CHAPTER II.
"There are birds out on the bushes, In the meadows lies the lamb, How I wonder if they're ever Half as frightened as I am?"
C.F. ALEXANDER.
The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good,and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching agroup of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealouslylearning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing hisstick before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By thefire sat Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, andin front of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular withthe people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to getinto his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height,his merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him,and his very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a verymethodical teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons onsubjects in which he happened just then to be interested himself; buthe had a clear simple way of explaining anything, which impressed iton the memory, and he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Billwas especially devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthurcould get very rich, and take him for his man-servant; he thought heshould like to brush his clothes and take care of his sticks. He had agreat interest in the growth of his moustache and whiskers. For sometime past Master Arthur had had a trick of pulling at his upper lipwhilst he was teaching; which occasionally provoked a whisper of"Moostarch, guvernor!" between two unruly members of his class; butnever till to-night had Bill seen anything in that line whichanswered his expectations. Now, however, as he stood before the younggentleman, the fire-light fell on such a distinct growth of hair, thatBill's interest became absorbed to the exclusion of all but the mostperfunctory attention to the lesson on hand. Would Master Arthur growa beard? Would his moustache be short like the pictures of PrinceAlbert, or long and pointed like that of some other great man whoseportrait he had seen in the papers? He was calculating on the probableeffect of either style, when the order was given to put away books,and then the thought which had been for a time diverted came backagain--his walk home.
Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been forawhile forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong placesfor his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clatteredthrough the doorway, and left him with a group of elders who closedthe proceedings and locked up the school. But after this further delaywas impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and theRector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced, asedate parish gossip, whilst Bill trotted behind, wondering whetherany possible or impossible business would take one of them his way.But when the turning point was reached, the Rector destroyed all hishopes.
"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if therewere no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, myboy!"
And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on upthe village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then whenall was silent, he turned into the lane.
The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noisesamong the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almostwished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet,and the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him,and he thought he should have felt less frightened if it had beenquite dark. Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, thento be reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and lastSunday's Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this planseemed to answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, bothquestion and answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of hisunpleasant journey. He had just asked himself a question withconsiderable dignity, and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam ofmoonlight lit up a round object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed togrow cold, and he thought his senses would have forsaken him. Couldthis be the head of ----? No! on nearer inspection it proved to beonly a turnip; and when one came to think of it, that would have beenrather a conspicuous place for the murdered man's skull to have beenlost in for so many years.
My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors thatvisit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from beingunreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he wasbut a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylightand dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestionshad alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from whichthe lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he triedto be brave. He tried to think of the good GOD Who takes care of Hischildren, and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. Hethought of all he had been taught about angels, and wondered if onewere near him now, and wished that he could see him, as Abraham andother good people had seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his bestto apply what he had been taught to the present emergency, and verylikely had he not done so he would have been worse; but as it was, hewas not a little frightened, as we shall see.
Yew-lane--cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it--aloitering place for lovers--the dearly-loved play-place ofgenerations of children on sultry summer days--looked very grim andvault-like, with narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rareintervals to make the darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was reallydamp and cold, which is not favourable to courage. At a certain pointYew-lane skirted a corner of the churchyard, and was itself crossed byanother road, thus forming a "four-want-way," where suicides wereburied in times past. This road was the old high-road, where the mailcoach ran, and along which, on such a night as this, a hundred yearsago, a horseman rode his last ride. As he passed the church on hisfatal journey did anything warn him how soon his headless body wouldbe buried beneath its shadow? Bill wondered. He wondered if he wereold or young--what sort of a horse he rode--whose cruel hands draggedhim into the shadow of the yews and slew him, and where his head washidden, and why. Did the church look just the same, and the moon shinejust as brightly, that night a century ago? Bully Tom was right. Theweathercock and moon sit still, whatever happens. The boy watched thegleaming high road as it lay beyond the dark aisle of trees, till hefancied he could hear the footfalls of the solitary horse--and yet,no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but nearer; it was not theclatter of hoofs, but something--and a rustle--and then Bill's bloodseemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a white figure, wrapped inwhat seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the shadow of the yews andmove slowly down the lane. When it reached the road it paused, raiseda long arm warningly towards him for a moment, and then vanished inthe direction of the churchyard.
What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poorlad experienced is more than anyone can say, if at that moment thechurch clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, closein his ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceasedhe contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over theroad, and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and homewithout looking behind him.
Melchior's Dream and Other Tales Page 9