The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 360, November 20, 1886

TWELVE YEARS LATER.

In the early days of the present century, during which period the events of this story took place, the education of the lower classes was of the meagrest description; boys like Jack Shelley, with intellectual capacities above the level of their own class, had none of the opportunities afforded at the present day of rising from their humble position. Jack, indeed, was fortunate in getting hold of Fairy’s books, which he very soon mastered; but in those times young ladies were taught very little besides history and geography, and a little French, and Fairy was not fond of study; she liked French, and she was fond of poetry; history she hated, and but for Jack her ignorance of arithmetic would have been pitiable. Her taste for poetry hence fitted Jack indirectly, for Mr. Leslie gave her a Shakespeare on her tenth Christmas Day, and from the first day Jack caught sight of it he never rested till he had saved up enough money to buy himself one, which was his constant companion on the downs. He was an intense lover of nature as well as of poetry, and his shepherd’s life helped him in this respect; for during the long hours he passed daily on the lonely downs, he had plenty of time for observation of all the birds and animal life he came across. Sussex is a famous county for rare birds, and the neighbourhood of Lewes in particular is celebrated in this respect; and by the time Jack was seventeen he was quite an authority on birds; he knew all about them, what kinds visited the neighbourhood and at what seasons; which remained all the year round, and which were only rare and occasional visitors; which bred there, where their nests were to be found, how they were made, and how many eggs and of what kind each species laid; the habits and very often the characters of different birds—all this he knew.

His drawback was he could not afford to buy any good book on birds—they were all far beyond his means; but Mr. Leslie had “Bewick,” and one of Jack’s greatest treats was to go and fetch Fairy, when she spent an evening at the Rectory, and be allowed half an hour’s study of this most fascinating book.

But besides natural history and Shakespeare, Jack studied mathematics on the downs; he bought an old Euclid and an algebra in a book-shop at Lewes, and these, with his Shakespeare and one or two other books, he kept in a hole in a chalk-pit on one of the downs; and winter and summer alike, while the sheep grazed he studied. In winter he walked up and down to keep his blood in circulation, for it was sometimes so cold that he would have been frozen had he sat still; but in summer he stretched himself full length on the short turf in some grey hollow, where he was in shadow.

In some ways a shepherd’s life suited him; it gave him plenty of leisure for study; he was his own master from the time he left home in the grey dawn till he returned at sunset; his duties were light, he had but to follow the sheep, and his dog did all the hard work; moreover, he had none of the responsibility—that all fell on John’s shoulders. Then he liked the loneliness of it. Often for days he met no one except, perhaps, his father, with the rest of the flock, or Dame Hursey gathering wool, or some other shepherd; but yet, for all this, Jack hated the life. He hated it because he felt he had the capacity in him for doing higher work; he hated it because, though his father was content to live all the year on the chalky slopes, visiting Lewes at the two sheep fairs, and occasionally on market days, and on the fifth of November to see the carnival, he was not; he longed to go beyond those round-topped mountains, to cross that silver streak of sea he caught a glimpse of on clear days, to see some of the cities and places he had read of. Above all, he hated it because he felt it was an insuperable obstacle between him and Fairy; for whom, from that day when, as an infant, she had clutched hold of his finger, he had entertained a romantic and ardent affection.

And then he was very proud; and though it was doubtless very foolish pride, he was ashamed of being a shepherd. He would not have had his father, for whom he had the greatest respect, suspect the real secret reason of his dislike to his occupation for worlds, but there it was all the same. He knew to have refused to become a shepherd would almost have broken John Shelley’s heart; and so, for his sake, Jack had never demurred when it was proposed, but he cherished hopes of some day rising to a higher calling.

Poor Jack! could he but have known how that longing was to be fulfilled! But Jack no more than the rest of us could afford to look into the future, neither had he the power—it was as mercifully veiled from him as from others. To look back on past sorrows is sad enough; to look forward to coming ones with the same certainty would be insupportable.

Jack’s seventeenth birthday was a glorious day, and before the sun was high in the horizon, he, and Fairy, and the two other boys were on their way to the seaside, with their dinners in a basket. They were all in high spirits, for a holiday was a rare thing indeed for Jack, and Willy was nearly always at sea, so it was a treat to have him with them, especially to Jack, whose favourite brother Willy was. Moreover, when Willy was there, he would be sure to take Charlie away for part of the day, and leave Jack and Fairy together, and this was a thing to be very thankful for in Jack’s opinion, for he considered Charlie a little nuisance, and had always been very jealous of his brotherly affection and friendship for Fairy. One thing in particular annoyed Jack; Charlie always kissed Fairy every night when he went to bed—a thing neither he nor his father ever ventured to do, nor had Willy ever done so since he came back from sea; but Charlie kissed her every night in the coolest way; and when Jack remonstrated with his mother, as he sometimes did about it, Mrs. Shelley only laughed and said as they were foster brother and sister, and both still mere children, it was quite natural.

But this day was destined to be a very happy one for Jack; he was the hero of it, and Fairy gave herself up to making it as pleasant for him as possible. Her present had delighted him greatly, so he started in his happiest mood. He was lucky, too, and found a nest of a Cornish chough in the chalky cliffs, with five little birds, one of which Jack took home alive and made a great pet of; then, as they neared Newhaven, he shot a water-ousel with his catapult, to add to his collection of stuffed birds found in the neighbourhood. Jack was a charming companion on a country walk; he knew every bird they came across, and his delight and excitement when they saw a rare or scarce bird was charming to witness. A flight of crossbills, or a ring-ousel, was a delightful incident to Jack; and when, in the evening at Newhaven, he actually descried a stormy petrel skimming over the surface of the sea in its usual business-like way, as if all the affairs of the nation depended on it, his delight was unbounded. He had had a glorious birthday, he declared—only one little shadow was cast across it on their way home, when, as they reached the top of the down, at the foot of which lay the shepherd’s house, they met Dame Hursey. Now Jack never could bear Dame Hursey to approach Fairy! He always connected her in some way or other, how, he did not exactly know, with Fairy’s arrival, and he had a very shrewd suspicion that the old wool-gatherer knew far more than anyone else about Fairy’s parentage. One thing was certain—she was most curious about the child, and never met either Jack or his father without talking about her, and trying to find out something about her; and if she could only speak to Fairy herself, she was quite happy; but this Jack never suffered her to do if he could prevent it; and seeing her coming he now tried to hurry Fairy home before Dame Hursey could catch them up.

“Hi, man, Jack Shelley, stop a minute, will you, and let me have a look at the little lass?” shouted Dame Hursey in her broad Sussex brogue, and Jack, much against his will, was obliged to stop.

“Poor old woman, Jack; she can’t do us any harm; why shouldn’t we stop and speak to her?” said Fairy, who did not keep her pretty manners for the other sex only, but was just as anxious to charm an old woman like Dame Hursey, and be as courteous to her as she would have been to Mr. Leslie or any of the people she met at the Rectory.

“Well, you are fair enough for a princess. We shall have the prince coming one of these fine days and carrying you off,” said Dame Hursey, holding the little slender fingers Fairy tendered her in her horny old palm, and gazing with her piercing black eyes, bright now in spite of her seventy odd years, at the child’s fair face.

“I hope not; I am very happy here,” said Fairy, laughing.

“But you don’t belong here for all that; you look as much out of your place here as a black-faced horned sheep would among John Shelley’s flock of Southdowns.”

“We must be going, Fairy. See, the sun is setting,” said Jack, impatiently.

“Ah, it is no use your frowning about it, Jack Shelley. You may take her away now, but you mark my words, as sure as my name is Hursey, the prince will come and carry the fairies’ child away one of these days, in spite of all you can say or do to the contrary,” persisted the old woman, as Jack led Fairy off, feeling very much annoyed at her words.

“Old witch,” muttered Jack.

“Poor old thing! she means well, Jack,” laughed Fairy.

“I almost think she has meant mischief to you, Fairy, ever since that day after you first came to us, and I was left at home to watch Charlie, while mother took you to Mr. Leslie. I remember as well as if it were yesterday; she came in while you were gone, and ransacked the place to look for your clothes and things. If you had been in the cradle instead of Charlie, I am sure she would have stolen you.”

“Oh, Jack, how absurd you are! Well, at any rate, I am too big to be stolen now, so you might let me be civil to her.”

“Civil you can be, but, Fairy, promise me you will never go to her cottage, nor stop talking to her when you are alone,” said Jack.

“Well, I promise. I am not at all anxious to go to her very dirty hut, and mother very seldom lets me go out alone, except to and from the Rectory.”

“I only wish she did; here I have to go out with Fairy whenever she chooses, whether I like or not,” put in Charlie.

“But you always do like,” said Fairy, at which Jack frowned ominously.

The next week Willy went to sea, and the others were left at home for the summer, except Fairy, who went to the seaside with the Leslies for a fortnight in September, the longest fortnight Jack ever spent. While she was away, Mrs. Shelley took the opportunity of warning Jack about his growing jealousy of Charlie, which was daily becoming more apparent, and she flattered herself when Fairy came back that her words had had some effect, until a little incident occurred to show her she was mistaken.