Chatterbox, 1905.

V >> Various >> Chatterbox, 1905.

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McLEOD OF CLERE.

(_Concluded from page 83._)

III.

It was Sports day at Oakwood School, a glorious 18th of June. Guests
were gathering from near and far, and every lodging and primitive inn in
the neighbouring villages was reaping a harvest from the invasion of
relatives and friends of boys past and present. On the school tower, a
landmark for miles, the house flag and the Union Jack floated proudly.
The hundred boys looked a goodly sight below, clad alike in white with
varying racing colours in broad sashes and ties.

It was Paul Fife's third term, and he had just been welcoming Captain
Ferrers. 'I must go directly,' said the boy; 'I am in the sack race for
boys under twelve. I must tie Boh up first, or he will come rushing
after me and spoil my chance.'

Alert and active, Paul hurried off, and Captain Ferrers joined Dr.
Rayne.

'So glad you think we are taking care of him,' said the Doctor. 'He is a
favourite with us all; not quite a typical English boy yet, though. I am
glad to see so many "old boys" here to-day, and parents too. Bless me,
there's General McLeod of Clere; I have not seen him for years. It must
bring back many sad memories: his son was here years ago, a splendid
fellow--his death was a terrible blow,' and Dr. Rayne went off to speak
to his old friend.

The bell rang for the sack race, and there was a general movement to the
starting-post, where the eight small boys in for the final were
standing, each tied up to the neck in his sack, ready for the start. The
old General was keenly interested, and was standing immediately behind
Paul.

The master starter yielded to the request, 'May we have our caps off?'
and uncovered one after the other each little competitor's head. General
McLeod made a hurried exclamation as the dark head before him was bared.
Paul heard him, but had no time to look round, for with an 'Are you
ready?--are you ready?--off!' the boys were started. Blundering,
tumbling, struggling up again, they rounded the opposite post, and came
hopping in, Paul an easy first. As he touched the winning tape, his
uplifted face beaming with pride, the old General turned white to the
lips, and stretching out his trembling hand he laid it on the head of
the laughing boy, and gasped uncertainly, 'Miguel Sarreco!'

* * * * *

There was very earnest talk in the Head Master's study that night,
between Dr. Rayne and the General and Captain Ferrers, glad of a quiet
hour at last.

'If I might suggest it,' said Dr. Rayne, 'you should tell your story
first, General; it may throw light on small things, which otherwise may
escape my friend Ferrers's notice and remembrance of all concerning this
poor little child.'

'I quite agree with you, and will reserve my story until after,' and
Captain Ferrers sat down, listening eagerly while the General began.

'I must go back many years. My wife, as you know, Rayne, was of
Portuguese descent, an ancestor of hers having married a senora in
Lisbon, after the Peninsular war. She (my wife) inherited a little
property there, and in some business connected with it I had met, at
different times, a far distant connection of hers, Don Manuel Sarreco,
with whom I became fast friends. About fifteen years ago I received an
urgent message to go to him at once. I travelled day and night, only to
find him dying--he had been mortally wounded in a duel. He knew me, and
urged on me his last request, to take his two children and bring them up
as my own in England. I hesitated, but his entreaties and the love I had
for him prevailed, and I took on myself the charge. The eldest was a
beautiful girl of seventeen, Miguel two years younger. They were
wonderfully alike, only in the boy's case the raven black hair had a
lock of white on one side, the "Sarreco streak," as it was proudly
called, which appeared in the family generation after generation. I
brought the children home with certain of their most cherished
possessions, some fine riding-horses, and a pair of curious dogs of
Andalusian breed.

'My son, Hugh (as you know) had joined the army, and having helped in
the final subjugation of Burmah, was then stationed at Mandalay, in
command of native troops. I sent the boy Miguel to Harton, and Inez
rapidly picked up English at home. Two years later Hugh returned, as he
had obtained a year's leave. To make a long story short, he fell in love
with Inez, and they were married before he returned to Burmah.

'I ought to mention that, some months before, the addition of two fine
puppies of the Andalusian stock had become the pride of our kennels:
they were born the day of the wedding of the Princess Louise with the
Duke of Fife, and were unanimously christened "Fife" and "Louise." The
dog I saw to-day was the same breed. When Hugh and Inez went away, Fife
was an important part of the luggage. We went to see them on board,
waving good-byes as the vessel steamed away, and I never saw them
again.'

The General's voice faltered and failed, but soon he resumed: 'You may
perhaps remember the sad bathing accident at Harton School, of which no
one quite knew the end. Miguel Sarreco was one of the two boys drowned;
his dog, Louise, had apparently tried to save him, for their bodies were
washed in together some hours after the accident. The boy had been the
only young one left with us at Clere: he was the darling of us all.
Judge, therefore, the shock I felt to-day when a face like his looked
into mine, and his own dog apparently jumped as formerly round him.

'Inez was so shocked by the news that a change from Mandalay was
suggested, and Hugh obtained the command of Fort Sardu, one of the
outpost stations in the Shan States. The Dacoit attack on this fort you
will remember. We were just rejoicing over a letter from Hugh, telling
of the birth of a little son, when we were stunned by the ghastly news
of the massacre of every living soul at Fort Sardu.

'I travelled out to Burmah at once, hoping against hope. But all had
perished. A sentry near the jungle alone was living, sorely wounded.
When questioned, he was delirious, but just before he died he had
quieted, and said that Pahna, the Karen woman, had got away into the
jungle, but her arm was wounded, and as she went he heard the wailing of
a child, and a dog with burning hair had rushed out from one of the huts
after her. No one could say if it was truth or delirium, but every
inquiry was made. No such woman had been heard of, nor had she returned
to any of the Karen encampments, so if she had got away she must have
died in the jungle, they said. The body of an infant had been seen among
the dead at the fort and buried with the others, so that the sentry's
tale seemed but a myth.

'Many months later, a letter, delayed some while, reached me from my
boy. It had been written the day after the child's birth apparently. I
have it here. After some private matter he says: "Our little son is a
fine fellow, very dark, and his thick black hair has the 'Sarreco
streak' very visible, which Inez is absurdly delighted at. The English
nurse has jungle fever, and is kept away, but Pahna, the Karen woman, is
a splendid substitute: she is the wife of my faithful native servant.
Pahna is devoted to 'Bebe Ingalay.' Her English is curious; Inez she
usually called 'Missee Sahib,' but now she has got to 'Missee Mahkloo,'
'Thakin Mahkloo' meaning me--her nearest rendering of McLeod." You
start, Captain Ferrers?'

'Yes; I will say why presently--please go on,' said Captain Ferrers. 'I
cannot say how interested I am.'

'The letter goes on,' resumed the General: '"Inez hung the Ragged Cross,
the 'Sarreco badge,' round the baby's neck for a few moments to dub him
true 'Sarreco.' Pahna looks on it as a charm especially his own, and
hangs it over his cot. 'Fife' watches the little one jealously, so he is
well protected."

'That is practically all,' said the General, folding the thin letter
reverently with hands that trembled; 'but I feel surer and surer--my
heart tells me that the little boy Paul Fife must be my own flesh and
blood. He is Miguel Sarreco's very image: the same haughty poise of the
head, and lean, sinewy body; but when he speaks, the voice is my son's,
and the curve of the lips his also.'

'I think I can help you,' said Captain Ferrers, rising. 'I have here in
my pocket-book the exact description of the finding the dying woman and
the child in the jungle as given me by the Tounghi, "Maung Yet"--he is
still to be found, I believe, if more is required. Her dying words over
and over were as you see: "Thakin Ingalay--Bebe--Mah Kloo." He took the
last to be the woman's own name, and impressed me with the same idea.
But it must be meant for Macleod. This alone, coupled with the white
lock of hair, is almost proof-positive. But still further, the dog was
there, and on his brass collar (which I removed at once, not to risk
losing it) was the word "Fife," the name of his owner, we thought, and
so we called the child Fife too. Last, but not least, I believe I have
in safe keeping the veritable "Sarreco badge" you mention, a curious
kind of gold cross, fastened to a thin gold chain. Maung Yet gave it to
me as a charm found on the dead woman. I may add that these Karen women
are wonderfully faithful; probably both husband and her own infant were
slain early in the fight, and she had alone been able to take away the
English baby, and had carried him all those weary miles, saving him only
to die herself. The hardships endured are terrible to think of.'

There was a pause--the old General's head was bowed over his clasped
hands. Then he rose to his full height and said: 'It is quite enough to
assure me of what I felt sure of before. I thank God for all His mercy!
and now I should just like to kiss my little grandson before I go. I
will be here again early to-morrow.'

Captain Ferrers and Dr. Rayne, both frequent visitors at Clere, assert
that the General grows younger. It may well be so, for the dark clouds
of sorrow have lifted, and the sun shines for him with the laughter of a
happy child. He can look hopefully forward now to life's evening. He is
not the last of the McLeods.

MARTIA.

[Illustration: "They came hopping in, Paul an easy first."]

THE STARTLED HARES.

Four hares were at dinner one day--
The sweetest of herbage was theirs--
And as they all nibbled away
They seemed to be rid of their cares;
For the grass was so green and the sky was so blue,
They had plenty to eat and nothing to do.

The sun shone so brightly that day,
They did not think danger was near;
The hunters and dogs were away,
There was nothing around to cause fear.
When, alas! from the sky there dropped with a plump,
A something which made their poor hearts give a jump.

[Illustration:

"After all, I will wait--
I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!"]

Poor Fred was knocked backward at once,
And Charlie fell flat on the ground,
While Peter stretched out his long legs
And fled without making a sound;
But Tom, who was boastful, cried, 'Stop! Don't you see,
It is only a kite from its string broken free!

'Just let me catch hold of that boy,
I'll give him a box on the ear--
I'll teach him to fly his old kite
Beside us, to cause us such fear....
Why, there _is_ the boy! After all, I will wait--
I must hurry off home, it is getting quite late!'

Then off with a rush went brave Tom,
His heart beating loud with dismay;
While Charlie, and Peter, and Fred
Cried, 'Isn't Tom valiant to-day?'
And the boy shook with laughter to see Tom in flight,
For he knew that fine words never drive away fright!

D. B. M.

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 87._)

CHAPTER XI.

The blacksmith, a tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a leather apron,
stood at the door with a hammer in his right hand, his shop being a kind
of barn beneath a tall elm-tree, directly opposite the narrow lane, with
a board signifying that it was a footpath to Barton. It was exactly the
place I should have selected in order to get away from the main road had
I known of its existence.

'Has the motor-car gone?' I inquired, stopping in front of the
blacksmith's.

'Don't see much sign of it, do you?' he answered, rather gruffly.

'How long ago did it start?' I asked.

'About a quarter of an hour,' said the smith, and I saw that it would be
useless to think of following it in the hope of overtaking Jacintha.
Perhaps it was just as well, as she had suggested that her uncle might
take me forcibly back to Mr. Turton, whose eagerness to bring me once
more to Castlemore still furnished matter for surprise.

But still, even if I ran some risk, I was determined to lose no time in
returning the locket to its owner, who had certainly done me a good
turn. My direction, which a little while ago had appeared uncertain, was
now decided for me, and henceforth, instead of directing my steps
towards London, I aimed at reaching Hazleton, whence the journey could
be continued with greater safety from pursuit.

'Can you tell me how far it is to Hazleton?' I asked before moving on
from the smithy.

'Jim,' cried the blacksmith, turning towards a man who was hammering a
horse-shoe, 'here's the champion walker wants to know how far to
Hazleton.'

'About thirty miles,' said Jim.

'Which is the way?' I demanded.

'Bear to your left till you come to the main road,' said the smith,
'then take the left again.'

Having thanked the man, I walked on, still looking sharply out for Mr.
Turton's cab, until I came to a small village with a green, on which a
few boys were playing cricket. Here there were two forked roads, and
after staying five minutes to watch the game, I followed that to the
left. I took the precaution to place the locket in my empty watch-pocket
for greater safety, and as I left the village behind, I took out all the
money in my possession--four shillings and sevenpence--and counted it,
although I knew perfectly well what it amounted to. Even if the weather
remained fine, which appeared extremely doubtful, I could not hope to
reach Hazleton in less than two days, and then I must hang about the
entrance to Colebrook Park until I succeeded in seeing Jacintha alone.
As to what was to happen after that, I did not trouble myself; Hazleton
had now become my fixed destination, and by securing a free bed in the
open air for two nights, I reckoned it would be possible to fare well on
the way.

Now that I had set my back towards Barton, I felt perfectly safe from
Mr. Turton, and the road became so hilly and beautiful, with woods and
undulating fields on each hand, that it soon began to engage all my
attention. Villages came close together, and, indeed, the only drawback
that afternoon was the lowering sky, which certainly foreboded a bad
night.

At about five o'clock I passed through a kind of model village, with
some quaint cottages and a few nourishing shops, in one of whose windows
I saw some extremely tempting-looking small pork pies. Having eaten only
bread and cheese for dinner, I was beginning to feel ravenously hungry,
so, entering the shop, I inquired the price.

'Twopence each,' said the girl behind the counter, 'fresh made this
morning.'

'I will have one,' I answered, when it occurred to me that if I was
going to sleep out of doors, it might be wise to buy two, keeping one in
reserve for supper. Then I asked for a glass of milk, and as there was a
penny change out of sixpence, I bought a large cake of chocolate.

On leaving the shop, the sky looked blacker and more threatening than
ever, and I wondered whether Jacintha and her uncle had arrived home
yet. Eating one of the pork pies as I walked on, I followed it by half
the cake of chocolate, and then the rain began, with large drops, which
made me dread a thunder-storm.

After a little while the rain ceased, however, and quickening my steps,
I began to think I should be driven to pay for a night's lodging after
all. Presently I came to a kind of open moor, covered with bracken,
bramble, and brilliant patches of heath. A rabbit scampered across the
road, but there was no one to be seen, although a railway ran close at
hand through a cutting on the right. I could see the tops of the
signal-posts and hear the rush of passing trains now and then. When I
had walked a mile or more across the moor, the rain began again with
flashes of vivid lightning and long rolls of thunder. I turned up my
collar and buttoned my jacket, which was soon nearly wet through, and at
last stood up in the wet bracken under a beech-tree. A more vivid flash
of lightning, however, reminded me that I had heard of the danger of
standing beneath trees in storms; so, plunging into the deluge again, I
followed the road up a steep hill, in the hope of seeing a village, or
some kind of shelter, from the crest.

But the only human habitation in sight was a solitary house, which
looked curious enough amidst those lonely surroundings. It stood at the
corner of a cross-road still several hundred yards distant, a
new-looking house, built of red bricks, with a tiled roof, with a garden
and railings in front. Determined to find shelter somewhere, I set off
down the hill at a run, and, as I drew near the house, rejoiced to see
that it was apparently empty. By the iron railings stood a black board,
announcing that it was to be let unfurnished, while the wisps of straw
about the path seemed to show that the tenants had but recently forsaken
it, because of its lonely situation, no doubt. Opening the gate, I went
up the stone steps and stood beneath a small porch before its front
door, where at least I was out of the rain, which now poured down in
torrents. On each side of the small porch was a shelf, evidently
intended to support flower-pots, and underneath one of the shelves I saw
an old sack.

This I picked up and examined, and finding that it was not very dirty, I
thought there could be no harm in taking possession of it, for if the
rain continued, the sack would serve the purpose of a cape to protect my
shoulders. Placing it round them at once, I stood gazing at the rain,
while the evening gradually darkened. The thunder sounded as if it were
exactly overhead, and the lightning seemed to dance around me. Presently
I began to wonder how to pass the night, since it would be madness to
leave this shelter in the deluge, while yet I could not very comfortably
remain where I was.

It must have been between seven and eight o'clock when a happy thought
occurred. How idiotic to feel doubtful where to sleep when here was a
whole house apparently at my disposal! It could not injure anybody if I
made it a shelter for myself for the night, whereas it would be an
immense boon to have a roof over one's head until the rain
ceased--although it looked as if it never would leave off.

Drawing the sack over my head, I came forth from my shelter and
inspected the front of the house, only to find that every window was
securely fastened. Going round to the side gate of lattice-work, I found
it unlocked, however, and made my way at once to the back garden. There,
by great good fortune, was a window with the bottom pane broken, and
having enlarged the hole, I was able to put in a hand and push back the
fastener, so that to open the window and effect an entrance was the work
of a few seconds.

Having shut the window, I looked about, and saw that I stood in a kind
of breakfast-room, entirely empty; but on going to the adjoining
kitchen, there was a heap of shavings and paper by a packing-case in one
corner, and on this I determined to make a bed. The rain still pelted,
the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed, while the interior of the
house seemed dismal and oppressive, I confess to a feeling of timidity
which I had not experienced since I left Castlemore--such as, indeed, I
had scarcely been conscious of in my life before. The evening was
already dark, and the night promised to be absolutely black. When I went
to the kitchen door and looked out into the stone-floored passage, I
could scarcely see my hand before me, and there was no means of
obtaining a light.

Returning to the kitchen, I shut the door, and, making the most of the
still remaining light, I began to prepare my bed for the night, but as I
turned the shavings a mouse ran over my hand, and for the moment I felt
so startled that I walked to the farther side of the room.

There I began to persuade myself that there was no danger to be feared
from a mouse, and presently, returning to the corner, I shook out the
shavings and pieces of paper until they somewhat resembled the shape of
a bed. A few minutes later, however, it seemed to become suddenly black,
save when the flashes of lightning lighted the room, for, of course, the
windows were without blinds. Sitting down on the bed, I determined to
eat my supper and try to sleep, not caring how early I woke, so long as
it was daylight. I congratulated myself on the possession of the second
pork-pie and the chocolate, and lest the morning should prove as wet as
the night, I only ate half of my provender, although I could very
readily have dispatched the whole.

Then, having taken off my boots and spread the sack out to dry, I said
my prayers and lay down at full length; but, instead of falling asleep
at once, my thoughts turned to the past, and I seemed to live over again
every interview I had ever had with Captain Knowlton. When I remembered
his cheerful personality, it seemed impossible to realise that he could
be dead, and yet by this time I had not the slightest hope of ever
seeing him again. I tried to dwell on Mr. Bosanquet's encouraging words,
but it was useless to-night as I lay watching the lightning; and,
oppressed by grief at Captain Knowlton's loss, I could not keep back a
few tears. Then I must have fallen asleep, for, I know not how much
later, although the kitchen was still in total blackness, I found myself
sitting up, and thinking for the moment that I was back in my room with
Smythe and the other fellows at Mr. Turton's. Before I had quite
realised the actual surroundings, I grew cold from head to foot, with
that uncomfortable sensation called goose-flesh, as if every individual
hair were standing on end. My teeth began to chatter as I strained my
ears to listen.

There could be no doubt about it. I could distinctly hear a low, pitiful
weeping apparently just above my head. That the sounds came from some
human being in intense distress I entertained no doubt whatever, and
yet, inconsistently enough, I felt frightened out of my wits. Rising, I
felt my way by the empty dresser to the door, and there stood listening.
Still the melancholy sound continued; such a dismal wailing as I had
never heard before. How I longed for the day to break, or even for the
lightning, which had now ceased, although in unison with the sounds of
continuous weeping I heard the rain beating against the window-panes.

Afraid to open the door, feeling that I would gladly endure any penalty
in exchange for a box of matches, I did not make the least attempt to go
to sleep again, but stood close to the kitchen window on the look-out
for the first sign of dawn. Never had time seemed to pass so slowly. The
sounds of mice in one corner made me shudder, and for once in my life I
was thoroughly and shamefully terrified.

The first shade of grey on the ceiling caused a feeling of intense
relief, and I began to upbraid myself for timidity. As the light gained
brightness, courage returned, and when at last it was day, although
nothing could have appeared much more dismal than the outlook from the
window, I determined to pull myself together and to make a tour of
inspection.

(_Continued on page 102._)

[Illustration: Alone in the Empty House.]

[Illustration: The Best Beginning]

THE BEST BEGINNING.

Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, was not only an excellent ruler and
fine general, but deeply religious.

On one occasion, at the beginning of a great war, he landed his troops
in Germany. Directly he landed in the early morning, after giving some
necessary orders to some of his officers, he retired a few paces from
them and knelt down to pray. He noticed that this action on his part
appeared to surprise some of his men; whereupon he said, 'The man who
has finished his prayers has done one half of his daily work.'

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

5.--ARITHMOGRAPH.

A word of ten letters; a woman's name.

1.--4, 8, 7, 10. A great river.
2.--7, 1, 3, 4. Not fat.
3.--7, 8, 10, 5, 6. A vassal, or the lord to whom he is bound.
4.--2, 1, 3, 7. Young meat.
5.--2, 8, 7, 10. Very bad.
6.--9, 3, 8, 7. A horny substance; and a small, pointed piece of metal.
7.--5, 6, 4, 10, 2, 3. A city in Switzerland.
8.--9, 3, 2, 10. The body of a church.
9.--5, 3, 8, 9.--Something obtained.

C. J. B.

[_Answer on page 130._]

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES ON PAGE 58.

3.--1. Bucharest.
2. Rouen.
3. Brunswick.
4. Budapest.
5. Santiago.
6. San Francisco.
7. Benares.
8. Prague
9. Valparaiso.
10. Nantes.