LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 54, 1 August 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DENNY’S INTENTIONS,

In Four Chapter

[From ‘ Chambers’ Journal.’] CHAPTER I,

Silverbridge is built on the slope of a bill, and its High street is as steep ns the side of a house. Looking down from the crest of the hill, you see a row of quaint oldfashioned houses on either hand ; a gilt clock jutting out from the front of an ancient timber building, like the sign of an inn, its supports adorned with fancy scroll-work of iron, quaintly twisted and gilt. At the bottom of the street is the bridge, and a hill rises sharply up from the bridge, a broad ‘down, ‘whose lower slope is covered with houses, but which crowns the houses with corn-fields, turnip-fields, and copses. Below the town, the river winds through an alluvial valley ; and above are meadows and parkland, osier-beds and pastures, dotted with clumps of trees, tall elms, and home-loving poplars ; but the town itself lies just in the gorge of the river, up one hill and down the other, with a few streets branching out laterally. There is a church at the top of the town, of warm rod brick, ugly and comfort able ; there is a church in the middle of the town, ancient and chill, with columns oi chalk, and narrow Norman and a choir like a crypt, vaulted, and groined, and banded with stone ; there is a church at the

bottom of the town, almost in the river’s bed, brown, and squat, and ugly too, but with a certain air of fitness about it; and then, on the northern slope of the hill, above the river, is a great square Norman keep ; and under the keep, astride of the stream, which flows through its inward parts, is the King’s Mill, a large brick building, with flour oozing out of all its pores. Beyond the mill and the castle, where the river takes a sweep, turned by the invincibl flank of the down, are chalk pits and caverns, with warm red brick cottages resting under the shade ; and a road at the foot, that winds its way beneath an avenue of thus, with glimpses of the river, and the fat meadows and hills bcyon f, bine and ethereal.

Half-way upjthelligh street of Silverbridge stands a house of red brick with many windows. A double set of stone steps, protected by an iron railing, gives access to the front door, on which a largo brass plate bears the legend ‘Mrs Collfoot’s Preparatory school

It is a bright sunny summer’s day, and the chimes arc celebrating the half-hour after noon in drowsy tinkling cadence ; the door with Mrs Coltfoot’s brass plate upon it swings open, and a boy in a suit of grey knickerbockers descends the flight of steps. He is about ten years old, and has a merry healthy face, rather smeared with ink, and somewhat overcast at present, as ho has been kept in, and expects a lecture from his father when he gets home. With the idea of putting off the evil hour as long as possible, although with an uneasy consciousness that he is only intensifying its misery, he loiters on his way down the High street, looking at all the shop windows as he passes, and lingering a long while at the confectioner’s admiring the frosted cake, and the buns, yellow with saffron, and coated thick with sugar aud spice. When he reaches the corner of the street, the cross street that runs under the castle and the quarries, he stops again to watch a carriage, that is coming along the road. It was a somewhat peculiar vehicle, the like of which has not been built for many a long year. I fancy that in days gone by it would have been called a ponychair, aud was upon little wheels, the pair behind about as big round as Cheshire cheese?, another in front more like goodsized casters ; a shaggy little pony was in tho curved shafts, who was coming along at a pace something betwixt a walk and a shamble. The occupant of this carriage was an elderly man, with a thin hatchet face, keen small eyes, and with a little grey hair straggling about his checks. He wore a white beaver hat, many sizes too large for him ; a blue scarf wound several times round his neck, from which appeared two small points, that represented a latent collar ; a faded brown over-coat shewed beneath an old-fashioned blue coat, adorned with brass buttons. He was incessantly twitching the reins ; each twitch tho pony acknowledged with his cars. Every now and then, he half rose from his seat, aud lashed out at the pony with a little whip. At the lash, the pony swished his tail, but did not quicken his pace. Perhaps, however, but for these constant stimulants, he would have come to a staud-still altogether. Charlie Blake, the youthful hero of this stoiy, stood with his month open, watching this curious equipage. He knew very well who the man was, and had often seen his turn out ; but it was a source of perpetual amusement and wonder to him. Old Denny, the man was called; and his pony’s name was Rob ; and the little fat spaniel, that was panting along half a mile behind, was Carlo; and they lived at the Manor farm ; and Denny was said to be enormously rich—worth millions, according to the traditions of the boys. Denny’s keen eyes, searching everything he came across, espied the boy, standing, with eyes and mouth wide opeu, at tho kerb by the corner. 4 Hi, boy !’ he cried, drawing up Ids little carriage to tho side ; when he ceased to twitch and lash, the pony came to a stand. ‘ Hi, boy ! come here.’

Master Charlie was a little alarmed. Perhaps his conscience pricked him as to raids on old Denny’s apples, or as to stones thrown at his pigs, and he dreaded some instant retribution. Anyhow, he looked rapidly around him, as if meditating flight, but he was fascinated by the old gentleman’s eye, and felt himself glued to the pavement, 4 Come here, boy!’ cried Denny once more; and Charlie felt constrained to obey. ‘ How old arc you, boy ?’ ‘Ten ; at least I am eleven next birthday.’ 4 Well, never mind. Have you had the measles V

‘Yes; me and Polly had them together last term.’ ‘ Been vaccinated, hey V ‘ Of course, I have !’ said Charlie. 1 What’s your name, boy V 1 Charlie Nostrop Blake.’ ‘ Hum ! A long name for a little chap Where does your father live V ‘ Oh, just over there, said Charlie, pointing vaguely over the houses. ‘ Would you like a halfpenny, my boy?’ ‘ Mother wouldn’t like me to take it.’ ‘ Hum ! Good boy ! Honor your father and your mother, eh ? Gad, 1 think you’ll do. Look here.’ Denny pulled out a bright silver shilling, and held it up before the boy. ‘ Would you like a bright new shilling, eh ?’ Charlie’s eyes glistened ; ho wasn’t proof against that. ‘ Yes, I should, he said. ‘ Ha ! Go and knock at that door, and say that Mr Denny is waiting to see Mr Hutton.’ Charlie did as he was bid. Tt was a big door, with a big knocker, and it had a brass plate, on which was engraved, ‘ Hutton and Horton, Solicitors.’ Charlie was astonished, when, in answer to his knock, the door started open a few inches, but nobody came. ‘ Push the door open, and go in,’ cried Denny, from his chair. Charlie felt that ho was committing himself to some perilous adventure, and regretted that he hadn’t taken to his heels, as his first impulse bade him. Nevertheless, he pushed open the door bravely, and found himself in a matted hall. A hat-stand faced him, and a flight of broad carpeted stairs, on each hand of him a door. Nobody came to him, and he didn’t know what to do next. Then the door on his right opened, and a pretty little girl in a white frock, with a great blue sash, came out into the hall. She pulled to the door, and then stood with her back to it, looking with great brown eyes at the stranger. Charlie was already susceptible to female charms, and desperately ashamed of his weakness. But the little girl in white was such a vision of delight, that he didn’t know what to say or do ; he stood staring at her in blank admiration. Her long hair lloated about her like a golden veil ; she had the

most charming white stockings, and perfectly ravishing blue shoes. ‘ What do you want, little boy ? ’ she said with calm superiority ; being about half the age of Charlie. ‘ Mr Denny wants to sec Mr Hutton.’ ‘ Ah ! some of the office people,’ said the child with an air of dignity. ‘ Over there. .Stay ; I will show yon ’

The little fairy tripped across the hall, and opened (he door: ‘ Marrables, here is somebody wants papa.’ ‘ Oh, indeed, Miss Fanny,’ said a young man who was sitting on a tall stool at a high desk. ‘Ha! is it you young gentleman? Do you want to see Air Hutton ? Perhaps you’ll give me your card.’

‘ I don’t want to sec him,’ replied Charlie coloring. 1 It’s Air Denny.’ ‘Oh, ah!’ said the clerk, going to the window, and peering over the wire-blind: ‘ A r cs, there’s old Denny. Ah ! I’ll mention it to the governor.’ Ho saying, he knocked at the door of an inner office, and went in. ‘Are you his little boy ? ’ said Fanny, who had run to the window, pointing at the little pony-chair outside. ‘No; I should think not,’ said Charlie scornfully. ‘An old fright like that ! ’ ‘Well, you might be, you know,’ said Fanny. ‘ Perhaps he’s somebody’s papa,’ • I shouldn’t think so,’ replied Charlie.

‘Hollo ! mite, what arc you doing here? ’ said a voice from the inner office, and Air Hutton, a tall florid man of middle age, came forth. ‘And who are you, my boy? Ah! young Blake, I see. And Denny, where is he? Outside, eh ? Well, I suppose I must go to him.’ Charlie thought now he’d better start off home ; only, somehow, he didn’t like to go out whilst old Denny was talking there to Mr llul ton ; he hadn’t got his shilling either; Mr Denny had forgotten it, no doubt, and ho couldn’t very well ask for it when he was busy. He had a sort of vague hope, too, of further adventures.

‘ I know you now,’ said Fanny ; ‘ you go to school with Tommy—he’s my brother—and you live in the, hihiptou road. 1 know your papa too ; such a big man ! But he’s very poor, isn’t he ? ’ ‘No ; he isn’t, said Charlie stoutly. ‘He’s got ever so much money.’ ‘ Papa says he’s poor. But it doesn’t matter ; I shall have plenty of money, and 1 will give you some.’

Charlie said he meant to make his own fortune, and didn’t want any of her money. And then he heard the voice of Denny calling —‘ Hi, hi 1 boy ; here.’ Charlie ran out, thinking that the shilling was coming now ; but Mr Denny had apparently put that back into his pocket. ‘He’ll do, L think, Hutton, eh? Eleven years old —healty, good constitution, honors his father and mother, vaccinated, and been through the measles. Yes, 1 think he’ll do capital.’ ‘ Certainly,’ said Hutton, looking down at Charlie in an absorbed, thoughtful way. ‘ He’ll do very well. Let’s see ; what’s your Christian name, Blake ? ’ ‘ Charles Nostrop Blake.’ Denny pulled out a note-book, and put it down. ‘ Age, next birthday, eleven, eh ? Been vaccinated, had the measles, got his second teeth, good constitution, honors his father and mother. Yes; he’ll do very well, Hutton. Make it so, will you ? ’ Hutton nodded. ‘ That’ll do, my boy,’ he said. To hr continued .