The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
"Well?" she enquired, very softly:
"And pray, mam," said the Sergeant, removing his gaze from the tree with
a jerk, "how might--you be feeling, mam?"
"Much the same as usual, thank you," she answered, smiling like a girl,
for all her white hair, as the Sergeant's eyes met hers.
"You look," said he, pausing to cough behind his hand again, "you
look--blooming, mam,--if you'll allow the expression,--blooming,--as you
ever do, mam."
"I'm an old woman, Sergeant, as well you know!" sighed Miss Priscilla,
shaking her head.
"Old, mam!" repeated the Sergeant, "old, mam!--nothing of the sort,
mam!--Age has nothing to do with it.--'Tisn't the years as count.--We
aren't any older than we feel,--eh, sir?"
"Of course not!" answered Bellew.
"Nor than we look,--eh sir?"
"Certainly not, Sergeant!" answered Bellew.
"And she, sir,--she don't look--a day older than--"
"Thirty five!" said Bellew.
"Exactly, sir, very true! My own opinion,--thirty five exactly, sir."
"Sergeant," said Miss Priscilla, bending over her work again,
"Sergeant,--your hat!" The Sergeant, hereupon, removed the distracting
head-gear altogether, and sat with it upon his knee, staring hard at the
tree again. Then, all at once, with a sudden gesture he drew a large,
silver watch from his pocket,--rather as if it were some weapon of
offence,--looked at it, listened to it, and then nodding his head, rose
to his feet.
"Must be going," he said, standing very straight, and looking down at
little Miss Priscilla, "though sorry, as ever,--must be going,
mam,--Miss Priscilla mam--good day to you!" And he stretched out his
hand to her with a sudden, jerky movement. Miss Priscilla paused in her
sewing, and looked up at him with her youthful smile:
"Must you go--so soon, Sergeant? Then Good-bye,--until to-morrow," and
she laid her very small hand in his big palm. The Sergeant stared down
at it as though he were greatly minded to raise it to his lips, instead
of doing which, he dropped it, suddenly, and turned to Bellew:
"Sir, I am--proud to have met you. Sir, there is a poor crippled soldier
as I know,--My cottage is very small, and humble sir, but if you ever
feel like--dropping in on him, sir,--by day or night, he will
be--honoured, sir, honoured! And that's me--Sergeant Richard
Appleby--late of the Nineteenth Hussars--at your service, sir!" saying
which, he put on his hat, stiff-armed, wheeled, and strode away through
the orchard, jingling his imaginary spurs louder than ever.
"Well?" enquired Miss Priscilla in her quick, bright way, "Well Mr.
Bellew, what do you think of him?--first impressions are always
best,--at least, I think so,--what do you think of Sergeant Appleby?"
"I think he's a splendid fellow," said Bellew, looking after the
Sergeant's upright figure.
"A very foolish old fellow, I think, and as stiff as one of the ram-rods
of one of his own guns!" said Miss Priscilla, but her clear, blue eyes
were very soft, and tender as she spoke.
"And as fine a soldier as a man, I'm sure," said Bellew.
"Why yes, he _was_ a good soldier, once upon a time, I believe,--he won
the Victoria Cross for doing something or other that was very brave, and
he wears it with all his other medals, pinned on the inside of his coat.
Oh yes, he was a fine soldier, once, but he's a very foolish old
soldier, now,--I think, and as stiff as the ram-rod of one of his own
guns. But I'm glad you like him, Mr. Bellew, and he will be proud, and
happy for you to call and see him at his cottage. And now, I suppose, it
is half past eleven, isn't it?"
"Yes, just half past!" nodded Bellew, glancing at his watch.
"Exact to time, as usual!" said Miss Priscilla, "I don't think the
Sergeant has missed a minute, or varied a minute in the last five
years,--you see, he is such a very methodical man, Mr. Bellew!"
"Why then, does he come every day, at the same hour?"
"Every day!" nodded Miss Priscilla, "it has become a matter of habit
with him."
"Ah?" said Bellew, smiling.
"If you were to ask me why he comes, I should answer that I fancy it is
to--look at the peaches. Dear me, Mr. Bellew! what a very foolish old
soldier he is, to be sure!" Saying which, pretty, bright-eyed Miss
Priscilla, laughed again, folded up her work, settled it in the basket
with a deft little pat, and, rising, took a small, crutch stick from
where it had lain concealed, and then, Bellew saw that she was lame.
"Oh yes,--I'm a cripple, you see," she nodded,--"Oh very, very lame! my
ankle, you know. That is why I came here, the big world didn't want a
poor, lame, old woman,--that is why Miss Anthea made me her Aunt, God
bless her! No thank you,--I can carry my basket. So you see,--he--has
lost an arm,--his right one, and I--am lame in my foot. Perhaps that is
why--Heigho! how beautifully the black birds are singing this morning,
to be sure!"
CHAPTER IX
_In which may be found some description of Arcadia, and gooseberries_
Anthea, leaning on her rake in a shady corner of the five-acre field,
turned to watch Bellew who, stripped to his shirt-sleeves, bare of neck,
and arm, and pitch-fork in hand, was busy tossing up great mounds of
sweet-smelling hay to Adam who stood upon a waggon to receive it, with
Small Porges perched up beside him.
A week had elapsed since Bellew had found his way to Dapplemere, a week
which had only served to strengthen the bonds of affection between him
and his "nephew," and to win over sharp-eyed, shrewd little Miss
Priscilla to the extent of declaring him to be: "First a gentleman,
Anthea, my dear, and Secondly,--what is much rarer, now-a-days,--a true
man!" A week! and already he was hail-fellow-well-met with everyone
about the place, for who was proof against his unaffected gaiety, his
simple, easy, good-fellowship? So he laughed, and joked as he swung his
pitch-fork, (awkwardly enough, to be sure), and received all hints, and
directions as to its use, in the kindly spirit they were tendered. And
Anthea, watching him from her shady corner, sighed once or twice, and
catching herself, so doing, stamped her foot at herself, and pulled her
sunbonnet closer about her face.
"No, Adam," he was saying, "depend upon it, there is nothing like
exercise, and, of all exercise,--give me a pitch-fork."
"Why, as to that, Mr. Belloo, sir," Adam retorted, "I say--so be it, so
long as I ain't near the wrong end of it, for the way you do 'ave of
flourishin' an' a whirlin' that theer fork, is fair as-tonishin', I do
declare it be."
"Why you see, Adam, there are some born with a leaning towards
pitch-forks, as there are others born to the pen, and the--er--palette,
and things, but for me, Adam, the pitch-fork, every time!" said Bellew,
mopping his brow.
"If you was to try an' 'andle it more as if it _was_ a pitchfork now,
Mr. Belloo, sir--" suggested Adam, and, not waiting for Bellew's
laughing rejoinder, he chirrupped to the horses, and the great waggon
creaked away with its mountainous load, surmounted by Adam's grinning
visage, and Small Porges' golden curls, and followed by the rest of the
merry-voiced hay-makers.
Now it was, that turning his head, Bellew espied Anthea watching him,
whereupon he shouldered his fork, and coming to where she sat upon a
throne of hay, he sank down at her feet with a luxurious sigh. She had
never seen him without a collar, before, and now she could not but
notice how round, and white, and powerful his neck was, and how the
muscles bulged upon arm, and shoulder, and how his hair curled in small,
damp rings upon his brow.
"It is good," said he, looking up into the witching face, above him,
"yes, it is very good to see you idle--just for once."
"And I was thinking it was good to see you work,--just for once."
"Work!" he exclaimed, "my dear Miss Anthea, I assure you I have become a
positive glutton for work. It has become my earnest desire to plant
things, and grow things, and chop things with axes; to mow things with
scythes. I dream of pastures, and ploughs, of pails and pitchforks, by
night; and, by day, reaping-hooks, hoes, and rakes, are in my thoughts
continually,--which all goes to show the effect of this wonderful air of
Arcadia. Indeed, I am as full of suppressed energy, these days, as Adam
is of the 'Old Adam.' And, talking of Adam reminds me that he has
solemnly pledged himself to initiate me into the mysteries of swinging a
scythe to-morrow morning at--five o'clock! Yes indeed, my heart bounds
responsive to the swish of a scythe in thick grass, and my soul sits
enraptured upon a pitch-fork."
"How ridiculous you are!" she laughed.
"And how perfectly content!" he added.
"Is anyone ever quite content?" she sighed, glancing down at him,
wistful-eyed.
"Not unless they have found Arcadia," he answered.
"Have you then?"
"Yes," he nodded complacently, "oh yes, I've found it."
"Are you--sure?"
"Quite sure!"
"Arcadia!" she repeated, wrinkling her brows, "what is Arcadia
and--where?"
"Arcadia," answered Bellew, watching the smoke rise up from his pipe,
with a dreamy eye, "Arcadia is the--Promised Land,--the Land that
everyone tries to find, sometime or other, and may be--anywhere."
"And how came you to--find it?"
"By the most fortunate chance in the world."
"Tell me," said Anthea, taking a wisp of hay, and beginning to plait it
in dexterous, brown fingers, "tell me how you found it."
"Why then you must know, in the first place," he began in his slow, even
voice, "that it is a place I have sought for in all my wanderings, and I
have been pretty far afield,--but I sought it so long, and so vainly,
that I began to think it was like the El Dorado of the old Adventurers,
and had never existed at all."
"Yes?" said Anthea, busy with her plaiting.
"But, one day,--Fate, or Chance, or Destiny,--or their benevolent
spirit, sent a certain square-shouldered Waggoner to show me the way,
and, after him, a very small Porges,--bless him!--to lead me into this
wonderful Arcadia."
"Oh, I see!" nodded Anthea, very intent upon her plaiting.
"But there is something more," said Bellew.
"Oh?" said Anthea.
"Shall I tell you?"
"If--it is--very interesting."
"Well then, in this delightful land there is a castle, grim, embattled,
and very strong."
"A castle?" said Anthea, glancing up suddenly.
"The Castle of Heart's Desire."
"Oh!" said she, and gave all her attention to her plaiting again.
"And so," continued Bellew, "I am waiting, very patiently, until, in her
own good time, she who rules within, shall open the gate to me, or--bid
me go away."
Into Bellew's voice had crept a thrill no one had ever heard there
before; he leaned nearer to her, and his dreamy eyes were keen now, and
eager. And she, though she saw nothing of all this, yet, being a woman,
knew it was there, of course, and, for that very reason, looked
resolutely away. Wherefore, once again, Bellew heartily wished that
sunbonnets had never been invented.
So there was silence while Anthea stared away across the golden
corn-fields, yet saw nothing of them, and Bellew looked upon those
slender, capable fingers, that had faltered in their plaiting and
stopped. And thus, upon the silence there broke a sudden voice shrill
with interest:
"Go on, Uncle Porges,--what about the dragons? Oh, please go
on!--there's always dragons in 'chanted castles, you know, to guard the
lovely Princess,--aren't you going to have any dragons that hiss, you
know, an' spit out smoke, an' flames? Oh!--do please have a dragon." And
Small Porges appeared from the other side of the hay-mow, flushed,
and eager.
"Certainly, my Porges," nodded Bellew, drawing the small figure down
beside him, "I was forgetting the dragons, but there they are, with
scaly backs, and iron claws, spitting out sparks and flames, just as
self-respecting dragons should, and roaring away like thunder."
"Ah!" exclaimed Small Porges, nestling closer to Bellew, and reaching
out a hand to Auntie Anthea, "that's fine! let's have plenty
of dragons."
"Do you think a--er--dozen would be enough, my Porges?"
"Oh yes! But s'pose the beautiful Princess didn't open the door,--what
would you do if you were really a wandering knight who was waiting
patiently for it to open,--what would you do then?"
"Shin up a tree, my Porges."
"Oh but that wouldn't be a bit right--would it, Auntie?"
"Of course not!" laughed Anthea, "it would be most un-knight-like, and
very undignified."
"'Sides," added Small Porges, "you couldn't climb up a tree in your
armour, you know."
"Then I'd make an awful' good try at it!" nodded Bellew.
"No," said Small Porges, shaking his head, "shall I tell you what you
ought to do? Well then, you'd draw your two-edged sword, an' dress your
shield,--like Gareth, the Kitchen Knave did,--he was always dressing his
shield, an' so was Lancelot,--an' you'd fight all those dragons, an'
kill them, an' cut their heads off."
"And then what would happen?" enquired Bellew.
"Why then the lovely Princess would open the gate, an' marry you of
course, an' live happy ever after, an' all would be revelry an' joy."
"Ah!" sighed Bellew, "if she'd do that, I think I'd fight all the
dragons that ever roared,--and kill them too. But supposing
she--er--wouldn't open the gate."
"Why then," said Small Porges, wrinkling his brow, "why then--you'd have
to storm the castle, of course, an' break open the gate an' run off with
the Princess on your charger,--if she was very beautiful, you know."
"A most excellent idea, my Porges! If I should happen to find myself in
like circumstances, I'll surely take your advice."
Now, as he spoke, Bellew glanced at Anthea, and she at him. And
straightway she blushed, and then she laughed, and then she blushed
again, and, still blushing, rose to her feet, and turned to find Mr.
Cassilis within a yard of them.
"Ah, Miss Anthea," said he, lifting his hat, "I sent Georgy to find you,
but it seems he forgot to mention that I was waiting."
"I'm awful' sorry, Mr. Cassilis,--but Uncle Porges was telling us 'bout
dragons, you know," Small Porges hastened to explain.
"Dragons!" repeated Mr. Cassilis, with his supercilious smile, "ah,
indeed! dragons should be interesting, especially in such a very quiet,
shady nook as this,--quite an idyllic place for story-telling, it's a
positive shame to disturb you," and his sharp, white teeth gleamed
beneath his moustache, as he spoke, and he tapped his riding-boot
lightly with his hunting-crop as he fronted Bellew, who had risen, and
stood bare-armed, leaning upon his pitch-fork. And, as in their first
meeting, there was a mute antagonism in their look.
"Let me introduce you to each other," said Anthea, conscious of this
attitude,--"Mr. Cassilis, of Brampton Court,--Mr. Bellew!"
"Of nowhere in particular, sir!" added Bellew.
"And pray," said Mr. Cassilis perfunctorily as they strolled on across
the meadow, "how do you like Dapplemere, Mr. Bellew?"
"Immensely, sir,--beyond all expression!"
"Yes, it is considered rather pretty, I believe."
"Lovely, sir!" nodded Bellew, "though it is not so much the beauty of
the place itself, that appeals to me so much as what it--contains."
"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Cassilis, with a sudden, sharp glance, "to what
do you refer?"
"Goose-berries, sir!"
"I--ah--beg your pardon?"
"Sir," said Bellew gravely, "all my life I have fostered a secret
passion for goose-berries--raw, or cooked,--in pie, pudding or jam, they
are equally alluring. Unhappily the American goose-berry is but a hollow
mockery, at best--"
"Ha?" said Mr. Cassilis, dubiously.
"Now, in goose-berries, as in everything else, sir, there is to be found
the superlative, the quintessence,--the ideal. Consequently I have
roamed East and West, and North and South, in quest of it."
"Really?" said Mr. Cassilis, stifling a yawn, and turning towards Miss
Anthea with the very slightest shrug of his shoulders.
"And, in Dapplemere," concluded Bellew, solemnly, "I have, at last,
found my ideal--"
"Goose-berry!" added Anthea with a laugh in her eyes.
"Arcadia being a land of ideals!" nodded Bellew.
"Ideals," said Mr. Cassilis, caressing his moustache, "ideals
and--ah--goose-berries,--though probably excellent things in themselves,
are apt to pall upon one, in time; personally, I find them equally
insipid,--"
"Of course it is all a matter of taste!" sighed Bellew.
"But," Mr. Cassilis went on, fairly turning his back upon him, "the
subject I wished to discuss with you, Miss Anthea, was the--er
--approaching sale."
"The sale!" she repeated, all the brightness dying out of her face.
"I wished," said Cassilis, leaning nearer to her, and lowering his voice
confidentially, "to try to convince you how--unnecessary it would
be--if--" and he paused, significantly.
Anthea turned quickly aside, as though to hide her mortification from
Bellew's keen eyes; whereupon he, seeing it all, became, straightway,
more dreamy than ever, and, laying a hand upon Small Porges' shoulder,
pointed with his pitch-fork to where at the other end of the "Five-acre"
the hay-makers worked away as merrily as ever:
"Come, my Porges," said he, "let us away and join yon happy throng,
and--er--
'With Daphnis, and Clo, and Blowsabel
We'll list to the--er--cuckoo in the dell.'"
So, hand in hand, the two Porges set off together. But when they had
gone some distance, Bellew looked back, and then he saw that Anthea
walked with her head averted, yet Cassilis walked close beside her, and
stooped, now and then, until the black moustache came very near the
curl--that curl of wanton witchery that peeped above her ear.
"Uncle Porges--why do you frown so?"
"Frown, my Porges,--did I? Well, I was thinking."
"Well, I'm thinking too, only I don't frown, you know, but I'm thinking
just the same."
"And what might you be thinking, nephew?"
"Why I was thinking that although you're so awful fond of goose-berries,
an' though there's lots of ripe ones on the bushes I've never seen you
eat a single one."
CHAPTER X
_How Bellew and Adam entered into a solemn league and covenant_
"Look at the moon to-night, Uncle Porges!"
"I see it."
"It's awfull' big, an' round, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's very big, and very round."
"An'--rather--yellow, isn't it?"
"Very yellow!"
"Just like a great, big golden sovereign, isn't it"
"Very much like a sovereign, my Porges."
"Well, do you know, I was wondering--if there was any chance that it was
a--Money Moon?"
They were leaning out at the lattice, Small Porges, and Big Porges.
Anthea and Miss Priscilla were busied upon household matters wholly
feminine, wherefore Small Porges had drawn Bellew to the window, and
there they leaned, the small body enfolded by Bellew's long arm, and the
two faces turned up to the silvery splendour of the moon.
But now, Anthea came up behind them, and, not noticing the position of
Bellew's arm as she leaned on the other side of Small Porges, it befell
that her hand touched, and for a moment, rested upon Bellew's hand,
hidden as it was in the shadow. And this probably began it.
The air of Arcadia, as has been said before, is an intoxicating air; but
it is more, it is an air charged with a subtle magic whereby the
commonest objects, losing their prosaic, matter-of-fact shapes, become
transfigured into things of wonder, and delight. Little things that pass
as mere ordinary common-places,--things insignificant, and wholly
beneath notice in the every day world, become fraught with such infinite
meaning, and may hold such sublime, such undreamed of possibilities
--here in Arcadia. Thus, when it is recorded that Anthea's hand
accidentally touched, and rested upon Bellew's--the significance of it
will become at once apparent.
"And pray," said Anthea, laying that same hand in the most natural
manner in the world, upon the Small Porges' curls, "Pray what might you
two be discussing so very solemnly?"
"The moon," answered Small Porges. "I was wondering if it was a Money
Moon, an' Uncle Porges hasn't said if it is, yet."
"Why no, old chap," answered Bellew, "I'm afraid not."
"And pray," said Anthea again, "what might a Money Moon be?"
"Well," explained Small Porges, "when the moon's just--just so, then you
go out an'--an' find a fortune, you know. But the moon's got to be a
Money Moon, and you've got to know, you know, else you'll find nothing,
of course."
"Ah Georgy dear!" sighed Anthea, stooping her dark head down to his
golden curls, "don't you know that fortunes are very hard to get, and
that they have to be worked for, and that no one ever found one without
a great deal of labour, and sorrow?"
"'Course--everyone can't find fortunes, Auntie Anthea, I know that, but
we shall,--my Uncle Porges knows all about it, you see, an' I know that
we shall. I'm sure as sure we shall find one, some day, 'cause, you see,
I put it in my prayers now,--at the end, you know. I say: 'An' please
help me an' my Uncle Porges to find a fortune when the Money Moon
comes,--a big one, world without end--Amen!' So you see, it's all right,
an' we're just waiting till the Money Moon comes, aren't we,
Uncle Porges?"
"Yes, old chap, yes," nodded Bellew, "until the Money Moon comes."
And so there fell a silence between them, yet a silence that held a
wondrous charm of its own; a silence that lasted so long that the
coppery curls drooped lower, and lower upon Bellew's arm, until Anthea,
sighing, rose, and in a very tender voice bade Small Porges say
'Goodnight!' the which he did, forthwith, slumberous of voice, and
sleepy eyed, and so, with his hand in Anthea's, went drowsily up to bed.
Wherefore, seeing that Miss Priscilla had bustled away into the kitchen,
Bellew sauntered out into the rose-garden to look upon the beauty of the
night. The warm air was fragrant with dewy scents, and the moon, already
high above the tree-tops, poured down her gentle radiance upon the
quaint, old garden with its winding walks, and clipped yew hedges, while
upon the quiet, from the dim shadow of the distant woods, stole the
soft, sweet song of a nightingale.
Bellew walked a path bordered with flowers, and checkered with silver
patches of moon-light, drinking in the thousand beauties about him,
staring up at the glory of the moon, the indigo of the sky, and
listening to the voice of the lonely singer in the wood. And yet it was
of none of these he was thinking as he paused under the shadow of "King
Arthur,"--nor of Small Porges, nor of any one or anything in this world
but only of the sudden, light touch of a warm, soft hand upon his. "Be
that you, sir?" Bellew started and now he found that he had been
sitting, all this while, with an empty pipe between his teeth, yet
content therewith; wherefore he shook his head, and wondered.
"Be that you, Mr. Beloo, sir?"
"Yes Adam, it is I."
"Ah! an' how might you be feelin' now--arter your exercise wi' the
pitch-fork, sir?"
"Very fit, I thank you, Adam. Sit down, and smoke, and let us converse
together."
"Why thankee sir," answered Adam, producing the small, black clay pipe
from his waistcoat pocket, and accepting Bellew's proffered pouch. "I've
been up to the 'ouse a visitin' Prudence, the cook,--an' a rare cook she
be, too, Mr. Beloo sir!"
"And a rare buxom girl into the bargain, Adam!"
"Oh, ah!--she's well enough, sir; I won't go for to deny as she's a
fine, up-standing, well-shaped, tall, an' proper figure of a woman as
ever was, sir,--though the Kentish lasses be a tidy lot, Mr. Beloo sir.
But, Lord! when you come to think of her gift for Yorkshire Puddin',
likewise jam-rollers, and seed-cake,--(which, though mentioned last,
ain't by no manner o' means least),--when you come to think of her brew
o' ale, an' cider, an' ginger wine,--why then--I'm took, sir, I'm took
altogether, an' the 'Old Adam' inside o' me works hisself into such a
state that if another chap--'specially that there Job Jagway gets
lookin' her way too often, why it's got to get took out o' him, or took
out o' me in good 'ard knocks, Mr. Belloo, sir."
"And when are you going to get married, Adam?"
"Well sir, we was thinkin' that if Miss Anthea has a good season, this
year, we'd get it over an' done wi' some time in October, sir,--but it's
all accordin'."
"According to what?"
"To the 'ops, sir,--the H-O-P-S--'ops, sir. They're comin' on fine,--ah!
scrumptuous they be! If they don't take the blight, sir, they'll be the
finest 'ops this side o' Maidstone. But then, if they do take the
blight,--why then my 'opes is blighted likewise sir,--B-L-I-T-E-D,
--blighted, Mr. Belloo sir!" which said, Adam laughed once, nodded his
head several times, and relapsed into puffing silence.
"Mr. Cassilis was over to-day, Adam," said Bellew, after a while
pursuing a train of thought.
"Ah sir!--I seen him,--'e also seen me. 'E told me as Job Jagway was up
and about again,--likewise Job Jagway will be over 'ere to-morrow, along
wi' the rest of 'em for the sale, sir."
"Ah yes,--the sale!" said Bellew, thoughtfully.
"To think o' that there Job Jagway a coming over here to buy Miss
Anthea's furnitur' do set the Old Adam a workin' inside o' me to that
amazin' extent as I can't sit still, Mr. Belloo sir! If that there Job
crosses my path to-morrer--well--let 'im--look out, that's all!" saying
which, Adam doubled up a huge, knotted fist and shook it at an
imaginary Job.