1 
 
 ■— =^=3i=:n~; — ."..^.r.-rr^s-z-r. ?:::gagafgr3gr-?ga--- js-T:=iJsrg-'ijy;g.:;jv,.— 
 
 1 
 
 r 
 
 ' RUNNING WILD 
 
 BERTRAM SMITH 
 
 ;■ 
 
 ^^^^^^^^H 
 
PR 
 
 hOZl 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 S.H.Burnham 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6037.M677R9 1920 
 
 Running wild. 
 
 223 353 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013223353 
 
RUNNING WILD 
 
RUNNING WILD 
 
 BY 
 
 BERTRAM SMITH 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " DAYS OF DISCOVERY," " THE WHOLE ART OF CABAVAHHIHG," ETC. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 
 WARD MUIR 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 Lis 
 
Copy/ight 
 Fi*st published igzo 
 
 Printed in Great Britain bv Ha/ell, Waism & Viney, 14., 
 Lmion and Aylesbury, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BERTRAM SMITH 
 
 Born at New Brighton, Cheshire, 1876. 
 Died at Beattock, Dumfriesshire, 1918. 
 
 Bertram Smith lived aloof from the 
 world of Fleet Street and the clubs. He 
 rarely came to London or met his fellow- 
 craftsmen. Yet here and there, all over 
 the country, there are discriminating readers 
 who heard of his death with very real 
 regret, and who feel that English author- 
 ship has lost a mo^ engaging figure. He 
 had a curiously large and diverse following, 
 who watched for his signature at the foot 
 of a Manchester Guardian column, who 
 always looked for his work in Punch, and 
 
10 PREFACE 
 
 who placed his — alas— not very numerous 
 books in an honoured position on their 
 shelves. 
 
 He had published a good many short 
 magazine stories, mostly concerned with 
 sport, and a couple of novels of public 
 school life ; but it was less as a fiction writer 
 than as an essayist that his admirers 
 reckoned him. " Days of Discovery " was 
 a series of essays ; and his two volumes on 
 caravanning — " The Whole Art of Caravan- 
 ning " and " Caravan Days " — ^were in 
 reality essays also rather than merely 
 practical treatises or journals of travel. 
 
 What, precisely, is the curious charm of 
 Bertram Smith's . essays ? His readers 
 would probably find it in their whimsical 
 humour. He had an extraordinary gift 
 for fun — a quiet, unexpected dry-cham- 
 pagne sort of bubbling-up of verbal high- 
 spiritedness. The result was that he was 
 
PREFACE II 
 
 also delightfully natural. Those of us who 
 had the privilege of his friendship knew that 
 Bertram Smith was no mere artificial 
 humorist : if he was good to read he was 
 still better to listen to. His writing revealed 
 a gay and gallant mind, but the man him- 
 self was still more gay and gallant. 
 
 That gaiety, that gallantry, were all the 
 finer when one remembered that the latter 
 part of his life had been a continual fight 
 against a dread disease. He died of con- 
 sumption, at the age of 41. And this ill- 
 ness tinged the whole of his career by com- 
 pelling him to live in the country. Although 
 born in England he really was Scotch, and 
 thus it came about that he made his home 
 at Beattock, in Dumfriesshire, where he 
 took up farming. His figure, a picturesque 
 one, was familiar throughout a wide district. 
 He was exceptionally, tall and broad- 
 shouldered; wind and weather had given 
 
12 PREFACE 
 
 his face a wholesome colour ; his eyes were 
 of a clear, bright blue ; his hair — he gener- 
 ally went hatless, being a Loretto boy — 
 was iron grey, with a splash of white at the 
 front. To see him striding along the roads 
 beside his caravan (he did a great deal of 
 caravanning) you would never have guessed 
 that he was not enjoying the most magni- 
 ficent health. His death was hastened 
 by the self-sacriiicing enthusiasm with 
 which he had engaged in food-^production 
 work, the popularisation of ploughing by 
 tractor, the housing of Belgian refugees, 
 and similar war-time measures. 
 
 As a boy he had been quite healthy. 
 He was one of a family of six : five boys 
 and one girl. Their interests were mainly 
 in open-air pursuits. At home, in Liver- 
 pool, much of their time was spent in the 
 large garden whose delights are drawn for 
 us in " Days of Discovery." The summer 
 
PREFACE 13 
 
 always meant a migration from Liverpool 
 to the Norths where, on his father's estate, 
 Bertram Smith spent the happiest days of 
 his boyhood, with his brothers and sister, 
 " running wild." When he reached young 
 manhood he joined the firm of Smith, 
 Edwards & Co.,. cotton brokers, and had he 
 not developed a consumptive tendency he 
 might have remained in Liverpool, in 
 business, and perhaps the commercial 
 routine would have left him little time for 
 writing. Yet Bertram Smith was no typi- 
 cal business man. Even in that era he 
 would live in a caravan, moving at dusk 
 along the lanes of Cheshire, and in the 
 morning leaving his house-on-wheels to go 
 up to the office by train. Probably never 
 before has anyone contrived to combine 
 caravanning and cotton-broking. 
 
 But Bertram Smith had a knack of doing 
 the unusual. On his marriage, when he 
 
14 PREFACE 
 
 built himself a residence, his architect's 
 sole order was that every bedroom must 
 have a bathroom — an unheard-of suggestion 
 in those rural depths. When he aban- 
 doned gipsy vans and designed his own, 
 he made not one but a fleet of eight. He 
 caravanned from the Border to John o' 
 Groats. Another curious method of Scot- 
 tish touring was his invention — ^namely, 
 punting. Nobody dreamt that the upper 
 reaches of our northern rivers were navi- 
 gable till Bertram Smith constructed flat- 
 bottomed craft and, accompaiiied by a crew 
 of old Lorettonians, floated (with many an 
 upset) down the Tweed, Annan, Nith and S. 
 Esk : streams which, for the main portion 
 of their courses, are a mere chain, of rapids, 
 rocky pools, and shallows. And the man 
 who rejoiced in these boyish adventures, 
 who loved shooting and swimming and 
 tenting and walking and winter-sport, 
 
PREFACE 15 
 
 was also a passionate devotee of music. 
 Beethoven and Wagner were, for him, the 
 masters. 
 
 To his local paper he contributed, week 
 by week, during the war, a careful summary 
 of the military situation : a boiled-down 
 conclusion from his own vast reading of 
 the dailies and reviews. Like Bertram 
 Smith's later Punch articles, it was signed 
 by the pseudonym " Bis." He wrote on 
 caravanning for Country Life, and- also 
 contributed several important articles on 
 curling. During many pre-war winters 
 he acted as special correspondent of The 
 Scotsman at the curUng Bonspiels at 
 Kandersteg and elsewhere in the Alps. 
 Perhaps no one else has ever been really 
 readable about curling ; but the present 
 writer can tell of at least one old lady, who 
 had scarcely seen a curling stone, yet 
 perused Bertram Smith's dispatches with 
 
i6 PREFACE 
 
 delight. That was the curious feature about 
 
 his public — ^their variety. " Totty " and 
 
 " A Perfect Genius," his two school novels, 
 
 were devoured with equal joy by boys 
 
 and adults. " Days of Discovery " and 
 
 " Running Wild," except for. their extreme 
 
 skilfulness, might have been written by a 
 
 chiid, and can be understood by any child. 
 
 In spite of the burdens which Bertram 
 
 Smith bore he remained, in fact, a boy, 
 
 with a boy's ideals, a boy's high sense of 
 
 honour, a boy's zest and a boy's capacity 
 
 for laughter. 
 
 WARD MUIR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FAQB 
 
 A DAY 21 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 REFORMATION . . . • . . .34 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA GLAUS . . 42 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 WAR ON NETTLES 5I 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ON BEING IN BED . . . . . 61 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 DISOBLIGING 69 
 
 2 J7 
 
i8 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 FA6B 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE THAT 1 FOUND ^ . 78 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 STILTS ....... 86 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SHARP PRACTICE ..... 94 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 GLOOM ... . ... . . 104^ 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CANDLE SLIDE II3 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 DESTRUCTION . ... . . . 122 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 RUNNING WATER 13I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION . . . 141 
 
CONTENTS 19 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 JOKES 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TREES . 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 FIRES 168 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 POCKETS 177 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 COLLECTIONS 186 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 COMPETITION 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 GENERALLY USEFUL .... 204 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CONFESSION 213 
 
20 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 
 
 PAOB 
 
 SUNDAY AFTERNOON 
 
 • ■ 
 
 ■ . 223 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXIV 
 
 
 WASPS . . . • . 
 
 • ■ 
 
 . 232 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXV 
 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 ■ • 
 
 . 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ON GETTING TIRED OF IT . . . 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 PIGEONS, LTD. 258 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS . . , 268 
 
RUNNING WILD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A DAY 
 
 The Old Garden has long ago disappeared. 
 It is only possible now to guess at its bound- 
 aries, though one may still discern its 
 neighbourhood by the lie of the ground as 
 it falls away to the river. Somewhere in 
 that wide district of streets of small brick 
 houses, running parallel up the hill, there is 
 a tract submerged that once belonged to us, 
 
 "Where water gushed and fruit trees grew, 
 And flowers put forth a fairer hue. 
 And everything was strange and new." 
 
 But it has been wiped out long ago. ; , . 
 
 21 
 
2Z RUNNING WILD 
 
 And it is well. For it is far better to have 
 a remembered garden, all unspoilt, than to 
 live to see magic places made ordinary or 
 find them tampered with, changed and 
 disfigured. 
 
 It was in the Old Garden that most of 
 our outdoor life was spent in the Days of 
 Discovery, and I look back on it now as 
 on an area intensively cultivated, in which 
 every tree had been well climbed, every 
 hedge root well explored, every grid or tap 
 or water-butt investigated and enjoyed. 
 There was no walk there that had not 
 been a river, high-road, corridor, or slide. 
 There was no corner that had not been 
 crawled over by Red Indians or marked 
 with the spoor of lion or of elk. The 
 coal-hole was our safe meeting-place, and 
 there were hiding-places everywhere : the 
 summer-house had played the parts of fort, 
 museum, hospital, hotel. Good use was 
 
A DAY 23 
 
 found for everything within our marches. 
 With all the ends of life thus concentrated 
 we had little thought or time for the outside 
 world. 
 
 But with the journey in July — an occasion 
 that ranked far above birthdays and only 
 a little below Christmas — all that was 
 left behind and cut off short, dismissed 
 without a backward look . For we embraced 
 with keen delight the freedom of our home 
 in Scotland and those long summer days 
 when we ran wild in woods and meadows, 
 down by the river or far out across the moor. 
 It is true that certain " bounds " were set 
 at first — ^the White Gate in one direction, 
 the Three Oak Trees in another, the Stile 
 on the Dumfries Road — ^but we soon grew 
 out of them ; and after that the whole wide 
 valley was our own and nothing put 
 restraint upon us but the big bell in the roof 
 that called us home to meals. 
 
24 RUNNING WILD 
 
 I wonder if the glad experience of Our one 
 Great Day was peculiar to us as a family ; 
 if other people, looking back across the years 
 to their childhood, can also vividly recall 
 one separate occasion of sheer, rebellion 
 that stands out in bold relief. I hope that 
 it may be so, for our day is still an exquisite 
 memory. Had it never been, my whole 
 recollection of the Golden Age would have 
 suffered for the lack of it. For it remains 
 clear-cut and richly coloured, as a thing of 
 pure delight, a fulfilment of every lawless 
 and spontaneous instinct, a climax and 
 epitome. Surely there are few parents 
 niggard enough, whatever penalties must 
 follow in the interest of discipline, to 
 begrudge a child the memory of one such- 
 day. 
 
 It is, I suppose, the internal divisions, 
 the absence of concerted action in a large 
 family that makes it capable <>f control 
 
A DAY 25 
 
 and government. We were often indivi- 
 dually in rebellion, and I can recall a long 
 list of isolated exploits and adventures — 
 such as the happy afternoon I spent sliding 
 down the slates of the stable, clutching 
 the gutter with eager heels at the foot of 
 each descent, on the drawing-room cushions. 
 But the rebel was not always well supported. 
 Great as our sympathy with the idea 
 might be, and much as we might be tempted 
 to take part, there was often another alluring 
 course of action that proved still more attrac- 
 tive — ^that of standing aloof to gloat in the 
 hour of retribution. The value of a perfect 
 unity of aim and common loyalty to one 
 another did not seem to dawn upon us until 
 Our Day. Then, for the first time, we 
 worked together in eager unison. That was 
 the real secret of our incomparable success. 
 It was quite impremeditated . It chanced 
 that Those in Authority were away from 
 
26 RUNNING WILD 
 
 home, and an uncle and aunt had been im- 
 ported to take charge, who had not enjoyed 
 the years of careful training in our complex 
 methods of misbehaviour necessary for the 
 post. That evening one of us went over the 
 house with laborious care, putting all the 
 clocks an hour back, but beyond that we 
 made no special effort to utilise the rare 
 occasion. I think there was something in 
 the sunshine and the wind of the next 
 morning that stirred in us an unwonted mood 
 of recklessness. Long before breakfast-time 
 we were scampering in Indian file, bare- 
 footed and pyjamaed, through the passages 
 and out into the woods. And then we dis- 
 covered that the manipulation of the 
 clocks had been attended by extraordinary 
 success — that their evidence had in each 
 case been taken, in the face of isolated 
 watches, and the whole machinery of the 
 morning had been thrown out of gear; 
 
A DAY 27 
 
 Suspicion began to fall on us during break- 
 fast, and it was, I fancy, the immediate 
 fear of reprisals that drove us first into the 
 open. It was then in the little wood behind 
 the wash-house that the full extent of our 
 opportunity dawned upon us. Why go 
 back ? Why not make a day of it ? 
 
 " We must have food," Sidney declared, 
 looking forward with singular prudence, 
 and it was this consideration that first 
 brought home to us the enormous range of 
 the adventure. That we should not be 
 in to dinner was almost unthinkable ! 
 This was to be a day with no natural 
 division into morning and afternoon, a day 
 of a new order, all of a piece — surely an 
 interminable day. Silently we raided the 
 larder and bore away the strangest jumble 
 of supplies. And then we waited in close 
 cover till we had seen and enjoyed the spec- 
 tacle of a forlorn tutor pacing aimlessly in 
 
28 RUNNING WILD 
 
 front of the house, and had heard our names 
 called at every point of the compass. And 
 then to work. ... I cannot remember any 
 principle on which the campaign developed. 
 We never looked for occupation : we left 
 it to one who is said ever to find work for 
 idle hands to do. All day we held together, 
 and we seemed to move and think in perfect 
 harmony, with the precision of a flight of 
 birds. From one crime to another— some 
 new and bright suggestion would always 
 take the place of each exhausted effort— 
 we rushed rejoicing through the sunny hours 
 and never looked behind us. 
 
 And first, not without much hard 
 labour, we dammed the stream beside the 
 bleaclung-green, and hurled a muddy 
 cataract into the stable-yard. Nor did we 
 desist till the coach-house was well flooded 
 and we could see the wooden-backed 
 brushes bobbing on the surface. Old 
 
A DAY 29 
 
 Tom Coachman was never, at his best, 
 fleet of foot, and we had ample time to 
 draw off through the cover of the wood to 
 the garden and the hives. We had often 
 wondered, it now appeared, what would 
 happen if the bees were well stirred up 
 with sticks and stones ; and soon we were 
 to know. The bees had by all odds the best 
 of the encounter, though our own losses were 
 not great. For we kept our retreat open 
 to the safety of the green-house. Indeed, 
 all the casualties inflicted were upon my 
 own unhappy person, for being younger and 
 less nimble than the others (with the excep- 
 tion of Archie, who funked) I was stung in 
 two separate places, upon the ear and ankle, 
 and reached the refuge in an evil plight. 
 But I was soon comforted with big words of 
 exploits yet in store ; and we moved on to 
 what I must always consider the most 
 original, the most wantonly and brazenly 
 
30 RUNNING WILD 
 
 destructive, and therefore the most me- 
 morable of all our inspirations. 
 
 Behind the back door there was a steep 
 slope upward to the fence at the edge of the 
 wood, and on the lower part of it there 
 rose a flight of freestone steps to the road 
 which cut across its face. The next few 
 hours we spent in a very labour of Hercules, 
 hauhng curhng stones one at a time — en- 
 veloped in a sack — ^to the patch of bracken 
 just outside the fence, till we had a score of 
 them collected. A curling stone is circular 
 in shape and weighs some forty pounds. 
 We had worked silently, coming and going 
 by a long detour, and when all was ready 
 for our grand attack it was decreed that 
 we take lunch — a wise precaution, for we 
 must travel light in the stampede that was 
 almost sure to follow. And after that, in 
 the deep noon silence, began a fearful on- 
 slaught on the unsuspecting house, a very 
 
A DAY 31 
 
 riot of assault and battery. For our can- 
 nonade succeeded in a measure beyond our 
 wildest dreams. Stone after stone bounded 
 over the short-clipped turf, paused for a 
 moment on the road, crashed magnificently 
 down the steps, scoring its way amid flying 
 chips, to end its rolUcking journey in a re- 
 sounding thwack on the back door. There 
 was one inside who peered out for a moment, 
 wild-eyed, but withdrew her head in bare 
 time to save herself from the next leaping 
 missile in that ponderous attack. In spite 
 of our mis-hits (and there were several 
 stones that took a devious course and came 
 to rest harmlessly upon the roadway), the 
 steps were reduced to a pebbly, irregular 
 slope, and one panel of the door was split 
 from top to bottom before the final curling 
 stone was started on its way. 
 
 But now the hue and cry was out . Excited 
 servants poured forth OU; to the drive; 
 
32 RUNNING WILD 
 
 two garden lads, old Tom, and a nimble 
 kitchen-maid sprang up the hill to the pur- 
 suit, and we had a trying course to run 
 before we shook them off and lay panting 
 and exultant on the hay at the back of a 
 distant barn. We spent an hour in whis- 
 pered consultation before we ventured forth. 
 The afternoon was characterised by a still 
 wilder recklessness and greater disregard 
 for the rights of property. For now we 
 felt ourselves to be outlaws beyond the 
 limit of an amnesty. It only remained to 
 fill the cup. The end of it all was a visit 
 in the twilight to the little railway station 
 to see the mail go by and pick up the 
 letter-bags " by . apparatus." That had 
 long been a treasured project, forbidden 
 owing to the lateness of the hour. And then 
 — ^it was all over. As darkness fell, tired, 
 bruised, and wholly satisfied, we crept down 
 the shattered steps to the back door and 
 
A DAY 33 
 
 without a word gave ourselves up to 
 justice. 
 
 I do not think there was anything defiant 
 in our attitude. I am sure there were no 
 signs of penitence. For we had had our 
 day. We had run wild without stint or let 
 or hindrance. I have no recollection at all 
 of what the sequel was. But at the moment 
 of our surrender we looked forward to it 
 without dismay. For we knew that, short 
 of throwing the whole house into mourning 
 for days to come, there could be no punish- 
 ment that was adequate. Surely that 
 could hardly be. And whatever the 
 morrow might hold for us, we had had our 
 day. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 REFORMATION 
 
 It was a matter between myself and the 
 new under-nurse. The fact that I was 
 still under her direct control shows that it 
 must have been in the early stages of my 
 career, but although there was a birthday 
 concerned in it I cannot now remember 
 which birthday it was. New under-nurses 
 had rather an uphill fight in our household, 
 where the odds were so heavy against them, 
 and I happened to be particularly bad about 
 the time when Lizzie appeared. It was 
 only in occasional fits of absent-mindedness 
 that I would do as I was told; and if I 
 sometimes obeyed, as a special favour, I 
 
 34 
 
REFORMATION 35 
 
 always felt afterwards that I had lost a 
 little ground that would have to be regained. 
 Lizzie kept her end up very well, but though 
 she could easily corner me in the nursery 
 she couldn't catch me in the garden if I 
 had a fair start. And for some time I had 
 her at my mercy in the bathroom. She 
 did not like to close with me when I refused 
 to get out of the bath, so long as I dictated 
 terms with a wet sponge in each hand. So 
 I would make her count twenty — and then 
 another twenty, while I wallowed at my 
 ease, and it often ended in a hand-to-hand 
 scuffle after all. 
 
 Lizzie and I sometimes used to discuss 
 the question of how bad I was. We agreed 
 that it was not a matter of temper : it 
 was just unmanageableness. I was more 
 trouble than all the others put together. 
 And. one day, when I had thrown a stone 
 at her and hit her on the elbow and was really, 
 
36 RUNNING WILD 
 
 rather sorry about it, I had a great idea. 
 I would reform. It seemed to me, as I 
 thought it carefully over, that I had tried 
 most other things in life — ^but I had never 
 tried this. It would be a new adventure 
 and it would be a tremendously dramatic 
 thing. By Jingo, it would cause a sensa- 
 tion. But I mustn't do anything in a hurry. 
 I must think it out. I contented myself 
 that evening with telling Lizzie that I had 
 some good news for her one of these days. 
 Well, I saw at once that I should lose the 
 whole savour of the thing if I simply 
 slipped into it by degrees. It was no fun 
 for me to be told at the end of a month 
 that I was improving . I had once been told 
 that before and had immediately taken 
 steps to wipe out the impression. It must 
 happen in a moment, like a thunderclap. 
 It must take people's breath away. They 
 must find themselves forced to use the 
 
REFORMATION 37 
 
 strongest expressions of wonder and 
 delight. ..." I simply wouldn't know 
 that boy." . . . "I can't imagine what 
 has come over him." ... "I never would 
 have believed it."— That was the sort of 
 thing. Secondly, it would have to take 
 place at a fairly distant date. After 
 all, it was a far-reaching thing. If I was 
 going to be good it meant pretty sweeping 
 changes in my daily habits. I ought to 
 have time to look round me. Then I had 
 another inspiration. I would fix my 
 birthday as the starting-point. It was still 
 six weeks off. And that would give special 
 point to it. It would make a nice tidy 
 division of my life — so many bad years and 
 so many good. And — if you came to think 
 of it — it .would be most useful in the future 
 when my dramatic history was subject of 
 conversation. They would be able to say, 
 " Yes, it happened on his birthday when 
 
38 RUNNING WILD 
 
 he was " — I wish I could remember how 
 many — "years old. You never saw such a 
 change ! " Finally it must be a profound 
 secret. . . . Altogether I enjoyed that 
 evening's meditation in the hay-shed so 
 greatly that I glowed with anticipation 
 of the better life. It never struck me for 
 a moment that there would be the slightest 
 difficulty in carrying out my intention — for 
 the world was a wonderful place to live in 
 in those days. 
 
 But I found that I had to tell Lizzie. 
 And that for two reasons. First of all it did 
 seem rather hard luck on her that she should 
 continue to be pestered day by day by my 
 unmanageableness, without having an 
 inkling that relief was so near at hand. 
 Secondly I had come to see that the 
 dramatic prospects of the fateful day 
 would be greatly improved by preparation 
 of the ground. In other words, the more 
 
REFORMATION 39 
 
 abominably I behaved up to the eve of 
 my birthday the more dazzling would be 
 the revohition when it burst upon the world. 
 More than that, I ought to get worse and 
 worse progressively so as to break off at 
 the very moment when I was heading for 
 the abyss. So I told Lizzie, and she was 
 very pleased about it. She put great 
 faith in it. And if she allowed me a little 
 extra latitude, it was only natural in the cir- 
 cumstances. I made her count a hundred 
 one night, but I told her to cheer up. It 
 would be all right on the i8th. Lizzie was 
 very young. 
 
 The time grew shorter. I saw the happy 
 days of unfettered licence go by one by one. 
 It was a sobering thought. And it was a 
 busy time. There were so many things 
 that I should never be able to do after the 
 i8th. I must try to get them all in now. 
 I had often wanted to upset the water- 
 
40 RUNNING WILD 
 
 barrel and to cut my name on the oak tree 
 on the lawn and to see what would happen 
 if I stopped the escape pipe of the stable 
 trough and to lock Tom Coachman into the 
 harness-room. It was now or never. And 
 Those in Authority, who did not know of our 
 secret pact, were almost in despair. (They 
 needn't worry : let them wait till the 
 i8th.) And finally came that sad and beau- 
 tiful day, the 17th, the day of renunciation, 
 when every wicked practice must be 
 carried through for the last time — and I 
 tried to make Lizzie count a thousand. 
 
 I had formed no clear idea of what the 
 new life would be like. In a general way I 
 hoped to find consolations, but it was the 
 sort of thing that one couldn't really tell 
 much about till one tried. It would work 
 out all right. And Lizzie had great 
 faith. 
 
 And so I made a good finish of it, by 
 
REFORMATION 41 
 
 upsetting a ewer of water over Archie when 
 he was in bed, took a sad farewell of my 
 lurid past — and went to sleep. . . . 
 
 The whole thing was a ghastly failure. 
 Lizzie affirmed that it was the greatest 
 disappointment of her Ufe. For my re- 
 formation, when it came, proved to be a 
 much more gradual and imperfect process. 
 It was not to be done by a coup de main. 
 
 But I have always held that I hardly got 
 a fair chance. For one of my birthday 
 presents, from an unthinking uncle, was 
 a gigantic squirt. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS 
 
 Santa Claus was a puzzle. It was not a 
 question simply of whether you believed 
 in him or not. You could afford to smile 
 at a younger sister whose faith was 
 still unshaken and who actually pictured 
 to herself a big man with a pink face and 
 a white beard in a beautiful bright red 
 dressing-gown fumbling about the room in 
 the dark with aisack of toys on his shoulder. 
 On the other hand, you resented the cynical 
 smile of an elder brother whose superior 
 air suggested that he had no illusions left. 
 The normal position lay somewhere between 
 
 the two. Of course no fellow could swallow 
 
 42 
 
TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS 43 
 
 all that about a sledge and reindeer. There 
 was no snow anyhow, for a sledge and 
 reindeer existed only in pictui'e-books; 
 And all that stuff about his coming down 
 the chimney was simply absurd. One 
 hiad measured the chimney. But as to 
 the man himself. Well — he didn't have a 
 cotton- wool beard. Any fool could tell 
 that. And as for his red dressing-gown — 
 well it didn't seem likely. And yet there 
 was probably something in it. 
 
 These stockings were filled somehow, and 
 even if you kept awake all night with one 
 eye fixed upon them, the thing was done 
 and you never saw him. It was not like 
 other transactions. There was more in it 
 than met the eye. One would not care to 
 commit oneself, but probably it was done 
 somehow by Santa Claus, and, as far as 
 one could judge, Santa Claus was old and 
 benevolent and very cunning and had a 
 
44 RUNNING WILP 
 
 deep laugh and a brusque manner. It 
 seemed likely that Those in Authority were 
 really trying to put us off the track. That 
 was the sort of thing they loved to do. 
 The red dressing-gowned, cotton-wool- 
 bearded figure who used to turn up at 
 Christmas trees and distribute gifts was not 
 to be taken seriously for a moment. Any 
 fool could see that he was simply an ordinary 
 person dressed up. And if you came to 
 think of it, it was jolly good cheek his 
 trying to make out that he was Santa 
 Claus. If such an obvious fake as that 
 came in to fill your stocking you would 
 know at once where you were. But that 
 didn't mean that Santa Claus himself was a 
 fake. 
 
 One would sometimes reason it out in 
 this sort of way, but at the last it was 
 better to leave it vague and not think about 
 it, and above all not talk about it. The 
 
TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS 45 
 
 truth was that one wanted to believe in 
 him if possible. It was not a case for 
 admitting the full light of day. He had 
 always been very decent to us, and it was 
 hardly our part to try to find him out and 
 give him away. And yet — to talk like that 
 implied that he was not a myth. And after 
 all he probably was. 
 
 You see, if you looked in your stocking 
 before you were dressed you would have 
 nothing in it next year but a rotten potato. 
 Well — ^no one believed such rot as that. 
 And still, if there was any truth in Santa 
 Claus, that would be just the sort of thing 
 that Santa Claus would do. We knew 
 him for a humorist. And it was the sort 
 of thing that no one else could possibly 
 have thought of. Anyhow we weren't 
 going to risk it. 
 
 The proper attitude, then, was to behave 
 as if you didn't swallow it, but all the 
 
46 RUNNING WILD 
 
 time to reserve judgment— in case. And 
 to talk about it was simply indecent. If 
 Grown-ups introduced the subject we dried 
 up at once. And among ourselves it was 
 barred. When a brutal elder brother 
 announced one Christmas that he had 
 found it out — ^it was Those in Authority 
 that filled the stockings — :one felt deeply 
 wounded and resentful. It was in anycase 
 a disgraceful thing for him to have said. 
 It was as if he had been boasting of 
 opening a private letter. One wasn't 
 going to listen to that sort of thing. One 
 wasn't going to consider whether it was true 
 or not. 
 
 And there was one Christmas Eve when 
 I did happen to open my eyes and, well, 
 the person who was carrying off my stocking 
 to be filled had on a black tail coat ! It 
 was disturbing. But do you think I was 
 going to say a word about it ? Not I. 
 
TRUTH ABOUT SANTA. CLAUS 47 
 
 That was a thing to forget. Still, it wasn't 
 likely (if one really came to face the thing) 
 that he wore a black tail coat. Still, he 
 had always been very decent to me and I 
 wasn't going to give him away. I wasn't 
 going to have it so. I must have been 
 dreaming . And yet — I could tell the others 
 if I liked, and what a sensation that would 
 cause ! But it didn't bear talking abput. 
 Depend upon it there was something in it. — 
 And now he was coming back ! I could 
 solve the whole thing in a moment. In- 
 stantly I closed my eyes and drove my face 
 into the pillow, thrilling with excitement. 
 When next I looked I saw in the dim light 
 the bulging form of a well-filled stocking. 
 And I do not know to this day who hung it 
 there or whether he had on a red dressing- 
 gown or not. 
 
 A puzzling question, this of Santa 
 Claus. 
 
48 RUNNING WILD 
 
 There must have been some magic 
 in it. For it was one of our first in- 
 stincts to find out a secret and then 
 swagger about our superior knowledge 
 and jeer at those who were still in the 
 dark. When I found out that Uncle 
 George wasn't really a lion-tamer by 
 profession, as he had always said he 
 was, what magnificent capital I made out 
 of it ! How I laughed at the others for 
 being taken in with a yarn like that ! A 
 lion-tamer forsooth ! That was a good 
 one ! And why shouldn't he be a lion- 
 tamer ? Why, it was absurd. I had seen 
 through it all along. They must be idiots 
 if they couldn't see that. He was far too 
 fat. He wore spectacles. There were a 
 dozen reasons. No, Uncle George was a 
 very good fellow in his way. He might 
 be a doctor for all I knew, or a cotton- 
 broker, or even a Member of Parliament. 
 
TRUTH ABOUT SANTA CLAUS 49 
 
 But you had only to look at him to 
 see that he wasn't fit for lion-taming, 
 (And yet, 'only twenty-four hours before 
 I had asked him if it wasn't rather hot 
 and slobbery when he put his head in 
 their mouths.) 
 
 We didn't mean to be trifled with in 
 that sort of way. — ^And yet, Santa Claus 
 was different. 
 
 It became more difficult year by year. 
 There came a time at last when none of us 
 believed it. We were almost certain that 
 there was nothing in it. But even then we 
 didn't say so to one another. It was not a 
 thing to talk about. And we actually 
 conspired together to bolster up, as far as 
 might be, the waning faith of my little 
 sister, who was also getting puzzled. There 
 were some compensations even then. For 
 even if there was no such person as Santa 
 Claus, the things he brought were soUd 
 4 
 
50 RUNNING WILD 
 
 enough : we could always fall back on the 
 stockings themselves. 
 
 And after all, would we open them before 
 we were dressed ? Would we risk the 
 rotten potato ? 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 WAR ON NETTLES 
 
 One of the special rewards of carrying a 
 stick is to be able to slash the head off a 
 thistle, especially a strong, stringy one 
 that makes a fight for it. I was reminded 
 of that the other day when I read in an 
 agricultural journal a letter in support of 
 the new movement for greater food pro- 
 duction. I have to explain that on many 
 of the high-lying farms in Scotland a grave 
 problem at the present time is the spread of 
 bracken, which is occupying more and more 
 space upon the hills and robbing sheep of 
 pasture. It is an entirely useless product ; 
 
 nothing, not even rabbits, will eat it. 
 
 51 
 
52 RUNNING WILD 
 
 There have been many learned discussions 
 as to how to get rid of it . It is too laborious 
 to cut it with a scythe, and burning it does 
 not seem to be effective. A bracken- 
 cutting machine, drawn by a pony, which 
 appeared not long ago, could not be made 
 to work. And now I read, in the letter 
 referred to, of a method that has proved- 
 quite successful. It is only necessary to 
 "bash it with shinty-sticks" just before 
 it reaches maturity, so that it is thoroughly 
 smashed and bleeds freely. If this is 
 repeated for two or three years in succession 
 the bracken will disappear. I cannot 
 pronounce, on the value of the treatment, 
 but I know that when I read the letter I 
 felt with a pang that it had come to my 
 notice much too late, perhaps thirty years 
 too late. For there was a time when the 
 opportunity of " bashing " anything, 
 especially with a " shinty-stick," would 
 
WAR ON NETTLES 53 
 
 have been welcomed with profound satis- 
 faction. Even now I could almost lick 
 my lips over the words. Here was a pros- 
 pect opened up of unlimited bashing, 
 bashing with a definite aim, patriotic 
 bashing ; of entering shoulder-high into the 
 jungle and spreading reckless destruction 
 far and wide, of creating a scene of shredded 
 desolation upon a fair hillside. I could 
 almost see myself beating down the enemy 
 beneath my feet, cutting great jagged lanes 
 through the serried ranks, and pausing at 
 last to wipe my dripping weapon and sur- 
 vey the field. So surely as there are small 
 boys left in Scotland, I reflected, there 
 should be no trouble now in exterminating 
 bracken. 
 
 And . . . yet ... I am not so sure. 
 Admittedly bracken is of the very finest 
 material for bashing. Still ... I have 
 a haunting suspicion that after the first 
 
54 RUNNING WILD 
 
 glad onslaught one might begin to tire 
 of it. The animus pugnandi — to use the 
 naval expert's phrase-^might flag. One 
 might begin to wonder if it was really good 
 enough, for there would be something 
 lacking. A wicked whisper would be sure 
 to come — ^If only this bracken was pre- 
 served, if only it was a thing of value, 
 how splendid this would be ! If only one 
 were forced to fight the battle with an eye 
 on the gate in fear of interruption from 
 the owner ! As it is, I am afraid that 
 the occupation, though intrinsically fine, 
 would be robbed of its true zest by its 
 patent usefulness. It would be dragged 
 down from its status of pure adventure. 
 For what would it be after all ? A mere 
 agricultural job — like shawing turnips ; 
 also a jolly enough thing in itself, but 
 suffering from the same taint. 
 There was nothing that had a more 
 
WAR ON NETTLES 55 
 
 chilling effect than this suggestion of use- 
 fulness and of ulterior motive. A thing 
 must be worth doing for itself alone. I 
 remember well how keenly we would climb 
 for wood-pigeons' eggs, forcing our way 
 repeatedly to the tops of high spruce trees 
 in spite of many fruitless journeys. There 
 was no other form of birds'-nesting we 
 liked so well, until one day we learned that 
 we were unwittingly performing a most 
 useful service and that every egg we ob- 
 tained was so much to the good of the 
 community. And after that — ^well, there 
 were plenty of other nests ; wood-pigeons' 
 eggs were not much good, anyway, and it 
 was jolly hard work climbing these old 
 spruce trees and scratchy to the hands and 
 rather dangerous ; better look for curlews' 
 on the moor (no one -had ever suggested 
 that that was useful). Then Archie went 
 on to point out that if it was so beastly 
 
56 RUNNING WILD 
 
 useful we should be paid for it. We weie 
 quite willing to bring them in at so much an 
 egg. There was nothing mercenary about 
 Archie ; he only wished to have things 
 clearly defined, so that work should not be 
 confounded with play. And when his 
 offer was scorned we harried the wood- 
 pigeons no more. 
 
 Even so with- bracken-bashing. It 
 would not only be useful, like the pigeons' 
 eggs ; it would have a further flaw in that 
 it was not our own idea. I suspect it 
 would only be undertaken at full union 
 rates. 
 
 And as I look further into it I perceive 
 that bracken has another disability from 
 the basher's point of view. It is too 
 strictly a non-combatant ; it has no means 
 of hitting back. It needed a better oppo- 
 nent than this to bring out the full lust of 
 ponquest. To play real joyoug havoc with 
 
WAR ON NETTLES 57 
 
 a shinty-stick one must ply it upon thistles, 
 nettles, or clinging briars. 
 
 For in our historic attack upon the nettles 
 there were losses on both sides. Archie 
 and I had made one of those sudden and 
 solemn vows that used to pop into one's 
 head, apparently from nowhere, that were 
 so rashly and needlessly embraced. We 
 swore that we would in a single day slay 
 every nettle in the woods. We wore no 
 protective armour, though even gloves or a 
 second pair of stockings must have saved 
 us much, and we carried no weapon but a 
 stick. Starting at the foot of the glen, 
 where the enemy was full six feet high and 
 densely packed, we went grimly over the 
 ground for many hours, laying about us 
 with fury and despatch. It really was 
 heroic work, for we were very small boys at 
 the time, and as we warmed to it we were 
 barbarously stung, We even courted 
 
58 RUNNING WILD 
 
 danger, refusing to pull up a stocking that 
 had come down or rolling up a sleeve in 
 sheer bravado. A small, admiring sister 
 followed in our wake, bearing dock-leaves, 
 ready when we took a moment's respite 
 to give some suffering spot a hasty rub . We 
 were hot and weary as the afternoon wore 
 on and stung in fifty places, but we made 
 heroic speeches and egged each other on. 
 What was a nettle sting after all ? Painful, 
 of course, but a momentary thing. (We 
 little knew ! ) We were not to be daunted 
 by that. And so — ^more dock-leaves and 
 at it again. 
 
 By the time we reached the last great 
 clump near the farm gate we were pos- 
 sessed by a blind fury, and more than 
 once belaboured each other in our eager- 
 ness to complete the good work. And 
 so we came to the last towering nettle, 
 and, taking it simultaneously from either 
 
WAR ON NETTLES 59 
 
 side — One— Two — Three !— laid it in the 
 dust. 
 
 Dock-leaves and sisterly sympathy ; 
 and so swaggering home to tea. What 
 were a few nettle stings, after all ? 
 
 I think I may take a different view of 
 nettle stings from other people. I feel that 
 I know more about them, and I am more 
 careful not to sting myself. For rather a 
 strange thing happened that night, and for 
 several nights to follow. We never said a 
 word about it, for we would have no anti- 
 climax after our intrepid attitude; but in the 
 dead of night we both woke up writhing in 
 an unknown agony, hot and tingling from 
 head to foot. This was something far 
 beyond dock-leaves, and for an hour or 
 more we groaned and wriggled and dabbed 
 ourselves with wet towels. The infliction 
 was gone with the morning, but for a week 
 or two thereafter we went to sleep with a 
 
We had no doubt fallen into the national 
 error of underrating the enemy. They had 
 sold their lives dearly, after all. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 ON BEING IN BED 
 
 In the eyes of the nvirsery each day is a 
 separate possession and a golden oppor- 
 tunity, and they are all too short. It is 
 probable that never in later life, despite the 
 pressure of our modern existence, is one 
 quite so busy, quite so fully occupied with 
 vital interests as one was then. Life was a 
 headlong course of feverish activity. We 
 were often accused of not making full use of 
 toys or games that had been given to us ; 
 we were often told that it was discouraging 
 to Those in Authority when they had 
 given us some special permission (at our 
 urgent request) and found we did not avail 
 
 6l 
 
62 RUNNING WILD 
 
 ourselves of it ; it was frequently pointed 
 out to us that we were neglecting our pets 
 or our other responsibilities. But the plain 
 truth is that these deUnquencies were not 
 the result of indifference. We simply 
 had no time. We never had time. And 
 thus, the day being far too short for practi- 
 cal purposes, one could not bring oneself 
 to regard the close of it with anything but 
 resentment and exasperation. It was 
 almost impossible to maintain a smiling 
 countenance on being sent to bed. 
 
 There was no rare treat, in reward for 
 special merit or in celebration of a special 
 event, to be compared with that of " being 
 allowed to stay up." The extra hour thus 
 gained was like no other hour. It was a 
 supplement, a bonus, a free gift. It was 
 also an excursion into an unknown land 
 beyond whose portals one had seldom 
 strayed ; and it was a notable opportunity 
 
ON BEING IN BED 63 
 
 for finding out — a point upon which one had 
 often speculated — what the rest of the 
 household did after the hour of one's extinc- 
 tion — 8 p. m. On the other hand, to be 
 sent to bed early and alone was to taste all 
 the bitterness of the outcast. 
 
 And yet, though it was thus approached 
 with dull reluctance, bed, in itself, was good, 
 rich in possibilities, of which you could 
 never quite get the full benefit, for, with 
 the best will in the world, you fell asleep. 
 You would lay your head upon the pillow, 
 watching the flickering firelight on the walls, 
 and haiUng the opportunity — the first that 
 you had enjoyed that day — ^for thinking, 
 plotting, and making plans. For there was 
 always a vast amount of complicated 
 thinking to do and never time to do it. 
 But all too often you had barely begun to 
 turn over in your mind the special problem 
 of the hour before there came a thumping 
 
64 RUNNING WILD 
 
 at the door, and you were face to face with 
 the activities of another day. Many were 
 the methods adopted of trying to keep 
 awake, to save at least some of these pre- 
 cious hours. One would smuggle in a wet 
 handkerchief to spread upon one's face ; 
 one would lie rigidly upon one's back ; one 
 would bunch up the pillow and sit half up- 
 right. But it was of no avail. There was 
 one thing only that could overcome the 
 forces making for unconsciousness, an 
 attack of toothache — and there was nothing 
 to be gained by that. Even in summer, 
 when the room was light and birds were 
 singing in the branches outside, one's 
 efforts were generally vain. 
 
 Yet bed was the centre of many strange 
 experiences and striking scenes. In times 
 of rebellion it was the base from which one 
 made a shivering sortie, with no other end 
 in view but that of reaching a distant part 
 
ON BEING IN BED 65 
 
 of the house without being caught — ^proba- 
 bly because one had been dared to do it. 
 It was the base from which, on occasicn 
 of a dinner-party, a raid upon the pantry 
 might be organised and the chosen spot 
 for the picnic which ensued, and which 
 was always followed by a fearful visitation 
 of crumbs. For crumbs in bed formed one 
 of the chief trials and annoyances of exist- 
 ence. It has always seemed to me, on look- 
 ing back, that in childhood one suffered from 
 three recurring evils in quite an extraordin- 
 ary and disproportionate degree . One must 
 have met .with them with a frequency for 
 which I can by no means account. Hardly 
 a day can have passed in which one did not 
 encounter soap in the eye, a nail in the shoe, 
 or crumbs in the bed. And of the last I 
 can only say that the ability of a single 
 crumb, insinuated accidentally, to render 
 a whole bed untenable, almost as gravelly 
 5 
 
66 RUNNING WILD 
 
 as the bed of a river, hot, gritty, and impos- 
 sible, remained an unsolved mystery. 
 
 Bed also played a part in wild and joyous 
 scenes in the morning hours at Christmas- 
 time, when stockings were in evidence, or 
 on a birthday, when the postman had been 
 waylaid. And it was the home of incredible 
 riots, pillow-fights, and storming parties, in 
 the summer mornings. 
 
 But there were also the dim moments 
 of midnight mystery, remembered for many 
 days to come, without fear perhaps, but 
 with a feeling of awe, a far-away sense of an 
 unreal world where one had wandered upon 
 the borderland of sleep. In this mood of 
 weird sensation one has seen — or dreamt 
 that one has seen — a bar of light below 
 the door, and as it was silently opened a 
 narrow shaft of light spring up the wall, 
 yellow, clear-cut. Then one has watched it 
 as it has expanded with a vivid sweep across 
 
ON BEING IN BED 67 
 
 the ceiling till the room was Ut. On the 
 threshold stood one with a candle who had 
 come to see if all was well. And on the 
 closing of the door one watched the light 
 chase back again, gather together in the 
 aperture, and vanish. 
 
 Strangest of all was that bewildering feel- 
 ing of being cast adrift half-awake, as 
 it were into a world gone Wrong, in the 
 midnight hours. The room is not the same ; 
 something has happened to it. I try to 
 grasp its usual features, but only to be 
 baffled and distressed. Surely the bed has 
 been turned round ? The window should 
 be there, to the left, but it is here. And 
 the walls are all wrong, and I cannot find 
 the fireplace, I wonder painfully what 
 can be amiss, reach out to feel the chest of 
 drawers, try to piece things together. And 
 then in a moment, with a sudden click, 
 everything falls back in its place. I had 
 
68 RUNNING WILD 
 
 been wrong about the window. The room 
 is all right — of course it is — and I may go 
 to sleep again. 
 
 There are other, grimmer memories — of 
 weird shapes seen in the firelight, when 
 the corner of a quilt thrown back would 
 take on the semblance of a wolf's head or a 
 picture on the wall would nod at me. And 
 there was the Black Dog. I never saw 
 him, but I knew he was there. He was al- 
 ways under something — a table, a bed, or a 
 bridge — lurking, waiting his time. 
 
 It is a fortunate circumstance that Bed, 
 with all its other noble properties, had also 
 this security from all shapes and terrors, 
 power to shut out and defy the pursuer. 
 It was enough to plunge beneath the bed- 
 clotlies. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 DISOBLIGING 
 
 The disobliging years are fairly well defined. 
 
 There are perhaps some children who are 
 
 never willing to do anything for any one ; 
 
 they are not good to deal with in after life. 
 
 And there are some of such a cheerful, 
 
 sunny temperament that they are always 
 
 willing to help. But the child that is made 
 
 up of the normal admixture of darkness 
 
 and light generally passes through two 
 
 distinct zones or phases before emerging 
 
 equipped with the usual Grown-up's 
 
 willingness to oblige up to a certain point, 
 
 so long as too much is not asked of him. 
 
 The pendulum has to swing both ways 
 
 before it stops at a steady centre. 
 69 
 
70 RUNNING WILD 
 
 There was a time when it was my 
 greatest joy to fetch and carry. I would 
 fly down the drive, even before I was asked, 
 to open the white gate when the carriage 
 started. I would jump up to ring the bell. 
 I would proudty take the letters to the 
 post. I would stretch out eager hands to 
 hold the wool that was to be wound. I would 
 help to lay the table or make the toast. I 
 would mend the fire or shut the door or pull 
 down the blinds — I think there was hardly 
 any limit to my cheerful services. I must 
 have been " a comfort," as they say, to 
 those who had charge over me. I am glad 
 to recall that now, as a sort of make-weight 
 to the refusals of the years that followed. 
 For those who believed that I would go 
 on as I had begun were disillusioned. I 
 fell rapidly away. 
 
 It was the same with all of us. We 
 dropped off one by one. The brief era 
 
DISOBLIGING 71 
 
 of usefulness moved down from one to 
 another. It was always the youngest 
 able-bodied member of the family who 
 did the work. Those in Authority were 
 disappointed at the spectacle ot these 
 lapses into selfishness and there was an 
 aunt who lectured me more than once on 
 my back-sliding. She tried to teach me 
 the hymn that begins "Oh, what can little 
 hands do ? " She pointed out what an 
 obliging little fellow I used to be, what 
 a pleasure it was to ask me to do anything ; 
 and now — I might very well take a lesson 
 from Archie. Look at him watering the 
 flowers in the window-boxes. ... 
 
 I was not at all convinced. I knew very 
 well that Archie would grow out of it. He 
 would soon get sick of watering flowers. 
 That one could interest one's self in such a 
 tMng at all was really a sign of an empty 
 and undeveloped mind. In truth it was 
 
72 RUNNING WILD 
 
 not a case of moral deterioration. The 
 obliging years, which lasted perhaps till 
 one was six or seven years old, were not 
 years of special grace any more than the 
 half-dozen that followed were unregenerate 
 years. It was not the kind of thing that 
 could be expected to last. When I was 
 joyously rendering services in all directions 
 I was not doing it because it was a right or 
 beautiful or proper thing to do. I was doing 
 it for fun. Life lay before me unexplored : 
 eva-ything was so new that everything was 
 worth doing. I had not begun to select 
 orspeeiahse. And I had my reward. When 
 I ran to open the white gate I swung upon 
 it as it closed. When I rang the bell I 
 heard the jangUng of wires and distant 
 tinkle that resxUted. When I took letters 
 to the post I used to drop them with a thrill 
 into the slot. I had held them warm in my 
 hjind one moment and the next they were 
 
DISOBLIGING 73 
 
 gone beyond recall. All the force and 
 pathos of an irrevocable act came home to 
 me. Suppose I had made a mistake and 
 dropped in with them the photograph 
 of the Alaska that had been in the same 
 pocket ! I would never have seen it again. 
 As well have flung it into the sea. It was a 
 tremendous thought. Ii the same way 
 blinds and doors and fires were new to me — 
 to poke them or shut them or pull them 
 down was still an adventure. 
 
 But after a time one got through with 
 it and it began to pall. There was nothing 
 more to be got out of that sort of thing. I 
 could leave it to Archie. I no longer 
 wanted other people to find me occupation. 
 And I had no time. I was so full of my 
 own affairs. 
 
 That was the real reason for the appalling 
 spirit of disobligingness that possessed us. 
 We would do nothing to help unless we were 
 
74 RUNNING WILD 
 
 driven by force of discipline or tempted by 
 reward. It was simply because we hadn't 
 time. We were far too busy. The whole 
 of this teeming world of opportunity was 
 opening up to us and we were desperately 
 intent at every moment of the day upon 
 some special interest, so important that it 
 shut out every other thought I should 
 have been most happy to ^o messages for 
 people or carry things upstairs if I had been 
 free. If they had only come to me with 
 these requests when I was disengaged 
 there would have been no difficulty, but 
 they never did. 
 
 Perhaps one would be comfortably settled 
 at the schoolroom table overhauling an- 
 album of postage stamps, while the others 
 were equally engrossed. The door opened 
 — " I want one of you boys to come and 
 help me." — It was a| horrid moment. 
 We knew we wer eexpected to volunteer. 
 
DISOBLIGING 75 
 
 And I couldn't go. I had to get to the end 
 of Guatemala before bedtime, otherwise 
 I shouldn't be finished to-morrow. And I 
 simply couldn't delay the job till Saturday. 
 I had all sorts of things to do on Saturday. 
 So it must be one of the others : one could 
 never see that there was any valid reason 
 why they shouldn't go. Probably there 
 was no response, and then one of us would be 
 commandeered and it was a fearful wrench 
 for him to tear himself away^ But often 
 the request was not repeated and the inter- 
 rupter closed the door . , . And then one 
 did feel an awful beast . Still , one got to the 
 end of Guatemala, according to plan. 
 
 Sometimes one felt so much of a beast 
 that something had to i>e done about it, for 
 at the worst one had not really a heart 
 of stone. And so when one had shut one's 
 ears to the appeal for a messenger to go up 
 to the box-room and had afterwards heard 
 
76 RUNNING WILD 
 
 a portmanteau being bumped painfully 
 down the stairs by other hands, one had to 
 think of some way to make it up. And 
 we preferred a way that would not be 
 recognised as an act of penance, that would 
 never be connected with the affair of the 
 box-room. Otherwise it looked rather 
 like a climb-down. Perhaps one would 
 slip in secretly and put a pair of slippers to 
 the fire . , . or fill up the drawers of the 
 desk with envelopes and notepaper out of 
 the packet in the dining-room cupboard . . . 
 or drive in the new nail that was needed at 
 the place where the bellows hung. 
 
 One of Those in Authority was very fond 
 of autumn leaves. I do not know what 
 wickedness we had to expiate upon a day 
 when she had been away from home. But 
 when she returned after we had all gone to 
 bed and went into her room she found the 
 dressing-table decorated from the top of 
 
DISOBLIGING 77 
 
 the looking-glass to the floor with an ordered 
 mass of yellow chestnut leaves and scarlet 
 maple and the russet brown of beech. It 
 had cost us many hours of labour, but it 
 was a very fine effect. 
 We had some decent instincts after all. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE THAT I FOUND 
 
 One of the most curious facts about 
 Grown-ups — notliing better exhibited their 
 bewildering limitations — was their enor- 
 mous ignorance of their own surroundings 
 and their own possessions They didn' t even 
 ktlow that there were two mowing machines 
 and the old green one was still used in bad 
 weather ; that the fountain could be turned 
 on and off not only by the key hidden in 
 the roc4cery (and they used to fumble 
 about for hours when they tried to find 
 that !), but also by a sort of tap in the bank 
 under the big rhododendron ; that the 
 
 hose was kept in the tomato-house ; that 
 
 78 
 
LITTLE HOUSE THAT I FOUND 79 
 
 the bull on the farm was called Frank ; 
 that there was an old broken piano at the 
 back of the loft above the saw-nruU ; that 
 the station-master was the father of the 
 blacksmith's wife. There was no end to 
 the things they didn't know. And fm-ther, 
 they never seemed to mind ; even when they 
 were told they were sure to forget in a day 
 or two. They didn't know the way about 
 their own garden. They had no idea, for 
 instance, that there was a remnant of an 
 old iron fence in the shrubbery, or how to 
 ge> along between the bushes and the 
 high wall as a short cut to the kitchen 
 garden, or how to cUmb down into the 
 little dungeon under the pantry window 
 where the toad lived, or whether it was the 
 same toad that sometimes appeared in the 
 dungeon under the kitchen window, or how 
 he got from one to the other, or anything 
 ^we knew it wasn't the same toad because 
 
8o RUNNING WILD 
 
 Archie had marked him with a string round 
 his leg). 
 
 Why, they didn't even know the inside 
 of their own house. There were certain 
 extraneous rooms in which they lived their 
 ponderous and methodical life, and a stair 
 by which they went up and down, and all 
 that ; and one could only suppose that 
 they thought that was all. But we knew — 
 and the plumber knew^ — that there was a 
 whole network of hidden places under 
 floors, between walls and beneath the roof, 
 which could be reached by the trap-door on 
 the upper landing. 
 
 Knowing nothing of their own house and 
 garden, it was natural that they should 
 know still less of their own woods. But 
 that was laziness and lack of ambition. 
 There were sundry paths through these 
 woods, and seats here and there, and they 
 fondly believed that when they walked 
 
LITTLE HOUSE THAT I FOUND 81 
 
 along these paths and sat on these seats 
 
 they were exploring the woods. It was all 
 
 part of their superficial and detached 
 
 behaviour. To us the paths were no more 
 
 than guides to our position — lines of 
 
 latitude and longitude. And they didn't 
 
 even know all the paths. We knew of one 
 
 that they had never heard of, used as a 
 
 short cut by hill shepherds from the station 
 
 to cottages on the moor . We decided not to 
 
 tell them about it. They could jolly well 
 
 find it for themselves. 
 
 I do not believe that any one but myself 
 
 would ever have discovered the little house. 
 
 It was far away up the hillside, among the 
 
 oak and bracken. In summer, when the 
 
 ferns were high, it disappeared from view. 
 
 I was resting one day on a little turf-covered 
 
 mound when I was aware of the sound of 
 
 running water below me, and looking more 
 
 closely I noticed that my mound was in the 
 6 
 
82 RUNNING WILD 
 
 curved shape of a roof. It ran back into 
 the level of the hill and projected in front 
 about a couple of feet from the slope below. 
 If this was anybody's house it was mostly 
 underground. And it was somebody's 
 house. In the ancient stone front, which 
 faced down the hill, was a small wooden 
 door with a padlock, all beautified and 
 bewitched with moss and lichen. It looked 
 as if no one had opened it for a hundred 
 years, and I could not see inside. But 
 it had water laid on. I could hear a steady 
 fall of water. Must be some sort of damp 
 little web=f ooted man that lived there surely. 
 It might be magic. 
 
 I said nothing about it to any one. It was 
 a glowing secret possession. I meant to get 
 the door open some day and find out who 
 lived there. It might be an otter, though 
 an otter would hardly have had a padlock. 
 And then I lost it. 
 
LITTLE HOUSE THAT I FOUND S3 
 
 For days I searched up and down the hill, 
 t>arcelling off the ground and walking it 
 systematically, and when the others asked 
 me what I was doing I told them at last, 
 in confidence, that I was looking for a little 
 magic house. They laughed at me as one 
 who invented things and pretended things. 
 But I persevered, and on a joyous after- 
 noon I found it again, exactly as it was, 
 with the same quiet fall of water going 
 on inside. This time I took my bearings 
 properly — ^three hundred and four steps 
 straight uphill from the big beech — and 
 went proudly home to tea. Yes, I had 
 found my house — it was all right, just as I 
 had said. But I wasn't going to show it to 
 any one — at least not yet. They didn't 
 deserve it, and it was no use asking 
 questions. 
 
 I always hoped that one day I should 
 find the door open, but I never did. He 
 
^4 Running Wild 
 
 probably only went out at night. At last 
 I made up my mind to force the door. 
 It was old and damp-rotted, and, though 
 the padlock held, the hinges soon gave way 
 and I looked in. It was full of water. It 
 was like a little green, mossy vault, dark and 
 dank and tremendously deep. And a jet 
 of water, like a silver rod, came steadily 
 falling in from one side. There was a sort 
 of shelf along the other side that I could 
 sit on, and as I could see no magic about 
 it I took off ,my shoes and stockings and 
 crawled in and splashed my legs about. 
 But I never managed to plumb the 
 depth of it, and I was no nearer finding 
 out who lived there when I replaced 
 the door as well as I could and went 
 thoughtfully home. 
 
 But a very queer thing happened. It 
 proved to me that there must be a little man 
 after all, a man who had dominion over 
 
LITTLE HOUSE THAT I FOUND 85 
 
 water in general, and that I had offended 
 him. For the water in the nursery bathroom 
 that evening was so dirty that we could 
 have no baths. It came out of the taps like 
 that — muddy and thick. Nurse said that 
 it was something wrong with the pipes, 
 but I knew better. There had been some- 
 thing magic in it after all. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 STILTS 
 
 The vogue of the stilt may have been a 
 short one, a matter of a few weeks, but it 
 was the one thing in the world while 
 it lasted. There were several pathetic 
 attempts to revive it in later years, but 
 somehow they fell to the ground ; we 
 never could recapture the first enthu- 
 siasm of those feverish days. Colin split 
 his up for firewood without the least 
 compunction, and mine were left to rot in 
 the space behind the hayshed till a day, 
 long after, when I needed a pole to recover 
 a tennis ball from the roof of the stable. 
 We had done with stilts, 
 
 86 
 
STILTS 87 
 
 It was Duncan, the gardener, viho started 
 it, Archie and he were in close alliance at 
 the time. There had just been a very 
 serious row about some turnips, which Colin 
 and I had used as missiles dxiring a long 
 running fight with a tramp, and as Archie 
 did not happen to have been in it he was 
 for the moment " the only weel-behaved 
 one among us," in Duncan's eyes. That 
 was a distinction that went round pretty 
 freely from one to another, and usually 
 carried with it special privileges. Duncan 
 made a pair of stilts for Archie privily, 
 and Archie enj oyed a rare triumph. Throw- 
 ing turnips at tramps was really nothing to 
 it. We could see very well that he was 
 bursting with a secret, but he refused to 
 take us into it, and for several days he went 
 about with a profoundly knowing counte- 
 «nance and threw out suggestive hints. It 
 was all right; we would find out sppij, 
 
88 RUNNING WILD 
 
 No, not by Friday. But on Saturday, per- 
 haps. We tried very hard to ignore him, 
 but somehow we could not help looking 
 forward to Saturday. In the meantime 
 Archie kept disappearing, and although 
 we did om- best to shadow him and track 
 him down he proved to be too cunning for 
 us. Whenever he had safely shaken us off 
 he would beat back to the far end of the 
 kitchen garden between the hedges — ^where 
 no one would have dreamt of looking — get 
 out his stilts and practise his paces. 
 
 There was a garden party on Saturday, 
 and a large crowd of elegant people occupied 
 the lawn, strolling about with parasols, 
 playing tennis and croquet and having tea 
 at little tables dotted all over the place. 
 We were all enj05dng it, even although we 
 were expected to field the tennis balls, for 
 the occasion had produced a profusion of 
 certain things that are never, in ordinary 
 
STILTS 89 
 
 life, to be found in sufficient quantities 
 — such as lemonade and strawberries and 
 ices. But Archie was missing it all. He 
 had put on his new sailor suit, according 
 to programme, and, more than that, he had 
 decorated his buttonhole with a large 
 cameUa, brushed his hair most carefully, 
 and stuck a cockade of silver paper in the 
 ribbon of his straw hat. But he had not 
 since been seen. 
 
 Suddenly he burst upon us. The bushes 
 of the shrubbery parted and were held 
 back by a large hand (which might have 
 belonged to Duncan), and out he came on 
 stilts, bestriding our little world like a 
 Colossus, and stalking up and down the 
 lanes between the tea-tables in erratic 
 zigzags, head in air. He left a train of 
 destruction in his wake — one upon hands 
 and knees trying to recover a basket of 
 cakes, another mopping a tea-stain ofi 
 
90 RUNNING WILD 
 
 white tennis trousers ; here a small table 
 upset, and there a brief stampede of dainty 
 frocks. But, all the same, the sentiment 
 of the assembly was entirely with him. He 
 moved on amid a crescendo of laughter 
 and applause. Tennis and croquet were 
 suspended, tea-drinking was postponed, 
 and all with one accord followed his un- 
 certain course up the lawn towards the 
 edge of the wood. There he began to 
 show off a little, lengthening his stride and ' 
 kicking up croquet hoops as he went, till 
 Colin and I fairly gasped with envy and 
 wonder. 
 
 Archie always had a genuine feeling for 
 dramatic fitness, and he did not allow his 
 effect to peter out by descending to earth 
 and giving up his stilts to other performers, 
 He went suddenly off at a tangent and 
 headed for our private hole in the hedge. 
 There h? dropped down, crawled through in» 
 
STILTS 91 
 
 to the wood, and dragged his stilts after him. 
 And though search was made for him high 
 and low he was not seen again at that 
 garden party. Thereupon Colin, who had 
 a fine sense of justice, returned to the 
 deserted tea-tables and got safely away with 
 a liberal collection of ices, cakes, and other 
 good things which he conveyed to the hay- 
 shed, for of course Colin and I knew very 
 well where Archie was to be found. 
 
 Early the following morning we both 
 sought out Duncan and arrived at a defi- 
 nite settlement of the turnip controversy by 
 disavowing the pelting of the tramp. . . . 
 Yes, we were quite sure. . . . No, we 
 would never, never do it again. And now 
 we must have stilts, higher than Archie's. 
 
 Duncan was not going to miss his oppor- 
 tunity for making terms, for the turnip 
 controversy was not the only one out- 
 Standing, A lost pair of pincers had to be 
 
92 RUNNING WILD 
 
 recovered and produced, and a solemn 
 undertaking made to give up using the 
 short cut through the potatoes. And even 
 then our stilts were not quite so high as 
 Archie's (who was the only weel-behaved 
 one among us). 
 
 For days we never went out of the house 
 without them. They stood at the front 
 door, and we mounted them as a matter of 
 course whenever we crossed the threshold. 
 Colin, having been dared to do it, came 
 inside one day and across the hall, and even 
 through the drawing-room door, stooping 
 unsteadily. But of course he fell and some- 
 thing was broken,^ and he was asked the 
 stock, indignant qaestion— When you boys 
 would learn . . . ? 
 
 But outside we had plenty of scope. We 
 stalked round the house, raced up and 
 down the banks, tried in vain to step over 
 the tennis net or to go up and down the 
 
StiLTS 95 
 
 steps, and finally tackled the inviting 
 obstacle of the burn in the meadow, where 
 it was necessary to get up steam by taking 
 longer and longer strides till one was 
 stretched like a distended pair of scissors 
 and usually lost one's balance and fell in. 
 
 Those who have never walked on stilts 
 will never know certain precious sensations 
 that belong to them — ^their swaggering, 
 exalted, heady effect, their added freedom 
 of involuntary movement, the sudden gasp 
 of recovered balance, the creeping shudder 
 that runs up one leg when one takes a step 
 on soft ground and sinks. Perhaps the 
 best use that we put them to was when we 
 held jousts, like the knights of old, and 
 came together with a mighty buffet, 
 shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 It is a great idea and a very simple one — 
 to add cubits to one's stature by the use of 
 longer legs. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 SHARP PRACTICE 
 
 Even now the sweet, short note of the 
 bullfinch in the hedge stands out for me 
 from all the babble of bird voices, like the 
 call of a friend, with a challenge. I have 
 to try if my old skill in imitation is lost and 
 gone, or if I can yet make him answer me 
 and enter into conversation for a while ; 
 and I have to try to catch a glimpse of him 
 in his seclusion. Often in vain. Sam 
 could have brought him forth, for Sam's 
 bullfinch whistle was so perfect in its 
 inflection and purity of tone that one felt 
 that few bullfinches could compete with 
 him. 
 
 94 
 
SHARP PRACTICE 05 
 
 There was a time when we ruled the 
 destinies of many birds and beasts. I 
 think we almost exhausted the list of 
 practicable pets. They ranged from mice to 
 Belgian hares, from pigeons to siskins. They 
 occupied a vast encampment of hutches, 
 pens, and cages, and even overflowed into 
 an aviary, where a squirrel, a pair of doves, 
 and a colony of rabbits dwelt together in a 
 state of armed neutrality. All these had 
 their day and played their part. But the 
 group of bullfinches in the huge domed 
 cage upon the nursery landing emerged 
 from the motley crew as a sort of permanent 
 aristocr acy . Other c asualties were suffered, 
 not perhaps with indifference, but with a 
 certain stoicism ; but the funeral of a bull- 
 finch was always an imposing ceremony, nor 
 was one's grief to be entirely mitigated even 
 by the joy of designing and erecting a 
 fitting monument. It was a bullfinch 
 
96 RUNNING WILD 
 
 which escaped on one occasion through the 
 open door, leaving its owner disconsolate, 
 only to return after many days to the 
 waiting cage in the garden, amid a scene 
 of rapturous enthusiasm. And it was a 
 bullfinch at the last which won for us a 
 prize at the local show under circum- 
 stances of so thrilling and dramatic a 
 nature as to cast an abiding lustre upon 
 all his breed. 
 
 There was a sort of lull that summer in 
 the active enthusiasm with which we 
 pursued our zoological occupations. The 
 rabbits had lost interest and been turned 
 loose to fend for themselves. Doves and 
 guinea-pigs had been found wanting and 
 sold — at an enormous loss. And we had 
 not yet embarked upon the serious culture 
 of pigeons, which had a wide development 
 in the years to follow. Above all, the stock 
 of bullfinches, with the exception of two old 
 
SHARP PRACTICE 97 
 
 hens, had run out owing to a mysterious 
 and devastating epidemic. And this, as 
 ill-luck would have it, was the moment 
 selected by the local horticultm-al show to 
 offer a prize — among its classes of cage 
 birds —for " the finest bullfinch." When 
 this tremendous fact came to our know- 
 ledge a nursery meeting was instantly 
 held, at which the view was strongly put 
 forward that our position in the parish as 
 bullfinch fanciers demanded that we should 
 take up the challenge, the more so as the 
 prize— or, as its originators preferred to 
 call it, the " premium "-amounted to no 
 less than five shillings, while the entry 
 money was a mere sixpence. Only one 
 thing was lacking to the complete success 
 of the enterprise — a bullfinch. Clearly 
 Sam must be consulted without delay. 
 
 Sam was the garden boy of the moment. 
 He is now, I believe, in a position of grave 
 7 
 
98 RUNNING WILD 
 
 responsibility as the chief of one of the 
 principal gardens in the land, with a regi- 
 ment of subordinates at his beck and call. 
 He was then the merriest and most com- 
 panionable, and from our point of view 
 by far the most satisfactory, of all whb 
 had ever held his office. For he was 
 a specialist in bullfinches, their capture, 
 treatment, diet, and all that appertained 
 to them. Gladly Sam took up the 
 present enterprise. He agreed with us 
 that the prize was as good as won, and we 
 pointed out the happy coincidence by 
 which the amount of it was five shillings, 
 while there were four of us. It worked 
 out admirably at one shilling each and one 
 for Sam. As to the problem of the missing 
 bullfinch — ^well, we must catch one ! There 
 were still ten days. One of the aged hens 
 was made over as a " call-bird," and Sam 
 looked out his cage-trap and gathered bait 
 
SHARP PRACTICE 99 
 
 of rowan berries. He had heard them 
 caUing by the sawmill only that morning, 
 it appeared. 
 
 Sunset — I have never known why^s 
 the proper hour for catching bullfinches, 
 and the likeliest place, according to Sam, 
 is just on the outside of a large wood. You 
 should put your trap on a little knoll quite 
 in the open, and if you have Sam's genius 
 for imitating the note it is so much the 
 better, as you can keep your call-bird well 
 in evidence, whistling responses to you. 
 And so for several evenings we laboured to 
 the north of the sawmill with all these 
 conditions satisfied, and yet with no result. 
 And on the Tuesday before the show a 
 crisis arose. It appeared that entries had 
 to be handed in that day, and we were in 
 despair. For it did not occur to us to 
 enter a non-existent bullfinch. Indeed, the 
 whole thing had been actually abandoned, 
 
100 RUNNING WILD 
 
 when it transpired on the Wednesday 
 morning that Sam had so far backed his 
 luck as to enter the bird, and boldly 
 advanced a sixpence on his own. His 
 confidence was magnificent, for when one 
 of us pointed out that according to the 
 regulations " all exhibits must have been 
 the property of the exhibitor for at least a 
 fortnight prior to the date of the show," 
 he assured us that we were well within our 
 rights. The bird was clearly our property ; 
 it was in our woods. How did it matter 
 to them if we preferred to keep it there 
 till it was wanted ? But when Friday 
 evening came and we had still no bullfinch, 
 and our exhibit must be " staged " by 
 eight on Saturday morning, a steady gloom 
 began to settle upon us. 
 
 While we were yet in bed there was a sound 
 of pebbles on the window. In truth I do not 
 think that life can hold many moments 
 
SHARP PRACTICE loi 
 
 such as that. We knew in a flash what it 
 meant, and almost before we were awake 
 we were scrambling wildly across the floor. 
 Yes, Sam had got him ! A great big cock ! 
 We reached the potting-shed in our 
 pyjamas just as his cage was being wrapped 
 in brown paper for the journey, and feasted 
 on him with exultant eyes. That was the 
 first great moment of the day. The second 
 was when we burst into the stuffy little tent 
 in the showyard where the cage birds stood. 
 There he was, as wild as any hawk, and yet 
 by reason of the fresh splendour of his 
 plumage far outshining his two seedy com- 
 petitors, with a great red First Prize 
 ticket dangling by his side. There were in 
 the course of the afternoon some unfavour- 
 able comments, as we learned later, and 
 though we had no reason to believe that the 
 story got about we noticed with dismay 
 that the class for bullfinches was dropped 
 
102 RUNNING WILD 
 
 the foUowdng year, but for that day there 
 was nothing to cloud the splendour of our 
 triumph. Perhaps the most dramatic 
 moment of all was in the evening when Sam 
 brought him home. We met the pony cart 
 in the lane beside the sawmill, and Sam 
 got down and handed down the cage. We 
 crowded round to look upon the champion. 
 It was just here that Sam had caught him, 
 some twelve hours before. 
 
 We tore off his covering and exposed him 
 to the light. There he sat, hunched up 
 and obdurate, sulking upon the floor of the 
 cage. 
 
 " I'm afraid he's moping a bit," said 
 one. 
 
 " Of course he's had a pretty exciting 
 day. Is he taking his feed ? " Sam shook 
 his head. 
 
 There was a long pause. The champion 
 seemed to shiver. 
 
SHARP PRACTICE 103 
 
 " He does look pretty rotten," was the 
 general verdict. 
 
 Then up spake the tender-hearted Sam. 
 The game was played out and the bird had 
 done well, he contended. Why not let 
 him go ? The proposal was adopted with 
 enthusiasm. I think we knew that it was 
 by far the most artistic ending. Then 
 and there the door was flung open, and he 
 vanished in the dusk. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 GLOOM 
 
 When people tell me they are " dread- 
 fully depressed " and I try to put myself in 
 their position, I find the shortest cut to that 
 frame of mind is to look back to the days 
 when I did nothing by halves, when unhap- 
 piness meant a crushing weight of gloom. 
 Moods followed each other suddenly and 
 decisively, and there was little transition 
 or shading off of one into another. None 
 of them lasted long ; very soon, generally 
 without visible reason, one came down off 
 the heights or up from the depths. But 
 one never could remember beforehand that 
 To-morrow would be different from To-day. 
 
GLOOM . 105 
 
 The present hour alone existed — ^it would 
 always be like this. We seldom had cause 
 for unhappiness ; there were days and 
 weeks on end without a cloud. But in a 
 world teeming with golden opportunity, 
 rich in delightful discovery, glittering and 
 intense and rosy-tinted, the patches of 
 shadow were also deep and vivid, so that no 
 ultimate expression of distress — "plunged 
 in despair," " lost to all hope " — could be 
 too strong for these dark moments when 
 they came. 
 
 Life was not worth going on with ; there 
 was nothing to look forward to ; the sun 
 had ceased to shine in the sky ; all was 
 grey and sinister and unfamiliar. It was a 
 mental state like the heavy, breathless 
 dusk before the thunderstorm ; and it 
 could be very terrible. I cannot remember 
 that it was ever brought about by remorse 
 for one's misdeeds, especially if one ha4 
 
io6 RUNNING WILD 
 
 been duly punished for them. But it 
 might be caiised by disappointment or 
 injustice ; by a sense of being not wanted, 
 an outcast ; or, again, by tragedy and a 
 queer, overwhelming sympathy and tender- 
 ness — a most uncomfortable, a haunting 
 thing, not at all compatible with one's 
 usual manly disregard for other people's 
 feeUngs, which worked the more inward 
 havoc because it had to be sup- 
 pressed. 
 
 This has been rather a mystery to me : 
 how in odd places in one's callous hide of 
 indifference that was not far from brutality 
 there should have been these little sensitive 
 spots, where they might have been least 
 suspected. I fear it was not easy to 
 raise in me any responsive or instructive 
 sympathy. The blind man at the corner 
 was pointed out in vain. My only conclu- 
 sion was that it must be great fun to spell 
 
GLOOM tof 
 
 out words with your fingers like that, and 
 even the Bible might be worth reading 
 on those terms ; It was no use for a senti- 
 mental nurse to draw my attention to the 
 sad state of that " Uttle ragged girl." I 
 didn't care. The condition of the heathen 
 (on Sunday) left me cold, as did also the 
 condition of certain outsiders called the 
 poor. It was clear that I had no proper 
 feelings. And yet when I had overheard 
 the housemaid reading a letter to the cook 
 in which it was related that her sister had 
 lost half a sovereign through a hole in her 
 purse and could not afford to go to the 
 Isle of Man after all, it is not too much to 
 say I was overwhelmed with grief, I went 
 away alone, reflecting that Ufe was not 
 worth while if such things as this could 
 happen. But neither cook nor housemaid 
 suspected that. Perhaps there was some 
 natural link by which it touched me. 
 
io8 RUNNING WILD 
 
 I had no idea what it was like to be 
 blind or ragged or heathen, but I knew 
 very well what it was like to be dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 A more dreadful experience was to feel 
 that one was not wanted, had been over- 
 looked, left out. I went once to a chil- 
 dren's party where the organisation had 
 been imperfect and there was not enough 
 room at the supper-table. It would be all 
 right, they said : another little table would 
 be found for me, and my supper would 
 be handed over. But nothing much came 
 my way, and I found myself wandering 
 about in a sort of twilit hinterland (for the 
 table was lighted with candles) behind 
 people's backs. Naturally I wasn't going 
 to stoop so low as to ask for anything. 
 Still, there I was — an outcast. A kind 
 lady came in, swooped down over me, 
 and, presuming that I had finished and was 
 
GLOOM 109 
 
 now taking a constitutional on my own 
 account, asked me if I had had enough 
 supper. But she was in a great hurry, and 
 I didn't feel inclined to confide in her. 
 So I said, " Yes, thank you," and she moved 
 on. And then I went and sat behind the 
 curtains in the window-seat, for I didn't 
 mean to wander about and be a butt for 
 people's sympathy. . . . And in behind 
 the curtains all the concentrated bitterness 
 of life surged over me . . . Life was not 
 worth going on with : there was no place 
 for me. 
 
 Again I tasted the depths of despair when 
 I was lost. There are many mitigating 
 circumstances in being lost in later life. It 
 is always open to you to calculate time and 
 place and distance, the prospect of some 
 passer-by, or, if it comes to the worst, the 
 chances of the sending of a search party. 
 But then there was no gleam of hope. 
 
110 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Here I was in the heart of the wood, and 
 it was getting dark, and somewhere in 
 the distance was the nursery and the tea- 
 table and the fire and the others, seen in 
 vivid familiar pictures. They had pro- 
 bably never noticed. ... It didn't matter 
 much to them what might happen to me. . . . 
 The world about me became a shadowy, 
 endless, uncharted desolation. There was 
 nothing to look forward to. 
 
 When I was making toast at the nursery 
 fire an hour later — ^having fallen in with 
 a gamekeeper — I had put all that sort of 
 thing behind me. But there were hours 
 of terror and gloom which were not so easily 
 forgotten. I must have been a very small 
 boy on the day of the volunteer's funeral. 
 I was all alone in the wood behind tne stable, 
 and I suffered something as sudden and 
 poignant as a stab, some shock of panic 
 and misery that left a lasting scar behind. 
 
GLOOM 111 
 
 For weeks 1 was haunted by a shuddering 
 memory. I had heard a band, and climbed 
 up eagerly on the wall, from which I could 
 see the bend of the high road. Here 
 they, came, soldiers in red coats, marching. 
 But they looked very solemn and moved 
 very slowly, and there was something about 
 the music that I didn't like. It gave me a 
 sinking, oppressed sort of feeling. I didn't 
 want to miss the soldiers, of cotirse, but 
 still I felt uneasy and a little afraid. And 
 then I saw that they were carr5dng some- 
 thing on their shoulders, with a sword and a 
 hairy hat lying on the top of it. That was 
 very funny. . . . 
 
 Then I gathered it all in a flash. It 
 was a coffin ; some one was dead. Cower- 
 ing in a heap among the dead leaves behind 
 the wall, I heard the band stop ; then hot 
 and breathless silence ; and then in the- 
 stable-yard below the sharp clatter of a 
 
112 RUNNING WILD 
 
 bucket-handle falling against the bucket 
 as Tom Coachman set it down. After that, 
 life began to go on again. But even now 
 there is a link in my mind between the 
 clatter of the setting down of a bucket 
 and the Dead March in " Saul." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CANDLE SLIDE 
 
 I CAME across an old photograph of the 
 Candle Slide the other day, which vividly 
 brought back to me a singular and precious 
 sensation — ^that of gliding at a high 
 velocity into the heart of a mass of hay. 
 The Slide had a success beyond our wild- 
 ■est expectation, and I think it deserves 
 to rank as the first achievement of an inven- 
 tive nursery — even before the system of 
 communication by mirror, through which 
 (anticipating the periscope) we were able, 
 by placing all the mirrors in the house in a 
 
 connected line of vision, to see from the 
 8 "3 
 
114 RUNNING WILD 
 
 door of the night-nursery upstairs what 
 was going on in the basement. 
 
 Candle-grease was one of the many 
 products that had a special baffling appeal, 
 in that one felt that something should 
 be made out of it. It was delightful 
 stuff to knead between the fingers — 
 really as good as putty, except that it 
 lacked the exquisite, sticky smell of putty. 
 It could be, and was, made into excellent 
 little balls for pea-shooters, and of course 
 it could be modelled into various shapes and 
 forms. (I observe that the inherent need 
 to squeeze and roll and punch and pull 
 malleable substances, which we had to 
 satisfy with clay and putty and wax, is now 
 officially recognised, and quite well-behaved 
 children are encouraged to play with plasti- 
 cine.) But there must be more in it than 
 that. It had the advantage of being 
 slippery, which putty was not. When we 
 
tHE CANDLE SLIDE 115 
 
 played " Squales " we soon learned to 
 improve the pitch by rubbing the table 
 with a candle-end. . . , 
 
 (Perhaps the game of Squales is so far 
 obsolete as to demand an introduction. 
 It was played with precious little wooden 
 discs, ornately figured with a golden star, 
 which slid on the table in the manner of 
 Shove-ha'penny. An elegant, peculiar 
 little game that lived in the nursery cup- 
 board along with the Wheel-of-Life and a 
 well-worn copy of the "Wide, Wide World,") 
 
 Well, this faculty of creating a slide was 
 not to be neglected. Would a new pair of 
 slippers, if their soles were waxed, slide 
 on the carpet ? No, they would not. But 
 I slipped and fell on a wooden floor when I 
 was carrjdng a cup of coffee not long after, 
 so there must be something in it. 
 
 Would a leaf out of the dining-room table, 
 treated in the same way, do for sliding on ? 
 
ii5 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Yes, almost as well as ice. But there was 
 such serious trouble about it that I had to 
 conclude that I was still on the wrong tack. 
 I suppose I ought not to have used nailed 
 shoes. 
 
 But I was not discouraged. After going 
 on to explore the properties of soap in 
 this connection, without any useful result, 
 I returned to the undivided consideration of 
 candle-ends. Inside the house I could find 
 no freedom of action : I was always being 
 accused of spoiling things. And my first 
 attempt outside — ^when I tried to negotiate 
 the long grass slope in front of the house 
 on a waxed tea-tray — ^bore no fruit. But 
 that brought me at last to the solution. 
 
 There was a bitter controversy between 
 Archie and me as to who thought of it. 
 How in the world Archie ever got it into 
 his head that it was his idea I cannot con- 
 ceive : it was a pure delusion. But he 
 
THE CANDLE SLIDE 117 
 
 stuck to it, flatly falsifpng the true history 
 of the event and posing (whenever I was 
 not there to contradict him) as the inventor. 
 We refused to divide the honour, and each 
 of us with the utmost heat contradicted 
 the other's claims. The point was never 
 settled, and I have no reason to believe 
 that Archie has yet changed his opinion. 
 It would grieve me now to enter into a 
 public dispute with him, but I am bound to 
 put the truth finally on record. I was the 
 sole inventor of the Candle Slide. 
 
 It liappened to be a lucky morning, as 
 Those in Authority were away for the 
 day, otherwise the project might have 
 been nipped in the bud. By working 
 with feverish energy we were able to get 
 the job finished without interruption. 
 Even then only one thing saved it from 
 demolition — ^namely, its instant success. 
 Even Grown-ups were bound for once to 
 
ii8 RUNNING WILD 
 
 recognise a good thing when they saw it. 
 The carpenter himself happened to be 
 away from the sawmill when we arrived to 
 pillage, so we got a long start of him, and 
 although he came later to protest that the 
 timber that we had carried off was destined 
 for the flooring of a cottage, we were by 
 that time in the thick of it and had consoli- 
 dated the position. Altogether it was 
 a Jucky morning. We had got the hand- 
 cart at the garden, and after ransacking 
 the sawmill came on the very thing we 
 wanted — some dozens of rough planks 
 about ten feet long and an equal number 
 of three-inch rails for fencing. We made 
 many journeys with the handcart before 
 we had all our stuff collected on the drive 
 in front of the house. The grass slope 
 was tolerably smooth, very steep, and 
 perhaps fifty or sixty yards long, with an 
 unlimited run-out on the level below. We 
 
THE CANDLE SLIDE 119 
 
 simply laid down our boards in pairs 
 pointing in a line straight down the hill, 
 the ends of the upper pair overlapping the 
 lower, till we reached the level. And after 
 that — ^this was Archie's idea : I don't 
 mind giving him that much— we fixed 
 the fencing rails as borders, by setting them 
 on edge at either side and driving in pegs 
 to hold them. (The sudden shortage of 
 clothes-pegs at the laundry on the following 
 Monday was nothing to us : in the glowing 
 presence of a really good thing such a domes- 
 tic point was too hopelessly humdrum.) 
 The toboggan was simply a fiat plank 
 carrying a cushion with a bar for the heels 
 to rest on. By lavishly waxing the flat 
 sole of the toboggan from time to time 
 we got all the speed we wanted, and far 
 more than we had ever hoped for. By the 
 late afternoon all was ready, and — ^who was 
 to go down firs^t ? The inventor, of course. 
 
120 RUNNING WILD 
 
 The dispute ended by Archie tripping 
 me up and getting off before I could stop 
 him ; but on the whole I scored, for the 
 pace was such that he came a terrific 
 cropper at the end and rolled like a shot 
 rabbit far across the grass. We were 
 positively overawed by our instant success. 
 The thing was actually dangerous, and we 
 did not try it again till we had brought, in 
 the handcart, a great heap of loose hay 
 from the meadow and piled it as a buffer 
 at the foot of the track. Thereafter the 
 traveller ran gloriously into this safe refuge 
 and buried himself at a speed — as was 
 afterwards established with a stop-watch — 
 of at least twenty-five miles an hour. 
 
 The Candle Slide enjoyed a succ^s fou-. 
 It was in daily use throughout the summer, 
 whenever it was dry, and it was not till 
 it had been slowly ruined by October rains 
 that, on a heavy day, the carpenter turned 
 
THE CANDLE SLIDE 121 
 
 up with a cart and rescued the remains. 
 For once Grown-ups with one accord fol- 
 lowed the lead we gave them, and within 
 a week every member of the household had 
 made the descent. The only cloud upon 
 those joyous days was the fact that 
 delighted guests were almost certain, 
 sooner or later, to inquire who it was that 
 had invented it. . : : 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 DESTRUCTION 
 
 Ellen; the kindly old Scotch nurse, whose 
 task it was to administer and control a 
 nursery of small boys seething with rebel- 
 lion, seldom needed to employ the terms 
 of anger or rebuke. Under-nurses, who 
 came and went, might bandy words with 
 us, exchange insults, or try to enforce 
 authority by a combination of violent 
 shaking with angry denunciation. But 
 Ellen could enforce obedience by more 
 gentle methods. Only on rare occasions 
 did she denounce us with words of terrible 
 and lacerating reproof. There must have 
 been times when flesh and blood could stand 
 it no longer ; then she would hurl at our 
 
DESTRUCTION 123 
 
 heads, like an avenging thunderbolt, that 
 one dreaded phrase which sumiped up all 
 the long tale of our iniquity — " You Des- 
 tructive Child ! " This one tremendous 
 epithet, so rarely and effectively employed, 
 had a significance and a force that were 
 all its own. It meant nothing to us to 
 be called " naughty," " disobedient," 
 " provoking " (a very common and in- 
 effective effort), or even " outrageous." 
 But to be called " destructive " made one 
 pause and think. In morbid moments 
 one had visions of what it might mean in 
 years to come if one grew up " destructive." 
 It dimly suggested anarchy, a war against 
 society. It foreshadowed a reckless and 
 devastating career. And it was not with- 
 out its effect. It was probable that we 
 might stay our hands and try to curb our 
 passion to destroy. 
 It may, perhaps, have been a certain 
 
124 RUNNING WILD 
 
 vein of Scottish thrift in old Ellen's com- 
 position that led her to promote destruc- 
 tion to the status of a cardinal sin, but I 
 do not think that our case was at all 
 remarkable. It is a terrible thing in the 
 eyes of its guardians for a child to destroy 
 anything. Ellen was able to support and 
 expand her admonitions with certain 
 maxims, which surely must be known 
 and hated in many a nursery. " Waste 
 not, want not," she would say, and we were 
 led to believe that if we never wasted 
 anything dr destroyed anything we should 
 never be in need. I am not at all sure 
 that it follows. But there was another 
 favourite saying of hers which will not be 
 heard in the nurseries of the future. It 
 was proclaimed with shaking head and 
 upheld finger : 
 
 " The children of England take pleasure in breaking 
 What the German children take pleasure in jnaking." 
 
DESTRUCTION 125 
 
 Never did I hear those fateful words with- 
 out a sensation of devout thankfulness 
 that I was not born a German child. 
 
 I cannot but believe that the thing was a 
 good deal overdone. The tendency to 
 hoard things up and to accumulate unne- 
 cessary rubbish, which is inherent in most 
 people, surely does not require such vehe- 
 ment emphasis and encouragement at a 
 most impressionable age. As it is, I 
 suppose no one of us is quite free from the 
 encumbrance of useless belongings ; no 
 house but has its hidden stores of old 
 letters that will never be read, old clothes 
 that will never be worn, torn music that 
 will never be played ; no house which can 
 face an impartial investigation of the cup- 
 board under the stairs. Perhaps we have 
 lost the faculty of destruction through 
 the influence of those early days when 
 destruction was a crime. Yet it seems 
 
126 RUNNING Wild 
 
 to me that one of the purest and most 
 natural pleasures, satisfying deep inner 
 needs of boyhood, was this pleasure of 
 destruction. I do not mean the pleasure 
 of destroying other people's property for 
 the sake of scoring off the owner — ^though 
 that was often done — or destroying one's 
 own effects in a fit of rage. I mean des- 
 truction for its own sake. There were 
 things which one knew — there was no use 
 arguing about it — ^had no sound reason 
 for their existence : things which ought 
 to be removed from the face of the earth, 
 which simply cumbered the ground. And 
 there were also things which, if they were 
 to be kept, could be used again with profit, 
 but which nevertheless ought to go, because 
 the present pleasure of destroying them 
 would clearly outweigh any future gain 
 that could be looked for by preserving 
 them. Things that would crash or smash 
 
DESTRUCTION 12^ 
 
 or collapse— anything, let us say, sugges- 
 tive of " smithereens " — could only be 
 retained intact with difficulty. The same 
 applies to such things as would tear with a 
 harsh rending, like calico ; to such things 
 as would melt, like wax or lead ; to such 
 things as would burn with a roar ; above 
 all, to such things as would blow up and 
 burst. These delightful processes were 
 an end in themselves. There was a savage 
 joy in playing havoc. What a birth- 
 day treat it would have been to have 
 been allowed to run amok among glass 
 bottles with a hockey stick or demoUsh a 
 conservatory ! 
 
 Sometimes it was not the object that 
 demanded to be destroyed, but the tool 
 that called for something to destroy. A 
 red-hot poker almost yearned to leave its 
 mark on something, leather for choice, for 
 there one gained the added savour of the 
 
128 Running ^ild 
 
 smell. And an axe ! It is safe to say that 
 one could get more solid satisfaction in a 
 short time out of an axe than out of any 
 other implement whatever. Our effects 
 were not always crude and barbarous. 
 After the wicked whisper had gone forth 
 from one to another, " Let's break it ! " 
 there would often be a pause for reflection 
 and calm discussion as to the most fruit- 
 ful means of carrying the thing into effect. 
 A fire in a doll's house, combated with 
 penny squirts, yet triumphantly gaining 
 the upper hand and ending in a heap of 
 ruins, made a notable end of a toy that had 
 grown stale. But there was another 
 strange motive at work in our many des- 
 tructive enterprises, not easy to account 
 for. It was a sort of pagan love of sacri- 
 fice. I do not mean that we were actively 
 trying to propitiate unseen powers. But 
 it was something very near akin to that. 
 
DESTRUCTION 129 
 
 Tbere was some curious, mystic relish, 
 which may be innate in every savage and 
 small boy, which led us to rejoice in 
 the renunciation of our goods. The idea 
 above all, of a sacrificial fire obsessed us at 
 one time, as something dark and noble, 
 unholy, and yet tinged with a stoic^ gran- 
 deur. We would even " dare " each other 
 and egg each other on to rise to higher and 
 yet higher sacrifices, casting away freely our 
 best and dearest, till Grown-ups — ^who have 
 no such impulses — ^were completely stag- 
 gered and nonplussed. 
 
 On the great and memorable occasion 
 of the burial of the third bullfinch this 
 practice reached the dimensions of an orgy. 
 It is probable that we had been recently 
 learning something of pagan rites, or such 
 a celebration would hardly have occurred 
 to us. But it was understood that each 
 of us must cast into the cruel flames of 
 9 
 
130 RtJNNING WILD 
 
 that funeral pyre some treasured possession, 
 and the Grown-ups who intervened at the 
 very height of the ceremony were left 
 wondering helplessly if these amazing boys 
 ever would " learn sense." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 RUNNING WATER 
 
 Of all the legitimate playthings there was 
 none in more constant favour than running 
 water. One can look back on many hours 
 of dreamy dabbling to the alluring gurgle of 
 the stream. No doubt the same instincts 
 may be satisfied on a grander scale and with 
 an ampler scope on the broad stretch of 
 yellow sand at the seaside. But to us that 
 never was the real thing at all. Our deep- 
 rooted desire to invent our own methods 
 of amusing ourselves, always to discover, 
 to create, and to make the thing our own 
 because we thought of it, revolted against 
 
 the stereotyped pleasvires of the seaside. 
 131 
 
132 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Really, if you come to think of it, thiat is all 
 so cut and dried, so completely obvious and 
 so perfectly adapted, that it might have 
 been specially manufactured by a committee 
 of Grown-ups. The vast stretch of sand 
 to dig in (which was so clean and nice and 
 harmless) which could be found either wet 
 or dry or in a state between the two, as 
 desired; the gently shelving beach to 
 paddle on so that one could advance step by 
 step without risk, without difficulty, without 
 a single thrill of any sort ; and— finishing 
 touch ! — the tide which decorously rose and 
 fell with measured pace, as if its single 
 purpose were to flood your castle or leave 
 your embankment high and dry. . . . And 
 over the whole expanse were dotted stereo- 
 typed little groups of children, all patiently 
 playing up to these well-ordered conditions 
 with spade and bucket and upturned 
 knickerbockers. It was all so pretty and 
 
RUNNING WATER 133 
 
 appropriate, and for that very reason so 
 impossible. The need to dabble must of 
 course be satisfied . But at the very earhest 
 age when direct control of action was 
 relaxed, most joyously did we renounce 
 the bucket and the spade. I can remember 
 well the deep contempt with which one came 
 to contemplate these two symbols of ortho- 
 dox infancy, how immensely one despised 
 the possessors of them. I think we would 
 almost rather have been seen in public 
 places with a rattle or a doll than with one 
 of these. And we were right. For the 
 great art of Dabbling and all the variety 
 of its bold, ingenious developments there 
 is no medium like running water. 
 
 Our favourite haunt was a small rocky 
 stream that tumbled down a narrow gully. 
 It had. all that air of mystery^ of secrecy, of 
 remoteness from the world of every day, 
 which we look for to give a special flavour 
 
134 RUNNING WILD 
 
 to our doings, for it was closely arched 
 over by great beech trees and sunshine 
 reached it only in small glittering patches 
 here and there. Except in high spate it 
 was not too big to grapple with, yet power- 
 ful enough in places to tug fiercely at one's 
 legs as one stood in the full force of the 
 current, and even now and then to fling 
 one sprawling in the flood. And there 
 were endless cascades and pools, twists 
 and turns, in one place a tiny whirlpool, 
 in another a sheer fall of several feet* 
 There was a httle tributary tumbling head» 
 long down the bank in the most improbable 
 manner. And overhead lay an old larch 
 tree, blown over years ago, which bridged 
 the gully from side to side, a standing invi- 
 tation to the perilous, straddling transit. 
 
 But our chief concern was the stream 
 itself. There is so much you can do with 
 a stream ! There were days of contented 
 
RUNNING WATER 135 
 
 laziness when it was enough to dabble 
 hands and feet and listen to the murmur of 
 the water. There were days when our 
 attention was. engaged in racing rival 
 craft of sticks or empty matchboxes down 
 the break-neck course, eagerly watching 
 their behaviour in all the minute dangers 
 and sudden phases of their journey, piloting 
 them over the fall, poking them out of the 
 whirlpool, steering them off the shallows, 
 pelting them with stones when they were 
 out of reach, calculating anxiously their 
 chances when they came to the rapids, 
 trying to anticipate which course they 
 would take round the island. It was 
 breathless work, until it came to the 
 point where— when it reached the level 
 at the. head of the garden — ^the stream 
 plunged suddenly underground to travel 
 out of sight till it finally emerged in 
 the little round pond forty yards below; 
 
136 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Then you may guess we raced round to 
 the winning post, to lie wet and palpitating, 
 one at each side of the opening, straining 
 our eyes into the gloom, waiting impatiently 
 till our craft came forth. 
 
 And once, when the stream was low 
 and running smooth, a lighted candle on a 
 wooden lid was launched into that cavern, 
 and how gloriously did it illuminate that 
 long stretch of mystery which we had so 
 often tried to picture to ourselves, — 
 suddenly revealing (what we had never 
 dreamt of) that during its hidden course 
 our old familiar stream positively travelled 
 through a vast pipe, dank, green, moss- 
 covered ; and opening up the question 
 as to whether, in a time of drought, it 
 might not be possible to crawl from end to 
 end of that subterranean passage. 
 
 But the best days were those of immense 
 toil and labour when we set ourselves 
 
RUNNING WATER 137 
 
 to tamper with, to manipulate and re- 
 arrange the bed of the stream, hauling and 
 tugging with all our strength to heave 
 up submerged rocks, dredging channels, 
 forming new islands, opening up new 
 courses . The most important and imposing 
 of our works, at which we would cheerfully 
 toil hour after hour, bruised and drenched 
 and perspiring, was the making of dams 
 and reservoirs. We would fling a great 
 barrier across the stream of heaped rocks 
 and stones, filled in with plastered turf or 
 clay, leaving but a narrow escape for the 
 water . And at the last , when all was ready, 
 we would block up the outlet and eagerly 
 watch the level rise. There would follow 
 some minutes of conflict and intense 
 excitement, as we struggled furiously to 
 hold back the flood, hopping wildly back 
 and forth, supplementing the weak spots 
 in the structure as they discovered them- 
 
138 RUNNING WILD 
 
 selves, dabbing up holes and banking totter- 
 ing sections, till at last, with a shout of 
 triumph, we hailed the moment when the 
 battle was won, the reservoir was full, and 
 had begun to overflow. As a matter of fact 
 it was much better really when we failed, 
 and the whole dam gave way in sudden, 
 splendid crash, as we leaped back to save 
 oiur toes, liberating a headlong, muddy 
 torrent. 
 
 Perhaps the most ingenious of our 
 exploits in this direction was the occasion 
 of the adventure of the ants. (In truth 
 we were never short of ideas.) I do not 
 know what it was that put so happy an 
 inspiration into our heads as to maroon 
 a company of ants upon a rock in mid- 
 stream. We had come upon them in the 
 course of excavations, beneath an upturned 
 stone, _ and we transferred them forthwith 
 to that perilous position. The stream 
 
RUNNING WATER 139 
 
 was very low at the time, and when we 
 dammed it some feet farther down it rose 
 gradually by inches. At first the prisoners 
 paid little attention, though one or two of 
 the more careless were washed away. But 
 as the area narrowed down and the situa- 
 tion became clear to them, there was much 
 running back and forth, consternation 
 and dismay, till at last, when only a point 
 of the rock remained, the whole terrified 
 population was herded together on a space 
 of but a few square inches. Just when a 
 fearful disaster seettied imminent a way of 
 escape was opened up, for we came to the 
 rescue with a bridge, in the form of a twig 
 to a larger rock beyond, from which a 
 second bridge led to the mainland. It was 
 a fine thing to see that distracted throng, 
 hustling and crowding joyously to safety. 
 Such were the plain facts of this adven 
 ture. But it was not thus that we were 
 
140 RUNNING WILD 
 
 wont to relate it in later years. It grew 
 into a legend, elaborated by many pictur- 
 esque enabroideries. There was a point 
 in it, I remember, where the leader of the 
 party stood forth at the bridge end, plainly 
 proclaiming " Women and children first ! " 
 And it concluded with a general thanks- 
 giving meeting on the gravel on the bank. 
 All of which goes to prove that there 
 is much that can be done with a stream. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION 
 
 The institution of pa3dng calls, which 
 flourished in those days much more vigor- 
 ously than it does now, presented to us an 
 unfathomable problem. We were agreed 
 that the Grown-up was never seen to more 
 perfect advantage, as a being of a different 
 world from ours, impelled by some cryptic 
 law to expend labour upon wholly futile 
 ends, than when engaged in paying a call. 
 We gave a good deal of study to the matter, 
 but arrived at no conclusion. They cannot 
 have done it in order to wear their best 
 clothes, because every one must resent 
 putting on his best clothes on a week-day. 
 
 MI 
 
142 RUNNING WILD 
 
 They cannot have done it in order to see 
 each other's houses, because the same 
 people kept coming back time after time 
 when there was nothing new left to see. Was 
 it possible that they did it in order to talk 
 to one another ? Hardly ! After Ustening 
 to my brother Sidney's brilliant imitation 
 of the conversation on these occasions it 
 was not easy to believe that. No, the 
 truth was that there was no use trying to 
 guess why they did it : there must be a 
 catch in it somewhere, no doubt connected 
 in some obscure way with the tickets with 
 their names on them which they often 
 left behind. A tennis party one could 
 understand, or any form of entertainment 
 that implied a square meal ; but calls were 
 sheer lunacy. Whatever we might grow 
 up to be, we were clear upon one point. 
 We would never grow up to be callers. 
 It was useless to discuss why they existed, 
 
CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION 143 
 
 but they could not be ignored : they were 
 the chief of our natural enemies, and our 
 sentiments towards them were not far 
 different from those of the song-bird toward 
 the hawk. We had just the same fear 
 of being pounced upon and just the same 
 need for taking cover. They destroyed 
 the privacy of the house and garden. They 
 appeared, like a bolt from the blue, at the 
 most awkward moments, and they had an 
 ■unholy curiosity. Bereft of the rudiments 
 of courtesy, they would never pass by and 
 leave one alone, no matter what predica- 
 ment one might be in. Archie and I were 
 engaged one day upon our special sport of 
 Water Races — a competition as to which 
 -of us could run round the house in the 
 shortest time with his mouth full of water, 
 not to be discharged till he returned to the 
 starting-point. (A main object of each 
 runner was to make his opponent laugh, 
 
144 RUNNING WILD 
 
 by making faces at him when they met 
 on the far side — for we started in opposite 
 directions.) Archie on this Qccasion blun- 
 dered round a corner into a bunch of 
 callers and they insisted upon accosting 
 him. Naturally his reply was preceded 
 .by a startling explosion that might 
 (with a little tact upon their part) have 
 well been avoided. And when the funeral 
 of the second bullfinch was orossing 
 the drive on its way to the graveside 
 we had the misfortune to encounter 
 a batch of them on the point of arriving. 
 I was thrown to the wolves in order 
 that the rest of the cortege might move 
 on into the shrubbery without unseemly 
 delay. But I felt a fool. I didn't see 
 why I should be called upon to explain, 
 and I was really grieved about the bull- 
 finch. In a word, one could not pursue one's 
 most ordinary daily avocations without 
 
CALLERS ANiD CONSCRIPTION 145 
 
 the fear of these deplorable intrusions by 
 idle and interfering people.^ And there 
 was more than that in it, for[^there was 
 always a danger of our being captured, 
 " made respectable," and sent into the 
 drawing-room to be sacrificed to these 
 insatiable creatures. No wonder that 
 they exercised a reign of terror and that 
 we had only one method of dealing with 
 them. At the word " Callers ! " shouted 
 from the window, we vanished in breath- 
 less panic. 
 
 But after a while we were no longer 
 content with total disappearance. We 
 began to take an interest in the habits 
 and customs of these strange people, and 
 even to turn what had been an unmitigated 
 annoyance into a source of entertainment. 
 Thus we began to deal in safe retreats from 
 which to keep the foe under observation. 
 
 We would perhaps leave a younger brother 
 10 
 
i46 RUNNING WILD 
 
 under the sofa to report the proceedings or — 
 when the function took place outside — 
 fill every clump of bushes or neighbouring 
 hedge with hidden spies. The one in the 
 box-hedge would always give a careful 
 descriptive account of the shoes and boots 
 of the party, as from the nature of the 
 ambush he could see nothing else. But 
 when we had discovered the magnificent 
 potentialities of the lime tree on the lawn 
 we confined ourselves entirely to the Crow's 
 Nest. 
 
 In a great gale' some years before the 
 tree had been blown down along with many 
 others, and lest the place be wholly swept 
 of its former beauties it had been sawn off 
 some twelve or fourteen feet from the 
 ground, set up again, and stayed on every 
 side. Thus there was at the top of it a 
 flat circular little platform, and in the course 
 of time new branches sprang all round its 
 
CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION 147 
 
 head and grew strong and thick, forming a 
 fresh crown of foliage about it. There the 
 whole four of us covild find footing at once. 
 It was fairly easy to climb, and could 
 be reached from the shrubbery beyond 
 without observation. It commanded both 
 the lawn and the front door. In a 
 word, nothing could have been better. 
 Unsuspecting callers came and went, 
 asked kindly after the children, were sorry 
 not to see them, were told that they were 
 not to be found at the moment, and drank 
 their tea in the shade of the great lime tree 
 all unconscious of the group of peering eyes 
 and straining ears among its branches. 
 Had we been content with mere observation 
 and refrained from the use of the pea- 
 shooter it is probable that our retreat 
 would have remained a secret and many 
 more years elapsed before we learned of a 
 new crime that must be added to the 
 
148 RUNNING WILt) 
 
 things we were not to do. It was called 
 Eavesdropping, and, although perhaps we 
 could not quite see why, it was, it seemed, 
 a very grave offence — ^which was exceedingly 
 annoying, as life Would be the poorer if 
 this useful practice was really to be given up. 
 And there was a certain injustice in this 
 arbitrary pronouncement. The argument 
 that " we would not like it " if other people 
 overheard what we were saying (which 
 was often effectual) failed in this instance. 
 For we justly felt that if other people 
 overheard us, that was purely our own 
 fault for being overheard. 
 
 But we were, clear about one thing. 
 Whatever sort of game this calling business 
 was, it was a game for Grown-ups. And 
 that was a thing that they could never see. 
 They brought children with them sometimes 
 — often unwilling captives no doubt, 
 though we had no mercy on them. We 
 
CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION 149 
 
 regarded them with the sentiments with 
 which a free and enlightened citizen might 
 regard a convict in a chain-gang. Indeed, 
 we did not look upon them as children and 
 compeers at all, , but as juvenile callers, 
 dressed for the part and in league with the 
 enemy. And their presence always em- 
 bittered the situation, for we were certain 
 to be called upon (if found) to entertain 
 them, which was done in a chilly and per- 
 functory manner that could not possibly 
 lead to a better acquaintance. I remember 
 once being confronted, under these painful 
 conditions, with the doctor's son in a 
 velvefeen suit. Only that very morning I 
 had been bird-nesting with him in the 
 Bank-end Wood. But now we had nothing 
 to say to each other. I was sorry for him, 
 for I could see that he felt his position 
 keenly, and by tacit consent we never 
 afterwards referred, to the episode,. 
 
150 RUNNING WILD 
 
 And sometimes the position was reversed, 
 for Those in Authority were also addicted 
 to paying calls, and would also on occasion 
 take a victim with them. Particularly 
 there was an aunt, with whom we some- 
 times went to stay, who had fallen into this 
 unfortunate habit. It was her only draw- 
 back. I think she had a firm conviction 
 that it was good for us, a necessary part of 
 our training, and that she would not be 
 performing her whole duty towards us 
 if she did not insist upon it. 
 
 "I am going to pay a few calls this 
 afternoon," she would announce at limch, 
 " and I think I shall take one of you boys 
 with me." 
 
 Dead silence. She would then inquire 
 with unfailing hopefulness which of us would 
 like to go. Then she would explain how 
 nice it Would be. Then she would point 
 out that it was only right. Then she 
 
CALLERS AND CONSCRIPTION 151 
 
 would appeal to each of us in turn. She 
 was not willing to give up the voluntary 
 principle till it had been worked out to the 
 very end. But she got no response. Other 
 methods were clearly necessary. Some- 
 times she would decide forthwith and 
 select one of us to go. Sometimes she 
 would leave it to us, merely stipulating 
 that one of us was to appear, washed and 
 dressed, at the front door at 3 p.m. Then 
 we retired to the orchard to have it out. 
 There was no question of rebellion. Our 
 aunt was an indulgent hostess and she 
 must be humoured in this matter, for, after 
 all, it was her only fault. Often the point 
 was settled by a system of bounties. Each 
 of us would consider the offers made by 
 the other two to gain immimity, and the 
 result was arrived at by a sort of trian- 
 gular auction. Sometimes we drew lots, 
 and it cannot be said that the wiimers made 
 
152 RUNNING WILD 
 
 it easy for the victim. The moment thatlhe 
 issue was decided they began to gloat . And 
 as he went sadly off, feeling that all the 
 brightness had gone out of the summer day, 
 to put on his new sailor suit, he was sure to 
 see them starting out ostentatiously upon 
 some alluring exploit. It was made clear 
 beyond any doubt who had scored. 
 
 But the aunt was not without sympathy 
 and understanding. She suddenly intro- 
 duced rewards. The lot had fallen upon me 
 that day, and the attitude of the other 
 two had brought me to the verge of despair, 
 despite the fact that I might be allowed 
 to drive the pony up Dumgree Hill and that 
 there was only one call in question — ^though 
 it was known to be a deadly one. 
 
 But the people were out, and when the 
 other two came in to tea they found me 
 sitting on the gate hugging a gigantic, box 
 of chocolates. And who scored that time ? 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 JOKES 
 
 It was not very much use making jokes for 
 the benefit .of Grown-up People. They 
 didn't undeistand them. There was a 
 great gulf fixed between us. They seldom 
 gathered what we were laughing at and 
 it was no good trying to explain. We were 
 so far apart on this matter that when 
 Sidney made a joke one day that they did 
 understand the rest of us could see no 
 merit in it, though that may have been 
 because we were jealous of Sidney, who 
 made some reputation by that stroke of 
 wit, which was remembered and quoted 
 
 for years to come. And looking back 
 
 153 
 
154 RUNNING WILD 
 
 dispassionately I may now admit that it 
 was rather smart of Sidney, considering of 
 course how small he was at the time. The 
 capital of Ceylon was under discussion, and 
 the point was whether Kandy was on the 
 coast or in the interior. Sidrtey cut in 
 with a chuckle, " I wish Kandy was in my 
 interior." And Those in Authority under- 
 stood for once. 
 
 It was almost equally difficult to reach 
 across from the other side. Grown-up 
 People had jokes of their own which some- 
 times filled us with wistful wonder, though 
 they evidently enjoyed them in their own 
 restrained and twiHt manner. And we 
 were often expected to laugh at them — 
 which we did. (After all, we had to live 
 with these people, and concessions must be 
 made.) But it was all rather unreal — ^or 
 nearly all. For there were rare moments 
 of understanding, prigelegs occasions when 
 
JOKES 155 
 
 we could meet on common ground and 
 laugh in harmony, and I am convinced that 
 nothing had the same power to draw us 
 into sympathy with Those in Authority as 
 that. For a child will find himself on new 
 and genial terms at once with a Parent or 
 Guardian when both are stirred to genxiine 
 laughter at the same moment by the same 
 clown.* 
 
 This is a tremendous matter: it is just 
 here that the main clash between the 
 generations comes about. There are mainy 
 Grown-up People— not so many perhaps 
 as-there used to be — who fail utterly through 
 the, misuse of laughter in reaching good 
 relations with children. I do not know 
 why it is. They set out with the idea that 
 there is something comic about being a 
 child, and the one thing necessary is to say 
 something flippant. More than that, they 
 have the idea that he is easily amused and 
 
156 RUNNING WILD 
 
 no great effort is called for. And so they 
 fire off patronising jokes down to his 
 level and at his expense. How often have 
 I been subjected to this heartless bom- 
 bardment ! . - . " Holidays will be over 
 next week, eh ? I suppose you will be 
 glad to get back to your books ? Ha ! 
 Ha !"..." I thought that must be 
 your seat — next the sugar." . I am 
 ashamed to put down these feeble 
 efforts, but that was the sort of thing that 
 was considered good enough. But these 
 jesters were profoundly wrong. There is 
 nothing comic about being a child. The 
 very first necessity is that he should be 
 taken seriously. If you are going to treat 
 him like a monkey or a kitten, you are 
 lost, even while you are proclaiming 
 how fond you are of children. And, far 
 from being easy to amuse him, it is an event 
 so rare and precious that if you have once 
 
JOKES IS7 
 
 sifcceeded in it you have taken a long 
 stride toward winning the great possession 
 of his confidence. And thus, when humour 
 was in question, we lived on different 
 continents, connected only by a slender 
 isthmus. 
 
 But among ourselves one of the main 
 ends in life was to be funny, and one of the 
 bitterest of failures was the attempt to be 
 funny that did not come off. It is bad 
 enough in later years to tell a story that 
 misses the point, but there are kindly 
 social instincts abroad by then ready to 
 help one gently and swiftly out of the 
 hole, to pass off the awkward moment 
 and leave it behind. But in the Days 
 of Discovery we had no mercy. It was 
 a perilous thing to make a joke : it was 
 a thrust through hostile fortifications, for 
 no one would admit that you were funny 
 if he could help it. And if, as was 
 
158 RUNNING WILD 
 
 only too likely, it fell to the ground, you 
 were left naked to your enemies — the 
 object of withering scorn or stony blank 
 indifference. In all the daily warfare of 
 our life there was no better occasion for 
 trampling upon the tender pride of an 
 opponent than this, and for bringing home 
 to him what a futile idiot he was. This 
 was the shaft that stabbed us to the limit 
 of mortification ... "I suppose you 
 think you are trying to be funny." 
 
 And yet — ^to bring it off, to make a joke 
 that got home : above all, to wring a burst 
 of laughter from an elder brother — ^there 
 was no triumph like it. We must have 
 had an inordinate thirst for applause, but 
 at least the admiration that we won was 
 fairly won, as it so seldom is among Grown- 
 ups — ^in whose smooth dialogue laughter is 
 obedient to every claim upon it. 
 
 What were the jokes we made ? What 
 
JOKES 159 
 
 was the secret of those dazzling flashes that 
 broke down all defences and had the 
 nursery table in a roar ? They were a 
 priceless joy — ^more to be desired than food 
 or drink, or climbing ladders, or riding 
 on the hay, or freedom after lessons, or 
 travelling by train, or pocket-money, or 
 snow : more to be desired than winning a 
 game, or hitting a mark, or getting a present, 
 or finding a knife. For a joke that had the 
 power to touch the secret spring that freed 
 our laughter, snapping all control, was a 
 thing long treasured and remembered and 
 repeated, a new possession picked up by 
 the way. 
 
 What were they and where are they 
 now ? 
 
 I have looked back and thought of one or 
 two — ^but I may not set them down. You 
 would not understand; indeed I do not 
 understand myself. You and I are con- 
 
i6o RUNNING WILD 
 
 demned to make what we can of the Kandy 
 and Sidney's interior. It is all that is 
 left to us. Even if I were to present to you 
 my brother Archie's imitation of a tadpole 
 or Colin's pun about the garden-rollo", 
 I should only add to oiu: bewilderment. 
 They are no more than the wilted leaves 
 left on the ground when the fairy castle 
 has melted into naist. We lost these things 
 so long ago that it is too late now to turn 
 back for them. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TREES 
 
 There were many well-remembered trees. 
 I think there must be some remaining 
 influence from a small boy's prehistoric 
 ancestry that keeps tugging at him from 
 the branches overhead ; at any rate, to be 
 brought up in a treeless land would be 
 almost as great a tragedy of wasted oppor- 
 tunity as to be brought up in tropic climes 
 where snow was never known to fall. 
 
 There was the lime tree with the Crow's 
 Nest in it . . . the ancient elm beyond 
 the drive, whose widespread arms supported 
 swings and hammocks . . . the Three 
 Sisters, famous oak trees in a bunch, said 
 to have sprung from a single acorn ; ,■ i 
 
 II I6l 
 
i62 RUNNING WILD 
 
 the two wild cherries . . . the fallen larch 
 that spanned the glen . . . the straight 
 ash with the high fork where missel-thrushes 
 built, on the knoll beside the lake. There 
 was the old Scotch fir that stood out at the 
 edge of the wood, bathing its crimson head 
 in evening sunshine . . . there was a 
 senile hollow oak, beloved of starlings, 
 which one could squeeze inside by desperate 
 compression. -, . . 
 
 There are a hundred occasions for 
 climbing a tree — ^to hide or to escape or to 
 find a look-out post, to get nuts or cut 
 pea-shooters, or reach birds' nests, or hang 
 a rope or carve one's name on the bark near 
 the top where no human eye will ever see it, 
 or just for the sake of the climbing; or 
 again, to sit and swing and feast among 
 the branches as in the case of the giant 
 cherries. 
 
 We had sticks from the hazels, bows 
 
TREES 163 
 
 from the yew, and from the willow material 
 for (unfinished) baskets, but our richest 
 harvest was from the giant cherries. 
 
 These two noble trees, unmatched as 
 specimens throughout the land, gorgeous 
 in their white blossom, vivid in their 
 autumn tints, loaded in their due season 
 with great black cherries, and well known 
 to half the blackbirds in the county, stood 
 on the slope before the house. They were 
 cut down. That was to us so genuine a 
 calamity that we felt as much resentment 
 against Those in Authority, who had done 
 this thing, as hopeless inability to under- 
 stand their point of view. We felt that we 
 were living among aliens with whom we 
 had no common ground. We were told 
 that the trees were too near the house — ^that 
 they obscured the view. That was all : no 
 other reason was suggested. Grown-ups 
 would stand on the porch after the sacrifice 
 
1 64 RUNNING WILD 
 
 and look about and tell each other that it 
 had been a great wrench, but after all it 
 was worth it — ^it was better without them. 
 But we could see nothing but a desolating 
 emptiness and a horrid gap. And we didn't 
 believe it had been a wrench. The very 
 heart of our domain had been laid waste 
 for the sake of seeing some stupid hills 
 miles away that could be seen anyhow 
 from the upstairs windows. If Grown-ups 
 were determined to use their vast and arbi- 
 trary powers in this way, in order to secure a 
 view, why did they not move the house and 
 leave our trees alone ? The thing rankled 
 the more because, at any word of complaint, 
 we were laughed at as missing the trees — 
 because of the cherries ! And that cut us 
 deeply. It would have been like loving a 
 friend for his money to have loved our 
 trees on that account alone? So we said 
 nothing about it, except sometimes when a 
 
TREES 165 
 
 sympathetic visitor camewho agreed with us, 
 and then we backed him up and rubbed it in. 
 It was for years a main ambition of our 
 life to go up one tree and down another, as 
 the squirrels do. That is not at all an 
 easy thing to do, and it gets more difficult 
 as you get older and heavier. Archie did 
 it at last with two of the Three Sisters, 
 but when he tried to repeat the exploit 
 he fell on his back and I found him gasping 
 in a terrible condition. I thought he was 
 going to die, but he very soon recovered ; 
 and Colin, who had seen this thing before, 
 explained Ihat he had only been " winded." 
 Most of our tree adventures were of course 
 in quest of birds' nests. There was a wood 
 on the hill full of gigantic jackdaws' nests, 
 which must have been heaped up from year 
 to year. So big were they that as we came 
 up from underneath they blotted out the 
 sky above us, and our problem was to find a 
 
i66 RUNNING WILD 
 
 means of climbing round them to the Uttle 
 pocket in the centre where the eggs lay on 
 the top. But chiefly I remember the 
 glorious sensations and rewards that we 
 first found in climbing for pigeons' eggs. 
 The old spruce trees grew in dense forma- 
 tion, darkening the ground beneath, high 
 up on the hillside. It was almost like start- 
 ing from the gloom of a dungeon when we 
 set out to climb them. And it was a stern 
 course. You have to force your head 
 through dead spiky little branches, though 
 there is plenty of foothold all the way . And 
 your hands get scratched and bark-dust and 
 needles rain down on your uptmrned eyes. 
 But it gets easier as you go on, and the 
 thrilling moment of arrival is always coming 
 nearer. If you have chosen an outstand- 
 ing tree that towers above the others, it 
 is beautiful to emerge into the sunlight 
 among the lofty tossing foliage. Suddenly 
 
TREES 167 
 
 you find yourself in a fresh, breezy world 
 on the roof of the wood. Yours is the 
 true bird's-eye view. You begin to under- 
 stand the royal life of birds in this their 
 habitation, far from the ken of those who 
 peer about in the dark abyss below. You 
 have ho need to hold on anxiously, for you 
 are borne up on dense and buoyant branches. 
 You could hardly fall through if you tried. 
 And now we come to the cream of it : 
 so precious and moving an experience — 
 unknown to Grown-ups, who are too heavy, 
 anyway — that you will only barely imagine 
 it when I tell you. If your spruce tree is a 
 good one, well clothed from top to bottom, 
 you may lie on yoiu" back, with your head 
 toward the trunk and outstretched arms, 
 and slide down by your own weight among 
 the bending branches, sleek and pliant, as 
 they give below you, sinking through swish- 
 ing greenery down, down into the vault. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 FIRES 
 
 The elemental playthings were far the best 
 of all. All the goods and chattels that ever 
 we possessed, from stilts and bows and 
 arrows to mechanical trains and the 
 " wheel of life," did not amount in sohd 
 value to half the profit that we got from 
 snow and water, frost and fire. The world 
 was full of incomparable raw material : 
 there was sand in the sandhole, clay in the 
 pit, straight sticks among the hazels, and 
 "soldiers" in the grass. The products 
 of the earth were rich for us in useful 
 properties. But best of all were the special, 
 passing dispensations, when a new element 
 
 1 68 
 
FIRES 169 
 
 appeared and a new situation was created ; 
 when heavy rains had flooded the burn and 
 a pond was formed in the meadow, when 
 a snow-fall came in the night or when 
 the lake was frozen. These were transient 
 things, and therefore deeply precious. But 
 fire, which was fit to rank among them, was 
 ours at command, and it had a special 
 quality in that it was capable of damage. 
 We loved it for that very reason, as we 
 loved everything with latent powers of 
 destruction — a knife or an axe or a garden 
 syringe. It was not that one often really 
 wanted to hack the drawing-room table or 
 chop the oak tree on the lawn — though one 
 had a passing hankering in that direction 
 after hearing the moral story of George 
 Washington —nor yet to deluge the nursery 
 through the open window. But one did 
 like to feel that one could do these things 
 if one chose to exercise the power. And 
 
170 RUNNING WILD 
 
 there could be no doubt of the destructive 
 capacity of fire and its ability to get us into 
 trouble. 
 
 We were ready to light a fire at any 
 moment for employment and companion- 
 ship — ^for something to do. In the winter 
 woods we would light them for warmth, 
 or in the summer woods to keep the flies 
 away. We lit them to roast potatoes in 
 the embers or to boil birds' eggs in a tin 
 canister, to toast chestnuts on a pointed 
 stick. We lit them to dry unlucky stock- 
 ings — ^to smoke out wasps' nests — ^to signal 
 after dark — to celebrate a triumph. We 
 used them for occasions of high sacrifice 
 or as a funeral pjTre in the obsequies of a 
 departed bullfinch or white mouse. We 
 used them to destroy discarded belongings 
 or to melt down lead for catty bullets. 
 And often enough we lit them in the 
 shrubbery for no reason at all — except 
 
FIRES 171 
 
 perhaps to jump over the flames in head- 
 long competition. 
 
 There was that about the glow of a fire, 
 especially after dark, which induced a 
 strange mood of repose, of contemplation 
 and whispered confidence. Above all I 
 remember the most alluring of our secret 
 habitations, where we spent many golden 
 hours after Duncan had gone home, in 
 absolute security from capture. It was 
 the stoke-hole of the tomato-house, where 
 on winter evenings there was a little under- 
 ground furnace, discovered by opening 
 a small door which ran far back out of 
 sight along a glowing corridor. You had 
 only to lift up the wooden trap-door in the 
 garden walk and creep down into this 
 retreat, shutting it behind you, and you 
 could lie upon a bank of cinders and 
 gently toast yourself. Here was indeed a 
 perfect thing that all our labour and imagi- 
 
172 RUNNING WILD 
 
 nation could not have compassed, made 
 ready to our hand through the whim 
 ,of some Grown-up who desired to grow 
 tomatoes. 
 
 But I have said that fires could also get 
 us into trouble. 
 
 It was a Sunday afternoon, generally a 
 time of active wickedness, and we were 
 out in the Garden Park, seeking what 
 might turn up, when a purely academic 
 discussion began upon the question of 
 whether gorse would burn. There was 
 only one way to decide, and we sent Archie 
 in for matches. He never came back, as it 
 happened, and was consequently provided 
 with a perfect alibi. But in spite of his 
 righteous airs during the period of retribu- 
 tion that followed he knew very well that 
 he had missed a good thing. He had been 
 captured to write a letter to his Aunt 
 Mary, who had sent him a birthday present. 
 
FIRES 173 
 
 and that kept him going till tea. (There 
 were always special dangers, of this sort 
 on Sunday afternoons.) So I went, more 
 cautiously by way of the back door, got a 
 box of matches in the store-room, thus 
 keeping out of the danger zone, and returned 
 to Colin in the Garden Park. 
 
 There was any amount of gorse there : 
 many small isolated bushes and one great 
 mass just below the garden, visible from 
 the windows of the house. The question 
 in dispute was solved without delay, for 
 it was a dry afternoon with a strong wind. 
 Colin and I had a glorious time. We had 
 had no idea before that day of the peculiar 
 properties of the gorse bush, particularly 
 when it is well choked up with withered 
 grass, as a ready-made bonfire. We were 
 deeply thrilled by the instant rush and 
 fury with which the crackling flame drives 
 through it before the wind. E ach one leapt 
 
174 RUNNING WILD 
 
 to sudden climax and subsided, leaving 
 a shivering, blackened skeleton. It was 
 more like a firework than a fire. The 
 difference is that between an avalanche, 
 sudden, startling, and brief, and a steady- 
 going waterfall. 
 
 Colin and I worked up the field, entirely 
 engrossed, recklessly firing one bush after 
 another, glowing with excitement. We 
 never had the slightest misgivings till 
 every single bush had been exhausted and 
 we were confronted by the big clump beside 
 the steps. Then we paused for a moment 
 to contemplate the climax that awaited 
 us, for we knew that the others would be 
 as nothing to this. 
 
 Did we ever give a thought in that 
 ecstatic hour to Archie in the drawing-room, 
 dowly inscribing "My dear Aunt Mary, 
 I hope you are well " ? 
 
 We sat down on the steps and looked 
 
FIRES 175 
 
 round, and for the first time we were visited 
 by doubt, for there was no little change 
 in the aspect of the field. Half an hour 
 ago it had been dotted over with fresh 
 little green bushes, rather picturesque in 
 their way. And now in their place were 
 these stricken black skeletons. They 
 certainly looked very odd. We counted 
 twenty-six of them and one beside a drain 
 that had only half burned and had a 
 specially degraded aspect. It was a great 
 transformation of a familiar scene — and it 
 had been so eagily done ! 
 
 " People are pretty sure to notice," 
 remarked Colin uncomfortably. 
 
 " Gorse doesn't take long to grow again," 
 said I. 
 
 " Anyway, it isn't worth anything." 
 
 "No. But " 
 
 We sat in silence. Questions of amenity 
 were rather beyond our scope ; still, we 
 
1^6 RUNNING WILD 
 
 felt we had gone pretty far, and it Was 
 hard to say just what would come of it. 
 But one point was clear. We had better 
 get the job finished before we were caught. 
 If there was going to be a row, at least let 
 us get full value. We sprang up and fired 
 the big clump. 
 
 I can hardly believe that if Those in 
 Authority had arrived in time to see the 
 climax they could possibly have resented 
 it. They did not arrive in time. They 
 came at the very instant of anti-climax, 
 when the scorched remains were still 
 quivering from the shock. And all that 
 they could do or say was powerless in that 
 moment of our intoxication to give us cause 
 to repent. For we had had full value 
 
CHAPTER XVni 
 
 POCKETS 
 
 I COULD not now say at what age one began 
 to adopt the custom of turning out the 
 contents of one's pockets before going to 
 bed, but it seems to me (now that I have 
 gone over to the enemy) to be a good 
 custom. It offers occasion for review and 
 tends to curb accumulation. Grown-up 
 People nearly always behave in that sort of 
 thoughtful, calculating way, looking ahead 
 and taking an unfair advantage. They 
 nearly always take the cork off the cork- 
 screw, for instance, and they never seem 
 to be caught out by an empty match-box 
 or an old time-table or yesterday's news- 
 paper. And if the handle comes off when 
 
 13 '77 
 
178 RUNNING WILD 
 
 they slam a door, they never seem to go 
 away and forget about it till the next 
 time they want to go into the room and find 
 they can't. And so I suppose they want to 
 know exactly what is in their pockets 
 (which is a mistake), and to make a fresh 
 start with them every morning. Further, 
 they are always trying to rub it in, and make 
 other people as cautious as themselves. 
 But it is a poor thing to know exactly 
 what is in your pockets, and to be able to 
 reply to any demand that is made upon 
 them, without a search. That is an 
 excellent example of the way in which 
 Grown-up People contrive to destroy 
 romance and dispel mystery. They can 
 even whip out a railway ticket on demand 
 without pursuing it all over their person, 
 as one might search for a ferret in a rabbit 
 burrow. But without mystery pockets 
 must lose something of their special 
 
POCKETS 179 
 
 character . There is a story of a keen angler 
 who possessed a lake well stocked with trout. 
 And after many years it occurred to him 
 that he would like to know exactly what the 
 stock was, and he had the lake drained and 
 the fish counted. And after that he could 
 take no more pleasure in fishing there — ^for 
 the mystery was gone and he knew what to 
 expect. Even so, a pocket is hardly a 
 pocket if you know exactly what is in it. 
 And as it was always our keen desire to 
 have as many pockets as possible, and all 
 of them full — each representing a miniature 
 chaos — ^there was no small field for dis- 
 covery and much ground for hope if you 
 had sudden need of a pencil or (more likely) 
 a bit of string or (most Ukely) a knife. 
 Indeed, nearly all the beloved objects that 
 were lost were lost in pockets.. After a 
 diligent and dreary search down the back of 
 the sofay and in all the many places where 
 
i8o RUNNING WILD 
 
 you might have " had it last," it would be 
 given up as gone, while you privately sus- 
 pected that it had been stolen. And you 
 would claim much sympathy — and get it, 
 and even compensation sometimes. So that 
 it made you look rather foolish when, weeks 
 or even months later, you recovered it 
 and had to admit that you had found it in 
 the pocket of a jacket you had not been 
 wearing. But there were tragic discoveries, 
 too, among the most shocking and dreadful 
 experiences of those eventful days — of 
 letters that had been given you to post or a 
 telegram that you had taken off the hall 
 table for prompter delivery and carried 
 about with you for days. 
 
 The first pocket was a decisive step — 
 almost as important, one might say, as the 
 first tooth. There is a certain t3^e of 
 benevolent old person who loves to ask 
 you, before giving you anything, " Have 
 
POCKETS i8i 
 
 you got a pocket ? " It is terribly humiliat- 
 ing when the answer is in the negative. 
 And as one grew older one had an insati- 
 able appetite for pockets. In a new suit of 
 clothes it was the one thing that counted. 
 The colour or the shape of it, or the stuff of 
 which it was made, were naught to you ; 
 but it was everything to you if it had seven 
 pockets all told, where the last had only 
 six. And a new acquisition, such as an 
 inside jacket pocket or a " ticket pocket," 
 added a dignity and nobility to the suit 
 that did not wear off for many weeks. 
 There was also a legend in our family about 
 a tailor who always put a penny in one of 
 the pockets of a new suit — ^though one 
 never knew which one — and that led to a 
 feverish search at the first trying-on. But 
 I never found the penny. 
 
 Girls were, of course, completely out of 
 it, as in the case of most of the best things 
 
r82 RUNNING WILD 
 
 in life. They generally had one wretched 
 little pocket somewhere about them, but 
 it was hard to find, and there was seldom 
 anything in it when found. There was no 
 real injustice there. Girls have no need 
 of pockets. They are wholly devoid of the 
 pocket sense. 
 
 Your pocket was your most intimate and 
 secret possession. It was the one thing 
 you could really call your own. It repre- 
 sented the one sanctuary that no one ever 
 dared to penetrate, and, like travellers in 
 doubtful company, we preferred to keep 
 our valuables upon our person. Not that 
 they were really safe there, for pockets 
 (owing to the inadequacy of their material 
 or to abnormal wear and tear) soon de- 
 veloped holes; and there was always an 
 undue strain on those that were sound and 
 in working order. Besides, a pocket, even 
 without a hole in it, may be out of action : 
 
POCKETS 183 
 
 that happens when it is sealed and cemented 
 by the presence of some adhesive substance 
 that it really would have been wiser not to 
 have put there — ^putty or toffee, let us say. 
 Pockets used to have a powerful and 
 unaccountable effect upon their contents : 
 say what you will, there was some mystery 
 about them. Things very seldom came out 
 of them quite the same as they went in. 
 Those strange, long-lost handkerchiefs, 
 grey, weak, and flabby, and moulded into a 
 set shape, that would come to light after 
 many weeks, must have passed through 
 some queer, hidden process, far from the 
 hght of day. And, greatest mystery of 
 all, how was one to account for that woolly 
 accumulation of dark grey matter — ^known 
 to us as " pocket fug " — which was never 
 absent from them, and which was obviously 
 generated out oi nothing at all, purely 
 through lapse of time ? 
 
i84 RUNNING WILD 
 
 We were very sensitive indeed upon 
 the point of our absolute control of our 
 pockets ; for any one else to have put a 
 hand in them would have been to rend the 
 last curtain of our privacy. We were 
 determined that they were our own to do 
 what we liked with. And the most dread- 
 ful encroachment that I can remember 
 upon my sovereign rights was the action of 
 a wicked old lady at a picnic (whom I have 
 never forgiven : I burn with indignation 
 even now when I think of her). She had 
 been tidily gathering up scraps of paper 
 and odds and ends, to leave no trace 
 behind, and was looking about for a 
 safe refuge for them. Finding none, she 
 picked me out as her victim, and, with a co- 
 lossal measure of misunderstanding such as 
 is given to very few, she handed them to me. 
 
 " Here," she said, " Put these in your 
 pocket." 
 
POCKETS 185 
 
 I need hardly say that I flung them to 
 the winds. But I was deeply hurt. For 
 it seemed to me — and I think I was 
 quite right — ^that if the world had no more 
 respect for the dignity of my person than 
 to treat me as a waste-paper basket, life 
 was hardly worth going on with. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 COLLECTIONS 
 
 When I look back upon the many bright 
 beginnings that withered away, on the 
 many feeble foundations that never rose 
 above the ground, I am impressed by the 
 memory of that superb faith and blind 
 optimism which were always ready to 
 invite us to new enterprise. The dreary, 
 grown-up habit of counting the cost was 
 never present to cloud our prospect. We had 
 a perfect, and wholly groundless, confidence 
 in our powers of sustained effort. We saw 
 so clearly the beginning and the end, and 
 had no thought for the stages in between. 
 We set ourselves prodigious tasks, quite 
 undismayed. My litle sister, as soon as she 
 
 1 86 
 
COLLECTIONS 187 
 
 had learned to write, bought a small note- 
 book and began to copy out in pencil the 
 whole of "The Mill on the Floss." She 
 wished to have a private copy of her own, 
 and this seemed the most direct and simple 
 way of procuring one. Archie once elected 
 to dot the eyes of all the little swallows 
 on the nursery wall-paper, and spent an 
 industrious week in covering the ground 
 between the sofa and the window. Colin 
 made up his mind to dig a tunnel from the 
 quarry in the Garden Park to the Three 
 Sisters, and set to work at both ends 
 alternately ; and I laid out a flower garden, 
 which was the most impossible undertaking 
 of all. It was carefully planned and 
 nothing was left to chance, the scheme of it 
 being worked out in great detail on paper, 
 not omitting the fountain and sundial. 
 A tract of the potato patch was claimed 
 from Duncan and staked off, . , . 
 
i88 RUNNING Wft^D 
 
 In truth we were not easily daunted. It 
 is the first step that costs, according to the 
 French proverb,, and perhaps that may he 
 the way with French children. With us it 
 was the only step that cost us nothing. 
 There was a day when, working all together 
 in unison, we entered upon the long-con- 
 sidered improvement of deflecting the course 
 of the stream that ran through the Bank- 
 end Wood. I dare say that even now 
 the careful explorer might discover a small 
 bay or semicircular bight on one side of 
 it at the point, above the bend, where we 
 began and ended. 
 
 And in nothing was our perfect faith 
 more potent than in the making of collec- 
 tions. We did not collect stamps from 
 any love of stamps, or birds' eggs from any 
 interest in them. It was the sheer need of 
 collecting that was always with us, the 
 idea of a great growth from small begin- 
 
COLLECTIONS 189 
 
 nings, of accumulation and crescendo and 
 the filling in of gaps, the vision — ^which 
 seemed so near — of the completed whole. 
 We had in view the great day (which never 
 dawned) when we should be able to say 
 " I have finished my collection," and 
 enter it up in a catalogue, set it aside, and 
 go on to something else. We often told 
 each other that we were going to begin 
 collecting something else as soon as we had 
 finished this collection. But we began much 
 sooner ; and thus the house was full of 
 pathetic first stages. We collected prac- 
 tically everything — stamps and flowers and 
 moths and pencils and birds' eggs and 
 crests and signatures and pen-nibs and 
 photographs and flags and coins, and many 
 less obvious things — ^such as tin canisters 
 and mediaeval weapons, and above all 
 empty cartridge-cases. 
 Some were more successful than others. 
 
190 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Flowers, pressed between sheets of blotting- 
 paper, were attractive,, but that had to be 
 given up; It was a little too pretty and 
 delicate for one who took a robust view 
 of hfe ; and, besides, it was approved by 
 Those in Authority, who called it Botany. 
 The collection of autographs tailed off into 
 a competition in forgery. It was much 
 easier and more amusing to copy people's 
 signatures than to wait for an opportunity 
 to get authentic specimens. The collection 
 of birds' eggs had too many defective 
 specimens, which had been " blown " in 
 an advanced state of incubation and had 
 their gaps made good with stamp-paper. 
 The collection of mediaeval weapons, which 
 should have had a fine future before it, 
 was based upon the handle of an old sword 
 which I had found in the shrubbery. But 
 it never got any farther, and there was even 
 considerable doubt as to whether it really 
 
COLLECTIONS 191 
 
 was the handle of a sword. Coins were 
 nauch in favour, and that collection, alone 
 among its competitors, actually left some 
 trace behind in later years. Only the other 
 day I came upon a purse containing a big 
 old penny and a fourpenny-bit. But it had 
 to contend with special difficulties. At the 
 best of times it could not be expected to 
 get on very fast, and it was therefore most 
 natural to make a start with a complete 
 set, as far as possible, of the currency of 
 one's own country. Consequently it 
 proceeded by steep undulations. At one 
 time it would present a brave show of 
 graduated items, mounted on a square of 
 black velvet ; at another there would be 
 many blanks. 
 
 Certain considerations of playing the 
 game governed all otu collections, with a 
 queer rigid code of sportsmanship. The 
 feeling was that things must be actually 
 
102 Running wild 
 
 collected, not acquired by short cuts .- There 
 was a shop which sold postage stamps, 
 where we spent much time looking in at the 
 window or even consulting the proprietor. 
 But we never dreamt of buying any, for 
 we were not quite certain about any stamp 
 unless we had actually taken it off a foreign 
 envelope or acquired it by exchange. 
 
 But I had one collection that really was 
 in a sense completed. It was my proud- 
 est possession — a thousand empty cartridge- 
 cases. For years no one had been allowed 
 to go out shooting without being eagerly 
 canvassed to preserve his empty cartridges. 
 I had friendly keepers working for me ; 
 I searched the butts on the morrow of grouse 
 drives. And by degrees I filled my boxes 
 and piled them one above another in the 
 cupboard. I can still recognise that an 
 empty cartridge is a very desirable thing. 
 When it is fresh it has a fine crisp feel about 
 
COLLECTIONS 193 
 
 it and a rich alluring smell of powder. 
 Cut short ^nd fitted with a cap it can be 
 made into a striljing, but rather ineffective, 
 match-box. It flies well, foot foremost, 
 as a missile, and drops into .^vater with a 
 jolly "plip." It slides beautifully on 
 polished -surfaces. 
 
 So much for the individual. In bulk 
 they make fine soldiers, most apt to, drill 
 and marqh about, and suitable officers of 
 all grades are foUnd among the handsome 
 green and yellows, working up to the 
 magnificent brass specimens (brought 
 sometimes by sl;iooting guests), while fi^e 
 occasional slim i6-,or 20-bores were all 
 marked out for posts of distinction. 
 
 I ploughed a lonely furrow in this affair. 
 Such imitators as I had soon gave up, 
 while I acquired their holdings. One 
 ingenious attefilpt . was made to discredit 
 my whole collection by "setting up a false 
 13 
 
194 RUNNING WILD 
 
 standard, but my position was too strong. 
 Colin announced that he also was going 
 to collect empty cartridges, but he would 
 have no specimen in his collection which 
 had not killed a bird. Later he went into 
 partnership with me. But we could not 
 work together, for he developed a horrid 
 tendency toward " faking." We were 
 short of non-comnMssioned officers — ^who 
 were blue — and I caught him, to my deep 
 disgust, painting privates to fill the vacancy. 
 I need hardly say that I turned him out of 
 the concern as one who had no proper sense 
 of decency or delicacy of understanding. 
 There never was a clearer case of not play- 
 ing the game. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 COMPETITION 
 
 It is only by a process of selection that we 
 
 find out the points in which we may hope 
 
 to excel, or at least the directions in which 
 
 it is worth while tr3dng. Most of us have 
 
 to be content at last with the possession 
 
 of some little talent, some special tiurn of 
 
 skill or store of knowledge by which we may 
 
 stand out among our fellows — ^be it only as a 
 
 collector of postage stamps or a performer 
 
 of card tricks. It is certain that we like 
 
 to know that there is something that we 
 
 are good at : it is a sign of lethargy and 
 
 indolence when we no longer care. But 
 
 we started out upon life with no such 
 
 restricted programme. We had sweeping 
 193 
 
196 RUNNING WILD 
 
 ambitions then. As far as I can remember 
 I fully intended to beat every one at 
 everything in those days — ^that is to say, 
 at everything that was worth doing : such 
 as cUmbing trees, jumping ditches, turning 
 cartwheels, finding nests, making kites, 
 killing wasps, catching sparrows, lighting 
 fires, throwing stones at a mark, and 
 especially guessing anything that had to be 
 guessed. I was always willing to ba,ck 
 myself to go through a smaller hple in the 
 hedge than any one else could manage, 
 to open the lid of a tin canister which no one 
 else could move, or tp untie a kniot th,at 
 had baffled all attempts. It was, literally 
 impossible for me to see any pne^stryjggU^ig 
 with anything that required manipulation 
 without instantly offering iny services — 
 " Let we try ! "-—not from any pure spirit 
 of helpfulness, but in order to score a success 
 where others had failed. I never ccnjj.d 
 
COMPETITION 197 
 
 sit still and watch any one try more than 
 once to draw a cork. It was so obvious to 
 me, until I put it to the test, that I could 
 do it. And the rest of our company in 
 the nursery were in no way different from 
 me in this respect. Had it been possible 
 by some fortunate means to turn all that 
 keen and furious driving power into other 
 channels, into the paths of learning and true 
 achievement, how magnificently must our 
 educa,tion have progressed ! But all the 
 main aims and ambitions of Grown-up 
 People and the studies and exercises that 
 led up" to them belonged to aL world that 
 we would fend off as long as possible and 
 had no power to strike that spark of 
 desire viithin us. Our own daily life was 
 quite as much as we could manage : it 
 was always held at the highest pressure by 
 this blatant, swaggering, intense passion 
 to prove oneself the best or the tallest, 
 
198 RUNNING WILD 
 
 the quickest, the strongest, the cleverest, 
 the heaviest, or the lightest, as the case 
 might be. 
 
 This form of warfare, this instinct for 
 the offensive, shows itself at the earliest 
 age. It is a sad thing to see a child that 
 must play alone, without a competitor. 
 For children do not so much play together 
 as play against one another. If I may go 
 back for a moment into those four lost 
 years that none of us can recover, beyond 
 the point where memory may reach, I have 
 no doubt at all that when first I built brick 
 castles on the nursery table I felt the need 
 to build a brick higher than Archie or to 
 have a wider door than Colin's or a longer 
 flight of steps. I have no doubt that the 
 Grown-up in charge was called upon at 
 every turn to "look at mine " — as who 
 should say, this is the only castle worth 
 attention; don't be put off with those 
 
COMPETITION 199 
 
 other fellows' efforts. I have no doubt 
 that I bagged Colin's bricks when he 
 wasn't looking, feeling that they were 
 wasted on his incoherent pile. And 
 further, I can well believe that when any 
 new game was put before us, when we 
 were shown for the first time how to 
 blow bubbles or make paper darts, my first 
 words were " Let me ! Let me\" Why 
 waste time with other bunglers when I can 
 do it so well ? In a word, I do not doubt 
 that I was always out to win. 
 
 Even so in later years we struggled for 
 the mastery. We could never allow 
 ungrudgingly to each other any special 
 bent or knack or faculty. The rule was 
 that if he could do it better than the rest 
 of us, and we had tried our best and failed 
 to beat him, it was not a thing worth 
 doing. Archie, as it happened, was very 
 good at drawing houses. The windows 
 
aoo RUNNING MLD 
 
 never looked too big and the path to the 
 front door never looked like a serpent. 
 And they had eaves and well-proportioned 
 chimneys. (Archie is still very gobd at 
 drawing houses.) We tried repeatedly to 
 get level with him. We even copied him, 
 flatly denying it when accused. But it 
 was no use. Archie had the better of us. 
 His houses were even shown to callers. 
 One of them stood on the drawing-room 
 mantelpiece for quite a long time. But 
 we would not let' hint eh joy this happy gift. 
 We made him understand that drawing 
 houses was a poor game — a girls' game 
 really. We denied ourselves the whole 
 pleasure of house=-drawing, simply because 
 there was one among us who did it too 
 well. Still, I am glad to remember that it 
 was a true consolation to Archie. As the 
 youngest he had a good many bad moments, 
 when he was left out of things, neglected 
 
COMPETITION 261 
 
 and despised. Then he would go qiiietly 
 up on the top of the nursery cupboard 
 and sit in the corner with his kiiees bunched 
 up— dra^ving houses. And at last he got 
 a box of coloured chalks, and the houses 
 got better and better ; but he wouldn't 
 show them to us. He would look at them 
 with a smile of sad content and then drop 
 them in the fire. 
 
 Archie scored off us in another way. He 
 was left-handed. And he could always 
 start a competition in doing things with 
 the left hand that left us sp'eechleiss with 
 exasperation. He could use a pair of 
 scissors with his left hand in a way that we 
 were almost forced to admire. And all 
 this was most annoying in a younger 
 brother. 
 
 For this ceaseless desire for mastery 
 that drove us on was quite arbitrary in 
 its selection of tests. One did not score 
 
202 RUNNING WILD 
 
 any more heavily by being the best of the 
 group at skinning moles, let us say, which 
 does require some skill, than by standing 
 upon one leg longer than the others. And 
 I would feel all the satisfaction of victory 
 one day because my arm was thin enough to 
 reach up a pipe to a sparrow's nest where 
 Colin's arm had stuck, while Colin would 
 triumph over me another day by stopping 
 the flow into the stable trough because his 
 arm was thick enough to act as a plug. 
 
 But there was one tempering influence 
 that did something to compose this ceaseless 
 warfare, otherwise life would have been 
 a record of anarchy and confusion with 
 every man's hand against his neighbour, 
 . We had great respect for the claims of 
 age and order, A certain thread of dis- 
 cipline ran through all our relations, and an 
 elder brother had always some control. 
 I would compete with Colin, and Archie 
 
COMPETITION 303 
 
 would compete with me, but Sidney was 
 too far ahead of us, too great a master of all 
 our arts and practices, to be easily drawn in. 
 And so, as years went on, we emerged 
 from the age of savage individualism toward 
 co-operation. We are all willing now to 
 admit that Archie can draw houses ; and 
 the field of our endeavour is confined to 
 those few things that we can do. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 GENERALLY USEFUL 
 
 One of the most dreary things about being 
 grown up is the way in which all manner 
 of delightful implements and utensils 
 which used to be made to serve all manner 
 of delightful ends lose this happy adapta- 
 bility and settle down into the miserable 
 little rut of their own specific purpose. They 
 lose their powers. A walking-stick, which 
 ought to spend its life in a round of varied 
 adventure — prodding holes in mud, 
 rippling along corrugated iron with resound- 
 ing effect, prising open lids, being thrown 
 at rabbits, being retrieved by dogs, beating 
 down nettles, decapitating thistles, play- 
 ing the part of a horse, or a sword, or a 
 20^ 
 
GENERALLY USEFUL 205 
 
 battering ram, or extended to reach nuts 
 that grow too high or balls that have 
 fallen down a grid — ^becomes a mere prop 
 to walk with, something little better than 
 a crutch. A penknife, with all its immense 
 latent powers of destruction and creation, 
 which ought to keep it in a feverish' state 
 of hourly activity, is reduced to a pitiable 
 routine of sharpening pencils. There was a 
 time when one used to catch a gUmpse of 
 it, lying inert in the stamp drawer of some 
 Grown-up Person, among nibs and sealii^;- 
 wax, and go away marvelling that so great 
 a talent should be allowed to rust so, long 
 as there were trees that might ha,ve initials 
 carved on them, or sticks that might be 
 whittled, ;or all sorts of substances that 
 might be cut or nicked or slashed. It 
 .^eemed a <?ruel shame, like, keeping: a wild 
 beast in a cage. Putty, again— but there is 
 no end to it. Ifeverything was to be used 
 
2o6 RUNNING WILD 
 
 only for its own strict purpose, and its 
 special outside faculties were not to be 
 explored, there would be no real object in 
 being a small boy. 
 
 But of all the glaring examples of the 
 senile helplessness that may overcome a 
 useful and lively object there is none so 
 glaring as that of the pocket-handkerchief. 
 In the morning I take one from a drawer 
 and put it in my pocket. If I have a bad 
 cold or shed tears I may employ it to some 
 extent in the course of the day in its proper 
 function, and then it goes to the wash — 
 practically unstained. But there was a 
 time when no handkerchief of mine was 
 without a vivid history which could be 
 partly deciphered by the marks it bore. 
 And yet one has cause for gratitude in the 
 fact that civilisation has made the discovery 
 that it is desirable to carry a small napkin 
 in one's pocket, for in the Golden Age its 
 
GENERALLY USEFUL 207 
 
 services were so varied and so valuable 
 that had it not been already invented some 
 small boy must almost have thought of it 
 for himself. And it is really astounding 
 that its functions should have shrunk to 
 this. Let us look at its more obvious 
 uses. They fall naturally into four classes 
 — (i) as a receptacle, (2) as a thong or 
 binder, (3) as a weapon, and (4) as a plug. 
 
 How often when some happy windfall 
 has come one's way has one made an 
 involuntary grab for one's handkerchief ! 
 One may have found a sleeping bat in the 
 dark corner of the boathouse or a glow-worm 
 on the bank. One is out gathering rasp- 
 berries without a basket. Or one has 
 been fishing, without a creel. Or one has 
 come across mushrooms, or a young bird 
 that has fallen out of a nest, or a field-mouse, 
 or a " red admiral." How on earth could 
 one deal with any of these without a 
 
ao^ RUNNING WILD 
 
 handkerchief instantly at hand? And 
 more especially thisapplies to such trophies 
 as one would hardly like to put direct 
 into the pocket— such as frogs ; though 
 if you wish to, transport a live , eel —and 
 that, of course, is a piece -of rare good 
 fortune— it is best simply to take off a 
 stocking. I think there must have been 
 very few handkerchiefs of mine that ever 
 ran their, course from one wash to the next 
 without having been used to enwrap and 
 protect some wayside acquisition. 
 
 For all sxKih uses there is adequate 
 excuse, for surely no sane person could 
 expect one to carry about a basket or a bag 
 on the off-chance of Ipot. But when we 
 come to regard; a handkerchief as athwig, 
 the same, rpeEhaps, cannot be said. In 
 the majority of cases it was simply called 
 in.as a substitute for string. It was one 
 of the things that one never could remember 
 
GENERALLY USEFUL 2o§ 
 
 — ^to carry string. At every turn one was 
 met with the same query, followed by a 
 hopeless search through crowded pockets 
 — " Got any string ? " Thus one fell back 
 upon one's handkerchief to tie and mend 
 and splice and join, to lash and truss and 
 bind. It was used as emergency braces or 
 belt or garter, to bandage \v^ounds, to join 
 two ankles together for a three-legged race, 
 to. affix a splint to a broken fishing-rod or 
 a better grip to a hockey stick, to sling 
 a hammock or peg a tent or hold an 
 oar when the rowlocks were lost or silence 
 a mudguard of a rattUng bicycle. It is 
 true that these things were not at all good 
 for it, and even the wash would sometimes 
 fail to restore its shape after so severe a 
 diagonal strain^ But one couldn't help 
 that. 
 
 It cannot be maintained that a handker- 
 chief was a good weapon, but it was better 
 14 
 
210 RUNNING WILD 
 
 than no weapon at all if one had to defend 
 oneself in a tight corner. It should be 
 wet when the knot is tied, in order to get 
 it firm and hard. I have on occasion had 
 to run the gauntlet between two lines of 
 knotted scourges slung gleefully from the 
 shoulder. And the thing was used for 
 duels, having the advantage that it left no 
 mark behind. 
 
 And finally, as a plug or stopgap the 
 handkerchief was very hard to beat. 
 There are many holes and cracks that have 
 to be dealt with in the course of a single 
 day's transactions. Whether it was a 
 question of keeping water out of a boat, 
 or keeping it in a pipe, or stopping one hole 
 of a wasps' nest while one fumigated the 
 other, or preventing the escape of a family of 
 mice, or closing a keyhole for greater privacy 
 — ^in any such emergency it was whipped out 
 in a moment. 
 
GENERALLY USEFUL 211 
 
 But after all, my four classes do not by 
 any means exhaust the functions of this 
 valuable instrument. If the sun is hot 
 and sunstroke imminent it is immediately 
 plastered on to the head with a knot in 
 each corner. It makes an excellent para- 
 chute. By those who have learnt the art 
 of deftly rolling and twisting it centrif ugally 
 it can be made into a first-class ball. (And 
 that, you know, was what the sailor did 
 with the sheets when his landlady had over- 
 charged him, and never till this day has 
 she been able to disentangle them.) And 
 if you are reckless enough to tear it into 
 strips — ^for which you will have to suffer 
 later on — new possibiUties open up. 
 
 The truth is, that one handkerchief 
 at a time is not nearly enough. Let us 
 suppose that on the same day (which 
 might well happen) when only two of you 
 are hunting together you found mushrooms. 
 
TT ■m>*^*^ 
 
 caught a field-mouse, broke your fishing 
 rod, and cut your finger, while at the same 
 time you were troubled by the heat of the 
 
 sun No, I think if I were to live the 
 
 first dozen years of my life again that one 
 of the few reforms I should like to introduce 
 would be this — ^I should never carry less 
 than three. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 I THINK we must have been " very well 
 brought up." I know that we had the 
 greatest horror of the Cardinal Sins. We 
 thought of them only as the practices of 
 the abandoned and depraved. To steal, 
 to swear, to tell a lie — ^well, of course there 
 was something splendid about these 
 things : they were full of wild adventure. 
 But they were not for us. PubUc opinion 
 was so firmly rooted in this matter that the 
 barest suggestion of falsehood was instantly 
 repudiated. You must clear your character 
 there and then or know yourself to be an 
 outcast. And we had a high standard. I 
 Well remember being horribly worried for 
 
 213 
 
214 RUNNING WILD 
 
 a whole afternoon because I had replied 
 to a kindly caller, who had asked me if 
 I was quite well, with a careless " Yes, 
 thank you," And when I came to reflect 
 I knew that I wasn't well. I had a bilious 
 headache and things jumped about when I 
 looked at them. I sat alone pondering on 
 the seat among the laurels, and it seemed 
 to me that it was a difficult world. I had, 
 I supposed, told a lie. It made me shudder 
 when I put it like that. And yet, what 
 was I to do ? I wasn't going to tell 
 Mrs. BuUey that I had a bilious headache. 
 I. should rather think not. Perhaps the 
 headache itself was paxtly to blame for 
 the gloomy cast of my reflections. At 
 last I consulted Colin. His considered 
 opinion was that although a lie it was hardly 
 one that counted. The best way out of it 
 would have, been to make.no reply, at all 
 or change the subject by remarking suddenly 
 
CONFESSION 215 
 
 that it was a fine day. But I was able 
 to score off him there, which I was not 
 slow to do. * For I pointed out that he had 
 fallen into the same trap. It wasn't 
 really a fine day : there had been a heavy 
 shower in the morning and there was 
 thunder about. . . . All the same it 
 was probably not the sort of lie that 
 counted. 
 
 The proper lie, the real whacker (as we 
 might have said) was completely barred. 
 That was why the story of George Washing- 
 ton, which was rubbed into us at an early 
 date, never impressed us. It must have 
 been obvious that some one had hacked 
 the cherry tree, and when George was 
 accused of it he was clearly cornered. 
 There was no need whatever for him to 
 remark " I cannot tell a He." Of course 
 he couldn't ; neither could you nor I. And 
 if that was all that was called for in order 
 
2I6 RUNNING WILD 
 
 to become the first President of the United 
 States ... it was a rotten story. 
 
 Still, the whole system of necessary 
 confessions was somehow based upon 
 George Washington. Those in Authority 
 did not see the distinction : they never 
 grasped what a gulf there was between 
 admitting the cherry tree after it had been 
 found out, and confessing the cherry tree 
 before it was found out. And thus it 
 was that this duty of confession was made 
 almost as urgent a duty as speaking the 
 truth. 
 
 It was all a matter of breakages. There 
 were a good many breakages. The house 
 was full of fragile furniture : there was 
 glass in all the windows, and crockery in 
 daily use ; drawing-room chairs really 
 stand very little wear and tear ; swinging 
 gates do not carry nearly so much weight 
 as one might think; green-houses come 
 
CONFESSION 21? 
 
 so often into the line of fire ; even walking- 
 sticks are not to be depended on for vigorous 
 use. And so many accidents occurred 
 that it was right to have a fixed policy 
 regarding them. I am bound to say that 
 the way was made easy for us by Those in 
 Authority. The rule was that you could 
 break pretty well an3rthing you liked and 
 you would not be blamed for it — ^so long as 
 you confessed of your own free will. But if 
 you did not confess, you were deceitful : 
 a lurid light was cast upon your unreliabi- 
 lity in future life, and you were made to 
 feel as bad as if you had told a lie. 
 
 We never quite saw it in that light, and 
 it went hard with us to have to confess. 
 For with all our happy relations with 
 Those in Authority we were always their 
 opponents in a sense. Life was a sort of 
 tug-of-war between them and us. It was 
 their business to look after us and our 
 
2i8 RUNNING WILD 
 
 chief end to escape control. If we were 
 caught in the act it was a fair score for 
 them. If we were directly questioned we 
 were bound to confess. But to confess a 
 thing that might never be found out was to 
 give away points. It was surely their 
 business to look after their belongings 
 and see that no harm came to them without 
 this sort of help from the enemy. And 
 where was the thing to end ? Why insist 
 on this one group of confessions? If I 
 must confess when I broke the hinge of 
 the 'garden door (no one would ever know : 
 hinges often give way), why should I not 
 also have to confess that I had been out 
 on the roof in my night-shirt or had 
 played dominoes in the stable-loft on 
 Sunday with Archie ? 
 
 But the system was strictly confined to 
 breakages and other damage to property ; 
 and the real truth is that it worked very 
 
CONFESSION 219 
 
 well. It fostered in us a tendency to 
 admit mistakes which we may hope bore 
 fruit as time went on. But at a fearful 
 cost. It was only with the greatest effort 
 that we brought ourselves to own up, and 
 it was one of those things that got rapidly 
 worse with waiting. I must add that we 
 did not make it easier for each other. 
 As you stood in the first shock of dismay 
 and looked down upon the fragments of a 
 flower-pot and the broken remains of a 
 maidenhair fern, gleeful voices would bear 
 in upon your sad reflections — " You'll have 
 to confess ! You'll have to confess ! " 
 " No, I won't. They can jolly well find 
 out for themselves," you would reply 
 carelessly. But that of course was a mere 
 iormvla.. You knew very well that it was 
 true — and the sooner you got it over the 
 better. - 
 There was a wide rai%e in the severity 
 
220 RUNNING WILD 
 
 of this ordeal. Some of our breakages 
 were so self-evident that there was no special 
 virtue in admitting them. Others were 
 so easily concealed that we rose to moral 
 heights when we disclosed them. When 
 I pulled the big marble clock off the dining- 
 room mantelpiece and it came down in the 
 fender — and I think that was the greatest 
 and most startling smash I ever brought 
 about — ^the whole house resounded. There 
 was one of Those in Authority who was due 
 home in about half an hour, and I went 
 straight to the front hall and sat there 
 waiting in the dark on the chair beside 
 the hat -rack. Before the door was fully 
 open I had it out and safely over — " I've- 
 smashed-the-clock-in-the-dining-room-and- 
 broken-the-fender." 
 
 But it was a different matter with the 
 ornamented ostrich egg in the drawing- 
 room, because, when I put it up again in 
 
CONFESSION iii 
 
 its stand and turned it with its best side f ore- 
 mbst, no one need have known that there was 
 a hole atthe back wherethe head of the golden 
 serpent should have been. And yet I knew 
 it had to be done. . . . And I put it off. . . . 
 I tried to dismiss it from my mind, but 
 all that afternoon and evening I was arguing 
 the case within myself. There was very 
 little wrong with the egg. ; , . It was only 
 a small hole. . . . My foot had slipped in 
 the mat. . . . No one would ever know. . . . 
 It wasn't nearly so strong as it looked, that 
 egg. ... I would forget all about it. . . . 
 But ... I wonder how often it's dusted ? 
 . . . But why should an egg be dusted ? . . . 
 It was all right. ... No one would ever 
 know. ... If they did find out perhaps 
 they wouldn't mind. ... It was a small 
 hole. I would think of something else. . . . 
 Blow the egg ! . . . Even at nursery tea 
 it wouldn't leave me alone. 
 
222 RUNNING AVILD 
 
 I gave it up and confessed. It was not 
 perhaps entirely a triumph of conscience. 
 The truth is that I was completely worn 
 out by the evening, through the strain of 
 thinking about the same thing for several 
 hours on end. I had to get rid of the egg, 
 the world was so full of other things. 
 
CHAPTER. XXIII 
 
 SUNDAY AFTERNOON 
 
 If it were possible to trace the separate 
 history of each day in the week, through 
 the Golden Age, and mark all the events 
 that fell upon Monday on one list and 
 Tuesday's events on another, and so on, 
 I am convinced that Sunday would claim 
 the longest list by far. In the later period, 
 when " lessons " had spread from morning 
 to afternoon and their heavy hand was 
 laid upon all the best hours of the day, the 
 Saturday half-holiday attracted to it all 
 the chief events of an official and pre- 
 meditated nature. The entertainings and 
 going out to tea, the circuses, the picnics, 
 
 323 
 
^^4 Running wild 
 
 and also the dentists, fell on Saturday 
 afternoon. The programme on Sunday 
 afternoon, on the other hand, was blank. 
 Nothing was expected" to happen ; many 
 things were forbidden. It was in theory 
 a sort of gap when the wheels of activity 
 had run down and life was at a standstill. 
 And yet it came about that there was more 
 real history made, in the long run, during 
 those empty hours than at any other time 
 in the week. 
 
 We were not under any very strict 
 Sabbatarian code, but there was just enough 
 of confinement and repression in the air 
 to whet our faculties. There were so 
 many things that we were not allowed to do 
 that one had to keep thinking of something 
 new ; for things cannot be forbidden 
 before they have been invented. It was 
 rather as if the daily stream of our life 
 had been dammed and held back and, as 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON 225 
 
 the water rose, it broke through unexpected 
 outlets. 
 
 The code was a little arbitrary. We were 
 not allowed to play the piano, but there 
 was no objection to musical-boxes. We 
 were sometimes allowed to bathe in summer, 
 but we were not allowed to skate in winter- 
 though we might slide. We were not allowed 
 to bicycle (Colin at one time possessed 
 a second-hand high bicycle, with a little 
 wheel running behind, which was apt to 
 throw you over its head like a horse), but 
 we were occasionally allowed to go out in 
 the boat. But the great dividing-line that 
 surrounded Sunday was the fact that we 
 were not allowed to play games. We 
 found, however, curiously enough, that 
 that only held good when games Were 
 correctly played. There was no protest 
 against playing cricket with a walking- 
 stick and a tennis-ball on the drive, or 
 15 
 
226 RUNNING WILD 
 
 billiards with oranges, or marbles with 
 peas. If the object of these complicated 
 regulations was to create a Sunday atmo- 
 sphere that set the day apart (as, no doubt, 
 it was), it could hardly have been more 
 successful. 
 
 We were expected to read, though no 
 special Sunday reading was prescribed. 
 And we were often, when caught, made to 
 write letters. That was the pecuUar 
 terror of Sunday afternoon. To be set 
 down at the dining-room table with a 
 sheet of notepaper, ruled in double lines 
 (to counteract the inborn tendency to write 
 uphill), and a pencil, which one was told 
 not to bite, and to find oneself utterly 
 bereft of any idea whatsoever which should 
 contribute to the filling in of. the aching 
 space between " I hope you are well," 
 and " your loving nephew," and yet to 
 know that there was no hope of release 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON 227 
 
 till that space was filled — it was an insoluble 
 situation of blank despair. But we gener- 
 ally got away. ... ' 
 
 A heavy calm brooded over existence ; 
 there was a Sunday stillness in the sun- 
 light. ... No sound came from stable or 
 house or garden. ... All activity was 
 clogged and stifled. . . . Nothing was 
 happening ; it seemed that nothing would 
 ever happen again. . . . We felt that we 
 were waiting — without anything to wait 
 for. We had reached our hiding-place 
 in safety. There was no fear of letters 
 to-day. And we were utterly bored and 
 idle, sulky and oppressed, and there were 
 still two hours till tea-time. The ground 
 was very ripe for the seed. 
 
 Then it was that daring ideas were 
 conceived, enterprises undertaken, plots 
 hatched. And there was everything in 
 their favour, for the coast was clear and we 
 
228 RUNNING WILD 
 
 had the world pretty much to ourselves ; 
 and again, any vivid hour of life snatched 
 from this somnolent atmosphere stood out 
 in high relief. The most ordinary misdeeds 
 were enhanced and intensified ; if we could 
 think of nothing better we might even get 
 out of the tower window on to the roof, or 
 straddle in Indian file along the rafters in 
 the hay-shed. These things had become 
 commonplace, but they were still worth 
 doing on Sunday. 
 
 More often we had some special inspira- 
 tion. It was on a Sunday that we fired 
 all the gorse bushes in the Garden Park ; 
 it was on a Sunday, during the great gale, 
 that we mounted the high wall that shut 
 off the Old Garden at home from the Old 
 Gentleman's house next door, carrying 
 great stores of newspapers, and lavishly 
 sprinkled his lawn and frviit trees with 
 ragged fragments, flying far and wide; 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON 229 
 
 it was on a Sunday that we fed the calf 
 with a cabbage stalk at the end of a piece 
 of string and led him into the kitchen. 
 The great smash on the stairs, when Colin 
 had to have three stitches in his forehead, 
 occurred on a Sunday. (We had tried 
 sliding down the banisters three at a time, 
 and the weight was too much for them.) 
 But our greatest Sunday project was 
 never carried out. I do not believe that 
 we would ever have taken seriously on a 
 week-day the idea of running away, but 
 in that queer, stagnant, unreal world of 
 Sunday afternoon it would appear before 
 us as a glowing opening for adventure well 
 within our reach. It was eagerly discussed, 
 and if it was ever forgotten for a time the 
 proper mood was sure to be revived by a 
 special grievance or passing sense of in- 
 justice. But we were never quite able to 
 agree as to the actual end we had in view. 
 
230 RUNNING WILD 
 
 It was a question whether we were going to 
 run away and stay away long enough to 
 create alarm, distress, and finally remorse 
 in Those in Authority, and then to come 
 swaggering back — or whether we were 
 going to run away for ever and just trust 
 to luck as to the course our future life 
 might take. There were times on summer 
 Sundays when this latter scheme took 
 definite shape and we hotly discussed 
 arrangements — as to what we would take 
 with us, and the hour and direction of our 
 flight, and, above all, the farewell note to 
 be left inside the hall clock (which was 
 wound up on Monday morning) to make 
 it quite clear that it was no use taking any 
 steps to trace us, and that at the last we 
 bore no ill-feeling. Just as one of us 
 started making a^ list the tea bell would 
 ring. . . . 
 
 And it would happen that on Monday 
 
SUNDAY AFTERNOON 231 
 
 morning, when all the well-ordered 
 machinery of life would begin to move 
 again, we were rather shy of encountering 
 each other, not quite at our ease, seeking 
 new subjects of conversation, anxious to 
 forget. For the magic of Sunday afternoon 
 had passed away. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 WASPS 
 
 One memorable afternoon I was thrown for 
 an hour or two into the company of a tre- 
 mendous fellow who had come to lunch with 
 his parents. He tossed me for sixpences 
 behind the stable (although, knowing well 
 how wicked it was, I had never done such 
 a thing before) ; he told me much of his 
 striking history; and he gave me his 
 matured views upon a hundred things — 
 the fun of swimming in a river where there 
 was a strong whirlpool, the way to startle 
 people by looking calmly over the edge of 
 precipices, how to travel undiscovered in 
 
 a cattle truck, what was the best sort of 
 
 232 
 
WASPS 233 
 
 revolver. ... He was some two years older 
 than I. I never saw him again, which was 
 perhaps just as well, but I remembered 
 him as a glorious exemplar, entirely of my 
 own way of thinking, but better, bolder, 
 and bigger than I . 
 
 Among other things we considered wasps' 
 nests. I wanted to show him that I too 
 was capable of reckless daring, but my 
 recital fell flat. I was relating how we had 
 gone at dead of night with sulphur and 
 matches to smoke them out when he cut 
 me short. I learned that even on this 
 question he was an authority. It was true 
 that he had used sulphur— when he was 
 a kid. But he had arrived at the opinion 
 that though there were all manner of ways 
 of taking wasps' nests, there was only one 
 sporting way. 
 
 " And what is that ? " I asked eagerly. 
 
 " You put in a lighted squib," he repUed, 
 
234 RUNNING WILD 
 
 " and then stand five yards off and defend 
 yourself with a tennis racquet," 
 
 " Have you really ever done that ? " 
 
 " Dozens of times." 
 
 I could almost have worshipped him. I 
 had not been so profoundly moved by any- 
 thing since my cousin Peter had been 
 offered half a crown to climb the monkey- 
 puzzle tree and had gone with bleeding 
 hands to the top. But this was even 
 finer. After he went I betook myself to 
 a safe retreat of mine among the laurel 
 bushes, deeply pondering. It was tre- 
 mendous : one of the noblest, loftiest things, 
 I thought, that I had ever known. It was 
 comparable only to what I had seen when 
 the menagerie came and the tamer had put 
 his head in the lion's mouth. But, after all, 
 he was a Grown-up and a professional ; 
 he was paid to doit. This other — with 
 his tennis racquet and his squib — had freely 
 
WASPS 235 
 
 chosen to play the part, facing tremendous 
 odds. Even now I admit that there is 
 something in it that appeals to me as being 
 in line with the tradition of giving the 
 quarry a good run for his money. Indeed, 
 I wish I could say here and now that this 
 was our method of taking wasps' nests. 
 But we were never so heroic. When I 
 went to tell Colin about it I found him 
 unsympathetic. (If the hero had been his 
 own discovery CoHn might have taken a 
 different view, but he had been kept 
 talking in the drawing-room and was in 
 rotten form.) He merely retorted that he 
 didn't believe it, and, further, if it was true 
 the fellow must be an awful ass. 
 None the less, we had many passages with 
 . " our sweet enemy " the wasp. He was 
 fair game, delivered into our hands for the 
 unfettered satisfaction of those instincts 
 of the hunter which so often led us into 
 
236 RUNNING WILD 
 
 throwing stones at other people's poultry, 
 cattying the most domesticated animals, 
 chasing and rounding up other people's 
 cats. Already the first pure zest of life 
 is lost when one comes to look upon the 
 wasp as a mere pest. He was an adversary, 
 and on the whole we found him a clean 
 fighter, a little too simple-minded, but not 
 to be despised, for when he did get his sting 
 in he scored. 
 
 There was a deadly respectability about 
 the bee, a fellow armed (like a lumbering 
 merchantman) solely for defence, with a 
 view to protecting his wealth; a deplorably 
 industrious fellow, never backward in 
 lending himself as a model for tracts and 
 homilies. We did not dream . of making 
 war on that patient wage-earner, nor on 
 his country cousin, who tumbled about 
 among the mowing grass with a bleary 
 lack of purpose. But the wasp was a gay 
 
WASPS 237 
 
 marauder whose point of view we could 
 well understand — ^fond of fruit, jam, sugar, 
 sunshine ; generally nimble and well able 
 to look after himself, except when he was 
 reduced to impotence by his hereditary 
 delusion that if you keep on long enough 
 crawling up a window-pane you will find a 
 way out at the top. And — ^well, when 
 a fellow comes in to steal the marma- 
 lade one naturally feels on terms with 
 him. 
 
 But the main point about wasps and 
 what gave them their chief value as an asset 
 in one's daily life was the fact that there 
 are so many people who are afraid of 
 them. Therein they offered opportifliity 
 for showing off. It was a fine thing when 
 they created a stampede at a picnic to treat 
 them with cool swagger and indifference, 
 retaining a perfectly collected air even when 
 they were palpably "infuriated." This 
 
238 RUNNING WILD 
 
 epithet was the sole property of the wasp, 
 as the epithet " becalmed " may be said 
 to belong to a ship. It was one of his 
 individual features, this state of infuriation, 
 and it was taken for granted that it increased 
 with every unsuccessful shot at him. It 
 could also be whetted with a view to creat- 
 ing a panic. 
 
 In very waspy summers we used to 
 count our daily bag and hold competitions. 
 There was a day when I established an 
 outside record by the happy discovery of 
 ripe plums upon the garden wall where 
 gorged wasps were hanging in festoons. 
 Archie used to shoot them, when he found 
 them crawling, in some mysterious way with 
 a cap-pistol which blew them in two. 
 But the real eclectic method, which always 
 made a sensation upon the onlooker, 
 especially at picnics, was to nip them 
 between clapped hands in full flight. 
 
WASPS 239 
 
 The wasp had also won our regard in his 
 home life ever since we had found in a goose- 
 berry bush one of his beautiful grey paper 
 nests, built in with an exact art that seemed 
 foreign to a blustering buccaneer ; and there 
 was an impressive episode during the year 
 of the great drought which revealed him to 
 us in quite a new light as capable of the 
 finer feelings of decency and reverence. 
 There was in the porch in front of the house 
 a long rubber mat, containing I know not 
 how many thousands of square holes. It 
 was a great wasp year and bags were heavy, 
 and we conceived the idea of trying to iill 
 every hole in the mat with a dead wasp. 
 We started at one corner and went on for 
 several days covering the ground, when we 
 discovered that some one had begun to undo 
 our work and many of the holes that we had 
 filled were empcy. The strange truth was 
 that numbers of living wasps were steadily 
 
240 RUNNING WILD 
 
 fljdng to and fro carrying away the bodies of 
 the dead. 
 
 I suppose I have lost most of my interest 
 in the wasp, but at least I still prefer to kill 
 him fairly in full flight. And I still hold 
 that to crush a wasp on the window is to 
 shoot a rabbit sitting or a pheasant in a tree. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 RELATIONS 
 
 In our attitude to relations, as in so many 
 
 other things, we showed our kinship for 
 
 the primeval savage, who is at war with all 
 
 the world but keeps his heaviest club and 
 
 his longest spear for disputes within the 
 
 family circle. Our relations were the 
 
 special object of our scorn and enndty. 
 
 There was no reason in it : it just seemed 
 
 to be part of the order of things. They 
 
 were to be looked down upon, resented, 
 
 avoided, as a class— just like girls' schools 
 
 and boys with long hair and people who wore 
 
 goloshes. They were the special subject 
 
 for ponderous sarcasm. Yet we studied 
 
 their habits with a certain curiosity . It was 
 
 all very bad and sad. I should like to say 
 1 6 241 
 
242 RUNNING WILD 
 
 here (lest this should meet the eye of any 
 one of them) that I take it all back. 
 But that is how it was. We had not 
 selected these people as worthy of our 
 regard, yet it was laid down Ihat we should 
 love and respect them— and we reacted 
 forcibly. 
 
 I do not mean to say that we condemned 
 them all without exception. There were 
 one or two uncles who did not neglect the 
 practice of tipping; there was a grand- 
 mother who was so good a friend that she 
 had completely overcome the disabilities 
 of kinship ; and there were others. All 
 the same they had to prove themselves ; 
 they were never given the benefit of the 
 doubt ; the presumption was, until they 
 established the contrary, that they were 
 undesirable and even ridiculous people. 
 
 The main thing was (it is all very curious 
 and I have no key by which I may inter- 
 
RELATIONS 243 
 
 pret it) not that they were objectionable or 
 unpleasant, but that they were absurd. We 
 had the most enormous fund of scorn 
 within us in those days, and when we con- 
 gregated on the hay at the back of the shed 
 or in some other secluded spot to discuss 
 our relations we brought it freely into play. 
 The things they said and did; the sort of 
 collars or caps that they wore, if they were 
 boys; their pigtails or their boots, if they 
 were girls; the voice of this uncle and the 
 patronising pats of that aunt— it really 
 was very funny. But there was another 
 side to it. These strange people had a 
 certain pull over us. We were not at 
 liberty to look on and criticise. We were 
 expected to play up. We were always in 
 danger of being pounced upon for some 
 special ordeal— to show Cousin Henry the 
 way to the station, or take Aunt Sarah 
 out in the boat — and we were apt on these 
 
244 RUNNING WILD 
 
 dreary occasions to be subjected to 
 cross-examination upon many subjects. 
 For relations always thought they had a 
 right to ask questions. And sometimes you 
 had to go out to tea with them. And often 
 you had to write them letters. They had 
 an undoubted pull over you, and the real 
 bitterness of the thing was that you were 
 condemned to gratitude. You were always 
 being told that it was so good of them to 
 do these things to you. You were expected 
 to thank them cordially for all their 
 trouble, and particularly for their conde- 
 scension. . . . And yet we didn't feel that we 
 had got anything out of it. 
 
 On the other hand, relations were of 
 course good for a certain number of presents 
 on birthdays. There were times when we 
 were bound to admit that some of them 
 were not so bad. 
 
 It is possible that our rooted idea that 
 
RELATIONS 245 
 
 relations were ridiculous owed something 
 to the big album of family portraits that 
 lay on the drawing-room table. I am 
 inclined to think that on that evidence 
 ■ alone our judgment was not much amiss, 
 for photography was capable of strange 
 effects in those days. There were early 
 pictures of ourselves in the album, and we 
 loved to pore over these strange, gaping, 
 little ineffective creatures, with curls and 
 velvet dresses and square-toed slippersi 
 and try to bridge the gulf between then and 
 now. It was all in keeping with the comic 
 properties of the collection. The album 
 was indeed a priceless treasure, but we were 
 not at all sure that it ought to be exhibited 
 —as it so often was — to strangers. They 
 were not likely to think any the better of 
 us, as a family. Surely with such relations 
 as ours it was only common prudence to 
 keep it out of sight ? 
 
246 RUNNING WILD 
 
 Pondering upon these things one day 
 Sidney suddenly asserted that if Those in 
 Authority insisted on trotting out this 
 exhibition — he would make it worth while. 
 "It only wants a little touching up," he 
 said, " to make it really funny." 
 
 When Sidney was inspired, as he clearly 
 was that afternoon, we never interfered 
 with him : we simply became his willing 
 slaves. He carried off the album to the 
 spare bedroom, cleared the washstand and 
 laid it out ; one of us went for a pencil 
 and notepaper, which we tore according 
 to instructions into strips ; and we 
 locked the door. Sidney wrote in his 
 annotations at the foot of every page. 
 Unfortunately they have not survived. I 
 only know that it was a painstaking piece 
 of work. 
 
 Of one, a guileless young man in a frock- 
 coat, he wrote ; 
 
RELATIONS 247 
 
 THIS HANDSOME YOUTH, 
 HE SPEAKS THE TRUTH : 
 WHENEVER HE FINDS IT PAYS. 
 
 To a smirking family group, who looked 
 too good to be true, he gave the legend : 
 
 WE ARE BUT LITTLE CHILDREN MEEK. 
 
 Two small Australian cousins, one much 
 more portly than the other, were labelled 
 thus : 
 
 ILLUSTRATING JOSEPH'S 
 DREAM OF THE LEAN AND FAT KINE. 
 
 And keeping his grossest insult to the 
 last he inscribed at the foot of the' picture 
 of Grand-Uncle Albert (who had dragged 
 him off to Sunday School the afternoon 
 before) the scathing and appalling words 
 
 RUN TO SEED, 
 
248 RUNNING WILD 
 
 I wish I -could remember more. The 
 album was conveyed back to its accustomed 
 table and the thing was not found out ^t 
 once, as Colin had had the happy idea of 
 pasting in an injunction on the first page — 
 *' Keep it dark." More than one sporting 
 visitor, in turning over the pages, found 
 unexpected entertainment, while we keenly 
 watched their faces from a distance. And 
 when it was found out there wasn't such a 
 row as we had looked for ; for you never 
 knew how Those in Authority would take 
 things. 
 
 And I do not think the album ever quite 
 recovered its prestige. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ON GETTING TIRED OF IT 
 
 One of the chief misfortunes of being sent 
 too soon to school is the new ideal of uni- 
 formity which it sets up. 'The adventurer, 
 overawed by the immense significance of 
 football or cricket or hockey or high-jumping 
 or whatever it may be, is soon content to 
 stop inventing ways and means of enter- 
 tainment. There is a new continuity in 
 the succession of the days, and quite a new 
 outlook in his waking thoughts. Something 
 is gone, though it may never be missed, 
 from the rosy mystery and invitation 
 of life. Before, every new morning brought 
 its own gift of chances unexplored ; he had 
 
 to guess. what fresh possession the day 
 
 249 
 
250 RUNNING WILD 
 
 might bring forth or how far he might have 
 travelled by the evening. Now he awakes 
 to a programme. Even in the holidays 
 it is never quite the same : school is far 
 too great an influence to be set aside. The 
 old careless rapture of inconsequence can 
 hardly be recovered. Between those who 
 have gone and those who have been left 
 behind there is a great gulf fixed, and the 
 attempt to bridge the gulf comes generally 
 from the wrong side. A few months ago 
 stilts or bull's-eye lanterns, squirts or fire- 
 works held the field. Now an elder brother 
 is teaching the whole nursery to play 
 cricket . And it must be cricket . Rounders, 
 which is far better suited to available 
 resources, is rejected with contempt — 
 outside the pale, unauthorised, unknown, 
 at school. 
 
 School also introduced entirely new and 
 hampering conditions in making us aware 
 
ON GETTING TIRED OF IT 251 
 
 of the operations of Times and Seasons. 
 They had not existed for us. Our sole 
 idea was to set about doing a thing forth- 
 with, at the moment when the first thought 
 of it occurred. It was always better to do 
 it badly and inefficiently at once rather 
 than to delay till it grew stale. It was use- 
 less to tell us that if we would wait till 
 to-morrow or next Tuesday ways and means 
 could be found. To-morrow ! To-morrow, 
 as Ukely as not, would bring a fresh 
 adventure of its own ; anyway, next 
 Tuesday was far too precious to be sur- 
 rendered in advance. The weather 
 certainly was able to dictate — though it 
 did seem intolerable that when one had 
 conceived the idea of digging a pitfall for 
 Tom Coachman the plan should, fall 
 through for no better reason than that 
 the ground was frozen hard. 
 I know very well that among other 
 
252 RUNNING WILD 
 
 children strange universal times and seasons 
 do exist — ^that tops and hoops and " cat- 
 and-dog " each come in and go out in 
 their correct rotation ; but we never came 
 under the sway of these things, though we 
 had one brief spasm of marbles, when there 
 was a lively outbreak of technical hiero- 
 glyphics on the flat parts of the drive and 
 garden walks, and chalk circles appeared 
 on the wooden floor of the harness-room. 
 But that was extinguished by the unlucky 
 arrival of an expert and the terrible dis- 
 covery that he made. We had been show- 
 ing off, no doubt — that being the usual 
 method of pla3dng the part of host — ^when 
 he observed that our way of shooting was 
 to " pinch " from the first finger instead 
 of th^ second — ^the way girls always do. 
 He was boisterously amused ; he thought 
 it would make a capital story to tell his 
 friends. . And that took all the heart out 
 
ON GETTING TIRED OF IT 253 
 
 of us. Marbles was a rotten game any- 
 way. Much better use them up as bolts 
 for the crossbow. 
 
 The truth is that life was too vivid and 
 too many-sided for us. We could seldom, 
 if ever, repeat a success. We spent our 
 time — ^like the Athenians — ^in the pursuit 
 of some new thing. We lived in a succes- 
 sion of booms and reactions. We loved 
 to carry out a thing to the bitter end — and 
 then stop short. There were a few fixed 
 points that survived — Christmas, the 
 Fifth of November, the First of April — 
 but for the rest, the very objects and 
 directions of life, from day to day, could 
 never be foreseen. 
 
 It was this spirit which led to certain 
 painful tragedies in the matter of neglecting 
 pets. Guinea-pigs, unfortunately, and 
 canaries (owing to the fact that they must 
 be fed at intervals) cannot be taken up and 
 
254 RUNNING WILD 
 
 dropped intermittently. They demand a 
 condition of moderate and continuous inter- 
 est in their keepers. It is not good for them 
 to be elaborately pampered for a time and 
 then forgotten . That, I know, is a universal 
 difficulty. It has always seemed to me 
 that there is a fine opening for some kind- 
 hearted person here — an uncle perhaps, 
 with nothing else to do and a large number 
 of nephews and nieces — ^who might start 
 a central establishment for the distribution 
 of pets, after the fashion of a lending library. 
 For if they could be exchanged at will 
 they would never grow stale. And when 
 one had completely explored and exhausted 
 ring-doves (which is not difficult), or felt 
 that one had really got to the end of white 
 mice, one could apply for a bullfinch or a 
 box of silkworms. 
 
 But even so liberal an arrangement as 
 that might very well have failed ; for when 
 
ON GETTING TIRED OF IT 255 
 
 the ebb had once set in we made no fight 
 against it . It was as if we were so possessed 
 by a single idea that we extracted from it, 
 with a reckless appetite, all that it held 
 of amusement, humour, novelty, and 
 delight ; but when we were done with it 
 we never wanted to hear of it again. ■ There 
 were blank and dreary hours, when Grown- 
 ups were peculiarly unsympathetic, failing 
 to understand why that which had filled 
 every waking thought a week ago should 
 now be treated with detached contempt. 
 And there were occasions when a younger 
 brother made the mistake of clinging on to 
 an outworn pursuit, and thus laid himself 
 open to disdainful snubs. He soon learned 
 his error, though at first it was rather a 
 shock to him. For his elders were quite 
 without shame, and he was made to feel 
 that he had been guilty of a grave faux pas. 
 If Sidney or Colin got sick of a thing the 
 
256 RUNNING WILD 
 
 otJier was sure to know by instinct, but it 
 was not so with Archie and me. At a 
 time when we had all been eagerly at work 
 night after night with bull's-eye lanterns, 
 signalling red and green from the stable 
 loft, one of these sudden slumps occurred ; 
 and when I had the audacity to light mine 
 as usvral the following evening and sally 
 forth I was asked, with the coolest effron- 
 tery, what I thought I was doing with that 
 silly thing. 
 
 But the worst case was on a day when 
 we were putting the finishing touches to a 
 theatrical show. We had been at work 
 on it for a week, and it was going extremely 
 well. But on that fatal afternoon, when we 
 were to fix the occasion of the first night, 
 some queer cloud of dissatisfaction and 
 inertia spread over us. It was a mysterious 
 thing. Colin would persist in looking out 
 of the window — ^where there was nothing 
 
ON GETTING TIRED OF IT 257 
 
 to see ; Archie was half asleep ; Sidney 
 kept sharpening a pencil instead of attend- 
 ing to his part ; and I looked from one to 
 another with a sinking heart. I knew the 
 symptoms. Weariness came over them, and 
 by degrees we subsided into silence. No 
 one dreamt of suggesting that we should 
 chuck the thing, but Colin at last wandered 
 thoughtfully off to the stable, followed 
 by Archie with his hands in his pockets. 
 Sidney picked up a book, absent-mindedly 
 rubbing the burnt cork off his upper lip, 
 and I found myself the sole siu:vivor. I 
 was greatly disappointed, but I might have 
 known it was all up. 
 
 " But aren't we going on with the show ? ** 
 I demanded of Sidney. 
 
 " "What show ? " said he, sulkily. 
 
 And I went sadly away. It was a bitter 
 moment, for I had made myself a beard out 
 of a tawny-coloured doormat. 
 17 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 PIGEONS, LTD. 
 
 The new company was not floated without 
 
 friction. At the outset there was much 
 
 disagreement between myself and Colin, 
 
 Pets were to me (for the moment) a sufficient 
 
 end in themselves, I was at the time 
 
 deeply interested in a scheme of my own 
 
 invention for bottling the berries of the 
 
 rowan tree and preserving them for a winter 
 
 diet for the bullfinches, and the rabbits 
 
 had recently shown symptoms of a new and 
 
 jengrossing disease, which was like to occupy 
 
 rthe whole of my energies if it assumed the 
 
 ^dimensions of an epidemic. So I had 
 
 quite enough on hand. I didn't want to be 
 
 bothered. Besides, I put it bluntly to 
 
 238 
 
PIGEONS, LTD. 259 
 
 Colin, when he explained and enlarged upon 
 the excellence of his plan, that I simply 
 didn't see what was to be made out of it. 
 I have sometimes in later life been inclined 
 to propound the same' questicm. " If we 
 can make money, why shouldn't we stick 
 to it ourselves ? and if we are going to lose 
 money why should we run other people in ? " 
 But that was the worst of Colin — or perhaps 
 to be quite honest I should say that that was 
 the best of him. He could never let any- 
 thing go on for long upon familiar lines. 
 He must be always reconstructing and 
 elaborating ; and he dearly loved to turn 
 something into something else. And now 
 he had made up his mind that the pigeon 
 business had reached a point when it 
 should be floated as a company. I had 
 to give way, of course, as I always did in 
 the long run. It is no use trying to go on 
 living with an elder brother unless you 
 
36o RUNNING WILD 
 
 adopt his ideas. But I was never really 
 much interested and I did not profess to 
 follow him through all his financial calcula- 
 tions and arrangements, many of which 
 appeared to me a little arbitrary and 
 abrupt. 
 
 Our capital was divided into ten shares 
 of a shilling each. Of these Colin and I 
 took two each, Archie one ; one was allotted 
 gratis to my small sister ("so that we can 
 rope in her rabbits "). A friendly uncle 
 subscribed for one, but that arrangement, 
 as I shall show, proved to be a blunder on 
 our part. Duncan took one, and one was 
 taken and paid for (reluctantly) by Tom 
 Coachman. We failed altogether to dispose 
 of the last one, and Colin finally insisted 
 upon our holding it as Trustees. But I 
 never knew what that meant . The questi on 
 then was, when we had gathered up the 
 proceeds in, an empty cough-lozenge box — 
 
PIGEONS, LTD. 261 
 
 what are we going to do with this money ? 
 Of course we mustn't spend it, said Colin, 
 or we may not be able to pay it back. For 
 my own part it was a good deal on my 
 mind. The sum was a large one, and as it 
 clearly did not belong to us no risks must 
 be run. At last we agreed by a solemn 
 bond and covenant that whatever might 
 be the fortunes of the company in the years 
 to come, to whatever straits it might be 
 reduced, one thing would be sacred : we 
 wduld never touch the shareholders' money. 
 Then we buried it after dark under the 
 cherry -tree. 
 
 We had thus disposed of the first business 
 of a limited liability company, as expounded 
 by Colin — the selUng of the shares. We 
 must now turn to the other branch of its 
 operations — ^namely the paying of dividends. 
 It. cast a considerable gloom upon the 
 proceedings when we discovered that this 
 
262 RUNNING WILD 
 
 sort of thing was usually done on a yearly 
 basis. Much as we trusted in the stability 
 of the concern, a year was a jolly long time, 
 and anything might happen. We agreed 
 at last to hold our annual meeting and pay 
 our dividend once a month. Most of them 
 seemed to pay about 5 per cent, every 
 year, according to Colin, who had been 
 getting the thing up, so if we paid 5 per 
 cent, a month it would probably come to 
 about the same thing. In act, it seemed 
 paltry enough, but there was no use 
 beginning on too grand a scale. 
 
 We had a splendid stock at the time. A 
 brother of cook's, who held a distinguished 
 position in a shipping office, had only a few 
 weeks before decided to give up keeping 
 pigeonis and bequeathed the whole of his 
 fantails and tumblers to us, so that with 
 what we had already the total was not less 
 than three dozen. Then there were the 
 
PIGEONS. LTD. 263 
 
 bullfinches (which were by no means a 
 profitable branch, but had to be taken in 
 for the sake of unity), a vigorous colony of 
 rabbits — and the fowls. The fowls had 
 been bought with the proceeds of a recent 
 birthday. So far they had not appealed 
 to us much, but now that each egg repre- 
 sented the dividend due upon a share they 
 became the back-bone of the concern. 
 
 But we had other sources of profit. The 
 Show season was just coming on and our 
 neighbourhood had always been remarkable 
 for the number of local shows, which 
 included exhibitions of pigeons and cage 
 birds among their attractions. In the 
 previous summer we had netted no less than 
 eleven shillings in prizes with the old black 
 carrier, and he wais surely good for another 
 year. So that our only difficulty in the 
 matter of dividends was that we had too 
 little opportunity of rewarding our share- 
 
264 RUNNING WILD 
 
 holders for their co-operation. CoUn soon 
 started a thing that he called a bonus. 
 Holding as we did half the shares ourselves 
 we could well afford to be generous. 
 
 Some difficulty was experienced with 
 regard to the annual meetings. We felt 
 that if we held them in the harness-room, 
 for the benefit of Tom Coachman, the uncle 
 coidd hardly be expected to attend ; while 
 if we held them in the schoolroom some 
 awkwardness might arise with regard to the 
 status of our allies outside. We solved the 
 problem by holding two meetings on each 
 occasion in identical terms. Then rather 
 an awkward thing happened. My sister 
 sold her share to the uncle, who said he 
 " wished to acquire a larger interest." 
 Colin was convinced that the transaction 
 was quite regular, but we hoped that sort 
 of thing would not go on. We wanted 
 to know clearly whose money it was 
 
PIGEONS. LTD. 265 
 
 that we had got buried under the cherry 
 tree. 
 
 The outside meetings (in the harness- 
 room) had always been mos': orderly. 
 Every one had appeared to be satisfied 
 with the conduct of the concern, dividends 
 were paid, votes of thanks passed, and no 
 hitch of any sort ever occurred. But we 
 began to fear that if ever the uncle attended 
 any of the schoolroom meetings trouble 
 might ensue. The first time he put in an 
 appearance we had fortunately a brilliant 
 balance sheet. Colin ran through the 
 principal items. The old black carrier had 
 indeed been defeated on the previous Satur- 
 day, but not disgraced — ^taking the second 
 prize in a class of three entries. One of 
 the new fantails had also won a prize. 
 Seventeen eggs had been sold to the house- 
 hold at remunerative rates. The butcher's 
 boy had bought a rabbit. The directors 
 
266 RUNNING WILD 
 
 were at that moment considering the 
 advisability of killing the best of the three 
 chickens, which could not be valued at 
 less than half a crown. It only remained 
 to declare the usual dividend, plus a special 
 bonus of 20 per cent. The statement was 
 greeted with loud applause, and just as we 
 were on the point of 'adjourning the uncle 
 rose to put a question. 
 
 " We have all listened," he said, " to 
 the remarkable statement of our chairmail, 
 showing the flourishing and healthy condi- 
 tion of the business. There is only one 
 little point that I cannot quite understand. 
 Perhaps the chairman will explain. There 
 is no entry in these accounts for food 
 supplied to our stock. What do these 
 creatures eat ? " 
 
 A look of harrowing anxiety suddenly 
 appeared upon Colin's countenance — 
 almost a look of horror. There was a 
 
PIGEONS, LTD. • 267 
 
 whispered consultation among the directors 
 at the table, as the questioner resumed his 
 seat. Then a statement was made. Colin 
 rose, and speaking firmly but with some 
 emotion, " That has been overlooked,'* 
 he said ; " but every penny will be 
 paid." 
 
 We went out and sat on the roof of the 
 dog-kennel to face the situation. " I 
 wonder who does pay for it ? " said Colin. 
 " I wonder how we came to forget it ? " 
 In the crash that followed (for the value 
 of Indian corn had been a terrible revela- 
 tion to us) we had at least reason to con- 
 gratulate ourselves upon the fact that the 
 shareholders' money was safe in the cough- 
 lozenge box beneath the cherry tree. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 In the days when the world was "so full 
 of a number of things," before any film 
 of indiJEference had come to cloud one's 
 eyes, every new departure had about it an 
 element of unreality. Nothing ever looked 
 the same a second time ; every new door 
 that one encountered was the threshold 
 of an enchanted castle. Soon enough, it 
 is true, we were caught up by the lagging 
 atmosphere of everyday (which we had 
 left behind), dispelling rosy mists, lopping 
 off battlements, filling up moats, making 
 of our castle a very ordinary affair. But 
 we had had our glimpse. The first time 
 
 that I came in to late dinner — ^having been 
 
 268 
 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 269 
 
 detained over schoolroom tea at the den- 
 tist's ; the first time that I went to church ; 
 the first time that I went to stay with 
 Uncle Henry . . . there was a tremendous 
 quality about these things. The ferry- 
 boat at home when first we boarded her, 
 running up and down stairs from one 
 deck to another, watching wide-eyed the 
 pouncing engines, spelling out names on 
 life-buoys, scrambling over heaped ropes, 
 deceived us altogether as to her dazzling 
 qualities. She bore no true relation to the 
 same boat as we came to know her after 
 many voyages, when we were on speaking 
 terms with the engineer and had insolently 
 concluded that she was a "rotten old 
 tub." The first time that we stayed in an 
 hotel the whole splendid enterprise was 
 full of that dream quaUty, We never 
 went back, and it is hard to believe even 
 now that the Royal Oak has anything 
 
270 RUNNING WILD 
 
 in common with other hotels. If I am to 
 trust my memory I should say that the hall 
 porter is a foot taller than other porters ; 
 the lift is more swift and silent ; the passages 
 are more deeply carpeted; there are far 
 more mysterious back stairs and servants' 
 passages ; there are endless rows of fire- 
 buckets on the top landing, and you have a 
 fair chance of meeting a fireman up there 
 who looks just like Achilles ; there are 
 muffled, far-away bells ringing all the timCj 
 thousands of them, and sometimes they 
 grow louder and angrier and more persis- 
 tent ; there are a million chimneys to be 
 seen from the window as you lie in bed in 
 the morning ; the landscape is full of palms 
 and curtains ; and deft little boys in buttons 
 (each a perfect globe of gold) swing up 
 and down, fearlessly carr5dng telegrams. 
 Altogether it was not a real hotel : it was 
 an hotel out of a book. (Or may it be that 
 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 271 
 
 that is what hotels are really like, and I 
 have lost my power of recognising them ?) 
 New places, new pursuits, new people 
 always appeared to us thus disguised, 
 always had some strange quality about 
 them that we never saw again — let us 
 say, a through-the-looking-glass quaUty. 
 It was something like thfe bewitching 
 beauty of a landscape seen through the 
 wrong end of a telescope. It was like peer- 
 ing out on the garden through the coloured 
 glass of the summer-house window. And 
 as soon as the new thing was familiar to us, 
 thrown into the common stock of our 
 experience, the enchantment passed away. 
 Yet we were always taken in. We never 
 made allowances .. for first impressions ; 
 we never dreamt that the real truth woiJd 
 come home to us to-morrow. It was not 
 till we looked back from a later period 
 of comfortable familiarity that we saw 
 
272 RUNNING WILD 
 
 how queer it all had been — ^the first 
 time. 
 
 Bu': of all these through-the-looking- 
 glass experiences there was nothing, for 
 sheer magic, comparable to the first days 
 at school. To go back for the second 
 term, as a Fourth Form boy, was not 
 essentially different from going back for the 
 fifteenth term as a prefect — one was already 
 an old hand in either case. But to arrive 
 as a new boy was different. It was the 
 greatest plunge of all into the unknown. 
 And to me one of the strangest things in the 
 new life was the new Colin. 
 
 I came to know later on just how he 
 felt about it, but at first his behaviour 
 was a profound surprise to me. When we 
 left home the bond that united us was that 
 we were brothers ; before we reached school 
 the gulf 'that separated us was that I was 
 a new boy and he wasn't. The closest 
 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 273 
 
 family ties gave way before that iron fact. 
 Even in the train things began to change 
 between us. We were very friendly at 
 first. I lent him a book ; he pointed out a 
 heron in a pond ; we tossed for the odd 
 sandwich. But after a time Colin began 
 slowly to freeze up and enwrap himself 
 in a new reserve. He paid less and less 
 attention to my remarks, but sat in thought- 
 ful silence, making it clear to me that his 
 mind was fixed on graver matters. I 
 gathered fragments of dropped soliloquy. 
 ... "I hope the Fifteen will make a 
 better show this term. ... I wonder if 
 Tubby will be moved up after all. . . . 
 1 believe Old Sneezer will take us in maths." 
 When I asked eagerly for more light on 
 these topics, wanted to know who Tubby 
 was and what was meant by maths, I was 
 greeted by a wintry smile. A barrier was 
 growing up between us. I saw that Colin 
 18 
 
274 RUNNING WILD 
 
 would soon be on his own ground and that 
 I was an outsider. And I learned that 
 CoUn held me in the hollow .of his hand. 
 When in the late afternoon two other 
 fellows got in, having been hailed with a 
 yell by Colin from the far end of the plat- 
 form, I was brought face to face with my 
 own insignificance. For the three of them 
 sat in the far corner of the compartment 
 and talked. of many things-r-and I was not 
 introduced. 
 
 (And only yesterday afternoon, I reflected, 
 I had been teaching Colin how to set a brick 
 trap.) 
 
 " By the way, that in the corner is a young 
 brother of mine," said Colin at last, in the 
 most off-hand manner, when the train 
 began to slow up. 
 
 How little I had known him ! There 
 was a cynical, smiling, standoffishness 
 about this new Cohn— and I admired it 
 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 275 
 
 greatly. And his very name had under- 
 gone a change. His friends had called him 
 Bunny. I wondered how soon I should 
 begin to call him Bunny. . . . 
 
 There are really two schools in the matter 
 — one where I spent some prosperous 
 years and one where I spent the first few 
 days, which occupied the same space and 
 had the same inhabitants, living the same 
 life to the same ends . But it had a different 
 air about it altogether. I cannot now speak 
 with certainty concerning it, for it was dis^ 
 appearing all the time, dissolving into the 
 enduring structure that came afterwards. 
 But I know that it was a puzzling place, the 
 unreal school of the first few days : a place 
 where there was no refuge except in bed ; 
 a place of unexpected bells, followed by 
 scampering feet in stone passages, where 
 the only safe plan was to go with the 
 crowd and trust to liick ; a place where a 
 
276 RUNNING WILD 
 
 fellow was desperately apt to give himself 
 away if he didn't keep his eyes open. It 
 was a place of sudden dilemmas : a fantastic 
 place altogether. 
 
 But although it was to fade away so 
 soon, the mysteries to be solved and the 
 outlines to harden and routine and daily 
 habit were to drive away the magic, the 
 school of those first few days was never 
 lost. In a sense, it has more permanence 
 than the other. For when I have re- 
 turned as a very Old Boy and gone over 
 the ground again in memory I have been 
 always confronted by the |irst time that I 
 entered that door, slept in that bed, sat 
 at that table — ^the first time that I played 
 on a football side or sang in the choir. 
 The other hundred times that I did 
 these things left little trace behind. . . . 
 
 Thus one by one we passed over the brow 
 of the hill, away from th^ enchanted valley 
 
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS 277 
 
 that we should never see again except as 
 strangers, and now only Archie was left 
 behind. When his turn came it fell to riie 
 to travel with him, and he was treated with 
 a cold neglect. 
 
PRIMCED W Ga'i&T BRItAIS 
 
 »T aAZBLL, WAT30M AND VHSEY, ID., lOlTOON AKD A1LESBDRV, 
 
 rOB SIHPSn, MAKSHAIi, HA10I.TOS, KEST ASD CO., 1.13,