CHAPTER V.
THE DECLARATION OF WAR.
But, meanwhile, Janet Sheepshanks stands at the end of thestepping-stones, and Janet is hardly a person to keep waiting anywherenear the house of Windy Standard.
Over the stepping-stones came as leader Priscilla Smith, her headthrown back, straining in every nerve with the excitement of carryingSir Toady Lion, whose scratched legs and shoeless feet dangled overthe stream. Immediately beneath her, and wading above the knee in therush of the water, there staggered through the shallows Hugh John,supporting his sister with voice and hand--or, as he would have said,"boosting her up" whenever she swayed riverward with her burden,pushing her behind when she hesitated, and running before to offerhis back as an additional stepping-stone when the spaces were widebetween the boulders.
Janet Sheepshanks waited grimly for her charges on the bank, and hereyes seemed to deceive her, words to fail her, as the children camenearer. Never had such a sight been seen near the decent house ofWindy Standard. Miss Priscilla and her pinafore were represented by aragged tinkler's lass with a still more ragged frill about her neck.Her cheeks and hands were as variously scratched as if she had falleninto a whole thicket of brambles. Her face, too, was pale, and thetatooed places showed bright scarlet against the whiteness of herskin. She had lost a shoe, and her dress was ripped to the knee by agreat ragged triangular tear, which flapped wet about her ankles asshe walked.
Sir Toady Lion was somewhat less damaged, but still showed manifoldsigns of rough usage. His lace collar, the pride of Janet Sheepshanks'heart, was torn nearly off his shoulders, and now hung jagged andunsightly down his back. Several buttons of his well-ordered tunicwere gone, and as to his person he was mud as far above the knees ascould be seen without turning him upside down.
But Hugh John--words are vain to describe the plight of Hugh John. Oneeye was closed, and began to be discoloured, taking on above thecheekbone the shot green and purple of a half-ripe plum. His lip wascut, and a thin thread of scarlet stealing down his brow told of abroken head. What remained of his garments presented a ruin morecomplete, if less respectable, than the ancient castle of the WindyStandard. Neither shoe nor shoe-string, neither stocking nor collar,remained intact upon him. On his bare legs were the marks of cruelkicks, and for ease of transport he carried the _debris_ of his jacketunder his arm. He had not the remotest idea where his cap had gone to.
"NO WONDER THAT JANET SHEEPSHANKS AWAITED THIS SORRYPROCESSION WITH A GRIM TIGHTENING OF THE LIPS."]
No wonder that Janet Sheepshanks awaited this sorry procession with agrim tightening of the lips, or that her hand quivered with the desireof punishment, even while her kind and motherly heart yearned to bebusy repairing damages and binding up the wounded. Of this feeling,however, it was imperative that for the present, in the interests ofdiscipline, she should show nothing.
It was upon Priscilla, as the eldest in years and senior responsibleofficer in charge, that Janet first turned the vials of her wrath.
"Eh, Priscilla Smith, but ye are a ba-a-ad, bad lassie. Ye should ha'eyour bare back slashit wi' nettles! Where ha'e ye been, and what ha'eye done to these twa bairns? Ye shall be marched straight to yourfather, and if he doesna gar ye loup when ye wad raither stand still,and claw where ye are no yeuky, he will no be doing his duty to theAlmichty, and to your puir mither that's lang syne in her restin'grave in the kirk-yaird o' Edom."
By which fervent address in her native tongue, Janet meant that Mr.Smith would be decidedly spoiling the child if on this occasion hespared the rod. Janet could speak good enough formal English when shechose, for instance to her master on Sabbath, or to the minister onvisitation days; but whenever she was excited she returned to thatvigorous ancient Early English which some miscall a dialect, and ofwhich she had a noble and efficient command.
To Janet's attack, Priscilla answered not a word either of explanationor apology. She recognised that the case had gone far beyond that. Sheonly set Sir Toady Lion on his feet, and bent down to brush the mudfrom his tunic with her usual sisterly gesture. Janet Sheepshanksthrust her aside without ceremony.
"My wee man," she said, "what have they done to you?"
Toady Lion began volubly, and in his usual shrill piping voice, tomake an accusation against certain bad boys who had "hit him," and"hurted him," and "kicked him." And now when at last he was safelydelivered and lodged in the well-proven arms of Janet Sheepshanks histears flowed apace, and made clean furrows down the woebegonegrubbiness of his face.
Priscilla walked by Janet's side, white and silent, nerving herselffor the coming interview. At ordinary times Janet Sheepshanks wasterrible enough, and her word law in all the precincts of WindyStandard. But Priscilla knew that she must now face the anger of herfather; and so, with this in prospect, the railing accusations of herold nurse scarcely so much as reached her ears.
Hugh John, stripped of all military pomp, limped behind--a short, dry,cheerless sob shaking him at intervals. But in reality this was morethe protest of ineffectual anger than any concession to unmanlyweakness.