Hetty Wesley | Page 5

the
danger signal a thought too late. A swift and apparently reckless feint
drew another of his slogging strokes, and in a flash the enemy was
under his guard. Even so, for the fraction of a second, victory lay in his
arms, a clear gift to be embraced: a quick crook of the elbow, and
Master Wesley's head and neck would be snugly in Chancery. Master
Wesley knew it--knew, further, that there was no retreat, and that his
one chance hung on getting in his blow first and disabling with it. He
jabbed it home with his right, a little below the heart: and in a second
the inclosing fore-arm dragged limp across his neck. He pressed on,
aiming for the point of the jaw; but slowly lowered his hands as
Randall tottered back two steps with a face of agony, dropped upon one
knee, clutching at his breast, and so to the turf, where he writhed for a
moment and fainted.
As the ring broke up, cheering, and surged across the green, the old
gentleman took snuff again and snapped down the lid of his box.
"Good!" said he; then to the lady, "Are you a relative of his?"
"I am his mother, sir."

CHAPTER II.
She moved across the green to the corner where Charles was coolly
sponging his face and chest over a basin. "In a moment, ma'am!" said
he, looking up with a twinkle in his eye as the boys made way for her.
She read the meaning of it and smiled at her own mistake as she drew
back the hand she had put out to take the sponge from him. He was her
youngest, and she had seen him but twice since, at the age of eight, he
had left home for Westminster School. In spite of the evidence of her
eyes he was a small child still--until his voice warned her.
She drew back her hand at once. Boys scorn any show of feeling, even
between mother and son; and Charles should not be ridiculed on her
account. So he sponged away and she waited, remembering how she
had taught him, when turned a year old, to cry softly after a whipping.
Ten children she had brought up in a far Lincolnshire parsonage, and
without sparing the rod; but none had been allowed to disturb their
father in his study where he sat annotating the Scriptures or turning an
heroic couplet or adding up his tangled household accounts.
A boy pushed through the group around the basin, with news that
Butcher Randall had come-to from his swoon and wished to shake
hands: and almost before Charles could pick up a towel and dry himself
the fallen champion appeared with a somewhat battered grin.
"No malice," he mumbled: "nasty knock--better luck next time."
"Come, I say!" protested Charles, shaking hands and pulling a mock
face, "Is there going to be a next time?"
"Well, you don't suppose I'm convinced--" Randall began: but Mrs.
Wesley broke in with a laugh.
"There's old England for you!" She brought her mittened palms
together as if to clap them, but they rested together in the very gesture
of prayer. "'Won't be convinced,' you say? but oh, when it's done you
are worth it! Nay--don't hide your face, sir! Wounds for an honest

belief are not shameful, and I can only hope that in your place my son
would have shown so fair a temper."
"Whe-ew!" one of the taller boys whistled. "It's Wesley's mother!"
"She was watching, too: the last two rounds at any rate. I saw her."
"And I."
"--And so cool it might have been a dog-fight in Tuttle Fields. Your
servant, ma'am!" The speaker made her a boyish bow and lifted his
voice: "Three cheers for Mrs. Wesley!"
They were given--the first two with a will. The third tailed off; and Mrs.
Wesley, looking about her, laughed again as the boys, suddenly turned
shy or overtaken by a sense of delicacy, backed away sheepishly and
left her alone with her son.
"Put on your shirt," said she, and again her hand went out to help him.
"I want you to take a walk with me."
Charles nodded. "Have you seen Sam?"
"Yes. You may kiss me now, dear--there's nobody looking. I left him
almost an hour ago: his leg is mending, but he cannot walk with us. He
promises, though, to come to Johnson's Court this evening--I suppose,
in a sedan-chair--and greet your uncle Annesley, whom I have engaged
to take back to supper. You knew, of course, that I should be lodging
there?"
"Sammy--we call him Sammy--told me on Sunday, but could not say
when you would be arriving here."
"I reached London last night, and this morning your uncle Matthew
came to my door with