Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  Harry MilvaineThe Wanderings of a Wayward BoyBy Gordon StablesPublished by Hodder and Stoughton, 27 Paternoster Row, London.This edition dated 1887.

  Harry Milvaine, by Gordon Stables.

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  ________________________________________________________________________HARRY MILVAINE, BY GORDON STABLES.

  Book 1--CHAPTER ONE.

  IN THE LAND OF BROWN HEATH.

  CHILD HAROLD.

  Young Harry Milvaine stood beside the water-tank, and the water-tankitself stood just outside the back kitchen door. He was hardly highenough, however, to look right over it and down into it, though it wasfull to the brim--overflowing in fact, and the water still pouring infrom the spout that led from the house-top. But Harry was of aninventive turn of mind, young though he was, so he went and fetched astable bucket, and very heavy he thought it; but when he turned thisupside down and mounted on the bottom, he was possessed of a coign ofvantage which was all that could be desired.

  Harry had mastered the situation.

  He now watched with intense interest the bright clear bubbles that werefloating about on the surface. Bright clear bubbles they were and largeas well, and in them was a miniature reflection of all the surroundings,the Portuguese laurel trees, the Austrian pines, the vases on the stonepillars of the gate, with their trailing drapery of blood-rednasturtiums, the rose-clad gable of the stable, and last but not leasthis own wondering face itself. And a queer little face it was, nosaying what it might turn like in after life. Neither fat nor lean wasit, certainly not chubby, regular in features, and somewhat pale. Butit was Harry's eyes that people admired; that is, whenever Harry stoodlong enough still to permit of admiration, but he was a restless child.His eyes then were very dark and almost round, and there was a depth ofexpression in them which sometimes made him look positively old.

  Yes, those beautiful bubbles were mirrors, and looking into them wasjust like peeping through a looking-glass into fairyland. Harry clappedhis tiny hands and crowed with delight. They went sailing about, hereand there all over the surface; then a happy thought struck Harry and hecalled them his ships. The vat was the deep blue sea, and the bubbleswere ships. Ships of war, mind you, and Harry was a king, and therewere enemy's ships there also. Every now and then two or even three ofthese bubble-ships would meet and join; then of course there would be adesperate fight going on, and presently one would disappear, and thatmeant victory for the other. Sometimes one of the bubble-ships sailingall by itself would suddenly burst, and that meant a vessel gone down,perhaps with all hands; for Harry had heard his father speak of suchthings.

  On the whole it was altogether as good as a play or a pantomime.

  It was raining--yes, it was pouring, and Harry was wet to the skin, andhad been so for an hour or more. But he did not mind that a bit. Infact, I am not sure that he was even conscious of it; or if conscious ofit, that he didn't prefer it. At any time, when a heavy shower came on,Harry loved to get out in it, and run about in it, and hold up his palmsto catch the drops, and his face to feel them patter on it, only theyfell on his eyes sometimes and made him wink.

  Well, but one might get tired even of a pantomime after a while, so byand by Harry left the vat, and left his ships to shift for themselves.

  "I won't be a king any more," he said to himself. "I'll go and be aforester. Good-bye, ships," he cried, "I'm off for a run. By and byI'll come back again and see you--if you're good."

  Eily, his long-haired Collie dog, who had been sitting wistfullywatching her young master all the time that the naval warfare was goingon, was quite as wet as he; and looked the picture of misery andforlornness; but when Harry proposed a romp and a run, she forgot hermisery. First she shook pints of water out of her massive coat, thenshe jumped and capered for joy in the most ridiculous manner ever seen,making leaps right round and round like a teetotum and pretending tocatch her tail.

  The rain rained on, but away went the pair of them, running at fullspeed as if their very lives depended on it.

  Down the lawn and through the shrubbery, and out at the gate, which theydid not stop to shut, and across a road, and through a long field, andpast the Old Monk oak, past the great mill-dam, past the mill itself,and they never checked their headlong speed till they were right intothe forest.

  Not a forest of oak but of pine-trees, with ne'er a bit of undergrowth,for Harry's home was in Scottish wilds. No, never a bit of undergrowthwas there, and hardly a green thing under the tall, bare tree-stems,that looked for all the world like pillars in some vasty cave. And allthe ground was bedded deep with the withered pine-needles that hadfallen the year before. Among these grew great unsightly toad-stools,though some were pretty enough--bright crimson with white spots.

  Now Harry had a pet toad that he kept in a little box deep hidden amongthe pine-needles at the foot of a tree. He went straight for him now,and pulled him out and placed him on one of the very biggest andflattest of the toad-stools. And there the toad squatted, and Eilybarked at him and Harry laughed at him, but the great toad never moved amuscle, but simply sat and stared. He did not seem half awake. SoHarry soon grew tired of him; he was not fast enough for Harry, whotherefore put him back again in his box, covered him up with thewithered needles, and told him to go to sleep; then away went he andEily shouting and barking till the woods rang again. Soon they came toa brawling stream. It was fuller than usual, and Harry got a greatpiece of pine bark, and launched it for a ship, and ran alongside of it,on and on and on till the streamlet joined the river itself, and Harry'sship was floated away far beyond his reach.

  The river was greatly swollen and turbulent with the rains, and itswaters were quite yellow. Trees were floating down and evencorn-sheaves--for the season was autumn--and now and then stooks ofgolden grain. Harry paused and looked upon the great river with awe,not unmingled with admiration.

  "Wouldn't I like to be a sailor, just," he said, "that is," he added,turning round and addressing Eily, "a real sailor you know, Eily; and goand see all the pretty countries that nursie reads to me about when I'mnaughty and won't sleep."

  Eily wagged her tail, as much as to say, "It would be the finest thingin the world." For Eily always coincided with everything her littlemaster proposed or said.

  "And you could go with me, Eily, of course."

  "Yes," said Eily, talking with her tail.

  "And there would be no more nasty copies to write, nor sums to do."

  "No," said Eily.

  "And, oh! such a lot of fruit and nuts, Eily; but, come on, I want tomake faces at the bull."

  "Come on, then," said Eily, speaking with her eyes this time. "Come on,I'm ready. We'll make faces at the bull."

  So off they ran once more.

  The bull was a splendid Highland specimen, with a rough buff jacket,hair all over his face and eyes, and horns as long as both your armsoutstretched. Just such an animal as Rosa Bonheur, that queen ofartists, delights to paint.

  He dwelt in a field all by himself because he was so fierce that noother creature or human being dare go near him except a certain sturdycowherd, who had known Jock, as the bull was called, since he was acalf.

  Jock was quite away at the other end of the field--which was wellwalled--when Harry and his canine companion arrived at the five-barredgate.

  "I know how to fetch him down, Eily," said Harry. Then he called out asloud as he could: "Towsie Jock! Towsie Jock! Towsie! Towsie!Towsie!"

  The great bull lifted his head and sniffed the air.


  "Towsie Jock! Towsie! Towsie! Towsie!"

  With a roar that would have frightened many a child, he shook his greathead, then came on towards the gate, growling all the while in a mostalarming way.

  "Towsie Jock! Towsie! Towsie?" cried the boy.

  Jock was at the gate now.

  His breath blew hot and thick from his nostrils, his red eyes seemed toflash fire.

  "Towsie Jock! Towsie! Towsie!"

  The bull was mad. He tore up the earth with his fore-feet, and thegrass with his teeth.

  "Towsie! Tow--"

  Before Harry could finish the word, greatly to his horror, the bullthrew off the top bar with one of his horns, and in three seconds morehad leapt clean over.

  But Harry was too quick for him, and what followed spoke well for thepresence of mind of our young hero.

  To have attempted to run straight away from the bull would have meant aspeedy