POOR SNIP.
The middle weeks of August were come--sunny, sultry weeks; and from the
brow of the hill, all the vast plain lying westward for many miles looked
golden with the corn ripening for harvest. The oats in the little field
had already been reaped; and the fruit in the garden, gathered and sold
by Martha, had brought in a few shillings, which were carefully hoarded
up to buy winter clothing. It was now the time of the yearly gathering of
bilberries on the hills; and tribes of women and children ascended to the
tableland from all the villages round. It was the pleasantest work of the
year; and Martha, who had never missed the bilberry season since she
could remember, was not likely to miss it now. Even little Nan could help
to pick the berries, and she and Martha were out on the hillsides all the
livelong summer day. Their dwelling on the spot gave them a good
advantage over those who lived down in Botfield; and each day, before any
of the others could reach the best bilberry-wires, they had already
picked a quart of the small purple berries, fresh and cool with the dew
of the morning. Only the poor old grandfather had to be left at home
alone, with his dinner put ready for him, which he was apt to eat up long
before the proper dinner-hour came; and then he had to wait until Stephen
returned from his work, or Martha and little Nan were driven home by the
August thunderstorms. Martha was wonderfully successful this year, and
gained more money by selling her bilberries than she thought necessary to
show to Stephen; though, on his part, he always brought her every penny
of his wages.
Ever since their father's funeral there had been a subject of dispute
between the brother and sister. Martha was bent upon enclosing the green
dell, with its clear, cool little pond; and to this end she spent all the
time she could spare in raising a rough fence of stones and peat round
it. But Stephen would not consent to it; and neither argument, scolding,
nor coaxing could turn him. He always answered that he had promised the
master that he would not trespass on the manor; and he must stand to his
word, whatever they might lose by it; though, indeed, he saw no harm in
making green fields out of the waste land. Martha, on her side,
maintained her right as the eldest to act as she judged best; and,
moreover, urged the example of her thrifty grandmother, who had planned
this very enclosure, and whose pattern she was determined to follow. But
before long the dispute was ended, and the subject of it became a matter
of heart-troubling wonder, for several labourers from the master's farm
began to fence in the very same ground, as well as to prepare the turf
behind Fern's Hollow for the planting of young trees; and neither Stephen
nor Martha could hide from the other that these labours made them feel
exceedingly uneasy.
'I say, Stephen,' said one of the hedgers, as he was going down from his
work one evening, and met the tired boy coming up from his, 'I'm afeared
there's some mischief brewing. There's master, and Mr. Thomas, and Mr.
Jones the gamekeeper, been talking with thy grandfather nigh upon an
hour. There'll be a upshot some day, I know; and Jones, he said summat
about leaving a keepsake for thee.'
'What could it be, William?' asked Stephen anxiously.
'How should I know?' said the man, with some reluctance. 'Only, lad,
I did hear a gun go off; and I never heard Snip bark again, though I
listened for him. Stephen, Stephen, dunna thee go so mad like!'
But it was no use shouting after Stephen, as he ran frantically up the
hill. Snip was always basking lazily in the sunshine under the hedge of
the paddock, at the very point where he could catch the first sight of
his young master, after which there was no more idleness or stillness in
him. Stephen could hardly breathe when he found that Snip was not at the
usual place to greet him; but before he reached his home he saw it--the
dead body of his own poor Snip--hung on the post of the wicket through
which he had to pass. He flew to the place; he tore his own hands with
the nails that were driven through Snip's feet; and then, without a
thought of his grandfather or of his own hunger, he bore away the dead
dog in his arms, and wandered far out of sight or sound of the hateful,
cruel world, into one of the most solitary plains upon the uplands.
Any one passing by might have thought that Stephen was fast asleep in the
last slanting rays of the sun, which shone upon him there some time after
the evening shadows had fallen upon Botfield; but a frenzy of passion,
too strong for any words, had felled him to the ground, where he lay
beside Snip. The gamekeeper, who had so many dogs that he did not care
for any one of them in particular, had killed this one creature that was
dearer to him than anything in the world, except little Nan, and
grandfather, and Martha. And Snip was dead, without remedy; no power on
earth could bring back the departed life. Oh, if he could only punish the
villain who had shot his poor faithful dog! But he was nothing but a poor
boy, very poor, and very helpless and friendless, and people would only
laugh at his trouble. All the world was against him, and he could do
nothing to revenge himself, but to hate everybody!
'Why, lad! why, Stephen! what ails thee?' said Black Thompson's voice,
close behind him. 'Eh! who's gone and shot Snip? That rascal Jones, I'll
go bail! Is he quite dead, Stephen? Stand up, lad, and let's give a look
at him.'
The boy rose, and faced Black Thompson and his comrade with eyes that
were bloodshot, though he had not shed a tear, and with lips almost
bitten through by his angry teeth. Both the men handled the dog gently
and carefully, but, after a moment's inspection, Thompson laid it down
again on the turf.
'It's a shame!' he cried, with an oath that sounded pleasantly in
Stephen's ears; 'it was one of the best little dogs about. I'd take my
vengeance on him for this. In thy place, I couldn't sleep till I'd done
something.'
'Ay!' said Stephen, with flashing eyes; 'I know where he's keeping a
covey of birds up against game day--nineteen of them. I've seen them
every day, and I could go to the place in the dark.'
'That's a brave lad!' said Black Thompson; 'he's got his father's pluck
after all, as I've always told thee, Davies, and we'll see him righted.
He's got his eyes in his head, has this lad!'
'They're down in the leasowe, between the Firspinny and Ragleth Hill,'
continued Stephen; 'and they're just prime, I can tell ye. And I know,
too, what he doesn't know himself. I know to some black game, far away
up the hill. He'd give his two eyes to see them, with their white
wing-feathers; and if he hadn't'--
Stephen stopped, with quivering lips, for he could not speak yet of
Snip's murder.
'Never take on, my lad,' said Black Thompson, clapping him on the back;
'we'll spoil his sport for him. Come thy ways with us; it'll be dark dusk
afore we gain the spinny, and Jones is off to the Whitehurst woods
to-night. We'll have as rare sport as the lord of the manor himself. Thee
art a sharp one. I'd lay a round wager, now, thee knows where all the
sheep of the hillside fold of nights.'
'Ay, do I,' answered Stephen, walking briskly beside Black Thompson; 'I
know every walk and every fold on the hills; ay, and many of the sheep
themselves. I keep my eyes wide open out of doors, I promise ye.'
'I'll swear to that,' said Black Thompson, glad to encourage the boy in
his foolish boasting. On their way they passed near to Fern's Hollow, and
Stephen heard little Nan's shrill voice calling his name, as if she were
seeking him weariedly; but when he hesitated for a moment, his heart
yearning to answer her, Black Thompson again patted him on the back, and
bade him never show the white feather, but remember poor dead Snip; at
which his passion for revenge returned, and he pressed on eagerly to the
fir-coppice.
It was quite dark when they entered the path leading through the wood. No
one spoke now, and they trod cautiously, lest there should be any noise
from their footsteps. The tall black fir-trees towered above them to an
unusual height; and through all the topmost branches there ran a low,
mournful sound, as if every tree was whispering about them, and lamenting
over them. Even the little brook, which in the sunshine rippled so
merrily along the borders of the wood, seemed to be sobbing like a
grieved and tired child in the night-time. Strange rustlings on every
side, and sudden groanings of the withered boughs in some of the pines,
made them start in fear; and once, in a little opening among the trees,
when the stars came out and looked down upon them, Stephen would have
given all he had in the world to be safe at home, with little Nan singing
hymns on his knee, or quietly asleep after the hot and busy day.
'It's lonesome enough to make a bull-dog afeared,' whispered Davies, in
a frightened tone. But before long they were out of the wood; and in the
glimmer of light that lasts all night through during the summer, Stephen
saw Black Thompson unwind a net, which had been wrapped round his body
under his collier's jacket. More than half the covey of partridges were
bagged; and they had such capital luck, as the men called it, that
Stephen soon entered into the daring spirit of the adventure. It sent
a thrill of excitement through him, in which poor Snip was for the time
forgotten; and when about midnight Black Thompson and Davies said
'Good-night' to him at his cottage door, calling him a brave fellow, and
giving him a fine young leveret, with the promise that he should have his
share of whatever money they received for their spoil, he entered his
dark home, where every one was slumbering peacefully, and, without a
thought of sorrow or repentance, was quickly asleep himself.