Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  Some nine and a half years had passed from the date of the eventsdescribed in the foregoing pages, when one evening Mr. Fraserbethought him that he had been indoors all day, and proposed readingtill late that night, and that therefore he had better take someexercise.

  A tall and somewhat nervous-looking man, with dark eyes, a sensitivemouth, and that peculiar stoop and pallor of complexion which thosedevoted to much study almost invariably acquire, he had "student"written on his face. His history was a sufficiently common one. Hepossessed academical abilities of a very high order, and had in hisyouth distinguished himself greatly at college, both as a classicaland a mathematical scholar. When quite young, he was appointed,through the influence of a relation, to his present living, where theincome was good and the population very small indeed. Freed from allnecessity for exertion, he shut himself up with his books, having hislittle round of parish work for relaxation, and never sought to emergefrom the quiet of his aimless studies to struggle for fame and placein the laborious world. Mr. Fraser was what people call an able manthrown away. If they had known his shy, sensitive nature a littlebetter, they would have understood that he was infinitely more suitedfor the solitary and peaceful lot in life which he had chosen, than tobecome a unit in the turbulent and greedy crowd that is strugglingthrough all the ages up the slippery slopes of the temple of thatgreatest of our gods--Success.

  There are many such men, probably you, my reader, know one or two.With infinite labour they store up honey from the fields of knowledge,collect endless data from the statistics of science, pile up theircalculations against the very stars; and all to no end. As a rule,they do not write books; they gather the learning for the learning'ssake, and for the very love of it rejoice to count their labour lost.And thus they go on from year to year, until the golden bowl is brokenand the pitcher broken at the fountain, and the gathered knowledgesinks, or appears to sink, back to whence it came. Alas, that onegeneration cannot hand on its wisdom and experience--more especiallyits experience--to another in its perfect form! If it could, we menshould soon become as gods.

  It was a mild evening in the latter end of October when Mr. Fraserstarted on his walk. The moon was up in the heavens as he, an hourlater, made his way from the side of the lake, where he had beenwandering, back to the churchyard through which he had to pass toreach the vicarage. Just before he came to the gate, however, he wassurprised, in such a solitary spot, to see a slight figure leaningagainst the wall opposite the place where lay the mortal remains ofthe old squire and his daughter-in-law, Hilda. He stood still andwatched; the figure appeared to be gazing steadily at the graves.Presently it turned and saw him, and he recognized the great grey eyesand golden hair of little Angela Caresfoot.

  "Angela, my dear, what are you doing here at this time of night?" heasked, in some surprise.

  She blushed a little as she shook hands rather awkwardly with him.

  "Don't be angry with me," she said in a deprecatory voice; "but I wasso lonely this evening that I came here for company."

  "Came here for company! What do you mean?"

  She hung her head.

  "Come," he said, "tell me what you mean."

  "I don't quite know myself. How can I tell you?"

  He looked more puzzled than ever, and she observed it and went on:

  "I will try to tell you, but you must not be cross like Pigott whenshe cannot understand me. Sometimes I feel ever so much alone, asthough I was looking for something and could not find it, and then Icome and stand here and look at my mother's grave, and I get companyand am not lonely any more. That is all I know; I cannot tell you anymore. Do you think me silly? Pigott does."

  "I think you are a very strange child. Are you not afraid to come herealone at night?"

  "Afraid--oh, no! Nobody comes here; the people in the village dare notcome here after dark, because they say that the ruins are full ofspirits. Jakes told me that. But I must be stupid; I cannot see them,and I want so very much to see them. I hope it is not wrong, but Itold my father so the other day, and he turned white and was angrywith Pigott for giving me such ideas; but you know Pigott did not givethem to me at all. I am not afraid to come; I like it, it is so quiet,and, if one listens enough in the quiet, I always think one may hearsomething that other people do not hear."

  "Do you hear anything, then?"

  "Yes, I hear things, but I cannot understand them. Listen to the windin the branches of that tree, the chestnut, off which the leaf isfalling now. It says something, if only I could catch it."

  "Yes, child, yes, you are right in a way; all Nature tells the sameeternal tale, if our ears were not stopped to its voices," heanswered, with a sigh; indeed, the child's talk had struck a vein ofthought familiar to his own mind, and, what is more, it deeplyinterested him; there was a quaint, far-off wisdom in it.

  "It is pleasant to-night, is it not, Mr. Fraser?" said the littlemaid, "though everything is dying. The things die softly without anypain this year; last year they were all killed in the rain and wind.Look at that cloud floating across the moon, is it not beautiful? Iwonder what it is the shadow of; I think all the clouds are shadows ofsomething up in heaven."

  "And when there are no clouds?"

  "Oh! then heaven is quite still and happy."

  "But heaven is always happy."

  "Is it? I don't understand how it can be always happy if _we_ gothere. There must be so many to be sorry for."

  Mr. Fraser mused a little; that last remark was difficult to answer.He looked at the fleecy cloud, and, falling into her humour, said--

  "I think your cloud is the shadow of an eagle carrying a lamb to itslittle ones."

  "And I think," she answered confidently, "that it is the shadow of anangel carrying a baby home."

  Again he was silenced; the idea was infinitely more poetical than hisown.

  "This," he reflected, "is a child of a curious mental calibre."

  Before he could pursue the thought further, she broke in upon it inquite a different strain.

  "Have you seen Jack and Jill? They _are_ jolly."

  "Who are Jack and Jill?"

  "Why, my ravens, of course. I got them out of the old tree with a holein it at the end of the lake."

  "The tree at the end of the lake! Why, the hole where the ravens nestis fifty feet up. Who got them for you?"

  "I got them myself. Sam--you know Sam--was afraid to go up. He said heshould fall, and that the old birds would peck his eyes. So I went bymyself one morning quite early, with a bag tied round my neck, and gotup. It was hard work, and I nearly tumbled once; but I got on thebough beneath the hole at last. It shook very much; it is so rotten,you have no idea. There were three little ones in the nest, all withgreat mouths. I took two, and left one for the old birds. When I wasnearly down again, the old birds found me out, and flew at me, andbeat my head with their wings, and pecked--oh, they did peck! Lookhere," and she showed him a scar on her hand; "that's where theypecked. But I stuck to my bag, and got down at last, and I'm glad Idid, for we are great friends now; and I am sure the cross old birdswould be quite pleased if they knew how nicely I am educating theiryoung ones, and how their manners have improved. But I say, Mr.Fraser, don't tell Pigott; she cannot climb trees, and does not liketo see me do it. She does not know I went after them myself."

  Mr. Fraser laughed.

  "I won't tell her, Angela, my dear; but you must be careful--you mighttumble and kill yourself."

  "I don't think I shall, Mr. Fraser, unless I am meant to. God looksafter me as much when I am up a tree as when I am upon the ground."

  Once more he had nothing to say; he could not venture to disturb herfaith.

  "I will walk home with you, my dear. Tell me. Angela, would you liketo learn?"

  "Learn!--learn what?"

  "Books, and the languages that other nations, nations that have passedaway, used to talk, and how to calculate numbers and distances."

  "Yes, I should like to learn very much; but who will teach me? I havelearnt all
Pigott knows two years ago, and since then I have beentrying to learn about the trees and flowers and stars; but I look andwatch, and can't understand."

  "Ah! my dear, contact with Nature is the highest education; but themind that would appreciate her wonders must have a foundation ofknowledge to work upon. The uneducated man is rarely sensitive to thethousand beauties and marvels of the fields around him, and the skiesabove him. But, if you like, I will teach you, Angela. I ampractically an idle man, and it will give me great pleasure; but youmust promise to work and do what I tell you."

  "Oh, how good you are! Of course I will work. When am I to begin?"

  "I don't know--to-morrow, if you like; but I must speak to your fatherfirst."

  Her face fell a little at the mention of her father's name, butpresently she said, quietly--

  "My father, he will not care if I learn or not. I hardly ever see myfather; he does not like me. I see nobody but Pigott and you and oldJakes, and Sam sometimes. You need not ask my father; he will nevermiss me whilst I am learning. Ask Pigott."

  At that moment Pigott herself hove into view, in a great flurry.

  "Oh, here you are, Miss Angela! Where have you been to, you naughtygirl? At some of your star-gazing tricks again, I'll be bound,frightening the life out of a body. It's just too bad of you, MissAngela."

  The little girl looked at her with a peculiarly winning smile, andtook her very solid hand between her own tiny palms.

  "Don't be cross, Pigott, dear," she said. "I didn't mean to frightenyou. I couldn't help going--I couldn't indeed; and then I stoppedtalking to Mr. Fraser."

  "There, there, I should just like to know who can be cross with youwhen you put on those ways. Are your feet wet? Ah! I thought so. Runon in and take them off."

  "Won't that be just a little difficult?" and she was gone with a merrylaugh.

  "There, sir, that's just like her, catching a body up like andtwisting what she says, till you don't know which is head and which isheels. I'll be bound you found her down yonder;" and she noddedtowards the churchyard.

  "Yes."

  Pigott drew a little nearer, and spoke in a low voice.

  "'Tis my belief, sir, that that child sees _things_; she is just theoddest child I ever saw. There's nothing she likes better than to slipout of a night, and to go to that there beastly churchyard, savingyour presence, for 'company,' as she calls it--nice sort of company,indeed. And it is just the same way with storms. You remember thatdreadful gale a month ago, the one that took down the North Grove andblew the spire off Rewtham Church. Well, just when it was at itsworst, and I was a-sitting and praying that the roof might keep overour heads, I look round for Angela, and can't see her. 'Some of yourtricks again,' thinks I to myself; and just then up comes Mrs. Jakesto say that Sam had seen little missy creeping down the tunnel walk. Iwas that scared that I ran down, got hold of Sam, for Jakes said hewouldn't go out with all them trees a-flying about in the air likestraws--no, not for a thousand pounds, and off we set after her." HerePigott paused to groan at the recollection of that walk.

  "Well," said Mr. Fraser, who was rather interested--everything aboutthis queer child interested him; "where did you find her?"

  "Well, sir, you know where the old wall runs out into the water,before Caresfoot's Staff there? Well, at the end of it there's a postsunk in, with a ring in it to tie boats to. Now, would you believe it?out there at the end of the wall, and tied to the ring by a scarfpassed round her middle, was that dreadful child. She was standingthere, her back against the post, right in the teeth of the gale, withthe spray dashing over her, her arms stretched out before her, her hatgone, her long hair standing out behind straight as an iron bar, andher eyes flashing as though they were on fire, and all the while therewere the great trees crashing down all round in a way enough to make abody sick with fright. We got her back safe, thank God; but how longwe shall keep her, I'm sure I don't know. Now she is drowning herselfin the lake, for she takes to the water like a duck, and now breakingher neck off trees, and now going to ghosts in the churchyard forcompany. It's wearing me to the bone--that's what it is."

  Mr. Fraser smiled, for, to tell the truth, Pigott's bones were prettycomfortably covered.

  "Come," he said, "you would not part with her for all her wickeddeeds, would you?"

  "Part with her," answered Pigott, in hot indignation, "part with mylittle beauty? I would rather part with my head. The love, there neverwas another like her, nor never will be, with her sweet ways; and, ifI know anything about girls, she'll be the beauty of England, shewill. She's made for a beautiful woman; and look at them eyes andforehead and hair--where did you ever see the like? And, as for herqueer ways, what can you expect from a child as has got a great emptymind and nothing to put in it, and no one to talk to but a commonwoman like me, and a father"--here she dropped her voice--"as is amiser, and hates the sight of his own flesh and blood?"

  "Hush! you should not say such things, Pigott! Now I will tell yousomething; I am going on to ask your master to allow me to educateAngela."

  "I'm right glad to hear it, sir. She's sharp enough to learn anything,and it's kind of you to teach her. If you can make her mind like whather body will be if she lives, somebody will be a lucky man one ofthese days. Good-night, sir, and many thanks for bringing missy home."

  Next day Angela began her education.