Jack Raymond

To Jack the answer was a revelation. So Molly, too, lived in a secret world that was all her own, and kept the grown-ups and their dirty hands at arm's length! Her goodness and his badness were means to the same end; the difference was only one of method.

"The plucky little scrap of a thing!" he thought; and looked at her with new respect;

When all the cherries were eaten Molly lay down on the warm rock and went to sleep with her tumbled head against her arm.

Jack put her hat over her eyes to shade them from the sun, and sat still, looking out across the blue, shimmering water. Presently he turned and looked down at Molly. She was fast asleep. One bare foot was tucked up under her; the other lay stretched out on the rock, the smooth, clear skin still wet and glistening in the sun. He sat still for a long time, looking at her very solemnly; then he bent down and stroked the little naked foot. It was the first voluntary caress that he had given in his life to any human creature.

CHAPTER IV

Mr. Hewitt was very grave and silent in school on Thursday morning. He passed over mistakes and wrote wrong figures on the blackboard, and had dark lines under his eyes, as if he had slept badly or had a tooth­ache.

In the middle of the history class the curate came in hastily with an anxious look, and said: "Come out here a minute, will you, Hewitt? I want to speak to you."

They went out of the room, and for some time the boys yawned and fidgetted, lolling at their desks.

"Hullo!" said Charlie Thompson, who was looking out of the window. "That's the Roscoe girl."

Jim Greaves sprang up with a quick, startled cry; and then sat down again. Jack glanced carelessly out of the window. Mag­gie Roscoe was walking away down the road, clinging to the curate's arm, and sobbing bitterly.

"I wonder what's wrong with her?" he thought; and, then, after a moment: "And what's wrong with everybody? All the school's in the dumps to-day."

Mr. Hewitt came back and went on with the class; but his hand was shaking as he held the book.

Presently he pulled himself together and began irritably cross-examining the boys and finding fault over trifles. He was usually a patient teacher, if a dull one; but now everything seemed to a

Jack shrugged his shoulders. He had not been throwing stones, and had picked up the pebbles only because of their coloured mark­ings; but if Mr. Hewitt chose to put himself in the wrong by taking things for granted, why should one undeceive him?

"It was the cat that broke the window, sir," one of the boys out in. "I saw her: there was a dog after her, and she jumped up and sent a flower-pot tnrough.

"Oh," said Mr. Hewitt absently; "is that so?"

Jack went out with the sullen face which he had not worn since Saturday. What a mean lot they were! Let them once get a spite against a fellow, and they would always be ready to put anything on to him, without stopping to ask who was to blame. And he had got to be at the orders of an ass like that..

Yes, but he would be a man some day; and then he would never be at anybody's orders any more. Uncle and the other cads could do their worst; what did it all matter when their time was so short? Nothing matters when one is going to be free. He had never thought of that before; now it burst upon him suddenly, a splendid light of promise. He walked down the lane with shining eyes; only a few more years now, and he would be a man.

By the afternoon Mr. Hewitt had recov­ered his self-command; but he was more gloomy than ever and gave short, impatient answers to the questions put to him. Some of the elder boys seemed as much upset as the schoolmaster; and at closing-time the class melted away silently, without any of the usual tricks and laughter.

Jack, for his part, shouldered his books and ran home at the top of his speed. If he made haste he could get his preparation finished, and be put before sunset.

He jumped over the garden gate with the long, easy spring for which all the Porth­carrick boys envied him, alighting on the gravel with perfect poise and balance. Then he looked back to measure the length of the jump with his eyes. It was a creditable one for aboy of fourteen, and the consciousness of it thrilled him with delight. To be made so cleanly, to have every limb so strong and supple, — is that not a joy? He looked down at his firm, brown wrists, wondering how thick

a bough he could twist off from the fuchsia hedge with one turn of the close-knit muscles. But when he put out his hand to try, the beauty of the slender crimson buds restrained him; he had never before noticed how lovely was the droop with which they hung, how protectingly the young leaves were spread out above them, like the curved wings of a sea­gull. He raised the branch gently, shaking all the fairy buds, and drew it across his cheek.

A horrible cry broke out suddenly; and he let the fuchsia bough fall back. The cry was repeated; it came from the stable yard, and the voice was Spotty's. Some strange dog must have set on her — and Spotty was blind. He turned and dashed headlong towards the yard. The old dog's cries sounded in his ears, more and more piercing and lamentable as he came nearer; now there was another sound as well: the sharp, stinging, regular hiss of a whip. He stopped short an instant by the gateway, catching his breath; then opened the gate and entered the yard. Spotty was cowering on the flagstones, muzzled and chained to her ke

Jack sprang forward with a furious cry. The deliberateness of the thing, the muzzle and the carefully shortened chain, had set his blood on fire. The blind creature was help­less enough without all that. In one more instant he would have snatched the whip and struck his uncle across the face with it. Then he saw what the face was like, and drew back and stood still.

The Vicar looked twenty years younger. The lifeless eyes were shining, the nostrils had dilated, little quivers of delight played at the corners of the mouth. He was like a man who has drunk the elixir of life.

Suddenly he looked up with the whip lifted in the air, and saw Jack's white face. He started violently, paused an instant, then brought the whip down with a final hiss and thud. Spotty did not even moan; she was quite still now.

The Vicar stooped down over the dog, drawing a long breath. The hand holding the whip shook a little, then grew steady. When he stood up again his face had re-turned its grey and lifeless habit.

"There!" he said, and twisted the lash round the handle. "I don't think she'll for­get that lesson."

Jack neither moved nor spoke. Spotty had begun to stir again and whimper faintly, her tongue hanging out against the wires. The Vicar knelt down and took off the muz­zle; unfastened the chain, fetched some water and held the basin while she lapped.

"She'll be all right," he said, still looking away. "It's a most unpleasant thing to have to do; but it's more merciful in the end to give a dog one thorough thrashing, and not need to repeat it. She'll obey another time."

Then he realised that he was apologising to Jack; and turned round sharply.

"What are you doing out of doors before you have finished your lessons? I won't have the preparation neglected, Jack; I've told you that already. Mind it's done before I come in."

He went away and left Jack standing white and rigid, with the dog shivering at his feet.