THE CURSE
The two men had now been for three months at the mine, and the had used to the of in Marshfielden. Indeed, as the by, and nothing happened, they to the “Curse” in with the two Forsyths.
Summer was now waning. Leaves were to and were making for a hard winter. Mr. Winthrop was still going on his and had to the two who had taken up their so near him.
Indeed, there was no one else in the village to they go for social intercourse, and nearly every Mrs. Skeet’s little was full of the and of the and his two friends. It was now the Tuesday in October, and the were chilly. Mrs. Skeet had a fire, and they all sat it the of its glow.
People outside, by, the of laughter, and Mr. Winthrop’s chuckle, and with him. But Moll Murlock passed the and her closer her shoulders, while a came from her lips.
Of all the of Marshfielden, there was one still who had not the “Curse.”
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Winthrop, “I you used to your life among us now?”
21“Yes,” answered Alan. “It almost like home to us.”
“We’ve had a proper home,” in Desmond.
“Ours is a story,” said Alan. “Our mothers were sisters—they married on the same day and to the same place for their honeymoon. A year later my mother died in me birth, and Desmond’s mother died when he was only a months old, so we were left to on the best way we without a woman’s care.”
“Poor lads! Poor lads!” the vicar.
“When I was five my father died,” said Desmond, “and four years later Alan’s father was drowned. Uncle John then took us to live with him—but as he was a we were up in the of and tutors, and had no home life.”
“You are of your uncle?” the vicar.
“Rather!” answered Alan. “Uncle John is the old boy imaginable. He’s a of a though. He has been for years on what he calls his ‘Petradtheolin’ airship.”
“His what?” laughed Mr. Winthrop.
“His ‘Petradtheolin’ airship. It’s his own invention, you know, but up to now he has been unsuccessful. He has a airship—most and upholstered—in it is to fly, but up to now it won’t an inch.”
“What?”
“He is under the impression,” on Alan “that in the near will be an every day occurrence, and it is his to own the most comfortable, most speedy, and of the day.”
Mr. Winthrop smiled. “There is a great of talk about now,” said he, “but do you think it will come to anything?”
“I don’t know,” said Alan thoughtfully, “we have the sea—‘Iron on the water shall float, like any boat’,” he quoted. “We have ships that can and under water and for of time. I see no why the modern man should not also the air.”
22Mr. Winthrop his head. “I may be old-fashioned, but it to that ships be for flying, that were safe. I don’t that will be that up to a point will be successful—say for a hours’ flight, but it to me that man so the air, that and travel would benefit.”
“Well, Uncle John thinks he will it with his ‘Argenta’,” on Alan.
“Surely that was not what you called it just now?” asked the vicar.
Alan laughed. “The ‘Argenta’ is the name of the ship itself, but ‘Petradtheolin’ is the name of the power he is on, that he is of using to it.”
“The machine itself is complete,” on Desmond enthusiastically, “the is perfect, and its are to be of velocity, but no power will it an from the ground. So he is still on this spirit. It is a which petrol, and theolin; these are in some way or other—concentrated and solidified. The are so as to electricity in the part. The on the cubes, which as they melt are sent through metal by drop, and then being to the should make the machine fly.”
“Well?”
“I know it all very fantastic, but my uncle in the success of his experiments. His is to be able to for about one hundred hours with about a of this powerful matter. He each of the spirit, as it from the retort, to keep the going about fifty minutes.”
“It all very interesting,” said Mr. Winthrop “but is puzzling. I am I would trust myself to Mother Earth than to your uncle’s very ‘Argenta’.”
“So would I,” laughed Desmond. “But the dear 23old boy is so on his work, we don’t like to him”
“And” Alan “there in a most shed, rests the ‘Argenta’; its of aluminium—its and from engine room to kitchen, but lifeless. And there I it will remain, for he will it. It is his biggest hobby after us—sometimes I think it comes us. He has the money, he has the brains, he may perfect this power, and if he does, he will have a great upon humanity”
“You with him until you came here, I suppose?”
“Yes” answered Alan “We to Eton—Cambridge—”
“Cambridge?” Mr. Winthrop’s up “Dear me! Dear me! What College, may I ask?”
“Queens” said Desmond.
“Queens? That was my College”
“Indeed” the two boys together.
“Yes, I’ve not been there for over forty-five years. I the dear old place has a great deal?”
“Yes. We had rooms opposite each other on the same in the New Buildings” said Desmond.
“That was since my time” said Mr. Winthrop sadly “I’ve the New Buildings. I was in the Walnut-Tree Court” Then he stopped, and into the fire, his and a colour into his old, cheeks, as he of the days of his youth. Reminiscences came quickly. “Do you this?” “I when so-and-so happened” So the on until they were by a on the door, in its unexpectedness. All three rose hurriedly.
“Come in” the and Mrs. Skeet appeared heavily, with a look of in her eyes.
“Whatever is the matter?” asked Mr. Winthrop in dismay, out of his by her mien.
“Dan—Dan Murlock’s baby—it’s gone, sir”
24“Gone? Gone where?”
“No one knows, sir. He was playing in the garden, safe and sound, only five minutes before, and when Moll to call him in to put him to bed, he had vanished.”
“It’s for the child to have gone far,” said the vicar. “Why, he is only a baby!”
“Three last month, sir.”
“Has any one looked for him? What have they done?”
“The child can’t be away,” said Alan. “Why, there’s no traffic in the village that possibly him.”
Mrs. Skeet looked scared. “If you please, sir,” she whispered, “the people do say, as ’ow it’s the ‘Curse’ and that he has been away.”
The his eyes. “Nonsense, Mrs. Skeet! I’m of you. Never let me such from you again. Spirited away indeed! I he has away into the at the of the Murlocks’ cottage. Come, lads, we’ll go and see Dan and his wife, and do our best to help them.” Taking up their the three their way the street, so and still, but now with excitement.
As they the Murlocks’ cottage, they saw the door was open wide, the and garden to view. Curious neighbours, friends, open-mouthed children were the mother, who was herself to and in her and grief.
“Let us go through,” said the vicar, and the two boys him.
The woman the footsteps, and up her tear-stained to the intruders. She out her hands to the vicar, and the rolled her unchecked. He took of the toil-worn hands, and was about to speak when she of the two boys him. Her and her stiffened. Suddenly she a scream, and pointing a hand at them, “Go, go!” she cried. “You came to 25Marshfielden unbidden—you the ‘Curse’—now you have taken my baby—my darling, baby!”
Dan put his arm about her tenderly. “Do’ant ’ee tak’ on so, lass,” said he gently. “Sure, we’ll the babby. Already John Skinner and Matt Harding have gone with search parties to the lad. We’ll him back, wife mine.” But she only looked at the strangers. “Go—go—the ‘Curse’ is on us all!”
Mr. Winthrop to the two and they left the house, and their way to their rooms in silence.
The next on their way to work, they missed Dan Murlock. Some of the them as they asked where he was, and Slater, their landlord, was the only one to satisfy their curiosity. “With his wife,” said he curtly. “The has not been found.”
“Wherever can he be?” said Desmond in bewilderment. Slater his head.
“Search parties were out all night, but no or of him.”
“Have you any idea what has happened?” asked Alan. Slater gave a quick look at each in turn, and then something under his breath, and the boys had to be with that.
It was a terrible day at the mine for the two boys; they had to of their in silence, for not one of the a word to them if he possibly avoid it. They were with with fear, and the “Curse” to be on every one’s lips.
Two days passed—a week, a fortnight; still Dan Murlock’s was not found, and at last the broken-hearted appeared at church in mourning, thus to the world that they had up all of their little one again.
Murlock was about it all, but every one who him that he was a man. He had his wife and child, and at one had both, for his was without dead; and his wife had from him in the of her grief.
26The passed on, Christmas was upon them, and the child was spoken of in as one speaks of the dead. The two boys were as by the men, and they were to under their treatment. Although nothing had been said openly, they that they were by the for the of the baby.
“Alan,” said Desmond one day, as they were from the their dinner, “I can’t this. I am going to speak to the men.”
“Stand what?” asked Alan wearily.
“Why the and that are on us we are near them. They all away from us—treat us as if we were lepers; Slater us, and the ‘Curse’ is from lip to lip as we pass.”
“You’ll do no good, Desmond.”
“We had nothing to do with the child’s going away, yet they us as if we had him.”
“Leave it alone,” said Alan, “I don’t know what it is, but this place uncanny. I think I am almost to in the ‘Curse’ myself.”
Desmond no reply, but his shoulders, to walk toward the miners.
“Look here, you fellows,” he began. “What’s with you all? Why are you my and me as if we were murderers? We aren’t for Murlock’s little child away.”
The moved and together, each waiting for a to himself, who would teach them the line of action they should take. Desmond continued, “You talk about the ‘Curse’! We nothing about it when we came here, and to us it to there is anything about the whole affair. The river is only a of a mile from their garden gate; I know it has been dragged, but after all it is full of and weeds, and if the little did into it, ten to one his little will be found.”
Suddenly a leader was among the men, and Matt Harding up.
27“Look ’ere mates,” said he. “We do’ant these actually Dan Murlock’s baby, or that they know where he to, but after all, the ‘Curse’ tells us not to have in Marshfielden, or will befall. It may them, it may us, but some one will ill. Now it’s Slater’s fault for them lodgings. Let Slater turn them out, and that may the ‘Curse.’”
“Aye, aye!” the men in unison.
“Where is Slater?” asked one fellow.
“With the shift above,” came the reply in another voice. Then came from the rest. “Turn them out! Turn them out!”
“There is no need to turn us out,” said Alan with dignity. “We will rooms Marshfielden, and at the end of the week.”
“Leave now! Leave now!” a voice, which they as to Toby Skinner.
That was the one word needed to make the obstreperous. “Yes, go now, go now,” they cried. “By the end of the week all our may be gone.”
In the was for the men to work; but they were free of their up feelings, and to to the of the that called them to their duties.
Suddenly the manager’s voice was above the and babel.
“Get to your work at once,” he thundered, “or take my word for it, there will be a to-morrow.”
Gradually the men quieted, of the of the past weeks, and to work.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Mr. Dickson, to the boys.
“They think we are the of the of Dan Murlock’s baby,” Alan to the manager with some bitterness.
“Yes,” Desmond, “and now they that we Marshfielden. That ‘Curse’ is us mad. These people are like a set of savages, who in and of the century.”
28Mr. Dickson as he answered them. “Our Marshfielden are unique. They are almost a in themselves. As Cornishmen themselves ‘Cornish’ and not ‘English’ so Marshfielden men call themselves ‘Marshfieldens.’ It is true they are very for they in the that has been to them from all time.”
“What would you us to do?” asked Alan impatiently.
Mr. Dickson a moment, and then said quickly, “The of one of our men in a little not a of a mile from here; it on Corlot ground—not Marshfielden. She has a hard to make ends meet. I will send at once and see if she is to take you two as lodgers. If she will—then go to her, for she is clean, respectable, and will look after you well. Meanwhile, neither of you has had a day off yet, so go and about your luggage, and I’ll see you are up with rooms.”
“Thanks,” said Alan. “I shall be very sorry to Marshfielden though. It is such a quaint, old-world place.”
“Far too old-world for strangers,” said Mr. Dickson significantly. The little village was with when they Marshfielden. Women were to and across the stones, and the whole place of some great disturbance.
As the boys approached, a to the place, and the together and “The ‘Curse’! The ‘Curse’!”
Alan his shoulders. “I’ll see to the things,” said he. “You go along to Mr. Winthrop, and tell him of the in our plans.”
“Right, old boy,” and Desmond Mr. Winthrop’s rooms, and doing his best to the looks that were at him.
Alan into the little room that had so dear to them both. The was deserted, Mrs. Slater was absent, and as he his way up to the 29little bedroom, he as he of the dear little place.
In a very space of time the were and the packed; was done the together of the hundred and one and ends that about.
“That’s good!” said he to himself, as he rose from his knees, having up the trunks, and he his with pride, as he the time it had taken him to complete it all.
“Alan!”—He suddenly—it was Desmond’s voice.
“Coming, old chap,” but Desmond was in the room, with a white, set face, and a look of in his eyes.
“Good God! Whatever is the matter?” he asked.
“John Meal—Matt Harding—” Desmond.
“Have Dan’s boy?” eagerly.
“No. Their children have too!”
“What?”
“It’s true! Mr. Winthrop told me. That’s what the when we here this morning. This news had only just known.”
Alan dumb. He looked at Desmond with eyes; his swelled, and his mouth parched, but his would not words. Then came. “I wonder—is it the ‘Curse’ after all?”
“I that too.”
“When were they missed?”
“The children were all in safe and sound. Lunch time came and they were to enter the with the other little ones. Ten minutes later the was for them all to reassemble.
“When the children did so, it was that there were five children missing. Harding’s three little girls and Meal’s two had disappeared.
“The Head Mistress was furious, they had all gone off together, and were playing truant. She sent a message to the parents, so John Meal left his work in the fields, and on a search being made. He it was the ‘Curse’ and that if 30he his children he would them in company with Harding’s, and Dan’s boy.”
“Do you think it is a of at work?” Alan.
“There have been no near Marshfielden for over five years, they say. Besides that, the thing is, the children from the playground.”
“Well?”
“There is a ten all it, so it is for them to have over. The only way out is past the Head Mistress’ desk. She was there the whole of the break, and that for the whole ten minutes of the time, the was and no one passed her. It for them to have left the that way, and by the entrance.”
“Why it like witchcraft,” said Alan.
A voice them. It was Mrs. Slater; her red from weeping. “I of you two to go,” she sobbed. “The ‘Curse’ is upon us.”
“We are going,” said Alan gently, “but we will do our to the children. Now let us have our account.” But the woman out her hands her with a cry.
“No-No-Not a penny, sir.”
“Oh, come, Mrs. Slater, don’t be foolish. Let us have our bill,” Alan.
But Mrs. Slater was obdurate. “It’s only two days you me, sir, and I wouldn’t touch a penny. You are welcome to what you’ve had, only go—go!” It was to argue and they left the house with hearts, and toward the blacksmith’s in order to ask some one to take their away for them.
“Good morning, Jim,” said Alan as they the forge. The man looked up and them carefully, and as he saw Alan about to step across the he gave a cry.
“Do’ant ’ee put your inside, gentlemen, do’ant ’ee please! Oh, the ‘Curse’ be upon us all!”
31The boys their helplessly, and Alan spoke quickly.
“Send your boy up to Mrs. Slater’s, will you, Jim? We want our taken from there to Mrs. Warren’s at Corlot.”
“You be agoin’ away?” asked the man eagerly.
“Yes.”
“I be glad, sirs. I do’ant to be rude, sirs, of we shall miss you sorely, but the ‘Curse’ has us hard since you came.”
“Then you’ll send your boy, Jim?”
Jim his head. “Couldn’t you manage it yourselves?”
“Surely it won’t you to help us out of Marshfielden?” said Alan bitterly.
“I do’ant know, sir, but—”
“Well?”
“I’d you my trolley, sir, than my boy. I do be of the ‘Curse’.”
“All right, Jim, give us the trolley. We’ll do it ourselves.” The it out, and gave it with an to Alan.
“Don’t apologize, Jim. I understand.”
But the had one more thing to say. “Do’ant ’ee trouble to it to Marshfielden, sirs, it with Ezra Meakin. He’ll it for ’ee.”
“Oh, don’t fear, Jim, we won’t return to Marshfielden once we’ve left. Ezra shall return it safely. We’ll pay you now.”
Jim was not too to payment, and the amount of they on him touched him.
“I do’ant to be rude, sir,” he began—but the boys had started on their way and were already the the street.
Jim into his with a hand. Had he helped the “Curse” by his trolley—doubly so, indeed, by payment? And as he the on the anvil, out all around him like little red for prey!
When the came home that night they were 32unaware of the that had come into their midst. The were gone! They rejoiced, and Matt Harding was among the merriest. Mr. Winthrop and John Meal were away still for the missing ones, and no one had go to the mine to tell Matt of his loss.
He the news with a set face, and self control. No word of was him by his comrades; he needed none. Blindly he home, his loving, grief-stricken wife and him, up herself in order to help the man she loved.
Silently the prepared for another search.
“The two are going to help,” a woman in the crowd.
“We do’ant want no help,” a man his arm. “We’ll the ourselves.” But the search proved futile, as they almost expected, for as Murlock’s boy had completely, so had these other five children. But still were happening!
Mrs. Skeet a cow of which she was very proud. Two days after the of the children, she it up in its in the byre, as it was from an heel. Next when she entered the the cow had gone, and the whole of the had been away. Rushing into the she called Mr. Winthrop, but there was no reply. She at his door. The room empty. Again she knocked, and her open it. In a second she was out, and in her terror, for the window was open wide, and the too had disappeared.
33
