CHAPTER IV
THE SWEETS OF FREEDOM
"You can do as you like, Milly; but I shall go!"
Small Herbert set his foot to the ground with a gesture of immovable firmness. Milly watched him with admiring eyes, still halting between two opinions.
"Oh, but, Bertie, isn't it naughty?"
"I don't care if it is. I'm going."
It was like hoisting the signal of revolt – revolt from the rule of the elder sister. They both knew that Prissy would never go, or let them go either, if she knew of the plan. And to slip away unknown to her, though not a difficult matter upon a Saturday afternoon, would mark an epoch in the life of this pair of properly-brought-up children, as both instinctively felt, though they could not have expressed themselves upon the subject.
"It's our holiday afternoon," said Bertie stoutly, his square face looking squarer than ever. "Nobody's told us never to go out of the orchard; we're allowed to know Pickle and Puck. They say they're going out for a lark on Saturday afternoon, and I'm going with them."
Milly's eyes were growing brighter and brighter; she looked with open admiration upon Herbert. He was younger than herself, but at this moment he seemed the older of the pair.
"Bertie," she asked, in a voice that was little above a whisper, "what is a lark?"
Bertie hesitated a moment.
"It's something we don't ever get here," he answered, with a note of resentment in his voice; "but Pickle and Puck know all about it, and I mean to learn too."
"O Bertie! – and so will I!"
"That's right. I'd like you to come too. I don't see why you should be a little cockney any more than I!"
"O Bertie! what's that?"
"Well, I don't just exactly know; but it's something I heard father say."
"What did he say?"
"Well, I'll tell you. I was in his study learning my Latin declension; and I was behind the curtain, and I think he'd forgotten I was there. Mother came in, and they talked, and I stopped my ears and was learning away, when I heard them say something about Puck and Pickle. Then I listened."
"What did they say?"
"Mother was saying she was afraid they were naughty, rude boys, and would teach us mischief; and then father laughed and said he didn't much mind if they did."
"O Bertie!"
"He did, I tell you," answered Bertie, swelling himself out, as though he felt his honor called in question. "They talked a good while, and I couldn't understand it all; but I heard father say he'd rather I were a bold Cornish boy, even if I did get into mischief sometimes, than grow up a little timid cockney."
"I wonder what he meant," said Milly in an awestruck tone; "I never heard of a cockney before."
"I think it must mean something like a girl," said Bertie, with a note of perhaps unconscious contempt in his voice, "for mother said something, and then father said, 'You see, you were brought up a cockney yourself, my dear, and you can do as you like about the girls; but I want Herbert to be a true Cornish boy, and he doesn't seem to be one yet.' That's what he said; and now I'm going to find out what it is to be a Cornish boy, and I'm going to be one. You can go on being a cockney if you like."
"But I won't!" cried Milly rebelliously; "I'll be a Cornish boy too!"
"You can't be a boy, but you can come along with us if you like," said Bertie patronizingly; "Pickle and Puck said you could, though Puck did say he thought girls cried and spoiled things after a bit."
"I don't cry!" answered Milly sturdily; and, indeed, she had most of her father in her of the three Polperran children. They had been brought up under the rule of a mother who had very strict ideas of training and discipline, and had lived the greater part of her life in towns, so that country ways would always be more or less strange to her. They had never run wild, even now that they had returned to their father's native county, and were in the midst of moors and crags, and almost within sound of the sea. They still kept to their prim little walks along the road, and if they played out of doors, it was always in the orchard – never on the open moorland, or by the rocks and pools of the shore.
Prissy was really a little copy of her mother, and she had no taste for anything strange, and was rather afraid of solitude and of the boom of the sea. So she kept her younger pair well in hand, and they had never seriously thought of rebellion until the arrival upon the scene of Pickle and Puck.
From that moment the horizon of their lives seemed to widen. Here were two boys who actually dared to call their mother Mrs. Poll-parrot to her face, and their father the Reverend Poll! They habitually spoke of their own father as Crump, and had dubbed the redoubtable Mr. Trelawny "Old Bobby"!
These were flights of boldness beyond the wildest dreams of the little Polperrans. At first they had been almost overcome with fear, but familiarity had changed that feeling into one of growing wonder and admiration. For these boys were not only bold in word – they were daring beyond expression in deed. Already they had explored some of the hidden mysteries of the Crag; they had been out lobster-catching with old Pollard; and they had tumbled into one of the deep pools in the rocks, and had been hauled out dripping by a fisherman who luckily chanced to be near at hand. Now they were learning to swim, Mr. Trelawny having decided that that must be the next step in their education; and although they had not had many lessons, Pickle could already keep himself afloat several strokes, and Puck was not far behind.
And all this had been done in three weeks, as well as other minor acts, of which the heroes themselves thought simply nothing, though Bertie and Milly were filled with admiration.
Prissy disapproved of them utterly and entirely; nor was this very difficult to understand. She gave herself the sort of airs which Pickle and Puck openly ridiculed. They persisted in calling her "Pretty Polly," and she retaliated by calling them rude, ill-mannered boys, and openly pitying Esther for the infliction of their company.
"If Prissy would be nice to them, they would be nice to her," Milly remarked sagely once, "and then things would be better. But they always get quarreling, and then it's no good trying to settle anything. Everything goes wrong."
"That's because Prissy is such a cockney," cried Bertie, airing his new word with satisfaction; "Esther would never make half the fuss about every little thing. Pickle and Puck like Esther, though they do laugh at her rather. But they won't have either Esther or Prissy with them when we have our lark on Saturday afternoon. They'll only take you and me."
"Well, I'll go!" cried Milly, throwing to the winds all allegiance to Prissy; "I want to see what a lark is like. I'm tired of being a cockney."
"Hurrah!" cried Bertie, feeling all the glow that follows a bold stand against domestic tyranny; "we'll all have a regular lark together, and we'll tell father all about it afterwards. He won't scold, and then mother can't."
Saturday afternoon was the children's holiday. At the Hermitage lessons went on regularly now on every morning of the week, and five afternoons; and it was the same at the rectory, where father and mother taught their children, or superintended their lessons when not able to be with them the whole time. But on Saturday afternoons all were free to do as they pleased.
Prissy always went with her mother to give out the books at the lending library, of which she was practically librarian, and very proud of her position. Esther was always busy at home with little household duties, which she had less time for now during the week. This left the younger children quite free to follow out their own plans, and so far they had spent their holiday afternoon together. Once they had played in the orchard, and once they had gone down to the shore, where the pair from the Hermitage had displayed to their admiring companions the progress they had made in the art of swimming.
"I mean to ask father to let me learn to swim too," said Herbert, whose ideas were soaring to untold heights. "I'm sure that would be one way of growing to be a Cornish boy. All the boys and men here can swim."
Pickle and Puck, however, had no intention of wasting all half-holidays in such peaceful and unadventurous fashion, and they had given out very decidedly that on the following Saturday they should have "a lark." They had not further specified what form this lark was to take, but had merely declared their willingness that Herbert and Milly should share it, provided they wouldn't go and talk of it beforehand.
"We don't want Miss Prig sticking her nose into our business anyhow," said Pickle, using a second name they had recently evolved for Prissy. "We'll go where we like, and do what we like, and when we get home we'll tell them all about it. That's what Puck and I always do, and it's much the best plan. Grown-ups are always worrying after you if you say a word. They'll be much happier if they think we are safe here in the orchard."
It had been a moot point all the week with Bertie and Milly whether or not they should dare to join in the projected "lark"; but Bertie's resolution was now irrevocably taken, and Milly threw prudence and subservience to the four winds, and swore adhesion to the new league of liberty.
They met in the rectory orchard, whither Pickle and Puck were supposed to be going to spend the Saturday afternoon. Esther was at ease about them there, for she had a belief that in that house everything went by routine, and that Herbert and Milly would restrain their comrades from any overt acts of independence and daring. There were rabbits to be visited, and cows to be driven in from the glebe pasture, and various other mild delights which always seemed quite exciting to her. She let her charges go with an easy mind; and as for Prissy, it never so much as occurred to her that after her admonition, "Mind you are very good!" Milly or Bertie would venture to dream of such a thing as leaving the premises unknown to anybody in the house, and without obtaining leave.
Pickle and Puck arrived, brimming over with excitement and the delights of anticipation.
"Where is everybody?" they asked at once.
"They're all out," answered Milly, skipping about. "There's nobody to stop us or say 'don't.' What are we going to do? Have you decided?"
"Of course we have. We're going to get a boat, and go out to that island where those jolly rocks are, and where nobody lives. We've got some jolly cakes and things in this basket. We shall light a fire of dried seaweed, and be castaways from a wreck, and have a scrumptious time till it's time to go home again."
Bertie's eyes grew round with anticipation. Milly jumped into the air with delight; but then suddenly looking grave, she exclaimed, —
"But how shall we get there?"
"In a boat, of course."
"But then we shall have to have a man with us, and that costs such a lot of money."
"Come along, silly-billy!" cried Pickle with good-humored scorn; "you'll soon see how we do things, Puck and I. A man, indeed! As though we'd have a great lumbering gowk to spoil all our fun, and have to pay him too! No fear!"
Pickle took a short cut across country towards the shore. It was safer than the road in many ways, and the path he selected did not lead to the fishing village, but to a little cove half a mile away to the right. Milly danced beside him chattering gleefully.
"O Pickle, can you row yourself?"
"Of course I can. Puck and I rowed old Pollard's boat about for him the other day amongst the lobster-pots. Anybody can row – at least anybody with any sense. You only have to put the oar in the water and pull it out again. Even a girl could do that."
"We've never been let try," said Milly. "We hardly ever go in a boat. Mother doesn't like it. Sometimes father takes us out on a fine evening, but not often. He's busy, and mother generally thinks it too cold or damp or something."
"I'm glad I wasn't brought up in a poll-parrot's cage," was Pickle's remark; "your mother seems worse than Aunt Saint, and she's pretty silly about boys."
"I believe mother was a cockney," said Milly gravely. "Perhaps that is why, though I don't quite know what a cockney is."
Pickle laughed, but they were going too fast for much conversation. It was rough walking, but they did not want to lose time.
"Here we are!" shouted Pickle, as they came suddenly upon a little cleft in the fringe of moorland they were skirting, and could see right down to the shining sea. "Here's the place, and here's the old boat. I've settled with the old fellow for it, and he promised to leave the oars and things in all ready. Oh, jolly! jolly! jolly! Now we'll have a lark!"
This little creek was an offshoot of the bay, and a small tumble-down hut stood just beneath the overhanging crags. A boat lay rocking in the water, moored to a ring in the rock, and the owner had been true to his promise, and had left the oars and rudder and stretchers all in place.
With shouts of ecstasy the children tumbled in. This was something like independence! Not a creature was there to say them nay. They were afloat in a boat of their very own, about to row over to that enchanted and enchanting island which Millie and Bertie had often gazed at wonderingly and wistfully, but had never dreamed of exploring in their own persons.
The boat was a safe old tub, heavy and cumbersome, but steady in the water. The sea was very smooth, and the tide was falling, so that the efforts of the youthful rowers to get clear of the creek were crowned with success, although Pickle and Puck had only very elementary ideas as to rowing.
Bertie took the rudder, and as he had sometimes steered the boat when his father rowed them about the bay, he had some idea of keeping a straight course, and avoiding rocks and buoys. The island looked quite near to shore from the cliffs above; but it seemed rather a long way off when the boat was on the water, slowly traveling out towards it. Pickle and Puck soon cast off their coats and waistcoats, and the drops stood upon their brows; but they would not be beaten, and pulled on manfully, though they did feel as though the island must be behaving in a very shabby manner, and retiring gradually from them as they approached.
Still, the delight of being out in a boat by themselves made amends for much, and Milly, who had taken her place in the bows, screamed aloud with joy and excitement.
She looked over the edge, and cried out that there were the loveliest things to be seen along the bottom. She would have been happy enough on the water the whole afternoon; but the two rowers were very glad when, after prolonged and gallant efforts on their part, they at last felt the keel of the boat grating upon the longed-for shore.
"I'm hot and thirsty, I know!" cried Pickle; "I shall have a swim first thing. There's a jolly pool. I shall just swim about there, I can swim across it, I believe, and it isn't deep anywhere."
"I'll come too!" cried Puck; "I'm just sweating all over!"
"Prissy says people oughtn't to bathe when they're hot," remarked Milly doubtfully; but Pickle only laughed and said, —
"Pretty Polly talks an awful lot of rubbish. The hotter you are the jollier it is. You come along too, Bert."
Bertie drew his breath hard. This was indeed freedom! Milly would have loved to join the party, but desisted from motives of propriety. She had not brought her bathing dress, and, indeed, she was hardly ever allowed to use it at any time. So she went off to explore the wonders of the island, leaving the boys to enjoy their bath and dry themselves in the hot sunshine afterwards.
"I wish I were a boy too," she said to herself; "but anyhow I won't be a little cockney, even if I am a girl."
Certainly the island was a most entrancing place. There were pools where sea-anemones displayed their flower-like beauty, and others lined with green seaweed that looked like moss, where little fishes swam about, and shrimps turned somersaults, and limpets stuck tight to the side, as though a part of the solid rock. Then on the top of the island, where the water never came, a coarse kind of grass grew, and some little flowers and sea-poppies; and Milly found many treasures in the way of tiny shells, which would make lovely decorations for the doll's house at home.
She could have enjoyed herself for hours like this; but the boys turned up before very long, rosy and wet-headed from their bath, and declared they must have something to eat quick, and that they must make a fire and boil their very tiny kettle, just for the sake of feeling that they really were castaways upon a desert island.
"I've found some water that isn't salt!" cried Milly; "it's in a deep pool above high-water mark. It must be rain-water, I suppose; but it's quite nice, for I drank some." And Pickle gave a shout of joy, for the boys were terribly thirsty, and though they had provided themselves with a kettle and some tea, they had never thought of bringing water. Puck said that sea-water boiled would be sure to be quite nice, for boiling was sure to take the salt out of it somehow.
Milly, however, knew better, and was proud of her find; and she and Puck ran off to fill the kettle, whilst Pickle and Bertie set to gathering dry seaweed, and putting it in a hole in the rocks which was rather like a fire-grate, and over which they could easily put on the kettle to boil.
It was tremendously exciting and interesting work – the sort of play the rectory children had never indulged in before, though they had secretly longed after it.
"I'm the captain, and you're the bo'sun, Bertie," explained Pickle; "Puck's the cabin-boy, and Milly's a passenger. Everybody else has been drowned dead, and we've been cast ashore on the island. So we have to light a fire as a signal to any passing ship to come and take us off."
"Oh, but we don't want to be taken off!" shrieked Milly; "we want to stay all the afternoon! If they see our fire perhaps they'll come too soon. We don't want that."
However, Pickle decreed that this risk must be run, as they must have their tea, and all castaways lighted a fire when they could. He had matches ready, and very soon the dry seaweed kindled, and a merry little fire was soon burning in the hole. It was not long before the kettle boiled, and very proud was Milly of being permitted to put in the tea, and officiate at the dispensing of the liquid.
They had only one mug, and some lumps of sugar, and no milk; but that mattered very little. Castaways could not expect luxuries, and the cakes were excellent.
Bertie was in rampant spirits. This was true liberty, and he was eager for remaining on the island permanently. There was a hole on the other side where they could sleep upon a bed of dried seaweed; and then in the mornings they could bathe in the pool, and he could learn to swim, and Milly could cook their food, and they would catch fish, and crabs, and shrimps, and live like princes.
Puck was rather taken by the idea.
"We shouldn't have any lessons then with the old Owl," he remarked. "I don't like lessons. It's such a waste of time, when one might be having fun. I can't see what good lessons are to anybody. I asked Crump once if he remembered the dates of all the kings and queens, and he said he was afraid he didn't, though he could have said them off pat when he was my age. If one may forget everything as soon as one grows up, what's the use of making such a fuss about learning them?"
"Crump says it trains the mind to learn," said Pickle, jumping up; "but I should think living on an island and doing everything for oneself would train it much more. Let's go and see the hole, Bert. P'r'aps we won't stay to-day – we've not brought quite enough things; but we might collect them here for a bit, and then when we've got enough we might come over, and let the boat go adrift, and live like cave-men as long as we liked. It would do for our city of refuge, you know," and he looked across at Puck, who capered in great glee.
"Of course, of course, of course!" he shouted; "we ought to have a city of refuge!"
"What's that?" asked Bertie eagerly.
"Oh, it's all in the Bible," answered Puck. "We found it one day, and told Crump; and we asked if we might have one, and he said yes, if we could find it; and so we made it. It was out on the stable roof – such a jolly place! – no avenger of blood could ever get up there. Crump did try once; but he stuck fast, and we sat and roared at him. It was a fine city of refuge. We always went there when people were angry. Once we were up there nearly all day; and if we'd had more gingerbread we'd never have come down till they'd promised not to punish us. But Miss Masters sat at the bottom of the ladder that time, and she whipped us when we had to come down. That was what I call being real mean. What's the good of a city of refuge if the avenger of blood sits waiting for you at the bottom of the ladder? We asked Crump to tell her never to do it again, but I don't know if he ever did. Soon after that we came here, and the old Owl teaches us instead."
"And you haven't got a city of refuge here?" asked the breathless Milly.
"No; but I think we shall want one," said Pickle seriously. "There's something about Old Bobby and the Owl that I don't quite like. They can be very jolly; but they seem to think they're going to have it very much their own way. I don't like giving in to a pair of old fogies like that. I think this island might come in very useful."
"Prissy could never find us here!" cried Milly under her breath; "we could do the loveliest things! Oh, do let us have a city of refuge!"
They explored the island with breathless interest. It seemed an excellent place for their design. There was no danger of its ever being covered at high tide; there was a rent in one side, not quite a cave, but a deep fissure, which would give protection from wind and some shelter from rain, and prove an excellent place of concealment. There was the big pool for bathing in, and little pools for keeping their treasures in the way of anemones and other sea-water creatures. And though the tides might wash away the old treasures, there would be new ones deposited instead, and altogether it seemed a most desirable sort of place.
"We'll collect things here," said Pickle with decision. "That was the worst of our other city of refuge; there was no place to keep anything. We had just to carry up with us what we wanted, and unless we could get down into the house without being seen we couldn't get anything more. Once Jim, the stable-boy, brought us some apples; but he didn't generally know when we were up there. We'll lay in a regular store of things, and then if they get cross we can come here and stop for a week. They'll be so frightened by that time that they'll never think of being angry when we get back, if we don't stay here always."
"Are you sure?" asked Milly eagerly. "I feel as though mother would get angrier and angrier the longer we stayed away."
But Pickle looked immensely wise.
"No, it isn't like that," he said; "they begin by getting angrier and angrier, but then they get frightened, and when they're just as frightened as they can be, then if you go back they don't scold – at least hardly at all. They're only all in a tremble lest you've got wet or something like that – as if one were a cat. It's very stupid of them, but it's very convenient for us. You get more fun and less scolding that way."
"O Pickle! how do you know?"
"Oh, we've tried it so often, and with different nurses and governesses, and with Granny and Crump. We know all about that sort of thing. Crump was the worst to reckon on. He would sometimes say very little that day, but take it out of you next. But then Crump was Crump, and one never minded much what he did. I wish we had him here now."
"Would he let you have a city of refuge out here?" asked Milly wonderingly.
"Of course he would. Crump isn't like a pack of silly women, who always think one is going to kill oneself. Crump likes boys to do things for themselves, and not be always hanging round and asking other people to take care of them. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up, and soldiers have to learn how to do lots of things; and Puck will be either a soldier or a sailor. Crump said we might choose for ourselves; and when we had chosen we must stick to it like bricks, and so we will."
"I'm going to be a Cornish boy!" cried Bertie; "my father said so. Cornish boys can all swim, and row boats, and wrestle, and things like that. We'll learn all about that at the city of refuge. It's the women who spoil everything. Let's pass a law that no woman shall ever be allowed to set foot on our island."
"Then you mustn't count me a woman!" cried Milly appealingly.
"Of course not!" answered all the boys at once; and Pickle went on judicially – "We shan't count all girls as women – only the very stupid ones like Pretty Polly. Tousle may come as a visitor sometimes; and you may come always, Milly, if you'll be jolly and not tell secrets. I don't count people like you women. You have some sense."
"And perhaps if you get regularly jolly, you won't ever be a woman," added Puck consolingly. "I should think there must be some way of stopping it. When Old Bobby or the Owl are in good temper I'll ask them about it. They have all sorts of funny things in bottles and tanks, and they can do lots of queer things. I'll ask them if they can't do something to stop you always being a woman. You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes!" cried Milly eagerly. "If I could be a Cornish boy I should be quite happy."
But time was flying fast, and, unless the children wanted their secret to escape them too soon, they would have to be going back. They had had a fine time out on the island, and the tide had begun to flow again, and had floated their boat, which, for above an hour, had been lying stranded amid the rocks.
So in they all tumbled, and rowed back homewards, reaching the creek as the clock in the village church chimed out the hour of six.
"We shall just get home in time!" cried Milly, "and nobody will know we haven't been playing about near home all the time. – Pickle, may we tell father about the city of refuge – just as a secret? I'm sure he won't mind; and if he doesn't tell mother it will be all right."
"Well, I'll think about it," answered Pickle, in his capacity of captain; "but don't you tell anything till I give you leave."