Clear as the Noon Day [A tale.] ... Illustrated

Front matter

CLEAR AS THE NOON DAY Bullawn Cave. (Page 165.) Clear as the Noon Day. BY ETHEL PENROSE, Author of " The Fairy Cobbler's Gold," &°i. fLLUSTRATED BY EDITH Œ. SOMERVILLE. LONDON : JARROLD & SONS, 10 & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [All Rights Reserved Z] BOOKS FOB PBESENTATION. Elegantly Bound in Cloth. Illustrated. Price 3/6 each. SABLE AND WHITE. The Autobiography of a Show Dog. By Gordon- Stables, M.D., CM., R.N. Illustrated by Harrison Weir. CLEAR AS THE NOON DAY. By Ethel Penrose. 36 Illustrations by Edith Œ. Somerville. LORD LYNTON'S WARD. By Helena Brooks. 36 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. WOOING OF OSYTH. A Story of the Eastern Counties in Saxon Times. By Kate T. Sizer. 48 Illustrations by M. M. Blake. THAT BOTHER OF A BOY. By Grace Stebbing. 35 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 2nd Edition. SAY'INGS AND DOINGS IN FAIRYLAND; or, Old Friends with New Faces.

By D. S. Sinclair. Upwards of 40 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. OLD CALEB'S WILL. By Miss F. Armstrong. A CHARGE TO KEEP. By P. A. Blyth. Price 2/6. THE BLIND ARTIST'S PICTURES, AND OTHER STORIES. By Nora Vynne 2nd Edition. JETHOU ; or, Crusoe Life in the Channel Islands. By E. R. Suffling. Illustrated. ELIAS TRUST'S BOY'S. By Margaret Surrey. Illustrated. WILD KATHLEEN; or, Both Sides of the Channel. By Grace Stebbing. Illustrated. JACQUELINE'S MESSAGE. A True Talc of the French Revolution of 1789. By L. E. Weeks. Illustrated. THE WELSH HERMIT. By the Rev. Jenkin Jones. Illustrated, LONDON: sARROLD AND SONS, io and n, Warwick Lane, E.C. CONTENTS. CHATTER PAHE I. A Piece of News ... ... ... ii II. First Impressions ... ... 21 III. An Introduction to the Major ... 28 IV. Betty's French Exercise ... 42 V. Tweedledum and Tweedledee ... 52 VI Mary Hegarty to the Rescue ... 66 VII.

Mary's Warning ... ... ... 87 VIII. The Major's Death ... ... 103 IX. Behind the Lauristinus ... ... 118 X. The Major is Revenged ... CONTENTS. CHAPTER FAGB XI. Denis's Garden ... ... ... 144 XII. Bullawn Cave ... ... ... 156 XIII. Mrs. Barry's Invitation ... ... 172 XIV. A Tardy Confession ... ... 189 XV. A Voyage of Discovery ... ... 202 XVI. Cleared ... ... ... 2^7 LIST OF IkkQgTR.KTIO.Ng. PAGK BULLAWN Cave ... ... Frontispiece "I say, Betty, I've a piece of news for you !" 12 French Verbs and Difficult Exercises ... 20 Paul tried to peer into the gathering darkness ... ... ... ... 22 Paul looked timidly up at his Aunt ... 25 Bruce standing on the grass under the window ... ... ... ... 30 " Shoulder arms ! Tention!" ... ... 35 " Taisez-vous donc Bettee!" ... ... 44 " Let us hurry off before she comes back " 48 Very spruce and handsome he looked ... 57 Betty and Bruce watched him ... 59 "Now, don't pull with a jerk" ... ... 79 "Retch out the hand to Mary" ...

Chapter I

A piece of news. I I SAY, Betty, I've a piece of news for you ! a really jolly piece of news ! " " What is it ? " Betty paused for a moment, with her trowel stuck deep under the roots of an obstinate dandelion, and looked up with interest into her companion's face. " Ha ! ha ! Don't you wish I may tell you ? " he responded, shoving his hands down into his trouser pockets, determined to make the most, while it lasted, of the importance of knowing something of which she was ignorant. " I don't care to know, one scrap," retorted Betty, returning with fresh vigour to her encounter with the dandelion. "Oh, don't you just? I know better than that! It's a really grand piece of news," — then as Betty made no remark, but appeared to be altogether taken up with weeding " I say, Betty, I've a piece of news for you !

A really jolly piece of news ! " her garden, — " I'll tell you what I'll do— I'll give you three guesses." "What a bother you are, Bruce! Why can't you tell me yourself without any fuss ? Well then," as Bruce shook his head determinedly, "your father is going to give you a new riding whip." " Wrong — that is one guess, now for the second." Betty rubbed her forehead with her earthy hand, leaving a brown smudge across it, and looked up to the sky for inspiration. " Your bantam cock has laid an eggs ? " " What nonsense ! " Bruce exclaimed impatiently. " I don't believe you are trying to guess a bit." "Yes, indeed I am ; but I can't think of anything really jolly, unless— unless it is that you are going to school after all." " Well, of all the stupid guessers I ever met I Going to school wouldn't be jolly, would it ? and besides no one goes to school at this time of year.

" I told you I couldn't guess," said Betty, pulling up a flourishing piece of groundsel, "so make haste and tell me what it is, for I expect Mademoiselle to call me in for lessons every minute." "Well then — Paul de Cerenville, my cousin, is comin_r over to live with us at Rathmore ! " Betty looked quite sufficiently astonished to please even Bruce. " Do you mean for always ? " she said, rising to her feet and smoothing out her crumpled overall. " No, not for always ; but, you know, his father is just dead, and Aunt Nelly has a lot of business to see about, and she wrote and asked father if Paul might stay with us until she could come over and see about putting him to school. He has been to some sort of French school already ; but now she wants him to go to the one to which I am going after Christmas, so I suppose he will be with us for about four or five months — at least, that is what mother said."

"I wonder what he is like? How old is he?" asked Betty, now full of interest. " He is nearly thirteen. Father is going over to Switzerland to fetch him. I don't know what he's like. Anyhow, he's a boy, which will be jolly." "All boys aren't jolly," said Betty, with some sharpness. " Well, they're always jollier than girls," retorted Bruce. " Not a bit of it ! " cried Betty, indignantly ; " boys are made of ' slugs and snails and puppy dog's tails.' " " Pooh ! that's only a nonsensical, babyish rhyme ! " said Bruce, contemptuously. "Well, at any rate," said Betty, purposely choos ing the remark most likely to annoy Bruce, " Paul is thirteen, so he will be able to keep you under his thumb, and make you do what he likes, instead of doing just what you like yourself. I am sure I shall be very glad to see somebody bullying you instead of " " I should just like to see him bully me," said Bruce, interrupting her, scornfully ; " he'll find him self in the wrong box if he tries !

Why he is half French, and any English fellow can lick ten French men ; they are all a pack of cowards ! " " I really don't know about that," said Betty, unbelievingly — then, her thoughts taking a sudden jump away from Paul — "Oh, by the way, Bruce, I want to tell you of a lovely plan I have made for keeping the sea-anemones we got the other day." "Why, I thought you had put them in your basin." " So I have ; but then, you see, I'm so afraid of Mademoiselle findingthem, and making me throw them away, that I have thought of a much better place. Don't you remember the little well in the East Shrubbery, just at the back of the big rhode dendron ? Well, close to that, there is a nice little soft earthy place, and I thought that we might dig a goodish big hole, and fill it with water from the well and make a pond — and I have got a whole lot of kitchen salt from Mrs. Whelan ; for I don't think the anemones would like fresh water, when they have been accustomed to sea-water."

" But, you goose, the water will all soak into the ground," objected Bruce. Betty looked rather crest-fallen for a moment, and then a sudden brilliant idea struck her. " I know what I'll do," she exclaimed, " I'll get some of the stuff from the masons, which they are putting on the flooring of the new fowl house ! What do they call it ? — oh, I know ! concrete ! We'll concrete the bottom of our pond and then the water can't run through." " I declare that is not a bad idea," said Bruce. " Why not begin at it now ? Come on, Betty." " I am afraid I shan't have time before I have to go in to lessons, and I shall never hear Mademoiselle calling, down in the shrubbery." " Oh, never mind that," cried Bruce, " I wouldn't be afraid of her ! What can she do to you after all?" " She can keep me in the whole afternoon," said Betty ; " oh, dear, what a bother lessons are !

I wish there was no such thing ! It always seems to be lesson time ! " "Well, we may as well just look at the place," suggested Bruce ; " and bring your trowel with you, and we might just begin to dig." Betty hesitated for a moment, but the temptation B DAY. 18 was too strong. She picked up her trowel and, followed by Bruce, ran off in the direction of the East Shrubbery. " Here is the place," she said, as she stopped beside a little well, with tumble-down stone steps leading down into it ; " we might make it about so big," marking out a space on the ground at her feet. "Well, come along, then; give me the trowel, Betty, and I'll begin it for you." " But, if I give you the trowel, I shall have nothing to dig with myself," remonstrated Betty. " Oh, yes ! get that big sharp-pointed stick over there, and you can prod the ground all over, and soften it, and then I can lift it out on the trowel."

Betty would much rather have kept the trowel herself, but she was so accustomed to give in to Bruce, that she relinquished it obediently, and very soon the children were deeply engaged in their excavations, and Betty forgot all her scruples in the delightful employment of mashing up the soft muddy earth with her stick, while Bruce scooped it awav with the trowel. The bed of the future pond was beginning to be quite a respectable size, when the sound of a hasty footstep on the gravel path made both children start to their feet and look guiltily at one another, and at their clothes, which had suffered considerably in the course of their pond making. The spot where they were working was sheltered from view of the path by thick rhododendron bushes ; but, as the footsteps came nearer, and Betty's name was called in a high pitched voice, with a strange foreign accent, they could be no longer in any doubt as to who the new-comer was.

"It's Mademoiselle!" whispered Bruce, throwing down his trowel and preparing for flight. " Oh, Bruce ! you won't leave me," appealed Betty, below her breath ; " she will be so fearfully cross." " Why, what is the use of my staying ? I can't do you any good," said Bruce, edging away in the opposite direction to the approaching voice. " Oh ! you are mean ! " exclaimed Betty, angrily ; "it was you who persuaded me to come down here, and now you are leaving me to bear all the blame ! If Frenchmen are a pack of cowards, I'd like to know what you are." Betty could not be sure whether these last indig nant words had reached Bruce's ears, for she received no answer, and only heard the twigs in the under growth of the shrubbery crackling under his feet, as he stealthily made good his escape. In another moment, Mademoiselle, whose sharp ear had caught the sound of voices, pushed through the thick boughs of the rhododendron, and very soon Betty's worst fears were realized, as she found herself walking back to the house with the unpleasing prospect before her of spending the whole of the lovely autumn afternoon over pages of French verbs and difficult exercises. " French verbs and difficult exercises."

Chapter II

first impressions. ERY bleak and gloomy was the day Paul de Cerenville arrived at Rathmore. Very dreary and forbidding did the landscape appear to him through the rain-blurred windows of the brougham in which he and his uncle drove the long five miles from Ballyboy, the terminus to the railway, and the nearest town to Rathmore. As the carriage either crawled up a steep hill, or sped down the other side, the drag grating loudly on the wheel, Paul tried to peer out into the fast gathering darkness of the October afternoon, to get some idea of the country he was passing through. All he could make out was a succession of small ragged looking fields, divided from one another, and from the road, by irregular loosely built stone walls. Here and there he thought he could distinguish a thatched cottage, but the thick drizzling mist that was falling made everything uncertain and indistinct, and at last his eyes grew so tired with the Paul tried to peer into the gathering darkness. apparently endless monotony of the view, that he leant back, and shutting his eyes, tried to rest his aching head in a corner of the carriage.

Both mind and body were thoroughly tired out. If you had asked him whether it were days, weeks, FLRST IMPRESSIONS. 23 or months since he had bidden his mother good-bye, at the Lausanne Station, he could hardly have told you. He could still feel her last kiss on his cheek, still hear her last words, "Mind, you must do me credit in Ireland," ringing in his ears, but after that all was a confused jumble of rushing trains, rattling cabs, strange voices and accents, and miseries of sea sickness. He was roused from an uneasy kind of doze by his uncle, exclaiming, " Now, Paul, look out, in a moment we shall turn the corner, and then you will get your first glimpse of the sea — none of your miserable little channels, but the Atlantic itself." Paul sat up, rubbed his eyes, and letting down the window, prepared himself to see the ocean in all its orandeur.

The brougham whirled round the corner, and what met his expectant gaze ? A thick wall of dense grey sea fog, blotting out everything, and surging in at the carriage window in a fine drizzling rain ! " Well, that is too bad ! " exclaimed Mr. Blakeney ; " you would never think from this what a lovely view there is from here on a fine day ; there are the trees of Rathmore House" — pointing to what looked to Paul but a darker spot in the thickness of the fog — "and here we are in the village," as they rattled through a long straggling street of thatched and white-washed cottages. Paul caught a glimpse as they drove quickly through the avenue gates of big stone pillars, on each side of the entrance, surmounted by carved lions. He thought they looked like grim jailors keeping guard over his prison, and even the large bushes of hydrangea and rhododendron, which bordered the avenue, looked menacing and un friendly to his tired fancy.

He scarcely knew whether he were glad or sorry, when the carriage drew up, and his uncle, upheaving himself from under his rugs, opened the door of the brougham and helped him out. As he did so, the hall door was flung open, and a flood of warm fire-light poured out on the steps. Mr. Blakeney walked into the hall, holding Paul's hand. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 25 " You are welcome to Rathmore, dear boy," he said. " Bruce, here is your cousin Paul. Help him to take off his coat, and then bring him into the Paul looked timidly up at his aunt. drawing-room. We are both fairly starved with cold and hunger. Ah ! there you are, Annie ! here we are at last ! Paul— this is your aunt. The train was slower even than usual, and I really thought we should never get to Ballyboy." Mr. Blakeney talked on cheerfully, as he shook himself out of his big ulster, and then spread his hands out to the pleasant warmth of the wood-fire which blazed in the wide old-fashioned grate.

Paul looked up timidly at his aunt, and as she kissed his cheek, a choking sensation rose in his throat. He had not been kissed since that moment of parting at Lausanne, and it seemed to make his present loneliness almost unbearable. Mrs. Blakeney saw the tears filling his eyes, and gave his cold hands a kindly squeeze. " You look tired out, you poor child," she said ; " Bruce will take you up to your room, and just take my advice and pop straight into your bed ; it is the best place for you. I will bring you up something to eat very soon, and will see that you are com fortably tucked in for the night." Paul could only look his thanks, and followed Bruce, silently, as he led him upstairs, then down a long passage, and opened a door at the far end of it. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 27 Bruce put down the candle he was carrying on the dressing-table, and then stood irresolute.

"Can I help you?" he said, at last, rather awkwardly. "No, thank you," said Paul, looking shyly at this fair-haired, freckle-faced cousin. Bruce moved another step towards the door. " I say," he said, "do you like rats?" "Rats?" echoed Paul, questioningly. "Yes, because, I've got a beauty; a white one in a cage, which I'll show you to-morrow if you like. Betty is awfully fond of him. She'd give her eyes to have him, but I won't give him to her." " Betty ? who is Betty ? " "Oh, Betty Power — I forgot you didn't know her, well never mind ! You go to bed now, and to-morrow I'll show you my rat and Betty Power ; " with which alluring prospect Bruce departed, leaving Paul somewhat bewildered, but dimly conscious that an offer of friendship and good fellowship had been intended, and was involved in the coming introduc- Mon to Betty Power and the rat.

Introduction

TO THE MAJOR.

THE evening of Paul's arrival had been gloomy, the next morning seemed determined to make up for the bad behaviour of the previous night. Paul was wakened by the sun pouring in at his window and shining full in his face. For a couple of moments he could not make out where he was. Was this Lausanne ? Paris ? London ? Then, with a sigh of relief, he remem bered that his long journey was over, and that all the bustle and flurry of the past few days was really at an end. He jumped out of bed, ran over to the window, and throwing it open, looked out. Imme diately under the window was a well-kept garden ; a wide border, still gay with late dahlias and graceful Japanese anemones, ran round part of it, and a clipped yew hedge protected it from the storms which so often swept over the promontory on which Rathmore House was built.

Outside the garden there seemed to be a small sloping meadow in which Paul could see cattle grazing, and this again was edged in with a belt of trees of all sorts and kinds ; elms, sycamores, beeches, all now glorious in their rich autumn tints, with here and there a solemn Scotch fir, the dark velvety green of whose foliage acted as a foil to the gaudy colours of the other trees. Gaps had been cut through them in several places to allow a view of the open sea to be seen from the windows of the house, and as Paul pushed his head and shoulders out of his window, he could not only see the glitter of the sun on the water, but could smell the salt smell of sea-weed brought up on the wind, and could hear the hissing draw of the waves as they broke on a shingly beach, and then were sucked back by the tide out to sea again As he stood gazing out he heard a voice exclaim, "Hallo!

I say, Paul!" and looking down he saw Bruce standing on the grass under the window, and A<* Bruce standing on the grass under the window. at his heels a wise-faced, wiry haired yellow terrier, who with head wonderingly cocked on one side, was evidently puzzling out who this new arrival in the white night-shirt could be. ' Am I very late ? " asked Paul. " No, you'll be down in time for prayers, if you make haste now. Go down, Punch ! " as the terrier made an ineffectual attempt to lick his face. " Mother wouldn't allow you to be called," he con tinued, " she wanted you to sleep on as long as you could." Paul hurried on through his dressing to such purpose that he found himself at the drawing room door even before the prayer-gong sounded. While he stood, uncertain for a moment whether he should open the door, he heard light footsteps behind him, and looking round, saw a boy, apparently about four years old, who, with a headless wooden horse clasped in his arms, was making his way down the stairs.

He stopped short on seeing Paul's unknown face, and for a second seemed inclined to beat a retreat to the shelter of the nursery door ; then, thinking better of it, he summoned up his courage, and slowly descending the remaining stairs, thrust his horse into Paul's hand. " Zat's mine cob," he announced, flushing pink with the effort of overcoming his shyness. "He's a beauty," said Paul, admiringly; "can he go fast ? " " He can gabble weddy fast," said the child, nodding his curly, yellow head. " Can he ? " said Paul, who had some difficulty in even guessing the child's meaning; "and now tell me what your name is." " Denis John Blakedy. Zat's what Daddy says I must tell the pleecemans, when I are lost. Is you, you a pleecemans ? " with sudden interest. " 'Cos if you is a pleecemans, I want to see yours big bludget, and yours hemblet, and yours hang-cuffs."

Paul laughed, but before he could answer the rumble and boom of the gong interrupted their conversation. "That is for prayers, isn't it?" he asked, going towards the drawing-room door. "Zat's not the way!" cried Denis, laughing out right at Paul's stupidity; "the prayers-books is in the dining-room, not the drorm-room." " Well, then, you must show me the way," said Paul. Denis put one hand confidingly within Paul's, and with some difficulty clutching the "cob" under the other arm, led the way to the dining-room. By the time breakfast was over Paul was beginning to be quite at his ease. His uncle, aunt, and Bruce all seemed bent on making him feel at home, and he was soon chatting away as though he had known them all his life. " Now, then," said Bruce, as they left the dining room, " we can have a jolly time.

Father says we needn't do any lessons till next week, and he has told old Keefe not to come here till Monday." " Who is old Keefe ? " " Oh, the National Schoolmaster. He comes up to teach me every day. Wouldn't he be mad just if he heard me call him old Keefe. He isn't really a bit old, but he's the funniest-looking chap you ever saw, with white hair, and white eyebrows, and screwy little eyes which are always going blink, blink ! Father says he's an Albanian, or an Albino, I forget c which, and they are always like that. And wait till you hear him talk! He always uses such long words, I am sure some day he will choke over one of them. But never mind him any more, this is the schoolroom, and I want to show you my rat. I call him the Major. Now, isn't he a beauty ? " as the Major, hearing Bruce's familiar voice, peeped his nose out of the boarded-up part of his cage, and finally emerged altogether.

He was a splendid, big rat ; perfectly white, except for his little pink nose, and small rather wicked-looking pink eyes. " He is a huge fellow," assented Paul, admiringly. " He is awfully fond of me," said Bruce, "but he is very savage with anybody else. I wouldn't advise you to put your hand into the cage. Now watch," he continued, proudly, "how well he begs when I say, ' Shoulder arms! 'Tention ! Now then, Major,'" as he held a tempting little bit of raw meat above the rat's nose. " Shoulder ! h'arms ! 'Ten — shon ! " The Major obediently reared himself upon his hind-legs, with a kind of languid, lady-like grace, not at all in keeping with the martial tone of Bruce's orders, and appeared to accept the piece of meat more as a compliment to his master than as a pleasure to himself. Shoulder arm: 'Tension !

" I never heard of rats doing tricks before," ex claimed Paul, delightedly. " Nor I," said Bruce. " I taught him altogether myself; and he's so clever, he learnt in less than no time. Now, you know, Betty liked the Major so much she made Sir Anthony — that's her father — give her one just the same, and she tried to teach him, but he was so stupid he couldn't learn a bit, and I think she was rather glad when he died." "What did he die of?" " Well, no one knows exactly. You see Sir Anthony is most awfully particular — " " How do you mean — particular?" asked Paul. " Oh, he makes the most tremendous fuss if you don't scrape your boots on the scraper, and if you bang a door he's fit to be tied ! I'm awfully afraid of him. Well, when he gave Betty the rat, he made her promise not to keep it in the house, so she had it in a kind of outhouse.

He was a splendid big one, even larger than the Major, and Sir Anthony grew quite fond of it, and often used to feed it himself. But one day when Betty went to see it, she found it dead. They think it must have eaten some poison, but how the poison got into the outhouse no one knows. People said it was done on purpose by some one who had a grudge against Sir Anthony, and really he seemed to care more about it than Betty." "What is Betty like?" asked Paul, who had seated himself in the low window seat, and was looking out over the tops of the trees to the far horizon, where sea and sky seemed to melt into one in the shimmering misty October sunshine. "What is Betty like?" repeated Bruce. "I'm sure I do not know — she's a girl." " Well, I guessed that," said Paul, laughing. Bruce coloured. He was not accustomed to being made fun of, and he resented it.

" Oh, you know what I mean," he said, with some impatience in his tone. "She is very jolly — for a girl of course. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over to Danescourt as soon as I've tidied up the Major's cage, and given Punch his breakfast, and shown you my pony Judy, and then you can see for yourself what she is like." Paul very willingly assented to this arrangement, and as soon as Bruce had attended to the wants of his pets, and Judy had been duly exhibited, the two boys set off on their walk. They went down the avenue, which in the morning's light had quite lost the forbidding aspect it had worn to Paul's tired eyes the previous night, and he smiled to himself as he remembered how the very sight of the now harmless-looking hydrangea bushes had made him shiver with a fear of he knew not what.

As they rounded a curve they came upon Denis and his nurse. He came tearing towards them ; his yellow curls waving out behind him in the wind, his red knitted fisherman's cap making them look the more golden by contrast with its bright colour. He was dragging behind him, by a string, his beloved wooden horse at considerable labour to himself; for as the wheels, which in the days of its first youth had enabled it to roll along fairly steadily, had long ago been broken off, the cob invariably fell on its side the moment the string was pulled, and in Denis' efforts to put him on his legs again, this was always getting hope lessly tangled round the horse's legs and the green wooden platform on which he stood. But Denis did not heed the difficulties of his steed, once Bruce and Paul came in sight.