This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Gilbert Parker
When Ranulph returned to his little house at St. Aubin's Bay night hadfallen. Approaching he saw there was no light in the windows. Theblinds were not drawn, and no glimmer of fire came from the chimney. Hehesitated at the door, for he instinctively felt that something must havehappened to his father. He was just about to enter, however, when someone came hurriedly round the corner of the house.
"Whist, boy," said a voice; "I've news for you." Ranulph recognised thevoice as that of Dormy Jamais. Dormy plucked at his sleeve. "Come withme, boy," said he.
"Come inside if you want to tell me something," answered Ranulph.
"Ah bah, not for me! Stone walls have ears. I'll tell only you and thewind that hears and runs away."
"I must speak to my father first," answered Ranulph.
"Come with me, I've got him safe," Dormy chuckled to himself.
Ranulph's heavy hand dropped on his shoulder. "What's that you'resaying—my father with you! What's the matter?"
As though oblivious of Ranulph's hand Dormy went on chuckling.
"Whoever burns me for a fool 'll lose their ashes. Des monz a fous—Ihave a head! Come with me." Ranulph saw that he must humour the shrewdnatural, so he said:
"Et ben, put your four shirts in five bundles and come along." He was atrue Jerseyman at heart, and speaking to such as Dormy Jamais he used thehomely patois phrases. He knew there was no use hurrying the little man,he would take his own time.
"There's been the devil to pay," said Dormy as he ran towards the shore,his sabots going clac—clac, clac—clac. "There's been the devil to payin St. Heliers, boy." He spoke scarcely above a whisper.
"Tcheche—what's that?" said Ranulph. But Dormy was not to uncover hispot of roses till his own time. "That connetable's got no more wit thana square bladed knife," he rattled on. "But gache-a-penn, I'm hungry!"And as he ran he began munching a lump of bread he took from his pocket.
For the next five minutes they went on in silence. It was quite dark,and as they passed up Market Hill—called Ghost Lane because of the GoodLittle People who made it their highway—Dormy caught hold of Ranulph'scoat and trotted along beside him. As they went, tokens of the lifewithin came out to them through doorway and window. Now it was the voiceof a laughing young mother:
"Si tu as faim
Manges ta main
Et gardes l'autre pour demain;
Et ta tete
Pour le jour de fete;
Et ton gros ortee
Pour le Jour Saint Norbe"
And again:
"Let us pluck the bill of the lark,
The lark from head to tail—"
He knew the voice. It was that of a young wife of the parish of St.Saviour: married happily, living simply, given a frugal board, after themanner of her kind, and a comradeship for life. For the moment he feltlittle but sorrow for himself. The world seemed to be conspiring againsthim: the chorus of Fate was singing behind the scenes, singing of thehappiness of others in sardonic comment on his own final unhapp