“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.