The History of David Grieve | Page 3

and pulled the book away.
'Yo just leave my books alone, Louie. Yo do 'em a mischeef whaniver
yo can--an I'll not have it.'
He turned his handsome, regular face, crimsoned by his position and
splashed by the water, towards her with an indignant air. She laughed,
and sat herself down again on the grass, looking a very imp of
provocation.
'They're stupid,' she said, shortly. 'They mak yo a stupid gonner ony
ways.'
'Oh! do they?' he retorted, angrily. 'Bit I'll be even wi yo. I'll tell yo noa
moor stories out of 'em, not if yo ast iver so.'

The girl's mouth curled contemptuously, and she began to gather her
primroses into a bunch with an air of the utmost serenity. She was a
thin, agile, lightly made creature, apparently about eleven. Her piercing
black eyes, when they lifted, seemed to overweight the face, whereof
the other features were at present small and pinched. The mouth had a
trick of remaining slightly open, showing a line of small pearly teeth;
the chin was a little sharp and shrewish. As for the hair, it promised to
be splendid; at present it was an unkempt, tangled mass, which Hannah
Grieve, the children's aunt, for her own credit's sake at chapel, or in the
public street, made occasional violent attempts to reduce to order--to
very little purpose, so strong and stubborn was the curl of it. The whole
figure was out of keeping with the English moorside, with the sheep,
and the primroses.
But so indeed was that of the boy, whose dark colouring was more
vivacious and pronounced than his sister's, because the red of his cheek
and lip was deeper, while his features, though larger than hers, were
more finely regular, and his eyes had the same piercing blackness, the
same all-examining keenness, as hers. The yellowish tones of his worn
fustian suit and a red Tam-o'-Shanter cap completed the general effect
of brilliancy and, as it were, foreignness.
Having finished his inspection of his water-mill, he scrambled across to
the other side of the stream so as to be well out of his sister's way, and,
taking out the volume which was stretching his pocket, he began to
read it. It was a brown calf-bound book, much worn, and on its
title-page it bore the title of 'The Wars of Jerusalem,' of Flavius
Josephus, translated by S. Calmet, and a date somewhere in the middle
of the eighteenth century. To this antique fare the boy settled himself
down. The two collies lay couched beside him; a stone-chat perched on
one or other of the great blocks which lay scattered over the heath gave
out his clinking note; while every now and then the loud peevish cluck
of the grouse came from the distant sides of the Scout.
Titus was now making his final assault on the Temple. The Zealots
were gathered in the innermost court, frantically beseeching Heaven for
a sign; the walls, the outer approaches of the Sanctuary were choked

with the dying and the dead. David sat absorbed, elbows on knees, his
face framed in his hands. Suddenly the descent of something cold and
clammy on his bent neck roused him with a most unpleasant shock.
Quick as lightning he faced round, snatching at his assailant; but Louie
was off, scudding among the bilberry hillocks with peals of laughter,
while the slimy moss she had just gathered from the edges of the brook
sent cold creeping streams into the recesses of David's neck and
shoulders. He shook himself free of the mess as best he could, and
rushed after her. For a long time he chased her in vain, then her foot
tripped, and he came up with her just as she rolled into the heather,
gathered up like a hedgehog against attack, her old hat held down over
her ears and face. David fell upon her and chastised her; but his
fisticuffs probably looked more formidable than they felt, for Louie
laughed provokingly all the time, and when he stopped out of breath
she said exultantly, as she sprang up, holding her skirts round her ready
for another flight, 'It's greened aw yur neck and yur collar--luvely!
Doan't yo be nassty for nothink next time!'
And off she ran.
'If yo meddle wi me ony moor,' he shouted after her fiercely, 'yo see
what I'll do!'
But in reality the male was helpless, as usual. He went ruefully down to
the brook, and loosening his shirt and coat tried to clean his neck and
hair. Then, extremely sticky and uncomfortable, he went back to his
seat and his book, his wrathful eyes taking careful note meanwhile of
Louie's whereabouts. And thenceforward he read, as it were, on guard,
looking up every other minute.
Louie established herself some