THE BOYS.
It was growing very exciting. The life of the little house, which had
hitherto run so quietly in its grooves, now seemed all at once changed
and expanded. There was an air of bustle pervading the upper regions.
Genefer, and a stout young maid lately engaged as joint-helper to her
and the cook, were busy for two whole days in turning out a great attic
which formed the top story of the little house, making room in other
holes and corners for the boxes and odds and ends which had been stored
there, and furbishing up this place as a bedroom for the boys, who were
expected in a week's time.
Esther was immensely interested. She had always thought the big attic a
very charming place, only when it was dusty and dark there had not been
much to attract her there.
Now the dormer windows stood open to sun and air, and commanded wide
views in many directions over the valley in which St. Maur stood. Two
little white beds and the needful furniture did not take up a great deal
of space, and there would be ample room for the boys to frisk about,
collect treasures, and range them on the various shelves and ledges,
without inconveniencing anybody, or bringing disorder into the rest of
the house.
Moreover there was an access to the attic from the back staircase, so
that nothing dirty or disagreeable need be brought into the mistress's
part of the house at all.
Genefer regarded this arrangement as a great boon, though Esther
sometimes wondered why. The answer she got to her questions was
generally the same, though it did not greatly enlighten her.
"Boys will be boys, all the world over, Miss Esther," Genefer would say
with a shake of the head; and when she repeated this aphorism to her
mother, Mrs. St. Aiden would sometimes sigh and say rather
plaintively,--
"Oh, I hope we shall not find we have made a great mistake!" and that
used to set Esther wondering still more.
For her own part, she looked forward to the advent of these cousins with
a great amount of interest. She had told the little Polperrans all about
it, and they were greatly excited too.
"I am glad they are younger than you," said Prissy, as they walked home
from church together. When Esther's mother was not able to get to
church, Esther sat in the rectory pew, and her little friends generally
walked with her as far as her own gate, which was about a quarter of a
mile farther off than the rectory. "You will be able to keep them in
order. Boys want that. They get obstreperous if they are left alone.
Bertie is sometimes a little bit like that, but I never let him get the
upper hand. It would never do."
Prissy was twelve years old, and had helped her mother at home and in
the parish for quite a long time now. She was more grown-up in her ways
than Esther, though not perhaps so thoughtful. She used to tell Esther
that when she was old enough she meant to marry a clergyman and have a
parish of her own; and Esther would listen with a sense of great respect
and admiration, for she certainly felt that she should be very sorry to
have a parish to care for. It was quite enough to have to help her
mother to manage one little house.
"I hope they will be good boys," she said rather timidly; "I should
think they are. They have had a grandmother and a governess as well as
their father."
"I think grandmothers often spoil boys," Prissy answered, with her
customary air of decision. "Ours does; I don't much like when she comes.
She is often quite rude to me, and doesn't listen to what I say; but she
pets Bertie, and gives him things, and lets him talk to her as much as
he likes. I call that showing favoritism; I don't approve of it at all.
In the parish mother never lets that sort of thing be."
"Who was that funny man in spectacles sitting in Mr. Trelawny's pew?"
asked Milly, who was walking in front with Bertie, but who suddenly
turned back to ask the question.
Esther had not even noticed him. She never looked towards Mr. Trelawny
if she could help it. Often his great, deep-set eyes would be fixed upon
her face, and that made her blush and tremble, and so she never glanced
his way willingly. She had not even seen that there had been a stranger
with him.
"I don't know," answered Prissy, as Esther evidently had no information
to give; "I've never seen him before. I suppose he's a friend of Mr.
Trelawny's, but he doesn't often have a visitor at the Crag. He's a
queer man, mother says; though father always likes him."
"The other man looked like an owl; his spectacles were quite round,"
remarked Herbert; "most people's are oval. When the sun got on them they
looked as if they were made of fire--like a big cat's eyes shining in
the dark."
"Oh, don't," cried Esther quickly.
"Don't what?" asked Herbert, staring.
Esther colored and looked half ashamed.
"I don't know quite. I felt afraid. I always do feel a little afraid of
Mr. Trelawny. I wonder who the other gentleman is."
Esther was soon to know.
She had spent her Sunday afternoon curled up in the garden with a book,
and she had not even heard the bell when it rang. She had no idea there
were visitors with her mother, and when she came in at half-past four to
pour out her afternoon tea, which on Sunday they shared together, she
gave a great jump and dropped her book, for there was Mr. Trelawny
sitting beside her mother, and a strange gentleman standing looking out
of the window, and he had on round spectacles, just such as Herbert had
described.
He stepped forward and picked up Esther's book, and gave it into her
hands with a smile; and as she stepped timidly forward to shake hands
with Mr. Trelawny, she heard him say,--
"This is one of your future pupils, Earle."
So this was the tutor. It had never occurred to Esther that he would
come so soon, or that he would be a friend of Mr. Trelawny's. Somehow
the whole thing frightened her a good deal. She was shaking all over as
she gave her hand to Mr. Earle; and he seemed to notice it, for he
laughed and said,--
"So you seem to think that tutor spells ogre, little Miss Esther. We
shall have to see if we can't get over that impression somehow."
Then Mr. Trelawny's great laugh rang out through the room, and he
exclaimed in his big voice,--
"Oh, you won't have much trouble with her ladyship here. She will only
want the birch-rod occasionally. She's a mighty hand at books, as it
is--quite a budding blue-stocking, if that isn't a mixed metaphor. It's
the boys you'll want that cane of mine for.--Eh, Esther? A pair of young
pickles, I take it, that will take a deal of breaking-in. You tell them
when they come that I've a fine array of sticks and canes from all parts
of the world for Mr. Earle to take his choice of. He'll thrash some
discipline into them, never you fear. You shan't have all the
breaking-in to do. He's a fine hand at swishing, you'll see."
Then the other gentleman said something in a language Esther did not
understand, at which Mr. Trelawny broke out into one of his rolling
laughs, and Esther got away behind the tea-table, and began pouring out
the tea with very shaking hands; and though Mr. Earle came and took the
cups, and talked to her quite kindly, her heart was all in a flutter,
for she thought he was like the cruel old witch in the fairy-tale, who
was so kind to the little boys and girls till she had got them into her
house and into the cage, and then began to beat and starve them.
The thought of the array of sticks and canes up at the Crag, of which
the tutor was to have the choice, seemed to swim before her eyes all the
while.
"It is a pity you are always so shy and awkward with Mr. Trelawny,
Esther," said her mother a little plaintively when the gentlemen had
gone. "He is really very kind, and would make a great pet of you if you
would let him; but you're always so cold and distant, and seem
frightened out of your wits. It's really very silly of you. And you
never will call him uncle, though he has asked you more times than I can
count."
"I can never remember," answered Esther in a very small voice. "It
always goes out of my head. Besides, he isn't my uncle."
"No, not exactly; but he's a kind of cousin, and you might just as well
do as he asks. It vexes me when your manners are so bad just when he
comes. I thought you were going to cry or to faint just now. It is so
silly to be frightened when gentlemen have a little bit of fun. It
doesn't mean anything."
There were tears in Esther's eyes, but she held them bravely back.
"I can't help being frightened at Mr. Trelawny, mama. I know he is kind
but he does frighten me. Is Mr. Earle a friend of his? And is he really
our tutor?"
"He will be soon. But the boys are to have a week to settle down first
before beginning lessons. Yes, Mr. Earle is the son of an old friend of
Mr. Trelawny's; and he is very clever, and a great lover of the same
things that interest Mr. Trelawny so much. So, for a time, at least, he
will live up at the Crag, and come down every day for your lessons. The
rest of the time he and Mr. Trelawny can spend together in their
laboratory, or whatever they call it. There are a lot of experiments
they want to make together."
Esther tried hard to subdue the tremor which took hold of her at this
thought, but it really was rather terrible to think that their tutor
would be another of those mysterious magicians, such as she had read
about in romances, who lived all day, when they could manage it, shut up
with crucibles and other strange things, trying all sorts of
experiments, and seeking after the elixir of life, or other mysterious
compounds, that would change everything into gold, or give them power
such as no men possessed before.
But it was no use trying to seek sympathy from her mother, or even from
Genefer. They could not understand her fear of Mr. Trelawny. They did
not believe that he had subterranean places where he lived when he was
alone, or that he could see through the earth, and come up just where he
chose, and know everything that was going on overhead.
Grown-up people never seemed to understand these things. Even Prissy
would say, "Oh, nonsense!" when Esther tried to explain the source of
her fears. But Millie and Bertie would listen open-mouthed; and when the
children met the next day, Prissy being with her mother, the little boy
broke out at once with a piece of startling intelligence.
"He's Mr. Earle, and he's going to be your tutor; and he's very clever,
and he's found out a great many things, and he's going to find out a lot
more with Mr. Trelawny. I heard father say they were going to have an
electric eye, that could see through walls and things. I expect he's got
electric eyes in his head now, and that's why he wears those funny
spectacles. I suppose he's going to make a pair for Mr. Trelawny, and
then he'll be able to see everything too. It won't be any use trying to
run away from them then. Why, they'll see you right through the
hillside."
Esther began to quake all over.
"O Bertie, they couldn't!"
"But they can!" he argued stoutly. "I heard father trying to explain to
mother. He said they had things that went right through the hill, and
could ring bells or something on the other side. But you can't see it. I
suppose it's a sort of familiar spirit that does it, but the electric
eye has got something to do with it. It's going to be very queer up
there, I think. Perhaps they'll want children's blood for some of their
experiments, like the old wizard of the mountains. I'll lend the book to
you again, if you like. It tells you lots of things about him."
"No, please, don't," said Esther, who already remembered more than she
desired of the blood-curdling story; "besides, I thought your mother had
taken the book away."
"Yes, but we found it again when the house was cleaned, and it's in our
cupboard now. I like it awfully."
"I don't," replied Esther, whose imagination was considerably more vivid
than that of the stolid and horror-loving Herbert. "I don't want to read
it any more. Mr. Trelawny's quite bad enough alone."
"Only he's not alone any more," said Milly; "he's got your tutor with
him."
Esther went home in a very subdued frame of mind. She had so looked
forward to regular lessons with a tutor, who could really explain things
to her, and teach her the things she longed to know; and it was hard
that he should turn out to be a strange and mysterious being, second
only in terrors to Mr. Trelawny himself. That's what came of trusting
him with the task of choosing the tutor. Oh dear! it seemed as though
life were going to be rather a hard thing for Esther in the future.
However, there really was not much time to think about it all, for the
boys were coming. They would be here very soon, and the preparations for
their arrival filled up every bit of spare time, and occupied the whole
household.
Then came the afternoon upon which they were to arrive. They were to
leave London very early in the morning, their father putting them in
charge of the guard of the train, who was to see them safely to their
journey's end; and Mr. Trelawny had volunteered to drive as far as the
junction, twelve miles away, and save them the little slow piece upon
the local line.
The boys' father had hoped to have time to bring them down himself, but
at the last it had proved impossible. However, they were to be
dispatched under official escort, and were bound to turn up safe and
sound.
It was with a very fluttering heart that Esther stood at the gate
looking down the stretch of white road which led up to the house. She
pitied the little boys being met by the terrible Mr. Trelawny, and
pictured them crouched up in the carriage like a pair of frightened mice
watched over and guarded by a monster cat. Her mother had suggested that
she should go to meet them also, but Esther's courage had not been equal
to the ordeal of the long drive with Mr. Trelawny. So there she was
waiting at the gate, her heart in her mouth each time the roll of wheels
was heard upon the road, running indoors now and then, just to see that
everything was in readiness for the travelers' tea, when the little
fellows should have arrived, but never long away from her post beside
the gate.
At last she heard the unmistakable sound of the beat of a pair of
horses' feet upon the hard road. That must be the carriage. The color
came and went in her cheeks. She called out to Genefer that they were
really coming at last, and then stood with the gate wide open behind
her, whilst the odd-job man stood a little in the rear, ready to help
with the luggage.
Round the bend in the road dashed the carriage. Esther heard a clamor of
voices before it had stopped. There were two heads poked far out of the
window, and two shrill voices were exchanging a perfect hurricane of
comment and question. She saw that each boy was being held from behind
by a hand upon his collar; then the carriage stopped, and the voices
became audible.
"Let go, Old Bobby!" cried one voice. "Here we are!"
"The carriage can't get through the gate," shrieked the other. "Oh,
drive on, drive on, coachman, and let us stick fast. It would be such
fun!"
"There, get out with you, you young pickles!" spoke Mr. Trelawny's deep
bass from within the carriage. "I'm thankful to deliver you up with
sound skins and whole bones. Don't you see your cousin Esther waiting to
speak to you? Take off your caps, and behave like little gentlemen, if
you know how to."
The boys were out in a trice, but they had not even a look for Esther.
Both had darted round to the horses, and stood under their noses,
reaching up to stroke them, perfectly fearless, and asking the coachman
a hundred questions about them.
Mr. Trelawny came behind and took them each by the collar once more.
"Didn't you hear me tell you to go and speak to your cousin?"
"Oh, she's only a girl, and she'll always be there. I like horses best,"
remarked one youngster in a perfectly audible voice; and sensitive
little Esther bit her lip, though she felt no anger in her heart. After
all, she was only a girl.
"I don't want to stay in this poky little house. I'll go on with you,
and live in your house instead."
The next moment, to Esther's unspeakable astonishment and dismay, both
the boys had scrambled back into the carriage, and were clinging tightly
to the seats, shrieking out to the coachman,--
"Drive on! drive on! This isn't the house! We're going to live with the
bobby man!"
Esther stood perfectly aghast, unable either to speak or move. She did
not know which impressed her most--the extraordinary behavior of her
cousins, or their perfect fearlessness towards Mr. Trelawny, whom they
treated without a particle of respect.
His face was rather grim, though there was a humorous gleam in his eyes
as he put out his long, strong arms, and hauled the obstreperous boys
out of the carriage, amid much squealing, and kicking, and roars of
laughter.
It was all play, but a sort of play that Esther did not understand in
the least. With a boy held fast in each hand, Mr. Trelawny turned to the
grave-faced little girl and said,--
"I had meant to present these two young gentlemen to your mother myself,
but I think the only thing I can do is to get away as fast as I can.
Perhaps they will come to their senses then;" and so saying, he made a
sudden dive into the carriage, which had now been relieved of the
luggage with which it had been piled.
The boys were after him like a shot, and Esther was in terror lest they
should be run over before the carriage got safely away; but at last this
was achieved, after much shouting and bawling and scrimmaging; and
though both boys set off in pursuit like a pair of street Arabs, the
horses soon left them behind, and they returned panting and breathless
to the little gate.
[Illustration: "How d'ye do? Hadn't time to speak to you before."--Page
43.
_Esther's Charge._]
"He's a jolly old buffer," said one of the boys; "I'd like to have gone
with him."
"I shall go and see him every day," remarked the other. "He said he
lived close by."
Then they reached the gate once more, and held out their rather smutty
paws to Esther.
"How d'ye do? Hadn't time to speak to you before. Are we all going to
live in this funny little box of a place?"
"It's our house," answered Esther shyly, much more afraid of the boys
than they of her; indeed they did not seem to know what fear or shyness
was. "I think you'll find there's plenty of room inside; and we have a
very nice little garden."
"Call this a garden!" said the boy, with a look round; "I call it a
pocket-handkerchief!"
Then they both laughed, and Esther laughed too, for there was something
infectious about their high spirits, though they did talk in a fashion
she had never heard before.
"Come and see mama first," she said, "and then I'll take you up-stairs
to wash your hands, and then we'll have tea together. I daresay you are
hungry."
They followed her into the little drawing-room where Mrs. St. Aiden lay.
On her face there was a look of some perplexity, for she had heard a
great deal of shouting and laughing, and was in some anxiety to know
what it could mean.
Now she was looking upon a couple of little boys, in plain dark-blue
knickerbocker suits, both having round faces and curly hair, though that
of the elder boy was dark brown, and his eyes were a bright hazel;
whilst the younger was blue-eyed, his hair the color of burnished gold,
and his face, when at rest, wore a sort of cherubic expression that went
to his aunt's heart.
"My dears, I am very glad to see you," she said. "Come and kiss me, and
tell me which is Philip and which is Percy."
The boys looked at each other, and a gleam came into their eyes.
"We'll kiss you to-day," said the elder one, advancing, and speaking
with the air of one making a great concession, "because we've just
come, and Crump said we were to. But we're not going to kiss every day.
That's like women and girls. Boys don't kiss like that. So you won't
expect it, you know."
Then the pair advanced simultaneously; each gave and received a kiss,
and stood back again, the younger one wiping the salute from his face
with the cuff of his jacket.
"I hope you're not a kissing girl," he said in a low voice to Esther,
who stood behind lost in amaze, "because I shan't let you kiss me."
"And which is Philip and which is Percy?" asked Mrs. St. Aiden again,
more disposed to be afraid of the boys than they of her.
"Oh, we don't call ourselves by these affected names--nobody does," said
the elder of the pair in lofty tones. "I suppose I'm Philip, but really
I hardly know. They all call me Pickle, and him Puck. You'll have to do
the same."
"I am not very fond of nicknames," said Mrs. St. Aiden, not quite
pleased. "I shall call you by your right names whilst you are in my
house."
"Call away; we shan't answer!" cried Pickle, with one of the ringing
laughs which took off just a little from the bluntness of his
speech.--"Come along, Puck, we've done it all now.--Oh, one thing more.
Crump sent his love to you, and was sorry he couldn't come down and see
you. I think that's all."
"But I don't understand. Who is Crump?" asked Mrs. St. Aiden rather
breathlessly.
"Oh, only father," answered Puck, as he sidled out at the door; and then
making a dash across into the dining-room, he set up a great whoop of
delight, for there was a splendid tea set out--chicken, and ham, and
tarts, and Devonshire cream, and several kinds of cake and jam; and the
boys had scrambled on to their chairs in a twinkling, and were calling
out to somebody to make haste and give them their tea, as they were just
starving.
"But you haven't washed your hands," said Esther aghast.
They contemplated their grubby little paws with great equanimity.
"Mine aren't dirty to speak of," said Pickle.
"Mine are quite clean," asserted Puck, with an angelic smile.
"We're not like cats and girls, who are always washing," added Pickle.
"Do give us our tea. We're so hungry and thirsty!"
"But you haven't said grace!" said Esther, whereupon the boys began to
laugh.
"Grown-up people don't say grace now. It's not the fashion. But fire
away if you want to. Crump used to make us try, but we always burst out
laughing in the middle, so we gave it up."
Esther said grace gravely, and the boys did not laugh that time. Then
she helped them to what they wanted, regarding them rather in the light
of wild animals, upon whose next acts there was no depending. And yet it
was rather interesting, and she wanted to know more about them and their
odd ways.
"Why do you call your father Crump?" she asked tentatively.
"Well, we have to call him something," said Pickle, with his mouth full,
and they both began to giggle.
"It's my name," said Puck, after a short pause. "I thought of it in bed
one night. We laughed for nearly an hour afterwards. We've called him
it ever since."
"Does he like it?"
They stared at her round-eyed and amazed.
"I don't know. We never asked him. We've always got some name for him.
You've got to call people something."
"Why don't you call him father?" asked Esther mildly; but at that
question they both went off into fits of laughter, and she felt herself
getting red without knowing why.
"What's your name?" asked Puck, when he had recovered himself; but his
brother cut in by saying,--
"You know it's Esther--Old Bobby told us that."
"So he did; and he said you were frightened at him, and that we should
have to teach you better. Fancy being frightened at an old buffer like
that--a jolly one too!"
Esther sat in silent amaze. She knew they were talking of Mr. Trelawny,
but she was dumfounded at their audacity, and it was rather
disconcerting to hear that he was aware of her feelings towards him.
She hoped that he took her silence for a grown-up reserve.
"You mustn't call Mr. Trelawny names," she said. "He's quite an old
gentleman, and you must treat him with respect."
"I said he was a nice old buffer," said Puck, as though after that
nothing more could be expected of him.
"But you call him 'Old Bobby,' and I can't think how you dare. It isn't
at all respectful. I wonder he lets you."
"Well, he shouldn't play the bobby on us then," answered Pickle. "He
said he'd come to carry us off, and he marched us out of the station
like a pair of prisoners. We had to call him bobby after that. I want to
go and see his house. Can we go up after tea?"
Esther shook her head. She was not prepared for such a move.
"You'd better wait for another time for that," she said. "I'll show you
our house when you're done with tea."
"All right; but there isn't much to show, I should think. It's the
funniest little box I was ever in. But perhaps we'll get some fun out
of it, all the same. Crump said the sea was quite near. That'll be jolly
fun. I like the sea awfully."
"I don't go there very often," said Esther. "Mama does not care about
it. The coast is rather dangerous, you know."
But both boys began to laugh, as they seemed to do at whatever she said;
and Esther let them finish their tea in silence, and then took them the
round of the small premises.
They liked their attic, which was a comfort; and they liked the stable
and little coach-house, and the bit of paddock and orchard beyond; and
they looked with great approval at the pine wood stretching upwards
towards the craggy heights between them and the sea, where Esther told
them Mr. Trelawny's house stood. It could not be seen from there, but
she showed them the path which led up to it and they cried, "Jolly,
jolly, jolly!" and hopped about from one foot to another, and Esther
wondered if it would be possible for them to go to that strange old
house upon the summit of the crag, and not feel afraid of it.
It was a comfort to Esther that they were not unkind to her cat. They
were rather disgusted that there was no dog belonging to the house; but
they seemed kind-hearted boys, and left the cat in peace by the kitchen
fire.
They had been up so early that morning that they were sleepy before
their usual bed-time; and Esther was rather relieved when, at last, they
were safely shut into their room for the night, having indignantly
declined the offices of Genefer as nursery-maid, saying that they could
do everything for themselves and each other.
Esther showed them up to their room herself, half fascinated, half
repelled by their odd words and ways. Their parting good night, shouted
through the door to her, was characteristic in the extreme.
"We're going to call you Tousle," one of them bawled through the
key-hole; "you've got such a mop of hair hanging down, you know."