some three weeks after teresa’s loss eli found his brother in the yard fitting a fork-head to a new haft.

“saw william john prowse up to church-town,” said he. “he told me to tell you that you must take the two horses over to once because he’s got to go away.”

ortho frowned. under his breath he consigned william john prowse to eternal discomfort. then his face cleared.

“i’ve been buying a horse or two for pyramus,” he remarked casually. “he’ll be down along next week.”

eli gave him a curious glance. ortho looked up and their eyes met.

“what’s the matter?”

“it was you stole that hundred pounds from mother, i suppose.”

ortho started and then stared. “me! my lord, what next! me steal that . . . well, i be damned! think i’d turn toby and rob my own family, do you? pick my right pocket to fill my left? god’s wrath, you’re a sweet brother!”

“i do think so, anyhow,” said eli doggedly.

“how? why?”

“?’cos king herne can do his own buying and because on the night mother was robbed you were out.”

ortho laughed again. “smart as a gauger, aren’t you? well, now i’ll tell you. william john let me have the horses on trust, and as for being out, i’m out most every night. i’d been to churchtown. i’ve got a sweetheart there, if you must know. so now, young clever!”

eli shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

“don’t you believe me?” ortho called.

“no.”

“why not?”

“?’cos ’tis well known william john prowse wouldn’t trust his father with a turnip, and that polly mare hadn’t brought you two miles from gwithian. she’d come three times that distance and hard. she was as wet as an eel; i felt her.”

ortho bit his lip. “so ho, steady!” he called softly. “come round here a minute.”

he led the way round the corner of the barn and eli followed. ortho leaned against the wall, all smiles again.

“see here, old son,” said he in a whisper, “you’re right. i did it. but i did it for you, for your sake, mind that.”

“me!”

ortho nodded. “surely. look you, in less than two years tregors and this here place fall to me, don’t they?”

“yes,” said eli.

ortho tapped him on the chest. “well, the minute i get possession i’m going to give you tregors, lock, stock and barrel. that’s the way father meant it, i take it—only he didn’t have time to put it in writing. but now tregors is in the bag, and how are we going to get it out if mother will play chuck-guinea like she does?”

“so that’s why you stole the money?”

“that’s why—and, harkee, don’t shout ‘stole’ so loud. it ain’t stealing to take your own, is it?” ortho whistled. “my lord, i sweated, eli! i thought some one would have it before i did. the whole of penzance knew she’d been about town all day with a bag of money, squaring her debts and lashing it about. to finish up she was in a room at the ‘star’ with a dozen of bucks, all of ’em three sheets in the wind and roaring. i seen them through a chink in the shutters and i tell you i sweated blood. but she’s cunning. when she sat down she sat on the wallet and stopped there. it would have taken a block and tackle to pull her off. i went into the ‘star’ passage all muffled up about the face like as if i had jaw-ache. the pot boy came along with a round of drinks for the crowd inside. ‘here, drop those a minute and fetch me a dash of brandy for god almighty’s sake,’ says i, mumbling and talking like an up-countryman. ‘i’m torn to pieces with this tooth. here’s a silver shilling and you can keep the change if you’re quick. oh, whew! ouch!’

“i tossed him the shilling—the last i’d got—and he dropped the pots there and then and dived after the brandy. i gave the pots a good dusting with a powder pyramus uses on rogue horses to keep ’em quiet while he’s selling ’em. then the boy came back. i drank the brandy and went outside again and kept watch through the shutters. it worked pretty quick; what with the mixed drinks they’d had and the powder, the whole crew was stretched snoring in a quarter hour. but not she. she’s as strong as a yoke of bulls. she yawned a bit, but when the others went down she got up and went after her horse, taking the wallet along. i watched her mount from behind the rain barrel in the yard and a pretty job she made of it. the ostler had to heave her up, and the first time she went clean over, up one side and down t’other. second time she saved herself by clawing the ostler’s hair and near clawed his scalp off; he screeched like a slit pig.

“i watched that ostler as well, watched in case he might chance his fingers in the wallet, but he didn’t. she was still half awake and would have brained him if he’d tried it on. a couple of men—stranded seamen, i think—came out of an alley by the abbey and dogged her as far as lariggan, closing up all the time, but when they saw me behind they gave over and hid in under the river bank. she kept awake through newlyn, nodding double. i knew she couldn’t last much longer—the wonder was she had lasted so long. on top of paul hill i closed up as near as i dared and then went round her, across country as hard as i could flog, by chyoone and rosvale.

“a dirty ride, boy; black as pitch and crossed with banks and soft bottoms. polly fell down and threw me over her head twice . . . thought my neck was broke. we came out on the road again at trevelloe. i tied polly to a tree and walked back to meet ’em. they came along at a walk, the old horse bringing his cargo home like he’s done scores of times.

“i called his name softly and stepped out of the bushes. he stopped, quiet as a lamb. mother never moved; she was dead gone, but glued to the saddle. she’s a wonder. i got the wallet open, put my hand in and had just grabbed hold of a bag when prince whinnied; he’d winded his mate, polly, down the road. you know how it is when a horse whinnies; he shakes all through. hey, but it gave me a start! it was a still night and the old brute sounded like a squad of trumpets shouting ‘ha!’ like they do in the bible. ‘ha, ha, ha, he, he, he!’

“i jumped back my own length and mother lolled over towards me and said soft-like, ‘pass the can around.’?”

“that’s part of a song she sings,” said eli, “a drinking song.”

ortho nodded. “i know, but it made me jump when she said it; she said it so soft-like. i thought the horse had shaken her awake, and i ran for dear life. before i’d gone fifty yards i knew i was running for nothing, but i couldn’t go back. it was the first time i’d sto . . . i’d done anything like that and i was scared of prince whinnying again. i ran down the road with the old horse coming along clop-clop behind me, jumped on polly and galloped home without looking back. i wasn’t long in before her as it was.” he drew a deep breath. “but i kept the bag and i’ve got it buried where she won’t find it.” he smiled at his own cleverness.

“what are you going to do with the money?” eli asked.

“buy horses cheap and sell ’em dear. i learnt a trick or two when i was away with pyramus and i’m going to use ’em. there’s nothing like it. i’ve seen him buy a nag for a pound and sell it for ten next week. i’m going to make pyramus take my horses along with his. they’ll be bought as his, so that people won’t wonder where i got the money, and they’ll go up-country and be sold with his—see? i’ve got it all thought out.”

“but will pyramus do it?”

ortho clicked his even white teeth. “aye, i reckon he will . . . if he wants to winter here again. how many two-pound horses can i buy for a hundred pounds?”

“fifty.”

“and fifty sold at ten pounds each, how much is that?”

“five hundred pounds.”

“how long will it take me to pay off the mortgage at that rate?”

“two years . . . at that rate. but there’s the interest too, and . . .”

ortho smote him on the back. “oh, cheerily, old long-face, all’s well! the rent’ll pay the interest, as thou thyself sayest, and i’ll fetch in the money somehow. we’ll harvest a mighty crop next season and the horses’ll pay bags full. in two years’ time i’ll put my boot under that fat cheese-weevil carveth and you shall ride into tregors like a king. if only i could have got hold of that second hundred! you don’t know where mother hides her money, do you?”

“no.”

“no more do i . . . but i will. i’ll sit over her like a puss at a mouse hole. i’ll have some more of it yet.”

“leave it alone,” said eli; “she’s sure to find out and then there’ll be the devil to pay. besides, whatever you say about it being our money it don’t seem right. leave it be.”

ortho threw an arm about his neck and laughed at him.

pyramus herne arrived on new year’s eve and was not best pleased when ortho announced his project. he had no wish to be bothered with extra horses that brought no direct profit to himself, but he speedily recognized that he had a new host to deal with, that young penhale had cut his wisdom teeth and that if he wanted the run of the upper keigwin valley he’d have to pay for it. so he smiled his flashing smile and consented, on the understanding that he accepted no responsibility for any mishap and that ortho found his own custom. the boy agreed to this and set about buying.

he picked up a horse here and there, but mainly he bought broken-down pack mules from the mines round st. just. he bought wisely. his purchases were a ragged lot, yet never so ragged but that they could be patched up. when not out looking for mules he spent practically all his time in the gypsy camp, firing, blistering, trimming misshapen hoofs, shotting roarers, filing and bishoping teeth. the farm hardly saw him; eli and bohenna put the seed in.

pyramus left with february, driving the biggest herd he had ever taken north. this, of course, included ortho’s lot, but the boy had not got fifty beasts for his hundred pounds—he had got thirty-three only—but he was still certain of making his four hundred per cent, he told eli; mules were in demand, being hardy, long-lived and frugal, and his string were in fine fettle. with a few finishing touches, their blemishes stained out, a touch of the clippers here and there, a pinch of ginger to give them life, some grooming and a sleek over with an oil rag, there would be no holding the public back from them. he would be home for harvest, his pockets dribbling gold.

he went one morning before dawn without telling teresa he was going, jingled out of the yard, dressed in his best, astride one of pyramus’ showiest colts. his tirade against gypsy life and his eulogy of the delights of home, delivered to eli on his return from his first trip with pyramus, had been perfectly honest. he had had a rough experience and was played out.

but he was tired no longer. he rode to join pyramus, singing the helston flurry song:

“where are those span-i-ards

that made so brave a boast—o?

they shall eat the gray goose feather

and we will eat the roast—o.”

eli, leaning over the gate, listened to the gay voice dwindling away up the valley, and then turned with a sigh.

dawn was breaking, the mists were rolling up, the hills loomed gigantic in the half-light, studded with granite escarpments, patchworked with clumps of gorse, thorn and bracken—his battlefield.

ortho had gone again, gone singing to try his fortune in the great world among foreign multitudes. for him the dour grapple with the wilderness—and he was glad of it. he disliked foreigners, disliked taking chances. here was something definite, something to lock his teeth in, something to be subdued by sheer dogged tenacity. he broke the news that ortho had gone gypsying again that evening at supper.

teresa exploded like a charge of gun-powder. she announced her intention of starting after her son at once, dragging him home and having pyramus arrested for kidnapping. then she ramped up and down the kitchen, cursing everybody present for not informing her of ortho’s intentions. when they protested that they had been as ignorant as herself, she damned them for answering her back.

eli, who came in for most of her abuse, slipped out and over the hill to roswarva, had a long farming talk with penaluna and borrowed a pamphlet on the prevention of wheat diseases.

the leggy girl mary sat in a corner sewing by the light of a pilchard chill and saying never a word. just before eli left she brought him a mug of cider, but beyond drinking the stuff he hardly noticed the act and even forgot to thank her. he found teresa sitting up for him. she had her notched sticks and the two remaining money bags on the table in front of her. she looked worried.

“here,” she growled as her younger son entered. “count this.” eli counted. there was a round hundred pounds in the one bag and thirty-one pounds, ten shillings and fourpence in the other. he told her.

“there was fifty,” said she. “how much have i spent then?”

“eighteen pounds, ten shillings and eightpence.” eli made a demonstration on his fingers.

teresa’s black eyebrows first rose and then crumpled together ominously.

“eighteen!” she echoed, and began to tick off items on her own fingers, mumbling sotto voce. she paused at the ninth finger, racked her brains for forgotten expenditures and began the count over again.

eli sat down before the hearth and pulled his boots off. he could feel his mother’s suspicious eyes on him. twice she cleared her throat as if to speak, but thought better of it. he went to bed, leaving her still bent over the table twiddling her notched stick. her eyes followed him up the stairs, perplexed, angry, with a hot gleam in them like a spark in coal.

so ortho had found her hiding place after all and had robbed her so cleverly that she was not perfectly sure she had been robbed. eli tumbled into bed wishing his brother were not quite so clever. he fell asleep and had a dream in which he saw ortho hanging in chains which creaked as they swung in the night winds.

scared by the loss of her money, teresa had another attack of extravagant economy during which the tregors lease fell in. she promptly put up the rent; the old tenant refused to carry on and a new one had to be found. an unknown hind from budock water, near falmouth, accepted the terms.

teresa congratulated herself on a bright stroke of business and all went on as before.

eli and bohenna worked out early and late; the weather could not have been bettered and the crops promised wonders. eli, surveying the propitious fields, was relieved to think ortho would be back for harvest, else he did not know how they would get it home.

no word had come from the wanderer. none was expected, but he was sure to be back for august; he had sworn to be. ortho was back on the fourth of july.

eli came in from work and, to his surprise, found him sitting in the kitchen relating the story of his adventures. he had a musical voice, a gallic trick of gesticulation and no compunction whatever about laughing at his own jokes. his recital was most vivacious.

even teresa guffawed—in spite of herself. she had intended to haul master ortho over an exceedingly hot bed of coals when he returned, but for the moment she could not bring herself to it. he had started talking before she could, and his talk was extremely diverting; she did not want to interrupt it. moreover, he looked handsomer than ever—tall, graceful, darkly sparkling. she was proud of him, her mother sense stirred. he was very like herself.

from hints dropped here and there she guessed he had met with not a few gallant episodes on his travels and determined to sit up after the others had gone to bed and get details out of him. they would make spicy hearing. such a boy must be irresistible. the more women he had ruined the better she would be pleased, the greater the tribute to her offspring. she was a predatory animal herself and this was her own cub. as for the wigging, that could wait until they fell out about something else and she was worked up; fly at him in cold blood she could not, not for the moment.

ortho jumped out of his chair when eli entered and embraced him with great warmth, commented on his growth, thumped the boy’s deep chest, pinched his biceps and called to bohenna to behold the coming champion.

“my lord, but here’s a chicken that’ll claw the breast feathers out o’ thee before long, old fighting cock—thee or any other in devon or cornwall—eh, then?”

bohenna grinned and wagged his grizzled poll.

“stap me, little brother, i’d best keep a civil tongue before thee, seem me. well, as i was saying—”

he sat down and continued his narrative.

eli leaned against the settle, listening and looking at ortho. he was evidently in the highest spirits, but he had not the appearance of a man with five hundred pounds in his possession. he wore the same suit of clothes in which he had departed and it was in an advanced state of dilapidation; the braid edging hung in strings, one elbow was barbarously patched with a square of sail-cloth and the other was out altogether. his high wool stockings were a mere network and his boots lamentable. however that was no criterion; gypsying was a rough life and it would be foolish to spoil good clothes on it. ortho himself looked worn and thin; he had a nasty, livid cut running the length of his right cheek bone and the gesticulating palms were raw with open blisters, but his gay laugh rang through the kitchen, melodious, inspiring. he bore the air of success; all was well, doubtless.

eli fell to making calculations. ortho had five hundred pounds, teresa still had a hundred; that made six. ortho would require a hundred as capital for next year, and then, if he could repeat his success, they would be out of the trap. he felt a rush of affection for his brother, ragged and worn from his gallant battle with the world—and all for his sake. tregors mattered comparatively little to ortho, since he was giving it up and was fully provided for with bosula. ortho’s generosity overwhelmed him. there was nobody like ortho.

the gentleman in question finished an anecdote with a clap of laughter, sprang to his feet, pinned his temporarily doting mother in her chair and kissed her, twitched martha’s bonnet strings loose, punched bohenna playfully in the chest, caught eli by the arm and swung him into the yard.

“come across to the stable, my old dear; i’ve got something to show you.”

“horse?”

“lord, no! i’ve got no horse. walked from padstow.”

“you!—walked!”

“yes, heel and toe . . . two days. god, my feet are sore!”

“how did you come to get to padstow?”

“collier brig from cardiff. had to work my passage at that; my hands are like raw meat from hauling on those damned braces—look! slept in a cow-shed at illogan last night and milked the cows for breakfast. i’ll warrant the farmer wondered why they were dry this morning—ha, ha! never mind, that’s all over. what do you think of this?”

he reached inside the stable door and brought out a new fowling piece.

“bought this for you in gloucester,” said he; “thought of you the minute i saw it. it’s pounds lighter than father’s old blunderbuss, and look here . . . this catch holds the priming and keeps it dry; pull the trigger, down comes the hammer, knocks the catch up and bang! see? clever, ain’t it? take hold.”

eli took hold of the gun like a man in a dream. beautiful weapon though it was, he did not even look at it.

“but why . . . why did you work your passage?” he asked.

“because they wouldn’t carry me for nothing, wood-head.”

“were you trying to save money?”

“eh?—er—ye-es.”

“have you done as well as you expected, ortho?”

“n-o, not quite. i’ve had the most damnable luck, old boy.” he took eli’s arm. “you never heard of such bad luck in your life—and none of it my fault. i sold a few mules at first at good prices, but the money went—a man must eat as he goes, you know—and then there was that gun; it cost a pretty penny. then trouble began. i lost three beasts at tewkesbury. they got scared in the night. one broke a shoulder and two went over a quarry. but at hereford . . . oh, my god!”

“what happened?”

“glanders. they went like flies. pyramus saw what it was right off, and we ran for it, south, selling horses to the first bid; that is, we tried to, but they were too sick and word went faster than we. the crowd got ugly, swore we’d infected the country and they’d hang us; they would have, too, if we’d waited. they very nearly had me, boy, very nearly.”

“did they mark your face like that?”

“they did, with a lump of slate. and that isn’t all. i’ve got half a dozen more like it scattered about.” he laughed. “but no matter; they didn’t get me and i’m safe home again, thank god!”

“and the horses?”

“they killed every one of ’em to stop the infection.”

“then you haven’t got any money?”

ortho shook his head. “not a penny.”