Part 29 (1/2)
”No: it would have been bad work if you had gone whipping about, and irritating the two little holes in your arm. Well, how is it?”
”Oh, quite well now,” said the lad, as he carefully hooked the bees in his cap, and twisted the hair to which they were attached under the band; ”and I've come to say how thankful I am for all you have done for me, and--”
”That's enough, my dear boy,” cried the old man warmly; ”look the rest.
And now about those wild men of the mountains; have you heard how they are going on?”
”A little; not much.”
”Ah, you don't know, or you would not talk about a little. Why, Ralph, boy, the country round is full of complaints of their doings. About a dozen great idle scoundrels are living up at Ergles in that cave, laying the people for miles round under contribution; picking the fat of the land, and committing outrage after outrage. Only during the past week, I've had to bind up two broken heads, and strap up a broken shoulder, where the poor fellows had made a brave fight for it--one man against seven or eight.”
”You don't mean that!” cried Ralph flus.h.i.+ng.
”But I do, boy. They are growing worse and worse, and making themselves a scourge to the country.”
”I did not know it was so bad.”
”No, I suppose not, sir; and here are you people living safely in your castles, with plenty of stout men about you, ready to arm and defend you behind your walls and gates. But if the scoundrels came and robbed you, perhaps you would do something. Don't you think you ought to begin?”
”Yes, that I do,” cried Ralph quickly. ”My father has been talking about it for some time.”
”Yes; and so has Sir Edward Eden been talking about it for some time; but neither of them does anything, and the wasps' nest thrives; all the best things in the country are carried up there--the wasps robbing the bees; and I, though I am a man of peace, say that it is the duty of you gentlemen to burn that wasps' nest out before anything worse is done, for the ruffians grow more bold and daring every day, feeling, I suppose, that they can do these things with impunity.”
”Father shall do something at once,” cried the lad.
”That's right,” cried the old man, patting his late patient on the shoulder. ”I don't want blood shed, and I hardly think any of your people would come to much harm, for, like most scoundrels of their kind, I believe the enemy would prove miserable cowards.”
”They have proved to be so,” cried Ralph warmly. ”Father must act now.”
”I'll tell you what he ought to do, boy,” said the old man, grasping his visitor by the arm. ”Of course he need not make friends, but he ought to go or send to the Black Tor, and ask Sir Edward to head so many men, your father doing the same; and then they could march together, and rout out the scoundrels.”
”Yes, it would be easy enough then,” said Ralph sadly; ”but I know my father too well: he would not do that.”
”No,” said the old man, ”he would not do that.”
The tone in which this was said roused the lad's indignation.
”Well,” he said hotly, ”do you think this Sir Edward Eden would come and ask my father to join him?”
”No, boy, I do not,” replied the old man, ”for I said something of this kind to Mark Eden only yesterday, when I was fis.h.i.+ng up that way, and he spoke just in the same way as you do.”
”You saw him yesterday?” said Ralph eagerly. ”How is he?”
”What's that to do with you?” said the old man rather roughly. ”You don't want to know how your enemy is. But all the same, his leg is nearly well. He limps a little: that is all. Going?”
”Yes,” said Ralph hurriedly; ”I must be off now. I am going on about a mile, and coming back this way. Perhaps I shall see you then.”
”Going about a mile? Not going to see old Mother Garth?”
”Yes: to take her a present from my sister. Nick told her about his mother being robbed.”
”And your sister wants to make it up to her. Poor old woman! she is in great trouble, but she will not hear of leaving her cottage up there on the moor; and she says that next time the men come to rob her, they'll find she has two pots of boiling water ready for them.”