CHAPTER VIII - A Catapult and a Catastrophe

by Ethel Turner

　　"Oh, sweet pale Margaret,

　　Oh, rare pale Margaret,

　　What lit your eyes with tearful power?"

　　The dusk had fallen very softly and tenderly over the garden,and the paddocks, and the river. There was just the faintestwind at the waters edge, but it seemed almost too tired after thehot, long day to breathe and make ripples. Very slowly the grey,still light deepened, and a white star or two came out and blinkedup away in the high, far heavens. Down behind the gum trees,across the river, there was a still whiter moon; a stretch ofwater near was beginning to smile up to it. Meg hoped itwould not climb past the tree-tops before eight o'clock, or thelong paddocks would be flooded with light and she would be seen.At tea-time, and during the early part of the evening, she waspreoccupied and inclined to be irritable in her anxiety, and shesnubbed Bunty two or three times quite unkindly.

　　He had been hovering about her ever since six o'clock in almosta pitiable way.

　　It was characteristic of this small boy that when he had been temptedinto departing from the paths of truth he was absolutely wretcheduntil he had confessed, and rubbed his little unclean hands intohis wet eyes until he was "a sight to dream of, not to tell."

　　Pip said it was because he was a coward, and had not the moralcourage to go to sleep with a lie on his soul, for fear he mightwake up and see an angel with a fiery sword standing by hisbedside. And I must sorrowfully acknowledge this seemed a truerview of the case than believing the boy was really impressedwith the heinousness of his offence and anxious to make amends.For the very next day, if occasion sufficiently strong offered,he would fall again, and the very next night would creep up tosomebody and whimper, with his knuckles in his eyes, that he had"t—t—told a s—s—story, boo—hoo!"

　　By seven o'clock this particular evening he was miserablyrepentant; several tears had trickled down, his cheeks and mingledwith the ink of the map he was engaged upon for Miss Marsh. Heestablished himself at Meg's elbow, and kept looking up into herface in a yearning love-and-forgive-me kind of way that she foundinfinitely embarrassing; for she had begun to suspect, from hisstrange conduct, that he had in some way learned the contentsof her note, and was trying to discourage her from her enterprise.The more he gazed at her the redder and more uncomfortable shebecame.

　　"You can have my new c—c—catapult," he whispered once, givingher a tearful, imploring look, that she interpreted as an entreatyto stay safely at home.

　　At last the clock had travelled up to eight, and the children beingengaged in a wordy warfare over the possession of a certain straydog that had come to Misrule in the afternoon, she slipped out ofthe room unobserved. No one was in the hall, and she picked upthe becoming, fleecy cloud she had hidden there, twisted it roundher head, and crept out of the side door and along the first path.

　　Down in the garden the ground was white with fallen rose leaves,and the air full of their dying breath; a clump of pampas grassstood tall and soft against the sky; some native trees, leftgrowing among the cultivated shrubs, stretched silver-whitearms up to the moon and gave the little hurrying figure a ghostlykind of feeling. Out of the gate and into the first paddock,where the rose scent did not come at all, and only a pungent smellof wattle was in the thin, hushed air. More gum trees, and morewhite, ghostly arms; then a sharp movement near the fence, a thick,sepulchral whisper, and a stifled scream from Meg.

　　"Here's the c—c—c—catapult, M—Meg; t—take it," Bunty said,his face white and miserable.

　　"You little stupid! What do you mean coming creeping here likethis?" Meg said, angry as soon as her heart began to beatagain.

　　"I only w—wanted to p—p—please you, M—M-Meggie," the littleboy said, with a bitter sob in his voice.

　　He had put both his arms round her waist, and was burying his nosein her white muslin dress. She shook him off hastily.

　　"All right; there—thanks," she said. "Now go home, Bunty;I want to have a quiet walk in the moonlight by myself."

　　He screwed his knuckles as far into his eyes as they would go,his mouth opened, and his lower lip dropped down, down.

　　"I t—t—told y—y—you a b—b—big st—st—story;" he wept,rocking to and fro where he stood.

　　"Did you? Oh, all right! Now go home," she said impatiently."You always ARE telling stories, Bunty, you know, so I'm notsurprised. There-go along."

　　"But—but I'm—must tell you all ab—ab—about it," he said,still engaged in driving his eyes into his head.

　　"No, you needn't; I'll forgive you this time," she saidmagnanimously, "only don't do it again. Now run away at once,or you won't have your map done, and miss Marsh will punish you."

　　His eyes returned to their proper position, likewise his hands.His heart was perfectly light again as he turned to go back to thehouse. When he had gone a few steps he came back.

　　"D'ye want that catapult very much, Meg?" he said gently."You're only a girl, so I don't 'spect it would be very muchgood to you, would it?"

　　"No, I don't want it. Here, take it, and hurry back: think ofyour map," Meg returned, in a very fever of impatience at hisslowness.

　　And then Bunty, utterly happy once more, turned and ran away gailyup to the house. And Meg let down the slip-rail, put it back inits place with trembling fingers, and fled in wild haste throughthe two remaining paddocks.

　　The wattle-scrub at the end was very quiet; there was not a rustle,not a sound of a voice, not a sound of the affected little laughthat generally told when Aldith was near.

　　Meg stopped breathless, and peered among the bushes; there was atall figure leaning against the fence.

　　"Andrew!" she said in a sharp whisper, and forgetting in heranxiety that she never called him by his Christian name—"whereare the others? Hasn't Aldith come?"

　　There was the smell of a cigar, and, looking closely, she saw toher horror it was Alan.

　　"Oh!" she said, in an indescribable tone.

　　Her heart gave one frightened, shamed bound, and then seemedto stop beating altogether.

　　She looked up, at him as if entreating him not to have too bad anopinion of her; but his face wore the contemptuous look she hadgrown to dread and his lips were finely curled.

　　"I—I only came out for a little walk; it is such a beautifulevening," she said, with miserable lameness; and then in a toneof justification she added, "it's my father's paddock, too."

　　He leaned back against he fence and looked down at her.

　　"Flossie gave me your note, and as it seemed addressed to me, andI was told it was for me; I opened it," he said.

　　"You KNEW it was for Andrew," she said not looking at him, however.

　　"So I presumed when I had read it," he returned slowly; "butAndrew has not come back to-night yet, so I came instead; it's allthe same as long as it's a boy, isn't it?"

　　The girl made no reply, only put her hand up and drew the cloudmore closely round her head.

　　His lips curled a little more.

　　"And I know how to kiss, too, I assure you. I am quite a good handat it, though you may not think so. Oh yes, I know you said youdid not want to be kissed; but then, girls always say that, don'tthey?—even when they expect it most."

　　Still Meg did not speak, and the calm, merciless voice went on.

　　"I am afraid it is hardly dark enough for you, is it? The moonis very much in the way, do you not think so? Still, perhaps wecan find a darker place farther on, and then I can kiss you withoutdanger. What is the matter?—are you always as quiet as this withAndrew?"

　　"Oh, DON'T!" said Meg, in a choking voice.

　　The mocking tone died instantly out of his voice, "Miss Meg, youused to seem such a nice little girl," he said quietly; "whathave you let that horrid MacCarthy girl spoil you for? For she ishorrid, though you may not think so."

　　Meg did not speak or move, and he went on with a gentle earnestnessthat she had not thought him capable of..

　　"I have watched her on the boat, systematically going to work tospoil you, and can't help thinking of the pity of it. I imaginedhow I should feel if my little sister Flossie ever fell in withsuch a girl, and began to flirt and make herself conspicuous,and I wondered would you mind if I spoke to you about it.Are you very angry with me, Miss Meg?"

　　But Meg leaned her head against the rough fence and began tosob—little, dry, heartbroken sobs that went to the boy's warmheart.

　　"I oughtn't to have spoken as I did at first—I was a perfectbrute," he said remorsefully; "forgive me, won't you? Please,little Miss Meg—I would rather cut my hand off than really hurtyou."

　　This last was a little consoling, at any rate, and Meg lifted herface half a second, white and pathetic in the moonlight, and allwet with grievous tears.

　　"I—I—oh! indeed I have not been quite so horrid as you think,"she said brokenly; "I didn't want to come this walk—and oh!indeed, indeed, indeed I wouldn't allow ANYONE to kiss me. Oh,PLEASE do believe me!"

　　"I do, I do indeed," he said eagerly; "I only said it because—well,because I am a great rough brute, and don't know how to talk to alittle, tender girl. Dear Miss Meg, do shake hands and tell me youforgive my boorishness."

　　Meg extended a small white hand, and he shook it warmly. Thenthey walked up the paddocks together, and parted at a broken gateleading into the garden.

　　"I'll never flirt again while I live," she said with greatearnestness, as he bade her good-bye; and he answered encouragingly,"No, I am quite sure you won't—leave it to girls like Aldith, won'tyou? you only wanted to be set straight. Good-bye, little Miss Meg."