Christmas gold, p.544
Christmas Gold, page 544
As Mally went along she recovered her voice, for their step was not so quick as hers, and that which to them was a hurried movement allowed her to get her breath again. And as she went, she tried to explain to the father what had happened, saying but little, however, of her own doings in the matter. The wife hung behind listening, exclaiming every now and again that her boy was killed, and then asking wild questions as to his being yet alive. The father, as he went, said little. He was known as a silent, sober man, well spoken of for diligence and general conduct, but supposed to be stern and very hard when angered.
As they drew near to the top of the path the other man whispered something to him, and then he turned round upon Mally and stopped her.
“If he has come by his death between you, your blood shall be taken for his,” said he.
Then the wife shrieked out that her child had been murdered, and Mally, looking round into the faces of the three, saw that her grandfather’s words had come true. They suspected her of having taken the life in saving which she had nearly lost her own.
She looked round at them with awe in her face, and then, without saying a word, preceded them down the path. What had she to answer when such a charge as that was made against her? If they chose to say that she pushed him into the pool, and hit him with her hook as he lay amidst the waters, how could she show that it was not so?
Poor Mally knew little of the law of evidence, and it seemed to her that she was in their hands. But as she went down the steep track with a hurried step, a step so quick that they could not keep up with her, her heart was very full, very full and very high. She had striven for the man’s life as though he had been her brother. The blood was yet not dry on her own legs and arms, where she had torn them in his service. At one moment she had felt sure that she would die with him in that pool. And now they said that she had murdered him! It may be that he was not dead, and what would he say if ever he should speak again? Then she thought of that moment when his eyes had opened, and he had seemed to see her. She had no fear for herself, for her heart was very high. But it was full also, full of scorn, disdain, and wrath.
When she had reached the bottom she stood close to the door of the hut waiting for them, so that they might precede her to the other group, which was there in front of them, at a little distance on the sand.
“He is there, and Dada is with him. Go and look at him,” said Mally.
The father and mother ran on stumbling over the stones, but Mally remained behind by the door of the hut.
Barty Gunliffe was lying on the sand where Mally had left him, and old Malachi Trenglos was standing over him, resting himself with difficulty upon a stick.
“Not a move he’s moved since she left him,” said he, “not a move. I put his head on the old rug as you see, and I tried ‘un with a drop of gin, but he wouldn’t take it, he wouldn’t take it.”
“Oh, my boy! my boy!” said the mother, throwing herself beside her son upon the sand.
“Haud your tongue, woman,” said the father, kneeling down slowly by the lad’s head, “whimpering that way will do ‘un no good.”
Then having gazed for a minute or two upon the pale face beneath him, he looked up sternly into that of Malachi Trenglos.
The old man hardly knew how to bear this terrible inquisition.
“He would come,” said Malachi; “he brought it all upon hisself.”
“Who was it struck him?” said the father.
“Sure he struck hisself, as he fell among the breakers.”
“Liar!” said the father, looking up at the old man.
“They have murdered him! They have murdered him!” shrieked the mother.
“Haud your peace, woman!” said the husband again. “They shall give us blood for blood.”
Mally, leaning against the corner of the hovel, heard it all, but did not stir. They might say what they liked. They might make it out to be murder. They might drag her and her grandfather to Camelford gaol, and then to Bodmin, and the gallows; but they could not take from her the conscious feeling that was her own. She had done her best to save him, her very best. And she had saved him!
She remembered her threat to him before they had gone down on the rocks together, and her evil wish. Those words had been very wicked; but since that she had risked her life to save his. They might say what they pleased of her, and do what they pleased. She knew what she knew.
Then the father raised his son’s head and shoulders in his arms, and called on the others to assist him in carrying Barty towards the path. They raised him between them carefully and tenderly, and lifted their burden on towards the spot at which Mally was standing. She never moved, but watched them at their work; and the old man followed them, hobbling after them with his crutch.
When they had reached the end of the hut she looked upon Barty’s face, and saw that it was very pale. There was no longer blood upon the forehead, but the great gash was to be seen there plainly, with its jagged cut, and the skin livid and blue round the orifice. His light brown hair was hanging back, as she had made it to hang when she had gathered it with her hand after the big wave had passed over them. Ah, how beautiful he was in Mally’s eyes with that pale face, and the sad scar upon his brow! She turned her face away, that they might not see her tears; but she did not move, nor did she speak.
But now, when they had passed the end of the hut, shuffling along with their burden, she heard a sound which stirred her. She roused herself quickly from her leaning posture, and stretched forth her head as though to listen; then she moved to follow them. Yes, they had stopped at the bottom of the path, and had again laid the body on the rocks. She heard that sound again, as of a long, long sigh, and then, regardless of any of them, she ran to the wounded man’s head.
“He is not dead,” she said. “There; he is not dead.”
As she spoke Barty’s eyes opened, and he looked about him.
“Barty, my boy, speak to me,” said the mother.
Barty turned his face upon his mother, smiled, and then stared about him wildly.
“How is it with thee, lad?” said his father. Then Barty turned his face again to the latter voice, and as he did so his eyes fell upon Mally.
“Mally!” he said, “Mally!”
It could have wanted nothing further to any of those present to teach them that, according to Barty’s own view of the case, Mally had not been his enemy; and, in truth, Mally herself wanted no further triumph. That word had vindicated her, and she withdrew back to the hut.
“Dada,” she said, “Barty is not dead, and I’m thinking they won’t say anything more about our hurting him.”
Old Glos shook his head. He was glad the lad hadn’t met his death there; he didn’t want the young man’s blood, but he knew what folk would say. The poorer he was the more sure the world would be to trample on him. Mally said what she could to comfort him, being full of comfort herself.
She would have crept up to the farm if she dared, to ask how Barty was. But her courage failed her when she thought of that, so she went to work again, dragging back the weed she had saved to the spot at which on the morrow she would load the donkey. As she did this she saw Barty’s pony still standing patiently under the rock, so she got a lock of fodder and threw it down before the beast.
It had become dark down in the cove, but she was still dragging back the seaweed when she saw the glimmer of a lantern coming down the pathway. It was a most unusual sight, for lanterns were not common down in Malachi’s Cove. Down came the lantern rather slowly much more slowly than she was in the habit of descending; and then through the gloom she saw the figure of a man standing at the bottom of the path. She went up to him, and saw that it was Mr Gunliffe, the father.
“Is that Mally?” said Gunliffe.
“Yes, it is Mally; and how is Barty, Mr Gunliffe?”
“You must come to ‘un yourself, now at once,” said the farmer. “He won’t sleep a wink till he’s seed you. You must not say but you’ll come.”
“Sure I’ll come if I’m wanted,” said Mally.
Gunliffe waited a moment, thinking that Mally might have to prepare herself, but Mally needed no preparation. She was dripping with salt water from the weed which she had been dragging, and her elfin locks were streaming wildly from her head; but, such as she was, she was ready.
“Dada’s in bed,” she said, “and I can go now, if you please.”
Then Gunliffe turned round and followed her up the path, wondering at the life which this girl led so far away from all her sex. It was now dark night, and he had found her working at the very edge of the rolling waves by herself, in the darkness, while the only human being who might seem to be her protector had already gone to his bed.
When they were at the top of the cliff, Gunliffe took her by her hand and led her along. She did not comprehend this, but she made no attempt to take her hand from his. Something he said about falling on the cliffs, but it was muttered so lowly that Mally hardly understood him. But, in truth, the man knew that she had saved his boy’s life, and that he had injured her instead of thanking her. He was now taking her to his heart, and as words were wanting to him, he was showing his love after this silent fashion. He held her by the hand as though she were a child, and Mally tripped along at his side asking him no questions.
When they were at the farmyard gate he stopped there for a moment.
“Mally, my girl,” he said, “he’ll not be content till he sees thee, but thou must not stay long wi’ him, lass. Doctor says he’s weak like, and wants sleep badly.”
Mally merely nodded her head, and then they entered the house. Mally had never been within it before, and looked about with wondering eyes at the furniture of the big kitchen. Did any idea of her future destiny flash upon her then, I wonder? But she did not pause here a moment, but was led up to the bedroom above stairs, where Barty was lying on his mother’s bed.
“Is it Mally herself?” said the voice of the weak youth.
“It’s Mally herself,” said the mother, “so now you can say what you please.”
“Mally,” said he, “Mally, it’s along of you that I’m alive this moment.”
“I’ll not forget it on her,” said the father, with his eyes turned away from her. “I’ll never forget it on her.”
“We hadn’t a one but only him,” said the mother, with her apron up to her face.
“Mally, you’ll be friends with me now?” said Barty.
To have been made lady of the manor of the cove for ever, Mally couldn’t have spoken a word now. It was not only that the words and presence of the people there cowed her and made her speechless, but the big bed, and the looking-glass, and the unheard-of wonders of the chamber, made her feel her own insignificance. But she crept up to Barty’s side, and put her hand upon his.
“I’ll come and get the weed, Mally; but it shall all be for you,” said Barty.
“Indeed, you won’t then, Barty dear,” said the mother; “you’ll never go near the awesome place again. What would we do if you were took from us?”
“He mustn’t go near the hole if he does,” said Mally, speaking at last in a solemn voice, and imparting the knowledge which she had kept to herself while Barty was her enemy; “‘specially not if the wind’s any way from the nor’ard.”
“She’d better go down now,” said the father.
Barty kissed the hand which he held, and Mally, looking at him as he did so, thought that he was like an angel.
“You’ll come and see us tomorrow, Mally,” said he.
To this she made no answer, but followed Mrs Gunliffe out of the room. When they were down in the kitchen the mother had tea for her, and thick milk, and a hot cake, all the delicacies which the farm could afford. I don’t know that Mally cared much for the eating and drinking that night, but she began to think that the Gunliffes were good people, very good people. It was better thus, at any rate, than being accused of murder and carried off to Camelford prison.
“I’ll never forget it on her never,” the father had said.
Those words stuck to her from that moment, and seemed to sound in her ears all the night. How glad she was that Barty had come down to the cove, oh, yes, how glad! There was no question of his dying now, and as for the blow on his forehead, what harm was that to a lad like him?
“But Father shall go with you,” said Mrs Gunliffe, when Mally prepared to start for the cove by herself. Mally, however, would not hear of this. She could find her way to the cove whether it was light or dark.
“Mally, thou art my child now, and I shall think of thee so,” said the mother, as the girl went off by herself.
Mally thought of this, too, as she walked home. How could she become Mrs Gunliffe’s child; ah, how?
I need not, I think, tell the tale any further. That Mally did become Mrs Gunliffe’s child, and how she became so the reader will understand; and in process of time the big kitchen and all the wonders of the farmhouse were her own. The people said that Barty Gunliffe had married a mermaid out of the sea; but when it was said in Mally’s hearing, I doubt whether she liked it; and when Barty himself would call her a mermaid, she would frown at him, and throw about her black hair, and pretend to cuff him with her little hand.
Old Glos was brought up to the top of the cliff, and lived his few remaining days under the roof of Mr Gunliffe’s house; and as for the cove and the right of seaweed, from that time forth all that has been supposed to attach itself to Gunliffe’s farm, and I do not know that any of the neighbours are prepared to dispute the right.
The Princess and the Goblin & The Princess and Curdie
(George MacDonald)
Table of Contents
The Princess and the Goblin Chapter I. Why the Princess Has a Story About Her
Chapter II. The Princess Loses Herself
Chapter III. The Princess And—we Shall See Who
Chapter IV. What the Nurse Thought of It
Chapter V. The Princess Lets Well Alone
Chapter VI. The Little Miner
Chapter VII. The Mines
Chapter VIII. The Goblins
Chapter IX. The Hall of the Goblin Palace
Chapter X. The Princess's King-Papa
Chapter XI. The Old Lady's Bedroom
Chapter XII. A Short Chapter About Curdie
Chapter XIII. The Cobs' Creatures
Chapter XIV. That Night Week
Chapter XV. Woven and Then Spun
Chapter XVI. The Ring
Chapter XVII. Spring-Time
Chapter XVIII. Curdie's Clue
Chapter XIX. Goblin Counsels
Chapter XX. Irene's Clue
Chapter XXI. The Escape
Chapter XXII. The Old Lady and Curdie
Chapter XXIII. Curdie and His Mother
Chapter XXIV. Irene Behaves Like a Princess
Chapter XXV. Curdie Comes to Grief
Chapter XXVI. The Goblin Miners
Chapter XXVII. The Goblins in the King's House
Chapter XXVIII. Curdie's Guide
Chapter XXIX. Mason-Work
Chapter XXX. The King and the Kiss
Chapter XXXI. The Subterranean Waters
Chapter XXXII. The Last Chapter
The Princess and Curdie Chapter I. The Mountain
Chapter II. The White Pigeon
Chapter III. The Mistress of the Silver Moon
Chapter IV. Curdie's Father and Mother
Chapter V. The Miners
Chapter VI. The Emerald
Chapter VII. What is in a Name?
Chapter VIII. Curdie's Mission
Chapter IX. Hands
Chapter X. The Heath
Chapter XI. Lina
Chapter XII. More Creatures
Chapter XIII. The Baker's Wife
Chapter XIV. The Dogs of Gwyntystorm
Chapter XV. Derba and Barbara
Chapter XVI. The Mattock
Chapter XVII. The Wine-Cellar
Chapter XVIII. The King's Kitchen
Chapter XIX. The King's Chamber
Chapter XX. Counter-Plotting
Chapter XXI. The Loaf
Chapter XXII. The Lord Chamberlain
Chapter XXIII. Dr. Kelman
Chapter XXIV. The Prophecy
Chapter XXV. The Avengers
Chapter XXVI. The Vengeance
Chapter XXVII. More Vengeance
Chapter XXVIII. The Preacher
Chapter XXIX. Barbara
Chapter XXX. Peter
Chapter XXXI. The Sacrifice
Chapter XXXII. The King's Army
Chapter XXXIII. The Battle
Chapter XXXIV. Judgment
Chapter XXXV. The End
The Princess and the Goblin
Table of Contents
Chapter I.
Why the Princess Has a Story About Her
Table of Contents
There was once a little princess who—
"But, Mr. Author, why do you always write about princesses?"
"Because every little girl is a princess."
"You will make them vain if you tell them that."
"Not if they understand what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
"What do you mean by a princess?"
"The daughter of a king."
"Very well, then every little girl is a princess, and there would be no need to say anything about it, except that she is always in danger of forgetting her rank, and behaving as if she had grown out of the mud. I have seen little princesses behave like the children of thieves and lying beggars, and that is why they need, to be told they are princesses. And that is why, when I tell a story of this kind, I like to tell it about a princess. Then I can say better what I mean, because I can then give her every beautiful thing I want her to have."
"Please go on."
There was once a little princess whose father was king over a great country full of mountains and valleys. His palace was built upon one of the mountains, and was very grand and beautiful. The princess, whose name was Irene, was born there, but she was sent soon after her birth, because her mother was not very strong, to be brought up by country people in a large house, half castle, half farm-house, on the side of another mountain, about halfway between its base and its peak.
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