Chapter II Forbidden Fruit
Far below lay the debris of the crag not yet carried away by the waves which now crept sleepily along the shore. Harmless, gentle ripples they looked that day, softly crooning a lullaby to the pebbles on the beach; very different to the angry guise in which they appeared on winter nights, when the mighty hissing billows came leaping up the cliff like hungry tongues, seeking to lick out the very foundations of the land. Many a great slice had they already snatched away. Acre after acre of fair cornfield and forest had once stood where now the ocean rolled, and every year fresh portions of the fruitful earth disappeared beneath the irresistible onslaught of the foe.
North and south as far as eye could reach, Julius could trace the long rampart of cliff facing the wide expanse of water. In the distance a lonely church stood perched upon the edge, a mere deserted shell, with ruined tower and roofless nave, of which the greater part had long since fallen into the sea. Sole relic it remained of the prosperous city which once in bygone years had clustered round its walls.
As Julius withdrew his gaze from the distant prospect to the nearer one at his feet, he noticed the effects of the last storm on his humble neighbour’s property.
A large hawthorn hung head downward, its roots holding on like claws in the crumbling crag, while bits of broken garden fence still clung in untidy festoons over yawning gaps along the upper portion of the cliff. Fragments of bricks and boards were scattered upon the shore below, waiting in disorderly confusion for the waves to finish their handiwork and bury them out of sight. Only a foot or two of solid ground remained between the sea end of the dwelling and the top of the landslip. Already great cracks were making themselves seen in the cottage walls, showing the gradual subsidence of the soil beneath.
“I wonder old Timothy dares to stay in his house when any moment a lump of earth may break away,” said the boy to himself. “What a lot has gone since I was here last! I remember there used to be a pigsty here in the spring, but I suppose that’s it lying in pieces on the shore. I wonder if the pig was in it when it went down.”
As he meditated upon this possible tragedy the door of the house opened and two people came out. Julius at once recognized them as the stranger lady and her little son, whom he had met before and been cautioned to avoid. He crouched down behind a sheltering bush until they should pass by.
“She’s got rather a nice face,” he murmured, “and the boy’s not half bad, in spite of all father says against them.”
It was no wonder that the lonely child looked with longing eyes upon the pair. Others as well as he had found comfort in the calm sweetness which rested as the habitual expression on Madelaine Power’s fair features. As she turned at the porch to wave farewell to old Timothy, the honeysuckle made a fitting frame to her tall, graceful figure, clad in the simple black gown which tells the story of widowhood to the world.
Julius watched her as she walked down the path towards the gate, her eyes full of mother-love as she met the eager upturned gaze of the curly-headed child at her side, and a sharp pang of jealousy shot through his heart, leaving a sore feeling behind.
“It’s a perfect beauty, mother!” the boy was saying. “I think it was just awfully good of Timothy to give it to me.”
Julius noticed that the lad was carrying something beneath his jacket, carefully pressed against his chest—something that moved, for it needed both hands and arms to hold it safe.
“We’ll have to make a little house for it, Robin,” answered his mother. “I’m afraid it will feel rather strange at first, poor creature, in its unaccustomed quarters.”
“I wonder what he’s got,” soliloquized Julius. “I expect it’s a puppy or a kitten, or some idiotic thing like that. What’s the use of making such a fuss about it, when they’re as common as blackberries.”
But to Robin the little, warm, furry bundle he held so closely to his breast meant a treasure precious beyond words, the possession of which had suddenly turned his prospects rose-colour. All the way down the lane his busy tongue never ceased. Plan after plan for the accommodation of his new favourite was poured into his mother’s attentive ear.
Julius listened enviously until the clear ringing voice had died away in the distance. When he could hear it no longer, he rose from his hiding-place and sauntered slowly and discontentedly home.
It was early next morning when he met Robin once again.
Yielding to John’s persuasions he had condescended to mount Red Rover, and after a good gallop on the heath was returning by the road that led to the sea. He was about to pass in at the lodge gates which guarded Farncourt, when he caught sight of Robin coming towards him on an ancient grey pony, whose sedate bearing and somewhat stiff movements proclaimed a long life of uneventful toil.
“That’s a fine old cow you’ve got,” he said rudely, when the pair reached the entrance of the park.
Robin flushed. Pride had filled his heart when he said good-bye to his mother at the garden door, and he and the blacksmith’s pony had gone out alone into the great unknown. No boy was he, enjoying a rare and unwonted ride—rather was he a knight in armour on his trusty warhorse, pacing forth undauntedly to do battle with tyrants and dragons in the cause of Right. And now—to hear his charger called a cow! It was galling, to say the least of it, and his spirit rose to the occasion.
“Insult me not, caitiff!” he exclaimed, “or thou shalt rue the day. Stand and deliver!”
With a whoop, more like that of an Indian at Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show than of an errant knight of King Arthur’s Table, the boy suddenly applied his whip to the old pony’s flanks, making him lurch heavily forward to the charge.
Surprised by the unexpected attack, it required all Julius’ horsemanship to calm Red Rover, and stay the plunging of the fiery little cob. Quieted at length, he managed to bring him to a standstill within the gates, and from that safe vantage ground he turned to face the enemy.
“You’d better not come in here with your clumsy beast,” he called out. “If you do, you’ll be prosecuted. Look, it’s written up on that board.”
“I desire not to set foot within thy territory,” replied Robin grandly. “I go forth to the great battle where the king awaits me, relying upon my trusty sword.”
Taken aback by this strange form of address, Julius watched silently as the youthful combatant laboriously turned his steed and passed with sober tread along the road. One more shot came Parthian-wise as they went their way, revealing the boy beneath the knight.
“It’s all very well to call my pony a cow, but it can shake hands and open a gate, and I expect that’s more than yours can do.”
As Julius rode up the avenue one purpose only filled his mind. How could he get to know this lad, and find out more about the delightful game which he seemed to be enjoying all by himself.
“If only we could play at being knights together, what glorious tournaments we could have in the meadow,” he thought. “He looked so jolly and brave when he came banging into Red Rover like that, just as if he was a real warrior. I wonder how he taught his pony to shake hands. I wish Prince could learn to do it too. Why does father hate to have anybody here? I don’t think it’s fair. Anyhow, I’m going to try and see the boy again, whatever any one may say.”
The late afternoon sun was shining down on Sea View Cottage as Julius crept up to a small hole in the hedge which separated the garden from the lane. A pretty picture met his eye as he peered through. Not a stone’s throw from him stood the little house, nestling in a bower of green, its long slope of rich brown thatch cut into fantastic patterns, across which wandering creepers seemed to cast protecting arms. A profusion of sweet-smelling flowers filled the narrow border on each side of the path, making a bright foreground to the scene.
The stranger lady sat sewing in a low chair beneath a tree, while beside her was the quondam knight, hard at work with hammer and saw fashioning something out of old boxes and wire.
“Where’s Peter?” suddenly exclaimed Robin, springing to his feet.
“Who’s Peter?” whispered Julius to himself, as he tried to get a better view of the group.
The words had no sooner fallen from his lips than a tiny brown rabbit darted out of the hedge at his feet and hopped rapidly down the road. Quick as thought, Pat the terrier had the little creature in his mouth, from which Julius rescued it a moment later, trembling and terrified, but apparently none the worse for its unceremonious capture.
“What a good thing it was that you and your dog were just passing when Peter slipped out,” said Robin to him as he walked into the garden and delivered up the runaway.
It was with certain qualms of conscience that Julius had lifted the latch of the gate and entered the forbidden ground, but he strove to stifle them as best he could. Even if his father did see him, surely he would not blame him for doing such a kind and simple act? It was very unlikely, however, that he would know anything at all about it, for he hardly ever came to that end of the village, and Sea View Cottage lay quite off the beaten track. There would surely be no harm just finding out if the boy was a nice fellow after all, for if he wasn’t, he would not trouble his head about him again.
Apparently his investigations proved satisfactory, for it was only when it got too dark to see any more that he reluctantly tore himself away. Never could he remember to have spent an afternoon that passed so quickly. No grand patent rabbit-hutch, perfect in every detail, had ever given him half so much joy as this rough makeshift at which the two boys laboured eagerly as long as it was light.
When at length the crowning moment arrived, and Peter was formally introduced to his new home, Julius was almost as excited over it as was Robin himself. Long did he linger, so fascinating was it to watch the little inmate as it explored the corners of the old packing-case, and stood up on its hind legs to sniff the wire netting which had been so carefully fastened on, with a vast amount of vigorous hammering and super-abundance of nails. He almost danced with delight when Peter went through the narrow doorway, sawn with infinite labour in the hard wood, which led to the sleeping apartment within. How comfortable he would find it, filled as it was with nice dry bracken, which the two lads had gathered from the adjoining wood.
“I’ll come back to-morrow early,” he remarked to Robin, when at length he could bring himself to say good-bye. “I think everything’s right, but there might be a nail or two we could stick in somewhere to make it all quite secure, and we’ll be able to see better in the morning.”
“I think Robin’s the jolliest boy I ever knew,” he said to himself as he went home. “I’ll often go to see him, if only I can manage without father finding out. We’ll have some fine times together, and no one will be any the wiser.”
“I couldn’t have believed he was such a decent sort of chap,” was Robin’s comment after Julius had taken his departure. “He seemed such an utter cad when he spoke to me at the gates.”
“Poor little fellow,” replied Mrs. Power, “you see he’s got no mother to help him to behave, and I expect he’s not used to meeting people, as Mr. Field leads such an isolated life. We must try and be kind to him if we can.”