Crown and Sceptre Part 34

"Put the weapons away, my lads. Warfare is too terrible to be even mimicked in sport."

He sighed and pa.s.sed through the farther door, leaving the boys gazing at each other in silence.

"How serious he is!" said Scarlett, at last. "Let's put them away. I thought he was going to scold us for taking them down."

"Yes, I thought that," said Fred. "But I should like to be a soldier, all the same, only without any war. Ugh! only fancy giving a man a chop with a thing like that," he added, as he replaced the weapon. "Here, I'm off home," he cried, as he ran to the door.

"Good-bye, old soldier without any war. I say, Fred."

"Well?"

"That will be a capital place for you to hide in when you are a soldier, and the war comes."

"That's right," said Fred, good-humouredly; "laugh away. I dare say I am a coward, but I don't believe everybody is brave. Coming over to-night?"

"Perhaps," was the reply; and Fred went off homeward at a trot, thinking of how delightful it would be to grow into a man, and carry a sword and ride about on a horse like Captain Miles.

He thought a good deal about Captain Miles as he went home, and wondered whether he had gone to Plymouth.

"Because he might have been going to Tavistock or Barnstaple."

The recollection of the st.u.r.dy, keen-eyed soldier seemed to oust every other thought from the boy's brain, and he saw in imagination the distant figure as it mounted the rising ground, and, pa.s.sing over, disappeared.

"I wonder what he came for?" thought Fred. "It didn't seem like the visit of a friend, and it could not be about business, because father never does any business now; but they were so serious, and my mother looked so troubled."

Fred gave his ear a rub, as if he were vexed.

"I suppose it was thinking so much about that rabbit-hole of a place up at the Hall," he muttered. "I never thought any more about mother looking so serious, and having tears in her eyes. I'll ask her what's the matter."

He walked slowly on till he came in sight of the western road, which looked like a narrow path crossing the distant hill.

"Why, there's somebody coming," he cried, as he sheltered his eyes to make out what was evidently a mounted man moving slowly along the road.

"He's coming this way," said Fred, musingly. "I wonder who it is?"

Not much of a matter for consideration, in modern days; but to the dwellers in that retired part of Coombeland, far away from a town, the coming of a strange horseman was an event, and, regardless of where he put his feet, Fred went on trying to keep the mounted man in view, as he disappeared at times in the hollows, and then came into sight again, evidently moving at a foot's pace.

"It must be Captain Miles coming back," cried Fred, as the figure disappeared from view in consequence of the lad having to descend into a hollow before rising the opposite hill.

"That old place will be no end of a game when we have cleared it out,"

mused the boy, as he went slowly down the hill. "It will be a lot of trouble though, and we shall have to sweep and clear away the dust and cobwebs too. I wish we could set Samson and Nat to work, only we can't do that, because, if we did, it wouldn't be a secret place; and, besides, they would do nothing but quarrel, and get no work done.

Wonder whether brothers always do quarrel. Why, they're worse than Scar and I are, though we do have a pretty good row sometimes."

Ten minutes later he was mounting the hill, and, as he reached the top, he hastened his pace, so as to get within view of the coming horseman, who was for the moment shut out from view by a patch of woodland; but the regular beat of the horse's hoofs came plainly enough.

"Sounds in the distance just like my pony's trot," said Fred, thoughtfully; and directly after he burst out with a loud, "Oh!" full of vexation in its tone. "Why, it's only old Samson, after all," he cried.

"Think of me taking him for Captain Miles!"

He set off at a sharp run across the moorland, so as to cut off a great piece of the road, and reach a point by which the Manor gardener must pa.s.s.

Samson was not long in recognising him, and, checking the speed of the stout cob he rode, the mutual effort brought the two together at the sought-for spot.

"Here you, Samson, who told you to exercise my pony?"

"Exercise, Master Fred? You look at him."

"Look at him? I am looking at him. Poor old fellow! he's all in a lather."

"Yes; he hasn't had such a gallop for months."

"How dare you, then! Jump off directly, and walk him home."

"Shan't!" was the laconic refusal, accompanied by a grin.

"What!" cried Fred, doubling his fists threateningly.

"Shan't come off, sir. There!"

"Oh, won't you!" cried Fred, seizing Samson by the leg, and proceeding as if to tilt him over.

"You leave your father's special messenger alone, Master Fred, or you'll get into trouble."

"Did my father tell you to take the pony?"

"Course he did, and to take what he called a despatch."

"Despatch?"

"Yes. To Barnstaple."

"What for?"

"How should I know? It was a big letter, all tied round with ribbon and sealed up, and I've got another like it in here."

As he spoke in a voice full of importance, he tapped a leathern wallet slung over his right shoulder.

"Why, Samson, who did you take it to?"

"To that gen'leman who was here the other night."

"Captain Miles?"

"Yes. At Barnstaple, and some more gen'lemen was with him when I got there, and he read the letter, and they read the letter, and then they said they'd write another, and I was to go down and have some bread and cheese and cider, and I did--a lot."

"I wonder what it means?" said Fred, as he walked on beside the pony, holding by its thick mane, for it was uphill.

"I think I know, Master Fred."

"You do? What is it?"