Hollowdell Grange Part 9

And now there were so many objects to take attention, that the professed purpose of the trip was quite forgotten, till Harry by chance spied a woodp.e.c.k.e.r just entering a hole in a hollow tree, and then called his companions' attention to the fact. To scale the tree was the work of a very few minutes, and, to Harry's intense delight, he found the hole sufficiently large to admit his hand and arm, and this time he was successful, for he drew forth with great care, one at a time, three woodp.e.c.k.e.r's eggs, which he placed its his cap, and then descended.

So far the trip had been most successful, for they had obtained the eggs generally reckoned as scarce in most parts of the country, from the secluded habits of the birds; and now the lads turned their attention to find the nest of a turtle-dove. The part of the wood they were in was very thick and full of underwood, a large proportion of which consisted of hazel stubs so dense that, almost before they were aware of it, Fred and Philip were separated from Harry and d.i.c.k; and when they did miss them, and called out, a faint and distant "Halloo!" was the response.

"Never mind," said Philip, "I'm tired. Let's sit down here and let him come to us."

Saying which he took his seat upon the mossy trunk of an old fallen tree, an example which Fred was not long in following; and there they waited, enjoying the delicious sensation of rest felt in a shady spot after a long, toilsome walk, and thinking very little about poor Harry.

"What a while Harry is," said Fred at last; "isn't he coming?"

"Oh, yes; he'll be here presently," said Philip; "he'll be sure to find us."

After a few minutes' pause, "What's that?" said Fred, pointing to some rustling and moving leaves close by the opening where they sat.

"Hush," said Philip; "don't move; it's a stoat or a weasel. You'll see him directly;" and in a moment after a long thin body came creeping out from the herbage. But it was neither weasel nor stoat, but a very large snake, which came right across the open s.p.a.ce they were in--making Fred turn quite pale, for his imagination immediately whispered to him of poison fangs, rattlesnakes, cobras, and all sorts of venomous brutes.

But the snake had no idea of touching the intruders on the silence of the forest, but made directly for a spot upon the other side of the opening, which he would soon have reached if it had depended upon Fred; but Philip possessed the animosity of his race against the serpent tribe, so caught up a rough branch that he had previously broken from a tree and slightly trimmed with his knife, and rushed after the retreating snake.

The poor thing struggled hard for its life and liberty, but in spite of its struggles and menacing att.i.tude, Philip struck at it boldly with his stick and soon rendered his adversary _hors de combat_, when the victor dragged his prize to his companion, and displayed to his wondering gaze a snake upwards of a yard long, and very thick. Philip then secured his trophy by slipping a noose of whipcord over its head, and tying it to his stick.

At last, time slipped by and no Harry made his appearance, while plenty of indications showed that evening was fast closing in: moths began to flutter about the different leaves; every now and then, too, came the low evening drowsy hum of the c.o.c.kchafer, while Fred gave a regular jump when a gigantic stag-beetle stuck him right in the cheek and then fell crawling about in his lap.

"Ouf!" said Fred, "take the beast off. Is it poisonous?"

Philip laughed heartily at his cousin, as he a.s.sured him to the contrary; but the beetle saved him the trouble of brus.h.i.+ng his h.o.r.n.y body away by making a fresh flight, and disappearing over the trees.

"Come on," said Philip, "let's go."

"But how about Harry?" said Fred.

"Oh, we'll go and find him," and so the lads pushed right ahead as they thought, and in the direction in which Harry's voice was last heard; but they soon grew bewildered, and at last stood gazing disconsolately at one another, and then, as is stated at the beginning of this chapter, "Whoo-oo-oo-oop!" sang out Philip.

"Hoop--hoop--hoop!" shouted Fred as loudly as he could, and then, feeling the loneliness oppress him more than he could bear, he sat down on a stump, and seemed half disposed to cry.

"Oh, I say," said Philip, who was nearly as bad, "don't look like that, or we shall never get out of the wood. Don't you know what a many times Robert Bruce tried before he got his kingdom? Let's try again; the wood is not so very big, and we must come out somewhere."

"Do you think we ever shall get out again?" said Fred.

"Oh, of course we shall," said Philip, "and there ain't no wild beasts or anything of that kind, so come on and let's start."

And start they did--creeping through some bushes, pus.h.i.+ng others aside, but somehow or another getting flogged by the returning twigs, and scratched by the brambles in a way they had not suffered in the morning.

Once Fred tripped over a stump and fell heavily down, where he lay crying silently, but without trying to get up again; and it was only by Philip dragging at him that he could be got upon his legs. Duskier grew the wood, till under the big trees it was quite dark; but Philip pressed manfully on, though he felt completely bewildered; still his good sense told him that they must eventually find an outlet.

On and on they went, slowly and toilsomely, and still nothing but trees and bushes, looking gloomy and shadowy--very different to the appearance presented in the afternoon when the sun shone upon them, sending a checkery shade amongst the waving gra.s.s; and at last Philip felt his heart sink within him at the hopelessness of his task. All at once a happy thought struck the boy as they stood in a more open s.p.a.ce, where they could see the stars s.h.i.+ning down brightly upon them.

"I say, Fred," he said, "hasn't your papa ever told you about how the people used to guide their s.h.i.+ps by the stars."

"No," said Fred moodily, "but I have heard they used to."

"Well" said Philip, "let's see if we can't get out that way. I think we can. I know which is the North-pole star, because Papa showed them all to us; and there it is," said the boy, joyfully, "That's the north, and right hand will be west, and left hand east; no, it won't, it will be right hand east, and left hand west. That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes, I dare say it is," said Fred, dolefully.

"Well, when we are at home the wood lies in the west, because the sun sets behind it in the evening, so we must travel to the east, and then we shall be going towards home; and we have been going south, because I was looking that way, and had to turn round to find the Pole Star. Come on, Fred, we'll soon be home now."

"Oh, dear," said Fred, "let's lie down and go to sleep; I've got such a blister on my toe."

"No, come on," said the other, "for poor Mamma will be so frightened."

"Oh, and won't Uncle be cross?" said Fred.

This last remark almost frightened Philip out of his hurry to get home, for he directly felt disposed to put off the evil--the scolding that he expected to receive; but the knowledge that it would be making bad worse, if he loitered now, made him summon up the determination to proceed; and it required no little determination, for, since they had been star-gazing, their joints had grown stiff; aches and pains had come upon them; and they both would have given anything to have gone to sleep where they were.

"Oh, do come on," said Philip at last, roughly shaking Fred. "It ain't far now; for I remember that the wood is very long, but not very broad from east to west, so if we keep walking east we shall soon get out."

So onward they pressed again, very slowly and laboriously, for about another half-hour, and then Philip stumbled and fell, for a spiteful bramble had caught him by the foot, and the poor boy could hold up no longer; he had cheered his cousin on in every way he could, and taken the lead throughout, though his heart was sinking, and he knew the trouble all proceeded from their own folly; but though he kept down his faint-heartedness and tried manfully to put a bold face on the matter, he was beaten, thoroughly beaten, at last, and lay upon the dewy gra.s.s, completely jaded, and without energy or spirit to make another attempt, while Fred, seeing his cousin's heart fail, broke down as well.

But all at once Philip's eyes brightened, and he started up as though touched by the wire of an electrical machine.

"Bow-wow-wow; wuph, wuph, wuph!" sounded upon the clear night air.

"Trill--lill--lill--lill--chug--chug--chug--chug--chug!" rang out the sweet notes of a nightingale close by; and then again--

"Bow-wow-wow; wuph, wuph, wuph!" from a dog apparently not far off.

"Come on," said Philip again, with fresh energy; and casting one glance up at the stars, he pushed forward due east for about a dozen yards with Fred close behind him, and then, forcing his way through a dense hazel stub, he made a step forward, slipped, and went down crash into a deep ditch. But he did not stop in despair this time, although scratched and bruised, for he was out of the wood, and leaping up he stood upon the green turf by the side of the white chalky road.

"Jump, Fred," he exclaimed, "right over the ditch."

Fred jumped; but instead of jumping right over he jumped right in, and had to be helped out by Philip; but he shared in his companion's renewed spirit, and now stood with him in the dusty road looking about.

"Bow-wow-wow; wuph, wuph!" barked the dog again.

"Why, I know where we are," said Philip; "that's Mr Benson's farm, and we are six miles away from home. Never mind; let's go and tell Mrs Benson, I know she will let us rest a little while."

Fred was willing enough, and in a minute or two they stood under the porch of the old farm-house, with the dewy roses bending over them as they rapped at the door; while all the time the dog in the yard rattled his chain, and made a terrible disturbance.

"If you please, Mrs Benson," said Philip, as the door opened and a comely, motherly young face appeared; "if you please, Mrs Benson, we lost our way in the wood--and--and--and--and oh, dear! oh, dear; what shall I do!" sobbed poor Philip, now out of his peril but thoroughly beaten, "what shall I do?" and then he sobbed and cried as though his heart would break, Fred helping him him to the best of his ability.

"Why, thee poor dear bairns!" said Mrs Benson; "come in, and sit thee down.--Why, one of 'em's Squire Inglis's Philip, John," she continued to her husband, "and here they be ammost bet out."

Mrs Benson could talk, but she could act as well, and she soon had the two lads upon the snug "keeping-room" sofa.

"Bless thou, my poor bairns!" she exclaimed; and then in a breath to her husband. "Thou'dst better send Tom over to the Grange, and tell them where the poor things are, or they'll be frightened to death; and let him tell Mrs Inglis well drive them over as we go to market in the morning."

So off packed Mr Benson to send the messenger, while his wife bustled the great red-armed maid about; and then with warm water and towels bathed the boys' faces and hands, and brushed their hairs, as though she had done it every day since they were babies; while during all this time the red-armed maid had spread a cloth on one end of the table and tea-things on the other, while Farmer Benson, who had been taking his evening pipe and hot gin and water when the boys knocked at the door, now insisted upon their each taking a sip or two out of his gla.s.s.

Directly after there was a steaming hot cup of tea before each visitor, with plenty of rich yellow cream in it, while Mrs Benson cut from a sweet-scented light-brown-crusted home-baked loaf slices which were as though made of honeycomb, and which she gilded over with the bright golden b.u.t.ter from her own snowy churn. Mr Benson; too, he could not be idle, so he cut two great wedges out of a raised pork pie, and placed in the boys' plates--pie that looked all of a rich marble jelly, veined with snow-white fat, and so tempting after some hours' ramble in the woods.

"I ham glad thou came, bairns," said Mrs Benson, kissing her visitors in the most motherly way imaginable.

"Ay, lads, and so am I; but there, doan't take on. Yeat, lads, yeat, and then ye'll soon be all right again."