Robin, "and that's the text I painted the first Sunday Julius was with
us. If you will lend me two of your long hat-pins, mother, I shall
stick it up on that smooth piece of the wall, so that if anyone did
happen to come in he would see it at once. It will make the inside of
the house quite bright and cheerful and much more home-like. And you
know, mother," he added shyly, "the words might do a poor tramp good."
*CHAPTER IX*
*The Tramp*
"Julius," said Robin in an awestruck voice a few days later, when they
met as usual at the entrance of the wood, "I do believe the tramp has
really come. You said you would be here at ten o'clock punctually, but
I waited and waited and you never turned up, so I thought you had
forgotten all about it and that I had better go on to the hut by myself.
When I had got quite close up to it I saw a boot sticking out of the
door, and it gave me such a fright, I simply scooted back into the road
again. I was jolly glad to see you coming along, I can tell you."
"I thought you wanted a tramp to come," said Julius rather scornfully.
"The best thing we can do is to tell the policeman, and he'll send the
fellow about his business pretty quick. I call it cheek for a nasty
dirty beggar to go and rest in our nice house."
"It looked quite a good boot," replied Robin, "not all over holes like
some of them have. Perhaps he's only a poor clean wanderer who wouldn't
do any harm."
"Let us have another look," said Julius. "We needn't go very near."
With much care and precaution the boys crept silently through the
undergrowth until they came in sight of Robin Hood's Lair, taking the
greatest pains to avoid treading on dead sticks or twigs, after the
manner of Red Indians tracking their prey.
"There are two boots now," said Robin under his breath, "and they're
quite tidy, both of them. Perhaps he's not a tramp after all."
As he spoke, there was a movement inside the hut, and a man emerged into
the open. The youthful spies crouched low among the bracken to watch
the intruder.
He was a tall, well-knit figure, but with a droop in his shoulders which
told of ill-health and fatigue. His face bore out the same story, for
it was white and drawn as if with long suffering, and his somewhat
weather-worn clothes only emphasized the frailty of the form beneath.
His cap was off, and the sun glinted down upon his fair hair and short
well-trimmed beard, revealing a shapely head and thoughtful brow.
"He's the nicest tramp I ever saw," remarked Julius, "but he looks
awfully ill."
"I don't believe he's a beggar," rejoined Robin. "I expect he's just
someone come to stay at the village so as to get sea-air after having
been in a hospital. They often do that. He must be very poor, however,
for though he seems quite respectable, his coat is all patched and
frayed."
The intruder had turned and was contemplating the architecture of the
hut with an amused countenance. He now replaced his cap and walked away
in an irresolute manner, as if he did not know exactly in which
direction to bend his steps. To the boys' dismay he finally bore down
straight towards their hiding-place.
"Keep still, Julius," whispered Robin. "That's the way wild animals do
when danger is near. If we run, we're sure to be seen."
Alas for his hopes! Wild animals do not usually wear clean white
collars, and in this instance two snowy spots gleamed clearly and
distinctly through the thick screen of fern. In another moment Robin
felt his arm suddenly seized, and glanced hastily up into the face that
bent above him, anxious to read his fate.
It was a reassuring sight, for the blue eyes that looked down upon him
were full of sparkle, and a merry smile was stealing round the corners
of the mouth.
"I'm afraid I've been trespassing," was his captor's remark, as he held
the boy with a firm but gentle grip, "and worse than
trespassing--actually taking possession of a man's house during his
absence and making use of it as if it were my own."
Julius had bolted like a hare at the sight of his comrade's capture, but
seeing that a friendly conference was evidently taking place, he
gradually drew nearer to hear what was being said, being very careful,
nevertheless, to keep well out of harm's way.
"I'm glad you used our house, sir," answered Robin, gaining confidence
by the kindly tone. "I hope you found it comfortable."
"Most luxurious," responded the stranger. "Indeed I must confess to
having spent most of the night there. I fell asleep yesterday evening
on that delicious carpet of moss, and when I at last awoke it was
actually morning and broad daylight."
"Were you really there all night?" exclaimed Robin delightedly, "just as
if it was a proper house! I rather wish it had rained a little though."
"I'm very glad it didn't," was the reply. "I hardly think that is a
charitable desire of yours!"
"I only mean that it would have been so jolly to hear the rain outside,
and yet to know you had such a good roof over your head that it couldn't
get through," explained Robin.
"I am glad to learn that you had no worse motive than that for your
wish," laughed the stranger. "Now, my little chap, can you tell me
which direction I must take to get to the high-road, as I haven't had my
breakfast yet and I'm growing hungrier every moment. I don't want to go
back to the village, but to strike out for the next hamlet, as I'm
tramping to London and don't want to spend more time than I can help
upon the way."
"You _are_ a tramp, then?" exclaimed Julius, who was now standing near,
"even though you haven't got holes in your boots."
"Well, I suppose I am," was the reply. "Perhaps it would sound better if
you said I was on a walking tour. It comes to much the same thing."
"I thought you were a poor man just arrived at Sunbury to get sea-air
after you had been ill," remarked Robin. "You looked so frightfully
thin."
"A regular scarecrow!" said the stranger. "I congratulate you as well
as your friend on being right in your guesses. I _am_ a poor man and I
_have_ been ill, and I certainly had hoped to stay in Sunbury for a few
days to try and get up my strength a little; but I heard something at
the Bull Inn yesterday afternoon on my arrival which made me change my
mind and resolve to move on. I mustn't waste time talking, though, for
I'm getting quite faint for want of food, and must ask the next good
woman I meet to make me a cup of tea in her kitchen."
His looks certainly corroborated his statement, for a deadly pallor had
overspread his countenance and he almost fell as he staggered up against
a tree.
"I'm weaker than I thought," he murmured. "I wish I had gone on last
night instead of stopping here."
"If you will wait a minute," said Robin eagerly, "I'll fetch you a glass
of milk and some biscuits. Mother always gives them to me for my lunch,
but I'd much rather you had them than me."
"It's too bad to rob you of your lunch, my boy," was the grateful
answer, "but really I should be very glad of a bite. It would just help
me to get along. By the way," he called out as Robin was darting off,
"could you manage to bring the refreshments without letting everyone
know I'm here? I have particular reasons for asking. I'll tell you why
when you come back."
"It will be quite easy," asseverated Robin. "I often eat my lunch in the
wood, so nobody will think it funny if I carry it away."
Julius considered it wiser to accompany the messenger rather than remain
with the man, and many were the conjectures of the two boys as they went
together upon their quest.
"I think he is in hiding from someone," said Robin, "and is afraid to
risk going into the village in case he is taken prisoner. I wish he was
a cavalier on some secret errand from the king. How splendid it would
be to help him in some glorious adventure like one reads about in
books!"
"He's much more likely to be a fugitive from justice," replied the more
matter-of-fact Julius. "It's rather queer of him sleeping in Robin
Hood's Lair all night, and not wanting to go to Sunbury again. I've
half a mind to tell father about him and get him to send one of the
game-keepers round."
"If you betray him I'll never play with you again! Never!" exclaimed
Robin indignantly. "It would be mean after he's trusted us like this. I
wouldn't have a traitor for my friend for anything, and that's what you
would be if you told!"
When the pair returned to the house in the wood with a plentiful supply
of the promised food, they found the stranger almost in a state of
collapse.
With the greatest difficulty they got him to swallow a little milk,
which revived him somewhat, so that with their assistance he was able at
length to regain the shelter of the hut.
"I'll be all right soon," he said to them. "It's only my silly old
heart. I've let myself run down rather too much, that's all."
To the boys' relief, in about twenty minutes he was able to sit up, and
partake sparingly of their provisions.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to let me lodge another night in your
mansion," he said. "I don't think my legs would carry me far to-day."
"Why don't you go to 'The Bull'?" asked Julius. "You'd be much more
comfortable in a bed. I know there is lots of room now, for the season
is over, and all the visitors have gone."
"It was my intention to stay there when I came to Sunbury," was the
answer, "but I heard that somebody was now living in the neighbourhood
whom I would rather not meet again, and therefore as I did not wish him
to recognize me I thought it best to go away. I tried to take a short
cut through the wood which I remembered of old, but happening to come
across your little hut, it looked so inviting that I just stumbled in
and went to sleep. I never woke till you found me this morning."
"We must go home to dinner now," remarked Robin, "and Julius won't be
able to come again, as he's got to go out with his father this
afternoon, but I'll look in later and see if I can bring you some more
food."
"Keep my secret, then, like good boys," said the stranger. "I won't
harm anybody or anything, and I shall be off to-morrow by the break of
day, and not trouble either of you any more."
Many a time it was on the tip of Julius' tongue to let fall some remark
about their strange guest, but the fear of losing Robin's fellowship
held him back. It is not nice to be called a "traitor," and the flash
in his friend's eyes when he said the word lingered unpleasantly in
Julius' memory. There was also the ever-haunting terror that his father
would discover the deception which he so consistently practised in utter
disregard to the parental commands. It was no feeling of honour that
checked the sentences as they rose to his lips, but dread of the
consequences which might perchance recoil upon himself.
"I'm going to read to old Timothy this evening," said Mrs. Power to her
little son, "and may be out rather late, as I shall stop at the Vicarage
on my way back. You can take your supper when you like, as I shall not
be home in time to give it to you."
Never before or after was Robin known to have such an abnormal appetite.
Fully half the loaf and the whole of the butter vanished as if by magic
from the table. He surprised Mother Sheppard also by a polite request
for cheese, and to her astonishment the whole piece was finished when
she came to clear away after Robin had left the room.
"If that boy doesn't burst with the supper he's took to-night, my name's
not Jemima Ann," she exclaimed, "and every drop of the milk gone as I
heated specially, expecting as there would be a good cupful left for me
when he'd done. I'm blessed if the boy don't seem to have swallowed the
jug too. Anyhow it's disappeared as well as the milk."
Robin in the meanwhile was curled up contentedly in a corner of the hut,
watching its inmate ravenously devour the supplies which he had so
successfully secured. A thick rug had also been obtained by the boy and
carried up in triumph to the Lair. The ground was still dry after an
exceptionally long hot summer, and the little bower certainly made an
excellent shelter with its firm sandy walls and mossy floor. Many
another wayfarer has been less comfortably lodged.
"I don't think you can be a wicked man," remarked Robin, after a careful
scrutiny of the worn face before him, "but I wonder why you are so
anxious not to meet the other fellow you told us of. Perhaps it's he
who is the bad one, and not you."
"No," answered the stranger, with a sad attempt at a smile which went to
Robin's heart. "I'm sorry to say that I'm the bad one, as you put it,
but I am thankful I needn't stop there. The sinner has been forgiven by
the grace of God, though the consequences of his sin on earth cannot be
rubbed out."
"Then you're not afraid of that?" said Robin, nodding his head towards
the text on the wall.
"I rejoice because of it," was the reply. "He Who knows all can forgive
all."
The blue eyes gazed out into the tangle of wood, where the sun was
setting behind the interwoven branches, brown now with the touch of
coming whiter.
"A great sinner needs a great Saviour," he murmured half to himself.
"Perhaps He can even help me to put right some of the wrong before the
end comes."
*CHAPTER X*
*A Flash of Lightning*
When Robin awoke next morning he found that the weather had completely
changed during the night. Gusts of wind howled round the little cottage
and rattled the casement, as if angry foes sought admittance to his
room. From his bed he could hear the hollow boom of the waves upon the
shore, and the old apple-tree outside his window creaked and groaned as
it was forced to bend its aged limbs before the gale.
His first thought was of the house in the wood and its mysterious
occupant.
"I'll run up at once and see how the man has got on," he decided. "I
don't think it looks as if it had rained yet, and it's pretty sheltered
in the coppice, so I hope he has had a good night. I wonder if he is
still there, or if he went at break of day as he said he would."
It was not long before he was peeping through the doorway of the little
hut, his hair blown like an aureole about his forehead and his cheeks
flushed by the buffeting of the wind.
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," were the words that rose
spontaneously to the stranger's lips as he glanced up at the fair vision
before him.
"I'm not gone yet, Robin," he said as he held out his hand to the boy.
"I am afraid I must ask you to put up with me for a few hours longer. I
didn't feel quite up to an early start this morning."
Robin flew to his side and took the thin fingers in his.
"Of course you may stay here as long as you like," he replied. "I'm
only afraid there's a storm coming on, and if it's very bad the roof
might perhaps let in a little rain, supposing, you know, it came down in
torrents."
The stranger smiled. "It's worth feeling ill to get another glimpse of
you, my boy," he said. "I must confess that the longing for it rather
weighed with me when I debated about my departure in the early dawn. I
shall have to start soon, however, so as to be sure to catch the evening
train to London, as it is hopeless to think of getting there on foot
after this attack. It is six miles to the station, isn't it, Robin?"
"Six and a quarter," answered the lad, "and there are two hills on the
way."
"I shall be lucky if I arrive there before midnight," was the reply,
"but I'll have a try, anyhow. Meanwhile, I've still got some of the
bread and butter you brought me last night, and a little milk in the
bottom of the jug, so I shall do very well. Don't you bother about me,
little chap. I'm used to roughing it a bit."
"I will bring you my lunch again at eleven o'clock," said Robin, "but I
do wish you would let me tell mother about you, as she would know so
much better than I do what you ought to have. I promise you, honour
bright, that I wouldn't tell anyone else."
"Not even mother," answered the stranger, "though I am sure she must be
a true and good woman who owns you as her son. God bless you both--if a
prayer from such as I can bring you a benediction."
He watched the boy disappear among the trees, and then, turning over
with his face to the earth, he groaned aloud.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed. "What might not have been! Truly the way
of transgressors is hard."
There were traces of tears in his eyes when he at length rose and
proceeded languidly to finish the provisions lying beside him.
"Julius, I want you to come with me to Westmarket to-day," said Mr.
Field as he sat at the breakfast-table that morning. "Be ready at
eleven o'clock sharp. A grand bazaar is being held there in aid of the
Town Hall, and no end of swells are to be present. The Countess of
Monfort is taking a great interest in the cause, and I must certainly
put in an appearance, or they might think it rude. Money is not a bad
thing, after all, and I have no doubt they will be glad enough to see
me, even though neither her ladyship nor the earl have taken the trouble
to return my call."
"I don't want to go," was the sulky reply. "I hate bazaars, and swells,
and countesses, and it's beastly rot driving in the motor, with nothing
to do but to sit still."
"Don't let me hear you speak like that again, Julius," said his father
sternly. "Those are my orders and it is your part to obey."
"Couldn't you go a little later?" pleaded the boy. "Eleven o'clock is
so very early."
It certainly was a little hard upon him, for he had set his heart on
going down to the wood immediately after breakfast. The tramp, as he
still called him, fascinated the lad strangely and he longed to find out
more about the lonely stranger.
"The countess herself opens the bazaar at noon," replied his father,
"and we shall need all our time to get there before the ceremony. So not
a moment later shall I start. If you are not standing on the doorstep
waiting for me, it will be the worse for you."
As Mr. Field left the apartment, Julius stamped his foot in impotent
anger.
"It's too bad!" he exclaimed. "Why should I have to dress up like a
doll in my best clothes, and waste the day like that, when Robin is
allowed to run about in the wood just as he likes. I wonder if there
would be time for me to slip down before I have to get ready for the
car. There is just an hour. If I ran all the way I think I could do it.
I should like to see if the man is still there."
Eleven o'clock came, and the motor was at the door. So was Mr. Field,
but no Julius. For five minutes there was ominous silence, as butler
and chauffeur stood motionless, awaiting their master's pleasure.
"Drive on," said Mr. Field at length, as he flung himself into the car,
and the look on his face was not agreeable as he passed out of sight.
"I'm sorry for the little fellow, even though he is such a spoilt
puppy," volunteered the footman who had come in Jenkins' place. "I
expect he'll catch it hot before the day is out."
It was difficult for Mr. Field to regain his composure before he arrived
at the end of the drive. To be openly defied by his son in the presence
of his servants was an offence not to be lightly passed over. The
unctuous smile which illumined his features was forced and unnatural as
he officiously went up to the countess to congratulate her on the
success of her undertaking.
"What an impossible man he is," she remarked later to a friend. "He
seems to have 'money' written all over him, and nothing else apparently
to recommend him to the world. I really am honestly grateful to him for
the way he is showering sovereigns about, but it doesn't make me any
more anxious to have him as my next-door neighbour. I shouldn't mind
his being uneducated or plain, some of the best of nature's gentlemen
are that--it's the pretentious vulgarity of the man I can't stand."
Mr. Field fared no better with the earl. A few cold words of welcome in
response to the effusive greeting bestowed upon him by the millionaire,
and Lord Monfort turned away to escort a new-comer to his wife's stall.
It was pleasant, however, to feel that in spite of it all, he was
undoubtedly considered a person of importance at the sale. Fair ladies
crowded round to persuade him to buy absolutely useless things at
utterly exorbitant prices, and his circuit of the hall was a sort of
triumphal progress, delightful while it lasted, but leaving him somewhat
exhausted at the close.
He had other business in Westmarket besides his social duties, which
detained him there some hours, but he returned to the bazaar to have a
cup of tea before leaving the town. He was resting comfortably in the
refreshment marquee, enjoying the band, when a sudden drop in the music
caused the voice of someone sitting at a distant table to resound
distinctly across the room. Mr. Field would not have noticed his
companions, had he not happened to look up hastily and so caught the eye
of a young man, one of the group, who was facing him. He recognized him
as the countess's nephew, and saw him give a quick sign to his friend to
cease speaking, but not before a few isolated remarks had reached the
listener's ear. He could not follow the whole sentence, but he was sure
he heard the name of Judge Simmons mentioned in connection with a
certain money affair. There was no doubt about the concluding
words--"distinctly shady"--for the band stopped suddenly as they were
uttered, and there was nothing to veil the unpleasant insinuation of the
phrase.
"What possible reason could that young fellow have had in checking his
companion when he saw me, unless it was because I was the subject of
their conversation, and they did not want me to hear?" So he mused as
he absently stirred his tea.
The band struck up once more, but to Mr. Field the music this time
sounded intolerably harsh and grating. The jingle of the tune set his
teeth on edge, and he felt he could endure it no longer. It was a
relief when the crowded hall was left behind, and he felt the cool air
again upon his brow.
It was nearly four o'clock now and the day was closing in. Heavy clouds
were massed over the sea, looking black and thundery, and the dust blew
in fitful eddies around.
"I think we're driving into a storm, sir," said the chauffeur.
The simple words jarred strangely on Mr. Field.
"Don't speak till you're spoken to," he snapped. "What you have got to
do is to attend to your business and not make remarks about the
weather."
At that moment the motor reached a steep part of the last hill,
necessitating dropping into a lower gear. The chauffeur, irritated by
the uncourteous taunt, plied pedal and lever with quite uncalled-for
vehemence. There was a harsh grinding sound and the car stopped with a
sudden jerk.
"It's no use, sir," he said, after a few moments tinkering at the
machinery. "The gears are jambed and she won't move an inch. I'm
afraid I'll have to get her towed home."
"Not here a fortnight, and you've broken the car already," exclaimed Mr.
Field, his fury rising to boiling-point as he realized that he should
have to yield to the inevitable and walk ignominiously back to
Farncourt. "I give you warning on the spot, and no character; so you
may leave when you choose."
Discarding his fur coat as too heavy, he turned his back on the damaged
vehicle and set out upon the way home.
"Driving into a storm!" he repeated to himself as he plodded along the
road. "I only hope not. If I was superstitious I should call it a
horribly bad omen. Curious how nervous I feel to-day! It surely must
be something in the air. But bad gales have been weathered before now,
and I think I'm pretty safe, considering all things. I confess it was a
nasty shock when Ben Green first turned up, but he evidently knows very
little, or he would have had me in a hole long ago. There is no one
else I need fear. I fancied Simmons had a queer look in his eye that
day I saw him at the Abbey, but he's powerless to do any real harm.
Even if he raked up unpleasant questions about the papers, not a soul
was witness of what led up to it all. That is a secret known to no one
in the wide world but myself. The past is too deeply buried by this time
for any spectres to rise from the grave now."
As he spoke, a peal of thunder reverberated forth, so unexpectedly that
it caused him to give an involuntary start.
"I shall take the short cut through the wood," he said, "and I must be
quick about it, for it's looking rather bad all round."
The sky was becoming more and more threatening every moment, and
darkness seemed to descend almost at once upon the land. Mr. Field
shivered as the air grew chill, and regretted the warm garment he had
left behind in the car.