Original Penny Readings Part 23

He sang it once as he stood upon the edge of the moat, getting his feet very wet. He sang it twice as he stood there getting his clothes wet, too, for the dew was very heavy. He sang it three times and was beginning to think that a flagon of Rhenish, or one of his bottles of Ba.s.s would be very acceptable when--

The lattice was illumined--there was a slight noise, and the cas.e.m.e.nt was opened. Aylmer's heart beat violently, and he was about to speak, only he was tongue-tied; and, sinking upon his knees in the wet mud, and so spoiling his trunk hose, he awaited the result--his hand involuntarily breaking the silence that his tongue could not break:

"Tumple, tumple; tumple; tumple; turn, turn, turn," went the mandoline.

Then there was the sound of two bodies falling close by his side, and he sought for them--the pale moon lending her light--and he found--

One of the clumsy coppers they used in those days for half-pence, and a wedge of cold venison pasty, wrapped in a piece of _Bell's Life_.

Sir Aylmer de Mountfitchett then heard the cas.e.m.e.nt closed, when from the force of habit he spun the copper in the air, caught it, put it in his pocket; opened the paper, smelt the pasty,--which by the way was not sweet,--pitched it into the moat, and went home in dudgeon; which is the ancient form for expressing that he went back to his castle saying all the bad words that he had picked up through playing skittles and billiards with the fast men of his day.

But the maiden did not always take Sir Aylmer for an Ethiopian serenader, or a Christy's Minstrel; for at last, instead of throwing him out coppers and wedges of pasty, she used to blow him kisses across the moat. But after a twelvemonth spent at that sort of fun, without success, for not one of the kisses ever reached the mark, the lovers. .h.i.t upon a plan by which they might enjoy one another's society, and cease wasting the salutes which they had been sending "out upon the night winds" every evening as soon as it grew dusk.

It was a warm dark night in Autumn and there was high revelry in the castle upon the mound, for Sir Geoffrey had been giving a rent dinner, and according to custom, he had made himself slightly inebriated by drinking sack--a celebrated old beverage famous for enveloping the intellects. The warders of the castle walls had watched whether it was likely that the knight would come out again that night, and then gone to sleep in the room by the portcullis. The moon was not up, and all was still but the croaking of the frogs in the moat, when Sir Aylmer crept up to the edge, and putting his fingers in his mouth gave a long whistle. Directly after there was a slight cough above his head, and the noise of something falling.

After a good deal of fumbling Sir Aylmer's hands came in contact with a pair of scissors, to which was attached a thread. All had been previously arranged, and at a given signal the thread was drawn up again, having with it, in addition to the scissors, a thin cord--then followed a thick cord--then followed a rope--and then followed a rope ladder--and, lastly, when the ladder was made tight, followed Sir Aylmer de Mountfitchett.

"Hist," said the lady.

"Hist," said Sir Aylmer, as he climbed like a very Blondin, the rope that would keep spinning round like a jack, till the young knight felt that he should soon be done brown if it did not stop.

"Hist," said the lady again.

"Hist," said the knight, as he reached the window-sill.

"Hist," said the lady again to her panting lover, who felt rather sick and giddy.

"How is the rope fastened?" said the knight.

"To the bed-post," said the lady modestly.

"Your hand a moment, fair dame," said the knight, trying to climb on the window-sill.

"Oh! dear me, _No_!" said the lady, "I could not think of such a thing."

"But I can't stay here," said the knight, "this rope cuts like fury."

"Oh! but I could not think for a moment of admitting you," said the lady, "But, hist! speak low, or the Lady Maude will hear."

"Eh? who?" said the knight.

"The Lady Maude," said the maiden again.

"And you then are?--"

"Her hand--"

What she would have said will never be known, for Sir Aylmer himself said something so startling that the maiden, who had only twisted the rope several times round the post, and retained the end in her hand, suddenly let go. There was a whistling of rope,--a loud scream,--a loud splash,--a great deal of floundering,--and then Sir Aylmer de Mountfitchett hastened home, this time also in dudgeon, and had to be grueled and nose-tallowed for a violent cold which he had somehow caught; while in the archives of the castle might at one time have been seen the following curious ma.n.u.script written in a clerkly hand by one Friar Malvoisey, for whom the good dame named therein used to wash.

"Sir Aylmer Mountfitchett To Sarah Brown.

Balance............1 merck 11 groates.

Was.h.i.+ng doublet and hose clean from ye black mud 111 groates."

There may be some sceptical people who will doubt the truth of this legend; and to such, as the writer is unable to produce the ancient ma.n.u.script, he says in the language of the good old times, "I crave your mercy!"

CHAPTER THIRTY.

FOUND IN THE STREET.

Yes, all sorts, sir, and we takes the innercent and the guilty too sometimes, no doubt on it. Yer see we're men as generally has everybody's ill word, and n.o.body ever has a good word for us unless there's somebody as wants us, when it's "Oh, my good man, and ah, my good man," and at other times they won't look at us.

I remember once taking a poor chap for stealing bread, and if there's anything a poor fellow might be forgive it might be that. Well, sir, as I was a-sayin', I was on my beat one day, or more properly speaking, it was evening, for it was just gettin' dusk, one November arternoon, and a bitter cold, raw arternoon it was, with the smoky fog givin' yer the chokes, and gettin' into yer eyes, and makin' yer feel all on edge like, and as gritty as if yer was in a bed where someone had been a eatin' of bread. Folks was lighting up their shops, and I was a-growling to myself and wis.h.i.+n' it was time to go off duty when I sees a crowd on in front, and there in the middle of it was a floury baker, goin' on like anything and shakin' away like any savage at a miserable-looking hollow-faced chap in a wesket and trousers, and his bare arms all a showin' through his ragged s.h.i.+rt. He hadn't got no hat, and his skin looked as blue and pinched as if he'd been frozen or just taken out of the river.

"Well," I says, "what's up?"

"Take him into custody, p'leeceman," says the baker.

"No, no, no," says the crowd. "Now, none of that," says I.

"Take him into custody, p'leeceman," says the baker; "he stole a quartern loaf. Comes into my shop a-beggin', and because I would not give him anythin' he whips up a quartern loaf and bolts with it, but I ran after him and ketched him."

Well, I looks at the baker and I looks at the man, and I thinks to myself, "Here's a case." But there was nothin' else for it, so I takes the loaf under my arm, and gets hold of the poor s.h.i.+verin' crittur, and away we goes with a long train of boys and sech a follerin of us; but what with the bad night and the long ways as we had to go, they soon all drops off, and we goes along together, me and the poor chap, with only the people a lookin' at us as we pa.s.sed 'em.

"P'leeceman," says my prisoner all at once, and it was the first word he had spoken. "P'leeceman," he says, "are you a man?"

Well, yer see, sir, I didn't like my job that evenin', for it raly did seem as if the poor chap took the bread because he was a starvin', and he wasn't a common chap neither, and we knows pretty well what sort a feller is by his looks, I can tell yer. So when he says them words in such an appealin' way like, I ain't werry soft, but I didn't like my job half so much as I did afore. However, it don't do for us to be soft, so I says quite chuffy, as if I'd cut up rough--

"What d'yer mean?" I says. "Were you ever hungry--ever famis.h.i.+ng?"

"Well," I says, "I can't say I ever was, but I've been precious dry."

"Ah!" he says, with a sigh as went right through me, for I could see there was no sham in him, and then he hangs down his head and walks on without sayin' a word.

He didn't say no more, so I thinks perhaps as he was hungry, and I says, you may as well carry this here loaf, and if it is picked why it don't much matter.

Lord, sir, it was a precious good job we weren't in a busy street, for I'm blessed if he didn't ketch hold of my hand with both his and bust out a cryin' just like a child.

"Hold up, old chap," I says, "I don't want to be rough with you. Are yer hungry?"

"It's those at home," he says, "those at home; but I can't help it, I'm weak--weak--weak."

And I'm blessed if he wasn't, sir, so weak that he tottered in his walk, and I could see there was no dodge in him, poor chap. Jest then we comes up to an "All hot" can, "Two or none for a penny," yer knows.

Beefsteaks and hot kidney; so I pulls up, makin' believe as I should like one myself, and we has some half-a-dozen I think I bought, and makes him have best part of 'em; but, Lord bless yer, he wouldn't touch 'em, but begs of me to take 'em to Number 99, King's Court.

"For G.o.d's sake," he says, "take 'em, and I'll bless yer."

"Now come," I says, "none o' that ere; you're in custody, you know, so you'll jest eat them kidney or beefsteak pies, or whatsomever they is, and then come along; and if so be as you wants half-a-dozen hot kidney, or a few taters, or what not, took to number 99, King's Court, why I knows the man as'll take 'em, so peg away."