HMiiMiifiliiiiliMllli ,^^MIRRAI?Y/9/ .= ^ - A^?' 0.^ .^N\,lllRRAK'Vr^^ ^\^FIINIVFB.V// vlOSANGEIfj '^.!/0JnV3JO^' '%OJI1VJJO'^ "•i^/lJONVSOl^"^ o vinSANCflfj O Li. ■^/5{j3Mvjnn\' \VAf IINIVFI?9/>. K imANf.Flfr, o.f.llRPARV/), AtllRPARV/O/ summo/-^ ^nmmn.' H "^•tfOdllVJ-JO"^ ^ c» < '^ c- %a3AINft-3WV^ ^IIIBRARYQ^ ^HIBRA'^- cr. A so £ " "U VJ ' I T ^ J v^ ^^ \i^..... .WEUNIVERS-M f filJDNYSOl^ v>:lOSANCELfj> >c ^OFCALIF0%. ^OFCAi; ^ILIBRARYQ^ ^^^VLIBRARYGt ^ o "^aiAiNa-^wv^ INIVERS/A ..vlOSANCElfr.; ^VvUlBRARYO>r ^AlUBRARYC/-. A COMPETENT CRITIC I Has remarked of "East Lynne," By the Author op this VoLtJME, — " It is the Author's masterpiece, and siands in the very front rank of all the works of fiction ever ^vritten ; it has scarcely a rival as a brilliant creation of lite- rarj^ genius, and is prominent among the very few works of its class that have stood the test of time, and achieved a lasting reputation. In originality ol design, and masterly and dramatic development of the subject, it stands unrivaled ; it will be read and rc-rcad long after the majority of the ephemeral romances of to- day have passed out of exist- ence and beett forgotten." Sold everywhere and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, BY G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, New York. POPULAR BOOKS IN TUIB NE'V^ S E HIE S, 1. — The Ladies' and Gentlemen's Etiquette Book of the Best Societt. — A Guide to True Politeness. — By Mrs. Jane Aster. 2. — Undek the Rose. — By the author of " East L3'nne."—*—" She's a Woman; therefore to be Won." 3. — Love and Maruiage. — Celibacy, Wedded Life, The Ruling Passion, and Impedimenta to Marriage. — By Frederic Saunders. 4. — Guide to Accojiplishments in Conteii- SATION, LeTTEU-WuITING, AND SPEECH- Making. — By Mrs. Jane Aster. 5.— So Dear a Dream.— A charming Novel by Maria M. Grant, author of "Sun Maid," " Sorry Her Lot, who loves too well," etc. Xheae books aro for sale by aU Booksellers, and will bo »ent by mail, poUage free, on receipt of price, by G. W, CARLETON Sc CO., Publlsbers, Neiv York. UNDEK THE EOSE. BY THE AUTHOR OP "EAST LYNNE." *• She's beautiful ; and therefore to be wooed ; Bhe is a woman ; therefore to be won." SMTcspeare, Henry VL ^ NEW YORK : Copyrisht, 1873, by G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers, LONDON : S. LOW & CO. MDCCCLXXIX. CONTENTS. vAtn I. Losing Lena 7 II. Finding Both op Them 27 III. Wolfe Barrington's Taming 43 IV. Major Parrifer 70 V. Coming Home to Him , 91 VI. Lease, the Pointsman 113 VII. Aunt Dean 13G VIII. Going through the Tunnel "lol IX. Dick Mitchel 1S3 X. A Hunt by Mooniight 204 XI. The Beginning of the End 224 XII. Jerry's Gazette 247 XIIL Sophie Chalk 275 XTV. At Miss Deveen's 2P1 XV The Game Fii.'isniiD 333 XVI. Going to the Mop 346 XVII. Breaking Down 371 2138899 I. ^3^^^ LOSING LENA. vX.- >ie^ '^'^^E lived chiefly at Dyke Manor. A fine old place, so fev^j close upon the borders of "Warwickshire and Wor- 'sS^'^ cestershire, that raanv people did not know which of the two counties it was really in. The house was in Warwickshire, but some of the land was in Worcester- shire, The Squire had, however, another estate, Crabb Cot, all in Worcestershire, and very many miles nearer to Wor cester. Squire Todhetley was rich. But he lived in the plain, good old-fashioued way that his forefathers had lived ; almost a homely way, it might be called, in contrast with the show and parade springing up of late years. He was respected by everybody, and though hot-headed and impetuous, he was simple-minded, open-handed, and had as good a heart as any- body ever had in this world. An elderl^y gentleman now, was he, of middle height, with a portly form and a red face ; and his hair, what was left of it, consisted of a few scanty lightish locks, standing up straight on the top of his head. The Squire had married, but not very early in life. His wife died in a few years, leaving one child only ; a son, named after his father, Joseph. Young Joe was just the pride of the Manor and of his fathers heart. I, writing this, am Johnny Ludlow. And you will natur ally want to hear what I did at Dyke Manor, and why 1 lived there. About three miles' distance from the Manor was a place 8 I-OSLSrO LENA. called the Court. Not a property of so much importance as the Manor, but u nice place, for all that. It belonged to nij' father, \7illi:un Ludlow. lie and Squire l\>dhetley were g(»od Iriends. I was the only chikl, just as Tod was ; and, like him, I had lost my mother. They had christened me .lolm, but always called me Johnny, I can remember many incidents of my eai-ly life now, but I cannot recall to iny mind my mother. She must have died— at least I fancy so — when I was two years old. One raorning, two years after that, when I was about four, the servants told me I had a new mamma. I can see her now as sl?e l(.)oked when she came home : tall and thin and upright, with a long face, pinched nose, a meek expression, and gentle voice. She was a ]\Iiss Marks, who used to play the organ at church, and had hardly any income at all. Hannah said she was sure she was thirty-five if she was a day — she was talk ing to Eliza while she dressed me— and they both agreed that she would probably turn out to be a Tartar, and that the master might have chosen better. I understood quite well that they meant papa, and asked why he might have chosen better; upon which they shook me and said they had not been speaking of my papa at all, but of the old blacksmith romid the corner. Hannah brushed my hair the wj-ong wa}'-, and Eliza went off to see to her bedrooms. Children are easily prejudiced: and they prejudiced me against my new mother. Looking at her by the improved eyes of maturer yeai's, I know that though she might be poor in pocket, she was good and kindly, and eveiy inch a lad}'. Papa (lied that same year. At the end of another year, Mrs. Lndlow, n)y step-mother, married Squire Todhetley, and we went to live at Dyke Manor ; she, I, and my nurse Ilau- Dali. The Court was let for a term of years to the Stei-lings. Young Joe did not like the new arrangements, lie was older than I, coidd take up prejudices more strongly, and ho took a mighty sti'ong one against the new Mrs. Todhetley. He had been regularly indulged by his father and spoilt by LOSING LENA. 9 all the servants ; so it was only to be expected tliat he would not like the invasion. Mrs. Todhetley introduced order into the profuse househokl, hitherto governed by the servants. Thev and vouno- Joe equallv resented it: tliev refused to see that thino-s were reallv more comfortable than thev used to be, and at half the cost. Two babies came to the Manor ; Hugh first, Lena ne.'ct. Joe and I were sent to school. He was as big as a house, * nipared with nie, tall and strong and dark, with an im2-)eri- ous way and will of his own. I was fair, gentle, timid, yield- ing to liim in all things. His was the master spirit, swaying mine at will. At school the boys at once, the very first day we entered, shortened his name from Todhetley to Tod. 1 caught the habit, and from that time I never called him any- thinother her then with his gauze and his Avants. Lena ran after Tod ; she liked him better than all of us put together. She had on a blue silk frock, and a white straw hat with daisies round it ; open- worked stvxikings were LOSING LENA. 11 on her pretty little legs. By which we saw she was about to be taken out for show. " AVliat are you going to do with her, Tod ? " " I'm going to hide her," answered Tod, in his decisive voice* " Keep where you are, Johnny." Lena enjoyed the rebellion. In a minute or two Tod came back alone. He had left her between the ricks in the three- cornered held, and told her not to come out. Then he went off to the front of the house, and I stood inside the barn, talk- inor to Mack, who was hammerino- awav at the iron of the cart- wheel. Out came Hainiah by-and-by. She had been dressing herself as well as Hugh. " Miss Lena ! " Xo answer. Hannah called again, and then came up the fold-yard, looking about. " Master Johnny, have you seen the child ? " " What child ? " I was not going to spoil Tod's sport by telling her. " Miss Lena. She has got off somewhere, and ray mistresa is waiting for lier in the basket-chaise." " I see her just now along of Master Joseph," spoke up Mack, arresting his noisy hammer. " See her where ? " asked Hannah. " Close here, a going that way." He pointed with the hammer to the palings and gate tuat divided the yard from the three-cornered held. Hannah ran there and stood lookino- over. The ricks were within a short stone's throw, but Lena kept close. Hannah called out again, and threw her eyes over the empty field. " The child's not there. Where can she have got to, tiro- Bome little thing: ? " In the house, and about the house, and out of the house, aa the old riddle says, went Hannah. It was jolly to see her. Mrs. Todhetley and Hugh were seated patiently in the basket- chaise before the hall-doo-, wondering what made Han nah so long. Tod, playing with the mild she-donkey's ears. 12 LOSING LENA. and laiif^hiiig to himself, stood talk: — ' ^'.'iciously lO his step- mother. 1 went round. The Squire had gone riding to Eve eham ; Dwarf Giles, who made the nattiest little groom in the county, for all his five-and-tliirty years, behind him. " I can't iind Miss Lena," cried Hannah, coming out. "Not find Miss Lena! "echoed Mrs. Todhetley. "What do 3'ou mean, Hannah ? Have you not dressed her? " " I dressed her first, ma'am, before Master Hugh, and she Went out of the nursery. I can't think where she can have got to. I've searched everywhere." " But, Hannah, we must have her directly ; I am late as it is." They were going over to the Court to a children's early party at the Sterlings. Mrs. Todhetley stepped out of the basket-cliaise, to help in the search. " I had better fetch her. Tod," I whispered. He nodded yes. Tod never bore malice, and I suppose he thought Hannah had had enough of a hunt for that day. I ran through the fold-yard to the ricks, and called to Lena. " You can come out now, little stupid." But no Lena answered. There Avere seven ricks in a group, and I went into all the openings between them. Lena wa8 not there. It was rather odd, and I looked aci-oss the field and towards the lane and the coppice, shouting out sturdily. " Mack, have you seen Miss Lena pass in-doors?" I stayed to ask him, in c;oin2; back. No : Mack had not noticed her ; and I went round to the front again, and whispei'ed to Tod. " What a muff you are, Johnny ! She's between the ricks fast enoun^h. No danger that she'd come out when I told her to Stay ! " " But she's not there indeed. Tod. You go and look." Tod vaulted oif, his long legs seeming to take fijiug leapSj like a deer's, on his way to the ricks. To make short of the story, Lena was gone. Lost. The house, the out-door buildings, the gardens were searched foi Uer, ajid slie was not to be found. Mrs. Todhetley's fears flew LOSING LEXA. 13 to the ponds at first ; bat it was impossible she could have come to grief in either of the two, as thej were both in view of the barn-door where I and Mack had been. Tod avowed that lie had put her amid the ricks to hide; and it was not to be imagined she had gone. The most feasible conjecture was, that she had run from between the ricks when Hannah called to her, and was hiding in the lane. Tod was in a fever, loudly threatening Lena with unheard of whippings, to cover his real concern. Hannah looked red Mrs. Todhetley white. I was standing by him when the cool came np ; a sharp woman, with red-brown eyes. We called her Molly. " Mr. Joseph," said she, " I have heard of gipsies stealing children." "AYell?" returned Tud. " There was one at the door a while agone — an insolent one^ too. Perhaps Miss Lena " "Which way did she go? — which door was she at?" burst forth Tod. " 'Twas a man, sir. He come up to the kitchen-door, and steps inside as bold as brass, askiug me to buy some wooden skewers he'd cut, and saying something about a sick child. When I told him to march, that we never encouraged tramps here, he wanted to answer me, and I just shut the door in hia face. A regular gipsy, if ever I see one," cuntinned Molly ^ " his skin tawny and his wild hair jet-black. Maybe, in re- venge, he have stole off the little miss." Tod took up the notion, and his face turned white. " Don't Bay anything of this to Mrs. Todhetley," he said to Molly. " We must just scour the country." But in departing from the kitchen-door, the gipsy man could not by any possibility l^a^•e made his way to the rick- iield direct without jroino- throui>-li the f old-vard. And he had not done that. It was true that Lena mio-ht have run round and got in the gijjsy's way. Unfortunately, none of the men were about, except Mack and old Thomas. Tod sent these off I4r LOSING LENA. ill different directions ; Mrs. Todlietlej drove away in her pony chaise to tlie lanes around, saying the child might have strayed there; Molly and the maids started elsewhere; and I and Tod went flying along a bye-road that branched olf in a line, as it were, from the kitchen-door. Nobody could keep up with Tod, he went so fast ; and I was not tall and. stror.g as he was But I saw what Tod in his haste did not see — a dark man with some bundles of skewers and a stout stick, walking on the other side of the hedge. I whistled Tod back ajjaiu. " What is it, Johnny 'i " he said, panting. " Have you seen her?" " Not her. But look there. That must be the man Molly Bpoke of." Tod crashed through the hedge as if it had been so many cobwebs, and accosted the gipsy. I followed moi-e carefully, but got my face scratched. " Were you up at the great house, begging, a short while ago ? " demanded Tod, in an awful passion. The man turned round on Tod with a face of brass. I say brass, because he did it so independently ; but it was not au insolent face in itself ; rather a sad one, and vei'y sickly. " What's that you ask me, master ? " " I ask whether it was you who were at the Manor-honso just now, begging?" fiercely repeated Tod. " I was at a big house offering wares for sale, if you mean that, sir. I wasn't bee-o-ino^." " Call it what you please," said Tod, growing white again. "What have you done with the little girl? " For, you see. Tod had fully caught up the impression that the gipsy Afffi^ stolen Lena, and bespoke in accordance with it. '' I've seen no little girl, master." " You ha^•e," and Tod gave his foot a stamp. " AVliat have )'0u done with her? " The man's only answer was to turn round and walk off, mut- tering to himself. Tod pursued him, calling him a thief and other names ; but nothing more satisfactory could he get. LOSING LENA. It " Re can't have taken her, Tod. If he had, she'd be with bim now. He couldn't eat her, j'ou know." " He mav have given her to a confederate." " AVliat to do ? What do gipsies steal children for ? " Tod stojjped in a passion, lifting his hand. " If j'ou tor- ment me with these frivolous questions, Johnny, I'll strike you. t-low do I know what's done with stolen children ? Sold, per- haps. I'd give a hundred pounds out of my pocket at thia minute if I knew where those gipsies were encamped." "We suddenly lost the fellow. Tod had been keeping him in sight in the distance. Whether he disappeared up a gum- tree, or into a rabbit-hole, Tod couldn't tell ; but gone he was. Up this lane, down that ; over that moor, across this com- mon ; so raced Tod and I. And the afternoon wore away, and we had changed our direction a dozen times: which possibly was not wise. The sun was getting low as we passed Ragley gates, for we had finally got into the Alcester road. Tod was going to do what we ought to have done at first : report the loss at Alcsster. Somebody came riding along on a stumpy pony. It proved to be Gruff Blossom, groom to the Jacobsons. They called him " Gruff " because of his temper. He did touch his hat to us, which was as much as you could say, and spurred the stumpy animal on. But Tod made a sio-n to him, and he was oblis^ed to stop and listen. " The gipsies stole off little Miss Lena ! " cried old Blossom, coming out of his gruffness. " That's a rum go ? Ten to one if j-ou find her for a year to come." " But, Blossom, what do they do with the children they steal ? " I asked, in a sort of ag-onv. " They cuts their hair off and dyes their skins brown, and then takes 'em out to fairs a ballad-singing," answered Blos- som. " But why need they do it, when they have children of theii own ? " "Ah, well, that's a question I couldn't answer," said olc IG LOSING LENA. Blossom. " Maybe their'n aren't pretty children — Miss Lena. she is pretty." "•' Have yon heard of any gipsies being encamped about here ? " Tod demanded of him. " Not hitely, Mr. Joseph. Five or six months ago, there was a lot 'camped on the Markis's grcjnnd. They warn't there long." " Can't yon ride about, Bhissom, and see after the chikl ? " asked Tod, putting something into his hand. Old Blossom [)()cketed it, and went of with a nod. lie was riding about, as we knew afterwards, for liours. Tod made straight for the police-station at Alcester, and told his tale. Not a soul was there but Jenkins, one of the men. •' I haven't seen no suspicions characters about," said Jen- kins, who seemed to be eating something. He was a big man, with short black hair combed on his forehead, and he had a habit of turning his face upwards, as if looking after his nose - — a squai-e ornament, that stood up straight. " She is between four and five years old ; a very pretty child, with blue eyes and a good deal of curling auburn hair," said Tod, who was getting feverish. Jenkins wrote it down — "Name, Todhetley. What Chris- tian name ? " " Adalena, called ' Lena.' " "Recollect the dress, sir?" " Pale blue silk ; straw hat with wreath of daisies round it ; open-worked white stockings, and thin black shoes; white drawers, hnished off with tatting stuff," recounted Tod, as if he had prepared the list by heart coming along. " That's bad, that dress is," said Jenkins, putting down the pen. "Why is it bad?" "'Cause the things is tempting. Quite half the children that get stole is stole for what they've got upon theii- backs. Tramps and that sort will run a risk for a blue silk, specially if it's clean and ii-listeninc:, that thev'd not run for a brown LOSING LENA. 17 holland pinafore. Aubum curls too," added Jenkins, shaking his head ; "that's a temptation also, I've knowed children Bent back home with bare heads afore now. Any ornaments, 8U-?" " She was safe to have on her little gold neck-chain and cress. The}" arc very small, Jenkins — not worth much." Jenkins lifted his nose — not in disdain, it was a habit he had. Not worth much to you, sir, who could buy such any day, but an uncommon bait to professional child-stealers. Were the cross a coral, or any stone of that sort?" " It was a small gold cross, and the chain was thin. They could only be seen when her cloak was off. Oh, I forgot the cloak ; it was white : llama, I think they call it. She was go- ing to a child's party. Some more questions and answers, most of which Jenkins took down. Handbills were to be printed and posted, and a reward offered on the morrow, if she was not found previously. Then we came away; there was nothing more to do at the station, "Wouldn't it have been better. Tod, had Jenkins gone out seekino; her and tellino^ of the loss abroad, instead of waitins; to write all that down ? " " Johnny, if we don't find her to-night, I shall go mad," was all he answered. He went back down Alcester Street at a rushing walk — not a run. " Where are von o-oino- now? " I asked. "I'm going up hill and down dale till I find that gipsies' en- campment. You can go on home, Johnny, if you are tired." I had not felt tired till we were in the police-station. Ex- citement keeps fatigue o&. But I was not going to give in^ and said I should keep with him. •' All right, Johnny." liefore we wore clear of Alcester, Budd the land-agent came up. He M'as turning out of the public-house at the cor- uer. It was dusk then. Tod laid hold of him. •' Budd, you are ab )ut always, in all kinds of by-nor>ks and 18 LOSING LENA. lanes : can you tell me of any encampment of gipsies between hei-e and the Manor-house?" The agent's business took hira abroad a great deal, vou know into the I'ural districts around. " Gipsies' encampment?" repeated Budd, giving both of m a stare. " There's none that I know of. In the spring, a lot of them had tlie imj)udence to squat down on the Marquis's " " Oh, I know all that,'' interrupted Tod. " Is there notliing of the sort about now ? " "I saw a miserable little tent to-day up Cookhill way," said Budd. " It might have been a gipsy's or a travelling tin- ker's. 'Twasn't of much account, whichever it was." Tod gave a sort of spring. " Whereabouts ? " was all he asked. And Budd explained where. Tod went off like a shot, and I after him. If you are familiar with Alcester, or have visited at Kagley or anything of that, you must know the long green lane lead- ing to Cookhill ; it is dark with overhanging trees, and up-hill all the way. We took that road — Tod first, and I last ; and we came to the top, and turned in the direction Budd had de- scribed the tent to be. It was not to be called dark ; the nights never are at mid- summer; and rays from the bright light in the west glimmered through the trees. On the outskirts of the coppice, in a bit of low ground, we saw the tent, a little mite of a thing, looking no better than a funnel turned upside down. Sounds were heard within it, and Tod put his linger on his lip while he lis- tened. But we were too far off, and he took his boots off, and crc])t up close. Sounds of wailing — of somebody in pain. But that Tod had been three parts out of his senses all the afternoon, he mio-lit have known at once that thev did not come from Lena, or anv one so youns'. Words Avere mingled with them in a woman's voice ; uncouth in its accents, nearly non-understand- able in its language, an awful sadness in its tone. " A bit longer ! a bit longer, Corry, and he'd ha' been back LOSESTG LENA. 19 You needn't ha' grudged it to us. Oh h ! if ye had but waited a bit longer ! " I don't write exactly as she spoke ; I shouldn't know how tc spell it : we made a guess at half the words. Tod, who had grown white again, put on his boots, and lifted up the opening of the tent. I had never seen any scene like that ; I don't suppose I ghall see another. About a foot from the ground was a raised surface of some sort, thickly covered with dark-green rushes, just the size and shape of a gravestone. A little child, about as old as Lena, lay on it, a white cloth thrown across her, just touching the white, still face. A torch, blazing and smoking away, was thrust into the ground and lighted up the scene. Whiter the face looked now, because it had been tawny in life. I'd rather see one of our faces dead than a gipsy's. The contrast between the white face and dress of the child, and the green bed of rushes it lay on was something remarkable. A young woman, dark too, and handsome enough to create a com- motion at the fair, knelt down, her brown hands uplifted ; a gaudy ring on one of the fingers, worth sixpence perhaps when new, sparkling in the torchlight. Tod strode up to the dead face and looked at it for full ten minutes. I do believe he thouirht at first that it was Lena. " What is this 'i " he asked. " It is my dead child I" the woman answered. " She did not wait that her father might see her die ? " But Tod had got his head full of Lena, and looked around " Is there no other child here ? " As if to answer him, a bundle of rags came out of a corner and set up a howl. It was a boy about seven, and our going in had woke him up. The woman sat down on the ground and looked at us. " We have lost a child — a little girl," explained Tod. " I thought she might have been broaght here — or have strayed here." " I've lost my girl," said the woman, " Death has come foi 20 LOSING LENA. her!" And, in speaking to us, she spoke a more intelh'gible language than when alone. " Yes ; but this chiUl has been lost — lost out of doors ! Have you seen or lieard anything of one?" " I've nor been in the way o' seeing or hearing, master; I've been in the tent alone. If folks had come to niy aid, Corry niiglit not have died. I've had nothing but water to put in her lips all day." " What was the matter with her ? " Tod asked, convinced at Icnjrth that Lena was not there. " She had been ailino- long — worse since the moon come in. The sickness took her with the summer, and the strength be- gan to go out. Jake have been down, too. He couldn't get out to bring ns help, and we have had none." Jake was the husband, we supposed. The help meant food, or funds to e'et it with. " He sat all yesterday cutting skewers, his hands a'niost too weak to fashion 'em. Maybe he'd sell 'em for a few ha'pence, he said ; and he went out this morning to try, and bring home a morsel of food." " Tod," I whispered, " I wish that hard-hearted Molly had " " Hold your tongue, Johnny," he intei-rupted sharply. " la Jake your husband ? " he asked of the woman. "lie's my husband, and the children's father." "Jake would not be likely to steal a child, would he?" asked Tod, in a hesitating manner, for him. She looked up, as if not understanding. " Steal a child, master ! What for ? " " 1 don't know," said Tod. " I thought j^ci-haps he had done it, and had brought the child here." Another comical stare from the woman. " We couldn't feed these of ours; what should we do with another?" "Well: Jake called at our house to sell his skewers; and^ directly afterwards, we missed my little sister. I have been bunting for her ever since." LOSING LENA. 21 " Was the house far from here ? " "A few miles." " Then he have sunk down of weakness on his waj, and can't get back." Putting her head on her knees, she began to sob and moan. The child — the livmg one— began to bawl; one couldn't call it anything else ; and pulled at the green rushes. "He knew Corry was sick and faint when he went out. He'd have got back afore now if his strength hadn't failed him ; though, maybe, he didn't think of death. "Whist, then^ Dor," she added, to the boy. "Don't cry," said Tod to the little chap, who had got the largest, brightest eyes I ever saw ; " that will do no good, you know." " I want Corry," said he. " Where's Corry gone ? " " She's gone up to God," answered Tod, speaking very gently " She's Q-one to be a brio-lit ano-el with Ilim in heaven." "Will she fly down to me?" asked Dor, his great eyes shinino: throui>;h their tears on Tod. " Yes," affirmed Tod, who had a theory of his own on the point, and used to think, when a little boy, that his mother was always near him, one of God's angels keeping him from harm. " And after a while, you know, if you are good, you'll go to Corry, and be an angel, too." " God bless you, master ! " interposed the woman. " He'll think of that always." " Tod," 1 said, as we went out of the tent, " I don't think they are people to steal children." " Who's to know what the man would do?" retorted Tod. " A man with a dying child at home wouldn't be likely to harm another." Tod did not answer. He stood still a moment, deliberating which way to go. Back to Alcester? — where a conveyance might be found to take us home, for the fatigue was telling on both of UB, now that disappointment was prolonged, and I, at least, could hardly put one foot before another. Or dowi? 92 LOSING LENA. to the high road, and run the chance of some vehicle overtaking ns? Or keep on amidst these fields and hedgerows, which would lead us Jionie by a rather nearer way, but without chance of a lift 'i Tod made up his mind, and struck down the lane tho way we had come. lie was on first, and I saw him come to a sudden lialt, and turn his head to me. " Look here, Johnny ! " I looked as well as I could foi' the night and the trees, and Baw something on the ground. A man had sunk down tJiere, eeemingly from exhaustion. Ilis face was a tawny white, just like the dead child's ; a stout stick and the bundles of skewers lay beside him. " Do you see the fellow, Johnny ? It is the gipsy." " Has he fainted ? " " Fainted, or shamming it. I wonder if there's any watei about?" But the man opened his eyes ; perhaps the sound of voices revived him. After looking at us a minute or two, he raised himself slowly on his elbow. Tod — the one thought upper- most in his mind — said something about Lena. " The child's found, master?" Ting him. But he did not rcacli home till after us, when all was quiet again : which was f(n-tunate. " I suppose you blame me for this ? " cried Tod, to his step- mother. " No, I don't, Joseph," said Mrs. Todhetle3\ She called him Joseph nearly always, not liking to abbreviate his name, as some of us did. " It is so very common a thing for the children to be playing in the three-cornered field amidst the ricks ; and no suspicion that danger could arise from it having ever been glanced at, I do not think any blame attaches to you." " J am very sorry now for having done it," said Tod. " I shall ne\ er forget the fright to the last hour of mv life." He went straight to Molly, from Mrs. Todhetley, a look on his face that, when seen thej-e, which was rare, the servants did not like. Deference was rendered to Tod in the house- hold. When anything should take off the good old Pater, Tod would be master. What he said to Molly nobody heard ; but the woman was bano;ing at the bi'ass thimi^s in a tantrum for three davs afterwards. And when we went to see after poor Jake and his people, it was too late. The man, the tent, the living people, and the dead child — all were gone. II. FINDING BOTH OF TliEM. ORCESTER Assizes were being held, and Sqnire ^c^p^ Todhetley was on the grand jury. You see, although (^0^ Dyke Manor was just within the borders of AVarwick- shire, the greater portion of the S(j^uire's property lay in Worcestershire. This caused him to be summoned to serve. We were often at his house there, Crabb Cot. I forget who was forenian of the jury that time : either Sir John Pakington. or the Honourable Mr. Coventry. The week was j(»ny. We put up at the " Star and Garter " when we went to "Worcester, which was two or thi-ee times a-year ; generally at the assizes, or the races, or the quarter sessions ; one or other of the busy times. The Pater would grumble at the bilk— and say we hoys had no business to be there ; but he would take us, if Ave were at home, for all that. The assizes came on this time tlie week before our sunnner holidays were up ; the Squire wished they had not come on until the week after. Anyway, there we were in clover ; the Squire al)out to be stewed up in the county courts all a, old Jones ? " Old Jones, the constable of our parish, touclied his hat when he saw it was us, and begged pardon. We asked what 30 FINDING BOTH OF THEM. he was doing ai Worcester ; but he had only come on his own acconnt. '* On the spree," Tod sn^xgested to him. '' Young Mr. Todhotlej," cried he — the way lie mostly ad- dressed Tod — " I'd not be sure but that woman's took — hei that served out little Miss Lena." " That woman ! " said Tod. " V/hv do vou think it ? Old Jones explained. A woman had been ap[)rehended near Worcester the previous day, on a charge of stripping tw3 little boys of their clothes in Perry Wood. The descrip- tion gi\en of her answered exactly, old Jones thought, to that ij;iven bv Lena. " She stripped 'em to the skin," groaned Jones, drawing a long face as he recited the mishap : '* two poor little chaps of three years, they was, living in them cottages under the Wood — not as much as theii- boots did i-he leave on 'em. When they got home their folks didn't know 'em; quite naked they was, and bleating with terror, like a brace of Bhorn sheep." Tod put on his determined look. " And she is taken, you Bay, Jones?" '' She was took yesterday, sir. They had her before the justices this morning, and the little fellows knowed her at once. As the 'sizes was on, leastways as good as on, their worships committed her for trial tlieie and then. Policeman Cripp told me all about it ; it was him that took her. She's in the c(juntv e-aol." We cari-ied the tale to the Pater that night, and he despatched a messenger to Mrs. Todhetley, to say that Lena must be at Worcester on the Monday morning. But there's Botuething to tell about the Sunday yet. If you have been in Woi-cester on Assize Sunday, you know how the cathedral is on thai niornino; crowded. Enouo-h Btrangers are in the town to rill it : the inhal)itants who go to the churches at other times attend it then ; and King Mob flocks in to see the show. Squire Todhetley was put in the stalls; Tod and 1 scram- FrNTDTNG BOTH OF THEM. 31 bled fo/ p. aces on a beneli. The alterations in the cathe dral (going on for years before tJiat, and going on fdr jeara since, and going on still) caused space to be limited, and it was no end of a cram. While people fought for standing- places, the procession was played in to the crash of the organ The j udges came, glorious in their wigs and gowns ; the mayor and aldermen were grand as scarlet and gold chains could make them : and there was a laro;e attendance of the clergy in their white robes. The Bishop had come in from IIartlel)urv, and was on his throne, and the service beo-an. The Rev. Mr. Wheeler chanted ; the Dean read the lessons. Of course the music was all right ; they put up fine services on Assize Sundays now: and the sherilf's chaplain went up in his black gown to preach the serinon. Three-quarters of an hour, if you'll believe me, before that sermon came to an end ! Ere the organ had well played its Amen to the Bishop's blessing, the crowd began to push out. We pushed with the rest, and took up our places in the long cathedral body to see the procession pass back again. It came winding down between the line of javelin-men. Just as the judges were passing. Tod touched me to look ojjposite. There stood a young boy in dreadful clothes, patched all over, but otherwise clean : with great dark wondering eyes riveted on the judges, as if they had been peacocks on stilts ; on their wigs, on their solenm countenances, on their held-up scarlet trains. Where had I seen those eyes, and their brilliant brio-htness? Recollection flashed over me before Tod's whisper ; " Jake's boy ; the youngster we saw in the tent." To get across the ]i.ne was impossible : good manners would not permit it, let alone the javelin-guard. And when the pro- cession had passed, leaving nothing but a crowd of shuiSing feet and the dust on the white cathedral floor, the boy was gone. " I say, Johnny, it is rather odd we should come on those tent-people, just as the woman has turned up," exclaimed Tod, as we ^-o clear of the cathedral. 32 FINDING BOTH OF THEM. " But you don't think tliey can be connected, Tod ! " "Vfell, no; I suppose not. It's a queer coincidence, though." This we also carried to the Scpiire, as we had the othei news, lie was standing in the Star gateway. "Look here, you boys," said he, after a pause of thonght; "keep your eyes open ; you may come upon the lad again, or some of his folks. I shonkl like to do something for that poor man ; I've wished it ever since he brought home Lena, and that c(;n founded Molly drove him out by way of recompense." "And if they should be confederates, sir?" suggested Tod. " Who confederates ? What do you mean, Joe? " " These people and the female-stripper. It seems strange they should both turn u]) again in the same spot." The noti(m took away the Pater's bi-cath. " If I thought that ; if 1 tiiid it is so," he broke forth, '' Lil — I'll — transport the lot." Mrs. Todhetley arrived with Lena on Sunday afternoon. Early on Monday, the Squire and Tod took her to the gov- erner's house at the county prison, where she was to sec the woman, as if accidentally, nothing behig said to Lena. The woman was brought in : a bold jade with a red face ; and Lena nearly went into convulsions at the sight of her. There could be no mistake : the woman was the same : and the Pater became red-hot with anger ; especially to think he could not punish her in Worcester. As the fly went racing up Salt Lane after tlie interview, on its way to leave the Squire at the county courts, a lad ran past. It was Jake's boy ; the same we had seen in the cathedral. Tod leaped up and called to the driver to stop, liut the Pater roared out an order to go on. His appearance at the court could not be delayed, and Tod had to stay with Lena. So the clue was lost ao-ain. Tod brought Lena to the Star, and then he and I went to the criminal court, and bribed a fellow for places. Tod said it would be a sin not to hear the kidnapper tjicd. FINDING BOTH OF THEM. 35 It was nearly the first case called on. Some of the lighter cases were taken first, while the grand jury deliberated on then- bills for the graver ones. Her name, as given in, was Nancy Cole, and she tried to excite the sympathies of the judge and jriry by reciting a whining account of a deserting husband and o*-her ills. The evidence was quite clear. The two children (little shavers in petticoats) set up a roar in court at sight of the woman, just as Lena had in the governor's house; and a dealer in marine stores produced their clothes, which he had bouo-ht of her. Tod whispered to me that he should go about "Worcester after this in daily dread of seeing Lena's blue-silk frock and open-worked stockings hanging in a shop window. Some allusion was spoken during the trial to the raid the pris- oner had also recently made on the little daughter of Mr. Tod- hetley, of Dyke Manor, Warwickshire, and of Crabb Cot, Wor cestershire, "one of the gentlemen of the grand jury at present sitting in deliberation in an adjoining chamber of the court.'' But, as the judge said, that could not be received in evidence. Mrs. Cc»le brazened it out : the testimony was too strong to attempt denial. " And if she had took a few bits o' things, cause she was famishing, she didn't hurt the children. She'd never hurt a child in her life ; couldn't do it. Just conterairy to that ; she gave 'em sugar plums — and candy — and a piece of a wiir,"^ she did. What was she to do? Starve? Since her wicked husband, that she hadn't seen for this five year, deserted of her, and her two boys, fine grown lads both of 'em. had been accused of theft and got put away from her, one into prison, t'other into a 'formitory, she hadn't got no soul to care for her nor help her to a bit o' bread. Life was hard, and times was bad ; and — there it was. Ko good o' saying more." "Guilty," said the foreman of the jury, without turning round. " We find the prisoner guilty, my lord." The judge sentenced her to six months' imprisonment with hard labour. Mrs. Cole brazened it still. * A sort of plain bun sold in Worcester. 2* 34r FINDING BOTH OF THEM. " Thank yon," said she to his lordship, dropping a cnrtsey as they were taking her from the dock ; " and I hope you'll sit there, old gentleman, till I come out." AVhen the Squire was told ol: the sentence that evening, he said it was too mild bj half, and talked of bringing her also to book at Warwick. But Mrs. Todhetley said, "Xo ; forgive hor." After all, it was but the loss of the clothes. Nothiuir whatever had come out durino- the trial to connect Jake with the woman. She appeared to be a stray waif with- out friends. " And I watched and listened closely for it, miud yoUj Johnny," remarked Tod. It was a day or two after this — I think, on the "Wednesday evening. The Squii-e's grand jury duties were over, but he stayed on, Intending to make a week of it; Mrs. Todhetley and Lena had left for home. We had dined late, and Tod and I went for a stroll afterwards ; leaving the Pater, and an old clergyman, who had dined with us, to theii' wine. In passing the cooked-meat shop in High-street, we saw a little chap look- ing in, his face flattened against the panes. Tod laid hold of his shoulder, and the boy turned his brilliant eyes and their hungry expression upon us. " Do you remember me. Dor?" You see, Tod had not for- gotten his name. Dorevidentlv did remember. And whether it was that he felt frightened at being accosted, or whether the sight of us brought back to him the image of the dead child sister lying on the rushes, was best known to himself; but he burst out crying. " There's nothing to cry for," said Tod ; "you need not be afraid. Could you eat some of that meat?" Something like a shiver of glad surprise brf ke over the boy's face at tlie question ; just as though he had had no food for weeks. Tod gave him a shilling, and told liim to go in and buy some. But the boy looked at the money doibtiugly FLNDIXG BOTTT OF THEM. 35 ^' A whole sliillino; ! Thev'd think I stole it." Tod took back the monev, and went in himself. He wag as proud a fellow as you'd find in the two counties, and yet he would do all sorts of things that many another glanced ask- ance at. " I want half a pound of beef," said he to the man who was carving, " and some bread, if you sell it. And I'll take one of those small pork pies." " Shall I put the meat in paper, sir ? " asked the man : aa if doubting whether Tod might prefer to eat it there. " Yes," said Tod. And the customers, working men and a woman in a drab shawl, turned and stared at him. Tod paid ; took it all in his hands, and we left the shop. He did not mind to be seen carrying the parcels ; but he would have minded letting them know that he was feeding a poor boy. " Here, Dor, you can take the things now," said he, when we had gone a few yards. " Where do you live ? " Dor explained in a fashion. We knew Worcester well, but failed to understand. "Not far from the big church," he Baid ; and at first we thought he meant the cathedral. " Never mind," said Tod ; " go on, and show us." He went skimming along, Tod keeping him within arm's length, lest he should try to escape. Why Tod should have suspected he might, I don't know ; nothing, as it turned out, could have been farther from Dor's thoughts. The church he spoke of proved to be All Saints' ; the boy turned up an entry near to it, and we found ourselves in a reo-ular rookery of dirty, miserable, tumble-down houses. Loose men stood about, pipes in their mouths ; women, in tatters, had their hair hanging down. Dor dived into a dark den that seemed to be reached through a hole you had to stoop under. My patience ! what a close place it was, with a smell that nearly knocked you backwards. There was not an earthly thing in the room that we could see, except some straw in a corner, and on that Jake J/ 36 FINDIxVa BOTH OF THEM. was lyiiiG;. The boy appeared with a piece of lighted caudle, which ho had been upstairs to borrow. Jake was tliin enough before ; he was a skeleton now. ITia eyes wore sunk, the bones of his thin face stood out, the skin glistening on his shapely nose, his voice was weak and hollow. He knew us, and smiled. " What's the matter 'i " asked Tod, speaking gently. " You look very ill." " I be very ill, master ; I've been getting worse ever since His history was this. The same Tiight that we had seen the tent at Cookhill, some travelling people of Jake's fraternity happened to encamp close to it for the night. By their help, the dead child was removed as fai* as Evesham, and thei-e bm led. Jake, his wife, and son, went on to Worcester, and there the man was taken worse ; they had been in this room since ; the wife had found a place of washing to go to twice a week, earning her food and a shilling each time. It was all they had to depend upon, these two shillings weekly ; and the few bits o' things they had, to use Jake's words, had been taken by the landlord for rent. But to see Jake's resignation was something curious. "He was very good," he said, alluding to the landlord and the seizure; "he left me the straw. When he saw how bad I was, he wouldn't take it. We had been obliged to sell the tent, and there was a'most nothing for him." "Have you had no medicine? have you had no advice? " cried Tod, speaking as if he had a lump in his throat. Yes, he had had medicine ; the wife went for it to the free place (he meant the dispensary) twice a week, and a young doctor had been to see him. Dor opened the paper of meat, and showed it to his father. "The gentleman bought it me," he said; "and this, and this. Couldn't you eat some ? " I saw the eager look that arose for a moment to Jake's face at sight of the meat : three slices of nice cold boiled beef, better than what we got at school. Dor held out one in his FINDING BOTH OF THEM. 37 fingers ; the man broke off a morsel, put it into Ids mouth, and had a chokino- fit. " It's of no use, Dor." " Is his name ' Dor ' ? " asked Tod. " llis name is James, sir ; same as mine," answered Jake, nan tin o; a little from the exertion of swallowino- the meat. 'The wife, she has called him 'Dor' for ' dear,' and I've feh into it. She has called me Jake all along." Tod felt something ought to be done to help him, but he had no more idea what than the man in the moon. I had less. As Dor piloted us to the open street, we asked hira where his mother was. It was one of her working days out, he answered ; she was always kept late. "Could he drink wine, do you think. Dor?" " The gentleman said he was to have it," answered Dor, alludinir to the doctor. " ILnv old are you. Dor ? " " I'm a nigh ten." He did not look it. " Johnny, I wonder if there's any place where they sell beef- tea ? " cried Tod, as we went up Broad Street. " My goodness ! lying there in that state, with no help ! " " I never saw anything so bad before, Tod," " Do you know what I kept thinking of all the time ? I could not get it out of my head." " What ? " " Of Lazarus at the rich man's gate. Johnny, lad, there seems an awful responsibility lying on some of us." To hear Tod say such a thing was stranger than all. He set off running, and burst into our sitting-room in the Star, startlino; the Pater, who was alone and readinsr one of the Wor- cester papers with his spectacles on. Tod sat down and told him all. " Dear me ! dear me ! " cried the Pater, growing red as he listened. " Why, Joe, the poor fellow must be dying! " "He may not have gone too far for recovery, father," was Tod's answer. " If we had to lie in that close hole, and had 38 rixDiNG BOTH or them. nothing to eat or drink, we should probaMy soon become skele- tons also. He may get well yet with proper care and treat- ment." " It seems to me that the first tliiiio: to do is to sret him into the Infirmary," remarked the Pater, "And it oiiMit to be done earlv to-mon-ow moi-niuir, sir; if it's too late to-night." The Pater got np in a bustle, ])ut on his hat, and went out. Pie was going to his old friend, the great surgeon, Ilem-y Car- den. Tod ran after him up Foregate Street, but was sent back to me. We stood at the door of the hotel, and in a few mo- ments saw them coming along, the Pater anu-in-ai-m with Mr. Garden. He had come out as readily to visit the poor helpless man as ho would to visit a rich one. Perhaps more so. They stopped when they saw us, and Mr. Garden asked Tod some of the particulars. " You can get him admitted to the Infirmary at once, can you not?" said the Pater, impatiently, who was all on thorns to have something done. " By what I can gather, it is not a case for the Infirmary," was the answer of its chief surgeon. " We'll see." Down we went, walking fast : the Pater and Mr. Garden in front, I and Tod at their heels ; and found the room again with Rome difticulty, Tlic wife was in then, and had made a hand- ful of fire in tlie grate. What with the smoke, and what with the other agreeable accoihpaniments, we were nearly stifled. If ever I wished to be a doctor, it was when I saw Mr. Gar- den with that poor sick man. He was so gentle with him, so cheerj- and kind. Had Jake been a duke, I don't see that he could have been treated differently. There was something Buperior about the man, too, as though he had seen better days. " What is yonr name ? " asked Mr. Garden. " James Winter, sir, a native of Hei-efordshire. I was on my way there when I was taken ill in this place." *' What to do there ? To get work \ " nNDtNG BOIII OF THEM. 3S " Xo, si 1 ; to die It don't much matter, though ; God's here as well as there." '* You are not a gipsy ? " "Oh dear no. sir. From mv dark skin, thouo^h, I've been taken fi>r one. My wife's descended from a gipsy tribe." " We are thinking of placing you in the Infirmary, Jake," cried the later. '-You will have every comfort there, and the best of attendance. This gentleman " ""We'll see — we'll see," interp(jsed Mr. Garden, breaking in hastily on the promises. "I am not sure tliat the Infirmary will do for him." " It is too late, sir, I think," said Jake, quietly, to Mr. Garden. Mr. Garden made no reply. lie asked the woman if she had such a thing as a tea-cup or wine-glass. She produced a cracked cup with the handle off and a notch in the rim. Mr. Garden poured something into it that he had brought in his pocket, and stooped over the man. Jake began to speak in his faint voice. " Sir, I'd not seem ungrateful, but I'd like to stay here with the wife and bov to the last. It can't be for lono' no\v." " Drink this ; it will do you good," said Mr. Garden, hold- ing the cup to his lips. " This close place is a change from the tent," I said to the woman, who was stooping over the bit of fire. Such a look of regret came upon her countenance as she lifted it : just as if the tent had been a palace of gold. " When we got here, master, it was after that two days' rain, and the ground was sopping. It didn't do for him " — glancing round at the straw. " He was getting mighty bad tlien, and we just put our heads into this place — bad luck to us ! " The Squire gave her some silver, and told her to get any- thing in she thought best. It was too late to do more that night. The church clocks were striking ten as we went out. "Won't it do to move him to tlie Infirmary ?" were the }*ater's first words to Mr. Garden. ' Certainly not. The man's hours are numbered." 40 FINDING BOTH OF TJIEM. " There is no liope, I sn])pose?" " Not the least. lie iiia^' be said to he dying now." No time was lost in the moiMiiiio-. AVhen Scjnire Todhotlc} took a will to heart he carried it out, and speedily, A decent roc>m with an airy window was found in the same l>li)ck ;ainst Barrino;ton, and it set him against Ilearn. lie didn't " lick him into next week," but he gave him man}^ a blow that the boy did nothing to deserve. Barriuiiton won his wav, thoui>'h, as the time went on. He liad a large supply of money, and was open-handed with it; and he'd often do a generous turn for one and another. The worst of hint was his savage roughness. At play he was always rough, and, when put out, savage as well. His strength and activitv wci'e sonietiiinii; remarkable: he would not have minded hard blows hiinsi'if, and he showered them out on others with no more care than if we had been made of pumice- stone. It was Barj-ington who introduced the new system at foot- ball. We had played it before in a rather mild manner, speaking comparatively, but he soon changed that. Dr. Frost got to know of it in time, and he appeared amongst us one day when we were in the thick of it, and stopped the game with a sweep of his hand. They play it at Itugby now very much as B;irring[oii niuile us play it then. The Doctor — Btaiiding wirli his face unusually red, and his shirt and necktie unusually white, and his knee-buckles shining — asked whether we were a pack of African cannibals, that we should kick at WOLFE barrfngton's taminp 4S( one another in tliat dangerous manner. If we ever attempted it again, lie said, football should be interdicted. So we went back to the old way. But we had tried the new, you see : and the consequence was that nndue roughness would creep into it now and again. Barrington led it on. Xo African camiibal (as old Frost put it) could have been more incautiously furious at it than he. To see him with liis sallow face in a steam, and his keen black eyes shining, his hat off, and his straight hair Hung behind, was not the pleasantest sight to my mind. Snepp said one day that he looked just like the devil at these times. Wolfe Barrington overheard, and kicked him ri<>-ht over the hillock. 1 don't think he was ill-intentioned ; but liis powerful frame had been untamed; it required a vent for its supei-fluous strength : his animal spirits led him away, and he had never been taught to put a curb on himself or his incli- nations. One thing was certain — that the name, Wolfe, for such a nature as his, was singularly appropriate. Some of us told him so. He laughed in answer; never saying that it was only so shortened from Woltrey, which was his real name, as we learnt later. He could be as good a fellow and comrade as any of them when he chose, and on the whole we liked him a great deal better than we had thought we should at iirst. As to the animosity against little Hearn, it was wearing off. The lad was too young to retaliate, and Barrington got tired of knockiug him about : perhaps a little ashamed of it when there was no return. In a twelvemonth's time it had quite subsided, and, to the surprise of many of us, Barrington (coming back from a visit to his guard ian, old Taptal) brought Hearn a hand- some knife of three blades as a present. And BO it w(juld have gone on but for an unfortunate oc- currence. I shall always say and think so. But for that, it might have been peace between them to the end and the end. Barrington, who was defiantly independent, had betaken him- self to Evesham, one half-holiday, without leave. He walked etraight into some mischief theie, and broke a street boy's head. Dr. Frost was appealed to by the boy's father, and of 50 WOLFE HA RRmo ton's tamino. course tlierc was a row. The Doctor forbade Barriiigton ever to stir hovoiid l^ouuds again without fiist obtaining permission ; and l>]air had orders that iov a fortnii'ht to come Barrino-toii was to be confined to the play -ground in affer hours. Vei-y g()()(K A day or two after — on the next Saturday afternoon — the school went to a cricket-match ; Doctor, mas- ters, boys, and all ; Barrington oidy being left behind. Was he one to stand this ? No. lie coolly walked away to the high road, saw a public conveyance passing, hailed it, mounted it and was carried to Evesham. There he disported himself for an hour or so, visited the chief fruit and tart shops ; and then chartered a gig to bring him back to within half a mile of the school's enti-ance. The cricket-inatch was not over when he got in, for it lasted up to the dark of the summer evening, and nobody would have known of the escapade but for one miserable misfortune — Archie Ilearn ha]:)pened to have gone that afternoon to Eves- ham with his mother. They were passing along the street, and he saw Baninij-ton amid the sweets. " There's V/olfe Barrington ! " said Archie, in the surprise of the moment, and would have halted at the tart-shop door ; but Mrs. llearn, who was in a hurry, did not stop. On the Monday, she brought Archie back to school : he had been at home, sick, for moi'e than a week, and knew nothing of Bar- rington's punishment. Archie came amidst us at once, but Mrs. llearn stayed to take tea with her sister and Dr. Frost. Without the slightest intention to (ireate mischief, quite una- ware that she was doing it, Mrs llearn mentioned incidentally that thev had seen one of the bovs — B>ari'ino;ton — at Evesham on the Saturday. Dr. Frost pricked up his ears at the news ; not believing it, however : but Mrs. llearn said 3'es, for Archie had seen him eating tarts at the confectioner's. The Doctor finished his tea, went to his study, and sent for Barrington. Barrrino;ton denied it. He was not in the hal)it of "^ellini): lies, was too feailess of consequences to do anything of the kind ; biit lie denied it now to the Doctor's face ; perhaps he bega» WOLFE BARRINGTON'8 TA^SnXG. ■J i to think he mi^^ht have gone a little too far. Dr. Frost rang the bell and ordered Arcliie Hearn in. " AVhich shop was Barrington in when yon saw him on Satnr- day?" qnestioned the Doctor. " The pastry cook's," said Archie, iiniocently. " What was he doing?" blandly went on the Doctor. " Oh 1 no harm, sir ; only eating tarts," Archie hastened to say Well — it all came out then, and thongh Archie was entirely innocent of wilfully telling tales: would have cut out his tongue rather than have said a word to harm Barrington, he got the credit of it now. Barrington took his punishment without a word ; the hardest caning old Frost had given for many a long day, and heaps of work besides, and a promise of certain expulsion if he ever went off surreptitiously in coaches and gigs again. But Barrington thrashed Hearn worse when it was over, and branded him with the name of Tell-tale Sneak. " He will never believe otherwise," said Archie, the tears oi pain and mortification running down his cheeks, fresh and delicate as a girl's. '' But Fd give the world not to have gont» that afternoon to Evesham." A week or two later we went in for a turn at " ITare and Hounds." Barrington's term of punishment was over then. Snepp was the hare ; a lleet wiry fellow who could outrun most of ns. But the liare this time came to grief. After doubling and turning, as Snepp used to like to do, thinkhig to throw ns off the scent, he sprained his foot, trying to leap a hedge and dry ditch beyond it. We were on his trail, whoop- ing and halloaing like mad ; he kept quiet, and we passed on and never saw him. But there Avas no more scent to be seen (little pieces of white paper that Snepp had to let fall as he ran), and we found we had lost it, and went back. Snepp showed himself then, and the sport was over for the day. Some went home one way, and some another ; all of ns were as hot as Jupiter, and thirsting for water. " If you'll turn dowii here by the great oak tree, we glial] 52 WOLFE Harrington's tamfng. coKie to iny mother's lionse, and yon can have as mnch water as yon like," saiJ little Ilearn, in his irood-natni-e. So we tnnied down. TIutc were l)nt six or seven of lis, for Siiepp and his damaged foot made one, and most of them had gone on at a qnicker pace. Tod helped Snepp on one side, Barrington on the other; he limping along between them. It was a narrow red-brick honse, a parlour window on each side the door, and three windows above ; small altogether, bnt very pretty, with the jessamine and clematis climbing np the walls. Archie Ilearn opened the door, and we trooped in, withont any regard to ceremony. JMrs. Ilearn — she had the same delicate face that Archie had, the same rose-pink colonr and bright brown eyes — came ont of the kitchen to stare. Aa well she might. Iler cotton gown sleeves were turned np to the elbows, her fingers were stained red, and she had a coarse kitchen cloth pinned round her. She was pressing black cur- rants for jelly. Wq had plenty of water, and Mrs. Ilearn made Snepp sit down, and looked at his foot, and put a wet bandage round kneeling before him to do it. I th(! ? Is he hurt ? " " Well, I think he's hurt a little," was Tod's answer. " lie has had a kick here." Tod touched the left temple with the point of his finger, drawing the finger down as far as the back of the ear, to indi 54 WOLFE BARRrNGTON'8 TAJ^HNO. cute the part he meant. It must liave been a good wide kick, I thon^-lit. " It has stiniiK'il liim. pcjor little fellow. Can you get some water from the river, Joliimy ? " '• I could if I had anvtliino: to brine: it in. It would leak out of my hat long before I got liere." For the hat was of straw. But little Ilearn made amove then, and opened his eyes. Presently he sat up, putting his hands to his head. Tod was as tender with him as a mother. "How do you feel, Archie?" « Oh, I'm all right, I think. A bit giddy." Getting on his feet, he looked from me to Tod in a bewil dered manner. I thought it odd. He said he'd not join the game again, but would go in and rest. Tod went with hira^ ordering me to keep with the players. Ilearn walked all right^ and did not seem to be much the worse foi- it. "What's the matter now ?" asked Mrs. Hall, in her cranky way ; for she happened to be in the yard wdien they entei-cd, Tod marshalling little Ilearn by the arm. " He has had a blow at football," answered Tod. " Here" — showing the place he had shown me. " A kick, I suppose yon mean," said Mother Hall. " Yes, if you like to call it so. It was a blow with a foot." "Did you do it, Master Todhetley?" "No I did not," retorted Tod. " I wonder the Doctor allows that football to be played ?" ehe went on, grumbling. "I wouldn't, if I kept a school; 1 know that. It is a l)arbaroas, cruel game, fit only for bears." " I am all right," put in Ilearn. " I needn't have co- e in but for feeling giddy." But he was not (piite right yet. l^bi without the slightest warning, l>cfore he had tinie to stir from where he stood, he became fi'ightfully sick. Hall ran for a basin and some warm water. Tod h(;ld his head. " This is through having gobbled down yom* tea in 6uch a woi-FE bakkixgton's tamtxg. 55 mortal liurrv, to be off to that precious footlall," decided ILill reseutfully. " The wonder is, that the whole crew of juu are not sick, swallowiiio; vour food at the rate vou do." " I think I'll lie on the bed for a bit," said Archie, when the sickness had passed. " I shall l)e up again by snpper time." Thev went with him to his room. Neither of them had the sliglitest notion that he was hnrt seriously, or that there couKl be any danger. Archie took off his jacket, and lay down in his other clothes. Mrs Hall offered to bring him up a cup of tea ; but he said it miirht make him sick again, and lie\l rather be quiet. She went down, and Tod sat on the edge of the bed. Archie shut his eyes and kept still. Tod thought he was drop- ping off to sleep, and began to creep out of the room. The eyes opened then, and Archie called to iiini. " Todhetley ? " " I am here, old fellow. What is it ? " " You'll tell him I forgive him," said Ai-chic, speaking in an earnest whisper. "Tell him I know he didn't thinkto hurt me." " Oh, I'll tell him," answered Tod lightly. "And be sure give my dear love to mamma." « So I will." " And now I'll go to sleep, or I sha'n't be down to supper. You will come and call me if I am not, wt)n't you?" " All right," said Tod, tucking the counterpane about him. " Are you comfortable, Archie ? " " Quite. Thank you." Tod came on to the field again, and joined the game. It was a little less rongli, and there were no more mishaps. We got home later than usual, and the supper stood on the table. The suppers at Worcester House were always the same. Bi-ead and cheese. And not too nuich of it. Half a round off the loaf, with a piece of cheese, for each fellow ; and a sinaL' drop of beer or water. Our other meals were good and plenti- ful ; but the Doctor waged war with heavy suppers. If old [lall had had her way, we should have had none. Little Hearn 66 WOLFE barrixgton's taming. did not appear; and Tod, biting at his bread and cheese, went np to look after him. I f()lk)wed. Opening tlie door without noise, we stood listening and look- ing. Not that there was much good in looking, for the rooic was in darkness then. " Archie," whispered T(jd. No answer. No sound. " Are you asleep, old felhnv ? " Not a word still. The dead might be there, for all the sound there was. " He's asleep, for certain," said Tod, groi>ingliis way towards the bed. " So much the better, poor little chap. I'll not wake Iiini." It was a sniuU room, two beds in it ; Archie's was the one at the end by the wall. Tod gi-oped his way to it: and, in thinking of it afterwaids, I wondered that Tod did go up to him. The most natural thing wonhl have been to come away, and shut the door. Unconscious instinct n)ust have guided him — as it guides us all. Tod bent over him, touching his face, I think. I stood close behind. Now that our eyes were accustomed to the darkness, it seemed a bit lighter. Somethins: like a shout from Tod made me start. It was but a kind of suppressed cry. But in the dark, and holding the breath, one is startled easily. " Get a light, Johnny. A light! — quick! for the love of heaven," I believe I leaped the stairs at a bound. I believe I knocked over Mother Hall at the foot. I know I snatched the candle that was in her haiul : and she screamed after me as if 1 had murdered her. " Here it is, Tod." lie w^as at the door waitinn- for it, everv atom of colour gone clean out of his countenance. Carrying it to the oed, he let its liiditfall full on Archie llearn. The face was white aud cold ; the mouth covered with froth. " Oh Tod I AVliat is it that's the matter with him ? " ■WOLFE barrtngton's tamtxg. 51 " TTnsh, Jolimiy ! 1 fear he's dying. Good Lord! to think we should have been such ignorant fools as to leave him by himself ! — as not to have sent for Featherstone !" We were down again in a moment. Hall stood scolding still at the top of her breath, demanding her candle. Tod said a word that stoj^ped her. She backed against the wall, staring at him. " J)on't vou plav your tricks on me, Mr. Todhetley." "(to and see," said Tod. She took the light from his hand quietly, and went up. Just then, the Doctor and Mrs. Frost, who had been Avalking all the way home from Sir John Whitney's, where they had spent the evening, came in ; and learnt what had happened. Featherstone was there in no time, so to say, and shut him- self in the bedroom with the Doctor and Mrs. Frost and Hall, and I don't know how many more. Kothing could be done for Archibald Ilearn : he was not quite dead, but close u])on it. He was dead before anybody th(jught of sending to Mrs. Hearn. It came to the same. Had there been telegraph wiies to send and bring her upon, she would have come too lato. When I look back upon that evening — and a good many years have gone by since, as if it had been in the beginning of tlie world — nothing arises in my mind but a picture of con- fusion, tinged with a feeling of dreadful sorrow; ay, and of hon'cn". If a death happens in a school, it is generally kept from the p^ipils, so far as may l)e ; at any i-ate the}' are not allowed to see any of the attendant stir and details. But this was different. Upon mastei'S and boys, upon misti-ess and household, it came with the like startling shock. Dr. Frost said feebly that the boys ought to go up to bed, and then Blair told us togo ; but the bovs staved on where thev weie. Hantring about the passages, stealing up stairs and peeping into the room, questioning Featherstone (when we could get the chance to come upon him), whether Ilearn would get well. Nobody checked us. I went in oiuie. Mrs, Frost was alor.e, kneeling by the bed ; I thought she must have been saying a praver. Just theo 3* 58 WOLFE barrtngton's taming Blie lifted her head to lot)lv at liiin. As I backed awaj again she bei::aii to ; peak aloud — and oh ! what a sad tone she said it in' "The only son of Ills mother, and she was a widow !" There had to he an inqnest. It did not come to much. Tha most that could be said was, that he died from a kick at foot- balL "A most unfortunate but accidental kick," qiiotli the coroner. Tod had said that he saw the kick given : that is had seen some foot come flat down with a bano; on the side of little llearn's head ; and when Tod was asked if he recocrnized the foot, he replioi No; foi- boots looked muc-h alike, and a vast many were thrust out in the scrimmage, all kicking fcogether. Not one would own to having given it. For the matter of that, the fellow might not have been conscious of what he did. No end of thoughts glanced towards Barrington : both because he was so ferocious at the game, and that he had a spite against Ilearn. " I never touched him," said Barrington when this leaked out ; and his face and voice were fearlessly defiant. " It wasn't me. I never so much as saw that Ilearn was down." And as there were others quite as brutal at football as Bar rington, he was believed. We could not get over it any way. It seemed so dreadful that he should have been left alone to die. Ilall was chiefly to blame for that ; and it cowed her. " Look here," said Tod to us, " 1 have got a messnge fcr one of you. "Whichever the cap fits may take it to himself. When Ilearn was dying he told me to say that he foi-gavo the fellow who kicked him." This was the evening of the inquest-day. We had all gathered in the j^orch by the stone bench, and Tod took the opi)ortunity to relate what he had not related before. He re- peated every word that lleain had said. " Did Ilearn know who it was, then ? " asked John Whitney. " I think so." " Then why didn't you ask him to name ! " ** Why didn't I ask him to name," repeated Tod, in a fuma WOI.FE BAEEIXGTOX'S TAMTNG " 59 ** Do yon suppose I thouglat he was going to die, Whitney? — • or that the kick was to tnrn out a serious one? Ilcarn was getting big enough to tiglit his own battles : and I never thought but he would be up again at supper time." John Whitney pushed his hair back, in his quiet, thonght- ful way, and said no more. lie was to die himself the follow ing year, — but that has nothing to do with the present matter 1 was standing away at the gate after this, looking at the Bunset, when Tod came up and put his arms on the top bar. " What are you o-azino; at, Johnny ? " " At the sunset. How red it is! I was thinking that if Hearn's up there now he is better off. It is very beautiful." " I would not like to have been the one to send him there, though," was Tod's answer. "Johnny, I am certain Ilearn knew who it was," he went on in a low tone. " I am certain he thought the fellow, himself knew, and that it had been done for the purpose. I think I know also." " Tell us," I said. And Tod glanced over his shoulders, to make sure nobody was within hearing before he replied. "Wolfe Earrington." " Why don't you accuse him. Tod ? " " It wouldn't do. And I am not absolutely sui-e. What I Baw, was this. In the rush, one of them fell : I sa\^' his head lying on the ground sideways. Befoi'e I could shout out to the fellows to take care, a boot with a o^rev trouser over it came stamping down (not kicking) on the side of the head. If ever anything was done delibejately, that stamp seemed to be ; it could hardly have been accidental. I know no more than that : it all passed in a moment of time. I didn't see that it was Earrington. Eut — what other fellow is there among us who would have wilfully harmed little Ilearn ? It is that thought that brings me conviction." I looked round to where a lot of them stood at a distauca ^' A7olfe has got on grey trousers, too." "That does not tell much," returned Tod. "Half of us Wear the same. Yours are grey ; mine are grey. It's just ^0 WOLFE jBAHRIXOTON'S TAMmO. this : Wliile I am coTivinccd in my own mind that it was ljarrin<2:t(in, tlici-e's no soit of proof that it was, and lie denies it. Ft) it iiiiist rest, and die away. Keep counsel, Johnny." The funeral ti.ok place fVoin the scliool. All of us went to it. Tn the evenin*^^, Mrs. lleani, who had been stayiiif^ at the liousc, su)-p)ised us liy coniini;- into the tea-room. She looked very small in her black gown. Her thin cheeks were more flushed than usual, and her eyes had a mournful sadness in them. "I wish to say i^ood-l)ye to you ; and to shake hands with you before I g-o Inmie," she began, in a kind tone, and we all got up from the table to face her. "I thought you would like me to tell you that T feel sure it must have been an accident ; tliat no harm was intended My dear little son said this to Joseph Todhetley when he was dyiiig — and I fancy that some prevision of death nuist have lain then upon his spirit and caused him to say it, though he himself might not have been quite conscious of it. He died in love and peace with all ; and, if he had anything to forgive —he foigave freely. I wish to let you know that I do the same. Only ti-y to be a little less i-ough at play— God blesa you all. Will you shake liands with me '( " John Whitney, a true gentleman always, went up to her first, meeting her offered hand. " If i-t had been anything but an accident, ]\rrs. Ilearn," he began in a tone of deep feeling, " if any one of us had done it wilfully, I think, standing to hear you now, we should shriid-c to tjie earth in our shame and contrition. You can- not regret Arcliil)ald much more than we do." "In the midst of my grief, 1 know one thing: that G(;d has taken him frt)ni a world of care to [)eace and happiness ; 1 tiy to rest in that. Thaidv you all. Good-bye." Catching iij) her breath, she shook liands with us one bj one, giving each a smile; but did not say more. And the only one of us who did not feel her visit as it wa^ meant, was Barrington. But he had no feeling : his body wag WOT.FE barrinqton's tamixg. 61 too strong for it, his temper too tiei-ce. He would have tlirown a sneer of ridicule after her, but Whitney hissed it down. Before another day had gone over, Barrington and Tod had a row. It was about a crib. Tod could be as overbeaiing as Barrington when he pleased, and he was cherishing a bad feeling towards him. They went and had it out in private — but it did not come to a fight. Tod Avas not one to keep in matters till tliey rankled, and he openly told Barrington that he believed it was he had caused Ilearn's death. Barrington denied it out-and-out ; first of all swearing passionately tliat he had not, and then calming down to talk about it quietly. Tod felt less sure of it after that : as he confided to me in the bed- room. Dr. Frost forbid football. And the time went on. "What I have to relate further may be thought a made-up story, such as we read in fiction. It is so very like a case of retrilMition. But it is all true, and happened as I shall put it. And so(nehow I never care to dwell long upon the calamity. It was as neai-ly as possible a year after Ileai-n died. Jessup was captain of the school, for John Whitney was too ill to come. Jessup was nearly as j-ebellious as Wolfe; and the two would ridicule Blair audaciously, and call him "Baked pie " to his face. One morning, when they had given no end of trouble to old Frost over their Greek, and laid the blame upon the hot weather, tlie Doctor said he had a great mind to keep them in till dinner-time. However, they eat humble-pie, and were allowed to escape. Blair was taking us for a walk. In- stead of keeping with the ranks, Barrington and Jessup fell out, and sat down on the gate of a field, where the wheat was being carried. Blair said they might sit there if they pleased, but forbid them to cross the gate. Indeed, there was a general and standing interdiction against our entering any field while the crops were being gathered. We \vent on and left them, Half an hour afterwards, before we got back, Barriugtou bad been carried home, dying. 62 . WOLFE barrington's r amino. Dying, as was supposed. lie and Jei^snp lirvJ disobeyed Blair, disregarded orders, and rushed into the titdd, shout- ing and leaping like two nun! fellows— as tiie labourers said afterwards. ]\Iaking for the waggon, laden high with wheat, they mounted it, and started-on the horses. In some way r>arrington lost his balance, slipped over the side, aiul the hind wheel went over him. I shall never forget the house when we got home. Jessup, in his terror, had made oil for his home, running all the way — seven miles, lie was in the same boat as Wolfe, except that he escaped injury — had gone over the stile in deliance of or- ders, and got on the waggon. Barrington was lying in the blue- room ; and Mrs. Frost, frightened out of bed, stood on the landing in her night-cap, a shawl wrapped round her loose white dressing-gown. She was ill at the time. Featherstone canie striding up the road wiping his hot face. " Lord bless me ! " cried Featherstone when he had looked at Wolfe and touched him. " I can't deal with this bv myself, Dr. Frost." The Doctor had guessed that. And Roger was alreadv away on a galloping horse, flying to fetch another. It was little Piidi he brought : a shilmp of a man, with a fair re})utation in his profession. But the two were more accustomed to treat rustio ailments than grave cases, and Dr. Frost knew that. Evenin;^ drew on, and the dusk was gathering, when a carriage with po.st horses came thundering in at the front elates, brimniiir Mr. Card en. They did not explain to us boys the particulars of the in- juries ; and I don't know them to this day. The s])inc was hurt ; the ri<^ht ankle smashed: we heard tliat much. Taotal, Barrington's guardian, came over, and an uncle fi'om London. Altogethei- it was a miserable time. The masters seized upon it to be doubly stern, and i-ead us lectures upon disobedience and rebellion— as tho;igli we had been the offenders ! As to Jessup, his father handed him back again to Dr. Fj-ost, saying that ia his opinion a taste of birch wculd much conduce to his benefit. •WOLFE BAKKI^'^GTON's TAJnXG. 63 Barrinc^toii did not seem to suffer as keenly as some might ; pei'liaps his spirits kept him up, for they were untamed. Ou the very day after the accident, he asked for some of the fellows to go in and sit with him, hecause he was dull. By-and-by, the doctoi's said. And the next day but one, Dr. Frost sent in nie. Me ! The paid nurse sat at the end of the room. " Oh, it's you, is it, Ludlow ? Where's Jessup ? " " Jessup's under punishment." His face looked the same as ever, and that was all of liim that could l)e seen. lie lay on his hack, covered over. As to the low bed, it might have been a board, to judge by the flat- ness. And perhaps ^yas. " I'm very sorry about it, Barringtou. We all are. Are you in much pain ? " " Oh, I don't know," was his impatient answer. " One has to grin and bear it. Tlie cursed idiots had stacked the wheat eloping to the sides, or it would never have happened. What do you hear about me ?" " Nothing but regi-et that it " " I don't mean that stuff. Reo-ret, indeed ! regret won't undo it. I mean as to my getting about again. Will it be ao-es Urst ? " " We don't hear a word." " If they were to keep me here a month, Lndlow, 1 should go mad. Rampant. You slnit up, old woman." Fov the nurse had interfered, tellino; him he must not excite himself. "My ankle's hurt; but I believe it is not half so bad as a regular fracture : and my back's bruised. Well, what's a bruise 'i Nothing. Of course there's pain and stiffness, and all that ; but so there is after a bad light, or a thi-ashing. And they talk about my lying here for three or four weeks ! Catch i»e." One thing was evident : that they had not allowed Wolfe to Buspect the gravity of the case. Down stairs we had an inkling, I don't remember wlience gathered, that it inight possibly end iu death. There was a suspicion of some injury that we could ^4 WOLFE BARRfNGTON's TAMTNO. not get to know of; inward I think; and it is said that even Mr. Carden. with all his surgical skill, couhl not get to it either. A.ny way, the prospect of recovery for Barringtou was supposed to be of the S(;autiest ; and ir put a gloom upon us. A sad uiisiiap was to occur. Of course nobody in their senses would have let I'an-inirton learn the danjrer he was in ; especially while there was just a chance that the peril would be surmounted. I I'ead a l)ook lately — I, Johnny Ludlow — where a little child met with an accident ; and the fii-st thins the peo[)le around him did, father, doctors, nurses, was to infoi-m hiin that he would he a cripple for the rest of his days. That was common sense with a vengeance : and about as likely to occur in real life as that I could turn myself into a Dutch man. However, something of the kind did haj^pen in J3arring- tttu's case, but through inadvertence. Another uncle came over from Ireland ; an old man ; and in talkinir with Feather- stone spoke out loo freely. They were outside Barrington'a door, and he-i les that, supposed he was asleep. But he had woke then ; and heard more than he ought. That blue-room always seemed to have an echo in it. " !So it's all up with me, Ludlow?" I was by his bedside when he suddenly said this, in the gathering dusk of the summer's evening. lie had been lying quite silent since I entered, and his face had a white, still look on it, never before noticed there. "■ What do you mean, Harrington ? " "None of your sliamming here. I know; and so do yo«, Jolinny Ludlow. I say, though, it makes one feel queer to lind the world's slipping away. I had looked for so much jolly life in it." " Barrington, you may get well yet ; you may, indeed. Ask P'nk and Featherstone, else, when they next come; ask Mr Garden. I can't think what idea you have been getting hold of." " There, that's enough," ho answered. " Don't bother. J want to be quiet." ■WOLFE BARRIN'GTO:^^'s TAMING. 65 He sbnt his eyes ; and the dusk grew greater as the minutes passed. Presently some one came into the room with a gentle step : a lady in a black-and-white gown that didn't rustle. It was Mrs. Ilearn. Barriiigton looked up at her. " I am going to stay with you for a day or two," she said in a low sweet voice, bending over him and touching his forehead with her cool fino-ers. " I hear you have taken a dislike to the nurse : and Mrs. Frost is really too weakly j ust now to get about." ''She's a sly cat," said Barrington, alluding to the nurse; " she watches me out of the tail of her eye. Hall's as bad. They are in lea<>:ue together." " Well, they shall not come in more than I can help. I will nurse you my myself." "No; not you," said Barrington, his face looking red and uneasy. " I'll not trouble you.''^ She sat down in my cliaii-, just pressing my hand in token of greeting. And I left them. In the eusuing days his life trembled in the balance, and even when part of the more immediate danger was surmounted, part of the worst of the pain, it was still a toss-up. Barring- ton had no hope whatever : I don't think Mrs. Ilearn had, either. She hardly left him. At iirs! he seemed to i-esent her pres ence ; to Avish her away ; t(; receive what she did for him un- willingly : but, in spite of himself, he grew to look round for her, and to let his hand lie in hers whenever she chose to take it. Who can tell what she said to him ? "Who can know how she softly and gradually awoke the good feelings within him, and won his he.irt from its brazen har.lness ? She did do it, and that's enough. The way was paved for her. "What the accident had not done, the fear of death had. Tamed him. One evening when the sun had sunk, leaving only its light fading in the western sky, and Barrington had been watching it from his bed, he suddenly burst into tears. Mrs. Ilearu. busy amidst the physic bottles, was by his side in a moment. « Wolfe 1" GO WOLFK UARRINQTON's TAMING '* It's very hard to have to die."' " Tlush, my clear, you are not worse : a little better. I thiulj you may be spared; I do indeed. And — in any case — you know what I read to yon this evenini;: that to die is o-jiiii." " es, for some. I've never had my thoughts turned that way." " Thev are turned now. That is quite enou<>-h." " It is such a little while to hav^e lived," went on Barrington, after a pause. "Such a little while to have enjoyed earth. AVhat are my few years compared to the ages that have gone by, to the ages and ages that are to come ? i^othing. Not as much as a single drop of water to the wide ocean." " Wolfe, dear, if you live out the allotted years of man, three score and ten, what would even tiiat be in comparison ? As you eav — nothiiii>-. It seems to me that our well-beini'- or ill-beinir here need not much concern us ; the days, whether short or long, will pass as a dream. Eternal life lasts for ever ; soon we must all be departing for it." Wolfe made no answer. The clear sky was assuming its pale tints, blue, green, orange, shading oft" one into another, a beautiful opal, and his eyes were looking out at it. But as if he saw nothing. " Listen, my dear. When Archibald died, /thought I should have died ; died of grief and aching pain. I grieved to think how short had been his span of life cm this fair earth; how cruel his fate in being taken fi-om it so early. I]nt, oh, Wolfe, God has shown me my mistake. I would not have him back if I could." AVolfe put up his hand to cover his face. Not a w-e, Church Dykely. Thoy lived at a high rate; money was not lacking; the Major, his wife, six daughters, and a son who did not come home much. ]\Irs. Parrifer was stuck up: it is one of onr country sayings, and it applied to her well. AVhen she called on people her silk gowns iMistled as if buckram lined them ; her voice was loud, her maiinei- jnitronising ; the jMajor's voice and manner were the same ; and the girls took after them. Close by, at the corner of Piefinch Lane, was a cottage that belonged to me. To me, Johmiy J.udlow. Not that I had (!on- trol yet awhile over that, or any other cottage I mio-ht i)OPses3 George Reed rented the cottage. It stood in a good lai-ge garden which touched Major Parrifer's side fence. On the MAJOR PARRIFEB. 71 otlier side the garden, a higli hedge divided it fi-om the iaiie ; l)ut it had oidy a low hedge in trout, with a low gate iu the middle. Well-kept trim edges : George Reed took care of that. Tliei'e was quite a history attaching to him. His father had been indoor servant at the Comt ; when he married and left it^ my gi'andfather gave him a lease of this uottage, renewable every seven years. George was the only son, had been very decently educated, hut turned out wild when he grew up and got out of everything; the I'esidt was, that he was only a day- labourer, and never likely to be anything else. He took to the cottaire after old Iveed's death, and worked for Mr. Sterling; ; wlu) had the Court now. (xeorcre Reed was civil in ordinary, but uncommonly independent. His iii'st wife had died, leav- ing a daughter, Cathy; later he married again. Iveed's wild oats had been sown years ao-o ; he was thorons-hlv well-con- ducted and industrious now, working in his own garden early and late. When Cathy's mother died, she was taken to by an aunt, M'ho lived near Worcester. At fifteen she came home again, for the aunt had died. Her ten years' training there had done very little for her, except make her into a pretty gii'l. Cathy had been trained to idleness, but to very little else. She could sino- ; selftau<;ht of course ; she could embroider haiulkerchiefs and frills and petticoat-tails; she could write a tolerable letter •without many mistakes, and was gi-eat at reading, especially' Avhcn the literature was of the half-penny kind issued weekly. The acquirements (except the last) were not bad things in theu'selves, but entiiely unsuited to Cathy Read's condition and her future prospects in life. The best that she could as- pire to be, the best her father expected for her, was that of entering on a light respectable service, and later to become, perhaps, a labouj'er's wife. The second Mrs. Heed, a quiet kind of young woman., had one little girl only when Cathy came home. IShe was nearly Struck dumb when she found what had been Cathy's acquii-e- 73 MAJOR PARRITER. meiits in the wav of usefulness ; or rather wliat were her non- acquirenionrs: the facts unfolding themselves l>y deg-rees. " Your futiier thinks he'd like you to get a service with some of the gentlefolks, Cathy," her stepmother said to her. " Per- haps at the Court, if they could make room lor you ; or over a* S<)nire Todhetley's. Meanwhile you'll hel}) me with the »s«^ik at home for a few weeks first ; won't you, dear? When ifcnother little one comes, there'll be ag(jod deal on my hands." " Oh, I'll help," answered Cathy, who was a good-natured, ready-P})eaking girl. '' That's i-ight. Can you wash 1 " "No," said Cathy, wiih a very decisive shake of the head. "Not wash?" " Oh dear, no." " Can you iron ?" " Pocket-handkerchiefs." " Your aunt was a seamstress: can you sew well ?" " I don't like sewing." Mrs. Heed looked at her, but said no more then, rather leaving it to practice instead of theory to develop Cathy's ca- pabilities. Put when she came to put her to the test, she found Cathy could not, or would not, do any kind of useful work whatever. Cathv could not wat^h, or iron, or scour, or cook, or sweep ; or even sew coarse plain things, such as are required in labourers' families. Cathy could do several kinds of fancy work. Cathy could idle away her time at the glass, oiling her hair, and dressing herself to the best advantage; Cathy had a snuittei-ing of history and geography and chronology ; and of polite literature, as (tomprised in the pages of the afore- said half-penny and penny weekly ronumces. The aunt had sent Cathy to a cheap day-school where such learning was supposed to be taught: had let her nn about when she ought to have been cooking and washing; and (jf course Cathy had ac(piired a distaste for work. ]\lrs. Peed sat down aghast, her hands falling helpless on her lap, and a kind of fear at what might be Cathy's future stealing into her heait. MAJOR PAKRIFER. 73 " Child, what is to become of von ?" Catliy had no quabus upon the point herself. She gave a langhing kiss to tlie little child, toddling round the room by the chairs, and took out of her pocket one of those halfpeimy serials, whose enthrilling stories of brigands and captive damsels she had learnt to take iier chief delight in. " 1 shall have to teach her everything," sighed disappointed Mrs. Eeed, " Catherine, I don't think the kind of useless things your aunt has let you learn are good for poor folks like us." (xood ! Mrs. lieed might have gone a little farther. She began her instruction, bnt Cathy would not learn. Cathy was good-humoured always ; but of work she would do lione. If she attempted it, Mrs. Tieed had to do it over again. " Where on earth will the gentlefolks get theij" servants from, if the girls are to be like you ? " cried honest Mrs. Reed. Well, time went on : a vear or two. Catliv Hoed tried two or three services, bnt did not keep them. Young Mrs. Ster- ling at tlie Court at length to(.k her. In tlu'ce months Cathy was back home as r.snul. "I do not tliink Catherine will be kept anywhere," M]-s. Sterling said to her stepmother. " Wlieii she onirlit to have been mindinp- the babv, the nurse would find her witli a strip of embroidery in her hand, or else buried in the pages of some bad story that can only do her harnn." Cathy was turned seventeen when the M^arfare set in between her father and Major Parrifei'. The Major suddenly cast his eyes on the little cottage outside his own land and coveted it. Before this, young Parrifer (a harmless young man v\-ith no whiskers, and sandy hair parted dov/n the middle) had struck np an acquaintance with Ca,thy. Yv hen he left Oxford (where he <;x)t i)lucked twice, and at leno'th took his name oft" the books) he would often be seen leaning over the cottage-gate, talking to Cathv in the ijarden, with her two little half-sistera that she pretended to mind. There was no harm : but per- haps Major Parrifer feared it might grow into it; and he badly wanted the plot of ground to be his, that he might i)ull 74 MAJOR PAKRIFER. the cottacje down and extend his own boundaries to Piofij^^h Lane. One fine dav in the liolidavs, when Tod and I were indoors making Hies for fishing, our okl servant, Thomas, appeared, and said tluit George Reed had come over and wanted to speak to me. AVhich set us wonderino;. Wliat could he want with nie ? "Show him in here," said Tod. Keed came in : a tall and powerful man of forty ; with dark curling liair, and a determined, good-looking face. lie began saying that he had heard Major Farrifer was after his cottage, wanting to buy it ; so he had come over to beg me to interfere and stop the sale. '• AVhy, Reed, what can I do ? " I asked. " Yon know I have no povcei'." " You'd not turn me out of it yourself, I know, sir." " That I'd not." Neither would I. I liked Georo:e Eeed. And I remembered that he used to have me in his arms sometimes when I was a little fellow at the Court, Once he carried me to my mother's grave in the churchyajd, and told me she had gone to live in heaven. " Vriien a rich gentleman sets his mind on a poor man's bit of a cottage, and says, ' That shall be mine,' the poor man has not i>;ot much chance amiinst him, sir, unless he that owns the cottage will be his friend. I know you have got no power at present. Master Johnny ; but if you'd sjjeak to Mr. Brandon, j)erliaps he would listen to you." " Sit down. Heed," interrupted Tod, putting his catgut out of Jiis hand. " I thougbt you had the cottage on a lease." "And so I have, sir. But the lease will be out at Michaelmas next, and Mr, Brandon can turn me from it if he likes. My fatber and mother died there, sir; my wife died there; my chiklren were born tli§i;fi,; and the place is as much like my houiestead as if it was my own." " How do von know old Parrifer wants it?" continued Tod. "I have heard it from a sure soui-ce. I've heard, too, that MAJOR PARRIFER. 75 his lawyer and JMr. Brandon's lawyer liaye settled :lie matter between their two selves, and don't intend to let me as much as know I'm to go out till the time has come, for fear I should make a row oyer it, Kobody upon earth can stop it except Mr. Brandon," added Reed with enero-y. " Have you spoken to Mr. Brandc.m, Reed ?" "Xo, sir. I was going up to him ; but the thought took me that I'd better come off at once to Master Ludlow ; his word mi^'ht be of more avail than mine. There's no time to be lost. If once the lawyers get Mr. Brandon's consent, he may not be able to recall it." " What does Parrifer want with the cottage ? " " I fanc}^ he covets the bit of garden, sir ; he sees the good order I've brought it into. If it's not that, I don't know what it can be. The cottage can be no eyesore to him ; he can't see it from his windows." "Shall I go with yon, Johnny?" said Tod, as Reed went home, after drinking the ale old Thomas gave him. " We will circumvent that Parrifer, if there's law or justice in the Bran- don land." We went off to Mr. Brandon's in the pony-carriage, Tod driv- ing. He lived near Alcester, and had the management of my property while I was a minor. As we w^ent along Avho should ride past, meeting us, but Major Parrifer. "Looking like the bull-dog that he is," cried Tod, who could not bear the man. " Johnny, what will you lay that he has not been to Mr. Brandon's? The negotiations are becoming intricate." Tod did not go in. On second thought, he said it might be better to leave it to me. The Squire must try, if I failed. Mr. B)-andon was at home ; and Tod drove on into Alcester by way of passing the time. " I3ut I don't tlunk you can see him," said the housekeeper when she came to me in the drawing-room. " This is one of his bad davs. A CD J ' the master, bu. it was of no use." 76 MAJOR PARKIFEK. " 1 know ; it was Major Parrifer. We thought lie might have been calling here." Mr. J^ruiidon was little and thin, with a shrivelled face, lie lived alone, except for three or four seivanls, and always fancied himself ill with one ailment or another. When I went in, for he said he'd see me, he was sitting in an easy chair, with a geranium-coloured Turkish cap on his head, and two bottles of medicine at his elbow. " Well, Johnny, an invalid as usual, yon see. And what is it you so particularly want ?" " I want to ask you a favour, Mr. Brandon, if you'll pleaso to grant it me." "What is it?" " You know that cottage, sir, at tlie corner of Pieflnch Lane. George Reed's." "\VeH?" " I am come to ask you to please not to let it be sold." " Who wants to sell it ? " asked he, after a pause. "Major Parrifer wants to buy it; and to turn out Reed. The law vers are ffoino- to arrano;e it." Mr. !Bj-andon pushed the Turkish cap up on his brow and £^ave the purple tassel over his ear a twirl as he looked at me. People thought him incapable ; but it was only because he had no work to do that he seemed so. He would o-et a bit in itable sometimes ; very rarely though ; and he had a squeaky voice : but he was a good and just man. " ITow did you hear this, Johimy ? " I told him all about it. What Reed had said, and of our having met the i\Iajor on horseback as we drove along. " lie came here, but I did not feel well enough to see him," Baid Mr. Brandon. "Johnny, you know that I stand in place of your father, as regards your property ; to do the best 1 can with it." " Yes, sir. And I am sure vou do it." "If Major Parrifer — I don't like tlie man," broke off Mr. Brandon^ " but that's neither here nor there. At the last MAJOR PARRIFEE. 77 masriistrates' meetino; I attended he was so overbeariiio: as to slint ns all up. My nerves were unstrung for four-and-twenty hours afterwards." "And Squire Todhetley came homo swearing," I could not help putting in. •' Ah," said Mr. Brandon. " Yes ; some people can throu bile off in that way. I can't. But, Jolmny, all that goes foi nothing, in regard to the matter in hand : and I was about to point out to you that if Major Parrifer has set his mind upon buying Reed's cottage and the bit of land attached to it, he is no doubt prepared to oifer a large pi'ice ; more, probably, than it is worth. If so, I should not, in your interests, be justified in refusing this." 1 could feel my face flush with the sense of injustice, and the tears come into my eyes. They called me a muff for many thino's. " I would not touch the money myself, sir. And if you used iffor me I'm sure it would never bring any good." " What's that, Johnny ? " "Money got by oppression or injustice never does. There was a fellow at school " " Never mind the fellow at school. Go on with your own arguments." "To tu.rn Reed out of the place where he has always lived, out of the garden he has done so well by, just because a rich man wants to get it into his possession, would be fearfully unjust, sir. It would be as bad as the story we heard read in church last Sunday, for the First Lesson, of Naboth's vin^ yard. Tod said so as we came along." " Whose Tod « " " Joseph Todhetley. If you turned Reed out, sir, for the sake of benefiting me, I should be ashamed to look people iu the face when they talked of it. If you please, sir, I do not think my father would allow it if he were alive. Reed says the place is like his homestead." Mr. Brandon measured two tablespoonfuls of medicine into 78 MAJOR PARRIFEK. a glass, drank it, and ate a French plinn afterwarda The plums were in a jtapcr, and he handed them to me. I ate one, and tried to (n-ack the stone. " You have taken np a strong opinion upon this matter, Master Jolmny." " Ye?, six. I like Heed. And if I did not, he has no more right to be tui-ned out of his home than Major Parrifer has ont of his. How would he like it, if some great rich power- ful man came down on his place and turned him out?" " Major Parrifer can't be turned out of his, Johnny. It is his own." '• AndPeed's place is mine, sir — if you'll not be angry with me for saving it. Please don't let it be done. Mr Brandon." The pony-carriage came rattling up at this juncture, and we saw Tod look at the windows impatiently. I got up, and Mr. Bi'andon sliook hands with me. " Wiiat you have said is all very good, Johnny, right in pi-ineij)le ; but I cannot let it entirely outweigh your interest. When this proposal shall be put before me — as you say it will be — it must have my full consideration." I stopped when I got to the door and turned to look at him. If lir would but have given me an assurance! He read in my face what I wanted. " No, Johnny, I can't do that. You may go home easy for the present, however ; for I will promise not to accept the offer to purcliase without iirst seeing you again and showing you my reasons." " 1 may have gone back to school, sir." " I tell you I will see you again if I decide to accept the offer," lie repeated emphatically. And I went out to the pony-chaise. '' Old Brandon means to sell," said Tod when I told him. And he gave the pony an angry cut, that made him fly off with a l('a]>. Will anybody believe that I never heard another word upon the subjt;ct ? — exce]>t what people said in the way of gossip, MAJOR PARRIFEE. 79 It was soon known that Mr. Brandon had declined to sell the cottage; and when his lawver wiote hi in word that the sum offered for it was increased to quite an unprecedented amount, considering the small value of the cottage and garden iu question, Mr. Brandon only sent a peremptory note back again, saying he was not in the habit of changing his decisions, au^ the place wcls not for sale. Tod threw up his hat. " Bravo, old Brandon ! I thought he'd not go quite over to the enemy." George Keed wanted to thank me for it. One evening in passing ]iis cottage on my way home from the Court, I leaned over the gate to speak to his little ones. He saw me and came running out. The ravs of tlie setting sun shone ou the children's white corded bonnets. " I have to thank you for this, sir. They are going to re- new njy lease." " Are they ? All right. But you need not thank me ; I know nothins: about it." George Beed gave a sort of decisive nod. "If you had not got the ear trf Mr. Brandon, sir, I know what box I'd have been in now. Look at them ^irls ! " It was not a ver}' complimentary mode of speech, as applied to the Misses Parrifer. Three of them vrere passing, dressed outrageously in the fashion as usual. I lifted my straw hat, and one of them nodded in return, but the other two only looked out at the tail of their eyes. " The Major has been trying it on wath me now," remarked R§ed, watching them out of siglit. " When he found he could not buy the place, he thought he'd try and buy out me. He wanted the bit of land for a kitchen-garden, he said ; and he'd give me a bank-note of live pounds to go out of it. Much obliged, Major, I said ; but I'd not go for fifty." "As if he had not got heaps of land himself to make kitchen-gardens of ! " " But don't you see, Master Johnny, to a man like Major Parrifer, wlio thinks the world was made for him, there's 80 MAJOR PAKRIFER. nothing so mortifying as being balked. He set his mind npon tliis place ; he can't get it ; and he is just boiling over. Ile'd poison me if he conld. Now then, what's wanted ? " Cathy hud come np, with her pretty dark eyes, whispei'ing some question to her fathei'. I ran on ; it was getting late, and the Manor ever-so-far off. From that time tlie feud grew between Major Parrifor and George Heed. Not openly ; not actively. It could not well be either when the relative positions in life were so different. Major l^arrifer was a wealthy proprietor, a county magistrate (and an awfully ovei'bearing one) ; and George Heed was a poor cottager who worked for his bread as a day-labourer. But that the Major grew to abhor and hate Reed; that the man, inhal)lting tlie place at his very gates in spite of him, and looking at him independently, as if to say he knew it, every time he passed, had become an eyesore; was easy to be seen. The Major resented it on us all. lie was rude to Mr. Brandon when they met ; he struck out his whip once when he was on horseback, and I pm, coming home to spend Sunday with his friends. Peed made a sign to Blossom for silence, and caused him to look on also. With the small basket half full, the Major desisted, thinking COMING HOME TO HIM. 93 possibly be bad plucked euougb, and turned away carrjang it. Hotty came out from the peas tben, his task finished. They sti'olled slowly down the path by the hedge ; the Major first, llotty a step behind, talking about late and early peas, and whether Prussian bines or marrowfats were the best eating. " r>o you see those weeds in the onion-bed ? " suddenly asked the Major, stopping as they were passing it. Ilotty turned his head to look. A few weeds certainly had sprung up. He'd attend to it on the morrow,^he told hia master ; and then said something about the work accumulating almost beyond him, since the under gardener had been at home ill. "Pick them out now," said the Major; " there's not a dozen of them." Hotty stooped to do as he was bid. The Major made no more ado but stooped also, he himself uprooting quite half of tlie weeds. Not much more, in all, than the dozen he had Bpoken of : and then they went on with their baskets to the house. Never had George Reed experienced so much gratification since the day he came out of prison. " Did you see the Major, at it? — thinning his apricots and pulling up his weeds? he asked of Gruff Blossom. And Blossom's reply, gruff as usual, was to ask what niight be supposed to ail his eyes that he shouldn't see it. " Yery good," said Reed. One evening in the following week, when we were sitting out on the lawn, the Squire smoking, Mrs. Todhetley nursing her face in her hand, with tooth-ache as usual. Tod teazing Hugh and Lena, and I up in the beech-tree, a horseman rode in. It proved to be Mr. Jacobson. Giles took his horse, and he came and sat down on the bench. The Squire asked him what he'd take, and he chose cider, being thirsty. Which Thomas brought. " Here's a go," began Mr. Jacobson. " Have you heard what's up ? " 94 COMING HOME TO HIM. " I've not heard anything," answered the Sqnirc. "Major Parrifer has got a snnnnons sei'ved on hini for "working in liis garden on a Sunday, and is to appear belcre the magistrates at Alcester to-inorrou-," continued old Jacob- son, drinkiiif)' off a fflass of cider at a drauo;ht. "No!" cried Squire Todhetley. " It's a fact. Blossom, our groom, has also a summons served on him to give evidence." Mrs. Todhetley lifted her face ; Tod left Hugh and Lena to themselves: I slid down from the beech-tree; and we listened for more. I?ut Mr. Jacobson could not give j)articulars, or say much else than he had already said. All he knew was, that on Monday morning George Reed had appeared before the magistrates and made a complaint. At first they were un- willing to grant a summons; laughed at it; but Reed, in a burst of i-eproach, civilly delivered, asked why there should be a law for the poor and not for the rich, and in what lay the difference between himself and Major Parrifer; that the one should be called to account and punished for doing wrong, and the other was not even to be accused when he had done it. "Brandon haj^pened to be on the Bench," continued Ja- cobson. " He appeared struck with the argument, and signed the summons." The Squire nodded. "My belief is," continued old Jacobson, with a wink over the rim of the cider glass, " that the granting of that summons was as good as a play to Brandon and the rest. Pd as lieve, though, that they'd not brono-ht Blossom into it." " Why ? " asked Mrs. Todhetley, who had been grieved at the time at the injustice done to Reed. " Well, Parrifer is a disagreeal)le man to offend. And he is sure to visit Blossom's part in this on me." "Let him," said Tod, with enthusiasm. "Well done, George Reed ! " COMma HOME TO HIM. 95 Be yon very sure we went over to the fight. Squire Tod- hetley did not api3ear: at which Tod exploded a little: he only wished he was a magistrate, wouldn't he take his place and judge the Major! Uut the Pater said that when people had lived to his age, they liked to be at peace with their neighbours — not but what he hoped Parrifer would "get it," for having been so cruelly hard upon Reed. Major Parrifer came driving to the Court-house in his high carriage with a great bluster, and his iron-grey hair sticking up, two grooms attending him. Only the magistrates who had granted the sunnnons sat. The news had gone about like wild-fire, and several of them were in the town and about, but did not take their places. 1 don't believe there was one would have lifted his finger to save the Major from a month's imprisonment ; but they did not care to sentence him to it. It was a regular battle. Major Parrifer was in an awful passion all the time; asking, when he came in, how they dared summons him. Ilim ! Mr. Bi-andon, cool as a cucum- ber, answered in his squeaky voice, that when a complaint of breaking the law was preferred before them and sworn to by witnesses, they could only act upon it. First of all, the Major denied the facts. He work in his garden on a Sunday ! — the very supposition was preposterous! Upon which George Eeed, who was in his best clothes, and looked every bit as good as the Major, and far pleasanter, testified to what he had seen. Major Parrifer, dancing with temper when he found he had been looked at through the hedge, and thar it was Reed who looked, gave the lie direct. He called his gardener, Richard Ilotty, ordering him to testify whether he, tlie Major, ever worked in his garden, either on Sundays or week- days. '•Ilotty was working himself, gentlemen," interrupted 96 lv. P>rand()n was Logi lining to con- fer with the other two in an under tune, when Ivecd spoke again. '• I was dragged up here in liandeuffs, and tohl I had bro- ken the hiw ; Major J*arrifer said to me himself that I had violated the sanctity of the Sabbath (those were the words), and therefore I must be punished ; there was no help for it. "What has he done ? I did not do as much as he has." " Now you know, Reed, this is irregular," said one of the justices. " You must not interrupt the court." '' You put me in prison for a month, gentlemen," resumed I'eed, paying no attention to the injunction. "They cut my hair close in the prison, and they kept me to hard labour for the m)nth, as if I did not have enouMi of hard labour out of it. My wife was sick and disabled at the time, my three little children are helpless: it was no thanks to the magistrates who sentenced me, gentlemen, or to Major Parrifer, that they did not starve." " Will you be quiet, Reed ? " " If I deserved one month of prison," persisted Reed, fully bent on saying what he had to say, " Major Parrifer must deserve two months, for his offence is larger than mine. The law is the same for both of us, 1 suppose, lie " "Reed, if you say another word, I will order you at once from the room," interrnpted Mr. Brandon, his thin voice sharp and determined. " How dare you persist in addi'cssing the bench when told to be quiet ? " Reed fell back and said no more. He knew that Mr. Bran- don had a habit of carrying out his own authority, in spite of liis nervous health and (piernlons way of speaking. The jus- tices spoke a few words together, and then said they found the oifcnce proved, and inflicted a hue on Major Parrifer. lie dashed the money down on the tabh', in too great a rago to do it politely, and went out to his carriage. No other case was on, that day, and the justices got up and mixed vv'ith the Cfowd. Mr. Brafidon, wlio felt chill in the hottest summer'u ccmii;g iiomk to him. 99 day, and was afraid of showers, buttoned on a lio;lit over- coat. "Then there are two laws, sir?" said Reed to hiin, quite civilly, but in a voice that eve]"yb()dy might hear. "When the law was made against Sabbath-breaking, those that made it passed one for the rich and another for the poor! " " Nonsense, Reed." " J^onsense, air ? I don't see it. /was put in pri-on ; Major Parrifcr has only got to pay a bit of money, which is of nc more account to him than dirt, and tliat he can't feel the loss of. And my offence — if it was an offence^was less than iiis." " Two wrongs don'c make a right," said Mr. Brandon, drop- ping his voice to a low key. You ought not to have been put ill prison, Reed ; had I been on the bench it should not have been done." " But it was done, sir, and my life got a blight on it. It's on me yet; will never be lifted oft" me." Mr. Brandon smiled one of his quiet smiles, and spoke in a whisper. "lie has got it too, Reed, unless I mistake. He'll carry that fine about with him alwa}S. Johnny, are you there? Don't go and repeat wliat you've heard me say." Mr. Brandon was right. To have been summoned before the the bench, where he had pompously sat to summon others, and for working on a Sunday above all things, to have been found guilty and fined, was the bitterest potion to Major Parrifer. The bench would never be to him the seat it had been; the remembrance of the day when he was before it would, as Mr. Brandon expressed it, be carried about with him always. They projected a visit to the sea-side at once. Mrs. Parrifer, with three of the Misses Parrifer, came dashing up to people's houses in the carriage liner and louder than ever ; she said that she had not been well, and was ordered to Aberystwithforsix weeks. The next day they and the Major were off ; and heaps of cards were sent round with *'P.P.G." in their corner. I think Ml". Brandon must have laughed when he got his. 100 COMING HOME TO HIM. The winter lioliflavs came round a<]rain. We wei t he rae for Christinas, as usual, and found GeDrge Reed down with some sort of iUness. There's an ohl sayini:;, " ^Vhen the mind's at eas;e the bodv's delicate'' but Mr. JDuifham always nuxintained that though that might apply to a short period of time, in the long run mind and body sympathised together. George Reed Lad been a very healthy man, and as free from care as most people ; this last year care and trouble and mortiiication had lain on his mind, and at the bea-inniu"; of winter his health broke down. It was quite a triumph (in the matter of opinion) for old Duffham. The illness began with a cough and a low fever, neither of which can labourers afford time to lie by for. It went on to greater fever, and to intiammation on the chest or lungs, or both. There was no choice then, and Ileed took to his bed. Vov the most part, when our poor peo})le got ill, they had to get well again without notice being taken of them; but events had drawn attention to Keed, making him into a conspicuous character. His illness was talked of, and so he received help. Ever since the prison affair I had felt sorry for Reed, as had Mrs. Todhetley. " I have had some nice strong broth made for Reed, Johnny," she said to me one day in January ; " it's as good and uourish- iuG: as beef-tea. If vou want a walk, vou mii^ht take it to liim." Tod h;ul gone out with the Squire ; I felt dull, as I gener- ally did without him, and put on my coat and hat. Mrs. Tod- hetley had the broth put into a bottle, and brought it me wrap- ped ill paper. " I would send him a drop of wine as well, Johnny, if you'd take care not to break the bottles, carrying two." No fear. I put the one bottle to lodge in my breast-pocket, and took the other in mv hand. It was a cold afternoon, the eky u(!arly of a steel-blue, the sun bright, the ground hard. Ma- jor Parriferand two of his daughters, coming home from a ride, vvere ca,ntering into the gates as I jiassed, their groom riding OOilTNG HOME TO IITM. 101 behind. I lifted rav hat to the o-lvls, but thev oi Iv tossed tlieir heads. Reed was getting over the worst then, and I found him sit tiniij bv the kitchen lire, muffled in a bed-riii);. Mrs. Reed took the bottles from me in the back'us — as they called the back place where washing and the like was done — for Reed waa sensitive, and did not like things to be sent to him, " Please God, I shall be at work next week," said Reed, with a groan : and I saw he knew I had brought something. He had been saj'ing tliac all along; foui- or live weeks now. I sat down opposite to him, and t(jok up the boy, Georgy. The little sha\'er had come round to me, holding by the chairs. " It's ijoino' to be a hard frost, Reed." " Is it, sir ? Out-o'-door weather don't seem to be of much odds to me now." " And a fall o' some soit's not far off, as my wrist tells me," put in Mrs. Reed, Years ago she had broken her wrist, and felt it always on change of weather. " Maybe some snow's coiuiuij:." I gave Georgy a biscuit ; the two little girls, who had been standing still against the press, began to come slowly forward. They guessed there was a supply in my pocket. I had dipped mv luiud into the bi&cuit-basket at home before comino; awav. Thy two put out a hand each without being told, and I dropped a biscuit into them. It liad taken neither time nor noise, and yet there was some one standing inside the door when I looked up again, who must have come in stealthily; some one in a dark dress, and a black and white plaid shawl. Mi-s. Reed looked and the childrou looked ; and tlien Rjed turned his liead to look. I think I was the first to know her; she had a thick black veil before her face, and the room was not lin^ht. Reed's ill- ness had left him thin, causing his eyes to appear very large : they assumed a sort of frimitened stare. " Father! you are sick ! " Before he could answer, she ran across the brick floor and 102 COMING nOME TO niM. had tier arms round his neck. Cathy ! The two girls were frio-htened and flow to their mother: one bei-'an to scream and the other followed suit. Altogether there was noise and com- motion ; (ieoi-gy, like a brave little iiuin, sucking his biscuit through it all with gi-eat composui-e. AVhat Keed said or did, I had not noticed ; I think he went to tling Cathy from him — to avoid suffocation [)erhaps. She burst out laughing in her old light mauner, and took some- thing out of the body of her gown, under the shawl. " No need, father : I am as honest as anybody," said she. « Look at tiiis.'' Reed's hand shook so that he could not open the paper, or understand it at^ first wlien lie had opened it. Cathy flung off her b(jnnet and cauii-lit tlie children to her. Thev bcijau to know her then and ceased their cries. Presently Keed held the paper across to me, his hand trembling worse than before, and Jiis face, that illness had left white, turning ghastly with emotion. " Please read it, sir." 1 did not understand it at first cither, but the sense came to me soon. It was a certificate of the marriage of Spencer Ger- voise Daubeney Pai'rifer and Catherine Reed. They had been married at Liverpool the vei-y day after Cathy disappeared from home ; now juot a year ago. A sound of sobbiuii; broke the stillness. Reed had fallen back in his chair in a sort of hysterical fit. Defiant, hard, strong-minded Reed ! Put the man was three parts dead fi-om weakness. It lasted but a minute or two ; he roused himself as if ashamed, and swallowed down his sobs. " How came he to marrv you, Cathv ? " "Pecause I would not go with him without it, fatlier. We have been staying in Ireland." " And be you a repenting of it yet ? " asked Mrs. Reed, in an ungracious tone. " Pretty near," answered Cathy, with candour. . It appeared that Cathy had made her way direct to Liver '^ COMING HOME TO IIIM. 103 pool when she left home the previous January, travel lini;- all night. There she met young Parrifer, who had preceded her and made arrangements for the marriage. They were mar- ried that day, and afterwards went on to Ireland, where he had to join his regiment. To hear all this, sounding like a page out of a romance, would be something wonderful for our quiet place wdien it came to be told. You meet with marvellous stories in towns noM^ and then, but they ai'e almost uidvuown with us. " Where's your husband ? " asked Eeed. Cathy tossed her head. " Ah ! Where ! That's what I've come home about," she answered : and it struck me at once that something was wrong. What occurred next we only learnt from hearsay. I said gnod-day to them, and came away, thinking to myself it nn'ght have been better if Cathy had not man-ied and had not left home. It was a fancy of mine, and I don't know why it should have come to me, but it proved to be a right one. Cathy put on her bonnet again to go to Parrifer Hall : and the particulars of her visit were known abroad later. It was getting rather dusk when she approached it ; the sun had set, the i>;rev of evenino; was drawino- ou. Two of the Misses Parrifer were at the window and saw her coming, but Cathy had her veil down and they did not recognise her. The actions and manners and air of a lady do not come on a sudden to one who has been bred differently ; and the Misses Parrifer supposed the visitor to be for the servants. "Like her impudence!" said Miss Jemima. " Coming to the front entrance ! " For Cathy, whose year's experience in Ireland had widely changed her, had no notion of taking up her old position. She meant to hold her own ; and was capable of doing it, not being detirient in the quality just ascribed to her by Miss Jemima Pariifer. " AVhat next ?" cried Miss Jemima, as a r'ng and a knock 104 COMING HOME TO HIM. resounded through the house, waking up the Major : who had been dozing over the fire amidst his daughters. The next was, that a servant came to the room and told the IMajor a hidy wanted him. She had been shown into tiie library. " Vv^hat name ? " asked the Major. " She didn't give none, sir. I asked, but she said never mind tiie name." " Go and ask it again." The man went aud came back. " It is Mrs. Parrifer, sir." « Mrs. who ? " « Mrs. Parrifer, sir." The Major turned and stared at his servant. They liad no relatives. Consequently the only Mrs. Pai-rifer within his knowledire was his wife. Starino: at the man would not bi-ing anv elucidation. Maior Parrifer went to the library, and there saw the lady standing at one side of tlie fender, holding her foot to the fire. She had her back to him, did not turn, and so the Major went round to the other side of the hearth-rug where he covild see her. "My servant told me a Mrs. Parrifer wanted me. Did he make a mistake in the name ? " " No mistake at all, sir," said Cathy, throwing up her thick veil, and drawing a step or two back. " I am Mrs. Pai-rifer." The ]\Iajor i-ecognised her then. Cathy Heed ! lie was a man mIiosc bluster raiely failed, but he had none ready at that moment. Three-parts astounded, various perplexities tied his tongue. " That is to say, Mi's. Spencer Parrifer," continued Cathy " And I have come over from Ireland on a mission to you, sir, from vour son." The Maior thourjht that of all the audacious women it had ever been his lot to meet, this one was the worst : at least as much as he could think anything, foi- his wits wei'e a little confused just then. A moment's pause, and then the storm burst forth, COMING iMOME TO FIIM. 105 Cathy was called various ay;reeal)le names, and ordered out of tile room and the house. The Major put up his hands to " Imi'rish " her out — as we say in Woreestershire by the cows, though I don't think you would fiud the woi'd in the dictionary'. But Cathy stood her ground. lie then went screaming towards tiie door, calling for the servants to come and put her forth. Catli}', quicker tluiu he, gained it hi'st and turned to face him, her back against it. " You needn't call me those names, Major Pai-rifer. Not that I care — as I might if I det-ei'ved them. I am your son's wife, and have been such ever since I left father's cottaire last vear ; and mv babv, your grandson, sir, which it's seven weeks old he is, is now at the Hed Lion, a mile off. I've left it there with the landlady.'* lie could not put her out of the room unless by force ; he lo()!;ed I'eady to kick and strike her ; but in the midst of it a horrilde dread rose up in iiis heart ihat the calm words were true. Perhaps from the hour when Reed had presented liimself at the house to ask for his dauirhier, the evening of the day he was discharged from prison, up to this tiine, Major Parrifer had never thouMit of the ij^ii-l. It had been said iu Ills ears now and asjain tliat Reed was iri-ievini; for his daughter; but the matter was alt gather too c n emptible for Major Pai'i-ifer to take note of. And now to hear that the girl had been with his son all the while, his wife! But that utter disbelief came to his aid, the Major might have fallen into a tit on the spot. Foi- yo;ing Mr. Parrifer had cleverly con- trived that neither his father away at home nor his friends near should kiKnv anything about Catliv. He had been with his regiment in quarters ; she had lived privately in another part of the town. Mrs. Reed had once called Lieutenant Parrifer as soft as a tom-tit. lie was a vast deal softei". " Woman ! if you do not quit my house with your shamoles lies, you shall be flung out of it." " I'll quit it as soon as I have told you what I came over the sea to tell. Please to look at this first, sir ? " Major Parrifer snatched the paper that she held out, caj-ried 106 COMING HOME TO HIM. it to the wiitdow, and put his glasses across his nose. It waa a c(>i)y (jf the certificate of marriage. His hands shook as be read it, j ust as Reed's had shaken a short while hefore ; and ho tore it passionately in two. "It is only the copy," said Cathy calm!}', as she picked up the pieces. " Your son — if he lives — is about to be tried for his life, sir. lie is in custody for wilful murder ! " " How dare vou ! " shrieked Maior Parrifer. " It is what they have chai-ged him with. I have come all the way to tell it you, sir." Major Parrifer, brought to his senses by a shock of fi-ight could but listen. Cathy, her back against the door still, gave him the heads of the story. Young Parrifer was so soft that he had been made a butt of by sundry of his brother officers. They nu'ght not have tolerated him at all, but for winnino- his monev. He drank, ami ])layed cards, and l)et n}){)n horses ; they encouraged him to drink, and then made him play and bet, and altogether clear ed him out : not of brains, he had none to be cleared of : but of money. Ruin stared him in the face : his available cash had been parted with long ago; his commission (it was said) was mortgaged : how many promissory notes, bills, lOU's he had signed could not even be guessed at. In a quarrel a few nigiits before, after a public-house supper, \vhen some of them were the worse for drink, young Parrifer, who could goon rare occa- sions into frighful passions, flung a carving-knife at one of the others, a lieutenant named Cook ; it entered a vital ].)art and killed him. Mr. Parrifer was arrested by the police at ( nee ; he was in plain clothes, and there was nothing to show tliat he was an otticer. They had to strap him down to carry him to prison : between drink, rage, and fever, he was as a maniac. Tiie next mornint; he was Ivino: in brain fever, and when Cathy left he had been put into a strait-waistcoat. She gave the heads of this account in as few words as it is written. JNTnjor Parrifer stood like a helpless nan. Taking one thing with another, the blow was horrille. Parents don't COMING HOME TO HIM. 107 often see the defects in their own chiklen, especially if they are only sons; far from having thought his son soft, uniit (as he •was nearly) to be trusted about, the Major had been proud of hiin as his heir, and told the world he was perfection. Soft as young Parrifer was, he had contrived to keep his ill-doings from his father. Of course it was only natural that the Major's first relief should be abuse of Cathy. He told her all that had hapi)ened to his son she was the cause of, and called her a few more genteel names in doing it. "Not at all," said Cathy ; "you are wrong there, sir. His marriage with me was a little bit of a stop-gap and served to keep him straight for a month or two ; but for that, he would have done for himself before he has. Do you think I've had a bargain in him, sir? Ko. Marriage is a thing that can't ])e nndoue, Maj(^r Pai-rifer : but I wish to my heart that I was at homo again in father's cottage, light'-hearted Cathy Peed." The Major made no answer. Cathy went on. " When the news was brought to me by his servant, that he had killed a man and was Ivine; ravins;, I thouicht it time to go and see about him. They would not let me into the lock- up house where he was lying — and you might have heard hia ravings outside : / did. I said I was his wife; and then they told me I had better see Captain Williams. I went to head- quarters and saw Captain Williams, lie seemed tod<^ubt me ; BO I showed him the certificate, and told him my bab}' was at home, turned six weeks old. lie was very kind then, sir ; he took me to see my husband ; and he advised me to come over here at once and give you the particidars. 1 told him what was the truth — that I had no money, and the lodgings were owing for. He said the lodgings must wait : and he would lend me enough money for the journey." " Did you see him ? " gi-owled Major Parrifer. Cathv knew that he alluded to his son, thouojh he would not speak the name. " I fe.iw him, sir ; I told you so. He did not know me or any. 108 COMING HOME TO IIIM. body else ; Ite was raving mad, and shaking so that the bed sliook iiiidcr him." " How is it that thev have not written to me?" demanded Major Panifer. " I don't think anybody liked to do it. Captain Williams said the best })lan wonld be for me to come, lie asked me if I'd like to hear the truth of the past as regarded my husband ; or if I would just come here and tell you the bare facts that were known, about his ilhiessand the charge against him, 1 said I'd pi-efer to hear the truth — that it couldn't be worse than I suspected. TJien he went on to the di'inking and the gambling and the debts, just as I have repeated to you, sir. He was very gentle ; but he said he thought it would be mis- taken kindness not to let me fully nnderstand the state of things. lie said Mr. Parrifer's father, or some other friend, liad better go over to Ireland." In spite of himself, a groan escaped Major Pai-rifer. The blow wag the worst that could have fallen npon him. lie had not cared much for his daughters ; his ambition was centred in his son. Visions of a sojourn at Dublin, and of figuring off at the Vice-Regal Court, himself, his wife, and his son, liad iloatcd occasionally in rose-coloured clouds before his brain, poor pompons old simpleton. And now — to picture the visit he must set out upon ere the night was over, nearly drove him wild with pain. Cathy unlatched the door, but waited to speak again before she ()i)ened it. " I'll I'id the house of me now that I have broke it to you, sir. If you want me I shall be found at father's cottage ; I 6up[)ose they'll let me stay there: if not, you can hear of me at the place where I've left my baby. And if your son should cvci" wake out of his delirium, Major Parrifer, he will be able to tell you that if he had listened to me and heeded me, o even only come to spend his evenings with me — which it'a months since he did — he would not have been in this pliglit now. Should they try him for murder ; and nothing can save him from it if he gets well ; I " COMING HOME TO HIM. 109 A succession of sBreains cut short what Cathv was i:.boiit to add. In her surprise slie drew wide the door, and was con- fronted by Miss Jemima Parrifer. That youn^^ lady, curious upon the subject of the visit and visitor, had thouo-ht it well to put her ear to the library door. To no effect, how- ever, until Cathy mdatched it. And then she heard more than she had thought for. "Is it you!'''' roughly cried Miss Jemima, recognizing her foi the ill-talked of Cathy Reed, the daughter of the Major's enemy. '' What do you want here ? " Cathy did not answer. She walked to the hall-door and let herself out. Miss Jemima went on into the library. " Papa, what was it she was saying about Spencer, that vile girl? "Wliat did she do here ? Why did she send in her name as Mrs. Parrifer ? " The ISEajor might have heard the questions, or he might not; he didn't respond to them. Miss Jemima, looking closely at him in the dusk of the room, saw a grey, worn, terror-stricken face, that looked as her father's had never lo(jked yet. " Oh, papa ! what is the matter ? Are you ill ? " He walked towards her in the quietest manner possible, took her arm and pushed her out at the door, Not rudely; softly, as (jne might do who is in a dream. " Presently, presently," he muttered in quite an altered voice, low and timid. And Miss Jemima found the door bolted a£rainst her. It must have been an awful moment with him. Look on what side he would, there was no comfort. Spencer Parrifer was ruined past redemption. lie might die in this illness, and tho?i, what of his soul ? Not that the Major was given to that kind of reflection. Escaping the illness, he must be tried — for his life, as Cathy had plirased it. And, escaping that, if the miracle were possible, there remained the misera- ble debts and the miserable wife he had c'.ogged himself with. no eoanNQ home to him. Curious euougli, as the miserable Major, most miserable in that moment, pictured these things, there suddenly rose np before his mind's eye another picture. A remembrance of Reed, who had stood in that very room less than twelve montha ago, in the dim light of late night, with his hair cut close, and his semi-threat : " It will come home to you, Major Parrlfery //rwi it come home to him? Home to him al- ready ? The drops of agony broke out on his face as he asked the qnestion. It seemed to him, in tiiat moment of excitement, so very like some of Heaven's own lightning. One grievous portion of the many ills had perhaps not fallen, but for the putting of Reed in jirison — the marriage ; and that one was more humiliating to Major Parrifer's spirit than all the rest. Had Reed been at liberty, Cathy might not have made her escape untracked, and the bitter marriage might, in that case, have been avoided. A groan, and now another, broke from the Major. ITow it had come home to him! not his selfishness and his bar- barity and his pride, but this blow of sorrow. Reed's mon.'h of prison, compared to this, was a drop of water to the wido waves of tlie ocean. As to the 2:1 rl — Avhen Reed had come asking for tidings of her, it had seemed to the Major not of the least jnoment whither slie had gone or what ill she had entei'ed on : M'as she not a connnon lal)Ourer's daughter, and that laboui'cr George Reed? Even then, at that very time, she was Ids daughter-in-law, and his son the one to be humiliated. Major Parrifer ground his teeth, and only stopped when he remeird)ered that something must be done about that disgraceful son. He started tliat ni<;ht for Ireland. Cathv, affronted at some remark made bv Mrs. Reed, took herself off from her father's cottage. She had a little money left yet from her journey, and could spend it. Spencer Gervoise Daubeney Parrifer (the Major and hia wife had bestowed upon him the fine names in pride at hie baptism) died in prison. lie lived but a day after Majoi COinXG HOME TO Hni. Ill Pan-Ifer's arrival, and never recognized J.im. It of course saved the trial, when he would probably have been convicted of manslaughter. It saved the payment of his hundreds \){ debts too ; post-obits and all; he died before his fatlier. But it could not save exposure ; it could not save the facts from the world. Major and Mrs. Parrifer, so to say, would never lift up their heads again ; the sun of their life had set. Neither would Cathy lift hers yet awhile. She contrived to quarrel with her father; the Parrifers never took the remotest notice of her; she was nearly starved and her bal)y too. What little she earned was by hard work : but it would hot keep her, and she applied to the parish. The parish in ifu-ned applied to Major Parrifer, and forced from hiui as Liuch as the law allowed, a few shillings a week. The having l'^ apply to the parish was, for Cathy, a humiliation never to be for'j-otten. The neisrhbonrs made their comments. " Cathv Peed have brouojht her pigs to a fine market ! " So she had ; and she felt it more than the loss of her babj. who died soon after. Better that she had married an honest day-labourer : and Cathy knew it now. YL LEASE, THE POINTSMAN". ~^ 2;^ 7^^ i''^ j) ,^T happened when we wore staj-ing at our liouse. Crabb 'VJH'Mi Cot. In savini' " we" were stayino- atit, I mean the "W^ family, for Tod and I were at school. Crabb Cot lay beyond the vlllatje of Crabb. Just across the road, a few yards hii^her up, was the large farm of Mr. Conev ; and his house and ours were the onlv two that stood there. Crabb Cot was a smaller and moi-e cosy house than Dyke Manor; and, when there, we were not so very far from Worcester : less than half way, comparing it with the Manor. Crabb was a large and straggling parish. ISorth Ci-abb, which was nearest to us, had the ciiurch and schools in it, but very few houses. South Crabb, further off, was more popu- lous. Nearly a mile beycuid South Ci-abb, there was a regular junction of rails. Lines, crossing each other in a most bewil- dering manner, led off in all directions ; and it I'equired no little manoeuvring to send the trains away right at busy times. AVhich of course was the pointsman's afTuir. The busiest days had pUice in snnnner, wlion excursion trains were in fidl swing: but they would comeoccasionally at other peiiods, driving the South Crabb sta'ion people oft' their heads with bother beft^re night. The pointsman was Harry Lease. I dare say yon have no- ticed how certain names seem to belong to certain places. At North Crabb and South Crabb, and in the district round about, the name of Lease was as connnon as are blackberries in a hedge ; and if the different Leases had been cousins in the days LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. 113 gone bv, the relatioiisliip was lost now. There mii^ht be seveu- and-twentv Leases, in and ont, but Harrv Lease was not, so far as he knew, akin to any of them. South Crabb was not much of a place at best. A ,^art of it, Ci'abb Lane, branching off towards Mas?ock's brick-lie] ds. wa^ crowded as a London street. Poor dwellino-s were liud- died together, and children jostled each other on the door-steps. Squire Todiietlej said he remembered it when it really was a lane, hedges on either side and a pond that was never dry. Ila ry Lease livef dire confusion : and for one ininute aftei'wards a dead lull, as if everybodj^ and thing were paralysed. "You ne\er turned the points!" shrieked the station-maa ter to Lease. Lease made no rejoinder. He hacked against the wall like a helpless man, his arms stretched out, his face and eyes wild M'ith horror. Watson thouixht he was f>;oino' to have a lit, and shook him roughly. " YoxCve done it nicely, you have ! " he added, as he flew off to the scene of disaster, from which the steam was begin- ninir to clear awav. But Lease reached it befoi-e him. '' (xod forgive me! God have mercy upon me !" A ]K)rter, rumiing side by side with Lease, hoard hnn say it. \\\ teliing it afterwards the man described the tone as one of piteous ao-onv. The Squire and Mrs. Todhetley, who had been a few railea LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. 115 off to spend tho day, were in the train witli Lena. The child did nothinf^ but cry and sob ; not with damage, but fright. Mr. Coney also happened to be in it ; and Massock. who owned the brick-tields. They were not hurt at all, only a little shaken, and (as the Squire put it afterwards) mortally scared. Massock, an undei'-bred. man, wlio had grown rich by his bi-ick-iields, was more pompous than a lord. The three seized upon the station-master. " Now then, Watson," cried Mr. Coney, " wdiat was the cause of all this ?" "• If there have been any ney-and-by ho came upon Lease again. The man had halted to lean against some palings, feeling unaccountably strange, much as though the world around were closing to him. " Had YOU been driidcinci; to-nik the oil hack again. It would be then that I went to put the points right," he added after a pause. " I hojje I did." " But, llarrv, don't you remember doiup' it \ " " No, 1 don't ; there's where it is." " You always put the points straight at once after the train has passed % " " Not if I'm called off by other work. It ought to be done. A pointsman should stand while the train passes, and then step off to right the points at once. But when you are called off half a dozen ways to things crying out to be done, you can't spend the time in waiting for the points. We've never Iiad a harder day's work at the station than this has been, Mary ; trains in, trains out ; the place has hardly been free a minute together. And the extra telegraphing! — half the passengei's that stopped seemed to want to send messages. When six o'clock came I was worn out ; done up ; tit to drop." Mrs. Lease gave a start. An idea flashed into her mind, causing her to ask mentally whether .yAe could have had indi- rectly a hand in the calamity. For that had been one of tlie days Avhen her husband had no tea taken to him. She had been very busy M'ashing, and the baby was sick and cross: that had heei' quite enough to till incapable Mrs. Lease's hands, witliout bothering about her husband's tea. And, of all days in the year, it seemed that he had, on this one, most needed tea. \'rorn out I d<»ne up ! The noise in Ci'abb Lane was increasing, voices sounded louder, and Mrs. Lease put her apron over lier ears. Just tlien a suhlcn iiiterrupti(;u occurred. P0II3", supposed to bo safe asleep above stairs, burst into the kitchen in her night- gown, and flew into her father's arms, stubbing and crying. " Oh father, is it true ?— is it ti-ue % " 120 LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. " AVliy — Polly ! " cried the man, looking at licr in astonish- ment, " M hat's this ? " She liid her face on his waistcoast, hei' hands clinging round him. Pvlly had awoke and Jieard the comnients out- side. She was too nervous and excitable for Ci'abb Lane " They are saying you have kiHed Kitty Bowen's father. It isn't true, father ! Go out and tell them that it isn't true !" ITisown nerves were unstrung; his sti'cngthhad gone out of liim ; it only needed something of this kind to finish up Lease ; and he broke into sobs neai'ly as loud as the child's. Holding hei' ti) him with a tight grasp, tliey cried together. If Lease had never known agony before in his life, he knew it then. Tlie days went on. Tliere was no longer holding-out on Lease's pui-tou tlie matter of points: all the world said he had been guilty of neglecting to turn them ; and he sn})posed he had. lie acce])ted the fate meekly, without resistance, his manner strangely still, like one who has been subdued. When talked to, he freely avowed tliat it remained a puzzle to him how he could have forgotten the points, and what nuide him forget them. He shrank neither from i-c']:)roach nor abuse ; listeniug patiently to all who chose to attack him, as if he had no moi-e any right to claim a ])la'ce in the w(M'ld. He was not spared. (\)i-oncr and jui-y, fi'iends and fi)es, alik'e went on at him, painting his sins in flaring colours, and calling him names to his face. " Murderer " was one of the politest of them. Four had died in all ; Roberts was not ex- pected to live; the rest were getting well. There would have been no trouble over the inquest (held at the "' Bull," between Ci-abb Lane and the station), it might have been finished in a day, and Lease connnitted foi* trial, but that one of those who had died was a lawyer; and his brother (a«so a lawyer) and other of his relatives (likewise lawyers) cliose to raise a com- motion. Mr. Massock helped tiiem. Passengers must be examined; rails ti-ied ; the points tcstod ; every conceivable obstacle was put in the way of a conclusion. Fifteen times had the jury to go and take a look at the spot, and see the LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. 121 working of the points tested. And so the inquest was ad- journed from time to time, and might get finished perhaps under a year. The pul)lic were like so many wolves, all howling at Lease; from the relatives aforesaid and Brick-field Massock, down to the men and women of Crabb Lane. Lease was home on bail, siirrendei-ing himself at every fi'csh meeting of the inquest. A few ill-conditioned malcontents had begun to hiss him as he passed in and out of Crabb Lane. When we g-ot home for the Christmas holidavs, nothing met us but tales of Lease's wickedness, in having sent the one train upon the other. The Squire grew hot in talking of it. Tod, given to be contrary, said lie should like to have Lease's own version of the affair. A remark that affronted the Squire. " Yon can go off and get it from him, sir. Lease won't refuse it ; he'd give it to the dickens, for asking. He likes nothino; better than to talk of it." " After all, it was but a misfortune," said Tod. " It was not done willino-ly." " Not done willino-lv ! " stuttered the Pater in his rage. " When I, and Lena, and her mother were in the train, and might have been smashed to atoms ! When Coney, and Mas- sock (not that I like the fellow), aad scores more were put in jeopardy, and some were killed ; yes, sir, killed. A misfor- tune ! Johnny, if you stand there with a grin across 3'our mouth, like an idiot, I'll send you back to school : you shall both pack off this very hour. A misfortune, indeed ! I^ease deserves liano-inff."' The next morning we came upon Lease accidentally in the fields. He was leaning over the gate amid the trees, as Tod and I crossed the rivulet bridge — which was nothing but a plank. Two bounds, and we were up with him, " Now for it. Lease ! " cried Tod. " Let us hear a bit about the thing.' 122 LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. AVas iK)t Lease altered ! Ilis cheeks were thin and white, his eyes had nothiii;ht hecanse I can't lie. The sii2;ht of the dawn makes me sick, and I say to myself, How shall I get throu<>-h tlie day? When bed-time comes, I wonder how 1 shall lie till morniii"^. Often 1 M'ish it had pleased God to take me before that day had ha])])en.ecL" " AVhy don't they get the inqnest over, Lease ^ " " There's something or other always brought up to delay it, Bir. I don't see the need of it. If it would bring the dead back, -why they might delay it; but it won't. They nn'ght as well let it end, and sentence me, and have done with it. Each time when 1 go back home through (.'rabb Lane the men and women call out, AVhat, put off again ! what, ain't he in gaol yet ! Which is the place they say I ought to have been in all along." " I suppose the coroner knows you'll not run away. Lease." '' Everybody knows that, sir." " Some would, though, in your place," " I don't know where they'd run to," retui-ned Lease. " They coiddn't run away from their own minds — and that's the worst part. Sometimes I wondei- whether I shall ever get it off mine, sir, or if I shall have it on me, like this, to the end of my life. The Lord knows what it is to me; nobody else does." You cannot alwavs make things fit into one another. I wag thinking so as I left Lease and went afler Tod. It was an awful carelessness not to have set the ])oints ; causing death, and sorrow, and distress to many ])eo})le. Looking at it f i-(>n-> their side, the pointsman was detestable; only fit. as the Srjiire said, for hanging. J hit looking at it side by side with Lease, seeing his sad face, and his sclf-rejiroach, and his patient Bufferiuir, it seemed altoirether dift'ci'ent; and the two sides would not by any means fit in together. Christmas week, and the absence of a juror wno l:a>' gone LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. 125 out visiting, made another excuse for putting off the inquest to the next week. When that came, the coroner was iU. There seemed to be no end to the dehx} s, and the public Bteam was getting up in consequence. As to Lease, he went about dazed, like a man who is looking for something that he has lost and cannot lind. One day when the ice lay in Crabt) Lane, and I was taking the slides on my way through it to join Tod, who had gone rabbit-shooting, a little girl ran across my feet, and was knocked down. I fell too; and the child began to cry. Pick- ing her np, I saw it was Polly Lease. " You little stupid ! why did you run into my path like that ? » " Please, sir, I didn't see you," she sobbed, " I was running after father. M(jtlier saw him in the field yonder, and sent me to tell him we'd got a bit o' fire." Polly had grazed both her knees ; they began to bleed just a little, and she went into convulsions nearly at the siglit of the blood. I carried her in. There was about a handful of fire in the grate, — Pm sure I could have put it into my two hamis. The mother sat on a low stool, close into it, nursing one of the children, and the rest sat on the floor. " I never saw such a child as this in all my life, Mrs. Lease. Because she has hurt her knees a bit, and sees a drop of blood, she's going to die of fright. Look here." Mrs. Lease put down the boy and took Polly, who w'as shaking all over with her deep low sobs. " It was always so, sir," said Mrs. Lease ; "always since she was a baby. She is the timorest-natured cliild possible. We have tried everything; coaxing and scolding too; but we can't get her out of it. If she pricks her finger her face tui-ns white." "I'd be more of a woman than to crv at nothinQ^, if 1 were you, Polly," said I^ sitting on the window-ledge, while Mrs. Lease washed the knees ; which were hardly damaged at all when they came tc be looked into. But Polly only clung to 126 LEASE, THB roiNTPM.\N. her mother, with her face hidden, and gave a deep sob no"Vf and then. " Look np, Toll J. What's this ? " I put it into lier hand as I spoke ; a bath bun that I had been carrying with nie, in case I did not get home to hmcheon. Polly looked round, and at the sight dried the tears on her BwoUen face. You never saw such a change all in a moment, or such eai>'er, o-lad little eves as hers. "Divide it, mother," said she. "Leave a bit for father." Two of them came flocking round like a couple of young wolves ; the youngest couldn't get up, and the one Mrs. Lease had been nursing stayed on the floor where she put him. He had a sickly face, with great bright grey eyes aud. hot, red lips. " AVhat's the matter with him, Mrs. Lease?" "AV'ith little Tom, sir? 1 think it's a kind of fever. lie never was strong ; ncme of them are : and of course these bad times can hut tell upon us." " Don't forget father, mother," said Polly. " Leave the biggest piece for father." " Now I tell you all what it is," said I to the children, when Mrs. Lease began to divide it into five hundred pieces, " that bun's for Polly, because she has hurt herself: you shall not take any of it from her. Give it to PoUv, Mrs. Lease." Of all the uj)roars ever heard, those little cormorants set up the worst. Mrs. Lease looked at me. "They nnist have a bit, sir: they must indeed. Polly wouldn't eat all herself, Master Ludlow ; you couldn't get her to." But I was deternn'ned Pollv should have it. It was throuijh me she got hurt; and besides, I liked her. "Now just li.'^ten, you little pigs. I'll go to the baker'a^ Ford's, and bring you all a penny ])lum-bun a pie(;e, but Pollv must have this one. Thev have i^-ot lots of currants in them, for children that don't squeal. How many ire there of you? One, two, three, four." LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. 127 Catcliing np my cap, I was going out when Airs. Lease touched me. " Do you really mean it, sir ? " she asked in a whisper. " Mean what ? That I am going to bring the buns ? Of course I mean it. I'll be back with them directly." " Oh, sir — l)ut do forgive me for making free to ask such a thing — if you would but let it be a half-quartern loaf instead ? " •' A half-quartern loaf ! " " They've not had a bit within their lips this day. Master Ludlow," she said, catching up her breath, as her face, which had flushed, turned pale again. " Last night I divided be- tween the four of them a piece of bread half the size of my hand ; Tom, he couldn't eat." 1 stared for a minute. " How is it, Mrs. Lease? can yon not ficet enough food ? " " I don't km)W where we should get it from, sir. Lease has not broken his fast since yesterday at midday." Dame Ford put the loaf in pai)er for me, wondering what on earth I wanted with it, as I could see by her inquisitive ej'es, but not liking to ask ; and I carried it back with the four buns. Tliey were little wolves and nothiniii; else when thev saw the food. "How has this come about, Mrs. Lease?" I asked, while they were eating the bread she cut them, and she had taken Tom on her lap again. " Vv^hy, sir, it is eight weeks now, or hard upon it, since my husband earned anything. They didn't even pay him for the last week he was at work, as the accident happened in it. We had nothing in hand ; people with only eighteen shillings a week and five children, can't save ; and we have been living on our things. But there's nothing left now to make money of — as you may see by the bare room, sir." " Does not anybody help you ? " " Help us ! " returned Mrs. Lease. " ^Vliy, Master Ludlow, people, for the most part, are so incensed against my husband, that they'd take the bread out of oar lips, instead of putting a bit into them. All their help goes to poor Nancy Jiowen 123 LEASE, THE POr>'TSMAN, and her cliiMron : uiul Lease is ic^ad it should be so. AVhen 1 carried Tom to Mr, Cole's yesterday, he said that what the child wanted wa:^ nourishment." "This nnist try Lease." "Yes," she said, her face flushing again, but speaking very quietly. • "Taking one thing with another, I am not sure but it is killing him." xVfter this break, I did not care to go to the shooting, but turned back to Crabb Cot. Mrs. Todhetley was alone in the bow-windowed parlour, so I told her of the state the Leases were in, and asked if she woidd not help them. " I don't know what to say about it, Johnny," she said, aftei a pause. " If I were willing, you know Mi*. Todhetley would not be. lie can't foi-give Lease for his carelessness. Every time Lena wakes up from sleej) in a fi'ight, fancying it is an- other accident, his anger retu]-ns. We hear her crying out^ you know, down here in an evening." " The carelessness was no fault of Lease's children that they should suffer for it." " Wiien yt)u get older, Johnny, yon will find that the conse- qnenees of people's faults fall moi-c on others than on theni- Belves. It is verv sad the Leases should be in this state ; I am sorr}' for thcni." "Then you'll help them a bit, good mother." Mrs. Todhetley was always ready to help any one, not need- ing to be urged ; on the other hand, she liked to bend impli- citly to the o])inions of the Squire. Between the two, she went into a dileunua. "Suppose it were Lena, stai-ving for want of food and warmth?" I said. "Or Hugh si(;k with fe\er, as that young Tom is? Those children have done no moi'c harm tiuin ours." Airs. Todlietley i)ut her liand up to her lace, and her mile eyes looked nearly as sad as Lease's. " Will you take it to them yourself, Johnny, in a covered bas- ket, and not let it be seeni That is, make it vourown doing 'i" « Yes." LEASE, TUE POINTSMAN. 129 "Go to the kitchen then, and ask Molly. Tliere arc some odds and ends of things in the larder that M'ill not be parti- cularly wanted. You see, Johnny, I do not like to take an active part in this ; it would seein like opposing the Squire." Molly was stooping before the big tire, basting the meat, and in one of her vile humours. If 1 wanted to rob thelarder, I must do it, she cried ; it was my business, not hers; and she dashed the iron basting spoon across the table by way of chorus. I gave a good look round the larder, and took a raised pork pie that had a piece cut out of it, and a leg of mutton three parts eaten. On the shelf were a dozen mince-pies, just out of their pattj'-pans ; I took six and left six. M.^lly, screwing her face round the kitchen door, caught sight of them as they went into the basket, and rushed after me out of the house, shiieking out for her mince-pies. The race went on. She was a woman not to be daunted. Just as we turned round by the yellow barn, I first, she i-aving behind, redder than a turkey-cock, the Scpiire pounced upon us. askinix Avhat the uproar meant. Molly told her tale, I was a thi-i^f, and gone off with the whole larder, more particu- larly with Inn- mince-pies. " Open the basket, Johnny," said the Squire : which was the one Tud and I used when we went fishing. N(^ sooner was it dv)ne than Molly marched off with the piea in triumph. The Pater regarded the pork pie and the meat with a curious gaze. " This is for you a,nd Joe, 1 suppose. I should like to know foi- how many more." I was one of the worst to conceal things, wlien taken to like this, and he got it all out of me in no time. And then he put his hand on my shoulder and ordered me to say who the things were for. Which 1 had to do. AVell, there was a row. He wanted to know what I meant by being wicked enough to give food to Lease. I said it was for the cliildren. I'm afraid I cried a little, fori did not like Uim to be angry with me, but I know I promised not to eat 130 LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. any dinner at home for three days if he woukl let me lake the meat. Molly's comments, echoing through the house, be- trayed to Mrs. Todhetley what had happened, and she came down the I'oad with a shawl over her head. She told the Sipaire the triitli tlien : that she had sanctioned it. She said she feared the Leases were cpiite in extremity, and begged him to let the meat arc. " J^eoff for this once, you young thief," stamped the Squire, " but don't let me catch you at anythi)ig of this sort again." So the meat went to the Leases, and two loaves that Airs. Todhetley whispered nie to order for them at Ford's. When I reached home with the empty basket, they were going in to dinner. I took a book and stayed in the parlour. In a min- ute or two the Stpiire sent to ask what I was doing that for. " It's all right, Thomas. I don't want any dimier to-day." Old Tliomas went away and returned again, saying the master ordered me to go in. But I wouldn't do anything of the sort. If he foro-ot the bar^j^ain, I did not. Out came the Squire, his fnce red, his napkin in his hand, and laid hold of me by the shoulders. " Yow obstinate young Turk ! llow dare you defy me ? Come alono;." " But it is not to defy you, sir. It was a bargain, you know ; I promised." '• What was a bargain 'i " "That I should not eat dinner for three days. Indeed 1 meant it." The Squire's answer was to propel me into the dining-room. •' Mo\'e down, Joe," he said, " I'll have him by me to-day. 1*11 see whether he is to starve himself out of bravado." " Why, what's up ? " asked Tod, as he went to a 1 wer seat. " What have you been doing, Johnny 't '' " Never mind," said the Squire, putting enough mutton on my plate for two. " You eat that, Mr. Johnny." It went on so through the dinner. Mrs. Todhetley gave me a big share of apple pudding; and, when the macaroni LEASE. THE POINTSMAN. 131 came on, tLe Squire heaped 1113- plate. And I know it was all done to show he was not really angry with uie for having ta- ken tlie things. Mr. Cole, the surgeon, came in after dinner, and was told of my wickedness. Lena ran up to me and said might she send her new sixpence to the poor little children who had no bread to eat. " What's that Lease about, that he does not go to work ? " asked the Squire, in a loud tone. ''Letting folks hear that his young ones are starving ! " " The man can't work," said Mr. Cole. " lie is out on pro- bation, you know, waitinor for the verdict, and the sentence on him that is to follow." " Then v,-hy don't they return their verdict and sentence him ? " demanded the Squire in his hot way. " Ah ! " said Mr. Cole, " it's what they ought to have done lunt; ai>;o." " What will it be ? Transportation ? " " I should take care it was not, if I were on the jury. The man had too much work on him that day, and had had nothing to eat or drink for too many hours." '• I won't hear a word in his defence,"' growled the Squij'e. "When the jurj' met for the last time. Lease was ill. A day or two before that, some one had brouglit Lease word that Rob- erts, wlio had been lingering all that while in the infirmary at Worcester, was going at last. Upon which Lease started to see him. It was not the day for visitors at the infirmary, but he gained admittance. Roberts was lying in the accident ward, with his head low and a blue look in his face; and the first thing Lease did, wh(«^ie began to speak, was to burst out crving. The man's sffongth had gone down to nothing and his spirit was broken Roberts made out that he was speaking of his distress at having been the cause of the calamity, and asking to be forgiven. 133 LEASE, THE POI>'rSMAN, " Mate," said Roberts, pnttinij; out his hand that Lease niighl take it, " I've never had an ill thought to ye. Mishaps come to all of us that have to do wirh i-ail-travt'llins; ; us drivers "et more ntJi-yoii ])()iiitMiiL'n. It might have happened to mo to he the cause, just as well as to you. DvnTt think no more of it." " iSav \ou forgive me," urLred Lease, "or 1 shall not know how to In-ar it." " I forgive thee with my wliole heart and soul. I've had a B])ell of it here. Lease, Avaiting for death, knowing it nnist c(;me to me, and I've erot to look for it kindlv. I don't tliink I'd iro back to the world now if I could. I'm o-oing to a better. It seems just peace, and nothing less. Shake hands, mate.'^ They shook hands. " I wish ye'd lift my head a bit," E.t)berts said, after awhile "The nurse she come and took away my pillow, thinking j might die easier, I suppose : I've seen her do it to others. Maybe I was a'most gone, and the sight of you woke me up again like." Lease sat down on the bed and put the man's head upon his breast in the pt)sition that seemed most easy to him ; and Hob- erts died there. It was one of the worst days we had that winter. Lease had a night's walk home of many miles, the sleet and the wind beat- ing at him all the way. He was not well clad either, for hia best things had been pawned. So that when the inquest assembled two days afterwards, Lease did not appear at it. He was in bed wirh inllammatioii of the chest, and Mr. Cole told the coroner that it would be dangei'ous to take him out of i". Some of them called it brou. chitis ; bui the Squire never went in for new names, and nevel Would. ^ " I tell 3-ou what it is, gentleinei^ broke in IMr. Cole, when they were quari-elling whether there should l)e another adjourn- ment oi- not, "you'll put oft" and put off, until Lease slips through your fingers." LEASE, THE POI^"TSMAN. 133 "Oh, will lie though!" blustered old Massock. ' lie liad better try at it ! We'd soon fetch him back again." " You'd be clever to do it," said the doctor. A.ny way, whether it was this or not, they thought better ot the adjournment, and gave their verdict. '' Manslaughter ai^iinst Henry Lease." And the coroner made out his warrant of committal to Worcester county pi'ison : where Lease would lie until the March assizes. " 1 am nor, sure but it ought to have been returned Wilful Murder," remarked the Squire, as he and the doctor turned out of the Bull, and picked their the way over the slush to- wards Ci'abb Lane. " It might make no difference, o]ie way or the other," ansvei-ed Mr. Cole. "Make no difference! What d'ye mean? Murder and manslaughter are two opposite crimes. Cole, and punished ac- cordingly. You see, Johnny, what your friend Lease has come to ! " " What I meant, Scpiire, was this : that I don't much think Lease will live to be tried at all." " Not live ! " "I fancy not. L'^nless I am much mistaken, his life will have been claimed by its Giver long before March." The Squire stopped and looked at Cole. "• Yf hat's the mat- ter with him ? This inflammation — that you went and testified to?" " That will be the cause of death, as i-etnrned to the registrar." "Why, you speak just as if the man were dying now, Cole!"' " And I think he is. Lease has been very low in frame for along while," added Mr. Cole ; " half clad, and not a quarter fed. But it is not that, Sqi^ii-e : the heart and spirit aie alike broken: and when tliis cold caught him, he had no stamina to withstand it ; and so it has laid hold of a vital part." " Do you mean to tell me to my face that he will die of it ? " cried the Squire, holding on by the middle button )i old Cole'? 134 LEASE, THE POINTSMAN. great; coat. " Xoiisense, man ! you must cure him. "We— we did not want him to die, you know." "His life or liis death, as it maybe, are in the hands of One higher than I, Squire." " I think I'll go in and see him," said the Squire, meekly. Lease was Iving on a bed close to the floor when we irot to the top of the creaky stairs, which had threatened to come down with the S<|uire's weight and awkwardness, lie had dozed off, and little Polly, sitting on the boards, had lier head u})on hia arm. Her starting up awoke Lease. I was not in the habit of seeing dying people; but the thought struck me that Lease must be dying. His pale weary face wore the same hue .hat Jake's had worn when he was dying : if you have not fui-gotten him. "God bless me!" exclaimed the Squire. Lease looked up with his sad eyes. He supposed they had come to tell him officially ubout the verdict — which had al- ready reached him unofficially. " Yes, gentlemen, I know it," he said, trying to get up out of respect, and falling back, " Manslaughter. I'd have been present if I could. JMr. Cole knows I wasn't able. I think God is taking me instead." "But this won't do, you know. Lease," said the Squire. " We don't want you to die." " Well, sir, I'm afraid I am not good for much now. And there'd be the imprisonment, and rhcn the sentence, so that I coidd not work for my wife and children for some long yeai-s. AVlien peojjle come to know how I repented of that night's mistake, and that I have died of it, why they'll perhaps be- friend them and forgive me. I think God has forgiven me: He is very merciful." " I'll send you in some port wine and some jelly and some beef-tea and some blankets, Lease," cried the Squire quickly, as if he felt flurried. " And Lease, poor fellow, I am sorry for having been so angi-y with you." " Thank you for a.i favours, sir, past and present. But for LEASE, THE POINTSMAISr. 135 the help from your liouse my little ones would have starved. God bless you all, and forgive nie ! Master Johnny, Gcjd blesa you^ "You'll rally yet, Lease; take heart," said the Squire. " No, sir, I don't think so. The great dark load seems to have been lifted oif me, and lisfht to be breakino;. Don't sob, Polly ! Perhaps father will be able to see you from up there as well as if he staj'ed here." The first thing tlie Squire did wdien we got out, was to attack Mr. Cole, telling him he ought not to have let Lease ciie. As he was in a way. Cole excused it, quietly saying it was no fault of his. "1 should like to know what it is that has killed him, then \ " '' Grief," said Mr. Cole. " The man has died of what we call a broken heart. Hearts don't actually sever, you know. Squire, like a china basin, and there's always some ostensible malady that serves as a hold to talk about. In this case it will be bronchitis. Which, in point of fact, is the final end, because Lease could not rallv asjainst it. lie told me vester day that his heart had ached so keenly since jSTovember, it seemed to have dried up within him." '' We are all a pack of hard-hearted sinners," groaned the Squire, in his repentance. "Johnny, why could you not have found them out sooner? Where was the use of your doing it at the eleventh hour, sii', I'd like to know? " Harry Lease died that night. And Crabb Lane, in a fit of repentance as sudden as the Squire's, took the cost of the funeral off the ])arish (giving some abuse in exchange) and went in a body to the grave. I and Tod followed. VII. AUNT DEAN. K ^WpliMBERDALE was a small place on tlie otliei- side oi 4^yE. Crabb Ravine. Its rector was the Rev. Jacob Sw^'-p Lewis. Timberdale called liiiu Parson Lewis -wjien not on ceremony, lie had married a widow, Mrs. Tanertoii : she had a good deal of money and two boys, and the jjaiish thought the new hidy might be al)(>vc them. But pile proved kind and good ; and her boys did not ride rough- Bhod ovei- the land oi- break down the fai-mers' fences. She died in three or four years, after a h)nor illness. Timberdale talked about her will, deeming it a foolish one. She left all she possessed to the rector, "in affectionate confi- dence," as the will worded it, "knowing he would do what was right and just by lier sons." As Tarson Lewis was an npright man with a conscience of his own, it was supposed lie would do so; but Timbei'dale considei-ed that for the boys' sake she should have made it sure herself. It was eialit Inmdrcd a year, good measure. rarsi.n Lewis had a sister, Mrs. Deau, a widow also, who ]"\ed near LiverpooL She was not left well off at all ; couUl but just niake a living of it. She used to come on louir visits to the parsonage, Vvdiich saved her cupboard at home; but it was said that "Mrs. Lewis did not like lier, thinking her deceit- ful, and they did not get on very well to<>:ether. Parson Lewis, the meekest man in the M'orld and most easily led, ad- mitted to his wife that Rebecca had always been a little given to scheming, but he thought her true at heart. ATHSTT DEAN. 137 "Wlicn poor Mrs. Lewis was out of the way for good in Timberdale cliurch-} ard, Aunt Dean had tlie field to herself, and came and stayed as long as she pleased, with her child, Alice. Slie was a little woman with a mild face and fair skin, and had a sort of purring manner Mith her. Hardly speaking above her breatli, and saying "dear" and "love" at every sentence, and caressing people to tiieir faces, the rule was to fall in love with her at once. The boys, Herbert and Jack, had taken to her without question from the first, and called her " Aunt." Though she was of course no relation whatever to them. Both the boys made much of Alice — a l)r!ght-eyed, prett^y little girl with brown curls and timid, winsome ways. Herbert, who was very studious himself, helped her with hor lessons: Jack, who was nearer her age, but a few months Older, took her out on expeditions, haymaking and blackberry ing and the like, and would bring her home with her frock torn and her knees damaged. He told her that brave littlo girls never cried with him ; and the child would ignore the smart of the grazed knees and show herself as bi-ave as a martyi'. Jack was so brave and fearless himself and made so little of hurts, that she felt a kind of shame at giving way to her natuial timidity when with him. What Alice liked best was to sit indoors by Herl^ert's side while he was at his lessons, and read story books and fairy tales. Jack was the opposite of all that, and a regulai- renegade in all kinds of study. He Avould have liked to pitch the books into the fire, and did not even care for fairy tales. They came often enough to Ciahb Cot when we were there, and to our neio-hbouis the Conevs, with whom the parsonage was intimate. I was (;jdy a little fellow at the time, vears voun^rer than thev were, but I rcineni- bcr I liked Jack better than Herbert. As did Tod also for the matter of that. Herbert was too cle\er foi- us, and he waa to be a parson besides. He chose the calling for himself. More than once he was caught mufiled in the parson's white sur- plice, preacliii g to Jack and Alice a sermon he had composed 138 AUNT DEAN. Aiuit Dean Imd licr plans and her plots. One great plot was always at work, yiic made it into a dream, and peeped in- to it ni:i;lit and day. as if it were a kaleidosco^je of ricii colonrs. lleibert Tanerton was to marrv her dauditer and succeed to his niotheiV i)ropei-ty as eldest son : Jack must go adrift, and earn his own living. She considered it was already three parts as good as accomplished. To see Herbert and Alice porini;- over b(«)ks together side by side and to know that they had the same tastes, was welcc^nc to her as the siirht of irold. As to Jack, with his roving propensities and his climbing and his daring, she thought it little matter if he came down a tree head-foremost some day, or pitched neck over heels into the depths of Crabb Ravine, and so threw away his life. Not that she really wished any cruel fate for the boy ; but she did not care for him ; and he might be terribly in the Avay, when her foolish bi-other, the parson, (;amc to apportion out the money. And he was focjlish in some things ; soft, in fact : she often said it. One Bunnner day when the fruit was ripe and the sun shining Mr. Lewis had gone into his study t(^ write his next Sunday's sermon. He did not c-et on very quickly, for Aunt Dean was in there also, and it disturbed him a little. She was of a restless habit, everlastingly dusting books, and put- ting things in their places without need. "Do you wish to keep out all three of these inkstands, Jacob ! It is not necessary, I shou.d think. Shall I put one n[> V The pai-son took liis eyes off his sermon to answer. " I d'-n't see that they do any harm, Rebecca. The children are using two sometimes. Do as you like, however." Mrs. Dean ])ut one of the iid-cstands inside the book-case, and then looked round the room to see what else she coidd do, A lettei" cauirht her eve. "Jacob, 1 do believe you have never answered the note old Midlet brought this morning! There it is ou the mantel- piece." AUISTT DEAN. l.'?9 The parson siglied. To be inteiTuptcd in this way he took quite as a matter of course, but it teased him a little. "I must see the chui'chwardens, Rebecca, before I answer it. I want to know, you see, what would be best approved of by the parish." '* Just like you, Jacob," she caressingly said. " The parish must approve of what you ajjprove." " Yes, yes," he hastily said ; '• but I like to live at peace with evei-ybody." lie dipped his pen into the ink, and wrote a line in hia sermon. Tlie open window looked on the kitchen-garden. Ilerbei-t Tanerton had his back against the walnut-tree, doing nothing. Alice sat near on a stool, her head buried in a book that by its canvas cover Mrs. Dean knew to be " Robinson Crusoe." Just then Jack came out of the raspberry bushes with a handful of fruit, which he held out for Alice to eat. " Robinson Crusoe" fell to the ground. " Oh, Jack, how good they are ! " said Alice. And the words came distinctly to Aunt Dean's ears in the still day. " They are as good again when you pick them off the trees for yourself," cried Jack. " Come along and get some, Alice." With the taste of the raspberries in her mouth, the tempta- tion was not to be resisted; and she ran after Jack. Aiuil Dean put her head out at the window. "Alice, my love, I camicjt have you go amidst those rasp- berry bushes ; you would stain and tear your frock." " I'll take care of her frock, aunt," called back Jack. Mv darlinor Jack, it cannot be. That is her new muslin fiock, and she must not go where she might hurt it." So Alice sat down again to " Robinson Crusoe," and Jack went his way amid the raspberry bushes, or whither he would. "Jacob, have you begun to think of what John is to be?'' resumed Aunt Dean, as she shut down the window. The parson pushed his sermon from him in a kind of patient hopelessness, and turned round on his chair. " To be 'i — in »that way, Rebecca 'i 'i(» 140 AUNT DEAN, •' In pr()fe?(sioii," she answered. "I fancy it is time it was thonght of." ''Do vou ? I'm sure I d!)n't know. The other dav when something was being mentioned ahoiit it, .fiuik said lie did not cai'c what he was to be, provided lie had no books to trouble inn. ''I only liope you will not have trouble with him, -Tacf.b, dear," observed Mrs. Dean, in an ominous tone, that plainly intimated she thought the parson would. " lie has a good heart, though he is not so studious as his brother. AVhy have you shut the window, Ilebecca ? It is very warm." Mrs. Daan did not say why. Perhaps she wished to guard against the (.ionversation being heard. When any <|uesrioii not (piite convenient to answer was put to her, she had a way of passing it by in silence ; and the pardon was too yielding or to.) inei't to ask again. " Of course, Brother Jacob, you M'ill make Herbert the lieir." The parson looke 1 surprised. - Why should you suppose that, Rebecca? 1 think the X\\\i bovs ought to share and share alike.'' "My dear .laci'b, how can you think so? Your dead wife k'-fi you in charge, rememl)ei"." '• That's what I do remember, Rebecca. She never gave me the slightest hint that slu sh;)ul 1 wish a ditference to be i>\ade: she was as fond of one boy as of the othei'." "Jacob, you must do youi- duty by the boys," returned ]\Irs. Dean, with affectionate solenmity. " Herbert must bo his mother's Ikmi- ; it is I'ight and [iroper it should be so : Jack must be trained to earn his own livelihooil. Jack — dear fel- low ! — is, I fear, of a roving, rand )m disposition : were you to li'ave any ])ortion of the money to him, he would squander it it in a yeai"." " Deal" me, I hope not ! But as to leaving all to his brother — or even a lai'ger portion than to Jack — 1 don't know that it would be right. A heavy responsibility lies on me in tliia charge, don't you see, Ilebecca \ " AUNT DEAN. 14l "No doubt it docs. It is full ei^-ht hundred a year. And you must be putting sometliing by, Jacob." " I^ot much. I draw the money yearly, but expenses seem to swallow it. AYliat with the ponies kept for the boys, and the cost of the nuisters from AYorcester, and a hundred a yeai out of it that my^ wife desired the poor old nurse should have till she died, there's not a great deal left. My living is a pool one, you know, and I like to help the poor freely. When the boys go to the university it will be all wanted." Help the poor f i-eely ! — just like him! thought Aunt Dean " It would be waste of money and waste of time to send Jack to college. You should trj and get him some appoint- ment abroad, Jacob. In India, say." The clergyman opened his eyes at this, and said he should not like to see Jack go out of his own country. Jack's mother had not had any opinion of foreign places. Jack himself inter- rupted the conversation. lie came flying u)) the path, put down a cabbage leaf of raspberries on the window-sill, and flung open the window with his stained lingers. " Aunt Dean, I've picked these for you," he said, intro- ducing the leaf, his handsome face and his good-natured eyea Bpai'kling. " They've never been so good as they are this year. Father, yon just taste them." Aunt Dean smiled sweetlv, and called him her darlino- and Mr. Lewis tasted the raspberries. " We -were just talking of you, Jack," cried the unsophisti- cated man — and Mrs. Dean knitted her brows slightly. " Your aunt savs it is time vou beo-an to think of some profession.'* " What, yet awhile ? " returned Jack. " Tjuit you may be suitably educated for it, my boy." " I should like to be something that won't want education." oried Jack, leaning his arms on the window-sill, and jumping up and down. " I think I'd rather be a farmer than anything, father." The parson drew a long face. It had never entered into lus calculation. 142 AUNT DEAN. " I fear that would not do, Jack, I should like you t;ht have been called New Brighton then for all [ know. One family always took th»^ house for the summer months, glad to ixet out of hot Liver pool. As to Jack, nothing had been decided in re':i:ard to hip future, for opinions about it differed. A little Latin and a little history and a great deal of geography (for lie liked that) had been drilled into him : and there his education ended. But he was the best climber and walker and leaper, and withal the best-hearted voun.g fellow that Timberdale could boast: and he knew about land thoroughly, and possessed a great stock of general and useful practical information. Many AUNT DEA??. 143 a day when some of the poorer farmers were in a desperate hurrv to get in their hay or carry tlieir wlieat oa aceonnt of threatening weather, has Jack Tanerton turned ont to help, and toiled as hard and as loncj: as any of the labourers. He CD f was hail-fellow-well-met with everybody, rich and poor. Mrs. Dean had worked on always to accomplish her ends. Slowly and imperceptibly, but surely: Herbert must be the heir; John must shift for hiinself. The parson had had thia dinned into him so often now, in her apparently frank and reasonino: wav, that he bei»;an to lend an ear. What with his stri(;t sense of innate justice, and his habit of yielding to his sister's views, he felt mostly in a kind of pickle, 13 nt Mrs. Dean had come over this time determined to get something settled, one way or the other. She arrived before Easter this year. The interminable Jack (as she often called him in heart) was at home ; Ilei'bert not. Jack and Mice did not seem to miss him, but went out on their rambles together as they did when children. The morning before Herbert was expected, a letter came fi'om him to his stepfather, saying he had been invited by a fellow- student to spend the Easter holidays at his home near London and had a^-cepted it. Mr. Lewis took it as a matter of course in his easy way ; but it disa<2:reed with Aunt Dean. She said all manner of things to the parson, and incited him to write for Herbert to return at once. Herbert's answer to this was a courteous in- timation that he could not alter his plans ; and he hoped his fatliei', on consideration, would fail to see anj^ good reason why he should. Herbert Tanerton had a will of his own. '' Neither do I see any reason, good or bad, why he should not pay the visit, Rebecca," confessed the rector. " I'm afraid it was foolish of me to object at all. Perhaps I have not the right to deny him, either, if I wished it. He is get- ting on for nineteen, and I am not his own father." So Aunt Dean had to make the best and the worst of it j but she felt as cross as two sticks. 144 AUNT DEAN. One day wlieii the parson was abroad on ]iarirfh niatteis, and the Rectoi\v euipt\', siie went, out for a stroll, and reached the lii;4'l) .-tee[> Imnk where the primroses and violets ii:;i-e\v. Lockiiiii; oNcr, she saw Jack and Alice seated below ; Jack's arm round lu'r ^vaist. " Vou are to be ray wife, you know, Alice, when we are growr. n]-. Mind that." There was no answer, but Aunt Dean eei'tainly thought she heard the sound of a kiss. Peeping over again, she saw Jack takinu^ another. " And if you don't object to ray being a farmer, Alice, I sliould like it best of all. We'll keep two jolly ponies and ride about together. AVon't it be good?" '' I don't object to farming, Jack. Anything you like. A successful farmer's home is a very pleasant one." Aunt Dean drew away with noiseless steps. She was too calm and callous a woman to turn white; but she did turn ann-i'V, and rei>:i;^tered a vow in her heart. That presu'.nincr upstart Jack! They were but two little fools, it's true; no better than children; but the nonsense must be stopped iu time. Herbert went back to Oxfoi'd without coining lioine. Alice, to her own iuliuite astonishment, was despatched to school till midsunnner. The parson and his sister and Jack were left alone ; and Aunt Dean, with her soft smooth man- ner and her false expressions of endearment, i-uled all things ; her brother's better nature amid the rest. Jack was asked what he would be. A farmer, he answered. But Aunt Dean had somehow caught up the ra(.3t bitter notions possible against farming in general ; and Mr. Lewis, r.ot much liking the thing himself, and yielding to the under- current ever gently flowing, told Jack he raust flx on some- thing else. " There's nothing I shall do so well at as farming, father," remonstrated Jack. " You can put me for three or four years to some good agriculturist, and I'll be bound at the end of the AUNT DEAN. 145 i \me I should be fit to manage the largest and Lest farm in the country Why, I am a better farmer now than some of them are." " Jack, my boy, you must not be self-willed. I cannot let yon be a farmer." " The.i send me to sea, father, and make a sailor of me," returned Jack, with undisturbed good humour. But this startled the parson. He liked Jack, and he had a horror of the sea. " Not that, Jack, my boy. Anything but that." " I'm not sure but I should like tlie sea better than farming," went on Jack, the idea full in his head. ^' Aunt Dean lent me ' Peter Simple ' one day. I know I should make a first- rate sailor." " Jack, don't talk so. Tour poor mother would not have liked it, and I don't like it ; and I shall never let you go." " Some fellows run away to sea," said Jack, laughing. The parson felt as though a bucket of cold water was thrown down his back. Did Jack mean that as a threat ? "John," said he, in as solemn a way as he had ever spoken, " disobedience to parents sometimes brings a curse with it. You must promise me that you will never go to sea." "I'll not promise tliat, off hand," said Jack. " But I will promise never to go without your consent. Thi nk it over well, father ; tliere's no hurry." It was on the tip of Mr. Lewis's tongue to withdraw his objection to the farming scheme there and then: in compari- son with the other it looked quite fair and bright. But he thought he might compi-omise his judgment to yield thus instantly : and, as easy Jack said, there was no hurry. So Jack went rushing out of doors again to the uttermost bounds of the parish, and the parson was left to Aunt Dean. When he told her he meant to let Jack be a farmer, she laughed till the tears came into her eyes, and begged him to leave matters to her. She knew how to manage boys, without ap- pearing directly to cross them : there was this kind of trouble 146 AUNT DEAN. with most boN'S, she had ol>served, before they settled ^latis- factorily in life but it all came rig-ht in the end. So the parson said no more about farming : but Jack talked a great deal about the sea. Mr. Lewis went over in his gig to AVorcester, and bought a book lie had heard of, " Two Years before the Mast." lie wrote Jack's name in it and gave it hinj, hoping its contents might serve to sicken him of the sea. The next morning the book was missing. Jack looked high and low for it, but it was goue. He had left it on the sitting- room table when he went up to bed, and it mysteriously dis- appeared during the night. The servants had not seen it, and declared it was not on the table in the morning. " It could not — I suppose — have been the cat," observed Aunt Dean, in a doubtful manner, her eyes full of wonder as to where the book could have got to. '' I have heard of cats doing strange things." " I don't think the cat would make away with a book of that size, Rebecca," said the parson. And if he had not been the least suspicious parson in all the Worcester Diocese, he miffht have asked his sister whether she had been the cat, and secured the book lest it should serve to dissipate Jack's fancy for the sea. The next thing she did was to carry Jack off to Liverpool. The parson objected at first : Li\'erpool was a seaport town, and might put Jack more in mind of the sea than ever. Aunt Dean replied that she meant him to see the worst sides of a sea life, the dirty boats in the Mersey, the wretchedness of the crews, and the real discomfort and misery of a sailor's life. That would cure him, she said : what he had got in his head now was the romance picked up from books. The parst)n tin Might there M'as reason in this, and yielded. He was dreadfully anxious about Jack. She went sti-aight to her house near New Brighton, Jack with her, and a substantial sum in her pocket from the rector to i)ay Jack's keep. The old servant, Peggy, who took care of it, was thunderstruck to sec her mistress come in. It was not AUNT DEAN. 147 yet occupied by tlie Liverpool people, and Mrs. Dean sent them word they could not have it tliis j^ear : at least not for the present. While she got matters straight, she supplied Jack with all Captain Marryat's novels to read. The house looked on the river, and Jack would watch the line gi-and vessels starting on their long voyages, their trim white sails glowing fair in the sunshine, or hear the joyous shouts from the sailors of a homeward bound, ship as Liverpool hove in view ; and he grew to think there was no sight so pleasant to the eye as these beauteous ships ; no fate so desirable as to sail in them. But Aunt Dean had entirely changed her tactics. Instead of sending Jack on to the dirtiest and worst manao-ed boats iu the docks, where the living was hard and the sailors were dis- contented, she allowed him to roam at will on the finest ships, and make acquaintance with their enthusiastic young officers, especially with those who were going to sea for the first time with just such notions as Jack's. Before Midsummer came, Jack Tanerton had got to thiuk that he could never be happy on land. There was a new ship just launched, the Hose of Delhi ; a magnificent vessel. Jack took rare interest in her. He was for ever on board ; was for ever saying to her owners — friends of Aunt Dean's, to whom she had introduced him — how much he should like to sail in her. The owners thought it M'ould be an advantageous thing to get so active, open, and ready a lad into their service, although he was somewhat old for entering, and they offered to article him for f(jur years as " midshipman " on the Rose of Delhi. Jack went home with his tale, his eyes glowing; and Aunt Dean neither checked him nor helped him. 'Not then. Later, when the ship was all but ready to sail, she told Jack she washed lier hands of it, and rocountiended him to write and ask his stepfather whether he might sail in her, or not. Now Jack was no letter writer ; neither, truth to tell, was the parson. He had not once written home ; b it had con- 148 AUNT DEAN. tented himself with sendiuf; affectionate messa^eB in Aunt Dean's letters. Consequently, Mr. Lewis only knew R'liat Aunt Dean had chosen to tell him, and had no idea that Jack was getting the real sea fever. But at the suggestion Jack sat down now, and wrote a long letter. Its purport was this. That he was longing and hoping to go to sea; was sure he shfudd never like anything else in the world so well ; that the Rose of Delhi, Captain Druce, was the most magnificent ship ever launched ; that the owners bore the best character in Liverpool for liberality, and Captain Druce for kindness to his middies ; and that he hoped, oh he hoped, his father would let him go ; but that if he still refused, he (Jack) would do his best to be content to stay on shore, for he did not forget his promise of never sailing without consent. " Would yon like to see the letter. Aunt Dean, before I shut it up ? " he asked. Aunt Dean, who had been sitting by, took the letter, and privately thought it was as good a letter and as much to the purpose as the best scribe in the land could have written. She disliked it, for ali that. "Jack, dear, I think you had better put a postscript," she paid. " Your father detests writing, as you know. Tell him that if he consents he need not write any answer: you will know what it means, — that you may go, — and it will save him trouble." " Jhit, Aunt Dean, I should like him to wish me good-bye and G()d-s})eed." " He will be sure to do the one in his heart and the other in his prayers, my boy. Write your postscript." Ja(tk did as he was bid : he was as docile as his stepfather. Exactly as Mrs, Dean suggested, wrote he : and he added that if no answer arrived within two posts, he should take it for granted that he was to go, and should see about his outfit. There was no *:ime to lose, for the ship would sail in three o/ lour days. ATJNT DEAN. 149 " I win post it for you, Jack," she said, when it was ready. "I am going out." " Thank yon, Aunt Dean, but I can post it myself. I'd rather ; and then I shall know it's off. Oh, sha'n't I be on thorns till the time for an answer comes and goes ! " He snatched his cap and vaulted off with the letter before he could be stopped. Aunt Dean had a curious look on her face, and sat biting her lips. She had not intended the letter to go. The first post that could possibly bring an answer brought one. Jack was not at home. Aunt Dean had sent him out on an early commission, watched for the postman, and has- tened to the door herself to receive what he might bring. Tie broucjht two letters — as it chanced. One from the Hector of Timberdale ; one from Alice Dean. Mrs. Dean locked the one up in her private drawer above stairs : the other she left on the breakfast table. " Peggy says the postman has been here, aunt ! " cried the boy, all excitement, as he ran in. " Yes, dear. lie brought a letter from Alice." "And nothing from Timberdale?" "Well, I don't know that you could quite expect it by this post. Jack. Your father might like to take a little time for consideration. You may read Alice's letter, my boy : she comes home this day week for the summer holi- days." "Not till this day week!" cried Jack, in frightful disap- pointment. " Why, I shall have sailed then, if I go. Aunt Dean ! I shall not see her." " Well, dear, you will see her when you come home." Aunt Dean had no more commissions for Jack after that, and each time the postman was expected, he posted himself outside the door to wait for him. The man brought no other lettei". The reasonable time for an answer went by, and there came none. " Aunt Dean, I suppose I may get my outfit now," said 150 AITNT DEAN. Jack, only half satisfied. "But I wish I had told him to write in any case : just a line." " Accoi'ding to what you said, you know, Jack, silence must bo taken to give consent." " Yes, I know. I'd rather have had a word, and made certain. I wish there was time for me just to run over to Timberdale and see him ! " '' But there's not, Jack, more's the pity : you would lose the ship. Get a piece of paper and make out a list of the articles the second mate told you you would want." The Rose of Delhi sailed out of port for Calcutta, and John Tanerton with her, having signed articles to serve in her for four years. The night before his departure he wrote a short letter of farewell to his stepfather, thanking him for his tacit consent, and promising to do his best to get on, concluding it with love to himself and to Herbert, and to the Rectory servants. VVhich letter scmiehow got put into Aunt Dean's kitchen fire, and ne\'er reached Timberdale. Aunt Dean watched the Rose of Delhi sail by ; Jack, in his bran-new uniform, waving his last farewells to her with his gold-banded cap. The sigh of relief she heaved when the fine vessel was out of sight seemed to do her good. Then she bolted herself into her chamber, and opened Mr. Lewis's letter, which had lain untouched till then. As she expected, it contained a positive interdiction, written half sternly, half lovingly, for John to sail in the Rose of Delhi, or to think more of the sea. Moreover, it commanded him home at once, and it contained a promise that he should be placed to learn the farming with- out delay. Aunt Dean tri2:)ped to Peggy's fire and burnt that too. There was a dreadful fuss when Jack's departure became known at Timberdale. It fell upon the parson like a thunder- bolt. He came striding through the ravine to Crabb Cot, and burst out ci-ying while telling the news to the Squire. He feared he had failed somehow in bringing John up, he said; or he never would have repaid him with this base disobedience AUNT DEAN. 151 and ingratitude. For, you see, the poor man thought Jack had received his letter, and gone off in defiance of it. The Squire agreed with liiin that Jack deserved the cat-o'-nine tails, and all other bc»ys who traitorously decamped to sea. Before the hay was all got in. Aunt Dean was back at Tim- berdale, bringing Alice with her and the bills for the outfit. Slie let the pai'son think what he would about Jack, ignoring all knowledge of the letter, and affecting to believe that Jack could not hare had it. But the part^ou argued that Jack must have had it, and did have it, or it would have come back to him. The only one to say a good word for Jack was Alice. She persisted in an opinion that Jack could not be either dis- obedient or ungrateful, and that there must have been some strange mistake somewhere. Aunt Dean's work was not all done. She took the poor parson under her wing, and proved to him that he had no re- source now but to disinherit Jack, and make Herbert the entire heir. To leave money to Jack would be wanton waste, she urged, for he would be sure to squander it : better bequeath all to Herbert, who would of course look after his brother in later life, and help him if he needed help. So one of the Worcester solicitors, Mr. Hill, was sent for to Timberdale to receive instructions for making the parson's will in Herbert's favour, and to cut off Jack. That night, after Mr. Hill had gone back again, was one of the worst the parson had ever spent. He was a j ust man and 1 kind one, and he felt racked with fear lest he had taken too severe a measure, and one that his late wife, the true owner of the money and John's mother, would never have sanctioned. His bed was as a fever, his pillow a torment ; up he got, and walked the room in his night-shirt. "■ My Lord and God knoweth that I would do what is right," he groaned. " I am sorely troubled. Youth is vain and des- perately thoughtless; perhaps the boy, in his love of adventure never looked at the step in the light of ingratitude. I cannot cut him quite off, I should never find peace of mind if I did. 152 AUNT DEAN. He shall have a little ; and perhaps if he grows into a steady fellow and comes back what he ought to be, I may alter the will later and leave them equal." The next day the i)arson wrote privately to Mr. Hill, saying he had reconsidered his determination and would let Jack in- herit to the extent of a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Herbert came home for the long vacation ; and he and A lice were together as they had been before that upstart Jack stepped in. They often came to the Squire's and oftener to the Coneys. Grace Coney, a niece of old Coney, had come tc live at tlie farm ; she was a nice girl, and she and Alice liked each other. You might see them with Herbert strolling about the fields any hour in the day. At home Alice and Herbert seemed never to care to separate. Mrs. Dean watched them quietly, and thought how beautifully her plans had worked. Aunt Dean did not go home till October. After she left, the parson had a stroke of paralysis. Charles Ashton, then just ordained to priest's orders, took the duty. Mrs. Dean came back again for Christmas. As if she would let Alice stay away from the parsonage when Herbert was at home ! The Rose of Delhi did not come back for nearly two years. She was what is called a free ship, and took charters for any place she could make money by. One day Alice Dean was lean- ing out of the windows of her mother's house, gazing wistfully on the sparkling sea, when a grand and stately vessel cauie sailing homewards, and some brown-faced young fellow on the quarter-deck set on to swing his cap violently by way of hailing her. She looked to the fiag which happened to be fly- ing, and read the name there, "The Rose of Delhi." It must be Jack who was saluting. Alije burst into tears of emotion. He came up from the docks the same day. A great brown handsome fellow, with the old single' heart and open manners. And he clasped Alice in his arms and kissed her ever so many times before she could get free. Being a grownup young lad}^ now, she did not approve of unceremonious kisting, and AUNT DEAN. 153 told Jack so. Aunt Dean was not present, or she might have told him so more to the purpose. Jack had given satisfaction, and was getting on. He told Alice privately that he did not like the sea so much as he an ticipated, and could not believe how any other fellow did ; but as he had chosen it as his calling, he meant to stand by it. He went to Timberdale, in spite of Aunt Dean's advice and 3fforts to keep him away. Herbert was absent, she said ; the rector ill and childish. Jack found it all too true. Mr. Lewis's mind had failed and his health was breakino;. He knew Jack and was over-affectionate with him, but seemed not to remem- ber anything of the past. So never a word did Jack hear of his own disobedience, or of any missing letters. One person alone questioned him ; and that was Alice. It was after he got back from Timberdale. She asked him to tell her the history of his sailing in the Rose of Delhi, and he gave it in detail, without reserve. When he spoke of the postscript that Aunt Dean had bade him add to his letter, arranging that silence should be taken for consent, and that as no answer had come, he of course had so taken it, the girl turned sick and faint. She saw the treachery that had been at work and where it had lain ; but for her mother's sake she hashed it U23 and let the matter pass. Alice had not lived with her mother so many years without detecting her propen- sity for deceit. Some years passed by. Jack got on well. He served as third mate on the Rose of Delhi long before he could pass, by law, for second. He was made second mate as soon as he had passed for it. The Rose of Delhi came in and went out, and Jack stayed by her, and passed for first mate in course of tiuie. He was not sent back in any of his examinations, as most young sailors are, and the board once went the length of com- plimenting him on his answers. The fact was, Jack held to his word of doing his best ; he got into no mischief and was the smartest sailor afloat. He was in consequence a favourite with the owners, and Captain Druce took pains with liim and 7* 154 AUNT DEAN. brought him on in seamanship and navigation, and showed him how to take observations, and all the rest of it. There's no end of difference in merchant-captains in this respect: Bome teach their junior oflicers nothing. Jack finally passed triumphantly for master, and hoped his time would come to get a command. Meanwhile he went out again as first mate on the Rose of Delhi. One spring morning there came news to Mrs. Dean from Timberdale. The rector had had another stroke and was thought to be near his end. She started off at once, with Alice. Charles Ashton had had a living given to him ; and Herbert Tanerton was now his stepfather's curate. Herbert had passed as shiningly in mods and divinity and all the rest of it as Jack had passed before the Marine Board. He was a steady, thoughtful, serious 3'oung man, did his duty well in the parish, and preached better sermons than ever the rector had. Mrs. Dean, who looked upon him as Alice's husljand as Burely as though they were married, was as proud of his suc- cess as though it had been her own. The rector was very ill and unable to leave his bed. Ilis intellect was quite gone now. Mrs, Dean sat with him most of the day, leaving Alice to be taken care of by Herbert. They went about together just as always, and were on the best of confidential terms; and came over to the Coneys, and to ns when we were at Crabb Cot. " Herbert," said Mrs. Dean one evening when she had all her soft, sugary manner upon her and was making the young parson believe she had nobody's interest at heart in the world but his : " my darling boy, is it not almost time you began to think of marriage ? None know the happiness and comfort brought by a good wife, dear, until they experience it.'' Herbert looked taken to. He turned as red as a school- girl, and glanced half a moment at Alice, like a detected thief. " I must wait until I get a living to think of that, Auut Dean." AUNT DEAN. 155 *^Is it necessary, Herbert? I should have thought you might bring a wife home to -the Rectory here." llerbert turned off the subje<',t with a jesting word or two^ and got out of his redness. Aunt Dean was eminently satis- fied ; his confusion and his impromptu glance at Alice had told tales ; and she knew it was only a question of time. The rector died. When the grass was long and the May flowers were in bloom and the cuckoo was sino-ino-in the trees he passed peacefully to his rest. Just before death he reco- vered spee(;h and consciousness ; but the chief thing he said was that he left his love to Jack. After the funeral the will was opened. It had not been touched since that far past year when Jack had gone away to sea. Out of the eight hundred a year descended from their mothei-, Jack had a hundred and fifty ; Herbert the rest. Aunt Dean made a hideous frown for once in her life ; a hundred and fifty pounds a year for Jack, was only, as she looked upon it, so much robbery on Herbert and Alice. Out of the little money saved by the rector, five hundred pounds were left to his sister, Rebecca Dean ; the rest was to be divided equally between Herbert and Jack ; and his furniture and effects went to Herbert. On the whole, Aunt Dean was tolerably satisfied. She was a woman who liked to keep up appearances Btrictly, and she made a move to leave the young parson at the end of a week or two's time, and go back to Liverpool. Herbert did not detain her. His own course was uncertain until a fresh rector should be appointed. Tlie living was in the gift of a neighbouring baronet, and it was fancied by Bome that he might give it to Herbert. One thing did sur- prise Mrs. Dean ; angered her too : that Herbert had not made his offer to Alice before their departure. Now that he had his own fortune at command, there was no necessity foi him to wait for a living. News greeted them on their arrival. The Rose of Delhi was on her way home once more, with John Tanerton in 156 AUNT DEAIT. command. Captain Dnice had been left behind at Calcutta, dangerously ill. Alice's colour came and went. Slie looked out for the homeward-bound vessels passing inwards, and felt quite sick with anxiety lest Jack should fail in any way, and never bring home the ship. " The Rose of Delhi, Captain Tanerton." Alice Dean cast her eyes on the ship news in the morning paper, and read the announcement amidst the arrivals. Just for au instant her pight left her. "Mamma," she presently said, quietly passing over the newspaper, " the Rose of Delhi is in." " The Rose of Delhi, Captain Tanerton," read Mrs. Dean. " The idea of their sticking in Jack's name as captain ! lie will have to go down again as soon as Captain Druce returns. A fine captain I daresay he has made ! " " At least he has brought the ship home safely and quickly," Alice ventui-ed to say. " It must have passed after dark last night." " WTiv after dark ? " Alice did not reply — Because I was watching till daylight faded — which would have been the truth. " Had it passed before, some of us might have seen it, mamma." The day was waning before Jack came up. Captain Tanerton. Jack was never to go back again to his chief- mateship, as Aunt Dean had surmised, for the owners had given him the permanent command of the Rose of Delhi. The last mail had brought news from Captain Druce that he should never be well enough for the command again, and the owners were only glad to give it to the younger and more active man. The officers and crew alike reported that never a better master sailed, than Jack had proved himself on this homeward voyage. " Don't you think I have been very lucky on the whole, Aunt Dean ? Fancy a young fellow like me getting such a beautiful ship as that ! " "Oh, very lucky," returned Aunt Dean. AUNT DEAJT. 157 Jack looked like a captain too. He was broad and manlvj with an intelligent, honest, handsome face, and the quick keen eye of a sailor. Jack was particular in his attire too: and some sailors are not : he dressed as a private gentlenjau when on shore. " Only a hundred and fifty left to me ! " cried Jack, when h€ was told the news. " Well, perhaps Herbert may re- quire more tlian I, poor fellow," he added in his good nature : " he may not get a good living, and then he'll be glad of it I shall be sure to do well now I've got the ship." " You'll be at sea always, Jack, and will have no use foj money," said Mrs. Dean. " Oh, I don't know about having no use for it. Aunt Anyway, my father thought it right to leave it so, and I ara content. I wish I could have said farewell to him before he died ! " A few days more, and Aunt Dean was thrown on her beam-ends at a worse angle than the Rose of Delhi hoped to be. Jack and Alice discussed matters between themselves, and the result was disclosed to her. They were going to be married. It was Alice who told. Jack had just left, and she and her mother were sitting together in the summer twilio-ht. At first Mrs. Dean thought Alice was joking : she was like a mad woman when she found it true. Her great dream had never foreshadowed this. " How dare you to attempt to think of so monstrous a thing, you wicked girl ? Marry your own brother-in-law ! — it would be no better. It is Herbert that is to be your husband." Alice shook her head with a smile. " Herbert would not have me, mamma; nor would I have him. Herbert will marry Grace Coney." " Who ? " cried Mrs. Dean. " Grace Coney. They have been in love with one another ever so many years. I have known it all along. He will mai-ry her as soon as his future is settled. I had promised 158 AU»I DEAN. to be one of the bridesmaids, but I suppose I sliall not get the chance now." " Grace Coney — that beggarly girl ! " shrieked Mrs. Dean. " But for her uncle's giving her shelter slic unist have turned out in the world when licr father died and got her living how she could. iShe is not a lady. She is not llei'bert's equal. ' "Oh, yes, she is, mamma. She is a nice girl and will make him a perfect wife. Herbert would not exchange her for the richest lady iu the land." "If Herbert chooses to make a spectacle of himself, you never shall !" cried poor Mrs. Dean, all her golden visions fast melting iuto air. " I would see that wicked Jack Taner- ton at the bottom of the sea first." " Mother, dear, listen to me. Jack and I have cared for each other for years and years, and we should neither of us marry anybody else. There is nothing to wait for ; Jack is as well off as he will be for vears to come : and — and we have settled it so, and 1 hope you will not oppose it." It was a cruel moment ftu" Aunt Dean. Her love for other people had been all pretence, but she did leve her daughter. Besides that, she was ambitious for her. " I can never let you marry a sailor, Alice. Anything but that." " It was you who made Jack a sailor, mother, and there's no help for it," said Alice, in a low tone. " I would rather he had been anything else in the world. I would have liked him to have had land and farmed it. We should have done well. Jack had his four hundred a year clear, you know. At least, he ought to have had it. Oh, inother, don't yon see that while you have been plotting against Jack you have plotted against me? " Aunt Dean felt sick with the memories that were crowding upon her. The mistake she had made was a frightful one. " You cannot join your fate to Jack's, Alice," she repeated, wringing her hands. " A sailor's wife is too liable to be made 9. widow." AUNT DEAN. 159 " I know it, mother. I shall share his danger, for I ara going out in the Rose of Delhi. The owners have consented, and Jack is litting up a lovely little cabin for me that is tc be my own saloon." " My daughter sailing over the seas in a merchant ship ! " gasped Aunt Dean. "Never! " " I should be no true wife if I could let my husband sail without me. Mother, it is you alone who have carved out our destin3\ Better have left it to God." In a startled way, her heart full of remorse, she was be« ginning to see it ; and sat down, half fainting, on a chair. " It is a miserable prospect, Alice." " Mother, we shall get on. There's the hundred and fifty a year certain, you know. That we shall put by ; and, as long as I sail with him, a good deal more besides. Jack's pay is fixed at twenty pounds a month, and he will make more by commission: perhaps as much again. Have no fear for us on that score. Jack has been deprived unjustly of his birth-right ; and I think sometimes that perhaps as a recom- pense Heaven wili prosper him." " But the danger, Alice ! The danger of a soa-life ! " " Dc) you know what Jack says about the danger, mother ? He says God is over us on the sea at well as on the land, and will take care of those who put their trust in Him. In the wildest storm I will try to let that great truth help me to feel peace." Alas for Aunt Dean! The arguments slipped away from her hands just as her plans had slipped. In her bitter re- pentance, she lay on the fioor of her room that night and asked God to have pity upon her, for her trouble seemed greater than she could bear. The morning's post brought news from Herbert, He was made rector of Timberdale. Aunt Dean wrote back, telling him what had taken place, and asking, nay, almost command- ing, that he should restore an equal share of the property tc Jack. Herbert replied that he should abide by his step 160 AUNT DEAN. father's will. The living of Tiniberdale was not a rich onGj and he wished Grace, his future wife, to be comfortable. "Herbert was always intensel}' sellish," gi >aned Aunt Dean. Look on wliich side she would, there was no couiiort. The Rose of Delhi, Captain Tanerton, sailed out of pert again, carrying also with her l\Irs. Tanerton, the captain's wife. And Aunt Dean was left to bemoan her fate, and wish she had never meddled to shape out other people's des- tinies. Better, as Alice said, that she had left that to God. YIII. GOIXG THEOUGH THE TUXKEL. E had to make a rush for it. And making a rush did ^^i not suit the Squire, any more than it does other peo- {^7^ pie who have come to an age when tlie body's big and the breath nowhere. He reached the train, pushed head-foremost into a carriage, and then remembered the tickets. " Bless my heart ! " he exclaimed, as he jumped out again and nearly upset a lady who had a little dog in her arms, and a great big mass of fashionable hair on her head, that the Squire, in his hurry, mistook for tow. " Plenty of time, sir," said a guard who was passing, "There's three minutes to spare.'' Instead of saying he was obliged to the man for his civility, or relieved to find the tickets might be had still, the Squire snatched out his old watch, and began abusing the railway clocks for being slow. Had Tod been there he would have told him to his face that it was the watch that was fast, braving all retort, for the Squire believed in his watch as he did in himself, and would rather have been told that he could go wrong than that the watch could. But there was only me : and I'd not have said it for anything. " Keep two back-seats there, Johnny," said the Squire. I put my coat on the corner-seat furthest from the door, and the rug on the one next to it, and followed him into the station. When the Squire was late in starting, he was apt to gel into the greatest flurry conceivable ; and the first thing I saw was himself blocking up the ticket- place, and undoing J 62 GOING THROUGH THE TUNNEL. his pocket-book with twitclH'ng fingers. He had some loose gold about him, silvc]-, too, but the pocket-book met his hand first, so lie pulled out that. Tiiese flurried moments of the Squire's amused Tod beyond telling ; he was so cool himself. " Can you change this ? " said the Squire, drawing out one from a roll of five-pound notes. " No, I can't," was the answer, in the surly tone put on l)y ticket-clerks. How the Squire crumpled up the note again, and searched in his breeches pocket for the gold, and came away with the two tickets and the change, I'm sure he never knew. There was a crowd rrathei-ed round, wantino- to take their tickets in turn, and the knowledge that he was keeping them flurried him all the inoie. lie stood at the back a moment, put the roll of notes into his case, fastened it and returned it to the breast of his over-coat, sent the change down into another pocket with- out counting it, and went out with the tickets in his hand. Not to the carriage ; but to take a stare at the big clock in front. " Don't you see, Johnny ? exactly four minutes and a half difference," he cried, holding out his watch to me. "It is a strange thing they can't keep these railway clocks in order." " My watch keeps good time, sir, and mine is with the rail- way. 1 think it is I'ight." " Hold your tongue, Johnny. How dare you! Right? You Bend your watch to be regulated the first opportunity, sir ; don't you get into the habit of being too late or too early." \Vlien we went finally to the carriage there were some peo- ple in it, but our seats were left. Squire Todhetley sat down by the further door, and settled himself and his coats and his things coujfortably, which he hadl)cen too flurried to do before. Cool as a cucumber was he, now the bustle was over ; cool as Tod could have been. At the other door, with his face to the engine, sat a dark, gentlemanly-looking man of forty, who had made room for us to ]iass him as we got in. He had a large Bignet-i-ing on one hand, and a lavender glove on the other The other three seats op])osite to us were vacant. GOING TIIBOLTGH THE TUNNEL. 163 Next to nie sat a little man with a fresh colour and gold spec* tacles, who ^vas alread}^ reading ; and beyond him, in the coz'- ner, face to face with the dark man, was a lunatic. That's to to speak of him politely. Of all the restless, tidgety, worrying, hot-tempered passengei'S that ever put themselves into a carriage to ti'avel with people in their senses, he was the worst. In fif- teen moments he had made fifteen darts ; now after his hat-box and things above his head ; now calling the guard and the por- ters to ask senseless questions about his luggage ; now treading on our toes, and trying the corner seat opposite the Squire, and then darting back to his own. His hair was a wig, and had a decided green tinge, the effe(;t of keeping, perhaps, and hia skin was dry and shrivelled as an Egyptian mummy's. A servant, in undress livery, came to tlie door, and touched his hat, which had a cockade in it. as he spoke to the dark man. " Your ticket, my lord." Lords are not travelled with every day, and some of ua looked u]i. The gentleman took the ticket from the man's hand and slipped it into his waiscoat pocket. " You can get me a newspaper, Wilkins. The Times, if it is to be had." " Yes, my lord." "Yes, tliere's room here, ma'am," interrupted the guard, Bending the door back with a click, for a lady who stood at it. " Make haste, please." Tlie lady who stepped in was the same the Squire had b^^It- ed against. She sat down in the seat opposite me, and looked at every one of us by turns. There was a kind of violet bloom on her face and some soft white powder, seen plain enough throucfh her veil. She took the lono-est o-aze at the dark g-entle- man, bending a little forward to do it ; for, as he was in a line v> ith her, and had his head tui-ned from her as well, her curios- ity could only get a view of his side-face. Mrs. Todhetley might liave said she had not put on her company manners. In the midst of this, the sei'vant-man came back again. 164 GOING THROUGH THE TUNNEL. *' The Times is not here yet, my lord. They are expecting the papers in by the next down train," " Never mind, then. You can get rt e one at the next station, Wilkins." " Yery well, my lord." Wilkins must certainly have had a scramble for his carriage, for we started before he had well left the door. It was not an express train, and we should liave to stop at several stations. Where the Squire and I had l)een staying does not matter; it has nothing to do with what I have to lell. It was a long way from our own home, and that's enough to say. " Would you mind changing seats with me, sir?" I looked up, to find the lady's face close to mine ; she had spoken in a half-whisper. The Squire, who carried his old- fashioned notions of politeness with him when he went travel- ling, at once got up to offer her the corner. But slie declined it, saying she was subject to face-ache, and did not care to be next the window. So she took my seat, and I sat down in the one opposite Mr. Todiietley. "Whicliof tlie peers is that?" I heard her ask him in a loud whisper, as the lord put his head out at his window. " Don't know at all, ma'am," said the Squire. " Don't know many of the peers myself, except those of my own county : Lyttelton, and Beauchamp, and " Of all snarling barks, the worst was given that moment in the Squire's face, stopping the list suddeidy. The little dog, an ugly, hairy, vile-tempered Scotch terrier, had been held in con- cealment under the lady's jacket, and now struggled himself free. Tlie Squire's look of consternation was good ! You see, he had not known any animal was there. "Be quiet. Wasp. How dare you bark at the gentleman; He will not bite, sir: he " "Who has got a dog in the carriage?" shrieked out the hnia tic, starting up in a passion. " Dogs don't travel with passen- gers. Here! Guard! Guard!" To call out for the guard when a t -air is going at full speed GOING THROUGH THE TUNNEL. 165 is generally useless. The lunatic had to eit down agaiu ; and the lady defied him, so to say, coolly avowing that she had hid the dog from the guard on purpose, staring him in the face while she said it. After this there was a lull, and we went speeding along, the lady talking now and again to the Squire. She seemed to want to get confidential with him ; but the Squire did not seem to care for it, though he was quite civil. She held the dog in her lap amidst her clothes, so that nothing but his head peeped out. " Halloa ! How dare they be so negligent ? There's no lamp in this carriao-e." It was the lunatic again, and we all looked at the lamp. It had no light in it; but that it had when we first reached the carriage was certain ; for, as the Squire went stumbling in, hia head nearly touched the lamp, and I had noticed the flame. It seems the Squire had also. " They must have put it out while we were getting our tickets," he said. " I'll know the reason why when we stop," cried the lunatic, fiercely. "After passing the next station, we dash into the long tunnel. The idea of going through it in pitch darkness ! It would not be safe." " Especially with a dog in the carriage," spoke the lord, in a chaffing kind of tone, but with a good-natured smile. " We will have the lamp lighted, however." As if to reward him for interference, the dog barked up loudly, and tried to make a spring at him; upon which the lady smothered the animal up, head and all. Another minute or two, and the train bes-an to slacken its speed. It was bat an insignificant station, one not likely to be halted at for above a minute. The lunatic twisted his body out at the window, and shouted for the guard long before we were at a standstill " Allow me to manage this," said the lord, qnietly putting him down. " They know me on the line. Wilkins !" The man came rushing up at the cad. He must have 166 GOING TIIKOTJGH THE TUNNEL. beer, out already, tliough we were not quite at a staudsti yet. " Is it for the Times, my lord ? I am going to get it." "Never mind the Tlines. This lamp is not lightedj Wilkiiis. See the gnai-d, and get it done. At once." "And ask liim wliat the mischief he means by his careless- ness," roared out the lunatic in the wake of Wilkins, who went tivins: oif. " Sendino: us on our I'oad without a lici;ht? — and that dangerous tunnel close at hand." The emphatic authority laid upon the words" Get it done," seemed an earnest that the speaker was accustomed to ba obeyed at will, and would be this time. For once the lunatic sat quiet, watching the lamj?, and for the light that was to be dropped into it from the top ; and so did I, and so did the lady. We were all deceived, however, and the train went puffing on. The lunatic shrieked, the lord put his head out of the carriage and shouted for Wilkins. No o-ood. Shoutin