Wild Wood. A novel, etc

Front matter

In 1 Vol., post 8vo., 12s. MEXICO UNDER MAXIMILIAN. By J. J. KENDALL, Late Captain H.M. 44th and 6th Regiments, and subsequently in the service of his late Majesty The Emperor of Mexico. The author has taken great pains to obtain authentic informa tion, and as to the interest of the book there can be no doubt." — Morning Post. The author is a close observer of men and manners, and is every inch a traveller and a soldier. His book is most interesting." — Inverness Advertiser. Much useful and interesting information is contained in this volume. Its perusal cannot be attended with other than a feeling of pleasure."— Court Circular. In Three Vols. Price 31s. 6d. THE BRIDAL BAR. By J. PANTON HAM. "We doubt if any one who takes up these volumes will put them down until he arrives at the startling conclusion which awaits him." — Bell's Messenger.

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"The heroine shows Mrs. Newby's usual skill in the delineation of character, for she is both pleasant and natural."— Messenger. "Mrs. Newby has long been a favorite writer, and had it not been so ' Langley Manor,' a good, well written, and interesting novel, would fix on a firm basis her fame as an author." — Daily Guardian. " 'Langley Manor' will sustain Mrs. Newby's reputation. She depicts life as it is." — John Bull. In 2 Vols. SWEET BELLS JANGLED. "The freshness, pathos, and natural style of these two charming volumes will make them general favorites." — Tipperary Advertiser. In 3 Vols. (In July.) THE FITFUL FEVER OF A LIFE. By SIR FRANCIS VINCENT, Bart. In 1 Vol. RUTH ORTON. By ZETA. " A very excellent remedy for youthful sceptics will be found in RuthOrton.'" — Ladies' Treasury. T r WILD WOOD A NOVEL.

Chapter I

" The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain doth blaw ; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw ! While, tumbling down, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast to covert rest, And pass the heartless day." Such a day had come to pretty Maldon, and it had not robbed it of its beauty ; it looked prettier with the pure snow covering its old-fashioned buildings and low cottages, the icicles hanging to the tall forest trees, the woods quiet now, save for the robin, blackbird, and thrush. No sweet VOL. II. B nightingale to fill the air with its melodious trill ; all was quiet, old King Winter had waved his wand over all, frozen the streams, and stopped the mill-wheel. King Christmas had come, with his jolly face and white locks, a wreath of holly and red berries round his head, holding a plum pudding in his hand.

How nice it is to see him ; he only comes once a year, and everyone should be pleased and ready to welcome him. It does not follow that plenty of money is required to make a happy Christmas — happiness agrees very well with poverty, because no one need ever be so poor as to not have a shelter or a little fire. And then suppose the room is bare of furniture, sit on the floor; then if there be no plum pudding or roast beef, eat bread, there is always plenty of that to be got, and cheap too. But how is it we hear doleful tales of no fire, no bread, no any thing ? Because that which ought to be appro priated to necessities goes to buy gin, whisky, or Turn, and money will not procure everything unless there be a good supply of it. During the hot summer days it is not so bad because there is no fire, warm clothes, or a house needed, they can almost do without.

But when Jack Frost comes with his jolly face, how then? He pinches their toes, fingers, noses, and ears. Why ? because they are not ready to receive him. There is supposed to be a man at the head of every family, and it is his place to work, and if he cannot earn sufficient let the wife turn to, and each child, as it gets old enough. Then if they cannot keep themselves theirs is the fault. There is work for everyone who wants it, and poverty is nothing but the just result of indolence, and those who won't work should not eat. So the people iu the village were making pre parations, chains of Christmas decorated the shops, and everything had a piece of holly stuck into some part of it. At the corner of the Dorkb ing-road was Mrs. Collins' shop, and some pretty hats with pheasant's plumes in them stared you in the face, while Bushcut, the draper, in formed the public, by means of a card in the window, that he had "a choice assortment of Christmas presents ; card cases, musical albums, work boxes, scent and jewel boxes, etc., etc."

His young men wore mittens to protect their chilblains, and the gas was lighted early in the afternoon. At Partoon's, the butchers, there was a perpetual scurry going forward. The cows, sheep, and pigs had all bunches of Christmas and pink paper roses growing out of their ears. And one afternoon a tall, good-looking, fair gentleman, was seen tenderly carrying a prime sucking pig to his pony carriage. Everyone was busy and light hearted ; young ladies went searching for misteltoe, and came back with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, to find the rest of the happy family dressing the rooms, laughing, and mounted on stepladders, while someone below occasionally pinched their legs. By this time the family at " Wild Wood " had one more member added to it, Julius Drever. Since he has been reserved to the last in all probability you are a little curious to have him described, and discover for yourself what he is like ?

I did not keep him because he is the handsomest, he is not my beau ideal of a man, he is not a " tit bit." Julius was a good looking man (indeed not any of the Drevers were ugly), he was dark, and like Judy, his hair was perfectly straight, unlike Durill's, as also was his face, which was longer and paler, with only a pair of long dark whiskers. His eyes were searching, and an immensity of humour shone in them. His mouth was decided, but the chin less flexible, and he had a provoking way of smiling at one side of his mouth, while everyone else was in roars. He was tall, slight, and wiry. He had only come down the day before, and required posting up in all that had taken place since he was last there. He left Durill and May no peace, he would come into their snuggery, and when he went Judy would follow.

Since Gilbert had shown in his true colours, poor Judy seemed to cling to clever Julius, perhaps because he had borne patiently with the spoilt Gilbert's faults, so she always followed Julius, and he followed May and Durill. Great Durill groaned and stared helplessly at May ; there sat Julius, cross questioning them as if they had been witnesses in some great case. " And you mean to tell me no one has got married, eh?" " No, not anyone ! " "Awfully slow you people must be, the place is getting quite stagnant." " Yes, to you, you cockney ; but what do you expect to take place in a country village?" " Heaps of things. Births, marriages, deaths, fights, accidents, fires, one or two cases of drowning, suicides, and no end of elopements ! " " Dear me, Julius, then there would be no one left in the place."

" There would be you, Judy. That reminds me why on earth don't some of you girls get off ? Here are three of you, and not one even engaged ? " " Ah, don't please harp upon that string, I hoped it was worn out, but it seems not. You should reserve your eloquence for Lois. Judy is a confirmed old maid, and marriage is not in my line ! " " It will be out of your reach in good truth soon, May; you are getting to look old, my dear ! " " Durill, protect me. I am getting picked to pieces." " Well, I shall be very glad of the pieces, May. I say, Julius, we'll have to try ' whose best man,' as the north fellows say, if you persist in teasing my pet so. Don't you see we can't get on with our work for your ceasless chatter ; and this is not our holiday time like yours." "So you want me to go, is that it?

Now I must say I think you are very rude to me, both of you ; why cannot you take a holiday, Friday is Christmas Day ?" " I know that, and it makes all the more work, because the regular business commences again on Monday. Is that letter ready, May ?" " Yes, there it is near your elbow. I don't recollect whether the man's name is James or John, but I daresay it will find him all the same ?" " Ah, yes, that won't matter ; and I hope he won't bother me any more." " I say, good people, I saw Captain Hardwick, this morning, at the post, and he is rather cut up about George!" "About George? What has he done this time ?" " Done, why by some wonderful mismanage^ ment he missed the ' Princess Alice ! ' " " Missed the ' Princess Alice ? ' " ejaculated Judy, " how ever did he do that ? he left here on the Friday ?"

" Yes, so Captain Hardwick told me ; but he went skylarking with another fellow, and when they got back the regiment had sailed, the tide answered an hour earlier or something, and these two fellows were off, and the ship went without them." " But the cool part of it is, he never wrote to his brother till yesterday." " A pretty fine how-do-you-do, 'pon my word. George is a wild fool ; he will be tried, of course. And how does he intend getting out there ?" " Oh, he is on his way now ; he sailed yester day from Liverpool in the ' Sea Gull.' He will b arrive about a week after his regiment. His brother was in an awful state of mind about it, I can tell you." " And no wonder ; really brothers are an awful nuisance when they are not steady !" " Come now, Dame Judy, all are not alike, and we cannot have the sweets of this life with out some of its bitters.

But since we are talking about ' black sheep,' I may as well tell you that I had a visit from Gilbert on Saturday." "What did he want?" " What he always wants, Durill — money." " Did you give him it ?" "No, I did not." " And what did he say ?" " That he must pawn his watch. It seems that his trolloping wife's brother has got tired of assisting. He dresses his sister in fine dresses and hats — astonishing things, I assure you — and that he considers ought to be sufficient. I quite agree with the little man ; indeed, I think he has been a good-natured little fool, to go on helping so long. But I suspect he has come to the end of his resources, and finds there is nothing to show for it, and they still with their mouths wide open. Gilbert is a rare hand at sinking money, I must say." " It is really disgraceful.

I feel almost as much ashamed as if I had been taking Mr. Ryde's money myself. But it is to be hoped Gilbert will find his level now. I thought he intended going abroad." " That grand idea has died a natural death, May. He only said it, I fancy, out of bravado ; he thought Madam and Judy here would cling tight round his legs when the parting came, and throw their money and jewels at his feet. And I daresay they would, too, if the chance offered, eh, Judy?" But Judy vouchsafed no reply, and Julius went on, pulling his long whiskers — " I fancy this time, wise people, that Crispin is rather ' cock-a-hoop.' He has got on the right side of Madam, which, to me, is a very bad sign. Have you had any scenes, may I ask ?" Durill stretched out one great leg, and gave May a poke under the table. She looked up, a troubled expression on her face, and they stared into each other's eyes for an instant.

Then May looked down again ; those two could talk with their eyes, and Durill understood that he was not to repeat the story of " Gipsy," but listen to what shrewd Julius had to say. " Well," demanded that gentleman, " am I to have any answer ?" No one spoke. Judy because she did not know the rights of the story. It had been hushed up, and few knew of May's loss. Durill because he felt too angry to say little ; so, as usual, it fell to May's lot. " What is it you want to know, Julius ?" " Have you had any of Crispin's crackers ?" " One or two ; but now it is my turn to ques tion. What do you want to know for?" " Because I don't quite understand him this time. He has quite altered ; there is something sneaking about him, and he is so inclined to be cheeky when you speak to him, that it gives me the impression he has something to conceal, and intends to keep one off in case their eyes are too sharp."

" Yes, I too think he has changed ; but perhaps he is getting grave. He has been helping Mark during Dr. Tinley's absence." " Indeed ! Well, he sha'n't walk round me — mother's pet or no mother's pet — that's certain." " Julius, don't get quarrelling with him, >n pray. " No fear, Judy ; I don't intend to quarrel with the lad. But we have had one mother's pet, and I think that ought to be sufficient." " You are quite right, Julius," said Durill, " but there is no remedy for it that I can see. I have had several passes with him already. If we could only make him wake some morning with dark hair and a Drever, instead of a Benton face, we might have a chance ; as it is, Madam will ruin him, just like she did Gilbert, and we can not any of us help it." " Truly spoken, Sir Durill, we are told that ' too much learning maketh a man mad.' I wonder what too much beauty does?

Makes them half daft in my opinion." " Why did you call Durill Sir, just now, Julius ?" " For the same reason that we sometimes call you Lady May. Durill there just puts me in mind of a portly knight of old — one of those colossal statues one sees standing, javelin in hand, on the battlements of some ancient castle ; and you, May, look like a lady who ought to wear a black velvet dress and diamonds, and lean from a balcony bidding adieu to your lord and master as he canters away on his coal black steed to the wars. And if it should happen — ' That back from the red field thy gallant come never, In death he'll remember that she who had filled His last stirrup-cup was his true maid ever.' Then you must retire into a convent, and slowly pine away. You would look capital as a Lady Abbess, May."

" Julius, you have astonished us all. I had no idea you had such a vivid imagination." " Ah ! Judy, my dear, see the disadvantage I have laboured under. My hopes were nipped in the bud, my education was so frightfully neglected that my genius never had an opportunity of developing itself. But, seriously, I insist that if ever May has a chance of going to a fancy ball she must go as ' Sister Mary Magdalene.' That calm, resigned face of yours, and dignified bear ing is just the thing, May." " Very well, Julius, I won't forget, should the time ever come," replied May, laughing. " Now, dear tormented mortals, I am going to relieve you of my presence. Come, Judy, let us make a tour of the extensive establishment, and perhaps we shall discover more secret hiding places. I recollect, when a small fellow in cock tail petticoats, how I used to poke my fingers into every crevice, in the hope that part of the wall would slide back and reveal to my infantine eyes some astonishing spectacle."

He walked out of the room, dragging Judy after him. "What a difference it makes having Julius at home, eh, Durill ?" " Yes, love, a great difference ; he is a nice fellow, and very clever. I don't know whether I told you, but the other day, while going up to town, a gentleman got in at Ewell, and we com menced talking. He told me how he was teased about some estate of a ward of his, and how cleverly he was extricated by Julius Drever. He praised Julius highly, and said he was the rising man of the day. He related several of Julius's droll speeches and sharp tricks, and I can tell you I felt not a little proud of my brother, May." " How pleasing, to be sure. Dear Julius ! I am so glad. Did you tell the gentleman he was your brother ?" " Yes, at the very last, I was so delighted. I wish Gilbert would buckle to, and I am rather afraid of Crispin."

"So am I, Durill, and after hearing Julius's opinion I feel doubly so ; because Julius sees a great way, and very clearly. I do wish Crispin was settled. I wonder where papa will set him up?" " Well, he must finish his time out first of all, and then I daresay something will be found. But it won't be a grand West End practice, and that is Crispin's desire. The Squire told me he would do nothing of the kind — he intended him to work. Old Tinley will be retiring soon, and then there would be an opening." " But do you think Mark and Crispin would work well together ? I am afraid not ; they are bo different, and in the village they would be constantly thrown together, else it would be a good thing for Crispin." " Yes, there is always a ' but ' in everything. Well, we must let to-morrow take care of itself; when it comes there is time enough."

" Yes, and it is sure to come already lined for us, and we shall only have to follow them. Are you ready to leave off, Durill ?" " Yes, dear ; do you want me ?" " Only I want to go into the village to get some Christmas presents for the children, and I thought perhaps you would come with me." " Of course I will ; you go and get ready, and I will follow you in a second." " Oh ! I sha'n't take two minutes to put on my hat and jacket, so I need not go before you. I am no Lois, you know." " No, that you are not ; she never gets ready under twenty minutes."

Chapter II

When Judy and Julius left the snuggery, they bent their steps to the nursery. Julius was like Durill, fond of little people, and good-natured to them. They were very fond of Uncle Doolius, as Evelyn called him, but he did not rival Durill. Little Evelyn always made a point of flying as fast as her short legs would carry her to Uncle Durill when anything went wrong. There up out of the reach of Parker, Nurse Joyce, and everyone else, clinging round his neck, and pressed quite close to him, she would pour into his ever ready ear the story of her woes, and be soothed and carried about till quite calmed and tbe tears all dried. After one of those quiet talks with Uncle Durill and Aunty May, Evelyn would return quite sweet tempered, and beg Parker's pardon, and promise to be a good girl. One morning about eight o'clock there was a short, sharp scream, and the sound of little feet going as quickly as possible, while the corridor echoed with cries of " Untie Durill !

Untie Durill ! " Everyone recognised Evelyn's voice, and the occupants of the rooms at that end appeared at their doors. There, running at express speed, was a little plump Cupid with golden hair floating in the wind, unbrushed and uncombed. It was Evelyn, with not a stitch to her back, not even a stocking on. Behind came Parker, a chemise in one hand and a towel and sponge in the other. " Miss Evelyn, come here my dear, come here !" But no, Miss Evelyn made straight for Durill's door, at which he was standing like everyone else, in his shirt sleeves, in astonishment. She stretched up her little arms to him, and of course was lifted up amid much laughter from tbe lookers on, and carried into his room and the door shut. " What is it, Parker ?" inquired May of the blushing girl. " I don't know, Miss May ; I had just finished bathing her, and she flew off, and I could not catch her."

May walked across to Durill's door and knocked. " Is that you, May ?" " Yes, Durill." " Come in." May entered, and found poor little Evelyn sobbing bitterly in Durill's arms, and him hush ing and comforting her. " What is it, darling little one ? There, don't cry, they sha'n't have you, my pet ; tell me what has grieved you ?" She told him, sobbing convulsively, that Parker said he had gone. "And me turn to see. Don't do away, Uncle Durill !" The dear little thing was dreadfully distressed; her little heart was almost bursting with grief at the thought of parting with Durill, and the big man was affected too. He assured his little pet that he would not go away, and kissed and hugged her. " Poor child ! it shows how she loves you, Durill." " Yes, dear little trot. May, just get Parker to bring her clothes here, I can dress her, and if I can't you can — she sha'n't go back at present."

May laughingly complied with his request, and Evelyn was dressed by Uncle Durill, with Aunt May's assistance. It was a pretty sight to see how tenderly his great hands put the wee gar ments on her little body, she standing on the bed quite happy the while, and begging very hard to be allowed to " seep in dis bed wid you !" to which Durill made no decided objection, but laughed a good deal, and when the process of attiring was over, Miss Evelyn entered the nur sery in triumph on Uncle Durill's shoulder. Julius proposed going to see the little folks, and found them seated at the table with trains, carts and horses, waggons with dolls in, arranged in rows. " Well, what are you playing at? " " A fooneral, uncle Doolius," answered Evelyn, wheeling round and upsetting the tail of the procession, which Ivo commenced to set up again without one murmur.

" A funeral ? bless my soul ! a lively game I should say. Can't you think of something else to play ?" " We have just had a wedding, Uncle Julius," answered Ivo, " and Evelyn wanted a funeral." "And pray where did you see a funeral, Evelyn?" " I saw Mr. Picer's fooneral, but I have lost the dolly that made Mr. Picer, Uncle Doolius, he was so nice and fine." Julius looked in astonishment at Judy and Parker, but both were laughing too much to offer any explanation, but sensible Ivo came to the rescue with a perfectly grave face. " She means Mr. Spicer, Uncle Julius, and the dolly that is lost was very thin and tall, like Mr. Spicer." " Ah ! indeed ; I understand. And who makes you these dolls, Evelyn?" " Parker and old nurse, out of rags. Me want a sveep, but Parker dot no black stuff, and she can't make him, and that's why I have dot no Mr. Picer."

" I am afraid they don't sell either sweeps or Mr. Spicers in the village, or I should be happy to buy them for you, Evelyn. But what should VOL. II. B you like for a Christmas present ? Sit on my knee, so, and tell me." Evelyn put one pink finger in her mouth and studied the carpet attentively for a second or two. Then she raised her head with a jerk and said — " A dum, please, Uncle Doolius." " A drum ! but that is not a little girl's toy. Can't you decide on something better?" " Me mould like a dum." And the lovely eyes looked so beseechingly Julius could not resist them. " Very well, dear, a drum you shall have. And now, Ivo, what is your special desire ?" " A box of tools, please." " Very good, only mind you don't cut one of your fingers off, my boy." " Who is holding court here ?" asked May at the door.

"I am," replied Julius. " We have been assisting at a most dismal ceremony — a funeral." " Dear me, that is dismal. Whose funeral was it, Sophy's or Walter's ?" " Mr. Picer's," announced Evelyn. " Mr. Spicer's !" answered May, laughing merrily. " Why, that is rather too near home, my darling. I had rather you had confined your play to your dollies." " Well, me married you." "Indeed!" exclaimed Julius, smiling, "you have been busy to-day, married Aunty May and buried Mr. Spicer." " I am going into the village; do you want anything, Judy?" " No, May, thank you; I think not." " Parker, will you get me a bit of that ribbon ? I will try and match it. Do you want any thing?" " Yes, if you please, Miss May ; some darnb ing cotton, No. 6, and some small buttons, if you please." " You had better also give me a button, or show me the size.

You can bring them to my room. I must go and get ready, or I shall be late." " Who is going with you, May," asked Judy. " Durill, and I said I would be ready in an instant; but this nursery is such a temptation." It did not take May a minute to put on her hat and seal jacket, and Durill had not to com plain of being kept waiting. He was ready at the side door, watching the gambols of a large black Newfoundland and a little white curly dog. " Quiet, Rio, don't be rough, sir." " Poor little Snow Ball, you get many rolls over. How well Rio looks, Durill." " Yes, famous. Take my arm, May, or, as Julius says, ' Hook on;' it ,will keep you warmer. Bodies retain heat longer than any thing else, and it is keen this afternoon." They walked along, talking and laughing, the two dogs racing on in front, and many a roll did poor little Snow Ball get from the paw of great Rio.

Every sound came distinctly borne on the frosty air. A sheep dog, miles away on the other side of a hill, could be heard yelping. Now and then scraps of one of the comic songs sung at the last Penny Readings would be whistled or sung by an invisible being, followed immediately by the ring of an axe, clearly showing that the individual with a taste for music was chopping wood. Then the bleating of some sheep as they wandered round and round their pen in yonder field, or the creak and roll of some barrow as it trundled along the hard road. Durill and May went down the foot path, it was nearer than the carriage drive, it cut off a good piece. And moreover there was a seat on this path to rest weary legs, because it was so steep. To the right the ground dropped, and showed the river, curling its way amid the woods, while a distant line of railway had been cut through the pretty valley and past a rustic red cottage.