Chapter 11

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._)

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.

4.--Amble-side, in the Lake District, near which place lived Wordsworth, Dr. Arnold, and Harriet Martineau.

THE INDIAN'S CONSCIENCE.

An Indian once asked his neighbour for some tobacco. The neighbour put his hand in his pocket and gave him a handful. The next morning the Indian came again, and brought a quarter-dollar which he had found between the tobacco. The neighbour was surprised at such honesty, and asked the Indian why he had not kept the money.

'It is just like this,' he answered. 'In my heart I have a good man and a bad man. The good man said, "The money does not belong to you; give it back to its owner." The bad man said, "It has been given to you; it belongs to you." The good man replied, "That is not true, and such conduct is evil; the tobacco belongs to you, but the money belongs to him who has given it away by mistake; you must give it back again." The bad man answered, "Think no more about it, and do not let such a trifle disturb you. Keep the money." I was in doubt as to which voice of my heart I should listen to. At last I lay down in bed, but the good man and the bad man quarrelled so all the night in my heart that I had no peace, so I felt obliged to bring you back your money.'

THE LIME OR LINDEN.

The Lime, or Linden, is very notable amongst our trees on account of its beauty and usefulness, and also because it will grow anywhere. It is especially a London tree, for we see it in parks, squares, many private gardens, and along some roads in the metropolis. But the smoke of London seldom allows the tree to attain its full size. Often the stroller in July, passing along a road or lane, becomes suddenly aware of a delicious scent floating upon the summer breeze. He looks up, to find this perfume comes from a lime, putting forth its clusters of flowers upon their leafy branches--flowers to which, by day or night, crowds of bees, flies, and other insects resort. About the suburbs of London the lively sparrows often have their assemblies in lime or plane-trees; and in most years, the London limes, towards autumn, put forth a few fresh leaves.

The lime is a hardy tree, and flourishes even in the cold regions of Sweden and Russia. It is supposed to have been introduced to Britain by the Romans, who brought trees and plants into these islands from various countries where the Roman banners had been carried. Amongst the Swiss, this tree has been regarded as an emblem of liberty, and planted for a memorial. From the lime, called in Sweden 'lind,' the greatest of our early botanists took his name; it was chosen by him because a large lime-tree overhung his father's house, and so he has always been known as Linnæus.

'Linden' comes from the Swedish name, but 'lime' is an ignorant mistake, which cannot be altered now. Properly, the tree belongs to the citron family, akin to the orange and lemon, and the other name of the linden seems at first to have been 'line,' because the bark was used for making cord and other lines.

From 'bast,' as the inner bark is called, a great number of mats are made in Russia, and sent all over Europe; a small quantity is also woven in Lincolnshire and Monmouthshire. Hats and shoes have been made from lime-bark, and the solid wood is serviceable in many ways. It has supplied bowls, plates, sounding-boards for pianos; and some beautiful carving--that of Gibbons, for example--has been executed in lime-wood. It is white, but very tough when properly dried.

A handsome tree when solitary, the lime is particularly beautiful in an avenue. There is a famous avenue of large size at Ware Park, and another remarkable one in the Cathedral yard at Winchester.

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

III.--PROFESSOR CHARLES' FIRST VOYAGE.

Notwithstanding the superior power of Professor Charles' gas balloon, the Montgolfiers stuck to their hot air, 'for,' said they, 'see how much cheaper it is, and how much more quickly the balloon can be inflated--about ten minutes against three days.' So, in answer to frequent demands, their air-ships sailed into the skies, and even the applause of royal hands increased the uproar with which each successful experiment was greeted.

On the morning of September 19th, 1783, the road between Paris and Versailles was crowded to excess. The stream of carriages seemed endless, and the eager throng pushed its way between the vehicles till there was hardly room for horse or man to move. The windows all along the route were full of faces, while the house-tops themselves were invaded by sight-seers. And all this excitement was because the King had commanded Stephen Montgolfier to send a balloon up from the gardens at Versailles. This time, however, there were to be passengers, and as no human being had ever breathed the upper air before, it was questioned whether he could do so and live. The pioneers, therefore, should not be human, and in due course a cock, a sheep, and a goose were chosen. These were the first living passengers in the cloud-cruisers, and after a voyage at a great height, of eight minutes in duration, they returned to the earth in perfect health. But what bird or animal could have wondered if, after that 19th of September, they had quacked, and crowed, and bleated with more pride than before?

Then Montgolfier was busier still, and on November 21st, in a fire-balloon specially decorated for such a great occasion, two gentlemen, named Pilâtre de Rozier and D'Arlande, made the first ascent. Of the former of these we shall have to speak again.

But as hot air, as a means of flight, has been surpassed by hydrogen gas, we ought to give more attention here to the grand voyage made eleven days later by Professor Charles and his skilful helper, M. Robert. During the preparations all went well. The balloon was made and fitted at the Tuileries, with a lovely car in the shape of a fairy's boat, bright with blue panels and golden ornaments. But when things had gone thus far, trouble began.

On November 29th a rumour (too soon confirmed) ran through Paris that the King forbade the ascent to be made. At midnight Charles was aroused from sleep and summoned to appear before a high official, who presented him with the royal order to give up his project. We may readily believe that after this he passed a restless night, and his trouble became harder to bear when his enemies whispered that he himself had asked for the order to be made because, at the last moment, his courage had failed him. Sad to say, such whispers as these will travel as fast and far as shouts of praise, and Professor Charles felt thoroughly depressed. But there was some comfort in the heavy rain that fell, for no one could expect the balloon to ascend in such weather, and before the clouds cleared away perhaps his difficulties would clear away too.

The King, however, was deaf to all appeals; maybe he thought Professor Charles was too valuable to France to run the risk of being killed. But if this was the reason, there were four hundred thousand people in Paris who did not agree with him, and when the next morning broke quite cloudless, they gathered at the Tuileries in a somewhat impatient manner. Who was to be obeyed, the people or the King? Well, up to the last minute Professor Charles would not decide. The arrangements were continued. The great balloon was moved into the open space, with a small one, five and a half feet in diameter, beside it. This was to be sent up first, to see if the air was sufficiently quiet. The rope which controlled it was placed in the hand of Stephen Montgolfier, 'for,' said Professor Charles, 'it was you who first showed us the way to the clouds.' At a signal given, M. Montgolfier cut the rope, and for a moment the attention of the spectators was engrossed by this little pioneer as it rose into the blue above them.

Finally, at a quarter past one, M. Charles made up his mind to keep his promise to the people, and disobey the King for once, and, accompanied by M. Robert, stepped into the blue and golden car. Amid a deafening tumult, that must have been heard at Versailles, they rose slowly into the air. His own description of the voyage has been preserved, and as he was a man who could describe what he felt and saw (and let all 'chatterboxes' know that this is harder than it seems), no story could be more interesting. They rose straight up for one thousand eight hundred feet, and then hung poised in the air. The view was entrancing, and as the aeronauts looked down at the Tuileries and the buzzing crowd, Professor Charles felt as though he had escaped from a swarm of wasps ready to sting him without mercy if he failed to please them. However, his troubles from that point of view were over, and he turned his thoughts to the delights of his voyage. Presently they heard the report of a cannon, which meant that the people of Paris could no longer see them. Far below, like a silver brook, wound the river Seine, and twice the balloon floated across it. Village after village drifted away beneath them, till, at the end of two happy hours, they settled in a broad meadow at Nesle, twenty-seven miles from Paris. Here they were joined by three Englishmen who had ridden after them from Paris on horseback. These Englishmen, together with the village clergyman, signed Professor Charles' papers to prove that they had witnessed his descent, while the awestruck peasants gathered round and helped to hold the balloon.

The sun had already set, but the gas was not all gone, and so Professor Charles went up once more, this time alone. He clapped his hands as a signal to the peasants to let go, and ten minutes later was soaring at a height of nine thousand feet. In that ten minutes he had passed from an atmosphere of spring to that of winter; for although it was December 1st, it was warm weather on the earth. Perfect silence was around him, and when he clapped his hands the noise was quite startling. As already stated, the sun had set when he left the earth, but now he saw it again just above the far horizon. All below was dark with shadow, and on him and his balloon alone the sun was shining. Delighted by these new experiences, he turned his eyes in all directions. Not a human being was visible, not a human voice could be heard, and while he looked and listened the sun sank out of sight once more. Professor Charles, for the first time in his life, had seen two sunsets in one day. Perhaps he thought that was enough, for he pulled the valve-line, and a few minutes later alighted in a field two miles from his starting-place, and the home of one of the Englishmen. The next morning he and Robert entered Paris in triumph, and a few hours later, through another gate, the balloon entered in triumph too, being escorted by bands of music and crowds of people.

The kind old King evidently forgave Professor Charles for disobeying him, for he immediately presented him with a pension, and first-class lodgings in the Tuileries, where he continued his studies till his death in 1823.

JOHN LEA.

THE JEALOUS KITTENS.

When Jack and Tom were little kits, No settled home had they; But Mother found within the barn A hamper full of hay, And there she took her children two, And told them what they ought to do.

She said, 'Now, darlings, make no noise, And if you do no harm, And learn your business, you will live In comfort at the farm. Just catch a mouse--for that's your trade-- And then your fortune will be made.'

Now, when the kits were left alone They soon began to play, For neither cats nor children can Be busy all the day; But as they tossed the hay about, A little mouse came creeping out!

'Look! look!' cried Jack, with eager eyes. 'I see!' cried Tom, 'I see! You go and seek another mouse, And leave this mouse to me.' 'Indeed, I won't!' cried Jack at once; 'You surely take me for a dunce!

'That mouse is mine--I saw it first; So, Tom, away you go, And let me tackle it at once, And lay the rascal low.' But naughty Tom would not submit; He said, 'It's mine--I'll capture it.'

But while they quarrelled loud and long, They quite forgot their prey, And when at last they made it up Miss Mouse had slipped away-- For if you fight and disagree, You ne'er will catch the enemy.

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 95._)