, for he was feeling terribly startled. Jesse
choked down his gasping breath, which was very nearly turning into sobs.
"I didn't want to frighten you, Master Ferdy. I didn't ought to, I know,
but I couldn't think what else to do. It's that Bill Turner, Master
Ferdy," and at the name he gave a little shudder. "He was in the class
once, but it was only out of mischief. He did no good and tried to upset
the others. So Barney and I wouldn't keep him at no price, and he's gone
on getting nastier and nastier, and the other day he 'called' me--he
did--so that I couldn't stand it, and I went for him. It didn't hurt
him, but it made him madder than ever, and he said he'd pay me out. And
this afternoon when Barney and me were sorting the carvings at the
shed--we've a box we keep them all in, there--Bill comes down upon us,
him and some others. They got hold of 'em all and smashed 'em up and
kicked them to pieces--all to pieces, Master Ferdy"--with a sort of
wail, almost of despair, in his voice. "All the things we've been at for
so long! We were going to make a show of them at Christmas; and I
couldn't stand it, I went at him like a wild beast--it was for the other
lads I minded so--though he's much bigger nor me, and I got him down,
and he lay there without moving, and some one called out he was dead,
and then the p'lice came, and one of 'em caught hold of me, but I got
loose and I started running--I scarce knew what I was doing. I just
thought I'd get here, and you'd tell me what to do. He can't be dead,
Master Ferdy," he went on, dropping his voice--"you don't think he can
be? I didn't seem to know what it meant till I got here and began to
think."
"I don't know," said Ferdy, again growing very pale, while poor Jesse's
face was all blotched in great patches of red and white, and smeared
with the tears he had tried to rub off. "Oh, I do wish papa and mamma
would come in! I don't know what to do. Do you think they saw you
running this way, Jesse?"
"I--I don't know, Master Ferdy. I hope not, but there was a lot of the
boys about--Draymoor boys, I mean--Bill's lot, and they may have tracked
me. Of course none of _my_ boys," he added, lifting his head proudly,
"would peach on me, whatever the p'lice did."
But even as he spoke, there came, faintly and confusedly, the sound of
approaching steps along the road just beyond the hedge, and a murmur of
several voices all talking together. It might not have caught Ferdy's
attention at any other time, but just now both his ears and Jesse's were
sharpened by anxiety.
"They're a coming, Master Ferdy," exclaimed the poor boy, growing still
whiter.
"Never mind," said Ferdy, trying hard to be brave, "Thomas is all right,
he won't let them come up here."
"Oh, but maybe he can't stop them," said Jesse. "The p'lice can force
their way anywheres. I wouldn't mind so much if it _had_ to be--like if
your papa was here and said I must go to prison. But if they take me off
now with no one to speak up for me, seems to me as if I'd never get out
again."
Poor Ferdy was even more ignorant than Jesse of everything to do with
law and prisons and the like; he looked about him almost wildly.
"Jesse," he said in a whisper. "I know what to do. Creep under my couch
and lie there quite still. Thomas is all right, and nobody else saw you
come up, did they?"
"No one else saw me at all," Jesse replied, dropping his voice, and
going down on his hands and knees, "better luck. I'll keep still, no
fear, Master Ferdy," his boyish spirits already rising again at the idea
of "doing the p'lice," "and they'd never dare look under your sofa."
He scrambled in, but put his head out again for a moment to whisper in
an awestruck tone, "But oh, Master Ferdy, if they do come up here,
please try to find out if Bill Turner's so badly hurt as they said. I
know it _can't_ be true that I did as bad as _that_."
All the same he was terribly frightened and remorseful. Ferdy scarcely
dared to reply, for by this time a group of men and boys was coming up
the drive, and a constable in front marched along as if he meant
business, for as Ferdy watched them, he turned round and waved back the
eight or ten stragglers who were following him, though he still held by
the arm a thin, pale-faced little fellow whom he had brought with him
all the way. This was Barney, poor Jesse's first lieutenant.
Another minute or two passed. Then hurrying steps on the stairs again,
and Thomas reappeared, looking very excited.
"Master Ferdy," he exclaimed, but stopped short on seeing that his
little master was alone. "Bless me!" he ejaculated under his breath,
"he's gone! and I never saw him leave the house."
"What is it, Thomas?" said Ferdy, trying to speak and look as usual. "I
saw the constable come in--you must tell him papa's out."
"I have told him so, sir, and I'm very sorry, but he will have it he
must see you. Some one's been and told that Jesse ran this way."
"Let him come up then," said Ferdy, with dignity, "though I'm sure papa
will be very angry, and I don't believe he's any right to force his way
in! But I'm not afraid of him!" proudly.
"Master _will_ be angry for certain," said Thomas, "very angry, and I've
told the constable so. But he's in a temper, and a very nasty one, and
won't listen to reason. He says them Draymoor boys are getting past
bearing. I only hope," he went on, speaking more to himself, as he
turned to leave the room again, "I only hope he won't get me into a
scrape too for letting him up to frighten Master Ferdy--not that he _is_
frightened all the same!"