Cutlass and Cudgel | Page 9

capped one side of the deep valley, and at last came in sight of a grim-looking stone house, with its windows for the most part covered by their drawn-down blinds. Under other circumstances, with fairly kept gardens and trim borders, the old-fashioned building, dating from the days of Henry the Seventh, would have been attractive enough, with its background of trees, and fine view along the valley out to the far-stretching blue sea; but poverty seemed to have set its mark upon the place, and the boy was so impressed by the gloomy aspect of the house, that he ceased whistling as he went across the front, outside the low wall, and round to the back, where his progress was stopped by the scampering of feet, and a dog came up, barking loudly.
"Get out, or I'll jump on you--d'ye hear?" said Ram fiercely.
"Down, Grip, down!" cried a pleasant voice, and a girl of fifteen came running out, looking bright and animated with her flushed cheeks and long hair.
"Don't be afraid of him, Ram; he will not bite."
"I'm not afraid of him, Miss Celia; if he'd tried to bite me, I'd have kicked him into the back-garden."
"You would not dare to," cried the girl indignantly.
"Oh yes, I would," said Ram, showing his white teeth. "Wouldn't do for me to be 'fraid of no dogs."
The girl half turned away, but her eye caught the basket.
"What's that you came to sell?" she said.
"Sell? I don't come to sell. Father and mother sent this here. It's butter, and chickuns, and pork, and cream, and eggs."
"Oh!" cried the girl joyously, "my mother will be so--"
She stopped short, remembering sundry lessons she had received, and the tears came up into her eyes as she felt that she must be proud and not show her delight at the receipt of homely delicacies to which they were strangers.
"Take your basket to the side door, and deliver your message to Keziah," she said distantly.
"Yes, miss," said Ram, beginning to whistle, as he strode along with his basket, but he turned back directly and followed the girl.
"I say, Miss Celia," he cried.
"Yes, Ram."
"You like Grip, don't you?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then I won't never kick him, miss. Only I arn't fond on him. Here, mate," he continued, dropping on one knee, "give us your paw."
The dog, a sturdy-looking deerhound, growled, and closed up to his mistress.
"D'ye hear? Give's your paw. What yer growling about?"
The dog didn't say, but growled more fiercely.
"Grip, down! Give him your paw," cried the girl.
The dog turned his muzzle up to his mistress, and uttered a low whine.
"Says he don't like to shake hands with a lad like me," said Ram, laughing.
"But I say he is to, sir," cried the girl haughtily. "Give him your paw, Grip."
She took the dog by the ear and led him unwillingly toward the boy, whose eyes sparkled with delight while the hound whimpered and whined and protested, as if he had an unconquerable dislike to the act he was called upon to perform.
"Now," cried the girl, "directly, sir. Give him your paw."
What followed seemed ludicrous in the extreme to the boy, for, in obedience to his mistress's orders, the dog lifted his left paw and turned his head away to gaze up at his mistress.
"The wrong paw, sir," she cried. "Now, again."
"Pow how!" howled the dog, raising his paw now to have it seized by the boy, squeezed and then loosened, a termination which seemed to give the animal the most profound satisfaction. For now it was over, he barked madly and rushed round and round the boy in the most friendly way.
"There, miss," said Ram with a grin; "we shall be friends now. Nex' rats we ketch down home, I'll bring up here for him to kill. Hey, Grip! Rats! Rats!"
The dog bounded up to the boy, rose on his hind legs and placed his forepaws on the lad's chest, barking loudly.
"Good dog, then. Good-bye, miss; I must get back."
"Oh!"
"You call, miss?" cried the boy, turning as he went whistling away.
"Yes, yes, Ram," said the girl hesitatingly, and glancing behind her, then up at the house where all was perfectly still. "Do you remember coming up and bringing a basket about a month ago?"
"Yes, miss, I r'member. That all, miss?"
"No," said the girl, still hesitating. "Ram, are the men coming up to the house in the middle of the night?"
"Dunno what you mean, miss."
"You do, sir, for you were with them. I saw you and ever so many more come up with little barrels slung over their shoulders."
Ram's face was a study in the comic line as he shook his head.
"Yes you were, sir, and it was wicked smuggling. I order you to tell me directly. Are they coming up to-night?"
"Mustn't tell," said the boy slowly.
"Then they are," cried the girl,