Crown and Sceptre | Page 3

behind the heavy curtains, nor inside the huge black oak cabinet beside
the great mullioned window.
"Wonder whether he's in the stables?" said Fred, half aloud, as he came
slowly out of the gloomy room and stood beneath the broad gallery
which crossed the end of the hall. "I know. He's with the dogs," said the
lad, taking a step from out of the shelter of the gallery, and then
staggering forward and nearly going down on hands and knees; for at
that moment a wool mattress, which had been poised ready on the
gallery balustrade, was dropped upon his head, and a peal of laughter
echoed from the panelled ceiling as Fred recovered himself, and rushed
up the broad staircase to attack his aggressor.
There was a good-tempered wrestling bout on the landing, and then the
two lads, Fred Forrester and Sir Godfrey Markham's son Scarlett, stood

panting and recovering their breath.
"And you are quite alone?" said Fred at last.
"Yes, all but the women; but I knew you'd come over, and I lay wait for
you, as soon as I saw you crossing the park."
"Well, what shall we do?"
"Let's fish."
"Come along, then. Got any bait?"
"No; but we'll make Nat dig us some worms. Let's go and get that
mattress first. It belongs to the spare-room."
No sooner said than done. The two boys ran down the broad oaken
stairs, leaping the last six, and, each seizing one corner of the mattress,
they trailed it up the stairs, along the gallery, and into a sombre-looking
room, after which Fred rushed to the top of the staircase, seated himself
astride the broad balustrade, and began to glide down, but only to be
overtaken by Scarlett, with the effect that the latter portion of the
descent was achieved with additional velocity.
The ride was so satisfactory, that it was tried again and again,
sometimes one first, sometimes the other.
"Wonder whether I could travel all along the gallery and down to the
bottom, hanging on to the balusters," said Fred, looking up at the turned
supports, which grew thin in one place, and offered a tempting grip for
the hands.
"Try," said his companion.
"You'd play some trick!"
"No, I wouldn't."
"Honour bright!"

"Honour bright."
"Here goes, then."
Fred bounded up the stairs, ran along the gallery, climbed over the
balustrade, and lowered himself down till he hung by his hands,
holding on to the thin part of the balusters, while Scarlett looked up and
his grim-looking ancestors looked down.
For as Fred Forrester, son of Colonel Forrester, of the Manor,
performed his feat, with no little display of agility, old Sir Gabriel
Markham, who had built the hall in the days of Henry the Seventh,
frowned from his canvas in one of the panels, and looked as cold and
angry as an old knight clad in steel could look.
There, too, was Sir Henry, seeming equally stern in his court suit and
hat, and Dame Markham, in stomacher and farthingale and ruff, with
quite a look of alarm on their countenances, which was reflected from
that of another of the old Markhams--all appearing either angry or
startled at such a freak being played in their august presence.
There was one exception though, in the face of a sweet-looking lady of
about twenty, whose eyes seemed to follow the boys, while a pleasant,
mirthful smile was upon her lip.
But the boys did not even give a thought to the portraits, whose eyes
seemed to watch them till the feat, which required the exercise of no
little muscular effort, was dexterously performed, and Fred stood on the
oaken floor.
"Well, I suppose you think I couldn't do that, do you?" cried Scarlett.
"Not I. Any one could do it if he tried."
"Yes, I should think he could, and in half the time you took. Look here;
I'll show you."
"Try if you can do it with your face turned this way, Scar," cried Fred.

For answer, the boy, who had reached the gallery, ran along to the end,
climbed over, and then lowered himself down till he hung at full length
by both hands clasping the balusters. Then he hung by one, and
cleverly swinging round, grasped another baluster, and hung facing his
companion, who stood looking up and eagerly watching every
movement.
"Go on, Scar."
"Oh yes, it's very easy to say go on; but see how awkward it is this
way."
"Well, try the other."
"Going to," said Scarlett, laconically, as he swung himself back, and
then hand over hand passed along the front of the gallery, reached the
turn, grasped the second of the descending balusters, loosed his hold of
the last one on the level of the landing, made a dash to catch the