Harding’s Luck, E. Nesbit [summer reads .TXT] 📗

an underground passage. He looked up; he could see above him the stars plain through a net of furze bushes. He stood up and True went on. Next moment he knew that he was in the old smugglers’ cave that he and Elfrida had so often tried to find.

The dog and the boy went on, along a passage, down steps cut in the rock, through a rough, heavy door, and so into the smugglers’ cave itself, an enormous cavern as big as a church. Out of an opening at the upper end a stream of water fell, and ran along the cave clear between shores of smooth sand.

And, lying on the sand near the stream, was something dark.

True gave a bound that jerked the chain out of Edred’s hand, and leaped upon the dark thing, licking it, whining, and uttering little dog moans of pure love and joy. For the dark something was Dickie, fast asleep. He was bound with cords, his poor lame foot tied tight to the other one. His arms were bound too. And now he was awake.

“Down, True!” he said. “Hush! Ssh!”

“Where are they⁠—the man and woman?” Edred whispered.

“Oh, Edred! You! You perfect brick!” Dickie whispered back. “They’re in the further cave. I heard them snoring before I went to sleep.”

“Lie still,” said Edred; “I’ve got a knife. I’ll cut the cords.”

He cut them, and Dickie tried to stand up. But his limbs were too stiff. Edred rubbed his legs, while Dickie stretched his fingers to get the pins and needles out of his arms.

Edred had stuck the candle in the sand. It made a ring of light round them. That was why they did not see a dark figure that came quietly creeping across the sand towards them. It was quite close to them before Edred looked up.

“Oh!” he gasped, and Dickie, looking up, whispered, “It’s all up⁠—run. Never mind me. I shall get away all right.”

“No,” said Edred, and then with a joyous leap of the heart perceived that the dark figure was Elfrida in her father’s ulster.

(“I hadn’t time to put on my stockings,” she explained later. “You’d have known me a mile off by my white legs if I hadn’t covered them up with this.”)

“Elfrida!” said both boys at once.

“Well, you didn’t think I was going to be out of it,” she said. “I’ve been behind you all the way, Edred. Don’t tell me anything. I won’t ask any questions, only come along out of it. Lean on me.”

They got him up to the passage, one on each side, and by that time Dickie could use his legs and his crutch. They got home and roused Lord Arden, and told him Dickie was found and all about it, and he roused the house, and he and Beale and half-a-dozen men from the village went up to the cave and found that wicked man and woman in a stupid sleep, and tied their hands and marched them to the town and to the police-station.

When the man was searched the letter was found on him which the man⁠—it was that redheaded man you have heard of⁠—had taken from Talbot Court.

“I wish you joy of your good fortune, my boy,” said Lord Arden when he had read the letter. “Of course we must look into things, but I feel no doubt at all that you are Lord Arden!”

“I don’t want to be,” said Dickie, and that was true. Yet at the same time he did want to be. The thought of being Richard, Lord Arden, he who had been just little lame Dickie of Deptford, of owning this glorious castle, of being the master of an old name and an old place, this thought sang in his heart a very beautiful tune. Yet what he said was true. There is so often room in our hearts for two tunes at a time. “I don’t want to be. You ought to be, sir. You’ve been so kind to me,” he said.

“My dear boy,” said the father of Edred and Elfrida, “I did very well without the title and the castle, and if they’re yours I shall do very well without them again. You shall have your rights, my dear boy, and I shan’t be hurt by it. Don’t you think that.”

Dickie thought several things and shook the other’s hand very hard.

The tale of Dickie’s rescue from the cave was the talk of the countryside. True was praised much, but Edred more. Why had no one else thought of putting the dog on the scent? Edred said that it was mostly True’s doing. And the people praised his modesty. And nobody, except perhaps Elfrida, ever understood what it had cost Edred to go that night through the dark and rescue his cousin.

Edred’s father and Mrs. Honeysett agreed that Edred had done it in the delirium of a fever, brought on by his anxiety about his friend and playmate. People do, you know, do odd things in fevers that they would never do at other times.

The redheaded man and the woman were tried at the assizes and punished. If you ask me how they knew about the caves which none of the country people seemed to know of, I can only answer that I don’t know. Only I know that everyone you know knows lots of things that you don’t know they know.

When they all went a week later to explore the caves, they found a curious arrangement of brickwork and cement and clay, shutting up a hole through which the stream had evidently once flowed out into the open air. It now flowed away into darkness. Lord Arden pointed out how its course had been diverted and made to run down underground to the sea.

“We might let it come back to the moat,” said Edred. “It used to run that way. It says so in the History of Arden.”

“We must decide that later,” said his father, who had a long blue lawyer’s letter in his pocket.