Chapter XI: Dreadfully Frightened

"Miss Bryda," said Uncle Jack at breakfast next morning, "if you knew what I know you would be a good deal wiser than you are now."

"I dare say I should, Uncle Jack," answered Bryda, pouting. "I suppose you mean if I knew all the dates of all the Norman kings, and could speak French without any mistakes, and--and--several other things."

"Such as how many beans make five? and that useful kind of thing to know, I suppose? But if I were a little girl, and any one told me the very nice piece of news which I think I had better not tell you, why, I should really and truly, I do believe, be obliged to get up and give the person a kiss. Especially if he was young and very handsome!" added Uncle Jack, twirling his mustache, and looking very seriously at his niece. Evidently the only chance of getting this news was to get up and give him a kiss, which Bryda did, and both she and Uncle Jack were promptly scolded by grandmother, who said that in _her_ young days she used to sit still at breakfast till every one had finished.

Uncle Jack begged her pardon at once, very politely indeed, and then told Bryda his piece of news.

"I know a field, a very little way off, where there is a hedge simply crawling with blackberries."

Grandmother was a little deaf, so she did not hear what he said quite lightly, and with a little scream she said:

"Crawling with black beetles! Oh, John! for pity's sake have them all killed at once!"

"I will, mother, dear, and they shall be made into jelly for your dinner," said Uncle Jack, laughing.

But the dear old lady grew quite excited about the black beetles, and he had with some trouble to explain that a hedge crawling with blackberries was a way of speaking that he had invented to make Bryda laugh. "She so seldom does laugh, poor child!" he said.

Well, Uncle Jack was going to shoot this morning, and he would take Bryda to the blackberry hedge, and leave her there till he came back again.

So he did; and Bryda, as she marched off with a big basket on her arm, beside Uncle Jack with a gun, made a little request.

"Might Beppo come and help her? It would be a very little round to pass old Roger's cottage, Bryda would like it so."

"Why, what a little coax it is!" said Uncle Jack; "and, pray, who is Beppo?"

Bryda soon explained, telling Uncle Jack all about the little boy who so much interested her and his poor mother.

"And he's such a nice boy," she ended. "He has curly hair, and big black eyes, and speaks such very funny English."

"He must be a nice little boy with all those charms!" laughed Uncle Jack. And to Roger's cottage they went.

Roger was at home, and so was his cat. Uncle Jack began to talk to the old man. Bryda, after looking round for Beppo, seized the cat, and sat down on a stool to pretend it was a baby, and put it to sleep, with her eyes continually fixed on the door of the Italian woman's room.

Into this room Uncle Jack went presently, and Bryda was left alone with Roger. Now was the time to ask him about Liz and his palace home, and if he was not sorry Liz had died before he could go there.

"Roger," she asked, not quite knowing how to begin, "when did you say you were going home?"

"As soon as I've finished the bit o' work I've had set me here, missy. Maybe if I'd made fewer mistakes over it I'd be there by now. It's, oh! my clumsy hands, never fit to touch it at all!"

"Do you mean your carpentering?" asked Bryda, wondering.

"Not quite that, Miss Bryda," answered the old man, looking away through the little window. "It's weaving work more than carpentering work, making a bit of the Bride's beautiful marriage dress. There's a-many weavers set to that work, missy--ay, many they are! And some waste the materials and do naught; an' some put gold and silver thread into the pattern anyhow, an' it's all mixed and spoiled. But there's some good workers weave the bright threads and the dull threads as they were meant to be, and work real pearls on it, and seldom make a fault. That's how my Liz worked; but I've been a clumsy one--ah, sad and clumsy old Roger's been all his life!"

"When will the wedding be, Roger, and where? Is it to be in the old church here?"

Roger shook his head.

"When will the dress be finished, missy, the Bride's beautiful dress that's so long a-makin'? An' where will----"

Here Roger was interrupted, much to Bryda's grief, for Uncle Jack came out of the sick-room, looking much less cheerful than when he went in, and leading Beppo by the hand. He spoke in a low tone to Roger, to whom Bryda saw him give money, and wondered why he should, when the old man was, she believed, so rich already. Then beckoning to Bryda, he left the cottage.

"Now, Beppo, you shall go and play with this young lady. Will you be very good?" he asked, outside.

"Oh, si, si! I mean say, yes, sir!" answered the little Italian, looking brightly at Bryda, who seemed to him now quite an old friend, and speaking his queer English.

So Uncle Jack led them both into his blackberry field, which was quite as good as he had said.

"It's simply beautiful!" Bryda said to Uncle Jack as he went away, promising to return by and by and fetch them.

Left alone, the two children were happy enough, and their tongues wagged very fast indeed. Beppo told his little companion about his own country, where oranges, hanging on dark-green trees, might be had for the trouble of gathering; and about beautiful vineyards, with clusters of white and purple grapes, and the merry, merry vintage-time. Ah! if they could go back to Italy again, he was sure his dear, dear mother would be quite well again! His father was dead, and the mother grew poorer and poorer in her own country, and at last she dreamed night after night that if she would go north to England she would be able to get money for herself and her boy, and come home quite rich. But it was not so; people did not seem to like barrel-organs much, and the little money his mother had had all gone to buy this instrument.

Often they had been sent from houses with angry words; often they had nowhere to sleep; often they had nothing to eat.

Bryda had never known real hunger. She had known how pleasant it was to come in tired and hungry after a long expedition, and how delicious bread and butter tasted then, and jam! but to ache with hunger, and, when ready to faint, not to have any food, how terrible that must be!

But very soon both Bryda and Beppo forgot that there ever had been any troubles in the world, they were so busy and so happy with the blackberries.

What a delightful amusement blackberry hunting is! To see the basket filling fast with the fat, sweet, well-flavored berries; to eat one after another, because this one is crushed or that one is too nice to part with, or a third may have a different flavor since it grows on another bush--how nice it is! We eat, and chatter, and eat again, till fingers and mouths are stained a dark-red color; and how we laugh and make fun! Only one thing vexes us--that is, that the very nicest, finest fellows always _will_ grow right up at the top of the hedge, just out of reach even of our longest stick! They would be so nice; but very often, after struggling a good deal, scratching faces and hands, and getting wet feet by slipping into the ditch, we have to give it up and own ourselves beaten.

Never mind! we have generally quite enough for the jam or the puddings we want to make, and in great triumph we go home, each boasting of having gathered most!

So Bryda and Beppo amused themselves, and wandered on at last to the other end of the field. Here there was a gate leading into another field, where was a very high hedge with what seemed to the children the best blackberries they had seen.

In a moment they were through the bars of the high gate and in the field. Just as they entered it a loud shout came from before them; and Bryda, looking across the field, saw the terrible Moll Dawson waving her hands and shouting to them.

Terrified, she caught Beppo's hand, and dragged him further into the field. On the side where the blackberries were there were also some trees, and beyond was a little wood. They might hide in this, and be safe. If Moll Dawson found them what would she not do? She might take all their blackberries. She might ill-treat them in some dreadful way. She was so big and strong, and there was no help near. What might she not do?

So Bryda and her companion, poor Beppo! who was frightened because she was frightened--though he did not in the least know why--these two fled further into the field, while Moll Dawson still beckoned and called.

Bryda, seeing that the girl did not come into the field, took courage a little, and looked about her. Oh, terror! if she was frightened before, she was now as if rooted to the ground with fear.

Sullenly coming toward the poor children, sniffing violently as he came, and glaring at them with wicked eyes, was an immense bull!

"Run, Beppo!" screamed Bryda. Beppo looked at her a moment. "Run! I am coming!" she cried; and Beppo was off like the wind toward the gate where Moll Dawson beckoned.

Bryda, looking round a moment, saw a great board, with "Beware of the Bull!" nailed against a tree in the middle of the field.

Only for a moment she looked. Was there any hope of her being able to climb a tree? Which gate was nearest? The dreadful animal was some little way off. If Bryda ran with Beppo she might escape. In a second she was off; but, alas! alas! the bull was after her.

He came on bellowing and roaring.

Beppo was safe. He reached the gate before Bryda; but she, rushing half-blind with terror, tripped as the fierce animal was close behind her, and with a wild shriek fell flat on her face a yard or two from the gate.