A Dog with a Bad Name Part 32

"Oh, they're all serene," said Percy. "I'll yell to them when we get near enough."

Presently, as they themselves neared the sh.o.r.e, they noticed Scarfe turn and make for the land, evidently for something that had been forgotten, or else to make good some defect in his skates. Raby, while waiting, amused herself with cutting some graceful figures and curvetting to and fro, but always, as Jeffreys noted with concern, edging nearer to the river.

Percy shouted and waved to her to come the other way. She answered the call gaily and started towards them. Almost as she started there was a crack, like the report of a gun, followed by a cry from the girl.

Jeffreys, with an exclamation of horror and a call to Julius, dashed in an instant towards her. The light girlish figure, however, glided safely over the place of danger. Jeffreys had just time to swerve and let her pa.s.s, and next moment he was struggling heavily twenty yards beyond in ten feet of icy water.

It all happened in a moment. Percy's shout, the crack, the girl's cry, and Julius's wild howl, all seemed part of the same noise.

Percy, the first of the spectators to recover his self-possession, shouted to Scarfe, and started for the whole.

"I'm all right, don't come nearer," called Jeffreys, as he approached; "there's a ladder there, where Scarfe is. Bring it."

Percy darted off at a tangent, leaving Jeffreys, cool in body and mind, to await his return. To an ordinarily excitable person, the position was a critical one. The water was numbing; the ice at the edge of the hole was rotten, and broke away with every effort he made to climb on to it; even Julius, floundering beside him, bewildered, and at times a dead weight on his arms and neck, was embarra.s.sing. Jeffreys, however, did not exhaust himself by wild struggles. He laid his stick across the corner of the hole where the ice seemed firmest, and with his arms upon it propped himself with tolerable security. He ordered the dog out of the water and made him lie still at a little distance on the ice. He even contrived to kick off one boot, skate and all, into the water, but was too numbed to rid himself of the other.

It seemed an eternity while Scarfe and Percy approached with the ladder, with Raby, terrified and pale, hovering behind.

"Don't come nearer," he shouted, when at last they got within reach.

"Slide it along."

They pushed it, and it slipped to within a yard of him.

Julius, who appeared to have mastered the situation, jumped forward, and fixing his teeth in the top rung, dragged it the remaining distance.

The remainder was easy. Scarfe crawled along the ladder cautiously till within reach of the almost exhausted Jeffreys, and caught him under the shoulder, dragging him partially up.

"I can hold now," said Jeffreys, "if you and Percy will drag the ladder.

Julius, hold me, and drag too."

This combined effort succeeded. A minute later, Jeffreys, numbed with cold but otherwise unhurt, was being escorted on his one skate between Percy and Scarfe for the sh.o.r.e, where Raby awaited him with a look that revived him as nothing else could.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A BRUSH NEAR KANDAHAR.

While Raby that night dreamed troublously of the events of the day, a soldier was sitting in his tent near Kandahar, some four thousand or more miles away, reading a letter. He was an officer; his sword lay beside him on the table, his boots were off, and a flannel coat took the place of the regimental jacket which lay beside his saddle on the floor.

If these signs were not sufficient to prove that for the time being he was off duty, his att.i.tude as he lolled back in his camp-chair, with his feet on the table considerably above the level of his chin, reading his letter by the uncertain light of a lamp, would have left little doubt on the subject. So engrossed indeed was he that he was unaware of the presence of his native servant in the tent preparing supper, and read aloud to himself. The envelope of the letter, which lay on the table, was a foreign one with an English stamp, and addressed in a feminine hand.

The soldier, having completed his first perusal, turned back to the beginning, reading partly to himself, partly aloud.

"'October 4'--three months ago or more!--before she heard of this business. 'You poor dull darling'--nice names to call one's father, true enough, though, at the time, it was brutally dull at Simla--'I can fancy how you hate loafing about all day with nothing to do but try and keep cool and find a place to sleep in where the flies can't worry you.'

Hum! Picture of a soldier's life! A little different from the usual impression, but not very wide of the mark after all."

Then he read to himself for a bit something which made his weather- beaten face soften, and brought a sparkle to his eyes.

"Bless the child!" he murmured; "she doesn't forget her old father!

'How glad I shall be if you get sent to the front, for I know how you hate doing nothing. If you are, I shall be foolish, of course, and imagine all sorts of horrors whenever I see a letter.' That's the way girls back their fathers up! 'Oh, why couldn't I be a soldier too, and ride behind you into action, instead of dawdling here doing no good to anybody, and living like a fine young lady instead of a simple soldier's daughter?' Whew! what a fine little colour-sergeant she'd make!

Wouldn't Mrs Grundy sit up if she read that?

"Hum!" he went on, after reading a little further. "'I oughtn't to grumble. Uncle Rimbolt is the kindest of protectors, and lets me have far too many nice things. Aunt has a far better idea of what a captain's daughter should be. She doesn't spoil me. She's like a sort of animated extinguisher, and whenever I flicker up a bit she's down on me. I enjoy it, and I think she is far better pleased that I give her something to do than if I was awfully meek. It all helps to pa.s.s the time till my dear old captain comes home.' Heigho! that means she's miserable, and I'm not to guess it! I had my doubts of Charlotte Rimbolt when I let her go to Wildtree. Poor little Raby! she's no match for an animated extinguisher!

"'Percy,' continued the letter, 'is as lively and full of "dodges" as ever. He soon got over his kidnapping adventure. Indeed, the only difference it has made is that we have now one, or rather two, new inmates at Wildtree, for Uncle Rimbolt has employed Percy's rescuer as his librarian, and the dog has, of course, taken up his abode here too.

He is a perfect darling! so handsome and clever! He took to me the first moment I saw him, and he would do anything for me.' Really!" said the father; "that's coming it rather strong, isn't it, with the new librar-- Oh, perhaps she means the dog! Ha, ha! 'Aunt Rimbolt gets some fine extinguisher practice with this newcomer, against whom she has a most unaccountable prejudice. He is very shy and gentlemanly, but I am sure Percy never had a better friend. He has become ever so much steadier.' Did you ever know such letter-writers as these girls are?

Which newcomer does she mean, the fellow who's a perfect darling, or the fellow who's shy and gentlemanly? and which, in the name of wonder, is the man and which the dog? Upon my word, something awful might be going on, and I should be none the wiser! 'Julius nearly always escorts me in my walks. He is _such_ a dear friendly fellow, and always carries my bag or parasol. Aunt, of course, doesn't approve of our being so devoted to one another, for she looks upon Julius as an interloper; but it doesn't matter much to us. Percy often comes with us, but Julius rather resents a third person. He thinks--so do I, much as I like Percy--that two are company and three are none.'"

Major Atherton--for the soldier was no other--leaned back in his chair, and fanned himself with the letter.

"How _on earth_ am I to know who or what she is talking about? If it's not the dog, upon my honour, Aunt Rimbolt-- It can't be the dog, though.

She calls him Julius; and why should she take the boy along with them if it wasn't the librarian puppy she walked with? Rimbolt ought to look after things better than that!

"'Uncle Rimbolt thinks very highly of his new _protege_. He is so quiet; it is quite painful sometimes talking to him. I'm sure he has had a lot of trouble; he has a sort of hunted look sometimes which is quite pathetic. Aunt hardly ever lets him come into the drawing-room, and when she does it is generally in order to snub him. I fancy he feels his anomalous position in this house very much.'"

"My patience! That's a mild way of putting it!" exclaimed the major; "the anomalous position of this hunted-looking, shy librarian who carries her parasol and escorts her about, and suggests to Percy that two are company and three are none! All I can say is the sooner we get into Kandahar and are paid off home the better!"

"What's that you're saying about Kandahar, old man?" said a voice at the door of the tent, and there entered a handsome jaunty-looking officer of about Atherton's age.

"That you, Forrester? Come in. I've just had a letter from my little girl."

A shade crossed Captain Forrester's cheery face.

"Your luck, my dear boy. I haven't had a line."

"Perhaps there's a letter for you at head-quarters."

"I doubt it. But don't talk about it. How's your girl flourishing?"

"Upon my honour, she seems to be a little too flourishing," said the major, taking up his letter with a look of puzzled concern. "You may be a better English scholar than I am, Forrester, and be able to make head or tail of this. As far as I can make it out, Raby is flourishing very decidedly. Here, read this second sheet."

Captain Forrester took the letter, and read the part indicated carefully.

The major watched him anxiously till he had done.

"Well?" he asked, as his comrade handed it back.

"It seems to be a case," said the latter.

"That's what I thought. I don't like that carrying her parasol, and telling the boy that two are company--"

Captain Forrester burst into a loud laugh.

"Why, you glorious old donkey, that's the dog!"

"Nonsense; she'd never say a dog was shy and gentlemanly, and looked as if he'd had a lot of trouble."

"No," said the captain holding his sides, "that's the librarian."