ERIC, A WAIF

A Story of Last Century

BY

EMMA LESLIE

Author of

"The Story of a Christmas Sixpence," "Audrey's Jewels," etc.

London

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56 PATERNOSTER ROW 65 ST PAUL'S CHURCHYARD AND 164 PICCADILLY

BUTLER & TANNER THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS FROME, AND LONDON

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. ERIC HUNTER

II. AT THE MAGPIE

III. A FATAL JOURNEY

IV. ENGLISH SLAVES

V. THE VOYAGE

VI. A NEW HOME

VII. A WILD GOOSE CHASE

VIII. CONCLUSION

ERIC, A WAIF.

CHAPTER I.

ERIC HUNTER.

"SO the old witch is dead, and Dame Willoughby may hope to raise a whole brood of chickens, and Farmer Sawyer need not fear his cheese will be spoiled;" and the speaker lifted his broad-brimmed tattered hat, and wiped the perspiration from his brow, looking expectantly at the landlord of The Magpie as he did so.

"That news is worth a horn of ale, isn't it, Master Tyler?" he asked, when he found it met with little response.

"Humph! The news might have been better, and it might have been worse. The poor woman was a stranger in these parts, I'll allow, but that was all that could be proved against her. Where's the boy?" added the landlord, with a little more interest.

"Him they call Eric? Did ever an English-born lad have such a name as that?" said the other in a grumbling tone, as he slowly raised the horn of ale to his lips before answering the landlord's question. "He'll be up there with his mother, I suppose; the two were always together."

"Poor little chap, he'll find the world a hard place, I'm afraid, now his mother has gone."

"Serve 'em right. They should ha' bided in their own parish, and not come poking their noses where they wasn't wanted," said the other.

The landlord made no reply to this, for he knew the man did but express the sentiment of the whole neighbourhood in the words he had spoken.

Summerleigh was a quiet, self-contained little village on the edge of Epping Forest, far enough from London to be very jealous of the intrusion of strangers if they stayed more than a night at the inn, unless they happened to be visitors at the Hall. So when the poor woman came with her only son, a lad of ten, to occupy the little cottage that had stood tenantless so long on the edge of the forest clearing, the whole parish was stirred to discover who she was and why she came there.

She said herself that it was for the fresh air of the forest; but nobody believed this, any more than they believed that fresh air made any difference to people's health; they chose to believe any but this simple reason for seeking a home in their locality.

They soon discovered that she was poor, but industrious, for mother and son worked in the garden early and late, selling the herbs they raised, and also salves and lotions made from them, until the rumour spread somehow, that the knowledge she possessed of the healing qualities of herbs and simples growing about the forest had not been gained by any good means. In other words, she was a witch, and people professed to be afraid of buying her salves.

Then another overheard her singing a hymn one day to the hum of her spinning-wheel as she sat at work, and this was held to be proof that she was a Methodist, which was quite as bad as being a witch, and equally punishable by law, at the time of which we write.

That Mrs. Hunter had not sought to make friends among her gossiping neighbours was sufficient for either or both of these charges to be deemed capable of proof, by those who openly declared they hated all strangers, so that it was not wonderful that she lived an isolated life. That she did not mind this, but seemed to find her boy Eric an all-sufficient companion and friend, was another wonder to Summerleigh, and one it bitterly resented; for there was small scope for persecuting a woman so independent as Mrs. Hunter, especially as they were glad to buy her herbs, because they could not get them so good anywhere else.

How long the poor woman had been ill before she died, none seemed to know. The landlord of The Magpie asked several of his customers who dropped in during the evening, but none seemed to know anything about it, or had troubled to inquire. All seemed to know of her death, but nothing beyond this fact.

When closing time came, John Tyler made a great business of looking over the stables before shutting them, and when he went back to the inn parlour, where his wife was waiting for him to go up to bed, he said, "If old Toby don't soon come back, I shall have to get somebody else to look after things out there."

"I should think so, indeed," said Mrs. Tyler tartly. "You might have looked after somebody else a month ago. When are you coming upstairs?" she added, as he turned to secure the wooden latch of the door.

There was no more said that night, but the next morning, when Tyler was dressing himself, he remarked, in a casual way, "I think I shall get a boy to take old Toby's place."

His wife laughed. "So you've come to my way of thinking at last, John Tyler," she said, as she briskly tied the strings of her white muslin cap before going downstairs.

Eric Hunter's name had not been mentioned; but that was the lad Tyler had in his mind when he spoke to his wife. And after breakfast, he went across the garden and orchard, and out into the forest road, for that was the nearest way to the widow's cottage, and he had made up his mind to see Eric at once and conclude the business, for fear another village lad should come after the place.

Eric was fourteen now, a tall, sturdy lad, strong and healthy, in spite of his refined face, that flushed crimson when he opened the door and saw the landlord of The Magpie standing on the step.

"Mother is dead, sir," he said, in a quiet, weary tone, as though it was an everyday fact he was speaking of.

"Yes, my boy, I heard about it yesterday, and I thought I would just step up and see if things had been put comfortable for her." And there the landlord stopped, and gazed round the little bare room.

The widow's spinning-wheel stood in one corner, a small deal table in the centre, and two rush-bottomed chairs were placed back against the wall, but all was scrupulously clean and neat.

"I've done everything that mother told me, you will see, sir." And the boy led the way into an inner room, and there, in the dim light, Tyler saw the outlined figure of the poor woman, with a sheet carefully drawn over it. "Mother told me I was to do that, and then wait until God sent help to me, and I've been waiting, only somehow it seemed a long time. Did God send you, sir?" asked the boy, as though he had expected a less commonplace messenger than the landlord of The Magpie.

The question evidently puzzled the man a good deal, for God was not in all his thoughts, as He was in Eric's; but the sight of the clean, tidy home made him think Eric would make an excellent ostler, and so he said, as he scratched his head thoughtfully, "I don't understand much about parson's work; I've got enough to do to mind The Magpie and please The Magpie's missis, and so I've come to see if you'd lend a hand in the stable, as Toby don't seem likely to get better yet awhile."

Eric was a little puzzled, but at last he said, "Do you mean me to help with the horses, sir?"

"To be sure I do; that's what I've come to see you about, my lad," replied Tyler, with another look round the room.

"Thank you, sir," answered the boy eagerly; "I've always loved horses, and wanted to have something to do with them. Mother said if it was good for me to be with the beasts, God would let me do it some day; so that I am sure God sent you, though you may not quite understand it, any more than I do."

"Then you'll come to The Magpie?" said Tyler.

"Oh yes, sir, and thank you; but—but—didn't God say anything about burying mother?" added the boy in a changed tone, the tears filling his eyes, though he tried to wink them away, for fear his visitor should see them.

"Hasn't anybody been to see about that? Haven't you got any friends or relatives?" exclaimed the landlord in a helpless tone.

"No, sir; there's only mother and me. The doctor came to see her last week, and he told me when he went away that she couldn't live long, and yesterday she said she was going home to God, and I should have to stay here a bit without her." And again the tears rose to his eyes, in spite of all his efforts to keep them back.

"Bless me, somebody must come and see about the business for you," interrupted his visitor; and he turned away to go to the parish clerk, who lived at the other end of the village, nearly two miles off.

When he got home about an hour later, it was to hear that old Toby had hobbled out to resume his work. Some rumour had reached him of a boy being engaged to do this for the future, which made the old fellow decide that he could "look after things in the stable" once more; and so the landlord was met with the news of his return as soon as he got back.

"It's lucky you hadn't engaged a boy," said Mrs. Tyler, looking keenly at her husband as she spoke; "for if you had, there's no telling but what you might think of keeping the two, soft as you are; but I asked Marple if you had been after his Jack."

"I should want a boy a long time before I took Jack Marple," interrupted Tyler, with some spirit; "but all the same, I have engaged a boy. Widow Hunter's son is a decent lad."

"The witch-wife's boy?" almost screamed Mrs. Tyler.

"Nobody can prove she was a witch, any more than they can prove she was a Methodist," said Tyler angrily. Though, as he thought of Eric's talk, he feared the latter charge would be easy enough of proof, and he decided to give the boy a word of warning to keep all such thoughts to himself for the future.

Fortunately for the landlord, customers arrived the next minute, and so he left his wife to exhaust her grumbling on Betty, while he went to the cellar to draw the cider that had been called for, and to ascertain whether the visitors who had just alighted from a post-chaise would want dinner prepared for them.

That his services should be required so soon was a real grievance to old Toby, who had seated himself in a sunny corner of the gateway, with a fixed determination that he would not move again until he went home at night, when this obnoxious chaise arrived; and the occupants were so inconsiderate as to say that they were going to spend some hours in the forest, and would want the horse fed and rubbed down, and the chaise looked over, as one wheel had sunk in the rutty road rather deeper than usual.

To hear the old man's grumbling maledictions on all strangers who came to Summerleigh annoyed the landlord, and seeing Eric pass down the road, he called to him.

"Are you busy just now, my lad?" he said, when Eric came up.

"No; I'm only going to see if parson is at home, to tell him about mother," he replied.

"Well, I can tell you that parson went to London three days ago, and won't be back for another week; but Mr. Jackson is going to see about your mother's funeral. He is a friend of mine," added Tyler.

"Thank you, sir. Can I do anything for you now?" said Eric, with a glance towards the stable-yard.

"Yes—no—I've visitors, and old Toby is in the stable; but—"

"You would like me to help Toby with the horse?" said Eric eagerly.

"That's just about it, my lad; but I'm not sure how he'll take your help."

Eric did not wait to hear more, but ran down the stable-yard to where the old man was fumbling with the buckles of the harness, and swearing at the horse, which was impatient to get out of the shafts and into the cool stable.

"Here, you boy, just come here and undo this," called the old man when he heard Eric approaching; "they don't know how to make straps now; every man seems to forget how things ought to be done," he grumbled, as he seated himself on an upturned bucket to superintend the cleaning and feeding of the horse; for, as Eric had proved himself handy in unfastening the buckles, the old man set him to feed the horse, and then to rub it down before leading it to the stable for a rest.

Eric took a real interest in his work, patting the horse and stroking him as he slowly munched his food, and rubbing him down with as gentle a touch as possible, so that Toby, finding his work done so well for him, was disposed to be civil to the boy, until just as the work was over, he discovered who he was. Then he burst into a storm of passionate protests against all strangers, be they witches or Methodists, declaring that he believed he was himself bewitched by the boy to let him do this work for him.

"That's all very well, Toby," said the landlord, who had stepped outside to see how Eric was getting on; "you take good care not to find fault until the work is done. Ah, and well done, too," said the master, as he slowly walked round the horse and surveyed it with a critical eye.

"Send him away, master, send him away!" foamed old Toby, hobbling to his feet, and trying to seize Eric.

"Now go and sit down, and be reasonable, Toby, and we may be able to settle this matter without any fuss. Before you came back this morning, I had arranged with this lad that he should come and help me in the stable."

"Don't you think I would save you from it, master?" said old Toby imploringly. "Remember what his mother was—a witch woman, if ever there was one. Don't you think old Toby would save you from that, master?" And there was no doubt of the old man being genuinely concerned for his master's welfare.

"Now look here, that talk about Mrs. Hunter being a witch is all moonshine, and I mean to give the lad a trial here in the stable. If you choose to come back and overlook things for me, well and good; but if you won't work with the lad fairly and squarely, as an Englishman should, then say so at once, and I shall know what to be about."

"Why, master, he's bewitched you as well as me," said the old fellow complainingly.

"Very well; if you think that, keep away from The Magpie for the future, and we will manage the stables by ourselves without your help," said the landlord.

But this did not at all suit old Toby, much as he might dislike Eric, and even fear him, as he doubtless did; for to lose his occupation entirely would never do; so he went back to his seat grumbling about new men and new ways; which the landlord understood well enough as a slight reminder that he could not boast of being born in Summerleigh, as Toby himself could.

The landlord did not wish old Toby to give up his post as ostler of The Magpie. It would pay him much better to keep old Toby, and to have Eric to do his work, for Toby by himself drove customers away, but since he had come back, it would not do to let him say he would not work with Eric; so that the landlord was quite as much disposed to settle the matter in a friendly fashion as the old ostler was.

So, while Eric was set to sweep up the stable and yard, Tyler talked to the old man, and at last it was settled that he should come every day and overlook the affairs of the stables, while Eric was to do the actual work, and get his food from the kitchen, which, with occasional tips from customers, would be considered remuneration enough—at least for the present.

CHAPTER II.

AT THE MAGPIE.

ERIC HUNTER'S quiet life had made him thoughtful beyond his years, and old Toby's invectives, while they did not surprise him very much, awoke once more the fears that had tortured him ever since the doctor had told him his mother could not live long.

But he bravely kept back the tears of grief and dismay, and went on with his task of sweeping up the stable-yard, while old Toby and the landlord adjusted their quarrel over him.

He longed to say, "I will not stay in this place to hear my mother called a witch;" but she had made him promise that if he could possibly get employment in Summerleigh, he would not venture into the world beyond, until he was older. And so, for this promise sake, he held his peace.

Before he went home in the evening, the landlord contrived to give him half a rye loaf and a bottle of cider for his supper; but, though he was hungry and faint, the boy could not eat just yet.

Going into the inner room, where all that he could see of his mother still lay, he threw himself on his knees beside the bed, and sobbed out his grief and fears for the future.

"Oh, mother, mother!" he sobbed. "Let me go away from this place; I can never stop here. Anything would be better than stopping here with that old Toby for a master. Let me find my way to London, and try to get work there. I have waited as you told me for God to send a messenger to help me, but nobody has come but the landlord of The Magpie, and surely he wasn't God's messenger—he can't help me much."

It was a relief to the boy to pour out his grief and fear and doubt in this fashion, but he had no intention of breaking his promise; and hard as it was to think that Tyler could be the expected messenger of mercy who was to come and help him out of his difficulties, he had no intention of breaking away from the engagement he had made to work in the stable under old Toby.

But he grew calmer and more content before he rose from his knees; and as he folded back the sheet to look at the waxen face that lay beneath, he whispered once more, "I will keep my promise, mother, and stay here as long as I can."

He heard the next day that arrangements had been made for the funeral, but it would cost all the money their poor furniture would fetch to pay for it, and the owner of the cottage wanted that for another tenant by the end of the week, so that before Sunday, Eric would be homeless as well as motherless.

This was a difficulty the landlord had not foreseen when he engaged him to help Toby, but it did not make him the less determined to befriend the lad, although his wife saw in it a reason for sending him before the justice of the peace, to have him transported as a beggar, and thus rid Summerleigh of him for ever.

"There's no occasion for that," said her husband quickly; "the boy is not a beggar, and never likely to become one, unless he is driven to it. Remember you were left motherless, and might have shared a similar fate, if my mother had not taken pity on you." And with this timely reminder, that never failed to bring Mrs. Tyler to reason, the landlord left her, to think out for himself a plan of lodging Eric.

Fortunately there was plenty of room in the numerous outhouses in the stable-yard, and at last it was settled that he should bring his little box, that contained his few clothes and some letters that his mother had told him to keep, and put it in the hayloft, where he could sleep.

It was a rough lodging, but in those times, boys were used to rough treatment generally, and so he had little cause to complain. Old Toby grumbled and found fault continually, but Eric soon began to learn that the master's eye was upon him, and if he took pains with a visitor's horse, though Toby might pocket the gratuity that should of right have been his, the landlord often gave him a kind word or look of appreciation that was worth more than money to him.

Betty and her mistress were by no means friendly to him for some time. They professed to be afraid of him, to see something in his eyes that told of his witch parentage, and they often kept him waiting for his meals, if the master was not about to see that he had his food given to him at the proper time.

But although old Toby was cross and suspicious, and seldom gave him a kind word, the old man was so fond of airing his knowledge of horses and their ways and ailments, that Eric could not fail to learn a good deal from him, although he was careful to keep this knowledge to himself, and never attempt the expression of an opinion upon anything, whatever he might think upon the matter.