The Light That Failed (2 of 92)

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CHAPTER I (CONT'D)

Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her
profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small
liberty of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered
no friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the
holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the
children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as
they prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school,
Maisie whispered, 'Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself;
but,' and she nodded her head bravely, 'I can do it. You promised to
send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon.' A week later she asked for
that collar by return of post, and wa not pleased when she learned that
it took time to make. When at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot
to thank him for it.

Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into
a lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not for
a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the
average canings of a public school--Dick fell under punishment about
three times a month--filled him with contempt for her powers. 'She
doesn't hurt,' he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, 'and
she is kinder to you after she has whacked me.' Dick shambled through
the days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the
school learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them,
cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try
to tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. 'We are both
miserable as it is,' said she. 'What is the use of trying to make things
worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.'

The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the
muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and
pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out
nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched
by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the
afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting
patiently behind them.

'Mf!' said Maisie, sniffing the air. 'I wonder what makes the sea so
smelly? I don't like it!'

'You never like anything that isn't made just for you,' said Dick
bluntly. 'Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does
one of these little revolvers carry?'

'Oh, half a mile,' said Maisie, promptly. 'At least it makes an awful
noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged
stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.'

'All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.'

He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of
mud to the right of the wood-wreathed piles.

'Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all
round.'

Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud,
her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up.

Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very
cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon
walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations
with his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went.

'I think it hit the post,' she said, shading her eyes and looking out
across the sailless sea.

'I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,' said Dick, with a
chuckle. 'Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look
at Amomma!--he's eating the cartridges!'

Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma
scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred
to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma
had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried
up to assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale.

'Yes, he's eaten two.'

'Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up,
and serve him right. . . . Oh, Dick! have I killed you?'

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