An Antagonist
He stood in the centre of a little crowd of village boys; his golden head
was bare in the blazing sun, but the crop of curls seemed thick enough to
protect him from its rays, and he was far too engrossed in his occupation
to heed any discomfort from the heat.
A slim delicate little lad, with a finely cut face, and blue eyes that by
turns would sparkle with animation, and then settle into a dreamy
wistfulness, with a deep far-away look in them. They were dancing and
flashing with excitement now, and his whole frame was quivering with
enthusiasm; with head thrown back, and tongue, hand, and foot all in
motion, he seemed to have his audience completely spell-bound, and they
listened with open eyes and mouths to his oration.
With one hand he was fingering a large brass button, which figured
conspicuously in the centre of his small waistcoat, and this button was
the subject of his theme.
'My father he rushed forward--"Come on, men; we'll save the old colours!"
And they shouted "Hurrah!" as they made after him. There were guns going,
and shells flying, and swords flashing and hacking away, and the enemy
poured on with fiery red faces and gnashing teeth! My father drew his
sword--and no one could stand against him, no one! He cut and he slashed,
and heads and arms and legs rolled off as quick as lightning, one after
the other. He got up to the colours, and with a shout he plunged his
sword right through the enemy's body that had stolen them! The enemy fell
stone dead. My father seized the colours and looked round. He was alone!
The other soldiers had been beaten back. But was he in a funk? No; he
gave a loud "Hurrah!" picked up his sword, and fought his way back, the
enemy hard after him. It was a race for life, and he ran backwards the
whole way; he wasn't going to turn his back to the enemy. He pressed on,
shouting "Hurrah!" till he got to his own side again, and then he reached
his colonel.
'"Captain dead, sir I've got the colours!" He saluted as he said it, and
then dropped dead himself at the colonel's feet, the blood gushing out
of his heart, and over his clothes, and over this button!'
The little orator paused as he sank his voice to a tragic whisper,
then raising it again, he added triumphantly, 'And thirty bullets and
six swords had gone through my father's body! That was something like
a soldier!'
'Oh, I say!' murmured a small sceptic from the crowd, 'it was twenty
bullets last time; make it fifty, Teddy!'
'And that's the story of my button,' pursued the boy, ignoring with scorn
this last remark.
'And did your father have only one button to his coat?'
The voice was a strange one, and the boys turned round to meet the
curious gaze of a sturdy little damsel, who had, unnoticed, joined the
group. She was not dressed as an ordinary village child, but in a little
rough serge sailor suit, with a large hat to match, set well back on a
quantity of loose dark hair. A rosy-cheeked square-set little figure she
was, and her brown eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked straight
at Teddy with something of defiance and scorn in their glance.
Though at first a little taken aback, Teddy rose to the occasion.
'One button!' he said with emphasis; 'the coat was sent to mother with
only one button left on; and if you--' here he turned upon his questioner
with a little fierceness--'if you had been through such a bloody battle,
and killed so many men, you would have burst and lost _all_ your buttons,
and not had one left, like father!'
There was a round of applause at this, but the small maiden remained
undaunted.
'Is that a true story you told?' she demanded, with severity in her tone.
'Of course it's true,' was the indignant shout of all.
'Then I tell you, boy, I don't believe a word of it!' And with set
determined lips she turned on her heel and walked away, having sown seeds
of anger and resentment in more than one boyish breast.
'Who is she?' asked Teddy as, tired and exhausted by his recital, he
threw himself on the grass to rest. One of the bigger boys answered him.
'I seed her come yesterday in a cab from the town to old Sol at the
turnpike--she and her mother, I reckon. They had two carpet bags and a
box and a poll parrot in a cage. I counted them myself, for I was havin'
a ride behind, and the woman she called Sol "Father," so the little 'un
must be his grandarter!'
'P'raps they've come from 'Mericky,' suggested a small urchin,
capering round on his hands and feet. 'Polls allays comes over the
sea, you know.'
[Illustration: TEDDY TELLS THE STORY OF HIS FATHER'S HEROIC DEATH.]
'She didn't believe me,' murmured Teddy, chewing a wisp of grass
meditatively.
'Gals is no good, never! If she'd been a boy you would 'a fought her, but
I shouldn't care for naught like her, Ted.'
Teddy turned his face upwards to the speaker. 'No, I couldn't have fought
her, Sam, if she'd been a boy. I've promised my mother I won't fight
again till she gives me leave. You see, I fought four boys in one week
last time, and she says she won't have it. I don't see if it is right for
soldiers to fight, why it isn't right for boys!'
'I don't think there's any fellers left for you to fight with, so you're
pretty safe. Besides, it was only Tom Larken, who set them on to try and
get your button from you, and he's gone off to another part of the
country now.'
'I think, p'raps,' went on Teddy slowly, as he turned over on his back
and looked up at the clear blue sky above him, 'that I wasn't quite
true about the bullets. I think it was six bullets and three sword
cuts. I forget when I tell it how many it was; but she said she didn't
believe a word!'
Five o'clock struck by the old church clock close by. Teddy was upon
his feet in an instant, and with a wild whoop and shout he was
scudding across the green, his curls flying in the wind, and his
little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground. There was none in
the village so quick-footed as Teddy, and for daring feats and
downright pluck he held the foremost place. Perhaps this accounted for
his popularity, perhaps it was his marvellous aptitude for telling
stories, many of them wild productions from his fertile brain, but
certain it was that he was the pet and the darling of the village, and
none as yet had resisted his sway.
Over the green, up a shady lane, across two fields, and then, breathless
and panting, Teddy paused before an old-fashioned farmhouse. He passed
his hands lightly through his curls, pulled himself up with a jerk, and
then quietly and sedately opened a latched door and entered the long
low-roofed kitchen.
There was something very restful in the scene. A square substantial table
covered with a white cloth, in the centre a large bowl of roses and
honeysuckle: home-made bread and golden butter, a glass dish of honey in
its comb, a plate of fresh watercress, and a currant loaf completed the
simple fare. Presiding at the tea-tray was a stern, forbidding-looking
woman of sixty or more, opposite her was seated her son, the master of
the farm, a heavy-faced, sleepy-looking man; and at his side, facing the
door, sat Teddy's mother. A sweet gentle-faced young woman she was, with
the same deep blue eyes as her little son; she bore no resemblance to
the elder woman, and looked, as she indeed was, superior to her
surroundings. Two years ago she had come with her child to make her home
amongst her husband's people, and though at first her mother-in-law, Mrs.
Platt, was inclined to look upon her contemptuously as a poor, delicate,
useless creature, time proved to her that for steady, quiet work no one
could eclipse her daughter-in-law. Young Mrs. John, as she was called,
was now her right hand, and the dairy work of the farm was made over
entirely to her.
'Late again, you young scamp!' was the stern greeting of his grandmother,
as Teddy appeared on the scene.
The boy looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, put his little hand to
his forehead, and gave her a military salute.
'Sorry,' was all he said as he slipped into the chair that was
waiting for him.
'What have you been doing, sonny?' asked the young mother, whose eyes had
brightened at the sight of him.
'Telling father's story,' replied Teddy with alacrity.
A shadow came over his mother's face, her lips took a distressed curve,
but she said nothing, only occupied herself with attending to the child's
wants. 'Your father was never late for his meals,' the grandmother put
in with asperity.
'Never, granny? Not when he was a boy? I shall be always in time when I'm
a soldier.'
'Better begin now, then; bad habits, like weeds, grow apace!'
Teddy had no answer for this; his mouth was full of bread and butter, and
he did not speak till the meal was over. Then, whilst tea was being taken
away by the women, he turned to his uncle, who, pulling out a pipe from
his pocket, sat down by the open door to smoke.
'Uncle Jake!'
A grunt was the only response; but that was sufficient. The two perfectly
understood each other, and a minute after Teddy was perched on his knee.
'I'm wondering if I can't get an enemy!' the boy proceeded, folding his
small arms and looking up at his uncle steadily; 'all good people had
enemies in the Bible, and I haven't one, I should like to have a good
right down enemy!'
'To fight?' asked his uncle.
'To carry on with, you know; he would lay traps for me, and I would for
him, like David and Saul; we should have a fine time of it. And then
perhaps, if he did something dreadfully wrong, mother would give me leave
to fight him, just once in a way. Don't you think that would be nice?'
'Fightin' ain't the only grand thing in this world; peace is grander,'
was the slow response to this appeal.
'That's what mother says. She made me learn this morning--"Blessed are
the peacemakers!" but you must have an enemy to make peace with, and I
haven't got one.'
There was silence; the uncle puffed away at his pipe; he was a good man,
and had more brains than his appearance warranted, but Teddy's speeches
were often a sore puzzle to him. The boy continued in a slow, thoughtful
tone, 'I saw some one to-day that I feel might be an enemy, but she's a
girl; men don't fight with women.'
'I'd rather tackle a man than a woman any day. They be a powerful enemy
sometimes, lad! And what have this young maid done to you?'
'She said,'--and Teddy's eyes grew bright whilst the blood rushed into
his cheeks--'she said she didn't believe a word of father's story--not a
word of it! And she laughed, and walked away.'
'That was coming it strong; and who is she, to talk so?'
'She's a stranger; Sam said she's come to live with old Sol at the
turnpike.'
'That must be Grace's child,' said old Mrs. Platt, coming up and joining
in the conversation. 'I heard she was coming to stay with her father this
summer, and glad I am of it too--the old man is very lonely. I suppose
her husband is at sea again.'
'What is her husband?' inquired Teddy's mother, as with work in hand she
came out and took a seat in the old-fashioned porch.
'A sailor. Grace was always a roving nature herself. She never would
settle down quiet and take a husband from these parts. She was maid to
our squire's lady then, and went to foreign parts with her; but folks say
she's steadied down now wonderful. They've been living at Portsmouth, she
and her little girl.'