The Obstacle Race | Page 3

was the face that made her pause, for it was the most
pathetic sight she had ever looked upon. It was the face of a lad of two
or three and twenty, but drawn in lines so painful, so hollowed, so
piteous, that fear melted into compassion at the sight. The dark eyes
that stared upwards had a frightened look mingled with a certain
defiance. He stood barefooted on the edge of the cliff, clenching and
unclenching his bony hands, with the air of a culprit awaiting sentence.
There was a decided pause before his victim spoke. She found some

difficulty in grappling with the situation, but she had no intention of
turning her back upon it. She felt it must be tackled with resolution.
After a moment she spoke, with as much sternness as she could muster,
"Why did you throw those stones?"
He backed at the sound of her voice, and she had an instant of
sickening fear, for there was a drop of twenty feet behind him on the
shingle. But he must have seen her look, for he stopped himself on the
brink, and stood there doggedly.
"Don't stand there!" she said quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He lowered his head, and looked at her from under drawn brows. "Yes,
you are," he said gruffly. "You're going to beat me with that stick."
The shrewdness of this surmise struck her as not without humour. She
smiled, and, turning, flung the stick straight down to the path below.
"Now!" she said.
He came forward, not very willingly, and stood within a couple of
yards of her, still looking as if he expected some sort of chastisement.
She faced him, and the last of her fear departed. Though he was so
terribly deformed that he looked like some dreadful beast reared on its
hind legs there was that about the face, sullen though it was, that stirred
her deepest feelings.
She did her best to conceal the fact, however. "Tell me why you threw
those stones!" she said.
"Because I wanted to hit you," he returned with disconcerting
promptitude.
She looked at him steadily. "How very unkind of you!" she said.
His eyes gleamed with a smouldering resentment. "No, it wasn't. I
didn't want you there. Dicky is coming soon, and he likes it best when
there is no one there."

She noticed that though there was scant courtesy in his speech, it was
by no means the rough talk of the fisher-folk. It fired her curiosity.
"And who is Dicky?" she said.
"Who are you?" he retorted rudely.
She smiled again. "You are not very polite, are you? But I don't mind
telling you if you want to know. My name is Juliet Moore. Now tell me
yours!"
He looked at her doubtfully. "Juliet is a name out of a book," he said.
She laughed, a low, soft laugh that woke an answering glimmer of
amusement in his sullen face. "How clever of you to know that!" she
said.
"No, I'm not clever." Tersely he contradicted her. "Old Swag at The
Three Tuns says I'm the village idiot."
"What a horrid old man!" she exclaimed almost involuntarily.
He nodded his heavy head. "Yes, I knocked him down the other day,
and kicked him for it. Dicky caned me afterwards,--I'm not supposed to
go to The Three Tuns--but I was glad I'd done it all the same."
"Well, who is Dicky?" she asked again. Her interest was growing.
He glared at her with sudden suspicion. "What do you want to know
for?"
"Because I think he must be rather a brave man," she said.
The suspicion vanished. His eyes shown. "Oh, Dicky isn't afraid of
anything," he declared with pride. "He's my brother. He knows--heaps
of things. He's a man."
"You are fond of him," said Juliet, with her friendly smile.
The boy's face lighted up. "He's the only person I love in the world," he

said, "except Mrs. Rickett's baby."
"Mrs. Rickett's baby!" She checked a quick desire to laugh that caught
her unawares. "You are fond of babies then?"
"No, I'm not. I like dogs. I don't like babies--except Mrs. Rickett's and
he's such a jolly little cuss." He smiled over the words, and again she
felt a deep compassion. Somehow his face seemed almost sadder when
he smiled.
"I am staying with Mrs. Rickett," she said. "But I only came yesterday,
and I haven't made the baby's acquaintance yet. I must get myself
introduced. You haven't told me your name yet, you know. Mayn't I
hear what it is? I've told you mine."
He looked at her with renewed suspicion. "Hasn't anybody told you
about Me yet?" he said.
"No, of course not. Why, I don't know anybody except Mr. and Mrs.
Rickett. And it's much