One day Harold came running home, quite out of breath; and reported that his brother Archibald, having mounted the poney in the home-mead, it had run away with him, and at last thrown him; and that he was lying in the field unable to move. His Father, accompanied by one of the servants, immediately went to the spot; they found poor Archibald, perhaps rather more frightened than hurt; though he had sprained his ankle so as to prevent his walking: fortunately, he had fallen in a soft dirty place: this had saved him from receiving more serious injury: but he was completely covered with mud. The servant carried him home; his wet clothes were taken off; his sprained ankle was properly attended to; and he was put to bed.
The next morning his Father reproved him for his folly in mounting the poney; and also for his disobedience, as he had been strictly forbidden to go into the home-mead, where the horses were at grass.
Archibald’s punishment, on this occasion, seemed sufficient: for, besides the pain he suffered, he was obliged to lie on the sofa several days; which he very much disliked; as he was an active boy, and happy only when he was running about the fields. Archibald’s thoughtlessness had frequently nearly cost him broken bones, or even his life: several times he had fallen from trees: once he went to slide upon a pond after a slight frost; the ice broke under him, he fell in; and, if a man had not happened to see him at the moment, he would most likely have been drowned.
But what was worse, Archibald was too fond of playing foolish and mischievous tricks, by which other people were injured, or put in danger. And, if we must tell the whole truth, he had gained a bad name in the neighbourhood, as a troublesome and ill-disposed boy; though, in fact, he was more idle than ill-tempered.
When the poor women in the village saw him coming along, they were used to call quickly to the little children that were playing in the road,—“Betsey, Betsey; Willy, Willy; Jem; come in, come in: here’s Master Archibald a coming.”
The widow Webb would often totter across the road, as fast as if she had been running out of a heavy shower of rain, in order to take her favourite cat out of Master Archibald’s way. Even the donkies had learned to flinch and prick their ears while he passed by them. Some people thought Archibald a much more spirited boy than his brother Harold: but I am of opinion that Harold was really the most courageous.
One morning, Harold and Archibald, in returning from a walk, passed through a meadow in which cattle were grazing: there was a bull among them. Archibald pulled off his hat, and waved it at the bull; at the same time making a bellowing noise. The animal looked up and breathed heavily. Archibald then repeated his threatening gestures. The bull then began to strike the ground with his fore foot; and he advanced several steps towards the two boys.
Seeing this, Archibald instantly ran towards the gate as fast as he could. Harold continued to walk along steadily, because he had heard that bulls often pursue persons who run away from them; but seldom attack those who do not appear to be frightened.
When they had got out of the meadow into the adjoining lane, Harold would have proceeded home; but Archibald, who had recovered from his fright, said he was determined to have a little fun with the old churl. So he filled his pockets with pebbles, and clambered into a tree in the hedge, where he knew that he should be perfectly safe, and then began hallooing and throwing stones at the bull. Harold tried to dissuade him from his sport; but Archibald never heeded what he called his brother’s preaching; he only replied by saying, “Ah now, if the bull begins to roar, you’ll be frightened out of your wits, I know.”
For some time the unoffending animal continued to graze; only now and then looking round, and moving a few steps further from the tree in which Archibald was seated. But at length, after the stones had hit him two or three times rather smartly, he began to toss his head, bellow, and scrape the ground with his foot; throwing up the earth several yards behind him. By this time, however, Archibald had spent all the pebbles which he had collected; and perceiving that Harold, who had been gathering flowers from the hedge, was now proceeding homeward, he descended from the tree, and ran after his brother.
The two boys had proceeded a very little way, when they heard loud screams in the meadow which they had just left.
“There now, Archibald!” said Harold; “I guess what is the matter; you have made the bull so angry, that he is running at somebody.”
He immediately ran back towards the gate: Archibald stood still a moment; and then walked, not very quickly, after his brother.
When Harold came to the gate, he saw a little girl running towards it, and the bull trotting after her at an ambling pace: he jumped over the gate, and snatching up a bush of furze that had been cut from the hedge, ran towards the bull; as soon as the creature saw him, and perceived that he did not appear at all frightened, he stood still, and bellowed. Harold had come up with the little girl,—it was Betsey Webb,—widow Webb’s grand-daughter.
“Run along to the gate, Betsey;” said he. As soon as he saw that the little girl was safely over the gate, he retreated some steps; still holding up the furze bush, and looking hard at the bull, which stopped when Harold stopped; and advanced as he retreated; in this way he got to the gate; and jumping over, was not sorry to find himself safely out of the meadow.
Betsey Webb was crying from the fright she had suffered; and partly, perhaps, with the feeling of gratitude to her courageous defender. As soon as she was a little more composed, Harold asked her how it had happened that the bull had run at her.
“I don’t know, Master Harold,” said she, “because I go through the meadow almost every day; and it never did me no harm before; and Farmer Holt tells grandmother that it is always a gentle beast: else he would not let it be there. But I think some of the bad boys must have been teasing of it, and making it angry: and now I shall be afraid to go through the mead any more; I must go all round by the road.”
“You must tell Farmer Holt,” replied Harold; “that the bull run at you; and perhaps he will put it into another field.”
Here Betsey courtesied, saying, “Thank ye, Master Harold, I’m sure; thank’ee:” and then turned across the common, towards her grandmother’s cottage.
Archibald had been loitering a little way behind; and whistled, as though he felt quite unconcerned. But when Betsey Webb was gone, he begged his brother not to tell at home, what had happened. “Tell,” said Harold, “no to be sure, I don’t know what there is particular to tell.”
Archibald was not really a malicious boy; but his love of mischief often occasioned quarrels between him and the boys of the village: more than once he received a very severe beating from some who would not take his pranks in good part. On such occasions he had to suffer twice; because, whenever his father discovered that he had been fighting, he punished him severely.
One morning, not long after the occurrence that has just been mentioned, Harold and his Father were walking in the garden, on a raised path which overlooked the surrounding country: they had been conversing some time, when the Father, pointing towards the common which adjoined the garden, said, “What is the matter there, Harold? there is a great number of boys together; and they are moving about from side to side, as though some of them were fighting.”
Harold. I think they are, Papa; and hark, don’t you hear them quarrelling?
Father. Yes, I think I do.—Where is your brother?
Harold. He went out upon the common, about an hour ago.
Father. Perhaps then it is he who is fighting. Go and see. If Archibald is there, bring him away: tell him I have sent you to fetch him home: and if he is fighting, let the boy he has been fighting with come also. If you are not able to put an end to the fray, wave your hat; and I will come; I shall stand here and watch. I do not mean that you should call me, only to prevent your receiving a few blows; remember,—a man must have courage as well as good temper, to be a peace maker. Do not run; that would put you out of breath, and you would not be able to behave properly.
Harold walked steadily across the common: before he came up to the boys, he heard one, who was on the outside of the circle, call out, “Dick, Dick; here’s his brother coming.” This seemed to put a stop to the fight for a moment. As he approached he distinguished his brother’s voice, in a half crying tone, repeating some expressions of contempt and defiance, and adding—“and I’ll say so again,—so I will.”
Harold made his way through the crowd without violence or blustering: he found Archibald standing in a cringing posture, with his back against the stump of a tree; and holding his left arm over his forehead: his face and shirt were bloody. Harold placed himself close before his brother, without clenching his fists. At the same instant, a boy who was standing on one side, aimed a blow at Archibald, saying, “and that’s for ye, Master Archey.” Harold caught the blow on his arm; and, darting towards him, thrust him away: he struck his head pretty smartly against the tree; and then sneaked away to the outside of the circle.
“Jem Mason,” said Harold, speaking to one of the biggest boys,—“tell me what’s the matter; and let us have no more fighting. Here are all of you against one: that’s not fair: you shall not use my brother so, I assure you.”
“No, Master Harold,” said James Mason; “It’s only Dick Hobb has been fighting with him: but you know, your brother should let we alone; and then we would let he alone: we di’nt meddle with he.”
“How was it then, Jem?” said Harold. Half a dozen of the boys began vociferating at once; and all charging Archibald with being the author of the quarrel.
“Let us hear what Jem Mason says,” cried Harold.
“Why, Master Harold,” said James, “ye see, we was all playing at nine pins, out yonder, by the three elms; and so up comes your brother, and begins laughing at us, and calling us a parcel of blockheads, and sitch: and at last Dick Hobb here, says to him, we be’nt no more blockheads than you, Master Archey: and then he comes in a fury and kicks down all the pins, what we had just set up; and as quick as we sets ’em up again, he kicks ’em down again: and then, Dick gives him a sort of a hit, I fancy, ’o th’ head; and then he flies, ye see, in a passion, and calls us names; and begins hitting about: and so it comes to a fight with he and Dick; and he gets one or two bloody noses: and that’s all, Master Harold.”
“Archibald,” said Harold, turning round towards his brother, “Papa sent me to bid you go home directly: he is waiting to speak to you in the garden.”
Archibald knew very well that he dare not disobey this summons: and though he had great reason to dread his Father’s displeasure, yet perhaps, if the whole truth were known, he was not sorry to be thus dismissed, without more fighting; as it is probable that, if his brother had not come up, he would have been still more severely beaten.
When Archibald had got to some distance, Harold said, “Have any of you any thing to say to me?” There were some murmurs; but James Mason replied, “Master Harold, you know we don’t want to have any words with you; because you are always good-tempered and never meddles with us.”
“I am very sorry,” said Harold, “that my brother has spoiled your play: but it is a wicked thing to fight.—Richard Hobb, come with me.”
Richard Hobb was not at all willing to accompany Harold; but after a little consideration he seemed to think it best to comply: he and Harold, therefore, followed Archibald to the garden gate: and the other boys dispersed.
When Harold and Richard Hobb came into the garden, they found Archibald standing by his Father, on the gravel walk: he hung down his head,—pouted,—drew long sobs; and kept twisting the buttons of his coat. Richard Hobb appeared more frightened than ashamed.
“Harold,” said his Father, “have you been able to learn how this quarrel began?”
Harold then related what James Mason had told him. His Father, turning to Archibald, asked if this account was true. “Yes,” said Archibald, between two sobs. “Then, Archibald, tell Richard Hobb that you acknowledge that you have acted very wrong.”
Archibald, without raising his head, or turning towards Richard, repeated the words his Father dictated;—
“Richard Hobb, I acknowledge that I have acted very wrong.”
“Now, Richard Hobb,” added the Father, “if I hear again that you fight with my son, I shall complain of you to your parents; and insist upon their punishing you. You may go.”
The boy seemed greatly relieved to be let off so easily. He shuffled away down the long gravel-walk, as though he had not the use of his legs: but the instant he passed the garden gate he ran off at full speed, till he was out of sight.
Archibald was punished by being kept a close prisoner to the house for three days, during which time his usual tasks were doubled.
There was an old church about two miles from the village, which stood in the fields, apart from any houses: the only cottage near it was inhabited by an old woman, who kept the keys and swept the church. The tower was more ornamented than is usual for country churches; and the lower part of it was beautifully covered with ivy. The church-yard was surrounded with lime trees, which made it very shady and pleasant in hot weather.
One fine afternoon, in the month of August, Harold and his brother walked to this church, as they often did: there were several children in the church-yard: one little boy, whose shoes were very dusty, and who seemed tired with a long walk, was sitting under the shade to rest himself: he had laid a small parcel on the grass, beside him; while he looked at the others, who were playing at marbles, on a flat tombstone.
The church was open, because it was Saturday afternoon; and the old woman was sweeping the church. Harold went in to look at the monuments, and read the inscriptions; there was a painted window also, which he thought very pretty; he asked the old woman some questions, but she only said, “hey, master;” and when he repeated it louder, she shook her head; for she could not hear a word: she went hobbling along the aisle, blowing out her hollow cheeks, and dusting the tops of the pews.
When Harold came out of the church, he looked about for his brother; but could not see him any where: at length he asked the children if they had seen him leave the church-yard: a little girl replied that she thought she had seen him go up the belfry stairs. At the same moment, a piece of mortar fell close to Harold’s feet, and broke to powder on the bricks with which the path was paved: looking up, he perceived his brother’s head at a narrow window, near the top of the tower: he bawled out, “Harold, Harold! you don’t look bigger than a mouse: here now, will you hold your hat for another bit of mortar.” Harold called to him that he had better come down, lest he should be locked in. At this hint, Archibald drew in his head instantly, and came clattering down the steps in great haste.
The two boys then left the church, and went into an adjoining wood, where they staid some time, to watch the white rabbits skipping in and out among the trees. It was nearly seven o’clock when they left the wood, and proceeded homewards. When they had nearly reached their Papa’s house, they overtook the little boy whom they had seen in the church-yard: he was crying piteously. Harold asked him what was the matter: he answered, that he had lost a parcel that he had brought from the town, and which he was carrying to his master’s—Farmer Rand. He had hardly finished saying this, when Archibald exclaimed, “Oh dear me! Oh dear me! I did not mean to leave it there: I quite forgot it. I only meant to carry it up, just for a joke.”
“What do you mean, Archibald?” inquired his brother. Archibald confessed, that, seeing the parcel lying on the grass in the church-yard, he had carried it up into the belfry; only just, as he said, to frighten the little boy, and make him think he had lost it; but intending to bring it down, or, at least, tell him where it was: but when his brother called him to come down lest he should be locked in, he was in such a hurry, that he quite forgot the parcel.
“What is to be done?” said Harold. “Do you know, little boy, what was in the parcel? Do you think your master can wait for it till to-morrow?”
“Oh, no;” said the little boy, “if I go home without it, I know he’ll beat me; I know he’ll beat me: besides, it is doctor’s stuff: my mistress is very ill; and I have been to the doctor’s for it: and she was to take it this evening.”
As soon as he had ended speaking, the little boy began to cry again, saying, over and over again, that he had rather stay out all night, than go home without the parcel.
“Well, Archibald,” said Harold, “I’ll tell you what we must do: one of us must go back to the church, and find the parcel; and the other must go, first to Farmer Rand’s, and say it is all our fault; and beg him not to be angry with the little boy; and that he shall have the parcel presently; and then go home, and tell Papa and Mamma what has happened; because they will be quite frightened that we do not come home in proper time.”
Archibald did not like this proposal at all; and he began to say that he thought it did not much signify to fetch the parcel; and that he dared say they could do well enough without the physic; and so forth: but his brother insisted upon his choosing whether he would go back for the parcel, or to the farmer’s. Archibald proposed that the little boy should go back to the church; and that they should both go together to the farmer’s. But Harold said, that if the old woman had locked up the church, most likely she would not be willing to unlock it, merely at the request of the little boy; especially as she was so deaf that he could not make her understand what was the matter.
“Then we’ll all go back together,” said Archibald.
“No, Archibald,” replied his brother, “we shall not be home again till it is quite dark, and you know how very uneasy Mamma will be.”
To return alone to the church, and ascend the dark narrow stairs, and then grope about for the parcel in the dismal belfry, was what Archibald knew he had not courage for; especially as it would be dusk-light by the time he could get there. He therefore chose to call at Farmer Rand’s, to make an apology for the little boy, and then to return home to acquaint his Papa and Mamma with what had occurred. He secretly resolved, however, to loiter about in the fields till his brother should return with the parcel: as he had not courage enough to go and confess his fault, either to Farmer Rand or to his Papa; he therefore walked on till his brother was out of sight, and then sat on a gate, telling the little boy to wait a bit.
Though Harold was rather tired with his afternoon’s ramble, he retraced his steps towards the church at a brisk pace: indeed, as the sun was just set, the evening was cool and pleasant. When he arrived at the church, he found the door into the tower still open; and observing the old woman’s pail and mop still standing at the vestry door, he concluded that she would not leave the church before he should have found the parcel; and he did not go in to speak to her, because he knew he could not make her understand what his business was; and he thought, perhaps, she might not permit him to go into the belfry.
It was now quite dark within the narrow winding staircase that led to the belfry; and when he reached the chamber, there was too little light to find the parcel, except by feeling about for it: he therefore crawled about on his hands and knees; going from side to side of the chamber: he examined the whole floor in this way, but no parcel was to be found; he had unfortunately forgotten to ask his brother exactly where he had left it.
In one corner of the chamber there were some old hassocks and matting; and among these, at last, he found a parcel, which he had no doubt was the one he was in search of; and smelling it, he was satisfied that it was medicine: this gave him more pleasure than little boys or girls usually feel at the smell of medicine.
As Harold was feeling his way to the staircase, he heard the old woman coughing below, and just as he set his foot upon the first step to descend, he heard her bang-to the door at the bottom of the staircase; and presently afterwards, the door of the tower also. Harold, at first called out with all his might: but he recollected that this could be of no service; as she was quite deaf: he hurried down to the foot of the staircase, but found the door fast locked: he then went up again into the belfry; and looked out of the open window, through which, as was mentioned before, he had seen his brother put his head: from this window he saw the old woman sitting on the horsing-block at the church-yard gate, resting herself, and he could hear her cough. Though he had no hope of making her hear, he continued to call to her as loud as possible; but there she sat, till her fit of coughing was over; and then she rose, locked the church-yard gate; and slowly walked away.
It must be confessed that Harold did not at all like his present situation; and when he thought of having to spend the whole night in this lonely belfry, he was very near bursting into tears. Indeed, we are not quite sure that he did not cry a little.
He soon, however, recollected that his brother had probably by this time reached home, and told his Papa what had occurred: he felt little doubt, therefore, that his Papa would send a servant, or come himself to release him: and so he was comforted with the hope of being set at liberty in a short time: he resolved to continue watching at the Belfry window, that he might call to any one who might happen to pass by the church-yard. The moon was now risen, and shone bright upon the white tomb-stones.
“Though it is very uncomfortable and very dismal,” said Harold to himself, “to be shut up here all alone; I need not be frightened; because there is nothing really to hurt me; and besides, God is here, as well as at home.”
He was a little startled when the clock struck directly over his head: the noise made his ears tingle; and when it had struck nine strokes, the sound continued to ring in the tower for a long while.
Harold began now to feel sleepy: he rested his head on his hands, as he leaned on the window-sill, and almost forgot where he was, when he was roused suddenly, by hearing a rustling noise in one corner of the belfry: presently afterwards he perceived something white moving round and round over his head, and gradually coming lower; at length it darted close by him out of the window at which he stood: on looking out after it, he saw that it was a white owl: it continued to hover about the tower for some time, and then flew off in a straight line towards a neighbouring wood.
But we must now leave Harold in the belfry; and say what Archibald has been doing all this time.
He sat on the gate till it began to grow dark, hoping every moment that he should see his brother return.
The little boy, who stood leaning against the gate-post, cried and sobbed at intervals; and looked towards his master’s house, which was within sight, at the distance of about a mile.
Archibald was always afraid of being in the dark; and he now began to consider whether he should not return home at once: he wondered why his brother did not return: sometimes he imagined that, perhaps, he had gone round some other way; and that by this time he had told the whole story at home: again he feared that some harm had befallen Harold: this thought made him feel very unhappy, especially when he remembered that his own misconduct had been the occasion of it; and that he ought, himself, to have gone back for the parcel: at last he resolved to go directly home, and give his Papa a full account of what had happened: he had scarcely made this resolution, when he perceived two or three persons coming across the field very quickly, carrying a lantern: he soon heard his Father’s voice: he ran up to him, crying out, “Papa, Papa, I am a naughty boy; indeed I am.”
“Is it you, my boy,” said his Father, who seemed very glad to find him; “but where have you been; and where is your brother?”
Archibald then related all that had happened; and told where his brother was gone.
His father immediately sent one of the servants home with him; charging him to tell his Mamma the whole story, and to say, that his Papa did not doubt he should soon find his brother; as he conjectured at once what had actually happened: he then dispatched the other servant to the cottage of the old woman to procure the keys; and proceeded himself to the church.
Poor Harold by this time had began to despair of being released from his confinement before the morning: he was now exhausted with fatigue and hunger; and he was very sleepy: he had just been roused again by the din of the clock striking ten, when he heard the joyful sound of his Father’s voice from the church-yard below, calling, “Harold, Harold!” He instantly replied, “Yes, Papa; yes, yes; here am I in the belfry.”
“A little more patience then, my dear boy, and we will let you out: the servant is gone to fetch the keys.”
Harold, reaching as far as he could out of the window, continued to converse with his Papa.
It was more than half an hour before the servant, who had been sent for the keys, returned.
The old woman had been in bed some time; and all the noise the servant could make at the door was to no purpose: at last the light from the lantern, which he held at the hole of the window shutter, awoke her, and she screamed out in great terror, supposing it was a thief,—“Murder! murder! marcy! marcy! don’t murder me. I ha’rnt got but eighteen pence in the house: if you won’t murder me, I’ll let you in; and you shall have it all.” In a few minutes, she unbarred the door. The servant held up the lantern to his face, that she might know him at once; she looked at him a moment, and exclaimed, “Marcy on’s,—the Squire’s sarvant: why what now!”
The servant, knowing that he could not make her understand his errand, looked about in search of the keys; which he presently found hanging behind the door; taking them away, therefore, he hurried off, leaving the poor woman in amazement at what might be the meaning of this strange visit.
At length the keys arrived: the doors were presently unlocked; and Harold, grasping his Papa’s hand, was very happy to find himself on his way home.
A servant was sent early the next morning with the little boy and the parcel to Farmer Rand’s, to explain the reason of his detention, and to make an apology for what had happened.
When Archibald appeared in the breakfast room, he was too much ashamed of his own conduct to raise his head, or look at any one.
“Archibald,” said his Papa to him, “I have often told you that the love of mischief and true courage are seldom found together: Do you feel, now, that this is true?”
“Yes, Papa, indeed I do.”