Peregrine's Progress Part 15

"Madam," said I, somewhat overwhelmed by her solicitude, "I am not so very--so extreme youthful as you deem me."

"Ain't you, lovey?"

"Indeed, no! I am nineteen."

"Nineteen, dearie--lor', an' you s' small an' all--"

"I am five feet three--almost!"

"Are ye, dearie--lor'! But then I'm s' big, most other folks seems small to me--'specially men--men is all children--'specially my man.

Which do mind me. Sammy," she called, "go into the wash'us an' let Susie pump on ye. Susie, jest you pump water on your master's 'ead--this moment."

"Yes, ma'm!" And presently sure enough, from somewhere adjacent rose the clank of a pump to the accompaniment of much splashing and gasping.

"That'll do, Susie!"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Now you, Sammy, go an' lie down--this moment. 'E'll be all right arter this, dearie. Susie!"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Go light a fire for this young genelman in Number Four. This moment."

"Yes, ma'm."

"The best chamber but one, dearie. And a feather bed!" All this as she bustled to and fro, and very quietly despite her size, while I sat gazing into the fire and hearkening to the patter of rain on the windows and the wind that howled dismally without and rumbled in the wide chimney so that I must needs wonder how it fared with the travellers and if I should ever see either of them again.

"You look very lonesome, dearie!" remarked the landlady at last, with a large wooden spoon in her hand. "Can I get ye anythink? A drop o'

kind rum or nice brandy--or say a gla.s.s o' purl--a drop o' purl took warm would be very comfortin' for your little inside."

"Thank you--no!" said I, a little shortly. "But if you could oblige me with pen, ink and paper, I should be grateful."

"Why, for sure, though I'm afraid the pen's broke."

"I'll cut another."

"Ye see there ain't much writin' done 'ere, 'cept by me with my B-e-t-y for Betty and S-a-m-i-e for Samuel." So saying, she presently set out the articles in question; then, having made shift to cut and trim a new point to the quill, I wrote as follows:

n.o.bLEST AND BEST OF AUNTS: It is now an eternity of twenty-four hours since I left the secure haven of your loving care. Within this s.p.a.ce I have found the world more wonderful than my dreams and man more varied than a book. I have also learned to know myself for no poet--it remains for me to convince myself that I am truly a man.

As to my sudden departure, I do beg you to banish from your mind any doubt of my deep love and everlasting grat.i.tude to you, the n.o.blest of women, believe rather I was actuated by motives as unselfish as sincere. Writing this, I pray that though this separation pain you as it does me, it may yet serve to bring to you sooner or late a deeper happiness than your great unselfish heart has ever known. In which sincere hope I rest ever your grateful, loving PEREGRINE.

P.S. I shall write you of my further adventures from time to time.

I was in the act of folding my epistle when I started, for above the lash of rain and buffeting wind, it seemed that some one was hailing from the road. Presently, as I listened, I heard a mutter of rough voices without, a tramp of feet, and the door swung suddenly open to admit two men, or rather three, for between them they dragged one, a short, squat fellow in riding boots and horseman's coat, but all so torn and bedraggled, so foul of blood and mire, as to seem scarce human. His hat was gone and his long, rain-soaked hair clung in black tangles about his bruised face and as he stood, swaying in his bonds, I thought him the very figure of misery.

"House!" roared one of his captors. "House--ho!" In response the landlady entered, followed by her sullen spouse (somewhat sobered by his late ablutions) and the man Vokes.

"Lor'!" exclaimed the landlord, plump fists on plump hips and eyeing the newcomers very much askance. "An' what might all this be?"

"Thieves, missus--a murderin' 'ighwayman--Galloping Jerry 'isself--a b.l.o.o.d.y rogue--"

"'E looks it!" nodded the landlady. "Bleedin' all over my clean kitchen, 'e be. Take 'im out t' barn--"

"Not us, ma'm, not us--'e's nigh give us the slip once a'ready, dang 'im!" Saying which, the speaker kicked the poor wretch so that he would have fallen but for the wall, whereupon the man Vokes laughed and nodded.

"Ecod!" quoth he. "I'm minded to try my boots on 'im myself."

"Not you, Mr. Vokes!" said the landlady. "No one ain't a-goin' t' kick n.o.body in my kitchen, and no more I don't want no murderin' 'ighwaymen neither--so out ye go."

"Not us, missus, not us! We be officers--Bow Street officers--wi' a werry dangerous criminal took red 'anded an' a fifty-pound reward good as in our pockets--so 'ere we be, an' 'ere we bide till mornin'. Lay down, you!" Saying which he fetched the wretched captive a buffet that tumbled him into a corner where he lay, his muddy back supported in the angle. And lying thus, it chanced that his eye met mine, a bright eye, very piercing and keen. Now beholding him thus in his helplessness and misery, I will confess that my very natural and proper repugnance for him and his past desperate crimes was greatly modified by pity for his present deplorable situation, the which it seemed he was quick to notice, for with his keen gaze yet holding mine, he spoke, albeit mumbling and somewhat indistinct by reason of his swollen lips:

"Oh, brother, I'm parched wi' thirst--a drink o' water--"

"Stow ye gab!" growled the man Tom. "Gi'e him one for 'is n.o.b, Jimmy."

But as his nearer captor raised his cudgel, I sprang to my feet.

"That'll do!" I cried so imperatively that the fellow stayed his blow and turned to stare, as did the others. "You've maltreated him enough," said I, quite beside myself; "if he desires a little water where's the harm; he will find few enough comforts where he is going?"

And taking up a jug of water that chanced to be near I approached the poor wretch, but ere I could reach him, the man Tom interposed, yet as he eyed me over, from rumpled cravat to dusty Hessians, his manner underwent a subtle change.

"No, no, young sir--can't be--I knows a genelman when I sees one, but it's no go--Jerry's a rare desperate cove an' oncommon sly--"

"Then give him the water yourself--"

"Not me, sir!"

"I tell you the man is faint with thirst and ill-usage--"

"Then let 'im faint. A young gent like you don't want nothin' to do wi' th' likes o' 'im--let 'im faint--"

At this I set down the jug and taking out my purse, extracted a guinea.

"Landlord," said I, tossing the coin upon the table, "a bottle of your best rum for the officers--a bowl of punch would do none of us any harm, I think."

"Lor'!" exclaimed the landlady, sitting down heavily.

"By goles!" quoth the landlord, reaching for the guinea.

"Allus know a genelman when I sees one!" said the man Tom, making a leg to me and knuckling s.h.a.ggy eyebrow. So they suffered me to take the water to their prisoner, who drank avidly, his eyes upraised to mine in speechless grat.i.tude.

"Don't believe 'em, brother," he whispered under cover of the talk where the others cl.u.s.tered around the hearth watching the preparations for the punch; "don't believe 'em, friend--I'm no murderer an' my pore old stricken mother on 'er knees for me this night, an' my sweet wife an' babbies weepin' their pretty eyes out, an' all for me. I'm a pore lame dog, brother, an' here's a stile as be 'ard to come over; howsomever, whether 'tis sweet wind an' open road for me by an' by, or Tyburn Tree--why G.o.d love ye for this, brother!"

Here he closed his eyes and bowed his head as one in prayer, for I saw his swollen lips moving painfully, then glancing up, beheld the man Jimmy watching us.

"Wot's Jerry a-sayin' of, sir?" he questioned.

"Praying, I believe."