CHAPTER I

An Antagonist

He stood in the centre of a little crowd of village boys; his golden head was bare in the blazing sun, but the crop of curls seemed thick enough to protect him from its rays, and he was far too engrossed in his occupation to heed any discomfort from the heat.

A slim delicate little lad, with a finely cut face, and blue eyes that by turns would sparkle with animation, and then settle into a dreamy wistfulness, with a deep far-away look in them. They were dancing and flashing with excitement now, and his whole frame was quivering with enthusiasm; with head thrown back, and tongue, hand, and foot all in motion, he seemed to have his audience completely spell-bound, and they listened with open eyes and mouths to his oration.

With one hand he was fingering a large brass button, which figured conspicuously in the centre of his small waistcoat, and this button was the subject of his theme.

'My father he rushed forward—"Come on, men; we'll save the old colours!" And they shouted "Hurrah!" as they made after him. There were guns going, and shells flying, and swords flashing and hacking away, and the enemy poured on with fiery red faces and gnashing teeth! My father drew his sword—and no one could stand against him, no one! He cut and he slashed, and heads and arms and legs rolled off as quick as lightning, one after the other. He got up to the colours, and with a shout he plunged his sword right through the enemy's body that had stolen them! The enemy fell stone dead. My father seized the colours and looked round. He was alone! The other soldiers had been beaten back. But was he in a funk? No; he gave a loud "Hurrah!" picked up his sword, and fought his way back, the enemy hard after him. It was a race for life, and he ran backwards the whole way; he wasn't going to turn his back to the enemy. He pressed on, shouting "Hurrah!" till he got to his own side again, and then he reached his colonel.

'"Captain dead, sir I've got the colours!" He saluted as he said it, and then dropped dead himself at the colonel's feet, the blood gushing out of his heart, and over his clothes, and over this button!'

The little orator paused as he sank his voice to a tragic whisper, then raising it again, he added triumphantly, 'And thirty bullets and six swords had gone through my father's body! That was something like a soldier!'

'Oh, I say!' murmured a small sceptic from the crowd, 'it was twenty bullets last time; make it fifty, Teddy!'

'And that's the story of my button,' pursued the boy, ignoring with scorn this last remark.

'And did your father have only one button to his coat?'

The voice was a strange one, and the boys turned round to meet the curious gaze of a sturdy little damsel, who had, unnoticed, joined the group. She was not dressed as an ordinary village child, but in a little rough serge sailor suit, with a large hat to match, set well back on a quantity of loose dark hair. A rosy-cheeked square-set little figure she was, and her brown eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked straight at Teddy with something of defiance and scorn in their glance.

Though at first a little taken aback, Teddy rose to the occasion.

'One button!' he said with emphasis; 'the coat was sent to mother with only one button left on; and if you—' here he turned upon his questioner with a little fierceness—'if you had been through such a bloody battle, and killed so many men, you would have burst and lost all your buttons, and not had one left, like father!'

There was a round of applause at this, but the small maiden remained undaunted.

'Is that a true story you told?' she demanded, with severity in her tone.

'Of course it's true,' was the indignant shout of all.

'Then I tell you, boy, I don't believe a word of it!' And with set determined lips she turned on her heel and walked away, having sown seeds of anger and resentment in more than one boyish breast.

'Who is she?' asked Teddy as, tired and exhausted by his recital, he threw himself on the grass to rest. One of the bigger boys answered him.

'I seed her come yesterday in a cab from the town to old Sol at the turnpike—she and her mother, I reckon. They had two carpet bags and a box and a poll parrot in a cage. I counted them myself, for I was havin' a ride behind, and the woman she called Sol "Father," so the little 'un must be his grandarter!'

'P'raps they've come from 'Mericky,' suggested a small urchin, capering round on his hands and feet. 'Polls allays comes over the sea, you know.'

[Illustration: TEDDY TELLS THE STORY OF HIS FATHER'S HEROIC DEATH.]

'She didn't believe me,' murmured Teddy, chewing a wisp of grass meditatively.

'Gals is no good, never! If she'd been a boy you would 'a fought her, but I shouldn't care for naught like her, Ted.'

Teddy turned his face upwards to the speaker. 'No, I couldn't have fought her, Sam, if she'd been a boy. I've promised my mother I won't fight again till she gives me leave. You see, I fought four boys in one week last time, and she says she won't have it. I don't see if it is right for soldiers to fight, why it isn't right for boys!'

'I don't think there's any fellers left for you to fight with, so you're pretty safe. Besides, it was only Tom Larken, who set them on to try and get your button from you, and he's gone off to another part of the country now.'

'I think, p'raps,' went on Teddy slowly, as he turned over on his back and looked up at the clear blue sky above him, 'that I wasn't quite true about the bullets. I think it was six bullets and three sword cuts. I forget when I tell it how many it was; but she said she didn't believe a word!'

Five o'clock struck by the old church clock close by. Teddy was upon his feet in an instant, and with a wild whoop and shout he was scudding across the green, his curls flying in the wind, and his little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground. There was none in the village so quick-footed as Teddy, and for daring feats and downright pluck he held the foremost place. Perhaps this accounted for his popularity, perhaps it was his marvellous aptitude for telling stories, many of them wild productions from his fertile brain, but certain it was that he was the pet and the darling of the village, and none as yet had resisted his sway.

Over the green, up a shady lane, across two fields, and then, breathless and panting, Teddy paused before an old-fashioned farmhouse. He passed his hands lightly through his curls, pulled himself up with a jerk, and then quietly and sedately opened a latched door and entered the long low-roofed kitchen.

There was something very restful in the scene. A square substantial table covered with a white cloth, in the centre a large bowl of roses and honeysuckle: home-made bread and golden butter, a glass dish of honey in its comb, a plate of fresh watercress, and a currant loaf completed the simple fare. Presiding at the tea-tray was a stern, forbidding-looking woman of sixty or more, opposite her was seated her son, the master of the farm, a heavy-faced, sleepy-looking man; and at his side, facing the door, sat Teddy's mother. A sweet gentle-faced young woman she was, with the same deep blue eyes as her little son; she bore no resemblance to the elder woman, and looked, as she indeed was, superior to her surroundings. Two years ago she had come with her child to make her home amongst her husband's people, and though at first her mother-in-law, Mrs. Platt, was inclined to look upon her contemptuously as a poor, delicate, useless creature, time proved to her that for steady, quiet work no one could eclipse her daughter-in-law. Young Mrs. John, as she was called,

was now her right hand, and the dairy work of the farm was made over entirely to her.

'Late again, you young scamp!' was the stern greeting of his grandmother, as Teddy appeared on the scene.

The boy looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, put his little hand to his forehead, and gave her a military salute.

'Sorry,' was all he said as he slipped into the chair that was waiting for him.

'What have you been doing, sonny?' asked the young mother, whose eyes had brightened at the sight of him.

'Telling father's story,' replied Teddy with alacrity.

A shadow came over his mother's face, her lips took a distressed curve, but she said nothing, only occupied herself with attending to the child's wants. 'Your father was never late for his meals,' the grandmother put in with asperity.

'Never, granny? Not when he was a boy? I shall be always in time when I'm a soldier.'

'Better begin now, then; bad habits, like weeds, grow apace!'

Teddy had no answer for this; his mouth was full of bread and butter, and he did not speak till the meal was over. Then, whilst tea was being taken away by the women, he turned to his uncle, who, pulling out a pipe from his pocket, sat down by the open door to smoke.

'Uncle Jake!'

A grunt was the only response; but that was sufficient. The two perfectly understood each other, and a minute after Teddy was perched on his knee.

'I'm wondering if I can't get an enemy!' the boy proceeded, folding his small arms and looking up at his uncle steadily; 'all good people had enemies in the Bible, and I haven't one, I should like to have a good right down enemy!'

'To fight?' asked his uncle.

'To carry on with, you know; he would lay traps for me, and I would for him, like David and Saul; we should have a fine time of it. And then perhaps, if he did something dreadfully wrong, mother would give me leave to fight him, just once in a way. Don't you think that would be nice?'

'Fightin' ain't the only grand thing in this world; peace is grander,' was the slow response to this appeal.

'That's what mother says. She made me learn this morning—"Blessed are the peacemakers!" but you must have an enemy to make peace with, and I haven't got one.'

There was silence; the uncle puffed away at his pipe; he was a good man, and had more brains than his appearance warranted, but Teddy's speeches were often a sore puzzle to him. The boy continued in a slow, thoughtful tone, 'I saw some one to-day that I feel might be an enemy, but she's a girl; men don't fight with women.'

'I'd rather tackle a man than a woman any day. They be a powerful enemy sometimes, lad! And what have this young maid done to you?'

'She said,'—and Teddy's eyes grew bright whilst the blood rushed into his cheeks—'she said she didn't believe a word of father's story—not a word of it! And she laughed, and walked away.'

'That was coming it strong; and who is she, to talk so?'

'She's a stranger; Sam said she's come to live with old Sol at the turnpike.'

'That must be Grace's child,' said old Mrs. Platt, coming up and joining in the conversation. 'I heard she was coming to stay with her father this summer, and glad I am of it too—the old man is very lonely. I suppose her husband is at sea again.'

'What is her husband?' inquired Teddy's mother, as with work in hand she came out and took a seat in the old-fashioned porch.

'A sailor. Grace was always a roving nature herself. She never would settle down quiet and take a husband from these parts. She was maid to our squire's lady then, and went to foreign parts with her; but folks say she's steadied down now wonderful. They've been living at Portsmouth, she and her little girl.'

CHAPTER II

'When Greek Meets Greek Then Comes The Tug Of War!'

Two little determined figures, with flushed, resolute faces, stood opposite one another on a narrow footbridge over a running stream.

Neither could pass the other, but neither intended going back, and the sturdy maiden, in her sailor dress, with her small hands placed on her hips, appeared quite a match for Teddy, who, with his golden head well up, looked like a war-horse scenting the battle-field.

It was thus they met again; both employing their Saturday afternoon in roaming along the edge of a stream, they had suddenly come face to face with one another.

'You're to let me come over first,' she asserted very emphatically, 'because I'm a girl.'

[Illustration: 'YOU'RE TO LET ME COME OVER FIRST,' SHE ASSERTED.]

'Boys never go back. A soldier's son never! I'm not going to turn my back before the enemy—I would disgrace my button if I did.'

'That old button!' The tone was that of utmost scorn.

Teddy's cheeks grew rosy red at once, but he said nothing.

'I got to this bridge before you did,' she continued.

'I began to cross it first. And you, who are you? No one knows anything about you. I have been crossing this bridge for years.'

'More reason you shouldn't cross it now. My name is Nancy Wright, that's who I am.'

A princess could not have revealed her name more royally. She added, after a pause, 'And I mean to come over first, so go back.'

'Never! I never go back!'

'Then I shall push you over in the water.'

'Come on and try, then!'

Then there was silence; both the little people eyed each other defiantly, yet a little doubtfully, as if measuring one another's strength, and their faces grew eager at the coming contest.

'Boys always ought to give way to girls, always,' Nancy said, using her strongest plea; 'you're not a proper boy at all.'

'You're not a proper girl. You're wearing a boy's hat and a boy's jacket.'

'I'm a sailor's daughter, and everybody can see I am. You say you're a soldier's son, why don't you dress like one?'

Teddy felt he was getting the worst of it. He fingered his button proudly.

'I'm wearing something that has been in the thick of a bloody battle; that's more than you can do. Sailors don't know much of fighting.'

'They know just as much as soldiers, and as to your old button, I b'lieve you just picked up the old brass thing from the gutter!'

'If you weren't a girl, I'd fight you!' sputtered Teddy now, with rising wrath.

'Pooh! I expect I could lick you; I don't b'lieve you have half as big a muscle as I have on my arm.'

'A girl have muscle! It's just a bit of fat!'

The tone of scorn proved too much for Nancy's self-control; with a passionate exclamation she made a quick rush across the plank, there was a struggle, and the result was what might have been expected—a great splash, a scream from Nancy, and both little figures were immersed in the stream. Happily the water was not very deep, and after a few minutes' scrambling they were on dry ground, considerably sobered by their immersion. Teddy began to laugh a little shamefacedly, but Nancy was very near tears.

'I'll tell my mother you nearly drowned me dead.'

'If you're a sailor's daughter, you oughtn't to be afraid of the water; sailors and fish are always in the sea.'

'They're never in it; never!'

'Well, they're on it, as close as they can be to it. Why, you're nearly crying! But you're only a girl, and a sailor's girl can't be very brave—not like a soldier's girl would be.'

'Sailors are much braver than soldiers,' said Nancy, quickly swallowing down her tears; 'and when they do fight they're in much more danger than the soldiers. Father said, how would soldiers like the earth to swallow them up just when they've been fighting hard and got the victory? That's what the sea does to the poor sailors. Their ship begins to sink, and they send up three cheers for queen and country, and then stand on deck with folded arms, and go down, down, down to the bottom of the sea, and never make a cry!'

Nancy forgot her wet clothes in her eloquence, and Teddy stared wonderingly at her.

'Well,' he said, as if considering the matter, 'they may be sometimes brave, but they don't fight like the soldiers, and they have no banners, and red coats, and band; and they don't know how to march. A sailor walks anyhow. I saw one once, and I thought he was tipsy, but he wasn't. A sailor walks like a goose—he waddles!'

'You're the horridest, rudest boy I've ever seen!'

And with the utmost dignity Nancy walked away, Teddy calling after her, 'You made a pretty good charge for a girl, but you couldn't get past me!' And then with one of his loud whoops he raced home, and hardly drew a breath till he reached the farmhouse door. His grandmother confronted him at once.

'You young rascal, what have you been doing? You're never a day out of mischief. If I was your mother I'd give you a good whipping; but she spoils you.'

'And you do, too, granny!'

Teddy's laughing blue eyes, as he raised them to the grim face before him, conquered, as they generally did.

'There, go to your mother, she's in the dairy; I wash my hands of you.'

But Teddy crept up to his little room to change his wet clothes before he met his mother, and then was very silent about his adventure, merely saying, by way of explanation, that he had fallen into the brook; but at tea, a short time after, he suddenly said,—

'If you put a sailor and a soldier together, which would you choose, Uncle Jake?'

'Eh, my laddie? Well, they're both good in their way. I couldn't say, I'm sure.'

'Mother, wouldn't you say the soldier was the bravest?'

'Perhaps I might, sonny; but a sailor can be quite as brave.'

Teddy's face fell. 'I never thought a sailor could fight at all,' he said, in a disappointed tone; 'I thought they just took care of our ships, and now and then fired a big gun off.'

'Who's been bringing up the sailors to you?' asked his grandmother.

'That little girl I told you of—Nancy her name is.'

'Where have you seen her?'

'Down by the brook; we fell into the water together, because we both wanted to cross at once.'

'But, my boy, that was naughty for you not to give place to her,' and Mrs. John spoke reprovingly.

'I know it was, mother, but I wasn't going to turn back. That would be running away from the enemy. You see, we met in the middle, and she's not at all a nice girl, and she's so proud and stuck up about the sailors!'

'As proud as you are of the redcoats, I guess!' old Mrs. Platt said.

'Do sailors and soldiers like each other?' questioned Teddy, ignoring the thrust.

'I am sure I don't know,' his mother answered, smiling. 'I have never seen them together that I remember, but I should think they did. They both fight for their queen and country.'

'Well, I'm a soldier's son, and I don't like a sailor's daughter, I know that! I think she is a kind of enemy.'

'Oh, hush! sonny. You must have no enemies. It is wrong to talk so.'

'That's what he was a-sayin' to me t'other day,' put in his uncle slowly; 'he says he wants one.'

'Yes, I do,' and Teddy gave a fervent nod as he spoke; 'and, mother, I believe most good people have enemies, so it must be right to have one.'

'They never make one, as you're trying to do.'

Teddy looked puzzled.

'Well,' he said presently, 'I expect it's because she's a stranger. She doesn't belong to our village. I don't like strangers.'

'She's no more a stranger than you were when you first came here,' his mother said; 'and the fact of her being a stranger ought to make you kind to her.'

'I'm thinking of calling on her mother,' old Mrs. Platt said, looking at her little grandson with her keen grey eyes; 'shall I take you with me to see the little girl?'

'I've seen her enough, granny. Please, I think I'd rather not.'

The subject was dropped, but Teddy's thoughts were busy. He ran down to the village green after tea, and there met one or two of his special chums, to whom he confided the events of the afternoon. They highly applauded the scene at the bridge, but Teddy shook his curly head a little doubtfully.

'Men ought always to give way to women, I've heard mother say; but I couldn't turn back, you see—it would have disgraced my button.'

'Tell you what,' cried Harry Brown, commonly known as 'Carrots' from his fiery hair, 'you could 'a done what the goats did in the primer at school—you ought ter have laid flat down and let her walk across you.'

'She would have hurt dreadful,' Teddy observed thoughtfully. 'Besides, she's so proud, I don't think I would have liked to do that.'

'No,' put in Sam Waters; 'you did fine. I say, let's come up to the turnpike and see if she's about there. I'll give her a word, if she begins to sauce me.'