chapter 9 the blacksmith tells a tale

'well,' began julian, 'we went riding on mystery moor yesterday, and for one thing we'd like to knowif there is any reason for the curious name. was there ever a mystery on that moor?'

'oh, there be plenty of mysteries away there,' said old ben. 'people lost and never come back again,noises that no one could find the reason of...'

'what kind of noises?' said anne, curiously.

'ah now, when i were a boy, i spent nights up on that moor,' said old ben, solemnly, 'and the noisesthat went on there! screeches and howls and the like, and moans and the sweep of big wings...'

'well, all that might have been owls and foxes and things like that,' said dick. 'i've heard a barn-owlgive a screech just over my head which made me nearly jump out of my skin. if i hadn't known it wasan owl i'd have run for miles!'

ben grinned and his face ran into a score of creases and wrinkles.

'why is it called mystery moor?' persisted julian. 'is it a very old name?'

'when my grandad was a boy it were called misty moor,' said the old blacksmith, remembering.

'see, misty, not mystery. and that were because of the sea-fogs that came stealing in from the coast,and lay heavy on the moor, so that no man could see his hand in front of his face. yes, i've been lostin one of them mists, and right scared i was too. it swirled round me like a live thing, and touched meall over with its cold damp fingers.'

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'how horrid!' said anne with a shiver. 'what did you do?'

'well, first i ran for my life,' said ben, getting out his pipe and looking into the empty bowl. 'i ranover heather and into gorse. i fell a dozen times, and all the time the mist was feeling me with itsdamp fingers, trying to get me, that's what the old folk used to say of that mist, it was always trying toget you!'

'still, it was only a mist,' said george, feeling that the old man was exaggerating. 'does it still comeover the moor?'

'oh ay,' said ben, ramming some tobacco into his pipe. 'autumn's the time, but it comes sudden-likeat any moment of the year. i've knowed it come at the end of a fine summer's day, creeping instealthy-like, and my, if you don't happen to see it soon enough, it gets you!'

'what do you mean, it gets you?' said george.

'well, it may last for days,' said old ben. 'and if you're lost on them moors, you're lost proper, andyou never come back. ah, smile if you like, young sir, but i knows!' he went off into memories oflong ago, looking down at his pipe. 'let's see now, there was old mrs. banks, who went bilberry-picking with her basket on a summer's afternoon, and no one ever heard of her again, after the mistcame down. and there was young victor who played truant and went off to the moors, and the mistgot him too.'

'i can see we'd better watch out for the mist if we go riding there,' said dick. 'this is the first i'veheard of it.'

'yes. you keep your eyes skinned,' said old ben. 'look away to the coast-side and watch there, that'swhere it comes from. but there baint many mists nowadays, i don't know for why. no, now i think onit, there haven't been a mist, not a proper wicked one, for nigh on three years.'

'what i'd like to know is why was the name changed to mystery moor,' said henry. 'i can understandits being called misty moor, but now everyone calls it mystery, not misty.'

'well now, that must have been about seventy years ago, when i were a bit of a boy,' said ben,lighting his pipe and puffing hard. he was enjoying himself. he didn't often get such an interestedaudience as this, five of them, including a dog who sat and listened too!

'that was when the bartle family built the little railway over the moor,' he began, and stopped at theexclamations of his five listeners.

'ah! we wanted to know about that!'

'oh! you know about the railway then!'

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'do go on!'

the blacksmith seemed to get some trouble with his pipe and pulled at it for an exasperatingly longtime. george wished she was a horse and could stamp her foot impatiently!

'well, the bartle family was a big one,' said ben at last. 'all boys, but for one ailing little girl.

big strong fellows they were, i remember them well. i was scared of them, they were so free withtheir fists. well, one of them, dan, found a mighty good stretch of sand out there on the moor...'

'oh yes, we thought there might have been a sand- quarry,' said anne. ben frowned at theinterruption.

'and as there were nine or ten good strong bartles, they reckoned to make a fine do of it,' said ben.

'they got wagons and they went to and from the quarry they dug, and they sold their sand for milesaround, good, sharp sand it were...'

'we saw some,' said henry. 'but what about the rails?'

'don't hurry him,' said dick, with a frown.

'they made a mort of money,' said ben, remembering. 'and they set to work and built a little railwayto carry an injin and trucks to the quarry and back, to save labour. my, my, that were a nine days'

wonder, that railway! us youngsters used to follow the little injin, puffing along, and it were thelonging of us all to drive it. but we never did. them bartles kept a big stick, each one of them, andthey whipped the hide off any boy that got too near them. fierce they were, and quarrelsome.'

'why did the railway fall into ruin?' asked julian. 'the rails are all overgrown with heather and grassnow. you can hardly see them.'

'well, now we come to that there mystery you keep on about,' said ben, taking an extra big puff at hispipe. 'them bartles fell foul of the gypsies up on the moor...'

'oh, were there gypsies on the moor then?' said dick. 'there are some now!'

'oh ay, there's always been gypsies on the moor, long as i can remember,' said the blacksmith.

'well, it's said them gypsies quarrelled with the bartles, and it wasn't hard to do that, most peopledid! and the gypsies pulled up bits of the line, here and there, and the little injin toppled over andpulled the trucks with it.'

the children could quite well imagine the little engine puffing along, coming to the damaged railsand falling over. what a to-do there must have been up on the moor then!

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'the bartles weren't ones to put up with a thing like that,' said ben, 'so they set about to drive all thegypsies off the moor, and they swore that if so much as one caravan went there, they'd set fire to itand chase the gypsies over to the coast and into the sea!'

'they must have been a fierce family,' said anne.

'you're right there,' said ben. 'all nine or ten of them were big upstanding men, with great shaggyeyebrows that almost hid their eyes, and loud voices. nobody dared to cross them. if they did, they'dhave the whole family on their door-step with sticks. they ruled this place, they did, and my, theywere hated! us children ran off as soon as we saw one coming round a corner.'

'what about the gypsies? did the bartles manage to drive them off the moor?' asked george,impatiently.

'now you let me go my own pace,' said ben, pointing at her with his pipe. 'you want a bartle afteryou, young sir, that's what you want!' he thought she was a boy, of course. he did something to hispipe and made them all wait a little. julian winked at the others. he liked this old fellow with hislong, long memories.

'now, you can't cross the gypsies for long,' said ben, at last. 'that's a fact, you can't. and one day allthem bartles disappeared and never came back home. no, not one of them. all that was left of thefamily was little lame agnes, their sister.'

everyone exclaimed in surprise and old ben looked round with satisfaction. ah, he could tell a story,he could!

'but whatever happened?' said henry.

'well, no one rightly knows,' said ben. 'it happened in a week when the mist came swirling over themoors and blotted everything out. nobody went up there except the bartles, and they were safebecause all they had to do was to follow their railway lines there and back. they went up to thequarry each day the mist was there, and worked the same as usual. nothing stopped them bartlesfrom working!'

he paused and looked round at his listeners. he dropped his voice low, and all five of the childrenfelt little shivers up their backs.

'one night somebody in the village saw twenty or more gypsy caravans slinking through the villageat dead of night,' said ben. 'up on the moor they went in the thick mist. mebbe they followed therailway; nobody knows. and next morning, up to the quarry went the bartles as usual, swallowed upin the mist.'

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he paused again. 'and they never came back,' he said. 'no, not one of them. never heard of again!'

'but what happened?' said george.

'search-parties were sent out when the mist cleared,' said old ben. 'but never one of the bartles didthey find, alive or dead. never a one! and they didn't find any gypsy caravans either. they'd all comecreeping back the next night, and passed through the village like shadows. i reckon them gypsies setupon the bartles in the mist that day, fought them and defeated them, and took them and threw themover the cliffs into the roaring sea!'

'how horrible!' said anne, feeling sick.

'don't worrit yourself!' said the blacksmith. 'it all happened a mort of time ago, and there wasn't manythat mourned them bartles, i can tell you. funny thing was, their weakly little sister, agnes, she livedto be a hale old woman of ninety-six, and only died a few years ago! and to think them strong fiercebrothers of hers went all together like that!'

'it's a most interesting story, ben,' said julian. 'so misty moor became mystery moor then, did it?

and nobody ever really found out what happened, so the mystery was never solved. didn't anyonework the railway after that, or get the sand?'

'no, not a soul,' said ben. 'we was all scared, you see, and young agnes, she said the railway and thetrucks and injin could rot, for all she cared. i never dared to go near them after that. it was a long timebefore anyone but the gypsies set foot on misty moor again. now it's all forgotten, the tale of thebartles, but them gypsies still remember, i've no doubt! they've got long memories, they have.'

'do you know why they come to mystery moor every so often?' asked dick.

'no. they come and they go,' said ben. 'they've their own queer ways. they don't belong anywhere,them folk. what they do on the moor is their own business, and i wouldn't want to poke my nose intoit. i'd remember them old bartles, and keep away!'

a voice came from inside the smithy, where jim, the blacksmith's grandson, had been shoeing thehorses. 'grandad! you stop jabbering away there, and let the children come and talk to me!

i've shod nearly all the horses.'

ben laughed. 'you go along,' he said to the children. 'i know you like to be in there and see the sparksfly, and the shoes made. i've wasted your time, i have, telling you long-ago things. you 43go along into the smithy. and just you remember two things - watch out for that mist, and keep awayfrom the gypsies on the moor!'