Jeremy

world in general, or have been indifferent as to whether she attracted it or not. As it was, she longed to attract everyone, and, in truth, attracted nobody. She might have found consolation in books or her own highly-coloured imaginations had it not been for the burning passions which she formed, at a very early age, for living people. For some years now

now. Meanwhile, her devotion to her brother grew with every month of her life. She thought him, in all honesty, the most miraculous of all human beings. There was more in her worship than mere dog-like fidelity. She adored him for reasons that were real and true; for his independence, his obstinacy, his sense of fun, his sudden, unexpected kindnesses, his sudden helplessness, and above all, for his bravery. He seemed to her the bravest hero in all history, and she felt it the more because she was herself compact of every fear and terror known to man. It was not enough for her, the ordinary panic that belongs to all human life at every stage of its progress. She feared everything and everybody, and only hid her fear by a persistent cover of almost obstinate stupidity, which deceived, to some extent, her relations, but never in an

nything; he could not be said to need Mary's assistance in any particular. And with this burning desire of hers came, of course, jealousy. There are some happy, easy natures to whom jealousy is, through life, unknown. They are to be envied. Jealousy in a grown-up human being is bad;

d very quickly that this was some sort of horrible disease, with which she must wrestle alone. Above all, she must never allow Jeremy to know anything about it. He was, of course, su

inst hers. She suffered when, in a mood of tempestuous affection to the whole world, he kissed Miss Jones. She eve

. Nevertheless, it was Hamlet who commanded Jeremy's heart, and Mary knew it. Matters were made worse by the undoubted truth that Hamlet did not care very much for Mary-that is, he never gave any signs of caring, and very often walked out of the room when she came into it. Mary could have cared for the dog as enthusiastically as Jeremy-she was always sentiment

e herself honestly care for it. When she brought it with her into the schoolroom, Hamlet treated it in a scornful, sarcastic fashion that was worse than outrageous attack. The cat was uncleanly, and was speedily banished back into the kitchen. Mary's jealousy of Hamlet then grew apace, and with that jealousy, unfortunately, her secret appreciation of his splendours. She could not help admitting to herself that he was the most attractive dog in the world. She would look at him from under her spectacles when she was supposed to be reading and watch him as he rolled, kicking his legs in the air, or lay stretched out, his black wet nose against his paws, his eyes gleaming, his gaze fixed li

e's motives-his own independence saved him from anxiety about others. He had the English characteristic of fancyi

m very politely-and he had asked her to suggest games or to play with his toys. Now as the summer drew near, he did none of these things. He was frankly impatient with her stories, never asked her advice about anything, and never played with her. Was he growing very conceited? Was it because he

lness, as did the others, and yet Mary knew that he had been more deeply concerned than any of them. She had been miserable, of course, but to

re she was, to envelop and carry her up with them; at last, when all the mischief was done, to set her on her feet again, battered, torn and bitterly ashamed. One evening she was sitting deep in "Charlotte Mary," and

d up "The Chaplet of Pearls" and threw it at him. It hit him (not very severely), and he gave the sharp, melodramatic howl that he always used when it was his dignity rather than his body that was hurt. Jeremy looked up, saw what had happened, and a fine scene

on that only irritated him the more; finally remembered the smalle

of the dark glooms and sunlit spaces of the orchard, or creeping about the lofts and barns as though they were full of the most desperate dangers and hazards that she alone had the pluck and intelligence to overcome. Then Mrs. Monk was kind to her,

er with them; he answered her questions so vaguely that she could see that he paid her no attention at all; he turned upon her and rent her if she complained. And it was all, she was sure, that horrible dog. Jeremy was always with Hamlet now. The free life that the farm gave them, no lessons, no set hours, no care for appearances, left them to choose their own ways, and so developed their ind

uld be heard telling herself that if it were not for the dog, Jeremy would always be with her, would play with her, walk with her, laugh with her as he used to do. She acquired now an awkward habit of gazing at him

w me next t

on and then, with tre

n't lo

you

I was

though I were an Indian or China

sn't

l, t

always s

ss-only you'

ay I was silly. Now you

ould get up and go away. He didn't mean to be unki

about something now,"

red with indifference

and sudden unexpected doors. It seemed to Mary as though in this place there were two Hamlets. When, in the evening she went to her room, hurrying through the passages for fear of what she might see, stumbling

from which there was no escape. Hamlet, being one of the wisest of dogs, very quickly discovered that Mary hated him. He was not a sentimental dog, and he did not devote his time to inventing ways in which he might placate his enemy, he simply avoided her. But he could not hinder a certain cynical and ironic pleasure that he had of, so to speak, flaunting his master in her face. He clung to Jeremy more resolutely than ever, wo

he gave no one that kind of anxiety-but that he was developing quite unmistakably a will of his own, and had a remarkable way of doing what he wanted without being actually disobedient, which was very puzzling to his elders. Being a little in disgrace he went off more than e

ool in September," sighed his mother

e dog he would go with her. When this idea crept into her brain she seized it and clutched it. That was all he wanted-a companion! Were Hamlet not there he would take her. Were Hamle

ld be sorry and then he would forget. She knew the man w

red at her

I

ng out one day and being held indoors the next. This upset her temper, and at night she had nightmares, in which she saw clouds of smoke crawling in at her window, snakes on the floor, and crimson flames darting at her from the ceiling. It was because she was in an abnormal condition of health that the idea of doing something wi

ne should know. It was to be

ain. She saw stretching in front of her all the lonely autumn without him and her own memorie

the opportunity was suddenly offered to Mary of achieving her purpose. One mornin

her and bother and bother. Aunt A

Amy says," Mary on the

silly old stories." Then he suddenly stopped and g

u're always crying now or something. And you look at me as t

ed out. He rubbed his nose in a w

illy always crying. The holidays will be o

-with me-now,

I've be

u can't be busy

ent. "Anyway, you might let Hamlet and me

burst out with: "It's always Hamlet now. I w

e a baby! I'm sick of you and your

es, as she watched him

men most especially when they walked, but to-day his master was busy digging for worms in the vegetable garden, and, after a quarter of an hour's contemplation of this fascinating occupation, he had wandered off in search of a livelier game. He decided t

h those unfortunate people in the Bible. But no, the world was calm. Little white milky clouds raced in lines and circles across the sky, and once and again a leaf floated from a tree, hung for a moment suspended, a

reminiscent tone of her youth. This vein of reminiscence Mary, on her

on of dishonesty on Alfred's part. 'A white lie,' he would often say, 'is a lie, and a lie is a sin-white or black, always a sin'; and I remember that he would often put mother to a serious inconvenience by his telli

Mary, suddenly catching the las

mber reading about Oliver Cromwell... 'Where is that dog? Hamlet! Hamlet! Pe

tossed into the haze and swept like a golden shadow across the earth, bending back again when the breeze had died. Behind Mellot Wood was Mellot Farm, an old eighteenth-century house about which there was a fine tragic story with a murder and a ghost in it, and this, of course, gave Mellot Wood an additional charm. When they arrived at the outskirts of Mellot Wood Mary looked about her. It was here, on the edge of the Rafiel Road that skirted the wood, that she had once seen the dog-man eating his luncheon out of a red pocket-handkerchief. There was no

armer. Miss Andrews had promised her some ducks' eggs. They pushed open the farm gate, passed across the yard and knocked on the house door.

e, Mary," said Miss

ewhere. Very quickly she pulled back the door; he, still investigating his rat, followed into the dark excitements of the barn. With a quick movement she bent down, slipped off his collar, which she hi

id Miss Jones. "They are

alked down the road. Ham

n her knee. Fancy! Such a large fat man as he is now. Too much beer, I suppose. I suppose they get so thirsty with all the straw and hay about. Yes, a really nice

hen and cried:

know, Miss Jones," she said. They had left the wood and the farm, and there was

behind at the far

told her

e ran past us just now

I suppose. He runs home sometimes.

ed through the gates of Cow Farm and

do hope that he's arrived. Whatever will

wn the road towards her she would have cried with relief; there seemed now to be suddenly removed from her that outside agency that had forced her to do this thing; now, having compelled her, it had withdrawn and left her to carry the consequ

across the cou

et! H

t down to tea, so that the announcement

ack? We thought he

r. Jeremy had run round

t? Hamlet?

d of us. He ran past us dow

up against Miss Jones, hurling questions at her. Where had they been? What roa

Jones to this last. "I d

n Mary. "Where wa

nothing but his face. It was a desperate face. She knew so much better than all the others what the thought of losing Ham

not realised how har

't-I co

"He'll have stolen him." Then he wa

eak when she should be strong, soft when she should be hard, good when she should be wicked, wicked when she should be good. She could not help herself

u going?" she

off, suddenly appealing to her. "Mary, CAN'T you remember? It will be getting dark soon, and if

sobs, pushed her hand into her dre

ere it is!" she

r, suspicion slowly coming to hi

he tears making dirty lines on he

arm. I wanted him to be lost. I didn't want you to have

sobbing ceased, she caught her breath and stared at him wi

in his ord

p? You didn't want

times as though now she must

. I know I shouldn't, b

dden wave of fierce physical anger that was utter

wicked-You

her head hanging d

barn w

ribed th

ontempt and then rushed off,

he dark trees of the garden and the boom of the sea could be heard faintly. Mary sat, where she always sat when she was unhappy, inside the wardrobe with her head amongst the clothes. They in some way comforted her; she was

s and a dry, parched throat. Why had she ever done such a thing, she loving Jeremy as she did? Would he ever forgive her? No, never; she saw that

so found, when the room was quite dark an

re you doing here? We couldn't think

arted up, rememb

be killed, and it will be all my fault!" She b

arm. "Mary, explain-

chattering, her head achin

ever-Oh, Mary, you wicked girl! And

eaving Mary alone

he "separator" in a distant part of the farm, the whistling of some farm-hand out in the yard, the voice of some boy, "coo-ee"-ing faintly, the lingering echo of the vanished day-all these seemed to accuse her, to point fingers at her, to warn her of some awful impending punishment. "Ah! you're the little girl," they seemed to say, "who lost Jeremy's dog and broke Jeremy's heart." She was sure that someone was beneath her bed. That old terror haunted her with an almost humorous persistency every night before she went to sleep,

emy hanging from a tree, Jeremy lying frozen in the wood, the faithful Hamlet dead at his side, Jeremy stung by an adder and succumbing to hi

cience; she passed into a kind of apathy of unhappiness, thinking now only of Jeremy, longing for him, beseeching him to come back, telling the empty moonlit room that she never m

k the door, crept down the passage, and came suddenly upon a little group, with Jeremy in its midst, crowded together at the top of the stairs. Jeremy was wrapped up in

declared that he could find his way home again without aid. "They wanted me to be driven home in their trap, but I wasn't going to have that. They'd been at the fair all day, and didn't want to go out again. I could see that." So he and Hamlet started gaily on their walk home, and then, in some way or another, he took the wrong turn, and sudd

efeat of the Dean's Ernest she liked her young nephew no better than of old. She had desired that he should be

otten; no one

said Mr

said Miss Jones. "And I can't he

topped. She had perhaps some sense that Mary

to his room. She waited, then plucking up all her courage with the desperate suffocating

"Daddy's Christmas" straight upon its nail. The sight of this familiar task-the picture would never hang straight, al

straight?" sh

nd then, suddenly realising

" she muttered, han

way from her and pulling at the string. "It wa

orgive me?"

r, I suppose. I don't understand them myself. There, that

s i

mething howling somewh

rgive me,

ght now? Oh, it won't stay the

from the ch

d to her. "He's going to

Mary said aga

ing, then, in silence, presented a very grimy cheek.

" she said,

y beyond her company, her world, her interests. She crept along to her room, and there, with a d