THE ARRIVAL AT BLACKBURN FARM.
A YEAR had passed since Mr. Barton had brought home his bride and her
little son to Afton Hall. Once more it was early spring; once more
the crocuses and daffodils were in bloom, and old John Bawdon was
turning over the brown earth with his spade, and musing, meanwhile,
on the changes which the past twelve months had brought about.
He thought of the day on which Jane had informed her little master
in his presence of the existence of his stepbrother, and remembered
how anxious and uneasy he had himself felt at the sight of Theodore's
rebellious face, with its flashing grey eyes and determined mouth.
At the further end of the garden two figures were to be seen at that
moment—boys' forms—one taller, and sturdier than the other. The old
man smiled contentedly at the sight, for the two were Theodore and
Jack. The latter was, happily, no longer an invalid, for the
London doctor had been right in his opinion; and under his treatment
Jack had slowly gained strength, until there had come a
never-to-be-forgotten day, when he could walk a few steps with the
help of crutches. The crutches had been discarded altogether,
several months ago now, and though Jack still looked delicate,
especially beside his stepbrother, who was a perfect picture
of robust health, he was able to move about unaided, and improved
in vigour day by day. He now joined Theodore in his lessons, walking
to the Nest with him to receive instruction from Miss Penelope.
Mr. Barton talked of engaging a tutor for the boys later on,
but there was time enough to think of that; for the present,
the existing arrangement seemed satisfactory.
"To think how I worried at the thought of a new mistress," ruminated
old John Bawdon, "and the blessing she's been to us all! Well, 'tis
wrong to doubt the ways of the Almighty! He knows best!" He leaned on
his spade, and looked at the boys. "They make a pretty pair,"
he thought, "but anyone can tell which is the leader. Master Theodore
has a masterful way with him, to be sure, and 'tis easy to see Master
Jack takes a pattern by him—not but what Master Jack has a mind
of his own, too, although he always seems so gentle and
tender-hearted!"
Presently the boys approached the old man, and began to talk
with him. He was generally full of anecdotes and stories about things
which had happened in his youth, and knew so many interesting facts
about birds, and animals, and flowers, that he was a most
entertaining companion.
On this occasion Theodore commenced the conversation by asking:
"Were you ever on Dartmoor, John?"
"Yes, sir," was the prompt reply, whilst a smile lit up the old man's
withered countenance; "I was born at Naraton, and that's right in the
midst o' the hills."
"Were you, indeed? I never knew that!"
"Very likely not, sir! Your grandfather owned a farm on Dartmoor,
the same that belongs to your father now, near the little village
of Naraton, and my father was a labourer, who worked on the estate.
I mind when your grandfather was a small boy, he used to come and
stay at the farm 'long with his mother, for the sake of the bracing
air, and many a ramble he and I have had across the moors together.
He took quite a fancy to me, and that's how it was I came to be so
fortunate as to get employment here—a lad was wanted to make himself
generally useful about the place, and I got the job. I've been here
ever since, and hope to remain as long as I live. Was I ever on
Dartmoor, indeed!" the old man exclaimed, chuckling at the thought;
"aye, was I!"
"Do tell us what it is like," Jack said, coaxingly; "because we want
to know for a very particular reason, don't we, Theo?"
Theodore nodded; and John Bawdon proceeded:
"It's grand on Dartmoor! The air's so fine and fresh it puts strength
into one's veins and braces one up! I've been on the moors in all
weathers—when the sky has looked like one great sea of blue, and
there hasn't been a scrap of shade anywhere, and the heather's been
in bloom—the most beautiful sight—miles upon miles of purple with
never a break! Then I've seen the moors all covered with fog, so
thick that you couldn't see your hand if you held it close to your
eyes!"
"Father says people often get lost in those fogs," Theodore remarked,
"and sometimes they get into bogs, don't they?"
"Yes. It is a serious business to be lost in a fog on Dartmoor, and
it can happen easier than you think. I mind when I was a bit of a lad
not much older than you, Master Theodore, I missed my way in a fog
one dull November afternoon, and should have had to spend the whole
night on the moor if it hadn't cleared. I was crouching for shelter
under a great granite rock, half-dead with cold I really believe,
when I saw a glow of light appear. The fog cleared almost suddenly,
and the full moon slowly sailed upwards into the sky, making
everything show out as plainly as though it was day. It was a grand
sight, I can tell you! I ran home as fast as ever I could, and glad
enough my parents were to see me, for they had missed me, and when
they saw the fog come down, had made up their minds I was lost on the
moors, and would like enough perish with cold."
"But couldn't your father have gone to look for you?" questioned
Jack. "That's what I should have thought he would have done."
The old man shook his head gravely.
"A man may be born on the moors," he said, "and yet not be able
to find his way in a fog. My father could walk almost everywhere
in the dark, but a fog is very misleading. There was a convict
I heard of once who escaped from Princetown Prison, which is right
in the heart of Dartmoor. He stole away in a dense fog, thinking
to escape easier. He ran for miles and miles, not knowing where he
was going, but imagining he was getting further and further away from
the prison; and, by-and-by, worn out and footsore, he lay down on the
ground to rest. He soon fell asleep, and when he awoke the fog had
cleared away, and he—now, where do you suppose he was?"
The boys shook their heads. Their eyes were fixed intently upon the
old man's face, whilst he was well pleased to see them so deeply
interested.
"He was right outside the prison," John Bawdon declared solemnly;
"he had run in a circle, and come back to the very spot from which
he had started. He saw it was no good trying to escape then, so he
just allowed himself to be taken again. You see how misleading a fog
can be, and if you ever find yourself on Dartmoor, you mind what I've
told you!"
"Do you know, John," said Theodore, "that most likely we shall be
going there soon. Father said at breakfast this morning that he
thought a month at his farm at Naraton would be a nice change for us
all, and he would write to Mrs. Fry, the farmer's wife, to know
if she can take us in."
"Oh, I hope she will!" Jack cried, his face all aglow with glad
expectancy. "Father says he would like us to go as soon as the spring
really comes. He is going too, and mother, and Jane."
"What will Miss Penelope say?" asked the old man smiling. "Is she
willing to give you both a holiday?"
"Oh, yes!" the boys replied; and Theodore added: "I suppose if we go
it will be about Easter."
Mrs. Fry wrote in due course to the effect that she would be glad
to receive her landlord and his family. She was accustomed to take
lodgers during the summer months, and considered herself fortunate
to have an opportunity of letting her rooms so early in the year.
Naraton was a pretty little village, situated in a valley amid the
Dartmoor tors. The surrounding country was very rough, great rocks
of granite being scattered over all the fields, making the land
exceedingly difficult to cultivate. Naraton Church, a grand old
edifice, which had withstood the storms of several hundreds of years,
was built entirely of granite, and most of the tombstones in the
churchyard were of the same durable, grey stone. The village, about a
score of cottages in all, was built almost in a circle around a green
open space, known as "Naraton Green," which was given up to a lot of
poultry belonging to the inhabitants of the surrounding dwellings.
There was a blacksmith's shop close to the entrance to the
churchyard, and on the opposite side of the Green was the post
office, which was also a sort of general store, where drapery,
groceries, and all kinds of commodities for household use might be
obtained.
A beautiful April day was drawing to a close as an open carriage
drawn by a pair of horses appeared at the bend of the road by the
blacksmith's shop, and swept around Naraton Green on its way
to Blackburn Farm. Inside the carriage were Mrs. Barton, Jane, and
the two boys; whilst Mr. Barton occupied the box-seat with the
driver.
"Sit still, do sit still, Master Theodore," Jane remonstrated
as Theodore stood up, the better to gaze about him. "If the carriage
should jerk upon a stone you might be thrown out, and that would be
a bad beginning to a holiday."
"Oh, Jane, what a fidget you are!" Theodore cried impatiently,
resenting the manner in which she clutched him by the sleeve. "Let go
my arm! Do you think I'm a baby, to want looking after like that?"
"I wish you'd be as quiet as Master Jack," she continued
reproachfully; "he doesn't worry as you do!"
"Oh, no!" Theodore retorted scornfully, "of course not. You're always
saying, 'I wish you'd be more like Master Jack,'" he proceeded,
mimicking her tone. "I'm not like him, so what's the good of wishing
me to be?"
"Do as Jane tells you at once, Theodore," Mrs. Barton said quietly,
in the tone which her little stepson knew he must obey whether he
liked doing so or not. "Sit down, like a good boy."
At that moment the carriage swerved around a corner rather sharply,
and Theodore was nearly thrown off his feet. He sat down then,
looking exceedingly foolish; and in a few minutes more they arrived
at their destination, where they were greeted by the farmer and his
wife—the former a big, silent man; the latter a small, cherry-cheeked
woman, with a pair of bright blue eyes, and a brisk, business-like
manner. She escorted her lodgers to her best parlour—which was a
comfortable apartment with a low ceiling, oak-panelled walls, and a
broad, cushioned window-sill—and smiled complacently when she noted
the satisfaction on their faces.
"I am glad tea is ready," Theodore remarked, his eyes roving over the
table, where a substantial meal was laid. "Aren't you hungry, Jack?"
"Not very," Jack answered; "but I'm very tired."
Mrs. Barton and Jane had gone upstairs, whilst Mr. Barton was still
outside in conversation with the farmer, Mrs. Fry and her husband
had not lived long at Blackburn Farm, and consequently knew but
little of their landlord; therefore, it was quite natural Mrs. Fry
should think that Theodore and Jack were real brothers.
"Your brother does not look so strong as you do," she remarked
to Theodore as she made some trifling alteration to the tea-table.
"No," Theodore returned promptly; "Jack used to be very ill, but he's
much better now. Father says he expects the moorland air will make
him quite strong."
"It was my back," Jack explained. "I hurt it, and for years
I couldn't walk at all."
Mrs. Fry expressed her sympathy, and continued talking to the boys.
"You are like your mother," she told Jack, whose face flushed with
pleasure at her words. "You have her eyes, and her smile; but you,—"
and she turned to Theodore, "you don't favour her in the least."
"She is not my mother," Theodore replied, growing very red.
"My mother is dead. She was very good, and very beautiful, and she
died when I was born. Jack and I are not brothers really."
"But I can see you are great friends," Mrs. Fry said, nodding her
head in a knowing fashion and smiling. "You are very fond of each
other, are you not?"
"Oh, yes!" they both answered.
"Ah, I thought as much! I can see Mrs. Barton is a kind lady,"
she proceeded, addressing Theodore. "I expect you love her as though
she was your own mother, don't you?"
"No!"
The answer was fiercely spoken, accompanied by an indignant flash
of the bright, grey eyes. Mrs. Fry wished she had not been quite
so inquisitive, more especially as Mrs. Barton had evidently
overheard her question and Theodore's angry response, for she now
entered the room and quietly took her place at the tea-table.
Long after the boys had gone to bed that night Mrs. Barton thought
of Theodore's fierce "No!" and recalled the passionate tone of his
voice. She wondered how it was she was so incapable of winning his
love. No one put him against her now, of that she was certain; and
yet she could not uproot from his mind that feeling of distrust which
he had formed for her before they met. Sometimes she thought he was
learning to care for her; and then she would see the old dislike
creeping over his tell-tale face, and her heart would ache at the
thought that she might never win his affection.
This moorland holiday had been planned for Jack's sake; in fact,
Mr. Barton had suggested leaving Theodore at home, to the tender
mercies of his great-aunts, but his wife had negatived the idea
at once. Theodore's health might not necessitate a change of air,
but she had rightly guessed what his feelings would have been if he
had had to remain at Afton Hall. Perhaps he would have been grateful
to his stepmother if he had known it was entirely owing to her that
he slept beneath the roof of Blackburn Farm that night; but he was
in ignorance of that fact, and fell asleep with the determination
not to allow her to interfere with his pleasure, as she was often
obliged to do, for his own good.