The Story of Antony Grace. Fenn George Manville
and getting hold with one hand, to which I soon joined the other.
“’Taint your bundle,” he said fiercely. “Let go, or I’ll soon let you know. Let go, will yer?”
He shook at it savagely, and dragged me here and there, for he was the bigger and stronger; but I held on with all my might. I was horribly frightened of him, for he was a coarse, ruffianly-looking fellow; but inside that bundle was my little all, and I determined not to give it up without a struggle.
“Here, you wait till I get my knife out,” he roared. “It’s my bundle, yer young thief!”
“It is not,” I panted: “you stole it from me while I lay asleep.”
“Yer lie! Take that!”
That was a heavy blow on my chin which cut my lip, and seemed to loosen my teeth, causing me intense pain; but though for a moment I staggered back, the blow had just the opposite effect to that intended by the boy. A few moments before, I was so horribly afraid of him, that I felt that I must give up; now the pain seemed to have driven all the fear out of me, for, springing at him with clenched fists, I struck out wildly, and with all my might; the bundle went down in the dust, and, after a minutes scuffle, and a shower of blows, there, to my intense astonishment, lay the boy too, grovelling and twisting about, rubbing his eyes with his fists, and howling dismally.
“You let me alone; I never did nothing to you,” he whined.
“You did; you stole my bundle,” I cried, in the heat of my triumph.
“No, I didn’t. I on’y picked it up. I didn’t know it was yourn.”
“You knew I was by it,” I said.
“Yes; but I thought perhaps it weren’t yourn,” he howled.
“Now look here,” I said, “you give me what you took out of it.”
“I didn’t take nothing out of it,” he whined. “I was only going to, when that gent came along on the shay, and asked me where you was.”
“You’ve got my best shoes on,” I said. “Take them off.”
He pulled them off, having half spoiled them by cutting the fronts, to let his feet go in.
“Where’s that gentleman now?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he whined. “He said if I didn’t show him where you was, he’d hand me over to the police; and I cut off across the fields, when we was walking the pony up a hill.”
“You’re a nice blackguard,” I said, cooling down fast now, as the fear of Mr Blakeford came back. I was wondering, too, how to get rid of my conquest, when, just as I stooped to pick up the shoes, he shrank away, uttering a cowardly howl, as if I had aimed a blow at him; and, starting up, he ran back along the lane shoeless, and seemed making for the high road.
“He’ll tell Mr Blakeford,” I thought; and catching up the bundle, I hurried on in the opposite direction, till, finding the brook again cross the road, I hastily stooped down and washed my bleeding knuckles, before starting off once more, getting rid of the marks of the struggle a fast as I could, and looking back from time to time, in momentary expectation of seeing Mr Blakeford’s head above the hedge.
Chapter Ten.
Along the Towing-Path
I felt in better spirits now. My rest and breakfast, and my encounter with the boy, had given me more confidence in myself. Then, too, I had recovered my bundle, replacing in it my shoes, and, after carefully wrapping them up, the remains of my bread and cheese.
Hour after hour I walked on, always taking the turnings that led to the right, in the belief that sooner or later they would bring me to the London Road, which, however, they never did; and at last, in the afternoon, I sat down under a tree and made a second delicious meal.
I passed, during the rest of that day’s journey, through a couple more villages, at the latter of which I obtained a large mug of milk for a penny; and at last, footsore and worn out, I found myself at nightfall far away in a pleasant pastoral country, where haymaking seemed to be carried on a good deal, from the stacks I passed. There were hills behind me, and hills again straight before me, the part where I was being very level.
“What am I to do?” I asked myself, for I could go no farther, and a feeling of desolation began to make my heart sink. “I must sleep somewhere – but where?”
The answer came in the shape of a haystack, one side of which was being cut away, and soon after, I was seated on the sweet-scented, soft stuff, feasting away once more, to drop at last, almost unconsciously, into a sweet sleep, from which I started up to find it quite dark, and that I was growing cold.
There was plenty of loose straw close by, as if threshing had been going on, and taking my bundle for a pillow, and nestling beneath the straw which I drew over the hay, I was soon fast asleep once more, only to wake up rested and refreshed as the birds were singing cheerily upon another sunshiny morning.
My toilet consisted in getting rid of the bits of straw and hay, after which I started to walk on once more, following a winding lane, which brought me out at a wooden bridge, crossing a river, down by whose pebbly side I finished my toilet, and rose refreshed and decent-looking, for my bundle contained my brush and comb.
There was a little public-house on the other side of the stream, with cows in a field hard by, and directing my steps there, after stopping on the bridge for a few minutes to gaze at the fish glancing in the sunshine, I found I could buy some bread and milk, the privilege being given me of sitting down on a bench and watching the sparkling river as I made my breakfast.
With every mouthful came hope and confidence. I felt as if I really was free, and that all I now had to do was to trudge steadily on to London. How long it would take me I did not know – perhaps a month. But it did not matter; I could continue to be very sparing of my money, so as to make it last.
It was a red-armed, apple-faced woman who gave me the mug, and she stared at me curiously, frightening me so much, lest she should ask me questions, that I hastily finished my milk, and, picking up the bread, said “good-morning,” and walked along by the side of the river, there being here a towing-path, upon which I soon encountered a couple of horses, the foremost of which was ridden by a boy with a whip, while they dragged a long rope which kept plashing down into the river, and then, being drawn taut, showered down pearly drops of water, which seemed to be smoothed out by a long, low, narrow barge, painted yellow and red, at the end of which was a man smoking, with his eyes half shut, as he leaned upon the tiller gear.
They were going against the stream, and their progress was slow, as I sat down and watched them go out of sight round the bend of the river.
“I wonder where this river runs to, and where I should go, if I walked all along this path?” I said to myself, and then like a flash, the idea came, right or wrong, I could not tell, that it must go on and on to London.
It was full of hope, that thought; so full that I leaped up, and trudged on so steadily, that at the end of an hour I again saw a couple of horses in front, drawing another barge, with the rope plashing in and out of the river; but this barge was going on in the same direction as I was, and as I drew nearer I began to envy the boy riding so idly on the foremost horse, and wished it were my fate to change places with him, for one of my feet was very sore.
It pained me a good deal; but, all the same, there was a joyous feeling of freedom to cheer me on, and I limped forward, thinking how I had nothing to fear now, no dreary copying to do, and then stand shivering, expecting blows, if I had omitted a word, or forgotten to cross some t. All was bright and beautiful, with the glancing river, the glorious green meadows, and the gliding barge going so easily with the stream.
There was a stolid-looking man holding the tiller of the barge, staring dreamily before him, and smoking, looking as motionless, and smoking nearly as much, as the chimney of the cabin beside him. The barge itself was covered with great tarred cloths of a dingy black, but the woodwork about the cabin was ornamented with yellow and scarlet diamonds and ovals carved in the sides.
The man took