Chapter VI

'THERE IS THAT IN YOUR EYE WHICH CRONA LOVES.'

In this day's climb Antony could not help admiring the strength and agility of his child-companion; she was indeed an infant prodigy, thanks perhaps to her very extraordinary training. With her, or compared to her, Blake hardly felt fit. Perhaps neither did Wallace, who zigzagged back and fore to make the ascent more easy, as dogs always do when climbing. But they gained the summit at last, and only mountaineers know the joy of resting a while on a hill-top.

Wallace lay down to pant, with half a yard more or less of pink tongue hanging over his right jowl, and Antony threw himself on the ground. No heather here, hardly even moss, and a strong wind blowing.

Antony was for a time too tired to talk much; but he asked a question now and then, and Lotty answered him often quaintly enough--for instance, when he said, 'I have not seen your mother yet, Lotty.'

'I never had a mother, Mr Blake,' she innocently made answer.

'But, child, everyone must have had a mother.'

'Ye-es. At least I suppose so. But I think my mother must have ceased to be a property some time before I came.'

'Do you love your father, Lotty?'

'Except when he beats me.'

The child was lying back against recumbent Wallace, and on her bare arm above the elbow Antony thought he saw a wale. He seized her by the hand and uncovered the streak.

'Lotty,' he said, 'who struck you with a cane? And, Lotty, I saw a blue mark on your leg while in the boat. Who kicked you, child?'

'Father. Oh, don't tell! He'd kill me. And I'm only a property, and sometimes so awkward and naughty.' Her eyes were swimming in tears. 'I'm sure I have a cold,' she said, wiping them. 'But you won't tell father, ever, ever, ever?'

'Never, never, _never_,' promised Antony.

She grew calmer and happier now, and told him all the story of her young life as far as she knew it, and a deal about her many strange wanderings from the silvery Tweed to the rapid Spey with the Queerest Show.

It was a fascinating story, but there was much sorrow in it; and the tiny lace handkerchief was quite wet before she finished.

'How old is Wallace?'

'Oh, only a year; but he is mine--my friend, although of course he is only a property.'

'And Skeleton and Mary?'

'They've always been with us. I should die if they left. Will you stop long, Mr Blake? Do; and Mrs Pendlebury and I will try to make you happy--especially I.'

'You droll child! But won't your fairy godmother be expecting us?'

Crona came to her cottage-door to welcome them. She wore the 'mutch,' but was daintily dressed to receive company. Close by was a little shed or bower entirely thatched with green rushes; and underneath this, on a table covered by a snow-white cloth a most dainty repast was laid out, and the witch herself was asked by Antony to preside.

Tod Lowrie hid himself into a ball, and was asleep in the sunshine, with his tail right over his face. Perhaps Wallace thought he was in the way, for he got his nose under the fox and rolled him right away into a dark corner. No doubt Tod Lowrie was awake; but, fox-like, he pretended not to be.

Joe the raven was perched on a rafter, looking sly and demoniac. Every now and then he would say with a sigh, 'Well, well, such is life!' then hold back his head and laugh weirdly.

At first Tim the tame mouse was not to be seen, but Lotty pointed him out to Antony. Tim was seated on the edge of the cat's dish, and every now and then he stretched a little white hand or paw down into pussy's milk, then drew it up and licked it clean.

Crona's white scones and butter, and the meatpies which no doubt had been in the parcel that Lotty sent by Wallace, were very delicious. But there were fried mountain-trout also, and fruit to follow. But the wine was the water from a neighbouring rill.

There was something so very unreal about all Antony's present surroundings, and one thing with another, that more than once he thought he must be dreaming, especially when Tim suddenly appeared on the table, and Lotty quietly fed him from a teaspoon.

The raven kept on saying things with that eldritch, screaming laugh. Presently it was, 'Joe, Joe, don't you!' He had hopped down to the ground, and was slyly approaching a hassock placed there for pussy, and the cat was asleep on it, but her tail hung down.

'Joe, Joe, don't you. He! he! he! Joe, go back to perch. Joe, see what you'll catch!'

He was near enough now, and gave the floating tail a most cruel pinch.

Pussy screamed. Joe only backed astern and was beginning to laugh when he received a smack on the face that made him stagger.

'You--you--you _wretch_!' he screamed; but he flew back to his perch and laughed now till the welkin rang.

Tim disappeared.

The cat was angrily wagging her tail, and no doubt making up her mind to pay Joe out first chance.

Tod Lowrie got up and stretched himself, and Wallace placed his great wise head on the tablecloth close to Crona's elbow. Then every pet had a tit-bit, and peace was restored once more.

'Come over often to see poor Crona,' said the witch to Antony when leaving. 'There is that in your eye which Crona loves.'

He held out his hand to shake 'good-bye.' Crona took it and looked at the palm. Then her face clouded.

Antony Blake was not slow to mark the change, and laughingly asked if she saw anything strange in his palm.

'It was but a cursory glance,' she said. 'I could not say. There may be nothing in palmistry, but, again, there may be something. Come again, and come alone.'

The last words were spoken in almost a whisper, and Antony went away wondering.

* * * * *

Biffins Lee was an up-to-date gipsy, and did not trust entirely to horses to take the Queerest Show around the country when he made up his mind to change ground. He had a very smart and pretty steam-engine, which hauled three immense vans. Others came on behind with horses.

The engine at present was stored on his own camping-ground here--which, by the way he rented from a neighbouring 'laird'--and was carefully housed and taken care of. His horses were farmed cheaply enough. Whatever the man's character may have been, one could not help admiring his business capabilities--that is, if admiration can be bestowed on mere cleverness in making money.

Frank Antony was not long in finding out that the man had one other reason for pitching camp so far north as this: he did a roaring trade in Shetland and Icelandic ponies, and had agents even in Shetland and Iceland picking these up and shipping them south.

But the Queerest Show paid even here, because seldom a week in winter passed that he did not have some strange addition to it; and when he got tired of this he let it go and had a change. Once, indeed, during the summer holiday season--so Mary the Skeleton's wife told Antony--he hired for exhibition purposes the whole of a celebrated hunter's trophies in the shape of skins of lions, elephants' skeletons, and marvels no end from the far interior of Africa. He had dwarfs too, sometimes, and wild men from every region on earth.

Biffins Lee knew the secret of making his dwarfs look still smaller and his wild men wilder.

In brief, everybody visited the Queerest Show from every town within a radius of a hundred miles, always certain they would see marvels well worth looking at and remembering afterwards.

But he had palmists as well, and nearly every one in the camp did a little bit of fortune-telling. Girls from cities and towns afar off came to have their future told, and, strangely enough, many of the forecasts came true.

Over and above all its other attractions, there was a 'grand ball' every fortnight in the large marquee, and lads and lassies came very long distances in order to attend it, for even the youngest English schoolgirl must know how very fond the Scots are of music and dancing.

The camp was well situated for this sort of winter entertainment, as it lay half-way between two rather important towns, the 'longshore pathway being shorter far than the journey by train, and ten times more pleasant.

These neighbouring towns were on very friendly terms with each other. They challenged each other to games of cricket, 'gowf,' football, and to curling on an adjoining lake when the ice was strong. Moreover, the weekly half-holiday was not on the same day in these towns, so that visits could be more easily exchanged.

Antony had not been more than a week here before he formed a resolve, a strange one perhaps for a young Englishman; but then he was no ordinary young man, hating London society as we have already seen, and with it everything Cockney. He loved Nature in all her shows and forms--quite as much so, perhaps, as the poet Burns or that divine naturalist Richard Jefferies. To Antony Blake the most modest, wee, God-painted beetle that crawled on the grass or cornstalks was not a 'creature' but 'a little person,' with its own living to make in its own way--all so different to our own ways--its own loves and fears, and troubles and trials quite as hard to bear, perhaps, as those of human beings. He was not of their world, but that did not prevent him from sympathising with them. There was one other trait in Antony's character which surely was an honourable one: he was careful not to inflict pain.

So the resolve he made was to stay in his caravan all winter; not quite close to the gipsy camp though. He had his palace-on-wheels removed to a pitch about five hundred yards off, and had his own little enclosure. This would be quieter, and enable him to study more of the seaside flora and fauna.

'If you like, captain,' said Biffins Lee, 'to have a little quiet companionship at times of a winter's evening, you know, I'll tell you what I propose.'

Antony would listen.

'Well,' said Biffins, 'I don't mind the "Silver Queen" lying at anchor in your enclosure. There will be nobody in it but Mary the stout lady and little Lotty. They'll do for you in the way of cooking and that sort of thing, and the child can thrill you with her violin whenever you long to be thrilled.'

'This is really kind of you, Mr Lee,' said Antony, 'and I gladly accept. And I suppose Wallace can come too?'

'Oh yes; Wallace is as much a property of Lotty's as Lotty herself and Mary are properties of mine.'

Antony smiled faintly. It was the first time in his life he had ever heard a daughter designated as a property. And at this moment he could not help thinking of those wales on Lotty's arm and leg.

So the 'Silver Queen' and the beautiful saloon caravan 'Gipsy Queen' were both anchored together inside Antony's compound, and he settled down to enjoy a life that promised to be almost idyllic.

The word 'anchored' used in the last sentence is quite the correct one, because, on this wild coast, so terrible are the storms that at times sweep inland from the sea that no caravan not firmly attached to the ground by pegs and ropes could stand the wind's fierce force.

Chops himself could be spared to run messages, and could often visit the little camp to see how things were going on.

Bruin, it soon appeared, was also going to be a pretty constant morning visitor, for no animal ever seemed to enjoy a hearty breakfast more than that great bear did.

Had Antony Blake desired to enter society there were many old and wealthy families in the neighbourhood who would have given the youthful Englishman a right hearty welcome; but he determined from the very first to be the recluse and the student, so mildly and pleasantly, but firmly, refused all invitations.

Not far from the camp, almost running past it indeed, was a stream which flowed right into the sea; and in the sea, some distance beyond, our hero was fond of having a morning swim. Wallace the Newfoundland used always to go with him; and once, but for this strong and faithful fellow, he would never have reached the shore. For he had swam out that day as far as his strength would permit, and foolishly attempted to land against the current of the river, not knowing that it was of great force a good way out to sea.

The dog did not, on this occasion, seize him and drag him in, but permitted Antony to lay hold of his collar and so be assisted or towed.

But only a week after, this athletic young Saxon had an adventure which, as it has a bearing on the progress of this 'ower true tale,' must be related in the next chapter.