CHAPTER XBY MOONLIGHT
For a moment Danny stood on the path, just beyond the red glow of the fire, and wondered what he should do. He could hear the voices of the Cubs telling Miss Prince all about the mysterious tramp and the crackling of their steps as they walked away through the bracken fern and undergrowth. Ahead, along the path, he could see a dark figure walking a little unsteadily.
The moon had mounted higher in the grey, star-pricked sky. Mystery, adventure, romance—Danny felt it was very near, and yet it was walking away from him, a black figure, silhouetted against a silvery distance. He must stop it from going—but how?
Without knowing exactly what he meant to do he began running, and had soon caught up the tramp.
“Sir,” he said, “I say, sir!”
The man turned round. “Well?” he said in his strange, sad voice.
“I wish you wouldn’t go away,” said Danny.
“Why?” said the tramp.
“Well, because—because we’ve just made friends, and if you go tramping along the roadswe may never see you again. Besides, it’s going to be a cold night, and you won’t have anywhere to sleep. And I don’t believe you ought to be tramping with nothing to eat. You look as if you were ill.”
The man had turned, and was looking at Danny curiously.
“You’re right,” he said. “The roads are all very well when you’ve got money or food, and the nights are warm. But I’ve only had one meal in the last two days. I hate begging. When they give—and give with a smile—it’s all right. But when they refuse—well, I can’t ask again that day.” He shivered, and drew his tattered coat closer round him.
“Come back to the fire,” said Danny, “then we can talk. I’ll show you a good place to spend the night. When you’ve had a bit of a rest and some grub you’ll feel better.”
Half reluctantly the tramp followed him back to the fire, and sat down once more on the log.
There was silence for a few minutes. Then the tramp spoke.
“I don’t know why you are so kind to me,” he said. “Do you know, while I sat there, with a kiddy on my knee, and the others round, I was happy again—I seemed to forget everything, as one forgets a bad dream.”
Danny poked the fire with his foot. “What was your bad dream?” he asked.
The tramp did not answer for a very long time. Then he said: “I’ve never told it to any one. In fact it’s over seven years since I spoke to any oneas a friend. I will tell it to you, as you have asked me to. Silence is best—but just for once, sympathy is good. My bad dream is a spoiled life, and seven years in prison.”
Danny gasped. Then, as the tramp was silent, he stirred the fire up into a blaze and drew nearer to him.
“It wasn’t your fault, was it, sir?” he said. “Tell me the story.”