"Yes, isn't it; but nobody can be an Indian chief without any war-paint,
can they?"
"Certainly not," I answered. "You seem to know a great deal about it."
"Oh yes," nodded Dorothy. "Reginald has a book all about Indians and
full of pictures--and here's the letter," she ended, and slipped it into
my hand.
Smoothing out its many folds and creases, I read aloud, as follows:
"_To my pail-face brother:_
"'Ere another moon, Spotted Snaik will be upon the war-path, and red
goar shall flo in buckkit-fulls."
"It sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" said Dorothy, hugging her kitten.
"Horrible!" I returned.
"He got it out of the book, you know," she went on, "but I put in the
part about the buckets--a bucket holds such an awful lot, don't you
think? But there's some more on the other page." Obediently I turned,
and read:
"'ere another moon, scalps shall dangel at belt of Spotted Snaik, for in
his futsteps lurks distruksion. But fear not pail-face, thou art my
brother--fairwell.
"Sined "SPOTTED SNAIK."
"There was lots more, but we couldn't get it in," said Dorothy.
Squeezed up into a corner I found this postscript;
"If you will come and be an Indian Cheef unkel dick, I will make you a
spear, and you can be Fanged Wolf. He was a fine chap and nobody could
beat him except Spotted Snaik, will you Unkel dick?"
"He wants you to write an answer, and I'm to take it to him," said
Dorothy.
"Fanged Wolf!" I repeated; "no, I'm afraid not. I shouldn't object so
much to becoming a red-skin--for a time--but Fanged Wolf! Really,
Dorothy, I'm afraid I couldn't manage that."
"He was very brave," returned Dorothy, "and awfull' strong, and
could--could 'throw his lance with such unerring aim as to pin his foe
to the nearest tree--in the twinkle of an eye.' That's in the book, you
know."
"There certainly must be a great deal of satisfaction in pinning one's
foe to a tree," I nodded.
"Y-e-e-s, I suppose so," said Dorothy rather dubiously.
"And where is Spotted Snake--I mean, what is he doing?"
"Oh, he's down by the river, with his bow and arrow, scouting for
canoes. It was great fun! He shot at a man in a boat--and nearly hit
him, and the man got very angry indeed, so we had to hide among the
bushes, just like real Indians. Oh, it was fine!"
"But your Auntie Lisbeth said you weren't to play near the river, you
know," I said.
"That's what I told him," returned Dorothy, "but he said that Indians
didn't have any aunts, and then I didn't know what to say. What do you
think about it, Uncle Dick?"
"Well," I answered, "now I come to consider, I can't remember ever
having heard of an Indian's aunt."
"Poor things!" said Dorothy, giving the fluffy kitten a kiss between the
ears.
"Yes, it's hard on them, perhaps, and yet," I added thoughtfully, "an
aunt is sometimes rather a mixed blessing. Still, whether an Indian
possesses an aunt or not, the fact remains that water has an unpleasant
habit of wetting one, and, on the whole, I think I'll go and see what
Spotted Snake is up to."
"Then I think I'll come with you a little way," said Dorothy, as I rose.
"You see, I have to get Louise her afternoon's milk."
"And how is Louise?" I inquired, pulling the fluffy kitten's nearest
ear.
"Very well, thank you," answered Dorothy demurely; "but oh, dear me!
kittens 'are such a constant source of worry and anxiety'! Auntie
Lisbeth sometimes says that about Reginald and me. I wonder what she
would say if we were kittens!"
"By the by, where is your Auntie Lisbeth?" I asked, in a strictly
conversational tone.
"Well, she's lying in the old boat."
"In the old boat!" I repeated.
"Yes," nodded Dorothy; "when it's nice and warm and sleepy, like to-day,
she takes a book, and a pillow, and a sunshade, and she goes and lies in
the old boat under the water-stairs. There, just look at this naughty
Louise!" she broke off, as the kitten scrambled up to her shoulder and
stood there, balancing itself very dexterously with curious angular
movements of its tail; "that's because she thinks I've forgotten her
milk, you know; she's dreadfully impatient, but I suppose I must humour
her this once. 'Good afternoon!'" And, having given me her hand in her
demure old-fashioned way, Dorothy hurried off, the kitten still perched
upon her shoulder, its tail jerking spasmodically with her every step.
In a little while I came in view of the Water-stairs, yet, although I
paused more than once to look about me, I saw no sign of the Imp.
Thinking he was most probably in "ambush" somewhere, I continued my way,
whistling a tune to attract his notice. Ten minutes or more elapsed,
however, without any sign of him, and I was already close to the stairs,
when I stopped whistling all at once, and, holding my breath, crept
forward on tiptoe.
There before me was the old boat, and in it--her cheek upon a crimson
cushion and the sun making a glory of her tumbled hair--was
Lisbeth--asleep.
Being come as near as I dared for fear of waking her, I sat down, and
lighting my pipe, fell to watching her--the up-curving shadow of her
lashes, the gleam of teeth between the scarlet of her parted lips. And
from the heavy braids of her hair my glance wandered down to the little
tan shoe peeping at me beneath her skirt, and I called to mind how
Goethe has said:
"A pretty foot is not only a continual joy, but it is the one element of
beauty that defies the assaults of Time."
Sometimes a butterfly hovered past, a bee filled the air with his drone,
or a bird settled for a moment upon the stairs near by to preen a
ruffled feather, while soft and drowsy with distance came the ceaseless
roar of the weir.
I do not know how long I had sat thus, supremely content, when I was
suddenly aroused by a rustling close at hand.
"Hist!"
I looked up sharply, and beheld a head, a head adorned with sundry
feathers, and a face hideously streaked with red and green paint; but
there was no mistaking those golden curls--it was the Imp!
"Hist!" he repeated, bringing out the word with a prolonged hiss, and
then--before I could even guess at his intention--there was the swift
gleam of a knife, a splash of the severed painter, and caught by the
tide the old boat swung out and was adrift.
The Imp stood gazing on his handiwork with wide eyes, and then as I
leaped to my feet something in my look seemed to frighten him, for
without a word he turned and fled.
But all my attention was centred in the boat, which was drifting slowly
into mid-stream with Lisbeth still fast asleep. And as I watched its
sluggish progress, with a sudden chill I remembered the weir, which
foamed and roared only a short half-mile away. If the boat once got
drawn into that----!
Now, I am quite aware that under these circumstances the right and
proper thing for me to have done, would have been to throw aside my
coat, tear off my boots, etc., and "boldly breast the foamy flood." But
I did neither, for the simple reason that once within the "foamy flood"
aforesaid, there would have been very little chance of my ever getting
out again, for--let me confess the fact with the blush of shame--I am no
swimmer.
Yet I was not idle, far otherwise. Having judged the distance between
the drifting boat and the bank, I began running along, seeking the thing
I wanted. And presently, sure enough, I found it--a great pollard oak,
growing upon the edge of the water, that identical tree with the
"stickie-out" branches which has already figured in these narratives.
Hastily swinging myself up, I got astride the lowest branch, which
projected out over the water. I had distanced the boat by some hundred
yards, and as I sat there I watched its drift, one minute full of hope,
and the next as miserably uncertain.
My obvious intention was to crawl out upon the branch until it bent with
my weight, and so let myself into, or as near the boat as possible.
It was close now, so close that I could see the gleam of Lisbeth's hair
and the point of the little tan shoe. With my eyes on this, I writhed
my way along the bough, which bent more and more as I neared the end.
Here I hung, swaying up and down and to and fro in a highly unpleasant
manner, while I waited the crucial moment.
Never upon this whole round earth did anything creep as that boat did.
There was a majestic deliberation in its progress that positively
maddened me. I remember to have once read an article somewhere upon the
"Sensibility of Material Things," or something of the sort, which I had
forgotten long since, but as I hung there suspended between heaven and
earth, it came back to me with a rush, and I was perfectly certain that,
recognising my precarious position, that time-worn, ancient boat checked
its speed on purpose.
But all things have an end, and so, little by little the blunt bow crept
nearer until it was in the very shade of my tree. Grasping the branch,
I let myself swing at arm's length; and then I found that I was at least
a foot too near the bank. Edging my way, therefore, still further along
the branch, I kicked out in a desperate endeavour to reach the boat,
and, the bough swaying with me, caught my toe inside the gunwale, drew
it under me, and loosing my grasp, was sprawling upon my hands and
knees, but safe aboard.
To pick myself up was the work of a moment, yet scarcely had I done so,
when Lisbeth opened her eyes, and sitting up, stared about her.
"Why--where am I?" she exclaimed.
"On the river," I answered cheerfully. "Glorious afternoon, Lisbeth,
isn't it?"
"How--in--the--world did you get here?" she inquired.
"Well," I answered, "I might say I dropped in, as it were."
Lisbeth brushed the hair from her temples, and turned to me with an
imperious gesture.
"Then please take me back at once," she said.
"I would with pleasure," I returned, "only that you forgot to bring the
oars."
"Why, then, we are adrift!" she said, staring at me with frightened
eyes, and clasping her hands nervously.
"We are," I nodded; "but, then, it's perfect weather for boating,
Lisbeth!" and I began to look about for something that might serve as a
paddle. But the stretchers had disappeared long since--the old tub was
a sheer hulk, so to speak. An attempt to tear up a floor board resulted
only in a broken nail and bleeding fingers; so I presently desisted,
and, rolling up my sleeves, endeavoured to paddle with my hands; but,
finding this equally futile, I resumed my coat, and took out pipe and
tobacco.
"Oh, Dick, is there nothing you can do?" she asked, with a brave attempt
to steady the quiver in her voice.
"With your permission, I'll smoke, Lisbeth."
"But the weir!" she cried. "Have you forgotten the weir?"
"No," I answered, shaking my head; "it has a way of obtruding itself on
one's notice----"
"Oh, it sounds hateful--hateful!" she said with a shiver.
"Like a strong wind among trees!" I nodded, as I filled my pipe. We
were approaching a part of the river where it makes a sharp bend to the
right; and well I knew what lay beyond--the row of posts, painted white,
with the foam and bubble of seething water below. We should round that
bend in about ten minutes, I judged; long before then we might see a
boat, to be sure; if not--well, if the worst happened, I could but do my
best; in the meantime I would smoke a pipe; but I will admit my fingers
trembled as I struck a match.
"It sounds horribly close!" said Lisbeth.
"Sound is very deceptive, you know," I answered.
"Only last month a boat went over, and the man was drowned!" shuddered
Lisbeth.
"Poor chap!" I said. "Of course it's different at night--the river is
awfully deserted then, you know, and----"
"But it happened in broad daylight!" said Lisbeth, almost in a whisper.
She was sitting half turned from me, her gaze fixed on the bend of the
river, and by chance her restless hand had found and begun to fumble
with the severed painter.
So we drifted on, watching the gliding banks, while every moment the
roar of the weir grew louder and more threatening.
"Dick," she said suddenly, "we can never pass that awful place without
oars!" and she began to tie knots in the rope with fingers that shook
pitifully.
"Oh, I don't know!" I returned, with an assumption of ease I was very
far from feeling; "and then, of course, we are bound to meet a boat or
something----"
"But suppose we don't?"
"Oh, well, we aren't there yet--and--er--let's talk of fish."
"Ah, Dick," she cried, "how can you treat the matter so lightly when we
may be tossing down there in that awful water so very soon? We can never
pass that weir without oars, and you know it, and--and--oh, Dick, why
did you do it--how could you have been so mad?"
"Do what?" I inquired, staring.
With a sudden gesture she rose to her knees and fronted me.
"This!" she cried, and held up the severed painter. "It has been cut!
Oh, Dick, Dick, how could you be so mad?"
"Lisbeth!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say that you think----"
"I know!" she broke in, and turning away, hid her face in her hands.
We were not so very far from the bend now, and seeing this, a sudden
inspiration came upon me, by means of which I might prove her mind
towards me once and for all; and as she kneeled before me with averted
face, I leaned forward and took her hands in mine.
"Lisbeth," I said, "supposing I did cut the boat adrift, like a--a
fool--endangering your life for a mad, thoughtless whim--could you
forgive me?"
For a long moment she remained without answering, then very slowly she
raised her head.
"Oh, Dick!" was all she said, but in her eyes I read the wonder of
wonders.
"But, Lisbeth," I stammered, "could you still love me--even--even if,
through my folly, the worst should happen and we--we----"
"I don't think I shall be so very much afraid, Dick, if you will hold me
close like this," she whispered.
The voice of the weir had swelled into a roar by now, yet I paid little
heed; for me, all fear was swallowed up in a great wondering happiness.
"Dick," she whispered, "you will hold me tight, you will not let me go
when--when----"
"Never," I answered; "nothing could ever take you from me now."
As I spoke I raised my eyes, and glancing about beheld something which
altered the whole aspect of affairs--something which changed tragedy
into comedy all in a moment--a boat was coming slowly round the bend.
"Lisbeth, look up!" With a sigh she obeyed, her clasp tightening on
mine, and a dreadful expectation in her eyes. Then all at once it was
gone, her pale cheeks grew suddenly scarlet, and she slipped from my
arms; and thereafter I noticed how very carefully her eyes avoided mine.
The boat came slowly into view, impelled by one who rowed with exactly
that amount of splashing which speaks the true-born Cockney. By dint of
much exertion and more splashing he presently ranged alongside in answer
to my hail.
"W'ot--a haccident then?" he inquired.
"Something of the sort," I nodded. "Will you be so kind as to tow us to
the bank yonder?"
"Hanythink to hoblige!" he grinned, and having made fast the painter,
proceeded to splash us to _terra firma_. Which done, he grinned again,
waved his hat, and splashed upon his way. I made the boat secure and
turned to Lisbeth. She was staring away towards the weir.
"Lisbeth," I began.
"I thought just now that--that it was the end!" she said, and shivered.
"And at such times," I added, "one sometimes says things one would not
have said under ordinary circumstances. My dear, I quite
understand--quite, and I'll try to forget--you needn't fear."
"Do you think you can?" she asked, turning to look at me.
"I can but try," I answered. Now, as I spoke, I wasn't sure, but I
thought I saw the pale ghost of the dimple by her mouth.
We walked back side by side along the river-path, very silently for the
most part, yet more than once I caught her regarding me covertly, and
with a puzzled air.
"Well?" I said at last tentatively.
"I was wondering why you did it, Dick. Oh, it was mean! cruel! wicked!
How could you?"
"Oh, well"--and I shrugged my shoulders, anathematising the Imp mentally
the while.
"If I hadn't noticed that the rope was freshly cut, I should have
thought it an accident," she went on.
"Naturally!" I said.
"And then, again, how came you in the boat?"
"To be sure!" I nodded.
"Still, I can scarcely believe that you would wilfully jeopardise both
our lives--my life!"
"A man who would do such a thing," I exclaimed, carried away by the heat
of the moment, "would be a--a----"
"Yes," said Lisbeth quickly, "he would."
"--And utterly beyond the pale of all forgiveness!"
"Yes," said Lisbeth, "of course."
"And," I was beginning again, but meeting her searching glance, stopped.
"And you forgave me, Lisbeth," I ended.
"Did I?" she said, with raised brows.
"Didn't you?"
"Not that I remember."
"In the boat?"
"I never _said_ so."
"Not in words, perhaps, but you implied as much." Lisbeth had the grace
to blush.
"Do I understand that I am not forgiven after all?"
"Not until I know why you did such a mad, thoughtless trick," she
answered, with that determined set of her chin which I knew so well.
That I should thus shoulder the responsibility for the Imp's misdeeds
was ridiculous, and wrong as it was unjust, for if ever boy deserved
punishment, that boy was the Imp. And yet, probably because he was the
Imp, or because of that schoolboy honour which forbids "sneaking," and
which I carried with me still, I held my peace; seeing which, Lisbeth
turned and left me.
I stood where I was, with head bent in an attitude suggestive of
innocence, broken hopes, and gentle resignation, but in vain; she never
once looked back. Still, martyr though I was, the knowledge that I had
immolated myself upon the altar of friendship filled me with a sense of
conscious virtue that I found not ill-pleasing. Howbeit, seeing I am
but human after all, I sat down, and refilling my pipe, fell once more
anathematising the Imp.
"Hist!"
A small shape flittered from behind an adjacent tree, and lo! the
subject of my thoughts stood before me.
"Imp," I said, "come here." He obeyed readily. "When you cut that rope
and set your Auntie Lisbeth adrift, you didn't remember the man who was
drowned in the weir last month, did you?"
"No!" he answered, staring.
"Of course not," I nodded; "but all the same it is not your fault that
your Auntie Lisbeth is not drowned--just as he was."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Imp, and his beloved bow slipped from his nerveless
fingers.
"Imp," I went on, "it was a wicked thing to cut that rope, a mean, cruel
trick. Don't you think so?"
"I 'specks it was, Uncle Dick."
"Don't you think you ought to be punished?" He nodded. "Very well," I
answered, "I'll punish you myself. Go and cut me a nice, straight
switch," and I handed him my open penknife. Round-eyed, the Imp obeyed,
and for a space there was a prodigious cracking and snapping of sticks.
In a little while he returned with three, also the blade of my knife was
broken, for which he was profusely apologetic.
"Now," I said, as I selected the weapon fittest for the purpose, "I am
going to strike you hard on either hand with this stick--that is, if you
think you deserve it."
"Was Auntie Lisbeth nearly drowned--really?" he inquired.
"Very nearly, and was only saved by a chance."
"All right, Uncle Dick, hit me," he said, and held out his hand. The
stick whizzed and fell--once--twice. I saw his face grow scarlet and
the tears leap to his eyes, but he uttered no sound.
"Did it hurt very much, my Imp?" I inquired, as I tossed the stick
aside.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, while I turned to light my
pipe, wasting three matches quite fruitlessly.
"Uncle Dick," he burst out at last, struggling manfully against his
sobs, "I--I'm awfull'--sorry----"
"Oh, it's all right now, Imp. Shake hands!" Joyfully the little, grimy
fingers clasped mine, and from that moment, I think, there grew up
between us a new understanding.
"Why, Imp, my darling, you're crying!" exclaimed a voice, and, with a
rustle of skirts, Lisbeth was down before him on her knees.
"I know I am--'cause I'm awfull' sorry--an' Uncle Dick's whipped my
hands--an' I'm glad!"
"Whipped your hands?" cried Lisbeth, clasping him closer, and glaring at
me "Whipped your hands? How dare he? What for?"
"'Cause I cut the rope an' let the boat go away with you an' you might
have been drowned dead in the weir, an' I'm awfull glad Uncle Dick
whipped me!"
"O-h-h!" exclaimed Lisbeth, and it was a very long-drawn "oh!" indeed.
"I don't know what made me do it," continued the Imp. "I 'specks it was
my new knife--it was so nice an' sharp, you know."
"Well, it's all right now, my Imp," I said, fumbling for a match in a
singularly clumsy manner. "If you ask me, I think we are all better
friends than ever--or should be. I know I should be fonder of your
Auntie Lisbeth even than before, and take greater care of her, if I were
you. And--and now take her in to tea, my Imp, and--and see that she has
plenty to eat," and, lifting my hat, I turned away. But Lisbeth was
beside me, and her hand was on my arm before I had gone a yard.
"We are having tea in the same old place--under the trees. If you would
care to--to--would you?"
"Yes, do--oh, do, Uncle Dick!" cried the Imp. "I'll go and tell Jane to
set a place for you," and he bounded off.
"I didn't hit him very hard," I said, breaking a somewhat awkward
silence; "but, you see, there are some things a gentleman cannot do. I
think he understands now."
"Oh, Dick!" she said very softly; "and to think I could imagine you had
done such a thing--you! and to think that you should let me think you
had done such a thing--and all to shield that Imp! Oh, Dick! no wonder
he is so fond of you. He never talks of anyone but you--I grow quite
jealous sometimes. But, Dick, how did _you_ get into that boat?"
"By means of a tree with 'stickie-out' branches."
"Do you mean to say----"
"That, as I told you before, I dropped in, as it were."
"But supposing you had slipped?"
"But I didn't."
"And you can't swim a stroke!"
"Not that I know of."
"Oh, Dick! can you ever forgive me?"
"On three conditions."
"Well?"
"First, that you let me remember everything you said to me while we were
drifting down to the weir."
"That depends, Dick. And the second?"
"The second lies in the fact that not far from the village of Down, in
Kent, there stands an old house--a quaint old place that is badly in
want of someone to live in it--an old house that is lonely for a woman's
sweet presence and gentle, busy hands, Lisbeth!"
"And the third?" she asked very softly.
"Surely you can guess that?"
"No, I can't, and, besides, there's Dorothy coming--and--oh, Dick!"
"Why, Auntie," exclaimed Dorothy, as she came up, "how red you are! I
knew you'd get sunburned, lying in that old boat without a parasol!
But, then, she will do it, Uncle Dick--oh, she will do it!"
*CHAPTER VI*
*THE OUTLAW*
Everybody knew old Jasper Trent, the Crimean veteran who had helped to
beat the "Roosians and the Proosians," and who, so it was rumoured, had
more wounds upon his worn, bent body than there were months in the year.
The whole village was proud of old Jasper, proud of his age, proud of
his wounds, and proud of the medals that shone resplendent upon his
shrunken breast.
Any day he might have been seen hobbling along by the river, or
pottering among the flowers in his little garden, but oftener still
sitting on the bench in the sunshine beside the door of the Three Jolly
Anglers.
Indeed, they made a fitting pair, the worn old soldier and the ancient
inn, alike both long behind the times, dreaming of the past, rather than
the future, which seemed to me like an invisible bond between them.
Thus, when old Jasper fell ill, and, taking to his bed, had it moved
opposite the window where he could lie with his eyes upon the battered
gables of the inn--I for one could understand the reason.
The Three Jolly Anglers is indeed ancient, its early records long since
lost beneath the dust of centuries; yet the years have but served to
mellow it. Men have lived and died, nations have waxed and waned, still
it stands, all unchanged beside the river, watching the Great Tragedy
which we call "Life" with that same look of supreme wisdom, that
half-waggish, half-kindly air, which I have already mentioned once
before.
Those Sons of the Soil, who meet regularly within its walls, are
horny-handed, and for the most part grey of head and bent with over-much
following of the plough. Quiet of voice are they, and profoundly sedate
of gesture, while upon their wrinkled brows there sits that spirit of
calm content which it is given so few of us to know.
Chief among these, and held in much respect, was old Jasper Trent.
Within their circle he had been wont to sit ensconced in his elbow-chair
beside the hearth, by his long use and custom, and not to be usurped;
and while the smoke rose slowly from their pipe-bowls he would recount
some tale of battle and sudden death--now in the freezing trenches
before Sebastopol, now upon the blood-stained heights of Inkermann.
Yet, and I noticed it was always towards the end of his second tankard,
the old man would lose the thread of his story, whatever it might be,
and take up the topic of "The Bye Jarge."
I was at first naturally perplexed as to whom he could mean, until Mr.
Amos Baggett, the landlord, informed me on the quiet that the "bye
Jarge" was none other than old Jasper's only son--a man now some forty
years of age--who, though promising well in his youth, had "gone
wrong"--and was at that moment serving a long term of imprisonment for
burglary; further, that upon the day of his son's conviction old Jasper
had had a "stroke," and was never quite the same after, all recollection
of the event being completely blotted from his mind, so that he
persisted in thinking and speaking of his son as still a boy.
"That bye were a wonder!" he would say, looking round with a kindling
eye. "Went away to make 'is fortun', 'e did. Oh, 'e were a gen'us,
were that bye Jarge! You, Amos Baggett, were 'e a gen'us or were 'e
not?"
"'E were!" Mr. Baggett would answer, with a slow nod.
"Look'ee, sir, do'ee see that theer clock?"--and he would point with a
bony, tremulous finger--"stopped it were--got sum'mat wrong wi' its
inn'ards--wouldn't stir a finger--dead it were! But that bye Jarge 'e
see it, 'e did--give it a look over, 'e did, an' wi' nout but 'is two
'ands set it a-goin' good as ever! You, Silas Madden, you remember as
'e done it wi' 'is two 'ands?"
"'Is two 'ands!" Silas would repeat solemnly.
"An' it's gone ever since!" old Jasper would croak triumphantly. "Oh!
'e were a gen'us, were my bye Jarge. 'E'll come a-marchin' back to 'is
old feyther, some day, wi' 'is pockets stuffed full o' money an'
banknotes--I knaw--I knaw, old Jasper bean't a fule."
And herewith, lifting up his old, cracked voice, he would strike up "The
British Grenadiers," in which the rest would presently join full
lustily, waving their long-stemmed pipes in unison.
So the old fellow would sit, singing the praises of his scapegrace son,
while his hearers would nod solemn heads, fostering old Jasper's
innocent delusion for the sake of his white hairs and the medals upon
his breast.
But now, he was down with "the rheumatics," and from what Lisbeth told
me when I met her on her way to and from his cottage, it was rather more
than likely that the high-backed elbow-chair would know him no more.
Upon the old fellow's illness, Lisbeth had promptly set herself to see
that he was made comfortable, for Jasper was a lonely old man--had
installed a competent nurse beside him, and made it a custom morning and
evening to go and see that all was well.
It was for this reason that I sat upon the Shrubbery gate towards nine
o'clock of a certain evening, swinging my legs and listening for the
sound of her step along the path. In the fullness of time she came,
and, getting off my perch, I took the heavy basket from her arm, as was
usual.
"Dick," she said as we walked on side by side, "really I'm getting quite
worried about that Imp."
"What has he been up to this time?" I inquired.
"I'm afraid he must be ill."
"He looked anything but ill yesterday," I answered reassuringly.
"Yes, I know he looks healthy enough," said Lisbeth, wrinkling her
brows; "but lately he has developed such an enormous appetite. Oh,
Dick, it's awful!"
"My poor girl," I retorted, shaking my head, "the genus 'Boy' is
distinguished by the two attributes dirt and appetite. You should know
that by this time. I myself have harrowing recollections of huge piles
of bread and butter, of vast slabs of cake--damp and 'soggy,' and of
mysterious hue--of glutinous mixtures purporting to be 'stick-jaw,' one
inch of which was warranted to render coherent speech impossible for ten
minutes at least, And then the joy of bolting things fiercely in the
shade of the pantry, with one's ears on the stretch for foes! I
sometimes find myself sighing over the remembrance, even in these days.
Don't worry about the Imp's appetite; believe me, it is quite
unnecessary."
"Oh, but I can't help it," said Lisbeth; "it seems somehow so--so weird.
For instance, this morning for breakfast he had first his usual
porridge, then five pieces of bread and butter, and after that a large
slice of ham--quite a big piece, Dick! And he ate it all so quickly. I
turned away to ask Jane for the toast, and when I looked at his plate
again it was empty, he had eaten every bit, and even asked for more. Of
course I refused, so he tried to get Dorothy to give him hers in
exchange for a broken pocket-knife. It was just the same at dinner. He
ate the whole leg of a chicken, and after that a wing, and then some of
the breast, and would have gone on until he had finished everything, I'm
sure, if I hadn't stopped him, though I let him eat as long as I dared.
Then at tea he had six slices of bread and butter, one after the other,
not counting toast and cake. He has been like this for the last two
days--and--oh yes, cook told me to-night that she found him actually
eating dry bread just before he went up to bed. Dry bread--think of it!
Oh, Dick, what can be the matter with him?"
"It certainly sounds mysterious," I answered, "especially as regards the
dry bread; but that of itself suggests a theory, which, as the detective
says in the story, 'I will not divulge just yet'; only don't worry,
Lisbeth, the Imp is all right."
Being now come to old Jasper's cottage, which stands a little apart from
the village in a bylane, Lisbeth paused and held out her hand for the
basket.
"Don't wait for me to-night," she said. "I ordered Peter to fetch me in
the dog-cart; you see, I may be late."
"Is the old chap so very ill?"
"Very, very ill, Dick."
"Poor old Jasper!" I exclaimed.
"Poor old Jasper!" she sighed, and her eyes were brimful of tenderness.
"He is very old and feeble," I said, drawing her close, under pretence
of handing her the basket; "and yet, with your gentle hand to smooth my
pillow, and your eyes to look into mine, I could almost wish----"
"Hush, Dick!"
"Peter or no Peter, I think I'll wait--unless you really wish me to say
'Good-night' now?" But with a dexterous turn she eluded me, and waving
her hand hurried up the rose-bordered path.
An hour, or even two, does not seem so very long when one's mind is so
full of happy thoughts as mine was. Thus, I was filling my pipe and
looking philosophically about for a likely spot in which to keep my
vigil, when I was aware of a rustling close by, and, as I watched, a
small figure stepped from the shadow of the hedge out into the
moonlight.
"Hallo, Uncle Dick!" said a voice.
"Imp!" I exclaimed; "what does this mean? You ought to have been in bed
over an hour ago!"
"So I was," he answered, with his guileless smile; "only I got up again,
you know."
"So it seems!" I nodded.
"An' I followed you an' Auntie Lisbeth all the way, too."
"Did you though?"
"Yes, an' I dropped one of the parcels an' lost a sausage, but you never
heard."
"Lost a sausage!" I repeated, staring.
"Oh, it's all right, you know," he hastened to assure me; "I found it
again, an' it wasn't hurt a bit."
"Imp," I said sternly, "come here, I want to talk to you."
"Just a minute, Uncle Dick, while I get my parcels. I want you to help
me to carry them, please, and with the words he dived under the hedge,
to emerge, a moment later, with his arms full of unwieldy packages,
which he laid at my feet in a row.
"Why, what on earth have you got there, Imp?"
"This," he said, pointing to the first, "is jam an' ham an' a piece of
bread; this next one is cakes an' sardines, an' this one is bread an'
butter that I saved from my tea."
"Quite a collection!" I nodded. "Suppose you tell me what you mean to
do with them."
"Well, they're for my outlaw. You remember the other day I wanted to
play at being outlaws? Well, two days ago, as I was tracking a base
caitiff through the woods with my trusty bow and arrow, I found a real
outlaw in the old boat-house."
"Ah! and what is he like?" I inquired.
"Oh, just like an outlaw--only funny, you know, an' most awfull' hungry.
Are all outlaws always so very hungry, Uncle Dick?"'
"I believe they generally are, Imp. And he looks 'funny,' you say?"
"Yes; I mean his clothes are funny--all over marks like little crosses,
only they aren't crosses."
"Like this?" I inquired; and picking up a piece of stick I drew a
broad-arrow upon the path.
"Yes, just like that!" cried the Imp, in a tone of amazement. "How did
you know? You're awfull' clever, Uncle Dick!"
"And he is in the old boat-house, is he?" I said, as I picked up an
armful of packages. "'Lead on, Macduff!'"
"Mind that parcel, please, Uncle Dick; it's the one I dropped an' lost
the sausage out of--there's one trying to escape now!"
Having reduced the recalcitrant sausage to a due sense of law and order,
we proceeded toward the old boat-house--a dismal, dismantled affair,
some half-mile or so down stream.
"And what sort of a fellow is your outlaw, Imp?"
"Well, I 'spected he'd be awfull' fierce an' want to hold me for ransom,
but he didn't; he's quite quiet, for an outlaw, with grey hair and big
eyes, an' eats an awful lot."
"So you saved him your breakfast and dinner, did you?"
"Oh yes; an' my tea, too. Auntie Lisbeth got awfull' angry 'cause she
said I ate too fast; an' Dorothy was frightened an' wouldn't sit by me
'cause she was 'fraid I'd burst--so frightfully silly of her!"
"By the way, you didn't tell me what you have there," I said, pointing
to a huge, misshapen, newspaper parcel that he carried beneath one arm.
"Oh, it's a shirt, an' a coat, an' a pair of trousers of Peter's."
"Did Peter give them to you?"
"'Course not; I took them. You see, my outlaw got tired of being an
outlaw, so he asked me to get him some 'togs,' meaning clothes, you
know, so I went an' looked in the stable an' found these."
"You don't mean to say that you stole them, Imp?"
"'Course not!" he answered reproachfully. "I left Peter sixpence an' a
note to say I would pay him for them when I got my pocket-money."
"Ah, to be sure!" I nodded.
We were close to the old boat-house now, and upon the Imp's earnest
solicitations I handed over my bundles and hid behind a tree, because,
as he pointed out, "His outlaw might not like me to see him just at
first."
Having opened each package with great care and laid out their contents
upon a log near by, the Imp approached the ruined building with signs of
the most elaborate caution, and gave three loud, double knocks. Now
casting my eyes about, I espied a short, heavy stick, and, picking it
up, poised it in my hand ready in the event of possible contingencies.
The situation was decidedly unpleasant, I confess, for I expected
nothing less than to be engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle
within the next few minutes; therefore I waited in some suspense,
straining my eyes towards the shadows with my fingers clasped tight upon
my bludgeon.
Then all at once I saw a shape, ghostly and undefined, flit swiftly from
the gloom of the boat-house, and next moment a convict was standing
beside the Imp, gaunt and tall and wild-looking in the moonlight.
His hideous clothes, stained with mud and the green slime of his
hiding-places, hung upon him in tatters, and his eyes, deep-sunken in
his pallid face, gleamed with an unnatural brightness as he glanced
swiftly about him--a miserable, hunted creature, worn by fatigue and
pinched with want and suffering.
"Did ye get 'em, sonny?" he inquired, in a hoarse, rasping voice.
"Ay, ay, comrade," returned the Imp; "all's well!"
"Bless ye for that, sonny!" he exclaimed, and with the words he fell to
upon the food, devouring each morsel as it was handed to him with a
frightful voracity, while his burning, restless eyes glared about him,
never still for a moment.
Now as I noticed his wasted form and shaking limbs, I knew that I could
master him with one hand. My weapon slipped from my slackened grasp,
but at the sound, slight though it was, he turned and began to run. He
had not gone five yards, however, when he tripped and fell, and before
he could rise I was standing over him. He lay there at my feet,
perfectly still, blinking up at me with red-rimmed eyes.
"All right, master," he said at last; "you've got me!"
But with the words he suddenly rolled himself towards the river, yet as
he struggled to his knees I pinned him down again.
"Oh, sir, you won't go for to give me up to them?" he panted. "I've
never done you no wrong. Don't send me back to it again, sir."
"'Course not," cried the Imp, laying his hand upon my arm; "this is only
Uncle Dick. He won't hurt you; will you, Uncle Dick?"
"That depends," I answered, keeping tight hold of the tattered coat
collar. "Tell me, what brings you hanging round here?"
"Used to live up in these parts once, master."
"Who are you?"
"Convict 49, as broke jail over a week ago an' would ha' died but for
the little 'un there," and he nodded towards the Imp.
The convict, as I say, was a tall, thin fellow, with a cadaverous face
lined with suffering, while the hair at his temples was prematurely
white. And as I looked at him, it occurred to me that the suffering
which had set its mark so deeply upon him was not altogether the grosser
anguish of the body. Now for your criminal who can still feel morally
there is surely hope. I think so, anyhow! For a long moment there was
silence, while I stared into the haggard face below, and the Imp looked
from one to the other of us, utterly at a loss.
"I wonder if you ever heard tell of 'the bye Jarge,'" I said suddenly.
The convict started so violently that the jacket tore in my grasp.
"How--how did ye know?" he gasped, and stared at me with dropped jaw.
"I think I know your father."
"My feyther," he muttered; "old Jasper--'e ain't dead, then?"
"Not yet," I answered; "come, get up, and I'll tell you more while you
eat." Mechanically he obeyed, sitting with his glowing eyes fixed upon
my face the while I told him of old Jasper's lapse of memory and present
illness.
"Then 'e don't remember as I'm a thief an' convict 49, master?"
"No; he thinks and speaks of you always as a boy and a pattern son."
The man uttered a strange cry, and flinging himself upon his knees
buried his face in his hands.
"Come," I said, tapping him on the shoulder; "take off those things,"
and, nodding to the Imp, he immediately began unwrapping Peter's
garments.
"What, master," cried the convict, starting up, "are you goin' to let me
see 'im afore you give me up?"
"Yes," I nodded; "only be quick."
In less than five minutes the tattered prison dress was lying in the bed
of the river, and we were making our way along the path towards old
Jasper's cottage.
The convict spoke but once, and that as we reached the cottage gate:
"Is he very ill, sir?"
"Very ill," I said. He stood for a moment, inhaling the fragrance of
the roses in great breaths, and staring about him; then with an abrupt
gesture he opened the little gate, and gliding up the path with his
furtive, stealthy footstep, he knocked at the door.
For some half-hour the Imp and I strolled to and fro in the moonlight,
during which he related to me much about his outlaw and the many "ruses
he had employed to get him provision." How upon one occasion, to escape
the watchful eyes of Auntie Lisbeth, he had been compelled to hide a
slice of jam tart in the trousers pockets, to the detriment of each; how
Dorothy had watched him everywhere in the momentary expectation of
"something happening"; how Jane and Peter and cook would stand and stare
and shake their heads at him because he ate such a lot, "an' the worst
of it was, I was awfull' hungry all the time, you know, Uncle Dick!"
This and much more he told me as we waited there in the moonlight.
At last the cottage door opened and the convict came out. He did not
join us at once, but remained staring away towards the river, though I
saw him jerk his sleeve across his eyes more than once in his furtive,
stealthy fashion, but when at last he came up to us his face was firm
and resolute.
"Did you see old Jasper?" I asked.
"Yes, sir, I saw him."
"Is he any better?"
"Much better--he died in my arms, sir. An' now I'm ready to go back,
there's a police station in the village." He stopped suddenly and
turned to stare back at the lighted windows of the cottage, and when he
spoke again his voice sounded hoarser than ever.
"Thought I'd come back from furrin parts, 'e did, wi' my pockets stuffed
full o' gold an' banknotes. Called me 'is bye Jarge, 'e did!" and again
he brushed his cuff across his eyes.
"Master, I don't know who ye may be, but I'm grateful to ye an' more
than grateful, sir. An' now I'm ready to go back an' finish my time."
"How much longer is that?"
"Three years, sir."
"And when you come out, what shall you do then?"
"Start all over again, sir; try to get some honest work an' live
straight."
"Do you think you can?"
"I know I can, sir. Ye see, he died in my arms, called me 'is bye
Jarge, said 'e were proud of me, 'e did! A man can begin again an' live
straight an' square wi' a memory the like o' that to help him."
"Then why not begin to-night?"
He passed a tremulous hand through his silver hair, and stared at me
with incredulous eyes.
"Begin--to-night," he half whispered.
"I have an old house among the Kentish hop gardens," I went on; "no one
lives there at present except the caretaker, but it is within the bounds
of probability that I may go to stay there--some day. Now the gardens
need trimming, and I'm very fond of flowers. Do you suppose you could
make the place look decent in--say, a month?"
"Sir," he said in a strange, broken voice, "you ain't jokin' with me,
are you?"
"I could pay you a pound a week; what do you say?"
He tried to speak, but his lips quivered, and he turned his back upon us
very suddenly. I tore a page from my pocket-book and scrawled a hasty
note to my caretaker.
"Here is the address," I said, tapping him on the shoulder, "You will
find no difficulty. I will write again to-night. You must of course
have money to get there and may need to buy a few necessaries besides;
here is your first week's wages in advance," and I thrust a sovereign
into his hand. He stared down at it with blinking eyes, shuffling
awkwardly with his feet, and at that moment his face seemed very worn,
and lined, and his hair very grey, yet I had a feeling that I should not
regret my quixotic action in the end.
"Sir," he faltered--"sir, do ye mean----?" and stopped.
"I mean that to-night 'the bye Jarge' has a chance to make a new
beginning, a chance to become the man his father always thought he would
be. Of course, I may be a fool to trust you. That only time will show;
but, you see, I had a great respect for old Jasper. And, now that you
have the address, you'd better go; stay, though, you must have a hat;
folks might wonder--take this," and I handed him my cap.
"Sir, I can't thank ye now, I never can. It--it won't come; but----"
With a nervous, awkward gesture he caught my hand, suddenly pressed it
to his lips, and was gone down the lane.
Thus it was that old Jasper's "bye Jarge" went out to make a trial of
life a second time, and as I watched him striding through the moonlight,
his head erect, very different from the shambling creature he had been,
it seemed to me that the felon was already ousted by the man.
"I 'specks he forgot all 'bout me!" said the Imp disconsolately.
"No," I answered, shaking my head; "I don't think he will ever forget
you, my Imp."
"I s'pose he's awfull' fond of you, Uncle Dick?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then why did he kiss your hand?"
"Oh, well--er--perhaps it is a way he has!"
"He didn't kiss mine," said the Imp.
A door opened and closed very softly, and Lisbeth came towards us down
the path, whereupon the Imp immediately "took cover" in the ditch.
"He is dead, Dick!" she said, as I opened the gate. "He died in his
son's arms--the George he was always talking about. And oh, Dick, he
died trying to sing 'The British Grenadiers.'"
"Poor old Jasper!" I said.
"His son was a convict once, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"It was strange that he should come back as he did--just in time; it
almost seems like the hand of Providence, doesn't it, Dick?"
"Yes." Lisbeth was standing with her elbows upon the gate and her chin
in her hands, staring up at the moon, and I saw that her eyes were wet
with tears.
"Why, where is your cap?" she exclaimed, when at last she condescended
to look at me.
"On the head of an escaped convict," I answered.
"Do you mean----"
"The 'bye Jarge,'" I nodded.
"Oh, Dick!"
"Yes, Lisbeth; it was a ridiculous piece of sentiment, I admit. Your
law-abiding level-headed citizen would doubtless be highly shocked, not
to say scandalised; likewise the Law might get up on its hind legs and
kick--quite unpleasantly; but all the same, I did it."
"You were never what one might call--very 'level-headed,' were you,
Dick?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"And, do you know, I think that is the very reason why I--good
gracious!--what is that?" She pointed toward the shadow of the hedge.
"Merely the Imp," I answered; "but never mind that--tell me what you
were going to say--'the very reason why you'--what?"
"Reginald!" said Lisbeth, unheeding my question, "come here, sir!" Very
sheepishly the Imp crept forth from the ditch, and coming up beside me,
stole his hand into mine, and I put it in my pocket.
"Reginald," she repeated, looking from one to the other of us with that
expression which always renews within me the memory of my boyish
misdeeds, "why are you not asleep in bed?"
"'Cause I had to go an' feed my outlaw, Auntie Lisbeth."
"And," I put in to create a diversion, "incidentally I've discovered the
secret of his 'enormous appetite.' It is explained in three words, to
wit, 'the bye Jarge.'"
"Do you mean to say----" began Lisbeth.
"Fed him regularly twice a day," I went on, "and nearly famished himself
in the doing of it--you remember the dry-bread incident?"
"Imp!" cried Lisbeth; "Imp!" And she had him next moment in her arms.
"But Uncle Dick gave him a whole sovereign, you know," he began;
"an'----"
"I sent him to a certain house, Lisbeth," I said, as her eyes met mine;
"an old house that stands not far from the village of Down, in Kent, to
prune the roses and things. I should like it to be looking its best
when we get there; and----"
"An' my outlaw kissed Uncle Dick's hand," pursued the Imp. "Don't you
think he must love him an awful lot?"
"I gave him a month to do it in," I went on; "but a month seems much too
long when one comes to consider--what do you think, Lisbeth?"
"I think that I hear the wheels of the dog-cart!" she cried. Sure
enough, a moment later Peter hove in view, and great was his
astonishment at the sight of "Master Reginald."
"Peter," I said, "Miss Elizabeth has changed her mind, and will walk
back with us; and--er--by the way, I understand that Master Reginald
purchased a coat, a shirt, and a pair of trousers of you, for which he
has already paid a deposit of sixpence. Now, if you will let me know
their value----"
"That's hall right, Mr. Brent, sir. Betwixt you and me, sir, they
wasn't up to much, nohow, the coat being tightish, sir--tightish--and
the trousis uncommon short in the leg for a man o' my hinches, sir."
"Nevertheless," said I, "a coat's a coat, and a pair of trousers are
indubitably a pair of trousers, and nothing can alter the fact; so if
you will send me a bill some time, I shall be glad."
"Very good, Mr. Brent, sir." Saying which, Peter touched his hat, and
turning, drove away.
"Now," I said, as I rejoined Lisbeth and the Imp, "I shall be glad if
you will tell me how long it should take for my garden to look fair
enough to welcome you?"
"Oh, well, it depends upon the gardener, and the weather, and--and heaps
of things," she answered, flashing her dimple at me.
"On the contrary," I retorted, shaking my head, "it depends altogether
upon the whim of the most beautiful, tempting----"
"Supposing," sighed Lisbeth, "supposing we talk of fish!"
"You haven't been fishing lately, Uncle Dick," put in the Imp.
"I've had no cause to," I answered; "you see, I am guilty of such things
only when life assumes a grey monotony of hue and everything is a flat,
dreary desolation. Do you understand, Imp?"
"Not 'zackly--but it sounds fine! Auntie Lisbeth," he said suddenly, as
we paused at the Shrubbery gate, "don't you think my outlaw must be
very, very fond of Uncle Dick to kiss his hand?"
"Why, of course he must," nodded Lisbeth.
"If," he went on thoughtfully, "if you loved somebody--very much--would
you kiss their hand, Auntie Lisbeth?"
"I don't know--of course not!"
"But why not--s'posing their hand was nice an' clean?"
"Oh, well--really, I don't know. Imp, run along to bed, do."
"You'll come and tuck me up, an' kiss me good-night, won't you?"
"To be sure I will," nodded Lisbeth.
"Why, then, I'll go," said the Imp; and with a wave of the hand to me he
went.
"Dick," said Lisbeth, staring up at the moon, "it was very unwise of
you, to say the least of it, to set a desperate criminal at large."
"I'm afraid it was, Lisbeth; but then I saw there was good in the
fellow, you know, and--er----"
"Dick," she said again, and then laughed suddenly, with the dimple in
full evidence, "you foolish old Dick--you know you would have done it
anyway for the sake of that old man."
"Poor old Jasper!" I said; "I'm really afraid I should." Then a
wonderful thing happened; for as I reached out my hand to her, she
caught it suddenly in hers, and before I knew, had pressed her lips upon
it--and so was gone.
*CHAPTER VII*
*THE BLASTED OAK*
I had quarrelled with Lisbeth; had quarrelled beyond all hope of
redemption and forgiveness, desperately, irrevocably, and it had all
come about through a handkerchief--Mr. Selwyn's handkerchief.
At a casual glance this may appear all very absurd, not to say petty;
but then I have frequently noticed that insignificant things very often
serve for the foundation of great; and incidentally quite a surprising
number of lives have been ruined by a handkerchief.
The circumstances were briefly these: In the first place, I had received
the following letter from the Duchess, which had perturbed me not a
little:
"MY DEAR DICK,--I hear that that Agatha Warburton creature has written
threatening to cut off our dear Lisbeth with the proverbial shilling
unless she complies with her wish and marries Mr. Selwyn within the
year. Did you ever know of anything so disgusting?
"If I were Lisbeth, and possessed such a 'creature' for an aunt, I'd see
her in Timbuctoo first--I would! But then, I forget the poor child has
nothing in the world, and you little more, and 'love in a cottage' is
all very well, Dick, up to a certain time. Of course, it is all right
in novels, but you are neither of you in a novel, and that is the worst
of it. If Providence had seen fit to make me Lisbeth's aunt, now,
things might have been very different; but alas! it was not to be.
Under the circumstances, the best thing you can do, for her sake and
your own, is to turn your back upon Arcadia and try to forget it all as
soon as possible in the swirl of London and everyday life.--Yours,
CHARLOTTE C.
"P.S.--Of course Romance is dead ages and ages ago; still, it really
would be nice if you could manage to run off with her some fine night!"
Thus the fiat had gone forth, the time of waiting was accomplished;
to-day Lisbeth must choose between Selwyn and myself.
This thought was in my mind as I strode along the river path, filling me
with that strange exhilaration which comes, I suppose, to most of us
when we face some climax in our lives.
But now the great question, How would she decide? leaped up and began to
haunt me. Because a woman smiles upon a man, he is surely a most
prodigious fool to flatter himself that she loves him, therefore. How
would she decide? Nay, indeed; what choice had she between affluence
and penury? Selwyn was wealthy and favoured by her aunt, Lady
Warburton, while as for me, my case was altogether the reverse. And now
I called to mind how Lisbeth had always avoided coming to any
understanding with me, putting me off on one pretence or another, but
always with infinite tact. So Fear came to me, and Doubt began to rear
its head; my step grew slower and slower, till, reaching the Shrubbery
gate, I leaned there in doubt whether to proceed or not. Summoning up
my resolution, however, I went on, turning in the direction of the
orchard, where I knew she often sat of a morning to read or make a
pretence of sewing.
I had gone but a little way when I caught sight of two distant figures
walking slowly across the lawn, and recognised Lisbeth and Mr. Selwyn.
The sight of him here at such a time was decidedly unpleasant, and I
hurried on, wondering what could have brought him so early.
Beneath Lisbeth's favourite tree, an ancient apple-tree so gnarled and
rugged that it seemed to have spent all its days tying itself into all
manner of impossible knots--in the shade of this tree, I say, there was
a rustic seat and table, upon which was a work-basket, a book, and a
handkerchief. It was a large, decidedly masculine handkerchief, and as
my eyes encountered it, by some unfortunate chance I noticed a monogram
embroidered in one corner--an extremely neat, precise monogram, with the
letters "F.S." I recognised it at once as the property of Mr. Selwyn.
Ordinarily I should have thought nothing of it, but to-day it was
different; for there are times in one's life when the most foolish
things become pregnant of infinite possibilities; when the veriest
trifles assume overwhelming proportions, filling and blotting out the
universe.
So it was now, and as I stared down at the handkerchief, the Doubt
within me grew suddenly into Certainty.
I was pacing restlessly up and down when I saw Lisbeth approaching; her
cheeks seemed more flushed than usual, and her hand trembled as she gave
it to me.
"Why, whatever is the matter with you?" she said; "you look so--so
strange, Dick."
"I received a letter from the Duchess this morning."
"Did you?"
"Yes; in which she tells me your Aunt has threatened to----"
"Cut me off with a shilling," nodded Lisbeth, crossing over to the
table.
"Yes," I said again.
"Well?"
"Well?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Dick, stop tramping up and down like a--a caged
bear, and sit down--do!"
I obeyed; yet as I did so I saw her with the tail of my eye whip up the
handkerchief and tuck it beneath the laces at her bosom.
"Lisbeth," said I, without turning my head, "why hide it--there?"
Her face flushed painfully, her lips quivered, and for a moment she
could find no answer; then she tried to laugh it off.
"Because I--I wanted to, I suppose."
"Obviously!" I retorted, and, rising, bowed and turned to go.
"Stay a moment, Dick. I have something to tell you."
"Thank you, but I think I can guess."
"Can you?"
"Oh yes."
"Aren't you just a little bit theatrical, Dick?" Now, as she spoke she
drew out Selwyn's handkerchief and began to tie and untie knots in it.
"Dick," she went on--and now she was tracing out Selwyn's monogram with
her finger--"you tell me you know that Aunt Agatha has threatened to
disinherit me; can you realise what that would mean to me, I wonder?"
"Only in some small part," I answered bitterly; "but it would be awful
for you, of course--good-bye to society and all the rest of it--no more
ball-gowns or hats and things from Paris, and----"
"And bearing all this in mind," she put in, "and knowing me as you do,
perhaps you can make another guess and tell me what I am likely to do
under these circumstances?"
Now, had I been anything but a preposterous ass, my answer would have
been different; but then I was not myself, and I could not help noticing
how tenderly her finger traced out those two letters "F.S.," so I
laughed rather brutally and answered--
"Follow the instinct of your sex and stick to the Paris hats and
things."
I heard her breath catch, and turning away, she began to flutter the
pages of the book upon the table.
"And you were always so clever at guessing, weren't you?" she said after
a moment, keeping her face averted.
"At least it has saved your explaining the situation, and you should be
thankful for that."
The book slipped suddenly to the ground and lay, all unheeded, and she
began to laugh in a strange high key. Wondering, I took a step toward
her; but as I did so she fled from me, running toward the house, never
stopping or slackening speed, until I had lost sight of her altogether.
Thus the whole miserable business had befallen, dazing me by its very
suddenness like a "bolt from the blue." I had returned to the Three
Jolly Anglers, determined to follow the advice of the Duchess and return
to London by the next train. Yet, after passing a sleepless night, here
I was sitting in my old place beneath the alders pretending to fish.
The river was laughing among the reed, just as merrily as ever, bees
hummed and butterflies wheeled and hovered--life and the world were very
fair. Yet for once I was blind to it all; moreover, my pipe refused to
"draw"--pieces of grass, twigs, and my pen-knife were alike unavailing.
So I sat there, brooding upon the fickleness of womankind, as many
another has done before me, and many will doubtless do after, alack!
And the sum of my thoughts was this: Lisbeth had deceived me; the hour
of trial had found her weak; my idol was only common clay, after all.
And yet she had but preferred wealth to comparative poverty, which
surely according to all the rules of common sense, had shown her
possessed of a wisdom beyond her years. And who was I to sit and grieve
over it? Under the same circumstances ninety-nine women out of a
hundred would have chosen precisely the same course; but then to me
Lisbeth had always seemed the one exempt--the hundredth woman; moreover,
there be times when love, unreasoning and illogical, is infinitely more
beautiful than this much-vaunted common sense.
This and much more was in my mind as I sat fumbling with my useless pipe
and staring with unseeing eyes at the flow of the river. My thoughts,
however, were presently interrupted by something soft rubbing against
me, and looking down, I beheld Dorothy's fluffy kitten, Louise. Upon my
attempting to pick her up, she bounded from me in that remarkable
sideways fashion peculiar to her kind, and stood regarding me from a
distance, her tail straight up in the air and her mouth opening and
shutting without a sound. At length, having given vent to a very feeble
attempt at a mew, she zig-zagged to me, and, climbing upon my knee,
immediately fell into a purring slumber.
"Hallo, Uncle Dick!--I mean, what ho, Little-John!" cried a voice, and
looking over my shoulder carefully, so as not to disturb the balance of
"Louise," I beheld the Imp. It needed but a glance at the bow in his
hand, the three arrows in his belt, and the feather in his cap, to tell
me who he was for the time being.
"How now, Robin?" I inquired.
"I'm a bitter, disappointed man, Uncle Dick!" he answered, putting up a
hand to feel if his feather was in place.
"Are you?"
"Yes; the book says that Robin Hood was 'bitter an' disappointed,' an'
so am I!"
"Why, how's that?"
The Imp folded his arms and regarded me with a terrific frown.
"It's all the fault of my Auntie Lisbeth!" he said in a tragic voice.
"Sit down, my Imp, and tell me all about it."
"Well," he began, laying aside his "trusty sword," and seating himself
at my elbow, "she got awfull' angry with me yesterday, awfull' angry,
indeed, and she wouldn't play with me or anything; an' when I tried to
be friends with her an' asked her to pretend she was a hippopotamus,
'cause I was a mighty hunter, you know, she just said, 'Reginald, go
away an' don't bother me!'"
"You surprise me, Imp!"
"But that's not the worst of it," he continued, shaking his head
gloomily; "she didn't come to 'tuck me up' an' kiss me good-night like
she always does. I lay awake hours an' hours waiting for her, you know;
but she never came, an' so I've left her!"
"Left her!" I repeated.
"For ever an' ever!" he said, nodding a stern brow. "I 'specks she'll
be awfull' sorry some day."
"But where shall you go to?"
"I'm thinking of Persia!" he said darkly.
"Oh!"
"It's nice an' far, you know, an' I might meet Aladdin with the
wonderful lamp."
"Alas, Imp, I fear not," I answered, shaking my head; "and besides, it
will take a long, long time to get there, and where shall you sleep at
night?"
The Imp frowned harder than ever, staring straight before him as one who
wrestles with some mighty problem; then his brow cleared and he spoke in
this wise:
"Henceforth, Uncle Dick, my roof shall be the broad expanse of heaven,
an'--an'--wait a minute!" he broke off, and, lugging something from his
pocket, disclosed a tattered, paper-covered volume (the Imp's books are
always tattered), and hastily turning the pages, paused at a certain
paragraph and read as follows:
"'Henceforth my roof shall be the broad expanse of heaven, an' all
tyrants shall learn to tremble at my name!' Doesn't that sound fine,
Uncle Dick? I tried to get Ben--you know, the gardener's boy--to come
an' live in the 'greenwood' with me a bit and help to make 'tyrants'
tremble, but he said he was 'fraid his mother might find him some day,
an' he wouldn't, so I'm going to make them tremble all by myself, unless
you will come an' be Little-John, like you were once before--oh, do!"
Before I could answer, hearing footsteps, I looked round, and my heart
leaped, for there was Lisbeth coming down the path.
Her head was drooping, and she walked with a listless air. Now, as I
watched I forgot everything but that she looked sad, and troubled, and
more beautiful than ever, and that I loved her. Instinctively I rose,
lifting my cap. She started, and for the fraction of a second her eyes
looked into mine, then she passed serenely on her way. I might have
been a stick or stone for all the further notice she bestowed.
Side by side, the Imp and I watched her go, until the last gleam of her
white skirt had vanished amid the green. Then he folded his arms and
turned to me.
"So be it!" he said, with an air of stern finality; "an' now, what is a
'blasted oak,' please?"
"A blasted oak?" I repeated.
"If you please, Uncle Dick."
"Well, it's an oak-tree that has been struck by lightning."
"Like the one with the 'stickie-out' branches, where I once hid Auntie
Lis--Her stockings?"