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The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 33. In Hiding |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. IN HIDING Vane meant to slip in by the back after crossing the meadows, but as a matter of course he met Bruff half-way down the garden, later than he had been there for years. "Why, Master Vane!" he cried, "you been at it again." "Hush! Don't say anything," cried the lad. But Bruff's exclamation had brought Martha to the kitchen-door; and as she caught sight of Vane's face, she uttered a cry which brought out Eliza, who shrieked and ran to tell Aunt Hannah, who heard the cry, and came round from the front, where, with the doctor, she had been watching for the truant, the doctor being petulant and impatient about his evening meal. Then the murder was out, and Vane was hurried into the little drawing-room, where Aunt Hannah strove gently to get him upon the couch. "No, no, no," cried Vane. "Uncle, tell Bruff and those two that they are not to speak about it." The doctor nodded and gave the order, but muttered, "Only make them talk." "But what has happened, my dear? Where have you been?" "Don't bother him," said the doctor, testily. "Here, boy, let's look at your injuries." "They're nothing, uncle," cried Vane. "Give me some tea, aunt, and I'm as hungry as a hunter. What have you got?" "Oh, my dear!" cried Aunt Hannah; "how can you, and with a face like that." "Nothing the matter with him," said the doctor, "only been fighting like a young blackguard." "Couldn't help it, uncle," said Vane. "You wouldn't have had me lie down and be thrashed without hitting back." "Oh, my dear!" cried Aunt Hannah, "you shouldn't fight." "Of course not," said the doctor, sternly. "It is a low, vulgar, contemptible, disgraceful act for one who is the son of a gentleman-- to--to--Did you win?" "Yes, uncle," cried Vane; and he lay back in the easy chair into which he had been forced by Aunt Hannah, and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Aunt Hannah seized him and held him. "Oh, my love," she cried to the doctor, "pray give him something: sal-volatile or brandy: he's hysterical." "Nonsense!" cried the doctor. "Here--Vane--idiot, you leave off laughing, sir?" "I can't, uncle," cried Vane, piteously; "and it does hurt so. Oh my! oh my! You should have seen the beggars run." "Beggars? You've been fighting beggars, Vane!" cried Aunt Hannah. "Oh, my dear! my dear!" "Will you hold your tongue, Hannah," cried the doctor, sternly. "Here, Vane, who ran? Some tramps?" "No, uncle: those two gipsy lads." "What! who attacked you before?" "Yes, and they tried it again. Aunt, they got the worst of it this time." "You--you thrashed them?" cried the doctor, excitedly. "Yes, uncle." "Alone?" "Oh, yes: only with someone looking on." "But you beat them alone; gave them a thorough good er--er--licking, as you call it, sir?" "Yes, uncle; awful." "Quite beat them?" "Knocked them into smithereens; had them both down, one on the other, and sat on the top for half an hour." The doctor caught Vane's right hand in his left, held it out, and brought his own right down upon it with a sounding spank, gripped it, and shook the bruised member till Vane grinned with pain. "Oh, my dear!" remonstrated Aunt Hannah, "you are hurting him, and you are encouraging him in a practice that--" "Makes perfect," cried the doctor, excitedly. "By George! I wish I had been there!" "My dear!" "I do, Hannah. It makes me feel quite young again. But come and have your tea, you young dog--you young Roman--you Trojan, you--well done, Alexander. But stop!--those two young scoundrels. Hi! where's Bruff?" "Stop, uncle," cried Vane, leaping up and seizing the doctor's coat-tails. "What are you going to do?" "Send Bruff for Bates, and set him on the young scoundrels' track. I shan't rest till I get them in jail." "No, no, uncle, sit down," said Vane, with a quiver in his voice. "We can't do that." Then he told them all. As Vane ended his narrative, with the doctor pacing up and down the room, and Martha fussing because the delicate cutlets she had prepared were growing cold, Aunt Hannah was seated on the carpet by her nephew's chair, holding one of his bruised hands against her cheek, and weeping silently as she whispered, "My own brave boy!" As she spoke, she reached up to press her lips to his, but Vane shrank away. "No, no, aunt dear," he said, "I'm not fit to kiss." "Oh, my own brave, noble boy," she cried; and passing her arms about his neck, she kissed him fondly. "Who's encouraging the boy in fighting now?" cried the doctor, sharply. "But, how could he help it, my dear?" said Aunt Hannah. "Of course; how could he help it." Then changing his manner, he laid his hand upon Vane's shoulder. "You are quite right, Vane, lad. Let them call you Weathercock if they like, but you do always point to fair weather, my boy, and turn your back on foul. No: there must be no police business. The young scoundrels have had their punishment--the right sort; and Mr Distin has got his in a way such a proud, sensitive fellow will never forget." "But ought not Vane to have beaten him, too?" said Aunt Hannah, naively. "What!" cried the doctor, in mock horror. "Woman! You are a very glutton at revenge. Three in one afternoon? But to be serious. He was beaten, then, my dear--with forgiveness. Coals of fire upon his enemy's head, and given him a lesson such as may form a turning point in his life. God bless you, my boy! You've done a finer thing to-day than it is in your power yet to grasp. You'll think more deeply of it some day, and--Hannah, my darling, are you going to stand preaching at this poor boy all the evening, when you see he is nearly starved?" Aunt Hannah laughed and cried together, as she fondled Vane. "I'll go and fetch you a cup of tea, my dear. Don't move." The doctor took a step forward, and gave Vane a slap on the back. "Cup of tea--brought for him. Come along, boy. Aunt would spoil us both if she could, but we're too good stuff, eh? Now, prize-fighter, give your aunt your arm, and I'll put some big black patches on your nose and forehead after tea." Vane jumped up and held out his arm, but Aunt Hannah looked at him wildly. "You don't think, dear, that black patches--oh!" "No, I don't," said the doctor gaily; "but we must have some pleasant little bit of fiction to keep him at home for a few days. Little poorly or--I know. Note to the rectory asking Syme to forgive me, and we'll have the pony-carriage at six in the morning, and go down to Scarboro' for a week, till he is fit to be seen." "Yes," said Aunt Hannah, eagerly, "the very thing;" and to her great delight, save that his mouth was stiff and sore, Vane ate and drank as if nothing whatever had been the matter. The next morning they started for their long drive, to catch the train. "Third-class now, my boy," said the doctor, sadly; "economising has begun." "And I had forgotten it all," thought Vane. "Poor uncle!--poor aunt! I must get better, and go to work." _ |
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