Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: George Manville Fenn
Book online «The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (best romance books of all time .txt) 📖». Author George Manville Fenn
“But it is such weary work doing nothing, father. I’m sure I should get better if I were out in the fresh air. Ah, there is Minnie;” for just then his sister came to the open window, and looked in.
“Why don’t you come out and sit in the shade here, Ralph?” she said. “Come and read with me.”
Ralph glanced at his father, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded, as much as to say, “Well, be off;” and the lad went out into the castle-yard, and then on to the little terrace where the new basin and fountain were looking bright and attractive, though still wanting in the fish Ralph was to have procured.
Brother and sister sat down in a shady nook, and watched the glint of the river through the trees far below, looked over the lovely prospect of hill and dale; and finally Minnie’s eyes rested upon the shoulder of the great shaley hill at whose foot the encounter with the disbanded soldiers had taken place.
“When is father going to lead the men to drive out those dreadful people?” said the girl at last.
“I don’t know: soon, I hope. When I’m better.”
“Well, you are better, Ralph.”
“That’s what I told father. Only a bit sore. I’m sick of being coddled up.”
“That’s because you are a boy. You are never happy unless you are in the open-air.”
“You would not be, if you were a boy,” said Ralph sharply.
“Well, I don’t know that I am, even as a girl. It’s dreadful. You know, father has given orders that I am not to go outside the walls. No walks, no rides; and my poor pony looked so reproachfully at me. Wants to go out as badly as I do. Don’t you think it’s being too particular?”
“Well, no, Min,” said Ralph thoughtfully. “While those men are about, I don’t think you ought to go out alone.”
“Now, Ralph,” said the girl, pouting, “you’re as bad as father. I declare you are not a bit like a nice, brave, merry boy now. You used to be; but ever since you’ve been at that great school you have been growing more and more serious, till you are getting to be quite an old man.”
“And quite grey,” said Ralph drily.
“It only wants that,” said the girl, with a merry laugh. “I declare that old Master Rayburn has more fun in him than you.”
“Wouldn’t say so if you had been wounded, and had him to pull the bandages about.”
“What nonsense! he said I was to come and see him as soon as ever I could.”
“And you can’t go and see him. He wouldn’t advise you to go out while those ruffians are yonder.”
“No,” replied the girl, smiling frankly. “He said I must wait till the wasps’ nest had been burned out, and I suppose he meant the cave where those men are. Oh, I wish I were a man, and could go and fight the wretches. They’ve been robbing and frightening people in all directions. They even went last night and frightened old Mistress Garth, Nick’s mother, and took away her bag of meal.”
“They did that!” cried Ralph angrily. “How do you know?”
“Nick told me, and he says he means to kill the captain first time they meet.”
“Nick says so?”
“Yes; but I suppose it’s only boasting. I don’t think he’s very brave, is he?”
“Don’t know,” said Ralph thoughtfully. “But it’s quite time something was done.”
“And it was so funny, Ralph,” continued the girl; “he actually said to me that he didn’t care a bit for his mother, for she has the worst temper of any one he knows, and is always scolding when he goes to see her; but he won’t have any one interfere with her, and he’ll kill that captain for stealing the meal-bag as sure as he’s alive.”
“Well, it shows he’s a good son,” said Ralph quietly. “But you see that it is not safe for you to go out.”
“Yes,” said Minnie with a sigh; “but it seems very silly. The other day one was obliged to stop in because of the Edens; now it’s because of those men.”
“I suppose it’s as bad for the Edens as it is for us,” replied Ralph, who became now very thoughtful; and when, soon afterwards, Minnie looked up to see why he did not speak, she found that his head was resting against the stone, beside a crenelle, and that he was fast asleep.
“Poor boy!” she said softly, “he is weak yet, and soon worn-out. It was very brave of him to fight as he did—with Mark Eden, I mean—against the men who attacked them, and for both to be wounded. I wonder what Mark Eden is like. Ralph has met him three times, he says, but he only growls if I begin to ask him questions. What a pity it is, when we might all be so friendly and nice. How stupid it does seem of people to quarrel!”
Fate seemed to be determined that the young people of the rival families should become intimate, in spite of all the stringent rules laid down by the heads; for Ralph was out one day, making a round, when it occurred to him that he would call upon Master Rayburn, to let him see how well the wound was healing up, and to say a few words of thanks to the old man for his kindness and attention.
He found the object of his visit seated in a kind of grotto, shaded by a great sycamore, with his doublet off, hat on the floor, and beautifully white sleeves rolled up, busily at work, tying up some peculiar little combinations of wool, hair, and feathers, to the back of a hook; and as the lad approached, he held up the curious object by the piece of horsehair to which it was tied.
“Well, patient,” he said, “what do you think of that?”
“Nothing at all,” cried the lad. “No fish would ever take that. What do you call it?”
“A bumble-bee, and the fish will take it, Mr Cleversides; but not if they see a big lubberly boy staring at them with his arm in a sling, or an old grey-headed man, either, Ralph. There, don’t frown. It’s very nice to be a big lubberly boy; much better than being a worn-out old man, with not much longer to live. Ah, you laugh at my bumble-bee, and it certainly is not like one, but the best I can do, and I find it a great bait for a chevin, if used with guile. Take these two, Ralph, boy, and early some sunny morning go down behind the trees, where they overhang the stream, and don’t show so much as your nose, let alone your shadow, for it would send them flying. Then gently throw your fly.”
(Note: a chevin is a chub.)
“How can you,” said Ralph quickly, “with the boughs overhanging the water?”
“Good, lad! what I expected you to say; but there is where the guile comes in. I don’t want you to throw your fly into the water, but to let it drop on the leaves just above it, a few inches or a foot, and then shake the line tenderly, till the bee softly rolls off, and drops naturally from a leaf, hardly making a splash. Then you’ll find that there will be a dimple on the water, the smacking of two lips, and the chevin will have taken the bait. Then it is your fault if it is not laid in your creel.”
“Thank you, Master Rayburn; I’ll try. I haven’t had a fish since I was wounded.”
“No: it would have been bad work if you had gone whipping about, and irritating the two little holes in your arm. Well, how is it?”
“Oh, quite well now,” said the lad, as he carefully hooked the bees in his cap, and twisted the hair to which they were attached under the band; “and I’ve come to say how thankful I am for all you have done for me, and—”
“That’s enough, my dear boy,” cried the old man warmly; “look the rest. And now about those wild men of the mountains; have you heard how they are going on?”
“A little; not much.”
“Ah, you don’t know, or you would not talk about a little. Why, Ralph, boy, the country round is full of complaints of their doings. About a dozen great idle scoundrels are living up at Ergles in that cave, laying the people for miles round under contribution; picking the fat of the land, and committing outrage after outrage. Only during the past week, I’ve had to bind up two broken heads, and strap up a broken shoulder, where the poor fellows had made a brave fight for it—one man against seven or eight.”
“You don’t mean that!” cried Ralph flushing.
“But I do, boy. They are growing worse and worse, and making themselves a scourge to the country.”
“I did not know it was so bad.”
“No, I suppose not, sir; and here are you people living safely in your castles, with plenty of stout men about you, ready to arm and defend you behind your walls and gates. But if the scoundrels came and robbed you, perhaps you would do something. Don’t you think you ought to begin?”
“Yes, that I do,” cried Ralph quickly. “My father has been talking about it for some time.”
“Yes; and so has Sir Edward Eden been talking about it for some time; but neither of them does anything, and the wasps’ nest thrives; all the best things in the country are carried up there—the wasps robbing the bees; and I, though I am a man of peace, say that it is the duty of you gentlemen to burn that wasps’ nest out before anything worse is done, for the ruffians grow more bold and daring every day, feeling, I suppose, that they can do these things with impunity.”
“Father shall do something at once,” cried the lad.
“That’s right,” cried the old man, patting his late patient on the shoulder. “I don’t want blood shed, and I hardly think any of your people would come to much harm, for, like most scoundrels of their kind, I believe the enemy would prove miserable cowards.”
“They have proved to be so,” cried Ralph warmly. “Father must act now.”
“I’ll tell you what he ought to do, boy,” said the old man, grasping his visitor by the arm. “Of course he need not make friends, but he ought to go or send to the Black Tor, and ask Sir Edward to head so many men, your father doing the same; and then they could march together, and rout out the scoundrels.”
“Yes, it would be easy enough then,” said Ralph sadly; “but I know my father too well: he would not do that.”
“No,” said the old man, “he would not do that.”
The tone in which this was said roused the lad’s indignation.
“Well,” he said hotly, “do you think this Sir Edward Eden would come and ask my father to join him?”
“No, boy, I do not,” replied the old man, “for I said something of this kind to Mark Eden only yesterday, when I was fishing up that way, and he spoke just in the same way as you do.”
“You saw him yesterday?” said Ralph eagerly. “How is he?”
“What’s that to do with you?” said the old man rather roughly. “You don’t want to know how your enemy is. But all the same, his leg is nearly well. He limps a little: that is all. Going?”
“Yes,” said Ralph hurriedly; “I must be off now. I am going on about a mile, and coming back this way. Perhaps I shall see you then.”
“Going about a mile? Not going to see old Mother Garth?”
“Yes: to take her a present from my sister. Nick told her about his mother being robbed.”
“And your sister wants to make it up to her. Poor old woman! she is in great trouble, but she will not hear of leaving her
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