The Ship of Stars | Page 4

window, and sat there with it. Every night he had to learn a text which he repeated next morning to his mother. Already, across the square, the Mayoralty house was brightly lit, and the bandsmen had begun to arrange their stands and music before it; for the Colonel was receiving company. Every now and then a carriage arrived, and set down its guests.
After a while Taffy looked up and saw two persons crossing the square--an old man and a little girl. He recognised them, having seen them together in church the day before, when his father had preached the sermon. The old man wore a rusty silk hat, cocked a little to one side, a high stock collar, black cutaway coat, breeches and gaiters of grey cord. He stooped as he walked, with his hands behind him and his walking-stick dangling like a tail--a very positive old fellow, to look at. The girl's face Taffy could not see; it was hidden by the brim of her Leghorn hat.
The pair passed close under the window. Taffy heard a knock at the door below, and ran to the head of the stairs. Down in the passage his mother was talking to the old man, who turned to the girl and told her to wait outside.
"But let her come in and sit down," urged Humility.
"No, ma'am; I know my mind. I want one hour with your husband."
Taffy heard the door shut, and went back to his window-seat.
The little girl had climbed the cannon opposite, and sat there dangling her feet and eyeing the house.
"Boy," said she, "what a funny window-seat you've got! I can see your legs under it."
"That's because the window reaches down to the floor, and the bench is fixed across by the transom here."
"What's your name?"
"Theophilus; but they call me Taffy."
"Why?"
"Father says it's an imperfect example of Grimm's Law."
"Oh! Then, I suppose you're quite the gentleman? My name's Honoria."
"Is that your father downstairs?"
"Bless the boy! What age do you take me for? He's my grandfather. He's asking your father about his soul. He wants to be saved, and says if he's not saved before next Lady-day, he'll know the reason why. What are you doing up there?"
"Reading."
"Reading what?"
"The Bible."
"But, I say, can you really?"
"You listen." Taffy rested the big Bible on the window-frame; it just had room to lie open between the two mullions--"Now when they had gone throughout Phrygia and Galatia, and were forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Asia, after they were come to Mysia they assayed to go into Bithynia; but the Spirit suffered them not. And they, passing by Mysia, came down to Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the night. . . ."
"I don't wonder at it. Did you ever have the whooping-cough?"
"Not yet."
"I've had it all the winter. That's why I'm not allowed in to play with you. Listen!"
She coughed twice, and wound up with a terrific whoop.
"Now, if you'd only put on your nightshirt and preach, I'd be the congregation and interrupt you with coughing."
"Very well," said Taffy, "let's do it."
"No; you didn't suggest it. I hate boys who have to be told."
Taffy was huffed, and pretended to return to his book. By-and-by she called up to him:
"Tell me, what's written on this gun of yours?"
"Sevastopol--that's a Russian town. The English took it by storm."
"What! the soldiers over there?"
"No, they're only bandsmen; and they're too young. But I expect the Colonel was there. He's upstairs in the Mayoralty, dining. He's quite an old man, but I've heard father say he was as brave as a lion when the fighting happened."
The girl climbed off the gun.
"I'm going to have a look at him," she said; and turning her back on Taffy, she sauntered off across the square, just as the band struck up the first note of the overture from Semiramide. A waltz of Strauss followed, and then came a cornet solo by the bandmaster, and a medley of old English tunes. To all of these Taffy listened. It had fallen too dark to read, and the boy was always sensitive to music. Often when he played alone broken phrases and scraps of remembered tunes came into his head and repeated themselves over and over. Then he would drop his game and wander about restlessly, trying to fix and complete the melody; and somehow in the process the melody always became a story, or so like a story that he never knew the difference. Sometimes his uneasiness lasted for days together. But when the story came complete at last--and this always sprang on him quite suddenly--he wanted to caper and fling his arms about and sing aloud; and did so, if nobody happened to be looking.
The bandmaster, too, had music, and a reputation for imparting it. Famous regimental