*7!r^ M ";'fjip |j|j;|!;!| :',:■/■>$ 8SJ#'i $l^#S&&i $&F'4>~ ^f*T ' L I B R A R. Y OF THE U N IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS 823 N5Z/b BIRCH DENE. VOL. I. SEilliam Wtzsttdl's £Lototls,] JOHN BROWN AND LARRY LOHENGRIN. 5*. NIGEL FORTESCUE ; OR, THE HUNTED MAN. 5s. TWO PINCHES OF SNUFF. 3s. 6d. HER TWO MILLIONS. 3 vols. 31s. 6d. THE OLD FACTORY. 2s. RED RYVINGTON. 2s. RALPH NORBRECK'S TRUST. 2s. LONDON : WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. BIRCH DENE. % loiul BY WILLIAM WESTALL, AUTHOR OF "HER TWO MILLIONS," "RED RYVINGTON," " NIGFL FORTESCUE, "JOHN BROWN AND LARRY LOHENGRIN," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1889. [All Rights reserved.] Richard Clay A Sons, Limitld, London ? " asked the judge, with a sneer. THE TRIAL. 101 " I do, my lord ; and shall as long as I live," said the honest fellow. The next witness was the constable, who testified that, after arresting the prisoner, he warned her that anything she might say would be used in evidence against her, on which she answered that she took the cloak for her little boy, who was wet through and perished with cold, without thinking what she did, and was taking it back when she met Mr. Perkins. " That is my case," said the senior counsel for the Crown, Sergeant Walworth, as the constable stepped down. Then rose Mr. Blake, and with marked deference of manner asked the judge if he might be allowed to address the jury on the prisoner's behalf. "Address the jury !" said Baron Hardress, with a look of surprise. " But that is against all rule, Brother Blake. This is a case of felony. On what ground do you make the application ? " " On the ground that the prisoner is a woman, my lord, and the wife of an officer in 102 BIRCH DENE. His Majesty's service. I am aware that my request is unusual ; but in the circumstances I venture to hope that your lordship will make an exception in this poor lady's favour." "The wife of an officer in His Majesty's service ! But how am I supposed to know this ? It is not before me." "If your lordship will be good enough to read the letter found in the prisoner's posses- sion, you will see that I am stating no more than the literal truth" — banding him the letter. The judge read the letter. " This seems to be genuine," he said, " but there is nothing to show that it was really addressed to the prisoner, and her refusal to give her name does not predispose me in her favour. However, I will give her the benefit of the doubt. It is highly irregular, though, and I must ask you to make your speech studiously moderate. If not, I may find it my duty to direct the jury to disregard your observations as completely as if they had never been made." THE TRIAL. 103 On this Mr. Blake thanked the judge for his indulgence, and began his speech, and had he been pleading for his own life he could not have spoken more powerfully and earnestly. He made no attempt either to dispute or distort the facts of the case as they had been stated by the witnesses for the prosecution. His client took the cloak. She admitted it ; he admitted it ; but he denied most emphatically — denied "with his whole soul," that she took it feloniously, and with- out felonious intent there could be no felony. If he called at the chambers of his learned friend to borrow a book, and, not finding him in, took it without leave, intending to return it on the following day, would that be a felony ? Moreover, when the prisoner took the cloak, she was not in full possession of her senses ; she knew not what she did. Let the jury try to put themselves in this poor woman's place, and say before God and man whether, in similar circumstances, they would not have acted as she had acted. Mr. Blake next gave a vivid description of 104 BIRCH DENE. the prisoner's forlorn condition — a gentle- woman born and bred, whose husband had fought and bled for his country and his king ; of her weary wanderings through the streets — homeless, hungry, desperate ; of the dark night and the fast-falling snow : of her im- pulsive taking of the cloak " to shield her shivering child from the storm, just as a man who saw a fellow-creature dying of thirst would give him a cup of water without think- ing to whom it might belong ; " and of the noble honesty and resolution with which she attempted to repair the wrong she had in- advertently committed. He asked the jury whether an act that was neither morally a theft nor technically a felony should be ad- judged a crime deserving of death, and, after a passionate appeal in favour of his client, he besought them to render such a verdict "as would restore the mother to the child to whom she was so devoted, and the child to the mother whom he so dearly loved and so sorely needed." Had Mr. Blake said no more than this, he THE TRIAL. 105 would have acted wisely ; but he let himself be carried away by the fire of his own elo- quence (which is oftentimes a snare), and not content with asserting his client's virtual innocence, denounced, with great warmth, the system of which she was the victim. He told how many unfortunates had suffered death during the last quarter of the previous cen- tury, quoting the saying of Sir John Moore that it was neither right nor just that the loss of goods should cause the loss of a man's life, " all the goods in the world not being; able to countervail man's life." Going still further, he questioned whether it was either expedient or just that life should be taken for any offence whatsoever; spoke bitterly of the "hanging judges" of the period, and stigmatized several recent executions as nothing less than judicial murders. "It was a splendid speech," remarked Chubb, when the eloquent advocate sat down, " and I agree with every word of it ; but old Hardress looks as black as thunder, and if he 106 BIP.CH DENE. has not half frightened the jury out of their senses, I am much mistaken/' " I shall call only one witness," said Blake, again rising — "the prisoner's son, Rupert Nelson." " Rupert Nelson ! " repeated one of the tip- staves. " Don't be afraid ; speak boldly out, and tell neither more nor less than the truth," whispered Bartlett, as he led Robin to the box. " Rather a youthful witness, Brother Blake," observed the judge. " Does he understand the nature of an oath ? " " Better than many a grown-up person. Perhaps your lordship will put him to the test ? " "What would happen to you, my boy, if you should bear false witness ? " " God would punish me," " That will do. Let him be sworn." "Take the book in your right hand," said the registrar. " The evidence that you are about to give shall be the truth, the whole THE TRIAL. 107 truth, and nothing but the truth, so help your God ! Kiss the book." Eobin kissed the book, glanced at his mother — who smiled encouragement and love — and then looked Mr. Blake full in the face. "Do you remember the 13th of December — last Friday ? " asked the barrister. "Yes, sir." "Were you with your mother — the prisoner at the bar — on that day ? " "Yes, sir." "What w T ere you doing ? " " Walking about the streets." " What streets ? " " A great many. I don't know their names." " Were you in Holborn at all ? " "Yes, twice — once in the afternoon, and again at night, when it was snowing." " Did anything particular happen while it was snowing ? " " Yes ; we sheltered near some houses, where there was a light, and my mother gave me a cloak." 108 BIRCH DEXE. " She gave you a cloak ! Where did she get the cloak ? " " I did not see. I was very cold, and looking another way, but I think " " Never mind what you think. She gave you a cloak. What happened next ? " " She took my hand and said, ' Let us go/ and we ran clown the street, and then she stopped and said, 'That was ill done, Eobin. I did not give myself time to think. Your father's wife must not play the thief. Let us be honest, though we perish. We will go back and give the cloak up.' Then she took it from me, and as we turned round, we met Mr. Perkins, and he said the cloak was his, and made us go with him." " Thank you, Eobin ; you have answered very well. Perhaps my friend here would like to ask you a few questions " — pointing to Sergeant Walworth. " Well, I think I should — just one or two," said the sergeant, rising and looking- hard at 0*0 o Kobin. " You seem to have a e:ood memorv, my boy \ " THE TRIAL. 109 " Yes, sir," said Robin, who did not seem quite to understand the drift of the question. " I mean that you remember things very well. You repeated just now what your mother said the other night, word for word. Will you be able to repeat next week what I am saying to you now ? " " You are not my mother, sir." " I see. You remember all your mother says, but nothing anybody else says. Your memory is more than good — it is convenient. I wonder if you forget with equal facility. You spoke of your father, or, rather, you say your mother did. Where is he 1 " " I don't know, sir " — sadly. " What is he \ " " An officer and a gentleman." Whether by accident or design, Robin laid a strong emphasis on "gentleman," thereby causing the bar to smile, and the public to titter. " That means, I suppose, you do not con- sider me a gentleman ? " remarked the sergeant, good-humouredly. 110 BIRCH DENE. " I did not say that, sir ; but " " But what ? Don't hesitate. Oat with it." " I know ray father is a gentleman, and I am not quite sure " " You are not quite sure about me. Well, I may return the compliment, and say I am not quite sure about your father. Who is he ? What is his name, I mean ? " " I cannot tell you, sir." " Why I " " Because my mother said I was not to tell anybody." " Well, I shall not press you to disobey her. All the same, if it were necessary for the ends of justice, I should insist on your telling his name, and I think your mother was ill-advised in forbidding you to disclose it. You can step clown." The sergeant then began his speech in reply, the last word being with him. He spoke very much to the purpose. Though less eloquent, he was more artful than his opponent, laughed at his oratory, and sneered at his law. If the prisoner took the cloak, he said — and as to THE TEIAL. Ill that there could be no question — she com- mitted a felony within the meaning of the Act. To acquit her because she pretended regret for what she had done, and protested that she meant to restore the stolen property to its rightful owner, would be the height of absurdity and a most dangerous precedent. Every thief who was found with stolen goods in his possession might make a similar excuse, and if poverty were held to justify robbery, social order would be at an end, and private property cease to exist, for it unfortunately happened that the poor were much more numerous than the well-to-do. He had no feeling against the prisoner ; on the contrary, lie pitied her ; but unless the jury despised facts, and disregarded their oaths, they could not do otherwise than find her guilty of the felony for which she was arraigned. CHAPTER IX. THE VERDICT. The counsel for the Crown had scarcely sat down when the judge began his summing-up. Under a show of impartiality, it bore much more hardly on the prisoner than Sergeant Walworth's speech had done. It was for the jury to consider the facts, he said. If they believed that, for some inscrutable reason, the witnesses, Smith and Perkins, had conspired to swear away the prisoner's life ; that the boy Robin w r as mistaken, and that the con- stable had borne false witness — in short, if they believed that the prisoner never took the cloak, they would, of course, give her the benefit of the doubt. But as for the law, they must take that from him ; and it was his duty to tell them that, unless the witnesses THE VERDICT. 113 had lied, one and all, the prisoner was un- doubtedly guilty of stealing with felonious intent. "With her position, her poverty, her love for her child, or her child's love for her, they had nothing whatever to do. The state- ment that her husband was an officer who had fought and bled in his country's defence they must regard as a pure assumption — he had almost said an impudent fiction. The letter proved nothing ; as likely as not the prisoner had stolen it. It was, however, a fact to which he begged leave to call the jury's particular attention, that she declined to give her name and address. The wives of officers in His Majesty's service, he hardly needed to observe, were not in the habit of prowling about London after dark and refusing to give their names. They might depend upon it that people who refused to give their names, or gave false names, had something to conceal, which would not bear the light. . Mr. Baron Hardress had, moreover, much to say concerning the " pernicious principles " advocated by Mr Blake — " principles which VOL. I. i 114 BIRCH DENE. smacked of Eousseau and Voltaire, which had led to the downfall of the ancient monarchy of France, caused the horrors of the French Eevolution, and laid Europe prostrate at the feet of Bonaparte." England was the freest of countries ; her laws were the perfection of human wisdom ; and further tampering with the system of capital punishment, as it then existed, would, he felt persuaded, be attended with the most disastrous conse- quences. In conclusion, he besought the jury to dismiss from their minds everything that was not relevant to the issue, in which category they must include the observations of the counsel for the defence, and find a verdict in accordance with the oaths they had taken and the evidence they had heard. All this time Eobin's attention had been divided between the judge and his mother. "When he was not looking at the one, he was gazing with all his soul at the other. In the first instance, he failed to attach any precise significance to the proceedings of the court ; but it gradually dawned on his mind that THE VERDICT. 115 lie was watching a terrible struggle, in which his mother, championed by Mr. Blake, and Baron Hardress were the principals ; and, fresh from his reading of The Pilgrims Progress, he likened the eloquent advocate to Mr. Greatheart, and the judge to Giant Despair or Apollyon. While the judge was summing-up, Eobin hardly ever took his eyes off him ; and though he perceived that his lordship spoke with greater authority, and had much more power than Mr. Blake, the poor boy never doubted that right would triumph, and his mother be set free. Notwithstanding the judge's ruling, and the comparative simplicity of the case, the jury were slow in coming to a decision. After long whisperings and much putting together of heads, they seemed to be exactly where they were, and Baron Hardress suggested that they should retire to their own room, wdiere they could consult more at their ease. But the jury knew what retiring to their own room meant, and before complying with the suggestion they made yet another attempt to I 2 116 BIRCH DENE. arrive at an understanding. The attempt failed, however, and they were led aw 7 ay to a wretched little room, destitute of seats, where, as they well knew, they would have to bide, without food, fire, or light until they could agree on a verdict — and the weather was bitterly cold, and the day fast drawing to a close. Had the season been summer, their deliberations might have lasted longer and ended differently ; for, despite the uncom- promising character of the judge's deliver- ance, there was great diversity of opinion among them, and at the last moment the prisoner's fate depended on the capacity or willingness of a few jurymen to undergo a certain amount of physical hardship and privation. " Let the prisoner be removed, swear an- other jury, and w r e will proceed with the next case," ordered the judge. So Sophie was taken into one of the dens below the court to endure for another hour, in darkness and solitude, the torture of suspense. As she was led away, Blake, sanguine to the THE VERDICT. 117 last, good-naturedly passed to her a pieee of paper, on which he had scribbled — "Don't be downcast; the hesitation of the jury is a good sign." Having his mother no longer to look at, Eobin now fixed his eyes exclusively on the judge, w T ondering why he had such a wicked face and big white teeth — whether he always wore his wig and his scarlet robe ; whether he had ever been a little boy, or had little boys of his own ; whether he was more like Giant Despair or Apollyon ; what would become of him when he died — and many other things. Meanwhile a barrister, who seemed to have a cold in his head, was opening the new case in a droning voice, which, together with the hypnotic effect of the boy's steady stare at the judicial countenance, almost sent him asleep. But the case, being undefended, was soon concluded, and as Baron Hardress sentenced the delinquent, an embezzling clerk, to ten years' transportation, a side door opened, and it was whispered that the old jury were ready with their verdict. 118 BIKCH DENE. " Let the prisoner, Mary Nelson, be brought up ! " said the judge. In the yellow light of the candles that flared on either side of him he looked, thought Robin, more diabolically wicked than ever, and when his mother stood once more at the bar, a great fear came over him. The boy was awed by the intensity of the silence which followed her appearance. He felt that something porten- tous, some unspeakable calamity which might sunder them for ever, was about to take place. The jury stood in a group under the gallery, their foreman, pale with suppressed excite- ment, at their head. " Are you agreed on your verdict ? " asked the clerk of the arraigns, "We are." " What say you ? Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty ? " " Guilty ! " answers the foreman, in a voice trembling with emotion, for he has weakly yielded to the pressure of his colleagues, and fear of cold and hunger, and his conscience smites him. THE VERDICT. 119 A shudder runs through the court, and Sophie, staring wildly with terrified eyes, clutches convulsively at the front of the dock and awaits her doom. " Have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you ? " demands the judge. A low, almost inaudible moan is the only answer. "Mary Nelson, or whatever may be your name," he goes on, "after a long and pains- taking trial, in which you have been, ably, though I fear not very judiciously defended, a jury of your countrymen has found you guilty of a capital felony — of stealing from Jacob Lazarus a cloak of the value of ten shillings. It is a verdict in which I fully concur, and the sentence of the court is that you be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you shall be dead, and that your body be afterwards buried within the precincts of the prison in 120 BIRCH DEXE. which you shall have been confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul ! " While these dread words were being spoken, a fearful change was seen to pass over the prisoner's countenance. She clutched wildly at her throat, her eyes became fixed, her pallor corpse-like, the jaws dropped, her head fell forward, and as the judge's voice ceased, she sank down in a heap. The turnkey, who was standing beside her, stooped to raise her up, and Blake, who had been watching his client intently, sprang for- ward to help him. After looking at her for a minute, the barrister with a face almost as pale as the prisoner's, turned towards the bench. "Your lordship has anticipated the hang- man," he said, in a voice that trembled with pity and rage. " Your victim is dead." " Mr. Blake ! This language to me! " But his voice was drowned in the cries and exclamations that came from every part of the room, and he hastily ordered the court to be closed. THE VERDICT. 121 " What has happened ? What is it, Mr. Bartlett?" wailed Eobin. "My mother is ill ! Let me go to her ! Oh, let me go to my mother ! " " You have no mother, my poor boy. She is gone — to a better world than this. But I will be a father to you, until you find your own. Come ; let us get out of this place. It is the ante-chamber of death." And taking the weeping and half-fainting child in his arms, he led him tenderly home. CHAPTER X. ■ A BOOTLESS QUEST. Robin, half-demented with grief, sobbed himself asleep, and Bartlett hoped that the elasticity of youth would enable him to support, and, in a while, to forget the trouble which had befallen him. Children so easily forget. But the lad's vitality had been im- paired by privation and exposure. His nature was sensitive, his love for his mother a passion, and the excitement of the trial and its terrible ending were more than his brain could bear. When the bookseller looked at him in the morning, tossing in his little bed, he saw at once that there was something seriously wrong. The child's hands were clasped over his head, which he said ached terribly ; his eyes were bloodshot, and their pupils contracted to a A BOOTLESS QUEST. 123 small point. But lie hardly seemed to under- stand what was said to him, and his answers were wild and incoherent. Like the sensible man he was, Bartlett sent straightway for Dr. Yockleton, who, as a neighbour and a Fogey, would, he felt sure, take a special interest in the case, and be moderate in his charges. When the doctor (by courtesy, for he was no more than a member of the college) had examined his little patient he looked grave, and, taking Bartlett aside, told him that the lad w T as very ill. " It looks like a case of phrenitis — brain fever," he said. " He will want skilful treat- ment and careful watching ; and even then it won't be easy to pull him through and preserve his reason. Acute inflammation of the brain is one of the most difficult diseases we have to deal with. Now I am going to make you a proposal, less in my own interest a good deal than yours, for it will lose me a patient. Let us roll him up in his blankets, put him in a, hackney coach, and 124 BIRCH DENE. take him right away to Bart's — St. Bartho- lomew's Hospital. What can you do with him in this little room, where you have to sleep yourself? And not a woman in the house, and no accommodation for a nurse ! " The suggestion was so sensible and practical that Bartlett fell in with it at once, and half an hour later, Robin, already delirious, was lying in one of the sick wards of the great hospital. " He will be as well looked after and as skilfully treated as if he w r ere the king's son," observed Yockleton, as he and the bookseller were going away ; " and that and a youthful constitution may pull him through. But it will be touch and go." " Poor little chap ! I should like him to get better," said Bartlett, sadly. " He is a fine boy, and I have quite taken to him ; and if he does not, we shall never know who he is, or his right name." "You have found no clue, then? The mother said nothing ? " "No. She said she would tell us every- A BOOTLESS QUEST. 125 thing after the trial ; but the poor soul has gone and taken her secret with her, and I suppose the boy won't be in a condition to answer questions for some little time, even if- " "He gets better? Not for a long time. That brain of his has a good deal to go through before it will be fit for much. A strange case, Bartlett ; and, to my thinking, the strangest thing about it is that a cynical old bachelor like you should act as knight- errant for a woman and a child you know nothing in the world about." "A cynical old bachelor! Thank you, doctor ! Well, to tell the truth, I am rather surprised myself. Perhaps you are right in thinking I have acted like a fool — for knight- errant and fool are almost synonymous terms, I imagine — but I can plead that I really did not mean it. I was led on. When I heard the woman had been arrested, curiosity prompted me to go to the police-court. The marvellous fact of a wife publicly declaring that she would rather die than cast a slur on her husband's 126 BIRCH DESE. name by revealing her own still further roused my curiosity, and so I went on till I became responsible for her defence, and a sort of post- baptismal godfather to her son. But I don't think I shall do so any more. The result of the experiment has been the reverse of satis- factory. I did not get the woman off; the boy is sick, and I have not the least idea who they are." " It is like you, Thomas Bartlett, to belittle your own goodness. Why, man, you have tears in your eyes this minute ! Curiosity, indeed ! Why, it was nothing but kindness of heart ! While, as for knights-errant — whether ancient or modern — so far from thinking them fools, I regard them as superior beings. Did you ever meet with a finer character in all literature than Don Quixote ? I was paying you a compliment, man — not finding fault. Everybody knows that vour cynicism is all on the lip. But about this boy. Do you still think he comes of gentle people ? " " More than ever. He has been well A BOOTLESS QUEST. 127 brought up, and is wonderfully forward for his years — writes fairly, reads well, and knows the greater part of Chevy Chase, Gray's Elegy, Milton's U Allegro, and several pieces of Shakespeare off by heart. His mother must have been a cultivated woman. It would be a strange dispensation if he should die, and we were never to know who they were. If I had thought he was going to be so ill, I should have got him to tell me his father's name last night. The poor man may be in London this moment vainly looking for his wife and child." " Yes, and he may be the first man I meet on my way home. But what would be the use of that ? I should no more know him than Adam. ... I shall look in at the hospital occasionally to see how the boy is going on. I suppose you will also ? " " I shall either call every day or send Slow, and when he gets better How- ever, we will not talk about that for the present." The doctor was followed — at a short interval 128 BIRCH DENE. — by the lawyer, who seemed much put about on hearing of Bobin's illness. " It is of a piece with all our luck," he said, bitterly. "First, we have that old hangman, Harclress, instead of Hulton ; then Blake, not content with defending; his client, must needs set both court and jury against him by abusing the laws and making a Jacobin speech, and now the boy is ill and like to die r " No, no ; not so bad as that, I hope ? ' " Well, you will see. Brain fever is a formidable disease — you must admit that ; and you cannot deny that the omens are against us. I came with the express purpose of asking Bobin his father's name. Now that his poor mother is dead, there is no reason why he should not tell us — every reason why he should, indeed ! " "And I am sure he would if he could. But the poor child is past answering questions just now, Mr. Chubb. He is delirious." " So you said. Zounds ! it is a thousand . pities ! Has it occurred to you that his father A BOOTLESS QUEST. 129 may be seeking him and his mother at this moment ? " "Exactly what I said to Yockleton this morn in o*. But what can we do — how ascer- tain whether he is in London or not 1 " " Well, it is not very easy to find a man in London whose name you don't know, and whose description you are unable to give. However, we can make an attempt. We will insert an advertisement in some of the papers — the Times and the Morning Chronicler " An excellent idea ! I wonder we did not think of it sooner." " It would have been of no use if we had ; and if Mrs. Nelson — I suppose we had better speak of her as Mrs. Nelson — had either been acquitted, or survived her trial, it would not have been necessary. I shall also obtain the pawn-tickets and redeem the articles she pledged — they may possibly afford us a clue — and make a personal inquiry at the coffee- house in Leadenhall-street." Before Mr. Chubb went away, he and Bartlett drew up the proposed advertisement, VOL. I. K 130 BIRCH DENE. which the bookseller undertook to send to the offices of the Times and the Chronicle. It was to the following effect : " If the Officer returning from Foreign Service, who appointed his wife and son (Kupert) to meet him in London, will com- municate with Messieurs Chubb, Marrowfat, and Sheepshanks, Attorneys-at-law, Lincoln's Inn Fields, he may hear what has become of them." As the advertisements, after four insertions extending over a fortnight, produced no result, save a few odd inquiries from curious busy- bodies, they were discontinued. In the mean time Chubb had obtained the pawn-tickets and redeemed the pledges to which they referred. They were mostly articles of wear- ing apparel belonging to the boy and his mother. Hers were marked with the initials "S. K."— his with "K. K." There were, besides, a pair of gold eardrops, two brooches, a gold keeper, and a miniature on ivory, set in a gold frame. Inside the keeper were A BOOTLESS QUEST. 131 engraven a true lover's-knot, and the words " Sophie and Will." The miniature repre- sented the half-figure of a florid, handsome, blue-eyed Englishman. He might be some twenty-five years old, and wore a full-dress uniform coat, which Chubb afterwards ascer- tained to be that of a lieutenant of marines. All this did not tell him much — merely that " R." was the initial letter of the dead woman's Christian name. He knew already that her husband was an officer of Marines, and that his Christian name was " William." Nor did the inquiry at the coffee-house prove more fruitful in results. It was a place of call for a good many people, and a good many people had their letters sent thither. Neither the landlord nor the waiters could remember who had called for letters a week or two previously. Had a woman and a boy called ? asked Chubb. Yes, several women had called — women called every day ; but they did not remember any boy coming. The lawyer next asked whether a gentleman resembling the miniature had called within K 2 132 BIRCH DENE. the last few clays, or if they could identify the likeness as that of anybody they knew. After carefully scanning the picture, the people of the coffee-house felt quite sure that they had never seen anybody who resembled it in the least. Baffled in this quarter, Chubb asked and obtained permission to look over the letters in the rack. He thought he might possibly be able to identify the letter in which Sophie intended to inform her husband of her arrival in town, and give him her address. Here, again, he was baffled. Among a bushel of letters there were at least half a dozen which might have been meant for her husband. One was directed to " William Raby, Esq.," a second to " Mr. W. Rowntree," a third to fc£ William Rackstraw, Esq.," a fourth to " William Redmond, Esq." If he could have opened them all he might have found a clue to the mystery ; but not being allowed to open any, he had to go away as empty as he came. Chubb pushed the investigation no further. It had already cost him several pounds sterling A BOOTLESS QUEST. 133 and some time and trouble, and lawyers do not like to work for nothing. Had he been acting for a solvent client he would doubtless have persevered, and his exertions might have been crowned with success. But he thought that he had now done quite enough for humanity and the satisfaction of a legitimate curiosity. Yet kD owing how pregnant is life with possi- bilities, how full of surprises the chapter of accidents, and how often that which we have painfully sought comes to us at last without effort, he dictated to one of his clerks a full and particular account of the case, from the meet- ing of Bartlett with the woman and her boy, to the woman's death in the dock at the Old Bailey, and the boy's illness. The account comprised a minute description of Bobin's and Sophie's personal appearance. The latter, obtained from the authorities of Newgate, and other documents, together with the letter taken from Sophie at the police-court, and the trinkets she had pawned, were made up into a packet, which, after being duly docketed, was consigned to the safe keeping of an iron 134 BIRCH DENE. box in the office of Chubb, Marrowfat, and Sheepshanks. " The woman and the boy must belong to somebody," soliloquized the head of the firm ; " and sooner or later there are sure to be inquiries. Who knows ? Their identification may be a matter of great importance, and the possession of these papers bring business to the office." For kindness is by no means incompatible with keenness, and Mr. Chubb's kindness was no more disinterested than that, of other men. He possessed generous impulses, and liked, when occasion served, to do a fellow-creature a good turn ; but he had no sympathy with the doctrine that virtue should always be its own reward. Good deeds were in the nature of bread cast upon the water, which the sower might justifiably hope would be returned to him after many days. CHAPTEE XL bartlett's resolve. The last fact set down in Mr. Chubb's memorandum was the burial of Sophie in Bunhill Fields Cemetery. The Fogies sub- scribed a sufficient sum to defray the cost of a modest funeral, and erect over her grave a headstone which bore this inscription : HERE LIES THE BODY OF SOPHIE E. (Also called Mary Nelson). The innocent victim of a cruel law and an implacable judge, she was here interred on January 20, 18 — , at the charge of a few unknown admirers of her constancy and virtue. Many weeks elapsed before Eobin was able to visit his mother's grave. He lay long between life and death, and even when the fever left him, seemed almost too weak to 136 BIRCH DENE. rally. Had he stayed in the bookseller's house, he would surely have died ; but the skill of St. Bartholomew's physicians and careful nursing eventually restored him to comparative health. All this time Bartlett was as good as his word. Not a day passed that either he or Solomon Slow did not call to see the lad, and when Kobin began to recover, they often passed an hour by his bedside, talking or reading to him. But all exciting topics were forbidden, and as nothing excited him so much as reference to the past, Bartlett de- ferred putting questions to the child about himself or his mother until he should be quite convalescent. At ]ast the house physician, who knew something of Eobin's history, declared him well enough to be removed. " So well that we cannot keep him here much longer," he said to Bartlett ; " but he is far from strong, and will require care for some time to come. I don't mean as to his bodily health — that, I dare say, will soon be bartlett's eesolve. 137 all right — but his nervous system has received a severe shock, and may not recover its normal tone for a twelvemonth or more. Has he told you his name yet ? " " I have not asked him. You said we had better not — that it might do harm to recall to his mind the tragedy of his mother's death ; and once or twice when I have thought- lessly spoken of the past, he has got wildly excited." " That was some time ago. I see no harm in asking him now. Indeed I should like the experiment to be tried before he leaves the hospital." "Do you mean that you would like me to ask him now 2 " " Yes. I think he is more likely to answer you than anybody else." Kobin was sitting on his bed, partly dressed, and turning over the pages of an illustrated book. As yet, he read with pain and diffi- culty ; the letters ran into each other, he said, and made his head swim. "The doctor tells me you are so much 138 BIRCH DENE. better that I may take you home, Kobin," said Bartlett, raising his voice. " Home ! Home ! " returned the boy, with a puzzled look. " You mean " " I mean my house in Holborn — the book- shop, you know." " Yes, I remember. But that is not my home. My home is — with my mother. Will you take me to my mother, dear Mr. Bart- lett ? My mother, my mother ! " and the look he gave the bookseller was so tender, pitiful, and pathetic, that it quite went to his heart, and he knew not what to answer. "But I am forgetting" — wildly; "she is gone. Giant Despair — no, it was Apollyon — killed her, and those men took her away . . . I shall never see her more, Mr. Bartlett, never more ! . . . No, it was not Apollyon who killed her. It was the wicked judge — the man with the red cloak and the bi^ white teeth ; and when I am a man I shall kill him." " No, no, Kobin ; you must not talk about killing. That would be wrong, and if your bartlett's resolve. 139 mother could hear you, she would not like you to threaten vengeance. You shall go with me arid play about the shop, and read as many books as you like, and I will try to find somebody to play marbles with you. You would like that now — wouldn't you ? " "Yes, I should like that." "You see" — aside to the physician — "he cannot stand it yet." " No, he is not as much better as I thought. His brain won't stand much yet ; that is quite clear. You will have to watch him carefully, Mr. Bartlett." "You surely don't think, doctor, that the poor boy is off his head at all ? " asked the bookseller, anxiously. " Well, I should not go so far as to say he is of unsound mind. Eather that the nephritis — the brain fever, you know — and the nervous shock have left him mentally weak — for the time being-. If he were older the weakness might become chronic ; but he is very young, and the recuperative energy of youth and vis medicatrix naturce will, I hope, 140 BIKCH DENE. eventually restore him to perfect health. But, as I said, you will have to be cautious. An- other shock — the sight of Baron Hardress — for instance, might develop homicidal mania, and make him an incurable lunatic. I think, on the whole, we had better keep him here a few days longer. It is an interesting case. Come for him this day week." After staying a while longer, Bartlett bade Bobin good-bye, and went sorrowful away. He had an idea that the physician thought worse of the case than he was willing to admit, and he took so much interest in the lad that the possibility of his mind being permanently unstrung grieved him greatly. In any circumstances, it would be sad to see so young and promising a life blighted in the bud ; but for this child, whose father had pro- bably perished at sea, and whose mother had just died so tragic a death, to lose his reason would be too terrible — enough to make a man doubt whether the world is not ruled by some malign influence, and the evil of it greater than the good. baktlett's resolve. 141 But this impression did not last long. Bartlett, albeit he occasionally indulged in caustic remarks, was not given to taking gloomy views of life. Before the day ended he had persuaded himself that the doctor did not know what he was talking about;, and that the boy would soon be sound again, both in mind and body. This conclusion was con- firmed on his next visit to the hospital. Eobin seemed decidedly better, and when Bartlett took him home on the following Monday he was better still. Yet while dis- believing the doctor's diagnosis, Bartlett re- ligiously followed his instructions, carefully refraining, and requesting others to refrain, from questioning the lad about his father or his name, or making any allusion to his mother's fate and his former life. "We need not call him anything but Kobin ; and if we do, there's a name handy — Nelson. He could not have a better," said Bartlett to Solomon Slow. So Eobin went back to the bookshop. As before, he shared his protector's bedroom, and 142 BIRCH DENE. during the clay bad " the run of the shop." Very quiet and grave he was, often reading (his eyes being now stronger), sometimes look- ing into the street, or talking to Solomon, with whom he soon struck up a warm friend- ship. But never a word about the past or the most remote reference to the trial, or the events which immediately preceded it, escaped him. Bartlett doubted whether they were even in his mind. But he was pleased to observe that the boy appeared perfectly sane and sensible, and warmly attached to him. He not only obeyed him implicitly, but tried to anticipate his wishes, and when he grew stronger, asked for something to do. "Let me help Solomon!" he said one day. "By all means, if you think you can," said the bookseller, who saw in this request a sign both of a thoughtful disposition and improving health. Solomon was compiling a "random cata- logue," and Kobin, after a little instruction, rendered him material help — fetched and car- bartlett's resolve. 143 ried books, read out their titles, while Solomon wrote them down, and sometimes taking the pen himself, wrote to the shopman's dictation. Then, by way of change, he would go with Solomon to the Eow and elsewhere in search of works, new or old, ordered by customers or desired by Bartlett ; and when he got to know the town a little, he was often sent, at his own request, to deliver books and messages. Usefully occupied, and .passing much of his time in the open air, Kobin not only regained his wonted health, but became cheerful, brisk, and alert — albeit, for his years, singularly taciturn. His presence, as Bartlett more than once remarked to his brother Fogies, seemed to brighten the shop. Never- theless, he still refrained from questioning him about the past — the boy, on his part, being equally reticent ; and though several months were gone by, the bookseller knew no more of his protege s antecedents than he had been able to gather before the trial. There was something strange, unnatural even, in one so young maintaining about 144 BIPX'H DENE. himself and his previous life so unbroken a silence — children are generally so talkative and open, oftener saying too much than too little. Bartlett could only account for Bobin's reserve on the supposition that it was in some mysterious way a consequence of his illness — an ailment which time would cure ; and he waited patiently in the confident expect- ation that, sooner or later, he would spon- taneously reveal his name, and tell where he and his mother had lived, and what had be- fallen them before they came to London. But as time went on, and the lad made no sign — might, for anything that appeared to the contrary, have lived in Holborn all his life — Bartlett resolved to try an experiment which, as he hoped, would have the effect of opening his lips. One fine Sunday morning, when the church bells were ringing, he took him to Bunhill Fields Cemetery, and showed him his mother's grave. " Do you know who is buried there, Kobin ? ' : he asked. "Mary Nelson. The stoue says so." BARTLETTS RESOLVE. 145 " The stone says * Mary Nelson ' ; but the woman who lies under it is — your mother." " My mother ! it is impossible ! " cried Robin, turning pale and quivering like an aspen leaf. "My mother's name was not Mary Nelson." " AVhat was it, then ? I am very anxious to know. It is of great importance, especially for you, that we should know." " Sophie " — looking at the stone — " yes, it was Sophie." " Sophie what ? " Robin's face assumed an expression of blank surprise, then of j>^inful effort. He knitted his brows as if he were trying to remember something, and then, bowing his head, burst into tears. "You cannot remember" — soothingly. " Never mind. Another time, perhaps. Can you tell me the name of the place you lived at in Hampshire 1 " Robin shook his head, and Bartlett, taking his hand, led him away. The bookseller was puzzled, and, in spite VOL. I. L 146 BIRCH ])EXE. of himself, doubts of the lad's sincerity began to trouble his peace. Could he be feign- ing 1 Was he, in obedience to some secret command laid on him by his mother, ignor- ing his past and concealing his name ? And if so, for what purpose ? Had they, after all, been deceived in the woman ? Heaven forbid ! But, do as he would, the doubt continued to haunt his mind — haunted it all day long, and grew to such a pitch that in the end, though half-ashamed of himself, he consulted Dr. Yockleton, of whom he enter- tained a high opinion both as an able prac- titioner and a man of the world. At that time physiology was in its infancy, and the scientific study of mental phenomena had hardly begun ; but Yockleton, besides being a keen observer and a wide reader, knew how to make a correct deduction, and had become, without knowing it a very fair practical physiologist. Bartlett could have found no more competent adviser. " No, no," he said ; " the boy is no hypo- crite. It takes a clever man to be a consistent bartlett's resolve. 147 hypocrite. No child of tender years could keep it up. He would be sure to betray himself, and Kobin, you say, is singularly truthful. It must be the nephritis. I told you it would be ill to cure. I have known some strange cases. He is quite right in his head — no doubt of that — but his memory is gone. He has been dipped in the waters of Lethe, my friend." " There I cannot agree with you, Yockleton. There are many things he does remember — how to read and write, for instance. He remembers his mother, and he has not for- gotten the trial/' ''' Perhaps I was too absolute in saying that his memory is gone. But it is cer- tainly very defective. And I did not mean that it was gone for good. It will come back — probably is coming back. And as for read- ing, is it not possible that seeing printed words would bring the power of reading back, and that watching you and Solomon write, would, as it were, teach him the art over a era m o L 2 148 BIRCH DENE. " I dare say you are right, for I noticed that when he first began to use the pen, he wrote slowly and with great difficulty — could scarce form his letters, in fact. I thought it was weakness." " So it was — weakness of memory. But his finders would oret him over that dim- culty, as his eyes would help him over the difficulty of reading printed words. Acquire- ments that have become automatic, that are performed independently of the conscious- ness, I do not think can be forgotten. Is there no way of putting this to the test ? Did he not use to know some poetry by heart ? " "A good deal." " Does he remember that ? " " I don't know ; I have not tried him. We can do, though, if you like." " By all means. It will be an interesting experiment." On this Bartlett called Robin into his private room, where he and the doctor had been bavins: their talk. bartlett's resolve. 149 " I want you to repeat Gray's Megy for Dr. Yockleton, Robin," said Bartlett. "Gray's Elegy I What is that?" asked Robin, with a bewildered look. _ " What ! — don't you know ? You once repeated it right through in this very room. You can surely recall the lines — " ' The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.' " A smile broke over the boy's face. " Oh, yes — I remember now ! " he ex- claimed ; and with that he repeated the first stanza correctly and without hesitation. But until Bartlett read them he could not repeat any of the following stanzas. It was the same with Chevy Chase and the other pieces he had previously known. " It is just as I thought," said Yockleton, when Robin was gone. " I read in a French medical book of a precisely similar case. But you need not worry yourself. His memory will gradually come back, just as his bodily 150 BIRCH DENE. strength has done. As the brain suffered the most, it is naturally the last to recover its pristine vigour." " That I can understand. But isn't it passing strange that the hoy should forget his own name ? " "Not at all — considering; the circumstances. Why, I know a man — clever he is too — who forgets his name regodarlv. The other dav he went to the post-office to inquire for letters, and when the clerk asked his name, he was unable to tell him — had actually to refresh his memory by referring to his card -case. Now, if a man in fair health can forget his name for a few minutes, is it any matter for surprise that a boy, who has suffered from acute nephritis, should forget his for a few weeks or months — years even ? ' : " No, I don't think it is, considering the cir- cumstances, as you say. You could not give me any idea, could you, how soon he is likely to remember his name ? " " Not the least. That, my friend, depends on the chapter of accidents. It may be to- bartlett's resolve. 151 morrow. It may not be for years — many years. If you could give him a clue, as you did just now with the poetry, he might re- member it at once." " Which means, I suppose, that if I could tell him his name, he would know it ? " said the bookseller, with a smile. "Undoubtedly. Also, if he chanced to hear it accidentally spoken, see it in a book, in a newspaper, or on a sign-post. You must just go on as you are doing — wait patiently, and put your trust in the chapter of accidents." This ended the conversation, and when the doctor was gone, Bartlett sat down in his easy-chair and smoked a reflective pipe. " The lad is a good lad," he mused. " I am getting fond of him, and he shapes for being very useful in the shop. I should be sorry to lose him, and when he finds his father, or his father finds him, I shall lose him ; and I am not so sure about the father. I dare say, if the truth were known, he deceived that poor woman with a mock marriage, and 152 BIRCH DENE. is purposely keeping out of the way. There is certainly something very queer about it all. She said she wasn't a native of this country. Why didn't he leave her with his own people instead of at an out-of-the-way corner of Hampshire ! Yes, it does look queer — very. At any rate, I have done my duty, and I don't see that I am called on to do more. If the father comes forward and recognizes his son, well and good — I must give him up. But I shall trouble Robin with no more questions ; and if his name does not come back to him, what then ? He cannot have a better name than that of England's hero, and I will cherish him and make much of him, and he will be a comfort and a com- panion to me ; and when I am too old for harness, he shall have the business. There is nobody else for it but my miserly nephew, Moses Weevil ; and I would rather leave it to be scrambled for by blind beggars than to him." CHAPTER XII. A CLUE. " Here's your list ! Decline and Fall, Paradise Lost, and Animated Nature, one copy each ; Tom Jones, two copies ; The Frugal Housewife, four copies ; Pamela, three copies. Jones and Pamela have to go in the St. Albans parcel ; so look sharp, my little Lord Nelson." " All right, old Wisdom ! Til try to act sharp, and leave you to look it," answered Robin, as he put on his hat and shouldered his bag. "Old Wisdom, indeed! Take that for your impudence, you young jackanapes ! " — throwing a book at his head. "Well meant, but badly aimed, Slowman. Try again ! M returned Robin, laughing, as 154 BIRCH DENE. he dodged the missile by a timely obeisance ; and then, running out of the shop, he bent his steps towards Paternoster Row. Solomon Slow resumed, his work of adding up the cash-book. " Dash the boy, he's getting altogether too sharp ! " he muttered. " Always taking my name in vain. Gad ! there's hardly a day that he does not find me a fresh one. I shall never forgive my father for being called Slow, nor my mother for having me called. Solomon. It was her doing — after that precious brother of hers. They will cling to me through life, those names will, and. I shall be everybody's butt to the end of the chapter. Old Wisdom ! Slowman ! What next, I wonder ? I'll have another shy at him when he comes back. I'd. pepper him, only — it wouldn't be very easv. He has crown tremendous the last year or two, and, besides sparring well, is as active as a cat, and the master might not like it. He thinks all the world of him, and treats him as his own son. I really don't know why. He never took to me in that way, and A CLUE. 155 I flatter myself that I am in every respect equal to Rupert Nelson — in many respects superior. At any rate, I have a father, and know my own name." It was quite true. During the years that had elapsed since they made each other's acquaint- ance, the bookseller's attachment to Robin had grown with the boy's growth. He filled avoid in the old man's heart and brightened his home ; he could not have loved him more had he been his own son. In one sense he was his own, for had he not saved him from the horrors of a workhouse or the streets ? For a while he sent him to Chigwell Grammar School, but finding that he learnt little but boxing, football, and other boyish accomplishments, Bartlett took him into the shop, let him read as much as he liked and what he liked ; taught him arithmetic and book-keeping, and even a little Latin. So it came to pass that Robin knew more than most boys of his age, and his London breeding and continual associ- ation with his elders had made him sharp of tongue and ready-witted, although of the 156 BIRCH DEXE. world outside his own narrow one lie knew next to nothing. Bartlett had another reason for taking kindly to his ward. Though a Eadical he was not free from superstition, and he believed that Kobin had brought him good luek. Since the boy (now nearly a young man) became an inmate of his house, the business had so much increased as to render necessary a considerable enlargement of the shop. He had also added to his house, given Robin a room all to himself, engaged a working house- keeper and a porter, and purveyed rare editions for several wealthy customers, Eobin, on his part, regarded his benefactor with an affection which seemed to grow with his growth and increase with his years, and there prevailed between them a loving confidence which it was pleasant to see. The youth was tall for his age, slim and active, and blessed with a brioht and intelligent countenance. His health had fully recovered from the effects of the brain fever. One trace of it only, and that purely psychological, remained. He was A CLUE. 157 still unable to remember his father's name and his own. But he could now discuss the subject without excitement, and he and Mr. Bartlett often talked it over. Eobin himself had an idea that the injunction laid on him by his mother had something to do with his inability to recall her name. On the other hand, he had every desire to recall it, the need for reticence being long past. He had, moreover, sense enough to see that until he knew more about his father, there was no possibility of either of them rinding the other, and the thought that Mr. Bartlett might possibly attribute his obliviousness to inten- tion sometimes pained him beyond measure. Yet, try as he might, he could not remember. Nevertheless, Dr. Yockleton maintained his original opinion. ' So soon as the right chord is struck his memory will respond," he said. " Mark me if it doesn't." In due time Robin reappeared with his budget of books. ' Well, have you got 'em all, you young 158 BIRCH DENE. jackanapes ? " asked the shopman, who, though by no means ill-natured, was not always sweet- tempered. " I have, Solomon, King of the Jews — all except The Frugal Housewife — " " King of the Jews ! I'll Jew you, you nameless waif There ! " This time Eobin did not dodge quickly enough ; the book struck him on the ear, and the taunt touched him to the quick. Seizing the first missile that came to hand, which chanced to be an inkstand, he threw it with aim so true that it hit Solomon on the chin, splashing his face and deluging his cravat with ink. At the same moment Bartlett came in, unperceived by either of the combatants. " Come, come, Robin ! " he exclaimed. " What are you about, throwing ink all over the place ? God bless me, Slow, what a sight you are ! You look as if you were weeping tears of ink — ah, ah ! But, seriously, you know, these Barnes won't do in business hours. What has been the matter ? Not quarrelling, I hope ! " A CLUE. 159 "He called me ' King of the Jews/' said the shopman, angrily, as he wiped his face with a dirty duster, "and — " " Only after he had called me jackanapes and a nameless waif, and shied a book at my head," put in Robin ; " and I " " Retaliated with the inkstand. Well, I should very likely have clone the same if I had been in your place. I don't much believe in turning the cheek to the smiter. But no more larking in business hours, if you please. Suppose a customer had come in before Solomon had w T iped his face ! It is not clean yet — you had better wash it with soap and hot water. Suppose a customer had come in, what would he have thought ? Has anybody been in since I went out, Solomon ? " ' Only Collis. He stopped more than an hour, looked at a hundred books, left them all over the shop, and bought a copy of Tommy TU mouse." " Price. twopence ! Just like him. Collis is as great a skinflint as my nephew, Weevil. I am going to Portsmouth to-night by the 160 BIRCH DEXE. Flyaway coach. Can I trust you two to look after tilings till I come back ? " " Certainly, Mr. Bartlett," " And keep the peace ? " " If Solomon won't call names and throw things at me, I won't throw things at him," said Robin. " And if Robin won't call names and throw things at me, I won't throw things at him," echoed Solomon. " Good ! The treaty of peace is fully rati- fied, and I shall be able to leave with an easy mind," said Bartlett, smiling. " Will you go with me to the Angel, and help to carry my things, Robin ? " Robin said he should be very glad, and the bookseller, after a short absence, appeared in the shop, fully equipped for his journey, which, as it involved sitting; twelve hours out- side a coach (Bartlett begrudging the expense of an inside place), was not to be undertaken lightly. He carried his cloak on one arm, and under the other an umbrella — a huge affair of whalebone and blue cotton, bio* enough for a A CLUE. 161 gig. The cloak, furnished with two or three capes, was a garment of weight and substance. Eobin followed with the valise, which was little heavier than the umbrella, and not half so heavy as the cloak. " Which way shall we go — by Chancery Lane or across Lincoln's Inn Fields ! " asked Bartlett, as they stepped into the street. " As you like, sir ; but if I were by myself I should go through the Fields." " Why ? " " I like to see the grass and the trees. It makes me think I'm in the country." " Ah, you like the country better than the town. I don't. I detest the country and like a crowd. However, as you prefer the Fields, we will e'en go that way." " No, no, sir ; let it be as you please." : ' It pleases me to let you indulge your fancy, and I like passing through the Fields occasionally myself. It is a change. We shall pass the house of poor Mr. Chubb." " Why do you say poor Mr. Chubb ? " '•' Because he is doubly unfortunate : he has vol. i. M 162 BIKCH DENE. lost a wife whom he dearly loved, and got a fever of which he may not improbably die." " I am very sorry for that. He is a pleasant gentleman, and always so kind to me when he comes to the shop." " Yes, he takes a great interest in you, Robin, and if he should recover from his sickness, as I hope he may, and you should ever want to know all that is known about — about your mother and that sad time when we first met — and I don't happen — what shall I say ? — don't happen to be at hand, you must apply to him. Bear that in mind : apply to Mr. Chubb, of Lincoln's Inn Fields. ... A strange-looking body that. Quite an admir- able study from the antique, I do declare." The strange-looking body was a tall, angu- lar, elderly lady, who was crossing the great square as Robin and Bartlett turned into it from Turnstile Lane. She wore spectacles, carried even a bigger umbrella than the book- seller's ; though the day was fine and the streets were dry, she wore a pair of Brobdig- nagian pattens ; her fiddle-like face was shaded A CLUE. 1G3 by long brown curls, which had certainly not grown where they flourished, and her costume was that of the previous century. No sooner did this queer-looking creature <5atch sight of Bartlett, than she clattered towards him with a cry of joy. "•At last — at last I have found you, my dear, my beloved, my only brother!" she exclaimed, dropping her umbrella, and throw- ing her arms round Bartlett's neck with a force that almost sent him into the gutter. " God bless you, woman, I am not your brother ! ' : cried the astonished bookseller, struggling to free himself from her embrace. " You are — you are ! Don't you remember me — your sister Selina ? True, 'tis a long time since we met " '■' A very long time, I should say. You are quite mistaken. Never had but one sister in my life, and she has been dead a generation." " What ! Are you not my brother, Major Claude Ilford, who went to America in 1795?" " Certainly not. My name is Bartlett. I 51 2 164 BIRCH DESE. am Dot a major. I have a shop in Holborn, hard by, and I was never in America in mv life." " Ah, me ! Another case of mistaken identitv ! Shall I never see him aojain — mv dear, my beloved brother ? Pray excuse me, sir ; and as for Claude, I beg his pardon for mistaking him for a common tradesman." And with that this eccentric lady picked up her umbrella and took herself off. " The woman is mad — mad as a March hare," said the bookseller, adjusting his hat, which had suffered in the encount ' ; I never knew anything like it. She apologized to her brother for mistaking me for him. Come along, Robin ; we have plenty of time. But if we meet any more women who fancy I am akin to them, we may be too late, after all." " That is Mistress Eackstraw," observed a passer-by. "She is quite out of her mind — imagines every man she sees to be her lost brother." •'•' Thank you, sir. I thought she was a A CLUE. 165 lunatic, from her looks and her very extra- ordinary behaviour. Good-day to yon, sir. ... A very curious incident, and calls to mind your lost father, Kobin. I need not ask you whether you remember his name yet. If you did, you would be sure to tell me. Can you recall nothing — nothing that might serve as a clue ? " " Yes, sir, I can recall two things. They have come into my mind within the last few minutes. I remember my mother once saying that I was born at sea, on board the ship Ilford, as she was sailing from America to Portsmouth." "A clue — a clue!" exclaimed the book- seller, in great delight. "It is just as Yockleton said it would be. I am going to Portsmouth. Ilford is the name of Mrs. Packstraw's lost brother, who has never been heard of since he went to America in 1795. These have reminded you. One of the miss- ing links has been supplied ; the rest will come in good time. A most fortunate acci- dent, this meeting with Mrs. Eackstraw. And 166 BIECH DENE. I'll tell you what, Robin. I'll make inquiries at Portsmouth. You were born on board the Ilford, during her passage from America to Portsmouth, some eighteen years ago. I'll apply to the port authorities for a list of her passengers. Among them is sure to be your father's name. If possible I shall bring the list back with me. If not, I will arrange to have it sent here. You are quite sure that if you heard your father's name you would know it ? " "Quite." " Good ! I must get that list, cost what it may. But let us hurry on, or I shall be too late ; and my place is booked, you know." When they reached the Angel, near St. Clement Danes Church, in the Strand, the coach was drawn up at the door, the guard was putting the mail-bags into the boot, and the coachman was standing by, drawing on his gloves. "Not so much too soon," said Bartlett, as he shook hands with Robin. " I shall be back by the end of the week, as I hope, with A CLUE. 1G7 important information ; and you had better not say anything of the attack made on me by that fiddle-faced female, nor of that other matter — not even to Solomon. Good-bye." Eobert lingered about the inn door until the coach started, and then, waving a last adieu to Bartlett, he walked slowly homeward, absorbed in painful thought. For although, as touching his father's name, his mind was still a blank, his memory was so far restored that he remembered some of the principal events of his life as vividly as if they had occurred only the day before ; they passed before his mental vision like the unrolling of a pictured panorama. The happy time down in Hampshire with his mother — the journey to London — the de- light with which they had looked forward to the meeting with his father — delight on Eobin's part mingled with curiosity, for he had almost forgotten what that father was like — followed by growing disappointment, deepening into dire alarm. Then the grind of poverty — the gradual disappearance of his 168 BIRCH DENE. mother's ornaments, and nearly all their clothing — their expulsion from their lodgings — the dreadful night they spent under the Adelphi arches — their weary wanderings through. London streets — their meeting with Mr. Bartlett — the snowstorm — the taking of the cloak — the flight, the arrest, the trial, and all that had come to pass since. And he vainly tried to conjecture what the future might have in store for him. and strove, equally in vain, to recall his father's name. CHAPTER XIII. MOSES WEEVIL. " It would have paid the old man to take an inside place/' said Solomon Slow that same evening, as he looked out of the shop-door. "It is going to rain cats and dogs all this blessed night, I do believe." The realization of Mr. Slow's forecast proved the correctness of his opinion. It did rain all that blessed night (which, however, was anything but blessed by the Flyaway's pas- sengers), and despite his big umbrella and his many-caped cloak, Bartlett got thoroughly wetted, and took a severe cold. In that age of picturesque yet uncomfortable travelling, it was no unusual thing for elderly gentle- men who took outside places on stage coaches to catch cold, and Bartlett had often caught 170 BIRCH DENE. cold before under precisely similar circum- stances, without any more serious result than some temporary inconvenience. But in the present instance, the bookseller's penny wisdom (he could well have afforded to go inside) was destined to have important consequences, both for himself and the youth whose welfare he had so much at heart. Mr. Bartlett came back a day before he was expected — greatly surprising Bobin and Solo- mon by driving up to his door in a hackney carriage. " I have been obliged to hurry back," he gasped, as he entered the shop, and sank into a chair. " I am very ill. Help me to my room — Solomon and Mark ; and, Bobin, will you run for the doctor ? " He was ill — so ill as to be almost voiceless — and it was all Solomon and Mark, the porter, could do to get him up-stairs. Bobin went on his errand without a second biddiug, and in less than twenty minutes he was back with Dr. Yockleton, whom he accompanied to Bart- lett's room. The sick man was evidently in MOSES WEEVIL. 171 great pain, but when he saw Robin he beckoned to him. " I think I have found another clue," he said. " I met an officer " " Stop ! " interposed Yockleton, imperiously. "No talking, if you please. You have got rheumatic fever, complicated with inflamma- tion of the lungs. Eobin must go at once to Bart's and fetch a sick nurse. Here ! I will give him a line to the warden. But for the difficulty of moving you, and the risk, I would send you thither straightway." Robin ran off to the hospital with the note, wondering what Mr. Bartlett would have said had Yockleton not interrupted him, but too much concerned about the former's illness to be either over-curious or impatient. When Mr. Bartlett was a little better he would learn everything. But instead of getting better, Mr. Bartlett grew worse. On the Saturday morning Dr. Yockleton, whose face Robin carefully scanned, looked enigmatic, and spoke w 7 ith oracular vagueness ; on the Sunday he looked serious, 172 BIRCH DENE. and said that Mr. Bartlett was very ill, but lie hoped for the best ; on the Monday he asked Solomon whether his master had any kinsfolk in or near London, to which question Solomon made answer that, so far as he knew, his master had only one relative in the world — a nephew of the name of Weevil, w r ho lived at Chelsea. " Send for him at once ! " said the doctor. So Slow, as in duty bound, and perceiving from the doctor's manner that he despaired of the old man's recovery, wrote to Mr. Moses Weevil, apprising him of his uncle's illness, and despatched the letter by the two- penny post. " He is the cursedest sneak in all London, I do believe," said Solomon to Eobin. " I'd rather see Boney in the place than Moses Weevil. Drop the We, and you have him to a T. It would be a nice thing if the place were to come into his hands ! I know some- body wdio would have to go — and pretty quick too. But our old man knows better than that ; he has surely made a last will MOSES WEEVIL. 17 g and testament, in which I hope his faithful shopman, Solomon Slow, is not forgotten. He is sure to have remembered you, Robin. You will get the lion's share, and these books are worth a nice penny." Bobin made no answer. He grieved too much for his friend to think of himself, and was too young to care about money or be over anxious concerning his future. A little later he looked into the sick room ; but Mr. Bartlett's senses were so dulled by opiates that he neither recognized him nor seemed capable of coherent speech. Nevertheless the doctor thought his patient might last several days. The next morning came Moses Weevil. A gray, spare little man — in appearance not much younger than his uncle — with a low forehead, a large nose, little furtive eyes, a long bony chin, and lantern jaws. He wore a bob-wig, an old-fashioned suit of seedy black, and had a subdued manner and a low, soft voice, in striking contrast with his un- gainly person and ill-favoured face. 174 BIRCH DENE. " How cle do, Mr. Slow — how de do ? " he said, deferentially, taking the shopman's hand. " I am truly grieved to learn that my uncle is so sick. I do hope it is not unto death. Is he any better this morning ? No ! I am sorry to hear that. And this is the young man my uncle takes so much interest in. Mr. — ah ! thank you — Mr. Rupert Nelson. How cle do, Mr. Nelson — how de do ? I hope I see you well, sir. Would you oblige me by inquiring whether I can see my poor uncle ? " Solomon suggested that it would, perhaps, be as well if Mr. Weevil were to wait till the doctor came ; whereupon Mr. Bartlett's nephew bowed acquiescence, and, withdrawing to a corner of the shop, he sat himself down. He made no further remark, but his little eyes were in continual movement. Had he been counting the books he could not have scrutinized them more minutely. Nothing that Solomon and Robin did escaped him, and he scanned the customers who came and went like a thief-taker on the war- path. MOSES WEEVIL. 175 " Thank goodness he is gone ! " exclaimed Slow, fervently, when Yockleton appeared, and, after a whispered conversation, took Weevil to the sick room. " The sense of being continually watched by that ghoul-like wretch is enough to send a fellow off his head. He could not look more unwholesome if he fed on his own corpses." " His own corpses ! What do you mean ? What is Mr. Weevil ? " asked Eobin. "A miser and an undertaker; and they say he does not always bury the bodies he undertakes to lay in the ground/' " Doesn't bury them ! What then ? " "Sells them to the doctors. At least, so people say. And there is a very queer story — it happened a good many years ago ; Weevil is an oldish fellow — about a coffin that he had provided and buried being dug up and opened — to hold a coroner's inquest on, I think, a case of suspected murder, or something of that sort — and found to contain nothing but stones." " But might not somebody else have taken out the body and put in the stones ? " 176 BIRCH DENE. "That was just the point. They could prove nothing against him. All the same, everybody thinks Weevil did it, and you have only to look at his cadaverous old face to see that he is capable of anything. He reminds me of one of those vampires you read about, who disinter corpses on moonless nights and eat 'em." " Well, he has a very ugly face. All the same, he seems a harmless old gentle- man. " " Harmless old gentleman ! I shouldn't like Moses Weevil to have a chance of doing me an ill turn if he thought he could gain twopence-halfpenny thereby. " A few minutes afterwards Weevil and the doctor re-entered the shop. Yockleton said that Mr. Bartlett was no better, and unless a speedy change took place, he greatly feared that his old friend Here the doctor paused, shook his head mournfully, and took a pinch of snuff — an opportunity by which Weevil profited to observe, in his dulcet voice, that, being his MOSES WEEVIL. [77 uncle's sole surviving relative, he could not think of leaving; him to the care of strangers, and that he should bide in the house until a change occurred — which, notwithstanding Dr. Yockleton's unfavourable prognosis, he hoped would be a change for the better. "You may bide, but I don't know where you will sleep," said Solomon. " There are only two beds — one is the master's, the other Nelson's/' " Oh, I can sleep with Mr. Nelson quite well — if he will kindly allow me," answered Weevil, with a grimace which he probably meant for a smile. " I am not particular." " But I am," exclaimed Eobin, with a look that showed how little he relished the under- taker's proposal. " I mean that mine is a truckle-bed which could not possibly hold tw T o." " Oh, anything will do for me," rejoined Weevil, meekly — " a sofa or an arm-chair, a shake-down here in the shop, or in my poor uncle's office. I can lie anywhere." " So you can — or to anybody," muttered Solomon. VOL. I. N 178 BIRCH DENE. " Were you saying something, Mr. Slow ? I did not quite catch it," asked Weevil, softly. (A lie ; he had caught it.) "Merely that I think we might perhaps find you a mattress and a counterpane, and make you up a bed on the office floor — if you could put up with such poor accom- modation." " Poor accommodation ! Oh, Mr. Slow, what do you take me for ? Add a sheet and a pillow, and I shall be as contented as if I were in a palace. My wants are very few, and I have never pampered myself with luxuries." "Nor anybody else," whispered Solomon to Kobin. " They say he starved his wife to death." So it came to pass that the private office — or study, as it w T as sometimes called — was converted into a temporary bedchamber for Weevil — an arrangement which made him a near neighbour of Eobin, whose room opened into the study. CHAPTER XIV. ANOTHER LOSS. Five clays more passed, and Bartlett still lingered. Robin and Solomon began to hope that he might recover, after all; but to Yoekleton and the nurses, and doubtless also to Weevil, it was evident that the end could not be far off. When not writhing with pain, the patient was mostly in a condition verging on stupor. The doctor, however, thought he understood what was said ; and now and a^ain he recognized those about him, and spoke to them, though not always coherently. Sometimes, when Robin entered the room, he would greet him with a pathetic smile, which weut to the lad's heart. Once he said, " When I am a little better — " and then stopped short with a troubled look, as N 2 180 BIRCH DEXE. if he wanted to add something which he was unable to recall. It was quite impossible for Robin to question him about his father's name, or anything else. Bartlett's recognition of Weevil was the occasion of a rather unpleasant incident — for Weevil. "Do you feel any better to-day, uncle?' 5 asked the undertaker, in an intense and mellifluous whisper. Bartlett eyed him with a look of surprise, which swiftly turned into one of dislike and distrust. "What! Moses Weevil!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. " Go ! Get out of my sight. I have left everything to — my boy." Weevil did get out of his uncle's sight, and, save for an occasional peep, kept out of his room ; but he declined his invitation to leave the house, and there was no one to compel him. He was nearly always in the shop, for the most part sitting in a corner, silently observant, to Solomon's great annoyance. ANOTHER LOSS, 181 " If this continues much longer I shall be doing something violent," said Slow to Robin. " Whatever I do, I am always con- scious of a cadaverous gaze, and if it was not for the poor master being sick up-stairs, I should " " What ? " " Knock Weevil off his chair, or throw something at his head." When the shopman was out, Weevil would sometimes quit his chair and find his tongue, ask Robin questions about the price of various books, their original cost, the value of the stock, and other things touching the business. On these occasions he made himself so agree- able and deferential, always calling the lad " Mr. Nelson," that the latter began to think the undertaker was not such a bad fellow after all, and that Solomon was too hard on him. If Weevil had not been so ill- looking and badly dressed ! — and the poor man could not help his looks. He was as God made him, as Robin had once heard Mr. Bartlett say of another ugly man. 182 BIRCH DENE. A few days after this it almost seemed as if the change for which Weevil had expressed so ardent a desire was setting in. The worst of the fever appeared to be over, and one night, when Eobin, according ' to his wont, went into the sick room to see how Mr. Bartlett did, he found him clear in mind and free from pain. Unfortunately, however, he was too weak to converse. "Yes, I am a little better," he whispered, in answer to Eobin's inquiry, " but still very feeble. To-morrow we must have a talk about your father and other things/' " To-morrow ! " Eobin pressed the old man's hand, and bade him good night, and then, going to his own room, " turned in," and slept the sleep of the just, until he was awakened by the clock of a neiohbourino; church striking three. In ordinary circumstances he would probably have resumed his slumbers without remember- ing that they had been interrupted, but as he dreamily opened his eyes a gleam of light streamed from under the door. This roused ANOTHER LOSS. 183 him to full consciousness, and greatly excited his curiosity. What could it mean ? Weevil always went to bed early, and it was hardly conceivable that so miserly a man would, even by inadvertence, leave the candle burning. Could it be anybody else ? By way of solving the doubt, he slipped quietly out of bed and applied his eye to the keyhole. This is what he saw : the safe door ajar ? Weevil half-dressed, sitting at Mr. Bartlett's desk, looking over a pile of papers by the light of a guttering candle. Without a moment's hesitation Robin threw open the door. " You seem to be busy, Mr, Weevil," he said, quietly. Weevil jumped up as if he had seen a ghost, his jaw dropped, and he nervously grasped the back of his chair. " You — you, Mr. Xelson ! " he gasped. " I thought — I mean I did not know. I was looking for some papers " " So it seems." 184 BIRCH DEXE. "Some papers my uncle wants. He told me to get them. I am getting them for him." " Did he give you the keys ? " " He told me where thev were : and now I am going back to him." As Weevil spoke he rolled up his papers and shut and locked the desk. " I shall return presently," he added ; " and as I can find my way in the dark, and lights are expensive, I may as well blow the candle out." Whereupon he suited the action to the word, then w T ent out himself, leaving behind him a glowing wick and an evil smell. Eobin returned to his bed greatly puzzled by what he had seen and heard. He could scarcely think that Mr. Bartlett was in a condition to transact business or look over papers —above all, in the middle of the night — and had it not been for Weevil's possession of the keys (which the sick man kept by his bedside), he would have been inclined to dis- believe him. ANOTHER LOSS. 185 For a short time Eobin lay awake, turning the matter, and several others which it sug- gested, over in his mind, but being a healthy young fellow, with a good digestion, he soon fell asleep again. When he awoke a second time it was past seven o'clock ; so getting up, and dressing quickly, he went into the shop. Mark, the porter, was taking down the shutters, and before he had finished the operation Mrs. Gaddums, the sick nurse, came in. " You had better not take them shutters down, Mr. Mark," she said — " leastways, not all of 'em." "Why?" exclaimed Eobin, in sudden ap- prehension. "You surely don't mean " "Yes, Mr. Bartlett is dead." "And I did not see him again. When — when did he die, Mrs, Gaddums 1 " " He passed away soon after the clock struck four." " But it is impossible. . . He was so much better last night. He said he had something 186 BIRCH DEXE. to tell me, and I felt sure lie would get well." " Patients very often does pick up a bit before they passes away, Mr. Nelson. I thought it was a bad sis;n when he seemed so much better last ni^ht ; but I didn't like to say so." " Did you see him die, Mrs. Gaddums ? " " Of course I did, poor dear ! " — sighing deeply. " I gave him his mixture regular, and sat by his bedside the night through, never so much as shutting my eyes for half a minute. Ini not one of your nurses as . sleeps at their postesses, let others do as they will. He passed away peaceful, just as the clocks went four." Kobin regarded the woman susj)iciously. She looked as if she had been asleep and smelt of gin, and he had heard Solomon Slow say that nearly all nurses were given to drink. " Mr. Weevil can bear me out in what I say," she went on, with some asperity. " He was in the room when Mr. Bartlett passed away." ANOTHER LOSS. 187 For the first time since he had got up Eobin remembered the strange incident of the preceding night. "Where is Mr. Weevil?" he asked. "He went out soon after six. He will be back about nine to arrange for the funeral. I never saw a man take the passing away of a near and dear relation worse, and him as is so used to coffins and corpses, and such like. I have seen as much of undertakers as most, and they are generally as hard as their own brass nails. But Mr. Weevil could not show more sorrow, not if Mr. Bartlett had been his father, and left him a fine fortune." Robin turned away with an aching heart. As yet, however, he failed fully to realize the loss which he had sustained. He felt rather dazed than grieved ; and though it seemed absurd to doubt the woman's statement, he found it hard to believe that his friend was really gone. "It is impossible," he repeated to himself; and then, as if moved by an irresistible impulse, he crept in fear and "trembling to the chamber of death. 188 BIRCH DEXE. As he stepped across the threshold a sudden faintness came over him, so that he had to lean against the wall for support. It was the first time he had been alone with the dead. Then, drawing nearer to the bed, he looked on all that remained of the man who had befriended his mother and been to himself more than a second father. Bartlett lay almost as he had died : his head propped on his pillow, one arm across his breast, the other hanging by his side. The poor boy shrank back in horror, but remembering that it was the face of his once friend and benefactor, he bent reverently down, and, murmuring a prayer, imprinted a loving kiss on the inani- mate brow. Then, walking on tiptoe and shutting the door softly after him, he returned to the shop. A few minutes later came Solomon Slow. " The shutters up and 'you crying ! " he said. "That tells a tale. The old man has gone over to the great majority." Kobin nodded. He was too full to speak, ANOTHER LOSS. 189 and the shopman's manner seemed flippant and his words unfeeling. " I am very sorry. He was a kind gentle- man, and always a good friend to me • and I am not sure about keeping my place. Who is ffoinor to look after things ? " " Mrs. Gaddums says that Weevil is going to arrange about — the funeral." "Weevil! llano- the fellow! What busi- ness is it of his ? . . . Well, I suppose, as the nearest relative, he has a sort of right to take the first step. But when the will is produced my gentleman will have to march. By I'll tell you what I'll do, Bobin. I'll run down to Lincoln's Inn Fields and ask Chubb and Marrowfat what we had best do." Bobin signified assent, and the shopman started on his self-imposed errand. In half an hour he was back — very little wiser than before. Mr. Chubb was better, but still quite unfit for business. So soon as he gained a little strength he was going to take the waters at Bath. Mr. Marrowfat believed that Mr. 190 BIRCH DEXE. Bartlett had made a will, but there was no such document in their possession. It would probably be found among his papers, and until it was found, Weevil, as the deceased bookseller's next-of-kin and presumptive heir, had a right to assume the temporary ordering of his affairs. " So he is master for the moment, and I suppose we shall have to treat him as such — though I would a good deal rather kick him," concluded Solomon. . . . "Gad, here he is ! Who is that with him, I wonder ? " "That" was a large man, with keen gray eyes, a big wig, and a ponderous gait. His manner was solemn and his costume funereal. He wore a voluminous black coat, black smalls, ditto silk stockings, and a huge black stock. The only white things about him were his bony face and his big wig. After saying how highly he had respected his Uncle Simon, and how much he deplored his death, and making a desperate though ineffectual attempt to shed a tear, Weevil ANOTHER LOSS. 191 introduced his companion as " Mr. Tokenhouse, my lawyer." He wanted to do everything in proper order — just as his poor uncle would have wished. If there was a will, he would most gladly conform to its provisions ; if there was not a will " If there be no will, your respected uncle died intestate," observed Mr. Tokenhouse, with great deliberation, " and you, as his next-of- kin, and sole legal representative, would take all — be in the position of sole legatee — in fact." " But maybe there is a will," suggested Weevil, blowing his nose and pretending to wipe his eyes. " Perhaps there is a will, and, if so, nobody will more gladly conform to its provisions than I." " By looking through the papers of the defunct we shall probably be able to ascer- tain," suggested the lawyer. " Let us do so, then. About an hour before my poor uncle Simon breathed his last, he desired me to take his keys and bring certain papers from his desk ; which, of course, I did " 192 BIRCH DEXE. — looking significantly at Robin. " I will fetch them, and ask you, sir, in the pre- sence of these gentlemen, to look through them." The papers were fetched and carefully examined, but nothing in the nature of a will was forthcoming;. An examination of the desk, and of every receptacle in the deceased gentleman's office and bed-room likely to contain any such document, proved equally resultless. " I think you will have to adnrnister and take possession of the property, Mr. Weevil/' said Mr. Tokenhouse, when the search was completed. " You advise me to do so ? " " Certainly, it is your duty. The fact of no will being forthcoming is presumptive proof that none exists." " Very well. Will you be good enough to take the necessary steps ? I will see to the funeral ; it is in my line. We will inter next Tuesday. In the meantime, I shall be glad if Mr. Slow and Mr. Xelson will attend to the ANOTHER LOSS. 193 business as usual. It may be However, we can talk about that afterwards. I need hardly say, gentlemen, that if a will be found hereafter, its provisions shall be implicitly obeyed." VOL. 1. CHAPTER XV. Solomon's advice. " Weevil is cleverer than I thought," said Solomon Slow, when he and Robin were alone. "I knew he was a knave, but I had no idea he was a comedian." " A comedian ! " " Yes. Don't you see that he has been playing a part, and playing it deuced well too ? He knew from the first there was no will. He purloined it last night when he went into that office ; and if you had not seen him, you may be sure he would have said nothing about it. And he expects us to believe that the master crave him the kevs ! Why, Bartlett could not bear the sight of nim. You may depend on it that Weevil Solomon's advice. 195 took tliem after he died, and bribed Mrs. Gaddums to confirm his story." " What shall we do, then ? " " What can we do ? I feel sure that he first stole the will, and then destroyed it." " I don't think so, Solomon. I don't think anybody could be so wicked." " Could not be so wicked ! Little you know of the world, Robin. Wait till you are as old as I am — wait till you are twenty- five — and you'll see. If Weevil was not after the will, what was he doing in the office ? Tell me that. And do you think the master would trust Weevil with his keys — a man he could not bear the sight of? You may depend on it, he found the will in the desk along with the other papers, and that by this time it's dispersed to the four winds in the shape of ashes. It is a bad job for both of us — for you especially. He meant to make you his heir — I am sure he did — and me manager of the business, with an increase of salary and a share of the profits. But as we can prove nothing, we o 2 196 BIRCH DENE. should only get into trouble by saying any- thing. Better keep a still tongue, and be civil to the villain. It is necessary to bold a candle to the devil sometimes, and if he continues the business — I mean the villain, not the devil — he may keep us both on — not that I take at all kindly to the idea of serving Mr. Weevil. I shall be on the look- out for another place, but I should like to be kept on till I find one. Topboots and embroidered waistcoats are expensive, to say nothing of an occasional night at the play and Ranelagh ; and I have not much laid The shopman lost no time in acting on the lines he had laid down. When Weevil, who had gone out with Tokenhouse, returned later in the day, Solomon treated him with marked deference, asked for his instructions about business, showed him the cash-book, told him how much money there was in the till, and asked what he should do with it. The under- taker, on his part, was as affable as an angel with a new pair of wings, said he knew Solomon's advice. 197 nothing whatever about the book trade, de- clared that he had full confidence in Mr. Slow's honesty and capacity, and begged of him to go on exactly as he would ha,ve done had his poor uncle been alive. He left every- thing in his hands. Nevertheless Solomon profited little by his policy of the jumping cat. The day after the funeral Weevil told him, with a malicious smile, but in his sweetest voice, that he should not require his help after the end of the week. He had arranged with a firm in the Eow to accept a transfer of the lease, purchase the goodwill, and take the stock at a valuation. It would be very painful for him to part with Slow, but he had no alternative. He knew nothing of the book trade, and it was impossible for him to carry on a business which he did not understand, especially as he had already a business which required all his attention. " The end of the week ! Is that all the notice I am to have % You will at least give me a month's salary, if only out of respect 198 BIliCH DEXE. for your uncle's memory," exclaimed Slow, in a rage. He was wild to think that he had practised so much servility to so little purpose. "I do not see any necessary connection between respect for my uncle's memory and making you a present of a month's salary. All the same, I would if I could ; but I really cannot afford the outlay. I have to pay legacy duty, and all sorts of things. There will be very little left when all is paid." "That is false, and you know it is, Mr. Weevil. As I am to have no notice, I may as well go now. I make you a present of the half-week. It will buy you a new hat ; you want one. Good-bye, Robin. We shall meet again, I hope. I am sorry you have been jockeyed out of your inheritance." " Stop, stop, Mr. Slow ! Don't be so hasty!" cried Weevil, laying his hand on the shopman's arm. (It had occurred to him that if he were left to deal with the Row people alone, he might be taken in to a much greater amount than the month's SOLOMONS ADVICE. 199 salary.) " On second thoughts, yes, you shall have the month's salary, if I pay it out of my own pocket." " How long do you want me to stay ? " " Only till Saturday night, just to see, on my behalf, that nothing is omitted — that a proper inventory is taken." " Very well ; but I must have the money now." " Now, Mr. Slow ! But — it is impossible. I could not " " Then it is impossible for me to stay — " putting on his hat. " It is a degradation to stay with you another day. My poverty, not my will, consents ; and unless I get the price down on the nail, I'll be hanged if I do degrade myself." With a very wry face, Weevil produced a shabby-looking pocket-book, and paid Slow his month's salary in dirty one-pound notes, for which the shopman gave him a receipt in due form. " I suppose I shall have to go at the end of the week too, Mr. Weevil ? " asked Robin, 200 BIRCH DENE. who had been an interested witness of the scene. " You, Mr. Nelson ! Certainly not, my dear sir. I believe my poor uncle had it in his mind to do something for you, and I shall consider it a sacred duty to provide handsomely for his adopted son. Make your- self content, and help Mr. Slow to overhaul the stock. I give up possession of the shop and its contents to Messrs. Brevier and Co., the people from the Row, you know, on Monday. We keep the bedrooms a week or two longer, and before that time we shall see. I have something in view. Make yourself content, my dear sir — make yourself content." Eobin was surprised beyond measure by this unlooked-for generosity. He had been wondering what would become of him, and forming wild plans for going in search of his father, though he could not remember his name. " Thank you, Mr. Weevil, you are very good; thank you very much," he returned warmly. SOLOMONS ADVICE. 201 " Don't say that, please. I don't pretend to be good — I only pretend to do my duty ; and I shall do my duty by you, and I hope by everybody else." Now that the funeral was over the under- taker appeared to be in better spirits, pro- bably because he had discovered that, besides the stock-in-trade, his uncle owned a piece of land in the City, bought for an old song many years before. True, it was of no great extent, but even at that time a few square yards of land, in the heart of London, was worth a great many pounds sterling, and Weevil, being heir-at-law, as well as next-of-kin, would take both the real and personal estate. For the remainder of the week Kobin and the shopman were too busy stock-taking to have much time for talk ; but on the Sunday morning they put on their scarves and hat- bands, and went together to the church of St. Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe, where Bartlett had been in the habit of attending occa- sionally, and whose rector had officiated at his funeral. 202 BIRCH DENE. After service, Solomon, always liberal when he had money in his pocket, stood dinners at an eating-house in Newgate-street. Then they went for a stroll on Islington Common, drank a dish of tea at the Old Queen's Head — an ancient and picturesque lath and plaster hostolry, once inhabited by Sir Walter Ealeigh — and walked home in the cool of the evening through Finsbury Fields. Their talk was mostly about themselves, Mr. Bartlett's death, and their own prospects, and the burden of the conversation was borne by Slow. He was still very wrath against Weevil. " There's one thing I'm deuced glad of," he said, shortly before they parted company. " He has been done in the valuation. But it was no business of mine. I am not ffoins; to cast my pearls before swine — above all, when I am not asked. There's that Mazarin Bible now — the one Bartlett always kept in his room, you know. Well, just because it was entered in the cost-book at fifty shillings — the price our poor old man gave for it at SOLOMONS ADVICE. 203 a country sale, where nobody knew its value — Weevil actually let it go at ten pounds, and thought he was doing a good stroke of business ! I wonder what he intends to do for you, Robin ? Yes, I wonder ? " (curi- ously). " T don't think he ever did a gener- ous or kindly action in his life — except to gain some end for himself. However, if he offers you anything good, take it. That is my advice. You see you have no trade in your fingers, and would find it hard to get employment, except in a very mean capacity. How would you live if Weevil turned you adrift ? Times are very bad. Gad ! you might have to go to the workhouse. Any- thing would be better than that." " Yes," thought Eobin, who felt unspeak- ably desolate and sad, "anything would be better than that." Rather than submit to so great a humili- ation, he would beg his way to Portsmouth, and if he failed to find his father, go to sea or enlist as a soldier. CHAPTER XVI. BOUND APPRENTICE. Eobin was- nob kept long in suspense. On the next day, as he was lending a hand to the new people, Weevil took him aside, and, with an air of importance, said that lie had something to communicate touching his pro- mise of the previous week. After dwelling on the lad's unfortunate position — without means, kinsfolk, or the knowledge of any craft where- by lie might earn his living — the undertaker observed that it was of the first necessity for him to learn a trade. To this obvious proposition Robin readily assented, and made a pertinent inquiry as to what trade he should learn, and how he was to live till he did learn it. " Cotton spinning is the trade you will learn, if you are wise, Mr. Nelson ; and as BOUND APPRENTICE. 205 for living, I can arrange for you to be boarded and lodged — handsomely ; kindly treated, and found in pocket-money/' " Cotton spinning ! But it is only women who spin ! " exclaimed Robin, whose ideas of the rising industry of the north were some- what shadowy. "Oh, it is not that sort of spinning. I know what you are thinking about. Yon are thinking about old women who do some- tiling with a distaff and a wooden wheel. They spin now with machinery, in great big factories, turned by steam. It's a splendid business, and very genteel and interesting. I wish I was your age, and had the same chance. Why, you will make your fortune in no time ! " "Is it far off — the place I should have to o-o to, I mean ? " " Well, it isn't quite in the next parish. It's a charming place in the country, about two hundred miles away, called Birch Dene ; and at this time of the year the journey thither must be delightful. I wish I was Q-oino;." 206 BIRCH DENE. " In the north, you said ? " " Yes, in Lancashire." This was not exactly the direction in which Eobin wanted to go, and he did not quite believe all that Weevil had told him. But, being; at a credulous, confiding a^e, he be- lieved a good deal of it, and if he refused this offer he would be thrown entirely on his own resources — if a youth without either money or friends can be said to have re- sources. He knew, moreover, from the news- papers, that parish constables were always on the look-out for penniless wanderers, receiv- ing for each apprehension a reward of ten shillings. On the other hand, by going to this place in Lancashire, albeit he might not make his fortune in no time, he would, at any rate, earn something, and when he had laid by a few pounds he could go in quest of his father — so soon as he remembered the name after which he was continually striving. A sojourn in a place like Birch Dene would be an agreeable change, to say nothing of the journey ; and a two-hundred-mile ride on BOUND APPKENTICE. 207 the top of a fast coach would be something to look forward to. "You seem to hesitate," said Weevil, im- patiently. " I need hardly say that if you are so foolish as to refuse this chance you won't get another. If you were my own child I could not do better for you. I ex- pected gratitude, not hesitation. Come, now, what do you say ? Is it ' Yes ' or ' No ' ? " "Yes," answered Kobin, who had already made up his mind. But he said nothing about gratitude, for though the undertaker's voice was as soft as usual, his manner had become unpleasantly peremptory. " You have decided wisely. And now the sooner we see Mr. Tokenhouse the better. I have a duty to perform : you must not leave my charge until your future is assured. Let us go at once." Mr. Tokenhouse's office consisted of two dark and musty little rooms in a street near Smithfield Market. The floors were thick with dust, the papers on the desks were covered with it, the ceiling was black with 208 BIRCH DENE. cobwebs, and the window dim with dirt. The outer room (which Weevil entered with- out knocking) was occupied by a seedy-look- ing man and a mildewy-looking boy, both seated on loncr-le^ed chairs, and w T ritino; as if they were paid by results, as probably they were. " Is he in ? " asked the undertaker, in a confidential undertone. " Yes," answered the seedy-looking boy. " Anybody with him % " "No." Whereupon Weevil rapped at the inner door, and being answered by an invitation to "Come in," went in accord in gly. followed by Robin. " Here is a young man who has made up his mind to go into the cotton trade," said the undertaker, by way of introduction. "Wise young man! I congratulate him. He will become rich. He is taking at the flood the tide that leads on to fortune. They are coining money up there — literally coining it ! I know of only one better trade than BOUND APPRENTICE. 209 cotton spinning, and that is farming. A farm is as good as a gold mine in these days. I suppose you have brought him to sign his indentures ? " " "Well, I don't know whether that is neces- sary. It is time for Bones to be here, isn't it ? " " Quite. But Mr. Bones is not the most punctual man in the world. He will be here presently, though. Ah ! I think I hear his step in the outer office. You can hear Mr. Bones a long way off — ah, ah ! " The next moment there was a tremendous knock at the door, and in response to Mr. Tokenhouse's " Come in," entered Mr. Bones, a big man with a beefy face, a resplendent uniform, and a presence that seemed to fill the room. In one hand he held a cocked hat — in the other he carried a long, silver- mounted staff. " At your service, gentlemen ! " exclaimed this magnificent personage, with a condescend- ing wave of his cocked hat. " Good morning, Mr. Bones — glad to see O 7 o you," said Tokenhouse. "Pray take a seat." VOL. I. P 210 BIRCH DENE. " Is this the youth ? " asked Bones, glancing critically at Eobin. " Yes, this is the youth." " Hum ! He is rather older and bigger Co than they like 'em to be. But I dare say he'll do. They can lick bigger fellows than him into shape up there — ah, ah ! What is your name, my lad ? " " Eupert Nelson. And who are you ? " said Robin, chafed by the man's overbearing manner, and annoyed at being called " my lad." " Who — who am I ? " gasped Mr. Bones, his great red face purpling with indignation, and his cheeks swelling out like the gills of an enraged cock turkey. " I never heard such imperence in all my life ! Tell him — tell him, Mr. Tokenhouse, who I am." " Mr. Bones is a highly-important parochial officer; he is the senior beadle of this parish," said the lawyer, severely. "You want a lesson in manners, young man. Respect them as is set in authority over you, or you will come to no good. BOUND APPRENTICE. 211 Where was you brought up, I wonder ? But I need not ask that. Where was you born ? " " I was born — at sea." " Oh, you was born at sea, was you ? And whereabouts there, I should like to know 1 " " Eighteen degrees twenty-seven minutes north latitude, by thirty-three degrees thirteen minutes west longitude." Eobin was by no means sure that he had first seen the light at this particular part of the North Atlantic, but he had a decided feeling that it would be better to answer at random than let himself be put down by a parish beadle. " I don't think as I ever heard of that parish before," said Bones, with a rather foolish laugh. " But he has a settlement in St. Giles's parish — hasn't he, Mr. Weevil?" "There is no doubt of that, I think. He has lived in it several years, to my knowledge." " That is quite enough, Mr. Weevil — quite enough. Well, it is my duty to ask you, Rupert Nelson, whether you are willing to P 2 212 BIRCH DENE. be bound apprentice to Messrs. Benjamin and Robert Ruberry, cotton spinners, of Birch Dene, in the county of Lancaster, to be by them taught the trade and mystery of cotton spinning ? " "I am willing/' said Robin. " As you are a minor and chargeable on the parish, the parish has no call to ask if you are willing ; but as the overseers make it a rule never to apprentice a hinfant against its own wish or the wish of its parents, and as I understand you have neither kith nor kin " " What have the overseers to do with me, or I with them ? " asked Robin, warmly.. "Besides, I am not an infant. " " Allow me. I think I can explain the matter to this — this young gentleman's satis- faction, Mr. Bones," interposed the lawyer, with judicial ponderosity. " You are in a peculiar position, Mr. Nelson. Being a minor, you are incapable of contractiDg a legally binding engagement ; and, being an orphan, you have no parents to contract one for you. BOUND APPRENTICE. 213 In these circumstances, and as you have un- fortunately no visible means of subsistence, the parochial authorities of St. Giles's, where you have acquired a settlement, are em- powered by the law of the land to act on your behalf. They are in loco parentis, as we say." " I understand — in the place of parents." " Precisely. You know a little Latin, I see. Precisely. And as these Lancashire gentlemen, Messieurs Benjamin and Robert Ruberry, engage to teach you the art and mystery of spinning cotton, it is necessary for the parochial authorities to undertake, on your part, that you serve the Messieurs Ruberry well and faithfully according to the usual covenants. The authorities, as Mr. Bones just now truly observed, have no need to ask your consent ; but as they have no desire to assert their prerogative merely to do you a service, they have deputed the senior beadle to ask you formally whether you are willing to be apprenticed to these Lancashire gentlemen, and conform to the conditions 214 BIRCH DENE. which the parish may make on your behalf." "As I have already said, I am willing." " Will you be so good as to put that down on a piece of paper, Mr. Tokenhouse ? " asked the beadle. " The overseers are rather particular just now. Some people have actually been giving out as we send children off like slaves, without so much as telling 'em where they are going. Why, bless your life, they fairly clamour to go ! "We cannot keep 'em back." Mr. Tokenhouse wrote a few lines on a sheet of foolscap, and, after appending his signature, handed the document to Mr. Bones. It was to the effect that Eupert Nelson gave his consent to being apprenticed to Benjamin and Kobert Ruberry, according to the con- ditions set forth in the indentures, which had been read over to him. This was false, and if the indentures had been read over to him, it is quite certain that Eobin, being neither a simpleton nor a lunatic, would have refused point blank to accept the engagement BOUND APPRENTICE. 215 which the guardians and overseers of Holborn had contracted on his behalf. The indentures which bound him to serve Ruberry and Son until he was twenty-one years of age, for a remuneration of a shilling a week, and his board and lodgings, made him as much their chattel as if they had been West India planters and himself a negro slave. " When shall I have to start ? " he inquired, as Bones consigned the piece of paper to his pocket-book. " To-morrow morning, at six o'clock, you must be at the Elephant and Castle, King's- road, St. Pancras, with your goods and chattels," said the beadle. " The Elephant and Castle, in King's-road ! The Manchester coach does not start from the Elephant and Castle." Mr Bones gave a look of blank astonish- ment, and then, leaning back in his chair, burst into a laugh that raised a cloud of dust from the floor and brought down a shower of cobwebs from the ceiling;. " Coach — coach ! " he exclaimed. " Did 216 BIRCH DENE. anybody ever hear the like % What is the world a-coming to, I wonder ? He'll be wanting a chaise and pair all to himself next. You'll have to ride in a waggon, my young master — and be thankful for that." "It is very expensive inside the coach," put in Weevil, soothingly, and with a significant glance at the beadle — " very ex- pensive ; I could not afford it myself. And I would not on any account let you travel outside ; you might get your death of cold. But you will find yourself very comfortable in the fast waggon. It is drawn by six horses and covered over, and I will bespeak a good place for you, where you can sleep as well as in your own bed. It is not as if time was an object. You are in no hurry, and when I am not pressed for time, I always travel by waggon, or in a covered cart — if I don't walk. Those coaches £0 seven or eight miles an hour, and that's too fast for enjoyment, to say nothing of the danger." Kobin was bitterly disappointed, but seeing BOUND APPRENTICE. 217 that remonstrance would be useless, and remembering that be£2fars cannot be choosers, he held his tongue. The business being concluded, the beadle and the undertaker took formal leave of Mr. Tokenhouse, and when they were outside, the former invited the beadle to step into a neighbouring public and have a glass at his expense. Bones accepted the invitation with great alacrity, whereupon Weevil told Eobin he might go home, whither he would presently follow him. CHAPTEE XVII. ROGUES IN COUNCIL. " What will you take, Mr. Bones ? " asked Weevil, as they seated themselves in the bar- parlour of the King's Head. " Eum, with a squeeze of lemon in it, if you please, Mr. Weevil." "You couldn't have anything better. I'll do ditto. Two rums, if you please, miss." "How much am I in your debt for this business, Mr. Bones ? " continued the under- taker, when the rums had been brought and paid for. " Well, I have had a good deal of trouble one way and another. Would a one-pound note be too much ? " "I was thinking of ten shillings. You'll ROGUES IN COUNCIL. 219 get a fee from those Lancashire people, I suppose ? " " A trifle. But this is a special job, and requires nice management. This young spark isn't a common workhouse child, and I am not sure, if the overseers was to see him, as they'd let him go. They might think him big enough to shift for hisself — or, leastways, try to find him a place in London, and make inquiries as you mightn't like. No, Mr. Weevil ; a pound is the very least I deserve. It should be two by good right — and many a man would ask you five." " A pound let it be, then. Here it is " — handing him a note. " All the same, I think ten shillings You are quite sure, now, there's no chance of his getting back ? " "Not the least. I've known thousands go, but I've never known one come back. They takes care of that. Between you and me, most on 'em dies." " Oh, they die, do they ? " " Like flies. The masters works 'em to death. They find that pays best, I'm told, 220 BIRCH DENE. and they can have as many more as they want for the asking. Many a waggon-load of parish, apprentices I've sent off to Lancashire and Derbyshire ; and — you'd hardly believe it — but they're all delighted to go — thinks they'll be better off than they was in the workhouse, the fools ! Little they knows what is before 'em. I say, won't it be a heye-opener for that young spark when he gets to Birch Dene ! Eide in a coach, would he ? The only coach as ever he'll ride in will be the parish hearse." " But mightn't he run away on the road thither? That's what I'm afraid of. He's a lad of spirit, and if he got an inkling You understand." " He'll get no inkling. The other children knows nothing. They think they'll have plenty to eat and nothing to do. Lancashire is a sort of Promised Land for 'em, and nobody is fool enough to tell 'em different. And we must not let this Nelson know any different. Go with him to the Elephant and Castle to-morrow morning. Make much of ROGUES IN COUNCIL. 221 him, and give him good advice, and a trifle of pocket-money " " Money — money ! You talk as if I was made of money, Mr. Bones. Haven't I just given you a pound ? and there will be Tokenhouse's bill and the legacy duty, and I don't know what besides. I really couldn't afford it, Mr. Bones." "That is just as you like, Mr. Weevil. You asks my advice, and I gives it. Follow it or not, as you please ; only if you want the young chap to go and not come back " " How much do you think I should give him, Mr. Bones ? " groaned the undertaker. " What do you say to ten shillings, and a crown to the waggoner ? " " Fifteen shillings more ! Heaven help me ! But why a crown to the waggoner ? " " So as to get a good place for Nelson in the waggon ; and I will give the man a hint to treat him different from the others. He is proud — anybody can see that — and if he got it into his head as he was going to 222 BIPX'H DENE. be treated like a common parish apprentice, he might bolt off the course — don't you see ? " " Well, I suppose I must do it" — (sighing). "And if I could only feel sure that I shall never see or hear of him again — " "If he gets to Birch Dene — or any other cotton factory, for that matter — you never will hear of him again." " He might write." " Oh, he can write, can he ? That's bad." " Yes, he is well educated. He understood that Latin — in loco something." " So he did. That is worse. I could never see any good in education, except for gentle- folk, tradesmen, and parochial officers. As for the poor, education can only make them dissatisfied with their lot, and goes clean against Scripture and the Church catechism. But we have no such nonsense at the work- house. Nelson is the first apprentice I ever came across as could tell B from a bull's foot. I don't think, however, as he is likely to give you any trouble with writing letters. They'll keep his nose too close to the grind- ROGUES IN COUNCIL. 223 stone for that, and if he tries to run away he'll get locked up." Meantime, Robin, unapprehensive of evil, yet not altogether easy in his mind, was wending down familiar Holborn. Though at an age when care sits lightly, and troubles are soon forgotten, he could neither think of the past without regret nor of the future without misgiving. The beadle's manner made him doubt whether his prospects in Lancashire were nearly so bright as Weevil made out; and albeit he did not think as ill of him as Solomon Slow, he had a feeling that the man was not sincere, and a suspicion that, in sending him so far away, he might possibly have a purpose of his own to serve. What that purpose was did not, however, seem very clear ; and after long cogitation, and much halting between two opinions, Eobin came to the more charitable conclusion that Weevil, pitying his forlorn condition, and having regard to Mr. Bartlett's intention to make him his heir, really wanted to do him a good turn at a trifling expense. 224 BIRCH LENE. But what weighed most on Eobiu's mind, and made him really angry, was Weevil's meanness in sending him to Manchester in a waggon. As for the plea of poverty, and fear of his taking cold, that was all nonsense. Robin had heard that the undertaker was rich, and he knew from the books that Mr. Bartlett's stock and the monevs due to the estate amounted to two or three thousand pounds. Weevil could easily afford to pay his fare by coach, and Robin had looked forward to the ride with desire ; and he thought that travelling in a waggon, like a common workhouse apprentice, was a sort of degradation. For he never forgot that his father was an officer and a gentle- man. Yet he had undertaken to go, and go he would. Gentlemen always kept their word. Later in the day he called at the Slows to take leave of Solomon, but found, to his regret, that the shopman was gone to see an uncle at Croydon, and would not be back for several days. So it came to pass that neither of his KOGUES IN COUNCIL. 225 two friends (Mr. Chubb being the other) knew whither he was going. Rather to Robin's surprise, Mr. Brevier made him a handsome present for the help he had rendered in arranging the books and preparing the inventory. Weevil was also very kind, talked to him like a father, let him have an old valise of Mr. Bartlett's " to put his things in," and on the following morn- ing, as they were going to the Elephant and Castle, almost took the lad's breath away by giving him two crown pieces. "A little pocket money for you," he said. " You may want a shilling or two on the way, and I don't think the Messrs. Ruberry will be able to afford you much wage for a month or so. But don't waste it ; ten shillings is a deal of money, and should last you a long time. My uncle was very good to you. You are well set up with clothes. I wish I had such a wardrobe." Robin was quite touched. The undertaker could do a liberal thing, after all. How much he had mistaken the man ! VOL. I. Q 226 BIPvCH DENE. "Thank you, Mr. Weevil," he said. « I thank you with all my heart. I am quite rich now " — gleefully. " I never had so much money in my pocket before." "I dare say. Ten shillings is a large sum." " I have more than ten shillings. I have twenty" — jingling them' in his pocket. " But how — where ? I don't understand — " " Mr. Brevier gave me ten shillings yester- day for helping him with the books. Very kind of him, wasn't it ? " 1 'Very kind — quite princely — very kind indeed," stammered the undertaker, turning: paleJ " Don't you feel well, Mr. Weevil ? " asked Bobin. " You look as if you were in pain." " A slight spasm — nothing worth mention- ing, " answered Weevil, recovering his self- possession with an effort. He was agonized to think that he had thrown ten shillings away. Had he known that the Breviers would be so generous, he need not have parted with a penny. By ascribing their liberality to his influence, he might easily have got the ROGUES IN COUNCIL. 227 credit without incurring the outlay, and if he could have invented a plausible excuse, would have asked Robin to return him the two crowns which he had just given him. There was, however, still a possibility of saving five shillings ; he would tell Bones not to tip the waggoner. If there was anything more to be paid, the young jackanapes must pay it himself. " We must put the best foot foremost," he observed, " or we shall not be in time. It would never do to keep the waggon waiting, and I want to have a word with Mr. Bones before you set off." A few minutes later they were at the Ele- phant and Castle, where they found the beadle in full uniform, and smelling very strongly of rum. " How do you do, Mr. Weevil ? " he said. " I have just been taking a nip to keep out the morning air. The waggon is at the workhouse. It will be here in a few minutes. Won't you have a taste of some- thing ? " Q 2 228 BIRCH DENE. " A word with you, Mr. Bones " — drawing him aside. " About that crown " " For the waggoner ! Oh, it is all right. He has got it. He will let our young friend have a sleeping-place all to himself, and see as he doesn't make a bolt of it " " I didn't want you to give it him — I didn't want you to give it him," interrupted the undertaker with a suppressed groan of anguish. " It was unnecessary — quite unne- cessary. I shall be clean ruined. Couldn't you get it back, Mr. Bones ? I should be so much obliged if you would " — piteously. " Get it back ! I might as well try to get butter out of a clod's throat. What has made you change your mind so ? Yesterday you were all for preventing Nelson at any cost from suspecting what is before him, or guessing that you want to get rid of him." " Not at any cost, Mr. Bones — I did not say at any cost. I was willing to go as far as ten or fifteen shillings more — and that will make a total, one way and another, of seven pounds, not reckoning the valise I have given ROGUES IN COUNCIL. 229 him ; and that alone is worth three-and-six- pence of anybody's money. And I could have saved ten shillings. Just now, when I gave him two crowns, as you suggested yesterday, he told me that the Breviers — the people I have sold my uncle's business to — had also given him two crowns. I did not like asking him for it back, but he could easily afford to fee the waggoner himself. Are on you quite sure he wouldn't return it, Mr. Bones ? " " Well, you can ask him if you like, but I wouldn't advise you to ; and I'll be hanged if I will," said the beadle, with a laugh. He rather enjoyed Weevil's discomfiture, for misers are never popular, even with their parasites. " Besides, what difference does it make ? It is costing you no more than you calculated yesterday. The two crowns he got from the Breviers did not come out of your pocket." " It's the same thing. Money saved is money gained, and I might just as well have saved my ten shillings." " You've got up too soon, and are out of 230 BIRCH DENE. spirits — that's what it is. Come into the house and have a glass — at m) T expense." With this invitation Weevil, who made it a rule never to refuse a treat, promptly com- plied, and the two went together into the inn, leaving Kobin outside. CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ROAD. When Weevil and the beadle returned from taking their nips, the waggon, a ponderous affair, drawn by four horses, and covered with an awning, was at the inn door. It was in charge of two men, one of whom drove while the other slept. The forepart, save a small space in front, was filled with parcels and light goods ; the hind part with children, none of whom looked more than seven or eight years old. The only provision for their comfort w T as a quantity of clean straw, in which they sat and disported themselves, as it might seem, in very good spirits. They were pre- vented from falling out or running away by an iron gratiDg, which swung on hinges and fastened with a padlock. A couple of beadles, 232 BIRCH DENE. who closely resembled Bones, even to the big- ness of their noses, were looking on. They belonged to the workhouse of St. Pancras, hard by. " Here's the young spark as I was a-telling you about," said Bones to the driver on duty, by way of introducing Kobin. "You'll take care of him, won't vou ? " " Aw reyt," answered the man, Tim Slingsby by name, a burly Yorkshireman. " I'll see as he wants nowt. There's a warm nook for him i' t' front, where he can , lig all by hissen. But he'll pay his footing, willn't he ? If he doesn't, he'll ne'er get safe to t' far end." " Of course I will. What will you have ? ' : rejoined Kobin, who, with twenty shillings in his pocket, felt as if he had come into a small fortune. " A pint o' ale, with a sup o' rum in it, if yo' please, maaster." " And me too ! " exclaimed the other fellow, as he scrambled out of the wao-o-on, where he had been sleeping. " Me too ! " ON THE ROAD. 233 "Certainly;" and Robin led the way into the house. " May I come also, Mr. Nelson % " asked Bones, with a leer. " I should like to drink your health before we part — wish you good luck, you know." " If you please," said Robin, politely, though not very cordially ; and feeling that it would be both invidious and ungrateful to leave Weevil out in the cold, he asked the under- taker to bear them company. The two St. Pancras beadles, on a wink from Bones, followed without being invited, and one of Robin's crown pieces vanished almost as quickly as the ale and rum disappeared down Slingsby's throat. Bones, who always took kindly to bis liquor, became exceedingly merry ; and drop- ping his dignity and doffing his cocked hat, he danced a jig with one of his brother beadles, to the huge delight of the two waggoners. DO The undertaker, who had a weak head and an empty stomach, grew maudlin, and, after 234 BIRCH DENE. his second glass, protested, weeping, that he loved Kobin like the eye of his apple, and assured him that he would always find a warm enemy in Moses Weevil. Then, to the general surprise, he ordered more drink, and, when it was consumed, wanted to decide by tossing up with Bones which of them should pay the shot. Whereupon a wrangle and a row, in the midst of which Robin (who had been wise enough to drink nothing), not liking the turn things were taking, left the room, and went to the outer door to look at the waggon and get a breath of fresh air. The wag-aon was gone. The horses, tired on o ' of waiting, had taken French-leave, and were already half a mile away, going northward, at a slow and elephantine trot. Returning at once to the revellers, Robin gave the alarm ; whereupon the two drivers, gulping down their drink, hurried out of the inn, followed by the beadles and the under- taker. Robin made the running ; after him came the waggoners, neck-and-neck ; then Weevil, a bad fourth ; and close behind him ON THE ROAD. 235 the three beadles. They had not gone many yards when Weevil fell on his nose, tripping up Bones and his brethren, and the last Robin saw of them was a confused mass of men wrigoiinff on the ground. — the undertaker undermost — and making frantic efforts to get up. " By gum, if yon little chap isn't kilt, it caps me," said Slingsby. " I never see owt like it i' my life. But we've no time to stop and help 'em up. We mun catch them tits, drat 'em, or they'll be running o'er somebody, or into summat. Come on, lads ! " Robin was first at the waggon, and dashing; rather recklessly at the off-leader's head, he managed, at some risk to himself, to bring the team to a stand several minutes before the drivers came up. "That's a good job," gasped Tim, who, not being used to running — and carrying weight in the shape of a pair of tremendous boots — w T as a good deal blown. " I was feared as there'd be further trouble. You're a sharp young fellow, and I'm obleeged to yo'. Here's 236 BIECH DENE. my mate ; lie's waur blown than I am mysen. Get in, Matt, and let's be off. Willn't yo' get in too ? " — to Robin. " There's room for both on yo', and you'll find riding comfort- abler than walking. It is a snug little berth, where yo' can either lig or ston'." Partly out of curiosity, and partly to please Sliugsby, Eobin climbed up the side of the waowon after Matt. The " snus; little berth " was a narrow strip, as long as the wain was wide, between the forepart of it and a wall of packages which reached to the very top of the awning. There was just room for two men to lie down, and plenty of clean straw to lie on. Matt threw himself down without a word, and the next moment was snoring. Eobin preferred to stand up and look out. But the road being rough, and the waggon springless and heavy-laden, it jolted terribly, so that he had much ado to keep his feet, and an occasional muffled scream from the rear told him that the children w T ere having rather a bad time of it. The horses, having had their fling, settled down into the regulation ON THE ROAD. 237 walk of about two miles an hour, Tim keeping pace with them, now and again cracking his whip and shouting "Gee up!" by way of letting them know that he had his eye on them. Your northern driver, unlike him of the south, never says "Wo back!" It is always " Gee up ! " After this sort of thing had gone on some three hours, and the wain had trundled, per- haps, eight miles, it occurred to Slingsby that if his horses were at all like himself they must be very dry, and he pulled up at a roadside public-house to water — and beer. Robin profited by the opportunity to get out. " I am going to walk awhile, until we get to a smoother road," said Robin to Tim. " You'll have to walk a long way, then. Yo'd better get up ageean, I think, when you've helped me to watter th' bosses. Matt's asleep yet, I reckon." Matt was asleep — as it seemed, beyond the power of anything short of an earthquake or a thunderbolt to waken him. 238 BIRCH DENE. " I'll help you to water the horses with pleasure," answered Bobin, " but I shall not get up again just yet ; T prefer to walk." " And I'd liefer you didn't walk. Yo'd happen to be pykeing off." " Pykeing off ! What does that mean ? " " Cutting your stick — running away ; and if you did, I should get into a hobble. You're down i' my waybill, and I've to 'liver you up at t' far end." " Why should I run away ? I want to go to Birch Dene." " The hangment you do ! By gum, if yo' nobbut knowed. Howsomever " stopping short as if he were at a loss what to say. Eobin, ignorant of the man's lino-o, did not grasp the portentous significance of the expression, " if yo' nobbut knowed." " I shall walk," he said, resolutely. " Aw reyt, but promise as yo' willn't pyke off." " Certainly. I have not the least desire to pyke off, as you call it." "He looks like a lad as '11 keep his w T ord, ON THE ROAD. 239 but if he nobbut (only) knowed what was afore him, he'd be off, word or no word," muttered the driver. Eobin went round to inspect the children. They looked seedy and woebegone. The motion of the waggon had made some of them quite ill, and their hair and clothes were covered with bits of the straw in which they had rolled — at first in the gladness of their hearts, afterwards because they could not help it. Yet they were in the highest spirits, fully believing (as they had been told in the work- house) that they were going to a world of ha'pence, without kicks — an El-Dorado where they could work as little as they liked and eat as much as they choose. Three or four of the elder children were disputing which should first ride in their master's carriage. Eobin asked the wagoner to let the children out for a run on the common, hard by the inn. "Bithmon, they'll happen be running too far." " No, they won't. They are too anxious to get to Birch Dene." 240 BIRCH DENE. " Poor little devils ! — poor little devils ! Ay, let 'em have a run. Here's t' key. But you'll be answerable, now % " " Yes, I'll be answerable ; " and with that Robin opened the iron door, and let the captives go free. He went with them, and after a glorious scamper over the common, brought them back to the waggon, where they had a "putting on" of bread and cheese, washed down with water from the horse trough. Tim had been slaking his thirst with something a good deal stronger. " I'll tell you what, Nelson," he said in a rather thick voice, when they were once more under way, " I doan't think as I'll cart childer ony moor. It's second time, and it shall be t' last." " What for, Slingsby ? " "Well, when I seed 'em lakeing (playing) and shouting on t' common just now, and thought what they'll be like i' two or three months, it made me feel unfine." " Unfine ! Do you mean uncomfortable ? ' " Ay, uncomfortable." ON THE ROAD. 241 " Why should it make you feel uncomfort- able ? " " Well, I've childer of my own — two little wenches and a little lad. You'll find out one o' these days. You doan't come fra' t' work- house, I reckon ? " " Certainly not. I w^as never in a work- house in my life." " But you're a parish 'prentice 1 " "I am an orphan, and the parish of St. Giles apprenticed me — if that is what you mean." " And they towd you as you'd have fine times o'er yon, I reckon ? " "Mr. Weevil said I should learn cotton spinning, and be handsomely treated and well paid." " He did, did he ? Well, he deserves his neck wrinmno; — that's what he deserves. . . . However, there's no telling ; you happen will be handsomely treated — and you're not like them t'others ; you can tak' care of yersen. If they doan't treat you handsome, give 'em leg-bail ; and if onybody hits yo', hit um VOL. I. R 242 BIRCH DENE. • ageean. Punch their shins. Yo' look as if yo' could do a Lit o' fey ting." This was not very encouraging, but as Robin only half understood the man, and it was evident that he had taken more beer than was good for him, Slingsby's hints and warn- ings gave him little concern, and, not being repeated, they soon passed out of his mind. Six days were spent on the road. Every two hours there was a halt to water — every four or five a long stoppage to bait. At night they generally drew into some inn yard, the carters sleeping in a hay loft, and Eobin and the other apprentices in the waggon. The children, being nearly always confined in their cage, deteriorated both in health and spirits ; but Robin, who walked all day long, benefited greatly by the exercise and the open air, and was stronger at the end of the journey than he had been at the beoinning-. Their last halting-place was Stockport, whither they arrived on the evening of the fifth day, and where there befell an incident to which Robin attached much more import- ON THE ROAD. 243 ance than to Slingsby's only half-comprehended warnings. The horses had been unyoked, and he was talking to the children, all of whom he now knew by name, when two women with shawls over their heads came up. " Parish 'prentices going to a cotton fac- tory," said one. " Liker (more like) lambs being led to a slaughterhouse," said the other. " Why do you say that ? " asked Robin. " Are you one of 'em % " "I am an apprentice." "Well, then — but there's no use saying aught. Yo'll learn soon enough. And you are tall and strong. You can fend for your- self. But these poor little things Stand up for 'em whenever you've a chance. They're all somebody's childer, and God is good to them as is good to little childer." " I don't understand. I wish you would tell me what you mean," said Robin earnestly. " You will know soon enough," repeated the woman, " and when you do, think of my words. Good-neet to you." R 2 244 BIRCH DEXE. He was thinking of them already ; they had sunk deep into his mind, and he was on the point of again asking her to be more ex- plicit, when Tim called him to supper. The waggoner had decided to stay all night where they were, and go on to Manchester next morning. CHAPTER XIX. A NEW FRIEND. " These are urn, Mester Kuberry," said Tim, pointing to the children, who lay huddled up among the straw. " Ger aat — here's your maaster ! " " These are um, are they ? How many ? " " Nine lads and four wenches." " A baker's dozen. One, two, three, four Right you are, Slingsby. Got a de- livery note ? " Bob went to his cart-box, took from it a tin case, and fiom the tin case drew a wafer- fastened letter, which he silently handed to Mr. Ruberry, who straightway opened it. " Thirteen ! " exclaimed Mr. Ruberry, look- ing up from the letter of advice. "But there 246 BIRCH DEXE. should be fourteen according to this. I hope you haven't let one of 'em slip off, Slingsby." "Oh, ay — there is another. I'd clevn for- getten he wor one on urn. He's a young raon, No. 14 is. I'll fot him. Nelson !" Eobin, who was in the stable helping Matt to feed the horses, answered promptly to the call. Master and apprentice exchanged a stare of surprise, for neither was what the other had expected. Benjamin Ruberry was a middle-sized, broadset man, with light-blue eyes under bushy brows, a crooked nose, slightly redder than the rest of his ruddy countenance, fat cheeks, mutton-chop whiskers, and hair turning gray. As touching age, he was probably between fifty and sixty, and, as Eobin thought, he looked much more like a country gentleman or prosperous farmer than a manufacturer. Mr. Ruberry wore a pair of top-boots, spurs, cord breeches, a green coat with brass buttons, a canary-coloured waistcoat, and a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, set a little on one side. A NEW FRIEND. 247 This was not, as may be supposed, a hunting or masquerade dress. It was the costume in which Mr. Buberry invariably went to market, and generally (barring the spurs) to church. "So this is No. 14, is it?" he said, with a dissatisfied look. " You'll be bringing old fellows next." "I've nowt to do wi' it. I only brings them as I receives," answered Bob, sharpty. " I know T that, and I am not blamino- you , Slingsby. But we gave strict orders to send none above ten, at the outside. My brother would rather have 'em at six and seven, as we used to have ; and if the age had not been raised by this new r law to nine, we'd have none else. How old are you ? " — to Robin. " Eighteen." " Four years older than your number — and that's four too many. They must ha' wanted to oret rid of vou base ill. Have vou ever been locked up ? " " Never " — impetuously, and reddening with indignation. 248 BIRCH DENE. "Well, well — you needn't get in a passion about it ! I thought you happen might ha' been. Why didn't they 'prentice you in London, I wonder ? However, we shall have to learn you to addle your own porridge, I suppose, and the sooner you do the better my brother will be pleased ; and he isn't a man to be trifled with." The London-bred lad had only a very vague idea of what " addling " his own porridge might mean ; but he guessed, from Mr. Ruberry's manner, that it was something not very pleasant, and he had a foreboding that he and his new master would not be the best of friends. He was so very unlike Mr. Bartlett. " I think you and me had better settle up, Slingsby," said Mr. Ruberry, turning to the waggoner. " Come into the bar-parlour. Gib Riding will be here directly for these children." Tim responded to the invitation with a " Thank you kindly, Mr. Ruberry," and a broad grin. He knew that in addition to A NEW FlilEND. 249 receiving money, "settling up" meant supping something warm with a spoon in it.- He had arrived in Manchester an hour before, and put up at an ancient hostelry in Hanging Ditch, where Mr. Ruberry (having been ap- prised betimes of his departure from London) had found him and claimed his property, for except that he could not sell them, the ap- prentices were as much his own as if he had bought them at a price. Mr. Ruberry and Tim made rather a long stay in the bar-parlour, and, had it not been for the arrival of Gib Riding, would probably have made a night of it. "You are Gib Riding, and that's Mr. Ruberry 's cart," said Robin, as the vehicle in question came into the inn yard. " How the hangment do you know that ? " exclaimed the astonished carter, a freckled, red-haired fellow, with a smock-frock, a hair- skin cap, fustian smalls, and iron-shod clogs. " And how the hangment do you know me ? " " I can read," — looking at the si^n-board — " and I heard you were coming." 250 BIRCH DENE. "Ob, that's it, is it? "Well, as you knowen so much, you can happen tell me wheer owd Ben is." " Do you mean Mr. Ruberry ? " "I do." "He is in the bar-parlour with Slingsby. Shall I tell him you want him ? " " Nay, nay, lad — I'll go mysel'. I know th' road. Will yo' just keep a heye on this tit a minute or two ? " The bar-parlour was suggestive of a drink, and Gib thought it very likely that somebody would " stand treat." In this expectation he was not disappointed. His master stood a pint of ale and Slingsby a noggin of rum, and Gib presently came back very red in the face, and wiping his mouth with his smock sleeve. " They'll be here in a minute," he said ; ger in wi yo . Robin, guessing that this meant " get in," helped the children to mount the cart, which was provided with boarded seats. Then he threw in their poor little bundles and his own valise. A NEW FRIEND. 251 "Naa, ger in yersel'," added Gib, as he took the rope reins, and, putting a foot on the spoke of one of the wheels, climbed to the front of the cart. Robin did as he was told. The cart would be pleasanter than the waggon, and he was tired with his long walk from London. As they were setting off, Mr. Ruberry and Tim appeared on the scene, both looking rather flushed. " I shall be seeing you on th' road, Gib. Be sure, now, you don't sup any more," said Mr. Ruberry. " I cannot, mayster. I've getten no brass — not th' price of a stonning gill." (A "standing gill" cost a penny, a "sitting gill" three-halfpence.) " So much the better. And see as you take care of that cowt, or he'll be running away with you." " Never yo' fear, mayster. Th' cowt '11 moan tak' boggart wi' me." (Take fright and bolt.) " Are yo' aw reyt, childer ? Gee up, Piper ! " 252 BIFX'H DENE. Kobin and the others were not much im- pressed with the bigness of Manchester. As compared with London, it was little more than a large village ; but the country outside was among the fairest they had yet seen. It was richly wooded, interspersed with pleasant gar- dens, sparkling meads, and waving cornfields, with here and there an ancient timbered man- sion and quaint farmhouse. The road bordered the Irk, a crystal stream flowing between verdant banks. Then by Harpurhey and Blackley, and past Heaton Park, with its noble forest trees and wide stretches of turf, as yet innocent of soot and unpolluted by smoke. After they had gone about a mile, Robin inquired how far it might be to their destination. " Nearly ten mile fro' th' start. Th' cowt's a o;oodish walker. We'se do it under three hours, I reckon," was the answer. When they had done two- thirds of the distance, and were nearing the Three Fiddlers, a pleasant-looking, whitewashed inn, with A NEW FRIEND. 253 dormer windows, a thatched roof, and a porch overgrown with greenery, Gib asked Robin whether he happened to have such a thing as a shilling about him ; whereupon the lad, who was nothing if not truthful, admitted, albeit rather reluctantly, that he did happen to have in his possession a coin of the denomin- ation in question. "I wish yo'd len' it me. I'll giv' it yo' back next pay-day — I will as sure as God's i' heaven. I'm that dry I hardly know how to bide." Robin forked out the shilling with a rueful face, and a painful consciousness that his once unlimited wealth was becoming small by degrees and beautifully less. " I'll not be a minute. How'd th' reins till I come back," said Gib, pulling up at the inn door, and dismounting from his perch. Instead of a minute, he stayed a good half- hour, and when he reappeared his eyes were watery and his legs unsteady. Twice he tried to mount the cart, and twice ignomini- ously failed. As he tried a third time, putting 254 birch dexp:. his foot on a spoke as usual, the horse moved, and Gib fell on his back, carrying with him the reins, which he had seized in a desperate effort to save himself, and cursing both loud and deep ; whereupon Piper, either shocked by his master's profanity, or startled by his fall, set off, full tilt, down the hill, and the next moment was hidden from view by a bend in the road. AVith some difficulty Gib scrambled to his feet, and after steadying himself and staring round, started, as he thought, in hot pursuit ; but owing to a slight confusion of ideas and an obliquity of vision, which, in the circum- stances, were natural, if not pardonable, he unfortunately ivent the wrong way. Meantime Mr. Kuberry was jogging soberly (though perhaps not quite sober) homeward on his sorrel nag — a roadster of the old- fashioned sort, equally at home in harness or saddle. Hard by Heaton Park he was over- taken by another horseman, mounted on a powerful and nearly thoroughbred bay gelding with black points. The new-comer was a A XEW FRIEND. 255 tall man, with a brown face and light, closely- cut hair. "Whiskers he had none/ but he wore a moustache — an adornment only affected in those days by gentlemen who actually bore the king's commission, or had served in the army. His costume was not unlike Mr. Bilberry's, but his coat and other garments were of finer quality and better fit. He was particularly well booted and gloved, and the pose of his hat (of the latest fashion) showed that though no longer young, the wearer was still somewhat of a dandy. " Good day, major ! " said Ruberry, respect- fully touching his hat. " I hope I see you well, sir ? " " Quite well, I thank you, Mr. Ruberry. It would be almost superfluous to ask how you are " — smiling. Seeing that Ruberry 's face was red and his voice thick, this might have been con- sidered a rather doubtful compliment ; but he took it quite seriously. "Well, my health keeps very good, if that is what you mean, major. I don't know 256 BIRCH DENE. as I ever felt much better, bad as times are. "Times bad! Why, God bless me, I thought you cotton men were making money, hand over fist ! " " You are quite mistaken " — eagerly. " You were never more mistaken in your life. Things are not as they have been. Yarn has dropped and raw cotton gone up, and we cannot see more than sixpence a pound clear profit on thirty- twos twist ; and when you take into account risk of bad debts, troubles w r ith the hands, anxiety of mind, and one thing and another, sixpence a pound is really nothing at all. As my brother says, you might almost call it a loss." It was the fashion seventy years ago for tradesmen to protest, in season and out of season, that times were bad, and Robert Euberry being as much a farmer as a manu- facturer, grumbling came natural to him. " But if yarn is down corn is up, and you will have it that way," said the major. " You are equal to either fortune, Ruberry." A NEW FKIEND. 257 " Nay, nay, I haven't made my. fortune yet, major — at any rate, not much of one ; though I will not deny as we have a good deal to be thankful for. It's such like as you as is fortunate — rent rolling in regular, and land increasing in value, while you lie abed sleeping." " But you get it every way, Kuberry. You are landlord, cotton lord, and farmer all rolled into one. I'm content to be a landlord." " Landlord ! Call me a landlord ! Why, we've only about three hundred acres, and you've four or five thousand, if not more, and no bad debts to fear nor hands to contend with." " Oh, I'm not complaining. Life is just a little tame down here, it is true ; but it's better than being in a French prison " " Hallo ! I'll be hanged if that isn't Gib Riding. What is he up to, I wonder ? " "Who is Gib Riding?" "My carter. Where are you going, Gib ? " " Piper has run away, and I'm after him," said the carter, stopping in full career. vol. i. s 258 BIRCH DENE. " But he has not run away this way, you fool. If he had, we should have met him. Which way did he go ? " "To'ard hoam." " But this is not the way to'ard home. It's the way to'ard Manchester." " Bithmon, and so it is!" exclaimed Gib, looking round in grotesque bewilderment. " I've been running back'erd road." "Why, you're as drunk as a fiddler's sow ! Who has been treating you?" " Nobody. I borrowed a shilling fro' that young mon, Nelson. But I'll pay him back out o' my next wage — I will, as true as I'm not drunk. I hope as noan on' em'll get killed." " Get killed ! Who do you mean ? What is it all about, Ruberry ? ' asked Major Dene. " Why, the goamless beggar has let his horse run away, and the cart's full of chikler — 'prentices from London." " God bless me ! Let us ride on and overtake them, before worse befall." A NEW FPJEND. 259 With that, Major Dene touched his horse with the spur, and went off at a gallop, followed by Ruberry, at a fourteen -mile-an- hour trot. When Piper set off, Robin found himself in a rather awkward fix. As the reins had fallen under the horse's feet and got cut to pieces, stopping him was out of the question ; and he went at such a pace that to slip out behind and run to his head (as Robin once thought of doing) would have been highly dangerous and probably unavailing. The children, who had been thrown from their seats, were half frightened to death, and screaming wildly. And there was cause for fear. Piper's course was most erratic. Now on one side of the road, now on the other, bounced the cart ; once on the footpath, with a wheel in the air, several times nearly in the ditch ; and it soon became evident that unless something were done, and that quickly, an upset or a collision, probably attended with fatal results, was merely a question of a few minutes. S 2 260 BIRCH DENE. But what could be done ? " I have it ! " shouts Eobin ; and the next moment he is on the horse's back, his feet on the shafts, and holding on by the crupper. Then he scrambles over the saddle, and, reaching over and seizing the bridle with both hands, pulls with all his might. Piper shakes his head, and at first takes no heed, but yielding at length to the steady pressure, he gradually slackens his gallop into a trot ; the trot next becomes a walk, and the danger is past. "Well done, boy — very well done, indeed ! You have shown both pluck and presence of mind. But do you know that you risked your life ? " I never thought of that, sir," said Eobin, simply, looking up at Major Dene, who had overtaken him just in time to be of no use. " You did, though. If you had fallen — and I don't know how you managed to get to the horse's head without falling — vou w r ould either have been trampled on or run A NEW FRIEND. 261 over. But it is sometimes a man's duty to risk, and even deliberately sacrifice, his life in the cause of duty or honour ; and you certainly saved the lives and limbs of some of these children." " It's all right " — to Ruberry, who had just come up. " No bones broken, and, so far as I can see, the horse is none the worse — for which you must thank this youngster. He did a very plucky thing — got on the horse's back and pulled him up — as I told him just now, at the risk of his life." " As you say, major, a plucky thing, and I am obliged to him. All the same, as it was partly his fault " " His fault ! What do you mean ? " "He gave Gib a shilling, and Gib got drunk with it " " He asked me to lend him a shilling, and I did not like to refuse," said Robin, redden- ing. "How could I know he would get drunk and fall off the cart ? " " A fault on the side of generosity, if it be a fault," rejoined the major. " If anybody is 262 BIRCH DENE. to blame, it is rather those who trust children to drunken carters — and set them such a nice example," he added, in an undertone. "Well, you are happen right," answered Kuberry, with a forced laugh. " But what can you do ? They are all alike. We haven't a chap about us as doesn't sup whenever he has a chance. There's worse than Gib. If you'll go quiet]y on, Nelson, I'll just go back a bit and see what has become of him." Major Dene remained with the cart. " So your name is Nelson ? " he observed, interrogatively to Eobin, as Euberry rode off. " Yes, sir." " You come from London, I suppose ? " •''Yes, sir." " But these are workhouse children, aren't they ? " "They are: but I am not a workhouse child." " How do you happen to be here, then ? " "Mr. Weevil got me taken as an apprentice to learn cotton spinning. After Mr. Bartlett's death I had to get my own living — there A NEW FRIEND. 263 seemed no other way — and Weevil said I could not learn anything better, and that I should make my fortune." " But your parents ? " " I have no parents." " Poor boy ! Mr. Bartlett was probably a relative ? " "No, sir — only my dear friend and bene- factor. But he was everything to me, sir," said Bobin, as a tear rolled down his cheek. " And the other gentleman you men- tioned " " Weevil." " Mr. Weevil — was he also a benefactor ? " " He is Mr. Bartlett's nephew and heir, and got me a place as apprentice." "Turned you adrift — eh? Inherited his uncle's money, but not his benevolence. Have you been at school ? " " Yes, sir ; I was three years at Chigwell Grammar School. I had also lessons from Mr. Bartlett." " Excuse my asking so many questions ; but boys, especially when they are plucky, 2G4 BIRCH DENE. always interest me. Look here ! I have no desire to interfere between you and the Kuberrys ; but if anything — if you should not be happy with them, or any of the people don't — if they use you ill, come to me — Major Dene, of Birch Dene Hall. Any- body will tell you where it is ; the lodge gates are only about two miles from Mr. Kuberry's factory. You won't forget now. And, see, take this " — offering him a guinea — " as a reward for the courage you showed in stopping that runaway horse." The guinea would have been very accept- able — the lad's store had waned woefully since he left London — but it seemed to him that, if he took it, he would suffer both in Major Dene's estimation and his own self-respect. "You are very good, sir," he answered, after a moment's hesitation, "but you said just now that it was sometimes a man's duty to risk his life in the cause of honour or humanity, and it does not seem right to take money for performing a simple act of duty." A NEW FRIEND. 265 " A simple act of duty ! However, you are perhaps right. I should have offered you the guinea as a tip, not as a reward. No boy in his senses ever refuses a tip. I shall know better next time. Don't forget what I said ; we shall meet again. Good- bye." CHAPTER XX. THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. Major Dene had not been gone many minutes when Mr. Euberry returned from his quest. " Gib's yon," he said. " Where ? " asked Eobin, staring up the road. " Nay, it's no use looking ; you'll not see him. He's in th' dyke bottom." " In th' dyke bottom ! Shall we go back and put him into the cart ? " " Nay, nay. Let him lie where he is till he's slept himself sober. Can you drive Piper ? We are not much above a mile from home now." Eobin answered in the affirmative, and the journey was resumed. THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 267 " There, that's it ! " exclaimed Mr. Ruberry, reining in his horse after they had gone a little further. " Birch Dene factory and village, and it all belongs to me and my brother." " Birch Dene ! And that is Birch Dene," said Robin, in a voice expressive rather of disappointment than admiration or surprise. He had lived too long in London to be greatly impressed by the sight of a cotton factory and a few cottages. " I thought it was a large place." " It is a large place. There is not two bigger concerns between here and Manchester. We run fifty thousand spindles, and farm three hundred acres of land, to say nowt of a thousand weavers as we keep going, here and elsewhere," answered Ruberry, with some heat ; for though it suited his purpose to sing small to Major Dene, he was proud of his property and his wealth, and it went against the grain to hear them belittled by a work- house apprentice. " Fifty thousand ! That seems a great number; but I don't know anything about 268 BIRCH DENE. spindles," returned Bobin, who saw that he had unwittingly given offence. " You soon will, though. Ay, that is Birch Dene, and it's worth a hundred thousand pounds of anybody's money, little as you think it looks, my lad." A somewhat confused mass of white build- ings of various heights and dimensions, lying in a hollow, and partly enclosed by a wall, with a gateway and a lodge, looking rather as if they had been thrown together hap- hazard than scientifically planned ; neverthe- less, far more picturesque than the " modern mill," by which they have been succeeded. Close to the factory, and parallel with the road, was a long row of straggling cottages — ' O (DID O O some one-storied, whitewashed, and thatched ; others of red brick, roofed with gray slate ; and all the windows were glazed, with dia- mond-shaped panes. Hardly any two of the cottages were alike, either in appearance or size. Like the factory itself, they had evi- dently been put up at various times, and without the least regard to unity of design. THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 269 On the brow of a hill at the opposite side of the road, and some distance from it, could be seen a nondescript sort of house which looked like an old-fashioned homestead, veneered with the stuccoed front of a genteel mansion of the period. It was approached by an avenue of beech trees, and flanked on one side by a large garden ; on the other by a farmstead, filled with stacks of hay and corn. This was the ancestral home of the Kuberrys, and the oldest gaffer in the town- ship could not tell of a time when Oaken Cleugh was not owned and occupied by one of the name. The country round about, though it lacked the soft grace of southern landscapes, was destitute neither of beauty nor character. The valleys (now denuded to their last tree) were well wooded ; merry rundles murmured their way through tangled doughs ; the meadows and cornfields were interspersed with patches of brown heath and yellow gorse, and overshadowed by sweeps of wild moorland, still sacred to blackcock and grouse. 270 BIRCH DENE. As yet, long chimneys were few and far between. Day was not disfigured with pillars of smoke, neither were the fruits of the earth and the leaves of the trees coated with soot, nor the flowing waters fouled with refuse. Now the once fair landscape is scarred with coal pits, and made hideous by the print shops, gas works, factories, and other buildings of ugliness unspeakable, which cover the land as the waters of the delude once covered the face of the earth. But there is never an evil without a good, and albeit since that not very distant time, which we call the dawn of the century, the landscape about Birch Dene, and many other places, has been bereft of its pristine love- liness, men have improved and humanity has gained. If the age be more practical and less picturesque, it is also less discontented and more comfortable. Robin, as the reader is aware, saw nothing extraordinary in the place. It was neither particularly big nor supremely beautiful, but THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 271 when Mr. Kuberry observed that it was worth a hundred thousand pounds, he thought it was a very fine thing to be a cotton spinner, and, with his usual outspokenness, said so. Mr. Kuberry seemed pleased. " Well, it isn't so bad," he remarked, com- placently. " Better than being a parish apprentice — eh ? But there is no telling. Many a one has made a fortune with no better a start than you. You are at the bottom of the ladder now. You'll happen get to the top before you've done, and if you do, take care you stop there. It is easier to fall than to rise. Here we are. Stop him ! AYo-oh, Piper ! Hello, Betty, are you there ? " They were before a house with a stone porch, near the factory gates, which looked like three or four large cottages converted into a single dwelling. In answer to Mr. Euberry's call, there came to the door a tall, gaunt old woman, wearing a print bed-gown, a red petticoat, a 272 BIRCH DENE. cap that ought to have been white, but was not, and a pair of iron-soled clogs. " Oh, you've brought 'em, have you ? " she cried, in a shrill voice. " Ay, here they are — a baker's dozen on 'em, and one over. Where's Dick ? " " I'm here, mayster. "What wanten yo' ? " answered a gruff voice from the house ; and a man, taller, older, and more gaunt than the woman, yet hale and hearty withal, came to the threshold. " Take Piper round to the stable, Dick. I left Gib i' th' dyke bottom a bit this side of the Fiddlers." Dick silently did as he was bidden. In the meantime the little waifs, with Eobin's help, had dismounted from the cart, and stood, each carrying a bundle, before the apprentice house. " Come on and have summat to ate," said Betty, roughly, yet not unkindly. " You look as if you wanted it." On this all filed into the house, followed by Robin. Passing through the porch, they THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 273 found themselves in a large, low room, fur- nished with narrow deal tables and wooden benches. At one end of the room was a wide, open fireplace, and over the fire hung a huge pan, from which rose a cloud of steam. After making the girls seat themselves at one table and the boys at another, Betty placed fourteen bowls on a stand near the fireplace, and, taking a ladle, half filled them with boiling porridge from the pan. Then she poured into each of the bowls a little blue milk, and with a large whittle, cut from a huge and not very inviting loaf, compounded of rye and coarse flour, fourteen chunks of bread. " Here, you two, fot 'em and sarve t'others ! " she said, pointing with her whittle to the boys' table. Though Betty's words were almost Greek to the Cockney children, there was no mistaking the gesture by which they were accompanied — she was evidently a woman who meant to be obeyed — and the two whom she had indi- cated hastened to do as they were told. VOL. I. i 274 BIKCH DENE. The children were hungry, and hunger is an excellent sauce ; and, as everybody knows, oatmeal porridge is highly nutritious food. Unfortunately, however, everybody does not like porridge — especially with blue and rather sour milk. It was rather different from the plum-pudding with which the poor little wretches had expected to be regaled. No wonder that some of them smelt at the mess before tasting it, and, when they did taste it, pulled wry faces and laid clown their spoons, with looks of disgust and despair. They had been better fed at the workhouse. " What ! — you don't like my porridge ? M exclaimed the old woman, with a sneer. " It's alius so wi' you Londoners ; you know not what's good for you. But wait a bit. You'll be fain to get 'em afore you've been here a week ; and I can tell you one thing, you'll get nowt else — less it be potatoes and point." " Potatoes " the children understood, but the " point " passed their comprehension. THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 275 They were soon enlightened ; it meant a modicum of salt — or Done at all, according to circumstances, the mineral being so dear that poor people had often to content them- selves with pointing at the empty salt-cellar. Hence the expression — "Potatoes and point." The children were still lino-erin^ over the repast — many of them, after the first plunge (of their spoons), found the porridge not un- palatable, and decidedly filling — when a bell rung, — a signal that was followed at a short interval by the inrush of a horde of appren- tices from the factory, ravenous for their supper. Among them were children and young people of both sexes and all ages, from nine to nineteen. Most of the boys had nothing on but trousers, shining with grease, and coarse, blue shirts, open at the neck. Their hair was tangled, unkempt, and powdered with cotton fluff; several had black eyes, others ugly wounds on their heads, and fingers bound with blood-stained rags. The girls, like the boys, were bare-footed and bare- headed. Their hair was pinned up ; very T 2 276 BIRCH DENE. few wore either boddice or gown, only a single under petticoat, and over that a " bishop " or " brat " (a long apron reach- ing from the neck to the heels). Compared with this lean, sallow, half-naked crew, redolent of factory grease, the newly-arrived Londoners looked like so many ladies and gentlemen. As they came into the house, some of the old apprentices glanced curiously at the strangers, but most of them were too intent on feeding to think of aught else. Some took bowls to old Betty and had them filled with porridge ; others went to a hatch door open- ing into the kitchen, and clamoured for pota- toes, which the girls received in their filthy aprons, and the boys into the forepart of their equally filthy shirts. Then, scampering to their places, they tumbled the potatoes on the bare table and devoured them with infinite relish. Still unsatisfied, the hungry crew next turned their attention to the new-comers, and, seeing; that the latter had not consumed THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 277 the whole of their rations, gobbled up in a twinkling all that remained, and shouted for more. The thirteen unfortunates from St. Pancras were speechless with dismay, as well they might be. Robin began to think that he had been suddenly transported to the nether regions ; and of a surety it was a strange, uncanny scene. Night had set in. Old Betty in her red bed-gown, standing near the blazing fire, gesticulating fiercely with her porridge-ladle in a vain attempt to restore order, looked for all the world like a witch performing some unholy rite ; half-naked impish lads were gambolling on the benches and racing round the room, smoe tearing each other's hair and punching each other's heads ; a group of girls, who had fallen out, swearing like bargees. The noise was deafening, and only when it lulled could Betty's voice be heard above the din, scolding and expostulating. Robin was wondering how the row would end, when the door opened, and a tall figure quietly 278 BIRCH DENE. entered the room. It was Dick, with a horsewhip. " Silence ! Be quiet, you little devils ! Silence, or, bithmon, I'll flay you alive ! " he shouted, in a stentorian voice ; and seizing by the waistband of his trousers one of a group of lads who were fighting on the floor, he gave him half a dozen cuts of the whip, which produced howls of anguish from the victim, and frightened all the others into instant silence. " Get away to bed ! Get away to bed, every one on you ! " he cried, shaking the whip over their heads, and letting it occasion- ally descend on their backs. The terrified wretches obeyed without a murmur, tumbling over each other in their efforts to get out of his way. In two minutes they were gone — all save the new-comers, who had been silent, yet deeply interested, witnesses of the incident. " You'd better go too," he said. " Come on, lads ; I'll show you th' road. Betty, thee take th' lasses. Give me a candle." THE APPRENTICE HOUSE. 279 Robin rather resented being ordered off in this peremptory fashion ; but as he felt tired, and refusal to obey would have involved spending the evening with Dick and Betty, he followed the others. CHAPTER XXI. ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. The room into which the old man led the children was a garret on the second floor, running the whole length of the building — a long;, low, cheerless-looking room, with bare rafters and barred windows, .plunged in a funereal gloom, which the tallow candle carried by Dick served rather to intensify than relieve. The sleeping places were narrow cribs, built in a double tier all round the chamber, like bunks in a ship's cabin. The apprentices, with grim humour, dubbed them coffins — probably because many of their occupants had been taken thence to their long home. The smaller lads slept two in a bed, but Robin, being considered an oldster, got one all to ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 281 himself. It was just under a beam, whereon he placed his valise and his clothes, for the room contained neither chair, bench, nor table. While the boys were undressing, Dick walked about, shaking his whip and threaten- ing what he would do if they did not keep quiet and look sharp. After telling the new-comers — to whom he showed more in- dulgence than to the others — where they were to sleep, and seeing that they went to bed, he bade them a gruff " good-neet " and went his way. As Robin crept between the sheets he heard Dick double bolt the door, and then he knew that he was a prisoner for the night. The oily stench of the bed-clothes, which had ap- parently not been changed or cleansed since they were last used, nearly turned his stomach. He was already sick at heart and wild with rage at the deception which he now knew, beyond a doubt, had been practised on him, and was mentally anathematizing Moses Weevil, and revolving in his mind projects of escape and revenge, when his musings were 282 BIRCH DEXE. interrupted by a whisper from the other side of the board which separated him from the next bunk. " Are you asleep ? " asked the whisperer. " Not yet — not by a long way. I cannot sleep." " I dare say ; none of 'em sleep much for a night or two. There's one down below — in the next coffin but one — a little lad with a fresh complexion and curly hair, that's sobbing as if his heart would break. Don't you hear him ? " " Poor Harney ! Poor little chap ! I was thinking so much of my own misfortune that I forgot there were others as badly off as myself." " Harney, is his name ? What's yours, if I might make so bold ? " " Nelson. And yours ? " " Blincoe ; but they generally call me ' Parson.' " " Why do they call you Parson ? " " I can hardly tell. Perhaps because when I came at first I said my prayers sometimes. ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 283 But they give everybody a nickname. They'll give you one." " I wonder what it will be ? You are from London, I suppose ? ' ; "Yes, I was apprenticed by the overseers of St. Pancras, like a good many others. Lancashire folks won't apprentice their children." " How is that ? " " They know better. Apprentices are so hard wrought and ill-used. I was at another place before I came here — I'm what they call a turnover — it was hell, Nelson. We hadn't half enough to eat, and were a'most kicked and cuffed to death. I hadn't a sound spot on my body. Many did die. I saw one child killed " — lowering his voice. " A spinner knocked him down with a clearer (wooden roller), and he fell with his head ou the corner of a carriage rail. He never spoke again, poor little thing ! " " But that was murder ! " exclaimed Bobin, horror-stricken. " Wasn't the spinner hanged ? " 284 BIRCH DENE. " Hanged ! Not he. It was given out as the child died in a fit, and none of us durst say owt different. But it isn't as bad as that here. We mostly get enough grub ; and if they put you with a good spinner, you haven't so much to fear. They don't knock big 'uns about as they do little 'uns." " I'm not afraid," said Robin, stoutly. " I am not a common apprentice. I've come to learn the business." Blincoe laughed bitterly. " They told you that, did they ? " he said. " It's exactly what they told me, and I'm an apprentice all the same, and treated like one, and shall be till I am twenty-one." " Why don't you run away ? I know I " " Hush ! Not so loud ! " whispered Blincoe, in alarm. " If anybody hears you we shall get into a hobble. Some of them are arrant tell-tales, and will do anything to curry favour with the manager and overlookers. It's all very fine to talk about cutting. It isn't as easy as it looks by a long way. There's always ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 285 somebody on the watch, and you re no sooner missed than you are followed. I've tried it twice, and I got caught both times, and it was worse for me afterwards." " How ? Did they punish you ? " "Didn't they just? Tied me up by the hands and flogged me till I fainted. But it brought them no luck" — (savagely). "Not long after, Lowdham mill — that's where I was working — was burnt down, and they said one of the apprentices set it on fire. Anyhow, the masters were ruined, and I got turned over to B. and R. Ruberry. No, Nelson, it isn't a bit of use running away, unless you have got money and decent clothes. You cannot get a shop anywhere else without telling where you wrought last, so there's owt for it but either to beg or steal, and the first constable you see will lag you. The township gives 'em a reward of ten shillings for every tramp or vagabond they lag, and the masters give 'em as much more and all expenses for every apprentice they bring back. It is best to grin and abide." 286 BIRCH DENE. " Not at all ! I won't ! " said Robin, hotly. "You could save money out of your wagre." " I dare say ! How much can a chap save out of a shilling a week, do you think, and find his own shoes and stockings, and pay fines — and there's never a week without one L . " A shilling a week ! Is that all you get ? " "Ay, and it's all you'll get till you are twenty-one. But you've maybe some money with you ? " " A little ; only a few shillings," answered Robin, with a sigh, as he thought how wofully his store had diminished since he left London. " Lucky for you ! I wish I had one shilling. I'm going asleep now, Nelson ; and I'd advise you to do the same. Old Dick wakens us at five, and he makes us get up too." A few minutes later Blincoe's heavy breath- ing showed that he slept. But Robin found it impossible to follow his neighbour's example. ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 287 His mind was too full — Lis Leart too heavy. Blincoe Lad given tLe deatL-blow to tLe last of Lis illusions. TLree years at a sliilling a week ! TLree years of slavery in a pigstye, and Le tLe son of an officer and a gentleman ! If Le Lad only Moses Weevil by tLe tLroat ! Better far to Lave stopped in London, and taken Lis cLance tliere. He boiled over witL impotent rage ; and tLen Lis mood cLanged. He tLougLt of Lis motLer and wept, and murmured a prayer — first to God, afterwards to Ler, as Le Lad done in tLe hospital, where he had often felt as wretched and lonely as he felt now. He believed, poor boy, that she could see him and hear him, and would some- how help him in his need ; and, whether it was the prayer or the belief, a sense of comfort came over him, and he made up his mind that if his lot turned out to be as miserable as Blincoe had led him to suppose, he would run away on the first opportunity. Having decent clothes, and, as he thought, as much money left as would keep him in food until he got to London, he was not likely to be 288 BIRCH DENE. arrested as a vagrant ; and if he could steal away unperceived, nobody would know whither he had gone or where to look for him. But Kobin was shrewd enough to perceive that to put this scheme into execution at once would be to insure its failure. He must bide his time and watch for an opportunity, and, if possible, so contrive matters that he would not be missed for several hours after his departure. If he could get as far as Man- chester, he would, he thought, be safe from pursuit. Then, after building a few castles in the air, in which his father, whom he always pictured as a hero, played the principal part, Eobin fell asleep ; and, notwithstanding the hardness and filthiness of his couch, and the snores of his companions, he slept so soundly that when Dick roused him an hour after daylight he was unable, for a minute or two, to recall what had happened to him, and where he was. " Come, get up ! " said the old fellow. " It's welly porridge time, and t'others has been at work goine; i' two hours. You'd ha' had ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 289 to go too, only word came last Beet as they didn't want you in th' factory till after break- fast, and my missus and me, we thought as we'd let you sleep a bit, and, bithmon, you have slept ! Them lads made racket enough to wakken a corpse. Here, don these clothes ! Th' concern finds 'em, and you may as well save your own for a holiday suit. It would cleyn spoil 'em to wear 'em in th' factory, and it'll ten to one be a long time before you getten another. You'll not want no jacket, nor yet shirt and hosen. It's hot enough i' them spinning rooms to go about stark naked ; but as there's lasses it happen wouldn't do." The clothes provided by the " concern " were a pair of greasy corduroy trousers and a check shirt. They did not look very invit- ing, and Eobin was hesitating whether he should put them on, when he chanced to look up at the beam over his bunk, where he had put his things the night before. To his dismay, not a vestige of them, was to be seen. VOL. i. u 290 BIRCH DEXE. "Hallo!" lie exclaimed. " Where are the clothes I took off last night, and my valise ? " "Where did you put 'em?" " On that beam." " Are you sure ? " "Quite." " Then some o' them little devils has hidden 'em somewheres. They oft do play tricks on new-comers. Let's look raand." "I hope my money is safe," said Bobin, turning pale. " Whew ! You'd brass i' your pockets then ! How mich ? " " Four half-crowns and a sixpence." " By gum ! you weren't fause (wise) to leave your brass there. Them varmint is up to all sorts o' manks ; there isn't one on 'em as I'd trust as far as I can throw a bull by his tail. But let's look raand ; we're sure to find th' breeches and things somewheres, and if th' brass isn't fun' we mun spor (inquire). Ay, let's look raand." They did look — searched every bunk, ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 291 explored every corner of the garret. But nothing could be found. Coat, waistcoat, shirt, breeches, shoes, stockings, valise — all had disappeared, and with them Eobin's means of escape. "It's a gradely quare do," said Dick, scratching his head. " Quarest do as ever I knew. Looks like a bugglery. Let's go daan stairs and see what my owd woman says about it. Hoo's as fause as a tup sheep, my Betty is." Bobin put on the corduroy trousers and check shirt, and silently followed Dick down stairs, shivering with cold and sick with apprehension and dismay. Betty stood before the fire, stirring porridge with a Gargan- tuan thible. Her husband told her what had befallen. "Lost his bag and his brass, has he ?" said the old woman, thoughtfully. " He's first 'prentice as I ever knew as had ony brass. I con understand th' brass being stown (stolen). That is easy enough hid ; but what con they have done wi' th' clothes and portmantle ? U 2 292 BIRCH DEXE. They connot have takken 'em into th' factory* They mun be somewhere i' tF hoyle (in the place). I'll go and look mysel'. Stir th' porridge, will you, till I come back ? " Eobin complied with alacrity. He wanted to get near the fire and warm himself. In a few minutes Betty returned. " Your things isn't i' this house. They are either hidden outside, or somebody has pyked off wi' 'em. Did anybody know as you had brass in your pocket ? " "I don't think so. I told nobody — except the fellow next to me. He asked me if I had any money, and I said I had a little. But I am sure it cannot be he." "Was it Blincoe?" "Yes, that is the name. He told me his story. He has been very ill-used." "That's true. And he's ill-contrived too. They sayen it was him as seet Lowdham factory a-fire. So you towd him as you had a bit o' brass ! I wonder He run away twice fra Lowdham factory. Well, we'll soon know. Th' engine is just stoppin' ; they'll ANOTHER MISFORTUNE. 293 be here in a minute. Has thou cut th/ bread, Dick?" Presently a great shouting and shuffling of feet were heard at the back door, which opened into the factory yard ; the appren- tices trooped ravenously in, and almost before they were seated began to swallow the hot porridge which Betty had just poured out. " Is th' Parson here ? " she asked, looking; round. " He's happen i' th' factory," said one. "Nay, he isn't," said another. "I work in th' same room. Soon after th' engine set on he said as he was sick, and Jim Rabbits let him off till after breakfast time. He's happen i' bed." " Nay, he isn't. He's off, and he's takken aw Nelson's things here — his clothes, and his brass, and his portmantle. That is what th' Parson has done. He no doubt hid 'em somewhere about th' house, then come back and fetched 'em, and climbed o'er th' wall behind th' boiler-house. It was dark at 294 BIRCH DENE. six o'clock, and th' Parson is as nimble as a cat. Go and tell 'em i' th' counting-house, Dick. If they looken sharp, they'll ten to one catch him ; he connot have getten far." CHAPTER XXII. THE FACTORY. Meanwhile Eobin cowered by the fire, utterly undone. With his money and valise had gone all hope of escape, all possibility of finding his father, even though he should be able to remember his name. Even the wretched things he had on, and which he felt it almost a degradation to wear, belonged to his masters. Except his nightshirt, he possessed nothing he could call his own ; and, unkindest cut of all, the thief was a fellow victim, whose story had won his sympathy and touched his heart. If Robin had been alone, he would probably have found relief for his feelings in a burst of passionate grief; but as all the apprentices were staring at him, he held up his head and looked defiant. 296 BIPX'H DENE. " Don't be down-hearted ; your portmantle is sure to torn up," said Betty, who, though by no means a tender-hearted woman, had a weakness for well-favoured lads. " Draw up to th' table and have a bowl of porridge. It'll do you good. No ! Well, then, a bowl o' milk and a soft bread butter-cake. Come, now — you'll be all the better for it." Robin, though he had no appetite worth mentioning, felt that it would be both un- gracious and impolitic to persist in his refusal, and by the time he had eaten his bread and drunk his milk — with little relish, however — Dick came back and informed him, with an air of importance, that he was wanted in the counting-house. Robin did not much like the idea of o^oin^ out shoeless and bareheaded, but as there was no help for it, he followed the old man into the factory yard, which, being strewn with hard cinders, did not make the pleasantest walking for unprotected feet, and he went as gingerly as if he were treading on hot iron — to the great amusement of the factory- THE FACTORY. 297 folk, who were returning to their work, some of whom jeered at his soft feet and white hands. The counting-house, a plain square build- ing, plainly furnished, was so placed as to command a view of the gates and the en- trance to the spinning room, and other departments. " Go forrud, and don't be daunted," said Dick, opening the door. " Here he is ! " — pushing Robin into the room. Eobin, who neither looked nor felt in the least daunted, found himself in the presence of Mr. Ruberry and three other men. One was Robert Ruberry, the younger brother and junior partner — a man short of stature, sparely built, and slightly humpbacked. His keen, colourless, bony face was fringed with iron-gray whiskers ; he had vigilant steel- gray eyes, and his suit of sober gray was covered with cotton fluff. The hands always addressed him as " Mester Robbut," but amono- themselves he was known indifferently as "Bob" and " Owd Bob;" and with equal. 298 BIECH DENE. irreverence they generally spoke of his brother as " Owd Ben." Besides the brothers, there were present the book-keeper, who sat on a tall stool poring over a big ledger, and a tall, sharp-featured man, with a pock-marked face, a paper cap, doeskin trousers, and a sleeved waistcoat. This was Jim Rabbits, the spinning master, and the Ruberrys' most trusted servant and adviser. " Good morning, Mr. Ruberry," said Robin, with easy assurance. " Dick says you want me. How is Gib \ " The three men exchanged glances. This was not the way in which apprentices were wont to address their employers. " I haven't seen him yet. Drunken sick, I expect. You look rather different from what you did yesterday, my lad. Where's your clothes ? " " Somebody has stolen them." " Ay, Blincoe. You had some talk with him last night, I understand. What did he say ? " asked the senior partner. THE FACTORY. 299 On this Robin related so much of the con- versation of the preceding night as he thought it prudent to disclose. " He said apprentices were ill-used, did he, the young rascal? He shall be ill-used if we get hold of him. I promise him that." "It'll be a hanging job if he's prosecuted, willn't it ? " put in Jim Eabbits. "And he shall be prosecuted ! " exclaimed the younger brother, angrily. " Hanging's too good for that fellow. He was not only discontented himself, but he made all the others discontented. What was there in your bag, Nelson 1 " " Two suits of clothes, six shirts, three pairs of stockings, two pairs of shoes, combs and brushes, some handkerchiefs, and several books." " Handkechers ! " put in Jim Rabbits. " What does a 'prentice want wi' handke- chers ? I never uses one except o' Sundays." "Were these things marked with your name ? " asked Robert Ruberry. " Yes, sir." 300 BIRCH DENE. Eobert Kuberry made a memorandum. " And these books you speak of — what were they ? " "A copy of Paradise Lost, edition of 1680 ; a copy of Malone's Shakespeare, a copy of Chapman's Homer, and copies of Plutarch's Lives, and the Arabian Nights" "You can read, then?" demanded the spinning master. "I can." " And write ? " " And write," answered Eobin, with a smile. " And cipher ? " "A little." * Well, I'll be d— d ! " said Rabbits, pushing back his paper cap, and eyeing Eobin as if he had been a veritable prodigy. " He's quite a scholard ! " (To Euberry, junior.) " Humph ! That remains to be seen. How did you come by these books, Nelson ? " " They were given to me by my dear friend and benefactor, Mr. Bartlett, He wrote my name in every one of them. The Paradise Lost and the Shakespeare are scarce editions." THE FACTORY. 301 " Benefactor ! What does that mean ? •' inquired the irrepressible Eabbits. " It's a word as I cannot say as I ever heard afore. It's nowt to do with a cotton factory, has it?" " Not exactly," said Owd Bob, with a grim laugh. " It means well-wisher — kind friend, you know." " I'll try to think of that ; it's what you and your brother is to me," observed the spinning master, with the gratified air of a man who conceives a brilliant idea. " You're my benefactories. But hadn't you better be sending somebody after th' Parson ? If you don't, you'll not be catching him." " Oh, never fear, we'll catch him fast enough ! He cannot be far, and I've sent a mounted man to make inquiries on the Manchester road. I only wanted to know exactly what he had taken, so that if he attempts to dispose of his plunder " " He's sure to pop it if he gets to Man- chester," put in Babbits. " So that if he attempts to dispose of it 302 BIECH DENE. he mav be identified. I shall inform the constables at once, and send off three or four men in as many directions to look for him. We shall have him before nightfall, Jim." " I hope so. I have to sattle wi' him for shamming sick and taking me in this morn- ing. He groaned and rowled his e'en, and doubled hissel' up, and rubbed his belly, as if he were going to dee th' next minute. I'll never believe one o' them lads ageean, what- ever he says." " I wouldn't advise you. They are deceit- ful little scamps. That is all, I think. Let me see Nelson, come here and write out a list of the things you have lost, and then I shall be sure of having it right." Eobin seated himself at the desk pointed out by Euberry, junior, took a sheet of paper, and wrote. When he had finished he handed the list to Kobert, who passed it on to his brother. " Humph ! The lad can write, sure enough," said the senior to Eabbits, who was looking THE FACTORY. 303 curiously over his master's shoulder. " And it is not ill- spelt, either." It was so unheard-of a thing for an appren- tice, or any other " child of the people," to be a skilled penman, that until that moment none of them had believed Eobin could write either easily or well. " There, that'll do, I think," observed the younger brother, a little more graciously, as he laid the paper on the desk. " Go with Jim, and he'll set you to work. You can find him something to do, Jim ? " " Oh, ay, I'll set him agate. And th' engine has started ; it's time to be off. Come on, Nelson ! " " A sharp lad that," observed Mr. Euberry, so soon as the door was closed. " Couldn't we find him something better to do than piecing ? He writes a good hand, and the spelling seems to be all right, doesn't it ? " (Orthography was rather a weak point with the senior.) "Yes, he can both write and spell," the other answered, coldly. " But what is the 304 BIRCH DENE. good of education for one in his position ? And Low ridiculous for him to have such books as Paradise Lost and SltaJzespeare ! The more ignorant working people are kept the better. No ; let him learn to piece like the others. It'll bring him to his cake and milk. He's a good deal too free and easy for my liking." Meanwhile Robin and his conductor had reached the entrance of the main building. " Wor you ever in a cotton factory afore ? " asked Rabbits. " Never." " Well, then, I'll show you round." The spinning master did not usually pay so much attention to new apprentices, rather despising them as ignorant Cockneys who gave more trouble than they were worth ; but he regarded Robin as a prodigy of learn- ing, who knew the meaning of long words, and whose learning might possibly be turned to good account. " I'll show you round," he repeated. " This is th' devil hole," — pushing open a door. THE FACTORY. 305 A whirr of wheels, a clashing of straps, a diabolic din of clanking drums and fast- revolving fans ; an atmosphere thick with cotton fluff, children mixing cotton, men feed- ing cotton into huge machines which swallow it by the hundredweight, tear it asunder, shake it aloft, and then fold it neatly in thick flakes on a great iron roller. These were the demon denizens of the " hole." Now-a-days they are called " blowers," for we live in a refined age, and even cotton spinners are becoming polite. Eobin, who had never before seen any more complicated machinery than a tinker's grind- stone, thrust his fingers into his ears, and started back in affright. The spinning master laughed complacently. " There's nowt o' this soort i' Lunnon, I reckon 1 They don't know quite everything up there," he shouted. " But don't be flayed ; you'll tak' no hurt." And then he explained to Robin what the "devils" were doing — the initial process of cotton spinning. This done, they went into the card-room, VOL. I. 306 BIRCH DENE. Eobin keeping close to his conductor, lest he should haply lose himself and come to grief in the maze of machinery, cans, and skips with which the place was filled. " How does it all go ? " he asked. " You mean what turns us ? Steam. None o' your nasty watter, as there's too much on one week and not enough next. There's nowt like steam. It licks everything. You never saw a steam-engine, I reckon ? I thought not. Come this way, and I'll show you ours." With that Jim went to a corner of the card-room, where was a small door, which he opened with his " master " key, and beck- oned Eobin to enter. The lad, who was be- coming used to portentous sights and sounds, going boldly forward (though, if possible, he was more scared than he had been in the " devil hole "), presently found himself on the packing stage of the engine-house. The ponderous wooden beam moved up and down like an animated monster ; the huge fly-wheel whizzed round with a velocity that seemed THE FACTORY. 307 like to bring the place about their ears ; the heavy spur wheels fixed their great black teeth into each other as if they were engaged in mortal combat, and the piston-rod, as it shot in and out of the cylinder, hissed like a hundred snakes. " That's a hinjun as is a hinjun ! M said the spinning master, proudly. " It's by Boulton and Watt ; fifty hoss-power. You'll have heard of James Watt ? " " The inventor of the steam-engine. But I had no idea But how is it done ? How can steam make that beam go up and down ? " Rabbits, who, though no scholar, was a clever practical mechanician, tried to answer Robin's query ; but his explanation, only half heard amid the din, did not seem to make the mystery much clearer. They next went to one of the spinning rooms, where, as the master told Robin, he would have to stay. "You've to learn to piece," he said. " That is to be your job. Th' little 'uns mostly begin with picking up loose cotton, x 2 308 BIRCH DENE. and sweeping. But you're too big for that. Tom Cat. here, will put you i' th' way. They call him ' Cat ' because he wed a woman name o' Kittling. Piecing looks easy ; but it's like mony another thing — not as easy as it looks. However, you'll never larn younger, and you don't know what it may lead to. I was once a piecer mysel'." The room, which was long, low, and desperately warm, contained eight or ten pairs of old-fashioned spinning jennies, which moved continually backward and forward, and were followed by half-naked boys and girls, who dexterously pieced up the broken threads. To and fro these children walked all day long, from six in the morning till half-past seven at night, with an interval of only an hour and a half for rest and meals — often even longer : for though the legal limit of the day's work was twelve hours, there were no inspectors to enforce the law, and, by early starting and late stopping, many employers lengthened the stint to thirteen hours. How heavily their THE FACTORY. 309 severe labour told on the children was shown by their looks. Their faces were haggard, their forms stunted, their movements languid. Many did not long survive the terrible ordeal which they were compelled to undergo, and most of those who lived were broken in constitution before they reached middle age. The journeymen spinners, of whom there was one to every pair of jennies, worked harder than galley slaves. They supplied half the motive power, pushing the frame forward with one hand and knee, and turning a wheel with the other. Only men of exceptional strength were equal to the task, and how they performed it was a marvel. But they had a stimulus which their piecers had not. They were paid by the weight of yarn produced. The harder they wrought the more they earned. The apprentices, on the other hand, never earned more than a shilling a week, and even that pittance was often reduced to nothing by abatements and fines. The spinners, whose wages depended 310 BIRCH DENE. in great measure on their diligence, were harder taskmasters than their employers, visiting trivial faults with cruel punishments, sometimes even tormenting the unhappy children out of pure devilry — or, as they said, " for sport." END OF VOL. I. UNIVERSfTY OF ILLINO»-URBANA 30112056531897 ^