"Daisy soon grew clever at keeping the head to the wind.""Daisy soon grew clever at keeping the head to the wind."
ON A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY.ON A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY.
"She managed to drag her on shore.""She managed to drag her on shore."
A little French girl only seven years old, named Eudoxie, was playing with tiny Philomène in a field, when the young child made two stains on her pink pinafore.
'Mother will scold,' thought the little maid, and trotted off to the river to wash them out.
A plank stretched out from the bank to make it easy for people to draw water, and on this Philomène stepped, but she did not know how rotten it was. Before she could touch the water there was a splash, and the little girl was in the river.
Eudoxie heard her cry out, but did not run away as some children have been known to do when a companion was in danger. She ran at once to the bank, and caught her little friend by the foot, nearly losing her own balance in doing so.
Though Philomène, all wet and breathless, was a heavy weight for Eudoxie, still she managed to drag her on shore, kiss her, and try to console her.
But poor little Philomène was frightened at the idea of facing 'Maman' after her scrape; she must have been rather a scolding mother, as the little girl was afraid to go home in her wet clothes.
So Eudoxie partly undressed in the sunshine, and wrapped her in her own frock, while she ran to beg a change of clothes from the sharp-spoken Madame.
The mother asked why they were wanted.
'Promise not to scold, and I will tell you,' said the child. The promise was given, and Eudoxie told the adventure. 'It was not Philo's fault,' she said.
'Oh, then! my wicked, naughty, precious, darling Philo! take me to her,' said Madame.
Poor Philomène was sitting smiling in the sunshine when the two reached her, Eudoxie with her garments, the mother with tears and kisses all waiting to be showered on her tiny daughter.
Some one told the story in Paris, and many people were pleased with Eudoxie's presence of mind, and the French Humane Society presented the brave girl with a medal for saving the life of her friend.
A famous Persian king once called around him all the wisest men in his kingdom, and put the following question to them: 'What is the hardest work in the world?'
Some answered one thing and some another, but it was thought that still harder work might exist.
At last a sage came forward and said, 'I have lived many years and seen a great many things. I have come to the conclusion that the hardest work in the world is to be forced to do nothing at all; and no one can spend the whole day without doing something or other.'
The king, anxious to prove the truth of it, tried his best to find out whether this were so or not, as did also his courtiers, but they were obliged to own that what the sage had stated was the truth. Hence the proverb: 'No work, the hardest work.'
Changing one letter at a time, in as few steps as possible, make
C. J. B.
[Answers on page 167.]
This picture contains the key to itself in the letters which are found on the walls, the corner-stone, and the gateway—I, C, U, S, X. If these letters are named in the order given, they form the sentence 'I see you, Essex,' which Queen Elizabeth is said to have written on a wall or a window of one of her palaces, as a warning, or perhaps an encouragement, to Lord Essex.
Though it was still only eleven o'clock, the boys were quite ready for dinner when they reached the lake; and when it was finished and they had hidden the rest of their provisions in some bushes, Herr Groos gave them leave to amuse themselves as best they chose till he sounded his horn to collect them for another meal at four o'clock. He himself was going to take charge of a botanising party on the Hersch-felsen, and a junior master was to superintend those who wished to fish in the lake; but Franz decided to join neither party, as his one idea was to catch a swallow-tailed butterfly for his friend. At last, finding no one with a similar ambition, he started on his quest alone.
'I will try the Kühberg first,' he said to himself. 'If we should meet the strangers again, it would be fun to prove to them that Herr Groos was right and they were wrong.'
It was very hot as Franz toiled up the mountain-side, and when at last he reached the place where his search was to begin, he lay down panting undersome trees at the edge of the wood. On the opposite slope he could see the yellow caps of his comrades, and the tall figure of Herr Groos; but where he himself was all was solitude and silence. After a few minutes' rest he rose, and having filled his cap with some delicious berries, sat down, almost buried amongst the cool, green plants, to enjoy them. They were soon finished, but he was still too lazy to move, and rolling himself down till the cranberries nearly met above him, he fell fast asleep.
He was awakened by the sound of voices, and, thinking it was some of his schoolfellows, he lay still, meaning to surprise them. He was so well hidden that he knew he could not be discovered unless he moved. Then he realised that it was not his comrades, but the two strangers from the train.
'Look at all those boys over there,' said the tall man. 'It was fortunate that we put them off the scent. If they had chosen to spend the day up here it would have upset our plans nicely.'
'Are you sure, though, that they are all there?' asked the other, doubtfully. 'There were thirty-two in the train, and I can only count twenty-five yellow caps now.'
'You are right, Schmidt,' answered the tall man, after a short pause. 'And who can tell where the others may be?'
'Not I! We must put off our digging till we are sure that they have all gone away for the night.'
'We shall miss the American boat,' said his friend, angrily, 'and all because of a pack of schoolboys!'
'Not necessarily. If we return to Freistadt by the nine o'clock train instead of by the five o'clock, we ought still to catch the steamer at Hamburg. That is the worst of taking things from a well-known man like Rosenthal. He makes it unsafe to dispose of a single recognisable thing in Germany. We were lucky to get rid of the coins, even.'
'And a mere nothing we got for them,' replied the grumbler. 'Are you certain you remember where we buried the rest of the collection?'
'Under this stone here, by the big tree, and it has evidently never been moved since we left it. See, the cranberries are already beginning to grow round it.'
'Which shall we take this time? I wish we could get the stuff all sold and done with!'
'So do I! but we cannot take too much to one country. If we make a good haul in America, we will return, and try and see what we can do in England with the rest.'
'If we cannot dig now, what are we to do?' asked the tall man, disgustedly.
'We must go on to the Observatory, and pass the time there. There is nothing else to be done.'
When they had quite gone, Franz raised himself slowly. There was the great stone, just as the short man had said, and underneath it were evidently most of the treasures stolen from Baron Rosenthal. What was the best thing to do? If he dug the treasures up and hid them elsewhere, they would be safe, but then the thieves would probably escape. If he went straight back to Freistadt by train and warned the police, Herr Groos would think he was lost, and there would be such a hue and cry in the woods that the strangers would probably hear of it and have their suspicions aroused.
Then an inspiration came to him. He would telegraph to Hugo in cypher, and then, even if Baron Rosenthal himself were not there, Hugo would have the sense to arrange matters. It took him some time to concoct his telegram, and put it into cypher. It ran as follows:—
'A tall man in grey and a shorter man in brown, with butterfly nets and big specimen cases, will reach Freistadt station at ten-thirty. Have them arrested, as their cases contain some of your father's silver, and the rest is hidden in the woods.—Franz.'
Visitors were always allowed to use the telegraph at the Observatory on the top of the hill, and so he decided to go there at once and send off his message. Then a fresh danger occurred to him. The two strangers were going to the little inn by the Observatory. If they chanced to see his telegram, or even asked to look at it, he would arouse their suspicions if he declined to show it, and yet, if the short stranger were as clever as he professed to be, he would probably decipher it and learn everything. So he wrote a companion message, using some of the same words and figures as in the cypher one, but arranging them so that they could not possibly be translated to make sense.
When he arrived at the top of the hill, he found the two strangers, as he had expected, sitting at a little table outside the building.
'Hallo, youngster, have you caught your swallow-tail yet?' inquired the tall one.
'I have not even seen one,' replied Franz, truthfully. 'I am afraid they have all left the Hirsch-felsen since you were there. I gave it up at last and came on here to send a cypher telegram to my friend.'
'Ah! the cypher!' said the fat man. 'Show me what you are going to say, and I will warrant myself to read it.'
'Very well, but be quick, for I want to send it off,' replied Franz, seeing that this would disarm suspicion.
He gave the strangers the copy he had specially prepared for them, and, to his surprise, the stout mandidmanage to read it, though, naturally, he thought nothing of its contents. Then Franz took the real telegram to the clerk at the Observatory, who dispatched it carefully, though he chaffed Franz a good deal about the enormous importance of a message that required to be sent so secretly.
When he rejoined his companions by the lake, just in time for the afternoon meal, he was well teased by them because he was the only boy who had no important find to announce. Then followed a merry walk back through the woods, then supper, and then bed, and through it all Franz never had a chance of a private talk with Herr Groos.
The next morning the boys were still at breakfast when the early morning train came creaking into the station, and the first person to come towards the inn was Baron Rosenthal.
He shook Franz warmly by the hand. 'Thanks to you, my boy,' he said, 'the thieves are in prison. It only remains for you to show us where the rest of the silver is hidden.'
The other boys gazed at Franz in surprise, but hewas not long in telling the whole story, and explaining how it was that he had been the only boy who had had no time to collect specimens. Half an hour later the whole party started for the Kühberg, with Franz to guide them.
"'It was fortunate that we put them off the scent.'""'It was fortunate that we put them off the scent.'"
Afterwards, when the winter came, and the boys of the class discussed the great summer excursion, they always agreed that the most exciting part of it had been the digging for Baron Rosenthal's treasures under the pine tree. Not a few of them also, though without success, tried to invent a cypher that should rival the famous one which had proved of such real and unexpected value.
A. Katharine Parkes.
The Great Northern Diver.The Great Northern Diver.
Amongst our water-loving birds there are few that can rival the great Northern Diver. He is strong of wing, with remarkable legs and feet, and a body so formed that it can take in a wonderful amount of air. He is a beautiful bird, too, and a glance at him gives you the impression that he is very knowing—as is, indeed, the fact. He has not a tuneful voice, for he does not belong to the singing birds, but he utters a plaintive and wild cry, which seems to suit the regions that are usually his home. For, though the species does not keep entirely to the cold northern regions, where summer is brief and winter is long, they are his chief resorts, and their loneliness seems to suit him. He has often been seen along British shores, in the Firth of Forth, for instance, and upon the coast of Wales and Ireland. But if you wish to see the great northern diver in abundance, you must go beyond the Hebrides, towards Labrador, Iceland, and Spitzbergen. Nature has provided the bird with the means of obtaining a great amount of animal heat, which enables him to bear comfortably the intense cold of arctic regions.
A solitary specimen often attracts the notice of those on board passing ships. They observe on a headland this tall, gaunt, white-breasted sea-bird, motionless, it may be, yet looking round sharply with his keen eyes. Is he thinking of the family cares of the last season, or considering where the next meal is to come from? Suddenly he moves and darts towards the sea, into which he plunges. Two or three minutes after, he reappears many yards away. He has probably been fishing. He seems to know before entering the water what the fish are doing, and the formation of his body and limbs makes him a capital diver. It is the habit of the Northern Diver to seek out especially the shoals of herrings and sprats, of which both young and old birds consume great quantities. There is only one brood yearly, the young birds hatching during the brief summer of the far north.
The bird's head and neck are black, the bill being strong and pointed at the tip. The breast is white, but the back, tail, and legs are black, with scattered white spots; its feet are webbed. Though his wings are short, and his body appears heavy, the Northern Diver can fly powerfully and swiftly, owing to the strength of his muscles. The body, too, is smooth and rounded, adapted either for swimming or flying. Another name for it is the Immer, or Immer Diver.
J. R. S. C.
Be as encouraging as you can. There is no end to the good sometimes done by a few kindly words.
When Sydney Smith was a boy at school, a visitor found him one day, in the play-hour, poring over a lesson-book. 'Clever boy!' said the stranger, as he bestowed a shilling upon the young student, 'that is the way to conquer the world.'
This bit of encouragement brightened the neglectedboy's life like a ray of sunshine. That kind man was not forgotten by Sydney Smith, who was never weary of praising his deed. Little dreamed the stranger, as he went his way, of the great good effected by his pleasant words. The lad whom he had encouraged rose soon afterwards to be prefect of his school, and, as we know, became in after years a very distinguished man, and possibly the first real start he had in life was this little piece of encouragement.
E. D.
They say there is a country where snowstorms never fall,And sliding is a game they never knew:They never saw a lakePaved with ice that wouldn't break—I would rather stay in England, wouldn't you?They say there is a country where the bright sun never sets,But still continues shining all night through;And you needn't go to bed,For there's always light o'er head—That's a country I should like, wouldn't you?They say there is a country where the people all talk French—I can't imagine what they ever do!For who amid their chatterCould understand such patter?I should answer 'Speak in English,' wouldn't you?They say there is a country where the women cannot walk,And everything is made out of bamboo,And the people's eyes are wee,And they live on rice and tea—I should like to go and see them, wouldn't you?They say there is a country where the elephants are wild,And never even heard about our Zoo;And through the woods they roamLike gentlemen at home—I should like to go and see them, wouldn't you?
They say there is a country where snowstorms never fall,And sliding is a game they never knew:They never saw a lakePaved with ice that wouldn't break—I would rather stay in England, wouldn't you?
They say there is a country where the bright sun never sets,But still continues shining all night through;And you needn't go to bed,For there's always light o'er head—That's a country I should like, wouldn't you?
They say there is a country where the people all talk French—I can't imagine what they ever do!For who amid their chatterCould understand such patter?I should answer 'Speak in English,' wouldn't you?
They say there is a country where the women cannot walk,And everything is made out of bamboo,And the people's eyes are wee,And they live on rice and tea—I should like to go and see them, wouldn't you?
They say there is a country where the elephants are wild,And never even heard about our Zoo;And through the woods they roamLike gentlemen at home—I should like to go and see them, wouldn't you?
F. W. H.
After a few minutes' useless waiting, and wishing that I might have accompanied Jacintha and Dick into the house, I turned my back towards Colebrook Park and set out in the direction of the town, which I entered by a steep hill. The hill brought me into the middle of the High Street, at about half-past four in the afternoon, and my attention was soon absorbed by the fresh surroundings. In the street was a constant stream of well-dressed persons, there were good shops, many carriages, and I stood at the corner wondering which way to turn. Every now and then I put my hand into my pocket to make certain the money was safe, and at last I began to feel a certain sense of recklessness, as if I had now the power to launch out into extravagance. To tell the truth it seemed difficult to be in possession of such a sum without immediately looking out for something to buy, and indeed there were several things I could have added to my stock with advantage.
On the left I came to the railway station; the line passed over the road, and beyond it the High Street sloped steeply upwards. At the top of the hill I saw some public baths. Noticing on the opposite side of the way a large shop with cheap clothing in the window, I entered and made my first purchase, which consisted of a pair of stockings and some shoes—of brown canvas, because these were the cheapest. Carrying my parcel, I entered the baths, and came forth feeling much cleaner and more presentable.
I next treated myself to an egg for tea, with ample bread and butter and a cup of cocoa, and then I thought it high time to seek a place in which to sleep. In speaking of an hotel, I had in my mind a Temperance Hotel, although I had not entered into details before Dick; but, as I walked away from the tea-shop, exploring small streets, I passed a tailor's, where a man was seated cross-legged on a board, busily stitching. In the window was a card bearing the inscription, 'Bedroom to let to a single man,' and then a happy idea occurred to me.
My clothes were sadly in need of repair, my jacket being torn and stained, and my knickerbockers requiring a patch on the right knee. Now, I thought, if I engage a bed at the tailor's, he might consent to repair my suit while I occupy it. So I opened the door and entered the warm, moist air of the shop, with an inquiry about the bedroom, whereupon the tailor gazed at me doubtfully a moment and shouted for 'Emma!'
She was a pleasant-looking woman with a baby in her arms, and a second child clinging to her skirts, and she also seemed to regard me suspiciously.
'I want a room for one night,' I explained, and then she glanced at her husband.
'Got any money to pay for it?' he demanded.
'Rather,' I said. 'I can pay you first if you like.'
'Well, that is what Ishouldlike,' he answered. 'Show the room, Emma.'
She took me upstairs to a clean but poorly-furnished room, for which she demanded a shilling, but after some conversation she agreed to supply me with a good breakfast the next morning for one and ninepence. With this offer I closed, and then, having given her one of my sovereigns, she took me downstairs again to ask her husband for the change. When I had counted this, I broached the subject of my clothes, suggesting that I would go to bed at once if he would put them in good order by to-morrow morning. We made a bargain for two and sixpence, and this sum I paid also; then I turned into bed as soon as Emma had prepared the room. But for some time I could not feel inclined to sleep, lying there thinking of the time I had spent with Dick and Jacintha, and trying to decide about the future.
Before closing my eyes I came to one determination. The first thing to-morrow morning I wouldwalk to the railway station and inquire the cost of a third-class ticket to London. With so much money in my pocket, it seemed folly to walk the rest of the distance, and the sooner I reached my destination the sooner I should begin my real career.
My last waking thought that night was of Captain Knowlton, but in spite of Dick's hopefulness it seemed impossible to believe that by any chance my friend could be still living. For a few moments I exercised my imagination, I built air castles, and pictured his reappearance on the scene. I saw myself again at some other school, mixing once more with the fellows on an equality: I saw myself going in due course to Sandhurst, with Dick as my companion; I saw myself a guest at his house during the holidays, discussing with Jacintha the experiences through which I was at present passing. Whether or not I was awake when I fancied these things, or my last thoughts melted into dreams, I have not the remotest notion, but I knew nothing else until Emma knocked at my door at eight the following morning, laying down my clothes outside, and then all the pictures my imagination had painted appeared unreal and extremely tantalising.
There was a small looking-glass on the bare wooden dressing-table, and by its aid I saw that the tailor had given me good value for my money. Feeling quite respectable with the new stockings and shoes and the renovated suit, I determined to improve matters further by accepting Jacintha's hint and having my hair cut.
During breakfast I realised that the day was Saturday, and that if I travelled to London, it would not be practicable to take any steps towards finding employment until Monday. As I was at present in cheap and comfortable quarters, it seemed judicious to remain over Sunday, especially as there would be a chance of seeing Dick and his sister once more before I left Hazleton.
Having made a satisfactory arrangement with Emma, I went to the nearest hairdresser's; and afterwards bought for two and fourpence a white flannel shirt with a collar attached. Then, turning my steps to the railway station, found that the price of a third-class ticket to London was five shillings and threepence, and that there were several trains during the morning.
When I had returned home to change my shirt, I wandered along the road in the direction of Colebrook Park, but passed the lodge gates several times without the satisfaction of seeing any sign of Jacintha or her brother. Later in the day rain began to fall again, and continued until bedtime, throughout the night, and through the whole of Sunday, so that I only went out to church in the morning, and spent a far from unpleasant afternoon listening to stories from Emma's husband. It appeared that he had been a soldier, and passed through an Egyptian campaign, to the success of which, according to his own account, he must to no mean extent have contributed. In the evening I went again to the church a few doors off. On Monday, seeing that the sun was shining, I determined to make one more effort to see Dick or Jacintha before setting out to London. The walk to Colebrook Park, where I hung about for an hour or more, proved again entirely unavailing, however, and turning towards the railway station, I changed another sovereign for a ticket, and reached the platform ten minutes before the half-past eleven train was due.
While waiting for the train, I took the opportunity to count my money, and finding how rapidly it had diminished, almost regretted the determination to travel luxuriously by the railway, instead of walking the rest of the distance to London. But, on the other hand, it appeared highly desirable to present a respectable appearance when at last I began to look for work in earnest. I had learned enough since leaving Castlemore to understand that it would not do to be too particular as to the nature of such employment, but that it could be possible to search in vain scarcely seemed to me likely.
There being few passengers, I entered an empty third-class compartment, and began to eat some meat patties which I had bought on the way from Colebrook Park. At the first stoppage a middle-aged woman entered the compartment, taking a seat by the farther window, but at Midbrook, about three-quarters of the way to London, we were joined by a man, who lowered himself gently into the seat facing my own, with his face towards the engine.
He looked sixty years of age, or perhaps somewhat older, and had one of the most benevolent-looking faces I had ever seen. He was clean shaven, and he wore a tall black hat. His long frock coat was made of shiny black cloth, with a waistcoat to match, and grey trousers. He exposed a large amount of white shirt-front, and wore a neatly-tied narrow black bow; indeed, he looked noticeably neat and well-brushed from top to toe.
But, although he was so well dressed that I felt surprised at his travelling third-class, he had the appearance of a highly respectable, old-fashioned butler out for a holiday, rather than a gentleman. A pair of double eye-glasses hung from a broad black ribbon, and he sat with both hands resting on the knob of his umbrella as he gazed benevolently into my face.
'I wonder,' he suggested, soon after the train had restarted, 'whether you would object to changing sides with me?'
'I don't mind at all,' I answered.
'A great pity,' he continued, 'to put up the window on such a lovely warm day, but I am a great sufferer with a tickling in my throat, and anything of a draught—thank you, my lad, thank you,' he said, as I took the seat which he had left.
Resting his umbrella by his side, he took a small packet from his waistcoat pocket, and helped himself to a lozenge. 'May I offer you one?' he said, holding out the packet in a somewhat shaky hand. 'You won't find them at all unpleasant.'
As I noticed the smell of aniseed, I accepted the offer at once. He seemed to speak as if I were a man rather than a boy of fifteen, and no doubt I felt flattered. But his voice was scarcely in accordance with his general appearance, and it was easy to detect a note of ill-breeding.
(Continued on page 138.)
"'May I offer you a lozenge?'""'May I offer you a lozenge?'"
"He gave me back the half-crown.""He gave me back the half-crown."
Before we reached the next station, the old gentleman made several remarks about the condition of the crops, the beauty of the country, and the unusual quantity of rain that had recently fallen, and when presently the train stopped again, and the woman at the farther end of the compartment rose from her seat, he put out a hand to open the door, though he nodded without raising his hat when she turned to thank him from the platform.
'Now, I wonder,' he said, when we were on the way again, 'if you are able to oblige me?'
'How?' I asked.
'I want two shillings and sixpence or sixpenny-worth of coppers for a half-crown piece.'
'I think I can do that,' I answered, thrusting a hand into my pocket.
'You may think it strange that I should ask you,' he suggested.
'Not at all.'
'But,' he continued, 'I hadn't time to get change, and I want a paper at the next station.'
Bringing out a handful of silver, I gave him two shillings and a sixpence, whereupon he handed me a half-crown in exchange.
'It looks like a new one,' I remarked.
'I trust it may bring you good fortune, my lad,' he answered. 'Though, in one respect, you certainly seem to be well provided for already.'
I suppose I smiled with satisfaction.
'But,' he continued, 'never forget one thing. Money is the root of all evil—the root of all evil.'
'Do you live in London?' I asked presently.
'Yes,' he replied, 'although it does not agree with my delicate throat. But we cannot choose where we would wish to live.'
'I wonder,' I said, a little hesitatingly, 'whether you could tell me where to find a lodging?'
'Ah,' he cried, 'you may be sure of this! If I can assist you in any way I shall be very happy—very happy indeed. Of course it is to some extent a question of what you are prepared to pay.'
'I must not pay much,' I said, 'because, you see, I may not get anything to do just at present.'
'So you have come to London to try your fortune?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I only want just a bedroom.'
He was looking up at the rack over my head.
'Your luggage is in the van?' he remarked.
'I have no luggage,' I answered, realising that this must appear a somewhat serious drawback.
'May I inquire how much money you possess?' he asked.
'A little over a pound.'
'Ah!' he cried; 'and that is to be the beginning of a fortune, we will hope. I have always taken a great interest in young men,' he continued. 'Now, let me see what we can do. I live with my son and my daughter-in-law, and it is just possible she might accommodate you, if you would like to come with me when we get out of this train.'
'I should like it very much indeed,' I answered, congratulating myself that I had not been backward in asking his advice. I felt no shadow of doubt concerning his good faith. He looked so entirely respectable that I should have gone anywhere at his bidding. So, when the train stopped at the London terminus I walked by his side through the booking-office, out of the station-yard, and took a seat on an omnibus without an instant's hesitation. I noticed that he had a way of turning his head very quickly, almost as if he were looking out for some one, and I thought it nice of him to insist on paying my fare. We took two omnibuses before we alighted at the corner of Baker Street and Marylebone Road, when, holding my arm in a most friendly manner, he led me in the direction of Lisson Grove, although at the time I had no idea whither we were going.
After passing through one or two quiet squares and dingy streets, we reached one which looked more dingy still, with its rows of narrow, high terrace houses, a number of unkempt children playing about the road, and a fish-hawker bawling by the kerb. At one of the dingy-looking houses my companion stopped, taking a latch-key from his waistcoat pocket; but as soon as he opened the door a woman came out of a room, standing with her arms akimbo in front of him, while I brought up the rear.
She was tall, like the old man, but her face was red and puffy, while a wisp of fair hair fell untidily over her forehead. She wore a dirty-looking dress, with several buttons missing, their places being supplied by pins.
'Who's the kid?' she asked, and it was impossible to imagine that she felt pleased at my presence.
'A young friend I happened to meet in the train,' he answered in a curious tone. 'This way, my lad,' he added, 'this way,' and, stepping past the woman, he opened a door of a back room. 'Just sit down for a moment till I come back,' he said, although there was nothing to sit upon but a bed.
Closing the door, he went away, and I heard him entering the front room. I suddenly became the prey of all manner of anxious feelings. The house itself was close and stuffy, with a curious odour as of some pungent acid. I did not feel favourably impressed by the appearance of the woman. But when a few minutes had passed the sound of voices reached my ears, although it was impossible to hear the words with any distinctness. Knowing that the old man was in all probability discussing me with the woman who must be his daughter, I did what I may safely say I had never attempted before in my life. Overcome with eagerness to learn what was being said concerning myself, I stole towards the door, opened it, and played the eavesdropper.
Even now I could not make out half their meaning, and what I heard only served to perplex and frighten me.
'I tell you he is just what we want,' said the man, and the only word I could catch in the woman's answer was—'Risk!'
'An open-faced, honest-looking boy,' he continued. 'You have only to look at him a second to feel you can trust him. Dress him properly, and he is as good as a fortune.'
If it had seemed possible to dart along the passage and out through the front door, I should have done so, but my knees were shaking under me; and, hearing fresh movements in the next room, I drew back and reclosed the door. A few minutes later the man returned.
'Come this way,' he said, and I followed him into the front room. 'My daughter, Mrs. Loveridge,' he continued, 'does not like strangers, but I have persuaded her to treat you as a member of the family——'
'But if you would rather not!' I cried, looking up into her face.
'We are not rich people,' he said, entirely ignoring my outburst, 'but what we have we are willing to share—now, no one can say fairer than that. You give up what money you have got in that pocket of yours, and, when you have taken it out in board and lodging, we will see whether we can't manage to find you some useful work to do. So hand out, my lad!'
Although he had looked so benevolent in the train, I had already begun to fear this urbane old man far more than I had previously feared the tramp at Broughton. With an uncomfortable feeling that he had got me in his power, I could see no way of quickly getting out of it. To refuse to hand over my money was out of the question, although, with an appearance of kindness, he gave me back the particular half-crown which I had changed for him in the train.
The next few hours went by wretchedly enough. Mr. Parsons (for that I learned was his name) did not leave me for a moment alone, and there was nothing to divert my thoughts from the extremely disagreeable situation. I could see no sign of any kind of book; and, indeed, the only form of print in the house seemed to be half of an old newspaper. At about half-past eight, Mrs. Loveridge began to prepare for something resembling a meal by placing on the table, without a cloth, a piece of bacon, and some bread and cheese. When it was supposed to be ready I made the acquaintance of Mr. Loveridge, a small, pale-faced, dark-haired man, with one leg shorter than the other. He wore a boot with a very thick cork sole, and walked with crutches. Mr. Loveridge scarcely opened his lips, but greeted me with a long, keen stare. Although I did not feel the least appetite, I made a pretence of eating.
After supper, we all sat round the table, just as it was, while the men smoked, and talked in a jargon which it was impossible to understand.
'Better put the kid to bed,' said Loveridge, presently; and, indeed, I was beginning to feel exceedingly curious as to my sleeping quarters.
Rising from her chair, Mrs. Loveridge led the way upstairs to the top of the house, where she opened a door and said that was to be my room.
'Can I have a candle?' I asked.
'No, you can't,' she answered. 'And you needn't be afraid. We always lock the front door and take out the key, and sleep with one eye open in this house.'
With that she went downstairs and I shut the door. The window had neither blind nor curtains, and the room was almost dark. I could, however, distinguish a bed on the floor, and suddenly I remembered the last and only other time I had slept in a bedroom without a bed—at Mrs. Riddles', at Polehampton—and sincerely wished myself back in that cupboard, despite its nearness to Castlemore. I prayed earnestly to God to watch over me, for I knew instinctively that I was in some great danger. I felt that I had fallen among thieves—if these people were not thieves, what could they be?
I reproached myself for having been so easily deceived by Parsons, and determined to make my escape at the earliest opportunity. The hint in Mrs. Loveridge's parting words had not been necessary to convince me of the uselessness of trying to get away during the night, so I lay down on the mattress and the blankets (there were no sheets) and tried to make up my mind how to act. I could not believe that the object of Parsons in bringing me to his house had been merely to obtain the small sum of money I possessed. Yet he appeared eager to detain me, and he had persuaded his daughter of the need for such detention. It seemed to follow that he meant to make use of me in some way—some undesirable way, no doubt. In vain I racked my brains, before I fell asleep that miserable night, to see through his design. But I realised that my situation had become worse than ever, and it seemed difficult to imagine that only yesterday I had been the companion of Jacintha and her brother. I determined to do my utmost to disguise my suspicions, to exercise patience and—for once—judgment, and to await a favourable opportunity with all the courage I could muster.
(Continued on page 146.)