Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season

“‘What,’ he says, ‘kill the pooty creetur! Oh, no; poor soft pussy, I wouldn’t hurt it; let it go, poor thing.’

“When if he didn’t put it down and let it dart off like a shot, while my chap stood dumbfounded, and staring with his mouth half open, till Ruddle tipped him a wink, and went off and left him. No, sir, there ain’t no taking that chap nohow, and they do say it was his hand that fired the shot as killed Squire Todd’s keeper in Bunkin’s Spinney.”

Three nights after Christmas was mild and open, and I was watching a busy little set of fingers prepare the tea, while my uncle was napping in his easy-chair, with a yellow silk handkerchief spread over his face. I had been whispering very earnestly, while all my impressive words had been treated as if airy nothings; and more than once I had been most decidedly snubbed. I was at last sitting with a very lachrymose countenance, looking appealingly at the stern little tyrant, who would keep looking so bewilderingly pretty by trying to frown with a beautiful little white brow that would not wrinkle, when the parlour-maid came up and announced Browsem.

“No, sir,” muttered my uncle; “I’ll put a stop – stop – ” the rest was inaudible.

“The keeper waits to see you, uncle dear,” whispered his late sister’s child, in her soft kittenish way.

“Keeper, sir; yes, sir, I’ll give him – Bless my heart, Jenny,” exclaimed the old gentleman starting up, dragging off his handkerchief and bringing the hair down over his forehead; “bless my heart, Jenny, why I was almost asleep.”

“Here’s Browsem, uncle,” I said.

“Show him up; show him up,” cried my uncle, who would not have accorded more attention to an ambassador than he did to his keeper – that gentleman being prime minister to his pleasures.

Browsem was shown up – a process which did not become the keeper at all, for he came in delicately as to pace, not appearance, and held his red cotton handkerchief in his hand, as if in doubt whether to employ it in dabbing his damp brow, or to spread upon the carpet for fear that his boots might soil the brightness.

“Now Browsem,” cried the old gentleman, as the keeper was pulling his forelock to Miss Jenny, thereby making the poor fellow start and stammer. “Now Browsem, whom have you caught?”

“Caught, sir? No one, sir, only the cat, sir. Ponto run her down, but she skretched one of his eyes a’most out.”

“Cat; what cat?” said my uncle, leaning forward, with a hand upon each arm of the chair.

“Why, you see, sir,” said Browsem, confidentially, “there’s a dodge in it;” and then the man turned round and winked at me.

“Confound you; go on,” cried my uncle in a most exasperated tone of voice, when Browsem backed against Jenny’s little marqueterie work-table, and, oversetting it, sent bobbins, tapes, reels, wools, silks, and, crochet and tatting apparatus into irremediable chaos.

“There, never mind that trash,” shouted the old man; “speak up at once.”

“Well, sir,” said Browsem, “they’ve been a-dodgin’ of me.”

“Well?” cried my uncle.

“Tied a lanthorn to a cat’s neck, and sent her out in the open, to make belief as it were a dog driving the partridges.”

“Well?”

“And we’ve been a-hunting it for long enew, and Ponto ketched her at last.”

“Well?”

“And this was only to get us outer the way, for I heard a gun down Bunkin’s Spinney.”

“Well?” shouted my uncle.

“And I’ve come to know what’s right to be done.”

“Done,” roared my uncle; “why run down to the Spinney, or there won’t be a pheasant left. Here, my stick – my pistols – Here, Dick – Confound – Scoundrels. Look sharp.” And then he hobbled out of the room after the keeper, when warm with the excitement of perhaps having a brush with the poachers, I was following, but a voice detained me on the threshold.

“Richard,” whispered Jenny; and there was something in the earnest eyes and frightened look that drew me back in an instant. “Richard, you won’t go – those men – danger – Oh! Richard, pray! There, don’t. What would your uncle say?”

I didn’t know, neither did I pause to think, for that newly-awakened earnestness whispered such sweet hopes that, darting back, I was for the instant forgetful of all propriety, till some one stood blushing before me, arranging those bright little curls so lately resting upon my arm.

“But you won’t go?” pleaded Jenny. “For my sake Richard?”

“Di-i-i-i-i-ck,” roared my uncle, and, wresting myself from the silken chains, I darted down into the hall.

“Here lay hold of that stick, my lad,” cried my uncle, flourishing a large bludgeon, while Browsem grinning and showing his teeth, was quietly twisting the leathern thong of a short stout staff round his wrist.

“All right my darling,” said the old man, turning to the pale-faced Jenny, who had come quietly downstairs to where we stood. “Don’t be alarmed, we shall take care of one another, and march half a dozen poaching – here, come along, or me shall miss the scoundrels.”

Browsem led the way at a half-trot, and grasping my arm, the old gentleman followed as fast as his sometimes gouty leg would allow him. We were soon out of the grounds, and, clambering a gate, made our way towards the wood, where the keeper had heard the gun.

“Confound them,” growled my uncle, “that’s where that poor fellow was shot ten years ago.”

“Bang – bang.”

“There they are, sir,” growled the keeper, halting to let us get up alongside; and now I started, for in the dusk behind me, and apparently dodging my heels, was a tall figure.

“It’s only Todds, sir,” growled the keeper, and Todds his helper growled in response.

“That is right.”

“Amost wonder as they came here, sir,” whispered Browsem. “Never knowed ’em do it afore, ’cause they’re feared o’ Munday’s Ghost.”

“Munday’s Ghost?” I said.

“Yes, sir; pore chap as were shot. They do say as he walks still, but there’s a sight o’ pheasants here.”

It was one of those dark heavy nights late in winter, when the last oak-leaves have fallen, and every step you take through the thickly strewn glades rustles loudly. The wind just sighed by us as we pressed on along a path through a plantation, and then once or twice I fancied I heard guns to the right, far off behind the house. But I forgot them the next moment, for my heart beat, and the excitement increased, for just on in front came two loud and distinct reports.

“They’re at it,” growled my uncle, forgetting his gout, and loosing my arm. “Now Browsem, you and Todds go round, and we’ll come forward, only mind when I whistle, it’s for help.”

The next moment I was going to speak to the keeper, but I started, for he was gone, and on looking behind I found Todds had also vanished, quiet as a snake, for my uncle and I stood alone.

“You’ll stick to me, Dick?” whispered the old gentleman.

“Conditions,” I said in the same voice.

“What? the white feather,” growled the old gentleman.

“No, no,” I said, “but if I enlist now on your side, will you join me in a siege afterwards?”

“Siege? what the deuce? Why don’t you speak plain, sir?”

“Well,” I said, “I mean about – about – a certain young lady at the Priory, you know.”

“Confound your thick head, sir. Why, if you had had an ounce of brains, you could have seen what I meant, and – ”