Paul the Courageous

by Mabel Quiller-Couch

It was a lovely day, and the children were in the highest spirits, only saddened every now and again by the sight of the searchers still scouring the country for the escaped man, and the fear that the poor fellow might at any moment be caught, for, strange though it may seem, all the children's sympathies were with him, and they longed to hear that the search had been abandoned.

The drive to Windycross was a long one, but they reached there in good time, and Michael and Stella stood looking about them full of interest at the funny little low white cottages, while their father went into one and ordered tea. Then they strolled slowly on to the town, and Stella laid out two of the five shillings she possessed on a book she knew Paul was longing to possess. Her pleasure and excitement over her purchase were immense; she could not allow anyone else to carry it, and every now and again she was filled with a longing to untie the string and look at her treasure, to turn over the crisp new leaves, and glance at the pictures. At last, when they reached the village, she could restrain herself no longer. They had got back earlier than they thought they would, and the tea was not ready, so Mr. Anketell, who wanted to call on a friend near by, thought he would go and do that while they were waiting, and take the children with him.

But Stella wanted so much to undo her precious parcel and look at her book that she pleaded to be left behind, and Mr. Anketell and Michael left her at the cottage. But she soon found that that did not suit her; there were too many people about, and she was shy under the glances of so many eyes; so she strolled into the garden, but that was close to the village street, and a girl who was working there dropped her work to stare at the stranger.

Stella began to feel quite cross, and she looked around to see if there was no secluded spot in all that place. Then her eye fell on the little church hidden away amongst trees at the bottom of the village, and her heart leaped. She turned to the girl who was picking fruit and watching her at the same time. "I am going down to the churchyard to sit in the shade," she said. "I will be back again by the time tea is ready," and before the girl could reply she had hurried away.

The top of the village seemed to be the favourite spot at Windycross for the villagers to congregate; most of the houses were up there, too, while the lower end where the church stood was as deserted as the other end was sought after; to Stella's great joy she did not see a single person, and as she clambered over the stone stile which led into it, and wandered along the overgrown paths, she felt as though she was as safe from intrusion as though she had been in the middle of the moor. The fact was, the yard had long ceased to be used as a burying-ground, and the church itself was as nearly deserted by the present generation of villagers, for a clergyman came only once a month to hold service there, and while the old building gradually became a ruin, a flourishing chapel sprang up to satisfy the needs of the neglected people.

But Stella knew and thought nothing of this; she was only bent on finding a comfortable, secluded seat, where she sat and unwrapped her parcel. She thought of Paul's surprise, and how pleased he would be, she dipped into the pages here and there and read a few lines, admired the covers, and enjoyed the delightful smell new books so often have, and at last, half reluctantly, she wrapped her treasure up in its paper again, trying to make it look as neat as when the shopman had handed it to her. That done she got up to explore further. It was a weird, neglected spot she had got into. Numbers of tombstones lay about as they had fallen, others were leaning over looking as though another gale would lay them flat too. The shrubs which had been planted on the graves had grown to be great, unkempt bushes, spreading over many other graves than the one they had been planted on; tiny saplings had become big trees, forcing out tombstones and curbs, and everywhere the rank grass grew high up into the bushes. But greatest of all dilapidations was that of the church itself; many of the windows had been broken, and were left unrepaired; here and there a great piece of stonework had fallen away; the outer gates of the porch hung loose on one hinge. Stella entered the porch and sat for a moment on one of the stone benches.

Then, scarcely knowing why she did it, she raised the latch of the church door. To her great surprise the door opened, and without a thought she entered. She had never been in so tumbledown and neglected a place in her life; the pew-doors were either hanging or gone altogether, some of the pews were too rotten to use, the plaster and paint hung off in scales, and a large hole in the roof showed that the risk of attending service there was no slight one.

But Stella did not heed the danger; she was too much charmed to find herself alone and exploring. A sense of importance filled her, and a good deal of curiosity. She looked at the names in some of the mouldy hymn books lying in the pews, and mounted the pulpit to see how the church looked from there. Then she went into the vestry, and coming out of it she found herself at the entrance to a low dark place which she thought must be a family vault. It was so low and dark she could at first see nothing within, and instinctively she drew herself up sharply on the threshold, doubtful, but of what she did not know. But, somehow, she did not like to enter, a sudden nervousness came over her, a desire to get away from the place and be out in the open again.

And then, with a terrified scream, she saw close to her, gleaming out of the darkness, a wild looking, savage face; two eyes full of desperation, and hunger, and despair, were fixed on hers; and in another moment she recognised the hiding convict. The fear in his face lightened when he found that the footsteps he had listened to for what seemed so long were only those of a little girl.

"Are you alone?" he asked, in a low, gruff voice.