here in safety. What? You are 'not afraid to go'? No, but I am afraid to
take you, little one. Ah, vex me not by crying; I will soon come to you
again!" He took a step towards the farmer. "Jean Paulet, I leave my
treasure in your hands. If aught evil happen to her, I think I should go
mad with grief," he said slowly. "And a madman is dangerous, my friend;
he is apt to be unreasonable, to disbelieve excuses, and to shoot those
whom he fancies have betrayed him! So pray you that I find Rosette in
safety when I come again. Farewell!"
But before he disappeared into the night, he turned smiling to the
child. "Farewell, little one. In the brighter days I will come for thee
again. Forget me not!"
* * * * *
Round Jean Paulet's door one bright afternoon clustered a troop of the
republican soldiers, eyeing indolently the perspiring farmer as he ran
to and fro with water for their horses, and sweetening his labours with
scraps of the latest news.
"Hé, Paulet," suddenly asked the corporal, "hast heard anything of the
rebel General Marigny?"
"No!" replied the farmer hurriedly. "What should I hear? Is he still
alive?"
"Yes, curse him! So, too, is that wretched girl, daughter of a vile
aristocrat, that he saved from starvation. Bah! as if starving was not
too good a death for her! But there is a price set on Marigny, and a
reward would be given for the child too. So some one will soon betray
them, and then--why, we will see if they had not rather have starved!"
he said ferociously.
"I--I have heard this Marigny is a brave man," observed the farmer
timidly.
"That is why we want the child! There is nothing would humble him save
perchance to find he could not save the child he loves from torture. Ha!
ha! we shall have a merry time then!"
"Doubtless this Marigny is no friend to the republic," said the farmer
hesitatingly.
The corporal laughed noisily as he gathered up his horse's reins. "Head
and front of this insurrection--an accursed rebel! But he shall pay for
it, he shall pay; and so will all those fools who have helped him!"
And the little band of soldiers rode away, shouting and jesting, leaving
Jean Paulet with a heart full of fear.
With trembling fingers he pushed open the house door, and, stepping into
the kitchen, found Rosette crouched beneath the open window. "Heard you
what they said--that they are seeking for you?" he gasped.
Rosette nodded. "They have done that this long time," she observed
coolly.
[Sidenote: "They must find You!"]
"But--but--some time they must find you!" he stammered.
Rosette laughed. "Perhaps--if I become as stupid a coward as Jean
Paulet."
The farmer frowned. "I am no coward--I am an experienced man. And I tell
you--I, with the weight of forty years behind me--that they will find
you some time."
"And I tell you--I," mimicked Rosette saucily, "with the weight of my
twelve years behind me--that I have lived through so many perils, I
should be able to live through another!"
"'Tis just that!" said the farmer angrily. "You have no prudence; you
take too many risks; you expose yourself to fearful dangers." He
shuddered.
"What you fear is that I shall expose you," returned Rosette cheerfully.
"Hé, well! a man can but die once, Farmer Paulet."
"That is just it!" exclaimed the farmer vivaciously. "If I had six lives
I should not mind dying five times; but having only the one, I cannot
afford to lose it! And, besides, I have my wife to think of."
Rosette meditated a moment. "Better late than never, Farmer Paulet. I
have heard tell you never thought of that before." The sharp little face
softened. "She is a good woman, your wife!"
"True, true! She is a good woman, and you would not care for her to be
widowed. Consider if it would not be better if I placed you in safety
elsewhere."
"Jean Paulet! Jean Paulet!" mocked Rosette; "I doubt if I should do your
wife a kindness if I saved your skin."
Jean Paulet wagged a forefinger at her angrily. "You will come to a bad
end with a tongue like that! If it were not for the respect I owe to
Monsieur de Marigny----"
"Marigny's pistol!" interrupted Rosette.
"Ah, bah! What is to prevent my abandoning you?" asked the farmer
furiously.
Rosette swung her bare legs thoughtfully. "Papa Marigny is a man of his
word--and you lack five of your half-dozen lives, Jean Paulet."
"See you it is dangerous!" returned her protector desperately. "My wife
she is not here to advise me; she is in the fields----"
"I have noticed she works hard," murmured Rosette.
[Sidenote: To the Uplands!]
"And I will not keep you here. But for the respect I owe Monsieur de
Marigny, I am willing to sacrifice something. I have a dozen of sheep in
the field down there--ah! la, la! they represent a lifetime's savings,
but I will sacrifice them for my safety--no, no; for Monsieur de
Marigny, I mean!" he wailed. "You shall drive them to the uplands and
stay there out of danger. I do not think you will meet with soldiers;
but if you do, at the worst they will only take a sheep--ah! my sheep!"
he broke off distressfully. "Now do not argue. Get you gone before my
wife returns. See, I will put a little food in this handkerchief. There,
you may tell Monsieur de Marigny I have been loyal to him. Go, go! and,
above all, remember never to come near me again, or say those sheep are
mine. You will be safe, quite safe."
Rosette laughed. "You have a kind heart, Jean Paulet," she mocked. "But
I think perhaps you are right. You are too much of a poltroon to be a
safe comrade in adversity."
She sprang from her chair and ran to the doorway. Then she looked back.
"Hark you, Jean Paulet! This price upon my head--it is a fine price, hé?
Well, I am little, but I have a tongue, and _I know what my papa de
Marigny knows_. Ah! the fine tale to tell, if they catch us! Eh?
Farewell."
She ran lightly across the yard, pausing a moment when a yellow mongrel
dog leaped up and licked her chin. "Hé, Gegi, you love me better than
your master does!" she said, stooping to pat his rough coat. "And you do
not love your master any better than I do, eh? Why, then you had better
keep sheep too! There is a brave idea. Come, Gegi, come!" And together
they ran off through the sunshine.
* * * * *
It was very cold that autumn up on the higher lands, very cold and very
lonely.
Also several days had passed since Rosette had ventured down to the
nearest friendly farm to seek for food, and her little store of
provisions was nearly finished.
"You and I must eat, Gegi. Stay with the sheep, little one, while I go
and see if I can reach some house in safety." And, the yellow mongrel
offering no objection, Rosette started.
She was not the only person in La Vendée who lacked food. Thousands of
loyal peasants starved, and the republican soldiers themselves were not
too plentifully supplied. Certainly they grumbled bitterly sometimes, as
did that detachment of them who sheltered themselves from the keen wind
under the thick hedge that divided the rough road leading to La
Plastière from the fields.
"Bah! we live like pigs in these days!" growled one of the men.
"It is nothing," said another. "Think what we shall get at La Plastière!
The village has a few fat farmers, who have escaped pillaging so far by
the love they bore, as they said, to the good republic. But that is
ended: once we have caught this rascal Marigny in their midst, we can
swear they are not good republicans."
"But," objected the first speaker, "they may say they knew nothing of
this Marigny hiding in the château!"
"They may say so--but we need not believe them!" returned his companion.
"Ah, bah! I would believe or not believe anything, so long as it brought
us a good meal! How long before we reach this village, comrade?"
"Till nightfall. We would not have Marigny watch our coming. This time
we will make sure of the scoundrel."
Rosette, standing hidden behind the hedge, clenched her hands tightly at
the word. She would have given much to have flung it back at the man,
but prudence suggested it would be better to be discreet and help
Marigny. She turned and ran along under the hedge, and away back to
where she had left her little flock, her bare feet falling noiselessly
on the damp ground.
"Ah, Gegi!" she panted, flinging herself beside the yellow mongrel, "the
soldiers are very near, and they are going to surprise my beloved papa
de Marigny. What must we do, Gegi, you and I, to save him?"
Gegi rolled sharply on to his back and lay staring up at the skies as if
he was considering the question. Rosette rested her chin on her drawn-up
knees and thought fiercely. She knew in what direction lay the château
of La Plastière, and she knew that to reach it she must cross the
countryside, and cross, too, in full view of the soldiers below; or
else--and that was the shorter way--go along the road by which they
encamped.
Rosette frowned. If they spied her skulking in the distance, they would
probably conclude she carried a message that might be valuable to them
and pursue her. If she walked right through them? Bah! Would they know
it was Rosette--Rosette, for whose capture a fine reward would be given?
She did not look much like an aristocrat's child, she thought, glancing
at her bare brown legs and feet, and her stained, torn blue frock. Her
dark, matted curls were covered with a crimson woollen cap--her every
garment would have been suitable for a peasant child's wear; and Rosette
was conscious that her size was more like that of a child of seven than
that of one of twelve. She had passed unknown through many
soldiers--would these have a more certain knowledge of her?
[Sidenote: "How am I to Settle it?"]
"Oh, Gegi!" she sighed; "how am I to settle it?"
Gegi wagged his tail rapidly and encouragingly, but offered no further
help.
If she went across country the way was longer far, and there was a big
risk. If she went near those soldiers and was known, why, risk would
become a certainty. That Death would stare into her face then, none
knew better than Rosette; but Death was also very near Rosette's beloved
de Marigny, the man who had cared for her and loved her with all the
warmth of his big, generous heart.
"Ah! if my papa de Marigny dies, I may as well die too, Gegi," she
whispered wearily. The yellow mongrel cocked one ear with a rather
doubtful expression. "Well, we must take the risk. If papa de Marigny is
to live, you and I, Gegi, must take him warning!" Rosette cried,
springing to her feet; and Gegi signified his entire approval in a
couple of short barks. "I will take the sheep," his little mistress
murmured; "'tis slower, but they will be so pleased to see them. Poor
Jean Paulet!" she thought, with a faint smile.
Gegi bounded lightly through a gap in the hedge, and dashed up to the
soldiers inquisitively. With an oath, one of the men hurled a stone at
him, which Gegi easily dodged, and another man stretched out his hand
for his musket.
"There are worse flavours than dog's meat," he observed coolly. "Come,
little beast, you shall finish your life gloriously, nourishing soldiers
of the republic!" He placed his gun in position.
"Hé! you leave my dog alone!" called Rosette sharply, as she stepped
into the roadway. "He has the right to live," she added, as she moved
jauntily up to them. Her pert little face showed nothing of the anguish
in her heart.
"Not if I want him for my supper," observed the soldier, grinning at his
comrades, who changed their position to obtain a better view of the
coming sport.
"But you do not," corrected Rosette. "If you need to eat dog, search for
the dog of an accursed fugitive!"
The men laughed. "How do we know this is not one?" they asked.
"I will show you. Hé, Gegi!" she called, and the dog came and sat in
front of her. "Listen, Gegi. Would you bark for a monarchy?" The yellow
mongrel glanced round him indifferently. "Gegi!" his mistress called
imperiously, "do you cheer for the glorious republic?" And for answer,
Gegi flung up his head and barked.
"You see?" asked Rosette, turning to the grinning man. "He is your
brother, that little dog. And you may not eat your brother, you know,"
she added gravely.
[Sidenote: "Whose Sheep are those?"]
"Hé, by the Mass! whose sheep are those?" cried a soldier suddenly.
"They are mine, or rather they are my master's; I am taking them back to
the farm."
"Why, then, we will spare you the trouble. I hope they, too, are not
good republicans," he jested.
"I have called them after your great leaders--but they do not always
answer to their names," Rosette assured him seriously.
"Then they are only worthy to be executed. Your knife, comrade," cried
one of the men, jumping to his feet. "What, more of them! Six, seven,
eight," he counted, as the sheep came through the gap. "Why, 'twill be
quite a massacre of traitors."
"Oh, please! you cannot eat them all! Leave me some, that I may drive
back with me, else my master will beat me!" implored Rosette, beginning
to fear that her chances of passing towards the far distant village were
lessening.
"Your master! Who is your master?"
"He is a farmer down there," nodding vaguely as she spoke.
"Hark you! Have you by any chance seen a man bigger than the average
skulking thereabouts?"
She shook her head. "There are few big men round here--none so fine as
you!" she said prettily.
The man gave a proud laugh. "Ah! we of Paris are a fine race."
Rosette nodded. "My Master is a good republican. You will let me take
him back the sheep," she coaxed.
"Why, those that remain," the soldier replied, with a grin. "Sho! sho!
Those that run you can follow. Ah, behold!" Rosette needed no second
bidding, but started after the remnant of her little troop.
"Hé!" called one of the soldiers to his comrades--and the wind bore the
words to Rosette--"you are fools to let that child pass! For aught we
know, she may be spying for the rebels."
As the men stared after her irresolute, Rosette slackened her pace,
flung up her head, and in her clear childish treble began to sing that
ferocious chant, then at the height of its popularity, which is now the
national hymn of France. So singing, she walked steadily down the long
road, hopeful that she might yet save the man who was a father to her.
* * * * *
It was almost dusk outside the desolate, half-ruined château of La
Plastière. Within its walls the shadows of night were already thickly
gathered--shadows so dark that a man might have lurked unseen in them.
Some such thought came to Rosette as she stood hesitating in the great
hall. How silent the place was! The only noises came from without--the
wind sobbing strangely in the garden, the ghostly rustling of the
leaves, the moan of the dark, swift river. Ah! there was something
moving in the great hall! What was it? A rat dashed by, close to
Rosette's feet; then the hall settled again into unbroken silence.
The child's heart beat quickly. She hated, feared, the shadows and the
quiet.
Yet she must go forward; she dare not call aloud, and she must find de
Marigny, if, indeed, he was still there.
She groped her way to the broad stone stairs. How dark it was! She
glanced up fearfully. Surely something up above her in the shadow on the
stairway moved. She shrank back.
"Coward! little coward!" she muttered. And to scare away her fear she
began to sing softly, very softly, a tender little song de Marigny
himself had taught to her.
"Stay thy hand, man! It is Rosette!" cried a voice from above her,
shattering the silence. And the shadow that had moved before moved
again, and a man from crouching on the step rose suddenly in front of
her.
"Why did you not speak? I thought we were like to be discovered, and I
had nearly killed you. Curse this dark!"
"Hush!" whispered Rosette. "Hush! you are betrayed! The soldiers are
coming. Oh, Papa de Marigny," she murmured, as he came down the
stairway, "they are to be here at dusk. Is it too late? I tried to get
here sooner, but--it was such a long road!" she ended, with a sob.
De Marigny gathered her in his arms. "And such a little traveller! Never
mind, sweetheart, we will cheat them yet," he said tenderly. "Warn the
others, Lacroix!"
[Sidenote: Flight]
But Lacroix had done that already. The house was full now of stealthy
sounds and moving shadows descending the great staircase. De Marigny,
carrying Rosette, led the way across the garden behind the house,
towards the river that cut the countryside in half. The stillness of the
night was broken suddenly by the neighing of a not far distant horse.
"The soldiers! the rebels, papa!" cried Rosette.
De Marigny whispered softly to one of his companions, who ran swiftly
away from him, and busied himself drawing from its hiding-place a small
boat. They could hear the tramp of horses now, near, very near, and yet
the men seated silent in the boat held tightly to the bank.
Hark! The thud, thud of running footsteps came to Rosette, nearer,
nearer, and the man for whom they waited sprang from the bank into their
midst.
A moment later they were caught by the swift current and carried out
into the centre of the broad river.
"Now, if my plan does not miscarry, we are safe!" cried de Marigny
exultantly.
"But, papa, dear one, they will follow us across the river and stop our
landing!" cried Rosette anxiously.
De Marigny chuckled. "Providentially the river flows too fast, little
one, for man or horse to ford it. The bridge yonder in the field is the
only way to cross the river for many miles. And I do not think they will
try the bridge, for I was not so foolish as not to prepare for a
surprise visit many days ago. Look, little one!" he added suddenly.
Rosette held her breath as away up the river a great flame streamed up
through the darkness, followed by a loud explosion, and she saw
fragments of wood hurled like playthings high into the air. Some, as
they fell again to earth, turned into blazing torches. For far around
trees and hedges showed distinctly; the gleaming river, the garden, and
the château stood out clear in the flaming light.
Round the château tore two or three frightened, plunging horses, and the
desperate gestures of their riders could easily be seen by Rosette for a
moment before their craft was hidden by a turn in the river bank.
* * * * *
Monsieur de Marigny rejoined the loyalists across the river, and,
animated by his presence, the struggle against the republic was resumed
with great firmness.
Whenever de Marigny rode among his peasant soldiers, he, their idol, was
greeted with many a lively cheer, which yet grew louder and more joyful
when he carried before him on his horse Rosette, the brave child who had
saved their leader's life at the risk of her own.
[Sidenote: A few plain hints to the teachable.]
Golf for Girls
BY
AN OLD STAGER
I veil my identity because I am not a girl--old or young. Being, indeed,
a mere man, it becomes me to offer advice with modesty.
And, of course, in the matter of golf, women--many of them no more than
girls--play so well that men cannot affect any assurance of superiority.
On my own course I sometimes come upon a middle-aged married couple
playing with great contentment a friendly game. The wife always drives
the longer ball, and upon most occasions manages to give her husband a
few strokes and a beating.
However, I did not start out to write a disquisition on women as
golfers, but only to offer some hints on golf for girls.
And first, as to making a start.
The best way is the way that is not possible to everybody. No girl plays
golf so naturally or so well as the girl who learned it young; who,
armed with a light cleek or an iron, wandered around the links in
company with her small brothers almost as soon as she was big enough to
swing a club. Such a girl probably had the advantage of seeing the game
played well by her elders, and she would readily learn to imitate their
methods. Of course, very young learners may and do pick up bad habits;
but a little good advice will soon correct these if the learner is at
all keen on the game.
A girl who grows up under these conditions--and many do in
Scotland--does not need any hints from me. She starts under ideal
conditions, and ought to make the most of them. Others begin at a later
age, with fewer advantages, and perhaps without much help to be got at
home.
How, then, to begin. Be sure of one thing: you cannot learn to play golf
out of your own head, or even by an intelligent study of books on the
subject. For, if you try, you will do wrong and yet be unable to say
_what_ you are doing wrong. In that you will not be peculiar. Many an
experienced golfer will suddenly pick up a fault. After a few bad
strokes he knows he is wrong somewhere, but may not be able to spot the
particular defect. Perhaps a kindly disposed opponent--who knows his
disposition, for not everybody will welcome or take advice--tells him;
and then in a stroke or two he puts the thing right. So you need a
teacher.
Generally speaking, a professional is the best teacher, because he has
had the most experience in instruction. But professionals vary greatly
in teaching capacity, and cannot be expected in every case to take the
same interest in a pupil's progress that a friend may. If you are to
have the help of a relative or friend, try to get competent help. There
_are_ well-meaning persons whose instruction had better be shunned as
the plague.
Let your teacher choose your clubs for you, and, in any case, do not
make the mistake of fitting yourself up at first either with too many
clubs or with clubs too heavy for you.
[Illustration: A BREEZY MORNING]
As to first steps in learning, I am disposed to think that an old-time
method, by which young people learned first to use _one_ club with
some skill and confidence before going on to another, was a good one. In
that case they would begin with a cleek or an iron before using the
driver.
The learner should give great attention to some first principles. Let
her note the _grip_ she is told to use. Very likely it will seem to her
uncomfortable, and not at all the most convenient way of holding a club
in order to hit a ball; but it is the result of much experience, and has
not been arbitrarily chosen for her especial discomfort.
In like manner the stance, or way of standing when making a stroke, must
be noted carefully and copied exactly. In private practice defy the
inward tempter which suggests that you can do much better in some other
way. Don't, above all, allow yourself to think that you will hit the
ball more surely if you stand farther behind it--not even if you have
seen your brother tee a ball away to the left of his left foot and still
get a long shot.
[Sidenote: "Keep your Eye on the Ball"]
Don't think that the perpetual injunction, "Keep your eye on the ball,"
is an irritating formula with little reason behind it. It is, as a
matter of fact, a law quite as much for your teacher as for yourself.
And don't suppose that you _have_ kept your eye on the ball because you
think you have. It is wonderful how easy it is to keep your eye
glued--so to speak--to the ball until the very half-second when that
duty is most important and then to lift the head, spoiling the shot. If
you can persuade yourself to look at the ball all through the stroke,
and to look at the spot where the ball was even after the ball is away,
you will find that you not only hit the ball satisfactorily but that it
flies straighter than you had hitherto found it willing to do. When you
are getting on, and begin to have some satisfaction with yourself, then
remember that this maxim still requires as close observance as ever. If
you find yourself off your game--such as it is--ask yourself at once,
"Am I keeping my eye on the ball?" And don't be in a hurry to assume
that you were.
Always bear in mind, too, that you want to hit the ball with a kind of
combined motion, which is to include the swing of your body. You are not
there to use your arms only. If you begin young, you will, I expect,
find little difficulty in this. It is, to older players, quite amazing
how readily a youngster will fall into a swing that is the embodiment of
grace and ease.
Putting is said by some to be not an art but an inspiration. Perhaps
that is why ladies take so readily to it. On the green a girl is at no
disadvantage with a boy. But remember that there is no ordinary stroke
over which care pays so well as the putt; and that there is no stroke in
which carelessness can be followed by such humiliating disaster. Don't
think it superfluous to examine the line of a putt; and don't, on any
account, suppose that, because the ball is near the hole, you are bound
to run it down.
Forgive me for offering a piece of advice which ought to be superfluous
and is not. I have sometimes found ladies most culpably careless in the
matter of divots. It is a fundamental rule that, if in playing you cut
out a piece of turf, you or your caddy should replace it. Never, under
any circumstances, neglect this rule or allow your caddy to neglect it.
Nobody who consistently neglects this rule ought to be allowed on any
course.