The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
"I'm so--glad!" he whispered. "So--awful--glad!" Then, suddenly, he
dashed away his tears and slipped his small, trembling hand
into Bellew's.
"Quick, Uncle Porges!" said he, "Mr. Grimes is coming to-night, you
know--an' we must find the money in time. Where shall we look first?"
"Well, I guess the orchard will do--to start with."
"Then let's go--now."
"But we shall need a couple of spades, Shipmate."
"Oh!--must we dig?"
"Yes,--I fancy that's a--er--digging moon, my Porges, from the look of
it. Ah! there's a spade, nice and handy, you take that and
I'll--er--I'll manage with this pitchfork."
"But you can't dig with a--"
"Oh! well--you can do the digging, and I'll just--er--prod, you know.
Ready?--then heave ahead, Shipmate."
So they set out, hand in hand, spade and pitch-fork on shoulder, and
presently were come to the orchard.
"It's an awful big place to dig up a fortune in!" said Small Porges,
glancing about. "Where do you s'pose we'd better begin?"
"Well, Shipmate, between you and me, and the pitch-fork here, I rather
fancy 'King Arthur' knows more than most people would think. Any way,
we'll try him. You dig on that side, and I'll prod on this."
Saying which, Bellew pointed to a certain spot where the grass looked
somewhat uneven, and peculiarly bumpy, and, bidding Small Porges get to
work, went round to the other side of the great tree.
Being there, he took out his pipe, purely from force of habit, and stood
with it clenched in his teeth, listening to the scrape of Small
Porges' spade.
Presently he heard a cry, a panting, breathless cry, but full of a joy
unspeakable:
"I've got it!--Oh, Uncle Porges--I've found it!"
Small Porges was down upon his knees, pulling and tugging at a sack he
had partially unearthed, and which, with Bellew's aid, he dragged forth
into the moonlight. In the twinkling of an eye the string was cut, and
plunging in a hand Small Porges brought up a fistful of shining
sovereigns, and, among them, a crumpled banknote.
"It's all right, Uncle Porges!" he nodded, his voice all of a quaver.
"It's all right, now,--I've found the fortune I've prayed for,--gold,
you know, an' banknotes--in a sack. Everything will be all right again
now." And, while he spoke, he rose to his feet, and lifting the sack
with an effort, swung it across his shoulder, and set off toward
the house.
"Is it heavy, Shipmate?"
"Awful heavy!" he panted, "but I don't mind that--it's gold, you see!"
But, as they crossed the rose-garden, Bellew laid a restraining hand
upon his shoulder.
"Porges," said he, "where is your Auntie Anthea?"
"In the drawing-room, waiting for Mr. Grimes."
"Then, come this way." And turning, Bellew led Small Porges up, and
along the terrace.
"Now, my Porges," he admonished him, "when we come to the drawing-room
windows,--they're open, you see,--I want you to hide with me in the
shadows, and wait until I give you the word--"
"Aye, aye, Captain!" panted Small Porges.
"When I say 'heave ahead, Shipmate,'--why, then, you will take your
treasure upon your back and march straight into the room--you
understand?"
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"Why, then--come on, and--mum's the word."
Very cautiously they approached the long French windows, and paused in
the shadow of a great rose-bush, near-by. From where he stood Bellew
could see Anthea and Miss Priscilla, and between them, sprawling in an
easy chair, was Grimes, while Adam, hat in hand, scowled in the
background.
"All I can say is--as I'm very sorry for ye, Miss Anthea," Grimes was
saying. "Ah! that I am, but glad as you've took it so well,--no crying
nor nonsense!" Here he turned to look at Miss Priscilla, whose
everlasting sewing had fallen to her feet, and lay there all unnoticed,
while her tearful eyes were fixed upon Anthea, standing white-faced
beside her.
"And when--when shall ye be ready to--leave, to--vacate Dapplemere,
Miss Anthea?" Grimes went on. "Not as I mean to 'urry you, mind,--only I
should like you to--name a day."
Now, as Bellew watched, he saw Anthea's lips move, but no sound came.
Miss Priscilla saw also, and catching the nerveless hand, drew it to her
bosom, and wept over it.
"Come! come!" expostulated Grimes, jingling the money in his pockets.
"Come, come, Miss Anthea, mam!--all as I'm axing you is--when? All as I
want you to do is--"
But here Adam, who had been screwing and wringing at his hat, now
stepped forward and, tapping Grimes upon the shoulder, pointed to
the door:
"Mister Grimes," said he, "Miss Anthea's told ye all as you come here to
find out,--she's told ye as she--can't pay, so now,--s'pose you--go."
"But all I want to know is when she'll be ready to move, and I ain't a
going till I do,--so you get out o' my way!"
"S'pose you go!" repeated Adam.
"Get out o' my way,--d'ye hear?"
"Because," Adam went on, "if ye don't go, Mister Grimes, the 'Old Adam'
be arising inside o' me to that degree as I shall be forced to ketch you
by the collar o' your jacket, and--heave you out, Mr. Grimes, sir,--so
s'pose you go."
Hereupon Mr. Grimes rose, put on his hat, and muttering to himself,
stamped indignantly from the room, and Adam, shutting the door upon him,
turned to Miss Anthea, who stood white-lipped and dry-eyed, while gentle
little Miss Priscilla fondled her listless hand.
"Don't,--don't look that way, Miss Anthea," said Adam. "I'd rayther see
you cry, than look so. It be 'ard to 'ave to let the old place
go, but--"
"Heave ahead, Shipmate!" whispered Bellew.
Obedient to his command Small Porges, with his burden upon his back, ran
forward, and stumbled into the room.
"It's all right, Auntie Anthea!" he cried, "I've got the fortune for
you,--I've found the money I prayed for,--here it is, oh!--here it is!"
The sack fell jingling to the floor, and, next moment, he had poured a
heap of shining gold and crumpled banknotes at Anthea's feet.
For a moment no one moved, then, with a strange hoarse cry, Adam had
flung himself down upon his knees, and caught up a great handful of the
gold; then while Miss Priscilla sobbed with her arms about Small Porges,
and Anthea stared down at the treasure, wide-eyed, and with her hands
pressed down upon her heart, Adam gave a sudden, great laugh, and
springing up, came running out through the window, never spying Bellew
in his haste, and shouting as he ran:
"Grimes!" he roared, "Oh! Grimes, come back an' be paid. Come
back--we've had our little joke wi' you,--now come back an' be paid!"
Then, at last, Anthea's stony calm was broken, her bosom heaved with
tempestuous sobs, and, next moment, she had thrown herself upon her
knees, and had clasped her arms about Small Porges and Aunt Priscilla,
mingling kisses with her tears. As for Bellew, he turned away, and,
treading a familiar path, found himself beneath the shadow of "King
Arthur." Therefore, he sat down, and lighting his pipe, stared up at the
glory of the full-orbed moon.
"Happiness," said he, speaking his thought aloud, "'Happiness shall come
riding astride the full moon!' Now--I wonder!"
CHAPTER XXVII
_In which is verified the adage of the cup and the lip_.
Now as he sat thus, plunged in thought, he heard the voice of one who
approached intoning a familiar chant, or refrain,--the voice was harsh,
albeit not unmusical, and the words of the chant were these:
"When I am dead, diddle diddle, as well may hap,
Bury me deep, diddle diddle, under the tap,
Under the tap, diddle diddle, I'll tell you--"
"Lord!" exclaimed the singer, breaking off suddenly, "be that you, Mr.
Belloo, sir?"
"Yea, in good sooth, Adam, the very same,--but you sing, Adam?"
"Ah!--I sing, Mr. Belloo, sir, an' if you ax me why, then I tell you
because I be 'appy-'earted an' full o' j-o-y, j'y, sir. The mortgage be
paid off at last, Mr. Belloo, sir,--Miss Anthea be out o' debt,--free,
sir,--an' all along o' Master Georgy, God bless him!"
"Oh!" said Bellew, "--er--that's good!"
"Good!" exclaimed Adam, "Ah, Mr. Belloo sir! it be more than good,--it's
saved Miss Anthea's home for her, and--betwixt you an' me, sir,--I think
it's saved her too. An' it be all along o' that Master Georgy! Lord sir!
many's the time as I've watched that theer blessed b'y a-seekin', an'
a-searchin', a pokin' an' a pryin' round the place a-lookin' for 'is
fortun',--but, Lord bless my eyes an' limbs, sir!--I never thought as
he'd find nothin'."
"Why, of course not, Adam."
"Ah!--but that's jest where I were mistook, Mr. Belloo, sir,--because 'e
did."
"Did what, Adam?"
"Found the fortun' as he were always a-lookin' for,--a sack o' golden
soverings, sir, an' bank-notes, Mr. Belloo, sir,--bushels on 'em;
enough--ah! more 'n enough to pay off that mortgage, and to send that
theer old Grimes about his business,--an' away from Dapplemere for good
an' all, sir."
"So Grimes is really paid off, then, is he, Adam?"
"I done it myself, sir,--wi' these here two 'ands,--Three thousand pound
I counted over to him, an' five hundred more--in banknotes, sir, while
Miss Anthea sat by like one in a dream. Altogether there were five
thousand pound as that blessed b'y dug up out o' the orchard--done up
all in a pertater sack, under this very i-dentical tree as you'm a
set-tin' under Mr. Belloo sir. E'cod, I be half minded to take a shovel
and have a try at fortun'-huntin' myself,--only there ain't much chance
o' findin' another, hereabouts; besides--that b'y prayed for that
fortun', ah! long, an' hard he prayed, Mr. Belloo sir, an'--'twixt you
an' me, sir, I ain't been much of a pray-er myself since my old mother
died. Anyhow, the mortgage be paid off, sir, Miss Anthea's free, an'
'tis joy'ful, an' 'appy-'earted I be this night. Prudence an' me'll be
gettin' married soon now,--an' when I think of her cookin'--Lord, Mr.
Belloo sir!--All as I say is God bless Master Georgy! Good-night, sir!
an' may your dreams be as 'appy as mine,--always supposin' I do dream,
--which is seldom. Good-night, sir!"
Long after Adam's cheery whistle had died away, Bellew sat, pipe in
mouth, staring up at the moon. At length, however, he rose, and turned
his steps towards the house.
"Mr. Bellew!"
He started, and turning, saw Anthea standing amid her roses. For a
moment they looked upon each other in silence, as though each dreaded to
speak, then suddenly, she turned, and broke a great rose from its stem,
and stood twisting it between her fingers.
"Why did you--do it?" she asked.
"Do it?" he repeated.
"I mean the--fortune. Georgy told me--how you--helped him to find it,
and I--_know_ how it came there, of course. Why did you--do it?"
"You didn't tell him--how it came there?" asked Bellew anxiously.
"No," she answered, "I think it would break his heart--if he knew."
"And I think it would have broken his heart if he had never found it,"
said Bellew, "and I couldn't let that happen, could I?" Anthea did not
answer, and he saw that her eyes were very bright in the shadow of her
lashes though she kept them lowered to the rose in her fingers.
"Anthea!" said he, suddenly, and reached out his hand to her. But she
started and drew from his touch.
"Don't!" she said, speaking almost in a whisper, "don't touch me. Oh! I
know you have paid off the mortgage--you have bought back my home for me
as you bought back my furniture! Why?--why? I was nothing to you, or you
to me,--why have you laid me under this obligation,--you know I can
never hope to return your money--oh! why,--why did you do it?"
"Because I--love you, Anthea, have loved you from the first. Because
everything I possess in this world is yours--even as I am."
"You forget!" she broke in proudly, "you forget--"
"Everything but my love for you, Anthea,--everything but that I want you
for my wife. I'm not much of a fellow, I know, but--could you learn
to--love me enough to--marry me--some day, Anthea?"
"Would you have--dared to say this to me--before to-night?--before your
money had bought back the roof over my head? Oh! haven't I been
humiliated enough? You--you have taken from me the only thing I had
left--my independence,--stolen it from me! Oh! hadn't I been
shamed enough?"
Now, as she spoke, she saw that his eyes were grown suddenly big and
fierce, and, in that moment, her hands were caught in his
powerful clasp.
"Let me go!" she cried.
"No," said he, shaking his head, "not until you tell me if you--love me.
Speak, Anthea."
"Loose my hands!" She threw up her head proudly, and her eyes gleamed,
and her cheeks flamed with sudden anger. "Loose me!" she repeated. But
Bellew only shook his head, and his chin seemed rather more prominent
than usual, as he answered:
"Tell me that you love me, or that you hate me--whichever it is, but,
until you do--"
"You--hurt me!" said she, and then, as his fingers relaxed,--with a
sudden passionate cry, she had broken free; but, even so, he had caught
and swept her up in his arms, and held her close against his breast. And
now, feeling the hopelessness of further struggle, she lay passive,
while her eyes flamed up into his, and his eyes looked down into hers.
Her long, thick hair had come loose, and now with a sudden, quick
gesture, she drew it across her face, veiling it from him; wherefore, he
stooped his head above those lustrous tresses.
"Anthea!" he murmured, and the masterful voice was strangely hesitating,
and the masterful arms about her were wonderfully gentle, "Anthea--do
you--love me?" Lower he bent, and lower, until his lips touched her
hair, until beneath that fragrant veil, his mouth sought, and found,
hers, and, in that breathless moment, he felt them quiver responsive to
his caress. And then, he had set her down, she was free, and he was
looking at her with a new-found radiance in his eyes.
"Anthea!" he said, wonderingly, "why then--you do--?" But, as he spoke,
she hid her face in her hands.
"Anthea!" he repeated.
"Oh!" she whispered, "I--hate you!--despise you! Oh! you shall be paid
back,--every penny,--every farthing, and--very soon! Next week--I marry
Mr. Cassilis!"
And so, she turned, and fled away, and left him standing there amid the
roses.
CHAPTER XXVIII
_Which tells how Bellew left Dapplemere in the dawn_
Far in the East a grey streak marked the advent of another day, and upon
all things was a solemn hush, a great, and awful stillness that was like
the stillness of Death. The Earth was a place of gloom, and mist, where
spectral shadows writhed, and twisted, and flitted under a frowning
heaven, and out of the gloom there came a breath, sharp, and damp, and
exceeding chill.
Therefore, as Bellew gazed down from the frowning Heaven to the gloom of
Earth, below, with its ever-moving, misty shapes, he shivered
involuntarily.
In another hour it would be day, and with the day, the gates of Arcadia
would open for his departure, and he must go forth to become once more a
wanderer, going up and down, and to and fro in the world until his
course was run.
And yet it was worth having lived for, this one golden month, and in all
his wanderings needs must he carry with him the memory of her who had
taught him how deep and high, how wide and infinitely far-reaching that
thing called "Love" may really be.
And--Porges!--dear, quaint, Small Porges! where under heaven could he
ever find again such utter faith, such pure unaffected loyalty and
devotion as throbbed within that small, warm heart? How could he ever
bid "Good-bye" to loving, eager, little Small Porges?
And then there was Miss Priscilla, and the strong, gentle Sergeant, and
Peterday, and sturdy Adam, and Prudence, and the rosy-cheeked maids. How
well they all suited this wonderful Arcadia! Yes, indeed he, and he
only, had been out of place, and so--he must go--back to the every-day,
matter-of-fact world, but how could he ever say "Good-bye" to faithful,
loving Small Porges?
Far in the East the grey streak had brightened, and broadened, and was
already tinged with a faint pink that deepened, and deepened, as he
watched. Bellew had seen the glory of many a sun-rise in divers wild
places of the Earth, and, hitherto, had always felt deep within him, the
responsive thrill, the exhilaration of hope new born, and joyful
expectation of the great, unknown Future. But now, he watched the
varying hues of pink, and scarlet, and saffron, and gold, with gloomy
brow, and sombre eyes.
Now presently, the Black-bird who lived in the apple-tree beneath his
window, (the tree of the inquisitive turn of mind), this Black-bird
fellow, opening a drowsy eye, must needs give vent to a croak, very
hoarse and feeble; then, (apparently having yawned prodigiously and
stretched himself, wing, and leg), he tried a couple of notes,--in a
hesitating, tentative sort of fashion, shook himself,--repeated the two
notes,--tried three, found them mellower, and more what the waiting
world very justly expected of him; grew more confident; tried four;
tried five,--grew perfectly assured, and so burst forth into the full,
golden melody of his morning song.
Then Bellew, leaning out from his casement, as the first bright beams of
the rising sun gilded the top-most leaves of the tree, thus
apostrophised the unseen singer:
"I suppose you will be piping away down in your tree there, old fellow,
long after Arcadia has faded out of my life. Well, it will be only
natural, and perfectly right, of course,--She will be here, and may,
perhaps, stop to listen to you. Now if, somehow, you could manage to
compose for me a Song of Memory, some evening when I'm gone,--some
evening when She happens to be sitting idle, and watching the moon rise
over the upland yonder; if, at such a time, you could just manage to
remind her of--me, why--I'd thank you. And so,--Good-bye, old fellow!"
Saying which, Bellew turned from the window, and took up a certain
bulging, be-strapped portmanteau, while the Black-bird, (having,
evidently, hearkened to his request with much grave attention), fell a
singing more gloriously than ever.
Meanwhile, Bellew descended the great, wide stair, soft of foot, and
cautious of step, yet pausing once to look towards a certain closed
door, and so, presently let himself quietly out into the dawn. The dew
sparkled in the grass, it hung in glittering jewels from every leaf, and
twig, while, now and then, a shining drop would fall upon him as he
passed, like a great tear.
Now, as he reached the orchard, up rose the sun in all his majesty
filling the world with the splendour of his coming,--before whose kindly
beams the skulking mists and shadows shrank affrighted, and fled
utterly away.
This morning, "King Arthur" wore his grandest robes of state, for his
mantle of green was thick sewn with a myriad flaming gems; very
different he looked from that dark, shrouded giant who had so lately
been Conspirator No. Two. Yet, perhaps for this very reason, Bellew
paused to lay a hand upon his mighty, rugged hole, and, doing so, turned
and looked back at the House of Dapplemere.
And truly never had the old house seemed so beautiful, so quaint, and
peaceful as now. It's every stone and beam had become familiar and, as
he looked, seemed to find an individuality of its own, the very lattices
seemed to look back at him, like so many wistful eyes.
Therefore George Bellew, American Citizen, millionaire, traveller,
explorer, and--LOVER, sighed as he turned away,--sighed as he strode on
through the green and golden morning, and resolutely--looked back
no more.
CHAPTER XXIX
_Of the moon's message to Small Porges, and how he told it to Bellew--in
a whisper_
Bellew walked on at a good pace with his back turned resolutely towards
the House of Dapplemere, and thus, as he swung into that narrow, grassy
lane that wound away between trees, he was much surprised to hear a
distant hail. Facing sharp about he espied a diminutive figure whose
small legs trotted very fast, and whose small fist waved a
weather-beaten cap.
Bellew's first impulse was to turn, and run. But Bellew rarely acted on
impulse; therefore, he set down the bulging portmanteau, seated himself
upon it, and taking out pipe and tobacco, waited for his pursuer to
come up.
"Oh Uncle Porges!" panted a voice, "you did walk so awful fast, an' I
called, an' called, but you never heard. An' now, please,--where are
you going?"
"Going," said Bellew, searching through his pockets for a match, "going,
my Porges, why--er--for a stroll, to be sure,--just a walk before
breakfast, you know."
"But then--why have you brought your bag?"
"Bag!" repeated Bellew, stooping down to look at it, "why--so--I have!"
"Please--why?" persisted Small Porges, suddenly anxious. "Why did
you--bring it?"
"Well, I expect it was to--er--to bear me company. But how is it you are
out so very early, my Porges?"
"Why, I couldn't sleep, last night, you know, 'cause I kept on thinking,
and thinking 'bout the fortune. So I got up--in the middle of the night,
an' dressed myself, an' sat in the big chair by the window, an' looked
at the Money Moon. An' I stared at it, an' stared at it till a wonderful
thing happened,--an' what do you s'pose?"
"I don't know."
"Well,--all at once, while I stared up at it, the moon changed itself
into a great, big face; but I didn't mind a bit, 'cause it was a very
nice sort of face,--rather like a gnome's face, only without the beard,
you know. An' while I looked at it, it talked to me, an' it told me a
lot of things,--an' that's how I know that you are--going away, 'cause
you are, you know,--aren't you?"
"Why, my Porges," said Bellew, fumbling with his pipe, "why Shipmate,
I--since you ask me--I am."
"Yes, I was 'fraid the moon was right," said Small Porges, and turned
away. But Bellew had seen the stricken look in his eyes, therefore he
took Small Porges in the circle of his big arm, and holding him thus,
explained to him how that in this great world each of us must walk his
appointed way, and that there must, and always will be, partings, but
that also there must and always shall be, meetings:
"And so, my Porges, if we have to say 'Good-bye' now,--the sooner we
shall meet again,--some day--somewhere."
But Small Porges only sighed, and shook his head in hopeless dejection.
"Does--she--know you're going,--I mean my Auntie Anthea?"
"Oh yes, she knows, Porges."
"Then I s'pose that's why she was crying so, in the night--"
"Crying?"
"Yes;--she's cried an awful lot lately, hasn't she? Last night,--when I
woke up, you know, an' couldn't sleep, I went into her room, an' she was
crying--with her face hidden in the pillow, an' her hair all
about her--"
"Crying!"
"Yes; an' she said she wished she was dead. So then, a course, I tried
to comfort her, you know. An' she said 'I'm a dreadful failure, Georgy
dear, with the farm, an' everything else. I've tried to be a father and
mother to you, an' I've failed in that too,--so now, I'm going to give
you a real father,'--an' she told me she was going to marry--Mr.
Cassilis. But I said 'No'--'cause I'd 'ranged for her to marry you an'
live happy ever after. But she got awful angry again an' said she'd
never marry you if you were the last man in the world--'cause she
'spised you so--"
"And that would seem to--settle it!" nodded Bellew gloomily, "so it's
'Good-bye' my Porges! We may as well shake hands now, and get it over,"
and Bellew rose from the portmanteau, and sighing, held out his hand.
"Oh!--but wait a minute!" cried Small Porges eagerly, "I haven't told
you what the Moon said to me, last night--"
"Ah!--to be sure, we were forgetting that!" said Bellew with an absent
look, and a trifle wearily.
"Why then--please sit down again, so I can speak into your ear, 'cause
what the Moon told me to tell you was a secret, you know."
So, perforce, Bellew re-seated himself upon his portmanteau, and drawing
Small Porges close, bent his head down to the anxious little face; and
so, Small Porges told him exactly what the Moon had said. And the Moon's
message, (whatever it was), seemed to be very short, and concise, (as
all really important messages should be); but these few words had a
wondrous, and magical effect upon George Bellew. For a moment he stared
wide-eyed at Small Porges like one awaking from a dream, then the gloom
vanished from his brow, and he sprang to his feet. And, being upon his
feet, he smote his clenched fist down into the palm of his hand with a
resounding smack.
"By heaven!" he exclaimed, and took a turn to and fro across the width
of the lane, and seeing Small Porges watching him, caught him suddenly
up in his arms, and hugged him.
"And the moon will be at the full, tonight!" said he. Thereafter he sat
him down upon his portmanteau again, with Small Porges upon his knee,
and they talked confidentially together with their heads very close
together and in muffled tones.
When, at last, Bellew rose, his eyes were bright and eager, and his
square chin, prominent, and grimly resolute.
"So--you quite understand, my Porges?"
"Yes, yes--Oh I understand!"
"Where the little bridge spans the brook,--the trees are thicker,
there."
"Aye aye, Captain!"
"Then--fare thee well, Shipmate! Goodbye, my Porges,--and remember!"