Quicksilver | Page 2

a little grub as ever made mud-pies in a gutter; but the water, the ferns, moss, and flowers around were to his little soul the most delightful of toys, and he seemed supremely happy.
After a time he grew tired of splashing the water, and, drawing one little foot into his lap, he pursed up his lips, an intent frown wrinkled his shining forehead, and he began, in the most serio-comic manner, to pick the row of tiny toes, passing a chubby finger between them to get rid of the dust and grit.
All this while the breeze blew, the birch-tree waved, and the flowers nodded, while from out of a clump of ling and rushes there came, at regular intervals, a low roar like the growl of a wild beast.
After a few minutes there was the pad, pad--pad, pad of a horse's hoofs on the dusty road; the rattle of wheels; and a green gig, drawn by a sleepy-looking grey horse, and containing a fat man and a broad woman, came into sight, approached slowly, and would have passed had not the broad woman suddenly laid her hand upon the reins, and checked the grey horse, when the two red-faced farming people opened their mouths, and stared at the child.
"Sakes alive, Izick, look at that!" said the woman in a whisper, while the little fellow went on picking his toes, and the grey horse turned his tail into a live chowry to keep away the flies.
"Well, I am!" said the fat man, wrinkling his face all over as he indulged in a silent laugh. "Why, moother, he's a perfeck picter."
"The pretty, pretty little fellow," said the woman in a genuine motherly tone. "O Izick, how I should like to give him a good wash!"
"Wash! He's happy enough, bless him!" said the man. "Wonder whose he be. Here, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to give un a kiss, that's what I'm a-going to do," said the woman getting very slowly out of the gig. "He must be a lost child."
"Well," grumbled the man, "we didn't come to market to find lost children."
Then he sat forward, with his arms resting upon his knees, watching his wife as she slowly approached the unconscious child, till she was in the act of stooping over him to lay her fat red hand upon his golden curls, when there was a loud roar as if from some savage beast, and the woman jumped back scared; the horse leaped sidewise; the farmer raised his whip; and the pair of simple-hearted country folks stared at a fierce-looking face which rose out of the bed of ling, its owner having been sleeping face downward, and now glowering at them above his folded arms.
It was not a pleasant countenance, for it was foul without with dirt and more foul within from disease, being covered with ruddy fiery blotch and pimple, and the eyes were of that unnatural hue worn by one who has for years been debased by drink.
"Yah!" roared the man, half-closing his bleared eyes. "Leave the bairn alone."
"O Izick!" gasped the woman.
"Here, none o' that!" cried the farmer fiercely. "Don't you frighten my wife."
"Let the bairn alone," growled the man again.
"How came you by him!" said the woman recovering herself. "I'm sure he can't be your'n."
"Not mine!" growled the man in a hoarse, harsh voice. "You let the bairn be. I'll soon show you about that. Hi! chick!"
The little fellow scrambled to him, and putting his tiny chubby arms about the man's coarse neck, nestled his head upon his shoulder, and turned to gaze at the farmer and his wife.
"Not my bairn!" growled the man; "what d'yer say to that?"
"Lor, Izick, only look," said the woman in a whisper. "My!"
"Well, what are yer starin' at?" growled the man defiantly; "didn't think he were your bairn, did you!"
"Come away, missus," said the farmer; and the woman reluctantly climbed back into the gig.
"It don't seem right, Izick, for him to have such a bairn as that," said the woman, who could not keep her eyes off the child.
"Ah, well! it ar'n't no business of our'n. Go along!"
This was to the horse, who went off directly in a shambling trot, and the gig rattled along the road; but as long as they remained in sight, the farmer's wife stared back at the little fellow, and the rough-looking tramp glared at her from among the heather and ling.
"Must be getting on--must be getting on," he growled to himself; and he kept on muttering in a low tone as he tried to stagger to his feet, but for a time his joints seemed to be so stiff that he could only get to his knees, and he had to set the child down.
Then after quite a struggle, during which he kept on