Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “I wish I’d said good-bye to Rattling Jack,” he remarked, suddenly.

  “Oh, do you? And who the deuce is Rattling Jack?” enquired the major.

  “He is just an old man,” replied Boy, “ oh, very old! But he is a good talker and he amuses me often. He has seen a great deal of life.”

  At this observation Major Desmond folded up his newspaper, laid it flat on his knee with a bang, and stared hard. “Seen a great deal of life!” What an old-fashioned, weird, and preoccupied look the little fellow had, to be sure! And how thin and brown he was! What would Miss Letty say of him when she saw him? Would she be glad she had not been able to adopt him, or would she be sorry? These thoughts passed like small lightning flashes over the major’s brain, and he gave a short, impatient sigh. But, so far as he was personally concerned, he meant to make the best of it all, and on arriving in London that night he not only fulfilled his intention of seeing Boy through a Turkish bath, but he also took him to a tailor’s establishment famous for ready-made clothing and “rigged him out,” as he termed it, with everything that was necessary for the son of a gentleman. And Boy slept soundly in the little room assigned to him at the major’s bachelor flat. His little limbs, lately encrusted with sea-salt that had almost baked itself into his tender flesh, were soothed and softened and rested by the rubbing and polishing he had received at the Turkish bath, — a rubbing and polishing which, by-the-bye he had found intensely amusing and delightful, — and he slipped into his new little flannel nightgown with a sense of ease and rest and lightheartedness that he had not felt for many a long day. And in his sleep something that had seemed hard and unchildish in him rolled away for the time being, for when he got up the next morning and put on his smart little grey travelling-suit and cap to match, and his gold curls, rather short, but washed free of the sea-iodine, glistening with something of their old brightness over his forehead, he looked more like the boy of his babyhood than he had done for months. He was himself conscious of an alteration in his feelings: Rattling Jack and his scavenger friends had all glided away like a bad dream or a picture painted on a vanishing screen — his smiles came easily — his step was brisk and light — and when at breakfast with the major his laugh rang out with almost as much sweetness and freedom as in the old chuckling days of his affection for “Kiss-Letty.” And then, when they started for the North by the terrible train known as the “Flying Scotchman,” what joy! — what excitement! — what novelty!

  There was the jolly guard with the strongest of Highland accents — what a splendid fellow he was, to be sure! Then there was the other man with the polite countenance and the gold buttons on his coat, who came round respectfully to take orders for luncheon-baskets en route; but he was a very agreeable person, especially when luncheon time came and the basket with it. Then there were the wonderful picture-papers with which the major provided him, together with a fascinating little hamper of fruit and a box of the finest chocolate. What a heavenly journey! What an almost inspired “rush” it was from London to Edinburgh — a flight as of the gods! And when Edinburgh was reached and the major did not stop there, but took another train on to a place called Callander, where Miss Leslie’s elegant landau awaited them, there followed a drive like a dream through scenery that was surely as beautiful as any fabled fairyland. Crown upon crown of deep-purple hills stretched softly away into the evening distance of a golden sky as clear as amber; glorious trees nodding drowsily under a weight of clustering scarlet berries — trees which the major told him were called rowans in Scotland and mountain-ash in England; tufts and hillocks of heather almost blazing like fire in the afterglow of the setting sun; and a sweet, mysterious noise of rippling water everywhere — the noise of falling “burnies” leaping from rocky heights and trickling down into deep recesses-of coolness and shadow fringed with bracken and fern. And then the first glimpse of Loch Katrine! that exquisite turn of the road which charms the dullest spectator after passing the Trossach’s Hotel, with Ellen’s Isle standing like a jewel on the shining breast of the peaceful water! Boy’s long pent-up love of the beautiful found vent here in a cry of ecstasy, and he stood up on the seat of the carriage to take in the whole of the matchless panorama. His eyes sparkled, his little face shone with joy and animation, and, seeing how he had almost smiled himself into the real child he was again, the kindly major was more satisfied, and did not feel so much nervous dread of what Miss Letty might say when the carriage turned suddenly round into a fine avenue of silvery birches and pine, and bowled up to the door of a long, wide house, covered with roses and set on a terrace overlooking the Loch, where stood the gentle lady, upon whom the passing of time had scarcely left a perceptible trace — Miss Letty, as serene and graceful as ever, with the same beneficent look of welcome and soft, dove-like glance of eye. At sight of her Boy let himself go altogether, and, flinging reserve and timidity to the winds, sprang into her ready arms and hugged her tight, with a strong inclination to cry, so deeply was he excited. Miss Letty was no less moved as she tenderly embraced him, and it took her a minute or two to conquer her emotion. Then she said, —

  “Dear Boy! I am so glad to see you! How you have grown!”

  Boy laughed sheepishly and shamefacedly. How he had grown, indeed! It seemed quite a mistake to have done it. Why could he not always have stayed a little child and looked at “booful pick-shures” with “Kiss Letty”? And, indeed, no matter how much we are bound to believe in the wise ordainments of a sublime and perfect Providence, we may ask whether for many a child it would not have been happiest never to have grown up at all. Honestly speaking, we cannot grieve for the fair legions of beloved children who have passed away in their childhood; we know, even without the aid of Gospel comfort, that it is “far better” with them so. If Boy had been an analyst of feeling, he would have known that deep in his sensitive consciousness there was a faint regret that he had even become as old as nine years. It was the first pulsation of that much crueller sense of loss and error which sometimes affects the full-grown man when looking back to the by-gone days of his youth. But Boy, though he was beginning to take himself into his own confidence, and to consider carefully the results of giving way to emotion, had not proceeded so far as to understand all the fine breathings of variable thought that stirred his brain-cells as the wind stirs ripples on a pool; he only knew that just now he was both very glad and very sorry, — very glad to be again with ‘Kiss Letty,” very sorry to have “grown” so much as to be somewhat more removed from her than in former time. He hung affectionately on her arm, though, now, as they went into the house together, and a sense of “home, sweet home” gave his step lightness and his eyes a clear sparkle as he passed through the pretty hall, adorned in Scottish fashion with great stag antlers and deer-heads and bright clusters of heather and scarlet rowans set on the table as well as in every corner where a touch of colour or brightness seemed necessary, and then up the broad, softly-carpeted stairs to the delightful room which had been prepared for him — a room with a wide window commanding a glorious view of almost the whole glittering expanse of Loch Katrine. And here Margaret awaited him — Margaret, as comely and tidy as of old, with her kind face and spotless apron, — Margaret, who met him with almost the same exclamation as Miss Letty, though tuned in different words.

  “Bless the lad! How he has grown, to be sure!”

  And again he blushed and smiled and looked sheepish, and felt happy and sad at once. But Margaret soon found out, to his comfort and her own, that he was not so advanced in years and knowledge, after all, that he had but slip-shod notions as to the manner of washing his hands, and was apt to perform that cleansing business in a very limp and half-hearted fashion. Likewise he had little or no idea as to how he should brush and comb his curly hair, and it was greatly to Margaret’s delight that she found her services could not be quite dispensed with. She began at once to “arrange” him according to her own particular way of “valeting” a small boy, and presently turned him out to her entire satisfact
ion in a becoming white flannel suit, — one of the half-dozen Major Desmond had bought him on the way through London, — with a soft blue tie knotted under his little, open collar, and the bright waves of his hair disposed to the best advantage. Very sweet and very wistful, too, the little fellow looked as he then went down to dinner, and Miss Letty’s eyes grew dim with a sudden moisture as she glanced at him from time to time and noticed, as only a loving woman can, the slight, indefinable alterations in him, which, like the faintly pencilled lines in a drawing, were bound to become darker, and gradually to take their place in the whole composition of his life and character. Major Desmond had told her exactly the condition in which he had found him, and as she heard, her heart grew heavy and sore. Why, she thought, if his parents were going to do no more than allow him to run wild among the common boys of a village sea-shore, could they not have given him the chance she had offered? She said something to this effect in half a dozen words to her old friend Dick, who, with a puzzled tug at his white moustache and a shrug of his broad shoulders, gave the matter up as a sort of difficult conundrum.

  “But it’s the mother, Letty, — it’s the soft, fat, absurdly self-important mother!” he declared. “Tell you what, Jim D’Arcy-Muir, besotted with drink as he is, knows he is a beast, and that is a great point in his favour. When a man knows he is a beast and admits it, you can give him credit for honesty, if for nothing else, and Jim, I firmly believe, would hand you over the little chap at once, and be glad enough to give him such a jolly good start in life. But Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir — there! — she’s a beast, too, and she doesn’t know it; that makes all the difference. She’s not a beast in drinking — no — but she’s a beast in her sloth and love of muddle and dirt and confusion, and worse than a beast in stupid obstinacy. No one can do anything with her. She will always be a drag on Boy’s wheel!”

  “His mother?” suggested Miss Leslie, gently.

  “Yes, I know. She’s his mother, more’s the pity. The days are coming when he will despise his mother — and that is a very bad look-out for any chap. But it will not be his fault — it will be hers.”

  Miss Leslie said no more on the subject just then. She had Boy, at any rate, for a month to herself, and she resolved to watch him closely and study his character for herself.

  She began a close and tender observation of him, — his manners, his little quaint ways of speech, — and for the first week of his stay with her she noticed nothing to awaken her anxiety. The change from his “scavenger’” life on the seashore to the elegance and refinement of Miss Letty’s home, combined with the beauty and freshness of an open-air existence in the Scottish Highlands, gave Boy for the first time a happy oblivion of all his recent sordid experiences. Fishing, boating, climbing, and riding on a lovable little Shetland pony which his kind hostess had bought for his use, these new and delightful pastimes, so enjoyable to healthy childhood, were all his to try in turn, and whether he was rushing like a little madcap to the top of a convenient hill to catch a first sight of Major Desmond as he came down from the higher moors with the rest of the shooting-party, or whether he was helping Miss Letty gather great, picturesque bunches of bracken and rowan branches in the woods for the decoration of the house, Boy was unthinkingly and unquestioningly happy. Winsome and bright, he behaved like the real child he truly was in years; he had no time to go away by himself into little corners and think, for there was a boy named Alister McDonald, two years older than himself, who struck up a friendship with him, and had no sort of idea of leaving him alone. This same Alister was a terrible person. He, too, was an only son, but his father, Colonel McDonald, was not a “Poo Sing,” but a very fine specimen of a gentleman at his best. He and his wife, a woman of bright disposition and sweet character, had brought up their boy to love all things bold, manly, and true, and Alister had developed the bold and manly by doing everything in the world that could risk his life and get him into a pickle, and his present way of serving the cause of truth was to go and tell everything to his mother. The very first day he made acquaintance with Boy, he stuck his small hands in his small trouser pockets and remarked airily, —

  “I suppose you’re game for any sort of a lark, ain’t you?”

  “I suppose I am!” Boy answered, with a touch of reserved assurance.

  “All right! Then we’ll be pals!” Alister had answered, and, to prove his sincerity, took Boy at once in charge and escorted him straight away to a mysterious salmon-pool, where, trying to angle with a long willow wand, a bit of string, and a just-killed wasp instead of the orthodox fly, they both very nearly fell in and made an end of their lives. To be the hero of hair-breadth escapes suited Alister perfectly. He always had some dark scheme in his mind, some new plan for generally alarming and exciting the neighbourhood. But as a matter of fact, all the people in the place had got pretty well used to the endless scrapes of “Maister Alister,” as they called him, and even his mother, whose nerves had undergone many a severe trial concerning the delinquencies of her only darling, had now become more or less resigned to the inevitable. Two or three days of each other’s society were enough to make Boy and Alister inseparables, and many a hearty roar of laughter did their strange adventures on hill and moor, by stream and loch, cause Major Desmond and his sporting friends, while kind Miss Letty, with two or three other pleasant ladies who were her guests, laughed with them, and quickly forgave the little truants all their mischief.

  One day there came a pause in the merriment, — the heroic Alister was seized with a raging toothache, a malady which might even upset the calm of an Ajax. There was nothing for it but to have the worrying tooth pulled out whereupon Alister’s mother took him to Edinburgh for the necessary operation. It was a dull, cloudy sort of day; rain had set in early in the morning, and a furious gust of wind swept the fair waters of Loch Katrine and bent the silvery birches to and fro till they presented the weird aspect of shivering white ghosts stooping to bathe their long tresses in the waters, and anon lifting themselves again in attitudes, as it seemed, of wild despair at the pitiless storm. There was no possibility of either walking or driving or boating, and Alister being away, Boy was rather at a loss what to do with himself. Miss Letty saw him looking a little wistful and wearied, and at once took him in hand herself. Putting her arm around him, she said, —

  “What shall we do to amuse ourselves, Boy?” Boy smiled faintly.

  “I don’t know!” he said.

  “Do you like pictures as much as you used to do?”

  Boy hesitated.

  “Some!” he said dubiously; “not all!”

  “Did you bring your magic lantern with you?”

  Boy opened his eyes wide.

  “Oh, no! That’s all gone to pieces long ago.”

  Miss Letty made no comment on the magic lantern’s destruction.

  “Well, let’s ask Margaret what there is among your things to amuse ourselves with,” she said, cheerily. “All sorts of odds and ends were packed with your clothes.”

  “Were there?” said Boy. “Mother didn’t pack them — it was the servant.”

  Again Miss Letty made no comment, and Boy, holding her by the arm, went with her to Margaret, who, on being questioned, smiled, and opened a cupboard full of curious-looking objects.

  “They’re all more or less broken, my leddy!” she said. “But the cozv is here as good as it ever was!”

  “The cow!” and Miss Letty laughed, but a little moisture suffused her eyes.

  Boy looked at her questioningly.

  “What’s the cow?” he asked.

  “Ah, darling, you have grown to be such a little man now that you don’t remember the poor cow!” said Miss Letty, half laughingly, half sadly. “Where is it, Margaret?”

  Margaret selected it from the heap in the cupboard and gave it gingerly into the hand of her mistress, the same wise-looking quadruped, with its movable head wagging as faithfully as ever. Boy looked at it with a smile that was almost derisive.

  “That a cow!”
he said.

  “Yes,” said Miss Letty; “and you thought it a very nice cow when you were a little child. But you have grown so big now, though you are only nine years old. Oh, don’t you remember? — you used to call it ‘Dunny.’”

  Boy’s face brightened with a sudden look of recognition.

  “Oh, yes, I remember now!” he said, and he gave a fillip with his finger to the head of the despised “Dunny” to set it wagging faster. “That was when I was quite a baby!”

  “Yes,” said Miss Leslie, sorrowfully, “when you were quite a baby.”

  She held the cow in her hand tenderly — she would not put it back among the broken toys. But she said no more about it just then. The only thing they found among the mass of rubbish which had been thrust into Boy’s portmanteau so hastily by his mother’s maid-of-all-work was a German war-game which Boy proposed to play with Miss Letty.

  She acceded, and together they went down to her own boudoir, where she placed “Dunny” on a little bracket above her writing-desk, and then applied herself to master the game of killing as per German military tactics. Boy proved himself an extraordinary adept at this mechanical warfare, and won all along as triumphantly as if he had been the owner of the Mailed Fist himself. Indeed, he showed an extraordinary amount of cunning-, which, though clever, was not altogether as lovable and child-like as Miss Letty in her simplicity of soul could have wished. There was a vague discomfort in her mind as she allowed herself to be ignominiously beaten. For though the game was only a game, it had its fixed rules, like every other, and Miss Letty was sorely worried by the fancy — it was only a fancy — that Boy had been trying to “cheat” in a peculiarly adroit fashion. She would not allow herself to dwell upon the point, however, and when she put away the game and took him to tea in the drawingroom, where two of the ladies staying in the house were sitting with their needlework and listening to the howling wind and gusty rain, she gave him a little chair by the side of the bright fire, which was necessary on such a chilly day in Scotland, and let him talk as he liked and generally express his sentiments. For some time he was very silent, contenting himself with tea-cake and scones, and only occasionally remarking on the absence of Alister McDonald and the suffering he was now undergoing with his tooth, but after a bit he began to ask questions and unburden his mind on sundry matters, encouraged thereto by one of the ladies present, who was interested by his winsome face, clear eyes, and light, trim little figure.