The Children of the New Forest, Frederick Marryat [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

not to let him suppose that we have any money in the old chest, till we find out whether he is to be trusted or not.”

“Better not let him know it under any circumstances,” replied Humphrey; “he may continue honest, if not tempted by the knowledge that there is any thing worth stealing.”

“You are right, Humphrey. Well, I will be off tomorrow morning and get this visit over. I hope to be able to get all the news from her, now that her father is away.

“I hope to get some work out of this Pablo,” replied Humphrey; “how many things I could do, if he would only work! Now, I’ll tell you one thing—I will dig a sawpit and get a saw, and then I can cut out boards and build any thing we want. The first time I go to Lymington I will buy a saw—I can afford it now; and I’ll make a carpenter’s bench for the first thing, and then, with some more tools, I shall get on; and then, Edward, I’ll tell you what else I will do.”

“Then, Humphrey,” replied Edward, laughing, “you must tell me some other time, for it is now very late, and I must go to bed, as I have to rise early. I know you have so many projects in your mind that it would take half the night to listen to them.”

“Well, I believe what you say is true,” replied Humphrey, “and it will be better to do one thing at a time than to talk about doing a hundred; so we will, as you say, to bed.”

At sunrise, Edward and Humphrey were both up; Alice came out when they tapped at her door, as she would not let Edward go without his breakfast. Edith joined them, and they went to prayers. While they were so employed, Pablo came out and listened to what was said. When prayers were over, Humphrey asked Pablo if he knew what they had been doing.

“No, not much; suppose you pray sun to shine.”

“No, Pablo,” said Edith, “pray to God to make us good.”

“You bad then?” said Pablo; “me not bad.”

“Yes, Pablo, every body very bad,” said Alice; “but if we try to be good, God forgives us.”

The conversation was then dropped, and as soon as Edward had made his breakfast, he kissed his sisters, and wished Humphrey farewell.

Edward threw his gun over his arm, and calling his puppy, which he had named Holdfast, bade Humphrey and his sisters farewell, and set off on his journey across the forest.

Holdfast, as well as Humphrey’s puppy, which had been named Watch, had grown very fine young animals. The first had been named Holdfast, because it would seize the pigs by the ears and lead them into the sty, and the other because it was so alert at the least noise; but, as Humphrey said, Watch ought to have learned to lead the pigs, it being more in his line of business than Holdfast’s, which was to be brought up for hunting in the forest, while Watch was being educated as a house and farmyard dog.

Edward had refused to take the pony, as Humphrey required it for the farm-work, and the weather was so fine that he preferred walking; the more so, as it would enable him on his return across the forest to try for some venison, which he could not have done if he had been mounted on Billy’s back. Edward walked quick, followed by his dog, which he had taught to keep to heel. He felt happy, as people do who have no cares, from the fine weather—the deep green of the verdure checkered by the flowers in bloom, and the majestic scenery which met his eye on every side. His heart was as buoyant as his steps, as he walked along, the light summer breeze fanning his face. His thoughts, however, which had been more of the chase than any thing else, suddenly changed, and he became serious. For some time he had heard no political news of consequence, or what the Commons were doing with the king. This revery naturally brought to his mind his father’s death, the burning of his property, and its sequestration. His cheeks colored with indignation, and his brow was moody. Then he built castles for the future. He imagined the king released from his prison, and leading an army against his oppressors; he fancied himself at the head of a troop of cavalry, charging the Parliamentary horse. Victory was on his side. The king was again on his throne, and he was again in possession of the family estate. He was rebuilding the hall, and somehow or another it appeared to him that Patience was standing by his side, as he gave directions to the artificers, when his revery was suddenly disturbed by Holdfast barking and springing forward in advance.

Edward, who had by this time got over more than half his journey, looked up, and perceived himself confronted by a powerful man, apparently about forty years of age, and dressed as a verderer of the forest. He thought at the time that he had seldom seen a person with a more sinister and forbidding countenance.

“How now, young fellow, what are you doing here?” said the man, walking up to him and cocking the gun which he held in hand as he advanced.

Edward quietly cocked his own gun, which was loaded, when he perceived that hostile preparation on the part of the other person, and then replied, “I am walking across the forest, as you may perceive.”

“Yes, I perceive you are walking, and you are walking with a dog and a gun: you will now be pleased to walk with me. Deer-stealers are not any longer permitted to range this forest.”

“I am no deer-stealer,” replied Edward. “It will be quite sufficient to give me that title when you find me with venison in my possession; and as for going with you, that I certainly shall not. Sheer off, or you may meet with harm.”

“Why, you young good-for-nothing, if you have not venison, it is not from any will not to take it; you are out in pursuit of it, that is clear. Come, come, you’ve the wrong person to deal with; my orders are to take up all poachers, and take you I will.”

“If you can,” replied Edward; “but you must first prove that you are able so to do; my gun is as good and my aim is as sure as yours, whoever you may be. I tell you again, I am no poacher, nor have I come out to take the deer, but to cross over to the intendant’s cottage, whither I am now going. I tell you thus much, that you may not do any thing foolish; and having said this, I advise you to think twice before you act once. Let me proceed in peace, or you may lose your place, if you do not, by your own rashness, lose your life.”

There was something so cool and so determined in Edward’s quiet manner, that the verderer hesitated. He perceived that any attempt to take Edward would be at the risk of his own life; and he knew that his orders were to apprehend all poachers, but not to shoot people. It was true, that resistance with firearms would warrant his acting in self-defense; but admitting that be should succeed, which was doubtful, still Edward had not been caught in the act of killing venison, and he had no witnesses to prove what had occurred. He also knew that the intendant had given very strict orders as to the shedding of blood, which he was most averse to, under any circumstances; and there was something in Edward’s appearance and manner so different from a common person, that he was puzzled. Moreover, Edward had stated that he was going to the intendant’s house. All things considered, as he found that bullying would not succeed, he thought it advisable to change his tone, and therefore said, “You tell me that you are going to the intendant’s house; you have business there, I presume? If I took you prisoner, it is there I should have conducted you, so, young man, you may now walk on before me.”

“I thank you,” replied Edward, “but walk on before you I will not: but if you choose to half-cock your gun again, and walk by my side, I will do the same. Those are my terms, and I will listen to no other; so be pleased to make up your mind, as I am in haste.”

The verderer appeared very indignant at this reply, but after a time said, “Be it so.”

Edward then uncocked his gun, with his eyes fixed upon the man, and the verderer did the same: and then they walked side by side, Edward keeping at the distance of three yards from him, in case of treachery.

After a few moments’ silence, the verderer said, “You tell me you are going to the intendant’s house; he is not at home.”

“But young Mistress Patience is, I presume,” said Edward.

“Yes,” replied the man, who, finding that Edward appeared to know so much about the intendant’s family, began to be more civil. “Yes, she is at home, for I saw her in the garden this morning.”

“And Oswald, is he at home?” rejoined Edward.

“Yes, he is. You appear to know our people, young man; who may you be, if it is a fair question?”

“It would have been a fair question had you treated me fairly,” replied Edward; “but as it is no concern of yours, I shall leave you to find it out.”

This reply puzzled the man still more; and he now, from the tone of authority assumed by Edward, began to imagine that he had made some mistake, and that he was speaking to a superior, although clad in a forester’s dress. He therefore answered humbly, observing that he had only been doing his duty.

Edward walked on without making any reply.

As they arrived within a hundred yards of the intendant’s house Edward said—

“I have now arrived at my destination, and am going into that house, as I told you. Do you choose to enter it with me, or will you go to Oswald Partridge and tell him that you have met with Edward Armitage in the forest, and that I should be glad to see him? I believe you are under his orders, are you not?”

“Yes I am” replied the verderer, “and as I suppose that all’s right, I shall go and deliver your message.”

Edward then turned away from the man, and went into the wicket-gate of the garden, and knocked at the door of the House. The door was opened by Patience Heatherstone herself, who said, “Oh, how glad I am to see you! Come in.” Edward took off his hat and bowed. Patience led the way into her father’s study, where Edward had been first received.

“And now,” said Patience, extending her hand to Edward, “thanks, many thanks, for your preserving me from so dreadful a death. You don’t know how unhappy I have been at not being able to give you my poor thanks for your courageous behavior.”

Her hand still remained in Edward’s while she said this.

“You rate what I did too highly,” replied Edward; “I would have done the same for any one in such distress: it was my duty as a—man,” Cavalier he was about to say, but he checked himself.

“Sit down,” said Patience, taking a chair; “nay, no ceremony; I can not treat as an inferior one to whom I owe such a debt of gratitude.”

Edward smiled as he took his seat.

“My father is as grateful to you as I am—I’m sure that he is—for I heard