第5章 CHAPTER II(2)

"Phineas!"--a second and more determined attack--"too much laughing bean't good for thee;and it's time this lad were going about his own business.""Hush!--nonsense,Jael."

"No--she's right,"said John Halifax,rising,while that look of premature gravity,learned doubtless out of hard experience,chased all the boyish fun from his face."I've had a merry day--thank you kindly for it!and now I'll be gone."Gone!It was not to be thought of--at least,not till my father came home.For now,more determinedly than ever,the plan which I had just ventured to hint at to my father fixed itself on my mind.

Surely he would not refuse me--me,his sickly boy,whose life had in it so little pleasure.

"Why do you want to go?You have no work?"

"No;I wish I had.But I'll get some."

"How?"

"Just by trying everything that comes to hand.That's the only way.

I never wanted bread,nor begged it,yet--though I've often been rather hungry.And as for clothes"--he looked down on his own,light and threadbare,here and there almost burst into holes by the stout muscles of the big growing boy--looked rather disconsolately."I'm afraid SHE would be sorry--that's all!She always kept me so tidy."By the way he spoke,"SHE"must have meant his mother.There the orphan lad had an advantage over me;alas!I did not remember mine.

"Come,"I said,for now I had quite made up my mind to take no denial,and fear no rebuff from my father;"cheer up.Who knows what may turn up?""Oh yes,something always does;I'm not afraid!"He tossed back his curls,and looked smiling out through the window at the blue sky;that steady,brave,honest smile,which will meet Fate in every turn,and fairly coax the jade into good humour.

"John,do you know you're uncommonly like a childish hero of mine--Dick Whittington?Did you ever hear of him?""No."

"Come into the garden then"--for I caught another ominous vision of Jael in the doorway,and I did not want to vex my good old nurse;besides,unlike John,I was anything but brave."You'll hear the Abbey bells chime presently--not unlike Bow bells,I used to fancy sometimes;and we'll lie on the grass,and I'll tell you the whole true and particular story of Sir Richard Whittington."I lifted myself,and began looking for my crutches.John found and put them into my hand,with a grave,pitiful look.

"You don't need those sort of things,"I said,making pretence to laugh,for I had not grown used to them,and felt often ashamed.

"I hope you will not need them always."

"Perhaps not--Dr.Jessop isn't sure.But it doesn't matter much;most likely I shan't live long."For this was,God forgive me,always the last and greatest comfort I had.

John looked at me--surprised,troubled,compassionate--but he did not say a word.I hobbled past him;he following through the long passage to the garden door.There I paused--tired out.John Halifax took gentle hold of my shoulder.

"I think,if you did not mind,I'm sure I could carry you.I carried a meal-sack once,weighing eight stone."I burst out laughing,which maybe was what he wanted,and forthwith consented to assume the place of the meal-sack.He took me on his back--what a strong fellow he was!--and fairly trotted with me down the garden walk.We were both very merry;and though I was his senior I seemed with him,out of my great weakness and infirmity,to feel almost like a child.

"Please to take me to that clematis arbour;it looks over the Avon.

Now,how do you like our garden?"

"It's a nice place."

He did not go into ecstasies,as I had half expected;but gazed about him observantly,while a quiet,intense satisfaction grew and diffused itself over his whole countenance.

"It's a VERY nice place."

Certainly it was.A large square,chiefly grass,level as a bowling-green,with borders round.Beyond,divided by a low hedge,was the kitchen and fruit garden--my father's pride,as this old-fashioned pleasaunce was mine.When,years ago,I was too weak to walk,I knew,by crawling,every inch of the soft,green,mossy,daisy-patterned carpet,bounded by its broad gravel walk;and above that,apparently shut in as with an impassable barrier from the outer world,by a three-sided fence,the high wall,the yew-hedge,and the river.

John Halifax's comprehensive gaze seemed to take in all.

"Have you lived here long?"he asked me.

"Ever since I was born."

"Ah!--well,it's a nice place,"he repeated,somewhat sadly."This grass plot is very even--thirty yards square,I should guess.I'd get up and pace it;only I'm rather tired.""Are you?Yet you would carry--"

"Oh--that's nothing.I've often walked farther than to-day.But still it's a good step across the country since morning.""How far have you come?"

"From the foot of those hills--I forget what they call them--over there.I have seen bigger ones--but they're steep enough--bleak and cold,too,especially when one is lying out among the sheep.At a distance they look pleasant.This is a very pretty view."Ay,so I had always thought it;more so than ever now,when I had some one to say to how "very pretty"it was.Let me describe it--this first landscape,the sole picture of my boyish days,and vivid as all such pictures are.

At the end of the arbour the wall which enclosed us on the riverward side was cut down--my father had done it at my asking--so as to make a seat,something after the fashion of Queen Mary's seat at Stirling,of which I had read.Thence,one could see a goodly sweep of country.First,close below,flowed the Avon--Shakspeare's Avon--here a narrow,sluggish stream,but capable,as we at Norton Bury sometimes knew to our cost,of being roused into fierceness and foam.

Now it slipped on quietly enough,contenting itself with turning a flour-mill hard by,the lazy whirr of which made a sleepy,incessant monotone which I was fond of hearing.