The Money Moon | Page 5

into a meaningless drone that
became merged with the creaking of the wheels, the plodding
hoof-strokes of the horses, and Bellew fell asleep.
He was awakened by feeling himself shaken lustily, and, sitting up, saw
that they had come to where a narrow lane branched off from the high
road, and wound away between great trees.
"Yon's your way," nodded the Waggoner, pointing along the high road,
"Dapplemere village lies over yonder, 'bout a mile."
"Thank you very much," said Bellew, "but I don't want the village."
"No?" enquired the Waggoner, scratching his head.
"Certainly not," answered Bellew.
"Then--what do ye want?"
"Oh well, I'll just go on lying here, and see what turns up,--so drive on,
like the good fellow you are."
"Can't be done!" said the Waggoner.
"Why not?"
"Why, since you ax me--because I don't have to drive no farther. There
be the farm-house,--over the up-land yonder, you can't see it because o'
the trees, but there it be."
So, Bellew sighed resignedly, and, perforce, climbed down into the
road.

"What do I owe you?" he enquired.
"Owe me!" said the Waggoner, staring.
"For the ride, and the--er--very necessary exercise you afforded me."
"Lord!" cried the Waggoner with a sudden, great laugh, "you don't owe
me nothin' for that,--not nohow,--I owe you one for a knocking of me
into that ditch, back yonder, though, to be sure, I did give ye one or two
good 'uns, didn't I?"
"You certainly did!" answered Bellew smiling, and he held out his
hand.
"Hey!--what be this?" cried the Waggoner, staring down at the bright
five-shilling piece in his palm.
"Well, I rather think it's five shillings," said Bellew. "It's big enough,
heaven knows. English money is all O.K., I suppose, but it's
confoundedly confusing, and rather heavy to drag around if you happen
to have enough of it--"
"Ah!" nodded the Waggoner, "but then nobody never has enough of
it,--leastways, I never knowed nobody as had. Good-bye, sir! and
thankee, and--good luck!" saying which, the Waggoner chirrupped to
his horses, slipped the coin into his pocket, nodded, and the waggon
creaked and rumbled up the lane.
Bellew strolled along the road, breathing an air fragrant with
honey-suckle from the hedges, and full of the song of birds; pausing,
now and then, to listen to the blythe carol of a sky-lark, or the rich;
sweet notes of a black-bird, and feeling that it was indeed, good to be
alive; so that, what with all this,--the springy turf beneath his feet, and
the blue expanse over-head, he began to whistle for very joy of it, until,
remembering the Haunting Shadow of the Might Have Been, he
checked himself, and sighed instead. Presently, turning from the road,
he climbed a stile, and followed a narrow path that led away across the
meadows, and, as he went, there met him a gentle wind laden with the

sweet, warm scent of ripening hops, and fruit.
On he went, and on,--heedless of his direction until the sun grew low,
and he grew hungry; wherefore, looking about, he presently espied a
nook sheltered from the sun's level rays by a steep bank where flowers
bloomed, and ferns grew. Here he sat down, unslinging his knap-sack,
and here it was, also, that he first encountered Small Porges.

CHAPTER IV
_How Small Porges in looking for a fortune for another, found an
Uncle for Himself instead_
The meeting of George Bellew and Small Porges, (as he afterward
came to be called), was sudden, precipitate, and wholly unexpected;
and it befell on this wise:
Bellew had opened his knap-sack, had fished thence cheese, clasp-knife,
and a crusty loaf of bread, and, having exerted himself so far, had fallen
a thinking or a dreaming, in his characteristic attitude, i.e.:--on the flat
of his back, when he was aware of a crash in the hedge above, and then,
of something that hurtled past him, all arms and legs, that rolled over
two or three times, and eventually brought up in a sitting posture; and,
lifting a lazy head, Bellew observed that it was a boy. He was a very
diminutive boy with a round head covered with coppery curls, a boy
who stared at Bellew out of a pair of very round, blue eyes, while he
tenderly cherished a knee, and an elbow. He had been on the brink of
tears for a moment, but meeting Bellew's quizzical gaze, he manfully
repressed the weakness, and, lifting the small, and somewhat
weather-beaten cap that found a precarious perch at the back of his
curly head, he gravely wished Bellew "Good afternoon!"
"Well met, my Lord Chesterfield!" nodded Bellew, returning the salute,
"are you hurt?"
"Just a bit--on the elbow; but my name's George."

"Why--so is mine!" said Bellew.
"Though they call me 'Georgy-Porgy.'"
"Of course