Halt!
"Halt! Who goes there?" cried a man's voice through the thick gloom ofthe dark night.
There was no answer save silence; and, after listening for a moment,Private Flinders turned, and began to tramp once more along the tenpaces which extended from his sentry-box. "I could have sworn I heard afootstep," he said to himself. "It's curious how one's ears deceive oneon a night like this."
Ten paces one way, ten paces the other; turn, and back again, and beginyour ten paces over again. Yes, it is monotonous, there is no doubt ofthat; but it is the bounden duty of a sentry, unless he happens toprefer standing still in his box, getting stiff and chill, and perhapsrunning the risk of being caught asleep at his post--no light offence ina barrack, I can tell you. Ten paces one way, ten paces the other--arustling, a mere movement, such as would scarcely have attracted theattention of most people, but which caught Private Flinders' sharp ears,and brought him up to a standstill again in an attitude of strictwatchfulness.
"Halt! Who goes there?" he cried again, and listened once more. Againsilence met him, and again he stood, alert and suspicious, waiting forthe reply, "Friend."
"By Gum, this is queer," he thought, as he stood listening. "I'llsearch to the bottom of it though. I daresay it's only some of the chapsgetting at me; but I'll be even with 'em, if it is."
He groped about in rather an aimless sort of way, for the night wasblack as pitch; and his eyes, though they had grown used to the inkywant of light, could distinguish nothing of his surroundings.
"Now, where are you, you beggar?" he remarked, beginning to lose hishabitual serenity, and laying about him with his carbine. After astroke or two the weapon touched something, though not heavily, and ahowl followed--a howl which was unmistakably that of a small child. Itconveyed both fear and bodily pain. Private Flinders followed up thehowl by feeling cautiously in the part whence the sounds had come. Hishand closed upon something soft and shrinking, and the howls wereredoubled.
"Hollo! what the deuce are you?" he exclaimed, drawing the shriekingcaptive nearer to him. "Why, I'm blessed if it ain't a kid--and a girl,too. Well, I'm blowed! And where did you happen to come from?"
The howl by this time had developed into a faint sniffing, for PrivateFlinders' voice was neither harsh nor forbidding. But the creature didnot venture on speech.
"Where did you come from, and what are you doing here?" he asked. "Doyou belong to the barricks, and has your mammy been wollopping of you?Or did you stray in from outside?"
"Lost my mammy," the small creature burst out, finding that she wasexpected to say something.
"What's your mammy's name?" Flinders asked.
"Mammy, of course," was the reply.
"And what's your name?"
"Susy."
"Susy. Aye, but Susy what?"
"Susy," repeated the little person, beginning to whimper again.
"Where do you live?"
"At home," said Susy, in an insulted tone, as if all these questionswere quite superfluous.
"Well! blest if _I_ know what to do with you," said Flinders, pushinghis busby on one side, and scratching his head vigorously. "I don'tbelieve you belong to the barricks--your speech haven't got the twang ofit. And if you've strayed in from outside, Gord knows what 'll becomeof you. Certain it is that you won't be let to stop here."
"Susy so cold," whimpered the mite pitifully.
"I should think you was cold," returned Private Flinderssympathetically. "I'm none too warm myself; and the fog seems to faireat into one's bones. Well, little 'un, I can't carry you back to whereyou came from, that's very certain. I can't even take you round to theguard-room. Now, what the deuce am I to do with you? And I shan't berelieved for over a hour."
Private Flinders being one of the most good-natured men in creation, itended by his gathering the child in his arms, and carrying her up anddown on his beat until the relief came.
"Why, what's the meaning of this?" demanded the corporal of the guard,when he perceived the unusual encumbrance to the private's movements.
"Ah! Corporal, that's more than I can tell you," responded the otherpromptly. "This here kid toddled along over a hour ago; and as shedon't seem to know what her name is, or where she come from, I justwalked about with her, that she mightn't be froze to death. I supposewe'd best carry her to the guard-room fire, and keep her warm tillmorning."
"And then?" asked the corporal, with a twinkle in his eye, which thedark night effectually hid.
"Gord knows," was the private's quick reply.
Eventually, the mite who rejoiced in the name of Susy, and did not knowwhence she had come or whither she was going, was carried off to theguard-room and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit--thatbeing the only course, indeed, at that hour of the night, or, to bequite correct, of the morning--which could with reason be followed.
She slept, as healthy children do, like a top or dog, and when she awokein the morning she expressed no fear or very much surprise, and, havingenquired in a casual kind of way for her mammy, she partook of a verygood breakfast of bread and milk, followed by a drink of coffee and ataste or two of such other provisions as were going round. Later onPrivate Flinders was sent for to the orderly-room, and told to give thecommanding officer such information as he was in possession ofconcerning the stray mite, who was still in the warm guard-room.
Now it happened that the commanding officer of the 9th Hussars was agentleman to whom routine was a religion and discipline a salvation, andhe expressed himself sharply enough as to the only course which couldpossibly be pursued under the present circumstances.
"We had better send down to the workhouse people to come and remove thechild at once. Otherwise, we may have endless trouble with the mother;and, moreover, if it once got about that these barracks were open tothat kind of thing, the regiment would soon be turned into a regularfoundling hospital. Let the workhouse people be sent for at once. Whatdid you say, Mr. Jervis? That the child might be quartered for a fewhours among the married people. Yes, I daresay, but if the mother is onthe look-out, which is very doubtful, she is more likely to go to thepolice-station than she is to come here. As to any stigma, the mothershould have borne that in mind when she lost the child. On secondthoughts, I think it is to the police-station that we should send; yes,that will be quite the best thing to do."
A few hours later the child Susy was transferred from the guard-room tothe police-station, and there she made herself equally at home, onlyasking occasionally, in a perfunctory kind of way, for "Mammy," andbeing quite easily satisfied when she was told that she would be comingalong by-and-by.
During the few hours that she was at the police-station she became quitea favourite, and made friends with all the stalwart constables, just asshe had done with one and all of the strapping Hussars at the cavalrybarracks. She was not shy, for she answered the magistrate in quite afriendly way, though she gave no information as to her belongings,simply because she had no information to give. And the end was that shewas condemned to the workhouse, and was carried off to that undesirablehaven as soon as the interview with the magistrate was over.
"A blooming shame, I call it, poor little kid," said Private Flindersthat evening to a group of his friends, in the comfortable safety of thetroop-room. "She was a jolly little lass; and if I'd been a marriedman, I'd have kept her myself, dashed if I wouldn't!"
"Perhaps your missis might 'ave 'ad a word or two to say to that,Flinders," cried a natty fellow, just up to the standard in height, andno more.
"Oh, I'd have made it all right with her," returned Flinders, with thateasy assurance of everything good that want of experience gives. "Butto send it to the workhouse--it's a blooming shame! They treat kidsanyhow in them places. Now then, Thomson, what are you a-grinning at?Perhaps you know as much about workhouses as I can tell you."
"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't," replied Thomson, with provokinggood temper. "I wasn't a-laughing at the workhouse; cussing them i
smore like what one feels. But to think of you, old chap, tramping upand down with the blessed kid asleep--well, it beats everything I everheard tell of, blame me if it don't."
Private Flinders, however, was not to be laughed out of his interest inthe little child Susy; and regularly every week he walked down to theworkhouse, and asked to see her taking always a few sweeties, bought outof his scanty pay, the cost of which meant his going without some smallluxury for himself. And Susy, who was miserably unhappy in that abodeof sorrow which we provide in this country for the destitute, grew tolook eagerly for his visits, and sobbed out all her little troubles andtrials to his sympathetic ears.
"Susy don't like her," she confided to him one day when the matron hadleft them alone together. "She slaps me. Susy don't love her."
"But Susy will learn to be a good girl, and not get slapped," thesoldier said, with something suspiciously like a lump in his throat."See, I've brought you some lollipops--you'll like them, won't you?"
He happened to run up against the matron as he walked away toward thedoor. "She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked, with a vaguekind of notion that even workhouse matrons have hearts sometimes. Andso some of them have, though not many. This particular one was amongthe many.
"She's a tender little thing, missis," he remarked.]
"A very self-willed child," she remarked sharply, "considering thatshe's so young. We have a great deal of trouble with her. She does notseem to know the meaning of the word obedience."
"She is but a baby," ventured the soldier apologetically.
"Baby, or no baby, she'll have to learn it here," snapped the matronviciously; and then Flinders went on his way, feeling sadder than ever,and yet more and more regretful that he was not married, or had at leasta mother in a position to adopt a little child.
The next time he went they had cut the child's lovely long, curlinglocks, indeed, she had been shorn like a sheep in spring-time.Flinders' soft heart gave a great throb, and he cuddled the mite to hisbroad breast, as if by so doing he could undo the indignity that hadbeen put upon her.
"Susy," he said, when he had handed over his sweets and she was busilymunching them up, "I want you to try and remember something."
Susy looked at him doubtfully, but nodded her cropped head with an airof wise acquiescence. Flinders went on talking quietly.
"You remember before you came here--you had a home and a mammy, don'tyou?"
"Yes," said Susy promptly.
"What sort of a house was it?"
"Where my mammy was?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Big," replied Susy briefly, selecting another sweetie with care.
"And what was it called?"
"The house," said the child, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Flinders gave a sigh. "Yes, I dare say it was. Don't you remember,though, what your mammy was called?"
"Why mammy, of course," said Susy, as if the question was too utterlyfoolish for serious consideration.
"Yes, but other people didn't call her mammy--it was only you did that,"said Flinders desperately. "What did other people call her? Can't youremember that?"
It happened that Susy not only remembered, but immediately gaveutterance to her recollections in such a way as fairly made the soldierjump. "They called my mammy 'my lady,'" she said simply.
Private Flinders gave the child a great hug, and put her down off hisknee. "Gord bless you, little 'un," he ejaculated. "And see if I don'tferret that mammy of yours out before I'm many days older--see if Idon't."
He met the matron as he went towards the entrance. "Missis," he said,stopping, "I've got a clue to that little 'un's belongings. I'm off tothe police station now about it. I'd advise you to treat her as tenderas you can. It'll come home to you, mark my words."
"Dear me," snapped the matron; "is she going to turn out a princess indisguise, then?"
"It'll perhaps turn out a pity you was in such a hurry to crop herhair," said Private Flinders, with dignity.
In the face of that sudden recollection of the child's, he felt that hecould afford to be, to a certain extent, stand-offish to the cold-eyed,unloving woman before him.
"Oh, rules are rules," said the matron, with an air of fine disdain;"and, in an institution like ours, all must be served alike. It wouldbe a pretty thing if we had to spend half of every day curling thechildren's hair. Good-day to you."
He felt that he had got the worst of it, and that it was more thanpossible that little Susy would pay the penalty of his indiscretion.Fool that he had been not to hold his tongue until he had something moretangible to say. Well, it was done now, and could not be undone, and itbehoved him to lose no time, but to find out the truth as soon aspossible.
The inspector whom he found in charge of the police-station listened tohis tale with a strictly professional demeanour.
"Yes, I remember the little girl coming in and being taken to theworkhouse. I remember the case right enough. You'd better leave it tous, and we will find out whether such a child is missing anywhere in thecountry."
I need hardly say that in Private Flinders' mind there lurked thatdeep-rooted distrust of a policeman that lives somewhere or other in theheart of every soldier. It came uppermost in his mind at that moment.
"You'll do your best?" he said, a little wistfully. "You'll not let timego by, and--and----?"
"We shall be in communication with every police-station in the kingdomin a few hours," returned the inspector, who knew pretty well what waspassing in the soldier's mind. "But, all the same, you mustn't beover-much disappointed if there proves to be nothing in it. You see, ifsuch a child was being inquired for, we should have heard of it beforethis. However, we'll do our best; you may be very sure of that."
With that Private Flinders was obliged to rest content. He madeinquiries from day to day, and eventually this advertisement appeared inthe leading daily papers:--
TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.--A little girl, apparently about three yearsold, is in charge of the police at Bridbrook. She says her name isSusy, and appears to be the child of well-to-do parents. Very fairhair, blue eyes, features small and pretty. Clothes very good, but muchsoiled.--Address, POLICE STATION, BRIDBROOK.
A few hours after the appearance of the advertisement, a telegramarrived at the police-station:--
"Keep child. Will come as soon as possible.--JACKSON."
* * * * *
Less than three hours afterwards, an excited woman rushed into thestation, having precipitated herself out of a cab, and almost flungherself upon the astonished inspector.
"I've come for the child--the little girl," she gasped, as if she hadrun at racing speed direct from the place indicated by the telegram.
"Oh, she belongs to you, does she?" remarked the inspector coolly."Well, you've no call to be in such a 'urry; you've been verycomfortable about her for the last six weeks."
"Comfortable!" echoed the excited one; "why, I've been very near out ofmy mind. I thought she was drowned, and I was so frightened, I daren'tsay a word to any one about it. And my lady away----"
"Then you're not the mother?" said the inspector sharply.
"The mother!--my goodness, no! I'm the head nurse. My young lady'smother is the Countess of Morecambe."
"Then what does _she_ say to all this, pray?" he asked.
"My lady went abroad two months ago to one of those foreign cure places,and she doesn't know but what Lady Susy is safe with me at this minute,"the woman replied.
The inspector gave a prolonged whistle.
"Well, you're a pretty sort of nurse to leave in charge of a child," heremarked. "I shouldn't wonder if you get the sack for this. Do youknow the child's at the workhouse, and that they've cropped her head asbare as mine?"
At this the woman simply sat down and sobbed aloud.
"Aye, you may well cry," said the inspector grimly. "I should if I wasin your shoes."
She finally told how the child
had been missed; how she had refrainedfrom giving notice to the police through fear of publicity, andbelieving she could find her by diligent search in the locality; how "mylady" was a widow, with only this one little child; how she had beenadvised to go for this cure; how she had consented to the nurse takingLady Susy to the seaside meantime, well knowing that she would be safeand happy with her.
"Yes, you may laugh at that," she wound up; "but my dear lamb has oftencalled me 'mammy' as anything else, and my lady has often said she wasquite jealous of me."
"All the same, I shouldn't wonder if you get the sack," repeated theinspector, who was not troubled with much sentiment.
I scarcely know how to tell the rest--how Jackson went off to theworkhouse, and enlightened the matron and others as to the child'sstation in life; how she seized her little ladyship, and almostsmothered her with kisses; how she bewailed her shorn locks, andwondered and conjectured as to how she could possibly have got to aplace so far from her home as Bridbrook.
But, a few weeks later, a lovely woman in mourning came to the cavalrybarracks, and inquired for Private Flinders. She wept during theinterview, this lovely lady; and when she had gone away, PrivateFlinders opened the packet she had put into his hands, to find a chequefor a hundred pounds, and a handsome gold watch and chain. And at theend of the chain was a plain gold locket, on one side of which wasengraved Private Flinders' initials, whilst on the other was written thesingle word, "Halt!"