The marvellous land of Snergs
puppy curled up in a ball behind her neck. He lay down again, and was
just dropping off again into a delicious sleep when he heard another
crack, and this time he was out of bed with a jump, for there was a
dark shadow at the window and the lattice was wide open.
“Joe!” called a whisper, “it’s me, poor old Baldry. Don’t make a sound.”
“What’s wrong,” whispered Joe, creeping to the window.
“Everything. Wake up Sylvia and tell her to come quietly.” Baldry was
climbing carefully through the window. “We’ve got to get away quickly.”
Joe was a sensible boy (in some ways) and he wasted no time in
questions but shook Sylvia carefully and then put his hand over her
mouth and whispered to her not to speak. She rubbed her eyes and stared
at Baldry. Then she became fully awake.
“Yes, Joe,” she said, not trembling very much, “I’ll be a sport.” She
jumped out of bed and put on her slinkers (there were the elements of
greatness as well of flirtatiousness in that child). Baldry put his
arms about them so that he could whisper what he had to say.
“There’s a man that’s come in with Mother Meldrum--a giant--and they’re
down below talking. And I’m pretty sure it’s Golithos.”
“Oo--er!” said Joe with a jump.
“Yes, it’s a great big man with lots of hair and whiskers and a great
silly face, just as you told me. They came in through a back door
somewhere, so that they wouldn’t wake me I suppose, and they sat
talking and talking in a back room. So I crept up and looked through a
little chink and I saw him quite plain, Joe. Horrid sight. And she got
furious with him and called him a cowardly lubber and said if he didn’t
do it he shouldn’t have a single bite at them.”
“What did she mean?” asked Joe.
“Well, I don’t know what she wanted _him_ to do. But about the biting,
Joe, I think she meant you and Sylvia.”
“Let’s scoot!” said Joe.
In a minute or two they had the sheets torn into long strips and
knotted together, and Sylvia was tied with this handy rope under the
arms and lowered gently out of the window, holding Tiger tightly to
her. Joe in the meantime was going down by way of a big creeper that
grew against the wall, and by which Baldry had climbed up to them. As
soon as he was on the ground Baldry’s red and yellow legs shot out of
the window, and in another minute he was down beside them.
“Come along,” he said, grabbing a hand of each one, and running with
them into the trees, “there’s enough moonlight to find the path, I
think. But in any case we’ve got to get somewhere else quick.”
“But what about Gorbo?” asked Joe, stopping suddenly. “What’ll he say
when he finds we’re gone?”
“Yes, we can’t leave Gorbo behind,” cried Sylvia. “Oh, what are we to
do?”
“We’ve _got_ to go,” said Baldry. “Golithos has come after you, that’s
plain. And I’m afraid I’m not much use in a fight; I’ve only got my
little bladder stick. But Gorbo’s a hard little man with lots of fight
in him, and he’s got his bow and arrows. He’ll be able to look after
himself all right, and when he finds we’re gone he’ll chase after
us, you can be sure of that. We’ll go on and hide just outside these
beastly woods and wait for him to come.”
This seemed reasonable enough, and they started off again at a run.
But though the moonlight was bright enough when it shone on the path
there were long stretches where it was quite dark, and Baldry had often
to walk ahead of the children and feel the way. They moved on slowly,
sometimes running a bit but more often crawling along, always with the
thought that they might at any moment hear that dreadful couple coming
after them and shouting to them to stop; and it shows what a plucky
girl Sylvia was that she could keep up without a murmur, even though
her little heart was heavy with fear.
At last they found the moonlight giving place to the grey light of
dawn, and they were filled with joy and thankfulness, for things that
are terrible in the night seem almost harmless when the day comes. And,
feeble though the light was yet, it enabled them to pick the path much
more easily: however bright the moon shines it casts black shadows, but
the light of day gets behind things.
“Do you think they will come after us?” asked Joe. With the little bit
of light and the extra speed they were making he felt that the subject
was at least bearable.
“No,” replied Baldry, “not yet awhile I think. Old Mother Meldrum’s too
busy jawing and Golithos is too busy eating.”
“What is he eating?” asked Joe, struck with a sudden idea. “Salad?”
“No, Joe, he’d got a lot of big beef bones in his bag and he was biting
hard at them while he listened to that old beast.”
“Oh, he’s killed that nice cow!” cried Sylvia. And though she had borne
all the terrors so bravely she burst out crying at the fate of the
patient animal that had been so friendly to them and given them milk in
their sore need.
THE GREEN RIDE
When at last they came to the end of the dark woods the sun was over
the tree-tops and everything looked delightfully bright and cheering.
They raced across the wide stretch of turf that separated them from
the nice friendly-looking forest on the other side, and they were soon
resting in a warm spot just at the outskirts of some spreading oaks,
far from the horrible house and the haunted woods.
Baldry said it was best to stay exactly where they were and keep a good
look out for Gorbo, who would certainly chase after them as soon as he
came back and found they were gone. Of course if Golithos or the old
hag came out first it would be necessary to hide closer, and he looked
round and found a nice place, deep in a thicket of bracken, where fifty
people could be safely hidden, and to which they could do a bolt at a
moment’s notice.
But now that they had their minds at rest to some degree, the
conversation turned on things to eat and drink; there is nothing like
exercise and fright to give one an appetite. Sylvia said how nice it
would be to have a hot cup of tea with plenty of milk, and Baldry, who
belonged to mediæval times and therefore did not know of tea, asked if
it was anything like hot spiced ale. This led the talk to hot ham, to
eggs cooked in various ways, and buttered toast. And the result was
they got ravenous.
Baldry was knitting his brow over the question of how to get breakfast
when suddenly they heard clanging sounds and the clump of horses’ feet.
And looking about them they saw a cavalcade of some ten or twelve
men-at-arms, coming along the green ride with much pomp and glittering
of steel and high stepping of fine horses. Baldry stared earnestly at
them and then he gave a satisfied chortle.
“These blokes,” he said (blokes is not the word he used of course, but
it is the nearest I can get to it in translation), “are the same ones
who rode up to the castle yesterday and frightened dear Percy away. But
they didn’t see us, because we got away so quickly, so I think we had
better see if they can spare us a trifle. Men-at-arms generally have
some bits of food about their persons--cold fried fish and sausage and
the like--and they’re generally good-natured on a fine morning. And
if they give us some little pieces of money instead we can buy some
breakfast somewhere--if there’s a house anywhere in these wild parts.”
“All right,” said Joe, starting up. “Come along, Sylvia.”
“No, wait a bit,” said Baldry, “this wants thinking out. To make this
thing a success we have to appeal to them in some quaint way. I’ve got
it! You go first, Joe, turning somersaults; that will make them stop
and wonder. Then you go next, Sylvia, and drop a nice little curtsey
and smile at them; that will put them in a good humour. Then I’ll come
along walking on my hands, and that will make it a sure thing and they
should unbelt at once. First of all let’s make ourselves look nice.”
The children were highly interested and Sylvia asked him if he had a
comb. But he had not, so she fluffed out her curls with her fingers
and then knelt over a little forest pool close by to make sure that
she looked rather fetching. (She was her mother’s daughter all right
enough.) Joe tucked his shirt in neatly and tightened his belt, and
Baldry practised an expression of attractive mirth.
The horsemen approached at an easy walk and they could see the face
of the leader, an able-looking person whose well-fitting and polished
mail and golden spurs proclaimed him a knight in a prosperous line of
business. He rode with his visor raised, talking to one whose plain
steel spurs and armour devoid of fancy trimmings showed that he was as
yet but a squire. In the still morning air their voices came clearly to
the little waiting group.
“In sooth, good Baldwin,” he was saying, “there is now little chance of
honourable adventure in the land. But yester morn I had hope of running
a course with the scurril Sir Percival, who has dared to raise his
lobster eyes to my mistress and to brag forsooth that she has sent him
forth seeking advancement to grace her name. But the pestilent knave
fled and my hope was dashed to the ground--which is a pity, because
that’s what I meant to do to him.”
“Good, my lord,” said the squire, “’tis likely that the Lady Gwendoline
did but tell him to chase himself. So at least went the gossip at the
buttery hatch.”
“My lady has a pretty wit, and perchance she put her answer in such
wise that the moth-eaten rascal has construed it to his own undoing--or
at least to his grievous waste of time. But what mummery have we here,
good Baldwin?”
It was Joe, turning brisk somersaults, and the leader halted his horse
and stared down at him. Joe sprang at him and clasped his mailed leg
with his arms, as Baldry had told him to, and loudly asked for charity.
“Unhand my left leg, thou wanton!” cried the leader. “Who told you to
behave like this?--But whom else have we here?”
This was Sylvia, who came tripping up and dropped a dainty curtsey,
smiling very prettily at him.
“By my hilt, a right winsome little lass! Is she not, Baldwin?”
“Ay, my lord, she has hair like ripe corn and merry blue eyes, and her
cheeks are like rose leaves in the morn. A pretty maid--and a saucy, I
warrant me.”
“You silly thing!” said Sylvia, pretending to be coy; “I don’t believe
you.” (This sort of behaviour came quite naturally to her.)
“Nay, little lass,” said the leader, smiling good-humouredly, “for the
sake of your pretty looks I have here a silver groat”--he pulled off
his mailed glove and fished about in a little steel pocket in his
_cuisses_, or thigh armour--a quaint little pocket that shut with a
spring. “I _know_ I had a groat somewhere--Ah, here we have it!” He
bent down and placed the coin in Sylvia’s little palm and patted her
cheek. “And if you are hungered my good squire has half a fat capon
which he borrowed--But whom _else_ have we here?”
Whom else they had was of course Baldry, who came along, walking
upside-down and singing “When woods are green and foules sing,” a truly
difficult feat before breakfast you will say. When opposite the knight
he sprang right side up and cut a dexterous caper--and then stared in
horror.
“Scurril rogue!” roared the knight, catching him by the collar with a
grip of iron. “At last we have thee who dared to put so scandalous a
jest upon His Majesty! Ho, there, seize me this knave and loose him not
till he be safe in the royal dungeon.”
CAPTIVES
Words cannot describe the dismay and mental confusion of Joe and Sylvia
at this unhappy change of fortune, or I should certainly try for it.
Their pleadings that Baldry be allowed to remain with them met with no
satisfactory response from the leader, and when they exclaimed against
his conduct in taking away their companion and protector and leaving