Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (765 page)

 
Our farmyard opens upon the avenue about half-way between Hatherley House and the lodge. Sol and I and Mr. Nicholas Cronin, the son of a neighbouring squire, went down there after lunch. This imposing demonstration was for the purpose of quelling a mutiny which had broken out in the henhouse. The earliest tidings of the rising had been conveyed to the house by young Bayliss, son and heir of the henkeeper, and my presence had been urgently requested. Let me remark in parenthesis that fowls were my special department in domestic economy, and that no step was ever taken in their management without my advice and assistance. Old Bayliss hobbled out upon our arrival, and informed us of the full extent of the disturbance. It seems that the crested hen and the Bantam cock had developed such length of wing that they were enabled to fly over into the park; and that the example of these ringleaders had been so contagious, that even such steady old matrons as the bandy-legged Cochin China had developed roving propensities, and pushed their way into forbidden ground. A council of war was held in the yard, and it was unanimously decided that the wings of the recalcitrants must be clipped.

What a scamper we had! By “we” I mean Mr. Cronin and myself; while cousin Sol hovered about in the background with the scissors, and cheered us on. The two culprits clearly knew that they were wanted; for they rushed under the hayricks and over the coops, until there seemed to be at least half a dozen crested hens and Bantam cocks dodging about in the yard. The other hens were mildly interested in the proceedings, and contented themselves with an occasional derisive cluck, with the exception of the favourite wife of the Bantam, who abused us roundly from the top of the coop. The ducks were the most aggravating portion of the community; for though they had nothing to do with the original disturbance, they took a warm interest in the fugitives, waddling behind them as fast as their little yellow legs would carry them, and getting in the way of the pursuers.

“We have it!” I gasped, as the crested hen was driven into a corner. “Catch it, Mr. Cronin! 0, you’ve missed it! you’ve missed it! Get in the way, Sol. 0 dear, it’s coming to me!”

“Well done, Miss Montague!” cried Mr. Cronin, as I seized the wretched fowl by the leg as it fluttered past me, and proceeded to tuck it under my arm to prevent any possibility of escape. “Let me carry it for you.”

“No, no; I want you to catch the cock. There it goes! There — behind the hayrick. You go to one side, and I’ll go to the other.” “It’s going through the gate!” shouted Sol.

“Shoo!” cried I. “Shoo! 0, it’s gone!” and we both made a dart into the park in pursuit, tore round the corner into the avenue, and there I found myself face to face with a sunburned young man in a tweed suit, who was lounging along in the direction of the house.

There was no mistaking those laughing grey eyes, though I think if I had never looked at him some instinct would have told me that it was Jack. How could I be dignified with the crested hen tucked under my arm? I tried to pull myself up; but the miserable bird seemed to think that it had found a protector at last, for it began to cluck with redoubled vehemence. I had to give it up in despair, and burst into a laugh, while Jack did the same.

“How are you, Nell?” he said, holding out his hand; and then in an astonished voice, “Why, you’re not a bit the same as when I saw you last!”

“Well, I hadn’t a hen under my arm then,” said I.

“Who would have thought that little Nell would have developed into a woman?” said Jack, still lost in amazement. “You didn’t expect me to develop into a man, did you?” said I in high indignation; and then, suddenly dropping all reserve, “We’re awfully glad you’ve come, Jack. Never mind going up to the house. Come and help us to catch that Bantam cock.”

“Right you are,” said Jack in his old cheery way, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon my countenance. “Come on!” and away the three of us scampered across the park, with poor Sol aiding and abetting with the scissors and the prisoner in the rear. Jack was a very crumpled-looking visitor by the time he paid his respects to the mother that afternoon, and my dreams of dignity and reserve were scattered to the winds.

 
We had quite a party at Hatherley House that May. There were Bob, and Sol, and Jack Hawthorne, and Mr. Nicholas Cronin; then there were Miss Maberley, and Elsie, and mother, and myself. On an emergency we could always muster half a dozen visitors from the houses round, so as to have an audience when charades or private theatricals were attempted. Mr. Cronin, an easy-going athletic young Oxford man, proved to be a great acquisition, having wonderful powers of organisation and execution. Jack was not nearly as lively as he used to be, in fact we unanimously accused him of being in love; at which he looked as silly as young men usually do on such occasions, but did not attempt to deny the soft impeachment.

“What shall we do to-day?” said Bob one morning. “Can anybody make a suggestion?”

“Drag the pond,” said Mr. Cronin.

“Haven’t men enough,” said Bob; “anything else?”

“We must get up a sweepstakes for the Derby,” remarked Jack. “0, there’s plenty of time for that. It isn’t run till the week after next. Anything else?”

“Lawn-tennis,” said Sol dubiously.

“Bother lawn-tennis!”

“You might make a picnic to Hatherley Abbey,” said I. “Capital!” cried Mr. Cronin. “The very thing. What do you think, Bob?”

“First class,” said my brother grasping eagerly at the idea.

Picnics are very dear to those who are in the first stage of the tender passion.

“Well, how are we to go, Nell?” asked Elsie.

“I won’t go at all,” said I; “I’d like to awfully, but I have to plant those ferns Sol got me. You had better walk. It is only three miles and young Bayliss can be sent over with the basket of provisions.”

“You’ll come, Jack?” said Bob.

Here was another impediment. The Lieutenant had twisted his ankle yesterday. He had not mentioned it to any one at the time; but it was beginning to pain him now.

“Couldn’t do it, really,” said Jack. “Three miles there and three back!”

“Come on. Don’t be lazy,” said Bob.

“My dear fellow,” answered the Lieutenant, “I have had walking enough to last me the rest of my life. If you had seen how that energetic general of ours bustled me along from Cabul to Candahar, you’d sympathise with me.”

“Leave the veteran alone,” said Mr. Nicholas Cronin. “Pity the war-worn soldier,” remarked Bob.

“None of your chaff,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added, brightening up. “You let me have the trap, Bob, and I’ll drive over with Nell as soon as she has finished planting her ferns. We can take the basket with us. You’ll come, won’t you, Nell?”

“All right,” said I. And Bob having given his assent to the arrangement, and everybody being pleased, except Mr. Solomon Barker, who glared with mild malignancy at the soldier, the matter was finally settled, and the whole party proceeded to get ready, and finally departed down the avenue.

It was an extraordinary thing how that ankle improved after the last of the troop had passed round the curve of the hedge. By the time the ferns were planted and the gig got ready Jack was as active and lively as ever he was in his life.

“You seem to have got better very suddenly,” I remarked, as we drove down the narrow winding country lane.

“Yes,” said Jack. “The fact is, Nell, there never was anything the matter with me. I wanted to have a talk with you.”

“You don’t mean to say you would tell a lie in order to have a talk with me?” I remonstrated.

“Forty,” said Jack stoutly.

I was too lost in contemplation of the depths of guile in Jack’s nature to make any further remark. I wondered whether Elsie would be flattered or indignant were anyone to offer to tell so many lies in her behalf.

“We used to be good friends when we were children, Nell,” remarked my companion.

“Yes,” said I, looking down at the rug which was thrown over my knees. I was beginning to be quite an experienced young lady by this time, you see, and to understand certain inflections of the masculine voice, which are only to be acquired by practice.

“You don’t seem to care for me now as much as you did then,” said Jack.

I was still intensely absorbed in the leopard’s skin in front of me.

“Do you know, Nelly,” continued Jack, “that when I have been camping out in the frozen passes of the Himalayas, when I have seen the hostile array in front of me; in fact,” suddenly dropping into bathos, “all the time I was in that beastly hole Afghanistan, I used to think of the little girl I had left in England.”

“Indeed!” I murmured.

“Yes,” said Jack, “I bore the memory of you in my heart, and then when I came back you were a little girl no longer. I found you a beautiful woman, Nelly, and I wondered whether you had forgotten the days that were gone.”

Jack was becoming quite poetical in his enthusiasm. By this time he had left the old bay pony entirely to its own devices, and it was indulging in its chronic propensity of stopping and admiring the view.

“Look here, Nelly,” said Jack, with a gasp like a man who is about to pull the string of his shower-bath, “one of the things you learn in campaigning is to secure a good thing whenever you see it. Never delay or hesitate, for you never know that some other fellow may not carry it off while you are making up your mind.”

“It’s coming now,” I thought in despair, “and there’s no window for Jack to escape by after he has made the plunge.” I had gradually got to associate the ideas of love and jumping out of windows, ever since poor Sol’s confession.

“Do you think, Nell,” said Jack, “that you could ever care for me enough to share my lot for ever? could you ever be my wife, Nell?”

He didn’t even jump out of the trap. He sat there beside me, looking at me with his eager gray eyes, while the pony strolled along, cropping the wild flowers on either side of the road. It was quite evident that he intended having an answer. Somehow as I looked down I seemed to see a pale shy face looking in at me from a dark background, and to hear Sol’s voice as he declared his love. Poor fellow! he was first in the field at any rate.

“Could you, Nell?” asked Jack once more.

“I like you very much, Jack,” said I, looking up at him nervously; “but” — how his face changed at that monosyllable!—”I don’t think I like you enough for that. Besides, I’m so young, you know. I suppose I ought to be very much complimented and that sort of thing by your offer; but you mustn’t think of me in that light any more.”

“You refuse me, then?” said Jack, turning a little white. “Why don’t you go and ask Elsie?” cried I in despair. “Why should you all come to me?”

“I don’t want Elsie,” cried Jack, giving the pony a cut with his whip which rather astonished that easy-going quadruped. “What do you mean by ‘all,’ Nell?”

No answer.

“I see how it is,” said Jack bitterly; “I’ve noticed how that cousin of yours has been hanging round you ever since I have been here. You are engaged to him.”

“No, I’m not,” said I.

“Thank God for that!” responded Jack devoutly. “There is some hope yet. Perhaps you will come to think better of it in time. Tell me, Nelly, are you fond of that fool of a medical student?”

“He isn’t a fool,” said I indignantly, “and I am quite as fond of him as I shall ever be of you.”

“You might not care for him much and still be that,” said Jack sulkily; and neither of us spoke again until a joint bellow from Bob and Mr. Cronin announced the presence of the rest of the company.

If the picnic was a success, it was entirely due to the exertions of the latter gentleman. Three lovers out of four was an undue proportion, and it took all his convivial powers to make up for the shortcomings of the rest. Bob seemed entirely absorbed in Miss Maberley’s charms, poor Elsie was left out in the cold, while my two admirers spent their time in glaring alternately at me and at each other. Mr. Cronin, however, fought gallantly against the depression, making himself agreeable to all, and exploring ruins or drawing corks with equal vehemence and energy.

Cousin Sol was particularly disheartened and out of spirits. He thought, no doubt, that my solitary ride with Jack had been a prearranged thing between us. There was more sorrow than anger in his eyes, however, while Jack, I regret to say, was decidedly ill-tempered. It was this fact which made me choose out my cousin as my companion in the ramble through the woods which succeeded our lunch. Jack had been assuming a provoking air of proprietorship lately, which I was determined to quash once for all. I felt angry with him, too, for appearing to consider himself ill used at my refusal, and for trying to disparage poor Sol behind his back. I was far from loving either the one or the other, but somehow my girlish ideas of fair play revolted at either of them taking what I considered an unfair advantage. I felt that if Jack had not come I should, in the fulness of time, have ended by accepting my cousin; on the other hand, if it had not been for Sol, I might never have refused Jack. At present I was too fond of them both to favour either. “How in the world is it to end?” thought I. I must do something decisive one way or the other; or perhaps the best thing would be to wait and see what the future might bring forth.