Julia and Her Romeo: A Chronicle of Castle Barfield | Page 4

side had their
own way. Mr. Greenfell teaches history at school, and he says so.'
This was nothing to Ichabod, whose intellect was not constructed for
the reception of historical evidences.
'Then ax thy feyther, Master Richard,' he answered; 'he'll tell thee the
rights on it.'
The boy walked on pondering, as children of his age will do. The
seniors would be surprised pretty often if they could guess how deep

and far the young thoughts go, but, then, the seniors have forgotten
their own young days, or were never of a thinking habit. Ichabod
clamped along with his mind on beer. The boy thought his own
thoughts, and each was indifferent for a while to outer signs and sounds.
But suddenly a little girl ran round a corner of the devious lane with a
brace of young savages in pursuit. The youthful savages had each an
armful of snowballs, and they were pelting the child with more animus
than seemed befitting. The very tightness with which the balls were
pressed seemed to say that they were bent less on sport than mischief,
and they came whooping and dancing round the corner with such
rejoicing cruelty as only boys or uncivilised men can feel. The little girl
was sobbing, half in distress, and half because of the haste she had
made, and Master Richard's juvenile soul burnt within him at the sight
like that of a knight-errant. He had read a great deal about
knights-errant for the time which had been as yet allowed him for the
pursuit of literature, and he was by nature a boy of much fire and
gentleness, and a very sympathetic imagination. So the big heart in the
small body swelled with pity and grew hot with valour, and, without
parley, he smote the foremost boy, who happened to be the bigger of
the two, and went headlong into fight with him.
Ichabod followed the young master's lead without knowing, or in the
smallest degree caring, why, and tried to seize the smaller savage, who
skilfully evaded him and ran. The little maiden stood and trembled with
clasped hands as she looked upon the fray. Ichabod lifted his
smock-frock to get his hands into the pockets of his corduroys, and
watched with the air of an old artist standing behind a young one.
'You shouldn't work at it so much, Master Richard,' said Ichabod. 'Tek
it easier, and wait for him. That's it!'
The combat was brief and decisive. The youthful savage carried the
heavier metal, but he was slow with it; but suddenly, as if to show that
he was not altogether without activity, he turned and ran his hardest
Master Richard, with blue-gray eyes still glistening and hands still
clenched in the ardour of battle, turned upon the little girl, who was
some two years younger than himself At the sight of her he turned shy

and blushed, and the little girl turned shy and blushed also. She looked
at the ground, and then she looked at Richard, and then she looked at
the ground again. She was slender and delicate, and had very beautiful
soft brown eyes, and the hero of a minute back was abashed before her.
'You 'm a Mountain, baint you?' said Ichabod, looking at her with
disfavour. She looked shyly at him, but did not answer. 'What's your
name?' he asked, stooping towards her.
'Julia Mountain,' said the child, in a trembling treble.
'Ah!' said Ichabod, 'I thought so. Come along, Master Richard, or else
we shall niver get hum again afore dark.'
Master Richard walked away with backward glances, shyly directed at
the little girl, and the little girl stood with her cheek inclining to her
shoulder, and the shoulder drawn up a little, as if to shelter her, and
looked after him. This exchange went on until Ichabod and the boy had
turned the corner of the lane, when Miss Julia Mountain ran home as
fast as her small legs would take her, and Master Richard Reddy, with a
vision in his mind, walked alongside his companion.
'You should tek a lesson or two, Master Richard,' said Ichabod, 'and
then thee'dst do a heap better. I'm rusty nowadaysen, but I used to love
it when I was a young un.'
Master Eichard heard nothing of this or of the advice which followed it.
He enacted many times over the small adventure of the last five
minutes, and at the end of every mental history he traced, the little
figure stood in the lane looking shyly at him over one shoulder as he
turned the corner.

II
Samson Mountain went home in an ill-temper, and, as was usual with
him when in that condition, did everything he had to do with a sulky
and noisy emphasis, bursting open