A Terrible Tomboy

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER XXI

  ROLLO'S GRAVE

  'Under the wide and starry sky Dig the grave, and let him lie. Glad did he live, and gladly die, And he laid him down with a will.'

  Rollo, now grown into a fine dog of a year old, remained Peggy'sfavourite among all her numerous pets. Though she had not again triedhim for a bedfellow, he was still the companion of her walks, and themost winsome playmate on wet days, and Peggy firmly believed that heunderstood every word she said to him. He was growing clever with thesheep, too, and Father hoped to be able to train him into a reallyvaluable collie, even hinting that he might in time gain a prize at theannual sheep-dog contests which were held for the district of Gorswenand the Welsh border. Peggy liked to see Rollo working with the sheep,the tips of his ears twitching and his faithful brown eyes bright withintelligence, as he cleverly sorted the lambs which Father had pointedout from the rest of the flock, and drove them neatly into theenclosure, coming up whimpering with pride for the praise which he knewawaited his efforts.

  One lovely April morning Peggy started off alone, on the ostensibleerrand of going to pay half a crown which was owing to old Williams,the mole-catcher, but the more real one of gathering primroses andhunting about for birds' nests. It was seldom that she was separatedfrom Bobby, who was as constant as her shadow, but to-day he hadpreferred to stay and work in his garden, having many designs for itsimprovement, while the holidays were waning only too fast. Peggy hadwhistled for Rollo, but he was not to be found, and it was only when shewas more than half-way down the pasture that he came racing after her ashard as he could tear, nearly knocking her down in the exuberance of hisjoy.

  Instead of walking along the high-road, Peggy determined to take thepath through the fields which skirted the preserves belonging to LordHazelford's estate, for the finest primroses grew at the edge of thewood, and the earliest bluebells, and many a snug little nest might befound hidden away in those quiet hedgerows. It was a glorious morning,with the larks singing overhead and the thrushes trilling in the bushes,and that delicious smell of the earth which we often notice in earlyspring, and which makes the blood run through our veins like rising sap.The trees were clothed with the pale, tender green of April, and acuckoo, the first of the year, flew out of the copse, and, cuckooingloudly, sped over to where the larch-trees were bursting out into acrowd of tassels. Peggy had no pocket in her dress, but she turned thehalf-crown in her hand for good luck, and hoped it might answer the samepurpose. Rollo was almost as happy as his mistress. He poked his noseinto all the rabbit-burrows, he chased the birds, and dug holes forrats, and generally behaved as if he were a puppy again, instead of asedate, grown-up dog, snapping at the flies, and standing over Peggywagging his tail in approval, while she gathered violets andwood-anemones.

  The path which Peggy was following ran along a lane with the wood on oneside and a tall hedge on the other. It was a lonely spot, for there wasnot even a farmhouse in sight, and as it was only a by-road it was veryseldom frequented, even by the country people. As she swung the gateopen, and passed from the field into the lane, she saw a sight which fora moment made her hang back doubtfully, for a tramp lay stretched outfull length asleep in the sunshine, his tattered clothes and brokenboots a strange contrast to the bed of white daisies and celandine uponwhich he lay. Peggy was not generally afraid of poor people, but even insleep this man had an evil, hang-dog look about his face, which mighthave warned many an older person to give him a wide berth. She stood fora little while with the gate in her hand, hesitating whether to goforward or not, then, thinking she could probably pass him quietlywithout waking him, she walked on, treading on tip-toe. But he could nothave been so fast asleep as she supposed, for he sprang up as she nearedhim, and casting a swift glance round to see whether she wereaccompanied or alone, held out his hand, and begged for money.

  'I have none to give you,' said Peggy, trying to pass him by; but hestood over the path before her with a blustering air.

  'No money! What's that in your hand?' he said roughly.

  Peggy put her hand under her dress, and tried to beat a retreat to thegate.

  'Now then!' cried the man, with a horrible oath, 'none of your slinkingoff! You give me what you have there, or I'll break every bone in yourbody, and worse! Here! Hand it over, quick!'

  He came a step nearer, but at that moment there was a rush and a rustle,and Rollo bounded like an arrow through the gate, and flew at histhroat. The two rolled over together, and Peggy clung trembling to thegatepost as she watched the confused heap at her feet, Rollo scratching,snarling, and biting like a wild beast, and the tramp kicking, fighting,and swearing in a way which made her blood go cold to hear. She was tooterrified to run away, and could only stand there, a breathless witnessof the scuffle. Now the dog had the mastery, and now the man, as eachpanted and fought for his life; but at length something bright gleamedin the sunlight, there was a cry of agony, and Rollo lay in a pool ofblood upon the grass. The tramp raised himself slowly up, and looked atPeggy. Peggy shrieked, such a shriek of ghastly terror that it mighthave been heard a mile away, and mercifully it _was_ heard, for therewas an answering call from the wood, followed by a rustle of branchesand dead leaves, and the keeper and his son burst through the thickundergrowth, and came scrambling over the fence, almost before the echoof her cry had died away. The tramp took to his heels, and was off downthe lane with sturdy Harry Adams racing after him, in less time than ittakes to tell it.

  'After him, Hal!' yelled his father. 'Don't let the villain escape! Senda shot through his leg if he's gaining on you! Has the brute hurt you,Miss Vaughan?'--looking Peggy tenderly over to see that no damage wasdone.

  Peggy shook her head, for speech seemed almost impossible at thatmoment, and she broke away from the keeper's eager inquiries to kneeldown by Rollo's side, trying vainly to staunch the crimson stream thatwas draining his life away. But Rollo was beyond the reach of help now.The poor beast made a feeble effort to raise himself up to greet hisloved little mistress; he whined, licked her hand, and with one lastaffectionate glance from his rapidly-glazing eyes, rolled over on hisside--quite dead.

  * * * * *

  'He was a faithful friend, Peggy, for he laid down his life for you,'said Father later on in the day, when poor Rollo's body had been carriedhome to the stable, and the tramp safely lodged by Mr. Adams and Harryin Warford Gaol, to await his trial for attempted highway robbery andassault.

  Peggy had cried till her cheeks were purple and swollen and her eyeswere only two aching slits. She took her troubles hardly, and just atpresent it seemed to her as if life could never be quite the same again.Bobby, almost equally afflicted, had the added trial of trying toconceal his grief, for he regarded tears as unmanly, and the result wasa peculiar shortness and roughness of manner, with frequent rushingsaway to the barn when his feelings overcame him. Joe, whose sympathycould not have been more genuine if Peggy had lost a parent, hoveredabout all day, trying to console the bereaved pair, with small success,till towards evening a sudden flash of genius inspired him to suggest afuneral, perhaps his village experience teaching him that the bustle andpreparation necessary for such a ceremony was the best safety-valve towork off sorrow.

  'We might bury him among the ruins, Miss Peggy. There's a fine placeround by the old abbot's house, where the ground is soft, and we coulddig easy; and I've a cousin in the slate-quarries at Bethogwen as haspromised many a time to cut me a little tombstone as a present, if everI was wantin' one, so I'll ask him to bring it next time he comes, andput Rollo's name on it, and the day, and as how he died defendin' you;and we'll fix it up nice, and plant flowers round, just as if it was thechurchyard.'

  Peggy sat up, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her damppocket-handkerchief.

  'He ought to be in the real churchyard,' she said chokily. 'If ever adog deserved the Victoria Cross and a military funeral, it's Rollo!'

  'Do you think he'll go to heaven?' asked Bobby, with a suspicious gulp.<
br />
  'Of course he will! I wonder you can ask such a question! Heavenwouldn't be heaven unless we found Rollo there! We'll wrap his body inthe Union Jack, and pick all our best flowers to strew round him; andyou might fire off your old pistol over his grave, if Father will letyou have any gunpowder--a parting salute, you know, like they do forofficers,' said Peggy, cheering up a little at the thought of arrangingthe obsequies.

  Just at sunset the melancholy procession started off from the stabletowards the ruins. Joe and Bobby were bearers, and carried between themthe packing-case lid, draped with all the available flags that could befound, which bore what had once been poor Rollo. Peggy followed as chiefmourner, her arms full of wreaths and flowers, and a piece of blackcrape, purloined from the scrap-bag, pinned conspicuously upon her hat.The place chosen was among the most perfect part of the old Abbey, notso much filled up with stones and rubbish as the great refectory or theremains of the choir. Tradition pointed it out as the abbot's house, andthat name had clung to it through all the hundreds of years since thebusy monks had lived and worked there.

  'Suppose you dig just here, Joe,' cried Peggy, selecting a spot where ablackthorn was bursting forth into a sheet of white blossom and theprimroses were yellowest and best.

  Joe moistened the palms of his hands in the orthodox fashion, andseizing the spade began to shovel away at the loose, light soil. He haddug about three feet deep when his spade struck against a smooth, flatstone, which, instead of coming out easily amongst the rubbish, seemedto extend for some way underneath the surface.

  'It looks like a paving-stone, for all the world,' he said, sweeping thesoil away from it with his hand. 'I'll dig out the earth all around it,and see what it do be.'

  It took Joe a considerable time to clear the stone, though Bobby went tohis aid with a trowel; but he got it free at last, and Peggy stoopeddown curiously to examine it.

  'There are marks on it, like letters and queer figures, but they're allfilled up with soil,' she said. 'It seems to me it's a kind of lid, andif you dig round the edge a little more, Joe, we might lift it up. It'srather like the cover of one of those old stone coffins in thechurchyard, only smaller. I wonder if there is anything inside?'

  Joe set to work again with a will, clearing out the earth well fromunder the side of the stone; then, putting his fingers beneath it, hegave a mighty jerk of his strong arms, and up it came, nearly upsettinghim with the force of the recoil. Three eager faces peered anxiouslydown into what certainly looked like the inside of a small stone coffin,but instead of containing mouldering bones, it held a good-sized chestof oak, bound with iron, rather rusted and crumbling, but still holdingquite firmly together.

  'Lift it out, Joe!' cried Peggy, in such excitement that Rollo wasalmost forgotten for the moment. 'Whatever can be inside it?'

  'It bean't no light weight, Miss Peggy, whatever it be,' groaned Joe,for it was as much as he could manage to heave the heavy chest from itsresting-place on to the grass above.

  'There may be money and all sorts of treasures in it,' suggested Bobby.'Perhaps the smugglers left it behind.'

  'Nay, this be older nor smugglers,' said Joe, with a glance at the solidworkmanship and the quaint carving on the old lid, 'unless they made useof an old thing for their own purposes. Let be, Master Bobby, I can't donothing with you hangin' over me like this!'

  He had been fumbling with the ancient rusty lock while he spoke, and itnow broke away from the rotten woodwork. He flung back the heavy lid,and revealed--neither gold nor jewels, nothing but a pile ofmusty-looking old parchments and books. The children looked at eachother in blank disappointment.

  'There might be something underneath,' said Peggy, beginning to rummagethe chest to the very bottom; but her hopes were soon dashed, for afurther search did not bring anything more to light.

  'How disgusting! Who cares for old books?' exclaimed Bobby, whose hearthad been set on stolen jewels, smuggled valuables, or daggers andfirearms at the least.

  'They're very funny ones, at any rate,' said Peggy, picking up one ofthe despised tomes. 'Just look at the backs. They're so thick and heavy.They seem to be made of metal of some kind, with little bits of colouredglass stuck into them; but they're terribly tarnished and dirty. I can'tread the writing inside at all, and there are the queerest littlepictures all round the edges of the pages.'

  'What be I to do with the box?' asked Joe, gazing at their find in someperplexity. 'And be I to dig another hole for the burial, miss, or not?'

  Her thoughts recalled to the melancholy occasion, Peggy flung down thebook, and her grief broke forth anew.

  'We'll bury him in the old stone coffin,' she declared. 'We'll line itwith leaves and primroses, and then lay him in, and just drop on the lidagain. I'm glad he should have a real coffin, after all, and the Abbey'salmost as good as the churchyard, for Father says lots of the old monksmust have been buried here, if we could only find their graves.'

  Even Ophelia could not have chosen a more flowery resting-place, for thechildren covered poor Rollo with violets, primroses, and whitesloe-blossom. Joe carefully replaced the lid, and shovelled on the soilagain, heaping it up, and smoothing it with the flat of his spade, inimitation of the village sexton.

  Father had refused to allow gunpowder, so the pistol was useless, butPeggy placed a wreath of white jonquils picked from her own garden uponthe grave, and dropped so many tears over it that I do not think any dogcould have been more truly mourned and regretted.

  'You won't forget about the tombstone, will you, Joe?' she said, findingthe prospect of a monument to her pet decidedly consoling. 'I mean tomake up a nice epitaph for him, in poetry if I can manage it--somethingabout his being such a beauty, and then dying doing his duty, becausethat would rhyme.'

  'Miss Peggy,' declared Joe solemnly, 'you shall have that there littletombstone, if I has to go without one myself. You write the words outplain on a piece of paper, and I'll walk over to Bethogwen the very nexttime I gets a holiday. You'll see my cousin will do it beautiful, havin'worked a year in a stonemason's yard, and being fond of a dog, too. Hemight even try his hand at a weepin' angel or a broken flower at thetop, but I can't promise that, not knowin' whether he's kept his tools.'

  The box containing the old manuscript was carried into the loft by Joe,and examined by Father at his leisure.

  'I don't know much about this sort of thing, Peggy,' he said, 'but Ishould imagine they would be mostly old records and deeds of the Abbey.It is marvellous how well they are preserved, but the oak and the stonecombined must have kept out the air, and parchment does not decay likepaper. Valuable? Not from a money point of view, I am afraid; but nodoubt they would prove very interesting to some antiquarian who couldread them. We will keep them here until the Rector comes home again. Iexpect he will be delighted to look over them some day, and will tell uswhat they are all about.'

  Mr. Vaughan had intended to write an account of the find to the localnewspaper, but in the hurry and worry of his affairs he forgot. TheRector was still away, and as nobody else took any interest in suchmatters, the mysterious old chest stayed neglected among the corn-sacks.Only Peggy sometimes stole up the stone staircase, and taking one ofthe strange books from its hiding-place, would pore over the quaintpictures which bordered the pages. They fascinated her with their crudedrawing and colours still vivid and bright--saints with halos roundtheir heads, kneeling rapt in prayer, with folded hands, in the midst ofgreen fields and flowers, while the Virgin, clothed in blue and gold,appeared with a whole company of angels from the skies above; patientmartyrs, with wan faces upturned to heaven, while their persecutorsflung stones, or heaped on the burning brands; the blessed passing intothe joys of Paradise, with the wicked writhing in the tormenting flamesbelow; and round all a curious illuminated bordering, where strangefaces peered out of twisting foliage, and figures of birds and animalswere intertwined with patterns of flowers or the tail of a capitalletter. What patient fingers, she wondered, had toiled over these indays gone by, working with paint-pots
and palette of gold to put theglory of paradise on his pages? Had the world altered much in all theseyears? And how little did the old artist think that his work would befound and marvelled at when he and his order were alike forgotten, andthe very Abbey where he had lived and laboured had long since crumbledaway!

  So the old chest remained in the loft, as hidden there as when it hadbeen buried in the earth, and Peggy came and went, never dreaming in thetime that followed that these ancient, musty relics could in any way bebound up with the fate and fortunes of the Vaughans.