THE SHEPHERD’S FAIRY.
A PASTORALE.
By DARLEY DALE, Author of “Fair Katherine,” etc.
If it had not been for his anxiety about Fairy, this would have been an excursion quite after Jack’s own heart. He delighted in anything unusual which varied the monotony of his daily life, and if it partook of the nature of an adventure he was all the better pleased. As he and his father tramped along the Oatham-road, one walking on the extreme right, the other on the left hand side, it was natural that John should beguile the way with reminiscences of other fogs.
“The worst fog I ever remember was when I was courting your mother, Jack. It was just after Lewes sheep fair, and a Saturday night, and it came on quite suddenly, so that I saw it was impossible to attempt to get the sheep home that night, for I was on Mount Caburn, and I did not know the mount so well then as I do now. But I always spent Saturday evening and the best part of Sunday with your mother, and I did not feel inclined to be done out of my weekly treat by the fog, so, though I could not get the sheep into fold, I thought I would leave them to take their chance till the fog lifted, and then come after them; I knew I should soon find them by the help of the bell-wethers and Rover, so I left the sheep, and set off to try and find my way home through the fog. I knew there were one or two nasty places where I might fall and break my neck, so I went pretty carefully, you may be sure. I had no lantern with me, and it was a darker night than to-night, and I think I must have wandered round and round the top of Mount Caburn for three or four hours before I even began to descend. At last I found I was actually on a downward track, though I had not the least idea which side of the hill I was, and I think if I had not been in love I should have remained where I was till the morning, or at least till the fog cleared. As it was, I determined, at all hazards, to go on, though I guessed I should get a scolding from your mother for my pains; so on I went, on my hands and knees, feeling my way before me, for I was afraid to walk upright lest I should step over a precipice, and at last I reached the bottom in safety. Then I had no idea where I was till, luckily for me, I met a man with a lantern, and he put me in the road, but it was too late to go to your mother’s that night, and the greater part of Sunday was spent in looking after the sheep, who had wandered for miles. But this fog won’t last much longer, Jack; the wind is rising,” said the shepherd.
“Yes,” said Jack. “I wish it would blow those children home safely. I do hope nothing has happened to them; but Charlie is so careless, he leads Fairy into danger without thinking.”
“She does not want much leading into danger; she is apt enough at running into that, I am thinking, Jack. But what is become of Rover?” said the shepherd, stopping and whistling.
“Bow-wow-wow,” replied Rover, in an excited tone, from the depths of the fog.
“Where are you, sir? Come here,” cried the shepherd.
“Bow-wow-wow-wow,” answered Rover, in a still sharper key.
“Come here, sir; what are you at?” cried John Shelley.
“I hope he has not found the children in that chalk-pit. See, we are near the first one,” said Jack, crossing over to his father, and moving with him to the chalk-pit, which was at the side of the road.
“I trust not, Jack. Here is Rover; he has found something, that is clear. All right, I am coming, good dog,” said the shepherd, as Rover now emerged from the fog, and, by dint of many barks and wagging of his tail, gave his master to understand that he had discovered something.
The shepherd throwing the light of the lantern in the direction the dog indicated, followed him, while Jack, with his heart in his throat, dreading at every step that the next would bring him face to face with Fairy stretched lifeless at his feet—a picture his quick imagination had but little difficulty in conjuring up—brought up the rear.
They were at the mouth of a large chalk-pit, but, owing to the density of the fog, the lantern did not enable them to see more than a yard before them; moreover, they were obliged to go very carefully, as huge pieces of chalk were scattered over the centre of the pit. Suddenly Jack kicked against something, and stooping, picked up a large gingham umbrella, which, to his joy, he saw at a glance did not belong to Fairy.
“See, father, an umbrella; can this be what Rover is making all this fuss about?” asked Jack, handing the huge thing to his father to examine.
“I doubt not; I am afraid we shall find the owner of the umbrella next, Jack, by Rover’s ways. But look, there is a name cut on the handle, and it looks as if it had been cut quite recently, too. See if you can make it out, I can’t; seems a foreign name to me,” said John Shelley, holding the umbrella close to his lantern for Jack to read.
“D-e-t—No, it is a capital t; De Thorens, that is the name, plain enough. A foreign one, too, as you said. It must belong to some stranger, then; perhaps someone has lost his or her way and taken shelter in this pit. Let us shout, father, they may hear us,” and Jack shouted, but in vain.
Rover now became more excited than ever, and seizing John Shelley by the skirts of his smock-frock, dragged him forward, until suddenly he came to a standstill, and loosing his hold of his master, sniffed round and round something which was lying a step or two further on. John Shelley stooped, and, lowering his lantern, turned the light on the object, and saw to his horror the apparently lifeless body of an old woman, which was lying huddled together in a shapeless mass. Gently and reverently the shepherd straightened the limbs, which were already getting cold and stiff, and then looking at the face, which was not disfigured by the fall, the old woman having fallen on her back, he recognised his old acquaintance Dame Hursey.
“Is she dead, father?” asked Jack, in an awe-stricken voice, as he clutched his father’s arm, for it was a ghastly sight these two were gazing on in the cold, dark, foggy night, by the weird gleams of their lanterns.
“Yes, Jack, yes; do you see who it is? Poor old Dame Hursey, the last person I ever thought to find here, for if anyone knew the Downs it was she. She is dressed in her best, too; she was not out wool-gathering, that is clear,” said the shepherd, slowly.
“But what are we to do, father? We can’t leave her here, and we have not found Fairy and Charlie yet.”
“We must leave her here for the present, Jack; she is dead, and must have been killed on the spot; I expect Rover will watch by her till we come back. We must separate; you go back to the police station for a stretcher and some men, while I go on and look for these children. I hope and trust they won’t come across this sight; it would give Fairy a terrible fright. Be as quick as you can, Jack, for if the children are not on the Race Hill we shall have to go in another direction. I’ll meet you at the police-station; I shall be back there by the time you have got the poor old dame carried there. Rover, stay here till Jack comes back.”
No need to tell Rover twice; he laid down by the body at once, and there he would have remained till doomsday if Jack or his master had not returned before; and Jack, though he by no means liked his task, and would far rather have gone on to look for Fairy, obeyed as promptly as Rover.
And where were Fairy and Charlie on this cold, dark November evening in this thick fog? They had not gone to Mount Harry after all, though they had set out with that intention, for as soon as they reached the Brighton-road Fairy had suggested they should go to Brighton instead, and though Charlie, who was rather lazily disposed, hesitated and raised objections, Fairy overthrew them all, and finally succeeded in persuading him to take her.
The object of their walk was to pay a visit to a bird-stuffer in Brighton, and find out the price of an eared-grebe which had lately been shot in the neighbourhood, and which this man, as Jack, who had been over two or three times to look at the bird, had told Fairy, was stuffing and mounting. If only the price were reasonable, a better Christmas present for Jack could not be thought of. He would be wild with joy at possessing this bird, which Fairy described to Charlie from a picture Mr. Leslie had of it. Charlie did not care much what the price was, but he was curious to see this wonderful grebe with the ruff round its neck, so he consented to take Fairy.
“How much do you think it will be, Charlie?” asked Fairy, as they trudged along the muddy road in the mist.
“I don’t know; Gibbons will let us have it ever so much cheaper than anyone else, because Jack so often gives him birds and eggs, and all manner of curiosities. How much can you afford, that is the question?”
“Well, mother will give me something, and John and Mr. Leslie will give me five or ten shillings, and I have got seven myself; I think I can afford a sovereign altogether. You must give something, too, Charlie, you know.”
“That’s all the money I have,” said Charlie, putting his hands into his pockets and producing twopence halfpenny. “That won’t go far,” he added, ruefully.
“Never mind, it will help. I do hope Gibbons will let us have it for a pound,” answered Fairy; and buoyed up with this hope, she walked into Brighton, a good eight miles, without once complaining of being tired.
The bird-stuffer, who knew Charlie well, showed them the grebe with pride; but, alas! Fairy soon learnt that the price was far beyond her means, and feeling very much disappointed, for Jack’s sake, she half repented having taken such a long walk, especially as by the time they left the shop the fog had come on very thick, and the short November day was coming to a close. In spite of this, Charlie insisted on going to the beach to look at the sea for a few minutes, though it was quite out of their way, and Fairy, tired as she was, could not refuse to oblige him when he had come so far to oblige her. Happily a very brief peep at the dull, grey sea in this deepening fog satisfied Charlie, but, nevertheless, it was five o’clock before they started on their eight miles walk back to Lewes, and by the time they were quite clear of the town, which in those days was very much smaller than at present, and on the Lewes-road it was so dark they could not see the road before them, and were obliged to walk slowly in consequence; moreover, Fairy was so tired she hardly knew how to drag one leg before the other.
“There is one comfort,” said Charlie, “it is a straight road; we can’t lose our way, and perhaps we shall meet someone who will give us a lift.”
“I wish we could. How dark it is, Charlie. Are we half way yet, do you think?” asked poor Fairy, whose little feet were so sore she could not keep up with Charlie.
“Half-way? No, not a quarter yet. You are tired, I know, though you won’t own it. I told you it was too far for you; here, take hold of my arm, and I’ll help you along,” said Charlie.
Thus encouraged, Fairy plodded on for another mile or so, during which time one or two carts passed them, but either could not or would not hear their requests for a lift, and one so nearly ran over them in the darkness that they ceased to wish for any more to pass. But before they were half-way home Fairy declared she must stop and rest a little, and Charlie, who knew if anything happened to her he would get all the blame, began to get frightened lest she should faint or be taken ill on the road, far away as they were from any village.
“Will you let me try and carry you, Fairy?” he asked.
“You?” laughed Fairy, in spite of her fatigue; “you carry me? Why, I doubt if Jack could, even. No, thank you; let me rest a little on this tree I nearly fell over, and then I’ll go on again.”
“Very well, but you must not rest long, or you’ll catch cold; besides, we shan’t get home to-night at this rate. Now, when I have counted up to a hundred, I shall haul you up,” said Charlie, beginning to assert a little gentle authority under the circumstances.
Thus they went on, Fairy walking about half-a-mile at first, and then stopping to rest, but each rest grew longer and each walk shorter, and Charlie, who had never had a very high opinion of girls in general, much as he admired Fairy in particular, came to the conclusion that they were all pretty much alike, and that there was not much to choose between them. Poor, weak things, they got tired directly, and could not even walk sixteen miles without making a fuss!
At last, when they were about a mile and a half from the shepherd’s house, and Fairy now could only walk if Charlie supported and led her, they saw a lantern coming towards them, and to their joy found it was John Shelley.
“Oh, John, I am so glad,” cried Fairy, as the shepherd turned the lantern full on her.
“Fairy! Why, my pretty one, where have you been?” cried John.
“To Brighton; and, oh! John, I am so tired; I shall never get home.”
“To Brighton? Charlie, what do you mean by taking her to Brighton? But we will get home first, and talk about that afterwards. Take the lantern, Charlie, and lead the way. The child is dead beat; I must carry her.” And without another word the shepherd took Fairy up in his strong arms and carried her home, stopping now and then to rest, but declaring he was not tired, as she was so light, and he was used to carrying lambs; and was not she his pet lamb?
This was one of his names for Fairy, and finding he did not seem to mind carrying her, she submitted gratefully, for she was so tired she did not care how she got home, as long as she got there somehow.
Mrs. Shelley was at the gate wrapped up in a shawl, and feeling dreadfully nervous about them, although John had not told her of Dame Hursey’s terrible end when he came in an hour ago to say, just as Jack had started off to Mount Caburn to look for the children, he had heard they had been seen in Brighton that afternoon.
“Here they are, Polly, quite safe, only Fairy is tired out,” said John, as he carried Fairy into the house, and placed her in his own chair before the fire.
“Thank God! Children, children, where have you been? But I must tell Jack first; he has just come in, and was going to have some supper and then start off after you, John. Jack, where are you? They are safe,” cried Mrs. Shelley to Jack, who was upstairs.
Down rushed Jack to see for himself that it was true. He looked pale and anxious, for besides the shock of Dame Hursey’s death, he was tired out with his search for Fairy after his day’s work on the downs.
“Well, a pretty chase you have given father and me, Mr. Charlie, dragging Fairy to Brighton in this cheerful weather. If you are not ashamed of yourself, you ought to be.”
“I did not drag her there; I dragged her home, and a pretty tough job it was, I can tell you,” said Charlie.
“It was my fault, Jack, not Charlie’s; I won’t have him scolded; and we had all our walk for nothing, and as John is not angry, I don’t mean to be scolded either,” said Fairy.
“No, John never is angry with you; if he were sometimes you would not be half so much trouble; but come, it is no use making a fuss about it; they are home safely, thank God, so let us have supper,” said Mrs. Shelley.
But somehow, in spite of their fatigue and long fast, no one was hungry except Charlie, whose appetite seldom failed him. Fairy was much too tired to eat, and Mrs. Shelley too glad and thankful to have them all safe around her, while the shepherd and Jack could not forget poor Dame Hursey’s fate, which they were only waiting till Fairy and Charlie were gone to bed to discuss with Mrs. Shelley.
Fairy soon asked to be excused, as she was so tired, and Charlie, having been sent off with a huge piece of bread and cheese to consume at his leisure, John and Jack told Mrs. Shelley of the accident.
“Oh dear! oh dear! and to think it might have been that child, Fairy, or Charlie, instead of poor old Dame Hursey! I shall tell them both to-morrow, and I hope it will be a lesson to them to be more careful in the future. Poor old woman! there will have to be an inquest, of course,” said Mrs. Shelley.
“Yes, the inquest is to-morrow, but there is no one to give evidence except father and me,” said Jack.
However, when Fairy was told the next morning what had happened, it was found she was able to throw a little light on the matter, knowing, as she did, that Dame Hursey had gone to meet her son George the day her death occurred. She had evidently lost her way in the fog after leaving him, and the coroner’s jury brought in a verdict of accidental death without any hesitation. Some little discussion was raised as to the umbrella with the name De Thorens cut on the handle, but as it was remembered the last time George Hursey was heard of in Lewes he was living in France, the coroner suggested the umbrella was his, and that he had perhaps given it to his mother to help her home. This theory satisfied everyone but Jack, and he, for reasons of his own, kept his ideas on the subject to himself. He always had thought Dame Hursey knew more about Fairy than anyone, and somehow he could not help thinking this word De Thorens had something to do with the child. He was certain the coroner’s theory was untrue, because he had seen Dame Hursey with this identical umbrella over and over again; moreover, the name was recently cut, and as he knew the old woman could not have done it herself, he guessed her son George did, but why or wherefore he could not determine; only he suspected it had something to do with Fairy. But though he turned the subject over in his own mind again and again as he followed his sheep on the lonely downs, he could make nothing of it, though he felt sure he held the key to the solution of the mystery of Fairy’s origin in his hand, if he only knew how to use it. On the whole, curious as he was about it, he was not sorry to be unable to solve the puzzle since he feared its solution would lead to his separation from Fairy.
If he could have known how that one false step of poor old Dame Hursey’s prevented Fairy from being restored to her parents, shocked as he had been at her terrible death, it is doubtful if he could have regretted her sad end as sincerely as he did.
(To be continued.)