THE RETURN FROM THE BASTILE.
He stepped down easily and lightly among the sheep. They rose without
surprise or disorder, still with strict attention to business
continuing to munch at the grass they had plucked as they lay, for all
the world as if a famous adventure-seeking general had been only the
harmless but boresome shepherd who came to drive them out to pastures
new. For all the surprise they showed they might have been accustomed
from their fleeciest infancy to small, dirty, scratched, bruised,
infinitely tattered imps of imperial descent arriving suddenly out of
unexplored secret passages in ancient fortresses.
The great commander's first instinct was to rush for home and so make
sure that Cook Mary the Second had done enough kidneys for breakfast.
His second idea, and one more worthy of his military reputation, was
carefully to conceal the entrance to the doorway, by which he had
emerged from the passage he had so wonderfully discovered. No one knew
how soon the knowledge might prove useful to him. As a matter of
attack and defence the underground passage was certainly not to be
neglected.
Then Hugh John drove the sheep before him out of the fallen tower. As
he did so one of them coughed, stretching its neck and holding its
head near the ground. He now knew the origin of the sound which
had--no, not frightened him (of course not!), but slightly surprised
him the evening before.
And, lo! there, immediately in front of him as he emerged, was the
Edam Water, sliding and rippling on under its willows, the slim,
silvery-grey leaves showing their white under-sides just as usual.
There, across the river, were the cattle, standing already knee-deep
in the shallows, their tails nervy and switchy on the alert for the
morning's crop of flies. There was Mike going to drive them in to be
milked. Yonder in the far distance was a black speck which must be
Peter polishing straps and buckles hung on a pin by the stable door.
"Horrid beasts every one of them!" said Hugh John indignantly to
himself, "going on all as comfortable as you please, just as if I had
not been pining in a dungeon cell for years and years."
Then setting his cramped wet legs in motion, General Napoleon
commenced a masterly retreat in the direction of home. He dashed for
the stepping-stones, but he was in too much of a hurry to make sure of
hitting them. He slipped from the first and went above the knee into
the clear cool Edam Water. After that he simply floundered through,
and presently emerged dripping on the other side. Along the woodland
paths he scurried and scampered. He dashed across glades, scattering
the rabbits and kicking up the dew in the joy of recovered freedom. He
climbed a stone dyke into the home park, because he had no time to go
round by the stile. He brought half of the fence down in his haste,
scraping his knee as he did so. But so excited was he that he scarcely
felt the additional bruise.
He ran up the steps. The front door was standing wide open, with the
disreputable and tell-tale air of a reveller who has been out all
night in evening dress. All doors have this look which have not been
decently shut and locked during the dark hours. There was no one in
the hall--no one in the dining-room--no one in the schoolroom, where
the children's tea of the night before had never been cleared away.
Hugh John noticed that his own place had been set, and the clean cup
and plate and the burnished unused knife struck him as infinitely
pathetic.
But he was hungry, and had no time to waste on mere feelings. His
inner man was too insistent. He knew well where the pantry was (trust
him for that!), and he went towards it at the rate of twenty miles an
hour. He wished he had remembered to add a petition to his prayer that
it might be unlocked. But it was now too late for this, so he must
just trust in an unjogged Providence and take his chances.
The gods were favourable. They had evidently agreed that for one small
boy he had suffered enough for that day. The pantry was unlocked.
There was a lovely beefsteak pie standing on a shelf. Hugh John lifted
it off, set it on the candle box, ungratefully throwing Sambo Soulis
on the floor in order to make elbow room, and then with a knife and
fork he proceeded to demolish the pie. The knife and fork he first put
his hands on had obviously been used. But did General Napoleon stop to
go to the schoolroom for clean ones? No--several thousand times no!
Those who can, for a single moment, entertain such thoughts, are very
far from having yet made the acquaintance of General Smith. Why, he
did not even wait to say grace--though he usually repeated
half-a-dozen the first thing in the morning, so as to have the job
well over for the day. It is all right to say grace, but it is such a
fag to have to remember before every meal. So Hugh John went into the
wholesale business.
He was half through the pie before he looked about for something to
drink. Lemonade, if it could be found, would meet the case. Hugh John
felt this keenly, and, lo! the friendly Fates, with a smile, had
planted a whole case of it at his feet. He knocked in the patent
stopper with the handle of his knife (all things must yield to
military necessity), and, after the first draught, what more was
there left to live for--except a second bottle and the rest of the
pie?
He was just doing his best to live up to the nice cool jelly, which
melted in a kind of lingering chill of delight down his throat, when
Janet Sheepshanks appeared in the doorway. Wearily and disheartenedly,
she had come in to prepare for a breakfast which no one in all Windy
Standard would eat. Something curious about the feeling of the house
had struck her as she entered. She had gone from room to room, divided
between hope and apprehension, and, lo! there before her, in her own
ravished pantry, tuck-full of beefsteak pie and lemonade, sat the boy
for whom they were even then dragging the deepest pools of the Edam.
"Oh, thank the Lord, laddie!" cried Janet, clasping her hands in
devout thankfulness, "that He hath spared ye to your widowed
faither--and to me, your auld unworthy nurse!"
The tears were running down her cheeks. Somehow her face had quite
suddenly grown grey and worn. She looked years older than she had done
yesterday. Hugh John paused and looked at her marvelling. He had a
heavily laden fork half-way to his mouth. He wondered what all the
fuss was about.
"Do get me some mustard, Janet," he said, swinging his wet legs; "and
where on earth have you put the pickles?"
* * * * *
In the cross-examination which naturally followed, Hugh John kept his
own counsel, like the prudent warrior he was. He left Janet and the
others to suppose that, in trying to escape from his foes, he had
"fallen" into the castle dungeon, and none of the household servants
knew enough of the topography of the ancient stronghold to know that,
if he had done so, he would probably have broken his neck. He said
nothing about Nipper Donnan or any of the band by name. Simply and
truthfully he designated them as "some bad boys," which certainly was
in no way overstating the case.
Perhaps if his father had been at home he could not have hoodwinked
his questioners so easily and completely. Mr. Picton Smith would
certainly have gone deeper into the business than Janet Sheepshanks,
who alternately slapped and scolded, petted and spoilt our hero all
day long.
For some time Hugh John smelt of Araby the Blest and Spicy Ind; for he
had ointments and liniments, rags and plasters innumerable scattered
over his person in all directions.
He borrowed a cigarette (it was a very old and dry one) from the
mantelpiece of his father's workroom, and retired to the shelter of
the elm-tree to hold his court and take private evidence upon the
events of yesterday.
As he went across the yard Black Donald ran bleating to him, and
playfully butted at his leg.
Hugh John stopped in astonishment.
"Who found him?" he asked.
Sir Toady Lion proudly stepped forward. He had a garden rake in his
hand, with which the moment before he had been poking Donald in the
ribs, and making his life a burden to him generally.
[Illustration: "I CREATE YOU GENERAL OF THE COMM'SARIAT."]
He began to speak, but Hugh John stopped him.
"Salute, you little beast!" he said sternly.
Slowly Toady Lion's hand went up. He did not object to salute, but he
had a vague sense that, as a matter of personal dignity, not even a
general had a right to speak to a private thus--much less to a
commissariat sergeant. However, what he had to say was so triumphant
and overpowering that he waived the point and touched his forehead in
due form.
"_I_ did--nobody but me. I d'livered him, all by mineself. I cutted
the rope and d'livered Donald. Yes, I did--Prissy will tell 'oo. I
wented into the Black Sheds all alone-y--and d'livered him!"
His words came tumbling over each other in his haste. But he laid
strong emphasis upon the word "delivered," which he had just learned
from Prissy. He meant to use it very often all that day, because it
was a good word, and nobody knew the meaning of it except
Quite-Grown-Ups.
General Napoleon Smith put on his most field-marshalish expression,
and summoned Sir Toady Lion to approach.
He tapped him on the shoulder and said in a grand voice, "I create you
General of the Comm'sariat for distinguished conduct in the field.
From this time forth you can keep the key of the biscuit box, but I
know just how many are in. So mind out!"
This was good, and Toady Lion was duly grateful; but he wished his
good fortune put into a more concrete form.
"Can I have the biggest and nicerest saucer of the scrapings of the
preserving-pan to-night?"
Hugh John considered a moment. An impulse of generosity swept over
him.
"Yes, you can," he said nobly. Then a cross wave of caution caused him
to add--"that is, if it isn't rasps!"
Now the children of the house of Windy Standard were permitted to
clean out the boiling-pan in the fruit-preserving season with worn
horn spoons, in order not to scratch the copper or crack the enamel.
And rasp was Hugh John's favourite.
"Huh," said Toady Lion, turning up a contemptuous nose. "Thank 'oo for
nuffin! I like wasps just as much as 'oo, Hugh John Picton Smiff!"
"Don't answer me back, sir!"--Hugh John was using his father's words
and manner.
"Sall if I like," said Toady Lion, beginning to whimper. "Sall go and
tell Janet Sheepshanks, and she'll give me yots of wasps! Not
scrapin's neither, but weal-weal wasps--so there!"
"Toady Lion, I shall degrade you to the ranks. You are a little pig
and a disgrace to the army."
"Don't care, I wants wasps--and I d'livered Donald," reiterated the
Disgrace of the Army.
Hugh John once more felt the difficulty of arguing with Toady Lion. He
was altogether too young to be logical. So he said, "Toady Lion, you
little ass, stop snivelling--and I'll give you a bone button and the
half of a knife."
"Let's see them," said Toady Lion, cautiously uncovering one eye by
lifting up the edge of the covering palm. His commanding officer
produced the articles of peace, and Toady Lion examined them
carefully, still with one eye. They proved satisfactory.
"All yight!" said he, "I won't cry no more--but I wants three saucers
full of the wasps too!"