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Quicksilver; The Boy With No Skid To His Wheel, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 17. Dan'l Is Too Attentive |
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_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. DAN'L IS TOO ATTENTIVE Things were not quite so smooth as Dr Grayson thought, for there had been stormy weather at Sir James's. "Well, my dear, you are my husband, and it is my duty to obey," said Lady Danby; "but I do protest against my darling son being forced to associate with a boy of an exceedingly low type." "Allow me, my dear," said Sir James importantly. "By Dr Grayson's act, in taking that boy into his house, he has wiped away any stigma which may cling to him; and I must say that the lad displayed a great deal of animal courage--that kind of brute courage which comes from an ignorance of danger." "Is it animal courage not to be afraid of animals, ma?" said Master Edgar. "Yes, my dear, of course," said Lady Danby. "I wish Edgar would display courage of any kind," said Sir James. "Why, you ran away from the bulls too, papa," said Master Edgar. "I am a great sufferer from nervousness, Edgar," said Sir James reprovingly; "but we were not discussing that question. Dr Grayson has accepted the invitation for his adopted son. It is his whim for the moment, and it is only becoming on my part to show that we are grateful for the way in which the boy behaved. By the time a month has gone by, I have no doubt that the boy will be back at the--the place from which he came; but while he is at Dr Grayson's I desire that he be treated as if he were Dr Grayson's son." "Very well, James," said Lady Danby, in an ill-used tone of voice. "You are master here, and we must obey." The day of the invitation arrived. Dexter was to be at Sir James's in time for lunch, and directly after breakfast he watched his opportunity and followed Helen into the drawing-room. "I say," he said; "I can't go there, can I?" "Why not?" said Helen. "Lookye here." "Why, Dexter!" cried Helen, laughing merrily; "what have you been doing!" "Don't I look a guy!" There was a change already in the boy's aspect; his face, short as the time had been, was beginning to show what fresh air and good feeding could achieve. His hair had altered very slightly, but still there was an alteration for the better, and his eyes looked brighter, but his general appearance was comical all the same. Directly after breakfast he had rushed up to his room and put on the clothes in which he had taken his involuntary bath. These garments, as will be remembered, had been obtained in haste, and were of the kind known in the trade as "ready-mades," and in this case composed of a well-glazed and pressed material, containing just enough wool to hold together a great deal of shoddy. The dip in the river had been too severe a test for the suit, especially as Maria had been put a little more out of temper than usual by having the garments handed to her to dry. Maria's mother was a washerwoman who lived outside Coleby on the common, and gained her income by acting as laundress generally for all who would intrust her with their family linen; but she called herself in yellow letters on a brilliant scarlet ground a "clear starcher." During Maria's early life at home she had had much experience in the ways of washing. She knew the smell of boiled soap. She had often watched the steam rising from the copper, and played among the clouds, and she well knew that the quickest way to dry anything that has been soaked is to give it a good wringing. She had therefore given Dexter's new suit a good wringing, and wrung out of it a vast quantity of sticky dye which stained her hands. Then she had--grumbling bitterly all the time--given the jacket, vest, and trousers a good shake, and hung them over a clothes-horse as near to the fire as she could get them without singeing. Mrs Millett told her to be sure and get them nice and dry, and Maria did get them "nice and dry." And now Dexter had put them on and presented himself before Helen, suggesting that he looked a guy. Certainly his appearance was suggestive of the stuffed effigy borne about on the fifth of November, for the garments were shrunken so that his arms and legs showed to a terrible extent, and Maria's wringing had given them curves and hollows never intended by the cutter, the worst one being in the form of a hump between the wearer's shoulders. "The things are completely spoiled. You foolish boy to put them on." "Then I can't go to that other house." "Nonsense! You have the new clothes that came from the tailor's--those for which you were measured." "Yes," said Dexter reluctantly; "but it's a pity to put on them. I may get 'em spoiled." "Then you do not want to go, Dexter," said Helen, smiling. "No," he cried eagerly. "Ask him to let me stop here." "No, no," said Helen kindly. "Papa wishes you to go there; it is very kind of the Danbys to ask you, and I hope you will go, and behave very nicely, and make great friends with Edgar Danby." "How?" said Dexter laconically. "Well, as boys generally do. You must talk to him." "What about?" "Anything. Then you must play with him." "What at?" "Oh, he'll be sure to suggest something to play at." "I don't think he will," said Dexter thoughtfully. "He don't look the sort of chap to." "Don't say chap, Dexter; say boy." "Sort of boy to play any games. He's what we used to call a soft Tommy sort of a chap--boy." "Oh no, no, no! I don't suppose he will be rough, and care for boisterous sports; but he may prove to be a very pleasant companion for you." Dexter shook his head. "I don't think he'll like me." "Nonsense! How can you tell that? Then they have a beautiful garden." "Can't be such a nice one as this," said Dexter. "Oh yes, it is; and it runs down to the river as this one does, and Sir James has a very nice boat." "Boat!" cried Dexter, pricking up his ears. "And may you go in it!" "Not by yourselves, I suppose. There, I'm sure you will enjoy your visit." Dexter shook his head again. "I say, you'll come too, won't you?" he cried eagerly. "No, Dexter; not this time." The boy's forehead grew wrinkled all over. "Come, you are pretending that you do not want to go." "I don't," said the boy, hanging his head. "I want to stay here along with you." "Perhaps I should like you to stay, Dexter," said Helen; "but I wish you to go and behave nicely, and you can tell me all about it when you come back." "And how soon may I come back?" "I don't suppose till the evening, but we shall see. Now, go and change those things directly. What would papa say if he saw you?" Dexter went slowly up to his room, and came down soon after to look for Helen. He found her busy writing letters, so he went off on tiptoe to the study, where the doctor was deep in his book, writing with a very severe frown on his brow. "Ah, Dexter," he said, looking up and running his eye critically over the boy, the result being very satisfactory. "Let's see, you are to be at Sir James's by half-past twelve. Now only ten. Go and amuse yourself in the garden, and don't get into mischief." Dexter went back into the hall, obtained his cap, and went out through the glass door into the verandah, where the great wisteria hung a valance of lavender blossoms all along the edge. "He always says don't get into mischief," thought the boy. "I don't want to get into mischief, I'm sure." Half-way across the lawn he was startled by the sudden appearance of Dan'l, who started out upon him from behind a great evergreen shrub. "What are you a-doing of now?" snarled Dan'l. "I wasn't doing anything," said Dexter, staring. "Then you were going to do something," cried the old man sharply. "Look here, young man; if you get meddling with anything in my garden there's going to be trouble, so mind that. I know what boys is, so none of your nonsense here." He went off grumbling to another part of the garden, and Dexter felt disposed to go back indoors. "He's watching me all the time," he thought to himself; "just as if I was going to steal something. He don't like me." Dexter strolled on, and heard directly a regular rustling noise, which he recognised at once as the sound made by a broom sweeping grass, and sure enough, just inside the great laurel hedge, where a little green lawn was cut off from the rest of the garden, there was Peter Cribb, at his usual pursuit, sweeping all the sweet-scented cuttings of the grass. Peter was a sweeper who was always on the look-out for an excuse. He was, so to speak, chained to that broom so many hours a day, and if he had been a galley slave, and the broom an oar, it is morally certain that he would have been beaten with many stripes, for he would have left off rowing whenever he could. "Well, squire," he said, laying his hands one over the other on the top of the broom-handle. "Well, Peter. How's the horse?" "Grinding his corn, and enjoying himself," said Peter. "He's like you: a lucky one--plenty to eat and nothing to do." "Don't you take him out for exercise?" said Dexter. "Course I do. So do you go out for exercise." "Think I could ride?" said Dexter. "Dersay you could, if you could hold on." "I should like to try." "Go along with you!" "But I should. Will you let me try!" Peter shook his head, and began to examine his half-worn broom. "I could hold on. Let me go with you next time!" "Oh, but I go at ha'-past six, hours before you're awake. Young gents don't get up till eight." "Why, I always wake at a quarter to six," said Dexter. "It seems the proper time to get up. I say, let me go with you." "Here, I say, you, Peter," shouted Dan'l; "are you a-going to sweep that bit o' lawn, or am I to come and do it myself. Gawsiping about!" "Hear that?" said Peter, beginning to make his broom swing round again. "There, you'd better be off, or you'll get me in a row." Dexter sighed, for he seemed to be always the cause of trouble. "I say," said Peter, as the boy was moving off; "going fishing again?" "No; not now." "You knows the way to fish, don't you? Goes in after them." Dexter laughed, and went on down to the river, examined the place where the branch had broken off, and then gazed down into the clear water at the gliding fish, which seemed to move here and there with no more effort than a wave of the tail. His next look was across the river in search of Bob Dimsted; but the shabby-looking boy was not fishing, and nowhere in sight either up or down the stream. Dexter turned away with another sigh. The garden was very beautiful, but it seemed dull just then. He wanted some one to talk to, and if he went again to Peter, old Dan'l would shout and find fault. "It don't matter which way I go," said Dexter, after a few minutes, during which time he had changed his place in the garden again and again; "that old man is always watching me to see what I am going to do." He looked round at the flowers, at the coming fruit, at everything in turn, but the place seemed desolate, and in spite of himself he began thinking of his old companions at the great school, and wondering what they were doing. Then he recalled that he was to go to Sir James Danby's soon, and he began to think of Edgar. "I shan't like that chap," he said to himself. "I wonder whether he'll like me." He was standing thinking deeply and gazing straight before him at the high red brick wall when he suddenly started, for there was a heavy step on the gravel. Dan'l had come along the grass edge till he was close to the boy, and then stepped off heavily on to the path. "They aren't ripe yet," he said with an unpleasant leer; "and you'd best let them alone." Dexter walked quickly away, with his face scarlet, and a bitter feeling of annoyance which he could not master. For the next quarter of an hour he was continually changing his position in the garden, but always to wake up to the fact that the old gardener was carrying out a purpose which he had confided to Peter. This the boy soon learned, for after a time he suddenly encountered the groom, still busy with the broom. "Why, hullo, youngster!" he said; "what's the matter!" "Nothing," said Dexter, with his face growing a deeper scarlet. "Oh yes, there is; I can see," cried Peter. "Well, he's always watching me, and pretending that I'm getting into mischief, or trying to pick the fruit." "Hah!" said Peter, with a laugh; "he told me he meant to keep his eye on you." Just then there was a call for Dan'l from the direction of the house, and Mrs Millett was seen beyond a laurel hedge. Directly after the old man went up to the house, and it seemed to Dexter as if a cloud had passed from across the sun. The garden appeared to have grown suddenly brighter, and the boy began to whistle as he went about in an aimless way, looking here and there for something to take his attention. He was not long in finding it, for just at the back of the dense yew hedge there were half a dozen old-fashioned round-topped hives, whose occupants were busy going to and fro, save that at the hive nearest the cross-path a heavy cluster, betokening a late swarm, was hanging outside, looking like a double handful of bees. Dexter knew a rhyme beginning-- "How doth the little busy bee--" and he knew that bees made honey; but that was all he did know about their habits, save that they lived in hives; and he stood and stared at the cluster hanging outside. "Why, they can't get in," he said to himself. "Hole's stopped up." He stood still for a few minutes, and then, as he looked round, he caught sight of some bean-sticks--tall thin pieces of oak sapling, and drawing one of these out of the ground he rubbed the mould off the pointed end, and, as soon as it was clean, took hold of it, and returned to the hive, where he watched the clustering bees for a few minutes, and then, reaching over, he inserted the thin end of the long stick just by the opening to the hive, thrust it forward, and gave it a good rake to right and left. There was a tremendous buzz and a rush, and the next moment Dexter, stick in hand, was running down the path toward the river, pursued by quite a cloud of angry bees. Dexter ran fast, of course, and as it happened, right down one of the most shady paths, beneath the densely growing apple-trees, where the bees could not fly, so that by the time he reached the river-side he was clear of his pursuers, but tingling from a sting on the wrist, and from two more on the neck, one being among the hair at the back, and the other right down in his collar. "Well, that's nice," he said, as he rubbed himself, and began mentally to try and do a sum in the Rule of Three--if three stings make so much pain, how much pain would be caused by the stings of a whole hiveful of bees? "Bother the nasty vicious little things!" he cried, as he had another rub, and he threw the bean-stick angrily away. "Don't hurt so much now," he said, after a few minutes' stamping about. Then his face broke up into a merry smile. "How they did make me run!" Just then there was a shout--a yell, and a loud call for help. Dexter forgot his own pain, and, alarmed by the cries, ran as hard as he could back again towards the spot from whence the sounds came, and to his horror found that Old Dan'l was running here and there, waving his arms, while Peter had come to his help, and was whisking his broom about in all directions. For a few moments Dexter could not comprehend what was wrong, then, like a flash, he understood that the bees had attacked the old gardener, and that it was due to his having irritated them with the stick. Dexter knew how a wasp's nest had been taken in the fields by the boys one day, and without a moment's hesitation he ran to the nearest shrub, tore off a good-sized bough, and joined in the task of beating down the bees. It is pretty sport to fight either bees or wasps in this way, but it requires a great deal of courage, especially as the insects are sure to get the best of it, as they did in this case, putting their enemies to flight, their place of refuge being the tool-house, into whose dark recesses the bees did not attempt to come. "Much stung, Dan'l!" said Peter. "Much stung, indeed! I should think I am. Offle!" "You got it much, youngster?" said Peter. "I've got three stings," replied Dexter, who had escaped without further harm. "And I've got five, I think," said Peter. "What was you doing to 'em, Dan'l!" "Doin' to 'em!" growled Dan'l, who was stamping about and rubbing himself, and looking exceedingly like the bear in the old fable. "I wasn't doin' nothin' to 'em. One o' the hives have been threatenin' to swarm again, and I was just goin' by, when they come at me like a swarm o' savidges, just as if some one had been teasing them." Dexter was rubbing the back of his neck, and feeling horribly guilty, as he asked himself whether he had not better own to having disturbed the hive; but there was something so unpleasantly repellent about the old gardener, and he was looking so suspiciously from one to the other, that the boy felt as if he could not speak to him. If it had been Peter, who, with all his roughness, seemed to be tolerant of his presence, he would have spoken out at once; but he could not to Dan'l, and he remained silent. "They stings pretty sharp," said Peter, laughing. "Blue-bag's best thing. I shall go up and get Maria to touch mine up. Coming?" "Nay, I'm not coming," growled Dan'l. "I can bear a sting or two of a bee without getting myself painted up with blue-bags. Dock leaves is good enough for me." "And there aren't a dock left in the garden," said Peter. "You found fault with me for not pulling the last up." So Peter went up to the house to be blue-bagged, Dan'l remained like a bear in his den, growling to himself, and Dexter, whose stings still throbbed, went off across the lawn to walk off the pain, till it was time to go to Sir James's. "Who'd have thought that the little things could hurt so much!" Then the pain began to diminish till it was only a tingle, and the spots where the stings went in were round and hard, and now it was that Dexter's conscience began to prick him as sharply as the bees' stings, and he walked about the garden trying to make up his mind as to whether he should go and confess to Dan'l that he stirred the bees up with a long stick. But as soon as he felt that he would do this, something struck him that Dan'l would be sure to think he had done it all out of mischief, and he knew that he could not tell him. "Nobody will know," he said to himself; "and I won't tell. I didn't mean to do any harm." "Dexter! Dexter!" He looked in the direction from whence the sounds came, and could see Helen waving her handkerchief, as a signal for him to come in. "Time to go," he said to himself as he set off to her. "Nobody will know, so I shan't tell him." And then he turned cold. Only a few moments before he had left Dan'l growling in his den, and now here he was down the garden, stooping and picking up something. For a few moments Dexter could not see what the something was, for the trees between them hindered the view, but directly after he made out that Dan'l had picked up a long stick, which had been thrown among the little apple-trees, and was carefully examining it. The colour came into Dexter's cheeks as he wondered whether Dan'l would know where that stick came from. The colour would have been deeper still had he known that Dan'l had a splendid memory, and knew exactly where every stick or plant should be. In fact, Dan'l recognised that stick as having been taken from the end of the scarlet-runner row. "A young sperrit o' mischief! that's what he is," muttered the old man, giving a writhe as he felt the stinging of the bees. "Now what's he been up to with that there stick? making a fishing-rod of it, I s'pose, and tearing my rows o' beans to pieces. I tell him what it is--" Dan'l stopped short, and stared at the end of the stick--the thin end, where there was something peculiar, betraying what had been done with it. It was a sight which made him tighten his lips up into a thin red line, and screw up his eyes till they could be hardly seen, for upon the end of that stick were the mortal remains of two crushed bees. _ |
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