Hed go fast enough for my voice, said Alfred.
You know Id never go for to beat him, continued Harold; but it was enough to vex a chapwasnt it?to have Mother coming and lugging one off from the carrying, and away from the supper and all. Women always grudge one a bit of fun!
Mother never grudged us cricket, nor nothing in reason, said Alfred. Lucky you that could make hay at all! And what made you so taken up with that new boy that Ellen runs on against, and will have it hes a convict?
A convict! if Ellen says that again! cried Harold; no more a convict than she is.
What is he, then? Where does he come from?
His name is Paul Blackthorn, said Harold; and hes the queerest chap I ever came across. Why, he knew no more what to do with a prong than the farmers old sow till I shewed him.
But where did he come from? repeated Alfred.
He walked all the way from Piggots turnpike yesterday, said Harold. Hes looking for work.
And before that?
Hed been in the Union outoh! somewhere, I forgot where, but its a name in the Postal Guide.
Well, but youve not said who he is, said Ellen.
Who? why, I tell you, hes Paul Blackthorn.
But I suppose he had a father and mother, said Ellen.
No, said Harold.
No! Ellen and Alfred cried out together.
Not as ever he heard tell of, said Harold composedly, as if this were quite natural and common.
And you could go and be raking with him like born brothers there! said Ellen, in horror.
Dye think Id care for stuff like that? said Harold. Why, he singshe sings better than Jack Lyte! Hes learnt to sing, you know. And hes such a comical fellow! he said Mr. Shepherd was like a big pig on his hind legs; and when Mrs. Shepherd came out to count the scraps after we had done, what does he do but whisper to me to know how long our withered cyder apples had come to life!
Such talents for amusing others evidently far out-weighed in Harolds consideration such trifling points as fathers, mothers, and respectability. Alfred laughed; but Ellen thought it no laughing matter, and reproved Harold for being wicked enough to hear his betters made game of.
My betters! said Haroldan old skinflint like Farmer Shepherds old woman?
Hush, Harold! Ill tell Mother of you, that I will! cried Ellen.
Do then, said Harold, who knew his sister would do no such thing. She had made the threat too often, and then not kept her word.
She contented herself with saying, Well, all I know is, that Im sure now he has run away out of prison, and is no better than a thief; and if our place isnt broken into before to-morrow morning, and Mothers silver sugar-tongs gone, it will be a mercy. Im sure I shant sleep a wink all night.
Both boys laughed, and Alfred asked why he had not done it last night.
How should I know? said Ellen. Most likely he wanted to see the way about the place, before he calls the rest of the gang.
Take care, Harold! its a gang coming now, said Alfred, laughing again. All coming on purpose to steal the sugar-tongs!
No, Ill tell you what they are come to steal, said Harold mischievously; its all for Ellens fine green ivy-leaf brooch that Matilda sent her!
I dare say Harold has been and told him everything valuable in the house! said Ellen.
I think, said Alfred gravely, it would be a very odd sort of thief to come here, when the farmers ploughing cup is just by.
Yes, said Harold, Id better have told him of that when I was about it; dont you think so, Nelly?
If you go on at this rate, said Ellen, teased into anger, youll be robbing the post-office yourself some day.
Ay! and Ill get Paul Blackthorn to help me, said the boy. Come, Ellen, dont be so foolish; I tell you hes every bit as honest as I am, Id go bail for him.
And I know hell lead you to ruin! cried Ellen, half crying: a boy that comes from nowhere and nobody knows, and sleeps on a hay-cock all night, no better than a mere tramp!
What, quarrelling here? said Mrs. King, coming up-stairs. The lad, I wish him no ill, Im sure, but hell be gone by to-morrow, so you may hold your tongues about him, and well read our chapter and go to bed.
Harolds confidence and Ellens distrust were not much wiser the one than the other. Which was nearest being right?
CHAPTER IIIA NEW FRIEND
The post-office was not robbed that night, neither did the silver sugar-tongs disappear, though Paul Blackthorn was no farther off than the hay-loft at Farmer Shepherds, where he had obtained leave to sleep.
But he did not go away with morning, though the hay-making was over. Ellen saw him sitting perched on the empty waggon, munching his breakfast, and to her great vexation, exchanging nods and grins when Harold rode by for the mornings letters; and afterwards, there was a talk between him and the farmer, which ended in his having a hoe put into his hand, and being next seen in the turnip-field behind the farm.
To make up for the good day, this one was a very bad one with poor Alfred. There was thunder in the air, and if the sultry heat weighed heavily even on the healthy, no wonder it made him faint and exhausted, disposed to self-pity, and terribly impatient and fretful. He was provoked by Ellens moving about the room, and more provoked by Harolds whistling as he cleaned out the stable; and on the other hand, Harold was petulant at being checked, and vowed there was no living in the house with Alfred making such a work. Moreover, Alfred was restless, and wanted something done for him every moment, interrupting Ellens work, and calling his mother up from her baking so often for trifles, that she hardly knew how to get through it.
The doctor, Mr. Blunt, came, and he too felt the heat, having spent hours in going his rounds in the closeness and dust. He was a rough man, and his temper did not always hold out; he told Alfred sharply that he would have no whining, and when the boy moaned and winced more than he would have done on a good day, he punished him by not trying to be tender-handed. When Mrs. King said, perhaps a little lengthily, how much the boy had suffered that morning, the doctor, wearied out, no doubt, with peoples complaints, cut her short rather rudely, Ay, ay, my good woman, I know all that.
And can nothing be done, Sir, when he feels so sinking and weak?
Sinkinghe must feel sinkingnothing to do but to bear it, said Mr. Blunt gruffly, as he prepared to go. Dont keep me now; and as Alfred held up his hand, and made some complaint of the tightness of the bandage, he answered impatiently, Ive no time for that, my lad; keep still, and be glad youve nothing worse to complain of.
Then you dont think he is getting any better, Sir? said Mrs. King, keeping close to him. I thought he was yesterday, and I wanted to speak to you. My oldest daughter thought if we could get him away to the sea, and
Thats all nonsense, said the hurried doctor; dont you spend your money in that way; I tell you nothing ever will do him any good.
This was at the bottom of the stairs; and Mr. Blunt was off. He was the cleverest doctor for a good way round, and it was not easy to Mrs. King to secure his attendance. Her savings and Matildas were likely to melt away sadly in paying him, since she was just too well off to be doctored at the parish expense, and he was really a good and upright man, though wanting in softness of manner when he was hurried and teased. If Mrs. King had known that he was in haste to get to a child with a bad burn, she might have thought him less unkind in the short ungentle way in which he dashed her hopes. Alas! there had never been much hope; but she feared that Alfred might have heard, and have been shocked.
This was at the bottom of the stairs; and Mr. Blunt was off. He was the cleverest doctor for a good way round, and it was not easy to Mrs. King to secure his attendance. Her savings and Matildas were likely to melt away sadly in paying him, since she was just too well off to be doctored at the parish expense, and he was really a good and upright man, though wanting in softness of manner when he was hurried and teased. If Mrs. King had known that he was in haste to get to a child with a bad burn, she might have thought him less unkind in the short ungentle way in which he dashed her hopes. Alas! there had never been much hope; but she feared that Alfred might have heard, and have been shocked.
Ellen heard plainly enough, and her heart sank. She tried to look at her brothers face, but he had put it out of sight, and spoke not a word; and she only could sit wondering what was the real drift of the cruel words, and whether the doctor meant to give no hope of recovery, or only to dissuade her mother from vainly trying change of air. Her once bright brother always thus! It was a sad thought, and yet she would have been glad to know he would be no worse; and Ellens heart was praying with all her might that he might have his health and happiness restored to him, and that her mother might be spared this bitter sorrow.
Alfred said nothing about the doctors visit, but he could eat no dinner, and did not think this so much the fault of his sickly taste, as of his mothers potato-pie; he could not think why she should be so cross as to make that thing, when she knew he hated it; and as to poor Harold, Alfred would hardly let him speak or stir, without ordering Ellen down to tell him not to make such a row.
Ellen was thankful when Harold was fairly hunted out of the house and garden, even though he betook himself to the meadow, where Paul Blackthorn was lying on the grass with his feet kicking in the air, and shewing the skin through his torn shoes. The two lads squatted down on the grass with their heads together. Who could tell what mischief that runaway might be putting into Harolds head, and all because Alfred could not bear with him enough for him to be happy at home?
They were so much engrossed, that it needed a rough call from the farmer to send Paul back to his work when the dinner-hour was over; whereupon Harold came slowly to his digging again.
Hotter and hotter did it grow, and the grey dull clouds began to gain a yellow lurid light in the distance; there were low growlings of thunder far away, and Ellen left her work unfinished, and forgot how hot she was herself in toiling to fan Alfred, so as to keep him in some little degree cooler, while the more he strove with the heat, the more oppressed and miserable he grew.
Poor fellow! his wretchedness was not so much the heat, as the dim perception of Mr. Blunts hasty words; he had not heard them fullyhe dared not inquire what they had been, and he could not endure to face themyet the echo of nothing will ever do him good, seemed to ring like a knell in his ears every time he turned his weary head. Nothing do him good! Nothing! Always these four walls, that little bed, this wasting weary lassitude, this gnawing, throbbing pain, no pony, no running, no shouting, no sense of vigour and health ever again, and perhapsthat terrible perhaps, which made Alfreds very flesh quail, he would not think of; and to drive it away, he found some fresh toil to require of the sister who could not content him, toil as she would.
Slowly the afternoon hours rolled on, one after the other, and Alfred had just been in a pet with the clock for striking four when he wanted it to be five, when the sky grew darker, and one or two heavy drops of rain came plashing down on the thirsty earth.
The storm is coming at last, and now it will be cooler, said Ellen, looking out from the window. Dear me! she added, there stopping short.
What? asked Alfred. What are you gaping at?
I declare! cried Ellen, its the new clergyman! It is Mr. Cope, and he is coming up to the wicket!
Alfred turned his head with a peevish sound; he was in the dreary mood to resent whatever took off attention from him for a moment.
A very pleasant-looking gentleman, commented Ellen, and so young! He does not look older than Charles Lawrence! I wonder whether he is coming in, or if it is only to post a letter. Oh! there he is, talking to Mother! There!
A vivid flash of lightning came over the room at that moment and made them all pause till it was followed up by the deep rumble of the thunder, and then down rushed the rain, plashing and leaping up again, bringing out the delicious scent from the earth, and seeming in one moment to breathe refreshment and relief on the sick boy. His brow was already clearing, as he listened to his mothers tones of welcome, as she was evidently asking the stranger to sit down and wait for the storm to be over, and the cheerful voice that replied to her. He did not scold Ellen for, as usual, making things neat; and whereas, five minutes sooner, he would have hated the notion of any one coming near him, he now only hoped that his mother would bring Mr. Cope up; and presently he heard the well-known creak of the stairs under a manly foot, and his mothers voice saying something about a great sufferer, Sir.
Then came in sight his mothers white cap, and behind her one of the most cheerful lively faces that Alfred had ever beheld. The new Curate looked very little more than a boy, with a nice round fresh rosy face, and curly brown hair, and a quick joyous eye, and regular white teeth when he smiled that merry good-humoured smile. Indeed, he was as young as a deacon could be, and he looked younger. He knocked his tall head against the top of the low doorway as he came into the room, and answered Mrs. Kings apologies with a pleasant laugh. Ellen knew her mother would like him the better for his height, for no one since the handsome coachman himself had had to bend his head to get into the room. Alfred liked the looks of him the first moment, and by way of salutation put up one of his weary, white, blue-veined hands to pull his damp forelock; but Mr. Cope, nodding in answer to Ellens curtsey, took hold of his hand at once, and softening the cheery voice that was so pleasant to hear, said, Well, my boy, I hope we shall be good friends. And whats your name?
Alfred King, Sir, was the answer. It really was quite a pleasure not to begin with the old weary subject of being pitied for his illness.
King Alfred! said Mr. Cope. I met King Harold yesterday. Ive got into royal company, it seems!
Alfred smiled, it was said so drolly; but his mother, who felt a little as if she were being laughed at, said, Why, Sir, my brothers name was Alfred; and as to Harold, it was to please Miss Janes little sister that diedshe was quite a little girl then, Sir, but so clever, and she would have him named out of her History of England.
Did Miss Selby give you those flowers? said Mr. Cope, admiring the rose and geranium in the cup on the table.
Yes, Sir; and Mrs. King launched out in the praises of Miss Jane and of my Lady, an inexhaustible subject which did not leave Alfred much time to speak, till Mrs. King, seeing the groom from the Park coming with the letter-bag through the rain, asked Mr. Cope to excuse her, and went down-stairs.
Well, Alfred, I think you are a lucky boy, he said. I was comparing you with a lad I once knew of, who got his spine injured, and is laid up in a little narrow garret, in a back street, with no one to speak to all day. I dont know what he would not give for a sister, and a window like this, and a Miss Jane.