Paul the Courageous

by Mabel Quiller-Couch

It seemed to him he would never reach the spot he wanted; the distance around the house to it seemed far, far greater than he had thought, and all looked so different and strange, approached from this point. He began to fear he would never find the particular bush he sought; it seemed such a hopeless task to embark on in the dark, and alone. In order to make it more easy, he made his way to the door in the wall, and tried to retrace his steps of yesterday, as nearly as possible, but even that was more difficult than he had imagined. He thought the bush was straight ahead, and not very far off, but when he acted on this idea he found himself on the edge of a pool, into which he nearly fell. He did not know that when one walks in the dark, one instinctively bears away to the left all the time, and that, consequently, he was going straight away from the poor boots.

Then a cloud came over the moon, and Paul almost despaired. He was shaking with excitement and cold, for the wind blew fresh across that spot all the year round, and Paul was very slightly dressed. At last he lit his candle, after a great deal of trouble, and holding it carefully in the hollow of his hands, managed to keep it alight; and finally, more by good luck than anything else, found himself close to the very bush he was looking for. In another moment he was on his knees, and diving his arm cautiously under it. Joy! there were his boots, his poor old boots, the source of all his trouble. He grabbed them delightedly, and rose. At the same instant his candle went out, and his heart almost stood still with terror, for, close by him he heard the sound of stealthy footsteps, and the clank of a chain.

CHAPTER IX.

THE OPEN WINDOW.

"A convict escaped!" was the thought which flashed into his brain, paralysing his limbs with fear. For the moment he was too frightened to move, and as for looking around,—he could not have made himself do it at that moment for all the wealth the world could offer. Then, fearing he knew not what, he turned with a sudden swift impulse, and rushed madly, as though the furies were after him and any moment might lay a hand on him, back to where he could just see the white road gleaming in the distance. His heart thumped so he thought it would choke him, his head swam, a numbness seemed to be gripping his limbs, blackness creeping over his sight. Before he reached the road he staggered, stumbled, fell—and for a few moments lay, a small unconscious heap, on the damp grass.

When his senses returned to him he sat up, wondering vaguely at first what had happened, and where he was. He only knew he was trembling, aching, and feeling miserably ill. Then memory returned, and a sickening fear mingled with his shame of his own terror. In his shame he made himself look all about him, he made himself stay quietly where he was and try to fathom the mystery. And as soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the strange light, he could distinguish a mysterious form moving stealthily from bush to bush.

In another second Paul was on his feet and flying as though for his life along the road towards home. His first idea and aim was to get back through the window again, and bar himself in from all danger, but the banging of his boots as he ran, reminded him that he had not yet fulfilled his object, and another terror was added to his burthen. When at last he got back out of sight of the lonely moor, and within the shelter of the farm, some of his courage returned, and greatly though he dreaded it, he made his way to the boot-house instead of scuttling into the house, and into safety at once. Strangely enough the window of the boot-house was open and he had soon dropped his boots inside, in the hope that they would appear in the morning with the others, all black, shiny, and innocent looking; and crept away back to the open window whence he had escaped. It was not as easy to get back as it had been to get out; the window was higher from the ground on the outside, and Paul barked both his knees badly before he succeeded. Then, gently dropping to the floor, he crept softly upstairs and into his bed. The sight of the cosy room, the safety, warmth, and comfort of it all, helped him to forget all his woes, his smarting knees, the thorns in his feet, and his shivering, aching body.

"I wouldn't mind a bit," he thought, "if I'd only got something to eat; but what a tale it'll be to tell the other fellows when I get back to school." And so comforting himself he fell asleep.

When he awoke it was with a feeling that he had overslept himself, and that the morning was well advanced. This feeling grew stronger, too, when, on turning and stretching, he heard his mother's voice: "Paul, Paul, awake at last? Why, what a sleepy boy you are! Have you had a disturbed night, dear?"