The Money Moon | Page 8

moustache; also his eyes seemed
just a trifle too close together, perhaps.
"Why--what in the world have you been up to, boy?" he enquired,
regarding Bellew with no very friendly eye. "Your Aunt is worrying
herself ill on your account,--what have you been doing with yourself all
day?"
Again Bellew felt the small fingers tighten round his, and the small
figure shrink a little closer to him, as Small Porges answered,
"I've been with Uncle Porges, Mr. Cassilis."
"With whom?" demanded Mr. Cassilis, more sharply.
"With his Uncle Porges, sir," Bellew rejoined, "a trustworthy person,
and very much at your service."
Mr. Cassilis stared, his hand began to stroke and caress his small, black
moustache, and he viewed Bellew from his dusty boots up to the crown
of his dusty hat, and down again, with supercilious eyes.
"Uncle?" he repeated incredulously.
"Porges," nodded Bellew.
"I wasn't aware," began Mr. Cassilis, "that--er--George was so very
fortunate--"
"Baptismal name--George," continued Bellew, "lately of New York,
Newport, and--er--other places in America, U.S.A., at present of
Nowhere-in-Particular."
"Ah!" said Mr. Cassilis, his eyes seeming to grow a trifle nearer
together, "an American Uncle? Still, I was not aware of even that

relationship."
"It is a singularly pleasing thought," smiled Bellew, "to know that we
may learn something every day,--that one never knows what the day
may bring forth; to-morrow, for instance, you also may find yourself a
nephew--somewhere or other, though, personally, I--er doubt it, yes, I
greatly doubt it; still, one never knows, you know, and while there's life,
there's hope. A very good afternoon to you, sir. Come, nephew mine,
the evening falls apace, and I grow aweary,--let us on--Excelsior!"
Mr. Cassilis's cheek grew suddenly red, he twirled his moustache
angrily, and seemed about to speak, then he smiled instead, and turning
his horse, spurred him savagely, and galloped back down the road in a
cloud of dust.
"Did you see his teeth, Uncle Porges?"
"I did."
"He only smiles like that when he's awful' angry," said Small Porges
shaking his head as the galloping hoof-strokes died away in the
distance, "An' what do you s'pose he went back for?"
"Well, Porges, it's in my mind that he has gone back to warn our Auntie
Anthea of our coming."
Small Porges sighed, and his feet dragged in the dust.
"Tired, my Porges?"
"Just a bit, you know,--but it isn't that. I was thinking that the day has
almost gone, an' I haven't found a bit of the fortune yet."
"Why there's always to-morrow to live for, my Porges."
"Yes, 'course--there's always to-morrow; an' then,--I did find you, you
know, Uncle Porges."
"To be sure you did, and an uncle is better than nothing at all, isn't

he,--even if he is rather dusty and disreputable of exterior. One doesn't
find an uncle every day of one's life, my Porges, no sir!"
"An' you are so nice an' big, you know!" said Porges, viewing Bellew
with a bright, approving eye.
"Long, would be a better word, perhaps," suggested Bellew, smiling
down at him.
"An' wide, too!" nodded Small Porges. And, from these two facts he
seemed to derive a deal of solid comfort, and satisfaction for he strode
on manfully once more.
Leaving the high-road, he guided Bellew by divers winding paths,
through corn-fields, and over stiles, until, at length, they were come to
an orchard. Such an orchard as surely may only be found in
Kent,--where great apple-trees, gnarled, and knotted, shot out huge
branches that seemed to twist, and writhe; where were stately pear trees;
where peaches, and apricots, ripened against time-worn walls whose
red bricks still glowed rosily for all their years; where the air was sweet
with the scent of fruit, and fragrant with thyme, and sage, and marjoram;
and where the black-birds, bold marauders that they are, piped
gloriously all day long. In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and
Small Porges rested one hand against the rugged bole of a great, old
apple tree.
"This," said he, "is my very own tree, because he's so very big, an' so
very, very old,--Adam says he's the oldest tree in the orchard. I call him
'King Arthur' 'cause he is so big, an' strong,--just like a king should be,
you know,--an' all the other trees are his Knights of the Round Table."
But Bellew was not looking at "King Arthur" just then; his eyes were
turned to where one came towards them through the green,--one surely
as tall, and gracious, as proud and beautiful, as Enid, or Guinevere, or
any of those lovely ladies, for all her simple gown of blue, and the
sunbonnet that shaded the beauty of her face. Yes, as he gazed, Bellew
was sure and certain that she who, all unconscious of their presence,
came slowly towards