CHAPTER IV.
BABES IN A WOOD.
"Out of this wood do not desire to go; Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no." _Midsummer Night's Dream._
There was no one to be seen when they got to the back gate. The childrenstood and looked about--Pamela with the bits of broken crockery in herapron held up in front, Duke tightly clasping the precious money-box.They looked this way and that way, up the lane and down the lane, butcould see nothing or nobody save Farmer Riggs' very old horse turned outat the side of the hedge, and two or three ducks who had perverselychosen to wander out to grub about in a small pool of stagnant waterinstead of gratefully enjoying their own nice clean pond, asGrandmamma's ducks might have been expected to do. At another time Dukeand Pamela would certainly have chased the stray ducks home again, withmany pertinent remarks on their naughty disobedience, but just now theyhad no thought or attention to give to anything but their own concerns.
A sudden feeling came over Pamela, and she turned to Duke.
"Bruvver," she said, "those people hasn't come. I fink they're not goodpeople, and they won't come near the house. I daresay they're somewheredown the lane, not far off--but don't you _fink_ perhaps us had betternot look for them any more, but just go home, and when Grandmamma comesin tell her _everyfing_. Even if she is raver angry, wouldn't it bebetter, bruvver? I'm almost sure my little voice inside is telling meso," and Pamela stood for a moment with a look of intent listening onher face. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it's trying to say. Can you hearyours, bruvver?"
Duke looked undecided.
"I can't listen just now, sister," he replied. "I'm full of thinking hownice it would be to buy a bowl just the same, and take it in and give itto poor Biddy, and then she wouldn't be scolded. I don't think I'd mindtelling Grandmamma once us had got the bowl. She'd be so pleased to haveone the same."
"_I_ fink she'd be most pleased for us to tell her everyfing,"maintained Pamela stoutly.
And Duke, always impressed by her opinion, wavered, and no doubt hewould have wavered back into the right way, had not, just at thatmoment, a low whistle been heard some way to the left down the lane;and, looking in the direction from whence it came, the little boy andgirl caught sight of a head quickly poked out and as quickly drawn backagain into the shade of the hedge. But not too quickly for them to haverecognised the sharp black eyes and rough black hair of the gipsypedlar.
Without replying to Pamela Duke darted off, and, though much against herwill, the little girl felt she could not but follow him. Before they hadquite reached the spot the head was poked out again.
"I've had to wait here for you, master and missy," said the man. "Therewere some farmers men down that way, round the corner," and he jerkedhis thumb--for he had by this time come out of his hole--in an imaginarydirection, "as said this were a private road, and they'd set dogs on usif we came on. I'm a peaceable fellow, and not fond o' fightin', so I'djust have gone on my way out of their road but for promisin' you to comeround this way."
"It's very strange," said Duke; "I don't know what it means about aprivate road, but I know everybody always passes this way--that's why uslikes Spy Tower so much, there's so many people passing."
"It's all along of our being poor folk," said the man; "there's no fairplay for poor folk. But I'm one as keeps his word, so here I am. And thedonkey and the missus are down the road there waiting--there's a littlewood where we thought nobody would disturb us for a bit, if you andmissy will come so far--the missus said she'd unpack the pots. But youmust be quick--I dursn't hang about here, and if you can't come there'sno more to be said," and he turned as if to go.
"Just wait one instant, please," said Pamela hastily, extracting one ofthe fragments from her apron; "just look at this. It's no use our goingto see the bowls if you've none the same--do you fink you have any likethis?"
The man pretended to start.
"Well, that is cur'ous," he said. "If my eyes is not deceivin' me,that's the very pattern we've a whole set on--the bowls shouldn't oughtto be sold separate, but to oblige you we'll see what the missus willdo," and again he turned to go.
The children looked at each other. They had never before in their livesbeen outside the gates alone; of this back road and where it led to theyknew very little, as it was always on the other road--that leading toSandlingham--that Nurse liked to walk. They did not remember the littlewood the man spoke of, but they did not like to contradict him; then, ifit was only such a little way, they could run back in a minute when theyhad got the bowl, and all would be right. So they took each other'shands and followed the man, who was already striding some steps in frontdown the lane, glancing behind him over his shoulder from time to timeto see if the little couple had made up their minds.
A few minutes' quick walking on his part, necessitating somethingbetween a trot and a run on theirs, brought them out of the lane intothe high road. Here the man stopped short for a moment and looked abouthim--the children supposed in search of his companions and the donkey.But there was no one and nothing to be seen.
"I don't think us can come any farther," said Duke rather timidly. Theman turned round with a scowl on his face, but in a moment he hadsmoothed it away and spoke in the same oily tones.
"It's just a step farther," he said, "and I can take you a shorter waythrough the fields than the missus could go with the donkey. This way,master and missy," and he quickly crossed the road, still glancing upand down, and, climbing over a stile, stood beckoning for the childrento follow.
They had never noticed this stile before; they had not the slightestidea where it led to, but somehow they felt more afraid now to turn backthan to go on; and, indeed, it would not have been any use, for, had hecared to do so, the man could have overtaken them in a moment. The stilewas hard for their short legs to climb, but they had a great dislike tothe idea of his touching them, and would not ask for help. And once hehad got them on the other side of it he seemed to feel he had them inhis power, and did not take much notice of them, but strode on throughthe rough brushwood--for they were by this time in a sort of littlecoppice--as if he cared for nothing but to get over the ground as fastas possible. And still the two followed him--through the coppice, acrossone or two ploughed fields, down a bit of lane where they had never beenbefore, plunging at last into a wood where the trees grew thick anddark--a forest of gloom it seemed to Duke and Pamela--and all this timethey never met a creature, or passed any little cottage such as theywere accustomed to see on the cheerful Sandlingham road. The pedlar knewthe country, and had chosen the least frequented way. Had they by anychance met a carriage or cart, even when crossing the high road, hewould not have dared to risk being seen with the children, but in thatcase he would no doubt have hurried off, leaving them to find their wayhome as best they might. But no such good fortune having befallen them,on they trotted--hand-in-hand for the most part, though by this timeseveral stumbles had scratched and bruised them, and their flying hair,flushed faces and tumbled clothes made them look very different from thelittle "master and missy" Biddy had sent out into the peaceful garden toplay that sweet April afternoon.
_Why_ they went on, they could not themselves have told. Often in afteryears, and when they had grown older and wiser, they asked themselvesthe question. It was not exactly fear, for as yet the man had notactually spoken roughly to them, nor was it altogether a feeling ofshame at giving in--it was a mixture of both perhaps, and some strangesort of fascination that even very wise people might not find it easy toexplain. For every time their steps lagged, and they felt as if theycould go no farther, a glance over his shoulder of the man in frontseemed to force them on again. And as the wood grew closer and darkerthis feeling increased. They felt as if they were miles and miles fromhome, in some strange and distant country they had never before seen orheard of; they seemed to be going on and on, as in a dream. And thoughpoor little Pamela still, through all her stumbles and tumbles, heldtightly up before her the corners of her apron, contai
ning the bits ofthe unlucky bowl, and Duke, on his side, still firmly clutched hisprecious money-box, I do not believe either of them had by this time anyvery clear remembrance of why they were laden with these queer burdens,or what was the object of the strange and painful expedition.
And still on strode the piercing-eyed gipsy, as sure of his prey nowapparently as a fowler who watches unmoved the fruitless struggles ofsome poor little birds in the net from which they have no chance ofescaping.
It would be impossible to say how far they had gone--perhaps not so veryfar after all, though their panting breath and trembling little legsshowed that the gipsy's purpose of tiring them out was pretty wellaccomplished--when at last a sharp cry from Pamela forced the pedlar tolook round. She had caught her foot on a stone or a root, and fallen,and in falling one of the jagged bits of the broken crockery had cut herleg pretty deeply; the blood was already streaming from it, her littlewhite sock was deeply stained, and she lay on the ground almost faintingwith terror and pain.
"Stop that screaming, will ye?" said the man, and then, with a halfreturn to his former tone, "There's nothing to cry about, missy. It'sjust a scratch--I'll tie it up with a bit of rag," and he began fumblingabout in his dirty pockets as he spoke. "There's the donkey and theothers waiting for us just five minutes farther;" and for once the gipsyspoke the truth. The way he had brought the children was in reality agreat round, chosen on purpose to bewilder them, so that the rest of hisparty had been able to reach the meeting-place he had appointed verymuch more quickly by the road.
But Pamela, once thoroughly upset and frightened, was not to be soeasily calmed down.
"No, no," she screamed, "I won't let him touch me. Go away, go away, youugly man," she cried, pushing him back with her tiny hands when he triedto come near. "I _won't_ let you touch me or carry me," for that nowseemed to be the gipsy's intention, "leave me here with Duke; we don'twant you any more."
The man's dark face grew darker with the scowl that came over it. Forhalf a moment he seemed on the point of seizing Pamela in his arms inspite of her cries and resistance. But there was Duke too to beconsidered; Pamela alone it would be easy to cover up, so that her criesshould not be heard; but he could not carry both, and if the boy ranafter them screaming, or if he tried to run home, to ask for help--for"home" was really not far off--there was no knowing what trouble theanything but blessed "brats" might bring upon worthy Mick and his horde!So that respectable gentleman decided on different tactics.
"You're a very naughty little girl," he said--speaking, however, notroughly, but more as if Pamela's behaviour really shocked and hurt him."After all the trouble I've give myself for you--a-goin' out of my road,and a-unpackin' all the pots and crocks down there, for to please you.Not even to let me tie up your foot or carry you to the missus for herto do it! Well, if you lie there till you bleed to death, it's no faulto' mine."
But Duke's presence of mind had returned by this time.
"I'll tie up her foot with my hankercher," he said, producing the littletwelve-inch square of linen, which for a wonder he found in his pocket,on the whole much cleaner than could have been expected. And though hegrew white and sick with the sight of the streaming blood, he managedwithout any opposition from his sister to strap it up after a fashion,the gipsy looking on in silence.
"You can go now, thank you," said Duke, his voice trembling in spite ofhimself. "Us don't mind about the bowl--it's too far to go. Us will tellGrandmamma all about it--Oh how I do wish us had told her at first," hebroke off suddenly. "Please go," he went on again to the pedlar;"sister's frightened. I'll stay here with her till her foot's better,and then us'll go home."
"And how will ye do that, I'd like to know, my young master?" said thepedlar, and there was a mocking tone in his voice that made the boy lookup at him with fresh alarm. "Ye're furder from 'home' than ye think for.No, no; here ye'll have to stay till I fetch the donkey to carry youboth. And to think of all that trouble and time lost for nothing."
"They'll give you something at home for bringing us back; they willindeed," said Duke. "Grandpapa and Grandmamma will be so pleased to seeus safe again, I _know_ they'll give you something," he repeated, whilea sob rose in his throat at the thought that already perhaps dearGrandpapa and Grandmamma--never had they seemed _so_ dear!--werewondering and troubled about their absence. And somehow he quite forgotthat he himself could reward the gipsy, for in attending to Pamela'swounded foot he had laid down the money-box, and no longer rememberedthat he had it with him.
The gipsy grunted, and muttered something about "making sure" that Dukescarcely heard. Then he turned to go.
"I'm off for the donkey then. But mind you the stiller you stays in thishere wood the better," he added impressively. "That's why I didn't likemissy crying out so loud. It's a queer place--a _very_ queer place. I'sewarrant your Nurse never brought you this way when you were outa-walking."
"No, never," said Duke, startled, and even Pamela left off sobbing tostare up at him with her tearful blue eyes, as if fascinated by thesemysterious hints.
"Ah, I thought not," he said, nodding his head. "Well, stay where youare, and make no sound whatsumnever, and no harm'll come to ye. But ifyou stir or speak even above a whisper," and he lowered his own voice,"there's no saying. There's beasts you never heard tell of in thiswood--worsest of all, snakes, that think nothing of twisting round achild and off with it for their supper afore one could cry out. But ifyou stop quite still they'll not find you out before I'm back with thedonkey. It's about their time o' day for sleeping just now, I'mthinking," and with this crumb of consolation the cruel-hearted gipsyturned on his heel.
Words would fail me to describe the terror of the two poor littlechildren: a cry of appeal to the pedlar to stay beside them, not toleave them to the dreadful creatures he spoke of, rose to their lips,but stopped there. For were they not almost as terrified of him as ofthe snakes? Pamela forgot all about her wounded foot, though it wasgrowing stiff with pain, and the blood, which Duke's unskilful bindinghad not succeeded in checking, was still flowing in a way that wouldhave alarmed more experienced eyes. It was cold too--and terror madethem colder--for the evening was drawing on, and it was only April. Yetthey dared not move--Pamela indeed could not have stood up--and so therethey stayed, Duke crouched beside his sister, who lay almost at fulllength on the short tufty grass, among the roots and stumps, for justhere a good deal of wood had been cut down. There was no fear of theirmoving--the shivers and sobs that they could not control added to theirfears--they would have left off breathing even, if they could havemanaged it, rather than risk betraying their presence to the snakes!
But after some minutes--not more than five probably, though it seemedmore like five hours--had passed the silence and strain grew unbearableto Duke. He peeped at Pamela; her eyes were closed, she looked sodreadfully white!--his heart gave such a thump that he looked round fora moment in terror, it seemed to him such a loud noise,--what could makeher look so? Could the fear and the pain have killed her?
"Pamela," he whispered, in what he meant to be a very low whisperindeed; "Oh, sister, are you dead?"
Her eyelids fluttered a little, and she half opened them.
"No, bruvver; at least I don't fink so," she said, and her whisper wasvery faint without her trying to make it so, for she was really quiteexhausted. "I wasn't sure a minute ago, but I fink now I'm only dying.But don't speak, for the snakes might hear."
"They're asleep, he said," returned Duke, with a sob of anguish atPamela's words.
"But some might be awake. If it wasn't for that, oh, bruvver, you mightrun away, and perhaps you'd get safe home. Couldn't you _try_, bruvver?"and Pamela half raised herself on her arm.
"And leave _you_, sister!" cried Duke indignantly, forgetting towhisper; "how could you think I'd ever do such a thing? If I could_carry_ you--oh what a pity it is I'm not much bigger than you!" "Youcouldn't carry _me_," said Pamela feebly, and her head sank back again;"and the snakes would hear us and catch us. But oh, bruvver, I'm
afraidI'll be quite dead before the man comes back again, and yet I don't wanthim to come."
Almost in despair Duke sat up and looked round for any possibility ofhelp. It was nearer than he thought; and yet when a voice, apparently avery little way off, called out, as if in answer to his unspokenappeal--
"I'm a-coming. Don't ye be afeared," he started with new terror.
"A snake!--Oh, sister, can it be a snake?" he cried wildly, for therewas nothing to be seen.
"Snakes don't talk, as ever I heard on," said the voice again, and thistime it was accompanied by a merry laugh, which brought great comfort topoor Duke. And in another moment the mystery was explained.
From behind some stubble a few yards off rose the figure of the youngboy whom the children had seen walking behind the gipsies--whistlingwhile he cut at a branch he held in his hand--from their point ofobservation in Spy Tower. His face was tanned and freckled by the sun,but his fair hair and bright blue eyes showed that he was not by birthone of the dark-skinned tribe; and something in the bright smile,showing a row of teeth as white and even as Duke's own, and in thecheerful voice, at once gained the little boy's confidence.
FROM BEHIND SOME STUBBLE A FEW YARDS OFF ROSE THE FIGUREOF THE YOUNG BOY WHOM THE CHILDREN HAD SEEN WALKING BEHIND THEGIPSIES--WHISTLING WHILE HE CUT AT A BRANCH HE HELD IN HIS HAND.--p.74.]
"I've been looking for ye," he said, speaking in a rather lower tone. "Iknew he was a-going to bring ye round this way, so I hid in the bushestill I see'd him go by. And I crep' along on my hands and knees for fearhe should look back. But he's out o' the way for a few minutes. It'sonly a bit of a step to where the others is, but he said something aboutthe donkey, didn't he? It'll take him a bit to unload it. An' what's hebeen a-doing to ye?" he went on, glancing round till his eyes for thefirst time caught sight clearly of the little figure stretched on theground. "He's never gone and dared to hit the little lady?" and thegood-humoured face grew dark and almost fierce as he stooped down closeto Pamela. She looked pitiable enough; her face had grown whiter andwhiter, her eyes were still closed, and the blood from her foot hadcrept about her as she lay till it had soiled the frills of her littlewhite skirts.
"No," said Duke; "no, it's her foot. The bits of the bowl cut it whenshe felled down. I tied it up with my hankercher, but it hasn't left offbleeding."
The boy did not speak, he was too busy examining the poor foot, which hehandled so tenderly that Pamela did not shrink from his touch. At lasthe looked up.
"I say, master," he said, "we must have some water for this 'ere foot.Just you sit down where I am and hold it so; it won't bleed so bad thatway, and I'll get some water. There's some hard by," and he lookedround. "If I had but something to fetch some in."
"There's my money-box," said Duke, with a sudden flash of recollection,"it would hold a little," and in his turn he looked round. But nomoney-box was to be seen. "Oh where can it be?" he cried. "I know I hadit when sister felled."
"Was there summat in it?" asked the boy.
"Oh yes," replied Duke; "one of the little gold guineas, and one of myshillings, and one of sister's sixpennies, and all the pennies."
"Ah," said the boy, "then I'm afeared you've said good-bye to the lot o'them. Catch Mick let fish like that out of his net. But," he added--forDuke seemed to be stunned by the loss--"sit ye down, and I'll fetch whatwater I can in my cap, or we'll have missy's foot very bad, and that 'udbe worser than losin' the money."
He was back in a moment with water enough to soak the diminutivehandkerchief, with which he gently bathed away some of the blood, sothat he could see the wound. It was a bad cut, but it was not nowbleeding so much. The little surgeon pressed the sides gently together,which made Pamela give a little scream of pain.
"Don't cry, missy dear," he said. "It'll not hurt so much when I've tiedit up. Ye've not another hankerwich? I'd like to lay this one over thecut--it's nice and wet--and tie it on with summat else."
"I fink there's one in my pocket," said Pamela, and when Duke hadextracted it, and with its help the poor foot was tied up much morescientifically than before, she sat up and looked about her, less whiteand miserable by a good deal, thanks to their new friend.
"What a nice boy you are," she said condescendingly. "What's your name?Is that---- ugly man" she was going to have said, but she hesitated,afraid of hurting the boy's feelings--"is the man your father?" and shedropped her voice.
"Bless yer, no," he replied with real fervency, "and that's one thingI'm thankful for. Mick my father; _no_, thank you, missy. My name's Tim,leastways so I'm called. Diana she says it's short for Timothy, butTim's long enough."
"And who's Diana?" asked the children, beginning to forget their owntroubles in curiosity.
"Her as he roared out at so--yonder--when you was up at the top o' thewall. She's a deal better than him and the missus is Diana. But listen,master and missy. He'll be back in a minute, and----"
"Oh let us run away before he comes! oh do help us to run away!" theyexclaimed, all their terrors returning. "Us doesn't want the bowl now.Oh Tim, can't us all run away, quick, before he comes?"
And the two little creatures seized hold of their new friend's raggedjacket as if they felt that in him was their only chance of safety.
Us, An Old Fashioned Story Page 4