TOADY LION PLAYS A FIRST LONE HAND.
Sir Toady Lion had played a lone hand.
We left him sitting behind the hedge, secure as the gods above the
turmoil of battle. But he could not be content to stay there. He
thought of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, his great namesake and hero; and
though he wanted to do nothing rash, he was resolved to justify the
ginger-beer label Victoria Cross which he wore so proudly on his
breast. So he waited till the forces of the town had swept those of
Windy Standard from the field. He saw on the edge of the wood Hugh
John, resisting manfully to the death, and striking out in all
directions. But Toady Lion knew that he had no clear call to such very
active exertions.
Cautiously he returned through his hole in the hedge, and crawling
round the opposite side of the Black Sheds, he entered the door which
Peter Greg had forced with his cudgel, before he had been interrupted
by the arrival of the enemy. Toady Lion ran through a slippery byre in
which calves had been standing, and came to an inner division with a
low door and a causewayed floor like a pig-pen. He opened this gate by
kicking up the hasp with the toe of his boot, and found himself at
once in the inmost sanctuary.
And there, right before him, with a calf's halter of rope about his
neck, all healthy and alive, was Donald, his own dear, black, pet lamb
Donald, who gave a little bleat of pure delight upon seeing him, and
pulled vigorously at the rope to get loose.
"Quiet now, Donald! Or they will come back. Stand still, 'oo horrid
little beast 'oo, till I get the rope off!"
And so, easing the noose gradually, Toady Lion slipped it over
Donald's head and he was free.
Then, very cautiously, his deliverer put his head round the door to
see that the coast was clear. Not a soul was to be seen anywhere on
the pastures; so Toady Lion slid out and made for the gap in the
hedge, sure that Donald would follow him. Donald did follow, but, as
luck would have it, no sooner was he through than Caesar, who had been
scraping for imaginary rabbits at the other side of the field, came
barking and rushing about over the grass like a runaway traction
engine.
Now Donald hated big dogs--they rugged and tugged his wool so; as soon
therefore as he saw Caesar he took down the lea towards the island as
hard as he could go. He thundered across the wooden bridge, breaking
through the fleeing forces of Windy Standard, which were scattered
athwart the castle island. He sprinted over the short turf by the
orchard, Caesar lying off thirty yards on his flank. At the shallows by
the stepping-stones Donald sheepfully took the water, and was not long
in swimming to the other side, the Edam being hardly deep enough
anywhere at this point to take him off his feet. In a minute more he
was delightedly nuzzling his wet nose into the hand of Janet
Sheepshanks, on the terrace of Windy Standard House.
"Wi beast, whaur hae ye come frae?--I declare I am _that_ glad to see
ye!"
But had she known the price which had been paid for Donald's liberty,
her rejoicing would quickly have given place to sorrow. It was
mid-afternoon on the day of battle and defeat when Toady Lion
straggled home, so wet and dirty that he could only be slapped, bathed
and sent to bed--which, in the absence of his father, was felt to be
an utterly inadequate punishment.
Prissy had long ago fled home with a terrible tale of battle, murder,
and sudden death. But she knew nothing of her brother Hugh John,
though she had nerved herself to go back to the Black Sheds, suffering
grinding agonies of fear and apprehension the while, as also of
reproach for deserting him in his hour of need. Mike and Peter were
quietly at work in the stable, in momentary dread of being called upon
to give evidence.
The Carters, Sammy and Cissy, had run straight home, and were at that
moment undoubtedly smelling of arnica and slimy with vaseline.
But there was no trace of the Commander-in-Chief anywhere.
General-Field-Marshal Napoleon Smith had vanished from the face of the
earth.
[Illustration: "OH, THE BONNY LADDIE!"]
Tea-time came and went. He had been known to be absent from tea.
Supper-time arrived and overpassed, and then the whole house grew
anxious. Ten o'clock came, and in the clear northern twilight all the
household were scattered over the countryside seeking for him.
Midnight, and no Hugh John! Where could he be? Drowned in the Edam
Water--killed by a chance blow in the great battle--or simply hiding
from fear of punishment and afraid to venture home? It must have been
some stranger entirely unacquainted with General Napoleon Smith who
advocated the last explanation. The inmates of Windy Standard
cherished no such foolish hopes.
The sun rose soon after two on as glorious a summer morning as ever
shone upon the hills of the Border. As his beams overshot Brown
Gattonside to the east they fell on Janet Sheepshanks. Her decent
white cap was green-moulded with the moss of the woods; the drip of
waterside caves had grimed it, the cobwebs of murky outhouses
festooned it. Her abundant grey hair hung down in untended witch
locks. She had not shut an eye nor lain down all night.
Now she leaned her head on her hands and sobbed aloud.
"Oh, the bonny laddie! Whatever will I say to his faither when he
comes hame? His auldest son and the aipple o' his e'e! My certie, if
the ill-set loon were to come up the road the noo, I wad thresh the
very skin aff his banes! To think that he should bide awa' like this.
Oh, the dear, dear lamb that he is; and will thae auld e'en never mair
rest on his bonnie face? Cauld, cauld noo it looks up frae the bottom
o' some pool in the Edam Water!"
And Janet Sheepshanks, like one of the mothers in Ramah, lifted up her
voice and wept with the weeping which will not be comforted; for
oft-times bairns' play brings that which is not bairns' play to those
who love them.