CHAPTER XIV

THE ADVENTURE

T

OF THE LITTLE OLD LADY

HEY left the weir very early the next morning, after a breakfast from the cold ham which Mrs. Avory had bought them at Stratford. On their way through the village they stopped at Salford Hall, because Hester and Gregory had had an argument as to whether or not it was possible to hear the breathing of the person in the hiding-hole. The farmer allowed them to go upstairs and try, and, as it happened, Hester was right, and you could hear it, if you had patience. Gregory came out again as purple as a plum through holding it in so long.

Then they said good-by to the farmer. and strode on through Harrington and Norton, and a little beyond this Robert

took those that cared about it to see the obelisk on the site of the Battle of Evesham, at which Simon de Montfort was killed in 1265. And so they came through the orchards of plum trees, on which the fruit was now forming, to Evesham itself. It was while they were walking through Evesham, beside or behind the Slowcoach, in the middle of the road, that Janet felt a hand on her arm, and, looking round, perceived a very small and very neat and very anxious little servant.

66

"Please," she said, Miss Redstone, my mistress, says will you all step into her house and partake of refreshment and do her a very great favor?"

Janet could hardly believe her ears. "All of us!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," said the little servant, “all, please."

Janet thought very hard for a moment Copyright, 1910, by E V Lucas.

That one," said the little anxious servant, pointing to the neatest and brightest little house you ever saw, with dazzling steps and a shining knocker, and a poor little pathetic face peering hopefully over the blind. "All

The pathetic little face settled it. right," Janet said at once, and, calling the others together and telling Kink to wait for them outside the town, she led them in.

They were shown into a tiny and spotless parlor, with woolwork footstools, where after a moment or so they were joined by Miss Redstone, the little old lady whom Janet had seen at the window, but whose face was now smiling and contented.

You must think me very strange, my dears," she said, "but I will explain. Í am Godfrey Fairfax."

A dreadful silence fell on the room.

The children looked at each other shamefacedly, and almost in fear, for they thought the little old lady must be mad.

As for her, she again looked the picture of woc. Oh, dear," she said, "is it possible that none of you have ever even heard of me! Surely one of my stories must have found its way to your house?”, "Do you write stories?" Janet asked.

"Yes, I have written lots, but I'm afraid they don't sell as they ought to. Of course Godfrey Fairfax is not my real name; it is just the name I take as a writer, because people prefer that books should be written by a man rather than by a woman. I am really Miss Redstone. Why I called you in was to ask if you

would be so very kind as to sit down and have some cake and milk while I read you my last story-quite a short one-and you can tell me what you think of it. There are so few children that I know here, and it makes such a difference to get some real criticism. Do you mind?" They all said they didn't mind at all, and after the cake and milk had been brought in by the little servant, Godfrey Fairfax cleared her throat and began.

"It is a story," she said, "of Roundheads and Cavaliers-a very suitable story to write here so close to the battlefields of Tewkesbury and Marston Moor. It is called 'Barbara's Fugitive.' Now listen, my dears."

Barbara's Fugitive

On a bright June morning, early in the Protectorate, Colonel Myddelton, followed by a groom, rode through the gates of the old Hall and turned his horse's head towards London. At the bend in the road, half-way up Sheringham Hill, he stopped a moment and waved his hand in the direction of the house. A white handkerchief fluttered at an upper window in reply.

66

My poor, lonely Barbara!" said the Colonel, smiling tenderly as he passed again out of sight of his daughter.

She did

"Dear father!" said Barbara, as the Colonel disappeared from view. not, however, at once leave the window, but remained leaning out, with the warm touch of the sun on her head, drinking in the morning sounds.

The village, half a mile distant, was just visible to Barbara through the treesred-roofed, compact, the cottages gathering about the church like chickens round the mother hen. On a summer day like this any one listening at the Hall could hear the busy noises, the hum of this little hive of humanity, with perfect clearness; the beat of the hammer on the anvil in Matthew Hale's smithy, the "Gee, whoa!" of the carter on the distant road, the scrunching of the wagon wheels, the crowing cocks, and now and then the shouts of boys and the laughter of children. These audible tokens of active life were a comfort to Barbara. A moment before, on parting with her father, she was aware of a new and disturbing

loneliness, but now she felt no longer with the same melancholy that she was solitary, apart from her fellows.

It was the time when the country was divided between the followers of the Throne and the followers of Cromwell; the time when sour visages, who were for the moment in the places of authority, glowered beneath black hats, and the village games were forbidden; the time when Royalist gentlemen dropped a crumb into their wine-glasses after dinner and, looking meaningly at. each other, tossed off the red liquor, saying fervently as they did so, "God send this crumb well down." But actual fighting was over, and the country on the surface peaceable again, although a word often was sufficient to draw forth steel among the high folks or set an inn full of villagers to fisticuffs. There was not a Royalist in the country but awaited the moment when he could strike another blow to avenge his dead master and reinstate his young prince. Among these loyal gentlemen Colonel Myddelton was not the least.

Colonel Myddelton was a widower, and Barbara, young though she was, had long acted as the mistress of the household. Yet, in spite of her good sense and caution, Barbara had been the obstacle to the Colonel's departure. She was, he considered, unfit to be left alone with no more stalwart companions than old Digger, the maids, and the children; but her repeated assurances that she felt no foreboding at last conquered, and that morning, as we have seen, he had ridden off. "You know, father," she had told him again and again, Philip is close at hand, and truly I can see no danger. Was not I alone for days and nights together when you were with the king and the prince ?"

66

"Well, well," the Colonel had responded at last, "but I shall speak a word to Matthew as I pass the forge to-day, and he will keep his eye on the place." Matthew Hale, the blacksmith, had served under Colonel Myddelton in more than one campaign, and he rang as true as his own anvil.

Thus it was that Barbara was left alone in the great house, with none to bear her company but Jack, who was but twelve, and Marjorie, who was but eight, and little Alys, and old Digger, the odd man,

intrenched and not to be assailed. As the new principal came into the class-room one morning he saw one lad standing while all the others were seated. The explanation given was that the boy was of low caste, while the others were Brahmans. When the youth was told to sit down, there was not only a chorus of expostulation, but some of the young Brahmans grew insolent. Suddenly the Principal seated the boy forcibly in the lap of the most insolent. A chill of horror ran through the class. But more was to follow. As the low-caste and high-caste youths jumped up together, the Principal caught their heads and rubbed them together thoroughly. Then, turning to the pupils, he told them forcibly of his hatred of caste, which is a curse to the country, and that the Mission School would never tolerate its assumptions. "If you do not like this," he said, "there is a door to the right of the room, and another to your left-Go!" Not a boy left the school either then or later as a result of this action. And boys of every caste attend and stand on an equality in the school.

Sana mens in sano corpore is "writ large" on all that one sees in the Mission School. We may row down the river to the school any morning, getting there a half-hour before the opening, roll-call. As we get off our boat on the school steps we see a number of boys busy with their ablutions. They have been sent to wash by their form-masters, who carefully inspect them, each his own charge, as uncleanness brings a fine on both master and pupil. Passing these lads, we go up to the hall, where promptly " call-over" begins. Promptness is almost fetishized, in order to correct the absolute indifference of the Kashmiris to this virtue. The boys sit in rows and by classes on the floor, their shoes having been left outside. As the roll-call proceeds each boy is looked over as carefully as the circumstances allow; and any who are not clean, or who seem unwell, or whose appearance suggests in any way that things are not going right with them, are noted, and called later in the day to the Principal's office.

The preparation of boys for passing the entrance examinations of the University, which so many advertise as if it were the

whole purpose of a school, the Principal insists on treating as of importance wholly secondary to the making of men. The teaching of languages, mathematics, and science is not neglected, and there is an honorable record of passes in the final examination conducted by the Punjab University, called in India. the entrance examination, as passing it admits to any college in the province those boys who plan to study further. All that the Kashmir youth or his parents desire is that he be crammed with sufficient knowledge to pass this examination. They do not at all object to studying the Bible in addition to the curriculum required by the Government. It is but a piece in the line of work they like; and its study makes possible their attendance at the Mission School, which is easily the best school in Kashmir. But the Principal wants more. He insists on obedience, good manners, honesty; on gymnastics, swimming, boating-and these things are one and all foreign to the Kashmir students, and were not wanted, as they have no visible money value. What most of the people want is sons who will make money, preferably dishonestly, but if necessary honestly, but make money. I put it this way because it is literally true. It is to save the Kashmir boys under his care from dishonesty, pride, uncleanness, and unmanliness that Mr. Tyndale-Biscoe is making his long fight-a fight with which the parents have little sympathy, and on which the community looks with jeers.

Pride and conceit are attacked from the

start. Pride is an ancient heritage of the Brahman. And almost all the pupils in Kashmir schools are Brahmans, which is not at all the case in British India. Kashmir is a Mohammedan State ruled by a Hindu rajah. There are in the city of Srinagar, the capital, 135,000 Mohammedans and 30,000 Hindus. Yet in the schools of the city there are only a few hundred Mohammedan boys out of a total of 5,000. The words Brahman and Pundit are used with much greater latitude in Kashmir than on the plains of North India, many being so styled who would not be recognized as Brahmans in India proper. Yet the pride of caste is perhaps even greater in Kashmir. And the first