Two little travellers

by Frances Browne Arthur

For what seemed to the watching Bambo a very long time lights continued to burn within the house, while now and again a burst of noisy laughter broke the silence of the night, rising discordantly above the steady, persistent pitter-patter, pitter-patter, drip, drip, drip of the soft, thick autumn rain. At length the darkness and stillness of midnight held the homestead in possession. Even the rain had ceased to fall; not a sound was to be heard except the dwarf's hoarse, laboured breaths and the gentle, regular breathing of the sleeping children.

Gradually and cautiously Bambo awoke Darby. For a minute or two the little fellow could not make out where he was; but in a few hurried whispered sentences the dwarf made him understand how near and how dire was the danger which threatened them—how absolutely needful it was for them to be quick, and to be wary in their attempt if they meant to escape.

Without arousing Joan, Bambo lifted her up from her nest among the straw, and keeping her still well wrapped up in his own worn jacket, he held her easily in his arms. Then, with Darby pressing close beside him, they crept noiselessly forth from the shelter and warmth of the cosy calf-house.

By this time the moon rode high in a soft gray-blue sky, shedding a flood of pale, pure radiance on all things, touching the homely, commonplace details of the farmyard with a love-like caress until they were idealized into objects of wonder and beauty. But Bambo had no eyes just then for admiring nature's marvellous transformation scenes; the work in hand occupied his whole attention. He barely glanced at the moon, although he was well aware of her presence, which he considered rather unfortunate, and heartily wished it had been still dark, because then their movements would have been more certain to escape notice.

Slowly and stealthily they moved from the cover of the door, keeping well within the shadow cast by the walls of the outhouses. Step by step they stole along until they reached the greater security of the stackyard. There they were beyond view from the windows, supposing any one were looking out, which was hardly likely. Inch by inch they crawled across the bright patch of a hundred yards or so between them and the clump of friendly furze bushes. There they paused to take breath and look about them. There was nobody at their heels; nothing in sight except the sheep huddled in heaps for shelter behind the low stone dikes, and the young cattle herding in groups here and there over the wet, glistening fields. In the hollow below lay the place of refuge for which they were bound. And just as Bruce's plucky spider made that "bold little run at the very last pinch" which "put him into his native spot," so one quick rush down the incline in front of them landed the fugitives inside the empty lime-kiln, where they were safe, for the moment at least, with a roof over their heads, a dry green floor beneath their feet, on which they could stretch their weary limbs.

But afterwards! The inn seemed wrapped in slumber just then. The landlord would be back in his bed. Joe and Moll might have left—gone off in another direction, disappointed at not finding the fugitives or any news of them at the Traveller's Delight on their arrival; or possibly they were resting, with the intention of making a thorough search through the premises in the daylight next morning. This was the more probable explanation of how matters actually stood; at the same time, Bambo had no sense of security that it was the correct one. At that very moment their enemies might be prowling from barn to byre, from cart-shed to stable in pursuit of their prey. They would undoubtedly explore the stackyard. Next, they would notice the furze bushes. They would poke and peer among them and about them. Failing to find what they sought, they would be sure to look this way and that, up and down, until their eyes lighted upon the lime-kiln. Then—

Here the dwarf drew a quick breath, set his teeth hard, and again asked himself what was to be done next.

The children were worn out. Joan sobbed from time to time in her sleep, and brave, strong-souled little Darby shivered with cold and fright, while he pressed closer and closer to the dwarf's side for warmth and protection. As for Bambo himself, he was feeling extremely ill. The fever that raged in his blood cracked his lips and parched his tongue, until it felt in his mouth like so much dry sponge. His breathing had become so laboured from the sharp, shooting pains in his chest and back that it was only with difficulty he could speak; while his hot hands shook, and his thin, stunted limbs trembled beneath the weight of his big, ungainly body. He wondered what would happen if he were not able to go any further! What would become of the boy and little missy if he were to die there in the kiln before morning? Alas! there could be but one answer to that question, with Moll Harris and Thieving Joe hovering around like hawks about a nest of doves. But no; God was not going to deliver them up to the destroyers in any such fashion. After having brought them thus far on their way in safety, He would surely see them over the rest of the road; and Bambo took heart again. They would rest where they were until dawn; then one more effort would surely bring them to some farm or decent cottage. He would tell the children's story, and perhaps a cart or other conveyance could be found to take them on to Firgrove; some one, at least, there would surely be willing to hasten to inform the ladies of the whereabouts of the two wee wanderers.

Thus far the dwarf's thoughts ran readily on, then stopped in confusion. Further they would not seek to penetrate, and it did not matter. Once the little ones were safe with their friends he should have plenty of time to think about himself. Then he would be free to lie down in some quiet spot and sleep away some of the weakness and weariness which every moment threatened to overpower him. Sleep! oh, if he could only sleep until the racking pains in his chest were better! Sleep—sleep—sleep! and perhaps it might even be permitted him not to wake at all until he had reached that land whose inhabitants are never sick, and the people who dwell therein are forgiven their iniquity.

"I'm afraid your cold is worse," whispered Darby at length through the silence, that was broken only by Joan's sobbing sighs and the dwarf's hoarse breathing, which every moment became more painful and more difficult.