Friarswood Post Office

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Friarswood Post Office

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'No, you don't mean it,' broke out Charles. 'Let's look! yes, I
protest, why, the old grime between his eyes is gone after all. How
did you manage that, Paul?'

Paul rather uneasily mumbled something about John Farden, and the
boys clapped their hands, and shouted, so that Alfred, who well knew
what was going on, raised himself on his pillow and laughed. It was
rather blunt treatment for feelings if they were tender, but these
were rough warm-hearted village boys, and it was all their good-
nature.

'And where's the grub?' asked Charles importantly, looking about.

'Oh, not far off,' said Harold; and in another moment, he and Charles
had brought in a black coffee-pot, a large mug, some brown sugar, a
hunch of bread, some butter, and a great big smoking sausage.

Paul looked at it, as if he were not quite sure what to do with it.
One boy proceeded to turn in an inordinate quantity of sugar, another
to pour in the brown coffee that sent out a refreshing steam enough
to make any one hungry. George Grant spread the butter, cut the
sausage in half, put it on the bread, and thrust it towards Paul.

'Eat it--s--s,' said Charles, patting Paul on the back. 'Mr. Cope
said you was to, and you must obey your minister.'

'Not all for me?' said Paul, not able to help a pull at the coffee,
the mug warming his fingers the while.

'Oh yes, we've all had our breakfastisses,' said George Grant; 'we
are only come to make you eat yours like a good boy, as Mr. Cope said
you should.'

They stood round, looking rather as they would have done had Paul
been an elephant taking his meal in a show; but not one would hear of
helping him off with a crumb out of Mr. Cope's shilling. George
Grant was a big hungry lad, and his breakfast among nine at home had
not been much to speak of; but savoury as was the sausage, and
perfumy as was the coffee, he would have scorned to take a fragment
from that stranger, beg him to do so as Paul might; and what could
not be eaten at that time, with a good pint of the coffee, was put
aside in a safe nook in the stable to be warmed up for supper.

That morning's work was not a bad preparation for Confirmation after
all.

Harold had stayed so long, that he had to jump on the pony and ride
his fastest to be in time at the post. He was very little ashamed of
not being among those lads, and felt as if he had the more time to
enjoy himself; but there were those who felt very sad for him--
Alfred, who would have given so much to receive the blessing; and
Ellen, whose confirmation was very lonely and melancholy without
either of her brothers; besides his mother, to whom his sad
carelessness was such constant grief and heart-ache.

Ellen was called for by the carriage from the Grange, and sat up
behind with the kitchen-maid, who was likewise to be confirmed.
Little Miss Jane sat inside in her white dress and veil, looking like
a snowdrop, Alfred thought, as his mother lifted him up to the window
to see her, as the carriage stood still while Ellen climbed to her
seat.

In the course of the morning, Mrs. King made time to read over the
Confirmation Service with Alfred, to think of the blessing she was
receiving, and to pray that it might rest upon her through life. And
they entreated, too, that Harold might learn to care for it, and be
brought to a better mind.

'O Mother,' said Alfred, after lying thinking for sometime, 'if I
thought Harold would take up for good and be a better boy to you than
I have been, I should not mind anything so much.'

And there was Harold all the time wondering whether he should be able
to get out in the evening to have a lark with Dick and Jesse.

Ellen was set down by-and-by. Her colour was very deep, but she
looked gentle and happy, and the first thing she did was to bend over
Alfred, kiss him, and say how she wished he had been there.

Then, when she had been into her own room, she came back and told
them about the beautiful large Elbury Church, and the great numbers
of young girls and boys on the two sides of the aisle, and of the
Bishop seated in the chair by the altar, and the chanted service,
with the organ sounding so beautiful.

And then how her heart had beat, and she hardly dared to speak her
vow, and how she trembled when her turn came to go up to the rail,
but she said it was so comfortable to see Mr. Cope in his surplice,
looking so young among the other clergymen, and coming a little
forward, as if to count out and encourage his own flock. She was
less frightened when she had met his kind eye, and was able to kneel
down with a more quiet mind to receive the gift which had come down
on the Day of Pentecost.

Alfred wanted to know whether she had seen Paul, but Ellen had been
kneeling down and not thinking of other people, when the Friarswood
boys went up. Only she had passed him on the way home, and seen that
though he was lagging the last of the boys, he did not look dull and
worn, as he had been doing lately.

Ellen had been asked to go to the Grange after church to-morrow
evening, and drink tea there, in celebration of the Confirmation
which the two young foster-sisters had shared.

Harold went to fetch her home at night, and they both came into the
house fresh and glowing with the brisk frosty air, and also with what
they had to tell.

'O mother, what do you think? Paul Blackthorn is to go to the Grange
to-morrow. My Lady wants to see him, and perhaps she will make Mr.
Pound find some work for him about the farm.'

Harold jumped up and snapped his fingers towards the farm. 'There's
for old Skinflint!' said he; 'not a chap in the place but will halloo
for joy!'

'Well, I am glad!' said Mrs. King; 'I didn't think that poor lad
would have held out much longer, winter weather and all. But how did
my Lady come to hear of it?'

'Oh, it seems she noticed him going to church in all his rags, and
Mr. Cope told her who he was; so Miss Jane came and asked me all
about him, and I told her what a fine scholar he is, and how
shamefully the farmer and Boldre treat him, and how good he was to
Alfred about the ointment, and how steady he is. And I told her
about the boys dressing him up yesterday, and how he wouldn't take a
gift. She listened just as if it was a story, and she ran away to
her grandmamma, and presently came back to say that the boy was to
come up to-morrow after his work, for Lady Jane to speak to him.'

'Well, at least, he has been washed once,' said Mrs. King; 'but he's
so queer; I hope he will have no fancies, and will behave himself.'

'I'll tackle him,' declared Harold decidedly. 'I've a great mind to
go out this moment and tell him.'

Mrs. King prevented this; she persuaded Harold that Mrs. Shepherd
would fly out at them if she heard any noise in the yard, and that it
would be better for every one to let Paul alone till the morning.

Morning came, and as soon as Harold was dressed, he rushed to the
farm-yard, but he could not find Paul anywhere, and concluded that he
had been sent out with the cows, and would be back by breakfast-time.

As soon as he had brought home the post-bag, he dashed across the
road again, but came back in a few moments, looking beside himself.

'He's gone!' he said, and threw himself back in a chair.

'Gone!' cried Mrs. King and Ellen with one voice, quite aghast.

'Gone!' repeated Harold. 'The farmer hunted him off this morning!
Missus will have it that he's been stealing her eggs, and that there
was a lantern in the stable on Friday night; so they told him to be
off with him, and he's gone!'

'Poor, poor boy! just when my Lady would have been the making of
him!' cried Ellen.

'But where--which way is he gone?' asked Mrs. King.

'I might ride after him, and overtake him,' cried Harold, starting
up, 'but I never thought to ask! And Mrs. Shepherd was ready to
pitch into me, so I got away as soon as I could. Do you run over and
ask, Ellen; you always were a favourite.'

They were in such an eager state, that Ellen at once sprang up, and
hastily throwing on her bonnet, ran across the road, and tapped at
Mrs. Shepherd's open door, exclaiming breathlessly, 'O Ma'am, I beg
your pardon, but will you tell me where Paul Blackthorn is gone?'

'Paul Blackthorn! how should I know?' said Mrs. Shepherd crossly.
'I'm not to be looking after thieves and vagabonds. He's a come-by-
chance, and he's a go-by-chance, and a good riddance too!'

'Oh but, Ma'am, my Lady wanted to speak to him.'

This only made Mrs. Shepherd the more set against the poor boy.

'Ay, ay, I know--coming over the gentry; and a good thing he's gone!'
said she. 'The place isn't to be harbouring thieves and vagrants, or
who's to pay the rates? My eggs are gone, I tell you, and who should
take 'em but that lad, I'd like to know?'

'Them was two rotten nest-eggs as I throwed away when I was cleaning
the stable.'

'Who told you to put in your word, John Farden?' screamed Mrs.
Shepherd, turning on him. 'Ye'd best mind what ye're about, or ye'll
be after him soon.'

'No loss neither,' muttered John, stopping to pick up his shovel.

'And you didn't see which way he was gone?' asked Ellen, looking from
the labourer to the farmer's wife.

'Farmer sent un off or ever I come,' replied John, 'or I'd ha' gied
un a breakfast.'

'I'm sure I can't tell,' said Mrs. Shepherd, with a toss of her head.
'And as to you, Ellen King, I'm surprised at you, running after a
scamp like that, that you told me yourself was out of a prison.'

'Oh but, Mrs. Shepherd--'

'You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' interrupted Mrs. Shepherd;
'and I wonder your mother allows it. But there's nothing like girls
now-a-days.'

Ellen thought John Farden grinned; and feeling as if nothing so
shocking could ever happen to her again, she flew back, she hardly
knew how, to her home, clapped the door after, and dropping into a
chair as Harold had done, burst into such a fit of crying, that she
could not speak, and only shook her head in answer to Harold's
questions as to how Paul was gone.

'Oh, no one knew!' she choked out among her sobs; 'and Mrs. Shepherd-
-such things!'

Harold stamped his foot, and Mrs. King tried to soothe her. In the
midst, she recollected that she could not bear her brothers to guess
at the worst part of the 'such things;' and recovering herself a
moment, she said, 'No, no, they've driven him off! He's gone, and--
and, oh! Mother, Mrs. Shepherd will have it he's a thief, and--and
she says I said so.'

That was bad enough, and Ellen wept bitterly again; while her mother
and Harold both cried out with surprise.

'Yes--but--I did say I dare said he was out of a reformatory--and
that she should remember it! Now I've taken away his character, and
he's a poor lost boy!'

Oh, idle words! idle words!

CHAPTER IX--ROBBING THE MAIL

There was no helping it! People must have their letters whether Paul
Blackthorn were lost or not, and Harold was a servant of the public,
and must do his duty, so after some exhortations from his mother, he
ruefully rose up, hoping that he should not have to go to
Ragglesford.

'Yes, you will,' said his mother, 'and maybe to wait. Here's a
registered letter, and I think there are two more with money in
them.'

'To think,' sighed Harold, as he mounted his pony, 'of them little
chaps getting more money for nothing, than Paul did in a month by
working the skin off his bones!'

'Don't be discontented, Harold, on that score. Them little chaps
will work hard enough by-and-by: and the money they have now is to
train them in making a fit use of it then.'

Harold looked anxiously up and down the road for Paul, and asked Mr.
Cope's housekeeper whether he had been there to take leave. No; and
indeed Harold would have been a little vexed if he had wished good-
bye anywhere if not at home.

There was a fine white frost, and the rime hung thickly on every
spray of the heavy branches of the dark firs and larches that
overhung the long solitary lane between the Grange and Ragglesford,
and fringed the park palings with crystals. Harold thought how cold
poor Paul must be going on his way in his ragged clothes. The ice
crackled under the pony's feet as she trotted down Ragglesford Lane,
and the water of the ford looked so cold, that Peggy, a very wise
animal, turned her head towards the foot-bridge, a narrow and not
very sound affair, over which Harold had sometimes taken her when the
stream was high, and threatened to be over his feet.

Harold made no objection; but no sooner were all the pony's four
hoofs well upon the bridge, than at the other end appeared Dick
Royston.

'Hollo, Har'ld!' was his greeting, 'I've got somewhat to say to ye.'

'D'ye know where Paul Blackthorn is?' asked Harold.

'Not I--I'm a traveller myself, you must know.'

'You, going to cut?' cried Harold.

'Ay,' said Dick, laying hold of the pony's rein. 'The police have
been down at Rolt's--stupid fellow left old gander's feet about--Mrs.
Barker swore to 'em 'cause he'd had so many kicks and bites on
common--Jesse's took up and peached--I've been hiding about all
night--precious cold it was, and just waiting, you see, to wish you
goodbye.'

Harold, very much shocked, could have dispensed with his farewells,
nor did he like the look of his eyes.

'Thank you, Dick; I'm sorry--I didn't think--but I'm after time--I
wish you'd let go of Peggy.'

'So that's all you have to say to an old comrade!' said Dick; 'but, I
say, Har'ld, I'm not going so. I must have some tin to take me to
Portsmouth. I want to know what you've got in that there bag!'

'You won't have that; it's the post. Let go, Dick;' and he pushed
the pony forward, but Dick had got her fast by the head. Harold
looked round for help, but Ragglesford Lane was one of the loneliest
places in the country. There was not a house for half a mile, and
Lady Jane's plantations shut in the road on either side.

'I mean to have it,' said Dick, looking coolly up into his face; 'I
mean to see if there's any of the letters with a half-sovereign in
'em, that you tell us about.'

'Dick, Dick, it would be robbing! For shame, Dick! What would
become of Mother and me?'

'That's your look-out,' said Dick; and he stretched out his hand for
the bag. He was four years older than Harold, and much stouter.

Harold, with a ready move, chucked the bag round to his back, and
shouted lustily in hopes that there might be a keeper in the woods,
'Help! Thieves! He's robbing the post!'

Dick's hoarse laugh was all the answer. 'That'll do, my dear,' he
said; 'now you'd best be quiet; I'd be loath to hurt you.'

For all answer, Harold, shouting all the time, dealt him a stroke
right over the eyes and nose with his riding-switch, and made a great
effort to force the pony on in hopes the blow might have made him
slacken his hold. But though one moment Dick's arm was thrown over
his watering eyes, the other hand held the bridle as firmly as ever,
and the next instant his fist dealt Harold such a blow, as nearly
knocked out all his breath. Setting his teeth, and swearing an oath,
Dick was pouncing on the boy's arm, when from the road before them
came bursting a meagre thing darting like a wild cat, which fell upon
him, hallooing as loud as Harold.

Dick turned in fury, and let go the bridle. The pony backed in
alarm. The new-comer was grappling with the thief, and trying to
drag him aside. 'On, on; go on, Har'ld!' he shouted, but his
strength was far from equal to Dick's, who threw him aside on the
hand-rail. Old rotten rail that it was, it crashed under the weight,
and fell with both the boys into the water. Peggy dashed forward to
the other side, where Harold pulled her up with much difficulty, and
turned round to look at the robber and the champion. The fall was
not far, nor the water deep, and they had both risen, and were ready
to seize one another again in their rage. And now Harold saw that he
who had come to his help was no other than Paul Blackthorn, who
shouted loudly, 'On, go on! I'll keep him.'

'He'll kill you!' screamed Harold, in despair, ready to push in
between them with his horse; but at that moment cart-wheels were
heard in the road, and Dick, shaking his fist, and swearing at them
both, shook off Paul as if he had been a feather, and splashing out
of the ford on the other side, leapt over the hedge, and was off
through the plantations.

Paul more slowly crept up towards Harold, dripping from head to foot.

'Paul! Paul! I'm glad I've found you!' cried Harold. 'You've saved
the letters, man, and one was registered! Come along with me, up to
the school.'

'Nay, I'll not do that,' said Paul.

'Then you'll stay till I come back,' said Harold earnestly; 'I've got
so much to tell you! My Lady sent for you. Our Ellen told her all
about you, and you're to go to her. Ellen was in such a way when she
found you were off.'

'Then she didn't think I'd taken the eggs?' said Paul.

'She'd as soon think that I had,' said Harold. 'Why, don't we all
know that you're one of the parson's own sort? But what made you go
off without a word to nobody?'

'I don't know. Every one was against me,' said Paul; 'and I thought
I'd just go out of the way, and you'd forget all about me. But I
never touched those eggs, and you may tell Mr. Cope so, and thank him
for all his kindness to me.'

'You'll tell him yourself. You're going home along with me,' cried
Harold. 'There! I'll not stir a step till you've promised! Why, if
you make off now, 'twill be the way to make them think you have
something to run away for, like that rascal.'

'Very well,' said Paul, rather dreamily.

'Then you won't?' said Harold. 'Upon your word and honour?'

Paul said the words after him, not much as if he knew what he was
about; and Harold, rather alarmed at the sound of the Grange clock
striking, gave a cut to the pony, and bounded on, only looking back
to see that Paul was seating himself by the side of the lane. Harold
said to himself that his mother would not have liked to see him do so
after such a ducking, but he knew that he was more tenderly treated
than other lads, and with reason for precaution too; and he promised
himself soon to be bringing Paul home to be dried and warmed.

But he was less speedy than he intended. When he arrived at the
school, he had first to account to the servants for his being so
late, and then he was obliged to wait while the owner of the
registered letter was to sign the green paper, acknowledging its safe
delivery.

Instead of having the receipt brought back to him, there came a
message that he was to go up to tell the master and the young
gentlemen all about the robbery.

So the servant led the way, and Harold followed a little shy, but
more curious. The boys were in school, a great bare white-washed
room, looking very cold, with a large arched window at one end, and
forms ranged in squares round the hacked and hewed deal tables.
Harold thought he should tell Alfred that the young gentlemen had not
much the advantage of themselves in their schoolroom.

The boys were mostly smaller than he was, only those of the uppermost
form being of the same size. There might be about forty of them,
looking rather red and purple with the chilly morning, and all their
eighty eyes, black or brown, blue or grey, fixed at once upon the
young postman as he walked into the room, straight and upright, in
his high stout gaiters over his cord trousers, his thick rough blue
coat and red comforter, with his cap in his hand, his fair hair
uncovered, and his blue eyes and rosy cheeks all the more bright for
that strange morning's work. He was a well-mannered boy, and made
his bow very properly to Mr. Carter, the master, who sat at his high
desk.

'So, my little man,' said the master, 'I hear you've had a fight for
our property this morning. You've saved this young gentleman's
birthday present of a watch, and he wants to thank you.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Harold; 'but he'd have been too much for me if
Paul hadn't come to help. He's a deal bigger than me.'

The boys all made a thumping and scuffling with their feet, as if to
applaud Harold; and their master said, 'Tell us how it was.'

Harold gave the account in a very good simple manner, only he did not
say who the robber was--he did not like to do so--indeed, he would
not quite believe it could be his old friend Dick. The boys clapped
and thumped doubly when he came to the switching, and still more at
the tumble into the water.

'Do you know who the fellow was?' asked Mr. Carter.

'Yes, I knowed him,' said Harold, and stopped there.

'But you had rather not tell. Is that it?'

'Please, Sir, he's gone, and I wouldn't get him into trouble.'

At this the school-boys perfectly stamped, and made signs of
cheering.

'And who is the boy that came to help you?'

'Paul Blackthorn, Sir; he's a boy from the Union who worked at Farmer
Shepherd's. He's a right good boy, Sir; but he's got no friends, nor
no--nothing,' said Harold, pausing ere he finished.

'Why didn't you bring him up with you?' asked the master.

'Please, Sir, he wouldn't come.'

'Well,' said Mr. Carter, 'you've behaved like a brave fellow, and so
has your friend; and here's something in token of gratitude for the
rescue of our property.'

It was a crown piece.

'And here,' said the boy whose watch had been saved, 'here's half-a-
crown. Shake hands, you're a jolly fellow; and I'll tell my uncle
about you.'

Harold was a true Englishman, and of course his only answer could be,
'Thank you, Sir, I only did my duty;' and as the other boys, whose
money had been rescued, brought forward more silver pledges of
gratitude, he added, 'I'll take it to Paul--thank you, Sir--thank
you, Sir.'

'That's right; you must share, my lad,' said the school-master. 'It
is a reward for both of you.'

'Thank you, Sir, it was MY duty,' repeated Harold, making his bow.

'Sir, Sir, pray let us give him three cheers,' burst out the head boy
in an imploring voice.

Mr. Carter smiled and nodded; and there was such a hearty roaring and
stamping, such 'hip, hip, hurrah!' bursting out again and again, that
the windows clattered, and the room seemed fuller of noise than it
could possibly hold. It is not quite certain that Mr. Carter did not
halloo as loud as any of the boys.

Harold turned very red, and did not know which way to look while it
was going on, nor what to do when it was over, except to say a very
odd sort of 'Thank you, Sir;' but his heart leapt up with a kind of
warm grateful feeling of liking towards those boys for going along
with him so heartily; and the cheers gave a pleasure and glow that
the coins never would have done, even had he thought them his own by
right.

He was not particularly good in this; he had never felt the pinch of
want, and was too young to care; and he did not happen to wish to buy
anything in particular just then. A selfish or a covetous boy would
not have felt as he did; but these were not his temptations.
Knowing, as he did, that the assault had been the consequence of his
foolish boasts about the money-letters, and that he, being in charge,
ought to defend them to the last gasp, he was sure he deserved the
very contrary from a reward, and never thought of the money belonging
to any one but Paul, who had by his own free will come to the rescue,
and saved the bag from robbery, himself from injury and disgrace.

How happy he was in thinking what a windfall it was for his friend,
and how far it would go in fitting him up respectably!

Peggy was ready to trot nearly as fast as he wished her down the lane
to the place where he had left Paul; and no sooner did Harold come in
sight of the olive-coloured rags, than he bawled out a loud 'Hurrah!
Come on, Paul; you don't know what I've got for you! 'Twas a young
gentleman's watch as you saved; and they've come down right handsome!
and here's twelve-and-sixpence for you--enough to rig you out like a
regular swell! Why, what's the matter?' he added in quite another
voice, as he had now come up to Paul, and found him sitting nearly
doubled up, with his head bent over his knees.

He raised his face up as Harold came, and it was so ghastly pale,
that the boy, quite startled, jumped off his pony.

'Why, old chap, what is it? Have you got knit up with cold, sitting
here?'

'Yes, I suppose so,' said Paul; but his very voice shivered, his
teeth chattered, and his knees knocked together with the chill. 'The
pains run about me,' he added; but he spoke as if he hardly knew what
he was doing or saying.

'You must come home with me, and Mother will give you something hot,'
said Harold. 'Come, you'll catch your death if you don't. You shall
ride home.'

He pulled Paul from his seat with some difficulty, and was further
alarmed when he found that the poor fellow reeled and could hardly
stand; but he was somewhat roused, and knew better what he was about.
Harold tried to put him on the pony, but this could not be managed:
he could not help himself enough, Peggy always swerved aside, nor was
Harold strong enough to lift him up.

The only thing to be done was for Harold to mount, and Paul to lean
against the saddle, while the pony walked. When they had to separate
at the ford, poor Paul's walk across the bridge was so feeble and
staggering, that Harold feared every moment that he would fall where
the rail was broken away, but was right glad to put his arm on his
shoulder again to help to hold him up. The moving brought a little
more life back to the poor boy's limbs, and he walked a little
better, and managed to tell Harold how he had felt too miserable to
speak to any one after the rating the farmer had given him, and how
he had set out on the tramp for more work, though with hope so nearly
dead in his heart, that he only wished he could sit down and die. He
had walked out of the village before people were about, so as not to
be noticed, and then had found himself so weak and weary that he
could not get on without food, and had sat down by the hedge to eat
the bit of bread he had with him. Then he had taken the first
lonely-looking way he saw, without knowing that it was one of
Harold's daily rides, and was slowly dragging himself up the hill
from the ford when the well-known voice, shouting for help, had
suddenly called him back, and filled him with spirit and speed that
were far enough off now, poor fellow!

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