Brownsmith's Boy Part 64

"No, you were not," I said. "It isn't time."

"'Tis by my watch," he growled as he fastened the chains of the cart harness. "I don't pay no heed to no other time."

"Bring as good a load as you can, and the coa.r.s.er the better; but don't hurry the horse," said Mr Solomon. "Give him his own time, and he'll draw a very heavy load."

"All right, master. I'll take care."

"Got your shovel and pick?"

"Shovel. Shan't want no pick; the sand comes down as soon as you touch it. Now, then, Mars Grant, ready? May as well take a couple more sacks."

The sacks were put in, and we were ready for a start, when a yelp took my attention, and I said:

"I suppose you wouldn't like us to take Juno, sir?"

"Oh, I don't know. Do the dog good. Do you want to take her?"

"Yes," I said eagerly.

The handsome, black, curly-haired retriever barked furiously, for she saw that we were looking at her.

Mr Solomon nodded, and I ran and unbuckled the dog's collar, having my face licked by way of thanks.

As I threw the chain over the kennel Juno bounded up at the horse and then rushed at the gate, barking furiously. Then she rushed back, and charged at all the other dogs, barking as if saying, "Come along, lads, we're off."

But the big gates were set open, Juno rushed out, there was a final word or two from Mr Solomon, who said:

"I sha'n't be surprised if you are very late."

Then the dogs set up a dismal howl as the cart rumbled out over the stones, and in chorus they seemed to say:

"Oh what a shame!"

Then I looked back, and saw Mr Solomon in the moonlight shutting the gates, and I was trudging along beside Ike, close to the horse; and it almost seemed, in the stillness of the night, with the cart rattling by us and the horse's hoofs sounding loud and clear on the hard road, that we were bound for Covent Garden.

"But where's Shock?" I said all at once.

Ike gave his head a jerk towards the cart, and I ran and looked over the tailboard, to see a heap of sacks and some straw, but no Shock. In one corner, though, there was a strongly made boot, and I took hold of that, to find it belonged to something alive, for its owner began to kick fiercely.

"Better jump in, my lad," said Ike, and we did so, when, the seat having been set right so as to balance the weight, Ike gave a chirrup, and we went off at a good round trot.

"Let him be," said Ike as I drew his attention to the heap of straw and sacks. "He goes best when you let him have his own way. He'll go to sleep for a bit, and I dessay we can manage to get on without him. His conversation isn't so very entertaining."

I laughed, and for about an hour we trotted on, the whole affair being so novel and strange that I felt quite excited, and wondered that Ike neither looked to right nor left, but seemed to be studying the horse's ears.

The fact was his thoughts were running in one particular direction, and I soon found which, for he began in his morose way:

"Just as if I should overload or ill-use a hoss! Look at old Bonyparty."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Why, him talking like that afore we started. I know what I'm about.

You'd better lie down and cover yourself over with some sacks. Get a good sleep; I'll call you when we get there."

"What, and miss seeing the country?" I cried.

"Seeing the country! Lor', what a baby you are, Mars Grant! What is there to see in that?"

I thought a great deal; and a glorious ride it seemed through the moonlight and under the dark shadows of the trees in the country lanes.

Then there was the dawn, and the sun rising, and the bright morning once more, with the dew glittering on the gra.s.sy strands and hedgerows; and I was so happy and excited that Ike said, with one of his grim smiles:

"Why, anybody'd think you was going out for a holiday 'stead of helping to load a sand cart."

"It's such a change, Ike," I said.

"Change! What sort o' change? Going to use a shovel 'stead of a spade; and sand's easy to dig but awful heavy. Here, get up; are you going to lie snoring there all day?"

He leaned over me and poked with the b.u.t.t of the whip handle at Shock, but that gentleman only kicked and growled, and so he was left in peace.

Just before eight o'clock, after a glorious morning ride through a hilly country, we came to a pretty-looking village with the houses covered in with slabs of stone instead of slates or tiles or thatch, and the soft grey, and the yellow and green lichen and moss seemed to make the place quaint and wonderfully attractive to me; but I was not allowed to sit thinking about the beauty of the place, for Ike began to tell me of the plan of our campaign.

"Yon's the sand-hill," he said, pointing with his whip as he drew up at a little inn. "We'll order some braxfa.s.s here; then while they're briling the bacon we'll take the cart up to the pit and leave it, and bring the horse back to stop in the stable till we want him again."

The order was given, and then we had a slow climb up a long hill to where, right at the top, the road had been cut straight through, leaving an embankment, forty or fifty feet high, on each side, while, for generations past, the sand had been dug away till the embankments were some distance back from the road.

"Just like being on the sea-sh.o.r.e," said Ike. "I see the ocean once.

Linkyshire cost. All sand like this. Rum place, ain't it?"

"I think it's beautiful," I said as the cart was drawn over the yielding sand, the horse's hoofs and the wheels sinking in deep, while quite a cliff, crowned with dark fir-trees, towered above our heads. The face of the sandy cliff was scored with furrows where the water had run down, and here it was reddish, there yellow or cream colour, and then dazzlingly white, while just below the top it was honey-combed with holes.

"San'-martins' nesties," said Ike, pointing with his whip. "There's clouds of 'em sometimes. There they go."

He pointed to the pretty white-breasted birds as they darted here and there, and on we still went, jolting up and down in the sandy bottom, where there was only a faint track, till we were opposite to a series of cavern-like holes and the sand cliff towered up with pine-trees here and there half-way down where the sand had given way or been undermined, and they had glided down a quarter--half--three parts of the distance. In short, it was a lovely, romantic spot, with a view over the pleasant land of Surrey on our right, and on our left a cliff of beautiful salmon-coloured sand, side by side with one that was quite white.

"You won't get better sand than that nowheres," said Ike, standing up and getting out of the cart, an example I followed. "Here we'll pitch, Mars Grant, and--"

Quickly and silently, as he gave me a comical look, he unhitched a chain or two, unbuckled the belly-band, and let the shafts fly up.

The result was that Shock's head went bang against the tail-board, and then his legs went over it, and he came out with a curious somersault, and stared about only half awake, and covered with straw and sacks.

He jumped up angrily, and as soon as he saw that we were laughing at him, turned his back, and kicked the sand at us like a pawing horse; but Ike gave the whip a flick at him, and told him to put the sacks in the cart.

"No one won't touch them. Come along, old horse," he cried; and, leading the way, the horse followed us with the reins tucked in its pad, and we waded through the sand in which Juno rolled and tried to burrow till we were out once more in the hard road, where the dog had to be whistled for, consequent upon her having started a rabbit.

We found her at last, trying to get into a hole that would have been a tight fit for a terrier, and she came reluctantly away.

The most delicious breakfast I ever tasted was ready at the little inn; but Ike saw to his horse first, and did not sit down till it was enjoying its corn, after a good rub down with a wisp of straw. Then the way in which we made bread and bacon disappear was terrible, for the journey had given us a famous appet.i.te.