The Toll-Gate Read Online Free PDF

was never to see him no more."
    "Lord, yes, of course you will!"
    "Well, I don't want to," said Ben frankly. "He's a proper jobbernoll, that's what he is. Else they wouldn't never have snabbled him. Me dad says so."
    If Ben possessed other relatives, he did not know of them. His mother seemed to have died some years before; and it soon became apparent that he clung to his father less from affection than from a lively dread of being thrown on the Parish. He was convinced that if this should befall him he would be sent to work at one of the foundries in Sheffield. He lived near enough to Sheffield to know what miseries were endured by the swarms of stunted children who were employed from the age of seven in the big manufacturing towns; and it was not surprising that this fate should seem so terrible to him. There was only one worse fate known to him, and this, before long, he was to confide to John.
    While he talked, and John sat sipping his rum, the wind had risen a little, bringing with it other sounds than the steady dripping of the rain. The wicket-gate for the use of travellers on foot creaked and banged gently once or twice, and when this happened Ben's face seemed to sharpen, and he broke off what he was saying to listen intently. John noticed that his eyes wandered continually towards the back door, and that the noises coming from the rear of the house seemed to worry him more than the creak of the gate. A gust of wind blew something over with a clatter. It sounded to John as though a broom, or a rake, had fallen, but it brought Ben to his feet in a flash, and drove him instinctively to John's side.
    "What is it?" John said quietly.
    "Him!" breathed Ben, his gaze riveted to the door.
    John got up, and trod over to the door, ignoring a whimper of protest.
    He shot back the bolts, and opened it, stepping out into the garden.
    "There's no one here," he said, over his shoulder. "You left a broom propped against the wall, and the wind blew it over, that's all. Come and see for yourself!" He waited for a moment, and then repeated, on a note of authority: "Come!"
    Ben approached reluctantly.
    "Weather's fairing up," remarked John, leaning his shoulders against the doorframe, and looking up at the sky. "Getting lighter. We shall have a fine day tomorrow. Well? Can you see anyone?"
    "N-no," Ben acknowledged, with a little shiver. He looked up at John, and added hopefully: "He couldn't get me, could he? Not with a big cove like you here."
    "Of course not. No one could get you," John replied, shutting the door again, and going back to the fire. "You may bolt it if you choose, but there's no need."
    "Yes, 'cos he might come to see me dad, and I mustn't see him, nor him me," explained Ben.
    "Lord, is he as shy as all that? What's the matter with him? Is he so ugly?"
    "I dunno. I never seen him. Only his shadder—onct!"
    "But you've rubbed his horse down for him, haven't you?"
    "No!" Ben said, staring.
    "Wasn't that his blanket that you brought me for Beau?"
    "No. That's Mr. Chirk's!" said Ben. "He's a——" He stopped, gave a gasp, and added quickly: "He's as good as ever twanged, he is! You don't want to go telling nobody about him! Please, sir——"
    "Oh, I won't breathe a word about him! Are all your friends so shy?"
    "He ain't shy. He just don't like strangers."
    "I see. And does this other man—the one you're afraid of—dislike strangers too?"
    "I dunno. He can't abide boys. Me dad says if he was to catch me looking at him he'd have me took off to work in the pits." His voice sank on the word, and he gave so convulsive a shudder that it was easy to see that coal-pits were to him a worse horror than foundries.
    John laughed. "That's a fine Banbury story! Your dad's been hoaxing you, my son!"
    Ben looked incredulous. "He could have me took off. He'd put a sack over me head, and——"
    "Oh, would he? And what do you suppose I should do if anyone walked in and tried to put a sack over your head?"
    "What?" asked Ben,