Though it may be hard, he must always try, Though he may be hurt, he must never cry.

He must never lose heart nor seem distressed, But pluck up his courage and do his best.

And so struggle on, and on, and on, For that's the way for a soldier's son._"

Now nothing is more certain than that, if you wish to find your way through a fog, you must travel in the direction that you have chosen as fast as you can. Very soon the children found themselves going down rather a steep descent, when Stonecrop again stopped and whinnied, and an answering whinny once more came faintly out of the mist. So they kept on their way down and came to a stream, where d.i.c.k guided his pony across and up the ascent on the other side. But Stonecrop after scrambling up for a little way deliberately came back to the water and followed it downwards, sometimes in the bed of the stream, sometimes on the bank by the side; and d.i.c.k let him go, feeling confident that the pony knew better than he. So they went splashing down for a long way, wondering what would come next, until Stonecrop again stopped and whinnied; and a little further on they came upon another little stream, running into that which they were following, where the pony turned and followed the new water upward. A little further on he gave a kind of whispered grunt of satisfaction, and presently there came the sound not only of neighing but of pattering hoofs, and a pony suddenly came trotting out of the mist towards them. He stopped and whinnied gently, turned round, trotted back for some way, then stood and whinnied again, while the children's ponies hastened their own pace towards him. Then the sound of a shrill whistle came down the water, and the strange pony at once turned and cantered away towards it; but Stonecrop only moved the faster in the same direction, giving a loud scream to call him back. And now a faint light came dancing down by the water, drawing closer and closer to the children till they could see that it was a man carrying a lantern. Nearer and nearer it came, and d.i.c.k cleared his throat and began, "Oh, please--," whereupon the man stopped so short that d.i.c.k stopped too, and Elsie came up close to him and clung to his arm. Then the light disappeared and the man gave a peculiar whistle.

It was answered by the same whistle at a distance, and the children waited with beating hearts till the light appeared again; and at last a woman's voice said very roughly out of the mist,

"Who's there?"

"Oh, please, we have lost our way," said d.i.c.k; "please, please tell us the way home."

A suspicious grunt was the only answer; and d.i.c.k hastened to go on, "Oh, please, we mean no harm, but we've lost our way. It's only Elsie and me."

"Ah!" said the woman's voice, as if in surprise.

"Yes, it's only d.i.c.k and me," said Elsie in her most rea.s.suring voice, but, like d.i.c.k, forgetting her grammar.

And then a curious, cackling laugh sounded out of the mist; the lantern came bounding forward, and before she could realise what had happened, Elsie found her skirt seized and a great rough head scrubbing against it. She gave a cry of terror, but directly afterwards the lantern showed her the face of the idiot, which grinned at her with delight for a moment and then bent again to kiss her skirt. Then another figure came out of the darkness, seized the lantern and held it first to her face and then to d.i.c.k's. They saw that it was the idiot's mother, and d.i.c.k again repeated, though with much secret fear, that they had lost their way.

"Is there no one with 'ee?" asked the woman astonished.

"No," said d.i.c.k sadly. "We're lost."

"Why, my dear tender hearts," said the woman in a voice of great pity, "to think of that. But don't 'ee cry, my dear," for she could hear Elsie sobbing gently, "don't 'ee cry, for 'tis all well now. See now, my house is close by, and you'm safe, both of 'ee. Come long with me, and don't be afeared; I'll take care of 'ee and take 'ee home safe enough. To think of that now--" and so she went on, leading the way for them with the lantern for another quarter of a mile up the water, till she stopped, and saying, "Now, my dears, we'm home," lifted Elsie from her saddle and carried her under a low doorway, and then coming back, called d.i.c.k in also, leaving the ponies in charge of the idiot.

CHAPTER IX

It was but a very little house in which the children found themselves; and it took some time for them to make it out, for there was no light but that of a feeble rushlight in a horn lantern, and the faint glow of a peat fire. But after a while they perceived that it was built of sods of turf and lined with heather, neatly fixed into the turf by wooden pegs such as gardeners use; while the ceiling was also of heather, laid crosswise against ashen poles. The fire-place seemed to be built of round stones, evidently taken from a stream, which were plastered together with clay; and the chimney was carried outside the wall. Across the chimney was fixed an iron bar, from which hung a rude chain that appeared to have been made of old horse-shoes, and at the end of the chain was an iron pot. The only furniture was a low table of turf, which was built in the middle of the floor, and a couple of three-legged stools; and besides the iron pot on the fire, a frying-pan, a jug or two, a couple of wooden bowls and as many platters, there was hardly a vessel or a plate to be seen. The house, though of but one room, had one portion of it shut off by a low screen made of ash-poles and heather; and a similar screen lying against the wall appeared to take the place of a front door, when a front door was needed.

Little Elsie was so tired that she sank down at once on the low table of turf, and d.i.c.k staggered in, very stiff from long riding, and sat down by her side. But the old woman bustled into the room behind the screen and returned with a great armful of heather which she threw on the floor, and lifting the girl gently on to it, laid her down with her back resting against the table, as comfortable as could be. Then she fetched a jug full of milk, and although the milk tasted rather strong and the children were not accustomed to drink out of a jug, they were both too hungry to be particular. She then fetched another armful of heather for d.i.c.k, and bade him make himself comfortable too, when, laying her hand upon his shoulder she said, "Why, bless your life! the boy's so wet as a fisher; and where ever be I to find 'ee dry clothes?

Dear, dear, this is a bad job." And she ran to the door where the idiot was standing with the ponies, and said something which the children could not understand. d.i.c.k jumped to his feet, for the Corporal had impressed upon him that a good dragoon always looks after his horse before he looks after himself; but the old woman stopped him at the door.

"Don't you be put about for the ponies, my dear. My Jan will look to mun and hobble mun, and bring in saddles and bridles, and when they've a rolled they'll pick up a bit of mate and do well enough, I'll warrant mun."

Then she again went behind the screen, brought out a box, and began turning over what seemed to be clothes inside it, shaking her head and talking to herself, until at last she said, "'Eas! this it must be."

And she brought forward a little coat such as d.i.c.k had never seen before. It was of yellow, with a scarlet collar, facings and cuffs, there were two little red wings at the shoulders, and two little red tails at the back; and the b.u.t.tons were of bra.s.s with a number in Roman letters upon it. d.i.c.k was not sure of the number, for he had not yet quite mastered Roman letters, and could never find the Psalms in church except by remembering the day of the month. Then she bade him take off his wet jacket, hung it near the chimney to dry, and helped him into the little coat, which was really not much too big for him. d.i.c.k turned himself round and strutted with delight in a way that set Elsie laughing in spite of her weariness; but the old woman smiled rather sadly, turned back the red cuffs, as the sleeves were rather too long for d.i.c.k, and pinned a shawl over the coat so that it could not be seen. She became cheerful again, however, and said: "But you'm hungry, my little lady. Now what shall I get you to ate?"

"Please may I have some bread and b.u.t.ter?" asked Elsie; but the old woman shook her head. "I have got neither bread nor b.u.t.ter," she said; "but think now--a bit of porridge and a drop of milk, and a bit of honey--how will that do? Jan!" she called out.

The idiot came in grinning at the children, but she shook her finger at him and made a sign, at which he nodded and went out again. Then she blew up the fire and added a few sticks to it, and taking oatmeal out of a sack which lay in one corner, and water from a wooden pitcher, began to make the porridge. Presently Jan came in again with half a dozen little trout, ready for cooking, and bending down at another corner of the fire was soon very busy over them. The porridge was quickly ready, and though the children had never eaten it before, and were not accustomed to pewter spoons and wooden bowls, yet the heather-honey, which was given to them with it, was so delicious that they found it good enough.

By the time that the porridge was all gone, the fish were cooked and served up on the two wooden platters with some salt; but now came a difficulty, for there were nothing but the same two spoons to eat them with, and it is not easy to eat a trout with a spoon, especially if one has been brought up not to use one's fingers. But the old woman soon settled matters by splitting up the fish with a knife and taking out the bones; after which both spoons were soon hard at work and the fish disappeared as rapidly as the porridge; for little trout, freshly caught from a moorland stream, are sweet enough, as all that have eaten them are aware. Finally the old woman laid before the children a huge pan full of stewed whorts; and as there were no plates left, nor as much as a saucer to be produced, they just helped themselves with their spoons out of the pan and ate as much as they wanted, which, after the porridge and trout, was not a very great deal.

Then they looked at the idiot, who had taken the squirrel out of his pocket and was fondling it and purring to it in his own strange way.

He gave it to them also to make friends with, and seeing that they were fond of animals he went to the door and whistled; and presently there came trotting up a little hind of a year old, which walked in at the door as if she had been accustomed to live in a house all her life, and reared up like a begging dog on her hind legs to eat a bunch of mountain-ash berries which he held over her head. Then he gave the berries to the children, and the hind poked her little cool nose into their hands to get at the food, so tame was she; while the old woman told them how the idiot had found the poor little thing as a calf, bleating beside the dead body of her dam, and had brought her home and reared her.

But the children's eyes soon began to blink, and before long they were more than half asleep; so the old woman brought in more heather and made them up two little beds, and laid them down in their clothes.

They had a faint idea, both of them, that some one took off their shoes and loosened their clothes about their necks, but they were too comfortable (for heather makes the best of rude beds) to think very much about it; and when Elsie felt vaguely that something warm was thrown over her and that a voice said "Good-night," she had only just wakefulness enough to whisper back good-night and to put up her cheek to be kissed. d.i.c.k also curled up as though heather was his usual bed; and very soon both were asleep, though at first rather fitfully and restlessly, for they were over-tired. But whenever they woke for a moment they were lulled to sleep by the voice of the woman, who sat on a stool watching them and crooning a song to herself. The children were too sleepy to catch the words, but they were as follows:

"_Oh! whither away that ye fly so fast, Ye black crows croaking loud?

And what have ye sped that ye wheel so wide Above yon grey dust cloud?_

"_We spy two hosts of fighting men, The blue coats and the red.

For mile on mile in rank and file They come with even tread._

"_And brave and bright on bra.s.s and steel The slanting sunbeams fall.

Like giant snakes, with glittering flakes, Their columns wind and crawl._

"_The red march north and the blue march south, And we wheel betwixt the twain; And we hear their song, as they tramp along, Rise joyous from the plain._

"_The red march north and the blue march south, And the daylight wanes apace, 'Till their fires gleam bright through the falling night, And the twain rest face to face._

"_And the morning's thunder shall be of guns, And the morning's mist of smoke, And higher and higher o'er din and fire, We crows shall rise and croak._

"_While the ranks of red and the ranks of blue In mingled swathes are shorn; As the poppies nigh to the cornflowers lie, At the reaping of the corn._

"_Oh! merry to stoop over chasing hounds, As they speed through field and wood, When their bristles rise, and with flaming eyes They yell for blood, for blood._

"_And merry to croak at the hunted fox, When his brush trails draggling down, And his strength is spent, and his back is bent, And his tongue lolls parched and brown._

"_But merriest far to wheel o'er the fight Of the blue coats and the red, 'Till the fire has ceased, and we swoop to the feast Which the strife of men has spread._"

d.i.c.k's last vision before he fell asleep was of her strange figure bent forward and watching, but he was a little startled when he woke in the morning and remembered where he was; for he was not accustomed to sleep in his clothes, still less in such a coat as the yellow one with the red facings, which he found upon his back. Elsie also was much astonished; and the sight of d.i.c.k in so strange a garment half frightened her for a moment. But the old woman was so kind and gentle that they were rea.s.sured, particularly when she told them that in a very few hours she hoped they would be at home. There was indeed some difficulty about washing, for there was no such thing as jug or basin in the house; and, as to tubs, you would not have found them in those days in any country-house in England. The woman told d.i.c.k that all her own washing was done in the stream, so d.i.c.k went out to wash his face in it; but the mist still hung thick over the moor, the air was sharp and cold and the water colder still; so that both he and Elsie were satisfied with very little washing. When they went back, they found that the old woman had set the two stools close to the fire for them and was making the porridge; so they breakfasted off porridge and trout, as they had supped on them the day before; and then the old woman gave d.i.c.k his own jacket and asked him to take off the yellow one. d.i.c.k was a little reluctant to part with it, and asked what it was and where it came from; but she only answered that it was a long story. He followed it with his eyes to see the last of it as she folded it up and put it away, and she smiled rather sadly as she saw him. "I can't a let you have it yet, my dear," she said, guessing his thoughts, "and maybe when I can spare it for 'ee you won't care for to take it. But if ever it goes from me it shall go to you, that I promise 'ee, if so be as I can get it to 'ee."

Then they ran out to see the idiot saddle the ponies, with which he was already as friendly as if he had known them all his life. All animals seemed to take to him, for he had pets without end. The two nanny-goats and the little hind followed him like dogs; the squirrel was always in his pocket or on his shoulder; and a jackdaw and a magpie, both of them pinioned, fluttered after him wherever he went, chattering and scolding as though the place belonged to them. Then the children mounted their ponies and off they started, the idiot leading the way on his own ragged pony, which he rode barebacked and with a halter only for bridle; d.i.c.k came next, and then Elsie with the old woman walking by her side. The mist was as thick as ever, but this seemed to make no difference to the idiot, as he guided them up the stream for a little distance and on over the rough yellow gra.s.s. The ground was very deep and much cut by tiny clefts that carried the water away from the bog, but the idiot went on straight and unconcerned as though he were on a high road, though often his pony floundered hock-deep. So on they went for a full hour with the mist whirling about them, the children being kept warm in spite of the bitter cold air, by their excitement, and by the constant scrambling of the ponies.

At last they reached firmer soil, but after travelling over it for a little way the idiot stopped and held up his hand; and the children listening with all their ears thought they made out the faint sound of a horn. At a sign from his mother the idiot turned, and presently the children found themselves going down hill and realised that the mist was not so thick about them. A little further on they reached the edge of a wood, where the idiot led his pony into a hollow and hobbled it, and guided them into the trees on foot.

It was not pleasant riding now, for the ground was very steep, and the trees very thick and low; and when after long scrambling down they came to a stream at the bottom of the hill, the children found no better path than a very rough track by the water, full of great boulders, over which the ponies stumbled continually. Presently they crossed the water, and then for the first time the children perceived that the woman was no longer with them, though where she had left them they could not tell. Still the idiot guided them on through the woods, uphill and down and across more than one stream, till at last he led them into a gra.s.s path, where after walking for some time he suddenly stopped and listened. Then pointing down it, he grinned and touched up Stonecrop to make him trot, and after running for some time alongside them, dropped behind. d.i.c.k began to think that the path was familiar to him, and the ponies began to pull, as though they knew it also. In another five minutes they came down into the road by which they had driven up on the previous morning, and there stood the Corporal and another servant, both of them mounted, not a hundred yards away.

d.i.c.k shouted joyfully, and the Corporal galloping hastily up, dismounted and ran to them. He was white, haggard and unshorn, and for a time only patted their ponies apparently unable to speak. Then he looked up the valley at the hills, and seeing that they were clear of mist told the other servant to get up to the top of the hill and make the signal, and to look sharp about it; upon which the servant turned his horse up the path and galloped away like one possessed. Then the Corporal turned to the children and asked them who had brought them back; and when they told him they noticed for the first time that the idiot was not with them. They called and shouted for him several times, but he never came; and then they rode back with the Corporal, telling their adventures as they went.

But far behind them on one of the highest points of the moor stood Colonel George and their mother. She was now deadly white, with great black rings round her eyes, for she was worn out with watching and anxiety; but she would not give in. She had dismounted and was sitting on the heather, while Colonel George with his field-gla.s.s laid across his horse's saddle conned the moor anxiously in every direction. The mist was only just gone, and he seemed to have much to look at, for a long line of hors.e.m.e.n was sweeping before him over the moor, searching for the children. At last he set down the gla.s.s and rubbed his eyes, for he had been in the saddle for nearly twenty-four hours, and taking a flask from his pocket poured out a little for Lady Eleanor. She shook her head as he brought it, but he only said "You must;" and then she drank a mouthful or two. He was just about to drink himself when he hastily slipped the flask into his pocket, and taking out the field-gla.s.s looked long and earnestly through it. Then he tied a large white handkerchief to his whip, waved it three times over his head and looked again through the gla.s.s, after which he kept on waving for some time. Then after a last look he put away the gla.s.s, and walked slowly, leading both horses, to the place where he had left Lady Eleanor. She was lying back with her face covered with her hands.

"Come," he said gently. "The Corporal has found them and they are safe and well. I made them repeat the signal twice, so that I am quite sure, and I have signalled to the search-parties to go home. Let me put you on your horse."

See looked up like one dazed; but there was Colonel George holding out his hand to her, so she took it and rose to her feet; and then she seized the hand between both of hers and wrung it hard without a word.

He lifted her into the saddle, and no sooner was he mounted than she started to gallop down the hill at a pace which made it hard for Colonel George to keep up with her. Away she flew, and he felt thankful that she was a fine horsewoman and mounted on his horse instead of her own, which was not nearly so clever over rough ground; though he could not help reflecting that he could never have found it in his conscience to hustle a horse of hers as she hustled his. There were two or three valleys to cross, which gave the animals a little respite, but not much, for Lady Eleanor went equally fast, uphill, downhill and on the level. So that when they arrived at the Hall Colonel George, after seeing Lady Eleanor run in to the children, only looked at his horse's heaving flanks, shook his head, and led him off to the stable to look after him himself. There he heard the whole story from the Corporal, and leaving a message for Lady Eleanor that he would call next day, rode back very quietly to Fitzdenys Court.

CHAPTER X

It need hardly be said that when her first joy over the recovery of the children was over, Lady Eleanor's instant thought was for the strange woman and her idiot son, who had befriended them and saved them for her. She longed to thank and to reward them, but she could not think how to find them; and moreover it was plain that, for some reason which she could not divine, the woman wished to keep out of her way. It was difficult for her to believe that there could be any harm in the woman, after the care that she had taken of the children; but on the other hand there was Tommy Fry, still speechless. She was thankful when Colonel George came over next day, that she might discuss matters with him.

But he was as much at a loss as she was. He had examined all the people who had gone out to search for the children, but not one of them had seen a sign of any dwelling where the strange woman could live. He was, however, struck by d.i.c.k's account of the little coat that he had worn; for it seemed, he said, to be a drummer's coat, and he could not imagine how such people should possess such a garment. As he spoke, the bullfinch broke into the first bars of "The British Grenadiers;"