A Little Boy Lost

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  A LITTLE BOY LOST

  By W. H. Hudson

  Illustrated by A. D. M'Cormick

  CONTENTS

  _CHAPTER_

  I THE HOME ON THE GREAT PLAIN,

  II THE SPOONBILL AND THE CLOUD,

  III CHASING A FLYING FIGURE,

  IV MARTIN IS FOUND BY A DEAF OLD MAN,

  V THE PEOPLE OF THE MIRAGE,

  VI MARTIN MEETS WITH SAVAGES,

  VII ALONE IN THE GREAT FOREST,

  VIII THE FLOWER AND THE SERPENT,

  IX THE BLACK PEOPLE OF THE SKY,

  X A TROOP OF WILD HORSES,

  XI THE LADY OF THE HILLS,

  XII THE LITTLE PEOPLE UNDERGROUND,

  XIII THE GREAT BLUE WATER,

  XIV THE WONDERS OF THE HILLS,

  XV MARTIN'S EYES ARE OPENED,

  XVI THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST,

  XVII THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA,

  XVIII MARTIN PLAYS WITH THE WAVES,

  CHAPTER I

  THE HOME ON THE GREAT PLAIN

  Some like to be one thing, some another. There is so much to be done,so many different things to do, so many trades! Shepherds, soldiers,sailors, ploughmen, carters--one could go on all day naming withoutgetting to the end of them. For myself, boy and man, I have beenmany things, working for a living, and sometimes doing things justfor pleasure; but somehow, whatever I did, it never seemed quite theright and proper thing to do--it never quite satisfied me. I alwayswanted to do something else--I wanted to be a carpenter. It seemedto me that to stand among wood-shavings and sawdust, making thingsat a bench with bright beautiful tools out of nice-smelling wood,was the cleanest, healthiest, prettiest work that any man can do.Now all this has nothing, or very little, to do with my story: Ionly spoke of it because I had to begin somehow, and it struck methat I would make a start that way. And for another reason, too._His father was a carpenter_. I mean Martin's father--Martin, theLittle Boy Lost. His father's name was John, and he was a very goodman and a good carpenter, and he loved to do his carpentering betterthan anything else; in fact as much as I should have loved it if Ihad been taught that trade. He lived in a seaside town, namedSouthampton, where there is a great harbour, where he saw greatships coming and going to and from all parts of the world. Now, nostrong, brave man can live in a place like that, seeing the shipsand often talking to the people who voyaged in them about thedistant lands where they had been, without wishing to go and seethose distant countries for himself. When it is winter in England,and it rains and rains, and the east wind blows, and it is grey andcold and the trees are bare, who does not think how nice it would beto fly away like the summer birds to some distant country where thesky is always blue and the sun shines bright and warm every day? Andso it came to pass that John, at last, when he was an old man, soldhis shop, and went abroad. They went to a country many thousands ofmiles away--for you must know that Mrs. John went too; and when thesea voyage ended, they travelled many days and weeks in a wagonuntil they came to the place where they wanted to live; and there,in that lonely country, they built a house, and made a garden, andplanted an orchard. It was a desert, and they had no neighbours, butthey were happy enough because they had as much land as they wanted,and the weather was always bright and beautiful; John, too, had hiscarpenter's tools to work with when he felt inclined; and, best ofall, they had little Martin to love and think about.

  But how about Martin himself? You might think that with no otherchild to prattle to and play with or even to see, it was too lonelya home for him. Not a bit of it! No child could have been happier.He did not want for company; his playfellows were the dogs and catsand chickens, and any creature in and about the house. But most ofall he loved the little shy creatures that lived in the sunshineamong the flowers--the small birds and butterflies, and littlebeasties and creeping things he was accustomed to see outside thegate among the tall, wild sunflowers. There were acres of theseplants, and they were taller than Martin, and covered with flowersno bigger than marigolds, and here among the sunflowers he used tospend most of the day, as happy as possible.

  He had other amusements too. Whenever John went to his carpenter'sshop--for the old man still dearly loved his carpentering--Martinwould run in to keep him company. One thing he liked to do was topick up the longest wood-shavings, to wind them round his neck andarms and legs, and then he would laugh and dance with delight, happyas a young Indian in his ornaments.

  A wood-shaving may seem a poor plaything to a child with all thetoyshops in London to pick and choose from, but it is really verycurious and pretty. Bright and smooth to the touch, pencilled withdelicate wavy lines, while in its spiral shape it reminds one ofwinding plants, and tendrils by means of which vines and creeperssupport themselves, and flowers with curling petals, and curledleaves and sea-shells and many other pretty natural objects.

  One day Martin ran into the house looking very flushed and joyous,holding up his pinafore with something heavy in it.

  "What have you got now?" cried his father and mother in a breath,getting up to peep at his treasure, for Martin was always fetchingin the most curious out-of-the-way things to show them.

  "My pretty shaving," said Martin proudly.

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  When they looked they were amazed and horrified to see a spottedgreen snake coiled comfortably up in the pinafore. It didn't appearto like being looked at by them, for it raised its curiousheart-shaped head and flicked its little red, forked tongue at them.

  His mother gave a great scream, and dropped the jug she had in herhand upon the floor, while John rushed off to get a big stick."Drop it, Martin--drop the wicked snake before it stings you, andI'll soon kill it."

  Martin stared, surprised at the fuss they were making; then, stilltightly holding the ends of his pinafore, he turned and ran out ofthe room and away as fast as he could go. Away went his father afterhim, stick in hand, and out of the gate into the thicket of tall wildsunflowers where Martin had vanished from sight. After hunting aboutfor some time, he found the little run-away sitting on the groundamong the weeds.

  "Where's the snake?" he cried.

  "Gone!" said Martin, waving his little hand around. "I let it go andyou mustn't look for it."

  John picked the child up in his arms and marched back to the roomand popped him down on the floor, then gave him a good scolding."It's a mercy the poisonous thing didn't sting you," he said."You're a naughty little boy to play with snakes, because they'redangerous bad things, and you die if they bite you. And now you mustgo straight to bed; that's the only punishment that has any effecton such a harebrained little butterfly."

  Martin, puckering up his face for a cry, crept away to his littleroom. It was very hard to have to go to bed in the daytime when hewas not sleepy, and when the birds and butterflies were out in thesunshine having such a good time.

  "It's not a bit of use scolding him--I found that out long ago,"said Mrs. John, shaking her head. "Do you know, John, I can't helpthinking sometimes that he's not our child at all."

  "Whose child do you think he is, then?" said John, who had a cup ofwater in his hand, for the chase after Martin had made him hot, andhe wanted cooling.

  "I don't know--but I once had a very curious dream."

  "People often do have curious dreams," said wise old John.

  "But this was a very curious one, and I remember saying to myself,if this doesn't mean something that is going to happen, then dreamsdon't count for much."

  "No more they do," said John.

  "It was in England, just when we were getting ready for the voyage,and it was autumn, when the birds were leaving us. I dreamed that Iwent out alone and walked by the sea, and stood watching a greatnumber of swallows flying by and out over the sea--flying away tosome distant land. By-and-by I noticed one bird coming down lowerand lower as if he wanted to alight, and I watched it, and it camedown straight to me, and at last flew right into my bosom. I put myhand on it, and looking close saw that it was a martin, all purewhite on its throat and breast, and with a white patch on its back.Then I woke up, and it was because of that dream that I named ourchild Martin instead of John as you wished to do. Now, when I watchswallows flying about, coming and going round the house, I sometimesthink that Martin came to us like that one in the dream, and thatsome day he will fly away from us. When he gets bigger, I mean."

  "When he gets littler," you mean, said John with a laugh. "No, no,he's too big for a swallow--a Michaelmas goose would be nothing tohim for size. But here I am listening to your silly dreams instead ofwatering the melons and cucumbers!" And out he went to his garden,but in a minute he put his head in at the door and said, "You may goand tell him to get up if you like. Poor little fellow! Only make himpromise not to go chumming with spotted snakes any more, and not tobring them into the house, because somehow they disagree with me."

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