‘She didn’t mean no harm,’ retorted a young ploughman who had his own reasons for acting as Jenny’s champion. ‘How was she to know that hearing the news was to spoil Miss Pansy’s supper. Ain’t she like the rest ov us?’
‘You keep your tongue in your jaw—it ought to be big enough for it, I believe,’ snorted Jerry, his mouth full of bread and cheese, his mug of beer raised to his lips.
‘I’ll teach you, young man, to speak without splutter,’ cried Jenny, administering a smart slap to poor Jerry’s back with a result fatal to the contents of his mouth and mug.
The roar of laughter elicited by the coarse jest might have provoked Jerry—half choked though he was—to further argument, had he not been too well aware of the more immediate importance of securing the huge brown jug in order to replenish his cup.
Pansy had slipped out of the kitchen during this passage-at-arms. She was full of self-reproaches. Caleb arrested—in jail—in danger maybe of hanging! And all through her fault! If Caleb had emigrated, she might have consoled herself with the idea that in rejecting him she had done him a great kindness—for every strong man made a fortune in the colonies, she understood. But to think that she, however innocently, had some share in driving him to this terrible crime—that was a thought which made the poor girl’s heart and brain ache.
(To be concluded.)
QUEEN MARGERIE.
When I look back on my schoolboy days, there is one scene that always stands out before me with peculiar force and vividness; there is one occurrence that happened then more deeply graven than any other upon my memory; and that is no small thing to say, for I can call to mind any number of exciting things that took place when I was at Greychester. I could tell of many a victory that we gained, against heavy odds, by land or water; for there was scarcely a Greychester lad who could not pull an oar, as well as handle a bat, with more or less dexterity; and both on the cricket-field and on the river our opponents always found us pretty stubborn antagonists. I could tell many a story of our adventures and hairbreadth escapes, and of those little exploits and mischances of my own in which I figured as the hero or culprit, as the case might be, from the day on which I received my first ‘swishing’ until I left as top of the Sixth. There is a grim sort of interest, I always fancy, about one’s first sound thrashing, that makes it, in a fashion, a landmark in a schoolboy’s career. Even now I remember how I came by mine. It was soon after I entered the school, and I was in the third form—Tunder’s. Old Tunder, we called him, not that he really was old, for he was not much over forty, but to a schoolboy with the best of life before him, forty seems a patriarchal age. Tunder was anything but a profound scholar, and he was, moreover, very near-sighted, so that there was perhaps some reason for the boys of his form being much more distinguished for their proficiency in the art of practical joking than for their attainments in any branch of knowledge. Anyway, the third-form room was a very hotbed of mischief.
It happened that about this time we had hit upon a novel and pleasant form of amusement with which to beguile the monotony of our studies, Tunder’s defective vision giving us ample opportunity for the recreation. There were to be had at the Greychester toyshops little wooden frogs made to jump with a spring. It was a matter of intense and absorbing delight to us to range our frogs in line and test their powers by seeing which would take the longest jump. The excitement on these occasions was great. Tunder’s cane was constantly being brought into use, but until one ill-fated day I managed to escape it. One hot summer afternoon, Smithson Minor, who sat next to me, brought out of his pocket a couple of new spring-frogs, and making me a present of one, proposed that we should have a match between them, just to see what they were like. Now, if I had had my wits about me, I should have suspected that some snare lay hidden under this unusual generosity on the part of Smithson Minor, for, as a rule, he was not of a giving sort, and rarely parted with anything but for full and ample consideration. But I suspected nothing; the day was warm; a little relaxation from our struggles in decimal fractions seemed desirable, and old Tunder was safely moored at his desk just in front of us, correcting exercises, so that Smithson’s proposal appeared both kind and opportune, and met with a ready acceptance on my part.
But Smithson Minor, though I knew it not, was a traitor, and compassed my ruin; for the frog which he had given me was equipped with a spring of some fourfold strength. Somewhere in the course of his researches at the toyshops he had come across it, and his keen scent for mischief had quickly detected a rare opportunity for fun. He got his fun—at my expense. The frogs were carefully stationed at the lower edge of the desk, Smithson Minor giving them a last touch, just to see, he said, that it was a fair start, but in reality to point mine in a particular direction. The course would be the upward slope of the desk; ample space, we thought—at least I thought—for the most actively disposed jumper; and if by chance one of them did overshoot the mark and tumble on the floor, then we should have the additional excitement of recovering it at the risk of drawing on to us Tunder’s attention and Tunder’s cane. Everything was ready; the critical moment came. The frogs jumped, and mine won—won easily, beating all previous records, for it soared majestically into the air and swooped down full on to old Tunder’s nose! He regarded it quietly for a moment or two, and then taking it into his hands, said slowly and sarcastically: ‘The proprietor of this ingenious toy has evidently more leisure on his hands than he knows how to dispose of; if he will kindly step this way, I will give him something that will engage his attention for a time.’