The New Forest Spy Part 4

"Make it taste a bit," muttered the boy. "Can't stop to find a cloth, and he will be too hungry to notice. Now for some bread."

The larder was not his place, but the boy was quite at home there, due to surrept.i.tious visits connected with fis.h.i.+ng excursions and provisions for lunch.

Taking the great brown lid off a bread-pan, he placed it on the floor and pounced upon a loaf, which he broke in two and crammed into his fis.h.i.+ng-creel. He then rose up and looked round, till his eyes lighted upon a big jug full of creamy-looking milk, which he annexed at once, and then made for the door, pa.s.sed through the kitchen, where the thumping and musical buzz still went on, made his way back to the dining-room, and through the window again out into the garden, and then pa.s.sed breathlessly into the dense forest once again, panting slightly from his exertions.

"I have as good a right to the things as anybody," he muttered, to quiet his uneasy conscience, "and if Martha asks me if I took the pie I shall say yes, of course. I am not going to enter into explanations. Let her think I was hungry and wanted some lunch; and if she does think it's my doing--oh!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "she will know it was when she finds the fish; and there--if I didn't leave the great cover of the pan on the floor! Bother!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I am master when father's out, and I shall do as I like. Wish I could," he grumbled, as he hurried along, not so fast as he wished, for his way was rough and tangled, and the jug of milk was very full, besides being an awkward thing to carry steadily where brambles continually crossed the path and the th.o.r.n.y strands of the dog-rose hung down from on high as if fis.h.i.+ng for everyone who pa.s.sed. "I should like to think about what to do," mused Waller to himself, "but it only makes one so uncomfortable. This fellow must be one of the King's enemies, and if I am helping the King's enemies, shan't I be committing high treason? Oh, bother!" he cried aloud. "I am going to give a poor fellow who is starving something to eat, and, enemy or no, I am sure if King George saw him starving he'd do the same.

There, I won't think about it any more."

He reached the spot where he had left his new acquaintance, in a state of repentance because he had not lowered the milk by taking a good draught, the consequence being that he had spilt a good deal.

All was perfectly still, and he began to wade through the ferns, and then stopped to look straight before him, and then sharply to right and left.

"Why, he isn't a gentleman, after all," muttered the boy. "He's gone.

It was just in there that I told him to crawl, and--no, it was farther on, by that next beech--no--oh, I say, how much alike all these places are! I believe I must have pa.s.sed it."

He stood still and whistled. There was no reply. Then he whistled again, and, after glancing about him, hazarded a call.

"Hi! Hullo! Where are you?--It's all right; no soldiers near."

There was a faint rustling then amongst the bracken, and the stranger's head was slowly raised some thirty yards away.

Waller hurried to him.

"What made you change your place?" he said, as he came up.

"Change my place? I have not moved."

"Never mind. There, sit down now. Here's something to take off the hunger. There, if I didn't forget a knife! Never mind; mine will do.

It's quite clean. That's right. n.o.body's likely to come by here. Take a good drink of this first."

He placed the jug in the lad's hand as he seated himself between the great b.u.t.tress-like roots of a huge beech: and after that long, deep drink there was an interval of time during which Waller watched, with a feeling of wonder, the ravenous manner in which his new friend--or enemy--partook of food.

"I am ashamed," he muttered; "I am ashamed. But eat some, too."

"Oh, no; go on," said Waller.

"I can't eat another mouthful unless you join."

"Oh, very well; there is plenty," said Waller, "and seeing you eat has made me hungry, too."

No more words were spoken for a time, and at last, with the hunger of both pretty well a.s.suaged, Waller began to note the humour of the position, and in a half-bantering way exclaimed:

"Here, I say, you ought to leave a snack for the soldiers when they come."

The lad's hand dropped, and he turned, with a wild look, to fix his eyes on Waller's.

"Ah," he said, the next moment, with his face softening, "you are laughing at me."

"Well, suppose I am. It's because I am pleased to see you better now."

"Better! Yes. I think you have saved my life," said the lad softly.

"I say, I wish we could be friends--but no; impossible. You could not be, with one like me."

"I don't see why not," said Waller. "We are good enough friends now.

There, I am sorry I knocked you about so much and treated you as I did.

I didn't know you were so weak and hungry. Will you shake hands?"

"Will I shake hands?" cried the lad, with all the effusion of a young Frenchman, and catching the one which Waller stretched out, he held it tightly for a few moments between his own, holding it until Waller drew it away.

"There," he said, "I must be going back now. There isn't much left, but I must have the empty basket. You had better lie down here and have a good rest, and I will come back to you in the evening and see if I can't think out some way of helping you to get down to Lymington."

"To Lymington? Yes!" cried the boy eagerly; for now that he was somewhat refreshed the light seemed to come back into his eyes, and a certain eagerness into his whole aspect. "But, look here," he said, "a little while ago I thought I had nothing to do but lie down and die; now you have made me feel as if I want to live. Could you--can you find out whether there are any soldiers near?"

"I don't know, but I'll try," said Waller. "But I say, talk about soldiers--we never picked up that pistol, and I don't believe we could find it now."

"Here it is," said the lad, pointing to his breast. "I crawled about till I found it after you had gone."

"Then you had better give it to me to put away. Pistols are nasty things."

Waller held out his hand, but the lad shrank back, with a suspicious look.

"Oh, very well," said Waller, rising; "don't trust me unless you like."

"I do trust you," cried the lad eagerly; and, s.n.a.t.c.hing out the pistol, he pressed it into the other's hand.

"There, they will be wondering what has become of me," cried Waller. "I will come back and see you in the evening, and by then I shall have thought of somewhere for you to hide to-night. Good-bye."

Waller hurried off, thinking deeply to himself, and making the best of his way for about a hundred yards.

"I wish I hadn't brought away his pistol," he said. "He will be thinking again that I am going to betray him. Here, I shall take it back."

He made his way as fast as he could to where he had left his new friend, expecting to see him raise his head as he drew dear; but he looked in vain, for when he reached the spot, and parted the tall bracken, he was unable to find him for a few minutes, and when he did, the figure was rec.u.mbent, utterly exhausted, and sleeping hard, while he did not even move as Waller bent over him and carefully thrust the pistol into his breast.

CHAPTER FIVE.

DUTY OR MERCY.

"Oh, here you are, Master Waller!" said Bella, as he marched into the house. "Where have you been?"

"Fis.h.i.+ng," said Waller abruptly.

"But why didn't you come back to your dinner?"

"Because I have been out in the forest, and--fis.h.i.+ng, I tell you. Why?"

"Because Martha has been in such a way. There was your dinner kept three hours, till it was quite spoiled, and then we said it was no use to keep it any longer; and Martha is in a way."