Furze the Cruel. Trevena John

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      The minister held back. He was not a brave man, and that black hole in the side of the moor conjured up horrors.

      "Take my hand, and let yourself down. There's water, but not more than a foot," said Pendoggat.

      He pushed Eli forward, then caught his collar, and lowered him like a sack. The minister shuddered when he felt the icy water round his legs and the clammy ferns closing about his head. Pendoggat followed. They were in a narrow channel leading towards a low cave. Frogs splashed in front of them. Small streams trickled down a hundred tiny clefts.

      "This is a very disagreeable situation, Mr. Pendoggat," said Eli meekly.

      "Come on," said the other gruffly. "I'll show you something to open your eyes. Step low."

      They splashed on, bent under the arch of the cave, and entered the womb of the moor. Hundreds of feet of solid granite roofed them in. They were out of the wind and moonlight. Pendoggat guided the minister in front of him, keeping him close to the wall of rock to avoid the deep water in the centre. About twenty paces from the entry was a shaft cut at right angles. They went along it until they had to stoop again.

      "Be'old, Mr. Pendoggat!" cried Eli, with amazed admiration. "Be'old the colours! I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. What is it? Jewels, Mr. Pendoggat? You don't say they are jewels?"

      "Pretty, ain't they? More than pretty too. Now you know what I've brought you for," said Pendoggat, as he turned up the light to increase the splendour of the wall.

      It was a pretty sight for a child, or any other simple creature. The side wall at the end of the shaft was streaked and veined with a brilliant purple and green pattern. These colours were caused by the iron in the rocks acting upon the slate, which was there abundant. Pendoggat knew that well enough. He knew also that the sight would impress the minister. He lifted the lantern, pointed to a streak of pale blue which ran down the rock from the roof to the water, and said gruffly: "You can see for yourself. That's the stuff."

      "What is it?" whispered the excited pastor.

      "Nickel. The rock's full of it."

      "But don't they know? Does anybody know of it?"

      "Only you and me," said Pendoggat.

      "Why have you told me? You are a very generous man, but why do you let me into the secret?"

      "Come outside," said Pendoggat.

      They went out. Not a word was spoken until they reached the side of the cleave. Then Pendoggat turned upon the minister, holding his arm and shaking it violently as he said: "I've chosen you as my partner. I can trust you. Will you stand in with me, share the risks, and share the profits? Answer now, and let's have done with it."

      "I must go home and pray over it, Mr. Pendoggat," cried the excited and shivering Eli. "I must seek for guidance. I do not know if it is right for me to seek after wealth. But for the chapel's sake, for my future wife's sake, for the sake of my unborn infants – "

      "Yes or no," broke in Pendoggat. "We'll finish it before we move."

      "What can I do?" said Eli, clasping his clay-like hands. "I know nothing of these things. I don't know anything about nickel, except that I have some spoons and forks – "

      "Don't you see we must get money to work it? You can manage that. You have several congregations. You can persuade them to invest. My name must be kept out of it. The commoners don't like me. I'll do everything else. You can leave the business in my hands. Your part will be to get the money – and you take half profits."

      "I will think over it, Mr. Pendoggat. I will think and pray."

      "Make up your mind now, or I get another partner."

      Pendoggat lifted the glass of the lantern and blew out the light.

      "Have we the right to work a mine upon the moor?"

      "Leave all that to me. You get the money. Tell 'em we will guarantee ten per cent. Likely it will be more. It's as safe a thing as was ever known, and it is the chance of your lifetime. Here's my hand."

      Eli took the hand, and had the gorse-prickles forced well into his.

      "I'll do my best, Mr. Pendoggat. I know you are an honest and a generous man," he said.

      CHAPTER IV

      ABOUT BEETLES

      There was a whitewashed cottage called Lewside beside the moorland road, and at a window which commanded a view of that road sat a girl with what appeared to be a glory round her face – it was nothing but soft red hair – a girl of seventeen, called Boodles, or anything else sufficiently idiotic; and this girl was learning doggerel and singing —

      "'The West wind always brings wet weather,

      The East wind wet and cold together;

      The South wind surely brings us rain,

      The North wind blows it back again.'

      "And that means it's always raining, which is a lie. And as I'm saying it I'm a liar," laughed Boodles.

      It was raining then. Only a Dartmoor shower; the sort of downright rain which makes holes in granite and plays Wagner-like music upon roofs of corrugated iron.

      "There's a bunny. Let me see. That's two buns, one man and a boy, a cart and two horses, three wild ponies, and two jolly little sheep with horns and black faces – all been along the road this afternoon," said Boodles. "Now the next verse —

      'If the sun in red should set.

      The next day surely will be wet;

      If the sun should set in grey.

      The next will be a rainy day.'

      "That's all. We can't go on lying for ever. I wish," said Boodles, "I wish I hadn't got so many freckles on my nose, and I wish my hair wasn't red, and thirdly and lastly, I wish – I wish my teeth weren't going to ache next week. I know they will, because I've been eating jam pudding, and they always ache after jam pudding; three days after, always three days – the beasts! Now what shall I sing about? Why can't people invent something for small girls to do upon a rainy day? I wish a battle was being fought on the moor. It would be fun. I could sit here and watch all day; and I would cut off bits of my hair and throw them to the victorious generals. What a sell for me if they wouldn't pick them up! I expect they would, though, for father says I'm a boodle girl, and that means beautiful, though it's not true, and I wish it was. Another lie and another wish! And when I'm dressed nicely I am boodle-oodle, and that means more beautiful. And when the sun is shining on my hair I am boodle-oodliest, and that means very beautiful. I suppose it's rather nonsense, but it's the way we live here. We may be silly so long as we are good. The next song shall be patriotic. We will bang a drum and wave a flag; and sing with a good courage —

      'It was the way of good Queen Bess,

      Who ruled as well as mortal can,

      When she was stugged, and the country in a mess,

      She would send for a Devon man.'

      "Well now, that's the truth. Miss Boodles. The principal county in England is Devonshire, and the principal town is Tavistock, and the principal river is the Tavy, and the principal rain is upon Dartmoor, and the principal girl has red hair and freckles on her nose, and she's only seventeen. And the dearest old man in Devon is just coming along the passage, and now he's at the door, СКАЧАТЬ