LITMIR.BIZ

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Starling nodded up toward the ceiling and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

      "I'm staying at The Park," he said. "Come along with Captain Murpoint."

      "You're his servant," said Willie.

      "Yes, I'm his servant," said Mr. Starling, looking into the bottom of his quart pot with one eye closed.

      "Oh," said the fisherman, with an air almost of relief. "Oh, that's it, is it?" he said. "I thought perhaps ye were loafing round a bit."

      Mr. Starling grinned.

      "I can do a bit at that trade," he said, with a wink that elicited a guffaw.

      "Noo doubt," said Willie. "An' what sort of a man is the captain?" he asked.

      "What sort?" said Mr. Starling. "A good sort, or he wouldn't be my master."

      "And where do ye come from?"

      "India."

      Willie shook his head.

      "Ay, that's where Master John coom from."

      "Just so," said Mr. Starling. "They were sworn friends – what you may call brothers with two mothers. My guv'nor was Mr. Mildmay's particular pal, thick as thieves, and – come, what do you say to another wet?"

      "No more," said Willie, answering for himself and the rest of the company.

      "Well, if you won't I'll see about climbing," said Mr. Starling. "It's a rum thing to build a house on a hill; it's awkward for a gentleman after he's took his evening's glass at the pub. Now, if it was me I should 'a' built it down here in the village, just next door to the 'Blue Lion,'" and with a wink he stuck his hat well on the side of his head and walked toward the door.

      At that moment, however, Martha entered, and, looking round, said, sharply:

      "Are you going to sit here all day, Willie Sanderson, with all them fish to send off to Lunnon? Are ye daft, man?"

      Willie Sanderson rose and looked at her, raising his hand and scratching first his right, then his left ear.

      Mr. Starling, who happened to turn at the doorway to observe how the customers would take such summary ejections, noticed the action, and was somewhat struck to observe Mrs. Martha's sharp tone dropped considerably, and that with a quick pursing of the lips she raised her hand and scratched her own ears, first her right, then her left.

      Now, Mr. Starling, who knew something of signs and countersigns, and had had occasion during his rather adventurous life to avail himself of such devices, instantly decided that there was some secret understanding between the hostess of the "Blue Lion" and the burly fisherman, and was confirmed in his suspicions by the silent and immediate obedience of the lads, who, at a toss of the head from their leader, rose quietly and left the house, giving Mr. Starling a gruff good-day as they strolled past.

      Mr. Starling looked after them, then turned on his heel, stuck his hands into the mysterious depths of his light trousers, and commenced his climb.

      Halfway up the hill, however, he stopped abruptly and swinging round smacked his leg with an emphatic thwack, muttering:

      "Hang me if I can make it out. What the Villikins and his Dinah does the landlady of a village inn want a making signs with a wooden-headed fisherman?"

      Mr. Starling's wits would have been still farther sharpened could he have followed Willie Sanderson down the village and watched him unseen.

      The lads, once clear of the "Blue Lion," turned swiftly to the left and ran down to the beach, where, in a confused heap, were the recently taken fish and the baskets in which they were to be packed.

      Willie Sanderson, however, after a word or two with the old fisherman, turned to the right and walked slowly toward the end of the village.

      As he neared the row of cottages he saw, coming toward him on the road that led by many a weary mile to London, a smart tax cart.

      Willie's eyes were sharp and though the little white-covered cart apparently differed in nothing from its kindred, he knew it at a glance, and, drawing a little aside, he sat down on a heap of empty baskets to wait patiently.

      Presently the cart came up, and the driver, a little, thickset man, dressed in an ordinary guernsey, and thick, white trousers peculiar to the seacoast, and wearing a patch over his left eye, shot a sharp glance from the right one at the recumbent figure of the fisherman, and gruffly gave him "Good-morning."

      "Good-morning, Job, lad," replied Willie, and with a smile he repeated the action which had surprised Mr. Starling.

      In an instant the old fellow's hand went up to his ears, and, with a reflection of Willie Sanderson's smile, he "tckd" to the horse and passed on.

      Beyond the salutation not a word had passed, but Willie Sanderson rose to his feet and set off toward the beach, whistling with the satisfaction of a man who has adroitly accomplished a difficult and dangerous undertaking.

      CHAPTER V

      IN DIFFICULTIES

      To the unsophisticated inhabitants of the little seacoast village the Mildmays of the Park, and the Dodsons of the Cedars, were very great folk, indeed, but we have now to do with far greater, with no less a personage and family, indeed, than the well-known Earl of Lackland and his children.

      A very great man was the Earl of Lackland. His ancestors had fought at Cressy, and at Hastings.

      Lackland Hall was an immense place in the Midlands, a grand old house, with famous associations. You could not turn a page of English history without coming directly, or indirectly, upon the deeds and doings of the Lacklands.

      It was a question with some politicians whether if by some dreadful chance the house of Lacklands had been extinguished, the history of England could have been written at all!

      There were men who, when they wanted to illustrate the grandeur, the nobility, the importance of England, would point the admiring finger at Lacklands and exclaim:

      "There is one type! Look at Lacklands and see epitomized the glory of our land!"

      Certainly the Earl of Lackland was a most important individual.

      Besides the great Lackland Hall there were also the great mansion in Grosvenor Square, the castle in Scotland, the villa on the banks of the Arno, and the fishing boxes in Ireland and Wales.

      The present earl and countess was blessed, in addition to the places of residence above enumerated, with a son and daughter.

      The former, Lord Fitz Plantagenet Boisdale, was a young man just passed his majority. Fair – insipid he would have been called had he not been heir to Lackland – somewhat simple-minded, certainly not clever, and extremely fond of dress, billiards, his betting-book, and his cigar.

      Lady Ethel Boisdale, his sister, presented a marked contrast to him.

      She was tall, dark, by no means insipid, and if not positively clever, certainly possessed of the average quantity of brains.

      To say in what direction her taste inclined would be perhaps at present rather premature.

      It is difficult to analyze the lady's disposition, and probably the reader at some future time might be dissatisfied and inclined to pooh, pooh our opinion of Lady Ethel if we pronounced it thus early. Suffice it to say she was fond of reading, was deeply attached to her brother, and would have been equally so to her parents had they encouraged or even permitted her to be so.

      Perhaps such great personages as the Earl and Countess of Lackland were too exalted to possess those emotions of affection and tenderness which fall to the lot of commoner people.

      If they did not possess them they managed to conceal them with infinite art, and no one could accuse them of the common folly of wearing their hearts upon their sleeves.

      Assuredly Lady Ethel must have had a warm heart and a generous nature or the coldness of her exalted parents would have chilled her and rendered her cold likewise.

      That she was not the reader will soon perceive.

      Thousands of persons envied my Lord and Lady Lackland. Never did their

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