“None ever forgets what I tell them,” said the Mouldiestwarp. “Finding that the man did not return, the Deptford woman brought up the child as her own. He grew up, was taught a trade and married a working girl. The name of Arden changed itself, as names do, to Harding. Their child was the father of Richard whom you know. And he is Lord Arden.”

  “Yes,” said Edred submissively.

  “You will never tell your father this,” the low, beautiful voice went on; “you must not even tell your sister till you have rescued Dickie and made the sacrifice. This is the one supreme chance of all your life. Every soul has one such chance, a chance to be perfectly unselfish, absolutely noble and true. You can take this chance. But you must take it alone. No one can help you. No one can advise you. And you must keep the nobler thought in your own heart till it is a noble deed. Then, humbly and thankfully in that you have been permitted to do so fine and brave a thing and to draw near to the immortals of all ages who have such deeds to do and have done them, you may tell the truth to the one who loves you best, your sister Elfrida.”

  “But isn’t Elfrida to have a chance to be noble too?” Edred asked.

  “She will have a thousand chances to be good and noble. And she will take them all. But she will never know that she has done it,” said the Mouldiestwarp gravely. “Now — are you ready to do what is to be done?”

  “It seems very unkind to daddy,” said Edred, “stopping his being Lord Arden and everything.”

  “To do right often seems unkind to one or another,” said the Mouldiestwarp, “but think. How long would your father wish to keep his house and his castle if he knew that they belonged to some one else?”

  “I see,” said Edred, still doubtfully. “No, of course he wouldn’t. Well, what am I to do?”

  “When Dickie’s father died, a Deptford woman related to Dickie’s mother kept the child. She was not kind to him. And he left her. Later she met a man who had been a burglar. He had entered Talbot Court, opened a panel, and found that old letter that told of Dickie’s birth. He and she have kidnapped Dickie, hoping to get him to sign a paper promising to pay them money for giving him the letter which tells how he is heir to Arden. But already they have found out that a letter signed by a child is useless and unlawful. And they dare not let Richard go for fear of punishment. So, if you choose to do nothing your father is safe and you will inherit Arden.”

  “What am I to do?” Edred asked again—”to get Dickie back, I mean.”

  “You must go alone and at night to Beale’s cottage, open the door and you will find Richard’s dog asleep before the fire. You must unchain the dog and take him to the milestone by the crossroads. Then go where the dog goes. You will need a knife to cut cords with. And you will need all your courage. Look in my eyes.”

  Edred looked in the eyes of the Mouldiestwarp and saw that they were no longer a mole’s eyes but were like the eyes of all the dear people he had ever known, and through them the soul of all the brave people he had ever read about looked out at him and said, “Courage, Edred. Be one of us.”

  “Now look at the people on the Hall,” said the Mouldiestwarp.

  Edred looked. And behold, they were no longer strangers. He knew them all. Joan of Arc and Peter the Hermit, Hereward and Drake, Elsa whose brothers were swans, St. George who killed the dragon, Blondel who sang to his king in prison, Lady Nithsdale who brought her husband safe out of the cruel Tower. There were captains who went down with their ships, generals who died fighting for forlorn hopes, patriots, kings, nuns, monks, men, women, and children — all with that light in their eyes which brightens with splendor the dreams of men.

  And as he came down off the throne the great ones crowded round him, clasping his hand and saying —

  “Be one of us, Edred. Be one of us.”

  Then an intense white light shone so that the children could see nothing else. And then suddenly there they were again within the narrow walls of Edred’s bedroom.

  “Well,” said Elfrida in tones of brisk commonplace, “what did it say to you? I say, you do look funny.”

  “Don’t!” said Edred crossly. He began to tear off the armor. “Here, help me to get these things off.”

  “But what did it say?” Elfrida asked, helpfully.

  “I can’t tell you. I’m not going to tell any one till it’s over.”

  “Oh, just as you like,” said Elfrida; “keep your old secrets,” and left him.

  That was hard, wasn’t it?

  “I can’t help it, I tell you. Oh! Elfrida, if you’re going to bother it’s just a little bit too much, that’s all.”

  “You really mustn’t tell me?”

  “I’ve told you so fifty times,” he said. Which was untrue. You know he had really only told her twice.

  “Very well, then,” she said heroically, “I won’t ask you a single thing. But you’ll tell me the minute you can, won’t you? And you’ll let me help?”

  “Nobody can help, no one can advise me,” Edred said. “I’ve got to do it off my own bat if I do it at all. Now you just shut up, I want to think.”

  This unusual desire quite awed Elfrida. But it irritated her too.

  “Perhaps you’d like me to go away,” she said ironically.

  And Edred’s wholly unexpected reply was, “Yes, please.”

  So she went.

  And when she was gone Edred sat down on the box at the foot of his bed and tried to think. But it was not easy.

  “I ought to go,” he told himself.

  “But think of your father,” said something else which was himself too.

  He thought so hard that his thoughts got quite confused. His head grew very hot, and his hands and feet very cold. Mrs. Honeysett came in, exclaimed at his white face, felt his hands, said he was in a high fever, and put him to bed with wet rags on his forehead and hot-water bottles to his feet. Perhaps he was feverish. At any rate he could never be sure afterwards whether there really had been a very polite and plausible black mole sitting on his pillow most of the day saying all those things which the part of himself that he liked least agreed with. Such things as —

  “Think of your father.

  “No one will ever know.

  “Dickie will be all right somehow.

  “Perhaps you only dreamed that about Dickie being shut up somewhere and it’s not true.

  “Anyway, it’s not your business, is it?” And so on. You know the sort of thing.

  Elfrida was not allowed to come into the room for fear Edred should be ill with something catching. So he lay tossing all day, hearing the black mole, or something else, say all these things and himself saying, “I must go.

  “Oh! poor Dickie.

  “I promised to go.

  “Yes, I will go.”

  And late that night when Lord Arden had come home and had gone to bed, tired out by a long day’s vain search for the lost Dickie, and when everybody was asleep, Edred got up and dressed. He put his bedroom candle and matches in his pocket, crept down-stairs and out of the house and up to Beale’s. It was a slow and nervous business. More than once on the staircase he thought he heard a stair creak behind him, and again and again as he went along the road he fancied he heard a soft footstep pad-padding behind him, but of course when he looked round he could see no one was there. So presently he decided that it was cowardly to keep looking round, and besides, it only made him more frightened. So he kept steadily on and took no notice at all of a black patch by the sweetbrier bush by Beale’s cottage door just exactly as if some one was crouching in the shadow.

  He pressed his thumb on the latch and opened the door very softly. Something moved inside and a chain rattled. Edred’s heart gave a soft, uncomfortable jump. But it was only True, standing up to receive company. He saw the whiteness of the dog and made for it, felt for the chain, unhooked it from the staple in the wall, and went out again, closing the door after him, and followed very willingly by True. Again he looked suspiciously at the shadow of the great sweetbrier, but the dog showed no uneasiness, so Edred knew that there was nothing to be afraid of. True, in fact, was the greatest comfort to him. He told Elfrida afterwards that it was all True’s doing; he could never, he was sure, have gone on without that good companion.

  True followed at the slack chain’s end till they got to the milestone, and then suddenly he darted ahead and took the lead, the chain stretched taut, and the boy had all his work cut out to keep up with the dog. Up the hill they went on to the downs, and in and out among the furze bushes. The night was no longer dark to Edred. His eyes had got used to the gentle starlight, and he followed the dog among the gorse and brambles without stumbling and without hurting himself against the million sharp spears and thorns.

  Suddenly True paused, sniffed, sneezed, blew through his nose and began to dig.

  “Come on, come on, good dog,” said Edred, “come on, True,” for his fancy pictured Dickie a prisoner in some lonely cottage, and he longed to get to it and set him free and get safe back home with him. So he pulled at the chain. But True only shook himself and went on digging. The spot he had chosen was under a clump of furze bigger than any they had passed. The sharp furze-spikes pricked his nose and paws, but True was not the dog to be stopped by little things like that. He only stopped every now and then to sneeze and blow, and then went on digging.

  Edred remembered the knife he had brought. It was the big pruning-knife out of the drawer in the hall. He pulled it out. He would cut away some of the furze branches. Perhaps Dickie was lying bound, hidden in the middle of the furze bush.

  “Dickie,” he said softly, “Dickie.”

  But no one answered. Only True sneezed and snuffed and blew and went on digging.

  So then Edred took hold of a branch of furze to cut it, and it was loose and came away in his hand without any cutting. He tried another. That too was loose. He took off his jacket and threw it over his hands to protect them, and seizing an armful of furze pulled, and fell back, a great bundle of the prickly stuff on top of him. True was pulling like mad at the chain. Edred scrambled up; the furze he had pulled away disclosed a hole, and True was disappearing down it. Edred saw, as the dog dragged him close to the hole, that it was a large one, though only part of it had been uncovered. He stooped to peer in, his foot slipped on the edge, and he fell right into it, the dog dragging all the time.

  “Stop, True; lie down, sir!” he said, and the dog paused, though the chain was still strained tight.

  Then Edred was glad of his bedroom candle. He pulled it out and lighted it and blinked, perceiving almost at once that he was in the beginning of an underground passage. He looked up; he could see above him the stars plain through a net of furze bushes. He stood up and True went on. Next moment he knew that he was in the old smugglers’ cave that he and Elfrida had so often tried to find.

  The dog and the boy went on, along a passage, down steps cut in the rock, through a rough, heavy door, and so into the smugglers’ cave itself, an enormous cavern as big as a church. Out of an opening at the upper end a stream of water fell, and ran along the cave clear between shores of smooth sand.

  And, lying on the sand near the stream, was something dark.

  True gave a bound that jerked the chain out of Edred’s hand, and leaped upon the dark thing, licking it, whining, and uttering little dog moans of pure love and joy. For the dark something was Dickie, fast asleep. He was bound with cords, his poor lame foot tied tight to the other one. His arms were bound too. And now he was awake.

  “Down, True!” he said. “Hush! Ssh!”

  “Where are they — the man and woman?” Edred whispered.

  “Oh, Edred! You! You perfect brick!” Dickie whispered back. “They’re in the further cave. I heard them snoring before I went to sleep.”

  “Lie still,” said Edred; “I’ve got a knife. I’ll cut the cords.”

  He cut them, and Dickie tried to stand up. But his limbs were too stiff. Edred rubbed his legs, while Dickie stretched his fingers to get the pins and needles out of his arms.

  Edred had stuck the candle in the sand. It made a ring of light round them. That was why they did not see a dark figure that came quietly creeping across the sand towards them. It was quite close to them before Edred looked up.

  “‘ELFRIDA!’ SAID BOTH BOYS AT ONCE”

  “Oh!” he gasped, and Dickie, looking up, whispered, “It’s all up — run. Never mind me. I shall get away all right.”

  “No,” said Edred, and then with a joyous leap of the heart perceived that the dark figure was Elfrida in her father’s ulster.

  (“I hadn’t time to put on my stockings,” she explained later. “You’d have known me a mile off by my white legs if I hadn’t covered them up with this.”)

  “Elfrida!” said both boys at once.

  “Well, you didn’t think I was going to be out of it,” she said. “I’ve been behind you all the way, Edred. Don’t tell me anything. I won’t ask any questions, only come along out of it. Lean on me.”

  They got him up to the passage, one on each side, and by that time Dickie could use his legs and his crutch. They got home and roused Lord Arden, and told him Dickie was found and all about it, and he roused the house, and he and Beale and half-a-dozen men from the village went up to the cave and found that wicked man and woman in a stupid sleep, and tied their hands and marched them to the town and to the police-station.

  When the man was searched the letter was found on him which the man — it was that redheaded man you have heard of — had taken from Talbot Court.

  “I wish you joy of your good fortune, my boy,” said Lord Arden when he had read the letter. “Of course we must look into things, but I feel no doubt at all that you are Lord Arden!”

  “I don’t want to be,” said Dickie, and that was true. Yet at the same time he did want to be. The thought of being Richard, Lord Arden, he who had been just little lame Dickie of Deptford, of owning this glorious castle, of being the master of an old name and an old place, this thought sang in his heart a very beautiful tune. Yet what he said was true. There is so often room in our hearts for two tunes at a time. “I don’t want to be. You ought to be, sir. You’ve been so kind to me,” he said.

  “My dear boy,” said the father of Edred and Elfrida, “I did very well without the title and the castle, and if they’re yours I shall do very well without them again. You shall have your rights, my dear boy, and I shan’t be hurt by it. Don’t you think that.”

  Dickie thought several things and shook the other’s hand very hard.

  The tale of Dickie’s rescue from the cave was the talk of the countryside. True was praised much, but Edred more. Why had no one else thought of putting the dog on the scent? Edred said that it was mostly True’s doing. And the people praised his modesty. And nobody, except perhaps Elfrida, ever understood what it had cost Edred to go that night through the dark and rescue his cousin.

  Edred’s father and Mrs. Honeysett agreed that Edred had done it in the delirium of a fever, brought on by his anxiety about his friend and playmate. People do, you know, do odd things in fevers that they would never do at other times.

  The redheaded man and the woman were tried at the assizes and punished. If you ask me how they knew about the caves which none of the country people seemed to know of, I can only answer that I don’t know. Only I know that every one you know knows lots of things that you don’t know they know.

  When they all went a week later to explore the caves, they found a curious arrangement of brickwork and cement and clay, shutting up a hole through which the stream had evidently once flowed out into the open air. It now flowed away into darkness. Lord Arden pointed out how its course had been diverted and made to run down underground to the sea.

  “We might let it come back to the moat,” said Edred. “It used to run that way. It says so in the ‘History of Arden.’”

  “We must decide that later,” said his father, who had a long blue lawyer’s letter in his pocket.

  CHAPTER XI. LORD ARDEN

  There was a lot of talk and a lot of letter-writing before any one seemed to be able to be sure who was Lord Arden. If the father of Edred and Elfrida had wanted to dispute about it no doubt there would have been enough work to keep the lawyers busy for years, and seas of ink would have been spilled and thunders of eloquence spent on the question. But as the present Lord Arden was an honest man and only too anxious that Dickie should have everything that belonged to him, even the lawyers had to cut their work short.

  When Edred saw how his father tried his best to find out the truth about Dickie’s birth, and how willing he was to give up what he had thought was his own, if it should prove to be not his, do you think he was not glad to know that he had done his duty, and rescued his cousin, and had not, by any meanness or any indecision, brought dishonor on the name of Arden? As for Elfrida, when she knew the whole story of that night of rescue, she admired her brother so much that it made him almost uncomfortable. However, she now looked up to him in all things and consulted him about everything, and, after all, this is very pleasant from your sister, especially when every one has been rather in the habit of suggesting that she is better than you are, as well as cleverer.

  To Dickie Lord Arden said, “Of course, if anything should happen to show that I am really Lord Arden, you won’t desert us, Dickie. You shall go to school with Edred and be brought up like my very own son.”

  And, like Lord Arden’s very own son, Dickie lived at the house in Arden Castle, and grew to love it more and more. He no longer wanted to get away from these present times to those old days when James the First was King. The times you are born in are always more home-like than any other times can be. When Dickie lived miserably at Deptford he always longed to go to those old times, as a man who is unhappy at home may wish to travel to other countries. But a man who is happy in his home does not want to leave it. And at Arden Dickie was happy. The training he had had in the old-world life enabled him to take his place and to be unembarrassed with the Ardens and their friends as he was with the Beales and theirs. “A little shy,” the Ardens’ friends told each other, “but what fine manners! And to think he was only a tramp! Lord Arden has certainly done wonders with him!”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626 627 628 629 630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637 638 639 640 641 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 649 650 651 652 653 654