Born to Wander: A Boy's Book of Nomadic Adventures

couldn't do it, Effet," said Leonard, nodding his head.

  "Oh, I could! You see now."

  Next moment both were at it, running up and running down, leaping fromwinter into spring, bounding up from sunshine into shade, and keeping upthe merry game till the cheeks of each were as red as roses, and theireyes as bright as drops of dew.

  As handsome a boy was Leonard at the age of ten as one could wish tosee. Twins the two were, though he was the taller, as became his sex,and I do not think they had been one hour parted since the bells of thevillage church were set ringing to announce the double birth.

  Leonard threw himself down to rest on the frosty grass, and Effie stoodlaughingly looking down at him.

  The boy was a young Scot, and wore that most picturesque of allcostumes, the garb of old Gaul, but he was not afraid of getting hisbare knees frozen as he lay there. In fact, I do not think that Leonardwas afraid of anything.

  As I have said the lad was a Scot, there is little need to add thatGrayling House and the beautiful river that went wimpling by it were onthe _northern_ side of the Tweed.

  It was very still and quiet all round Grayling House to-day, and the skywas very bright and almost cloudless. There was not wind enough to bendthe course of the spiral wreaths of smoke that rose straight up into thefrosty air, higher than the dark-roofed pines, before it melted awayinto a white haze across the woods.

  High up yonder among the sturdy arms of the elms were many huge nests,but the rooks were far away foraging in some farmer's field. In theother trees many an old nest was visible that could not have been seenin summer--nests of the chattering magpies, in the moss andlichen-covered larches; nests of the tree-sparrows everywhere high orlow, great untidy wisps of weeds, with feathers sticking here andstrings hanging there, nests that any other bird except a sparrow wouldfeel ashamed to enter or go near. Then there were nests of the bold,bright-voiced cheery chaffinch close to the trunk of beech or elm,little gems of nests tricked out with lichens white and red, and lookingall over like shapely bits of coral; and nests of the missel-thrush, sosturdily fixed between the tree forks that storm or tempest could notblow them down.

  "I say, Effet," said Leonard, looking up, "the birds are almost tooclever for me. I can count dozens of nests now up there that I couldn'tfind in summer. Wait till spring comes--I'll be wiser then.

  "Listen," he continued, "was that a mole?"

  "No," said his sister, "it was only a sycamore leaf; I saw it falling."

  "Hullo! here comes another, and another, and another." And off he flew,cap in hand, to catch the leaves as they fell.

  He soon tired, however.

  "I say, Effet, I don't call this keeping a holiday. Let's have somereal fun."

  "Shall we go to Castle Beautiful, and read a story to the menagerie?"

  "No, not yet. Let us try to hook old Joe."

  Old Joe was a monster pike, who lived in a monster pond or pool, bigenough almost to be called a lake, for it covered three acres of ground,and one part of it, right in the centre, was said to be deep enough tobury the village church and steeple. It was down at the bottom of thisdeep dark hole that Joe lived.

  Now it was somewhat funny, but nobody about Grayling House--with onesolitary exception, namely, Peter the butler, who had been at themansion, man and boy, for fifty years--could tell where this monsterpike had come from, or when or why he had come.

  The facts are these: the loch was fed by springs, and the only outletfor the water was a lead that had to pass over a big mill-wheel, thatground oats and barley for every one in the parish. The pike could nothave come over the mill-wheel. Again, he had not been there ten years,and as he weighed, to all appearance, full thirty pounds, he must havebeen a monster when he got there.

  Captain Lyle, Leonard's and Effie's father, believed he had scrambledover the grass some dark, dewy night, and taken up his quarters in theloch. This was strange if true, and it might have been, because, at thetime the pike first appeared, a tenant of the same kind was missed froma deep tree-shaded pool in the river.

  The country people, however, would not share the captain's belief.There was something uncanny about the beast, they averred, and the lessany one had to do with him the better.

  He was a very matter-of-fact pike, at all events; for no sooner had hetaken possession of his new quarters than he proceeded at once to turnout all the old tenants. Or rather--to speak more to the point--heturned them in, for he ate them. Captain Lyle had, years before thereign of this king-pike, stocked the water with trout, and they had donewell, but now none were ever seen.

  Sometimes the pike condescended to show himself, or even to take a bait,when some person more daring and less superstitious than his fellowstried to catch him. More than once he had been pulled above the water,but disappeared again, hook and all, with a splash.

  When he had swallowed a hook it was Joe's custom to sulk for a fortnightat the bottom of his pool, and having duly digested the morsel of bluesteel, he appeared again livelier and more audacious than ever.

  His size was reported to be something enormous by those who had raisedhim. They said his head was as big as that of Farmer Kemp's greatmastiff-dog.

  It was also said that Joe had once upon a time swallowed a sow and alitter of young. This tale was always retailed to strangers whohappened to come to the district to fish. It was, in fact, a catch, forJoe really had done this deed; but then the sow was a guinea pig, andthe young ones mere hop-o'-my-thumbs.

  "Yes, Leonardie," said Effie, "let us go and try to hook old Joe."

  So while Effie ran to the hall for the fishing tackle, her brother wentand dug some great garden worms, and half an hour afterwards they wereboth in the middle of the lake, with the line sunk, and sittingpatiently in the little boat to see whether or not Joe would condescendto bite.

  Book 1--CHAPTER TWO.

  GLEN LYLE.

  "I foraged all over this joy-dotted earth, To pick its best nosegay of innocent mirth, Tied up with the bands of its wisdom and worth,-- And lo! its chief treasure, Its innermost pleasure, Was always at Home."

  Tupper.

  Scene: An old-fashioned parlour in Grayling House. The walls are hungwith faded tapestry, the furniture is ancient, and a great fire of logsand peat is burning on the low hearth. In front lies a noble deerhound.At one side, in a high-backed chair, sits a lady still young andbeautiful. Some lacework rests on her lap, and she listens to one whosits near her reading--her husband.

  Captain Lyle reading--

  "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking.

  "In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing.

  "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil nor night of waking."

  Lyle looked up. There were tears in his wife's blue eyes.

  "Is it not beautiful, Ethel?" he said. "There is the true ring ofmartial poesy about every line that Walter writes."

  "Yes," said Ethel, with a sigh, "it is beautiful; but oh, dear Arnold!I wish you were not quite so fond of warlike verses."

  "Ethel, I am a soldier."

  "Yes, poor boy, and must soon go away to the wars again. I cannot bearto think of it, Arnold. When last you were gone, how slowly went thetime. The days and weeks and months seemed interminable. I do not wishto think of it. Let us be happy while we may. Put away that book."

  Lyle did as he was told. He took one of his wife's fair tresses in hishand and kissed it, and looked into her face with a fond smile.

  Man and wife--but lovers yet.

  "Heigho!" he said, getting up and pulling aside the heavy crimsoncurtains to look out, "heigho! these partings must come. It must be sadsometimes to be a soldier's wife."

  "It would be less sad, Arnold, if I could share your wanderings."


  "What, Ethel! you, my tender, too fragile wife? Think what you say,child."

  She let the work that she had resumed drop once more in her lap, andgazed up at him as he bent over the high-backed chair.

  "Why not I as well as others?"

  "Our children, dear one. My beautiful Effie and bold Leonard."

  "They have your blood and mine in their veins, Arnold. They are wiseand they are brave."

  Arnold mused for a little.

  "And we," he said, "have few friends, and hardly a relative living."

  "All the more reason, Arnold, I should be near you, that we should benear each other. No, dear, I have thought of it all, planned it all;and if your colonel will but permit Captain Lyle's wife to be among thechosen few who accompany their gallant husbands to the seat of war, Ishall rejoice,