CHAPTER XII.
ohn Shelley’s White Ram was a great success; up to Friday everything had gone well; the puddings and cakes had been pronounced excellent, the beer first rate; and though there had been no stint, John had kept his word, and no one had as yet been any the worse for it. The tent, too, was voted a great improvement on a close kitchen, and there, when supper was over, the men sat smoking and singing their sheep-shearing songs, while Jack and Fairy listened outside, Jack having hitherto resisted all his father’s invitations to sup with the other shearers, in which Fairy, knowing his feelings, assisted him, and, to please her, John did not press it.
On Friday evening, when Jack and the other shearers came back earlier than usual, it was found that Charlie had forgotten to bring home a lamb that was ailing and required nursing, so, as John Shelley could not be spared from the supper, and Charlie by no means inclined to go, Jack, tired as he was, set off to fetch it. While he was gone, the last of the series of suppers went on in the tent, and was over and the singing begun before he returned. Fairy wandered out into the field to listen to the men’s voices as they sang their favourite song.[1]
“Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing,
The small birds they warble from every green bough;
Here’s the pink and the lily,
And the daffydowndilly
To adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June.
’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow,
But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.
“Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces,
And frisky young lambs which their flocks do increase.
Each lad takes his lass
All on the green grass,
Where the pink and the lily,
And the daffydowndilly
Do adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June.
’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow,
But the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.
“Here stands our brown jug, and ’tis filled with good ale,
Our table, our table shall increase and not fail.
We’ll joke and we’ll sing,
And dance in a ring,
Where the pink and the lily,
And the daffydowndilly
Do adorn and perfume the sweet meadows in June.
’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow,
And the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.”
As the men sung these verses to a swinging tune, which if not very high musical art, at any rate had plenty of go in it, and suited the occasion, Fairy strolled across the meadow into the road by which she knew Jack would come, to meet him. She had not gone very far before she saw him coming, with his crook in one hand, and what looked like a dead lamb dangling in the other. As he got closer she saw this was the case, and there was a frown on Jack’s handsome face; though vexed and tired as he was, he smiled when he saw Fairy, and Jack’s smile was a singularly sweet one, which lighted up his whole face.
“Is it dead, Jack?” asked Fairy, sympathetically.
“Yes, and all for the sake of a little care. If Charlie had only had the sense to bring it home with him we might have saved it; he must have seen it was dying when he came away, but all he thinks of is getting home to the White Ram. I wish there weren’t such a thing, for if I had not been forced to leave my sheep to that boy for the sake of the shearing it would not have died, I am sure.”
“Poor little lamb. I am very sorry for you, Jack; but it is the first you have ever lost, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and if I had my way, I would give Charlie such a thrashing that he would take pretty good care it was the last. Lazy, careless young scamp!” said Jack.
“Never mind, Jack, he will always be lazy; it is his nature, just as it is yours to be always poring over books; but come home and have some supper; you look tired out; mother has saved some for you. What are you going to do with that lamb?”
“Bury it; but I will have some supper first,” said Jack, leaving the lamb just inside the gate of the field, which they had now reached.
Unfortunately, just at that moment Charlie came rushing out of the tent from which the chorus “of the pink and the lily and the daffydowndilly” was still rolling, shouting for Fairy at the top of his voice. He was flushed and excited, his blue eyes sparkled, and he looked just what he was—a healthy, happy, lazy, labouring boy of sixteen, fresh and clean, but in thick shoes and corduroys, and not the least pretension in manner or appearance to be anything but a shepherd’s lad, thoroughly enjoying his first shearing-feast. As soon as he saw Fairy he ran up to her, and seizing her by the waist, cried—
“Come along, Fairy, let us have a dance.”
“Don’t, Charlie, I don’t want to dance; I am going to give Jack his supper,” said Fairy, pushing him away.
“Nonsense! let Jack get his own supper. Come along.
‘Each lad takes his lass,
All on the green grass,’”
sung Charlie again, seizing Fairy by the waist; but before the words were out of his mouth, Jack, in an ungovernable fit of temper, had raised his crook, intending to give his brother a good stroke across the shoulders with it, but Charlie, turning his head suddenly round to see what was coming, met the blow, which fell heavily across his right temple. He staggered backwards half-stunned, and fell to the ground, striking the back of his head in his fall against the stone gate-post.
There he lay insensible, and for the moment both Jack and Fairy thought he was killed on the spot. Down on their knees beside him they both knelt. All Jack’s anger vanished, and only a terrible fear, too terrible for words, taking possession of his heart.
“Oh, Jack, Jack, what shall we do? what shall we do? Charlie, Charlie, do open your eyes! Oh, Jack, has he fainted? What is it?”
“I don’t know, Fairy. Fetch mother, will you? We must carry him into the house,” said Jack, trying to feel if Charlie’s heart were still beating.
Fairy flew rather than ran into the kitchen, where Mrs. Shelley was sitting resting after her hard week’s work, listening to the shearing songs, and watching lest Jack’s supper should burn. In spite of the hard work, perhaps partly because of it, it had been a very happy week to her, for she was very proud of John’s position as captain of the company, and up to the present nothing had occurred to spoil the feast; it had been as merry as any “White Ram” ever was, but no excess, no coarse jokes, no irreverent jests had ever been attempted, and Mrs. Shelley knew, if her husband did not, that his presence was in itself enough to prevent their occurrence. And now what an ending it was to have.
“Mother! mother! come and help Jack! Charlie is dead, we are afraid,” cried Fairy, standing on the threshold, her great eyes open wider than ever, and her pale cheeks testifying there was at any rate some truth in her words.
Mrs. Shelley was not a nervous woman, and she did not for a moment believe Charlie was killed, though she rose immediately to go and see what was the matter.
“Killed; nonsense, he has fainted, I suppose. Where is he? What has happened?” she asked, as she followed Fairy.
“By the gate. Jack wants you to help to carry him indoors; he is insensible.”
“Insensible! What has made him insensible? How did it all happen?”
“I don’t know, it was all so quick. Charlie wanted me to dance with him, and Jack was angry because his lamb is dead, and he hit Charlie with his crook, and somehow Charlie fell and knocked his head against the stone gate-post,” said Fairy.
They were close to Charlie and Jack, and Mrs. Shelley saw at a glance it was a more serious matter than she had at first supposed, and having, like Jack, a quick imagination, as well as a quick temper, she guessed what had prompted Jack to raise his hand against his brother, and, for the first time in her life, she turned and spoke unkindly to Fairy.
“Go out of my sight; it is all your fault; but for you there would never have been strife between my boys. Fool that I was to take you in, when something warned me, even then, it would lead to no good. Oh! Jack, Jack, my son, my son, what are we to do?”
Even then, in the first flow of her grief, Mrs. Shelley’s sympathy seemed to be for her darling son who had struck the unlucky blow, and not for the poor boy stretched lifeless, to all appearance, on the ground.
“Get him indoors first, mother, and then I will run to Lewes for the doctor. If you will take his feet, we can easily manage him.”
“Yes, yes, to be sure; we don’t want all those men to know what has happened. Your father will be out in a few minutes for some more ale, and then we can tell him,” said Mrs. Shelley, helping Jack to carry Charlie to the house.
Again Mrs. Shelley was thinking of her eldest boy. If, indeed, Charlie were killed, she knew it would be a terrible thing for Jack, and in any case she did not want all this shearing company to know what had happened, and gossip about it.
As she and Jack carried Charlie to the house, Fairy followed, trembling, and wondering what Mrs. Shelley’s cruel words meant. Why was it her fault? What had she done? When had she wilfully stirred up strife between the boys? And where was she to go out of Mrs. Shelley’s sight? Was she to be turned out of the house because poor Charlie was dangerously hurt? Frightened and grieved for Charlie and Jack, cut to the quick by Mrs. Shelley’s words, Fairy threw herself on the bench outside the door, and burst into tears.
A minute or two later, John Shelley, coming out of the tent to fetch some more beer from the house, saw the unwonted sight of Fairy crying as if her heart would break.
“Fairy! Why, my pet, what is it? Crying at my White Ram. What is the matter?” he asked, laying his hand on the bowed golden head.
“Oh John, John!” sobbed Fairy, clinging to him, “poor Charlie is dreadfully hurt; it was partly an accident and partly Jack hit him, and he fell, and he is insensible. Go in and see. I mustn’t come.”
John had not time to stop and ask why Fairy must not come, but went in to the little sitting-room, where Jack and Mrs. Shelley were applying restoratives to the still insensible Charlie.
“What is this?” said the shepherd, glancing sternly from the prostrate Charlie to Jack, who dared not meet his father’s glance.
“Hush, John! it is a terrible business—listen.” And in a few words Mrs. Shelley, who had heard from Jack exactly how it occurred, told her husband the story, and what prompted the unfortunate blow.
“Poor boys, poor boys! Jack, Jack, what were you thinking of?” cried John Shelley, stooping over Charlie to try and see where he was hurt.
“He is alive, thank God; perhaps he is only stunned; we must go for Dr. Bates at once,” said John, after a brief examination of Charlie.
Here a stifled sob broke from Jack, who was standing with his head buried on his elbow which he was leaning on the corner of the chimney-piece, and caused the shepherd to turn to the son who was suffering far the most acutely. John crossed the room to his eldest son, and put his arm round his neck. He did not say a word, but as Jack grasped his father’s hand, he knew that he not only forgave him, but sympathised with him also. If they had never understood each other before they understood each other now, these two, as they stood half broken-hearted by the chimney-piece. Jack understood that whatever trouble might be in store for him in consequence of his hasty act, his father would be his friend and do his best to help him; he knew, too, that he would never hear a word of blame from his lips, for as children, the shepherd had ever been wont to forgive them directly they showed any signs of repentance, and it did not require much penetration to see that Jack already bitterly regretted his hasty temper. And the shepherd understood what it was that had roused Jack’s anger; in fact, at any rate, he could quite sympathise with his vexation and annoyance at the death of the lamb, and he guessed at his jealousy with regard to Fairy, for Jack’s love for her was no secret to his father.
“Jack, some one must go for the doctor at once. Will you, or shall I?” asked the shepherd.
“Oh! I will, I can go quicker; besides, you can’t leave the men yet,” said Jack, rising and seizing his hat.
“That is the best plan; I can’t dismiss these men yet, but I will tell them we have had a bad accident, so I can’t ask them to stay late, and I’ll come in every few minutes, Polly, to see how you are going on,” said the shepherd, as Jack left the house.
All this happened much quicker than it has taken to tell, and ten minutes after the blow was struck Jack was running across the fields to Lewes like a madman, knowing that his brother’s life hung in the balance. While he was gone John Shelley told the men in the tent his youngest boy had met with a serious accident, and was lying between life and death, and, to their credit, the men unanimously stopped singing and took their departure before Jack returned with the doctor.
So ended John Shelley’s first White Ram.
(To be continued.)