WANDERING HEATH. 

by

ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH. 

1895This e-text was prepared from a reprint of a version published in 1895. 

The stories in this volume made their first appearance in England asfollows: "The Roll-Call of the Reef" in _The Idler_; "The LooeDie-hards" in _The Illustrated London News_, where it was entitled"The Power o' Music"; "Jetsom" and "The Bishop of Eucalyptus" in _ThePall Mall Magazine_; "Visitors at the Gunnel Rock" in _The StrandMagazine_; "Flowing Source" in _The Woman at Home_; and the rest, with one exception, in the friendly pages of _The Speaker_. 

CONTENTS. 

 PROLOGUE. 

 THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF. 

 THE LOOE DIE-HARDS. 

 MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY. 

 JETSOM. 

 WRESTLERS. 

 THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS. 

 WIDDERSHINS. 

 VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK. 

 LETTERS FROM TROY--

 I. THE FIRST PARISH MEETING. II. THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD. 

 LEGENDS--

 I. THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR. II. "FLOWING SOURCE". 

 EXPERIMENTS--

 I. A YOUNG MAN'S DIARY. II. THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH. 

PROLOGUE. 

"What is the use of it?" the Poet demanded peevishly--it was NewYear's Day in the morning. "People don't read my poetry when I havegone to the trouble of writing it!"

"The more shame to them, " said his wife. 

"But, my dear, you know you never read it yourself. "

"Oh, that is altogether different. Besides you _are_ improving, areyou not?" She asked it a trifle anxiously, but the question set himoff at once. 

"In twenty years' time--" he began eagerly. 

"--The boy will be at college. " She laid down her needle andembroidery and, gazing into the fire, let her hands lie idle in herlap. 

"You might think of me. "

"I thought, " she answered, "you were doing that. "

"Of yourself, then. "

"In twenty years' time--" She broke off with the faintest possiblesigh. 

The Poet jumped up and went to his writing-desk. "That reminds me, "he said, and produced a folded scrap of paper. "I wrote it lastnight. It's a sort of a little New Year's present--you need not readit, you know. "

"But I will": and she took the paper and read--

 UPON NEW YEAR'S EVE

 Now winds of winter glue Their tears upon the thorn, And earth has voices few, And those forlorn. 

 And 'tis our solemn night When maidens sand the porch, And play at Jack's Alight With burning torch, Or cards, or Kiss i' the Ring-- While ashen faggots blaze, And late wassailers sing In miry ways. 

 Then, dear my wife, be blithe To bid the New Year hail And welcome--plough, drill, scythe, And jolly flail. 

 For though the snows he'll shake Of winter from his head, To settle, flake by flake, On ours instead;

 Yet we be wreathed green Beyond his blight or chill, Who kissed at seventeen And worship still. 

 We know not what he'll bring: But this we know to-night-- He doth prepare the Spring For our delight. 

 With birds he'll comfort us, With blossoms, balms, and bees, With brooks, and odorous Wild breath o' the breeze. 

 Come then, O festal prime! With sweets thy bosom fill, And dance it, dripping thyme, On Lantick hill. 

 West wind, awake! and comb Our garden, blade from blade-- We, in our little home, Sit unafraid. 

--"Why, I quite like it!" said she. 

THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF. 

"Yes, sir, " said my host the quarryman, reaching down the relics fromtheir hook in the wall over the chimney-piece; "they've hung thereall my time, and most of my father's. The women won't touch 'em;they're afraid of the story. So here they'll dangle, and gather dustand smoke, till another tenant comes and tosses 'em out o' doors forrubbish. Whew! 'tis coarse weather. "

He went to the door, opened it, and stood studying the gale that beat upon his cottage-front, straight from the Manacle Reef. The rain drove past him into the kitchen, aslant like threads of goldsilk in the shine of the wreckwood fire. Meanwhile by the samefirelight I examined the relics on my knee. The metal of each wastarnished out of knowledge. But the trumpet was evidently an oldcavalry trumpet, and the threads of its parti-coloured sling, thoughfrayed and dusty, still hung together. Around the side-drum, beneathits cracked brown varnish, I could hardly trace a royal coat-of-arms, and a legend running--_Per Mare per Terram_--the motto of theMarines. Its parchment, though coloured and scented with wood-smoke, was limp and mildewed; and I began to tighten up the straps--underwhich the drumsticks had been loosely thrust--with the idle purposeof trying if some music might be got out of the old drum yet. 

But as I turned it on my knee, I found the drum attached to thetrumpet-sling by a curious barrel-shaped padlock, and paused toexamine this. The body of the lock was composed of half a dozenbrass rings, set accurately edge to edge; and, rubbing the brass withmy thumb, I saw that each of the six had a series of letters engravedaround it. 

I knew the trick of it, I thought. Here was one of thoseword-padlocks, once so common; only to be opened by getting the ringsto spell a certain word, which the dealer confides to you. 

My host shut and barred the door, and came back to the hearth. 

"'Twas just such a wind--east by south--that brought in what you'vegot between your hands. Back in the year 'nine it was; my father hastold me the tale a score o' times. You're twisting round the rings, I see. But you'll never guess the word. Parson Kendall, he made theword, and locked down a couple o' ghosts in their graves with it; andwhen his time came, he went to his own grave and took the word withhim. "

"Whose ghosts, Matthew?"

"You want the story, I see, sir. My father could tell it better thanI can. He was a young man in the year 'nine, unmarried at the time, and living in this very cottage just as I be. That's how he came toget mixed up with the tale. "

He took a chair, lit a short pipe, and unfolded the story in a lowmusing voice, with his eyes fixed on the dancing violet flames. 

"Yes, he'd ha' been about thirty year old in January, of the year'nine. The storm got up in the night o' the twenty-first o' thatmonth. My father was dressed and out long before daylight; he neverwas one to 'bide in bed, let be that the gale by this time was prettynear lifting the thatch over his head. Besides which, he'd fenced asmall 'taty-patch that winter, down by Lowland Point, and he wantedto see if it stood the night's work. He took the path acrossGunner's Meadow--where they buried most of the bodies afterwards. The wind was right in his teeth at the time, and once on the way(he's told me this often) a great strip of ore-weed came flyingthrough the darkness and fetched him a slap on the cheek like a coldhand. But he made shift pretty well till he got to Lowland, and thenhad to drop upon his hands and knees and crawl, digging his fingersevery now and then into the shingle to hold on, for he declared to methat the stones, some of them as big as a man's head, kept rollingand driving past till it seemed the whole foreshore was movingwestward under him. The fence was gone, of course; not a stick leftto show where it stood; so that, when first he came to the place, hethought he must have missed his bearings. My father, sir, was a veryreligious man; and if he reckoned the end of the world was at hand--there in the great wind and night, among the moving stones--you maybelieve he was certain of it when he heard a gun fired, and, withthe same, saw a flame shoot up out of the darkness to windward, making a sudden fierce light in all the place about. All he couldfind to think or say was, 'The Second Coming--The Second Coming!The Bridegroom cometh, and the wicked He will toss like a ball into alarge country!' and being already upon his knees, he just bowed hishead and 'bided, saying this over and over. 

"But by'm-by, between two squalls, he made bold to lift his head andlook, and then by the light--a bluish colour 'twas--he saw all thecoast clear away to Manacle Point, and off the Manacles, in the thickof the weather, a sloop-of-war with top-gallants housed, drivingstern foremost towards the reef. It was she, of course, that wasburning the flare. My father could see the white streak and theports of her quite plain as she rose to it, a little outside thebreakers, and he guessed easy enough that her captain had justmanaged to wear ship, and was trying to force her nose to the seawith the help of her small bower anchor and the scrap or two ofcanvas that hadn't yet been blown out of her. But while he looked, she fell off, giving her broadside to it foot by foot, and driftingback on the breakers around Carn du and the Varses. The rocks lie sothick thereabouts, that 'twas a toss up which she struck first; atany rate, my father couldn't tell at the time, for just then theflare died down and went out. 

"Well, sir, he turned then in the dark and started back for Coverackto cry the dismal tidings--though well knowing ship and crew to bepast any hope; and as he turned, the wind lifted him and tossed himforward 'like a ball, ' as he'd been saying, and homeward along theforeshore. As you know, 'tis ugly work, even by daylight, pickingyour way among the stones there, and my father was prettily knockedabout at first in the dark. But by this 'twas nearer seven than sixo'clock, and the day spreading. By the time he reached North Corner, a man could see to read print; hows'ever, he looked neither out tosea nor towards Coverack, but headed straight for the first cottage--the same that stands above North Corner to-day. A man named BillyEde lived there then, and when my father burst into the kitchenbawling, 'Wreck! wreck!' he saw Billy Ede's wife, Ann, standing therein her clogs, with a shawl over her head, and her clothes wringingwet. 

"'Save the chap!' says Billy Ede's wife, Ann. 'What d' 'ee mean bycrying stale fish at that rate?'

"'But 'tis a wreck, I tell 'ee. I've a-zeed 'n!'

"'Why, so 'tis, ' says she, 'and I've a-zeed 'n too; and so haseveryone with an eye in his head. '

"And with that she pointed straight over my father's shoulder, and heturned; and there, close under Dolor Point, at the end of Coveracktown, he saw _another_ wreck washing, and the point black withpeople, like emmets, running to and fro in the morning light. While he stood staring at her, he heard a trumpet sounded on board, the notes coming in little jerks, like a bird rising against thewind; but faintly, of course, because of the distance and the galeblowing--though this had dropped a little. 

"'She's a transport, ' said Billy Ede's wife, Ann, 'and full of horsesoldiers, fine long men. When she struck they must ha' pitched thehosses over first to lighten the ship, for a score of dead hosses hadwashed in afore I left, half an hour back. An' three or foursoldiers, too--fine long corpses in white breeches and jackets ofblue and gold. I held the lantern to one. Such a straight youngman!'

"My father asked her about the trumpeting. 

"'That's the queerest bit of all. She was burnin' a light when mean' my man joined the crowd down there. All her masts had gone;whether they carried away, or were cut away to ease her, I don'trightly know. Anyway, there she lay 'pon the rocks with her decksbare. Her keelson was broke under her and her bottom sagged andstove, and she had just settled down like a sitting hen--just theleastest list to starboard; but a man could stand there easy. They had rigged up ropes across her, from bulwark to bulwark, an'beside these the men were mustered, holding on like grim deathwhenever the sea made a clean breach over them, an' standing up likeheroes as soon as it passed. The captain an' the officers wereclinging to the rail of the quarter-deck, all in their goldenuniforms, waiting for the end as if 'twas King George they expected. There was no way to help, for she lay right beyond cast of line, though our folk tried it fifty times. And beside them clung atrumpeter, a whacking big man, an' between the heavy seas he wouldlift his trumpet with one hand, and blow a call; and every time heblew, the men gave a cheer. There' (she says)'--hark 'ee now--therehe goes agen! But you won't hear no cheering any more, for few areleft to cheer, and their voices weak. Bitter cold the wind is, and Ireckon it numbs their grip o' the ropes, for they were dropping offfast with every sea when my man sent me home to get his breakfast. _Another_ wreck, you say? Well, there's no hope for the tenderdears, if 'tis the Manacles. You'd better run down and help yonder;though 'tis little help that any man can give. Not one came in alivewhile I was there. The tide's flowing, an' she won't hold togetheranother hour, they say. '

"Well, sure enough, the end was coming fast when my father got downto the point. Six men had been cast up alive, or just breathing--aseaman and five troopers. The seaman was the only one that hadbreath to speak; and while they were carrying him into the town, theword went round that the ship's name was the _Despatch_, transport, homeward bound from Corunna, with a detachment of the 7th Hussars, that had been fighting out there with Sir John Moore. The seas hadrolled her farther over by this time, and given her decks a prettysharp slope; but a dozen men still held on, seven by the ropes nearthe ship's waist, a couple near the break of the poop, and three onthe quarter-deck. Of these three my father made out one to be theskipper; close by him clung an officer in full regimentals--his name, they heard after, was Captain Duncanfield; and last came the talltrumpeter; and if you'll believe me, the fellow was making shiftthere, at the very last, to blow '_God Save the King_. ' What's more, he got to '_Send us victorious_' before an extra big sea camebursting across and washed them off the deck--every man but one ofthe pair beneath the poop--and _he_ dropped his hold before the nextwave; being stunned, I reckon. The others went out of sight at once, but the trumpeter--being, as I said, a powerful man as well as atough swimmer--rose like a duck, rode out a couple of breakers, andcame in on the crest of the third. The folks looked to see him brokelike an egg at their feet; but when the smother cleared, there hewas, lying face downward on a ledge below them; and one of the menthat happened to have a rope round him--I forget the fellow's name, if I ever heard it--jumped down and grabbed him by the ankle as hebegan to slip back. Before the next big sea, the pair were hauledhigh enough to be out of harm, and another heave brought them up tograss. Quick work; but master trumpeter wasn't quite dead; nothingworse than a cracked head and three staved ribs. In twenty minutesor so they had him in bed, with the doctor to tend him. "

"Now was the time--nothing being left alive upon the transport--formy father to tell of the sloop he'd seen driving upon the Manacles. And when he got a hearing, though the most were set upon salvage, and believed a wreck in the hand, so to say, to be worth half a dozenthey couldn't see, a good few volunteered to start off with him andhave a look. They crossed Lowland Point; no ship to be seen on theManacles, nor anywhere upon the sea. One or two was for calling myfather a liar. 'Wait till we come to Dean Point, ' said he. Sure enough, on the far side of Dean Point, they found the sloop'smainmast washing about with half a dozen men lashed to it--menin red jackets--every mother's son drowned and staring; and a littlefarther on, just under the Dean, three or four bodies cast up on theshore, one of them a small drummer-boy, side-drum and all; and, nearby, part of a ship's gig, with 'H. M. S. _Primrose_' cut on thestern-board. From this point on, the shore was littered thick withwreckage and dead bodies--the most of them Marines in uniform; and inGodrevy Cove, in particular, a heap of furniture from the captain'scabin, and amongst it a water-tight box, not much damaged, and fullof papers; by which, when it came to be examined next day, the wreckwas easily made out to be the _Primrose_, of eighteen guns, outwardbound from Portsmouth, with a fleet of transports for the SpanishWar--thirty sail, I've heard, but I've never heard what became ofthem. Being handled by merchant skippers, no doubt they rode out thegale and reached the Tagus safe and sound. Not but what the captainof the _Primrose_ (Mein was his name) did quite right to try andclub-haul his vessel when he found himself under the land: only henever ought to have got there if he took proper soundings. But it'seasy talking. 

"The _Primrose_, sir, was a handsome vessel--for her size, one of thehandsomest in the King's service--and newly fitted out at PlymouthDock. So the boys had brave pickings from her in the way ofbrass-work, ship's instruments, and the like, let alone some barrelsof stores not much spoiled. They loaded themselves with as much asthey could carry, and started for home, meaning to make a secondjourney before the preventive men got wind of their doings and cameto spoil the fun. But as my father was passing back under the Dean, he happened to take a look over his shoulder at the bodies there. 'Hullo, ' says he, and dropped his gear: 'I do believe there's a legmoving!' And, running fore, he stooped over the small drummer-boythat I told you about. The poor little chap was lying there, withhis face a mass of bruises and his eyes closed: but he had shiftedone leg an inch or two, and was still breathing. So my father pulledout a knife and cut him free from his drum--that was lashed on to himwith a double turn of Manilla rope--and took him up and carried himalong here, to this very room that we're sitting in. He lost a gooddeal by this, for when he went back to fetch his bundle thepreventive men had got hold of it, and were thick as thieves alongthe foreshore; so that 'twas only by paying one or two to look theother way that he picked up anything worth carrying off: which you'llallow to be hard, seeing that he was the first man to give news ofthe wreck. "

"Well, the inquiry was held, of course, and my father gave evidence;and for the rest they had to trust to the sloop's papers: for not asoul was saved besides the drummer-boy, and he was raving in a fever, brought on by the cold and the fright. And the seamen and the fivetroopers gave evidence about the loss of the _Despatch_. The talltrumpeter, too, whose ribs were healing, came forward and kissed theBook; but somehow his head had been hurt in coming ashore, and hetalked foolish-like, and 'twas easy seen he would never be a properman again. The others were taken up to Plymouth, and so went theirways; but the trumpeter stayed on in Coverack; and King George, finding he was fit for nothing, sent him down a trifle of a pensionafter a while--enough to keep him in board and lodging, with a bit oftobacco over. 

"Now the first time that this man--William Tallifer, he calledhimself--met with the drummer-boy, was about a fortnight afterthe little chap had bettered enough to be allowed a short walk out ofdoors, which he took, if you please, in full regimentals. There never was a soldier so proud of his dress. His own suit hadshrunk a brave bit with the salt water; but into ordinary frock an'corduroys he declared he would not get--not if he had to go naked therest of his life; so my father, being a good-natured man and handywith the needle, turned to and repaired damages with a piece or twoof scarlet cloth cut from the jacket of one of the drowned Marines. Well, the poor little chap chanced to be standing, in this rig-out, down by the gate of Gunner's Meadow, where they had buried two scoreand over of his comrades. The morning was a fine one, early in Marchmonth; and along came the cracked trumpeter, likewise taking astroll. 

"'Hullo!' says he; 'good mornin'! And what might you be doin' here?'

"'I was a-wishin', ' says the boy, 'I had a pair o' drum-sticks. Our lads were buried yonder without so much as a drum tapped or amusket fired; and that's not Christian burial for British soldiers. '

"'Phut!' says the trumpeter, and spat on the ground; 'a parcel ofMarines!'

"The boy eyed him a second or so, and answered up: 'If I'd a tab ofturf handy, I'd bung it at your mouth, you greasy cavalryman, andlearn you to speak respectful of your betters. The Marines are thehandiest body of men in the service. '

"The trumpeter looked down on him from the height of six foot two, and asked: 'Did they die well?'

"'They died very well. There was a lot of running to and fro atfirst, and some of the men began to cry, and a few to strip off theirclothes. But when the ship fell off for the last time, Captain Meinturned and said something to Major Griffiths, the commanding officeron board, and the Major called out to me to beat to quarters. It might have been for a wedding, he sang it out so cheerful. We'd had word already that 'twas to be parade order, and the men fellin as trim and decent as if they were going to church. One or twoeven tried to shave at the last moment. The Major wore his medals. One of the seamen, seeing I had hard work to keep the drum steady--the sling being a bit loose for me and the wind what you remember--lashed it tight with a piece of rope; and that saved my lifeafterwards, a drum being as good as a cork until 'tis stove. I keptbeating away until every man was on deck; and then the Major formedthem up and told them to die like British soldiers, and the chaplainread a prayer or two--the boys standin' all the while like rocks, each man's courage keeping up the others'. The chaplain was in themiddle of a prayer when she struck. In ten minutes she was gone. That was how they died, cavalryman. '

"'And that was very well done, drummer of the Marines. What's yourname?'

"'John Christian. '

"'Mine is William George Tallifer, trumpeter, of the 7th LightDragoons--the Queen's Own. I played "_God Save the King_" while ourmen were drowning. Captain Duncanfield told me to sound a call ortwo, to put them in heart; but that matter of "_God Save the King_"was a notion of my own. I won't say anything to hurt the feelings ofa Marine, even if he's not much over five-foot tall; but the Queen'sOwn Hussars is a tearin' fine regiment. As between horse and foot, 'tis a question o' which gets the chance. All the way from Sahagunto Corunna 'twas we that took and gave the knocks--at Mayorga andRueda, and Bennyventy. ' (The reason, sir, I can speak the names sopat is that my father learnt 'em by heart afterwards from thetrumpeter, who was always talking about Mayorga and Rueda andBennyventy. ) 'We made the rear-guard, under General Paget, and drovethe French every time; and all the infantry did was to sit about inwine-shops till we whipped 'em out, an' steal an' straggle an' playthe tom-fool in general. And when it came to a stand-up fight atCorunna, 'twas the horse, or the best part of it, that had to staysea-sick aboard the transports, an' watch the infantry in the thicko' the caper. Very well they behaved, too; 'specially the 4thRegiment, an' the 42nd Highlanders an' the Dirty Half-Hundred. Oh, ay; they're decent regiments, all three. But the Queen's OwnHussars is a tearin' fine regiment. So you played on your drum whenthe ship was goin' down? Drummer John Christian, I'll have to getyou a new pair o' drum-sticks for that. '

"Well, sir, it appears that the very next day the trumpeter marchedinto Helston, and got a carpenter there to turn him a pair ofbox-wood drum-sticks for the boy. And this was the beginning of oneof the most curious friendships you ever heard tell of. Nothingdelighted the pair more than to borrow a boat off my father and pullout to the rocks where the _Primrose_ and the _Despatch_ had struckand sunk; and on still days 'twas pretty to hear them out there offthe Manacles, the drummer playing his tattoo--for they always tooktheir music with them--and the trumpeter practising calls, and makinghis trumpet speak like an angel. But if the weather turned roughish, they'd be walking together and talking; leastwise, the youngsterlistened while the other discoursed about Sir John's campaign inSpain and Portugal, telling how each little skirmish befell; and ofSir John himself, and General Baird and General Paget, and ColonelVivian, his own commanding officer, and what kind of men they were;and of the last bloody stand-up at Corunna, and so forth, as ifneither could have enough. 

"But all this had to come to an end in the late summer; for the boy, John Christian, being now well and strong again, must go up toPlymouth to report himself. 'Twas his own wish (for I believe KingGeorge had forgotten all about him), but his friend wouldn't hold himback. As for the trumpeter, my father had made an arrangement totake him on as a lodger as soon as the boy left; and on the morningfixed for the start, he was up at the door here by five o'clock, withhis trumpet slung by his side, and all the rest of his kit in a smallvalise. A Monday morning it was, and after breakfast he had fixed towalk with the boy some way on the road towards Helston, where thecoach started. My father left them at breakfast together, and wentout to meat the pig, and do a few odd morning jobs of that sort. When he came back, the boy was still at table, and the trumpeterstanding here by the chimney-place with the drum and trumpet in hishands, hitched together just as they be at this moment. 

"'Look at this, ' he says to my father, showing him the lock;'I picked it up off a starving brass-worker in Lisbon, and it is notone of your common locks that one word of six letters will open atany time. There's _janius_ in this lock; for you've only to make therings spell any six-letter word you please, and snap down the lockupon that, and never a soul can open it--not the maker, even--untilsomebody comes along that knows the word you snapped it on. Now, Johnny here's goin', and he leaves his drum behind him; for, though he can make pretty music on it, the parchment sags in wetweather, by reason of the sea-water getting at it; an' if he carriesit to Plymouth, they'll only condemn it and give him another. And, as for me, I shan't have the heart to put lip to the trumpet anymore when Johnny's gone. So we've chosen a word together, and locked'em together upon that; and, by your leave, I'll hang 'em heretogether on the hook over your fireplace. Maybe Johnny'll come back;maybe not. Maybe, if he comes, I'll be dead an' gone, an' he'll take'em apart an' try their music for old sake's sake. But if he nevercomes, nobody can separate 'em; for nobody beside knows the word. And if you marry and have sons, you can tell 'em that here are tiedtogether the souls of Johnny Christian, drummer of the Marines, andWilliam George Tallifer, once trumpeter of the Queen's Own Hussars. Amen. '

"With that he hung the two instruments 'pon the hook there; and theboy stood up and thanked my father and shook hands; and the pair wentforth of the door, towards Helston. 

"Somewhere on the road they took leave of one another; but nobody sawthe parting, nor heard what was said between them. About three inthe afternoon the trumpeter came walking back over the hill; and bythe time my father came home from the fishing, the cottage was tidiedup and the tea ready, and the whole place shining like a new pin. From that time for five years he lodged here with my father, lookingafter the house and tilling the garden; and all the while he wassteadily failing, the hurt in his head spreading, in a manner, to hislimbs. My father watched the feebleness growing on him, but saidnothing. And from first to last neither spake a word about thedrummer, John Christian; nor did any letter reach them, nor word ofhis doings. 

"The rest of the tale you'm free to believe, sir, or not, as youplease. It stands upon my father's words, and he always declared hewas ready to kiss the Book upon it before judge and jury. He said, too, that he never had the wit to make up such a yarn; and he defiedanyone to explain about the lock, in particular, by any other tale. But you shall judge for yourself. 

"My father said that about three o'clock in the morning, Aprilfourteenth of the year 'fourteen, he and William Tallifer weresitting here, just as you and I, sir, are sitting now. My father hadput on his clothes a few minutes before, and was mending his spillerby the light of the horn lantern, meaning to set off before daylightto haul the trammel. The trumpeter hadn't been to bed at all. Towards the last he mostly spent his nights (and his days, too)dozing in the elbow-chair where you sit at this minute. He wasdozing then (my father said), with his chin dropped forward on hischest, when a knock sounded upon the door, and the door opened, andin walked an upright young man in scarlet regimentals. 

"He had grown a brave bit, and his face was the colour of wood-ashes;but it was the drummer, John Christian. Only his uniform wasdifferent from the one he used to wear, and the figures '38' shone inbrass upon his collar. 

"The drummer walked past my father as if he never saw him, and stoodby the elbow-chair and said:

"'Trumpeter, trumpeter, are you one with me?'

"And the trumpeter just lifted the lids of his eyes, and answered, 'How should I not be one with you, drummer Johnny--Johnny boy?The men are patient. 'Till you come, I count; while you march, Imark time; until the discharge comes. '

"'The discharge has come to-night, ' said the drummer, 'and the wordis Corunna no longer'; and stepping to the chimney-place, he unhookedthe drum and trumpet, and began to twist the brass rings of the lock, spelling the word aloud, so--C-O-R-U-N-A. When he had fixed the lastletter, the padlock opened in his hand. 

"'Did you know, trumpeter, that when I came to Plymouth they put meinto a line regiment?'

"'The 38th is a good regiment, ' answered the old Hussar, still in hisdull voice. 'I went back with them from Sahagun to Corunna. At Corunna they stood in General Fraser's division, on the right. They behaved well. '

"'But I'd fain see the Marines again, ' says the drummer, handing himthe trumpet; 'and you--you shall call once more for the Queen's Own. Matthew, ' he says, suddenly, turning on my father--and when heturned, my father saw for the first time that his scarlet jacket hada round hole by the breast-bone, and that the blood was wellingthere--'Matthew, we shall want your boat. '

"Then my father rose on his legs like a man in a dream, while theytwo slung on, the one his drum, and t'other his trumpet. He took thelantern, and went quaking before them down to the shore, and theybreathed heavily behind him; and they stepped into his boat, and myfather pushed off. 

"'Row you first for Dolor Point, ' says the drummer. So my fatherrowed them out past the white houses of Coverack to Dolor Point, andthere, at a word, lay on his oars. And the trumpeter, WilliamTallifer, put his trumpet to his mouth and sounded the _Revelly_. The music of it was like rivers running. 

"'They will follow, ' said the drummer. 'Matthew, pull you now forthe Manacles. '

"So my father pulled for the Manacles, and came to an easy closeoutside Carn du. And the drummer took his sticks and beat a tattoo, there by the edge of the reef; and the music of it was like a rollingchariot. 

"'That will do, ' says he, breaking off; 'they will follow. Pull nowfor the shore under Gunner's Meadow. '

"Then my father pulled for the shore, and ran his boat in underGunner's Meadow. And they stepped out, all three, and walked up tothe meadow. By the gate the drummer halted and began his tattooagain, looking out towards the darkness over the sea. 

"And while the drum beat, and my father held his breath, there cameup out of the sea and the darkness a troop of many men, horse andfoot, and formed up among the graves; and others rose out of thegraves and formed up--drowned Marines with bleached faces, and paleHussars riding their horses, all lean and shadowy. There was noclatter of hoofs or accoutrements, my father said, but a soft soundall the while, like the beating of a bird's wing, and a black shadowlying like a pool about the feet of all. The drummer stood upon alittle knoll just inside the gate, and beside him the tall trumpeter, with hand on hip, watching them gather; and behind them both myfather, clinging to the gate. When no more came, the drummer stoppedplaying, and said, 'Call the roll. '

"Then the trumpeter stepped towards the end man of the rank andcalled, 'Troop-Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons!' and the man in a thinvoice answered 'Here!'

"'Troop-Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons, how is it with you?'

"The man answered, 'How should it be with me? When I was young, Ibetrayed a girl; and when I was grown, I betrayed a friend; and forthese things I must pay. But I died as a man ought. God save theKing!'

"The trumpeter called to the next man, 'Trooper Henry Buckingham!'and the next man answered, 'Here!'

"'Trooper Henry Buckingham, how is it with you?'

"'How should it be with me? I was a drunkard, and I stole, and inLugo, in a wine-shop, I knifed a man. But I died as a man should. God save the King!'

"So the trumpeter went down the line; and when he had finished, thedrummer took it up, hailing the dead Marines in their order. Each man answered to his name, and each man ended with 'God save theKing!' When all were hailed, the drummer stepped back to his mound, and called:

"'It is well. You are content, and we are content to join you. Wait yet a little while. '

"With this he turned and ordered my father to pick up the lantern, and lead the way back. As my father picked it up, he heard the ranksof dead men cheer and call, 'God save the King!' all together, andsaw them waver and fade back into the dark, like a breath fading offa pane. 

"But when they came back here to the kitchen, and my father set thelantern down, it seemed they'd both forgot about him. For thedrummer turned in the lantern-light--and my father could see theblood still welling out of the hole in his breast--and took thetrumpet-sling from around the other's neck, and locked drum andtrumpet together again, choosing the letters on the lock verycarefully. While he did this he said:

"'The word is no more Corunna, but Bayonne. As you left out an 'n'in Corunna, so must I leave out an 'n' in Bayonne. ' And beforesnapping the padlock, he spelt out the word slowly--'B-A-Y-O-N-E. 'After that, he used no more speech; but turned and hung the twoinstruments back on the hook; and then took the trumpeter by the arm;and the pair walked out into the darkness, glancing neither to rightnor left. 

"My father was on the point of following, when he heard a sort ofsigh behind him; and there, sitting in the elbow-chair, was thevery trumpeter he had just seen walk out by the door! If my father'sheart jumped before, you may believe it jumped quicker now. But after a bit, he went up to the man asleep in the chair, and put ahand upon him. It was the trumpeter in flesh and blood that hetouched; but though the flesh was warm, the trumpeter was dead. 

"Well, sir, they buried him three days after; and at first my fatherwas minded to say nothing about his dream (as he thought it). But the day after the funeral, he met Parson Kendall coming fromHelston market: and the parson called out: 'Have 'ee heard the newsthe coach brought down this mornin'?' 'What news?' says my father. 'Why, that peace is agreed upon. ' 'None too soon, ' says my father. 'Not soon enough for our poor lads at Bayonne, ' the parson answered. 'Bayonne!' cries my father, with a jump. 'Why, yes'; and the parsontold him all about a great sally the French had made on the night ofApril 13th. 'Do you happen to know if the 38th Regiment wasengaged?' my father asked. 'Come, now, ' said Parson Kendall, 'I didn't know you was so well up in the campaign. But, as ithappens, I _do_ know that the 38th was engaged, for 'twas they thatheld a cottage and stopped the French advance. '

"Still my father held his tongue; and when, a week later, he walkedinto Helston and bought a _Mercury_ off the Sherborne rider, and gotthe landlord of the 'Angel' to spell out the list of killed andwounded, sure enough, there among the killed was Drummer JohnChristian, of the 38th Foot. 

"After this, there was nothing for a religious man but to make aclean breast. So my father went up to Parson Kendall and told thewhole story. The parson listened, and put a question or two, andthen asked:

"'Have you tried to open the lock since that night?'

"'I han't dared to touch it, ' says my father. 

"'Then come along and try. ' When the parson came to the cottage here, he took the things off the hook and tried the lock. 'Did he say'_Bayonne_'? The word has seven letters. '

"'Not if you spell it with one 'n' as _he_ did, ' says my father. 

"The parson spelt it out--B-A-Y-O-N-E. 'Whew!' says he, for the lockhad fallen open in his hand. 

"He stood considering it a moment, and then he says, ' I tell youwhat. I shouldn't blab this all round the parish, if I was you. You won't get no credit for truth-telling, and a miracle's wasted ona set of fools. But if you like, I'll shut down the lock again upona holy word that no one but me shall know, and neither drummer nortrumpeter, dead nor alive, shall frighten the secret out of me. '

"'I wish to gracious you would, parson, ' said my father. 

"The parson chose the holy word there and then, and shut the lockback upon it, and hung the drum and trumpet back in their place. He is gone long since, taking the word with him. And till the lockis broken by force, nobody will ever separate those twain. "

THE LOOE DIE-HARDS. 

Captain Pond, of the East and West Looe Volunteer Artillery(familiarly known as the Looe Die-hards), put his air-cushion to hislips and blew. This gave his face a very choleric and martialexpression. 

Nevertheless, above his suffused and distended cheeks his eyespreserved a pensive melancholy as they dwelt upon his Die-hardsgathered in the rain below him on the long-shore, or Church-end, wall. At this date (November 3, 1809) the company numbered seventy, besides Captain Pond and his two subalterns; and of this force fourwere out in the boat just now, mooring the practice-mark--a barrelwith a small red flag stuck on top; one, the bugler, had been sent upthe hill to the nine-pounder battery, to watch and sound a call assoon as the target was ready; a sixth, Sergeant Fugler, lay at homein bed, with the senior lieutenant (who happened also to be the localdoctor) in attendance. Captain Pond clapped a thumb over the orificeof his air-cushion, and heaved a sigh as he thought of SergeantFugler. The remaining sixty-four Die-hards, with their firelocksunder their great-coats, and their collars turned up against therain, lounged by the embrasures of the shore-wall, and gossipeddejectedly, or eyed in silence the blurred boat bobbing up and downin the grey blur of the sea. 

"Such coarse weather I hardly remember to have met with for years, "said Uncle Israel Spettigew, a cheerful sexagenarian who ranked asefficient on the strength of his remarkable eyesight, which waskeener than most boys'. "The sweep from over to Polperro wascleanin' my chimbley this mornin', and he told me in his humorous waythat with all this rain 'tis so much as he can do to keep his facedirty--hee-hee!"

Nobody smiled. "If you let yourself give way to the enjoyment oflittle things like that, " observed a younger gunner gloomily, "one o'these days you'll find yourself in a better land like the snuff of acandle. 'Tis a year since the Company's been allowed to move indouble time, and all because you can't manage a step o' thirty-sixinches 'ithout getting the palpitations. "

"Well-a-well, 'tis but for a brief while longer--a few fleetingweeks, an' us Die-hards shall be as though we had never been. So whynot be cheerful? For my part, I mind back in 'seventy-nine, when thefleets o' France an' Spain assembled an' come up agen' us--sixty-sixsail o' the line, my sonnies, besides frigates an' corvettes to theamount o' twenty-five or thirty, all as plain as the nose on yourface: an' the alarm guns goin', up to Plymouth, an' the signalshoisted at Maker Tower--a bloody flag at the pole an' two blue 'unsat the outriggers. Four days they laid to, an' I mind the first timeI seed mun, from this very place as it might be where we'm standin'at this moment, I said 'Well, 'tis all over with East Looe thistime!' I said: 'an' when 'tis over, 'tis over, as Joan said by herweddin'. ' An' then I spoke them verses by royal Solomon--Wisdom two, six to nine. 'Let us fill oursel's wi' costly wine an' ointments, 'I said: 'an' let no flower o' the spring pass by us. Let us crownoursel's wi' rosebuds, afore they be withered: let none of us gowithout his due part of our voluptuousness'--"

"Why, you old adage, that's what Solomon makes th' _ungodly_ say!"interrupted young Gunner Oke, who had recently been appointed parishclerk, and happened to know. 

"As it happens, " Uncle Issy retorted, with sudden dignity--"as ithappens, I _was_ ungodly in them days. The time I'm talkin' aboutwas August 'seventy-nine; an' if I don't mistake, your father an'mother, John Oke, were courtin' just then, an' 'most too shy toconfide in each other about havin' a parish clerk for a son. "

"Times hev' marvellously altered in the meanwhile, to be sure, " putin Sergeant Pengelly of the "Sloop" Inn. 

"Well, then, " Uncle Issy continued, without pressing his triumph, "''Tis all over with East Looe, ' I said, 'an' this is a black day forKing Gearge, ' an' then I spoke them verses o' Solomon. 'Let none ofus, ' I said, 'go without his due part of our voluptuousness'; andwith that I went home and dined on tatties an' bacon. It hardlyseems a thing to be believed at this distance o' time, but I neverrelished tatties an' bacon better in my life than that day--an' yetnot meanin' the laste disrespect to King Gearge. Disrespect? If hisMajesty only knew it, he've no better friend in the world than IsraelSpettigew. God save the King!"

And with this Uncle Issy pulled off his cap and waved it round hishead, thereby shedding a _moulinet_ of raindrops full in the facesof his comrades around. 

This was observed by Captain Pond, standing on the platform above, beside Thundering Meg, the big 24-pounder, which with four18-pounders on the shore-wall formed the lower defences of the haven. 

"Mr. Clogg, " he called to his junior lieutenant, "tell GunnerSpettigew to put on his hat at once. Ask him what he means by takinghis death and disgracing the company. "

The junior lieutenant--a small farmer from Talland parish--touchedhis cap, spread his hand suddenly over his face and sneezed. 

"Hullo! You've got a cold. "

"No, sir. I often sneezes like that, and no reason for it whatever. "

"I've never noticed it before. "

"No, sir. I keeps it under so well as I can. A great deal can bedone sometimes by pressing your thumb on the upper lip. "

"Ah, well! So long as it's not a cold--" returned the Captain, andbroke off to arrange his air-cushion over the depressed muzzle ofThundering Meg. Hereupon he took his seat, adjusted the lapels ofhis great-coat over his knees, and gave way to gloomy reflection. 

Sergeant Fugler was at the bottom of it. Sergeant Fugler, the bestmarksman in the Company, was a hard drinker, with a hobnailed liver. He lay now in bed with that hobnailed liver, and the Doctor said itwas only a question of days. But why should this so extraordinarilydiscompose Captain Pond, who had no particular affection for Fugler, and knew, besides, that all men--and especially hard drinkers--aremortal?

The answer is that the East and West Looe Volunteer Artillery was noordinary Company. When, on the 16th of May, 1803, King George toldhis faithful subjects, who had been expecting the announcement forsome time, that the Treaty of Amiens was no better than waste paper, public feeling in the two Looes rose to a very painful pitch. The inhabitants used to assemble before the post-office, to hear theFrench bulletins read out; and though it was generally concluded thatthey held much falsehood, yet everybody felt misfortune in the air. Rumours flew about that a diversion would be made by sending an armyinto the Duchy to draw the troops thither while the invaders directedtheir main strength upon London. Quiet villagers, therefore, dweltfor the while in a constant apprehension, fearing to go to bed lestthey should awake at the sound of the trumpet, or in the midst of theFrench troops; scarcely venturing beyond sight of home lest, returning, they should find the homestead smoking and desolate. Each man had laid down the plan he should pursue. Some were to driveoff the cattle, others to fire the corn. While the men worked in thefields, their womankind--young maids and grandmothers, and all thatcould be spared from domestic work--encamped above the cliffs, wearing red cloaks to scare the Frenchmen, and by night kept bigbonfires burning continually. Amid this painful disquietude of thepublic mind "the great and united Spirit of the British People armeditself for the support of their ancient Glory and Independenceagainst the unprincipled Ambition of the French Government. "In other words, the Volunteer movement began. In the Duchy alone noless than 8, 362 men enrolled themselves in thirty Companies of foot, horse, and artillery, as well out of enthusiasm as to escape thegeneral levy that seemed probable--so mixed are all human actions. 

Of these the Looe Company was neither the greatest nor the least. It had neither the numerical strength of the Royal Stannary Artillery(1, 115 men and officers) nor the numerical eccentricity of the St. Germans Cavalry, which consisted of forty troopers, all told, andeleven officers, and hunted the fox thrice a week during the wintermonths under Lord Eliot, Captain and M. F. H. The Looe Volunteers, however, started well in the matter of dress, which consisted of adark-blue coat and pantaloons, with red facings and yellow wings andtassels, and a white waistcoat. The officers' sword-hilts wereadorned with prodigious red and blue tassels, and the blade ofCaptain Pond's, in particular, bore the inscription, "_My Life'sBlood for the Two Looes!_"--a legend which we must admit to betouching, even while we reflect that the purpose of the weapon wasnot to draw its owner's life-blood. 

As a matter of mere history, this devoted blade had drawn nobody'sblood; since, in the six years that followed their enlistment, theLooe Die-hards had never been given an opportunity for a brush withtheir country's hereditary foes. How, then, did they acquire theirproud title?

It was the Doctor's discovery; and perhaps, in the beginning, professional pride may have had something to do with it; but hisenthusiasm was quickly caught up by Captain Pond and communicated tothe entire Company. 

"Has it ever occurred to you, Pond, " the Doctor began, one evening inthe late summer of 1808, as the two strolled homeward from parade, "to reflect on the rate of mortality in this Company of yours?Have you considered that in all these five years since theirestablishment not a single man has died?"

"Why the deuce should he?"

"But look here: I've worked it out on paper, and the mean age of yourmen is thirty-four years, or some five years more than the mean ageof the entire population of East and West Looe. You see, on the onehand, you enlist no children, and on the other, you've enlistedseveral men of ripe age, because you're accustomed to them and knowtheir ways--which is a great help in commanding a Company. But thismakes the case still more remarkable. Take any collection ofseventy souls the sum of whose ages, divided by seventy, shall bethirty-four, and by all the laws of probability three, at least, ought to die in the course of a year. I speak, for the moment, ofcivilians. In the military profession, " the Doctor continued, withperfect seriousness, "especially in time of war, the death-rate willbe enormously heightened. But"--with a flourish of the hand--"I waive that. I waive even the real, if uncertainly estimated, riskof handling, twice or thrice a week and without timidity orparticular caution, the combustibles and explosives supplied us byGovernment. And still I say that we might with equanimity havebeheld our ranks thinned during these five years by the loss offifteen men. And we have not lost a single one! It is wonderful!"

"War is a fearful thing, " commented Captain Pond, whose mind movedless nimbly than the Doctor's. 

"Dash it all, Pond! Can't you see that I'm putting the argument on a_peace_ footing? I tell you that in five years of _peace_ anyordinary Company of the same size would have lost at least fifteenmen. "

"Then all I can say is that peace is a fearful thing, too. "

"But don't you see that at this moment you're commanding the mostremarkable Company in the Duchy, if not in the whole of England?"

"I do, " answered Captain Pond, flushing. "It's a responsibility, though. It makes a man feel proud; but, all the same, I almost wishyou hadn't told me. "

Indeed at first the weight of his responsibility counteracted theCaptain's natural elation. It lifted, however, at the nextCorporation dinner, when the Doctor made public announcement of hisdiscovery in a glowing speech, supporting his rhetoric by extractsfrom a handful of statistics and calculations, and ending, "Gentlemen, we know the motto of the East and West Looe VolunteerArtillery to be '_Never Say Die!_' but seeing, after five years'trial of them, that they never _do_ die, what man (I ask) will notrejoice to belong to such a Company? What man would not be proud _tocommand it_?"

After this, could Captain Pond lag behind? His health was drunk amid thunders of applause. He rose: he cast timidity to the winds:he spoke, and while he spoke, wondered at his own enthusiasm. Scarcely had he made an end before his fellow-townsmen caught him offhis feet and carried him shoulder high through the town by the lightof torches. There were many aching heads in the two Looes nextmorning; but nobody died: and from that night Captain Pond's Companywore the name of "The Die-hards. "

All went well at first; for the autumn closed mildly. But withNovember came a spell of north-easterly gales, breeding bronchialdiscomfort among the aged; and Black Care began to dog the Commander. He caught himself regretting the admission of so many gunners ofriper years, although the majority of these had served in HisMajesty's Navy, and were by consequence the best marksmen. They weathered the winter, however; and a slight epidemic ofwhooping-cough, which broke out in the early spring, affected none ofthe Die-hards except the small bugler, and he took it in the mildestform. The men, following the Doctor's lead, began to talk moreboastfully than ever. Only the Captain shook his head, and his eyeswore a wistful look, as though he listened continually for thefootsteps of Nemesis--as, indeed, he did. The strain was breakinghim. And in August, when word came from headquarters that, alldanger of invasion being now at an end, the Looe Volunteer Artillerywould be disbanded at the close of the year, he tried in vain togrieve. A year ago he would have wept in secret over the news. Now he went about with a solemn face and a bounding heart. A fewmonths more and then--

And then, almost within sight of goal, Sergeant Fugler had brokendown. Everyone knew that Fugler drank prodigiously; but so had hisfather and grandfather, and each of them had reached eighty. The fellow had always carried his liquor well enough, too. Captain Pond looked upon it almost as a betrayal. 

"I don't know what folks' constitutions are coming to in these days, "he kept muttering, on this morning of November the 3rd, as he sat onthe muzzle of Thundering Meg and dangled his legs. 

And then, glancing up, he saw the Doctor coming from the town alongthe shore-wall, and read evil news at once. For many of theDie-hards stopped the Doctor to question him, and stood gloomy as hepassed on. It was popularly said in the two Looes, that "if theDoctor gave a man up, that man might as well curl up his toes thenand there. "

Catching sight of his Captain on the platform, the Doctor bent hissteps thither, and they were slow and inelastic. 

"Tell me the worst, " said Captain Pond. 

"The worst is that he's no better; no, the worst of all is that heknows he's no better. My friend, between ourselves, it's only aquestion of a day or two. "

Silence followed for half a minute, the two officers avoiding eachother's eyes. 

"He has a curious wish, " the Doctor resumed, still with his faceaverted and his gaze directed on the dull outline of Looe Island, amile away. "He says he knows he's disgracing the Company: but he'sanxious, all the same, to have a military funeral: says if you canpromise this, he'll feel in a way that he's forgiven. "

"He shall have it, of course. "

"Ah, but that's not all. You remember, a couple of years back, whenthey had us down to Pendennis Castle for a week's drill, there was afuneral of a Sergeant-Major in the Loyal Meneage; and how the bandplayed a sort of burial tune ahead of the body? Well, Fugler askedme if you couldn't manage this Dead March, as he calls it, as well. He can whistle the tune if you want to know it. It seems it made agreat impression on him. "

"Then the man must be wandering! How the dickens can we manage aDead March without a band?--and we haven't even a fife and drum!"

"That's what I told him. I suppose we couldn't do anything with thechurch musicians. "

"There's only one man in the Company who belongs to the gallery, andthat's Uncle Issy Spettigew: and he plays the bass-viol. I doubt ifyou can play the Dead March on a bass-viol, and I'm morally certainyou can't play it and walk with it too. I suppose we can't borrow aband from another Company?"

"What, and be the mock of the Duchy?--after all our pride! I fancy Isee you going over to Troy and asking Browne for the loan of hisband. 'Hullo!' he'd say, 'I thought you never had such a thing as afuneral over at Looe!' I can hear the fellow chuckle. But I wishsomething could be done, all the same. A trifle of pomp would drawfolks' attention off our disappointment. "

Captain Pond sighed and rose from the gun; for the bugle was soundingfrom the upper battery. 

"Fall in, gentlemen, if you please!" he shouted. His politeness inaddressing his Company might be envied even by the "Blues. "

The Doctor formed them up and told them off along the sea-wall, as iffor inspection. "Or-der arms!" "Fix bayonets!" "Shoul-der arms!"Then with a glance of inquiry at his Captain, who had fallen into abrown study, "Rear rank, take open order!"

"No, no, " interposed the Captain, waking up and taking a guess at thesun's altitude in the grey heavens. "We're late this morning: bettermarch 'em up to the battery at once. "

Then, quickly re-forming them, he gave the word, "By the left!Quick march!" and the Die-hards swung steadily up the hill towardsthe platform where the four nine-pounders grinned defiance to theships of France. 

As a matter of fact, this battery stood out of reach of harm, withthe compensating disadvantage of being able to inflict none. The reef below would infallibly wreck any ship that tried to approachwithin the point-blank range of some 270 yards, and its extreme rangeof ten times that distance was no protection to the haven, which layround a sharp corner of the cliff. But the engineer's blunder wasnever a check upon the alacrity of the Die-hards, who cleaned, loaded, rammed home, primed, sighted, and blazed away with theprecision of clockwork and the ardour of Britons, as though awarethat the true strength of a nation lay not so much in theconstruction of her fortresses as in the spirit of her sons. 

Captain Pond halted, re-formed his men upon the platform, and, drawing a key from his pocket, ordered Lieutenant Clogg to thestore-hut, with Uncle Issy in attendance, to serve our theammunition, rammers, sponges, water-buckets, etc. 

"But the door's unlocked, sir, " announced the lieutenant, withsomething like dismay. 

"Unlocked!" echoed the Doctor. 

The Captain blushed. 

"I could have sworn, Doctor, I turned the key in the lock beforeleaving last Thursday. I think my head must be going. I've beensleeping badly of late--it's this worry about Fugler. However, Idon't suppose anybody--"

A yell interrupted him. It came from Uncle Issy, who had entered thestore-hut, and now emerged from it as if projected from a gun. 

"THE FRENCH! THE FRENCH!"

For two terrible seconds the Die-hards eyed one another. Then someone in the rear rank whispered, "An ambush!" The two ranksbegan to waver--to melt. Uncle Issy, with head down and shouldersarched, was already stumbling down the slope towards the town. In another ten seconds the whole Company would be at his heels. 

The Doctor saved their reputation. He was as pale as the rest; but ahasty remembrance of the cubic capacity of the store-hut told himthat the number of Frenchmen in ambush there could hardly be morethan half a dozen. 

"Halt!" he shouted; and Captain Pond shouted "Halt!" too, adding, "There'll be heaps of time to run when we find out what's thematter. "

The Die-hards hung, still wavering, upon the edge of the platform. 

"For my part, " the Doctor declared, "I don't believe there's anybodyinside. "

"But there _is_, Doctor! for I saw him myself just as Uncle Issycalled out, " said the second lieutenant. 

"Was it only _one_ man that you saw?" demanded Captain Pond. 

"That's all. You see, it was this way: Uncle Issy stepped fore, withme a couple of paces behind him thinking of nothing so little asbloodshed and danger. If you'll believe me, these things was thevery last in my thoughts. Uncle Issy rolls aside the powder-cask, and what do I behold but a man ducking down behind it! 'He's firingthe powder, ' thinks I, 'and here endeth William George Clogg!'So I shut my eyes, not willing to see my gay life whisked away inlittle portions; though I feared it must come. And then I felt UncleIssy flee past me like the wind. But I kept my eyes tight till Iheard the Doctor here saying there wasn't anybody inside. If you askme what I think about the whole matter, I say, putting one thing withanother, that 'tis most likely some poor chap taking shelter from therain. "

Captain Pond unsheathed his sword and advanced to the door of thehut. "Whoever you be, " he called aloud and firmly, "you've got nobusiness there; so come out of it, in the name of King George!"

At once there appeared in the doorway a little round-headed man intattered and mud-soiled garments of blue cloth. His hair and beardwere alike short, black, and stubbly; his eyes large and feverish, his features smeared with powder and a trifle pinched and pale. In his left hand he carried a small bundle, wrapped in a knotted bluekerchief: his right he waved submissively towards Captain Pond. 

"See now, " he began, "I give up. I am taken. Look you. "

"I think you must be a Frenchman, " said Captain Pond. 

"Right. It is war: you have taken a Frenchman. Yes?"

"A spy?" the Captain demanded more severely. 

"An escaped prisoner, more like, " suggested the Doctor; "broken outof Dartmoor, and hiding there for a chance to slip across. "

"Monsieur le Lieutenant has guessed, " the little man answered, turning affably to the Doctor. "A spy? No. It is not on purposethat I find me near your fortifications--oh, not a bit! A prisonermore like, as Monsieur says. It is three days that I was a prisoner, and now look here, a prisoner again. Alas! will Monsieur leCapitaine do me the honour to confide the name of his corps sogallant?"

"The Two Looes. "

"_La Toulouse!_ But it is singular that we also have a Toulouse--"

"Hey?" broke in Second Lieutenant Clogg. 

"I assure Monsieur that I say the truth. "

"Well, go on; only it don't sound natural. "

"Not that I have seen it"--("Ha!" commented Mr. Clogg)--"for it liesin the south, and I am from the north: Jean Alphonse Marie Trinquier, instructor of music, Rue de la Madeleine quatr '-vingt-neuf, Dieppe. "

"Instructor of music?" echoed Captain Pond and the Doctor quickly andsimultaneously, and their eyes met. 

"And _Directeur des Fetes Periodiques_ to the Municipality of Dieppe. All the Sundays, you comprehend, upon the sands--_poum poum!_ whilethe citizens _se promenent sur la plage_. But all is not gay in thisworld. Last winter a terrible misfortune befell me. I lost mywife--my adored Philomene. I was desolated, inconsolable. For twomonths I could not take up my _cornet-a-piston_. Always when Iblew--pouf!--the tears came also. Ah, what memories! Hippolyte, my--what you call it--my _beau-frere_, came to me and said, 'JeanAlphonse, you must forget. ' I say, 'Hippolyte, you ask that which isimpossible. ' 'I will teach you, ' says Hippolyte: 'To-morrow night Isail for Jersey, and from Jersey I cross to Dartmouth, in England, and you shall come with me. ' Hippolyte made his living by what youcall the Free Trade. This was far down the coast for him, but hesaid the business with Rye and Deal was too dangerous for a time. Next night we sailed. It was his last voyage. With the morning thewind changed, and we drove into a fog. When we could see again, _peste!_--there was an English frigate. She sent down her cutter andtook the rest of us; but not Hippolyte--poor Hippolyte was shot inthe spine of his back. Him they cast into the sea, but the rest ofus they take to Plymouth, and then the War Prison on the moor. This was in May, and there I rest until three days ago. Then I breakout--_je me sauve_. How? It is my affair: for I foresee, Messieurs, I shall now have to do it over again. I am _sot_. I gain the coasthere at night. I am weary, _je n'en puis plus_. I find this_cassine_ here: the door is open: I enter _pour faire un petitsomme_. Before day I will creep down to the shore. A comrade in theprison said to me, 'Go to Looe. I know a good Cornishman there--'"

"And you overslept yourself, " Captain Paul briskly interrupted, alertas ever to protect the credit of his Company. He was aware thatseveral of the Die-hards, in extra-military hours, took an occasionaltrip across to Guernsey: and Guernsey is a good deal more thanhalf-way to France. 

"The point is, " observed the Doctor, "that you play the cornet. "

"It is certain that I do so, monsieur; but how that can be thepoint--"

"And instruct in music?"

"Decidedly!"

"Do you know the Dead March?"

M. Trinquier was unfeignedly bewildered. 

Said Captain Pond: "Listen while I explain. You are my prisoner, and it becomes my duty to send you back to Dartmoor under escort. But you are exhausted; and notwithstanding my detestation of thatinfernal tyrant, your master, I am a humane man. At all events, I'mnot going to expose two of my Die-hards to the risks of a tramp toDartmoor just now--I wouldn't turn out a dog in such weather. It remains a question what I am to do with you in the meanwhile. I propose that you give me your parole that you will make no attemptto escape, let us say, for a month: and on receiving it I will atonce escort you to my house, and see that you are suitably clothed, fed, and entertained. "

"I give it willingly, M. Le Capitaine. But how am I to thank you?"

"By playing the Dead March upon the _cornet-a-piston_ and teachingothers to do the like. "

"That seems a singular way of showing one's gratitude. But why theDead March, monsieur? And, excuse me, there is more than one DeadMarch. I myself, _par exemple_, composed one to the memory of myadored Philomene but a week before Hippolyte came with his so sadproposition. "

"I doubt if that will do. You see, " said Captain Pond, lifting hisvoice for the benefit of the Die-hards, who by this time were quiteas sorely puzzled as their prisoner, "we are about to bury one of ourCompany, Sergeant Fugler--"

"Ah! he is dead?"

"He is dying, " Captain Pond pursued, the more quickly since he nowguessed, not without reason, that Fugler was the "good Cornishman" towhose door M. Trinquier had been directed. "He is dying of ahobnailed liver. It is his wish to have the Dead March played at hisburying. "

"He whistled the tune over to me, " said the Doctor; "but plague takeme if I can whistle it to you. I've no ear: but I'd know it again ifI heard it. Dismal isn't the word for it. "

"It will be Handel. I am sure it will be Handel--the Dead March inhis _Saul_. "

"In his what?"

"In his oratorio of _Saul_. Listen--_poum, poum, prrr, poum_--"

"Be dashed, but you've got it!" cried the Doctor, delighted; "thoughyou do give it a sort of foreign accent. But I daresay that won't beso noticeable on the key-bugle. "

"But about this key-bugle, monsieur? And the other instruments?--notto mention the players. "

"I've been thinking of that, " said Captain Pond. "There's ButcherTregaskis has a key-bugle. He plays 'Rule Britannia' upon it when hegoes round with the suet. He'll lend you that till we can get onedown from Plymouth. A drum, too, you shall have. Hockaday's tradercalls here to-morrow on her way to Plymouth; she shall bring bothinstruments back with her. Then we have the church musicians--PeterTweedy, first fiddle; Matthew John Ede, second ditto; ThomasTripconey, scorpion--"

"Serpent, " the Doctor corrected. 

"Well, it's a filthy thing to look at, anyway. Israel Spettigew, bass-viol; William Henry Phippin, flute; and William Henry Phippin'seldest boy Archelaus to tap the triangle at the right moment. That boy, sir, will play the triangle almost as well as a man grown. "

"Then, monsieur, take me to your house. Give me a little food anddrink, pen, ink, and paper, and in three hours you shall have _lapartition_. "

Said the Doctor, "That's all very well, Pond, but the churchmusicianers can't march with their music, as you told me just now. "

"I've thought of that, too. We'll have Miller Penrose's coveredthree-horse waggon to march ahead of the coffin. Hang it in blackand go slow, and all the musicianers can sit around inside and playaway as merry as grigs. "

"The cover'll give the music a sort of muffly sound; but that, "Lieutenant Clogg suggested, "will be all the more fitty for afuneral. "

"So it will, Clogg; so it will. But we're wasting time. I supposeyou won't object, sir, to be marched down to my house by the Company?It's the regular thing in case of taking a prisoner, and you'll beleft to yourself as soon as you get to my door. "

"Not at all, " said M. Trinquier amiably. 

"Then, gentlemen, fall in! The practice is put off. And when youget home, mind you change your stockings, all of you. We're inluck's way this morning, but that's no reason for recklessness. "

So M. Trinquier, sometime Director of Periodical Festivities to theMunicipality of Dieppe, was marched down into East Looe, to thewonder and delight of the inhabitants, who had just recovered fromthe shock of Gunner Spettigew's false alarm, and were in a conditionto be pleased with trifles. As the Company tramped along the street, Captain Pond pointed out the Town Hall to his prisoner. 

"That will be the most convenient place to hold your practices. And that is Fugler's house, just opposite. "

"But we cannot practise without making a noise. "

"I hope not, indeed. Didn't I promise you a big drum?"

"But in that case the sick man will hear. It will disturb his lastmoments. "

"Confound the fellow, he can't have everything! If he'd asked forpeace and quiet, he should have had it. But he didn't: he asked fora Dead March. Don't trouble about Fugler. He's not an unreasonableman. The only question is, if the Doctor here can keep him goinguntil you're perfect with the tune. "

And this was the question upon which the men of Looe, and especiallythe Die-hards, hung breathless for the next few days. M. Trinquierproduced his score; the musicianers came forward eagerly; MillerPenrose promised his waggon; the big drum arrived from Plymouth inthe trader _Good Intent_, and was discharged upon the quay amidenthusiasm. The same afternoon, at four o'clock, M. Trinquieropened his first practice in the Town Hall, by playing over the airof the "Dead Marching Soul"--(to this the popular mouth had convertedthe name)--upon his cornet, just to give his pupils a general notionof it. 

The day had been a fine one, with just that suspicion of frost in theair which indicates winter on the warm south-western coast. While the musicians were assembling the Doctor stepped across thestreet to see how the invalid would take it. Fugler--asharp-featured man of about fifty, good-looking, with blue eyes and atinge of red in his hair--lay on his bed with his mouth firmly setand his eyes resting, wistfully almost, on the last wintry sunbeamthat floated in by the geraniums on the window-ledge. He had notheard the news. For five days now he expected nothing but the end, and lay and waited for it stoically and with calm good temper. 

The Doctor took a seat by the bed-side, and put a question or two. They were answered by Mrs. Fugler, who moved about the small roomquietly, removing, dusting and replacing the china ornaments on thechimneypiece. The sick man lay still, with his eyes upon thesunbeam. 

And then very quietly and distinctly the notes of M. Trinquier'skey-bugle rose outside on the frosty air. 

The sick man started, and made as if to raise himself on his elbow, but quickly sank back again--perhaps from weakness, perhaps becausehe caught the Doctor's eye and the Doctor's reassuring nod. While helay back and listened, a faint flush crept into his face, as thoughthe blood ran quicker in his weak limbs; and his blue eyes took a newlight altogether. 

"That's the tune, hey?" the Doctor asked. 

"That's the tune. "

"Dismal, ain't it?"

"Ay, it's that. " His fingers were beating time on the counterpane. 

"That's our new bandmaster. He's got to teach it to the rest, andyou've got to hold out till they pick it up. Whew! I'd no idea musiccould be so dismal. "

"Hush 'ee, Doctor, do! till he've a-done. 'Tis like rain onblossom. " The last notes fell. "Go you down, Doctor, and say myduty and will he please play it over once more, and Fugler'll gi'e'em a run for their money. "

The Doctor went back to the Town Hall and delivered this _encore_, and M. Trinquier played his solo again; and in the middle of it Mr. Fugler dropped off into an easy sleep. 

After this the musicians met every evening, Sundays and weekdays, andby the third evening the Doctor was able to predict with confidencethat Fugler would last out. Indeed, the patient was strong enough tobe propped up into a sitting posture during the hour of practice, andnot only listened with pleasure to the concerted piece, but beat timewith his fingers while each separate instrument went over its part, delivering, at the close of each performance, his opinion of it toMrs. Fugler or the Doctor: "Tripconey's breath's failin'. He don'tdo no sort o' justice by that sarpint. " Or: "There's Uncle Issyagen! He always do come to grief juss there! I reckon a man ofsixty-odd ought to give up the bass-viol. He ha'n't got theagility. "

On the fifth evening Mrs. Fugler was sent across to the Town Hall toask why the triangle had as yet no share in the performance, and tosuggest that William Henry Phippin's eldest boy, Archelaus, playedthat instrument "to the life. " M. Trinquier replied that it wasunusual to seek the aid of the triangle in rendering the Dead Marchin _Saul_. Mr. Fugler sent back word that, "if you came to _that_, the whole thing was unusual, from start to finish. " To this M. Trinquier discovered no answer; and the triangle was included, to theextreme delight of Archelaus Phippin, whose young life had beenclouded for a week past. 

On the sixth evening, Mr. Fugler announced a sudden fancy to "touchpipe. "

"Hey?" said the Doctor, opening his eyes. 

"I'd like to tetch pipe. An' let me light the brimstone mysel'. I likes to see the little blue flame turn yellow, a-dancin' on thebaccy. "

"Get 'n his pipe and baccy, missis, " the Doctor commanded. "He maykill himself clean-off now: the band'll be ready by the funeral, anyway. "

On the three following evenings Mr. Fugler sat up and smoked duringband practice, the Doctor observing him with a new interest. The tenth day, the Doctor was called away to attend a child-birth atDownderry. At the conclusion of the cornet solo, with which M. Trinquier regularly opened practice, the sick man said--

"Wife, get me out my clothes. "

"WHAT!"

"Get me out my clothes. "

"You're mad! It'll be your death. "

"I don't care: the band's ready. Uncle Issy got his part perfectlas' night, an' that's more'n I ever prayed to hear. Get me out myclothes an' help me downstairs. "

The Doctor was far away. Mrs. Fugler was forced to give in. Weeping, and with shaking hands, she dressed him and helped him tothe foot of the stairs, where she threw open the parlour door. 

"No, " he said, "I'm not goin' in there. I'll be steppin' across tothe Town Hall. Gi'e me your arm. "

Thomas Tripconey was rehearsing upon the serpent when the door of theTown Hall opened: and the music he made died away in a wail, as of adog whose foot has been trodden on. William Henry Phippin's eldestson Archelaus cast his triangle down and shrieked "Ghosts, ghosts!"Uncle Issy cowered behind his bass-viol and put a hand over his eyes. M. Trinquier spun round to face the intruder, baton in one hand, cornet in the other. 

"Thank 'ee, friends, " said Mr. Fugler, dropping into a seat by thedoor, and catching breath: "you've got it very suent. 'Tis abeautiful tune: an' I'm ha'f ashamed to tell 'ee that I bain'ta-goin' to die, this time. "

Nor did he. 

The East and West Looe Volunteer Artillery was disbanded a few weekslater, on the last day of the year 1809. The Corporations of the TwoBoroughs entertained the heroes that evening to a complimentarybanquet in the East Looe Town Hall, and Sergeant Fugler had recoveredsufficiently to attend, though not to partake. The Doctor made aspeech over him, proving him by statistics to be the most wonderfulmember of the most wonderful corps in the world. The Doctor granted, however--at such a moment the Company could make concessions--thatthe Die-hards had been singularly fortunate in the one foeman whomthey had been called upon to face. Had it not been for a gentlemanof France the death-roll of the Company had assuredly not stood atzero. He, their surgeon, readily admitted this, and gave them atoast, "The Power of Music, " associating with this the name ofMonsieur Jean Alphonse Marie Trinquier, Director of PeriodicFestivities to the Municipality of Dieppe. The toast was drunk withacclamation. M. Trinquier responded, expressing his confident beliefthat two so gallant nations as England and France could not long berestrained from flinging down their own arms and rushing into eachother's. And then followed Captain Pond, who, having moved hisaudience to tears, pronounced the Looe Die-hards disbanded. Thereupon, with a gesture full of tragic inspiration, he cast hisnaked blade upon the board. As it clanged amid the dishes andglasses, M. Trinquier lifted his arms, and the band crashed out the"Dead Marching Soul, " following it with "God Save the King" as theclock announced midnight and the birth of the New Year. 

"But hallo?" exclaimed Captain Pond, sinking back in his chair, andturning towards M. Trinquier. "I had clean forgot that you are ourprisoner, and should be sent back to Dartmoor! And now the Companyis disbanded, and I have no one to send as escort. "

"Monsieur also forgets that my parole expired a fortnight since, andthat my service from that hour has been a service of love!"

M. Trinquier did not return to Dartmoor. For it happened, one darknight early in the following February, that Mr. Fugler (now restoredto health) set sail for the island of Guernsey upon a matter ofbusiness. And on the morrow the music-master of Dieppe had becomebut a pleasing memory to the inhabitants of the Two Looes. 

And now, should you take up Mr. Thomas Bond's _History of East andWest Looe_, and read of the Looe Volunteers that "not a single man ofthe Company died during the six years, which is certainly veryremarkable, " you will be not utterly incredulous; for you will knowhow it came about. Still, when one comes to reflect, it does seem anodd boast for a company of warriors. 

MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY. 

A DROLL. 

'Tis the nicest miss in the world that I was born grandson of my ownfather's father, and not of another man altogether. Hendry Watty wasthe name of my grandfather that might have been; and he alwaysmaintained that to all intents and purposes he _was_ my grandfather, and made me call him so--'twas such a narrow shave. I don't mindtelling you about it. 'Tis a curious tale, too. 

My grandfather, Hendry Watty, bet four gallons of eggy-hot that hewould row out to the Shivering Grounds, all in the dead waste of thenight, and haul a trammel there. To find the Shivering Grounds bynight, you get the Gull Rock in a line with Tregamenna and pull outtill you open the light on St. Anthony's Point; but everybody givesthe place a wide berth because Archelaus Rowett's lugger founderedthere, one time, with six hands on board; and they say that at nightyou can hear the drowned men hailing their names. But my grandfatherwas the boldest man in Port Loe, and said he didn't care. So oneChristmas Eve by daylight he and his mates went out and tilled thetrammel; and then they came back and spent the fore-part of theevening over the eggy-hot, down to Oliver's tiddly-wink, to keep mygrandfather's spirits up and also to show that the bet was made inearnest. 

'Twas past eleven o'clock when they left Oliver's and walked down tothe cove to see my grandfather off. He has told me since that hedidn't feel afraid at all, but very friendly in mind, especiallytowards William John Dunn, who was walking on his right hand. This puzzled him at the first, for as a rule he didn't think much ofWilliam John Dunn. But now he shook hands with him several times, and just as he was stepping into the boat he says, "You'll take careof Mary Polly, while I'm away. " Mary Polly Polsue was mygrandfather's sweetheart at that time. But why he should have spokenas if he was bound on a long voyage he never could tell; he used toset it down to fate. 

"I will, " said William John Dunn; and then they gave a cheer andpushed my grandfather off, and he lit his pipe and away he rowed allinto the dead waste of the night. He rowed and rowed, all in thedead waste of the night; and he got the Gull Rock in a line withTregamenna windows; and still he was rowing, when to his greatsurprise he heard a voice calling:

"_Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty!_"

I told you my grandfather was the boldest man in Port Loe. But hedropped his two paddles now, and made the five signs of Penitence. For who could it be calling him out here in the dead waste and middleof the night?

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! _drop me a line_. "

My grandfather kept his fishing-lines in a little skivet under thestern-sheets. But not a trace of bait had he on board. If he had, he was too much a-tremble to bait a hook. 

"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY! _drop me a line, or I'll know why!_"

My poor grandfather by this had picked up his paddles again, and wasrowing like mad to get quit of the neighbourhood, when something orsomebody gave three knocks--_thump, thump, thump!_--on the bottom ofthe boat, just as you would knock on a door. The third thump fetchedHendry Watty upright on his legs. He had no more heart fordisobeying, but having bitten his pipe-stem in half by this time--histeeth chattered so--he baited his hook with the broken bit andflung it overboard, letting the line run out in the stern-notch. Not halfway had it run before he felt a long pull on it, like thesucking of a dog-fish. 

"_Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! pull me in_. "

Hendry Watty pulled in hand over fist; and in came the leadsinker over the notch, and still the line was heavy; be pulled andhe pulled, and next, all out of the dead waste of the night, cametwo white hands, like a washerwoman's, and gripped hold of thestern-board; and on the left of these two hands, on the littlefinger, was a silver ring, sunk very deep in the flesh. If this wasbad, worse was the face that followed--a great white parboiled face, with the hair and whiskers all stuck with chips of wood and seaweed. And if this was bad for anybody, it was worse for my grandfather, whohad known Archelaus Rowett before he was drowned out on the ShiveringGrounds, six years before. 

Archelaus Rowett climbed in over the stern, pulled the hook with thebit of pipe-stem out of his cheek, sat down in the stern-sheets, shook a small crayfish out of his whiskers, and said very coolly--

"If you should come across my wife--"

That was all my grandfather stayed to hear. At the sound ofArchelaus's voice he fetched a yell, jumped clean over the side ofthe boat and swam for dear life. He swam and swam, till by the bitof the moon he saw the Gull Rock close ahead. There were lashin's ofrats on the Gull Rock, as he knew: but he was a good deal surprisedat the way they were behaving: for they sat in a row at the water'sedge and fished, with their tails let down into the sea forfishing-lines: and their eyes were like garnets burning as theylooked at my grandfather over their shoulders. 

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! You can't land here--you're disturbingthe pollack. "

"Bejimbers! I wouldn' do that for the world, " says my grandfather: sooff he pushes and swims for the mainland. This was a long job, and'twas as much as he could do to reach Kibberick beach, where he fellon his face and hands among the stones, and there lay, taking breath. 

The breath was hardly back in his body, before he heard footsteps, and along the beach came a woman, and passed close by to him. He layvery quiet, and as she came near he saw 'twas Sarah Rowett, that usedto be Archelaus's wife, but had married another man since. She wasknitting as she went by, and did not seem to notice my grandfather:but he heard her say to herself, "The hour is come, and the man iscome. "

He had scarcely begun to wonder over this, when he spied a ball ofworsted yarn beside him that Sarah had dropped. 'Twas the ball shewas knitting from, and a line of worsted stretched after her alongthe beach. Hendry Watty picked up the ball and followed the threadon tiptoe. In less than a minute he came near enough to watch whatshe was doing: and what she did was worth watching. First shegathered wreckwood and straw, and struck flint over touchwood andteened a fire. Then she unravelled her knitting: twisted her end ofthe yarn between finger and thumb--like a cobbler twisting awax-end--and cast the end up towards the sky. It made Hendry Wattystare when the thread, instead of falling back to the ground, remained hanging, just as if 'twas fastened to something up above;but it made him stare more when Sarah Rowett began to climb up it, and away up till nothing could be seen of her but her ankles danglingout of the dead waste and middle of the night. 

"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY!"

It wasn't Sarah calling, but a voice far away out to sea. 

"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY! _send me a line_. "

My grandfather was wondering what to do, when Sarah speaks down verysharp to him, out of the dark:

"Hendry Watty! Where's the rocket apparatus? Can't you hear thepoor fellow asking for a line?"

"I do, " says my grandfather, who was beginning to lose his temper;"and do you think, ma'am, that I carry a Boxer's rocket in mytrousers pocket?"

"I think you have a ball of worsted in your hand, " says she. "Throw it as far as you can. "

So my grandfather threw the ball out into the dead waste and middleof the night. He didn't see where it pitched, or how far it went. 

"Right it is, " says the woman aloft. "'Tis easy seen you're ahurler. But what shall us do for a cradle? Hendry Watty! HendryWatty!"

"Ma'am to _you_, " says my grandfather. 

"If you've the common feelings of a gentleman, I'll ask you kindly toturn your back; I'm going to take off my stocking. "

So my grandfather stared the other way very politely; and when he wastold he might look again, he saw she had tied the stocking to theline and was running it out like a cradle into the dead waste of thenight. 

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"

Before he could answer, plump! a man's leg came tumbling past his earand scattered the ashes right and left. 

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"

This time 'twas a great white arm and hand, with a silver ring sunktight in the flesh of the little finger. 

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Warm them limbs!"

My grandfather picked them up and was warming them before the fire, when down came tumbling a great round head and bounced twice and layin the firelight, staring up at him. And whose head was it butArchelaus Rowett's, that he'd run away from once already, that night?

"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"

This time 'twas another leg, and my grandfather was just about to layhands on it, when the woman called down:

"Hendry Watty! catch it quick! It's my own leg I've thrown down bymistake!"

The leg struck the ground and bounced high, and Hendry Watty made aleap after it. . . . 

And I reckon it's asleep he must have been: for what he caught wasnot Mrs. Rowett's leg, but the jib-boom of a deep-laden brigantinethat was running him down in the dark. And as he sprang for it, hisboat was crushed by the brigantine's fore-foot and went down underhis very boot-soles. At the same time he let out a yell, and two orthree of the crew ran forward and hoisted him up to the bowsprit andin on deck, safe and sound. 

But the brigantine happened to be outward-bound for the River Plate;so that, what with one thing and another, 'twas eleven good monthsbefore my grandfather landed again at Port Loe. And who should bethe first man he sees standing above the cove but William John Dunn?

"I'm very glad to see you, " says William John Dunn. 

"Thank you kindly, " answers my grandfather; "and how's Mary Polly?"

"Why, as for that, " he says, "she took so much looking after, that Icouldn't feel I was keeping her properly under my eye till I marriedher, last June month. "

"You was always one to over-do things, " said my grandfather. 

"But if you was alive an' well, why didn' you drop us a line?"

Now when it came to talk about "dropping a line" my grandfatherfairly lost his temper. So he struck William John Dunn on the nose--a thing he had never been known to do before--and William John Dunnhit him back, and the neighbours had to separate them. And next day, William John Dunn took out a summons against him. 

Well, the case was tried before the magistrates: and my grandfathertold his story from the beginning, quite straightforward, just asI've told it to you. And the magistrates decided that, taking onething with another, he'd had a great deal of provocation, and finedhim five shillings. And there the matter ended. But now you knowthe reason why I'm William John Dunn's grandson instead of HendryWatty's. 

JETSOM. 

 Where Gerennius' beacon stands High above Pendower sands; Where, about the windy Nare, Foxes breed and falcons pair; Where the gannet dries a wing Wet with fishy harvesting, And the cormorants resort, Flapping slowly from their sport With the fat Atlantic shoal, Homeward to Tregeagle's Hole-- Walking there, the other day, In a bight within a bay, I espied amid the rocks, Bruis'd and jamm'd, the daintiest box, That the waves had flung and left High upon an ivied cleft. Striped it was with white and red, Satin-lined and carpeted, Hung with bells, and shaped withal Like the queer, fantastical Chinese temples you'll have seen Pictured upon white Nankin, Where, assembled in effective Head-dresses and odd perspective, Tiny dames and mandarins Expiate their egg-shell sins By reclining on their drumsticks, Waving fans and burning gum-sticks. Land of poppy and pekoe! Could thy sacred artists know-- Could they distantly conjecture How we use their architecture, Ousting the indignant Joss For a pampered Flirt or Floss, Poodle, Blenheim, Skye, Maltese, Lapped in purple and proud ease-- They might read their god's reproof Here on blister'd wall and roof; Scaling lacquer, dinted bells, Floor befoul'd of weed and shells, Where, as erst the tabid Curse Brooded over Pelops' hearse, Squats the sea-cow, keeping house, Sibylline, gelatinous. Where is Carlo? Tell, O tell, Echo, from this fluted shell, In whose concave ear the tides Murmur what the main confides Of his compass'd treacheries! What of Carlo? Did the breeze Madden to a gale while he, Curl'd and cushion'd cosily, Mixed in dreams its angry breathings With the tinkle of the tea-things In his mistress' cabin laid? --Nor dyspeptic, nor dismay'd, Drowning in a gentle snore All the menace of the shore Thunder'd from the surf a-lee. Near and nearer horribly, -- Scamper of affrighted feet, Voices cursing sail and sheet, While the tall ship shook in irons-- All the peril that environs Vessels 'twixt the wind and rock Clawing--driving? Did the shock, As the sunk reef split her back, First arouse him? Did the crack Widen swiftly and deposit Him in homeless night? Or was it, Not when wave or wind assail'd, But in waters dumb and veil'd, That a looming shape uprist Sudden from the Channel mist, And with crashing, rending bows Woke him, in his padded house, To a world of alter'd features? Were these panic-ridden creatures They who, but an hour agone, Ran with biscuit, ran with bone, Ran with meats in lordly dishes, To anticipate his wishes? But an hour agone! And now how Vain his once compelling bow-wow! Little dogs are highly treasured, Petted, patted, pamper'd, pleasured: But when ships go down in fogs, No one thinks of little dogs. 

 Ah, but how dost fare, I wonder, Now thine Argo splits asunder, Pouring on the wasteful sea All her precious bales, and thee? Little use is now to rave, Calling god or saint to save; Little use, if choked with salt, a Prayer to holy John of Malta. Patron John, he hears thee not. Or, perchance, in dusky grot Pale Persephone, repining For the fields that still are shining, Shining in her sleepless brain, Calling "Back! come back again!" Fain of playmate, fain of pet-- Any drug to slay regret, Hath from hell upcast an eye On thy fatal symmetry; And beguiled her sooty lord With his brother to accord For this black betrayal. Else Nereus in his car of shells Long ago had cleft the waters With his natatory daughters To the rescue: or Poseidon Sent a fish for thee to ride on-- Such a steed as erst Arion Reached the mainland high and dry on. Steed appeareth none, nor pilot! Little dog, if it be thy lot To essay the dismal track Where Odysseus half hung back, How wilt thou conciliate That grim mastiff by the gate? Sure, 'twill puzzle thee to fawn On his muzzles three that yawn Antrous; or to find, poor dunce, Grace in his six eyes at once-- Those red eyes of Cerberus. 

 Daughters of Oceanus, Save our darling from this hap! Arethusa, spread thy lap, Catch him, and with pinky hands Bear him to the coral sands, Where thy sisters sit in school Carding the Milesian wool:-- Clio, Spio, Beroe, Opis and Phyllodoce, -- Pass by these, and also pass Yellow-haired Lycorias; Pass Ligea, shrill of song-- All the dear surrounding throng; Lay him at Cyrene's feet There, where all the rivers meet: In their waters crystalline Bathe him clean of weed and brine, Comb him, wipe his pretty eyes, Then to Zeus who rules the skies Call, assembling in a round Every fish that can be found-- Whale and merman, lobster, cod, Tittlebat and demigod:-- "Lord of all the Universe, We, thy finny pensioners, Sue thee for the little life Hurried hence by Hades' wife. Sooner than she call him her dog, Change, O change him to a mer-dog! Re-inspire the vital spark; Bid him wag his tail and bark, Bark for joy to wag a tail Bright with many a flashing scale; Bid his locks refulgent twine, Hyacinthian, hyaline; Bid him gambol, bid him follow Blithely to the mermen's 'holloa!' When they call the deep-sea calves Home with wreathed univalves. Softly shall he sleep to-night, Curled on couch of stalagmite, Soft and sound, if slightly moister Than the shell-protected oyster. Grant us this, Omnipotent, And to Hera shall be sent One black pearl, but of a size That shall turn her rivals' eyes Greener than the greenest snake Fed in meadow-grass, and make All Olympus run agog-- Grant for this our darling dog!"

 Musing thus, the other day, In a bight within a bay, I'd a sudden thought that yet some Purpose for this piece of jetsom Might be found; and straight supplied it. On the turf I knelt beside it, Disengaged it from the boulders, Hoisted it upon my shoulders, Bore it home, and, with a few Tin-tacks and a pot of glue, Mended it, affix'd a ledge; Set it by the elder-hedge; And in May, with horn and kettle, Coax'd a swarm of bees to settle. Here around me now they hum; And in autumn should you come Westward to my Cornish home, There'll be honey in the comb-- Honey that, with clotted cream (Though I win not your esteem As a bard), will prove me wise, In that, of the double prize Sent by Hermes from the sea, I've Sold the song and kept the bee-hive. 

WRESTLERS. 

As Boutigo's Van (officially styled the "Vivid") slackened itsalready inconsiderable pace at the top of the street, to slideprecipitately down into Troy upon a heated skid, the one outsidepassenger began to stare about him with the air of a man who comparespresent impressions with old memories. His eyes travelled down theinclined plane of slate roofs, glistening in a bright intervalbetween two showers, to the masts which rocked slowly by the quays, and from thence to the silver bar of sea beyond the harbour's mouth, where the outline of Battery Point wavered unsteadily in the dazzleof sky and water. He sniffed the fragrance of pilchards cooking andthe fumes of pitch blown from the ship-builders' yards; and scannedwith some curiosity the men and women who drew aside into doorways tolet the van pass. 

He was a powerfully made man of about sixty-five, with a solemn, hard-set face. The upper lip was clean-shaven and the chin decoratedwith a square, grizzled beard--a mode of wearing the hair that gaveprominence to the ugly lines of the mouth. He wore a Sunday-bestsuit and a silk hat. He carried a blue band-box on his knees, andhis enormous hands were spread over the cover. Boutigo, who held thereins beside him, seemed, in comparison with this mighty passenger, but a trivial accessory of his own vehicle. 

"Where did you say William Dendle lives?" asked the big man, as thevan swung round a sharp corner and came to a halt under the signboardof "The Lugger. "

"Straight on for maybe quarter of a mile--turn down a court to theright, facin' the toll-house. You'll see his sign, 'W. Dendle, Blockand Pump Manufacturer. ' There's a flight o' steps leadin' 'ee slapinto his workshop. "

The passenger set his band-box down on the cobbles between his anklesand counted out the fare. 

"I'll be goin' back to-night. Is there any reduction on a returnjourney?"

"No, sir; 'tisn' the rule, an' us can't begin to cheapen the fee wi'a man o' your inches. "

The stranger apparently disliked levity. He stared at Boutigo, picked up his band-box, and strode down the street without morewords. 

By the red and yellow board opposite the tollhouse he paused for amoment or two in the sunshine, as if to rehearse the speech withwhich he meant to open his business. A woman passed him with a childin her arms, and turned her head to stare. The stranger looked upand caught her eye. 

"That's Dendle's shop down the steps, " she said, somewhat confused atbeing caught. 

"Thank you: I know. "

He turned in at the doorway and began to descend. The noise ofpersistent hammering echoed within the workshop at his feet. A workman came out into the yard, carrying a plank. 

"Is William Dendle here?"

The man looked up and pointed at the quay-door, which stood open, with threads of light wavering over its surface. Beyond it, againstan oblong of green water, rocked a small yacht's mast. 

"He's down on the yacht there. Shall I say you want en?"

"No. " The stranger stepped to the quay-door and looked down theladder. On the deck below him stood a man about his own age andproportions, fitting a block. His flannel shirt hung loosely about amagnificent pair of shoulders, and was tucked up at the sleeves, about the bulge of his huge forearms. He wore no cap, and as hestooped the light wind puffed back his hair, which was grey and fine. 

"Hi, there--William Dendle!"

"Hullo!" The man looked up quickly. 

"Can you spare a word? Don't trouble to come up--I'll climb down toyou. "

He went down the ladder carefully, hugging the band-box in his leftarm. 

"You disremember me, I dessay, " he began, as he stood on the yacht'sdeck. 

"Well, I do, to be sure. Oughtn't to, though, come to look on yoursize. "

"Samuel Badgery's my name. You an' me had a hitch to wrestlin', once, over to Tregarrick feast. "

"Why, o' course. I mind your features now, though 'tis forty yearssince. We was standards there an' met i' the last round, an' I gotthe wust o't. Terrible hard you pitched me, to be sure: but yoursweetheart was a-watchin' 'ee--hey?--wi' her blue eyes. "

Samuel Badgery sat down on deck, with a leg on either side of theband-box. 

"Iss: she was there, as you say. An' she married me that day month. How do you know her eyes were blue?"

"Oh, I dunno. Young men takes notice o' these trifles. "

"She died last week. "

"Indeed? Pore soul!"

"An' she left you this by her will. 'Twas hers to leave, for I gaveit to her, mysel', when that day's wrestlin' was over. "

He removed the lid of the band-box and pulled out two parcels wrappedin a pile of tissue-paper. After removing sheet upon sheet of thispaper he held up two glittering objects in the sunshine. The one wasa silver mug: the other a leather belt with an elaborate silverbuckle. 

William Dendle wore a puzzled and somewhat uneasy look. 

"I reckon she saw how disapp'inted I was that day, " he said. After apause he added, "Women brood over such things, I b'lieve: for years, I'm told. 'Tis their unsearchable natur'. "

"William Dendle, I wish you'd speak truth. "

"What have I said that's false?"

"Nuthin': an' you've said nuthin' that's true. I charge 'ee to tellme the facts about that hitch of our'n. "

"You're a hard man, Sam Badgery. I hope, though, you've been soft toyour wife. I mind--if you _must_ have the tale--how you played veryrough that day. There was a slim young chap--Nathan Oke, his namewas--that stood up to you i' the second round. He wasn' ha'f yourmatch: you might ha' pitched en flat-handed. An' yet you must needsgive en the 'flyin' mare. ' Your maid's face turned lily-white as hedropped. Two of his ribs went _cr-rk!_ and his collar-bone--youcould hear it right across the ring. I looked at her--she was closebeside me--an' saw the tears come: that's how I know the colour ofher eyes. Then there was that small blacksmith--you dropped en slapon the tail of his spine. I wondered if you knew the mortal pain o'bein' flung that way, an' I swore to mysel' that if we met i' thelast round, you should taste it. 

"Well, we met, as you know. When I was stripped, an' the folks madeway for me to step into the ring, I saw her face again. 'Twas whiterthan ever, an' her eyes went over me in a kind o' terror. I reckonit dawned on her that I might hurt you: but I didn' pay her much heedat the time, for I lusted after the prize, an' I got savage. You wasstandin' ready for me, wi' the sticklers about you, an' I looked youup an' down--a brave figure of a man. You'd longer arms than me, an'two inches to spare in height; prettier shoulders, too, I'd neverclapp'd eyes on. But I guessed myself a trifle the deeper, an' atrifle the cleaner i' the matter o' loins an' quarters: an' Ipromised that I'd outlast 'ee. 

"You got the sun an' the best hitch, an' after a rough an' tumblepiece o' work, we went down togither, you remember--no fair back. The second hitch was just about equal; an' I gripped up the sackin'round your shoulders, an' creamed it into the back o' your neck, an'held you off, an' meant to keep you off till you was weak. Ten goodminnits I laboured with 'ee by the stickler's watch, an' you heavedan' levered in vain, till I heard your breath alter its pace, an'felt the strength tricklin' out o' you, an' knew 'ee for a done man. 'Now, ' thinks I, 'half a minnit more, an' you shall learn how theblacksmith felt. ' I glanced up over your shoulder for a moment at thefolks i' the ring: an' who should my eye light on but your girl?

"I hadn't got a sweetheart then, an' I've never had one since--neversaw another woman who could ha' looked what she looked. I wascondemned a single man there on the spot: an', what's more, I wascondemned to lose the belt. There was that 'pon her face that no manis good enow to cause; an' there was suthin I wanted to see instead--just for a moment--that I could ha' given forty silver mugs to fetchup. 

"An' I looked at her over your shoulders wi' a kind o' question i' myface, an' I _did_ fetch it up. The next moment, you had your chanceand cast me flat. When I came round--for you were always an uglyplayer, Sam Badgery--an' the folks was consolin' me, I gave a look inher direction: but she had no eyes for me at all. She was usin' allher dear deceit to make 'ee think you was a hero. So home I went, an' never set eyes 'pon her agen. That's the tale; an' I didn't wantto tell it. But we'm old gaffers both by this time, an' I couldn'make this here belt meet round my middle, if I wanted to. "

Sam Badgery straightened his upper lip. 

"No. I got a call from the Lord a year after we was married, andgave up wrestlin'. My poor wife found grace about the same time, an'since then we've been preachers of the Word togither for nigh onforty years. If our work had lain in Cornwall, I'd have sought youout an' wrestled with you again--not in the flesh, but in the spirit. Man, I'd have shown you the Kingdom of Heaven!"

"Thank 'ee, " answered Dendle; "but I got a glimpse o't once--fromyour wife. "

The other stared, failing to understand this speech. What puzzledhim always annoyed him. He set down the cup and belt on the yacht'sdeck, shook hands abruptly, and hurried back to the inn, wherealready Boutigo was harnessing for the return journey. 

THE BISHOP OF EUCALYPTUS. 

A DOCTOR'S STORY. 

"_O toiling hands of mortals! O unwearied feet, travelling ye knownot whither! Soon, soon, it seems to you, you must come forth onsome conspicuous hill-top, and but a little way further, against thesetting sun, descry the spires of El Dorado. Little do ye know yourown blessedness; for to travel hopefully is a better thing than toarrive, and the true success is to labour_. "--R. L. Stevenson. 

"Eucalyptus lies on the eastern slope of the Rockies. It will befourteen years back this autumn that the coach dropped me there, somewhere about nine in the evening, and Hewson, who was waiting, took me straight to his red-pine house, high up among the foot-hills. The front of it hung over the edge of a waterfall, down which Hewsonsent his logs with a pleasing certainty of their reaching Eucalyptussooner or later; and right at the back the pines climbed away up tothe snow-line. You remember the story of Daniel O'Rourke; how aneagle carried him up to the moon, and how he found it as smooth as anegg-plum, with just a reaping-hook sticking out of its side to griphold of? Hewson's veranda reminded me of that reaping-hook; and, asa matter of fact, the cliff was so deeply undercut that a plummet, ifit could be let through between your heels, would drop clean into thebasin below the fall. 

"The house was none of Hewson's building. Hewson was a bachelor, andcould have made shift with a two-roomed cabin for himself and hismen. He had taken the place over from a New Englander, who had madehis pile by running the lumbering business up here and a saw-milldown in the valley at the same time. The place seemed dog-cheap atthe time; but after a while it began to dawn upon Hewson that theYankee had the better of the deal. Eucalyptus had not come up toearly promise. In fact, it was slipping back and down the hill witha run. Already five out of its seven big saw-mills were idle androtting. Its original architect had sunk to a blue-faced andlachrymose bar-loafer, and the roll of plans which he carried aboutwith him--with their unrealised boulevards, churches, municipalbuildings, and band-kiosks--had passed into a dismal standing joke. Hewson was even now deliberating whether to throw up the game or tossgood money after bad by buying up a saw-mill and running it as hispredecessor had done. 

"'It's like a curse, ' he explained to me at breakfast next morning. 'The place is afflicted like one of those unfortunate South Seapotentates, who flourish up to the age of fourteen and then cypherout, and not a soul to know why. First of all, there's thelumbering. Well, here's the timber all right; only Bellefont, farther down the valley, has cut us out. Then we had the cinnabarmines--you may see them along the slope to northward, right over thewest end of the town. They went well for about sixteen months; andthen came the stampede. A joker in the _Bellefont Sentinel_ wrotethat the miners up in Eucalyptus were complaining of the'insufficiency of exits'; and he wasn't far out. Last there were the'Temperate Airs and Reinvigorating Pine-odours of America's PeerlessSanatorium. _Come and behold: Come and be healed!_' The promotersbilled that last cursed jingle up and down the States till as farsouth as Mexico it became the pet formula for an invitation to drink. Well, for three years we averaged something like a couple of hundredinvalids, and doctors in fair proportion; and I never heard thateither did badly. It was an error of judgment, perhaps, to start ourmunicipal works with a costly Necropolis, or rather the gateway ofone; two marble pillars, if you please--the only stonework inEucalyptus to this day--with 'Campo' on one side and 'Santo' on theother. No healthy-minded person would be scared by this. But theinvalids complained that we'd made the feature too salient; and thearchitect has gone ever since by the name of 'Huz-and-Buz, ' bestowedon him by some wag who meant 'Jachin and Boaz, ' but hadn't Scriptureenough to know it. Anyhow the temperate airs and pine-odours are afrost. There's nobody, I fancy, living at Eucalyptus just now forthe benefit of his health, and I believe that at this moment you'rethe only doctor within twenty miles of the place. '

"'Well, ' said I, 'I'll step down this morning anyway, and take alook. '

"'You can saddle the brown horse whenever you like. You were toosleepy to take note of it last night, but you came up here by a trackfit for a lady's pony-carriage. My predecessor engineered it toconnect his two places of business. In its way, it's the mostpalatial thing in the Rockies--two long legs with a short tackbetween, gentle all the way--and it brings you out by the Necropolisgate. You can hitch the horse up there. '"

"By ten o'clock I had saddled the brown horse, and was walking himdown the track at an easy pace. Hewson had omitted to praise itsbeauty. Pine-needles lay underfoot as thick and soft as a Persiancarpet; and what with the pine-tops arching and almost meetingoverhead, and the red trunks raying out left and right into aisles asI went by, and the shafts of light breaking the greenish gloom hereand there with glimpses of aching white snowfields high above, 'twaslike walking in a big cathedral with bits of the real heaven shiningthrough the roof. The river ran west for a while from Cornice House, and then tacked north-east with a sudden bend round the base of thefoot-hills; and since my track formed a sort of rough hypotenuse tothis angle, I heard the voice of the rapids die away and almostcease, and then begin again to whisper and murmur, until, as I camewithin a mile or so of Eucalyptus, they were loud at my feet, thoughstill unseen. I am not a devout man, but I can take off my hat nowand then; and all the way that morning a couple of sentences werering-dinging in my head: 'Lift up your hearts! We lift them up untothe Lord!' You know where they come from, I dare say. 

"By and by the track took a sharp and steep trend down hill, then acurve; the trees on my right seemed to drop away; and we foundourselves on the edge of a steep bluff overhanging the valley, thewhole eastern slope of which broke full into sight in that instant, from the river tumbling below--by sticking out a leg I could see itshining through my stirrup--to the rocky _aretes_ and smoothed-outsnowfields round the peaks. It made a big spectacle, and I suppose Imust have stared at it till my eyes were dazzled, for, on turningagain to follow the track, which at once dived among the pines andinto the dusk again, I did not observe, until quite close upon her, awoman coming towards me. 

"And yet she was not rigged out to escape notice. She had on ascarlet Garibaldi, a striped red-and-white skirt, bunched up behindinto an immense polonaise, and high-heeled shoes that tilted her farforward. She wore no hat, but carried a scarlet sunshade over hershoulder. Her hair, in a towsled chignon, was golden, or rather hadbeen dyed to that colour; her face was painted; and she was glaringlydrunk. 

"This sudden apparition shook me down with a jerk; and I suppose thesight of me had something of the same effect on the woman, whostaggered to the side of the track, and, plumping down amid herflounces, beckoned me feebly with her sunshade. I pulled up, andasked what I could do for her. 

"'You're the doctor?' she said slowly, with a tight hold on herpronunciation. 

"'That's so. '

"'From Cornice House?'

"I nodded. 

"She nodded back. 'That's so. Oh, dear, dear! _you_ said that. I can't help it. I'm drunk, and it's no use pretending!'

"She fell to wringing her hands, and the tears began to run from herbistred eyes. 

"'Now, see here, Mrs. --Miss--'

"'Floncemorency. '

"'Miss Florence Montmorency?' I hazarded as a translation. 

"'That's so. Formerly of the Haughty Coal. '

"'I beg your pardon? Ah! . . . Of the Haute Ecole?'

"'That's so: '_questrienne_. '

"'Well, you'll take my advice, and return home at once and putyourself to bed. '

"'Don't you worry about me. It's the Bishop you've got to prescribefor. I allowed I'd reach Cornice House and fetch you down, if ittook my last breath. Pete Stroebel at the drug store told me thismorning that Mr. Hewson had a doctor come to stop with him, so Istarted right along. '

"'And how far did you calculate to reach in those shoes?'

"'I didn't calculate at all; I just started along. If the shoes hadhurt, I'd have kicked them off and gone without, or maybe crawled. '

"'Very good, ' said I. 'Now, before we go any farther, will youkindly tell me who the Bishop is?'

"'He's a young man, and he boards with me. See here, mister, ' shewent on, pulling herself together and speaking low and earnest, 'he'sgood; he's good right through: you've got to make up your mind tothat. And he's powerful sick. But what you've got to lay hold of isthat he's good. The house is No. 67, West fifteenth Street, whichis pretty easy to find, seeing it's the only street in Eucalyptus. The rest haven't got beyond paper, and old Huz-and-Buz totes themround in his pocket, which isn't good for their growth. '

"'Won't you take me there?'

"'Not to-day. I guess I've got to sit here till I feel better. Another thing is, you'll be doing me a kindness if you don't let onto the Bishop that you found me in this--this state. He never saw melike this: he's good, I tell you. And he'd be sick and sorry if heknew. I'm just mad with myself, too; but I swear I never meant to belike this to-day. I just took a dose to fix me up for the journey;but ever since I've been holding off from the whisky the least dropgets into my walk. You didn't happen to notice a spring anywherehereabouts, did you? There used to be one that ran right across thetrack. '

"'I passed it about a hundred yards back. '

"I dismounted and led her to the spring, where she knelt and bathedher face in the water, cold from the melting snowfields above. Then she pulled out a small handkerchief, edged with cheap lace, andfell to dabbing her eyes. 

"'Hullo!' she cried, breaking off sharply. 

"'Yes, ' I answered, 'you had forgotten that. But another wash willtake it all off, and, if you'll forgive my saying so, you won't lookany the worse. After that you shall soak my handkerchief and bandageit round your forehead till you feel better. Here, let me help. '

"'Thank you, ' she said, as I tied the knot. 'And now hurry along, please. Sixty-seven, West Fifteenth Street. I'll be waiting herewith your handkerchief. '

"I mounted and rode on. At the end of half a mile the track began todip more steeply, and finally emerged by a big clearing and the twomarble pillars of which Hewson had spoken; and here I tethered thebrown horse, and had a look around before walking down intoEucalyptus. Within the clearing a few groups of Norfolk pines hadbeen left to stand, and between these were burial lots marked out andnumbered, with here and there a painted wooden cross; but theinhabitants of this acre were few enough. Behind and above the'Necropolis' the hill rose steeply; and there, high up, were tracesof the disused cinnabar mines--patches of orange-coloured earththrusting out among the pines. 

"The road below the cemetery ran abruptly down for a bit, then heaveditself over a green knoll and descended upon what I may call a verybig and flat meadow beside the river. It was here that Eucalyptusstood; and from the knoll, which was really the beginning of thetown, I had my first good view of it--one long street of low woodenhouses running eastward to the river's brink, where a few decayedmills and wharves straggled to north and south--a T, or headlesscross, will give you roughly the shape of the settlement. From theknoll you looked straight along the main street; with a field-gun youcould have swept it clean from end to end, and, what's more, youwouldn't have hurt a soul. The place was dead empty--not so much asa cur to sit on the sidewalk--and the only hint of life was thelaughing and banjo-playing indoors. You could hear that plainenough. Every second house in the place was a saloon, and everysaloon seemed to have a billiard-table and a banjo player. I neverheard anything like it. I should say, if you divided the populationinto four parts, that two of these were playing billiards, onetum-tumming 'Hey, Juliana' on the banjo, and the remaining fourthlooking on and drinking whisky, and occasionally taking part in thechorus. All the way down the sidewalk I had these two sounds--the_click, click_ of the balls and the _thrum, thrum, tinkle, tinkle_ of'Juliana'--ahead of me; and left silence in my wake, as theinhabitants dropped their occupations and sauntered out to stare at'the Last Invalid, ' which was the name promptly coined for me by thedisheartened but still humorous promoters of America's PeerlessSanatorium. 

"You don't know 'Juliana'--neither tune nor words? Nor did I when Iset foot in Eucalyptus; but I lived on pretty close terms with it forthe next two months, and it ended by clearing me out of theneighbourhood. It was a sort of nigger camp-meeting song, and ahybrid at that. It went something like this:"

 'O, de lost ell-an'-yard is a-huntin' fer de morn'--

The lost ell-and-yard is Orion's sword and belt, I may tell you--

 'Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-holy! An' my soul's done sicken fer de Hallelujah horn, Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-ho! Was it weary there, In de wilderness? Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?

 'O, de children shibber by de Jordan's flow-- Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-holy! An' it's time fer Gaberl to shake hisself an' blow, Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-ho! For it's weary here In de wilderness; Oh, it's weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen!'

That was the sort of stuff, and it had any number of verses. I never heard the end of them. Also there were variants--most ofthem unfit for publication. The tune had swept up the valley like anepidemic disease: and, after a while, it astonished no dweller inEucalyptus to find his waking thoughts and his whole daily conversejigging to it. But the new-comer was naturally a bit startled tohear the same strain put up from a score of houses as he walked downthe street. 

"I found the house, No. 67, easily; and knocked. It looked neatenough, with a fence in front and some pots of flowers in a littlebalcony over the porch, and clean muslin curtains to the windows. The fence and house-front were painted a bright blue, but notentirely; for here and there appeared patches of green daubed overthe blue, much as if a child had been around experimenting with apaint-pot. 

"'Open the door and come upstairs, please, ' said an English voiceright overhead. And, looking up, I saw a slim young man in aminister's black suit standing among the flower-pots and smiling downat me. I saw, of course, that this must be my patient; and I knewhis complaint too. Even at that distance anyone could see he waspretty far gone in consumption. 

"As I climbed the stairs he came in from the porch and met me onthe landing, at the door of Miss Montmorency's best parlour--a spick-and-span apartment containing a cottage piano, some gildedfurniture of the Second Empire fashion, a gaudy lithograph or two, and a carpet that had to be seen to be believed. 

"'I had better explain, ' said I, 'that this is a professional visit. I met Miss Montmorency just outside the town, and have her orders tocall. I am a medical man. '

"Still smiling pleasantly, he took my hand and shook it. 

"'Miss Montmorency is so very thoughtful, ' he said; then, touchinghis chest lightly, 'It's true I have some trouble here--constitutional, I'm afraid; but I have suffered from it, more orless, ever since I was fourteen, and it doesn't frighten me. There is really no call for your kind offices; nothing beyond ageneral weakness, which has detained me here in Eucalyptus longerthan I intended. But Miss Montmorency, seeing my impatience, hasjumped to the belief that I am seriously ill. ' Here he smiled again. 'She is the soul of kindness, ' he added. 

"I looked into his prominent and rather nervous eyes. They were asinnocent as a child's. Of course there was nothing unusual in hishopefulness, which is common enough in cases of phthisis--symptomatic, in fact; and, of course, I did not discourage him. 

"'You have work waiting for you? Some definite post?' I asked. 

"He answered with remarkable dignity; he looked a mere boy too. 

"'I am a minister of the gospel, as you guess by my coat: to beprecise, a Congregational minister. At least, I passed through aCongregational training college in England. But nice distinctions ofdoctrine will be of little moment in the work before me. No, I haveno definite post awaiting me--that is, I have not received a callfrom any particular congregation, nor do I expect one. The harvestis over there, across the mountains; and the labourers are never toomany. '

"It was singular in my experience; but this young man contrived tospeak like a book without being at all offensive. 

"'I was sent out to America, ' he went on, 'mainly for my health'ssake; and the voyage did wonders for me. Of course I picked up a lotof information on the way and in New York. It was there I firstheard of the awful wickedness of the Pacific Slope, the utter, abandoned godlessness of the mining camps throughout the golden andsilver states. I had letters of introduction to one or two NewEngland families--sober, religious people--and the stories they toldof the Far West were simply appalling. It was then that my call cameto me. It came one night--But all this has nothing to do with myhealth. '

"'It interests me, ' said I. 

"'It does one good to talk, if you're sure you mean that, ' he wenton, with a happy laugh. Then, with sudden gravity: 'It came onenight--the clear voice of God calling me. I was asleep; but it wokeme, and I sat up in bed with the voice still ringing in my ears likea bugle calling. I knew from that moment that my work lay out West. I saw that my very illness had been, in God's hands, a means to leadme nearer to it. As soon as ever I was strong enough, I started; andyou may think me fanciful, sir, but I can tell you that, as sure as Isit here, every step of the way has been smoothed for me by theDivine hand. The people have been so kind all the way (for I am apoor man); and I have other signs--other assurances--'

"He broke off, hesitated, and resumed his sentence at the beginning:

"'The people have been so kind. I think the Americans must be thekindest people in the world; and good too. I cannot believe that allthe wickedness they talk of out yonder can come from anything butignorance of the Word. I am certain it cannot. And that encouragesme mightily. Why, down in Bellefont they told me that Eucalyptushere was a little nest of iniquity; they spoke of it as of some Cityof the Plain. And what have I found? Well, the people are indeed assheep without a shepherd; and who can wonder, seeing that there isnot a single House of Prayer kept open in the municipality? There isa great deal of coarse levity, and even profanity of speech, and, Ifear, much immoderate drinking; but these are the effects ofblindness rather than of wickedness. From the heavier sins--fromwhat I may call actual, conscious vice--Eucalyptus is singularlyfree. Miss Montmorency, indeed, tells me that in her experience(which, of course, is that of a single lady, and thereforerestricted) the moral tone of the town is surprisingly healthy. You understand that I give her judgment no more than its due weight. Still, Miss Montmorency has lived here three years; and for a singlelady (and, I may add, the only lady in the place) to pass three yearsin it entirely unmolested--'

"This was too much; and I interrupted him almost at random--

"'You remind me of the purpose of my call. I hope, if only tosatisfy Miss Montmorency, you won't mind my sounding your chest andputting a few questions to you. '

"Seeing that I had already pulled out my stethoscope, he gave way, feebly protesting that it was not worth my trouble. The examinationmerely assured me of that which I knew already--that this young man'sdays were numbered, and the numbers growing small. I need not say Ikept this to myself. 

"'You must let me call again to-morrow, ' said I. 'I've a smallmedicine chest up at the Cornice House, and you want a tonic badly. '

"Upon this he began, with a confused look and a slight stammer:'Do you know--I'm afraid you will think it rude, but I didn't mean itfor rudeness--really. Your visit has given me great pleasure--'

"It flashed on me that he had called himself 'a poor man. '

"'I wasn't proposing to doctor you, ' I put in; and it was a shamelesslie. 'You may take the tonic or not; it won't do much harm, anyway. But a gentle walk every day among the pines here--the very gentlest, nothing to overtax your strength--will do more for you than anydrugs. But if you will let me call, pretty often, and have a talk--I'm an Englishman, you know, and an English voice is good to hear--'

"His face lit up at once. 'Ah, if you would!' said he; and we shookhands. "

"As I closed the front door and stepped out upon the sidewalk, a tallman lounged across to me from the doorway of a saloon across theroad--a lumberer, by his dress. He wore a large soft hat, a stripedflannel shirt open at the neck, a broad leathern belt, and muddytrousers tucked into muddy wading-boots. His appearance waspicturesque enough without help from his dress. He had a mightylength of arm and breadth of shoulders; a handsome, but thin andalmost delicately fair, face, with blue eyes, and a surprisinglywell-kept beard. The colour of this beard and of his hair--which hewore pretty long--was a light auburn. Just now the folds of hisraiment were full of moist sawdust; and as he came he brought thescent of the pine-woods with him. 

"'How's the Bishop?' asked this giant, jerking his head towards thelittle balcony of No. 67. 

"Before I could hit on a discreet answer, he followed the question upwith another:

"'What'll you take?'

"I saw that he had something to say, and allowed him to lead the wayto a saloon a little way down the road. 'Simpson's Pioneers'Symposium' was the legend above the door. A small, pimply-faced manin seedy black--whom I guessed at once, and correctly, to be'Huz-and-Buz'--lounged by the bar inside; and across the counter thebar-keeper had his banjo slung, and was gently strumming theaccompaniment of 'Hey, Juliana!'

"'Put that down, ' commanded my new acquaintance; and then, turning toHuz-and-Buz, 'Git!'

"The architect raised the brim of his hat to me, bowed servilely, andleft. 

"'Short or long?'

"I said I would take a short drink. 

"'A brandy sour?'

"'A 'brandy sour' will suit me. '

"He kept his eye for a moment on the bar-tender, who began to bustlearound with the bottles and glasses; then turned upon me. 

"'Now, then. '

"'About the Bishop, as you call him?'

"He nodded. 

"'Well, you're not to tell him so; but he's going to die. '

"'Quick?'

"'I think so. '

"He nodded. 'I knew that, ' he said, and was silent for a minute;then resumed, 'No; he won't be told. We take an interest in thatyoung man. '

"'Meaning by 'we'?'

"'The citizens of Eucalyptus as a body. My name's William Anderson:Captain Bill they call me. I was one of the first settlers inEucalyptus. I've seen it high, and I've seen it low. And I'm goingto be the last man to quit; that's the captain's place. And when Isay this or that is public opinion in Eucalyptus, it's got to be. I drink to your health, Doctor. '

"'Thank you, ' said I. 'Then I may count on your silence? The poorchap is so powerfully set on crossing the Rockies and getting toclose quarters with some real wickedness, that to tell him the truthmight shorten the few days he has left. '

"Captain Bill smiled grimly. 

"'Wickedness? Lord love you! _He_ couldn't see any. He'd go through'Frisco, and out at the far end, without so much as guessing theplace had a seamy side to it. His innocence, ' pursued the captain, 'is unusual. I guess that's why we're taking so much care of him. But I must say you've been spry. '

"'Upon my word, I can't at this moment make head or tail of thebusiness. I met Miss Montmorency on the road--'

"'I guess she was looking like a Montmorency, too. Flyheel Flo isher name hereabouts; alluding to her former profession ofcircus-rider. Perhaps I'd better put the facts straight for you. '

"'I wish you would. '

"'Well, it'll be about two months back that the Bishop came toEucalyptus. We were most of us here in Simpson's bar when the coachdrove up at nine o'clock--same time as it dropped you last night--andwe loafed out to have a look. There was only one passenger got down;and he seemed of no account--a weedy-looking youngster with a smallvalise--looked like he might have come to be bartender to one of thesmall saloons. It was dark out there, you understand: nothing to seeby but the lamps of the coach and the light of the doorway; besideswhich the fellow was pretty well muffled up in a heavy coat andwraps. Anyway he didn't seem worth a second look; so when the coachmoved on we just sauntered back here, and I don't reckon there was aman in the room knew he'd followed us till he lifted up that reedyvoice of his. 'Gentlemen, ' he piped out, 'would some one of you bekind enough to direct me to a nice, comfortable lodging?'Old Huz-and-Buz was drinking here with his back to the door. 'Great Caesar's ghost!' he called out, dropping his glass, 'what 'nthunder's that?' 'Gentlemen, ' pipes up the young man again, 'I am astranger, this moment arrived by the coach; and it would be a realkindness to direct me to a comfortable lodging. " By this time he'dunwound the muffler about his neck and unbuttoned his outer wrapsgenerally, and we saw he was rigged out in genuine sky-pilot'suniform. We hadn't seen one of that profession in Eucalyptus formore'n two years. 'I'm afraid, your reverence, ' says one of theboys, mimicking the poor lad's talk, 'I'm afraid the accommodation ofthis camp will hardly reach up to your style. I guess what _you_want is a cosy little nook with a brass knocker and a nice motherlywoman to look after you. You oughter have sent the municipality wordyou was coming. ' 'Thank you, ' answers the poor boy, as serious ascan be; 'of course I shall be glad of such comforts, but I assure youthey are not indispensable. I'm an old campaigner, ' he says, drawinghimself up to his poor little height and smiling proud-like. I tellyou, that knocked the wind out of our sails. It was too big to laughat. We just stuck for half a minute and looked at him, till themischief put it into old Huz-and-Buz's head to cackle out, 'Better send him right along to Flyheel Flo!' This put up a laugh, and I saw in half a minute that the proposition had caught on. It struck me as sort of funny, too, at the time. So I steps forwardand says, 'I know a lady who'd likely take you in and fix you upcomfortable. This kind of thing ain't exactly in her line; but nodoubt she'll put herself out to oblige a minister, specially if youtake her a letter of introduction from me. Miss FlorenceMontmorency's her name, and she lives at No. 67 along the streethere. Here, pass along the ink-bottle and a pen, ' I says (for, barring Huz-and-Buz, I was about the only sinner present that hadn'tforgotten how to spell); and inside of five minutes I'd fixed up theletter to Flo, and a dandy document it was! He took it and thankedme like as if it was a school prize; and I guess 'twas then it beganto break in on me that we'd been playing it pretty low on theinnocent. However, Pete caught up his valise, and two or three of ussaw him along to Flo's door, and waited out on the sidewalk while heknocked. At the second knock Flo came down and let him in. I sawhim lift his hat, and heard him begin with 'I believe I am addressingMiss Montmorency'; and what Flo was making ready to say in answer I'dgive a dollar at this moment to know. But she looked over hisshoulder, and with the tail of her eye glimpsed us outside, andwasn't going to show her hand before the boys. So quick as thoughtshe pulls the youngster in, with his valise, and shuts the door. 

"'Well, _sir_, we cooled our heels outside there for a spell, butnothing occurred. So at last we made tracks back here to the saloon, owning to ourselves that Flo didn't need to be taught how to receivea surprise party. 'But, ' says I, 'you'll have the minister back herebefore long; and I anticipate he'll ask questions. ' I'd hardly saidthe words before the door flung open behind me. It wasn't theyoungster, though, but Flo herself; and a flaming rage she was in. 'See here, boys, ' she begins, 'this is a dirty game, and you'd betterbe ashamed of yourselves! I'm ashamed of you, Bill, anyway, ' shesays, tossing me back my letter; and then, turning short round onHuz-and-Buz, 'If old Iniquity, here, started the racket, it's nateralto him: he had a decent woman once for his wife, _and beat her_. But there's others of you oughter know that your same reasons forthinking light of a woman are reasons against driving the joke toohard. ' 'You're right, Flo, ' says I, 'and I beg your pardon. ''I dunno that I'll grant it, ' she says. 'Lord knows, ' she says, 'It ain't for any of us here to be heaving dirt at each other; but Iwill say you oughter be feeling mean, the way you've served thatyoung man. Why, boys, ' she says, opening her eyes wide, like as if'twas a thing unheard of, 'he's _good_! And oh, boys, he's sick, too!' 'Is he so?' I says; 'I feel cheap. ' 'You oughter, ' says she. 'What's to be done?' says I. 'Well, the first thing, ' she says, 'that you've got to do is to come right along and paint my fence';then, seeing I looked a bit puzzled--'Some of you boys have taken theliberty to write up some pretty free compliments about my premises;and as the most of you was born before spelling-bees came in fashion, I don't want my new boarder to come down to-morrow and form his ownopinion about your education. ' Well, sir, we went off in a party andknocked up old Peter, and got a pot of paint, and titivated No. 67 bythe light of a couple of lanterns; and the Bishop--as we came to callhim--sleeping the sleep of the just upstairs all the time. _Un_fortunately, Peter had made a mistake and given us green paintinstead of blue, and by that light none of us could tell thedifference; so I guess the Bishop next morning allowed that MissMontmorency had ideas of her own on 'mural decoration, ' asHuz-and-Buz calls it. When we got the job fixed, Flo steps insidethe gate, and says she, looking over it, 'Boys, I'm grateful. And now I'm going to play a lone hand, and I look to you not tointerfere. Good night. ' From that day to this, sir, she's keptstraight, and held off the drink in a manner you wouldn't credit. The Bishop, he thinks her an angel on earth; and to see thempromenading down the sidewalk arm-in-arm of an afternoon is as goodas a dime exhibition. I'm bound to own the boys act up. You waittill you see her pass, and the way the hats fly off. Old Huz-and-Buzcame pretty near to getting lynched the first week, for playing thesmarty and drawling out as they went by, 'Miss Montmorency, Ibelieve?' to imitate the way in which the Bishop introduced himself. I guess he won't be humorous again for a considerable spell. And now, Doctor, I hope I've put the facts straight for you?'

"'You have, ' I answered, draining my glass; 'and they do severalpeople credit. '

"'Wait a bit. You haven't heard what I'm coming to. That young manis poor. '

"'So I gather. '

"'And I'm speaking now in the name of the boys. There was a meetingheld just now, while you were dropping your card on the Bishop; andI'm to tell you, as deputy, that trouble ain't to be spared over him. It's a hopeless case; but you hear--trouble ain't to be spared; andthe municipality foots the--'

"'Hold hard, there, ' I broke in; and told him how the land lay. When I'd done he held out a huge but well-shaped hand, palm upwards. 

"'Put it there, ' he said. 

"We shook hands, and walked together (still to the strain of'Juliana') as far as the Necropolis gate. I observed that severalcitizens appeared at the doors of the saloons along our route, andlooked inquiringly at Captain Bill, who answered in each case with awink. 

"'That passes you, ' he explained, 'for the freedom of EucalyptusCity, as you'd say at home. When you want it, you've only to comeand fetch it--in a pail. You're among friends. '

"He backed up this assurance by shaking my hand a second time, andwith great fervour. And so we parted. 

"As I neared the spring on my homeward road I saw Miss Montmorencystanding beside the track, awaiting me. She looked decidedly better, and handed me back my handkerchief, almost dry and neatly folded. 

"'And how did you find him?' she asked. 

"I told her. 

"'We allowed it was that--the boys and I. We allowed he wouldn'tlast out the fall. Did you meet any of the boys?'

"'I've been having a short drink and a long talk with Captain Bill. '

"She nodded her head, breaking off to clap both palms to her temples. 

"'My! It does ache! I'm powerful glad you seen Bill. Now you knowthe worst o' me and we can start fair. I allowed, first along, thatI play this hand alone; but now you've got to help. Now and then Icatch myself weakening. It's dreadful choky, sitting by the hour andfilling up that poor innocent with lies. And the eyes of him!'(she stamped her foot): 'I could whip his father and mother forhaving no more sense than to let him start. Doctor, you'll have tohelp. '"

"I rode down to Eucalyptus again next morning and found the Bishopseated and talking with Miss Montmorency in the gaudy little parlour. 

"'We were just going out for a walk together, ' he explained, as weshook hands. 

"'And now you'll just have to walk out with the Doctor instead; andserve you right for talking foolishness. ' She moved towards thedoor. 

"'Doctor, ' he said, 'I wish you would make her listen. I feel muchbetter to-day--altogether a different man. If this improvementcontinues, I shall start in a week at the farthest. And I was tryingto tell her--Doctor, you can have no notion of her goodness. 'I was a stranger and she took me in'--'

"Miss Montmorency, with her hand on the door, turned sharply round atthis, and shot a queer sort of look at me. I thought she was goingto speak; but she didn't. 

"'Excuse me, ' I said to the Bishop, as the door closed, 'but that'syour Bible, I take it, on the table yonder. May I have it for amoment?'

"I picked it up and followed Miss Montmorency, whom I found justoutside on the landing. 

"'What's the meaning of it?' she demanded, very low and fierce. 

"'I guessed that text had jerked you a bit. No, I haven't given youaway. He was talking out of the Bible. ' I found the place for her. 'You'd better take it to your room and read the whole passage, ' saidI, and went back to the parlour. 

"'I have lent your Bible to Miss Montmorency, ' I said. 

"The Bishop seemed lost in thought, but made no remark until we wereoutside the house and starting for our short walk. Then he laid ahand on my arm. 'Forgive me, ' he said; 'I had no idea you wereearnest in these matters. '

"I was for putting in a disclaimer, but he went on:

"'She has a soul to save--a very precious soul. Mark you, if workscould save a soul, hers would be secure. And I have thoughtsometimes God cannot judge her harshly; for consider of how muchvalue the life of one such woman must be in such a community as this!You should observe how the men respect her. And yet we have thedivine assurance that works without grace are naught; and hercarelessness on sacred matters is appalling. If, when I am gone'--and it struck me sharply that not only the western mountains but thecemetery gate lay in the direction of his nod, and that the gate laynearer--'if you could speak to her now and then--ah, you can hardlyguess how it would rejoice me some day when I return, bearing'--andhis voice sank here--'bearing, please God, my sheaves with me!'

"'But why, ' I urged, 'go farther, when work like this lies at yourhand?'

"'I have thought of that; but only for a moment. It may soundpresumptuous to you; I am very young; but there is bigger work for meahead, and I am called. I cannot argue about this. I _know_. I have a sign. Look up at the mountain, yonder--high up, above thequicksilver mines. Do you see those bright lights flashing?'

"Sure enough, above the disused works a line of sparkling lights ledthe eye upwards to the snow-fields, as if traced in diamonds. The phenomenon was certainly astonishing, and I couldn't account forit. 

"'You see it? Ah! but you didn't observe it till I spoke. Nobodydoes. Miss Montmorency, when I pointed it out, declared that in allthe time she has lived here she never once noticed it. Yet the firstnight I came here I saw it. My window looks westward, and I pulledthe curtain aside for a moment before getting into bed. It had beendark as pitch when the coach dropped me; but now the moon was up, over opposite; and the first thing my eyes lit on was this line oflights reaching up the mountain. When I woke, next morning, it wasstill there, flashing in the sun. I think it was at breakfast, whenI asked Miss Montmorency about it, and found she'd never remarked it, that it first came into my head 'twas meant for me. Anyhow, theidea's fixed there now, and I can't get away from it. I've askedmany people, and there's not one can explain it, or has ever remarkedit till I pointed it out. '

"His hand trembled on his stick, and a fit of coughing shook him. While we stood still I heard a banjo in a saloon across the roadtinkle its long descent into the chorus of 'Juliana'--"

 'Was it weary there In the wilderness? Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?'

The chorus came roaring out and across the street; ceased; and thebanjo slid into the next verse. 

"'I wish they wouldn't, ' said the Bishop, taking the handkerchieffrom his lips and speaking (as I thought) rather peevishly. 

"'It's a weariful tune. '

"'Is it? Now I don't know anything about music. It's the words thatmake me feel wisht. '

"'And now, ' said I, 'you've eased my soul of the curiosity that hasbeen vexing it for twenty-four hours. Your voice told you wereEnglish; but there was something in it besides--something almostrubbed out, if I may say so, by your training for the ministry. I was wondering what part of England you hailed from, and I meant tofind out without asking. You'll observe that as yet I don't evenknow your name. But Cornwall's your birthplace. '

"'I suppose, ' he answered, smiling, 'you've only heard me called'the Bishop. ' Yes, you're quite right. I come from the north ofCornwall--from Port Isaac; and my name's Penno--John Penno. I used to be laughed at for it at the Training College, and for myCornish talk. They said it would be a hindrance to me in theministry, so I worked hard to overcome it. '

"'I know Port Isaac. At least, I once spent a couple of days there. '

"'Ah?' He turned on me eagerly--with a sob, almost. 'You will haveseen my folks, maybe? My father's a fisherman there--HezekiahPenno--Old Ki, he's always called: everyone knows him. '

"I shook my head. 'The only fisherman I knew at all was calledTregay. He took me out after the pollack one day in his boat, the_Little Mercy_. '

"'That will be my mother's brother Israel. He named the boat after asister of mine. She's grown up now and married, and settled at St. Columb. This is wonderful! And how was Israel wearing when you sawhim?'

"'You have later news of him than I can give. I am speaking of tenyears ago. '

"His face fell pathetically; but he contrived a rueful little laughas he answered: 'And I must have been a boy of nine at the time, andplaying about Portissick Street, no doubt! Never mind. It's good, anyway, to speak of home to you; for you've _seen_ it, you know!'

"He said this with his eyes fixed on the flashing mountain; and, ashe finished, he sighed. "

"During the next three or four days--for a relapse followed hisrally, and he had to give up all thought of departing immediately--Italked much with the Bishop; and I think that each talk added to myrespect and wonder. In the first place, though I had read in a goodmany poetry books of maidens who walked through all manner ofdeadliness unhurt--Una and the lion, you know, and the rest of them--I hadn't imagined that kind or amount of innocence in a young man. But what startled me even more was the size of his ambitions. 'Bishop'--_in partibus infidelium_ with a vengeance--was too small atitle for him. 'Twas a Peter the Hermit's part, or a Savonarola's, or Whitefield's at least, he was going to play all along the PacificSlope; and his outfit no more than a small Bible and the strength ofa mouse. And with all this the poor boy was just wearying for home, and every small fibre in his sick heart pulling him back while hefixed his eyes on the lights up the mountain and stiffened his backand talked about putting a hand to the plough and not turning back. 

"'Hewson, ' I said one morning, as we were breakfasting at the CorniceHouse, 'what's the cause of those curious lights up by the cinnabarmines, over Eucalyptus?'

"'Lights?' said he, 'what lights? I never heard of any. '

"'Well, it's something that flashes, anyway--a regular line of it. '

"'I'll tell you what it's _not_; and that's quicksilver, ' Hewsonanswered. 

"On my way down to Eucalyptus early that morning, I hitched my horseup to the Necropolis gate and determined to explore the secret of thelights before visiting the Bishop. The track towards the cinnabarworks was pretty easy to follow, first along; but when I had climbedsome four or five hundred feet it grew fainter, and was lost atlength under the pine-needles. Luckily some hand had notched a treehere and there, and these guided me to the dry bed of a torrent, onthe far side of which the track reappeared, and continued prettyplain for the rest of the journey, though broken in several places bythe rains. I had missed my way three times at the most; but it tookme three-quarters of an hour to reach the lowest of the works, andanother twenty minutes to get into anything like clear country. At length, on the edge of a steep depression that widened andshallowed as it neared the valley, I got a fair look up the slope. So far I had met nothing to account for the lights--nothing at all, in fact, but the broken spade-handles, old boots, empty meat-cans, and other refuse of the miners' camps; but every now and then I wouldcatch a glimpse of the hillside high overhead: and always thoselights were flashing there, though in varying numbers. Now, having aclear view, I found to my dismay that they had shrunk to one. It waslike a story in the _Arabian Nights_. I swore, though, that I wouldnot be cheated of this last chance. The flashing object, whatever itwas, lay some two hundred yards above me on the slope; and Iapproached cautiously, with my eyes fixed on it, much like a childhunting grasshoppers in a hay-field. I was less than ten paces fromit when the light suddenly vanished, and five paces more knocked thebottom out of the mystery. The object was a battered and emptymeat-can. 

"I had passed a hundred such, at least, on my way. The camps hadlain pretty close to the track, and the rains descending upon theirrefuse heaps had washed the labels off these cans, that now, as sunand moon rose and passed over the mountain side, flashed movingsignals down to Eucalyptus in the valley--signals of failure anddesolation. And these had been the Bishop's pillar of fire in thewilderness!"

 'Was it weary, then, In the wilderness?' . . . 

"I turned and went down the track. 

"At the Necropolis gate I found Captain Bill standing, with a heavyand puzzled face, beside my horse. 

"'I was stepping up to Cornice House; but found your nag here, andconcluded to wait. I've been waiting the best part of an hour. What in thunder have you been doing with yourself?'

"'Prospecting, ' said I. 'What's the news? Anything wrong with theBishop?'

"'There's nothing wrong with him; and won't be, any more. He broke ablood-vessel in the night. Flo looked in early this morning, andfound him sleeping, as she thought. An hour later she took him a cupof tea, and was putting it down on the table by the bed, when she sawblood on the pillow. She's powerful upset. '

"Two days later--the morning of the funeral--I met Captain Bill atthe entrance of the town. He held the Bishop's small morocco-boundBible in his hand; but for excellent reasons had made no change inhis work-day attire. 

"'You're attending, of course?' was his greeting. 'Say, would youlike to conduct? It lay between me and Huz-'n-Buz, and he was fortossing up; but I allowed he was altogether too hoary a sinner. So we made him chief mourner instead, along with Flo--the more bytoken that he's the only citizen with a black coat to his back. As for Flo, she's got to attend in colours, having cut up her onlyblack gown to nail on the casket for a covering. Foolishness, ofcourse; but she was set on it. But see here, you've only to say theword, and I'll resign to you. '

"I declined, and suggested that for two reasons he was the man toconduct the service: first, as the most prominent inhabitant ofEucalyptus; and secondly, as having made himself in a way responsiblefor the Bishop from the first. 

"'As you like, ' said he. ' I told him, that first night, that I'd seehim through; and I will. '

"He eyed the Bible dubiously. 'It's pretty small print, ' he added. 'I suppose it's all good, now?'

"'If you mean that you're going to open the book and read away fromthe first full-stop you happen to light on--'

"'That's what I'd planned. You don't suppose, do you, I've had timesince Tuesday to read all this through and skim off the cream?'

"'Then you'd better let me pick out a chapter for you. '

"As I took the Bible something fluttered from it to the ground. Captain Bill stooped and picked it up. 

"'That's pretty, too, ' he said, handing it to me. 

"It was a little bookmarker, worked in silk, with one pink rose, theinitials M. P. (for Mercy Penno, no doubt), and under these thefavourite lines that small West-country children in England embroideron their samplers:"

 'Rose leaves smell When roses thrive: Here's my work When I'm alive. Rose leaves smell When shrunk and shred: Here's my work When I'm dead. '

I turned to the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to theCorinthians: showed the captain where to begin; and laid thebookmarker opposite the place. 

"We walked a few paces together as far as the green knoll thatI have described as overhanging Eucalyptus, and there I halted towait for the funeral, while Captain Bill went on to the Necropolisto make sure that the grave was ready and all arrangements complete. The procession was not due to start for another quarter of an hour, so I found a comfortable boulder and sat down to smoke a pipe. Right under me stretched the deserted main street, and in thehush of the morning--it was just the middle of the Indian summer, and the air all sunny and soft--I could hear the billiard ballsclick-click-clicking as usual, and the players' voices breaking in atintervals, and the banjoes tinkling away down the street from saloonto saloon. These and the distant chatter of the river were all thesounds; and the river's chatter seemed hardly so persistent andmonotonous as the voices of the saloons and the unceasing question--"

 'Was it weary there In the wilderness? Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?'

"Suddenly, far down the street, there was a stir, and from the doorof No. 67 half a dozen men came staggering out into the sunshineunder a black coffin, which they carried shoulder high; and behindcame two figures only--those of Miss Montmorency and the architect--arm in arm. The bearers wheeled round, got into step after one ortwo attempts, and the procession advanced. 

"And I observed, as it advanced, that a hush came slowly with it, closing on the click of the balls and the strumming of the banjoes, as from saloon after saloon the players stepped out and fell in atthe tail of the procession. Gradually these noises were penned intothe three or four saloons immediately beneath me; and then these, too, were silenced, and the mourners began to climb the hill. 

"I did not attend the funeral after all. I rose and stood hat inhand as it climbed past--the coffin, the one woman, and the many men. It was grotesque enough. Flo had on the same outrageous costume shehad worn at our first meeting; but a look at the black drapery of thecoffin sanctified _that_. One mourner, in pure absence of mind, hadbrought along his billiard-cue as a walking-stick; and every now andthen would step out of the ranks and distribute whacks among the fiveor six dogs that frisked alongside the procession. But I read onevery face the consciousness that Eucalyptus was doing its duty. 

"So they climbed past and up to the Necropolis, and filed in betweenits two pillars. I could see among the pines a group or twostanding, with bent heads, and Captain Bill towering beside thegrave; at times I heard his voice lifted, but could not catch thewords. Down in the town for a while all was silent as death. Then in a saloon below some boy--left behind, no doubt, to look afterthe house--took up a banjo and began to pick out slowly and with onefinger the tune of ''Way down upon the Suwanee River, ' and as it wentI fitted the words to it:"

 'All the world is sad and dreary Everywhere I roam, Oh, brudders, how my heart grows weary . . . '

"The tune ceased. The only sound now came from a robin, huntingabout the turf and now and then breaking out into an impatienttwitter. 

"The silence was broken at length by the footsteps of the mournersreturning. They went down the hill almost as decorously as they hadgone up. Flo stepped aside and came towards me. 

"'Let me stay beside you for a bit. I can't go back there--yet. '

"This was all she said; and we stood there side by side for minutes. Soon the tinkle of a banjo came up to us, and a pair of billiardballs clicked; then a second banjo joined in; and gradually, as thestream of citizens trickled back and spread, so like a stream thesound of clicking billiard balls and tinkling banjoes trickled backand spread along the main street of Eucalyptus City. "

 'Was it weary there, In de wilderness? . . . '

"Flo looked at me and put out a hand; but drew it back before I couldtake it. And so, without another word, she went down the hill. "

WIDDERSHINS. 

A DROLL. 

Once upon a time there was a small farmer living in Wendron parish, not far from the church-town. 'Thaniel Teague was his name. This Teague happened to walk into Helston on a Furry-day, when theMayor and townspeople dance through the streets to the Furry-tune. In the evening there was a grand ball given at the Angel Hotel, andthe landlord very kindly allowed Teague--who had stopped too late asit was--to look in through the door and watch the gentry dance theLancers. 

Teague thought he had never seen anything so heavenly. What with onehindrance and another 'twas past midnight before he reached home, andthen nothing would do for him but he must have his wife and sixchildren out upon the floor in their night-clothes, practising theGrand Chain while he sang--

 Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise!

The seventh child, the babby, they set down in the middle of thefloor, like a nine-pin. And the worst of it was, the poor mitetwisted his eyes so, trying to follow his mammy round and round, thathe grew up with a cast from that hour. 

'Tis of this child--Joby he was called--that I am going to tell you. Barring the cast, he grew up a very straight lad, and in due timebegan to think upon marrying. His father's house faced south, and asit came easier to him to look north-west than any other direction, hechose a wife from Gwinear parish. His elder brothers had gone off tosea for their living, and his sister had married a mine-captain: sowhen the old people died, Joby took over the farm and worked it, anddid very well. 

Joby's wife was very fond of him, though of course she didn't likethat cast in his looks: and in many ways 'twas inconvenient too. If the poor man ever put hand on plough to draw a straight furrow, round to the north 'twould work as sure as a compass-needle. She consulted the doctors about it, and they did no good. Then shethought about consulting a conjurer; but being a timorous woman aswell as not over-wise, she put it off for a while. 

Now, there was a little fellow living over to Penryn in thosetimes, Tommy Warne by name, that gave out he knew how to conjure. Folks believed in him more than he did himself: for, to tell truth, he was a lazy shammick, who liked most ways of getting a livingbetter than hard work. Still, he was generally made pretty welcomeat the farm-houses round, for he could turn a hand to anything andalways kept the maids laughing in the kitchen. One morning hedropped in on Farmer Joby and asked for a job to earn his dinner; andJoby gave him some straw to spin for thatching. By dinner-time Tomhad spun two bundles of such very large size that the farmer rubbedhis chin when he looked at them. 

"Why, " says he, "I always thought you a liar--I did indeed. But nowI believe you can conjure, sure enough. "

As for Mrs. Joby, she was so much pleased that, though she feltcertain the devil must have had a hand in it, she gave Tom an extrahelping of pudding for dinner. 

Some time after this, Farmer Joby missed a pair of pack-saddles. Search and ask as he might, he couldn't find out who had stolen them, or what had become of them. 

"Tommy Warne's a clever fellow, " he said at last. "I must see if hecan tell me anything. " So he walked over to Penryn on purpose. 

Tommy was in his doorway smoking when Farmer Joby came down thestreet. "So you'm after they pack-saddles, " said he. 

"Why, how ever did you know?"

"That's my business. Will it do if you find 'em after harvest?"

"To be sure 'twill. I only want to know where they be. "

"Very well, then; after harvest they'll be found. "

Home the farmer went. Sure enough, after harvest, he went to unwindTommy's two big bundles of straw-rope for thatching the mow, and inthe middle of each was one of his missing pack-saddles. 

"Well, now, " said Joby's wife, "that fellow must have a real gift ofconjurin'! I wonder, my dear, you don't go and consult him about thatthere cross-eye of yours. "

"I will, then, " said Joby; and he walked over to Penryn again thevery next market-day. 

"'Cure your eyes, ' is it?" said Tommy Warne. "Why, to be sure I can. Why didn't you ax me afore? I thought you _liked_ squintin'. "

"I don't, then; I hate it. "

"Very well; you shall see straight this very night if you do what Itell you. Go home and tell your wife to make your bed on the roof ofthe four-poster; and she must make it widdershins, turnin' bed-tieand all against the sun, and puttin' the pillow where the feet comeas a rule. That's all. "

"Fancy my never thinkin' of anything so simple as that!" said Joby. He went home and told his wife. She made his bed on the roof of thefour-poster, and widdershins, as he ordered; and they slept thatnight, the wife as usual, and Joby up close to the rafters. 

But scarcely had Joby closed an eye before there came a rousing knockat the door, and in walked Joby's eldest brother, the sea-captain, that he hadn't seen for years. 

"Get up, Joby, and come along with me if you want that eye of yoursmended. "

"Thank you, Sam, it's curin' very easy and nice, and I hope you won'tdisturb me. "

"If 'tis Tommy Warne's cure you're trying, why then I'm part of it;so you'd best get up quickly. "

"Aw, that's another matter, though you might have said so at first. I'd no notion you and Tommy was hand-'n-glove. "

Joby rose up and followed his brother out of doors. He had nothingon but his night-shirt, but his brother seemed in a hurry, and hedidn't like to object. 

They set their faces to the road and they walked and walked, neithersaying a word, till they came to Penryn. There was a fair going onin the town; swing-boats and shooting-galleries and lillybangerstandings, and naphtha lamps flaming, and in the middle of all, agreat whirly-go-round, with striped horses and boats, and asteam-organ playing "Yankee Doodle. " As soon as they started Jobysaw that the whole thing was going around widdershins; and hisbrother stood up under the naphtha-lamp and pulled out a sextant andbegan to take observations. 

"What's the latitude?" asked Joby. He felt that he ought to saysomething to his brother, after being parted all these years. 

"Decimal nothing to speak of, " answered Sam. 

"Then we ought to be nearing the Line, " said Joby. He hadn't noticedthe change, but now he saw that the boat they sat in was floating onthe sea, and that Sam had stuck his walking-stick out over the sternand was steering. 

"What's the longitude?" asked Joby. 

"That doesn't concern us. "

"'Tis west o' Grinnidge, I suppose?" Joby knew very little aboutnavigation, and wanted to make the most of it. 

"West o' Penryn, " said Sam, very sharp and short. "'Twasn' GrinnidgeFair we started from. "

But presently he sings out "Here we are!" and Joby saw a white line, like a popping-crease, painted across the blue sea ahead of them. First he thought 'twas paint, and then he thought 'twas catgut, forwhen the keel of their boat scraped over it, it sang like a bird. 

"That was the Equator, " said Sam. "Now let's see if your eyes be anybetter. "

But when Joby tried them, what was his disappointment to find thecast as bad as ever?--only now they were slewing right the other way, towards the South Pole. 

"I never thought well of this cure from the first, " declared Sam. "For my part, I'm sick and tired of the whole business!" And withthat he bounced up from the thwart and hailed a passing shark andwalked down its throat in a huff, leaving Joby all alone on the widesea. 

"There's nice brotherly behaviour for you!" said Joby to himself. "Lucky he left his walking-stick behind. The best thing I can do isto steer along close to the Equator, and then I know where I am. "

So he steered along close to the Line, and by and by he saw somethingshining in the distance. When he came nearer, 'twas a great giltfowl stuck there with its beak to the Line and its wings sprawledout. And when he came close, 'twas no other than the cock belongingto the tower of his own parish church of Wendron!

"Well!" said Joby, "one has to travel to find out how small the worldis. And what might you be doin' here, naybour?"

"Is that you, Joby Teague? Then I'll thank you to do me a good turn. I came here in a witch-ship last night, and the crew put this spellupon me because I wouldn't pay my footing to cross the Line. A nice lot, to try and steal the gilt off a church weather-cock!'Tis ridiculous, " said he, "but I can't get loose for the life o'me!"

"Why, that's as easy as ABC, " said Joby. "You'll find it in any bookof parlour amusements. You take a fowl, put its beak to the floor, and draw a chalk line away from it, right and left--"

Joby wetted his thumb, smudged out a bit of the Equator on each sideof the cock's nose, and the bird stood up and shook himself. 

"And now is there anything I can do for you, Joby Teague?"

"To be sure there is. I'm getting completely tired of this boat: andif you can give me a lift, I'll take it as a favour. "

"No favour at all. Where shall we go visit?--the Antipodes?"

"No, thank you, " said Toby. "I've heard tell they get up an' dotheir business when we honest folks be in our beds: and that kind o'person I never could trust. Squint or no squint, Wendron's Wendron, and that's where I'm comfortable. "

"Well, it's no use loitering here, or we may get into trouble forwhat we've done to the Equator. Climb on my back, " said the bird, "and home we go!"

It seemed no more than a flap of the wings, and Joby found himself onhis friend's back on one of the pinnacles of Wendron Church andlooking down on his own farm. 

"Thankin' you kindly, soce, and now I think I'll be goin', " said he. 

"Not till I've cured your eyesight, Joby, " said the polite bird. 

Joby by this time was wishing his eyesight to botheration; but beforehe could say a word, a breeze came about the pinnacles, and he wasspinning around on the cock's back--spinning around widdershins--clutching the bird's neck and holding his breath. 

"And now, " the cock said, as they came to a standstill again, "I think you can see a hole in a ladder as well as any man. "

Just then the bells in the tower below them began to ring merrily. 

Said Joby, "What's that for, I wonder?"

"It looks to me, " said the cock, "as if your wife was gettin' marriedagain. "

Sure enough, while the bells rang, Joby saw the door of his own houseopen, and his own wife come stepping towards the church, leaning on aman's arm. And who should that man be but Tommy Warne?

"And to think I've lived fifteen years with that woman, and neverlifted my hand to her!"

Said the bird, "The wedding is fixed for eleven o'clock, and 'tis onthe stroke now. If I was you, Joby, I'd climb down and put back thechurch clock. "

"And so I would, if I knew how to get to it. "

"You've but to slide down my leg to the parapet: and from the parapetyou can jump right on to the string-course under the clock. "

Joby slid down the bird's leg, and jumped on to the ledge. He hadnever before noticed a clock in Wendron Church tower; but there onewas, staring him in the face. 

"Now, " cried his friend, "catch hold of the minute-hand and turn!"Joby did so--"Widdershins!" screamed the bird: "faster! faster!"Joby whizzed back the minute-hand with all his might. 

"Aie, ul--ul--oo! Lemme go! 'Tis my arm you're pullin' off!"'Twas his own wife's voice in his own four-poster. Joby had sliddown the bed-post and caught hold of her arm, and was workin' itround like mad from right to left. 

"I ax your pardon, my dear. I was thinkin' you was another man'sbride. "

"Indeed, I must say you wasn't behavin' like it, " said she. 

But when she got up and lit a candle, she was pleased enough. For Joby's eyes were as straight as yours or mine. And straight theyhave been ever since. 

VISITORS AT THE GUNNEL ROCK. 

A LIGHTSHIP IDYLL. 

When first the Trinity Brothers put a light out yonder by the GunnelRocks, it was just a trifling makeshift affair for the time--none ofyour proper lightships with a crew of twelve or fourteen hands; andmy father and I used to tend it, taking turn and turn with two otherfellows from the Islands. I'm talking of old days. The rule then--they have altered it since--was two months afloat and two ashore; andall the time we tossed out there on duty, not a soul would we see tospeak to except when the Trinity boat put off with stores for us andnews of what was doing in the world. This would be about once afortnight in fair weather; but through the winter time it was oftenera month, and provisions ran low enough, now and then, to make usanxious. "Was the life dreary?" Well, you couldn't call it gay;but, you see, it didn't kill me. 

For the first week I thought the motion would drive me crazy--up anddown, up and down, in that everlasting ground-swell--although I hadbeen at the fishing all my life, and knew what it meant to lie-to inany ordinary sea. But after ten days or so I got not to mind it. And then there was the open air. It was different with the poorfellows on the Lighthouse, eighteen miles to seaward of us, to thesouth-west. They drew better pay than ours, by a trifle; but theywere landsmen, to start with; and cooped in that narrow tower atnight, with the shutters closed and the whole building rockinglike a tree, it's no wonder their nerves wore out. Four or five daysof it have been known to finish a man; and in those times alighthouse-keeper had three months of duty straight away, and only afortnight on shore. Now he gets only a fortnight out there, and sixweeks to recover in. With all that, they're mostly fit to start attheir own shadow when the boat takes them off. 

But on the lightship we fared tolerably. To begin with, we had thelantern to attend to. You'd be surprised how much employment thatgives a man--cleaning, polishing, and trimming. And my father, though particular to a scratch on the reflector, or the smallestcrust of salt on the glass, was a restful, cheerful sort of a man tobide with. Not talkative, you understand--no light-keeper in theworld was ever talkative--but with a power of silence that was morecomforting than speech. And out there, too, we found all sorts oflittle friendly things to watch and think over. Sometimes a schoolof porpoises; or a line of little murrs flying; or a sail far to thesouth, making for the Channel. And sometimes, towards evening, thefishing-boats would come out and drop anchor a mile and a half tosouth'ard, down sail, and hang out their riding lights; and we knewthat they took their mark from us, and that gave a sociable feeling. 

On clear afternoons, too, by swarming up the mast just beneath thecage, I could see the Islands away in the east, with the sun on theircliffs; and home wasn't so far off, after all. The town itself, which lay low down on the shore, we could never spy, but glimpsed thelights of it now and then, after sunset. These always flickered agreat deal, because of the waves, like little hills of water, bobbingbetween them and us. And always we had the Lighthouse for company. In daytime, through the glass, we could watch the keepers walkingabout in the iron gallery round the top: and all night through thereit was beckoning to us with its three white flashes every minute. No, we weren't exactly gay out there, and sometimes we made wildweather of it. Yet we did pretty well; except for the fogs, when ourarms ached with keeping the gong going. 

But if we were comfortable then, you should have seen us at the endof our two months, when the boat came off with the relief, and tookus on shore. John and Robert Pendlurian were the names of therelief; brothers they were, oldsters of about fifty-five and fifty;and John Pendlurian, the elder, a widow-man same as my father, butwith a daughter at home. Living in the Islands, of course I'd knownBathsheba ever since we'd sat in infant-school; and what more naturalthan to ask after her health, along with the other news? But OldJohn got to look sly and wink at my father when we came to thisquestion, out of the hundred others. And the other two would take itup and wink back solemn as mummers. I never lost my temper with theold idiots: 'twasn't worth while. 

But the treat of all was to set foot on the quay-steps, and thepeople crowding round and shaking your hand and chattering; andeverything ashore going on just as you'd left it, and you not wishingit other, and everybody glad to see you all the same; and the smellof the gardens and the stinking fish at the quay-corner--you mightchoose between them, but home was in both; and the nets drying; andto be out of oilskins and walking to meeting-house on the Sunday, andstanding up there with the congregation, all singing in company, and the women taking stock of you till the newness wore off; and thetea-drinking, and Band of Hopes, and courants, and dances. We had all the luck of these; for the two Pendlurians, being up inyears and easily satisfied so long as they were left quiet, werewilling to take their holidays in the dull months, beginning withFebruary and March. And so I had April and May, when a man canalways be happy ashore; and August and September, which is the bestof the fishing and all the harvest and harvest games; and again, December and January, with the courants and geesy-dancing, and carolsand wassail-singing. Early one December, when he came to relieve us, Old John said to me in a haphazard way, "It's all very well for meand Robert, my lad; for us two can take equal comfort in singin''_Star o' Bethl'em_' ashore or afloat; but I reckon 'tis somebody'splace to see that Bathsheba don't miss any of the season's joy an'dancin' on our account. "

Now, Bathsheba had an unmarried aunt--Aunt Hessy Pendlurian we calledher--that used to take her to all the parties and courants when OldJohn was away at sea. So she wasn't likely to miss any of the fun, bein' able to foot it as clever as any girl in the Islands. She hadthe love of it, too--foot and waist and eyes all a-dancing, and bodyand blood all a-tingle as soon as ever the fiddle spoke. Maybe thissame speech of Old John's set me thinking. Or, maybe I'd beenthinking already--what with their May-game hints and the lonelinessout there. Anyway, I dangled pretty close on Bathsheba's heels allthat Christmas. She was comely--you understand--very comely andtall, with dark blood, and eyes that put you in mind of a lightshining steady upon dark water. And good as gold. She's dead andgone these twelve years--rest her soul! But (praise God for her!)I've never married another woman nor wanted to. 

There, I've as good as told you already! When the time came and Iasked her if she liked me, she said she liked no man half so well:and that being as it should be, the next thing was to put up thebanns. There wasn't time that holiday: like a fool, I had beendilly-dallying too long, though I believe now I might have asked hera month before. So the wedding was held in the April following, myfather going out to the Gunnel for a couple of days, so that Old Johnmight be ashore to give his daughter away. The most I mind of thewedding was the wonder of beholding the old chap there in along-tailed coat, having never seen him for years but in hisoilskins. 

Well, the rest of that year seemed pretty much like all the others, except that coming home was better than ever. But when Christmaswent by, and February came and our turn to be out again on theGunnel, I went with a dismal feeling I hadn't known before. For Bathsheba was drawing near her time, and the sorrow was that shemust go through it without me. She had walked down to the quay withus, to see us off; and all the way she chatted and laughed with myfather as cheerful as cheerful--but never letting her eyes rest onme, I noticed, and I saw what that meant; and when it came togoodbye, there was more in the tightening of her arms about me thanI'd ever read in it before. 

The old man, I reckon, had a wisht time with me, the next two orthree weeks; but, by the mercy of God, the weather behaved furiousall the while, leaving a man no time to mope. 'Twas busy all, andbusy enough, to keep a clear light inside the lantern, and warm soulsinside our bodies. All through February it blew hard and cold fromthe north and north-west, and though we lay in the very mouth of theGulf Stream, for ten days together there wasn't a halliard we couldtouch with the naked hand, nor a cloth nor handful of cotton-wastebut had to be thawed at the stove before using. Then, with thebeginning of March, the wind tacked round to south-west, and stuckthere, blowing big guns, and raising a swell that was somethingcruel. It was one of these gales that tore away the bell from thelighthouse, though hung just over a hundred feet above water-level. As for us, I wonder now how the little boat held by its two-tonanchors, even with three hundred fathom of chain cable to bear thestrain and jerk of it; but with the spindrift whipping our faces, andthe hail cutting them, we didn't seem to have time to think of_that_. Bathsheba thought of it, though, in her bed at home--as I'veheard since--and lay awake more than one night thinking of it. 

But the third week in March the weather moderated; and soon the suncame out and I began to think. On the second afternoon of the fairweather I climbed up under the cage and saw the Islands for the firsttime; and coming down, I said to my father:

"Suppose that Bathsheba is dead!"

We hadn't said more than a word or two to each other for a week;indeed, till yesterday we had to shout in each other's ear to beheard at all. My father filled a pipe and said, "Don't be a fool. "

"I see your hand shaking, " said I. 

Said he, "That's with the cold. At my age the cold takes a while toleave a man's extremities. "

"But, " I went on in an obstinate way, "suppose she is dead?"

My father answered, "She is a well-built woman. The Lord is good. "

Not another word than this could I get from him. That evening--thewind now coming easy from the south, and the swell gone down in awonderful way--as I was boiling water for the tea, we saw a dozenfishing-boats standing out from the Islands. They ran down to withintwo miles of us and then hove-to. The nets went out, and the sailscame down, and by and by through the glass I could spy the smokecoming up from their cuddy-stoves. 

"They might have brought news, " I cried out, "even if 'tis sorrow!"

"Maybe there was no news to bring. "

"'Twould have been neighbourly, then, to run down and say so. "

"And run into the current here, I suppose? With a chance of the windfalling light at any moment?"

I don't know if this satisfied my father: but I know that he meant itto satisfy me, which it was pretty far from doing. Before daylightthe boats hoisted sail again, and were well under the Islands and outof sight by breakfast-time. 

After this, for a whole long week I reckon I did little more thanpace the ship to and fro; a fisherman's walk, as they say--threesteps and overboard. I took the three steps and wished I wasoverboard. My father watched me queerly all the while; but we saidno word to each other, not even at meals. 

It was the eighth day after the fishing-boats left us, and about fourin the afternoon, that we saw a brown sail standing towards us fromthe Islands, and my father set down the glass, resting it on thegunwale, and said:

"That's Old John's boat. "

I took the glass from him, and was putting it to my eye; but had toset it down and turn my back. I couldn't wait there with my eye onthe boat; so I crossed to the other side of the ship and stoodstaring at the Lighthouse away on the sky-line, and whispered:"Come quickly!" But the wind had moved a couple of points to theeast and then fallen very light, and the boat must creep towards usclose-hauled. After a long while my father spoke again:

"That will be Old John steerin' her. I reckoned so: he've got herjib shakin'--that's it: sail her close till she strikes thetide-race, and that'll fetch her down, wind or no wind. Halloa!--Lad, lad! 'tis all right! See there, that bit o' red ensign run upto the gaff!"

"Why should that mean aught?" asked I. 

"Would he trouble to hoist bunting if he had no news? Would it bethere, close under the peak, if the news was bad?--and she his owndaughter, his only flesh!"

It may have been twenty minutes later that Old John felt the Gunnelcurrent, and, staying the cutter round, came down fast on us with thewind behind his beam. My father hailed to him once and twice, andthe second time he must have heard. But, without answering, he ranforward and took in his foresail. And then I saw an arm and a littlehand reached up to take hold of the tiller; and my heart gave a greatjump. 

It was she, my wife Bathsheba, laid there by the stern-sheets on aspare-sail, with a bundle of oilskins to cushion her. With one handshe steered the boat up into the wind as Old John lowered sail andthey fell alongside: and with the other she held a small bundle closeagainst her breast. 

"Such a whackin' boy I never see in my life!"--These were Old John'sfirst words, and he shouted them. "Born only yestiddy week, an' sheought to be abed: an' so I've been tellin' her ever since she draggedme out 'pon this wildy-go errand!"

But Bathsheba, as I lifted her over the lightship's side, said nomore than "Oh, Tom!"--and let me hold her, with her forehead pressedclose against me. And the others kept very quiet, and everything wasquiet about us, until she jumped back on a sudden and found all herspeech in a flood. 

"Tom, " she said, "you're crushin' him, you great, awkward man!" Andshe turned back the shawl and snatched the handkerchief off thebaby's face--a queer-looking face it was, too. "Be all babies asqueer as that?" thought I. Lucky I didn't say it, though. "There, my blessed, my handsome! Look, my tender! Eh, Tom, but hekicks my side all to bruises; my merryun, my giant! Look up at yourfather, and you his very image!" That was pretty stiff. "Ideclare, " she says, "he's lookin' about an' takin' stock ofeverything"--and that was pretty stiff, too. "So like a man; all forthe sea and the boats! Tom, dear, father will tell you that all theway on the water he was as good as gold; and, on shore before that, kicking and fisting--all for the sea and the boats; the man of him!Hold him, dear, but be careful! A Sunday's child, too--

 'Sunday's child is full of grace . . . '

And--the awkward you are! Here, give him back to me: but feel howfar down in his clothes the feet of him reach. Extraordinar'!Aun' Hessy mounted a chair and climbed 'pon the chest o' drawers withhim, before takin' him downstairs; so that he'll go up in the world, an' not down. "

"If he wants to try both, " said I, "he'd best follow his father andgrandfathers, and live 'pon a lightship. "

"So this is how you live, Tom; and you, father; and you, father-in-law!" She moved about examining everything--the lantern, the fog-signals and life-buoys, the cooking-stove, bunks andstore-cupboards. "To think that here you live, all the menkindbelongin' to me, and I never to have seen it! All the menkind did Isay, my rogue! And was I forgettin' you--you--you?" Kisses here, ofcourse: and then she held the youngster up to look at his face in thelight. "Ah, heart of me, will you grow up too to live in a lightshipand leave a poor woman at home to weary for you in her trouble?Rogue, rogue, what poor woman have I done this to, bringing you intothe world to be her torture and her joy?"

"Dear, " says I, "you're weak yet. Sit down by me and rest awhilebefore the time comes to go back. "

"But I'm not going back yet awhile. Your son, sir, and I are goin'to spend the night aboard. "

"Halloa!" I said, and looked towards Old John, who had made fastastern of us and run a line out to one of the anchor-buoys. 

"'Tisn't allowed, o' course, " he muttered, looking in turn and rathersheepishly towards my father. "But once in a way--'tis allBathsheba's notion, and you mustn' ask _me_, " he wound up. 

"'Once in a way'!" cried Bathsheba. "And is it twice in a way that awoman comes to a man and lays his first child in his arms?"

My father had been studying the sunset and the sky to windward; andnow he answered Old John:

"'Tis once in a way, sure enough, that a boat can lay alongside theGunnel. But the wind's falling, and the night'll be warm. I reckonif you stay in the boat, Old John, she'll ride pretty comfortable;and I'll give the word to cast off at the leastest sign. "

"Once in a way"--ah, sirs, it isn't twice in a way there comes such anight as that was! We lit the light at sunset, and hoisted it, andmade tea, talking like children all the while; and my father thebiggest child of all. Old John had his share passed out to him, andate it alone out there in the boat; and, there being a lack of cups, Bathsheba and I drank out of the same, and scalded our lips, and mustkiss to make them well. Foolishness? Dear, dear, I suppose so. And the jokes we had, calling out to Old John as the darkness fell, and wishing him "Good night!" "Ou, aye; I hear 'ee, " was all heanswered. After we'd eaten our tea and washed up, I showed Bathshebahow to crawl into her bunk, and passed in the baby and laid it in herarms, and so left her, telling her to rest and sleep. But by and by, as I was keeping watch, she came out, declaring the place stifledher. So I pulled out a mattress and blankets and strewed a bed forher out under the sky, and sat down beside her, watching while shesuckled the child. She had him wrapped up so that the two dark eyesof him only could be seen, staring up from the breast to the greatbright lantern above him. The moon was in her last quarter, andwould not rise till close upon dawn; and the night pitchy dark aroundus, with a very few stars. In less than a minute Bathsheba gave astart and laid a hand on my arm. 

"Oh, Tom, what was that?"

"Look up, " said I. "'Tis the birds flying about the light. "

For, of course, our light always drew the sea-birds, especially ondull nights, and 'twas long since we had grown used to the sound oftheir beating and flapping, and took no notice of it. A moment afterI spoke one came dashing against the rigging, and we heard him tumbleinto the sea; and then one broke his neck against the cage overheadand tumbled dead at our feet. Bathsheba shivered as I tossed himoverboard. 

"Is it always like this?" she whispered. "I thought 'twas only atthe cost of a silly woman's fears that you saved men's lives outhere. "

"Well, " said I, "this is something more than usual, to be sure. "

For, looking up into the circle of light, we could see now at least ahundred birds flying round and round, and in half an hour's timethere must have been many hundreds. Their white breasts were like asnowstorm; and soon they began to fall thick upon deck. They werenot all sea-birds, either. 

"Halloa!" said I, "what's the day of the month?"

"The nineteenth of March. "

"Here's a wheatear, then, " I said. "In a couple of weeks we shallhave the swallows; and, a couple of weeks after, a cuckoo, maybe. So you see that even out here by the Gunnel we know when spring comesalong. "

And I began to hum the old song that children sang in the Islands:

 The cuckoo is a pretty bird, He sings as he flies: He brings us good tidings. He tells us no lies: He sucks the sweet flow-ers For to make his voice clear, And when he says "Cuckoo!" The summer is near. 

Bathsheba's eyes were wet for the poor birds, but she took up thesong, crooning it soft-like, and persuading the child to sleep:

 O, meeting is a pleasure, But parting is grief, An inconstant lover Is worse than a thief; For a thief at the worst Will take all that I have; But an inconstant lover Sends me to my grave. 

Her hand stole into mine as the boy's eyes closed, and clasped myfingers, entreating me in silence to look and admire him. Our owneyes met over him, and I saw by the lantern-light the happy blushrise and spread over neck and chin and forehead. The flapping of thebirds overhead had almost died away, and we lay still, watching thelighthouse flash, far down in the empty darkness. 

By and by the clasp of her hand slackened. A star shot down the sky, and I turned. Her eyelids, too, had drooped, and her breath came andwent as softly and regularly as the Atlantic swell around us. And mychild slept in her arms. 

Day was breaking before the first cry awoke her. My father had thebreakfast ready, and Old John sang out to hurry. A fair wind wentwith them to the Islands--a light south-wester. As the boat droppedout of sight, I turned and drew a deep breath of it. It was full ofthe taste of flowers, and I knew that spring was already at hand, andcoming up that way. 

LETTERS FROM TROY. 

ADDRESSED TO RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABBYSSINIA. 

I. --THE FIRST PARISH MEETING. 

 Troy Town, 5 December, 1894. 

My Dear Prince, --I feel sure that you, as a sympathetic student ofwestern politics and manners, must be impatient to hear about ourfirst Parish Meeting in Troy; and so I am catching the earliest postto inform you that from a convivial point of view the wholeproceedings were in the highest degree successful. And ifSelf-Government by the People can provide a success of the kind inthat dull season when people as a rule are saving up for Christmas, Ihardly think our Chairman stretched a point last night when he said, "This evening will leave its mark on the history of England. " Indeed, some inkling of this must have guided us when we met, a few daysbefore, and agreed to postpone our usual Tuesday eveningCarol-practice in order to give the New Era a fair start. And I amtold this morning that the near approach of the sacred season had asensibly pacific influence upon the counsels of our neighbours atTreneglos. The parishioners there are mostly dairy-farmers, andparty feeling runs high. But while eggs fetch 2d. Apiece (as theydo, towards Christmas) there will always be a disposition to giveeven the most unmarketable specimens the benefit of any doubt. 

We were at first a good deal annoyed on finding that the Act allowedTroy but eleven Parish Councillors. We have never had less thansixty-five on our Regatta Committee, and we had believed LocalSelf-Government to be at least as important as a Regatta. We arguedthis out at some length last night, and the Chairman--Lawyer Thoms--admitted that we had reason on our side. But his instructions weredefinite, and he could not (as he vivaciously put it) fly in the faceof the Queen and two Houses of Parliament. We saw that his regretwas sincere, and so contented ourselves with handing in seventy-twonomination papers for the eleven places, just to mark our sense ofthe iniquity of the thing. 

In another matter we worked round the intention of the Act moresuccessfully. We have never been able to understand why the Liberalparty in the House of Commons should object to Local Self-Governmenttaking place in public-houses. The objection implies a distrust ofthe people. And it so happens that down here we always take a glassof grog before inaugurating an era; we should as soon think ofpraetermitting this as of launching a ship without cracking a bottleon her stem. So we asked the Chairman, and finding there was no lawto prevent us, we ordered in half a dozen trays from the "King ofPrussia, " across the way. The Vicar, who is a particular man abouthis food and drink, pulled out a pocket Vesuvius and a bottle ofmethylated spirit, and boiled his kettle in the ante-room. 

Well, there we were sitting in the Town Hall, as merry as grigs, each man with his pipe and glass, and ready for any amount ofSelf-Government. And the Chairman stood up and briefly explained thebusiness of the meeting. He said the Parish Councils Act was thelogical result of Magna Charta, and would have the effect of makingus all citizens of our own parish; and that as the expense of thiswould come upon the rates, we should endeavour to use our hardly wonenfranchisement with moderation. "We had met to choose eleven goodmen and true to administer the parish business for the coming year, or to nominate as many good men and true as we pleased. If more thaneleven were nominated"--this was foolishness, for he could see therewas hardly a man in the room that hadn't a nomination paper in hishand--"he would ask for a show of hands, and any candidate defeatedupon this might demand a poll. He hoped we would vote in no spiritof sectarian or partisan bitterness, but as impartial citizensjealous only for the common weal; at the same time he was not infavour of letting down the Squire, Sir Felix Felix-Williams, tooeasily. "

So we handed up our nomination papers, and while the Chairman andoverseers were checking them off by the register, Old Pilot James gotupon his legs. 

He said that as long as he could remember--man and boy--he hadalways practised carols in that very Town Hall upon the firstTuesday in December. The Vicar--as soon as he had done boiling thekettle in the next room--would come in and confirm his words. The practices were held on the first Tuesday in December, and on eachsuccessive Tuesday until St. Thomas's Day, when they had one extra. If St. Thomas's Day fell on a Tuesday, then the extra practice wouldbe on Wednesday. He had received no notice of the change. 

Thomas Rabling rose and explained that at a meeting held lastSaturday, the singers had agreed to postpone the first practice inview of Local Self-Government. Mr. James had been present and hadnot objected. 

George William Oke--a blockmaker, who had never sung a carol orattended a practice in his life--stood up and said, ratherunnecessarily, that this was the first _he'd_ heard of it. 

Old Pilot James, answering Mr. Rabling, admitted that he might havebeen present at the meeting on Saturday. But he was deaf, aseverybody knew--and Mr. Rabling no less than the rest--and hadn'theard a word of what was said. If he had, he should have objected. But, deaf or not deaf, he still took a delight in singing; and, ifonly as a matter of principle, he was going to sing, "_God rest youmerry, gentlemen_, " then and there. He was an old man, and theymight turn him out if they liked; but he warned them it would bebrutal, and might lead to a summons. 

Well, the Chairman was making a long business of the nominationpapers: so just to pass the time we let the old man sing. It seemedchurlish, too, not to join in the chorus; and by and by the wholemeeting was singing with a will. We sang "_Tidings of Comfort andJoy_, " and "_I saw Three Ships_, " and the _Cherry-tree Carol_, and"_Dives and Lazarus_. " We had come to that verse where Dives iscarried off to sit on the serpent's knee, when the Chairman rose andsaid that only five of the nomination papers were spoilt, and hedeclared sixty-seven ladies and gentlemen to be duly nominated. 

We all pricked up our ears at the word "ladies. " However, thereturned out to be one lady only; and when the Chairman read out hername, her husband--a naval pensioner, William Carclew--stood up andexplained that he had only meant it for a joke upon the old woman, just to give her a start, and he hoped it would go no farther. This seemed fair and natural enough; but the Chairman said if Mrs. Carclew wished to withdraw her name she had better do so at once byword of mouth. So Carclew had to run home and fetch her. While hewas gone we finished "_Dives and Lazarus_. "

In five minutes' time back came Carclew, followed by Mrs. Carclew, who announced--in a rich brogue--that since her man had conspired toput this fool's trick upon her, why now she would stand, begob!"Arrah now, people, people, and a gay man he'll look houlding thebabby, while I'm afther superinthendin' the Parush!" So theChairman declared her duly nominated. It will surprise me if shedoes not head the poll on the 17th. 

The Chairman now invited us to interrogate the candidates, if wewished. By this time we were getting pretty well into the way ofSelf-Government, and all enjoying it amazingly. Of course our ladycandidate, Mrs. Carclew, had the first few questions; but these weremostly jocular and domestic, and I am bound to say the lady gave asgood as was brought. The only sensible question came from Old PilotJames, who asked if she believed in the ballot. For his part he hadnever given a vote for anybody since Forster brought in the ballot in'seventy-one. He favoured peace and quiet; and he liked to walk upto the hustings and give his vote, and hear 'em say, "Well done!" or"You '--' old scoundrel!" as the case might be. He didn't mind beingcalled "a '--' old scoundrel, " provided it was said to him by agentleman who weighed his words. Since Forster brought in the ballothe had always gone to the poll regular. He always took his paper andwrote opposite the names: "_Shan't say a word. Got my living to get. Yours obediently, Matthias James_"--and would advise everybody elseto do the same. 

After him, Renatus Hansombody, carpenter, rose at the back of thehall and announced that he had a question to put to the Doctor. The Doctor, by the way, is one of the most popular of the candidates. 

"I should like, " said Mr. Hansombody, "to ask the Doctor if he willkindly explain to the company Clauses 5, 6, and 13 of the new Act?"

The Chairman protested that this would occupy more time than themeeting had to spare. 

"In that case, " said Mr. Hansombody, "I will confine myself to a testquestion. The Act provides that the Chairman of a Parish Meeting isto be elected by the Meeting. Now suppose the votes for twogentlemen are equal. In such a case what would the Doctor advise?For until you have a Chairman elected, there is no Chairman to give acasting vote. "

The Doctor thought that, since we had long ago elected a Chairman byacclamation, the question was superfluous. 

"And you call him a straightforward man!" Mr. Hansombody exclaimed, turning round on the Meeting. "What I say is, are we to havepusillanimity in our first Parish Council? What I say is, that agentleman who gives a working man such an answer to such aquestion--"

At this point the door opened and a shrill voice asked, "Is Hansombody here?"

"I am here, " said Hansombody, "to expose impostors!"

"Because if so, he must please come home at once. Mrs. Hansombody'scryin'-out!"

"I always said, " remarked Old Pilot James, "that this cussed Actwould scare half the women in the Parish before their time. "

"Beggin' your pard'n, Doctor, " began his denouncer lamely. 

"Not at all, not at all, " said the Doctor. "We must keep thesematters altogether outside the sphere of party politics. "(_Loud cheering_. )

"Then I'll have to ask you to step along with me. "

The two political opponents picked up their hats, and left the roomtogether. 

The Chairman rose as the door closed behind them. "I think, " hesaid, "this should be a lesson to us to accept the Act in the spiritin which it was given. If nobody else wishes to ask a question, Iwill now take a show of hands: but I warn you all it'll be a drearybusiness. "

At this, the first hint of tedium, the company rose, drained theirglasses, and made for the door, leaving the sixty-six remainingcandidates to vote for themselves. 

"Well, " Mr. Rabling said to me, as we stood in the street; "so far, this here Parish Meeting might be like any other Parish Meeting inthe Kingdom!"

I doubted, but did not contradict him. 

"There's one thing, " he added; "Ironmonger Loveday has laid in awhole stock of sixpenny fire-balloons for to-night: and there isn't abreath of wind. His boy's very clever with the scissors and paste:and he've a-stuck a tissue-paper text on each--'Success to theCharter of our Liberties, ' and 'Rule Britannia' and 'God Speed thePlough'; and nothing more than the sixpence charged. "

Simple, egregious, delectable town! As I leaned out last night, watching the young moon and smoking the last pipe before bed-time, adozen of these gay balloons rose from the waterside and drifted onthe faint north wind, seaward, past my window. Another dozenfollowed, and another, until from one point and another of the darkshore a hundred balloons soared over the water, challenging thestars. 

II. --THE SIMPLE SHEPHERD. 

 Troy Town, 29 January, 1895. 

"And then, as he set the bowl of goat's milk on the board, thatsimple Tyrolean turned to me with a magnificent sweep of the hand, and exclaimed--"

Ah, my dear Prince, if you could only tell me what he exclaimed, youwould restore a whole parish to its natural slumbers. For indeed heis playing the deuce with our nights, here in Troy, that guilelessTyrolean. 

How trivial are the immediate causes of great events! On New Year'sDay our excellent Vicar, having bought himself a Whitaker's Almanackfor 1895, presented his last year's copy to the Working Men's ReadingRoom. In itself you would have thought this action of the Vicar'ssignified no more than a generous desire to keep his parishionersabreast of the times. In effect it inaugurated the Great TemperanceMovement in Troy--a social revolution of which we are only now, afterfour long weeks, beginning to see the end. 

You must not, of course, suppose that we had never heard oftemperance before. No, Prince, we do not live so far from Abyssiniaas all _that_. In a general way we understood it to be a good thing, and upon that ground (optimists that we are) believed its ultimatesuccess to be but a question of time. But I think I may say we neverregarded it as a pressing question--such as the reform of the Houseof Lords, for instance. The general impression (I call it no more)was that we should all be temperate sooner or later; possibly as thenext step after espousing our Deceased Wife's Sister. 

Well, our Vicar laid his copy of the 1894 almanack on thereading-room table at 11. 30 a. M. , or thereabouts, looked over thelocal papers for a few minutes, and left the building at ten minutesto noon. I get this information from Matthias James, our respectedpilot, who happened to be in the room, reading the _ShippingGazette_. It is confirmed by Mr. Hansombody and four or five othermembers. At noon precisely, Mr. Rabling (our gasman and an earnestMethodist) came in. His eye, as it wandered round in search of anunoccupied newspaper, was arrested by the scarlet and green bindingof Whitaker. He picked the book up, opened it casually, and read:

 The proof gallons of spirits distilled during the year ending March 31st, 1893, were 10, 691, 576 in England, 20, 107, 077 in Scotland, and 13, 615, 668 in Ireland. . . . 

He tells me he was on the point of closing the book as a voluptuouswork of fiction, when a second and even more dazzling paragraph tookhis eye. 

 The beer charged with duty in the United Kingdom was 32, 104, 320 barrels, 532, 047 barrels of which were exported on drawback, leaving 31, 572, 283 barrels for home consumption. There were also 38, 580 barrels of beer, and 1, 653 barrels of spruce imported from abroad. 

And again:

 The spirits "retained for home consumption" in the year were:-- rum, 4, 268, 438 gallons; brandy, 2, 668, 499 gallons; "other sorts, " 824, 078 gallons. The home consumption of tobacco in the year reached the total of 63, 765, 053 lbs. Though the tobacco duty was reduced by 4d. A lb. In 1887-8, the annual yield averages 1, 336, 240 pounds sterling more than it was ten years ago. Smuggling still continues. . . . 

Mr. Rabling was declaiming aloud by this time, and when he read outabout the smuggling, one or two of his audience gazed up at theceiling and agreed that the fellow had some of his facts right. Old Pilot James added that the book could hardly be a work offiction, since the Vicar had left it on the table, and the Vicar wasnot one to scatter lies except upon due deliberation. 

Mr. Rabling left the room and walked straight up to the Vicarage, andthe Vicar assured him that the Customs Returns were almost asaccurate as if they had been prepared under a ConservativeGovernment. You must excuse these details, Prince. They are reallyessential to the story. 

At 12. 55 Mr. Rabling (after a hasty dinner) handed across the counterof the post-office a telegram addressed to his religioussuperintendent at Plymouth. The message ran:

 "Here anual consumption of beer over three milion barls. Greatly distresd, Rabling. "

The telegraph clerk kindly corrected all the errors of spelling inthe above, save one, which escaped him. By "here" Mr. Rabling hadintended "hear" (_scilicet_ "I hear, " or "we hear"). The answerarrived from Plymouth within an hour. 

"Am sending missionary next train. "

Thus our Temperance movement began. The missionary arrived beforeset of sun, borrowed a chair from Mr. Rabling, carried it down to thetown quay and mounted it. A number of children at once gatheredround, in the belief that the stranger intended a tumblingperformance. The missionary eyed them and began, "Ah, if I can onceget hold of you tender little ones--" an infelicitous opening, whichscattered them yelling, convinced that the Bogey-man had come forthem at last. Upon this he changed his tone and called "O Gomorrah!"aloud several times in a rich baritone voice, which fetched quite alittle crowd of elders around him from the reading-room, thefish-market, the "King of Prussia" Inn, and other purlieus of thequay. 

Then the missionary gave us a most eloquent and inspiriting address, in the course of which he mentioned that if all the beer annuallyconsumed in England were placed in bottles, and the bottles piled onone another, it would reach within five hundred miles of the moon. He asked us if this were not an intolerable state of things and adisgrace to our boasted civilisation? Of course, there could be notwo questions about it. We are not unreasonable, down in Troy. We only want a truth to be brought home to us. The missionary saidthat if only a man would deny himself his morning glass, in eightmonths he could buy himself a harmonium, besides being better in mindand body. And he wound up by inviting us to attend a meeting in theTown Hall that evening. 

Well, at the evening performance he made us all feel so uncomfortablethat, as soon as it was over, we held an informal gathering in thebar of the "King of Prussia, " and decided that temperance must begiven a fair trial. The missionary had laid particular stress on thenecessity of taking the rising generation and taking them early. So we decided to try it first upon the children, and see how itworked. 

The missionary was delighted with our zeal. (Our zeal has oftensurprised and delighted strangers. ) And he helped with a will. Early next morning he organised what he called a "Little Drops ofWater League, " and a juvenile branch of the Independent Order of GoodTemplars, entitled the "Deeds not Words Lodge of Tiny Knights ofAbstinence. " Each of these had its insignia. He sent us down thepatterns as soon as he returned to Plymouth, and within a week thedrapers' shops were full of little scarves and ribbons--white andgold for the girls, pink and silver for the boys. By this time therewasn't a child under fourteen but had taken the pledge; and as fornarrow blue ribbon, it could not be supplied fast enough. I heardtalk, too, of a juvenile fife-and-drum band; and the mothers hadalready begun stitching banners for the processions. I tell you itwas pleasant, over a pipe and glass, to watch all these preparations, and think how much better the world would be when the risinggeneration came to take our places. 

But, of course, no popular movement ever took root in our townwithout a "tea-drink" or some such public function. And you mayjudge of our delight when, on applying to the Vicar, we heard that hehad been talking to the Squire, Sir Felix Felix-Williams, and SirFelix would gladly preside. Sir Felix suggested the followingprogramme--(1) A Public Lecture in the Town Hall, with a MagicLantern to exhibit the results of excessive drinking. The missionarywould lecture, and Sir Felix would take the chair. (2) The lectureover, the children were to form outside in procession and march upbehind the Town Band to Sir Felix's great covered tennis-court, wheretea would be spread. 

I have mentioned the Magic Lantern and the Town Band, and must say aword here on each. When the late Government set aside a sum of moneyfor Technical Instruction throughout the country, Sir Felix, who, asour chief landlord, may be supposed to know best what we need, decided that we needed to learn drawing. His idea was, by means of amagic lantern, to throw the model upon a screen for the class tocopy; and in the heat of his enthusiasm he purchased two magiclanterns at 25 pounds apiece before consulting the drawing-master, who pointed out that a drawing-lesson, to be thorough, must beconducted in a certain amount of light, whereas a magic lantern isonly effective in a dark room. So Sir Felix was left with two veryhandsome lanterns on his hands, and burned for an opportunity ofturning them to account. Hence his alacrity in suggesting a lecture. 

As for the Town Band, it was started last autumn with a view torendering our little town more attractive than ever to summervisitors. The bandsmen have practised sedulously through the winter, and are making great strides; but--if fault must be found--I am sorrythat our bandmaster, Mr. Patrick Sullivan (an Irishman), left thepurchase and selection of the music to his brother, who lives inLondon and plays the piccolo at one of the music-halls. The result--but you shall hear. 

Punctually at 3. 30 p. M. Last Wednesday, Sir Felix drove down to theTown Hall in his brougham. The body of the Hall was already packed, and the missionary busy on the platform with his lanterns and whitesheet. Mr. Rabling and an assistant stood ready to close theshutters and turn up the gas at the proper moment. The band waitedoutside; and as Sir Felix alighted, mounted the steps and entered thehall, bowing to right and left with the air of a real patriarch, themusicians crashed out the tune of--

 They all take after me, Take whisky in their tea. . . . 

Fortunately no one associated the tune with its words. Sir Felixmounted the platform; and after sipping a little water (such was ourthoroughness that a glassful stood ready for each speaker), began tointroduce the lecturer, whose name he mispronounced. The missionarywas called Stubbs; and by what mnemonic process Sir Felix convertedthis into Westmacott I have never been able to guess. However, forpurposes of introduction that afternoon Westmacott he was andWestmacott he remained. Now Sir Felix, though not a very old man, has a rambling habit of speech, and tends in public discourse toforget alike the thread of his argument and the lapse of time. Conceive then our delight on his announcing that he would confinehimself to a brief anecdote. 

"The beauty of temperance, " said Sir Felix, "was once brought home tome very forcibly in rather peculiar circumstances. Many years ago Iwas travelling afoot in the Tyrol, and chancing to pass by ashepherd's cottage, turned aside to inquire my way. The good peopleof the house, with native hospitality, pressed me to tarry an hourand partake of their mid-day meal. I acceded. The fare, as you maysuppose, was simple. There was no intoxicating liquor. But nevershall I forget the gesture or the words of that simple shepherd as heplaced a bowl of goat's milk before me on the board. His words--ashort sentence only--left such an impression on my mind that to thisday I never seat myself at table without repeating them to myself. Three times a day for over thirty years I have repeated those wordsand seen in imagination the magnificent gesture which accompaniedthem. The words of my simple shepherd were--"

(Here Sir Felix reproduced the simple shepherd's magnificent gesture, and paused. )

"And then, " he pursued, "as he set the bowl of goat's milk on theboard, that simple Tyrolean turned to me with a magnificent sweep ofthe hand"--gesture repeated--"and exclaimed--"

Here followed a prolonged pause, and it slowly dawned upon theaudience that by a pardonable trick of memory Sir Felix was for themoment unable to recall the words he had repeated thrice a day forthe last thirty years. 

The situation was awkward. At the back of the platform Mr. Rablingrose to it. He had once a tenor voice of moderate calibre which hewas used to exert publicly in the days of Penny Readings. And theword "Tyrolean" now suggested to him a national song which had longreposed in his musical cabinet at home. He leaned forward, screenedhis mouth with one hand and whispered--

"Sir Felix--"

"Hey?" Sir Felix whipped round. 

"Did a' say" (with sudden and piercing jodel) "_Lul-ul-i-e-tee!Lul-ul-i-ee! Lul-ul_--"

Sir Felix stamped his foot; and I think we all felt glad for Rablingat that moment that he held his cottage on a ninety-nine years'lease. But the lecture was spoilt before it began. The missionarypiled his statistics to the moon, and turned down the gas, and showedus "The Child: What will he become?" But we took no interest in thatquestion. The question for us was, What exactly did that simpleTyrolese shepherd say to Sir Felix? And that is just what we havebeen asking each other for a week past. 

Sir Felix recovered himself towards the close of the address, and atthe close acknowledged our vote of thanks in a pleasant littlespeech--in which, however, his Tyrolean friend was not so much asalluded to. It was pretty, too, to see the Little Knights ofAbstinence afterwards, with their sashes and banners, marching uphillafter the band, like so many children of Hamelin after the PiedPiper. Only, my dear Prince, what tune do you think the band wasplaying? Why--

 Come where the booze is cheaper, Come where the pints hold more . . . !

The missionary, I am told, is already beginning to talk as if wedisappointed him. But this was certain to befall a man of one ideain a place of so many varied interests. 

LEGENDS. 

I. --THE LEGEND OF SIR DINAR. 

A puff of north-east wind shot over the hill, detached a lateDecember leaf from the sycamore on its summit, and swooped like awave upon the roofs and chimney-stacks below. It caught the smokemidway in the chimneys, drove it back with showers of soot andwood-ash, and set the townsmen sneezing who lingered by their hearthsto read the morning newspaper. Its strength broken, it fell proneupon the main street, scattering its fine dust into fan-shapedfigures, then died away in eddies towards the south. Among theseeddies the sycamore leaf danced and twirled, now running along theground upon its edge, now whisked up to the level of the first-storeywindows. A nurse, holding up a three-year-old child behind the pane, pointed after the leaf--

"Look--there goes Sir Dinar!"

Sir Dinar was the youngest son and the comeliest of King Geraint, whohad left Arthur's Court for his own western castle of Dingerein inRoseland, where Portscatho now stands, and was buried, when his timecame, over the Nare, in his golden boat with his silver oars besidehim. To fill his siege at the Round Table he sent, in the lad'ssixteenth year, this Dinar, who in two years was made knight by KingArthur, and in the third was turned into an old man before he hadachieved a single deed of note. 

For on the fifth day after he was made knight, and upon the Feast ofPentecost, there began the great quest of the Sancgrael, which tookSir Lancelot from the Court, Sir Perceval, Sir Bors, Sir Gawaine, SirGalahad, and all the flower of the famous brotherhood. And because, after their going, it was all sad cheer at Camelot, and heavy, emptydays, Sir Dinar took two of his best friends aside, both youngknights, Sir Galhaltin and Sir Ozanna le Coeur Hardi, and spoke tothem of riding from the Court by stealth. "For, " he said, "we havemany days before us, and no villainy upon our consciences, andbesides are eager. Who knows, then, but we may achieve thisadventure of the Sancgrael?" These listened and imparted it toanother, Sir Sentrail: and the four rode forth secretly one morningbefore the dawn, and set their faces towards the north-east wind. 

The day of their departure was that next after Christmas, the samebeing the Feast of Saint Stephen the Martyr. And as they rodethrough a thick wood, it came into Sir Dinar's mind that upon thisday it was right to kill any bird that flew, in remembrance that whenSaint Stephen had all but escaped from the soldiers who guarded him, a small bird had sung in their ears and awakened them. By this, thesky was growing white with the morning, but nothing yet clear to thesight: and while they pressed forward under the naked boughs, theirhorses' hoofs crackling the frosted undergrowth, Sir Dinar was awareof a bird's wing ruffling ahead, and let fly a bolt without warninghis companions; who had forgotten what morning it was, and drew reinfor a moment. But pressing forward again, they came upon a gerfalconlying, with long lunes tangled about his feet and through his breastthe hole that Sir Dinar's bolt had made. While they stooped overthis bird the sun rose and shone between the tree-trunks, and liftingtheir heads they saw a green glade before them, and in the midst ofthe glade three pavilions set, each of red sendal, that shone in themorning. In the first pavilion slept seven knights, and in thesecond a score of damsels, but by the door of the third stood a lady, fair and tall, in a robe of samite, who, as they drew near to accosther, inquired of them--

"Which of you has slain my gerfalcon?"

And when Sir Dinar confessed and began to make his excuse, "Sillyknight!" said she, "who couldst not guess that my falcon, too, wasabroad to avenge the blessed Stephen. Or dost think that it was ahawk, of all birds, that sang a melody in the ears of his guards?"

With that she laughed, as if pacified, and asked of their affairs;and being told that they rode in search of the Sancgrael, she laughedagain, saying--

"Silly knights all, that seek it before you be bearded! For three ofyou must faint and die on the quest, and you, sir, " turning to SirDinar, "must many times long to die, yet never reach nearer by afoot. "

"Let it be as God will, " answered Sir Dinar. "But hast thou anytidings, to guide us?"

"I have heard, " said she, "that it was seen latest in the land ofGore, beyond Trent Water. " And with her white finger she pointeddown a narrow glade that led to the north-west. So they thanked herand pricked on, none guessing that she herself was King Urience'wife, of Gore, and none other than Queen Morgan le Fay, the famousenchantress, who for loss of her gerfalcon was lightly sending SirDinar to his ruin. 

So all that day they rode, two and two, in the strait alley that shehad pointed out; and by her enchantments she made the winter trees tomove with them, serried close on either hand, so that, though thefour knights wist nothing of it, they advanced not a furlong for alltheir haste. But towards nightfall there appeared close ahead ablaze of windows lit and then a tall castle with dim towers soaringup and shaking to the din of minstrelsy. And finding a great companyabout the doors, they lit down from their horses and stepped into thegreat hall, Sir Dinar leading them. For a while their eyes weredazed, seeing that sconces flared along the walls and the place wasfull of knights and damsels brightly clad, and the floor shone. But while they were yet blinking, a band of maidens came andunbuckled their arms and cast a shining cloak upon each; which washardly done when a lady came towards them out of the throng, andthough she was truly the Queen Morgan le Fay, they knew her not atall, for by her necromancy she had altered her countenance. 

"Come, dance, " said she, "for in an instant the musicians willbegin. "

The other three knights tarried awhile, being weary with riding; butSir Dinar stepped forward and caught the hand of a damsel, and she, as she gave it, looked in his eyes and laughed. She was dressed allin scarlet, with scarlet shoes, and her hair lay on her shoulderslike waves of burnished gold. As Sir Dinar set his arm about her, with a crash the merry music began; and floating out with him intothe dance, her scarlet shoes twinkling and her tossed hair shakingspices under his nostrils, she leaned back a little on his arm andlaughed again. 

Sir Galhaltin was leaning by the doorway, and he heard her laugh andsaw her feet twinkle like blood-red moths, and he called to SirDinar. But Sir Dinar heard only the brassy music, nor did any of thedancers turn their heads, though Sir Galhaltin called a second timeand more loudly. Then Sir Sentrail and Sir Ozanna also began tocall, fearing they knew not what for their comrade. But the guestsstill drifted by as they were clouds, and Sir Dinar, with the redblood showing beneath the down on his cheeks, smiled always andwhirled with the woman upon his arm. 

By and by he began to pant, and would have rested: but she deniedhim. 

"For a moment only, " he said, "because I have ridden far to-day. "

But "No" she said, and hung a little more heavily upon his arm, andstill the music went on. And now, gating upon her, he wasfrightened; for it seemed she was growing older under his eyes, withdeep lines sinking into her face, and the flesh of her neck and bosomshrivelling up, so that the skin hung loose and gathered in wrinkles. And now he heard the voices of his companions calling about the door, and would have cast off the sorceress and run to them. But when hetried, his arm was welded around her waist, nor could he stay hisfeet. 

The three knights now, seeing the sweat upon his white face and thelooks he cast towards them, would have broken in and freed him: butthey, too, were by enchantment held there in the doorway. So, withtheir eyes starting, they must needs stay there and watch; and whilethey stood the boards became as molten brass under Sir Dinar's feet, and the hag slowly withered in his embrace; and still the musicplayed, and the other dancers cast him never a look as he whirledround and round again. But at length, with never a stay in themusic, his partner's feet trailed heavily, and, bending forward, sheshook her white locks clear of her gaunt eyes, and laughed a thirdtime, bringing her lips close to his. And the poison of death was inher lips as she set them upon his mouth. With that kiss there was acrash. The lights went out, and the music died away in a wail: andthe three knights by the door were caught away suddenly and stunnedby a great wind. 

Awaking, they found themselves lying in the glade where they had comeupon the three red pavilions. Their horses were cropping at theturf, beside them, and Sir Dinar's horse stood in sight, a little wayoff. But Sir Dinar was already deep in the forest, twirling andspinning among the rotten leaves, and on his arm hung a corruptingcorpse. For a whole day they sought him and found him not (for heheard nothing of their shouts), and towards evening mounted and rodeforward after the Sancgrael; on which quest they died, all three, each in his turn. 

But Sir Dinar remained, and twirled and skipped till the body he heldwas a skeleton; and still he twirled, till it dropped away piecemeal;and yet again, till it was but a stain of dust on his ragged sleeve. Before this his hair was white and his face wizened with age. 

But on a day a knight in white armour came riding through the forest, leaning somewhat heavily on his saddle-bow: and was aware of an olddecrepit man that ran towards him, jigging and capering as if forgladness, yet caught him by the stirrup and looked up with rheumytears in his eyes. 

"In God's name, who art thou?" asked the knight. He, too, was pasthis youth; but his face shone with a marvellous glory. 

"I am young Sir Dinar, that was made a knight of the Round Table butfive days before Pentecost. And I know thee. Thou art Sir Galahad, who shouldst win the Sancgrael: therefore by Christ's power rid me ofthis enchantment. "

"I have not won it yet, " Sir Galahad answered, sighing. "Yet, poorcomrade, I may do something for thee, though I cannot stay thydancing. "

So he stretched out his hand and touched Sir Dinar: and by his touchSir Dinar became a withered leaf of the wood. And when mothers andnurses see him dancing before the wind, they tell this story of himto their children. 

II. --"FLOWING SOURCE. "

Master Simon's inn, the "Flowing Source"--"Good Entertainment for Manand Beast"--leant over the riverside by the ferry, a mile and a halfabove Ponteglos town. The fresh water of Cuckoo River met the saltChannel tide right under its windows, by the wooden ladder whereMaster Simon chained his ferry-boat. Fourteen miles inland, a browntrout-stream singing down from the moors, plunged over a ledge ofrock into the cool depths of Cuckoo Valley. Thenceforward it ran bybeds of sundew, water-mint and asphodel, under woods so steeplyconverging that the traveller upon the ridges heard it as the trickleof water in a cavern. But just above Master Simon's inn the valleywidened out into arable and grey pasture land, and the river, too, widened and grew deep enough to float up vessels of small tonnage atthe spring tides. In summer, from the bow-window of his coffee-room, Master Simon could follow its course down through the meadows to thechurch-tower of Ponteglos and the shipping congregated there aboutthe wharves, and watch in the middle distance the sails of a barge orshallow trading-ketch moving among the haymakers. But from Novemberto March, when the floods were out, the "Flowing Source" stood abovean inland sea, with a haystack or two for lesser islets. Then theriver's course could be told only by a line of stakes on which thewild fowl rested. The meadows were covered. Only a few clumps ofreed rose above the clapping water and shook in the northerly gales. And then, when no guests came for weeks together, and the salt spraycrusted the panes so thickly that looking abroad became a wearinessof the spirit, Master Simon would reach down his long gun from thechimney-piece and polish it, and having pulled on his wading-bootsand wrapped a large woollen comforter round his throat and anotherround his head, would summon his tap-boy, unmoor the ferry-boat, andgo duck-shooting. For in winter birds innumerable haunt theriverside here--wild duck, snipe, teal, and widgeon; curlews, fieldfares, and plovers, both green and golden; rooks, starlings, little white-rumped sandpipers; herons from the upper woods and gullsfrom seaward. Master Simon had fine sport in the short days, and theinn might take care of itself, which it was perfectly well able todo. Its foundations rested on sunken piles of magnificent girth--"asstout as myself, " said Master Simon modestly--and on these it stoodso high that even the great flood of 'fifty-nine had overlapped thekitchen threshold but once, at the top of a spring tide with anorth-westerly gale behind it; and then had retreated within thehour. "It didn't put the fire out, " boasted Master Simon. 

He was proud of his inn, and for some very good reasons. To beginwith, you would not find another such building if you searchedEngland for a year. It consisted almost wholly of wood; but of suchwood! The story went that on a blowing afternoon, in the late autumnof 1588, two Spanish galleons from the Great Armada--they had beendriven right around Cape Wrath--came trailing up the estuary and tookground just above Ponteglos. Their crews landed and marched inland, and never returned. Some say the Cornishmen cut them off and slewthem. For my part, I think it more likely that these foreignersfound hospitality, and very wisely determined to settle in thecountry. Certain it is, you will find in the upland farms overCuckoo Valley a race of folks with olive complexions, black curlinghair and beards, and Southern names--Santo, Hugo, Jago, Bennett, Jose. . . . 

At all events, the Spanyers (Spaniards) never came back to theirgalleons, which lay in the ooze by the marsh meadows until the verybirds forgot to fear them, and built in their rigging. By the Rolesd'Oleron--which were, in effect, the maritime laws of that period--all wrecks or wreckage belonged to the Crown when neither an ownernor an heir of a late owner could be found for it. But in those daysthe king's law travelled lamely through Cornwall; so that when, in1605, these galleons were put up to auction and sold by the Lord ofthe Manor--who happened to be High Sheriff--nobody inquired veryclosely where the money went. It is more to the point that thetimber of them was bought by one Master Blaise--never mind thesurname; he was an ancestor of Master Simon's, and a well-to-dowool-comber of Ponteglos. 

This Master Blaise already rented the ferry-rights by Flowing Source, and certain rights of fishery above and below; and having a youngerson to provide for, he conceived the happy notion of this hostelrybeside the river. For ground-rent he agreed to carry each Michaelmasto the Lord of the Manor one penny in a silk purse; and the lord'sbailiff, on bringing the receipt, was to take annually of MasterBlaise and his heirs one jack of ale of the October brewing and onesmoke-cured salmon of not less than fifteen pounds' weight. These conditions having been duly signed, in the year 1606 MasterBlaise laid the foundations of his inn upon the timbers of onegalleon and set up the elm keelson of the other for his roof-tree. Its stout ribs, curving outwards and downwards from this magnificentbalk, supported the carvel-built roof, so that the upper half of thebuilding appeared--and indeed was--a large inverted hull, decoratedwith dormer windows, brick chimneys, and a round pigeon-housesurmounted by a gilded vane. The windows he took ready-made from theSpaniard's bulging stern-works. And for signboard he hung out, between two bulging poop-lanterns, a large bituminous painting onpanel, that had been found on board the larger galleon, and wassupposed to represent the features of her patron, Saint NicholasProdaneli. But the site of the building had always been known asFlowing Source, and by this name and no other Master Blaise's inn wascalled for over two hundred years. 

By this time its timber roof had clothed itself with moss upon thenorth side, and on the west the whole framework inclined over theriver, as though the timbers of the old galleon regretted theirproper element and strained towards it tenderly, quietly, persistently. But careful patching and repairing had kept thebuilding to all appearance as stout as ever; and any doubts of itsstability were dispelled in a moment by a glance at Master Simon, thelandlord. Master Simon's age by parish register fell short of forty, but he looked at least ten years older: a slow man with a promisingstomach and a very satisfactory balance at the bank; a notablebreeder of pigeons and fisher of eels. He could also brew strongale, and knew exactly how salmon should be broiled. He had heardthat the world revolves, and decided to stand still and let it comeround to him. Certainly a considerable number of its inhabitantsfound their way to the "Flowing Source" sooner or later. Marketerscrossed the ferry and paused for a morning drink. In the cool of theday quiet citizens rambled up from Ponteglos with rod and line, orbrought their families by boat on the high evening tide to eat creamand junket, and sit afterwards on the benches by the inn-door, watching the fish rise and listening to the song of the young peoplesome way up stream. Painters came, too, and sketched the old inn, and sometimes stayed for a week, having tasted the salmon. Pigeon-breeders dropped in and smoked long pipes in the kitchen withMaster Simon, and slowly matured bets and matches. And once or twicein the summer months a company of pilgrims would arrive--queerliterary men in velveteen coats, who examined all the rooms andfurniture as though they meant to make a bid for the inn complete;who talked with outlandish tongues and ordered expensive dinners, andusually paid for them next morning, rather to Master Simon'ssurprise. It appeared that there had been once, in the time ofMaster Simon's grandfather, a certain pot-boy at the "Flowing Source"who ran off into the world and became a great poet; and thesepilgrimages were made in his honour. Master Simon found this storysomehow very creditable to himself, and came in time to takealmost as much pride in it as in his pigeons and broiled salmon. Regularly after dinner on these occasions he would exhibit an oldpewter pint-pot to the pilgrims, and draw their attention to thefollowing verse, scratched upon it--as he asserted--by the poet's ownhand:

 Who buys beef buys bones, Who buys land buys stones, Who buys eggs buys shels, But who buys ale buys nothing els. 

And the pilgrims feigned credulity according as they valued MasterSimon's opinion of their intelligence. 

But most welcome of all were the merchant-captains from Ponteglos, among whom custom had made it a point of honour to report themselvesat the "Flowing Source" within twenty-four hours after droppinganchor by Ponteglos Quay. When or why or how the custom arose nobodywas old enough to remember; but a master mariner would as soon havethought of sailing without log or leadline as of putting in and outof Ponteglos without tasting Master Simon's ale--"calling fororders, " as they put it. Master Simon had never climbed a sea-goingship except to shake hands with a friend and wish him good passageand return to shore with the pilot; but the teak walls of his parlourwere lined with charts of such very remote parts of the globe, andhis shelves with such a quantity of foreign china and marinecuriosities, and he spoke so familiarly of Galapagos, Batavia, CapeVerde, the Horn, the Straits of Magellan, and so forth, and wouldbring his telescope so knowingly to bear on the gilt weathercock overPonteglos church tower, that until you knew the truth you would havesworn half his life had been spent on the quarter-deck. And whilethe sea-captains--serious men, attired in blue cloth, wearing ringsin their ears--sat and smoked canaster and other queer tobaccos inpainted china pipes, and talked of countries whose very namesconjured up visions of parrots, and carved idols, and sharks, andbrown natives in flashing canoes, Master Simon would put a shrewdquestion or two and wag his head over the answers as a man who hearsjust what he expected. And sometimes towards the close of thesitting, if he knew his company very well, he would reward them withhis favourite and only song, "The Golden Vanitee":

 A ship I have got in the North Countree, And I had her christened the Golden Vanitee; O, I fear she's been taken by a Spanish Gal-a-lee, As she sailed by the Lowlands low!

In some hazy way he had persuaded himself that the Spanish galleon ofthe ballad was the very ship whose timbers over-arched him and hisaudience; and for the moment, being himself inverted (so to speak) bythe potency of his own singing, he blew out his chest and straddledout his thick calves and screwed up his eyes, quite as if hisroof-tree were right-side-up once more in blue water, and he on deckbeside the weather-rail. But the mood began to pass as soon as hebolted the front door behind his guests, and Ann the cook poured himout his last cup of mulled ale and withdrew with the saucepan. And another noon would find him seated under his leaning house-front, his eyes half-closed, his attention divided between the whisper ofthe tide and the murmur in the pigeon-cotes overhead, his body atease and his soul content. His was a happy life--or had been, butfor two crumpled rose-leaves. 

To begin with, there were those confounded pot-boys. It puzzledMaster Simon almost as much as it annoyed him; he paid fair wages andpassed for a good employer; but he could not keep a pot-boy fortwelve months. As a matter of fact, I know the river to have beenthe bottom of the mischief--the river, and perhaps the talk of theship-captains. It might satisfy Master Simon to sit and watch thesalmon passing up in autumn towards their spawning beds, and rubbing, as they went, their scales against his landing-stage to clear them ofthe sea-lice; to watch them and their young passing seaward in theearly spring; to watch and wait and spread his nets in the dueseason. But for the youngsters this running water was a constantlure--the song of it and the dimple on it. It coaxed them, as itcoaxed the old galleon, to lean over and listen. And the moment thatlistening became intolerable, they were off. Only one of them--thepoet before mentioned--had ever expressed any desire to return andrevisit--

 The shining levels and the dazzled wave Emerging from his covert, errant long, In solitude descending by a vale Lost between uplands, where the harvesters Pause in the swathe, shading their eyes to watch Some barge or schooner stealing up from sea; Themselves in sunset, she a twilit ghost Parting the twilit woods . . 

 Ah, loving God! Grant, in the end, this world may slip away With whisper of that water by the bows Of such a bark, bearing me home--thy stars Breaking the gloom like kingfishers, thy heights Golden with wheat, thy waiting angels there Wearing the dear rough faces of my kin!

I doubt if he meant it, any more than Virgil meant his "_flumina amemsilvasque inglorius_. " At any rate, the public knew what was due toitself, and when the time came, gave the man a handsome funeral inWestminster Abbey. Among his pall-bearers walked the Prime Minister, the Commander-in-Chief, the President of the Royal Academy of Arts, and (as representing rural life) the Chief Secretary of ForeignAffairs. 

What else disturbed the placid current of Master Simon's cogitations?Why, this: he was the last of his race, and unmarried. 

For himself, he had no inclination to marry. But sometimes, as heshaved his chin of a morning, the reflection in his round mirrorwould suggest another. Was he not neglecting a public duty?

Now there dwelt down at Ponteglos a Mistress Prudence Waddilove, awidow, who kept the "Pandora's Box" Inn on the quay--a very tidybusiness. Master Simon had known her long before she married thelate Waddilove; had indeed sat on the same form with her in infants' school--she being by two years his junior, but always atrifle quicker of wit. He attended her husband's funeral in aneighbourly way, and, a week later, put on his black suit again andwent down--still in a neighbourly way--to offer his condolence. Mistress Prudence received him in the best parlour, which smelt dampand chilly in comparison with the little room behind the bar. Master Simon remarked that she must be finding it lonely. Whereupon she wept. 

Master Simon suggested that he, for his part, had triedpigeon-breeding, and found that it alleviated solitude in a wonderfulmanner. "There's my tumblers. If you like, I'll bring you down apair. They're pretty to watch. Of course, a husband is different--"

"Of course, " Mistress Prudence assented, her grief too recent toallow a smile even at the picture of the late Waddilove (a man offull habit) cleaving the air with frequent somersaults. She added, not quite inconsequently:

"He is an angel. "

"Of course, " said Master Simon, in his turn. 

"But I think, " she went on, quite inconsequently, "I would ratherhave a pair of carriers. "

"Now, why in the world?" wondered Master Simon. He kept carrierpigeons, to be sure. He kept pigeons of every sort--tumblers, pouters, carriers, Belgians, dragons . . . The subdivisions, when youcame to them, were endless. But the carriers were by no means hisshow-birds. He kept them mainly for the convenience of Ann the cook. Ann had a cunning eye for a pigeon, and sometimes ventured a trifleof her savings on a match; and though in his masculine pride he neverconsulted her, Master Simon always felt more confident on hearingthat Ann had put money on his bird. Now, when a match took place atsome distant town or flying-ground, Ann would naturally be anxious tolearn the result as quickly as possible; and Master Simon, findingthat the suspense affected her cookery, had fallen into the habit oftaking a hamper of carriers to all distant meetings and speeding themback to "Flowing Source" with tidings of his fortune. Apart fromthis office--which they performed well enough--he took no specialpride in them. The offer of a pair of his pet tumblers, worth theirweight in gold, had cost him an effort; and when Mistress Prudence, ordinarily a clear-headed woman, declared that she preferredcarriers, she could hardly have astonished him more by asking for apair of stock-doves. 

"Oh, certainly, " he answered, and went home and thought it over. Women were a puzzle; but he had a dim notion that if he could layhand on the reason why Mistress Prudence preferred ordinary carriersto prize tumblers, he would hold the key to some of the secrets ofthe sex. He thought it over for three days, during which he smokedmore tobacco than was good for him. At about four o'clock in theafternoon of the third day, a smile enlarged his face. He set downhis pipe, smacked his thigh, stood up, sat down again, and began tolaugh. He laughed slowly and deliberately--not loudly--for thegreater part of that evening, and woke up twice in the night andshook the bedclothes into long waves with his mirth. 

Next morning he took two carriers from the cote, shut them in ahamper, and rowed down to Ponteglos with his gift. But Mrs. Waddilove was not at home. She had started early by van forTregarrick (said the waitress at the "Pandora's Box") on businessconnected with her husband's will. "No hurry at all, " said MasterSimon. He slipped a handful of Indian corn under the lid, and leftthe hamper "with his respects. "

Then he rowed home, and spent the next two days after his wont; theonly observable difference being the position of his garden chair. It stood as a rule under the shadow of the broad eaves, but nowMaster Simon ordered the tap-boy to carry it out and set it by arustic table close to the river's brink, whence, as he smoked, hecould keep comfortable watch upon the pigeon-cote. 

"You'll catch a sunstroke, " said Ann the cook. "I hope you're notbeginning to forget how to take care of yourself. "

"Well, I hope so too, " Master Simon answered; but he did not budge. 

On the morning of the third day, however, he saw that which made himstep indoors and mount to the attic under the cote. Having openedwith much caution a trap-door in the roof, he slipped an arm out andcaptured a carrier pigeon. 

The bird carried a note folded small and bound under its wing with athread of silk. Master Simon opened the note and read:

 If you loves me as I loves you, No knife can cut our loves in two. 

He had prepared himself for a hearty chuckle; but he broke out with aprofuse perspiration instead. "Oh, this is hustling a man!" heingeminated, staring round the empty attic like a rabbit seeking aconvenient hole. "Not three weeks buried!" he added, with anothergroan, and began to loosen his neck-cloth. 

While thus engaged, he heard a flutter above the trap-door, and asecond pigeon alighted, with a second note, also bound with a silkenthread. 

"Lor-a-mercy!" gasped Master Simon. 

But the second note was written in a different hand, and ran asfollows:

"_I could die of shame. It was all that hussy of a girl. She did itfor a joke. I'll joke her. But what will you be thinking?--P. W. _"

Master Simon rowed down to Ponteglos that very afternoon, and the twocarriers went back with him. Happiness seemed to have shaken itswings and quite departed from "Pandora's Box"; but a twinkle ofsomething not entirely unlike hope lurked in the corners of thewaitress's eyes--albeit their lids were red and swollen--as sheushered Master Simon into the best parlour. 

"What can you be thinking of me?" began the widow. _Her_ eyes werered and swollen, too. 

"I've brought back the pigeons. "

"I can never bear the sight of them again!"

"You might begin different, you know, " suggested Master Simon, affably. "Some little message about the weather, for instance. Have you given that girl warning to leave?"

"You see, I'm so lonely here . . . "

Some three months after this, and on an exceptionally fine morning inSeptember, Master Simon put Harmony, his celebrated almond hen, intoher travelling hamper, and marched over to the crossroads to takecoach for Illogan, in the mining district, where the matches for thechampionship cup were to be flown that year. 

Now Ann the cook had ventured no less than five pounds upon Harmony. Five pounds represented a half of her annual wage, and a trifle lessthan half of her annual savings. Therefore she spent the greaterpart of the following afternoon at her window, gazing westward in nosmall perturbation of spirit. 

It wanted a few minutes to five when a carrier pigeon came travellingacross the zenith, shot downwards suddenly, and alighted on the roof. Ann climbed to the trap-door and put out a hand. The bird waspreening his feathers, and allowed himself to be taken easily. 

In circumstances less agitating Ann had not failed to observe thatthe thread about the messenger's wing was not of the kind that MasterSimon used. But her eyes opened wide as they fell on thehandwriting, and still wider as she read:

"_It is all for the best, perhaps. If only people have not begun totalk_. --Prudence. "

A second messenger arrived towards evening with word of Harmony'ssuccess. But the news hardly relaxed Ann's brow, which kept apensive contraction even when her master arrived next evening andpoured out her winnings on the table from the silver challenge cup. 

She wore this frown at intervals for a fortnight, and all the whilemaintained an unusual silence which puzzled Master Simon. Then onemorning he heard her in the kitchen scolding the tap-boy with all herpristine heartiness. That night, after mulling her master's ale, sheturned at the door, saucepan in hand, and coughed to attractattention. 

"Well, Ann; what is it?"

"You've been philanderin'. "

"Hey! Upon my word, Ann--"

Ann produced the Widow Waddilove's note and flattened it out underMaster Simon's eyes. And Master Simon blushed painfully. 

"Are you goin' to marry the woman?" Ann demanded. 

"I think not. "

"I reckon you will. "

"Well, you see, there has been a hitch. She won't leave the'Pandora's Box, ' and I'm not going to budge from 'Flowing Source. 'If a woman won't put herself out to that extent--Besides, she cooksno better than you. "

"Not so well. You wasn't thinking, by any chance, o' marrying _me_?"

"Ann, you're perfectly brazen! Well, no; to tell you the plaintruth, I wasn't. "

"That's all right; because I've gone and promised myself to a youngfarmer up the valley. "

"What's his name?"

"I shan't tell you; for the reason that I've a second to fall backon, if I find on acquaintance that the first won't do. But first orsecond, I'll marry one or t'other at the month-end, and so I give younotice. "

Master Simon sighed. "Well! well! I must get on as best I can withTom for a while. " Tom was the tap-boy. 

"Tom's going, too. I bullied him so this morning that he means togive notice to-morrow; that is, if he don't save himself the troubleby running off to sea. "

"The twelfth in five years!" ejaculated Master Simon, stopping hispipe viciously. 

"And small blame to them! Married man or mariner--that's what a boyis born for. Better dare wreck or wedlock than sit here and talkabout both. Take my advice, master, and marry the widow!"

Ann carried out her own matrimonial programme, at any rate, withspirit and determination. Finding the first young farmersatisfactory, she espoused him at the end of the month, and turnedher back on "Flowing Source. " And Tom the tap-boy fulfilled herprophecy and ran away to sea. And the old inn leaned after him untilits timbers creaked. And the autumn floods rose and covered themeadows. 

Master Simon sat and smoked, and made his own bed, and accomplishedsome execrable cookery in the intervals of oiling his duck-gun. Even duck-shooting becomes a weariness when a man has to manage gunand punt single-handed. One afternoon he abandoned the sport in anexceedingly bad temper, and pulled up to the jaws of Cuckoo Valley. Here he landed, and after an hour's trudge in the marshy bottoms hadthe luck to knock over two couple of woodcock. 

He rowed back with his spoil, and was making fast to the ferry steps, when a thought struck him. He shipped the paddles again, and pulleddown to Ponteglos. The short day was closing, and already a youngmoon glimmered on the floods. 

The woodcock were cooked to a turn; juicier birds never reclined ontoast. The waitress removed the cloth and returned with a kettle;retired and returned again with a short-necked bottle, a glass andspoon, sugar, a nutmeg, and a lemon; retired with a twinkle in hereye. 

"To fortify you!" said Mistress Prudence, rubbing a lump of sugargently on the lemon-rind. 

"The night air, " Master Simon murmured. 

"--Against the damp house you're going back to, " the lady corrected. 

"You talk without giving it a trial. "

"As you talk, in your parlour, of deep-sea voyages. "

"As a ship's captain you would respect me perhaps?"

"No, for you haven't the head. But I should like your pluck. If I saw you setting off for sea in earnest, I would run out and giveyou a chance to steer a woman instead of a ship. You would find hersafer. "

Master Simon emptied his glass, rose, and wound his great comforterabout his neck. The widow saw him to the door. 

"You're a very obstinate woman, " he said. 

And with this he unmoored his boat and rowed resolutely homewards. A strong wind came piping down on the back of a strong tide, andMaster Simon arched his shoulders against it. 

"Married man or mariner!" it piped, as he rounded the first bend. 

"I know my own mind, I believe, " said Master Simon to himself. "There's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it; and forsalmon, 'Flowing Source' will beat Christchurch any day, I've alwaysmaintained. "

"Married man or mariner!" piped the wind in the words of Ann thecook. 

Master Simon pulled his left paddle hard and rounded the second bend. 

"Married man or mar--"

Crash!

His heels flew up and his head struck the bottom-boards. Then, in amoment, the boat was gone, and a rush of water sang in his ears andchoked him. He saw a black shadow overhanging, and clutched at it. 

Mistress Prudence stood in her doorway on the quay, as Master Simonhad left her. In the room above, the waitress blew out her candle, drew up the blind, and opened her window to the moonlight. 

"Selina!" the mistress called. 

Selina thrust out her head. 

"What's that coming down the river?"

A black, unshapely mass was moving swiftly down towards the quay. 

"I think 'tis a haystack, " Selina whispered, and then, "Lord save usall, there's a man on it!"

"A man?" cried the widow, shrilly. "What man?"

A voice answered the question, calling for help out of the river--avoice that she knew. 

"What is it?" she called back. 

"I think, " quavered Master Simon, "I think 'tis the roof o' 'FlowingSource'!"

Mistress Prudence ran down the quay steps, cast off the first boatthat lay handy, and pulled towards the dark mass sweeping seaward. As it crossed ahead of her bows, she dropped the paddles, ran to thepainter, and flung it forward with all her might. 

The "Pandora's Box" Inn stands on Ponteglos Quay to this day. Andall that is left of "Flowing Source" hangs on the wall of its bestparlour--four dark oak timbers forming a frame around a portrait, theportrait of a woman of middle age and comfortable countenance. In the right-hand top corner of the picture, in letters of fadedgold, runs the legend--VXOR BONA INSTAR NAVIS. 

EXPERIMENTS. 

I. --A YOUNG MAN'S DIARY. 

_Monday, Sept. 7th_, 189-. I am one year old to-day. 

I imagine that most people regard their first birthday as somethingof an event; a harvest-home of innocence, touched with I know not howdelicate a bloom of virginal anticipation; of emotion too volatilefor analysis, or perhaps eluding analysis by its very simplicity. But whatever point the festival might have had for me was rudelydestroyed by my parents, who chose this day for jolting me back toLondon in a railway-carriage. We have just arrived home fromNewquay, Cornwall, where we have been spending the summer holidaysfor the sake of my health, as papa has not scrupled to blurt out, once or twice, in my presence. 

There is a strain of coarseness in papa; or perhaps I should say--forthe impression it leaves is primarily negative, as of something_manque_--an incompleteness in the sensitive equipment. As yet itcan hardly be said to embarrass me; though I foresee a time when Ishall have to apologise for it to strangers. There is nothing absurdin this. If a man may take pride in his ancestry, why may he notapologise for his papa? My papa will be forgiven, for he is sosplendidly virile! He left our compartment at Bristol and did notreturn again until the train stopped at Swindon for him to eat a bun. In the interval, mamma took me from nurse and endeavoured to hush meby singing--

 Father's gone a-hunting. . . . 

Which was untrue, for he had lit a pipe and withdrawn to a smokingcompartment. My nurse--an egregious female--had previously remarked, "The dear child _do_ take such notice of the puff-puff!" As a matterof fact, I took no interest in the locomotive; but I had observed itsufficiently to be sure that it offered no facilities for hunting. A few months ago I might have accepted the explanation: for ourfamily has affinity with what is vulgarly termed the upper class, andmy father inherits its crude and primitive instincts; among them apassion for the chase. His appearance, as he returned to ourcompartment, oppressed me for the hundredth time with a sense of itssuperabundant and even riotous vitality. His cheeks were glowing, and his whiskers sprouted like cabbages on either side of hisotherwise clean-shaven face. An indefinable flavour of the seamingled with the odour of tobacco which he diffused about thecarriage. It seemed as if the virile breezes of that shaggy Cornishcoast still blew about him; and I felt again that constriction of thechest from which I had suffered during the past month. 

After all, it is good to be back in London! Newquay, with itsobvious picturesqueness, its violent colouring, its sands, rocks, breakers and by-laws regulating the costume of bathers, merelyexasperated my nerves. How far more subtle the appeal of these greyand dun-coloured opacities, these tent-cloths of fog pressed out intouncouth, dumbly pathetic shapes by the struggle for existence thatseethes below it always--always! Decidedly I must begin to-morrow topractise walking. It seems a necessary step towards acquaintingmyself with the inner life of these inchoate millions, which must bewell worth knowing. Papa, on arriving at our door, plunged into analtercation with a cab-tout. What a man! And yet sometimes I couldfind it in my heart to envy his robustness, his buoyancy. A Huntleyand Palmer's Nursery Biscuit in a little hot water has somewhatquieted my nerves, which suffered cruelly during the scene. I believe I shall sleep to-night. 

_Tuesday, 8th_. The beginning of _Sturm und Drang_; I am learning towalk. Moreover I have surprised in myself, during the day, atendency to fall in love with my nurse. On the pretence that walkingmight give me bandy legs she caught me up and pressed me to herbosom. We have no affinities; indeed, beyond cleanliness and acertain unreasoning honesty, she can be said to possess no attributesat all. I am convinced that a serious affection for her could onlyflourish on an intellectual atrophy; and yet for a while I abandonedmyself. We went out into the bright streets together, and it wasdelicious to be propelled by her strong arms. We halted, on our wayto Kensington Gardens, to listen to a German band. The voluptuouswaltz-music affected me strangely, and I was sorry that, owing to myposition in the vehicle, her face was hidden from me. In the midstof my ecstasy, a square object on wheels came round the streetcorner. It was painted a bright vermilion and bore the initials ofK. V. --"Kytherea Victrix!" I cried in my heart; but as it passed, at aslow pace, it rained a flood of tears upon the dusty road-way. For some time after I sat in a strange calm, but with a sensation inthe region of the diaphragm as if I had received a severe blow; andin truth I had. But the shock was salutary, and by the time thatnurse and I were seated together by the Round Pond, I was able tolisten to her talk without a quiver of the eyelids. Poor soul!What malefic jest of Fate led her to select the story ofGeorgie-Porgie?

 Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie. . . . 

It is as irrelevant as life itself. 

 Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry. . . . 

Why pudding? Why pie? Why--if you ask this--why _any_ realism?These concrete accidents solidify a thin and abstract love-story forour human comprehension. Or are they, perchance, symbolical?Georgie-Porgie's promises, like pie-crust, were made to be broken. He--

 Kissed the girls and made them cry. When the girls came out to play, Georgie-Porgie ran away. 

--Simple solution of the difficulty! And I am already learning towalk! Poor woman!

_Wednesday, 9th_. I am troubled whenever I reflect on the subject ofheredity. It terrifies me to think that I may grow up to resemblepapa. Mamma, too, is hardly less a savage: she wore diamonds in herhair when she came up to the nursery, late last night, to look at me. She believed that I was asleep; but I wasn't, and I never in my lifefelt so sorry that I couldn't speak. The appalling barbarism ofthose trinkets! I got out of the cradle and rocked myself to sleep. 

It is raining this afternoon--the sky weeping like a Corot--andI am forced to stay indoors and affect an interest in Noah and hisark! Nurse's father came up and accosted her in the Gardens thismorning. He is one of the Submerged Tenth, and extremelyinteresting. On the threat of running off with me and pitching meneck and crop into the Round Pond, he extracted half a crown fromher. She gave him the coin docilely. I found myself almost hopingthat he would raise his price, that I might discover how much thepoor creature was ready to sacrifice for my sake. She is lookingpale this afternoon; but this may be because I cried half the nightand kept her awake. The fact is, I was cutting a tooth. I havegiven up learning to walk; but have some idea of trying somnambulisminstead. 

_Thursday, 10th_. To-day I was spanked for the first time. When Ihave stopped crying, I mean to analyse my sensations. Sometimes, inKensington Gardens, I feel like a boy who is never growing up. . . 

II. --THE CAPTAIN FROM BATH. 

Extract from the Memoirs of GABRIEL FOOT, Highwayman. 

Our plan of attack upon Nanscarne House was a simple one. 

The old baronet, Sir Harry Dinnis, took a just pride in hissilver-ware. Some of it dated from Elizabeth: for Sir Harry'sgreat-great-grandfather, as the unhappy alternative of melting itdown for King Charles, had taken arms against his Majesty and comeout of the troubles of those times with wealth and credit. 

The house, too, was Elizabethan, shaped like the letter L, and, likethat letter, facing eastward. The longer arm, which looked down thesteep slope of the park, contained the entrance-hall, chapel, dining-hall, principal living-rooms, and kitchens. 

The ground-floor of the other (and to us more important) arm wastaken up by the housekeeper's rooms, audit-room and various offices, the butler's bedroom, and the strong-room, where the plate lay. On the upper floor a long gallery full of pictures ran from end toend, with a line of doors on the southern side, all opening intobedrooms, except one which led to the back-stairs. 

Now, properly speaking, the strong-room was no strong-room at all. It had an ordinary deal door and an ordinary country-made lock. But in some ways it was very strong indeed. The only approach to iton the ground-floor lay through the butler's bedroom, of which youmight call it but a cupboard. It had no window, and could nottherefore be attacked from outside. The very small amount of lightthat entered it filtered through a pane of glass in the wall of theback-staircase, which ran up close behind. 

I have said enough, I hope, for any reflective man to draw theconclusion that, since we desired no unpleasantness with the butler(a man between fifty and sixty, and notoriously incorruptible), ouronly plan was to make an entrance upstairs by the long window at theend of the picture gallery or corridor--whichever you choose to callit--descend the back-stairs, remove the pane of glass from the wall, and gain the strong-room through the opening. 

The house was dark from end to end, and the stable clock had justchimed the quarter after midnight, when I went up the ladder. I never looked for much carefulness in this honest country household, but I did expect to spend twenty minutes on the heavy lead-work ofthe lower panes, and it seemed as good as a miracle to find thelattice unlatched and opening to the first gentle pull. I pressed itback; hitched it under a stem of ivy that the wind might not slam itafter me; and, signalling down to Jimmy at the foot of the ladder towait for my report, pulled myself over the sill and dropped softlyinto the gallery. 

And then somebody stepped quickly from behind the heavy windowcurtain, reached out, shut the lattice smartly behind me, and saidcomposedly--

"Show a light, Jenkins, and let us have a look at the gentleman. "

Though it concerned my neck, I was taken too quickly aback to stir;but stood like a stuck pig, while the butler fumbled with histinder-box. 

"Light _all_ the candles!"

"If it please you, Sir Harry, " Jenkins answered, puffing at thetinder. 

The first thing I saw by the blue light of the brimstone match wasthe barrel of old Sir Harry's pistol glimmering about six inches frommy nose. On my left stood a long-legged footman, also with a pistol. But all this, though discomposing, was no more than I had begun toexpect. What really startled me, as old Jenkins lit the candles, wasthe sight of two women standing a few paces off, beneath a tallpicture of a gentleman with a big lace collar. One of them, a shortwoman with a bunchy shape, I recognised for the housekeeper. The other I guessed as quickly to be Sir Harry's daughter, MistressKate--a tall and slender young lady, dark-haired, and handsome as anyman could wish. She was wrapped in a long travelling-cloak, the hoodof which fell a little off her shoulders, allowing a glimpse of whitesatin. A train of white satin reached below the cloak, and coiledabout her pretty feet. 

Now, the change from darkness to very bright light--for Jenkins wentdown the gallery lighting candle after candle, as if for a bigreception--made us all wink a bit. And excitement would account forthe white of the young lady's cheeks--I dare say I had turned prettypale myself. But it did not seem to me to account for the look ofsheer blank astonishment--no, it was more than this; a wild kind ofwonder would be nearer the mark--that came into her eyes and stayedthere. And I didn't quite see why she should put a hand suddenlyagainst the wainscot, and from sickly white go red as fire and thenback to white again. If they were sitting up for housebreakers, Iwas decidedly a better-looking one than they had any right to expect. The eyes of the others were fastened on me. I was the only one totake note of the girl's behaviour: and I declare I spared a secondfrom the consideration of my own case to wonder what the deuce wasthe matter with her. 

"Well, upon my soul!" cried Sir Harry, with something between a laughand a sniff of disgust; and the footman on the other side of meechoed it with a silly cackle. "He certainly doesn't look as if hecame from Bath!"

"Sir, " I expostulated--for when events seem likely to proveoverwhelming, I usually find myself clutching at my originalrespectability--"Sir, although the force of circumstances has broughtme thus low, I am by birth and education a gentleman. Having toldyou this, I trust that you will remember it, even in the heat of yournatural resentment. "

"You speak almost as prettily as you write, " he answered scornfully, pulling a letter from his pocket. 

"This is beyond me, " thought I; for of course I knew it could be noletter of mine. Besides, a glance told me that I had never set eyeson the paper or handwriting before. I think my next remark showedself-possession. "Would you be kind enough to explain?" I asked. 

"I rather think that should be your business, " said he; and faith, Iallowed the justice of that contention, awkward though it was. Buthe went on, "It astonishes you, I dare say, to see this letter in myhand?"

It did. I acknowledged as much with a bow. 

He began to read in an affected mimicking voice, "_My ever-lovedKate, since your worthy but wrong-headed father_--"

"Father!" It sounded like an echo. It came from the young lady, who had sprung forward indignantly, and was holding out a hand forthe letter. "The servants! Have you not degraded me enough?"She stamped her foot. 

The old gentleman folded up the letter again, and gave it into herhand with a cold bow. She was handing it to me--Oh, the unfathomabledepth of woman!--when he interfered. 

"For your own delectation if you will, miss; but as your protector Imust ask you not to give it back. "

He turned towards me again. As he did so, I caught over hisshoulder, or fancied I caught, a glance from Miss Kate that was atonce a warning and an appeal. The next moment her eyes were bentshamefast upon the floor. I began to divine. 

Said I, "If that's a sample of your manner towards your daughter, even you, in your cooler moments, can hardly wonder that she choosesanother protector. "

"Protector!" he repeated, lifting his eyebrows; and that infernalfootman cackled again. 

"If you can't behave with common politeness to a lady, " I put insmartly, "you might at least exhibit enough of rude intelligence tolay hold of an argument that's as plain as the nose on your face!"

"Gently, my good sir!" said he. "Do you know that, if I choose, Ican march you off to jail for a common housebreaker?"

I should think I did know it--a plaguy sight better than he!

"To begin with, " he went on, "you look like one, for all the world. "

This was sailing too close for my liking. 

"Old gentleman, " said I, "you are wearisomely dull. Possibly I hadbetter explain at length. To be frank, then, I had counted, in caseof failure, to avoid all scandal to your daughter's name. I hadhoped (you will excuse me) to have carried her off and evaded youuntil I could present myself as her husband. If baffled in this, Iproposed to make my escape as a common burglar surprised upon yourpremises. It seems to me, " I wound up, including the three servantswith an indignant sweep of the arm, "that you might well haveemulated my delicacy! As it is, I must trouble you to recognise it. "

"Heaven send, " I added to myself, "that the real inamorato keeps hisbungling foot out of this till I get clear!" And I reflected withmuch comfort that he was hardly likely to make an attempt uponpremises so brilliantly lit up. 

"In justice to my daughter's taste, " replied Sir Harry, "I am willingto believe you looked something less like a jail-bird when she metyou in the Pump Room at Bath. You have fine clothes in yourportmanteau no doubt, and I sincerely trust they make all thedifference to your appearance. But a fine suit is no expensiveoutfit for the capture of an heiress. You may be the commonest ofadventurers. How do I know, even, what right you have to the nameyou carry?"

If he didn't, it was still more certain that I didn't. Indeed hehad a conspicuous advantage over me in knowing what that name was. This very painful difficulty had hardly presented itself, however, before the girl's wit smoothed it away. She spoke up, --looking asinnocent as an angel, too. 

"Captain Fitzroy Pilkington could add no lustre to his name, father, by giving it to me. His family is as good as our own, and his nameis one to be proud of. "

"So it is, my dear, " thought I, "if I can only remember it. So it'sCaptain Fitzroy Pilkington I am--and from Bath. Decidedly I shouldhave taken some time in guessing it. "

"I suppose, sir, I may take it for granted you have not brought yourcredentials here to-night?" said the old boy, with a grim smile. 

It was lucky he had not thought of searching my pockets for them. 

"Scarcely, sir, " I answered, smiling too and catching his mood; andthen thought I would play a bold card for freedom. "Come, come, sir, " I said; "I have tried to deceive you, and you have enjoyed avery adequate revenge. Do not prolong this interview to the point ofinflicting torture on two hearts whose only crime is that of lovingtoo ardently. You have your daughter. Suffer me to return to theinn in the village, and in the morning I will call on you with mycredentials and humbly ask for her hand. If, on due examination ofmy history and circumstances, you see fit to refuse me--why then youmake two lovers miserable: but I give you my word--the word of aFitzroy Pilkington--that I will respect that decision. 'Parciusjunctas quatiam fenestras': or, rather, I will discontinue thepractice altogether. "

"William, " said Sir Harry, shortly, to the footman, "show Mr. Pilkington to the door. Will you take your ladder away with you, sir, or will you call for it to-morrow?"

"To-morrow will do, " I said, airily, and stepping across to MistressKate I took her hand and raised it as if for a kiss. Her fingersgave mine an appreciative squeeze. 

"But who in the world are you?" she whispered. 

"I think, " said I, bending over her hand, "I have fairly earned theright to withhold that. "

Sir Harry bowed a stiff good night to me, and William, the footman, took a candle and led the way along the gallery and down the greatstaircase to the front door. While he undid the chain and bolts Iwas thinking that he would be all the better for a kick; and as hedrew aside to let me pass I took him quickly by the collar, spun himround, and gave him one. A flight of a dozen steps led down from thefront door, and he pitched clean to the bottom. Running down after, I skipped over his prostrate body and walked briskly away in thedarkness, whistling and feeling better. 

I went round the end of the gallery wing, just to satisfy myself thatJimmy had got away with the ladder, and then I struck across theplantation in the direction of the village. The June day wasbreaking before I turned out of the woods into the high road, andalready the mowers were out and tramping to their work. But in theporchway of the village inn--called the "Well-diggers' Arms"--whatever they may be--I surprised a cockneyfied groom in the act ofkissing a maiden who, having a milk-pail in either hand, could not beexpected to resist. 

"H'm, " said I to the man, "I am sorry to appear inopportunely, but Ihave a message for your master. "

The maiden fled. "And who the doose may you be?" asked the groom, eyeing me up and down. 

"I think, " I answered, "it will be enough for you that I come fromNanscarne. You were late there. Oh, yes, " I went on sharply, forfellows of this class have a knack of irritating me, "and I have amessage for your master which I'll trouble you to deliver when hecomes down to breakfast. You will tell him, if you please, that SirHarry was expecting him last night, and the lights he saw lit in thelong gallery were there for his reception. You won't forget?"

"Who sent you here?" the fellow asked. 

"On second thoughts, " I continued, "you had better go in and wakeCaptain Fitzroy Pilkington up at once. He will pardon you when hehas my message, for Sir Harry's temper is notoriously impatient. "

And with that I turned and left him, for it was high time to findout how Jimmy had been faring. The past night's experience musthave given him a shock, and I reckoned to give him another. I wasn't disappointed either. I walked leisurably down the villagestreet, then crossed the hedge and doubled back on the high moors. At length, drawing near the old gravel-pit, where we had fixed tomeet in case of separation, I dropped on all-fours and so came up tothe edge and gave a whistle. 

Jimmy was sitting with his back to me, and about to cut a hunch ofbread to eat with his cold bacon for breakfast. Instead, he cut histhumb, and jumped up, singing out--

"S'help me, but I never looked to see you again outside o' the dock!"

"No more you did, " said I; and climbing down and sitting on agravel-heap beside him, I told him all the story. 

"And now, Jimmy, " I wound up, "you must guess what I'm going to do. "

"I don't need to, " said he. "I know. "

"I wager you don't. "

"I wager I do. "

"Well, then, I'm going back. Was that what you guessed?"

"I think you will not. "

"Ah, but I will, " said I. "I swore by the blood of a FitzroyPilkington I'd be back in the morning, and I can't retreat from sotremendous an oath as that. Back I mean to go. As for the realCaptain--if Captain he is--I fancy I've scared him out of thisneighbourhood for some time to come. And as for the credentials, Ifancy, at my time of life, I should be able to write my owncommendation. I believe the old boy has a sneaking good-will towardsme. I can't answer for the girl; but I can answer that she'll holdher tongue for a while, at all events. This life doesn't become aman of my education and natural ability. And the risk is worthrunning. "

"I wouldn't, if I were you, " says he, very drily. 

"And why not?"

"Well, you see, when I heard the noise last night, and all the placegrew light as it did, I was just starting to run for dear life, tillit struck me that if the folks meant to go searching for me theywouldn't begin by lighting the picture-gallery from end to end. So I drew close under shadow of the wall and waited, ready to run atany moment. But after a while, finding that nothing happened, I grewcurious and crept up after you and looked in through the window, verycautious. A nice fix you seemed to be in; but old Jenkins was there. And while Jenkins was there--"

"Well?"

"Well, I should have thought you might have guessed. The bolt of hisbedroom window wasn't hard to force, nor the lock of the small room. Being single-handed, I had to pick and choose what to carry off. But if you'll look under the bracken yonder you'll own I know my wayamong silver-ware. "

I looked at him for a moment, and then lay gently back on the turfand laughed till I was tired of laughing.