Chatterbox, 1906 Part 20

'What's that? Did you hear a sound?'

'I thought I did, but it seems quiet now. Come along this way. It's more---- '

The voices died away, and after some slight rustling all grew still again. Alan, now beginning to feel that the mystery, whatever it was, appeared to be deepening, and that he must decide what he meant to do quickly, was on the point of quitting his shelter, when another sound arrested his movement. A rough grating, the swing of the heavy door of the summer-house, and Peet stepped into sight. He stopped to close the door carefully, and lock it before he walked away.

'Wonders will never cease,' thought Alan, amazed. 'Is that old curmudgeon in the business, too? He's the last man I should have imagined would mix himself up with a man like Thomas.'

Having no reason to expect further developments Alan set off at a run, so as to get out of the rain as speedily as possible. He was pretty wet, and what he had just seen and heard had made him forget the annoyances of the morning. His good temper was quite restored, though his thoughts were busy and perplexed. He almost made up his mind to consult somebody, and if he did, why not Aunt Betty, who never let out secrets? It was worth thinking about, even if he did not make up his mind to do it at once. At the same time he must not let things go too far.

Running down the path, vaulting the little gate leading into the shrubberies, and dashing down a back way almost dark with the thick laurel-bushes overhead, he soon reached what was known as the postern door. Entering a low pa.s.sage, narrow and dimly lighted from some invisible opening, he pursued his way along various twists and turns of the old house, with now and again a few stairs up, till he finally came upon a crimson-baize door, opening on a long panelled corridor. The first two or three rooms were unoccupied, the remainder were devoted to the use of Estelle and her governess. In the schoolroom the whole party were a.s.sembled, the children waiting with more or less impatience for his arrival.

'You _have_ been a long time!' cried Marjorie, while his cousin jumped up from the table, to clear away the round game they had been playing.

The governesses having retired to Mademoiselle's study, the children started off on their usual rainy-day amus.e.m.e.nt, hide-and-seek. They never tired of rushing about through the old pa.s.sages and rooms, and often came upon strange discoveries. Things hidden away for years and forgotten, doors which had remained unopened, or perhaps even had been mistaken for a part of the wainscot for generations. These discoveries were somewhat awe-inspiring, and the game not unfrequently became what the children called 'Treasure-hunting.' They generally managed to keep together on such occasions; it was too uncanny to be alone in those ghostly apartments.

As a rule Georgie was not allowed to join in these weird expeditions. He was too young, and his conduct could not be depended upon. He might choose to be frightened and scream just at the wrong moment, or he would obstinately refuse to go into dark, shuttered rooms, where the smell of rats and dust seemed to strike them in the face, so stifling was it.

Hide-and-seek could not be comfortably played with him, either. He could not run fast enough, nor did he like being left behind, and any sudden clutch from behind a door nearly terrified him out of his life. So, much to his disgust, he was forced to remain with the governesses, or go down to Aunt Betty, if she would let him sit with her. He liked that best, as she never minded what mess he made, or how untidily his toys were scattered about. (_Continued on page_ 70.)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Peet stopped to lock the door."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BOY DOCTOR.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Egg Poacher.]

THE PTARMIGAN AND PINE MARTEN.

Every one must have observed how many animals escape notice by the similarity of their colours to those of the ground upon which they lie, or of the foliage in which they hide. It is not easy to see rabbits, at dusk, as they sit quietly nibbling the gra.s.s upon their sandy warrens.

It is difficult, at times, to distinguish a toad from a piece of broken bark or a dead leaf. Moths and b.u.t.terflies frequently escape pursuit by hiding among twigs and flowers which resemble them in colour. And it is almost impossible to see a shrimp upon the sand of the sea-sh.o.r.e, or a little sandy-coloured fish at the bottom of a sea-side pool. We can hardly doubt that the colours of these animals serve them as a very useful protection. They are all naturally helpless creatures, and their safety depends almost entirely upon their escaping the notice of their enemies.

The examples just given are familiar to us all. But there are few better ill.u.s.trations of this curious fact than that afforded by the Ptarmigan, a bird which is found in the northern parts of Europe and America, including the north of Scotland. It is a game bird, nearly related to the grouse, the partridge, and even to our domestic fowls, and it is protected, like the other game birds, by Acts of Parliament, which render those who shoot it, during certain months of the year, liable to a fine. The ptarmigan frequents wild, mountainous districts, and builds its nest upon the open hillsides, among the coa.r.s.e gra.s.s and mossy rocks. The nest is a little cl.u.s.ter of twigs and gra.s.s, and in it the ptarmigan lays ten or a dozen reddish eggs spotted with brown, which are not easily distinguishable from the twigs and gra.s.s among which they lie. The summer plumage of the bird itself is a brown tortoisesh.e.l.l, so similar in colour to the ground upon which it makes its nest that it is very difficult to see.

In winter-time, however, when the hillsides are covered with snow, the ptarmigan would be easily discovered, if it retained its summer dress.

But, upon the approach of colder weather, the bird changes its plumage, and takes on a winter robe of pure white, which makes it just as difficult to detect amidst the snow, as it was in summer when it nested among the gra.s.s and stones. With the return of warmer weather it resumes its darker colour. The bird moults, in fact, twice and sometimes thrice in the year. It is impossible to tell the exact cause of these changes, but it is quite certain that they help to protect the bird from its enemies. The change from its winter plumage to its summer one is sometimes delayed for some little time after the winter snows have disappeared, and it has been noticed, in Norway and Sweden, that large numbers of ptarmigan are killed at this time, when their white feathers make them so conspicuous.

The enemies of the ptarmigan are the larger birds of prey, and animals of the weasel kind. One of the largest of the latter is the pine marten, which is still found in remote and uninhabited parts of our country. It is a fierce and active animal, ever on the look-out for game and eggs.

It is, in fact, a great poacher, and for this reason it has been practically exterminated by gamekeepers, in all the districts where game is carefully preserved. In other countries the marten is hunted for its skin, the fur of which is scarcely less valuable than that of the sable.

It is found in all the northern countries, especially in North America.

ANSON'S COOLNESS.

Commodore Anson, while his ship, the _Centurion_, was engaged in close combat with a Spanish man-of-war, was told by a sailor that the _Centurion_ was on fire near the powder magazine.

'Well,' said the Commodore quietly, 'go and help to put it out.'

H. S. B.

ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

II.--DENISON'S HALL-MARK.

(_Concluded from page 37._)

My brain recovered its power after a moment or two, and I began to reflect, though, I own, my reflections were somewhat interfered with by the rough treatment to which I was being subjected; for the great brute in whose jaws I lay dragged me without ceremony over stones, roots, scrub, hard knife-like gra.s.s, and other obstacles. I felt my clothes tear here, there, and everywhere; I was being gradually torn and b.u.mped into a jelly--still, I reflected, where was I being taken to, and why?

Why not eaten at once?

The latter question was easily answered. The lion had had his dinner already, or her dinner--it might, of course, be a lioness--I had as yet had no opportunity of seeing the beast; if so, she might be the mother of a family of cubs, and if so again, I might be destined for their dinner, mamma having already dined.

This was a pleasant reflection! I might have to deal with half-a-dozen lions of various sizes, instead of only one large one. There was very little doubt that I was doomed, in any case; yet my brain had never worked more clearly than at this moment, and I employed it as I went b.u.mping along, in trying to devise some means of escape, poor though the prospect might be. My gun was still in my hand, and determined that no amount of rough travelling should cause me to let it go. A moment might come when I should find an opportunity to turn it somehow in the direction of the lion, and I should keep my wits about me mainly to that end.

We had travelled, I suppose, about a quarter of a mile, and I wish I could convey to you fellows the extreme discomfort of it. Can you imagine it? One's head flopping and wobbling and knocking up against whatever happened to be in the way; one's legs following suit; one's body strained, twisted, scratched, bruised, pounded--really, though I see you fellows laughing at this very moment, and should like to kick you for it if I were not too comfortable to move, I would not wish even such ruffians as you two to suffer such torture.

Suddenly the beast laid me down--tired, perhaps, with dragging eleven stone over rough country. She stood over me for a minute as though listening, one paw on my right shoulder, which prevented me from using my arm, which might otherwise have been employed to advantage during this interval.

Then suddenly she lifted up her voice--it _was_ a lioness, I now saw, not a male lion--and set the air vibrating with a series of roars so loud that they might surely, I thought, be heard at Buluwayo, if not at Capetown. Never in my life had the drums of my ears been so ill-treated.

For half a minute without a pause she thundered thus.

Well, she ended. The roars became less loud--less frequent--they thinned down into half-moaning noises something like the end of a donkey's bray, and lastly they stopped altogether, or rather faded into growling or purring sounds. Then she released my shoulder and stood a yard or two from me, gazing into the distance--you know how lions at the Zoo look when the whisper has gone round that it is feeding-time, and every lion and tiger begins to stare into the far-away, over the heads of the spectators.

A few moments pa.s.sed during which I slowly drew my rifle towards me until I had it close to my side; and now--following one another--came two terrible shocks.

The first was the discovery that my rifle was bent at the grip and that the barrel was damaged in places. It was out of the question to dream of attempting to fire a bullet through it: there was no clear pa.s.sage for the missile: the rifle would burst in my hands if I attempted it.

The second shock was of a different nature. Hearing a scuffle and the sound of snarlings and whinings, I glanced upwards, and beheld a pretty, though a very alarming spectacle. Four lion cubs, about the size of dogs, came frisking and bounding out of the long gra.s.s, evidently in obedience to their mother's summons. At the same moment I became aware of a more awful presence. A full-grown male lion, a magnificent beast, was standing watching me, his tail twitching, his nostrils moving, his legs setting themselves as though for a spring. I had not heard him arrive, I did not know from what direction he had appeared; I simply knew that he was there, and I may tell you that the sight of him gave me a shock, though I had had my fill of terrors already.

I could think of no way out of the horrible position; I was in despair.

In my agony I reverted to instinct, I did what a child would have done--I yelled for all I was worth. I called upon Thomson, who was a couple of miles away, at least, and who could not, of course, hear me in any case; I called upon Thomson for the love of all he held precious to come and help me.

Instantly the four cubs disappeared in the long gra.s.s, The lioness also bounded away; only the mighty lion remained. He gazed at me and roared, but did not venture to approach. 'I don't quite like the look of you,'

he seemed to say; 'I believe that's a fire-stick in your hand; I'll see if I can't frighten you into fits by roaring.'

Then he had his innings at roaring, and I give you my word that if his wife's lungs were pretty good, his own absolutely left them far behind.

So terrific was the noise that my whole being seemed paralysed, and I believe I eventually fainted, for, remembering nothing of the events which led up to it, I awoke to find myself the plaything of four lion-cubs.

The little rascals were positively--I wish you fellows wouldn't grin, for I a.s.sure you this is a true story!--they were positively playing with me as though I were a big mouse. If only one had been in the mood to be amused, their antics would have seemed really funny. The little beggars would stalk me, crouching and approaching for all the world like a kitten about to make a pounce upon a cork, or some other plaything; then they would make a sudden rush, stand on their hind legs for an instant, touching me hurriedly with their paws, and scamper home to their mother, or behind some rock or tuft of gra.s.s, from which they would presently emerge to creep towards me once more; and so the whole play would begin again.

They never once hurt me or scratched me, or did me the slightest injury.