Kipps | Page 6

had told everybody
so often that he was to learn to be a sea captain, that he had come
almost to believe the thing himself. And now he was home, and school
was at an end for him for evermore.
He was up before six on the day of his return, and out in the hot
sunlight of the yard. He set himself to whistle a peculiarly penetrating
arrangement of three notes, supposed by the boys of the Hastings
Academy and himself and Sid Pornick, for no earthly reason whatever,
to be the original Huron war-cry. As he did this he feigned not to be
doing it, because of the hatred between his uncle and the Pornicks, but
to be examining with respect and admiration a new wing of the dustbin
recently erected by his uncle -- a pretence that would not have deceived
a nestling tom-tit.
Presently there came a familiar echo from the Pornick hunting-ground.
Then Kipps began to sing, 'Ar pars eight tra-la, in the lane be'ind the
church.' To which an unseen person answered, 'Ar pars eight it is, in the
lane be'ind the church.' The 'tra-la' was considered to render the
sentence incomprehensible to the uninitiated. In order to conceal their
operations still more securely, both parties to this duet then gave vent
to a vocalisation of the Huron war-cry again, and after a lingering
repetition of the last and shrillest note, dispersed severally, as became
boys in the enjoyment of holidays, to light the house fires for the day.
Half-past eight found Kipps sitting on the sunlit gate at the top of the
long lane that runs towards the sea, clashing his boots in a slow rhythm,
and whistling with great violence all that he knew of an excruciatingly
pathetic air. There appeared along by the churchyard wall a girl in a
short frock, brown-haired, quick-coloured, and with dark blue eyes. She
had grown so that she was a little taller than Kipps, and her colour had
improved. He scarcely remembered her, so changed was she since last
holidays -- if, indeed, he had seen her during his last holidays, a thing
he could not clearly recollect.
Some vague emotion arose at the sight of her. He stopped whistling and
regarded her, oddly tongue-tied.

'He can't come,' said Ann, advancing boldly. 'Not yet.'
'What -- not Sid?'
'No. Father's made him dust all his boxes again.'
'What for?'
'I dunno. Father's in a stew's morning.'
'Oh!'
Pause. Kipps looked at her, and then was unable to look at her again.
She regarded him with interest. 'You left school?' she remarked, after a
pause.
'Yes.'
'So's Sid.'
The conversation languished. Ann put her hands on the top of the gate,
and began a stationary hopping, a sort of ineffectual gymnastic
experiment.
'Can you run?' she said presently.
'Run you any day,' said Kipps.
'Gimme a start?'
'Where for?' said Kipps.
Ann considered, and indicated a tree. She walked towards it and turned.
'Gimme to here?' she called. Kipps, standing now and touching the gate,
smiled to express conscious superiority. 'Farther!' he said.
'Here?'
'Bit more!' said Kipps; and then, repenting of his magnanimity, said

'Orf!' suddenly, and so recovered his lost concession.
They arrived abreast at the tree, flushed and out of breath. 'Tie!' said
Ann, throwing her hair back from her face with her hand. 'I won,'
panted Kipps. They disputed firmly, but quite politely. 'Run it again
then,' said Kipps.' I don't mind.'
They returned towards the gate.
'You don't run bad,' said Kipps, temperately, expressing sincere
admiration. 'I'm pretty good, you know.'
Ann sent her hair back by an expert toss of the head. 'You give me a
start,' she allowed.
They became aware of Sid approaching them. 'You better look out,
young Ann', said Sid, with that irreverent want of sympathy usual in
brothers. 'You have been out nearly 'arf-' our. Nothing ain't been done
upstairs. Father said he didn't know where you was, but when he did
he'd warm y'r young ear.'
Ann prepared to go.
'How about that race?' asked Kipps.
'Lor!' cried Sid, quite shocked. 'You ain't been racing her!'
Ann swung herself round the end to the gate with her eyes on Kipps,
and then turned away suddenly and ran off down the lane. Kipps' eyes
tried to go after her, and came back to Sid's.
'I give her a lot of start,' said Kipps apologetically. 'It wasn't a proper
race.' And so the subject was dismissed. But Kipps was distrait for
some seconds perhaps, and the mischief had begun in him.

4

They proceeded to the question of how two accomplished Hurons
might most satisfactorily spend the morning. Manifestly their line lay
straight along the lane to the sea. 'There's a new wreck,' said Sid, 'and
my!--don't it