Burr Junior Part 57

Bob Hopley's present was a red and orange silk kerchief, which he wore proudly on Sundays, and Cook's was in a small box prepared by my mother--a cap with wonderful flowers and ribbons, which obtained for Tom Mercer and me endless little supper snacks as tokens of the woman's delight and grat.i.tude.

So, as time sped on, I had grown so accustomed to the life at "Old Browne's," that I felt little objection, as I have said, to returning after the Christmas holidays; though the weather was bad and there was a long while to wait before there could be much pleasure in out-door sports. But the spring came at last with its pear and apple blossom, the hops began to run up the poles, May and June succeeded, and glided on so that I could hardly believe it when the midsummer holidays came without my feeling that I had advanced much in the past six months.

I suppose I had, for I had worked hard, and the letter I bore home from the Doctor quite satisfied my mother who afterwards informed me in confidence that my uncle was greatly pleased.

Six weeks' holidays were before me, but, before they were at an end, I was beginning to get weary, and longing for the day to come when my new things were brought home ready to try on, pack up, and return to school.

To my studies and interviews with the masters?

Oh, no! nothing of the kind; but to where there were woods and ponds, and the General's cob for my riding lessons, and the cricket-field.

I'm afraid my mother must have thought me careless and unloving. I hope I was not, in my eagerness to get back to Tom Mercer, who made my school life most interesting by his quaintness. For I was always ready to enter into his projects, some of which were as amusing as they were new.

I had seen little of my uncle when I was home last, but he wrote to me twice--stern, military-toned letters, each of which was quite a despatch in itself. In these he laid down the law to me, giving me the best of advice, but it was all very Spartan-like. He insisted above all things upon my recollecting that I was to be a soldier, and that a soldier was always a gentleman and a man of honour, and each time he finished his letter in these words,--

"Never tell a lie, Frank; never do a dirty action; keep yourself smart and clean; and, by the way, I send you a sovereign to spend in trash."

"Only wish I had such an uncle," Tom Mercer used to say. "My father would send me money if he could spare it, but he says his patients won't pay. They're civil enough when they're ill, but when he has wound up their clocks, and set them going again, they're as disagreeable as can be if he wants his bill."

This was after I had gone back from the midsummer holidays.

"Did you ask him for money, then?"

"Yes, and he said that if he wrote at midsummer and asked for payment, the farmers told him they'd pay after harvest, and if he wanted it after harvest, they said they'd pay at. Christmas, and when Christmas came, they told him to wait till midsummer. Oh, won't I serve 'em out if ever I'm a doctor!"

"What would you do?" I said.

"Give 'em such a dose!"

"Not you, Tom."

"Oh, won't I! I don't care, though; father gave me a crown and mamma half a one."

"And enough too. What a fellow you are to grumble!"

"That I'm not. I wanted 'em to buy me a watch."

"Get out! What a fellow you are! Next time the chaps want a nickname for you, I shall call you Watchman."

"All right! I don't mind; but I shan't be happy till I have a watch."

"That's what you used to say about Magglin's take-to-pieces gun, but you never got it, and you've been happy enough without."

"Oh, have I?" said Mercer. "You don't know. I used to long for that gun."

Two or three days afterwards, in one of our strolls, when we were both coming back laden with odds and ends for the museum up in the loft, Mercer proposed that we should cross a field and get into the lower lane, so as to call at Polly Hopley's to get something to eat.

I was nothing loth, and we struck off across country, got into the lane about a couple of hundred yards from the keeper's lodge, and then suddenly stopped short.

"Hus.h.!.+" I said, as shouts and cries reached our ears.

"There's something the matter," cried Mercer. "Come on."

We set off at a run, and as we pa.s.sed a bend in the lane, we came full in sight of the keeper's cottage, and saw him in the middle of the road, holding a rough-looking figure by the collar, keeping it down upon its knees, while he vigorously used a stick upon the object's back, in spite of cries and protestations, till there was a sudden wrench, and whoever it was dragged himself away and ran down the lane, Polly Hopley standing at the cottage door laughing, while her father wiped his brow with the sleeve of his coat.

"Hullo, young gents!" he cried. "You were just too late to see the fun."

"Saw some of it, Bob," I said. "But who was it?"

"Didn't you see, sir?"

"I did," cried Mercer. "It was old Magglin."

"Yes, and I'll Magglin him!" cried Bob wrathfully.

"What's he been doing?" I said. "Poaching?"

"Eh? Yes, sir, poaching, that's what he's been up to," said Bob, with a side glance at Polly, who threw her ap.r.o.n over her face, burst out laughing, and ran into the cottage. "He've been told over and over again to keep away, but it's no good, so I've started this here hazel saplin' for him and I've been beating his carpet for him nicely. I don't think he'll come any more."

"What does he come poaching after, Bob--the sweets?" said Mercer.

"Um! Yes, the sweets," said Bob drily; "and he ain't going to have 'em.

A lazy, poaching, dishonest scoundrel, that's what he is. I did think we'd got rid of him lots o' times, but he's like a bad s.h.i.+lling, he always comes back. Well, never mind him, sir. When are you coming to have a day's fis.h.i.+ng? Sir Orkus told me only t'other day you was to be looked after if you come."

"Oh, some day soon," I said. "We've got a big cricket match coming on first."

"Ay? Well, I must come and see that, young gents. I used to be fond of bowling myself."

We shook hands with the keeper, and then went into the cottage to buy a couple of Polly's turnovers, and found her looking very red-faced and shy, but she was businesslike enough over taking the money, and we went off browsing down the lane upon Polly's pastry and blackberry jam.

"Magg wants to marry Polly," I said oracularly. "Don't you remember that day when we went round by the back, and heard her ordering him off?"

"Yes, I remember," said Mercer, with his mouth full. "I was thinking about it. I don't wonder at Bob whacking him. Polly's too good for such a miserable, shuffling, cheating fellow as he is. I hate him now.

I used to like him, though I didn't like him. I liked him because he was so clever at getting snakes and hedgehogs and weasels. He always knew where to find lizards. But he's a cheat. You pay him, and then he says you didn't, and keeps on worrying you for more money. I'll never buy anything of him again."

"That's what you always say, Tom," I replied, "and next time he has a good bird or anything, you buy it."

"Well, I've done with him this time. Look: there he is."

For about fifty yards away there was Magglin, long-haired and dirty-looking, seated on the bank, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

But he was so quick of ear, that, though we were walking along the gra.s.sy margin of the road, he heard us coming, and started up fierce and excited of aspect, but only to soften down and touch his cap, with a servile grin upon his face.

"Hullo, Mr Mercer, sir," he whined; "looking for me?"

"No," said my companion. "Why should I look for you?"

"Thought you wanted to pay me that s.h.i.+lling you owe me, sir."