He was panting breathlessly, and began to swing his legs.
Dumpty's eyes grew wide with terror, her lips trembled.
"Have they locked us in on purpose?" she asked.
"Yes," said Humpty, "the circus people have locked us in, and they won't
unlock the door until they have left Woodstead."
"And then?" asked Dumpty.
"Then they will keep us, and never let us come home again--like they did
to Poor Jane's brother, and I shall be a bare-back rider, and you will
wear the blue velvet gown, and ride in the processions on the piebald
pony."
"And we shall never see mummie or daddy again--or Nan--or Poor Jane,"
said Dumpty, beginning to cry.
"No, we shall never see them again," answered Humpty, swallowing hard to
keep himself from crying.
Dumpty was crying bitterly now, and the loud sobs shook her small body.
Humpty looked dismally at his surroundings, and continued to swing his
legs.
"Give over!" he said to Dumpty, after one of her loudest sobs; "it will
never do for them to see that you've been crying, or they will be just
furious."
After a time Dumpty dried her eyes, and went to the window, and drew
back the curtains.
"It's getting dark," she said.
Humpty began to whistle. Suddenly he stopped.
"I am getting awful hungry," he remarked.
"We shan't have nuffin' to eat until the morning," said Dumpty.
"Humpty," she continued, "would it be any good if we screamed and banged
the door?"
"No," said the boy; "if they heard us trying to give the alarm, they
would be very angry, and perhaps they wouldn't give us anything to eat
for days--not until we were nearly dead."
"I think we had better go to sleep," said Dumpty, yawning, and began
saying her prayers.
In a few minutes both children were lying fast asleep on the floor of
the caravan.
* * * * *
"My eye! jest look 'ere, Bill!"
"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bill, gaping open-mouthed at the sight of the
two children asleep in the caravan.
"'Ow in the world did they get 'ere?" continued the woman who had first
found them. "Wike up! wike hup!" she cried, giving them each a violent
shaking.
Humpty began to open his eyes. He stared in astonishment at the people
round him.
"Are you the circus people?" he asked.
"Yes, and who are you, we're wanting to know, and 'ow did you come
'ere?"
By this time Dumpty was awake. On seeing the strange faces, she
immediately began to cry.
"Don't 'e cry, dear," said the woman; "there's no call to be afraid."
But Dumpty still cried.
"Why did you lock us in?" asked Humpty defiantly.
"I believe they think as 'ow we locked 'em in for the purpose," laughed
the woman, and then she explained to them what had happened, how they
always kept this caravan locked, for they did not use it for sleeping or
living in, but filled it with baskets and tins, which they sold as they
travelled through the villages. She told the twins, too, that three
policemen were out searching for them everywhere, and had come to make
inquiries of her husband, and of the man who sold the tickets, but they
could tell them nothing. And in their turn the twins had to explain how
it was that they had found their way into the caravan.
[Sidenote: An Early Breakfast]
It was just three o'clock now, and the men were all at work, for by four
o'clock they must be on the way to the next town, where they were
"billed" to give a performance that very afternoon.
"And now," said the woman, "you must 'ave a bite of breakfast, and then
Bill shall tike you 'ome. What'll your ma and pa say when they see you?
they'll be mighty pleased, I guess."
The twins had never been up so early in the morning before. They felt
ill and stiff all over from sleeping on the hard floor, and they were
very hungry, and cold too, for the morning air seemed chill and biting.
The women had made a fire of sticks, and a great black kettle was
hanging over it. The water was boiling and bubbling.
Soon the men left their work and came to join in the meal. They all sat
round the fire on the wet grass, and shared the large, thick mugs of tea
and sugar, and stared at the little strangers.
All the children were up, too, and rubbed their eyes and tried hard not
to look sleepy, but the little ones were cross and peevish. Each child
had a large slice of bread, and a piece of cold pork, and even the
little, sore-eyed baby held a crust of bread and a piece of pork in his
hand, which he tried to stuff into his mouth.
The twins, because they were the guests, were given each a hard-boiled
egg. Dumpty was getting over her shyness now, and tried to behave as
mummie does when she is out to tea. "Eggs are very dear now," she
announced gravely, during a lull in the conversation; "how much do you
pay for yours?" How the men and women laughed! It seemed as if Bill
would never stop chuckling, and repeating to himself, "Pay for our eggs!
That's a good un"; and every time that he said "Pay for our eggs!" he
gave his leg a loud slap with his hand. When breakfast was over--and you
may be sure that the twins ate a good one, although they did not much
like the strong tea, without any milk--the woman said it was time for
them to be starting home.
"Please," begged Dumpty, summoning all her courage--"please, may the
piebald pony take us?" and in a few minutes Bill drove it up, harnessed
to an old rickety cart, and the two children were packed in.
Just as they were starting Dumpty said, with a sigh, to the kind gipsy
woman, "Thank you very, very much, and will you, please, tell the clown
how sorry I am that I have not seen him to speak to?"
"'Ere I am, young mon--'ere I am!"
It was Bill who spoke. The twins could not believe their ears.
"Are you the clown?" said Dumpty in an awestruck voice; "are you really
and truly the clown?"
Bill jerked the reins, and the piebald pony set off at a weary trot.
"Yes, missie, I am the clown," he said.
"Where's your nose?" asked Humpty suspiciously.
"One's on my face--t'other's in the dressing-up box," answered the man,
with a shout of laughter.
"Then you're not Poor Jane's brother?" said Dumpty.
"Don't know nuffun about Poor Jine--we've got only one Jine here, and
that's the monkey, and she ain't my sister, leastways it's to be hoped
as she in't."
But although it was disappointing to find that the clever clown was only
Bill all the time, the twins enjoyed their drive home, for Bill told
them many wonderful tales of his life in the ring, and of the animals
which he had trained.
Soon they came to the village, which looked so strange and quiet by the
early morning light, with the cottage-doors all shut, and the windows
closed and the blinds drawn. Humpty jumped down to open the gate leading
up the drive, and there on the doorstep were mummie and daddy, looking
so white and ill, who had come out of the house at the sound of the
wheels on the gravel to greet them.
[Sidenote: Home Again]
The twins were hurried indoors and taken up to the nursery, and Nan
cried when she saw them and forgot to scold. From the window they
watched mum and daddy thanking Bill, and giving him some money, and they
waved "goodbye" to him, and he flourished his whip in return, gave
another tug at the reins, and the old piebald pony cantered bravely down
the drive, and they saw them no more.
The twins were not allowed to see their mother, for Nan said that she
was feeling ill with a dreadful headache, and it was all on account of
their "goings-on"; and after Nan had stopped crying, she began to scold,
and was very cross all day.
That evening when the twins were in bed mummie came to tuck them up. But
instead of saying "Good-night," and then going out as she generally did,
she stayed for a long, long time and talked.
She told them that it was very wrong to have disobeyed nurse, who had
told them to stay in the seats and not to go away.
"But," cried Humpty, "we had to try to rescue Poor Jane's brother!"
"Poor Jane's brother!" repeated mummie, looking puzzled. And then the
twins explained.
Mummie sat silent for a long time.
"Remember, children," she said at last, "never do evil that good may
come--I can't expect you to understand that--but I can tell you a little
story."
"A story!" cried the twins. "Hooray!"
"Once upon a time a town was besieged. It was night, and only the
sentinels on the walls were left on guard, and told to give the alarm by
clanging a large bell, should the enemy force an attack. There was one
sentinel who had never done this work before, and he was given the least
important tower to guard. During the night a loud bell clanged out, and
a soldier came running along the wall to speak to the new sentinel. 'Do
come,' he said, 'we want as many helpers as we can get at once, and
there will be plenty of fighting.' The young sentinel longed to go with
him, and join the fight, but he remembered his duty in time.
"'I cannot leave this tower,' he said; 'I have had orders to stay and
give the alarm should the enemy appear, and the town trusts me to do
so.'
"'I believe that you are afraid,' said the soldier as he hurried away.
"And this was the hardest of all, and the sentinel longed to join in the
fighting to show that he, too, was no coward, but could fight like a
man.
"He stood there, listening to the noise in the distance, to the shouts
of the enemy, and the screams of those who were struck down. And as he
looked below the walls into the valley beyond he thought that he could
distinguish men moving, and while he watched he saw a number of soldiers
creeping up to the walls, and one man had even placed his foot on the
steps that led up to his tower. Quick as thought, the sentinel seized
the rope of the large bell that hung over his head and clanged it again
and again.
"In a few minutes the troops were assembled, and, making their way down
the steep steps, they charged at the enemy, and followed them into the
valley.
"Late on the following evening the soldiers returned, but not all, for
many were killed--and they brought back news of a great victory. The
enemy was routed and the town saved. So you see, children," said mother
gravely, "how much better it is to do what is right. If that young
sentinel had left his post, even though it were to help the men in the
other tower, the enemy would have climbed up those steps and got into
the town. You must try to remember this always. You should have obeyed
nurse, and remembered that she was trusting you to do what she had said.
It was a kind thought of yours to try to rescue Poor Jane's brother, but
obedience to nurse should have come first."
[Sidenote: Jane's Delusion]
"But we forgot, mummie," said Humpty.
"What would have happened if the sentinel had forgotten that he was
trusted to do his duty, and stay in the tower?"
Humpty was silent.
"And now," said mummie cheerfully, "we will forget all about the
terrible fright you have given us, and you must try to remember what I
have said. I want to know all about Poor Jane's brother," she continued,
smiling; "is it some one you have been imagining about?"
"Oh, no!" cried the twins at once. And then they told her of the
conversation which they had had with Poor Jane, and of what she had said
about her brother.
"But Poor Jane has no brother," said mummie; "he died long ago. Jane's
mind has never grown up. One day, when she was a girl, her mother took
her to a circus at Woodstead, and when they came home, after it was
over, they were told the sad news that Jane's brother had fallen from
the top of a wagon of hay on to his head. He died a few hours later. But
Jane could not understand death--she only knew that Harry had gone away
from them, and she believed that the circus people had stolen him from
the village and made him a clown. Ever since that sad day Jane has gone
up and down the village to look for him, hoping that he will come back."
"And will Poor Jane never see him again?" asked Dumpty.
"Yes," answered mummie, with her sweetest smile--"yes, darlings, one day
she may!"
[Sidenote: An Englishwoman's adventure in Arkansas, issuing in a great
surprise to all concerned.]
The Sugar Creek Highwayman
BY
ADELA E. ORPEN
When Mrs. Boyd returned from Arkansas, I, having myself spent a very
uneventful summer at home, with only the slight excitement of a month at
Margate, was most anxious to hear an account of her adventures. That she
had had adventures out there on those wild plains of course I felt
certain. It would be manifestly preposterous to go to Arkansas for three
months, and come back without an adventure.
So, on the first day when Mrs. Boyd was to be "at home" after her
return, I went to see her; and I found, already assembled in her cosy
drawing-room, several other friends, impelled there, like myself, by
curiosity to hear what she had to say, as well as by a desire to welcome
her back.
"I was just asking Mrs. Boyd what she thought the most singular thing in
America," said Miss Bascombe, by way of putting me _au courant_ with the
conversation after my greeting was over with our hostess.
"And I," replied Mrs. Boyd, "was just going to say I really did not know
what was the one most curious thing in America, where most things seem
curious, being different from here, you know. I suppose it is their
strange whining speech which most strikes one at the outset. It is
strong in New York, certainly, but when you get out West it is simply
amazing. But then they thought my speech as curious as I did theirs. A
good woman in Arkansas said I talked 'mighty crabbed like.' But a man
who travelled in the next seat to me, across Southern Illinois, after
talking with me for a long time, said, 'Wal, now, you dew talk purty
tol'eble square for an Englishwoman. You h'aint said 'Hingland' nor
'Hameriky' onst since you sot there as I knows on!'"
Mrs. Boyd put on so droll a twang, and gave her words such a curious,
downward jerk in speaking, that we all laughed, and felt we had a pretty
fair idea of how the Illinois people talk at all events.
"Everybody is very friendly," continued Mrs. Boyd, "no matter what may
be their station in life, nor what you may suppose to be yours. I
remember in Cincinnati, where I stopped for a couple of days, the porter
who got out my box for me saw it had some London and Liverpool labels on
it, whereupon he said, with a pleasant smile, 'Wal, how's Eurôpe gettin'
on, anyhow?' Fancy a Cannon Street porter making such a remark to a
passenger! But it was quite simply said, without the faintest idea of
impertinence. In fact, it is almost impossible to say that anybody is
impertinent where you are all so absolutely on an equality."
Now all this was interesting enough, no doubt, but what I wanted to hear
about was something more startling. I could not really give up all at
once the idea of an adventure in the West, so I said, "But didn't
anything wonderful happen to you, Mrs. Boyd?"
"No, I can't say there did," replied the lady, slightly surprised, I
could see, by my question.
Then, rallying my geography with an effort, I asked, "Weren't you
carried off by the Indians, or swept away by a flood?"
"No, I was many hundred miles away from the Indian Reservation, and did
not see a single Red man," replied Mrs. Boyd; "and as for floods--well,
my dear, I could tell you the ridiculous straits we were put to for want
of water, but I can't even imagine a flood on those parched and dried-up
plains."
[Sidenote: An Adventure]
"Well," said I, in an aggrieved voice, "I think you might have come back
with at least one adventure after being away for three months."
"An adventure!" exclaimed Mrs. Boyd, in astonishment, and then a flash
of recollection passed over her countenance, and she continued, "Oh,
yes, I did have one; I had an adventure with an highwayman."
"Oh!" cried all the ladies, in a delighted chorus.
"See there, now!" said Miss Bascombe, as if appropriating to herself the
credit of the impending narrative.
"I knew it!" said I, with triumph, conscious that to me was due the
glory of unearthing the tale.
"I'll tell it to you, if you like," said Mrs. Boyd.
"Oh, pray do; we are dying to hear about it!" said Miss Bascombe. "A
highwayman above all! How delicious!"
"Was he handsome?" asked one of the ladies, foolishly, as if that had
anything to say to it.
"Wait," said Mrs. Boyd, who assumed a grave expression of countenance,
which we felt to be due to the recollection of the danger she had run.
We also looked serious, as in politeness bound, and sat in eager
expectation of her story.
"One day we were all invited to spend the whole afternoon at a
neighbour's house. We were to go early for dinner at half-past twelve,
stay until tea at five, and then drive home in the evening. The
neighbour lived twelve miles away, but as there was to be a moon we
anticipated no difficulty in driving home over the prairie. You see, as
a rule, people are not out after dark in those wild regions; they get up
very early, work hard all day, and are quite ready to go to bed soon
after sunset. Anyway, there is no twilight; the sun sets, and it is dark
almost immediately. When the day came, Emily (my sister, you know, with
whom I was staying) wasn't able to go because the baby was not at all
well, and she could not leave him for so long a time. So my
brother-in-law and I set off alone, promising to come home early. I
enjoyed the drive over the prairie very much, and we got to our
destination about midday. Then we had dinner, a regular out-West dinner,
all on the table together, everything very good and very plentiful. We
dined in the kitchen, of course, and after dinner I helped Mrs. Hewstead
to wash up the dishes, and then we went out and sat on the north side of
the house in the shade and gossiped, while the men went and inspected
some steam-ploughs and corn-planters, and what not. Then at five o'clock
we had supper. Dear me! when I think of that square meal, and then look
at this table, I certainly realise there is a world of difference
between England and Arkansas."
"Why," said Miss Bascombe, "don't they have tea in America?"
"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Boyd, "we had tea and coffee, any number of
cakes and pies, and the coloured man brought up a wheelbarrowful of
water-melons and piled them on the floor, and we ate them all!"
"Dear me," I remarked, "what a very extraordinary repast! I think you
must have felt rather uncomfortable after such a gorge."
"Oh dear, no," returned Mrs. Boyd, smiling; "one can eat simply an
unlimited quantity of water-melons on those thirsty plains. The water is
always sickeningly warm in the summer-time, so that any substitute for
it is eagerly welcomed."
Mrs. Boyd, lost in the recollections of the appetising water-melons, was
clearly forgetting the great point of her story, so I ventured to
suggest it by remarking: "And the highwayman?"
"I am coming to that directly," said Mrs. Boyd.
"Well, we started home just before sundown; and as it was very hot, we
could not drive fast. Indeed, the horses were in a sheet of lather
almost immediately, and the air seemed fairly thick with the heat-rays,
and absolutely breathless. Just as we got to the bluff overlooking the
Big Sugar Creek, the sun set.
[Sidenote: A Dangerous District]
"'I wish we were on the other side of the creek, I know,' said my
brother-in-law.
"'Why so?' said I; 'this part of the country is perfectly safe, is it
not?'
"'Yes,' he replied, 'it is pretty safe now, but there are always some
rough customers about the bush, and there have been one or two shootings
on the Big Sugar. Orlando Morse saw a man on horseback one night just
after he had crossed the ford, waiting for him by the side of the road
under the trees. But Orlando is an old frontier-man, so he is pretty
quick with his trigger. He fired twice at the man, after challenging;
whereupon the scoundrel vanished rapidly, and Orlando got safe home.'
"I felt very uncomfortable at this, as you may imagine; still, as I knew
my brother-in-law had a very poor opinion of the nerves of Englishwomen,
I made an effort to say, as lightly as I could: 'What a very
extraordinary country, to be sure! And do you always shoot anybody you
may happen to see standing by the roadside of a summer's evening?'
"'Oh no,' laughed Louis; 'we're not quite so savage as that. But you may
fire at any suspicious body or thing, after due challenge, if the answer
is not satisfactory. That's the rule of the road.'
"After that I began to peer about in the gloom, rather anxiously trying
to see if I could discover any suspicious body or thing, but I could
make out nothing on account of the gloom, made more complete by the
surrounding trees. Besides, we were going down hill very fast; we were,
in fact, descending the steep bank of the first creek; then there was a
bit of level in the wooded valley, then another stream, the South Fork
it was called, then another steep climb, and we would once more be on
the high and open prairie.
"'Now, then, hold on tight!' said my brother-in-law, as he clutched the
reins in both hands, braced his feet against the dashboard, and leaned
far back in his seat. The horses seemed literally to disappear beneath
our feet; the wagon went down head foremost with a lunge, there was a
sudden jerk and great splashing and snorting, followed by a complete
cessation of noise from the wheels, and a gentle swaying to and fro of
the wagon. We were crossing the ford with the water breast high on the
horses.
"'I'm always glad when that ford is behind me,' said Louis to me, when
we were again driving on quietly through the valley.
"'Why?' said I; 'for there's another ford in front of us still.'
"'Oh, the South Fork is nothing, but the Big Sugar is treacherous. I've
known it rise twenty feet in two hours, and once I was water-bound on
the other side for eleven days, unable to ford it. Emily would have gone
out of her mind with anxiety, for the country was very disturbed at the
time, only one of our neighbours, who saw me camping there, rode down to
the house, and told her where I was, but, all the same----Hold! what's
that?'
"I didn't scream; I couldn't, for my heart almost stopped beating with
terror.
"'Take the reins,' said Louis, in a quick whisper.
"I took hold of them as firmly as I could, but a pair of kittens could
have run away with us, my hands trembled so. Louis got out his revolver;
I heard click, click, click, in his hand, and then in the faint light I
saw the gleam of steel.
"'Halt! Who goes there?' called Louis, in a voice of thunder. I never
heard his soldier-voice before, for ordinarily he speaks in a melodious
baritone; and I then quite understood what Emily meant when she told me
how his voice was heard above the din of battle, cheering his men on for
the last charge at Gettysburg. I strained my eyes to see what it was,
and there in front of us, not fifteen yards away, on the side of the
road, I saw a man seated on horseback standing motionless, his right arm
stretching forward, aiming straight towards us.
[Sidenote: Two Pistol-shots]
"Two livid tongues of flame darted from beside me--two quick reports of
pistol-shots rang on the night air, then all was still. I felt the
horses quiver, for the motion was communicated to me by the reins I held
in my hands, but they were admirably trained animals, and did not move
to the right or the left, only the younger one, a bay filly, snorted
loudly. Louis sat silent and motionless, his revolver still pointing at
the highwayman.
"I scarcely breathed, but in all my life I never thought with such
lightning rapidity. My whole household over here was distinct before me,
with my husband and the children, and what they would do on getting the
cablegram saying 'waylaid and murdered.'
"I thought of a myriad things. I remember, amongst others, that it
worried me to think that an over-charge of five shillings from Perkins
for fowl, which my husband had just written to ask about, would now be
paid because I could never explain that the pair of chickens had been
returned. All this time--only a moment or two, you know--I was expecting
instant death, while Louis and the horses remained motionless.
"The smoke from the revolver slowly cleared away; a bat, startled by the
noise, flapped against my face, and we saw the highwayman seated on his
horse, standing immovable where he was, his right arm stretching out
towards us with the same deadly aim.
"'If that man is mortal, he should have dropped,' said Louis softly.
'Both bullets struck him.'
"We waited a moment longer. The figure remained as before.
"'I must reconnoitre,' said Louis; 'I don't understand his tactics.'
And, to my dismay, he prepared to get out of the wagon.
"'Are you going away?' I asked breathlessly.
"'Yes; sit still--the horses won't stir. I'm going to open fire at close
quarters.'