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diff --git a/old/50659-0.txt b/old/50659-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bacf688..0000000 --- a/old/50659-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6434 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Vivian's Lesson, by Elizabeth W. Grierson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Vivian's Lesson - -Author: Elizabeth W. Grierson - -Illustrator: Hilda Cowham - -Release Date: December 10, 2015 [EBook #50659] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIVIAN'S LESSON *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -VIVIAN’S LESSON - -[Illustration: They made such a pretty picture that there was quite a -burst of applause. - -V. L. PAGE 33.] - - - - - -VIVIAN’S LESSON - - By - ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON - Author of - ‘Children’s Tales from Scottish Ballads,’ - ‘The Children’s Book of Edinburgh,’ &c. - - - WITH TEN ILLUSTRATIONS - by - Hilda Cowham - - -[Illustration] - - - LONDON AND EDINBURGH - W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED - Philadelphia: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - 1907 - - - - - Edinburgh: - Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. WHAT BEGAN IT 1 - II. AN INVITATION 11 - III. GOING TO LONDON 19 - IV. THE CHRISTMAS TREE 29 - V. A FALSE STEP 40 - VI. A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK 54 - VII. ANOTHER INVITATION 70 - VIII. THE BROKEN WINDOWS 80 - IX. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE 92 - X. BURGLARS 103 - XI. THE DOCTOR’S VISIT 121 - XII. THE DARK SHADOW 135 - XIII. A DREARY HOMECOMING 156 - XIV. VIVIAN CONQUERS 166 - XV. ANOTHER MYSTERY 179 - XVI. A VAIN SEARCH 193 - XVII. MADAME GENVIÈVE 203 - XVIII. RUNNING AWAY 214 - XIX. THE JOURNEY 223 - XX. MONSIEUR THE VICOMTE DE CHOISIGNY 236 - XXI. THE OPINION OF DR JULES 245 - XXII. MR MAXWELL FINDS OUT THE TRUTH 254 - XXIII. A HAPPY MEETING 265 - XXIV. A FRESH BEGINNING 277 - XXV. WESTWARD HO! 285 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. - - - PAGE - They made such a pretty picture that there was - quite a burst of applause _Frontispiece._ - - They were a merry party as they walked across - the snowy meadow to church 17 - - The children set to work and transformed the - hall into a perfect bower 29 - - ‘But what is that bundle of rags for?’ went on - Vivian, putting up his hand to pull them - down 59 - - Isobel lay down with a story-book on the - schoolroom sofa, and soon fell into a - heavy sleep 64 - - There, to his horror, looking through the gap, - was a rough-looking man, with a stubbly - beard, and a dirty white muffler twisted - loosely round his neck 92 - - At last a tiny red speck appeared under the yellow - lamp, and began to move slowly up the road 162 - - ‘Thou lazy dreamer!’ she said, pulling him to his - feet by the collar of his blue cotton blouse 205 - - He sank gratefully into the soft bed of straw - which the kind countryman made up for him, - and had fallen into a feverish sleep 231 - - ‘Mother, oh mother!’ he cried.... ‘Can you forgive me?’ 266 - - - - -VIVIAN’S LESSON. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -WHAT BEGAN IT. - - -‘COME on, Vivian. It is high time we were going home; you know we -promised mother that we would come off the ice at half-past four.’ - -‘Well, so we will; but it is only five-and-twenty past now, so we -have plenty of time for one turn more. Come on, old stupid; you are -always frightened of being late;’ and the younger of the speakers, a -brown-eyed, mischievous-looking lad of about eleven, swung off with -his three companions, leaving his brother standing watching them, a -troubled look on his face. - -He hated to make a fuss, and he did not want to leave the ice a moment -sooner than he could help; but a promise is a promise, and he had -given his word that they would be ready to leave the pond at the -half-hour. It was later than they were generally allowed to stay; but -it was Saturday afternoon, and there were signs of a thaw, so, as the -ice might not last till Monday, their father had agreed to an extra -half-hour on condition that they left the ice punctually and hurried -home. - -Vivian had given his word readily enough, and had meant to keep it; but -now, as he flew round and round the pond, crying ‘Just one turn more,’ -he seemed to have forgotten all about his promise. - -Ronald sat down and took off his skates, then stepped on the path, and -stood buckling them together. - -‘Come on, Vivi,’ he entreated. ‘It is the half-hour now, and you know -how anxious mother will be.’ - -‘All right,’ said Vivian a little sulkily, ‘I suppose I must; but it -is an awful nuisance, when we may not have such lovely ice all winter -again.’ - -‘I should think so,’ struck in Fergus Strangeways. ‘I am thankful that -father doesn’t make us come in so soon. Why, the moon will be up in no -time, and we will stay on quite late. Captain Laing and he are coming -down before dinner, and Captain Laing promised to show us how to cut -the “Figure Eight.”’ - -‘How jolly!’ said Ronald a little wistfully, while Vivian bent his head -over his straps and pretended not to hear. - -‘Couldn’t you stay, really?’ asked Charlie Strangeways, Fergus’s -elder brother; ‘you could come in and have tea with us. I dare say Dr -Armitage would know where you were; it is going to be lovely moonlight, -and it isn’t as if we were to be alone all the time. I don’t suppose -that he would have minded if he had known that the dad and Captain -Laing were coming.’ - -‘Oh, do let us stay, Ronald! I’m sure father wouldn’t mind. You know he -did say that he would have taken us out by moonlight himself if he had -not been so busy,’ pleaded Vivian. - -‘No, Charlie,’ said Ronald firmly. ‘It is very good of you to ask us, -and it would have been splendid fun; but father didn’t know about your -father and Captain Laing, and he would wonder where we were. Besides, -we promised.—So hurry up, Vivian.’ - -‘What a stick you are, Ronald!’ said Fergus; ‘you can’t change a bit, -even when circumstances change. Just because Dr Armitage said that you -couldn’t be out alone here after dark, you spoil all the fun by going -off, although it is very different now that father and Captain Laing -are coming.’ - -‘Don’t be stupid, Fergus,’ put in Charlie good-naturedly. ‘If they -promised, they must go. Besides, it is a long way over to Holmend; it -is easy for us with our house close by.’ - -Charlie was fifteen, and a public school boy, so his word carried -weight with it, and his brother was silent, while Vivian took up his -skates more cheerfully. - -‘We’ll see you in the beginning of the week,’ went on Charlie; ‘we are -going to practise shooting on Tuesday if the frost doesn’t hold, we -have got such jolly little pistols from Uncle Don; they carry quite a -long way, and one can kill a bird with them. You must come over and -bring yours; the Doctor is going to give you a pair for Christmas, -isn’t he?’ - -Poor Vivian turned hot all over. If there was one thing in the world he -was frightened of, it was being laughed at. As a rule, the boys were -at liberty to choose their Christmas presents; and when, a fortnight -before, Fergus had told him of his uncle’s intended present, he had -instantly agreed to ask his father for the same, and great had been his -disappointment and dismay when his request met with a grave refusal. - -‘A pistol for your Christmas present! Not if I know it, my boy. What! -Fergus and Vere and Charlie going to have them? Well, if I mistake -not, they will be in my hands shortly. No, no; if their father likes -to risk their lives, that is no reason why I should risk yours. Now, -don’t look so glum; I know what I am talking about. If you had seen the -case I saw over at Whitforth the other day: a lad older than either -Ronald or you had got hold of one of these pistols, and it went off in -his little brother’s face. I don’t want to harrow your feelings, but,’ -and the Doctor’s voice dropped, and he spoke sadly, ‘that poor little -chap will never be able to see again. No; I’ll give you anything you -like, in reason, for your Christmas present, but a pistol is out of the -question.’ - -At the time the explanation had been sufficient, but now Vivian’s eager -little spirit felt very rebellious. - -Fergus Strangeways was just a year older than he was, and surely he -was as capable of being careful as Fergus. How Fergus and Vere would -laugh at him if they knew the whole story! He flashed a warning look at -Ronald, but Ronald did not seem to understand. - -‘We may come out to watch,’ he said in his quiet voice; ‘but father -won’t let us have pistols yet. He says we are too young. He has -promised to give us proper guns when we are sixteen. He will not let us -shoot before that.’ - -The pitying looks on his companions’ faces were quite lost on Ronald, -who was only thinking of his promise to be home in good time; but they -stung Vivian even more than the words that followed. - -‘What a nuisance it must be to be so well looked after! You’ll grow -into regular muffs if you don’t look out.’ - -‘I would give you a licking for that, just to judge if the symptoms are -beginning, but I haven’t time to-night,’ said Ronald, with a laugh, -conscious that none of the boys could stand up against him; and he -walked off whistling through the woods, followed by Vivian, who was -fuming with rage and injured pride. - -‘What made you go and give me away like that?’ he asked presently. -‘You know there is a talk of our going to Aunt Dora’s next week. I -know, anyhow, because mother had a letter, and if only you had held -your tongue I would have said that very likely we would be away from -home, and they need never have known anything about father not letting -us have these pistols. Now Fergus will go all over the place laughing -at us for a couple of babies;’ and he kicked at the fallen leaves -viciously in his vexation. - -‘As if I minded what Fergus Strangeways says!’ retorted Ronald -scornfully; ‘why, he’s the veriest little ass going. He may get a -pistol, but I bet you a sixpence that he daren’t let it off, in spite -of all his bluster. Besides, I knew nothing about any invitation to -Aunt Dora’s; and if I had, I wouldn’t have been such a sneak as to -pretend that that was the reason that we couldn’t go to shoot with -them. Of course it is a nuisance. I would have liked a pistol as well -as you; but father would not have hindered us having one if he had not -had good reasons, and now that he has promised us that lovely camera -I’m sure we can’t grumble.’ - -‘That’s all very well for you,’ growled Vivian; ‘you always were a bit -of a muff, with your music, and your photographs, and your collections. -“The paragon” the other boys call you behind your back, for they say -that you haven’t enough spirit in you to do anything wrong.’ - -‘They had better say it to my face then, and I’ll give them what for, -and you too for listening to such rot,’ said Ronald hotly; and then he -laughed at his own vehemence. ‘Don’t let us quarrel on Christmas Eve,’ -he went on pleasantly; ‘I’ll race you across the meadow.’ - -They set off at a run, and by the time they had reached the garden -gate, hot and breathless, they had almost forgotten the cause of their -anger. - -‘There is mother at the window, and Dorothy,’ cried Vivian, waving his -cap. ‘Doesn’t a lit-up room look jolly and comfortable when one is -outside? After all, I am rather glad that we didn’t stay any longer at -the lake, for I am awfully hungry, and I expect there is a scrumptious -tea in the schoolroom.’ - -As they went into the hall of the long, low red house, a little figure -in white ran out to meet them. - -‘Hurry, quick!’ she lisped, ‘we’s going to have tea wif muvver, an’ -then we’s going to dec’rate. Black has brought in such a lot of green -stuff, heaps an’ heaps, all p’ickles. Dorothy knows, ’cause she hurted -her fingers.’ - -‘Dorothy was well warned, so it was her own fault,’ said a clear voice -behind her, and Mrs Armitage appeared in the hall. Tall, slim, and -graceful, with a wealth of rippling hair and a sweet pale face, it was -no wonder that to the boys mother was the centre of their world. - -‘Quickly, boys, run upstairs, get off those dirty boots, and get ready -for tea. Father has been called out, and may not be home till quite -late, so I will have it with you in the schoolroom, and afterwards we -will try to get the hall decorated before he comes back. You know how -he loves to see the greenery.’ - -After tea, Ellen the housemaid was pressed into the service, so the -decorations went on merrily; and as Vivian stood on a ladder fastening -up the wreaths of bright holly which his mother’s quick fingers wove so -rapidly, while little Dorothy ran about, proud in the belief that she -was helping every one, he thought quite pityingly of the Strangeways, -who had no mother or little sister, although they might possess pistols -and skate in the moonlight while he had to come home. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -AN INVITATION. - - -CHRISTMAS Day dawned clear and bright. All prospects of a thaw seemed -to be gone, for the frost had been very keen during the night, and -every little twig on the trees glittered in the sunshine as if it were -set with diamonds. - -‘What a day for skating!’ said Ronald at breakfast-time, after -good-mornings and good wishes had been passed round. ‘It almost makes -one wish that Christmas had not fallen on a Sunday this year.’ - -‘Oh Ronnie!’ said little Dorothy aghast. ‘You touldn’t go skating -to-day. Tink of the pudding, and we’s going to have ’sert. I saw muvver -putting it out—oranges, an’ nuts, an’ ’nannas.’ - -‘Yes; but, Pussy, Christmas dinner is like the frost, it doesn’t last -for ever,’ said Ronald, lifting his little sister into her place -between his mother’s chair and his own, while everyone laughed at her -remark. - -‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Armitage, ‘even if it had been a week-day—what -with church, and dinner, and presents—there would not have been much -time for skating; besides,’ glancing out of the window as she spoke, ‘I -do not think that it will last like this all day. I fancy we will have -a fresh fall of snow ere night. Here comes father, so you may begin, -boys.’ - -Dr Armitage was a pleasant-looking man, of about middle age, with a -kind, open face, and keen gray eyes. The likeness between him and his -eldest son would have told a stranger at once what relationship there -was between them. - -‘Well, boys,’ he said cheerfully, turning over a pile of letters as he -spoke, ‘has mother told you the news yet?’ - -‘What news?’ they asked eagerly, while their mother shook her head in -mock displeasure. - -‘Oh Jack, you cannot keep a secret!’ she said, laughing. ‘I did not -mean to tell them till after church. It will keep running in their -heads all through the service. However, there is no help for it -now.—How would you like to go to London, boys? To Aunt Dora’s, for a -whole week by yourselves?’ - -‘To Aunt Dora’s, mother? Has she asked us? Oh yes, I remember, Vivian -said’—— Ronald broke off abruptly. - -Vivian’s remark of the previous afternoon about an invitation to Aunt -Dora’s had flashed into his mind, and he was just going to ask him how -he had heard the news when a frightened, warning look on his brother’s -face checked him. - -‘Oh, how jolly!’ he went on, in some embarrassment, after a moment’s -hesitation; ‘we have never been away ourselves before. Will you let us -go, mother?’ - -His mother did not seem to notice his confusion, nor the puzzled -look which he wore as he relapsed into silence, and sat watching his -brother, who was talking rapidly, his eager little face flushed and his -eyes sparkling. - -‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied, ‘if you promise to be very good boys. -You are old enough now to be trusted away from home alone, so father -and Dorothy and I must make up our minds to a quiet house for a week, -for I wrote to Aunt Dora yesterday to say that you will be at Victoria -at four o’clock on Monday afternoon.’ - -Breakfast was finished amidst much excited discussion as to what should -be taken in the way of garments and portmanteau. A listener would have -thought that the boys were going to America at least; but to lads of -eleven and thirteen a first visit to London alone is a treat indeed. - -As they were running upstairs to get ready for church, Mrs Armitage -laid her hand on Vivian’s shoulder and drew him into her room. - -‘What did Ronald mean at breakfast by saying that you had told him -about Aunt Dora’s invitation, Vivian?’ she asked. ‘How did either of -you come to hear of it?’ - -The little boy rubbed the point of his toe uneasily on the carpet. - -‘Ronald is always thinking that I say things,’ he answered evasively, -‘and getting a fellow into a scrape. If he would only mind his own -business.’ - -‘Nay, Vivian, that is unjust; you know Ronald would be the last person -in the world to get you into a scrape; and in this case there is no -scrape to get into, unless you choose to make one. If by any chance -you found out anything about the invitation, as it seems you must have -done, it probably was a mistake.’ - -‘Yes, mother, that was just it, it was a mistake,’ said Vivian, -interrupting her eagerly. ‘There was a letter of Aunt Dora’s lying -on your desk, and I saw a bit of it when you sent me to get those -receipts.’ - -‘But you must have taken time to read it, did you not?’ said his mother -gravely; ‘that could not be a mistake. I thought perhaps you had heard -father talking to me about it; we sometimes hear things that are not -intended for us to hear, but then the honourable thing to do is to say -frankly that you did hear it. To read a letter that is not intended for -you is quite a different matter. I did not think a son of mine would -have done that.’ - -The tears came into Vivian’s eyes. He loved his mother passionately, -and any appeal from her touched his proud little heart. - -‘It really was a mistake at first, mother. When I was looking about for -those receipts, I saw the letter lying spread out, and I could not help -seeing one sentence. “I hope you will let the boys,” it began, and I -did so much want to know what it was that Aunt Dora wanted you to let -us do, so I took up the piece of paper and looked over on the other -side. I was sorry in a moment, but I did not like to tell.’ - -‘No, that is just it,’ said his mother. ‘You did not like to tell, and -so you were tempted at breakfast this morning to talk as if you knew -nothing about it. That was not exactly telling a lie, Vivian; but do -you not think that it was acting one? I think that is your besetting -sin, my boy. You know that we all have a sin that we must specially -fight against, and I want you to try and fight against yours. You have -not the moral courage to confess when you have done something wrong, -but you try to shuffle and explain things away, so as to hide what you -have done. You have plenty of courage in other ways, quite as much, if -not more, than Ronald. You have the kind of courage that would make you -fight, or face danger; but there is a higher kind of courage than that, -and I want you to try and gain it. I mean the courage that will tell -the truth, even when the truth is not pleasant, and when you may get -laughed at for telling it, and which will own up to a fault rather -than try to hide it. - -[Illustration: They were a merry party as they walked across the snowy -meadow to church. - -V. L. PAGE 17.] - -‘You are so quick and impulsive, you often do things without thinking, -not because you do not mean to do what is right, but because you do not -take time to see that it is wrong; and that leads to the worse sin of -covering up the matter and telling half-lies to shield yourself. Now, -as this is Christmas Day, we won’t say anything more about it; only, -dearie, try and remember who came this day to help us—to save us from -our sins. That is what His name means.’ - -‘Yes, mother,’ said Vivian, beginning to fidget with all a healthy -boy’s dislike to a ‘sermon,’ and his mother let him go with a sigh. - -‘Will I ever be able to train him to be a brave and honourable man,’ -she thought to herself, ‘with his quick, ambitious nature, his love of -being first, coupled with his moral cowardice and fear of being laughed -at?’ - -They were a merry party as they walked across the snowy meadow to -church. Little Dorothy, who looked like a white woolly ball in her fur -coat and cap, clinging to her father with one hand and to Ronald with -the other, as they gave her slides along the slippery footpath, while -Vivian hovered round, now sliding himself, now threatening to snowball -the others, all trace of the late conversation seeming to have vanished -from his mind. But the good thoughts came back again in the old church, -where there was an atmosphere of sober gladness, its gray stone pillars -being wreathed with glistening holly, and brightly coloured banners -hanging over the pulpit and choir-stalls. - -The rector took for his text the very verse that his mother had spoken -about; and as the old man talked simply to the congregation of the -battle that each one of us has to wage against the sin in ourselves -before we can hope to fight successfully against the sin that is in the -world, and how the Bethlehem Babe came to help and save us, Vivian, -sitting in his dark corner of the old-fashioned pew, gave his mother’s -hand a little squeeze, and, crushing his face against her cloak, made -more good resolutions for the future than ever he had done before in -the whole course of his happy, careless, light-hearted life. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -GOING TO LONDON. - - -WHO does not know the excitement of a first visit away from home, -unaccompanied by any grown-up person? - -The following morning the boys were downstairs twenty minutes before -any one else, and it seemed as if Ellen would never bring in the -coffee; while so many important messages came to take up their father’s -attention, it appeared as if it must be at least ten o’clock before -breakfast and prayers were over, and they were at liberty at last to -run upstairs to the schoolroom, where nurse was busy folding their -clothes into their father’s portmanteau, which had been called into -service for the occasion. - -And yet—when that was done, and the straps all fastened up, and Ronald -had run down to the surgery to get a clean white label, and had printed -‘Armitage, Victoria, London,’ on it in his best printing, and Vivian -had tied it on, while little Dorothy watched the proceedings in silent -admiration—there remained nearly four hours before the time came for an -early lunch and the drive to the station. - -The hours passed somehow, however, and at last the carriage was brought -round, and the portmanteau was tucked away beside Black on the box, -while father packed the boys inside, with mother and Dorothy, who were -going to see them off. Just at the last moment he slipped two little -paper packets into their hands, telling them not to open them until -they were in the train. Then he shut the carriage door and nodded to -Black, and they had actually started at last. - -They felt quite important at the quiet little station, when mother went -to get the tickets, and old Timms the porter came up, and, touching his -cap, asked ‘Where for, sir?’ and Ronald answered, ‘London, Victoria,’ -in a careless tone as if going to London were quite an everyday event. -Old Timms noticed the tone, and his eyes twinkled, but he only touched -his cap again, and said, ‘Very good, sir,’ and put the portmanteau -beside the other luggage which was waiting ready for the London train. - -Perhaps their hearts failed them a little, although they both would -have scorned the suggestion, as the train came roaring round the curve, -and mother gave them a last kiss, saying, ‘Give my love to Aunt Dora, -and all the others, and enjoy yourselves, and be my own good boys; and, -Vivian, remember our talk yesterday.’ Then the guard hustled them into -a carriage, the door banged, and the train moved on. - -Now they had time to think about the little packets which their father -had given them, and on opening them each was found to contain two -half-crowns. This discovery quite raised their spirits again, for what -may not be bought for five shillings in the wonderful shops in London! - -It was a foggy afternoon, and Victoria Station looked very big, and -dark, and bustling, as the train steamed into it; and as a porter threw -open the door of their carriage, and they stepped on to the platform, -the boys felt somewhat bewildered with the crowd of people who were -running about in all directions. - -‘Supposing Aunt Dora has mistaken the train? I don’t see her anywhere,’ -said Ronald, who was always rather anxious-minded. - -‘Oh, we’ll just take a cab,’ said Vivian confidently; ‘that’s the way -people do, and give the man the address—“Eversley, Hampstead Heath.” He -will take us there all right. Hadn’t we better go and look after our -portmanteau? The porters are taking all the luggage out of that van. -Some one may steal ours.’ - -‘No; no one would dare do that; but, all the same, we had better see to -it.—Here, porter!’ - -But the words were too gentle for the hurrying man to heed, or perhaps -he had more important people in his eye, for he took no notice, and the -boys were standing, feeling rather helpless, with a homesick longing -for old Timms’s honest red face, when Aunt Dora’s cheery voice sounded -just behind them. - -‘Well, boys, how are you? Did you think that I had forgotten you? Not -a very cheerful welcome, was it—eh, Vivian—to let you arrive all by -yourselves? But you must blame the fog and not me. It was quite clear -when I started, and it is so foggy in some parts now that we had to -drive very slowly. I am afraid it will take us quite a long time to get -home; but never mind, you will enjoy your tea all the more when you get -it.’ - -If it took a long time to get home, the boys hardly noticed it. It was -impossible to be shy with Aunt Dora. She was so bright and full of fun, -and so eager to hear all the home news—how mother and little Dorothy -were, and how father’s patients were getting on. She was Dr Armitage’s -sister, and had lived with him when he first settled at Sittingham, and -she took as great an interest now in the old women at the almshouses -and the new babies in the village as she had done in the old days when -she had carried soup to one and milk to the other. - -‘Here we are at last!’ she exclaimed, interrupting a graphic -description which Vivian was giving of the latest village concert; and -as she spoke the carriage turned in at an ivy-covered lodge, and drew -up in front of a large square house which looked as if it were capable -of holding a very large party indeed. - -The instant the carriage stopped, the front door opened, and two eager -faces appeared, peeping out behind the trim parlour-maid, who came down -the steps to open the door and take the wraps. - -‘Isobel and Claude have been on the lookout, you see,’ laughed their -mother. ‘Their excitement has known no bounds ever since they knew that -you were coming. But I don’t see Ralph; I expect he will be deep in a -book as usual. Run in out of the cold, boys, and Ann will bring your -portmanteau.’ - -‘We thought that you were never coming,’ said Isobel, taking possession -of her cousins at once, and leading the way upstairs to the schoolroom. -‘Claude and I have been watching for the carriage ever since five -o’clock, and it is a quarter to six now. Aren’t you just famishing for -your tea? It is all ready in the schoolroom, and I’ve to pour it out.’ - -‘What will Miss Ritchie say to that?’ asked Ronald, laughing. ‘You -remember you told us last Easter how particular she was about spots on -the tablecloth, and a teapot is rather a heavy thing.’ - -‘She’s gone,’ said Claude, who was contentedly bringing up the rear, -with a broad grin on his rosy face, ‘right away to Wales to spend -her holidays. Mother said if we were very good we might do without a -governess this Christmas, for I’m eight now you see, and that is quite -big.’ - -‘Who is quite big?’ said a mocking voice as they entered the -schoolroom, where a blazing fire and a table covered with delicious -home-baked cakes were awaiting them, and a tall, thin boy, with a -somewhat peevish expression, rose from a corner where he had been -poring over a book, and came forward to shake hands. This was Ralph, -the eldest of Mrs Osbourne’s children. He was just a little older than -Vivian, though he might have been Ronald’s age from his very grown-up -manner. As a little boy he had been very delicate, and had been abroad -a great deal with an old French governess who had taught his mother -when she was a child. He was at a boarding-school at Eastbourne now; -and, having the idea in his own mind that he had seen a great deal of -the world, he was rather inclined to patronise his cousins, who had -always lived in the country, and to whom even a visit to London was an -event. - -They, on their part, did not like him nearly so much as they did Isobel -and Claude, and could have told many a story of the want of pluck which -he showed in outdoor games; but they admired him for the way in which -he could ‘jabber French,’ as Vivian termed it, and for the grown-up -books which he read, and politeness made them careful not to stir up -questions which might lead to quarrels. - -Isobel they adored. She was such a jolly little tomboy, who could climb -trees and play cricket as well as any boy, and yet she was such a -dainty little maiden, with a very tender conscience and a peace-loving -disposition, who often smoothed down angry words which might otherwise -have led to blows. ‘My little peacemaker,’ her mother called her, -and Ronald thought to himself, as they sat at tea, that the name was -well chosen, as he saw the quick colour flash into Claude’s rosy, -determined little face at some scoffing remark of Ralph’s, and noticed -how cleverly Isobel changed the subject by talking about the party -which they were to have the next night, and to which they were looking -forward with eager anticipation. - -‘There is to be a Christmas tree,’ she explained, pausing in her -eagerness, with the teapot in her hand, in the middle of pouring out -tea. ‘Last year we had a cinematograph, and the year before a conjurer; -but this year mother has promised us a real Christmas tree, with -candles all lit up, and presents on it for every one.’ - -‘Yes; and I think it is ready in the little drawing-room now,’ said -Claude, ‘for we have been forbidden to go in. We mustn’t even go into -the big drawing-room; and I saw Jane carrying in heaps and heaps of -parcels.’ - -‘Did you?’ said Aunt Dora, who had come into the room unobserved: ‘and -what do you think will be inside the parcels, pray?’ - -‘Presents, heaps and heaps of them,’ replied Claude, his big blue eyes -growing bigger at the thought. - -‘But not all for you,’ said Ralph, in his calm, superior way, which -always made Ronald feel inclined to punch him; ‘there’s a microscope -for me, and a writing-case for Isobel, and books or something or other -for Ronald and Vivian; and for the little ones, about seven or eight -years old, you know, there are tins of toffee. I saw cook making it.’ - -‘Oh mother, there isn’t!’ said Claude, looking ready to cry at the -suggestion. ‘I wrote to Santa Claus and told him I wanted a man-of-war, -and I posted it in the chimney myself, and it went right up.’ - -Mrs Osbourne laughed as she patted him on the head. - -‘Ralph doesn’t know what he is talking about,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he -will not get his microscope, and perhaps you will get your man-of-war; -but you must wait till to-morrow night to see. I cannot tell you -beforehand.’ - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE CHRISTMAS TREE. - - -THE next day was a busy one. In the morning the gardener brought in -a load of evergreens; and while Aunt Dora and the maids prepared the -long table in the dining-room, and superintended Davis the coachman as -he carried all the drawing-room furniture into the study and the hall, -with the help of the gardener’s boy, so as to leave the room clear to -dance in, the children set to work and transformed the hall into a -perfect bower. - -[Illustration: The children set to work and transformed the hall into a -perfect bower. - -V. L. PAGE 29.] - -They twisted ivy round the balusters and polished oak stair-rails, and -hung it in festoons over the sides of the gallery which ran round three -sides of the house. They framed the pictures with glistening holly and -scarlet berries, and crowned the great marble statue in the hall with a -crown of mistletoe. - -It was a very tired and grubby little party who gathered round -the dinner-table, which to-day was set in the servants’ hall; but -Aunt Dora’s pleased appreciation of their efforts made up for all -the trouble; and after a quiet hour spent in the schoolroom over -story-books they were quite fresh again at three o’clock, when Mary -came up to help Claude to dress, and brush Isobel’s hair for her and -tie her sash. - -‘I wish we had Etons,’ said Vivian to his brother when they were alone -in their own room, turning over his summer suit of dark-green cloth -with rather a dissatisfied air. ‘I was in Ralph’s room washing my hands -before dinner, and he has a proper suit, with gray trousers and a short -coat with a peak at the back, just like those Charlie Strangeways had -last summer.’ - -‘That’s because he’s at school,’ said Ronald, who was splashing away -vigorously at the washhand-stand. ‘Probably a lot of the fellows will -have Etons on; I know they wear them in London a lot. But I think these -green suits of ours are rather nice; besides, it doesn’t matter what -boys wear, and mother has promised to get us Etons for next summer. I -say, won’t Isobel look a duck in that stunning white frock, with that -pale-blue sash? I hope Dorothy will grow up as pretty as she is.’ - -‘Isobel is just perfect,’ said Vivian emphatically. ‘I hope Aunt Dora -will let her come down to us again in spring for the Easter holidays; -she will make the Strangeways look astonished. They were not at home -the last time she came. They always laugh at girls, but they won’t -laugh at her when they see how she plays cricket. She is not like the -Lister girls, who daren’t catch a ball in case it hurts their fingers. -I only wish Ralph were like her,’ he added, going back to the vexed -question of clothes. ‘You should have seen his face when I told him -that we had only our last year’s summer suits to wear. He muttered -something about “country cousins,” and offered to lend me his last -year’s suit. It is too little for him, but he said it would just do for -me.’ - -‘And I hope you snubbed him well for his impudence. I tell you what, -Vivi, he is our cousin, and we must be civil to him because of Aunt -Dora and Uncle Walter and Claude and Isobel; but he is a cad, an -out-and-out cad, with his airs and his conceit. So don’t let me find -you copying him, or I’ll give you a good licking. Wear his old clothes -indeed! You had better try it.’ - -Ronald spoke so sharply that Vivian, who had had a sneaking hope in -his heart that his brother would agree to Ralph’s proposal, dropped the -subject hastily, and began to scramble into the despised green suit -in a very great hurry, feeling a little ashamed of himself as he did -so for despising the clothes which his mother had chosen for him, and -of which, until his conversation with Ralph, he had been not a little -proud. - -He quite forgot his momentary vexation, however, when Isobel, a slim -little white fairy, with soft blue ribbons, knocked at the door to -see if he were ready to go down and practise the minuet which he had -promised to dance with her. - -Mrs Armitage had made a point of having her boys taught to dance, for -she always maintained that it taught them to hold themselves well, and -hindered them from looking as if they did not know what to do with -their arms and legs when they came into a room full of strangers. -Vivian especially danced exceedingly nicely for a boy of his age, and -later on, as Isobel and he went through the stately measures, bowing -and curtsying to each other in the middle of the great drawing-room -with its brilliant lights, they made such a pretty picture that there -was quite a burst of applause from the grown-ups, who had come to look -after the little ones and share the fun. - -‘You did that splendidly, old fellow,’ whispered Ronald, with real -brotherly pride, when the performance was over, and Vivian came up to -the corner where he was standing along with some of the bigger boys. ‘I -shall write and tell mother that you have taken all the ladies’ hearts -by storm. I heard that old dame with the eye-glasses, who is standing -next Aunt Dora, ask, “Who that exceedingly nice-looking boy is?”’ - -‘Fudge!’ said Vivian, laughing; but he was pleased all the same, for he -felt that he had shown Ralph that even a ‘country cousin’ could do some -things better than he could, in spite of the fact that he did not wear -an Eton suit. - -The event of the evening was the Christmas tree, and there was a -breathless silence as all the children gathered in the drawing-room, -and were arranged in rows, the little ones in front, before the drawn -curtain which separated the two rooms. - -There were mysterious whisperings going on behind the curtain, and -stifled laughter; but at last the bell rang, and the lights were turned -down, and in another moment the curtain flew back, and there stood the -tree, blazing with coloured candles and laden with presents. - -An old man, with snow-white hair and a long beard, stood beside it, -wearing a white cloak which sparkled as if it were covered with -hoar-frost. ‘Father Christmas!’ shouted all the children at once. -‘Three cheers for Father Christmas!’ while Claude, who, in his -eagerness, had crawled very near the green tub in which the Christmas -tree was planted, cried out in a tone of surprise, ‘Oh, it’s father; I -know his boots.’ - -A roar of laughter greeted this discovery. - -‘Hush, Claude,’ said his mother, catching the little fellow by his belt -and swinging him back to his place beside the others. ‘Take care, or -Santa Claus will have no present for you. He only brings them for the -children who sit still in their places.’ - -Then Father Christmas held up his hand for silence, and made a little -speech, telling them how glad he was to see them all, and how he hoped -that they were enjoying themselves, and that they would all be good -children in the year that was coming; then he took up a long white -wand, with a hook at the end of it, and began to take down the presents -from the tree and call out the names which were printed on them. - -It seemed as if Aunt Dora must be a witch, for she had thought of just -the right thing for every one. For the tiny tots there were woolly -bears, and rabbits, and long-haired dolls; while for older children -there were clever mechanical toys, useful glove-boxes and hand-bags, -and prettily bound books. Ralph had his microscope, and Claude his -man-of-war, while Ronald, who was fond of all country pursuits, hugged -two beautifully bound volumes of _British Birds_ in silent delight. - -‘I see two Brownie kodaks; I do wish one of them would come to me,’ -said Robin Earlison, a boy of about Vivian’s age, who was sitting next -him. ‘I don’t want to be greedy; but I do want one badly, if only I -could have the luck to get it. What do you want?’ he went on, trying -to look as if he did not care when one of the coveted kodaks went to -Pierce Dumot, a delicate-looking boy with a slight limp, who was -sitting at the other end of the row. ‘But I expect you know what you -are to get, for you are staying in the house, aren’t you?’ - -Vivian scarcely heard him. His eye had fallen on a toy pistol which -was hanging on one of the lower branches. It was not quite so large as -those which the Strangeways boys had got, but what joy it would be if -it fell to his lot! He held his breath and sat very still as one after -another of the children went up to get their presents. Seven, six, -five—there were only four things left on the tree now—the other kodak, -the pistol, a bright blue book, and a box of soldiers. - -He felt hot all over with the suspense. The soldiers could not be for -him, he was too big for them, so that left only three things. Now -Santa Claus was unfastening the kodak. Ah, it was Robin’s name that -was called, so Robin had got his heart’s desire; and now there only -remained the blue book and the pistol. - -He was so intent listening for the next name he forgot to rise and let -Robin pass to his seat, and Robin, noting the strained look on his -eager face, hoped that he was not disappointed because he had not got -the kodak. - -Now Father Christmas had the pistol in his hand, and was turning it -over seeking for the name. Would he never find it? Vivian felt angry at -the noise that the other boys, who had already received their presents, -were making. But his suspense did not last long. In another moment his -name was called out, and the wished-for toy was in his hand. - -He turned it over and over in delight, examining every part of it, -while some of the other boys stretched over the seats to admire it. -Evidently a toy pistol was a coveted possession. - -‘It’s not a very big one,’ said one lad, with rather a mean desire to -depreciate a present which he had wished for, but which had not fallen -to his lot. - -‘All the better,’ said Ronald, who had left his seat and come round to -see what his brother had got. ‘Father would not have let him use it if -it had been bigger.’ - -‘It will shoot very well, all the same,’ broke in the good-natured -Robin, relieved to find that it was not the kodak that his companion -had been longing for. ‘My cousin had one like that, and he could shoot -sparrows with it. He found it very useful in the spring, when they -tried to eat up all the seeds that he had sown in the garden.’ - -‘Vivian Armitage. No, it is not for him. It is for Vivian Gray, who -isn’t here. This book is for Vivi.’ - -It was Aunt Dora’s voice, and she looked over the boys’ clustering -heads as she spoke. ‘No, Vivi dear, that is not for you,’ she said, -stretching out her hand. ‘You are rather a little chap for that. I am -afraid that mother would not thank me if I sent you home with such a -dangerous toy. This book is for you; I think you will like it. It is -one of Henty’s. Claude got it for a birthday present a year ago, and he -was quite delighted with it.’ - -Poor Vivian! he handed back the pistol and took the book instead with -the best grace he could; but it was a bitter disappointment, and Aunt -Dora’s kind heart was troubled as she saw how his face fell, and with -what difficulty he winked back the tears which were perilously near -filling his eyes. - -‘It serves me right,’ she thought, ‘for having such a thing on the -tree, only I knew that Mr Gray had no objection to Vivian having it, -and it took my fancy when I was buying the presents. I must try to -remember to ask Jack if he would mind if I give Vivi one on his next -birthday; he will be a year older then, and more careful.’ - -Thinking that a change of occupation would be the best thing to -divert the little boy’s thoughts, she wrapped up the pistol with its -accompanying box of caps, and calling Basil Gray, Vivian’s younger -brother, she gave it to him, asking him to take it home, and give it -to Vivian, who was in bed with a chill; then she proposed a game of -charades, choosing Vivi for one of the actors; and as she saw his face -brighten as he ran upstairs with the others to dress, she hoped that -the disappointment was only temporary, and that by the next morning he -would have forgotten all about it. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -A FALSE STEP. - - -BREAKFAST was late next morning, for it had been nearly midnight -before the party was over and the last of the guests had gone, so Aunt -Dora had made the welcome announcement, when she said good-night, -that no one need be called before half-past eight, or be expected to -be downstairs before nine o’clock. Isobel was dressed before that, -however, and so was Vivian, and they amused themselves playing ‘touch’ -round the gallery, making so much noise that at last Aunt Dora opened -her bedroom door. - -‘Parties do not seem to have any power to tire you two,’ she said, -laughing. ‘I wish my bones were as free from aches; but I must have a -little less noise when Claude comes in to say his prayers, so I think -I shall set you to do something for me. It just wants five minutes -till breakfast-time, and perhaps in these five minutes you could carry -up all the things that were brought down for the charades from the -cloakroom to the schoolroom. The maids will be busy putting the hall in -order, and there will be so much dust. We can put them back in their -places after breakfast.’ - -The two children ran obediently downstairs, followed by Ronald, who had -just finished dressing; and by the time Anne appeared in the hall with -the breakfast-tray, bringing with her a most tempting odour of bacon -and eggs, the cloakroom was quite tidy, and the last armful of toys, -rugs, and cloaks had been carried into the schoolroom. - -‘I think we had better take up our caps and greatcoats, Vivi,’ said -Ronald taking his own garments down from the peg where they were -hanging. ‘You know mother told us to keep our things all together in -our own bedroom, so that we might find them easily when we come to -pack. Your things are all over the place already; I saw your woollen -gloves in the schoolroom, and your silk neckerchief on the window-ledge -in the back hall.’ - -‘What a nice time you would have if Miss Ritchie were here!’ laughed -Isobel, trying to see how long she could hop on one foot without losing -her balance; ‘she always fines us a halfpenny for everything that we -leave about. She warns us once, then if we don’t put it away we have to -pay the fine.’ - -‘I’m afraid that I’d lose an awful lot of money if mother did that to -me,’ said Vivian. ‘Somehow I never can remember to put things in their -right places. As for Ronald, I think he must have been born tidy, for -he can always find anything he wants, even in the dark.’ - -‘You are much quicker, though,’ said Ronald, not to be outdone in -brotherly generosity; ‘you can do things in half the time that I take -to do them. But hurry up, old chap; run along and find your things, or -the bell will ring before you get down again.’ - -‘All right,’ answered Vivian; and as he spoke he threw his coat over -his arm, and ran across the front hall, and disappeared through the -swing door which separated it from the back staircase, in order to -gather together the rest of his belongings as he went upstairs. - -But although Ronald had plenty of time to go upstairs and hang -everything in his wardrobe in his leisurely way, and come down again -and join the others in the dining-room before the breakfast-bell rang, -it was fully five minutes before Vivian reappeared. - -‘Whatever can he be doing?’ asked Uncle Walter, as he rapidly cut -slices of bread and served out the bacon and eggs. ‘His coffee will be -quite cold.’ - -‘Gathering all his things together, in case mother fines him a -halfpenny for each of them,’ laughed Isobel. ‘I have frightened him by -telling him what Miss Ritchie does to us.’ - -‘But you are a girl, and girls have always to learn to keep the house -tidy,’ said Ralph in his lofty way. ‘It is of far more consequence for -a woman to be tidy than for a man.—Isn’t it, mother?’ - -‘Certainly not,’ said his mother; ‘and if those are the notions that -you are learning at St Chad’s we will have to put on the halfpenny fine -in the holidays to counteract them. I expect you to be just as tidy as -Isobel—tidier, in fact, because you are older.’ - -At this moment Vivian appeared, and his entrance put an end to the -discussion, for every one began laughingly to ask him if it had taken -him five minutes to hang up his coat, but he did not seem to be as -ready with an answer as he generally was, and, slipping into his place -between Ralph and Claude, he began to eat his breakfast hurriedly, as -if to make up for lost time. He kept his face bent so steadily over his -plate that no one noticed until breakfast was over that he had a big -blue bruise on one of his temples, which looked as though he had struck -his face against something sharp. It was little Claude who saw it -first, and he cried out at once, in spite of Vivian’s hurried whisper -to keep quiet. - -‘Come here, mother, and see how Vivian has hurt himself; he has got a -great bump over one of his eyes. Hadn’t he better have eau de Cologne -on it?’ - -To Claude, the idea of being petted by mother, and having nice-smelling -stuff put on his knocks and bruises, quite compensated for the pain of -them, and he could not understand why Vivian tried to escape upstairs -before his aunt came hurriedly from the kitchen, where she had gone to -have an interview with cook. - -‘Why, Vivi, boy,’ she said, drawing him to the light, and pressing her -fingers gently over the ugly mark, ‘why did you not tell me of this, -and have it seen to, when you came downstairs? However did you manage -to do it?’ - -‘I slipped, and knocked it against the corner of the washstand in -our room, Aunt Dora; and I am very sorry, but I broke the glass for -drinking water out of. I knocked it on to the floor.’ - -‘Yes, and you must have upset the ewer too,’ said Ralph, who had been -upstairs for a book, ‘for I heard Mary tell Anne that your carpet was -soaking, and that you had scrubbed it up with one of mother’s best -damask towels.’ - -Vivian’s face turned scarlet. - -‘I’m very sorry,’ he stammered; ‘but the ewer got upset as well, and I -did not know what to do. I never thought about the towel. But the ewer -isn’t broken, Aunt Dora.’ - -Mrs Osbourne felt a little troubled. She had always tried to impress -upon her own children that the straightforward way, when any mishap -occurred, was to come to her at once, and tell her about it; and she -could not help wishing that her little nephew had done this instead of -saying nothing about the accident until it was found out, and he was -compelled to do so, and then try to shrink from inquiries. - -But, after all, it was rather an ordeal for a little boy to come down -in a strange house and publicly own to having nearly swamped his -bedroom, besides having broken a glass; so she contented herself by -saying, as she bathed the wounded head, ‘It would have been better if -you had told me at once, dear, and then I could have sent Mary to dry -up the water; and, perhaps, if your head had been bathed at once there -would not have been such a bump.’ - -She kissed him and sent him away, little dreaming how miserable the -poor boy really was, or what a battle was going on in his heart. - -In a moment of temptation he had taken a false step, a terribly false -one, and that better self which dwells within us all was urging him to -retrace it while yet there was time, and it was easy to do so. As he -went upstairs to the schoolroom his mother’s words of the Sunday before -came into his mind: ‘You have not got the courage to confess when you -have done something wrong;’ and, child as he was, he felt the truth of -them, and he wished he could make up his mind now to confess everything -to Aunt Dora. - -Not that it need seem like a confession at all, for he had only to -tell her that he had found a parcel in his greatcoat-pocket which was -not his, and which must have been put there by some one in mistake. -If he ran into his bedroom for a moment, and took the parcel from its -hiding-place and put it back in his coat-pocket, he need not tell her -that he had intended to keep it, and had hidden it on the top of the -wardrobe, and in so doing had tipped over the chair he was standing on -and overturned the ewer. - -For five long minutes he stood at the top of the stairs debating with -himself. He even went the length of going into his room with the -half-formed intention in his mind of getting down the parcel; but Mary -the housemaid was in possession, and she spoke to him rather tartly. - -‘Now, Master Vivian,’ she began, ‘be a good boy, and don’t go messing -all over the place again just when I’ve got it all cleaned up.’ - -Colouring at the sharp words, and at the sight of the dark, wet patch -on the carpet, Vivian drew back and went into the schoolroom. - -There every one was busy, and took little notice of him. Ralph and -Ronald were curled up in two basket-chairs by the fire, deep in books, -while Isobel was writing a letter, and Claude was playing happily on -the floor with his man-of-war. - -‘Come into the bathroom and see how well she sails,’ he cried; but -Vivian was in no mood to attend to him. The conflicting voices were too -strong in his heart, and he went out and wandered restlessly downstairs -again. - -Aunt Dora had finished her business with the cook, and was now seated -at her desk in the study, making out lists for the stores. Looking up, -she caught sight of her little nephew’s white, anxious face. - -‘Do you feel sick, dearie?’ she asked kindly, laying down her pen. ‘A -bump like that is a nasty thing, and if you like you can lie down for a -while. Come, and I will tuck you up on the couch, and we will not let -any of the others in to make a noise until lunch-time.’ - -‘I’m not sick, thank you,’ said Vivian, drawing pictures slowly with -his fingers on the window-pane; ‘but I want to tell you something, -auntie.’ - -‘Yes, dearie?’ - -At that moment Anne appeared in the doorway. ‘If you please, mum, -there’s a young gentleman in the hall who wishes to speak to you. It is -one of the young gentlemen who were here last night, and I think he has -lost something.’ - -Mrs Osbourne rose and left the room, and Vivian followed her, sick and -miserable. He would fain not have gone at all, for he knew too well who -it was, and what he wanted; but something within him compelled him to -go and hear what was said. - -As he expected, Basil Gray stood outside, a look of anxiety on his -boyish face. - -‘Good-morning, Mrs Osbourne. I’ve come very early, but mother sent me -round. The fact is, I’m afraid that I have lost that parcel which you -gave me to take home to Vivian—the pistol and caps, you know. It was -awfully careless of me, and yet I can’t think how I lost it. I put it -in my greatcoat-pocket in the cloakroom, as you told me, and I never -thought anything more about it until I got home, and ran upstairs to -give it to Vivian, and when I put my hand in my pocket it wasn’t there. -Of course it may have fallen out on the way home, but it doesn’t seem -likely; my pocket is too deep, and mother thinks that I may have put -it in some one else’s pocket. There were some coats hanging in the -cloakroom just like mine, almost the same, made of gray tweed. This is -the coat I had on last night,’ and he unbuttoned it to let Mrs Osbourne -see it better. - -‘Why, it is almost exactly the same as those that Ronald and you have, -Vivian,’ she said, stooping down to examine it. ‘It is just possible -that Basil may have put it in one of your pockets. Run into the -cloakroom, like a good boy, and see, and we will go upstairs, and send -Ralph to search his coat, although I hardly think that you could put it -there, Basil, for he has a dark-brown coat, quite different from this.’ - -Clearly Aunt Dora had forgotten that the coats had been carried -upstairs in the morning, but Vivian did not remind her of the fact. -He crept away into the cloakroom and waited there, feeling as he had -never felt in his life before. He realised that he had lost the chance -of retrieving that first wrong step, for he knew only too well that -he would never have the courage now to confess that the pistol had -been put in the wrong pocket, and that when he had found it there, as -he was carrying his coat upstairs, the sudden temptation had been too -strong for him, and that, almost without intending to keep it, he had -hidden it where no one would dream of looking for it. At least he hoped -so; but supposing Mary took it into her head to dust the top of the -wardrobe? The very idea made him shiver; and, in case Aunt Dora might -wonder why he was lingering downstairs, he started and ran out of the -cloakroom so suddenly that he knocked up against Anne, who was dusting -in the hall, and, muttering an apology, hurried up into the schoolroom. - -‘We took our coats upstairs in the morning, Aunt Dora,’ he said -breathlessly, ‘and I don’t see any parcel lying about.’ - -‘No,’ said his aunt; ‘if it had been downstairs the maids must have -noticed it, and Ronald has just been searching his own pockets and -yours, and it is not there.—So, I am afraid, Basil, you must either -have dropped it on your way home, or else you have put it in some -other boy’s coat. I will write and ask if any of them have found it, -although I think if they have, they will be honourable enough to bring -it back.’ - -‘Honourable enough!’ The words fell on Vivian’s ears like burning drops -of lead, reminding him of some words which his father had once spoken -when Ronald and he had been discussing what they meant to be when they -were men. - -‘Well, boys,’ Dr Armitage had said, putting his hands on their -shoulders, ‘I may not have much money to leave you, but I will give -you a good education, and after that you shall choose a calling for -yourselves. I do not much mind what you are, as long as you grow up -God-fearing, honourable men.’ - -Ronald, always slow to speak, had merely answered, ‘Yes, father, we’ll -try to be that;’ but Vivian had hugged the Doctor in his impulsive way, -and had promised readily what seemed to him an easy task. - -Alas! what claim had he to the word ‘honourable’ now? - -The thought stung him to the quick, and yet he had not the courage to -slip downstairs to the study, after Basil had gone, and his aunt had -resumed her writing, and finish the confession which Anne’s entrance -had interrupted. - -In spite of his self-loathing, it was a relief to him to think that the -risk of discovery was averted in the meantime, for every one seemed -satisfied that the pistol had not been lost in the house; so he tried -recklessly to stifle his conscience, and presently, when they went -out to play hide-and-seek in the garden, his voice was so loud and -merry that Aunt Dora, watching them from the study window, wondered at -the buoyancy of childhood, and thought with a smile of the miserable -white-faced little lad of an hour ago. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK. - - -THE grounds round Eversley were unusually large for a suburban house, -and there was plenty of room for a good romping game. - -First came the garden with the greenhouses and vineries, with a large -tennis-green at the side, then two small paddocks almost large enough -to be honoured by the name of fields, with a walk all round bordered -by a row of fruit-trees. These were separated from the Heath by a -double fence, enclosing a tangled hedge which in summer was a mass of -wild-roses and honeysuckle, but which now lay bare and dead under its -covering of snow. - -At the far corner of one of the paddocks, quite hidden from the house, -was a little summer-house, where in summer the children kept their -gardening tools and played on rainy days, and behind it stood a fine -old oak-tree, with low spreading branches, along which any one might -creep, and drop down on the other side of the hedge on to the Heath. - -Altogether it was a delightful place for a game of hide-and-seek, and -the children found it so, as they chased each other round and round the -paddock, or dodged out and in among the narrow paths which separated -the vineries and potting-houses from the stables. - -The game was at its height when Isobel and Vivian, hot and breathless, -found a convenient hiding-place between the summer-house and the trunk -of the old oak, and were resting, safe from pursuit, while Ronald and -Claude were searching for them in all directions round by the stables -and the kitchen-garden—Ralph, who had been taken, watching them from -the shelter of the ‘home.’ - -‘This is a lovely place to hide in, and no one knows of it but myself,’ -said Isobel, brushing the snow from her skirts, ‘and it is even -better in summer, when the leaves are on the trees. When I crawl in -here no one can see a trace of me, no matter how close they come. If -Ralph had been on our track he might have thought of coming round the -summer-house, and he might have seen our footprints, but I don’t think -Claude ever will.’ - -‘Yes, it is a jolly place for hiding, and that looks a jolly tree to -climb,’ answered Vivian, looking with longing eyes at the low spreading -branches. ‘Suppose we crawl along one of those branches and drop over -on to the Heath, and then get “home” by the gate, wouldn’t Claude look -astonished? He would think we had fallen from the clouds.’ - -‘Yes, do let us,’ said Isobel, always ready for any deed of daring, -and, quick as thought she was up the tree and crawling carefully along -one of the wide branches. - -Vivian watched her with admiring eyes. - -‘You are a brick, Isobel,’ he said; ‘you can climb as well as any -boy, and yet you are so nice and dainty. I wish the Lister girls down -at home saw you, they are such stiff, starched, stuck-up prigs; they -think that no girl can climb and do that sort of thing and yet be what -they call ladylike. If they have got to get over a wall, no matter how -low it is, they cry out and make such a fuss. We fellows hate them. -They spoil all the parties and picnics with their silly ways, and yet -they have to be asked, for their mother lets them have awfully jolly -parties, and they always ask us.’ - -‘Silly things!’ said Isobel, turning round now that she had reached the -end of the branch, and trying to bob up and down so as to get a swing. - -‘But I am rather sorry for them all the same, for I expect they have no -brothers. I always pity girls who have no brothers. I can tell them as -soon as I see them, they walk so straight and proper, one on each side -of their governess.’ - -‘But supposing there are three of them,’ said Vivian, laughing. - -‘Oh, then two walk in front, and one with the governess,’ said Isobel; -‘but they all have the same proper look. If you like, I’ll point some -of them out to you when we go down the Finchley Road.’ - -‘You would point out girls you knew, who have no brothers,’ said -Vivian, trying to tease her. - -‘I’m not so mean,’ answered Isobel, the delicate colour rising to her -face at the imputation; ‘but if you intend to come along this branch -you had better come quickly. I see Claude’s cap past the end of the -hen-house.’ - -Vivian began crawling along the branch, but presently he stopped short. - -‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to something that looked like a bit -of dirty rag, which stuck out of the side of a thick branch just over -his head. Isobel frowned and hesitated. - -‘You make me tell you all my secrets,’ she said at last, laughing; ‘but -if I tell you, you must promise, honour bright, not to tell any one -else.’ - -‘I promise,’ said Vivian solemnly, looking curiously at the odd-looking -bundle, which was partly covered with snow. - -‘Well, then, that’s my very own private hiding-place. I found it out by -myself, and no one else knows of it. I was up here one day last summer, -and was walking along this branch and holding on to that one—you can do -that in summer, when the branches are not slippery—and all at once my -fingers went into a hole. The wood felt quite rotten, and I broke it -away, and made it bigger, and I found that the whole branch was hollow, -so I began to use it to put things in—story-books and things. Then, on -half-holidays when I wanted to be alone, I used to climb up here, -and sit and read, and nobody knew where I was.’ - -[Illustration: ‘But what is that bundle of rags for?’ went on Vivian, -putting up his hand to pull them down. - -V. L. PAGE 59.] - -‘But what is that bundle of rags for?’ went on Vivian, putting up his -hand to pull them down. - -‘Oh, don’t touch them!’ cried Isobel, almost overbalancing herself in -her anxiety; ‘that is an old duster that I borrowed from Mary. I stuck -it in to prevent the rain and snow getting inside the branch and making -the hole all wet. It would spoil my books, you see, if it got damp.’ - -‘I won’t touch it; I just want to see,’ said Vivian, stretching his -neck and regarding the place with keen interest. ‘Do you ever keep -things in it just now?’ - -‘No, never,’ said Isobel; ‘it’s far too wet; besides, it would be no -fun sitting up a tree at Christmas time.’ - -At that moment Claude caught sight of Isobel’s bright scarlet tam o’ -shanter over the top of the summer-house, and, with a shout to Ronald, -he bore down on them as fast as his fat little legs would let him. - -‘Caught!’ cried Ronald as he raced up; ‘fairly caught, for you cannot -get off that branch without our getting hold of you.’ - -‘Can’t we?’ cried Isobel mischievously, as she rocked her end of the -branch gently up and down. ‘Just wait and see.’ - -‘Let me go first, Isobel,’ said Vivian, crawling along to where she -stood, and trying to pass her; ‘the ground may be harder than we think, -and my boots are thicker than yours, so I won’t feel the jump so much, -and you can see how I get on.’ - -‘Fudge!’ replied Isobel, refusing to give up her point of vantage. -‘It looks high from here; but if I let myself down, and hold on by my -arms, I can drop quite easily. Robin Earlison and I did it one day last -summer, and got round to the “home” before the others knew where we had -gone.’ - -She was stooping down preparing to lower herself, when all at once -there was a sudden crack, and, before either of the children could -move, the branch gave way, and fell with its burden on the hard path, -which at this point bordered the Heath. - -Ronald in great alarm ran forward and tried to find an opening in the -thick, snow-covered hedge through which he could squeeze himself. - -‘Are you hurt?’ he cried anxiously, finding that his efforts only -resulted in scratched hands and ruffled hair. ‘I can’t get through, but -I will run into the house and call somebody if you are.’ - -‘No, we’re not,’ answered Vivian, scrambling to his feet, anxious only -that the news of this new escapade should not reach his aunt’s ears; -for, although no one had said so, he felt that she would not like the -idea of any of the children getting out of bounds in this way. - -‘Then we shall come and catch you,’ shouted Ronald, and Vivian -could hear the sound of his retreating footsteps going round by the -apple-tree. He had answered for Isobel and himself when he had said -that neither of them were hurt; but Isobel, who had sat up at first, -was now lying back on the path again, with a funny, dazed look in her -eyes. - -‘You’re not hurt, Isobel, are you?’ he asked, kneeling down beside her, -and feeling frightened all at once; ‘for if you are, I had better run -for Aunt Dora.’ - -‘No, I don’t think I am,’ said Isobel bravely, although she did not -attempt to move, ‘not really hurt, but I think I have knocked the back -of my head against something.’ - -‘Can’t you sit up?’ said Vivian. ‘If you could just sit up, and get -into the house, we would bathe it with tepid water. That’s good for a -bump I know. Mother always bathes Dorothy’s head with tepid water if -she knocks it.’ - -‘I’ll try,’ said the little girl, and with his help she struggled to -her feet, but when she tried to walk she turned so sick and giddy she -was glad to sit down on the broken branch again. She was still sitting -there when Ronald ran up triumphantly, out of breath with his long run -round by the lodge. His look of triumph faded away, however, when he -saw her. - -‘Hallo, Isobel!’ he exclaimed, ‘I thought you were not hurt. You -haven’t broken your arm or anything?’ - -‘Of course she hasn’t,’ answered his brother impatiently. ‘She is only -feeling queer because she fell on the hard path and bumped her head. -She’ll be all right in a minute.’ - -But Ronald did not like the look on his cousin’s face. - -‘I think I’ll just run in for Aunt Dora,’ he said; and, without heeding -Isobel’s protest, he turned and ran off. - -Aunt Dora had gone out, however, and when he told his tale to Ralph, -who had grown tired of waiting for the others to be taken, and had gone -indoors, he only laughed at his cousin’s grave face and anxious voice. - -‘Don’t be a muff,’ he said in his languid, patronising way. ‘If you -were at school you would learn not to be so squeamish over every little -knock that every one gets. I expect Isobel will be all right by now, -and it will teach both Vivian and her not to get out of the garden like -that. Father would be in a wax if he knew, I can tell you.’ - -Ronald felt inclined to remind Ralph that, if he were not in the habit -of feeling squeamish over other people’s knocks, he made quite enough -fuss over his own, for Isobel or Claude would laugh over a bruise or a -cut which would send their elder brother into the house in tears; but -he remembered that he was Ralph’s guest, so like a gentleman he kept -back the hasty words, and set off in silence to see how it was faring -with the party outside. - -[Illustration: Isobel lay down with a story-book on the schoolroom -sofa, and soon fell into a heavy sleep. - -V. L. PAGE 64.] - -He met them just beyond the lodge; and, although Isobel was walking -slowly, the colour had come back to her face, and she replied cheerily -to his anxious question that she was all right, and that her head did -not ache so badly now. - -Perhaps if Mrs Osbourne had come home in time for the children’s early -dinner she might not have been deceived so easily by the little girl’s -assurances; but, thinking that the children would be quite safe as -long as Ronald and Ralph were with them, she had stayed to spend the -afternoon with an old aunt of Mr Osbourne’s whom she found in bed -with a bad attack of bronchitis; and although Anne, who waited on the -children at dinner-time, noticed the child’s dull eyes and listless -manner, she only said, ‘Surely you are not hungry, Miss Isobel,’ as she -took away her almost untouched plate; and Isobel, after dawdling about -with Claude for a little, helping him to set out all his soldiers in a -row on the edge of the bath, ready to salute as his new man-of-war was -launched, lay down with a story-book on the schoolroom sofa, and soon -fell into a heavy sleep. - -The frost had given way, and the afternoon was dull and wet, so there -was no prospect of getting out, and employment had to be found indoors. -Soon Ralph, tired of his book, and more sociably inclined than usual, -proposed that they should go up to an unused room at the top of the -house, where he had a carpenter’s bench and a set of tools, and begin -to hollow out a log which he intended making into a boat. Both Ronald -and he were good craftsmen, and they were soon busy with hammer and -chisel, while Vivian found employment for his fingers in whittling the -corners off a piece of wood which was destined to form a funnel. - -The noise of hammering prevented much talking, and his own thoughts -did not seem to be very pleasant, for the cheery whistling, which Mrs -Armitage was wont to say always told her when Vivian was about, soon -stopped, and a frown gathered on his handsome little face. Presently he -laid down the piece of wood and left the room. - -The lie that he had told, or acted rather, in letting his aunt believe -that he knew nothing of the lost pistol was weighing heavily on his -conscience, and the remembrance of the paper parcel lying on the top -of the wardrobe in his room, ready to be found by any prying servant, -haunted him. - -The very thought of the pistol was hateful to him now. He wondered -why he had ever wanted it, and he wished that he could get rid of it -anyhow, anywhere. But to do so was not so easy. He was never out alone, -or he might have thrown it into one of the ponds on the Heath; and -although the idea of burying it came into his mind, he remembered what -Isobel had told him about Monarch the great watch-dog hiding bones in -the corners of the flower-beds whenever he had a chance, and scraping -them up again just when the gardener had sown some special kind of seed -there or bedded out some favourite plant. No, it certainly would not be -safe to hide the packet in the ground. - -Suddenly a new idea flashed through his brain, and he quickened his -steps. The hole that Isobel had let him see—that would be the very -place to hide it in. If once he could put it there, without any one -seeing him, and replace the old duster, it might lie for months before -it was discovered; and even if it were discovered no one could trace -the theft back to him. He would push it well along inside the hollow -branch, so that even Isobel would not be likely to find it. How stupid -of him not to have thought of it sooner! But there was time to do it -yet, if only Aunt Dora would stay out a little longer. It was getting -dark, and the gardeners would have gone home to tea. It was a splendid -chance, if only he could slip out without being seen. - -While these thoughts were passing through his mind he had gone to -his room, and noiselessly locked the door and drawn a chair up to -the wardrobe. He dared not put the chair on the washstand, as he had -done in the morning, in case of another accident, but he dragged his -father’s portmanteau forward and lifted it on to the chair, and when -he was mounted on that he found he could, with an effort, just touch -the parcel with the tips of his fingers. He looked round for something -which would raise him a little higher. The travelling-rug—but that -had been left downstairs; a pillow—that would do. Quick as thought he -jumped to the floor, and pulled one of the pillows from under the -coverlet. Taking off his slippers in case he soiled it, he mounted the -unsteady pile. How soft and uneven the pillow was. His feet slipped and -sank in it. And there were footsteps on the staircase. Was it Anne, or -was it Aunt Dora come back? With a desperate effort he raised himself -on tiptoe, and seized the parcel; and then, overbalancing himself, he -fell with a crash, carrying both the pillow and the portmanteau with -him. - -At that moment a knock came to the door. - -‘What in all the living world are you doing, Master Vivian?’ - -It was only Anne after all, and Vivian breathed freely again. - -‘One moment, Anne,’ he cried; and, quick as lightning, he pushed the -pillow under the coverlet again and returned the portmanteau to its -place. Then he hid the little packet containing the pistol and caps -under his jacket, and unlocked the door. - -Anne, tired of waiting, had gone on to Ralph’s bedroom, and when she -came back Vivian was gone and the room was empty. - -‘Whatever has he been up to now?’ she said to herself, as she noted -the tumbled bed-clothes and the overturned chair, which Vivian in his -haste had forgotten to pick up. ‘That boy is up to mischief, or my name -is not Anne Martin. This is the second time that he has fallen in this -room to-day, and it’s clear that it was that chair he fell from.’ - -So saying, she picked up the chair, and, getting on to it, she -proceeded to take a survey of the top of the wardrobe and the -bed-hangings, but she found no trace of anything to arouse her -suspicions; and with a shake of her head at the sight of the dust which -had accumulated since she looked up there last, she got down again, -muttering to herself as she did so, ‘If that young gentleman lived in -this house I would see that the mistress put an end to the overturning -of ewers and crumpling of pillows, especially when he was sleeping in -the very best bedroom.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -ANOTHER INVITATION. - - -‘WELL, chickens,’ said Mrs Osbourne, as she came into the schoolroom -about half-past four, ‘and what have you been doing all afternoon? Did -you think I had gone off altogether and left you?’ - -The gas had not been lit, but the room looked warm and cosy by the -light of a blazing fire. - -Claude looked up from the hearthrug, where he was looking at pictures -in the ruddy glow. ‘The others are up in the top room, making a boat,’ -he answered, ‘and Isobel’s asleep on the sofa.’ - -At the sound of her name the little girl roused herself and sat up -rubbing her eyes. - -‘Why, Isobel,’ said her mother, ‘what is the matter with you? You are -not generally a sleepy-head.’ - -‘I lay down with a story-book after dinner, and I must have gone to -sleep,’ said Isobel vaguely. ‘I suppose it was the party.’ - -She seemed to have forgotten all about her tumble, and the explanation -made her mother laugh. - -‘It is a good thing that it is holiday time, missy,’ she said, ‘if you -are going to sleep half the day after every party. I think we will -have to send you to bed two hours earlier on Monday night, for I have -just got an invitation for all of you to go to Mrs Seton-Kinaird’s on -Tuesday. She is going to give a very fine party indeed, and I am sure -you will enjoy it. There is to be a conjurer and performing dogs.’ - -‘Oh mother!’ cried Claude in great excitement, springing to his feet, -‘and am I asked too? I have never seen dogs perform in my life.’ - -‘Yes, you too,’ said his mother, smiling, ‘and Ronald and Vivian. Mrs -Seton-Kinaird asked you all to come.’ - -‘To come where?’ asked Ralph, who had just entered the room, followed -by Ronald. - -‘To a party with performing dogs and a conjurer,’ replied Claude; ‘and, -Ronald, you are asked too, and Vivian. Isn’t it a pity you are going -home?’ - -‘Perhaps they needn’t go,’ said Isobel. ‘Couldn’t you write to Aunt -Margaret, mother, and beg her to let them stay until Wednesday?’ - -‘Perhaps I may,’ said Mrs Osbourne, smiling.—‘What would you say to -that, eh, Ronald? Or do you think that you will have had enough of -London by that time, and be wearying to get home?’ - -‘Indeed I won’t,’ said Ronald eagerly. ‘I would love to stay, and so -would Vivian, I know, if mother will let us. It is awfully good of you -to ask us.’ - -‘Where is Vivian?’ asked his aunt, noticing his absence for the -first time. ‘Ah, here he comes,’ as Vivian came running up the back -stairs.—‘Why, you are quite wet, my boy,’ she said in surprise as she -laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘You surely have never been outside in -that pouring rain?’ - -‘I ran out into the summer-house to see if I had not left my knife -there,’ said Vivian, wriggling from under her grasp. ‘It was not very -wet, auntie, and I ran the whole way.’ - -‘All the same, you must go and change your coat and your stockings,’ -said Mrs Osbourne, running her hand rapidly over his clothes, ‘and your -knickerbockers too, I think. Don’t run out in such rain again, dearie, -for you are quite damp, and there are a lot of colds about. I don’t -want you to catch one, for I have heard of more gaieties for you. But -run off now; you shall hear all about it when you come back.’ - -‘There is a splendid party at Mrs Seton-Somebody’s,’ cried Claude, -always eager to be the first to tell any piece of news, ‘and we are all -invited, and mother is going to write to Aunt Margaret to ask if Vivian -and you can stay.’ - -Fond as he was of parties, Vivian almost hoped that his mother would -insist on Ronald and him returning home on the day that had been -originally fixed, for the thought of the stolen pistol still lay like -a load on his mind, in spite of the fact that it was no longer in the -house, and he felt that he would never shake the load off until he -was safely home, and it was left behind him—left hidden in the hollow -branch which Isobel had shown him that afternoon. - -For that was the true errand that had taken him out in the rain, -although he had glanced hastily into the summer-house for an excuse, in -case any one asked him what he had been doing, and then he had seen an -old cap lying on the floor, and wrapped it round the pistol to protect -it from the wet. Then it had been an easy matter to slip behind the -summer-house, in the growing dusk, and jump up on the branch, and pull -the old duster out of its place, and drop the bundle into the hole, and -then close it up again, and run back to the schoolroom with the easy -lie about the knife upon his lips. - -‘And indeed it was not a lie at all,’ he reasoned to himself, as he -slipped off his wet clothes and tried to rub out the marks which the -wet branches had left on them, ‘for I had lost my knife, and I did -look into the summer-house, and it might have been there;’ and with -a feeling of relief that the parcel was now safe from any risk of -discovery by the servants, he went into the schoolroom and joined the -others at the tea-table. - -Saturday morning brought a reply to Mrs Osbourne’s letter, and loud -were the exclamations of delight when she announced at breakfast-time -that Aunt Margaret consented to the two boys staying a couple of days -longer. - -Even Vivian felt glad for the moment, for the party on Tuesday night -bade fair to eclipse any that even Ralph had been to as yet; and now -that the excitement of their own Christmas tree was over, the Eversley -children could talk of little else. - -Mrs Seton-Kinaird was a rich young widow who lived in a large -old-fashioned house at the top of the Heath. She had had two children, -a boy and a girl, but the girl had died of consumption, and the boy was -very delicate; and his mother, haunted by the fear that someday she -might lose him as she had lost his sister, indulged him more, perhaps, -than was wise. His lungs were weak, and as soon as the Christmas -holidays were over she intended to shut up her house and go to Egypt -with him, in order to avoid the cold spring months at home. - -The doctors, indeed, had advised her to go away in December; but -Cedric, as the boy was called, hated the idea. He was tired, poor -little man, of being dragged from one foreign country to another in -search of the health that did not come, and he had cried so bitterly at -the prospect of spending Christmas away from home, that his mother had -given in to him, and had promised him this birthday party, agreeing to -have performing dogs, or conjurers, or any novelty that he liked, so -long as he made up his mind to the prospect of the journey afterwards. - -The children at Eversley knew him slightly. Claude and Isobel often -met him on the Heath, walking with his mother or his governess; but -the friendship did not grow rapidly, their boisterous health and high -spirits rather alarmed him, for he did not care to rush all over the -grass, playing hide-and-seek among the bushes, while they, on their -part, soon grew tired of his sober face and peevish, complaining ways. - -‘He’s a silly, fretful boy,’ said Isobel emphatically, when, after -listening to a detailed account of the beauties of Mrs Seton-Kinaird’s -house, and the wonderful playroom full of marvellous toys that Cedric -possessed, Vivian had asked her what kind of boy he was. ‘He is always -grumbling about something. Just now it is because his mother and he are -going away to Egypt, to live on the Nile in a boat, and do no lessons. -Catch me grumbling if Dr Robson said that I was to do that. Only think -of having no lessons to do, and seeing the Sphinx and the Pyramids!’ - -‘Ah, but my girlie, you are quite well, and don’t know what it is to -be always tired and have bad headaches, as poor Cedric has,’ said Mrs -Osbourne, who had overheard the last remark. ‘It is one thing having a -holiday when one is strong and able to enjoy it, and another thing to -have to take one when one is too tired to find pleasure in anything.’ - -Isobel coloured at the gentle tone of reproof, and thought rather -rebelliously that if her mother only knew how her head was aching at -that moment, or what queer little jerks of pain had been running up and -down her back for the last two days, she would not have spoken like -that, but would think her a brave girl for running about and making so -little fuss. Then, next moment, being a conscientious little mortal, -and having a habit of looking her faults straight in the face, she -owned to herself that she was only making no fuss because they were all -going to the Hippodrome that evening with father, a very great treat -indeed, for Mr Osbourne was generally too busy to pay much attention to -the children, and she knew that if she told her mother how funny she -felt, she would probably make her stay quietly at home and go early to -bed. - -So she held her tongue like a Spartan, although her head grew worse -and worse, and went to the Hippodrome along with the others. But by -that time the pain was almost unbearable, and the glare of the electric -light hurt her eyes so badly that sometimes she could hardly help -crying out. She was glad to change seats with Ralph, and sit close to -a pillar which he declared spoilt his view, and lean her burning head -against it, for it felt nice and cool, and its shadow shielded her eyes -from the light. - -If her mother had been there she would have noticed the poor child’s -discomfort; but being, as she had laughingly said before they -started, too old for entertainments of that kind, except when she was -needed as a chaperone, she had gone to sit for a few hours with poor -old Miss Osbourne, whose bronchitis did not as yet show any signs -of improvement. As it was, when the merry party returned full of -excitement at all the wonderful things they had seen—the performing -seals, and dancing goats, and the cyclist who rode a bicycle along a -tight-rope with his hands tied behind him, the little girl’s flushed -cheeks and bright eyes passed unnoticed; and when, next morning, she -felt too sick and queer to get up, and had to confess how badly her -head ached, her mother did not feel at all anxious, thinking that the -excitement and the late hours had been too much for her, and that a day -spent quietly in bed, with nothing to eat but bread-and-milk, would -soon put matters right again. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE BROKEN WINDOWS. - - -‘I HOPE you won’t be lonely, Pussy,’ said Mrs Osbourne, looking into -Isobel’s bedroom for a moment on her way to dress for church. ‘I would -have stayed at home with you myself if it had not been New Year’s Day. -You know how father likes us all to be at church together to begin -the New Year, and Claude could not go if I did not, and he would be -so disappointed. He had his little red prayer-book laid out before -breakfast.’ - -‘Yes, here it is,’ said Claude, who had come into the room on tiptoe -behind his mother, looking like a jolly little Jack Tar in his long -blue trousers and new reefer coat, into whose pocket the bright-red -prayer-book—a present from his godmother—was squeezed; ‘and I have got -markers in at all the places. Ronald put them in.’ - -‘Ronald is very good to you,’ said his mother. ‘And now that you are -such a big boy, and have a prayer-book of your own, you will try and -sit quite still, and not fidget in the sermon.’ - -‘I won’t, if it isn’t very long,’ answered Claude gravely, setting his -fat legs wide apart and shaking his head until the wealth of golden -curls which covered it bobbed up and down like yellow fluff; ‘but if it -gets very tiresome, mother, you must let me move my legs about just a -little; they get all prickly if they keep still too long.’ - -Both Isobel and her mother laughed. - -‘He means pins and needles,’ said Isobel. ‘I remember I used to get -them if my legs hung down too long.’ - -‘I will give you two footstools, sir, and then you will have no excuse -for fidgeting,’ said Mrs Osbourne; ‘and perhaps, who knows, if you -sit very still for the first ten minutes of the sermon there may be -a picture somewhere in mother’s prayer-book, which she will let you -look at.—But I must be off and get on my bonnet, for the carriage will -be round in no time. Good-bye, dearie. I will send Anne up with some -story-books for you, although I think it would be better for your head -if you lay quite quiet, and did not read.’ - -Bending down and giving her little daughter a kiss, Mrs Osbourne left -the room, followed by Claude; and a few moments afterwards Isobel heard -the carriage come round, then the sound of voices and footsteps on the -gravel, then the door was shut, and the carriage drove away, and a -stillness fell over the house. She felt very drowsy; and when presently -a tap came to the door she did not turn her head, but murmured a sleepy -‘Thank you,’ as some one—Anne, she supposed—laid down an armful of -books on the little bamboo table at the side of her bed, and stole -quietly away. - -It was not Anne, however, who had brought them, but Vivian, who had -been seized with such a violent fit of coughing at the last moment -that he had been left behind. He had clearly caught a little cold; and -as it was a beautifully sunny morning, his aunt wisely thought that a -sharp run round the garden would be better for him than sitting for an -hour and a half in a heated church. Besides, he could run up now and -then and see how Isobel was getting on. She charged him not to sit all -morning in her room; but she felt that it would not be so lonely for -the little girl if she knew that he was at home too. - -New Years Day is generally a day of good resolutions. We have turned -over a page in our lives, as it were, and the old sheet with its blurs -and its blots lies behind us. It cannot be recalled, or changed, no -matter what mistakes, or failures, or sins are written upon it; and we -turn with relief to the fresh page which lies so stainless, and smooth, -and white before us, and we determine that, so far as in us lies, we -will fill it with records of more strenuous endeavours after goodness, -with fewer blots and rubbed-out lines. It is a solemn call to ‘forget’ -the things that are behind, and reach forward to those that are before; -and our hearts are dull indeed if we do not respond to it. - -Vivian was not slow to feel the influence of the day. He felt that -there was so much that he wanted to forget, and he tried, as it were, -to turn over this black page of his life and glue it down, forgetting, -as so many of us do, that the blots on the old page are apt to show -through the paper, and reappear on the nice clean sheet in front of -us, unless we have repented of the sins that caused them, and have done -everything in our power to repair the trouble and mischief that they -have caused. - -It was Sunday morning, and he determined to spend it as he thought the -old Rector at home would say Sunday morning ought to be spent by a -boy who could not go to church; so, after he had carried up the books -to Isobel’s room, he went to the schoolroom, and taking down a big -illustrated copy of _The Children of the Bible_, which belonged to -Claude, he turned over the pages and tried to settle down to read. But -the stories brought with them the thought of his mother, who had read -them to Ronald and him when they were younger, and with the thought -came the remembrance of the guilty secret which he must carry home with -him on Wednesday, and the ugly words ‘Thief’ and ‘Liar’ floated through -his brain. - -Restlessly he pushed aside the book and wandered to the window. The -sun was shining brightly outside, and the hoar-frost on the grass -was beginning to melt. Aunt Dora had said that he might go out, and -anything was better than hanging about idly, listening to thoughts -which he could not silence; so he ran upstairs for his coat and -muffler, peeping into Isobel’s room as he passed; but although she -was tossing about in her bed she seemed to be asleep, for she took no -notice of him. - -Outside in the garden all was quiet. The greenhouses were locked up, -so were the stables; but Monarch the big black retriever, which was -kept as a watch-dog, and was looked after by Mason the coachman, was -wide-awake in his kennel in the yard, and allowed the little boy to -make friends with him. - -For some time he amused himself with the great curly animal, which, -although it could bark so fiercely at every errand-boy or beggar who -came to the door, was in reality the mildest-tempered dog in the world. -Mason’s house adjoined the stables, and presently Mrs Mason appeared. -Evidently she was going out for the day, for she wore her best bonnet -and cloak, and, after locking the door behind her, she proceeded to -hide the key under an old mat on the doorstep, where Mason could find -it when he came back with the carriage. - -All at once she noticed Vivian, who had run into the kitchen for a -piece of stale bread, and was now proceeding to break it into small -pieces, and hold them out to Monarch, so as to make him jump the full -length of his chain. - -‘Please do not give him any more, sir,’ she said. ‘We have had to stop -the children giving him scraps. He got so fat and lazy as never was, -and Mason couldn’t think what was the matter with him till he found -out that little Master Claude had coaxed cook to gather all the bones -and broken victuals from the late dinner, and that he used to carry -them out and hide them in the straw in the kennel, and then watch to -see Monarch hunting for them. Very vexed the poor little kind-hearted -gentleman was, too, when he was told that he mustn’t do it; but ’tis -true what Mason says, that if a dog is to be a watch-dog it mustn’t -have more than two meals a day, given regular, with a bone thrown in -once or twice a week as a relish.’ - -The worthy woman hurried away, afraid that she might miss her bus; -and Vivian, finding that the great watch-dog went quietly back to -his kennel now that he had no more morsels to offer him, set out to -look round the greenhouses, in the hope of finding Joe Flinders the -gardener’s boy; but all was quiet and deserted, so he went on to the -paddock and amused himself for some time throwing stones at a broken -bottle which some one had apparently thrown over from the Heath, and -which had lodged in the branches of an elm-tree which stood next the -great oak behind the summer-house. - -He tried to hit it, but without success, and suddenly he remembered the -toy pistol lying hidden in the hole close by. - -Dare he take it out and try it? - -He hesitated for a moment, and looked all round. Not a soul was in -sight, and the house was quite hidden; no one could see him from the -windows. The clock on the church tower at the top of the Heath rang out -twelve, so he had a full half-hour before any one came out of church. -Here was an opportunity for trying, for once, the toy for which he had -forfeited so much. - -For a moment the thought that it was Sunday held him back, but the -temptation was too great. He slipped behind the summer-house, and -swung himself into the branches of the oak-tree, and soon he stood -on the path again with the parcel in his hand. He had never undone -the paper and string in which the pistol and caps were rolled, but he -did so now with fingers which trembled, partly through haste, partly -through fear of discovery. - -The wrappings were off at last, and he fingered the shining little -toy lovingly, wondering if after all he dare not smuggle it into the -portmanteau and take it home with him. If once he had it there, he -thought to himself, there were plenty of places where he could hide it, -and no one need know anything about it. - -Then he opened the box of caps, and carefully loaded it. He knew the -way—Fergus Strangeways had shown him that—and he remembered also that -Fergus had told him that his father had said that the pistols were -quite safe, for ‘the caps were made up of a pinch of powder and one or -two pellets that wouldn’t hurt a baby.’ The thought reassured him as he -raised the pistol to his eye, and cocked the trigger in a knowing way. -All the same, he felt a little nervous in case there should be a very -loud report. - -Taking the best aim he could at the broken bottle, he drew the trigger, -but a harmless _click_ was all that followed. He tried again and again, -but with no better result. Clearly the caps had become damp, in spite -of the fact that the parcel had been wrapped in the old ragged cap -which he had found in the summer-house. Taking it out, he proceeded -to pick a fresh one from the very middle of the box, where it might -be drier. Putting the fresh cap in the pistol, he drew the trigger -carelessly, half expecting that it would not go off. - -But this time the cap was all right, and there was a flash and a sharp -report, and then a crash of broken glass. - -Deceived by the failure of his first attempts, he had foolishly taken -no proper aim, forgetting that the summer-house stood straight in front -of him, and the pellets had gone through two of its windows, shivering -the glass into a thousand fragments. - -There were four panes of glass in the little house, representing, so -Isobel had told him, the four seasons, for if one looked through them -in order, everything took on a different tint, just as it did in the -four seasons of the year. There was green for spring, and deep-red -for summer, yellow for autumn, and blue for winter. The children were -fond of playing here, and of choosing the colours they liked best, and -claiming that window with the seat under it for their own; and Vivian -had always chosen the amber yellow, which threw such a warm tint over -everything, and made one dream of the mellow days of autumn. Now, -however, there was nothing but a hideous gap where the autumn window -had been, and Claude’s favourite, the bright green spring one, was -utterly destroyed as well. - -For a moment Vivian stood rooted to the spot, gazing at the havoc he -had wrought with blanched face and great frightened eyes, and then he -hastily picked up the piece of brown paper and the ragged cap which -were lying at his feet, and crumpled them into a parcel anyhow with the -pistol and the caps. If only he could get them hidden away again, he -thought in his terror, and steal into the house, perhaps no one would -know that he had been out. - -To replace them in their hiding-place was easily done, but when, with -shaking limbs he had swung himself down from the tree, and was turning -to run into the house, the sound of a low cough made him start suddenly -and face quickly round again. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE. - - -THERE, to his horror, looking through the gap which had been filled by -Claude’s spring window, and framed, as it were, by the jagged points of -glass which were still sticking to the framework, was a rough-looking -man, with a stubbly beard, and a dirty white muffler twisted loosely -round his neck. He had only one eye; at least, if the other were there -it was hidden by a greasy green patch which was tied round his head by -a piece of old string, while his rough, sandy-coloured hair looked as -if it had not been touched by a brush and comb for years. - -[Illustration: There, to his horror, looking through the gap, was a -rough-looking man, with a stubbly beard, and a dirty white muffler -twisted loosely round his neck. - -V. L. PAGE 92.] - -Clearly this strange-looking individual must have been in the -summer-house all the time, and have seen the whole of Vivian’s -movements, and the little boy found himself wondering, in spite of -his terror, how he had escaped being struck by a pellet or cut by a -fragment of broken glass. He would fain have turned and run away, but -something in the man’s one visible eye held him rooted to the spot, -and he remained stock-still, furtively rubbing one foot against the -other, longing, and yet half-dreading, to hear the stranger speak and -to discover how much he had seen. - -‘A pretty mess you’ve made of it, young gentleman,’ said the man at -last with a chuckle; ‘and what will the gentleman as you’re staying -with say when he sees all this?’ - -‘It was a mistake,’ stammered Vivian, at a loss what other answer to -make. - -‘Ho, ho! a mistake was it, young gentleman? And was it a mistake that -you took the pistol out of the hole, and put it back again after the -smash, looking as scared as ever was, instead of bringing it boldly out -of the house with you, like as you would have done if it had been all -square?’ - -‘You’ve no business whose pistol it is, or where I got it,’ said Vivian -defiantly, driven to bay by this unexpected retort; ‘and, besides, you -have no right to be in my uncle’s garden, and I’ll tell him about you -as soon as he comes home from church.’ - -The man laughed unpleasantly. - -‘All very good, young sir,’ he said; ‘but what if I take the first -step, and go in and volunteer to tell him all about those blessed -windows, and about how nearly you shot me; and, to prove that I am -speaking the truth, what if I let him see that nice little hole up -there behind, and show him what is hid in it?’ - -Now, as his mother had said to him on Christmas morning, Vivian had -plenty of physical courage, and under other circumstances he would have -been quite brave enough to have watched the man until some one either -came into the garden or passed outside on the Heath, to whom he might -have shouted for help; but, as she had also told him, he was sadly -wanting in that other kind of courage which ‘grown-ups’ call ‘moral,’ -and the mere threat of exposure made him cringe and beg for mercy from -this unwashed, unshaved, evil-looking stranger. - -‘Oh, don’t tell—please don’t tell,’ he entreated. ‘It was really a -mistake; but I will be punished if it is found out. If you will not -tell, and will go quietly away, I’ll give you five shillings. They are -in the house, but I can soon get them and they are my very own; my -father gave them to me when I came here, and I have never spent them.’ - -The man laughed again, with a look that was not good to see. - -He had lain concealed in the summer-house all morning with an object -in view which seemed as if it would be very difficult to carry out, -and things had played into his hands in a manner that he had little -expected. From his place of concealment he had watched all Vivian’s -movements from the time he had come out of the house, and he knew that -he had the frightened boy in his power, and could work on his feelings -as he would. - -‘Five shillings!’ he said contemptuously; ‘five shillings aren’t enough -to shut my mouth. You might have killed me with that blooming pistol -of yours; more than likely you would have, had I not seen how you were -aiming, and lain down on the floor. No, no; you wouldn’t be hiding -that pistol if you had come by it in any right way, and I’ll consider -it my dooty to report to the master of the house, no matter what the -consequences be to myself.’ - -The man spoke in such a tone of virtuous indignation that Vivian felt -that his uncle would believe his word at once, in spite of his ragged -clothes and the dirty green patch over his eye. - -‘How much would it take to make you go quietly away, and hold your -tongue?’ he asked. ‘I have more money in my purse at home, and if you -gave me your address I would send it to you.’ - -The man shook his head in a decided way. - -‘It would take pounds and pounds to make me hold my tongue,’ he said, -‘for I am a determined man when once I have made up my mind what it -is my dooty to do. But I tell you what, young gentleman. There is one -little job which I came in here to do, but which I may not have a -chance of doing—’twould keep me too long, and I am a very busy man. -Perhaps if you could manage it for me I might not tell after all. It’s -a very simple thing, and I only promised to do it to please a little -cripple girl of mine at home.’ - -‘And what is it?’ asked Vivian eagerly, catching at any straw which -promised escape from the disclosures which he felt were staring him in -the face. - -‘Well,’ said the man slowly, and his voice sounded quite soft and -gentle, ‘I make a living by breeding dogs, and I have a little cripple -girl at home, and she has nothing to do but to lie in bed all day, and -it gets wearisome for her at times; and to cheer her up I sometimes -put the puppies on her bed, and she plays with them, and she grows as -fond of them as if they were human beings like herself. There was one -black retriever puppy in particular, which was born on her birthday, -which I used to tell her she treated as if it were a baby, for she -would save bits of her own supper for it, and it grew so fond of her -it always slept at the foot of her bed. If I had been rich I would -always have kept it for her; but I am a poor man, young gentleman, and -when it got big it ate a lot, and I had to sell it, and the parting -well-nigh broke Tottie’s heart. The coachman here came and bought it -for his master for a watch-dog, and whenever I come on business to this -part of London—I live down Shoreditch way—Tottie always asks if I have -seen her pet. Generally I have to tell her “No,” for the coachman here -is a disobliging cove, an’ if he saw a poor man like me hanging about -the gates he’d order me off; but to-day, being Tottie’s birthday, -an’ the dog’s too of course, an’ I happening to come up to ’Ighgate -on business, she gave me two of her birthday cakes as a neighbour had -given her, an’ she says, “Daddy,” she says, “you’ll see Monarch, an’ -you’ll give him these from me, an’ when I am eating mine at supper-time -I’ll know he’ll be eating his share.”’ - -The man paused, and drew two curious little brown buns from his pocket. - -‘What queer-looking cakes!’ said Vivian, who had grown interested in -the story in spite of his own fears. - -‘Yes,’ replied the man; ‘these are German cakes. The woman as lives -below us, and is kind to Tottie, is a German, and she bakes the most -curious cakes. She has a shop, and makes quite a business of it. Tottie -just loves this kind, and to think of the precious child being so -unselfish, and denying herself, and she with such a poor appetite too, -and sending two of them to Monarch, and here am I spending my whole -Sunday away from her, waiting for a chance to give them to the dog. I -climbed the fence, and laid myself open to being took up, just to try -and please the darling, for I couldn’t bear to go home and meet her -sweet face when she says, “Daddy, have you given my cakes to Monarch?” -and I having to say “No.”’ - -The man drew his ragged sleeve across his eyes. - -‘It’s very hard, young master,’ he added in a broken voice, ‘that an -honest man can’t go boldly up to the coachman’s door, and ask to see -the dog, without being called names, and turned away as a beggar, just -because he’s poor, and his coat isn’t as whole as it might be.’ - -‘I could manage to give the dog your little girl’s cakes,’ said Vivian -eagerly. He was very kind-hearted, and, besides, he began to see a way -of escape for himself. ‘I could give him the cakes, only you would have -to promise’—— - -‘To promise not to tell about the window?’ interrupted the man, looking -up with a gleam in his eye. ‘I would gladly promise you that, for, -after all, it is none of my business. So we will make a bargain. If you -will take these cakes, and give them to Monarch about the darkening, -just when my little girl is having her supper—for it will please her -to think that he is eating them then—I will go right away, and never -tell a word about all I have seen this morning; no, not though I read -about it in the papers. But you must give me your Bible oath as you -will be true, and give them to the dog, and not guzzle them yourself.’ - -‘Oh, you may be sure that I won’t eat them,’ said Vivian hastily, -shuddering at the mere thought of eating anything that had been in -contact with the man’s dirty coat; ‘and I promise to give them to -Monarch. I can easily run out at tea-time, and put them in his kennel.’ - -‘Say “I take my Bible oath not to eat them myself, and to give them to -the dog at tea-time,”’ said the man sternly, ‘else I’ll stay here and -tell the gentleman.’ - -Vivian hesitated. To say that he took his Bible oath seemed to him very -much like swearing, and that would be to sink one step deeper into the -mire of despair and wickedness into which he had already fallen. - -Just then the clock on the Heath rang out the half-hour. - -‘You’d better choose quick, for they’ll be coming home from church,’ -said the man, who had no desire to be found in the grounds, and who yet -wished to carry his point. - -The warning had its due effect on Vivian. With trembling haste he -stumbled over the hated words, and then, reaching out his hand for the -two little cakes, he thrust them into his trousers-pocket, and turned -and ran into the house, feeling dully that fate was all against him, -while the man, with a satisfied smile on his face, swung himself up -into the branches of the oak-tree, and after a careful survey of the -Heath to see that there was no one in sight, let himself lightly on the -path on the other side of the hedge, and walked quickly away. - -All through dinner-time, and through the short winter afternoon that -followed, Vivian waited in sickening anxiety for some one to come in -with the news of the broken windows. He knew that they must soon be -discovered, for the first person who walked round that way could not -fail to notice them, and then he would be sure to be questioned, and -he would need to tell lies to shield himself. Poor little boy! he was -fast finding out how true the saying is, that ‘one lie needs six to -cover it,’ and the hot tears came into his eyes as he thought of last -Sunday’s talk with his mother, and of the many good resolutions he had -made in church, ay, and which he had meant with all his heart to keep. - -The discovery was not destined to be made that day, however. The -summer-house stood right away from the stables and greenhouses, so that -none of the men needed to go near it; and as the frost gave way again, -as it had done on so many other days during the week, and an afternoon -of heavy rain succeeded the brilliant sunshine of the morning, Aunt -Dora did not insist on the children going out for their usual run, -but sent them up into the schoolroom, where they spent the afternoon -quietly with Sunday puzzles and story-books, so as not to disturb -Isobel, who was still much more inclined to sleep than to talk. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -BURGLARS. - - -NEXT morning Vivian awoke to find Ronald standing on a chair peering -through a crevice of the blind. The remembrance of yesterday’s disaster -flashed into his mind, and he was wide awake at once. - -‘Whatever are you doing?’ he asked querulously. ‘It’s gray-dark, so you -can’t see anything.’ - -‘I can’t think what in the world is the matter,’ answered Ronald in an -excited whisper. ‘I’ve been awake since five—I heard it strike on the -hall clock; and I think every one else in the house has been awake too. -They have been opening and shutting doors, and talking in the hall, and -some one went right out of the house and down to the lodge. I think it -must have been Uncle Walter, for I heard footsteps on the gravel, and -it was his cough, and after a while he came back with some one, for I -heard them talking. They came upstairs, for I heard Aunt Dora’s voice, -and now they are outside again. Somehow, I fancy it is a policeman; -I can just see the top of his helmet. He is walking up and down the -gravel.’ - -A policeman! Vivian turned cold with terror. He had dreamt of discovery -and punishment, but he had never dreamt of anything as bad as this. -Surely Uncle Walter would never be so cruel as to send him to jail, -even although he had broken two windows and taken a toy pistol. - -But the pistol was stolen, and Uncle Walter could be very strict. -The thought made him desperate, and he sat up in silence, and began -to grope about for his clothes. If he could only dress quickly, he -thought, before it grew quite light, he might slip unnoticed down the -back stairs and run away. Where he could run to could be settled later. -Vague ideas of getting to the docks crossed his mind; he knew that -there were docks somewhere in London, and if he once reached them he -might get on board one of the boats as cabin-boy or something, and sail -to America or Australia. At present his one mad wish was to escape from -the policeman and from the discovery which was sure to come—nay, which -had come already. - -‘There are two of them,’ whispered Ronald excitedly, ‘and they seem -to be looking for something among the bushes. I do wonder what has -happened. Now they have gone round to the garden, and there is Uncle -Walter standing on the doorstep talking to a gentleman in ordinary -clothes. I can see him, for the gas in the hall is lit.’ - -Receiving no answer, he turned round, wondering if his brother had gone -to sleep again. - -‘Whatever are you doing?’ he asked in astonishment, for it was just -light enough for him to see his brother sitting on the edge of the bed -drawing on his stockings. - -‘I’m going to get up,’ said Vivian slowly, ‘to see what’s the matter.’ - -His voice sounded harsh and broken, partly through terror, partly from -his cold, which was decidedly worse. - -‘You’re going to do nothing of the sort,’ said Ronald. ‘Aunt Dora said -last night that you were to stay in bed to breakfast, if your cold was -not quite better, and you are croaking like a raven. Look out, I’m -coming back to bed, or I’ll catch cold too; I have stood here until I -feel like a block of ice.’ With a flying leap he was back among the -blankets. ‘Isn’t it lovely to come back to bed on a cold morning?’ he -said, laughing. ‘I can understand what Dorothy meant when she said to -mother that “the comfiest bit of bed is when one has to get up;”’ and -then he rolled over, and settled himself for a nap before Anne came to -pull up the blinds and bring in the hot water. - -Poor Vivian had been obliged to lie down again too, but all his chances -of sleep had been banished effectually; and as he lay, with wide-open -eyes, watching the light in the room grow clearer and clearer, and -listening to the unusual sounds which were still going on outside the -room, he wondered what would have happened and where he would be by the -time the darkness came again. Seven o’clock struck on the cuckoo clock -in the hall, and a quarter past, and then the half-hour, and at last -Anne came in without knocking, and pulled up the blinds, but she had on -an old dirty apron, and no cap, and was so unlike her usual trim self -that Ronald could not help asking, ‘Is there anything wrong, Anne? We -have been hearing such a lot of talking all morning. Every one seemed -to be up long before it was daylight.’ - -‘There’s plenty wrong, Master Ronald,’ was Anne’s somewhat grim answer. -‘The house has been broken into, and every morsel of silver taken, not -to mention the master’s watch and a lot of the mistress’s jewellery. -How the scoundrels have done it dear only knows, for they must have -been in nearly every room in the house, and they have forced open the -very safe itself, which stands in the master’s dressing-room. ’Tis a -wonder we were not all murdered in our beds, for they seem to have been -carrying firearms. And as if all that wasn’t enough, here is little -Miss Isobel taken ill, and Doctor Robson shaking his head over her -quite serious-like. So get up as quiet as you can, like good boys, and -give no more trouble to any one than you can help.’ - -The boys needed no second bidding to get up. The news which Anne had -brought was too exciting for them to linger a moment longer in bed. -Vivian’s cold and his aunt’s injunction about it were alike forgotten, -and indeed, as the little boy hurried into his clothes, he began -to feel much better, for a weight of anxiety was lifted from his -mind. Always quick to note the probable consequences of things, he -saw at once that this unexpected development would divert suspicion -from himself, even when the broken windows in the summer-house were -discovered. Who was to know that the damage had not been done by the -burglars for some reason of their own? The police were much more likely -to suspect them than some one who was living in the house. - -When the boys arrived downstairs, after a somewhat hasty toilet, they -found everything in a state of dire confusion. Breakfast was laid in -the servants’ hall, but no one seemed to have time to attend to it. - -Little Claude, with a tearful, scared face, was standing holding Mary’s -hand at the foot of the stairs, silently watching two policemen who -were down on their knees on the parquetry floor, carefully examining -some marks which had been made on the polished surface. It was plain -that some one had walked across it with heavy boots on. In the opposite -corner stood Mr Osbourne, his face stern and grave; and Anne, who had -now got into a clean cap and apron, and was giving a concise account -of how she had locked up the house on the previous evening to a tall -man in a plain blue uniform, evidently a police inspector, who was -taking down her story in a note-book. Aunt Dora was nowhere to be seen. -The dining-room door was open, and they could see how the drawers in -the sideboard and plate-cupboard had been forced, and their contents -rifled, and most of them carried away. - -Vivian would have gone into the room, but Mary pulled him back. - -‘No one has to go in there, Master Vivian,’ she whispered; ‘it has to -be left as it is until some very clever man, a detective from Scotland -Yard, comes. They have telegraphed for him, and they expect him every -minute. Till he comes, none of us has to go out or even up to our -bedrooms.’ - -Mary spoke with a sort of gasp, and her rosy face was whiter than -usual. She was an honest country girl, brought up in a quiet Suffolk -village, and this was her first experience of service in London; and -although her conscience was quite clear, and she could prove where she -had been, and what she had done every minute of yesterday afternoon, -she dreaded the interview, which she knew must come, with the -detective, ‘who,’ Anne had informed her, ‘would begin by suspecting -them all, and looking in all their boxes before he made up his mind -that it had been none of them who had done it.’ - -Yesterday had been her Sunday out, so she felt that she would have even -more questions to answer than the rest of her fellow-servants, and she -kept saying over and over again to herself that she could tell him -quite easily where she had been. She had gone to church in the morning, -and then she had spent the rest of the day with a cousin who lived at -Cricklewood, and her cousin’s husband, a respectable joiner, had seen -her home at nine o’clock. - -Presently Ralph came running in, looking flushed and important. He had -been downstairs early, and had just been out for a tour of inspection -on his own account. - -‘I say, father,’ he cried, ‘do you know what I have discovered? The -fellows have smashed two of the summer-house windows. The glass is -lying all over the path.’ - -In his haste he had forgotten to wipe his shoes, and a muddy mark on -the polished floor, which completely hid a tiny scratch, made one -of the policemen glance up at his superior officer with a look of -annoyance. Ralph had taxed their patience severely already, for he had -been following closely at their heels for the last half-hour, pouring -out remarks and suggestions in his own superior, self-confident way, -quite regardless of their civil hints that they could get on better -with their work if he left them to find out things for themselves. - -The inspector noticed the glance at once. There was very little that -his sharp eyes did not notice. - -‘I think, sir,’ he said, turning to Mr Osbourne, ‘we would get on -quicker without the children. The fewer people who are about at this -sort of thing the better.’ - -‘Yes, to be sure,’ replied Mr Osbourne, who had not noticed that there -were any of them downstairs until Ralph’s noisy interruption.—‘Go and -have your breakfast at once, boys.—Mary, will you go with them and see -to it? We will call you if we want you. And afterwards, see that they -all go up to the playroom, or somewhere where they will be out of the -way.’ - -‘But, father,’ began Ralph lingering behind the others, not choosing to -consider himself included in an order to the children, ‘do you hear -what I am saying? I found out that the summer-house windows are broken, -and surely that is a clue.’ - -‘Hold your tongue, Ralph, and do as you are bid,’ said his father -sharply. ‘We found all that out long before you were up; so go along -and have your breakfast with the others, and don’t let me find you -bothering about down here again.’ - -Ralph, who was afraid of his father, dared not argue the point further, -but he went out of the hall with a frown on his face. He had a great -idea of his own importance, and he did not care to be snubbed in this -way before the servants, and told to stay out of the way as if he -were six years old. There was no help for it, however, so he followed -the others to the servants’ hall with the best grace he could, and -found that Mary had already poured out the tea and was good-naturedly -answering the many questions which Ronald and Vivian were showering -upon her. - -‘’Tis clear that the thieves got in by the conservatory, Master -Vivian,’ she was saying as Ralph entered and sat down sullenly in the -place which had been left vacant for him, ‘for they have cut a great -circle clean out of the glass just behind the stables; and then I -suppose one of them put in his hand and unlocked the door, for Hunter -found it open this morning, and he locked it himself last night. They -seem to have carried out the silver that way too, and a nice lot of it -they have got, more’s the pity, for Mason picked up one of the best -silver forks just a stone’s-throw down the drive. None of us maids have -been allowed to go out; but we heard the policeman say as how a cart -must have waited on the road just outside the gate—the wheel-marks can -be seen quite plainly—and they must have put it all into that, and -carted it away. Like as not it is all melted down by this time. I’ve -heard people say that these thieves are such sharp ones they melt all -their things at once.’ - -‘What for?’ asked Claude, pausing with his mug of milk half-way to his -mouth. ‘It would spoil all the things if they were melted.’ - -‘Not to let people know whose things they were,’ explained Ronald -with a smile, taking up a teaspoon. ‘You see, Claude, here is W. O. -on the end of this, or ought to be, though I can’t see it. Well, if -the police found a teaspoon with W. O. on it in any one’s house—any -one whom he thought was likely to steal, I mean—he would know that the -teaspoons were Uncle Walter’s, and that the people in the house had -stolen them.’ - -‘You won’t find any letters on the end of any of these teaspoons, -worse luck! Master Ronald,’ said Mary. ‘These are the kitchen spoons, -the only ones that are left. The rogues knew what to take and what to -leave, and they did not touch any of the kitchen things.’ - -‘Where’s my christening-mug?’ asked Claude suddenly, noticing for the -first time that he was using a plain white china cup instead of the -solid silver mug which his godfather, a rich old gentleman in India, -had given him. - -‘Melted,’ said Ralph maliciously, while Mary murmured, ‘I’m afraid it -has gone with the rest of the things, Master Claude. You know it always -stood on the sideboard in the dining-room, along with the really good -silver.’ - -‘But my name was on it,’ said Claude, the tears rising in his round -blue eyes at the thought of losing his mug, which he had had all his -life, and of which he was very proud. ‘My whole name is on it, “Claude -Alexander Osbourne,” and my date.’ - -‘All the more reason why they should melt it,’ went on Ralph, who was -in the mood to tease his little brother, and with whom the Indian mug -had always been rather a sore subject. He was the eldest, and he had -always felt that the mug, and the rich godfather too, should have -belonged to him, instead of to Claude; for his godfathers, two old -clergymen, had only given him a Bible and a prayer-book, which in his -mind were very mean gifts compared to Isobel’s case containing a silver -knife and fork and spoon, which she had got at her christening, and -Claude’s silver mug. - -‘Hush, Master Claude,’ said Mary, as she saw the big tears begin to -roll down the little boy’s face at his brother’s unkind words; ‘don’t -vex your heart about the mug. They say that the man from Scotland Yard -can find out anything, and he will be sure to catch the thieves long -before they have had time to melt all the things. And your mug was so -solid it would take a long time to melt. - -‘As for you, Master Ralph,’ she went on, ‘if I were a big boy like you -I would be ashamed to tease a little one and make him cry, when there -is so much trouble and worry in the house. Dear, dear! there, you have -set him off, and you know how long it will be before he stops; and what -will your father say, with Miss Isobel so ill?’ - -‘How is Isobel?’ asked Ronald, suddenly remembering what Anne had -said when she called him, and noticing almost for the first time that -neither she nor Aunt Dora had ever appeared. - -‘She isn’t at all well,’ said Mary gravely. ‘The mistress has been up -since five o’clock with her. ’Twas then the robbery was found out. -Mistress went down into the dining-room to get some soda-water—Miss -Isobel was sick—and she found it all in an upturn.—Oh, do be quiet, -Master Claude,’ she added in a worried tone. ‘The doctor said that Miss -Isobel was to be kept quiet, and here you are roaring like a bull of -Bashan.—It’s all your fault, that’s what it is, Master Ralph. And, oh -dear, there’s the master calling!’ - -Just then Uncle Walter’s voice sounded sharply from the hall. - -‘Who is that making such a noise?’ he asked. ‘Be quiet, Claude, at -once, do you hear?—Mary, surely you can keep him quiet. We cannot have -a noise like that in the house to-day.’ - -But the sharp note in his father’s voice only made matters worse, and -in spite of Mary’s threats and promises and offers of sundry lumps of -toffee which she would get out of her box when the policemen would let -her go upstairs, if he would only be quiet, Claude went on crying till -he bade fair to go into one of the screaming-fits for which he had been -noted as a baby, but which he seemed quite to have outgrown. - -As a matter of fact, the confusion and mystery which had suddenly -overtaken his usually orderly home had quite upset the little fellow’s -nerves, and it needed very little to make him lose his self-control. -Poor Mary was in despair; but Ronald, who had a wonderful way with -children, came to the rescue. His own little sister Dorothy was a very -excitable child, and Mrs Armitage often said that she did not know what -she would have done without her eldest son, who could soothe and quiet -the little girl when every one else was helpless. - -‘Come on, Claude,’ he said cheerily, pushing back his chair, ‘I’ve -finished breakfast now, and we will go out and see Monarch. We will -take these bits of sausage, and perhaps Mrs Mason will allow us to -give them to him to-day. I shouldn’t wonder if his breakfast had been -forgotten when every one has been so busy.’ - -‘Oh, Master Ronald, haven’t you heard?’ began Mary, ‘poor Monarch’—— -and then she stopped, for Claude ceased crying for a minute to listen -to what she had to say about his pet. It had suddenly occurred to her -that the news she had to tell would not help to comfort the little boy. - -‘I think you had better not go into the courtyard,’ she went on -hurriedly, with a warning look at Ronald, ‘not just now, at least, for -the hole they cut in the conservatory is just above Monarch’s kennel. -You know how the conservatory comes quite close to the courtyard near -there, and the inspector didn’t seem to want any one about. He says -that if there are any footsteps they will be all trodden away if any -one goes to look.’ - -‘All right,’ said sensible Ronald, who saw clearly that there was some -other reason which Mary did not wish to give. ‘We’ll go into the -greenhouse instead, and see if we can catch any little green frogs -among the ferns by the tank.’ - -This was a favourite occupation of Isobel’s and Claude’s, though it -was not very often allowed; but to-day Ronald thought that he could -take the responsibility upon himself, and Mary heartily seconded his -proposal. So Claude went off quietly with his big cousin to get his -boots and gaiters, while the two other boys only waited till the door -was shut behind them to fall on Mary with eager questions. - -‘Why did I not want him to go into the courtyard, Master Ralph? Because -the poor beast that he is so fond of is stone dead, murdered by those -scoundrels so that he couldn’t bark and they might begin their work in -peace. If Monarch had been alive I warrant they wouldn’t have cut their -hole so easily; he would have roused the whole of Hampstead first.’ - -‘Monarch dead!’ said both the boys at once. Ralph felt a lump rise in -his throat at the news, for the gentle animal had been a favourite -with all the children, while Vivian sat and gazed vaguely out of the -window, a great fear rising in his heart. - -‘How did they kill him?’ asked Ralph at last, and his voice was rather -husky. - -‘They poisoned him,’ said Mary, beginning to put the plates together -with great energy. ‘Mason found half of a bit of nasty yellow pastry -lying in his kennel; he had eaten the rest. It had been made with some -poisonous stuff, the policeman said, and the poor brute was stone dead, -and quite stiff when they found him. But, anyway, he did not suffer, -for a mercy, for he was curled up quite peaceful like, just as if he -had gone to sleep.—But, bless me, Master Vivian, whats the matter with -you next?’ she exclaimed in alarm, for Vivian, who had risen suddenly -to his feet, turned perfectly white, and, after one or two feeble -attempts to steady himself by holding on to the back of a chair, fell -forward on the floor in a dead faint. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE DOCTOR’S VISIT. - - -WHEN Vivian came to himself he was lying flat on his back on his bed -upstairs, and some one was bathing his head with cold water, while Mary -stood by the side of the bed holding a basin. - -‘He is better now, mum,’ he heard her say; ‘he has opened his eyes, and -the colour is coming back into his face.’ - -‘Poor little fellow!’ It was Aunt Dora who spoke. ‘I would not have -thought that he was so easily upset. He must have been feeling ill all -morning. I told him to stay in bed for his cold; but I suppose every -one forgot to see after him, and he just got up like the others.’ - -‘I don’t think it was exactly that, mum,’ answered Mary; ‘for he ate a -good breakfast, and seemed all right till some one began to talk about -Monarch; and I think it was the shock when he heard that the poor brute -had been poisoned that did it.’ - -At her words the whole hideous story, and the share he had unwittingly -taken in it, flashed across Vivian’s mind. ‘Oh Aunt Dora!’ he cried, ‘I -did not do it. I did not know that it would hurt him.’ - -Had his aunt been able to understand his words he would have confessed -everything there and then, he felt so weak and miserable and -broken-down; but she only looked at Mary in perplexity. - -‘Do what?’ she asked in a puzzled way. ‘What is he thinking of, I -wonder?’ - -‘About killing Monarch, I should say, mum,’ said Mary. ‘Mrs Mason said -to me that he had been feeding the dog with some scraps while you were -all at church; but of course that had nothing to do with the nasty bits -of cake that poisoned him.—They must have been given to him at night, -after it was dark, Master Vivian, when every one was safe in the house, -and there was no one to see what was going on.’ - -‘Yes; it could not possibly be anything that you gave the poor dog -that did him harm, dearie,’ said Aunt Dora, kissing him and laying a -soft handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne on his brow. ‘They found a -piece of strange-looking cake in his kennel which had evidently been -put there by some strangers, and we expect there was poison in it. The -police inspector is going to take it to a chemist and have it analysed. -So don’t think about it any more, but lie still and try to have a -little sleep, for I must go back to Isobel, and I hear your uncle -calling for Mary downstairs.’ - -Mary gave a little gasp. She knew that the summons meant that she -must go down and be questioned as to her movements yesterday, by the -detective who had arrived just as she was carrying Vivian to his room. -She had heard that in London the policemen and lawyers were so clever -that they asked questions until they made people say the exact opposite -to what they meant, and the prospect was very alarming to her simple -country mind. - -Her mistress saw her anxiety, and reassured her kindly. - -‘Just tell the plain truth, Mary; tell him where you were, and what -you did all yesterday; and remember no one here suspects you, but -detectives always like to question every one in the house before they -do anything else.’ - -Then they went outside, closing the door behind them, and Vivian was -left to his own thoughts. - -He saw the whole thing clearly now. The man with the green patch over -his eye had evidently been prowling about, spying how the land lay, and -seeing how he could best reach Monarch’s kennel and give the poor dog -the poisonous cakes. When Vivian appeared he had hidden himself in the -summer-house, in the hope of not being seen; and, while he was there, -Vivian’s own foolishness in taking out the pistol and firing the fatal -shot that shattered the windows had put him completely in his power; -and the threats of exposure, and the cleverly contrived cock-and-bull -story, which the little boy had believed implicitly, about the lame -daughter at home and her fondness for puppies, had insured the cakes -being given at the right moment. - -He ground his teeth as he realised how completely he had been duped and -made a fool of, and for a moment he almost wished that the detective -downstairs would begin to question him, and draw out the whole story. -But he knew that there was little chance of that. If the confession -came, it must come from himself alone; and he turned his face on the -pillow with a sob as he thought what a web of deceit, and lies, and -wrongdoing he had woven round himself, for to confess to having seen -the man, and to having slipped out in the darkness and given Monarch -the cakes, would lead to awkward questions about the broken window, and -to confess to having broken that would lead to the whole story of the -pistol and its concealment. - -No, he had not courage to face it all; he must go on living with -the weight of these black sins on his conscience; and as he tossed -restlessly up and down he wondered to himself if this was the way in -which thieves and other wicked people began their lives of crime, and -if he would go on getting worse and worse, until at last he became -quite a wicked man who did not care what he did, and in due time would -break his mother’s heart. - -Presently Ronald came into the room, looking grave and anxious. - -‘Why, Vivi, boy, what came over you?’ he asked, sitting down on the bed -and putting his arm round his brother. ‘They tell me that you turned -quite funny when you heard about Monarch, and Aunt Dora says that she -can’t understand what put it into your head that you had hurt him. You -only gave him some scraps of bread, didn’t you?’ - -There was something in Ronald’s voice as he asked this question which -seemed to irritate his brother—a vague trace of anxiety, as if he would -like to hear from Vivian’s own lips that this was all that he had had -to do with the dog—for Vivian pushed away his arm roughly. - -‘Of course it was all I gave him,’ he answered pettishly, ‘and I never -thought they would do him any harm. I was confused and funny when I -said that to Aunt Dora. Do go away, Ronald, my head aches so, and -auntie said I was to be quiet.’ - -Ronald was silent for a moment, but there was a worried look on his -face. There had been one or two things in his brother’s conduct that -had puzzled him during the last few days, and he could not help -remembering how he had noticed, the evening before, that Vivian’s -house-shoes looked muddy, as if he had been outside with them, but -clearly he was not in the mood for further questioning, so when he -spoke again he wisely chose another subject. - -‘Do you know, I think that Isobel is awfully ill, worse than we think,’ -he said. ‘I haven’t seen Aunt Dora at all; but I asked Anne, and -she told me that Isobel woke auntie up quite early this morning by -beginning to scream, and when auntie went into her room she didn’t know -her in the least. They got the doctor at once, and he gave her some -stuff that made her quieter, but she has never been properly awake, and -he is coming back at ten o’clock. I’m wondering,’ he went on slowly, -‘if we shouldn’t tell Aunt Dora about that fall she had on Wednesday? -I’ve heard of people hurting their heads when they fell like that.’ - -In a moment all Vivian’s fears of discovery were reawakened, and all -his dreams of confession had vanished. If Isobel’s fall were spoken of, -the oak-tree behind the summer-house might come to be examined, and the -hole and its hidden contents would be almost sure to be discovered. - -‘Oh Ronald, don’t be a fool!’ he said sharply, sitting up in bed in his -excitement; ‘that can’t have anything to do with Isobel’s illness. She -has been as well as possible since then, and it is no use bothering -Aunt Dora about it now. You’re nothing but an old woman, always going -and imagining things.’ - -Ronald’s face flushed at the taunt. Always conscientious, and almost -morbidly afraid of telling an untruth, he was apt to be called -‘womanish’ and ‘silly’ by the Strangeways, who could not understand a -boy who preferred to be laughed at or punished rather than get out of -a scrape by shuffling or making an excuse. Their teasing had little -effect on him; but when the taunt came from his own sharp little -brother’s lips, whom he admired with an unselfish admiration which few -elder boys would have accorded to a younger one, it hurt him deeply, -but he stuck to his point. - -‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I may either be an old woman or not; but I -once heard father say that injuries to people’s heads don’t always show -at first, that’s why doctors often don’t know what is the matter with -people. So I think that Aunt Dora ought to know, and I’m going to tell -her.’ - -‘Aunt Dora ought to know what?’ asked a voice, and Mrs Osbourne -entered the room. ‘I hoped to find this boy asleep,’ she said, laying -her hand on Vivian’s hot cheek, and here he is chattering away as fast -as he can. What are you discussing, and what is it that you think I -ought to know?’ - -‘It is about Isobel, Aunt Dora,’ said Ronald bravely. ‘Did you know -that she had had a fall?’ - -‘A fall? When? here? Tell me quickly, Ronald.’ His aunt’s voice sounded -so sharp and strained that even Ronald was frightened, and Vivian hid -his face in the clothes and wondered what was going to happen next. - -‘It was last Wednesday. We were playing hide-and-seek, and Vivi and -Isobel climbed up on one of the branches of the old oak-tree behind the -summer-house, and when Claude and I caught sight of them they began to -crawl along the branch, and all at once it broke, and they both fell on -to the path.’ - -‘And why was I not told this before?’ asked Aunt Dora in grave -displeasure. ‘The others were younger; but I thought you were to be -trusted, Ronald.’ - -The tears came into Ronald’s eyes, but he made no attempt to justify -himself; that would have been to have blamed Ralph. - -‘Isobel said she was not hurt, Aunt Dora,’ he said simply; ‘and though -she looked a little bit white at first, she seemed all right in a -moment.’ - -‘That did not matter. You should not have listened to her; you should -have come straight to me.’ The words were spoken so passionately that -Ronald was dumb; but Vivian spoke out loyally: - -‘It wasn’t Ronald’s fault, auntie, whosever fault it was. He ran into -the house to tell you, even although Isobel begged him not to, and -Ralph laughed at him for making a fuss. But you were not in; you had -gone to see that old lady, and you did not come back till tea-time, and -then Isobel seemed all right, and we never thought any more about it -till just now.’ - -Mrs Osbourne laid her hand quickly on her elder nephew’s shoulder. -‘Forgive me, my boy,’ she said; ‘but I am so anxious I hardly know what -I am saying, and this only confirms what the doctor feared. He asked me -if she had not had a fall, and of course I did not know. He is coming -back at ten—there is his ring—and he talked—he talked—of her head and -her back.’ - -The last words were spoken so low that they were scarcely audible; but -as Mrs Osbourne hastily rose and left the room they heard her murmur to -herself, ‘My little girl, my only little girl!’ and they gazed at one -another in awe-struck silence. - -‘Aunt Dora was crying,’ said Vivian at last. ‘She can’t think that -Isobel is going to die, can she? Oh Ronald!’ he repeated, taking hold -of his brother’s arm, and shaking it, as if to force an answer from -him, ‘do say something; do say that she isn’t going to die.’ - -‘Oh, I hope it isn’t as bad as that,’ said Ronald, trying to speak -cheerfully. ‘Lots of people get their heads hurt, and come all right -afterwards; but, all the same, I wish we had told at the time. She -might not have been so bad now.’ - -In a very few minutes the door opened again, and Aunt Dora came back, -accompanied by an elderly gentleman, who glanced sharply at the two -boys. Aunt Dora seemed quite herself again, although her voice trembled -slightly. - -‘This is Dr Robson, Vivian,’ she said, ‘and I want him just to see you -for a moment, to make sure that you are all right after your faint turn -in the morning; and then I want you both to try and remember exactly -what happened on Wednesday, when the branch broke, and Isobel fell.’ - -The doctor felt Vivian’s pulse, and asked him a few questions. ‘He’s -all right,’ he said, nodding briskly to Mrs Osbourne. ‘His nerves have -got the better of him with the excitement of the robbery and all the -turn-up in the house. Send him out for a good walk on the Heath; it -will do his cold no harm, and he will come in looking like a different -boy. - -‘And now, my lad,’ he went on, turning to Ronald, ‘I want you to tell -me exactly what happened last Wednesday, and how far little Miss Isobel -fell, and what she looked like when she got up.’ - -‘I will tell you what I can, sir,’ replied Ronald; ‘but Vivian knows -better than I do, for he was with her on the branch, and when she fell, -he fell along with her. It took me a few minutes to get round to them, -for of course they fell over on to the Heath, and I ran round by the -lodge. Isobel was sitting on the branch then, and she said she was not -hurt, but her face was so white I thought that she had broken her arm -or something, and there was a queer look in her eyes as if she wasn’t -seeing anything. I was frightened, and I ran in to see if I couldn’t -find Aunt Dora; but she had gone out, and Isobel walked home herself, -so I thought it was all right.’ - -The doctor listened to his story attentively, nodding his head once -or twice when Ronald spoke of the curious look he had noticed in his -little cousin’s eyes. Then he turned to Vivian. - -‘When the branch broke, who was underneath?’ he asked; but Vivian could -not answer this question. - -‘I think we both fell together,’ he said; ‘only Isobel fell on her back -and I fell on my face. I remember that because my hands were skinned, -and she said she thought she had bumped the back of her head.’ - -‘Ah,’ said the doctor quickly, ‘did she say that at once?’ - -‘No,’ said Vivian; ‘at first she lay quite still, with her eyes -half-open, and then she got up and said she wasn’t hurt, and then she -got awfully white and sat down again, and said that about her head; -then Ronald came, and we all went home.’ - -‘Did you run home?’ - -‘No, we didn’t. Claude and I wanted to run, but Isobel said she -couldn’t, for her legs felt as if she were going to take pins and -needles, and she had jumpy pains up her back.’ - -‘Thank you,’ said the doctor, rising. ‘You have told your story very -clearly.’ Then he glanced at Aunt Dora and said gravely, ‘I am afraid -that this explains a great deal.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE DARK SHADOW. - - -THE doctor’s prophecy proved true, for after a game of hockey on the -Heath with Ralph and Ronald and one or two other lads whom they met, -and whom Ralph knew, Vivian felt like a different boy. Indeed, all -three boys felt better for the game, and more disposed to look on the -bright side of things, and they were returning home for dinner in -fairly good spirits when Ralph stopped short with a sudden exclamation. - -‘Hallo! What on earth is up now?’ he said. ‘There’s a policeman walking -off with our Joe. Surely they don’t think that it was he who stole the -silver?’ - -They all stopped and gazed with wondering eyes in the direction in -which Ralph was pointing. Sure enough, just leaving the lodge gates was -one of the stalwart policemen who had been about the house all morning, -and the lad whose arm he was holding with a not very friendly grasp -was certainly Joe Flinders the lad who had worked under Hunter the -gardener for more than a year, and who was a great favourite with the -children. He was the only son of a widowed mother, and a nice, civil, -obliging boy, with a cheery word for every one, and endless patience -with little Claude, who would follow him for hours at a time with a -wheelbarrow and spade which his father had bought for him. - -As a rule, Joe was always whistling, and walked about with a certain -self-satisfied swagger, with his cap on the back of his head; for was -he not earning good wages, and did he not bid fair to become as good a -gardener as Mr Hunter? - -But to-day things were very different. He dragged his feet along with a -hopeless slouch, and his cap was pulled right over his eyes, as if to -hide his face from the passers-by. - -With one accord the boys raced after them, and overtook the strangely -mated couple just as they turned the corner at the grocer’s shop and -turned up the path which led over the Heath to the police station. - -‘What’s the matter, Joe?’ asked Ralph, who had been fairly startled out -of his indifference by the events of the day, looking pityingly at -Joe’s swollen and tear-stained eyes, for the big lad was crying like a -baby. - -‘They say that I had sommat to do with the robbery, Master Ralph,’ he -sobbed, ‘because when master sent Mr Hunter to cut down the branches -where Miss Isobel fell, in case some one else climbed up the tree -and hurt themselves, he found a hole in one of the branches, and a -pistol in it, which it seems had been lost, and it was wrapped up in -one of my old caps, the one I spoilt with the white paint when I was -a-painting the fence round the far paddock. I threw away the cap, and -never thought about it again; but ’tis mine sure enough, though ’ow it -came to be in the ’ole I don’t know no more than an infant. And now my -situation and my character is gone, and who is to tell mother—she that -trained me up always to be honest?’ - -Here poor Joe fairly broke down, and Ralph said indignantly, in his -most grown-up way, ‘I don’t believe a word of it, policeman; there must -be some mistake.’ - -‘Don’t you indeed, young sir?’ said the giant policeman, smiling -contemptuously. ‘If you had lived as long as me you wouldn’t be so -quick to say you didn’t believe things. Besides, I’m only taking him -up on suspicion, so he needn’t be in such a taking. If he can prove -that he is innocent, let him prove it. But it appears that this pistol -must have been stolen out of the house, and it’s found hidden in a hole -in a tree, wrapped in a cap which ’e owns is ’is, and to my mind it’s -as plain that he stole it as that two and two make four, though as to -connecting it with the robbery, well, that’s a different matter.’ - -‘It’s all the same,’ sobbed Joe, ‘whether I’m taken up on suspicion or -whether they are sure of it. My character’s gone, for who will take a -lad in who has been took up by the police? And who will look after my -mother, for she is so bad with the rhumatiz that she can’t do anything -for herself?’ - -‘Come, come,’ said the policeman, stepping forward a little quicker, -for already a small crowd of children was gathering, and he did not -want a scene. ‘Hold your tongue, and come along.—As for you, young -gentlemen, I would advise you to go home. What he says may be true -enough. He may know nothing about it, but that remains to be proved; -and often the most innocent-looking ones are the most artful.’ - -‘It’s a blooming shame, Joe,’ repeated Ralph. - -Ronald took the lad’s hand kindly in his own. ‘I believe what you say, -Joe, and if you tell the truth it will all come right,’ he said. - -But Vivian stood silent, utterly tongue-tied. It was true that he had -not been found out; but already his punishment was heavy, for it was -almost more than he could bear to have to stand by and see an innocent -lad led off to prison for his fault. - -‘What a nice finish up to the holidays!’ said Ralph as they walked -slowly homewards. ‘The house broken into, and every one as cross as two -sticks, and Isobel ill, and now Joe taken up. It is enough to give a -fellow the blues. It is a good thing that there is Mrs Seton-Kinaird’s -party to look forward to.’ - -‘Do you think that we will go,’ said Ronald gravely, ‘now that Isobel -is so ill? I was just wondering if I oughtn’t to write and tell mother -that we are going home. I’m sure Aunt Dora would be glad to have fewer -of us in the house.’ - -‘Oh, don’t do that till after the party,’ said Ralph, who did not like -the idea of being left alone with only little Claude for company. ‘You -are going home on Wednesday anyhow, and I expect Isobel will be a lot -better to-morrow. It isn’t as if it were anything infectious.’ - -But when they reached the house they were met by news that put all -thoughts of the party out of their minds. The door was opened by Mary, -and her eyes were as red and swollen as Joe’s had been, but from a very -different cause. - -‘You have to go up the back stairs,’ she said in a husky whisper, ‘and -be as quiet as you possibly can. Poor little Miss Isobel is dreadfully -ill, and they say that it all depends upon her being kept quiet; and -she does get so excited at the least little bit of a sound.’ - -‘Have they sent for Dr Robson again?’ asked Ralph, for they could hear -the doctor’s voice as he stood talking to Mr Osbourne in the corridor -just outside Isobel’s room. - -‘Yes,’ said Mary with a sob; ‘the poor lamb took much worse just after -he had gone; she got so excited, and talked so fast, we could hear -her all over the house. She would have it that she was playing in the -garden with you, Master Vivian, and with little Master Claude, and -Master Claude heard her, and began to cry, and that made her worse, so -Anne put on his coat and has taken him over to Mrs Anstey’s. He will be -quite happy there playing with the other children, and I am to go and -sleep with him at night.’ - -‘And has Dr Robson been here all this time?’ asked the boys, awed and -startled by the thought that Isobel _could_ be ill enough to need such -attention, and yet feeling somehow that it was all a bad dream, and -that they would suddenly wake up and find her merry, mischievous face -at their elbows. - -‘Yes, he has,’ said Mary with a sigh; ‘and they have sent for an -hospital nurse and a big doctor from London, Sir Somebody Something—I -forget his name. And they have telegraphed for your father, Master -Ronald; I heard master order the carriage to go and meet him at -Victoria; they expect him by the four o’clock train.’ - -Vivian waited to hear no more. Regardless of Mary’s warning, ‘You were -to stay here in the schoolroom, Master Vivian,’ he rushed away as -noiselessly as he could to his own room, feeling that he must be alone, -and that he must have time to think. He was not crying—tears seemed far -away; but he felt as if some terrible darkness were settling round him, -a darkness with no light in it. He was a thief, Joe had been taken up, -and now Isobel was dying. In after years Vivian looked back on that -moment as the blackest and most desperate of his whole life. - -‘You’d better go after him, Master Ronald, and see where he has gone -to,’ whispered Mary, ‘and I will stay here with Master Ralph. Only keep -him quietly in his room, or else bring him back here, for you mustn’t -be waiting about the corridor. Master said you weren’t to do that on -any account. They have Miss Isobel’s door and window open, and she -hears the slightest sound, though she doesn’t know anybody.’ - -‘Mary, will she die?’ - -The question forced itself from Ronald’s quivering lips in spite of -himself, and in spite of a protesting groan from Ralph, who had flung -himself face downwards on the hearthrug. He had never realised before -how dear the unselfish little sister was to him; and now his conscience -was speaking very plainly, and telling him that it was she who had -always done things for him, and that he had taken very little trouble -to try and give her pleasure. - -‘Girls are made to fag for their brothers’ had been the cry of the boys -at school, and he had thought it a fine thing to believe it, and to act -upon it; but somehow everything looked different to-day. - -‘She is in God’s hands, Master Ronald,’ answered Mary unsteadily, ‘and -everything will be done for her that they can do, but’—— She did not -finish the sentence, and her kind eyes filled with tears. - -The same question which he had just asked Mary awaited Ronald when he -reached his room, where Vivian sat huddled up on the deep window-seat, -looking out at the bright sunshine with dull, unseeing eyes. - -Ronald did not answer him. He could not; the whole thing seemed too -terrible to be true, and yet in his heart he knew that Mary thought -that his little cousin was dying. That was why she was crying, and -that was why they had telegraphed for his father. - -He crossed the room in silence, and stood beside his brother, looking -out like him at the golden sunlight, which was turning every frosted -twig into a spray of diamonds, and wondering at the contrast between -the brightness which lay over everything out of doors, and the shadow -which was darkening and saddening the house. - -But Vivian would not let him remain silent. ‘Speak, Ronald, speak!’ he -cried, taking hold of Ronald’s arm and shaking it in his excitement. -‘She won’t die; she mustn’t. Why, she was at the Hippodrome the other -night, and she was as well as any of us. She can’t die yet; people -don’t die so quickly.’ - -Just then a sound reached their ears which made the words die away -on Vivian’s lips. It was the sound of a weak, quavering little voice -calling out ‘Vivian, Vivian! let us run and hide.’ It was Isobel, poor -child, thinking, in her delirium, that she was once more playing in the -garden. - -The boys knew her voice in a moment, but how sadly it was changed! -Somehow the sound of it calmed Vivian’s excitement, and he laid -his head against his brother’s shoulder and began to sob in a dull, -hopeless way. - -God was beginning to punish him, he thought, not in the way he had -expected by the discovery of his sin, but in a far more terrible way. -First of all he had caused suspicion to fall on Joe, and Joe was -going to be put in prison, and now He was taking Isobel away, and the -punishment which should have fallen on him—Vivian—alone, was going to -fall on Aunt Dora, and Uncle Walter, and Ralph, and little Claude. - -‘Suppose we say our prayers, Vivi,’ said Ronald with a break in his -voice. ‘If Jesus could bring back Jairus’ little daughter, He can make -Isobel better; and it is the only thing we can do to help.’ - -‘You can if you like,’ said Vivian, hopeless; ‘but it would be no good -for me to do it. I’m not good enough.’ - -‘No more am I,’ said Ronald humbly; ‘but mother says that it isn’t our -goodness or badness that matters; it is if we really mean what we say, -and it is “for Jesus’ sake,” you know,’ he added shyly, for neither of -the boys were wont to talk much about religion. - -Vivian made no answer, so Ronald knelt down and said some simple -prayers for both of them—the prayers he had learned to say at his -mother’s knee when he was a little fellow, and which he had never -changed: ‘Our Father,’ and then the Collect for protection from danger, -and then he hesitated, and added a little broken prayer in his own -words that Isobel might be made better, then came the Benediction. - -The solemn words brought a curious feeling of strength and safety to -Ronald, and he rose from his knees with fresh hope and trust. The -same loving Master who had healed the little Galilean maiden so many -hundreds of years ago was as near and as powerful to-day, only Vivian -and he could not see Him, but they had told Him their trouble, and -already to Ronald’s boyish heart came the promise of relief. - -But Vivian felt none of this. The words which had comforted Ronald only -made him feel more miserable. How could he pray to ‘be kept from sin, -and from falling into any kind of danger,’ or how could he expect God -to hear him or to answer his prayer for Isobel’s recovery when a burden -of falsehood and theft lay on his conscience, which he had not the -courage to confess, and for which innocent people were suffering? - -No, Ronald’s prayer might be heeded, for Ronald was always true and -loving and dutiful, even although he was a trifle slow at times; but -there was no chance whatever of God hearing, or at least paying any -attention to, the prayers of a liar and a thief. - -Poor little miserable boy! he could not imagine that the mere fact that -he had faced his sin, and called it by its right name, and had not -tried to make excuses even to himself, was the first step towards that -repentance and confession which at present seemed so impossible to him. - -Presently Mary came quietly in to tell them that dinner was ready; and -although they all protested that they could not eat anything, it is -wonderful how a boy’s appetite comes back at the sight of roast turkey -and a rolly-polly pudding. Afterwards, however, when the table was -cleared, and Mary had disappeared downstairs with the dishes, time hung -heavily enough. - -Ralph, as usual, took refuge from his troubles in a book; and Ronald, -acting on a remark which Mary had made, that if Dr Armitage returned -home that night he would probably take the two boys with him, went back -to his room to put his own clothes and his brother’s in something like -order, in case his father decided to do this. So Vivian was left to his -own thoughts, and very sad and sorrowful ones they were. - -The long afternoon wore slowly away. Now and then a door opened or -shut, but the watchers by Isobel’s bed were far too anxious to spare -a thought for the three lonely boys in the schoolroom. At half-past -three Mason wheeled the carriage out, and began to get it ready for the -station. Vivian could see him from the schoolroom window; could see, -too, Monarch’s empty kennel, and the great round hole in the glass of -the conservatory which the burglars had cut last night. The sight sent -his thoughts back to the summer-house and the man with the green patch -over his eye. Could it have been only yesterday morning he had spoken -to him? What a long, long time ago it seemed! Even the burglary seemed -an old story, something that happened long ago, before the awful news -had been told to him that Isobel was dying, that God was going to take -her away as a punishment for his wickedness. Poor little mistaken lad, -how the Great Father must have pitied him as He looked down and saw the -image of Himself which Vivian was forming in his heart, an image so -different from the Perfect Love which the Christ had come to earth to -declare. - -At last the carriage rolled out of the yard, and everything was quiet -again, and presently Ronald came back and joined him at the window. - -‘I have packed everything except our brushes and combs and our sleeping -suits,’ he said. ‘They can be put in in a moment if father wants us to -go home; but somehow I fancy he will wait till to-morrow to hear what -the big doctor says. He can’t come till late this evening. He has had -to go into the country. Anne told me so; I met her on the stairs. - -‘Just look at poor Monarch’s kennel,’ he went on. ‘It is a good thing -that Isobel doesn’t know that he is dead; it might vex her. I heard her -calling out to him as I passed her door just now. I expect she thinks -that she is playing with him.’ - -‘And he is dead and buried,’ said Vivian, and then he shivered. That -was his doing, as well as the rest. - -Ronald looked at him anxiously. ‘Come nearer the fire,’ he said. ‘You -have stood there until you are cold, and it is dreary looking out now -that the sun is gone. I wish Mary or some one would come and light the -gas.’ - -It was five o’clock, and they were having tea when the carriage came -back. The table looked just as it had done at the same time a week -before, for Mary, anxious to make things as cheerful as possible, had -been generous with cakes and jam. - -‘It is just a week ago to-night since you came,’ said Ralph, as the -wheels stopped, and a subdued bustle was heard in the hall, then he -stopped abruptly as the contrast between that night and this struck -him, and for a moment nobody spoke except Mary, who suddenly woke up to -the fact that it was time that somebody was asking for more tea. - -Dr Armitage must have gone right upstairs with Uncle Walter, for no one -came near the schoolroom for nearly half-an-hour, and when the door -opened at last it was not he who came softly in, but his wife; and at -the sight of her dear sweet face her two boys realised all at once how -long it was—a whole week—since they had seen her, and wondered how they -could have stayed away from her so long. - -‘Oh mother!’ cried Ronald, jumping up in surprise and pulling her down -beside him on his seat; and then for a moment he could say no more, -but could only squeeze her hand; while Vivian, much to every one’s -astonishment, turned his face away from the table and burst into a -torrent of loud, frightened sobs. - -‘Hush, Vivian!’ said his father, who had come into the room unnoticed -along with Mr Osbourne. ‘You must control yourself, my boy; we cannot -have a noise like that here.’ - -But his mother had stretched out her hand and drawn him gently to her. - -‘Take Jack down to the study and have your tea there, Walter,’ she -said; ‘Anne will see after you, and we will stay up here a little by -ourselves. We can have a quarter of an hour’s talk; and I will have the -boys quite ready by half-past six. - -‘Now we will be cosy,’ she said, drawing up a low chair to the fire, -and sitting down on it. ‘You too, Ralph; here is room for you on the -floor at this side. Vivi can sit on my knee if he doesn’t think he is -too big.’ - -Vivian, however, who was still sobbing, preferred to sit on the floor, -and to hide his hot face in his mother’s dress, and she wisely took no -notice, knowing that he would recover himself more quickly if she left -him alone. ‘What a long, weary, troubled day you must have had!’ she -said softly; ‘but Aunt Dora has told me how good you have been, and how -little trouble you have given.’ - -‘How did you manage to leave Dorothy, mother?’ asked Ronald, -instinctively keeping clear of the subject which was uppermost in all -their minds. - -‘Nicely,’ answered his mother with a smile. ‘I promised her that, if -she would be a very good girl, father would bring her her Ronnie back,’ -and she looked down at her eldest son with a little smile, ‘and Vivi -too,’ she added, putting her hand tenderly on the little black head -which was half-hidden in the folds of her soft gray gown. ‘She has -missed you both so terribly that she was willing to promise anything -so long as she had the prospect of getting you back. I am sure I don’t -know what she will do when you go to school.’ - -‘Then we are going home with father,’ said Ronald. Mary thought we -might, so I have packed nearly all our things.’ - -‘That was my good, thoughtful boy,’ said his mother. ‘I asked Anne to -see to your things; but she is so busy I am glad there will not be much -for her to do.’ - -‘Are you going to stay here then?’ asked Vivian, speaking for the first -time. - -‘Yes, sonnie, for a day or two, to help auntie to nurse Isobel. So -Ronald and you must do the best you can at home, and look after father -and little Dorothy.’ - -The tears came into Mrs Armitage’s eyes as she thought how very little -more nursing her little niece was likely to need, but for every one’s -sake she tried to speak as cheerfully as possible. It was clear that -Isobel, in falling, had hurt her back as well as her head, and Dr -Armitage had only been able sorrowfully to confirm what Dr Robson had -feared: that there was very little hope that she would live through the -night. It was evident from the symptoms that inflammation had set in, -and if that could not be speedily checked the end could not be far off. - -‘Is father not going to stay too?’ asked Ronald; but his mother shook -her head. - -‘He must go home, dearie. He had a very anxious case down in the -village, and can’t be spared; besides, he can do no good here. All -is being done that can be done, and we are going to wire Sir Antony -Jones’s opinion to him. He will be here at eight o’clock, so the -message will be at home almost as soon as you are.’ - -‘What does Uncle Jack say about Isobel?’ The question came from Ralph, -and Mrs Armitage hesitated before she answered it. - -‘She is very ill, dearie,’ she said at last gently; ‘but she is in -God’s hands, and we must try to be content to leave her there. We can -be quite sure that He will do what is best for us all.’ - -‘Would it have made any difference if we had told,’ asked Ronald—‘if -they had known at the very first—that she had fallen?’ - -‘Perhaps it might, but we cannot say. That is past now, and it is -no good looking back. You did not mean to conceal anything, so you -cannot blame yourselves; but remember it is always better to be open -and frank, for you never know what mischief may follow if you try to -hush a matter up. But I think it is time that you were getting on your -greatcoats, boys, and seeing if Anne has finished your packing, and -strapped your portmanteau. The carriage will be round in ten minutes, -and I have some things I must say to your father.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A DREARY HOMECOMING. - - -TO the end of their lives Ronald and Vivian never forgot that journey -home. For one thing, they had never travelled in the dark before, and -everything looked strange and unreal. - -Aunt Dora came down into the hall before they left, to kiss them and -say good-bye; but her face was so white and drawn that Vivian almost -shrank from her in fear, and the hopes that Ronald would have expressed -for his little cousin’s recovery died away on his lips. It was such a -contrast to the bright, happy woman who had been like a playmate to -them ever since they arrived. - -They drove through the lighted streets in silence, for Dr Armitage was -deep in thought, thinking about the sorrow that was threatening his -favourite sister, and wondering if Sir Antony Jones, whose experience -in such cases was very great, could possibly give her a ray of hope. At -Victoria he bought the boys a handful of illustrated papers; but the -light in the carriage was so uncertain that they soon stopped looking -at them, and sat back in their corners, staring into the shadowy -darkness as it rushed past. - -Ronald’s mind was full of problems which he could not solve, the -problems of life and death, which are so mysterious that in the face -of them the oldest and wisest among us are but children, and can only -trust where we cannot see; while Vivian was slowly fighting his way to -a decision, which was very real and tangible, but which seemed so far -above what his courage could attain to that as yet it was only a dream. - -‘Here we are, boys; gather up your things. It is a cold night, and I do -not want to keep Black and the horse waiting.’ - -Both boys started at their father’s words, and jumped up so quickly -that they were flung against each other as the train drew up with a -jerk at the well-known little station, and old Timms the porter came -along the platform swinging his lamp, and crying out ‘Sitt-ingham, -Sitt-ingham!’ at the top of his familiar voice. - -He stopped when he came to their carriage and opened the door. -Apparently they were the only passengers who were going to alight. - -‘Well, young gentlemen,’ he said heartily, lifting out the rugs, ‘and -how have you enjoyed yourselves up in London? And how did you leave -Miss Dora—I beg her pardon, Mrs Osbourne? The other name always comes -most familiar to me; ’twas the name we knew her by when she used to -come and help the missus to nurse the little ones the year they were -all down wi’ the fever. Maria often says that if it hadn’t been Miss -Dora’s soups and puddings Belinda wouldn’t have been alive to-day.’ - -‘Then Maria must think of Miss Dora to-night, Timms,’ said the doctor -sadly, ‘for she is in great trouble. Her little girl, her only -daughter, is very ill—almost hopelessly so, it seems to me. I have just -been up to see her, and have left my wife there.’ - -‘Eh, but I’m sorry to hear you say so, sir; very sorry!’ said the -old man, shouldering the portmanteau, and turning through the little -white gate to where the carriage was standing; ‘and so will Maria be -when she hears. The only little lass, say you? But that is a heavy -sorrow. It seems to me, sir, it’s always the best beloved that’s took -first. Though we’ll hope that the little miss may be spared yet awhile. -Children get over a lot.’ - -‘I hope so, I’m sure. Good-night, Timms. Remember me to Maria.’ - -‘Good-night, sir, and maybe you’ll let us know what news they be in the -morning, sir.’ - -Ronald and Vivian had already taken their seats, and it did not seem -long until the carriage turned in at the lodge gates, and soon it -drew up at the front door. A bright fire was blazing in the hall, and -Lucy, little Dorothy’s nurse, was waiting to help them off with their -coats and see that everything was comfortable. But, oh, what a lonely -homecoming it seemed without mother’s cheery voice and bright face! - -Even father seemed to notice the silence, for after having hurriedly -glanced at one or two notes which were lying on his desk waiting for -him, he turned to the maid. ‘Where is Dorothy, nurse?’ he asked. ‘If -she is awake we will have her down. The little lady must act mother for -us to-night.—Mustn’t she, boys?’ - -‘Oh yes, father, do have her down,’ they both cried eagerly. ‘We were -afraid she might be asleep, but it would seem so much more “homey” if -she were here.’ - -‘I’m afraid she is asleep, sir,’ said Lucy. ‘I put her in her crib just -before the carriage came. She had been watching for it since before -six o’clock, and she got so tired she went to sleep in my arms, so I -undressed her and put her in bed.’ - -‘Then we must just do the best we can without her,’ said the doctor, -sitting down and beginning to pour himself out a cup of tea, while Lucy -saw to the wants of the boys before she left the room. - -It was a very silent meal, and it was a relief when it was over, -although no one seemed quite to know what to do next. The doctor -sat restlessly turning over the leaves of a medical journal; the -boys wandered out into the hall, and stood looking out of the long, -low window at the end of it without speaking. The window overlooked -the road which led to the village, and from it they could see the -bright yellow light which burned over the little shop which served as -stationer’s shop and book-club, as well as post-office. They knew that -old Giles Masterton, who acted as postman, would bring up the telegram -as soon as it came; and as he always carried a lantern they would be -able to mark his progress up the road in the darkness. - -Nine o’clock struck at last, and yet they waited, huddled together -behind a curtain; and when Lucy appeared and hinted at the advisability -of going to bed they looked so distressed that she had not the heart to -insist. - -‘The message will come all the same as if you were up, Master Vivian,’ -she said persuasively, ‘and I’m sure your father will come and tell you -what it is at once.’ But Vivian only shook his head determinedly, and -pressed his face a little closer to the pane. - -‘It must come soon if it is coming at all, Lucy,’ said Ronald, ‘for the -office shuts at nine, and I think we can stay up until it comes. Father -does not seem to mind, and we could never go to sleep until we know.’ - -‘I’m going to stay up until it comes, no matter what any one says or -thinks, so you needn’t bother any more, Lucy,’ broke out Vivian so -fiercely that both Lucy and Ronald looked at him in surprise. - -[Illustration: At last a tiny red speck appeared under the yellow lamp, -and began to move slowly up the road. - -V. L. PAGE 162.] - -To Ronald, in the face of the trouble that was hanging over them, -any outburst of temper seemed almost irreverent; but Lucy understood -better, and with rare tact took no notice of the angry words. Instead -of remonstrating with Vivian, as she might have done, or threatening -him with his father’s displeasure, she went quietly into the cloakroom -and took down two greatcoats. - -‘Put this on, Master Ronald,’ she said; ‘and here is yours, Master -Vivian; ’tis a hard frost to-night, and this hall is as cold as can be. - -‘There now,’ as the boys silently obeyed her, and buttoned up the -coats, ‘you won’t get cold with these on; and if you would like a good -hot drink of cocoa before you go to bed come into the nursery. Miss -Dorothy is sleeping so soundly you won’t wake her, and I’ll have the -kettle boiling.’ - -Then she left them to wait in the darkness. - -At last, just as the clock was chiming the half-hour, a tiny red speck -appeared under the yellow lamp, and began to move slowly up the road. -It was old Giles’s lantern, and both boys drew a shuddering breath of -suspense. What would the news be—life or death? - -They had not long to wait. Dr Armitage’s listening ears had already -caught the sound of the old postman’s limp as he came up the frosty -road, and he laid down his newspaper hastily; and, crossing the hall -without noticing the two little figures behind the curtain, he opened -the front door, letting in a gust of clear cold air as he did so, and -went down the drive to meet him. - -The boys crept to the door and watched breathlessly as he tore open the -flimsy orange-coloured envelope and read its contents by the light of -old Giles’s lantern. When he had read it he crumpled it up in his hand -and came slowly back to the house. - -‘What does it say, father?’ asked Ronald. But he hardly needed to ask; -he knew by the sad look on his father’s face that the message was not -one of hope. - -‘Ha, my boys!’ said the doctor, starting at the sound of his eldest -son’s voice, ‘I had almost forgotten you. It is time that you were both -in bed. Come into the study, to the fire. Vivian, you look blue with -cold.’ - -Then, when they had followed him into the study, he sat down in his -arm-chair and drew them gently to him. ‘It is bad news, boys,’ he said -gravely, and his voice shook as he spoke. ‘Sir Antony Jones can only -say what Dr Robson and I said; I am much afraid that if dear little -Isobel is living now she will not last through the night.’ - -‘Oh father!’ said Ronald, the tears running down his cheeks, ‘how will -Aunt Dora bear it? She never said so, but I feel sure that Isobel was -more to her almost than Ralph or Claude. It was not that she loved them -less, but Isobel was her only little girl. Oh, just think if it had -been Dorothy!’ - -‘God forbid,’ said Dr Armitage involuntarily, and he pressed his arm -round the boys who were so precious to him, and there was silence for a -moment, broken only by Ronald’s sobs, for Vivian, who was generally the -more easily moved to tears, stood perfectly still and quiet. - -When the doctor spoke again it was in his usual tone, though his manner -was grave and sad. ‘Well, boys, it is more than time that you were in -bed. I must write some letters, and then go down and have a look at -Widow Dallas’s grandchild. She is ill too—very ill—but I hope she will -pull through. I will look in and see you when I come back, and say -good-night if you are not asleep.’ - -He kissed them tenderly, whispering to them not to forget Isobel’s name -in their prayers, and then he went out, and they went slowly up to bed. - -At the head of the stairs Ronald turned off, and went quietly towards -the nursery, stifling his sobs as best he could. - -‘I’m going to give little Dorothy a kiss,’ he whispered. ‘I never knew -before what a blessing a little sister is. Aren’t you coming?’ - -But Vivian shook his head, while a curious stifled sound like a groan -broke from his lips, and he went straight along the passage to his own -room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -VIVIAN CONQUERS. - - -WHEN Ronald returned from the nursery, some ten minutes later, he -was surprised to find that the room was in darkness, and that Vivian -had not begun to undress, for as a rule he was so quick in all his -movements that he had expected to find him already in bed. - -As he lit the candles on the dressing-table the misery in his little -brother’s face startled him, it was so white and drawn and hopeless. - -‘You look awfully cold, Vivi,’ he began. ‘Come along into the nursery -and have some cocoa. Lucy gave me a cup to drink; awfully jolly and -sweet it was, and I feel heaps better. I got awfully shivery and queer -downstairs.’ - -‘No, thanks, I don’t want any, not to-night,’ said Vivian shortly, -pulling out a drawer with so much vehemence that Ronald took it as -a hint that he wanted to be quiet, and began to undress without any -further remark. - -The boys generally read a short portion of the Bible to their mother -before they came upstairs, and when she happened to be away from home—a -very rare occurrence indeed—they read it to themselves in their own -room; but to-night Ronald felt that somehow he dare not ask his brother -to join him. He hardly knew how to treat him in this new, silent mood -that had come over him, and he longed for his mother, who always -understood people, and knew what to say to them. - -And still, ever since he could remember, they had never gone to bed -without the nightly lesson, and he did not like to do so on this night -above all others, when the shadow of death had come nearer them than -ever it had done in their lives before. Nervously he took up the two -little Bibles which lay on a small table near the fireplace, under a -beautiful print of Holman Hunt’s ‘Light of the World.’ - -‘Aren’t you going to read, Vivi,’ he said timidly, holding out one of -them to his brother; but Vivian only shook his head and began pulling -off his shoes. - -Ronald sighed, but he felt that further words were useless. He knew -that Vivian never liked to be argued with, especially when it was he, -Ronald, who argued, so in silence he read his verses to himself, and -knelt down to say his prayers. When he rose from his knees he found his -brother in bed, with his face buried in the pillows. - -He stood for a moment, perplexed how to act, and then he blew out the -candle and went and sat down in the dark on the edge of Vivian’s bed. - -‘Vivi, old chap,’ he said softly, ‘can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I -feel sure that there is something worse than even Isobel’s illness. You -haven’t said good-night to me, and you haven’t said your prayers.’ - -The only answer was a restless movement, and another sharp, strangled -sob, and then, just as Ronald was making up his mind to go back to bed, -feeling it was no use to ask any more questions, Vivian burst out, ‘I -can’t say my prayers, Ronald; I daren’t. I have been so wicked. Oh, if -you only knew!’ - -‘But God knows,’ said Ronald. ‘He knows how wicked we all are, and yet -that doesn’t hinder Him listening to us. He will forgive us and give -us strength to be better afterwards. I wish mother were here; she can -explain things so much better than I can.’ - -‘Yes—but—if one has done something, and he doesn’t want to tell, God -won’t hear him till he does,’ said Vivian desperately. ‘Do you remember -that text that mother told us about, which says that if we have -wickedness—iniquity or something is the word—in our heart, God won’t -hear us? Oh Ronald, I’m like Achan the son of Carmi, who hid the golden -wedge in his tent. I’ve hidden a golden wedge, and now God is cursing -everybody for my sake. First Joe, then Isobel, and perhaps He’ll take -mother and Dorothy and father and you.’ - -Ronald was really frightened. He remembered how Vivian had fainted in -the morning, and he began to fear that all the excitement and trouble -had turned his brain. He had heard of people getting brain-fever, and -losing their reason when they had had some terrible shock or a great -deal of worry. If his father had only been in the house! But he had -heard the front door close a few minutes before, and he knew that he -had gone out to see the sick girl of whom he had spoken. He thought of -going for Lucy, and had turned towards the door to do so when it struck -him that if there was any truth in what Vivian said, if he really had -done something wrong, then it was not a thing to speak to a servant -about, so he turned back to his brothers bedside instead. - -‘It’s never too late to tell things, Vivi,’ he said soothingly. ‘Father -has gone out just now, else you could have told him; so if I were you -I should just tell God instead, and then go to sleep. Perhaps things -may look different in the morning. Would you like me to call Lucy?’ he -added doubtfully. ‘If you feel really ill I could go for her.’ - -‘No, no, not Lucy!’ cried Vivian in alarm. ‘Just leave me alone, -Ronald; you can’t help me.’ - -And Ronald, who by this time was shivering with cold, crept into his -own little bed at the other side of the room, feeling sorely perplexed. -He lay and strained his ears for any sign of his father’s return, -intending when he heard his step to creep downstairs and tell him what -a funny state Vivian was in; but he must have fallen asleep, for when -he was awakened by hearing Vivian moving on the other side of the -room, he fancied that it was morning. - -‘Whatever are you doing, Vivian?’ he asked, all his fears about his -brother returning. ‘It is not time to get up yet; it is quite dark, and -I don’t hear any one stirring in the house.’ - -‘Yes, there is,’ said Vivian, and there was a determined ring in his -voice which reassured Ronald. Anyhow it was quite clear that his -brother knew what he was doing. ‘Father has just come in, and I’m going -down to tell him all that I have done. Perhaps none of you will speak -to me again when you know, and perhaps I’ll be sent to prison; but I -can’t stand this any longer, and perhaps God will spare Isobel.’ - -There was a glimmer of light from the passage as he opened the door, -and the next moment he was gone, leaving Ronald sitting up in his bed -in astonishment. Either Vivian was going to be ill—and the thought -crossed his mind that what had been so fatal to Isobel might have hurt -Vivian more than any one had supposed—or there was some great ugly -mystery which had yet to be explained; and as he remembered one or two -little things which had troubled him at Eversley, but which he had -forgotten—the muddy indoor shoes, the wet coat, and Vivian’s evening -excursion out into the rain, and his fright when he heard of Monarch’s -death—he felt sick with apprehension as to what new trouble might be -coming to mar the happiness of their pleasant family-life. - -‘Eh, what?’ said Dr Armitage, looking in perplexity at the little -white-robed, white-faced figure which stood just inside his study door. -He had returned from his late visit to Widow Dallas’s granddaughter, -and had been gathering up his papers and putting out the lamps, when -the sound of Vivian’s voice arrested him, and, turning round, he saw -the startling apparition. - -‘My dear, are you ill? You should have sent Ronald down,’ he said in -alarm, and crossing the room, he would have taken the little boy on his -knee, but Vivian pushed his arm away and shrank back against the wall. - -‘You won’t touch me when you know, father,’ he began, and his voice did -not seem as if it belonged to him at all, ‘for I’m a thief, and a liar, -and a murderer, or at least as good as one, for it is all my fault that -Isobel is dying; and I thought—I thought—if I told all about it, God -might make her better.’ - -Here he stopped to moisten his lips, for they were so dry he could not -go on. - -‘My dear, you do not know what you are saying!’ said his father -starting forward, greatly alarmed, fearing, like Ronald, that the -excitement of the past day had affected the little fellow’s brain. - -‘No, no, father,’ cried Vivian passionately, putting out both his -hands to keep him back, ‘I’m quite sensible, and you must listen, for -it’s all true. I stole the pistol, and I told lies, and they think it -was Joe, and I talked to the burglar, and he got me to give cakes to -Monarch. That is the only bit I didn’t _mean_ to do, for I believed -the man’s story, and I never thought that the cakes would poison the -dog. And I hid the pistol in a hole in the branch of the old oak-tree. -Isobel was showing the hole to me when we fell off.’ - -‘Come here, Vivian, and tell me all about it, just as it happened from -the beginning. Nay, my boy, do not shrink from me; surely you know -father better than that. If this story is true, I shall be deeply -grieved and deeply disappointed; but you are doing all you can to set -things right, and I will stand by you. I promise you that.’ - -For a moment Vivian swayed backwards and forwards, and his father -caught hold of him, fearing another faint attack, then with a hoarse -cry the little boy threw himself into his arms and broke into a perfect -passion of tears. After the strain and dread of the last few days the -note of kindness in his father’s voice was almost more than he could -bear. - -‘Oh father,’ he gasped, ‘you won’t send me to prison, will you? You -won’t send me out of the house, not even when you hear the whole story?’ - -‘Certainly not, my boy,’ and the arm that was round him tightened its -hold. ‘Fathers are not like that. I may be angry—very likely I shall -be—if you have done anything to deserve it; but remember nothing would -make me turn against you. Now, as soon as you are calm enough you will -tell me everything.’ - -Both the boys had been well trained in self-control since their -babyhood; but it was nearly five minutes before Vivian could steady his -voice sufficiently to speak, and it was in sadly broken words that he -told his tale. He did not spare himself. The burden of concealment had -lain too heavily on his conscience for that, and now that he had broken -the ice, it was a relief to tell out the whole sad story. - -Dr Armitage listened in silence, only asking a question now and then to -make some point clear, his grief and dismay increasing every moment. -He had been prepared for some confession of childish wrong-doing, -and had set down Vivian’s agitation as a necessary result of all the -day’s excitement, and had thought that the same reason had led him to -exaggerate his fault; but the tale he heard was far different from -that. For a moment he forgot the sharp temptation which the finding -of the pistol must have been to a boy of Vivian’s temperament, and -was almost stunned to find that his own son, who had been brought up -with so much care, could have practised and carried out such a tangled -scheme of lies and deceit. - -When the story was fully told there was silence for a minute. - -‘Oh Vivian, Vivian! what will mother say?’ said Dr Armitage at last; -and at his question, and the grieved tone in which it was spoken, the -little boy shivered. - -‘I don’t think she will ever love me again,’ he sobbed, ‘and I don’t -deserve that she should.’ - -‘Oh yes, she will, old man,’ said the doctor, trying to speak gently in -spite of his bitter disappointment. ‘You have owned up your fault, and -that is the first step towards making amends; only remember you must -face the consequences whatever they are. Uncle Walter and Aunt Dora -must be told, and Joe must be set at liberty and his name cleared at -once; and you must tell the police exactly what happened on Sunday, and -describe the man who gave you the cakes for Monarch. It won’t be easy -for you, I’m afraid.’ - -But Vivian was too broken-down and exhausted to take much thought for -the morrow. ‘If only Isobel would get better!’ he sobbed. ‘Surely God -will see that I’m sorry, and give her back?’ - -‘That must be as God wills,’ said his father gravely; ‘and now you must -go to bed, and try to sleep, and to-morrow we will talk about it again -and decide what is to be done. I think perhaps that you had better -go back with me to London, for the policemen must be told about the -man in the summer-house at once, and they will want you to give them -his description; but whether Aunt Dora is told at present or not will -depend on the news that we get in the morning.’ - -Then, seeing how worn out Vivian was, he lifted him in his arms as if -he were a baby, and gave him a fatherly kiss. ‘Don’t despair, old man,’ -he said. ‘Remember every one can build fresh beginnings on the ruins -made by their old faults;’ and then he carried him up to bed, as he -used to do in the far-off days before Dorothy was born. He pushed the -door of the bedroom gently open so as not to disturb Ronald; but Ronald -was awake, and eager to know what had happened, and why Vivian had been -so long downstairs. - -‘Shall I tell him?’ asked Dr Armitage. He felt that this at least -should be left to Vivian to decide. The answer was soon given. - -‘Oh Ronnie, Ronnie!’ cried Vivian, going back to his baby name for -his brother, ‘let me come into your bed;’ and, clinging to the elder -brother, whom he had so often laughed at but whom he loved with all -his heart, he sobbed out his confession for the second time, and then -fell asleep with his head on Ronald’s shoulder, comforted by his simple -words of encouragement: - -‘Never mind, you’ve been brave and confessed; and I’m sure God will -make it all right about Isobel.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -ANOTHER MYSTERY. - - -THOROUGHLY worn out by all he had gone through, it was late next -morning before Vivian awoke. As his eye fell on his empty bed he -wondered drowsily what had happened, and why he had slept with Ronald, -and why Ronald was up and about while he had not even been called. - -Then, with a flash, his homecoming last night and his confession to -his father came into his mind, and with it the thought of his little -cousin’s illness, and all the sorrow and trouble and disgrace which he -had brought not only on himself but on his friends. - -He was wide awake now, and he turned over on his pillow with a groan, -for he knew that in a short time he would have to meet his father once -more, perhaps even go back to London with him, and the whole sad story -would need to be told over again, and it would be much harder to tell -it to-day than it had been last night, when he was excited and his -feelings strung up by the thought of Isobel’s danger. - -‘Isobel will probably be dead by now,’ he thought dully. ‘Well, she -would never know how wicked and false her playfellow had been; but it -would be all the harder to have to face Uncle Walter and Aunt Dora and -tell the miserable truth to them in the midst of their terrible trouble. - -Then he began to wonder what punishment he would get; perhaps he would -be sent to some very strict school where only bad boys were sent—he had -heard of such places—and perhaps little Dorothy, and even Ronald, would -not be allowed to see him or to talk about the brother who had brought -such disgrace on them all. - -Bitter tears filled his eyes at the thought; and yet, mingling with the -bitterness and deep sense of shame, there was a feeling of relief that -now, at all events, the truth was known, and he need not go about with -the awful fear of discovery hanging over him. - -A footstep sounded on the stair. Was it his father? His face flushed at -the thought of seeing him again. But no, it was too light a step for -his, and it was Ronald who pushed the door open and looked cautiously -into the room. - -His face brightened when he saw that his brother was awake. ‘Look here, -old fellow,’ he said, crossing over to where Vivian lay, and shaking a -yellow envelope in his face, ‘this came in half-an-hour ago, and father -said I might bring it up to you when you were awake. It’s good news -this time,’ and his voice shook a little. ‘It’s to say that Isobel is -better, so you see God has answered our prayers after all.’ - -With trembling hands Vivian took the piece of flimsy paper, and read -the words which it contained: ‘Isobel distinctly better. Doctors -hopeful.’ Then he lay back on his pillow and gazed out of the window -without speaking, but with such a curious gladness on his face that -Ronald, standing by, dared not break the silence. - -To Vivian that message of good news seemed a sign and seal of -forgiveness. After all, God had not forsaken him in spite of his sin. -‘And when he was yet a long way off, his father saw him, and had -compassion on him.’ The old story seemed very real to the little boy -then. It had been told by holy lips, many hundreds of years ago, to a -crowd of eager listeners in Galilee; but with a great rush of gladness -he felt that it was as true to-day as it was then. He was the prodigal -son. He had wandered into a far country—a country of sin and shame and -falsehood—and yet, the moment he had turned his face in the direction -of the Father’s home, the moment he had shown his repentance by his -confession, the Father had heard him, and had had compassion on him, -and had answered the unspoken prayer which he had not even dared to -offer. And if God had been so ready to help him in his sore need and -anxiety, would He not also help him in the ordeal which lay before him, -when every one who up till now had loved him and thought much of him -would learn what manner of boy he really was. - -‘They were your prayers, Ronnie,’ he said at last; ‘but perhaps God saw -that I was really sorry, and perhaps that did as well.’ - -‘Yes, and saw that you had made up your mind to own up,’ said Ronald; -‘and you know that mother always says that the real test of being -sorry is the owning up and the trying to put things right as far as we -can.’ - -‘There will be an awful lot to put right,’ said Vivian sadly, a sudden -fit of depression coming over him. ‘Even if Isobel gets well, there is -all Aunt Dora’s silver gone, and Joe Flinders put in prison.’ - -‘But Joe Flinders needn’t stay in prison when they know that it wasn’t -he who took the pistol,’ said Ronald; and then he wished he had not -spoken when he noticed the distressed look that came to his brother’s -face at the mention of the pistol, and remembered all that must happen -before Joe could be set at liberty. - -‘Never mind, old chap,’ he said tenderly, putting his arm round -Vivian’s shoulder; ‘just set your teeth, and go through with it. Father -will help you, and I will stand by you for all that I am worth.’ - -The conversation was interrupted by Lucy’s entrance with a -breakfast-tray. - -‘There’s good news this morning, isn’t there, Master Vivian?’ she said -cheerfully, noticing the little boy’s pale cheeks and heavy eyes, which -she set down to the excitement of yesterday and the anxiety about his -cousin. ‘You must try to eat a good breakfast, for it seems that you -have to go back to London with the master.’ - -Vivian started at the words, and turned his face away from the kindly -girl who was arranging his pillows comfortably behind him, and fussing -over him as though he were ill. - -So there was to be no pause, no respite. He was to go up to London this -very day, and even before he had set out the ordeal had begun, for he -saw from Lucy’s wondering tone that every one would at once begin to -ask the reason for this sudden return to town, and the truth was bound -to come out. To have Lucy, and cook, and old Black (who had known him -ever since he was a baby) all know him now as a thief and a liar would -be intolerable. - -But Ronald, true to his promise of a minute before of ‘standing by him -for all he was worth,’ answered for him. - -‘Yes, Vivian has to go back with father because he was not at church -on Sunday, and he saw a man in the garden who may have been one of the -thieves. And the police want to hear more about him.’ - -The words were strictly true, and yet they explained everything so -naturally that Vivian wondered how he had ever thought Ronald stupid. - -‘Dear, dear,’ said Lucy, looking admiringly at Vivian, ‘so you really -saw him, Master Vivian! No wonder you look white and shaken. He might -have murdered you, he might, when there was no one about. London must -be a dreadful place. I am glad I don’t live there. Have another cup -of tea? No? Even if I put two lumps of sugar in it? Well, to be sure, -it has taken away your appetite, and little wonder. And you must be -ready for the twelve o’clock train too! It is almost time that you were -getting up. See, here comes little Miss Dorothy. She shall sit on your -bed till I take down the tray and get you some hot water, and then she -must come into the nursery while you dress.’ - -Vivian was not destined, however, to meet his father before he started, -or to go to London with the twelve o’clock train. If he had done so -things might have fallen out very differently from what they did. - -Many a time in the dreary days that followed did Dr Armitage wish with -a groan that the miller’s pony had not taken it into its head to run -away just on that particular morning. As it was, the pony took fright -at an innocent old woman who was walking down the road with a bundle -of sticks on her back, and it threw its rider, the miller’s only son, -who had his leg broken and his head cut, besides being bruised all -over, so that the doctor, who was sent for in hot haste by the boy’s -frantic parents, found it absolutely impossible to go to London by the -train he had intended travelling by. Indeed, he did not even go home to -lunch, but had some bread and cheese in the miller’s kitchen; and then, -having set the boy’s leg, and seen him come back to consciousness, he -sent a message home by a passing labourer to bid Vivian meet him at -the station at three o’clock, and went on to make one or two important -visits which needed to be made. - -Indeed, in the end, he nearly missed the train, for it had come into -the station before he appeared; and Ronald, who had driven down with -Vivian to keep up his courage and give him a cheery set-off, was at his -wits’ end whether to take his brother’s ticket or not. - -‘All right; jump in, Vivi,’ said his father, as he took his handbag -from his eldest son.—‘You were a thoughtful boy, Ronald, to bring me -this. I forgot all about sleeping things when I sent the message, and -we won’t get back to-night now.—Tickets? Oh, I will pay at the other -end.—Good-bye, Ronald, you will have a dull evening, I am afraid, my -boy.—All right, Timms.’ And then the train moved out of the station, -and Ronald made his way slowly back to the carriage, feeling very sorry -for his little white-faced brother, and wishing that he could have gone -along with him. - -Poor Vivian wished the same wish a great many times as the express -flew quickly along towards London. He had dreaded being alone with -his father, and yet to have been alone with him now would have been a -relief, for there were two other gentlemen in the carriage, both of -whom knew Dr Armitage, and were eager for any fresh news he could give -them respecting the robbery. - -So the little boy had to sit in silent misery and hear every detail -of the robbery, of which the newspapers were full, talked over from -every point of view. His father tried to spare him, and to direct the -conversation to other topics; but it was not easily done, for both the -gentlemen were old and fussy, and they had to argue over every point, -and discuss every mysterious circumstance until Dr Armitage was at his -wits’ end how to answer their questions and yet hide from them how much -he knew, and poor Vivian was in such a state of nervousness that he -could have screamed aloud. - -The journey came to an end at last, however, as all things do, whether -they be pleasant or unpleasant, and the train steamed into Victoria -Station, where the electric lamps were already blazing. - -‘Now for a cab, my boy!’ said Dr Armitage, turning and laying his hand -on Vivian’s shoulder kindly, after he had helped the two garrulous -old gentlemen to get all their belongings out of the carriage, and -had shaken hands with them, and said good-bye. ‘All those questions -were rather hard on you, weren’t they? It is what you must expect, I -fear, for a time. But never mind, you have fought the first bit of -your fight, and you must just make up your mind to be brave and to go -through with it.’ - -The kind words brought the tears to Vivian’s eyes. ‘It is mother,’ he -said huskily. ‘I don’t feel as if I could meet her.’ - -‘Nonsense,’ said his father cheerily, for he saw that the little fellow -had had enough to bear, and needed some encouragement if he were not to -break down altogether, ‘mother is never hard on any one who has owned -up and said that they are sorry; and I am sure that Aunt Dora and Uncle -Walter will not be too hard on you either, although, of course, you -must expect to find them both angry and disappointed with you at first. -But we mustn’t stand talking here.—Hi, cabman!’ - -The cabman noticed the doctor’s signal, and turned his horse’s head; -but just at that moment there was a cry, and a rush of people to -another part of the station. - -A man had slipped while coupling a moving engine to a train, and the -two first carriages had gone over his legs. Some one came running along -calling for a doctor, and Dr Armitage immediately offered his services. - -‘Wait here till I come, my boy,’ he said. ‘See, the man will let you -get into his cab, and will wait for me at the end of the station.—I -may be some time, cabby,’ he added, looking up at the red-faced man on -the box. ‘If the poor fellow is badly hurt I may have some bandaging to -do before they can remove him to the hospital; but I’ll be back again -as quickly as I can.’ - -‘All right, sir,’ said the man, touching his hat. ‘I will wait for you -under the great clock yonder.’ - -The doctor hurried away without wasting more time. As he expected, -the accident was a serious one. The poor man’s legs were both badly -crushed, and it was some time before he could check the hæmorrhage -sufficiently to make it safe for him to be removed to the hospital. -When at last the sufferer had been made as comfortable as possible, and -the doctor had helped to place him in a station ambulance, and had seen -it start swiftly for its destination, he hurried back to find his cab. - -There it was, waiting, as its driver had promised, just opposite the -great clock, the man apparently half-asleep on the box. - -The doctor glanced up at the clock as he passed it. - -‘Sorry to keep you, cabby; but I couldn’t help it,’ he said pleasantly -to the man, who must have been sleeping with one eye open, for he -straightened himself and gathered up the reins as soon as he saw his -fare appear. ‘And we have a long drive before us too. We wish to go -to Hampstead, to a house called “Eversley,” just on the Heath. I will -direct you to it when we get there.’ - -The man touched his hat with a smile which somehow lit up the whole of -his rough, weather-beaten face. ‘My horse will soon take you over the -ground. She’s a rare good little beast, and knows how to go. I hope the -young gentleman isn’t very cold. I thought once of saying to him that -he should go to the waiting-room over there, and then I thought as ’ow -you might be here at any minute.’ - -‘Oh, he’ll be all right,’ said the doctor, opening the door.—‘Are you -asleep, old fellow?’ he asked briskly. ‘I have been as quick as I -could; but it has taken me fully a quarter of an hour.’ - -There was no answer, and he sprang into the cab with an exclamation of -alarm. Had Vivian really gone to sleep, or, worn out with the strain -and excitement, had he suddenly been taken ill? Impatiently he groped -all round in the darkness. There was the travelling-rug, and there was -the hand-bag on the floor—he tripped over it, and for one horrible -moment thought it was his son. Then he struck a match and looked round. -The truth which had been dawning on him for the last few seconds, and -which he had refused to believe, was now quite plain, quite certain. -The cab was empty. Vivian had disappeared. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A VAIN SEARCH. - - -‘THE young gentleman not there? Why, sir, that’s impossible,’ said the -cabman, astonishment written on every feature of his honest red face, -as the excited doctor jumped out of the cab again and demanded rather -sharply where his son had gone. ‘You shut the door yourself when you -left, and he was inside right enough then, and I would have heard him -if he had opened the door since, and shut it again behind him.’ - -‘But I tell you he is gone,’ said the doctor. ‘Here is the bag, and -the rug, and even his gloves; but the boy has got out, that is clear -enough.’ - -‘I can hardly think as ’ow I didn’t hear him,’ answered the man, -rubbing his head in perplexity. ‘But, anyhow, he can’t be far away. -He has got tired of waiting, no doubt, and slipped out, and has gone -to the bookstall or the waiting-room. He’ll be there all right, sir, -never fear;’ and he smiled to himself at the nervousness of ‘country -folk,’ as Dr Armitage set off, almost at a run, in the direction of the -bookstall. - -But neither there nor in any of the waiting-rooms did he find Vivian; -and although he scoured every nook and cranny of the station, -accompanied by a policeman whom he sent for in hot haste, and made -inquiries at the booking-office and the bookstall, and questioned -all the outside porters, it was all in vain. No one had seen a boy -answering to Vivian’s description. The little fellow had vanished, -leaving no trace behind him. - -The half-frantic doctor wished to set out at once to search for him in -the adjoining streets, but the policeman dissuaded him. - -‘’Twould do no good, sir,’ he said. ‘If the young gentleman has run -away—given you the slip for any reason—he’ll be half-a-mile or more -from here now, and you may as well look for a needle in a haystack -as look for him in the network of streets that lie between here and -the river. We’ll go to a telephone-office and we’ll telephone his -description to all the police stations in London. I’ll take the -cabman’s number, although he’s all right; I know him for as decent a -man as ever lived, and you go quietly home, and probably you will have -news of the youngster by midnight.’ - -‘But he wouldn’t run away. He couldn’t run away,’ argued the doctor, -although a horrible suspicion began to come over him that Vivian, -tempted by the fear of the exposure that lay before him, might have -done so. ‘He has only been in London once before in his life; he does -not know a soul in it except the friends whose house we are going to; -and, besides, he has not a penny in his pocket that I know of.’ - -Policeman X10 shook his head. ‘Lads are queer, sir,’ he said. ‘One -never knows what they are up to. You say you have had no disagreement -or anything? He wasn’t being took to school, or anything of that sort? -Of course you know best; but to me it looks pretty like as if ’e had -given you the slip. It ain’t likely that a boy of his age could be -lifted bodily at this time of day. ’Tain’t as if ’e had been a little -un. Hadn’t a notion of the sea, had he? It’s jolly cold weather to try -that little tip. All the same, we had better keep a lookout at the -docks.’ - -‘No, I was not taking him to school,’ replied Dr Armitage, ignoring the -man’s hint about ‘any disagreement,’ and feeling almost angry with him -for coming so near the truth in his conjectures; but during the long, -cold drive up to Hampstead he was forced to admit to himself that in -all probability he was right, and that Vivian, goaded on by the thought -of the ordeal that lay before him, had taken the desperate step of -running away. - -Bitterly did he blame himself for leaving the boy alone under the -circumstances, although he felt that he could not honestly accuse -himself of being harsh or unkind to him, and he remembered gladly the -few words which had passed between them at the station, and the promise -he had held out to Vivian that, now that he had spoken out and told the -truth, his mother and he would stand by him, and help him through the -rest. - -Up at Eversley bright faces greeted him. The improvement which had set -in in Isobel’s condition in the early morning had been maintained, and -Sir Antony Jones, who had just paid a second visit, had declared his -belief that, if she went on as she was doing, the danger would be over -by the following morning. The threatened inflammation had subsided. - -‘Of course she will need care for a considerable time, and may have to -be kept on her back for a month or two. I suspect a slight injury to -the spine. But nothing permanent—nothing permanent. And with a garden -like yours, Mrs Osbourne, she could not be better situated.’ - -And with this favourable verdict, the great man had departed, leaving -thankful hearts behind him. - -In the face of such relief from pressing anxiety—for there seemed no -reason to fear that Isobel would not pass a good night—Dr Armitage -shrank from telling his story and bringing another cloud down on the -hearts which had gone through so much already. - -Even if he had wished to remain silent, however, he could not have done -so, for his wife’s loving eyes soon saw that something was amiss, and -the whole sad story had to come out. And a startling story it was. - -To Mrs Armitage, with her faith in her boys’ truthfulness and -high-mindedness, the news of Vivian’s deceit came as a great shock, -and for the moment everything else seemed to fade from her mind. His -disappearance, his probable danger even, did not seem to touch her as -the knowledge of his falseness did. - -‘Oh my boy!’ she moaned, ‘my little boy, whom I have prayed for all his -life, and tried to lead in the right way! I have seen it all along, his -moral cowardice, his love of praise. And it has led to this. And now -he has run away because he dare not face his own mother! Oh Jack,’ she -cried piteously, turning to her husband, ‘I think I would almost rather -he had died when he had that fever so badly three years ago than that -you should have to tell me all this terrible story.’ - -‘Come, come, Margaret,’ said Uncle Walter kindly, for he saw that his -sister-in-law scarcely knew what she was saying, ‘this is unlike you. -All the strain and anxiety has been too much for you, and now this news -on the top of all! It is a bad business, and I don’t wonder that you -are surprised and grieved. I know what we would have felt if it had -been Ralph. But, after all, the poor little chap is only eleven, and he -has owned up like a brick, remember that. This will be a lesson to him -that he will remember all his life, and he will make a fine man yet, or -my name is not Walter Osbourne. Faith, I doubt if I would have had the -courage to have made a clean breast of it myself, as he has done, at -his age, after getting so far down in the mud. It shows that he has the -right sort of grit in him. - -‘But the first thing is to find him, and bring him back, and then let -the police know all he has to tell us about the rascal whom he saw in -the summer-house. I expect the whole gang will soon be caught once they -have his description. And I promise you that Vivian will hear no more -than is necessary about the whole business from any one in this house. -Of course the police will have to know about the pistol, in order to -release Joe; but we can hush it up in some way. - -‘In the meantime, I’ll run up and tell Dora, and do you get Jack and -me something to eat—something solid remember—and we will go down to -Scotland Yard, and see that everything is being done to trace the poor -little chap. Probably they have got him by now. Very likely he only -ran out of the station to have a look at the lighted streets, and -took a wrong turning. We will take a look round the hospitals too,’ -he added, for he wanted to break the strange calm hardness which had -fallen on Vivian’s mother, which was so unlike her, and so unlike the -passionate love which she had for her children. - -The words had their expected effect. - -‘The hospitals!’ she said sharply. ‘Surely you don’t think that an -accident can have happened? You don’t know Vivian. He is much too -wide-awake to allow himself to be run over.’ But the mother-love, which -the shock seemed almost to have deadened, was awake again, and when -in a few minutes Aunt Dora came down, full of sympathy, and thinking -of nothing but Vivian’s mysterious disappearance, making all possible -excuses for him, and blaming herself bitterly for not noticing his -doings more closely, and thus making it impossible for such things to -happen, her sister-in-law blessed her in her heart for her kind words, -and, laying down her head on her shoulder, relieved her overburdened -heart by a good cry, after which she was once more her calm, -practical, hopeful self again. - -But although every police station in London was warned, and every -railway station watched, every hospital visited, and every city -missionary told of Vivian’s mysterious disappearance, day after day -passed, and nothing was heard of him. - -Hope dies hard, however, and long after the detectives who had been -employed to try to solve the mystery had given it up, and expressed -their opinion that the lost boy had wandered from the station down -to the river, either out of pure boyish curiosity, or in the hope of -finding a boat in which he could embark as cabin-boy, and so escape any -possible punishment which might await him, and had missed his footing -in the fog, which it was remembered had come down rather thickly that -Tuesday night, and had fallen into the river and been drowned, the -members of the two households where he had been known and loved still -clung to the hope that some day he would turn up again. - -But month succeeded month, and when at last Easter arrived, and no -clue was to be had to the mystery, they were compelled to give up -their slender hope, and to mourn for him as dead—mourn him all the more -bitterly because he had left them with a cloud hanging over him, and -perhaps lost his life in trying to hide from them, because he dreaded -their anger. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -MADAME GENVIÈVE. - - -SPRING comes early in Brittany, and by the end of May the apple-blossom -is already almost over, while the hedgerows on each side of the smooth, -broad roads are one tangled glory of golden broom, sweet-smelling -honeysuckle, and delicate bramble-blossom. - -But up in the mountains of Basse Bretagne, the _Montagnes Noirs_ as -they are called, it is different. The climate is colder there, and the -seasons later, reminding one more of Scotland. Indeed, the scenery is -not unlike certain parts of Scotland; for, as one winds up the lonely -roads that lead to the heart of these hills, one leaves the vegetation -of the south behind them, and reaches a region of bare, heather-covered -moors, peat-bogs, and low, scrubby fir-trees. - -The country is sparsely populated. The traveller only comes across a -cottage at long intervals, and when he does pass one he looks at the -low walls and thatched roof, wondering what sort of lives the people -live who dwell inside. - -At the door of one of these lonely cottages a woman was standing one -bright May morning—in the May that followed the events which we have -described in the last chapters—shading her eyes from the sun. - -She was dressed in the ordinary Breton peasant’s dress—a black gown, -with a great white cap and a white plaited collar, and her face was -wrinkled and weather-beaten. - -‘Pierre, Pierre, where art thou?’ she cried, scanning the bare moorland -with her keen black eyes; ‘it is already seven o’clock, and the pigs -are not fed, nor the chickens, and the cow waits in her stall to be led -out to pasture.’ - -There was no answer, and she shrugged her shoulders impatiently. - -‘Plague upon the boy,’ she muttered, ‘and upon those who brought him! -Three francs a week doth not go far on his food, for he eats like an -ox, and as for trouble—_hein!_’ And she shrugged her shoulders again in -the expressive way only practised by a Frenchwoman or an Italian, then -she proceeded to search the wretched little outhouses which adjoined -her cottage for the delinquent. - -[Illustration: ‘Thou lazy dreamer!’ she said, pulling him to his feet -by the collar of his blue cotton blouse. - -V. L. PAGE 205.] - -She found him at last, a little white-faced, dark-haired lad, clad in a -blue cotton suit, and wearing the wooden sabots of the country. He was -lying asleep in the sun behind a diminutive haystack, which looked as -if hay-crops in that part of the country were wont to be scanty. - -He woke with a start as the woman shook him roughly, and shrank away -from her with a look of fear in his brown eyes. - -‘Thou lazy dreamer!’ she said, pulling him to his feet by the collar -of his blue cotton blouse, and giving him a push in the direction of -the pig-sty, ‘there is all thy work to do, and instead of doing it thou -liest and sleepest as if thou wert the son of a lord. Make haste now, -and feed the cow and the chickens, and take the cow to the pasture over -by the bog-side yonder. See, if thou lingerest I shall take the stick, -as I took it yesterday.’ - -Apparently the threat was no idle one, for the little boy went off -hurriedly. He entered the cottage, and in a few minutes he returned -dragging a pail which was evidently too heavy for him, and with -much exertion managed at last to empty its contents into a great -stone trough. Then he let down some low wooden bars, and from a rough -enclosure two or three long-legged, bony pigs rushed out, jostling one -another, and almost knocking the little fellow over in their haste to -get at their food. - -He stood watching them dully, leaning against the gate almost as if he -had not energy to go on to his next task. - -Perhaps the woman noticed this, and perhaps the thought rose in her -mind that it would not pay to work the little foreigner—whom her son -Jacques had brought from Paris one cold January day, bidding her at -all costs to keep him safely, and guard against any possibility of his -escape—too hard. For he had already been ill once, and he might fall -ill again; and if anything happened to him then the three francs which -Jacques sent her regularly for his board would cease to arrive, and -the little hoard of silver which she was gathering in the old cracked -coffee-pot which stood on the shelf above her bed would grow no bigger, -and that would be a thousand pities, for she cared more for silver -francs than for children. - -‘See here, Pierre,’ she said, going into the cottage and returning with -two thick slices of rye-bread, between which she had placed a morsel -of meat and a sliced shalot, ‘it is fine and warm in the sun, so thou -and Nanette shall have a little _fête_. Here is thy dinner; thou canst -carry it with thee, and lie out in the sun all day on the hillside, -while Nanette grazes to her heart’s content. See, thou canst go at -once. I can attend to the poultry.’ - -The boy took the sandwich, which the old woman wrapped up in a piece -of greasy paper, and put it carefully away in a little wallet which he -wore slung over his shoulder. - -‘Shall I tether Nanette, madame, or shall I let her go free?’ he asked. -He spoke in the same patois in which the woman had spoken, but his -accent was strangely foreign. - -‘Thou canst lead her with the rope until thou reachest the other side, -and then thou canst let her graze where she will,’ replied the woman; -‘only thou must keep in sight of the cottage, and be home ere the sun -goes down.’ - -She turned away, and the boy took down a length of rope from the wall, -and deftly slipped it over the horns of a gentle-looking little dun -cow which had come forward, and was licking the sides of the trough -where the pigs had fed, in the vain hope that she might find some of -their food still sticking to the edges. - -He led her away, and the docile animal followed him quietly, for Breton -cows are accustomed to being led out to graze, and soon the two were -picking their way gingerly over the quaking bog, which was still soft -with the winter rain. Once arrived at the other side, where there was -a strip of short, sweet grass, the boy slipped the rope from Nanette’s -horns, and, climbing a short way up the side of the hill, he lay down -in the sun and began to think. - -Poor little fellow! his thoughts were always the same, and they were -sometimes so confused that he could hardly tell whether the things he -thought about were real or not. They floated through his brain, broken -up and confused, like the colours in a kaleidoscope, and there were -only two things that he was ever quite certain about. One was that he -had not always lived in the low thatched cottage which he had just -left; the other, that he was an English boy, and not a French one. - -There were other things which he remembered vaguely, and which he was -sure were real, although the old woman at the cottage, Madame Genviève, -as she was called, always said that they were but feverish dreams that -had fixed themselves in his brain during the illness which he had had -after he had come to live with her. - -This illness had taken away his memory, so she told him, and had filled -his head with strange fancies, and had made him forget that he was her -grandson, and had always lived in Paris until his mother died, and his -father—her son Jacques—had brought him to the little cottage in the -_Montagnes Noirs_ to be the comfort of his old grandmother’s failing -years. - -But somehow Pierre did not believe all this, although he had learned to -hold his tongue: for at first, when he used to talk of a strange memory -which was always in his mind, and would speak the language which came -easiest to his tongue, she would look round anxiously as if she feared -that some one might hear him, and then she would fly into a passion, -and scold him, and even beat him; and afterwards, when her anger had -cooled, and the fear had gone out of her eyes, she would stroke his -head, and tell him that those were but sick fancies, which he must be -careful to hide, in case the inspector down at Châteauneuf should hear -about him, and take him away and shut him up in an institution, as he -did to all people who thought such thoughts. - -So Pierre learned to hold his tongue and keep his thoughts to himself. -This had been easy at first, when the least effort to think made his -head ache as though it would split; but it was more difficult now that -the fine weather, and the long days spent in the open air, were making -his poor little body, and his mind too, stronger. - -To-day as he lay on the hillside in the sun these thoughts were clearer -than ever. He remembered a big station, all lit up, and he was there -with some one else, a grown-up man it seemed to him, who did not call -him Pierre, but some other name which had quite a different sound. Bah! -he did not remember, but that did not matter. Perhaps the name would -come into his mind later, as other things had come. The gentleman had -gone away somewhere, and had told him to wait, and he had waited. Then -some other men had passed, carrying bags, and talking to one another. -They were gentlemen, he could remember that, wearing warm coats with -fur collars. As he was looking at them, suddenly the face of one of -them grew into a coarse, bad face, with a stubbly beard and a patch -over one eye, and it seemed to him that he wanted to catch that man -very much. So he ran after him, and cried, ‘I know you! I know you!’ -The man had passed, but he turned round, and, lo and behold! he had -a gentleman’s face once more. Then, somehow, Pierre was in a railway -carriage with the gentleman and his friends, and the train was moving, -and he wanted to get out; but one of the men laughed and said something -about his knowing too much. And then it seemed that in this strange -memory he struggled, and tried to scream, and some one put his hand -over his mouth. And then he tried to bite the hand; he remembered his -teeth going into the soft flesh, then he must have fallen, for he felt -a dreadful pain at the back of his head, and everything stopped for a -while; and when he woke up he was in the little box-bed in the thatched -cottage on the moor, and the old woman was sitting cowering over the -peat-fire talking to a stranger, who presently put some money in her -hand and went away. - -The story was very vague and confused. There was much about it which he -could not understand, and when he tried to remember any more his head -always ached; but somehow he knew that it was true, and he knew too -that he was an English boy, though why an English boy should be living -with an old woman in the heart of the _Montagnes Noirs_ was more than -he could make out. - -But slowly a great determination was forming itself in his poor -confused mind, and that was that one day he would run away. He knew -that somewhere, to the north, over these hills, lay St Brieuc, and St -Brieuc was near the sea. So much he had learned from the neighbouring -peasants whom he saw occasionally, though very, very rarely, and they -knew, because at Easter-time they drove their lean pigs and cows to -sell at the market there. And over the sea was England. - -‘Some day,’ thought Pierre, as he opened his satchel and broke off a -corner of his sandwich, ‘when the days are longer, and my legs do -not feel so tired—in a month perhaps—I will run away, and walk to St -Brieuc, and there perhaps I may find a boat, and I will go to England. -And when I am in England, then I will remember.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -RUNNING AWAY. - - -FOR another hour or two Pierre lay still in the sun, munching his black -bread slowly, and keeping a watchful eye on Nanette; then he suddenly -bethought himself that if he went to the top of the hill he would be -able to see the high road which he knew lay on the other side, and -which ran from Carhaix to Londéac. He had only twice caught a glimpse -of it: once when he had been sent up the hillside after some goats -which had strayed, and another time when the old woman had gone with -the post-cart to Carhaix, and he had walked to meet the cart with her, -to help her to carry her butter and eggs. - -As a rule he was so closely watched that he had never had time to -wander so far alone; but to-day he saw his opportunity, for if he lay -just on the top of the hill he would still be in sight of the cottage, -and he could keep one eye on Nanette, while he watched the road with -the other in the hope of seeing something unusual to break the dreary -monotony of his life. - -He climbed up to his point of vantage, and found it was as he had -thought. While he could see the whole length of the secluded little -valley in which the cottage stood, he could also see, on the other -side, a long range of hills over which the highway ran, white, and -winding like a serpent, until it was lost in a richly wooded plain far -in the distance. - -Pierre followed its course with longing eyes. - -‘If one follows that road one comes to Carhaix,’ he thought, ‘then from -Carhaix one can go to St Brieuc, and after that one can go to England. -I wonder how long it would take me to walk to St Brieuc?’ - -Just then his attention was arrested by a couple of cyclists who came -spinning along the smooth road. Evidently they were making their way to -Londéac, for their faces were set in the other direction from that in -which the post-cart went to Carhaix. - -The sight of them brought back a flood of the ghost-like memories which -always puzzled Pierre. It seemed to him that sometime, long ago, he -too had ridden a bicycle, but he could not remember where or when. - -He was puzzling over this, in a dreamy way, when a shout from one -of the men made him start, and brought his mind quickly back to the -present. Something had plainly happened to the travellers, for they had -both dismounted, and one of them had noticed him and was waving to him. -Here indeed was a piece of good luck—a great adventure, in fact—for -Madame Genviève could not scold him for going down to the road, seeing -that the men had called to him. - -With a hurried look to see that Nanette was grazing quietly, he slid -from the rock on which he had been lying, and ran down the hillside. -The strangers were two young Frenchmen, artists from Paris apparently, -for they carried paint-boxes and canvas strapped to their bicycles. -Their pure Parisian French smacked of the capital. It was lost on -Pierre, however, for he only spoke the patois of the district, which is -as distinct from French as Welsh is from English. - -No words were needed to show what had happened, however. A great -broad-headed nail from a passing peasant’s sabot had pierced the back -wheel of one of the bicycles, and the tire was flat and useless, every -bit of air having escaped. The owner of the bicycle had got out all his -appliances for mending the puncture, but had been unable to locate it, -and he was looking round in despair for water. - -With lively gestures and torrents of voluble French he tried to make -Pierre understand what was wanted, and patted him gratefully on the -back when the boy led him to a little spring which he had noticed on -his way down the hill. - -Alas! the first difficulty had been overcome, only to be followed by a -second; for how was the water to be conveyed to the roadside? - -Taking off his cap, the gentleman tried to use it as a basin, but the -water ran through it as if it were a sieve, and with a gesture of -despair he shouted to his friend to carry the injured bicycle over the -grass to the spring. - -‘Stop! this will do,’ said Pierre suddenly in such good English that -the artist started. He had studied art in a London studio, and knew the -language fairly well. - -‘Do you talk English?’ he asked in surprise. - -But Pierre did not seem to hear the question. He had taken off one of -his wooden sabots, and had filled it with water, and, giving it to the -gentleman to carry, he proceeded to fill the other also. - -‘Capital!’ said the cyclist. ‘Thou art a boy of understanding. True, a -sabot doth not hold much water, but there may be enough;’ and, shouting -to his companion to leave his machine where it was, he proceeded to -pick his way carefully over the rough grass, carrying one of the sabots -with its precious contents, while Pierre followed behind him with the -other. - -‘Curious that the boy talks English,’ he remarked to his companion -in his native tongue as they bent over the punctured tire; ‘and good -English too. I wonder where he picked it up?—Here, my lad,’ he went on -in the Breton patois, ‘where hast thou learned to talk English?’ - -Pierre hesitated; his life for the last five months had made him -strangely suspicious. - -‘I am an English boy,’ he said at last slowly; ‘and some day I go to -England.’ - -The strangers glanced at one another. Certainly no one could look less -English than Pierre did at that moment, with his closely cropped head -and his blue tunic and trousers. - -‘Poor child! his brain is touched,’ they whispered; ‘he must have -picked up the phrases from some travellers. Many English artists come -to live in the summer at Pont Aven, down on the way to Quimper. Perhaps -he has lived there at some time. It is sad, is it not? And he is such a -handsome child if he did not look so ill.’ - -Poor Pierre! if he had understood what they said he might have tried -to talk to them, and tell them of the memories which haunted him. But -their French was unintelligible; and, as he gathered from the glances -that they stole at him that they were talking about him, he only grew -more suspicious, and relapsed into silence, and stood rubbing one foot -against the other, pretending not to hear when the strangers plied him -with more questions, talking the patois as best they could. - -‘Ah yes, he is quite silly,’ said the man who had spoken to him first, -when at last the puncture was mended and he was blowing up his tire. -‘It is no use trying to talk to him any more. But doubtless he knows -the value of money—most people do, whether their brains are strong -or not; and, after all, he was marvellously quick to understand what -I needed.—Here is thy sabot, my child,’ he went on, ‘and here is -something inside it;’ and to Pierre’s amazement he handed him back his -wooden shoe with two bright silver francs inside it. - -The look of delight on the little boy’s face made both the men laugh. -He had not had even a sou in his possession all the time he had been at -the cottage. The time when he had had money of his own seemed to belong -to the vague, shadowy life—not to the present. - -‘And here is thy other sabot,’ said the second stranger, shaking the -water out of it, and handing it back to the boy; and lo! in it also -there were two shining silver francs. - -Pierre turned a couple of somersaults on the grass. A little Italian -boy with a monkey, tramping his way from Cherbourg to sunny Savoy, -had called at the cottage one cold April day, and had turned a series -of such somersaults on the turf, in the hope of softening Madame -Genviève’s heart and inducing her to let him sleep beside Nanette all -night. Madame Genviève had refused his request, but Pierre had seen -the somersaults and had practised them in private ever since. - -Both the artists laughed heartily at the little amateur acrobat, and -then, making signs to him not to lose the money, they mounted their -bicycles once more, and rode away, leaving the little blue-clad figure -standing motionless by the roadside, staring down at the bright silver -coins which he held in his hand. Little they knew what hopes had been -raised in the poor little clouded brain by the mere sight of the money, -or what a sudden determination Pierre had arrived at. - -He would run away. Yes, he would, this very day. Had he not the money -now? And with care it would take him to England. He had still half of -his sandwich, and that would last quite a long time, so he need not -buy very much food. Such a chance might never come again. Had he not -the whole of the long afternoon before him before madame would expect -him home? And then she would have Nanette to look for, for probably by -that time Nanette would have strayed a bit away, and she would have -to be found and taken home before madame had any time to think of -him. And then it would grow dark, and she must needs wait until the -morning before setting out to go after him. Yes, assuredly this was -the opportunity to try to run away, and go to England; and when he got -there his head would not feel so queer, and he would remember. - -Taking up his sabots, he hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should -take them with him or not. He would walk quicker without them, and the -sun was very hot, so he decided to leave them. He took them over to the -little spring and pressed them down out of sight in the soft mud which -surrounded it, and then, glancing all round to see that there was no -one within sight, he set off, running as hard as he could along the -road, in the direction in which he knew Carhaix lay. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -THE JOURNEY. - - -PIERRE went on running as fast as he could until he was quite sure that -he was out of sight of the place where he had left Nanette, so that, -even if the old woman missed him, and climbed up to the top of the hill -where he had been lying when he first saw the two cyclists, she would -see nothing of him. Then he brought his pace down to a gentle trot, and -then to a walk, for he was sorely out of breath. - -Moreover, he had run away on the impulse of a moment, and now that the -awful deed was done he felt that he must pause and consider what he -should do next. - -So by-and-by, after he had been walking and running for more than two -hours, and knew that he must at least have put eight kilos between -himself and Madame Genviève, he crawled into a little plantation which -bordered the road, and burying himself in the thick undergrowth which -formed a delicious shade after the hot, dusty highway and the burning -mid-day sun, he lay down, intending only to remain for a short time, -and make his plans, as it were, and then, when he was rested, set out -again on his walk to Carhaix. - -But, as was to be expected, he soon gave up his efforts to think, and, -closing his eyes, in five minutes he was fast asleep. - -When he awoke the afternoon was nearly gone, and the trees were casting -long shadows across the road. He started to his feet in alarm, feeling -that he had lost much precious time by his laziness. For by this time -the old woman would be expecting Nanette and him to return, and when -they did not appear she would set out to look for them, and if Nanette -happened to have strayed in the direction of the cottage, instead of -away from it, she might discover his absence sooner than he had counted -on. - -Drawing the belt of his blouse a shade tighter, and pulling his -cap well over his eyes, in case he happened to meet any of the few -neighbours whom he knew, he climbed over the fence, and set off once -more along the high road at a dogged trot. - -But the trot did not last long this time, for he felt strangely tired, -and, what was stranger still, he was shivering all over, just as if -some one were pouring cold water down his back. He could not understand -at all how this should be, for he did not consider, as an older person -might have done, that to lie down and go to sleep in a damp, shady wood -when one’s blood is at fever-heat with running in the sun is a very -certain way of getting a chill, if not something worse. - -In spite of his tired limbs and aching head, however, he went on -doggedly hour after hour, until at last he left the bare hilly country -and reached the wooded plain in which he had always imagined Carhaix -lay. He was almost dead-beat now, poor little fellow! for he had long -since finished the sandwich of black bread, which was all the food he -had had that day, and a lump rose in his throat as turn after turn of -the road went by, and yet there was no sign of any village. - -At last he was fain to sit down by the roadside and take a drink of -water from a little brook which ran by the side of it just at that -point. - -If only some one would come along, he thought to himself, he would -ask them how far he had yet to walk before he reached Carhaix; for -surely, now that he had come so far, he was safe from the danger of -being recognised. The road which he had travelled had been strangely -deserted; he had only met one man and a couple of peasant girls, -and they had been going in the opposite direction; but as he was -sitting there he heard the rumbling of wheels, and one of the roughly -constructed carts of the district came in sight. It contained a huge -wooden barrel which completely filled it all but the corners, and its -driver, a pleasant-looking young peasant, was sitting in front, his -legs dangling over the edge, singing to himself at the top of his voice. - -He paused, and drew up his horse with a jerk as Pierre rose from his -seat and ran forward with his eager question. - -‘How far is it to Carhaix?’ he repeated. - -‘It is yet seven kilos, my child. Ah, thou art going there, art thou? -Thou lookest more fit to be going to thy bed at home. What takes a -little roundhead like thee to travel the roads alone? Hast friends in -Carhaix?’ - -‘I am going to St Brieuc, and then I am going to England. I am an -English boy,’ said Pierre, the dull look which always came on his face -when he tried to think, showing all the more plainly by reason of his -utter weariness. - -The kindly peasant crossed himself. - -‘Ah,’ he muttered, ‘he is one of the good God’s Innocents; but all the -more reason why I should care for him as far as I can. - -‘See here, _mon enfant_,’ he went on in a louder voice, ‘I also go to -Carhaix. I have nine little pigs in that barrel, which I go to sell at -the market to-morrow. If thou hast a mind thou mayst climb in, if thou -canst, behind the barrel, and nestle down among the straw. It is easier -to drive than to walk, is it not?’ - -With grateful thanks, Pierre accepted the welcome offer, and, climbing -in at the tail of the cart, he squeezed himself down in one of the -corners where the straw was deep, and a couple of sacks afforded him -some shelter from the night air. For although the rays of the sun were -strong and fierce through the day, when it set the air was sharp and -chilly. - -‘So thou art an English boy—hey?’ said the man good-naturedly, pulling -the sacks more comfortably over the little waif whom he had befriended. -But Pierre was too utterly worn out to answer him; and, now that the -necessity for exertion was over, he lay back in the straw, speechless -and exhausted, conscious only of the ever-increasing pain in his head, -which the jolting of the cart made almost intolerable. - -‘Poor little one, he is nearly dead with fatigue!’ thought this Good -Samaritan. ‘I wonder where he has come from, and if he has had any -food? Here is a morsel of sausage and a roll left, and a mouthful of -red wine at the bottom of my flagon. My Marie, bless her heart! is -always afraid that I starve before I reach Carhaix.—Here, my child, -take a drink of this,’ and he stretched over and put the mouth of the -flagon to Pierre’s parched lips. - -It was but the red wine of the country, poor and thin and sour, but it -revived the weary little traveller wonderfully, and by the time he had -eaten the roll of bread and the bit of sausage he felt much stronger, -and the pain in his head was not quite so bad as it was before. - -‘I come from the mountains. I am going to England. I am an English -boy.’ This was all the information the honest countryman could glean -from him, although he plied him with questions until the roofs of -Carhaix came in sight, a gray, uninteresting-looking place, composed of -concrete houses built round a square. - -‘But to go to England thou must go to St Brieuc, and thence to St -Malo,’ said the man, ‘and it is a long, long way, nigh fifty kilos.’ - -‘But I can walk; I am strong,’ said Pierre hopefully; ‘and perhaps some -one else will give me a ride as thou hast done. And I have money. See -here!’ and, with a confiding look he drew out of his pocket the four -shining francs. ‘See. I will give thee one for the ride,’ he said, -holding one out in his hand. - -‘The good God forbid,’ said the man. ‘Nay, nay; keep thy money, my -child. Thou wilt need it all. For when thou arrivest at St Malo thou -wilt need some to give to the man on the steamer, if so be thou art -really going to England. Put it away again, deep down in thy pocket, -and let it not be seen by every man. Else wilt thou be robbed, and what -will follow then, eh?’ - -By this time the cart had rumbled into the square, and driven through -an archway into the courtyard of a little inn which stood somewhat back -from the rest of the houses. The man got down, and so did Pierre. His -legs were aching worse than ever now, and oh, how he wished that he -might spend the night among the straw, instead of having to go and look -for a sleeping-place! Indeed, he hardly knew how to go and look for -one, for it had never entered into his calculations that he would need -to spend a night on the road. - -Perhaps the man saw the wistful look in his eyes, for after he had -called to the landlord of the inn, and with his help had lifted down -the great round tub-like barrel, with its living burden, and had -carried it carefully into a small outhouse, where, apparently it was -to remain during the night, and had seen his old gray horse safely tied -up in one of the stalls in the stable, he turned to the little boy, who -was still lingering near the archway. - -[Illustration: He sank gratefully into the soft bed of straw which the -kind countryman made up for him, and had fallen into a feverish sleep. - -V. L. PAGE 231.] - -‘Wouldst like a night’s lodging, little one?’ he said. ‘For if so, I -could let thee lie in the same house as my piglets. I pay a few sous -for the use of the outhouse; the owner of the inn is a cousin of my -wife’s, and he lets me have it cheaply. I can put what I like in it, -and I take the key, so, if thou wilt, I can take the straw from the -cart and spread it down in a corner, and thou canst sleep there as -safely and at less cost than if thou went somewhere and paid for a bed.’ - -Needless to say, Pierre agreed to this offer gladly. He was feeling so -tired and ill that he would have been content to lie down in the open -street, and he sank gratefully into the soft bed of straw which the -kind countryman made up for him, and had fallen into a feverish sleep -long before the little piglets had finished their supper of oatmeal and -milk. - -Nor did the good man’s kindness stop there. In the gray dusk of the -morning he was back again, his honest face beaming with excitement. He -stooped down and roused the sleeping boy. ‘See here, _mon enfant_,’ he -whispered, ‘there is a chance, an unexpected chance, for thee to travel -to St Malo—to Dinard, at least, and, once there, St Malo is just across -the mouth of the river. Late last night one of these new-fashioned -machines arrived—automobiles they call them. There is no one travelling -in it but the driver; he is in the employment of a rich Vicomte who -lives near St Malo. The car is a new one, and he has been sent to bring -it home from the makers; so much he told last night to Jean Coudart, my -wife’s cousin. And I sat, and I smoked, and I listened. Now, said I to -myself, here is a chance, if the good God wills, for my little friend -who desires to go to England. And before I went to rest I slipped out -into the courtyard, on pretence of visiting my piglets, and I visited -the car instead, and I found that it is a large one, with a great -deep part behind, all covered over with tarpaulin, and underneath -the tarpaulin are some soft rugs and other bundles which the man is -carrying with him. So it seems to me that if thou wert to rise now, -and hide in the car under the tarpaulin, thou wilt have an easy journey -to Dinard; and when thou arrivest, if thou art quick, and slippest out -when the driver is not looking, he need never know, and it will be all -the same.’ - -Half-asleep and half-dazed, Pierre jumped up and followed his friend, -hardly understanding all the plan, and yet understanding enough to -know that if it were successful he would soon be quite out of reach of -pursuit, the fear of which had dogged his broken slumbers all night. - -Swiftly and noiselessly the man undid one of the cords that fastened -down the tarpaulin cover, and, lifting one corner of it, he helped -Pierre to climb up on the soft tired wheel, and crawl under it, and -drop down into the deep well of the car, which was shaped something -like a wagonette. The space between the seats was almost filled with -soft rolls of cloth, horse-wraps they seemed to be; but Pierre managed -to squeeze in among them, and, with the man’s help, to make himself a -very comfortable little nest. - -‘That is good,’ whispered the peasant triumphantly. ‘Thou wilt lie -there as comfortably as my little piglets in their tub, and the good -God, I doubt not, will find a way for thee to creep out unobserved when -thou reachest Dinard. Thou must trust to thy brains to know when thou -hast arrived there. And see, I have remembered thy breakfast and thy -dinner. Catch,’ and he tossed down a parcel of bread and cheese into -Pierre’s lap. ‘Now, little one,’ he said ‘I must shut thee up, and say -adieu, and wish thee a good voyage; and if ever thou passest through -the mountains again, do not forget to ask for Baptiste Guinaud and his -wife Marie.—The saints preserve him!’ he said to himself as he fastened -down the tarpaulin cover once more, and turned in the direction of -the outhouse. ‘I scarce know if I have done right in letting him go. -But he is one of God’s Innocents, and Monsieur the Curé says that for -such there is special protection. I love not the reports I hear of the -institution at Châteauneuf for such as he. They were none too kind to -my cousin’s grandmother when she had the misfortune to require to be -taken there. And if the lad be English, as he says he is, they will -know better what to do with him in Dinard or St Malo, where there are -many English people, than a poor man like me. Anyhow, the good God -guard him! say I, and I know that Marie would say the same if she were -here.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -MONSIEUR THE VICOMTE DE CHOISIGNY. - - -IT was just after lunch, and Monsieur the Vicomte de Choisigny had -drunk his coffee, which in summer was always carried out to a table in -a vine-covered arbour, just by the window of the great salon, and was -walking up and down the terrace, carrying on an animated discussion -with a friend of his. - -The Vicomte was a dark-haired, lively little Frenchman, who, all the -time he was talking, shrugged his shoulders and made signs with his -fingers as if he found that his tongue alone could not express all he -meant it to express. - -The man who walked beside him, his arm linked in his, was utterly -unlike him. From his dress one could see at once that he was a -clergyman, and from an indescribable something in his whole appearance -one could also tell that he was an Englishman. He was tall and slight, -with iron-gray hair, and a clean-shaven, delicate face, which, however, -was shrewd and kindly, but which seemed to tell a tale of strenuous -and trying work. - -No two men could have presented a greater contrast to each other, and -yet the two were bosom friends. They had been at Oxford together, for -Arnauld de Choisigny was a Protestant, a descendant of an old Huguenot -family, and his father had wished him to be educated at an English -university, so they had played in the same cricket matches and pulled -in the same boat; and although their ways in life had lain far apart -the old friendship still existed as close and true as ever. - -No one looking at them would have judged them to be contemporaries in -age, for the years that had been spent by Nigel Maxwell in fighting -with the sin and misery of an East London parish, and that had broken -down his health for a time, and made his hair whiter than it need have -been, had passed lightly over the Vicomte, who, nevertheless, had done -his duty nobly in his own way, and was known by all the peasants on his -large estates as a model landlord and a kind and just master. - -‘Yes, my friend,’ he was saying in perfect English, ‘I am glad for -your sake that the Bishop has insisted on filling up your place in -Bethnal Green, and is sending you down to rusticate for a year or two -in that seaside parish in Cornwall. He is a wise man your Bishop, and -knows what he is doing. In a year or two you will be as strong and well -as ever you were, and fit to take up work in the city again if you -still wish to do so. And for the present, a couple of months’ idleness -at the Château de Choisigny will do you no end of good before you take -up your new work of preaching to the fisherfolks!’ - -Nigel Maxwell smiled, and shook his head with a sigh. No one but -himself knew what a trial this enforced idleness was, or what a wrench -it had been to him to leave his London parish and the poor people -there who had learned to love and trust him, and whose lives had been -brighter and better because of his presence among them. - -‘You know how I am enjoying my visit, Arnauld,’ he said. ‘I have not -seen so much of you since the old Oxford days. Indeed, I have never had -such a lazy time since then; but I have run too long in harness to -take kindly to an idle life, so you must excuse me if sometimes I seem -a little restless.’ - -The Vicomte shrugged his shoulders and laughed a good-natured, cheerful -laugh. - -‘Thou wilt learn, _mon ami;_ thou wilt learn,’ he said. ‘Already I -begin to see in you traces of an idleness which I would not have -suspected a month ago. For instance, I noted that you did not open a -book this whole morning, but sat and smoked, with your hands folded. -The veriest loafer in the world could not have been worse.’ - -‘It was the lovely scenery that tempted me,’ replied his friend. ‘If -there was one thing I used to long for in Bethnal Green it was to see -green fields and a blue sky, undimmed and unclouded by dirt or smoke.’ - -‘Ah, if it is scenery you want, wait until the new auto comes,’ said -his companion. ‘Then I shall take you about, and let you see my -country. What say you to a run through Brittany and down the Loire? We -need not go too quickly; we could rest where we liked.’ - -Just then a servant came along the terrace. It was evident that he had -some news to tell, for ill-concealed eagerness was written on his -face, and he was hurrying as much as was compatible with the dignity of -a well-trained servant. - -‘Ha, Jacques!’ said the Vicomte, turning to him and speaking in rapid -French, ‘hast thou come to tell us that the car has come? If it left -Carhaix, as it ought to have done, this morning, it has had plenty of -time to have arrived by now.’ - -The man bowed respectfully. - -‘But yes, sire,’ he answered, ‘it has even now arrived. It is in -the courtyard. I was hurrying to inform you when Jean-Marie called -me back. He had begun to undo the wrappings, and he had made a most -extraordinary discovery—a discovery both strange and startling. In -the car, in the back of it, among the rugs which your honour ordered -Jean-Marie to bring with him from Nantes, was a child, a little boy. -The poor child seems ill; his head is gone. In short, sire, he raves; -and Jean-Marie called out to me, “Go, Jacques, go quickly, and call the -Vicomte; he will know what to do.” So I came, sire, as quickly as I -could.’ - -‘So we see,’ said the Vicomte laughing. ‘Thou wert always one who -loved a mystery, Jacques. Doubtless it is some little garçon who wanted -a cheap ride and who now feigns illness as an excuse for his deed. But -go—we will follow—and frighten the little rogue well.’ - -But one glance at the tiny huddled-up figure, with its flushed face -and wild, unseeing eyes, showed the Vicomte that this was no case of -imposture. Whatever had been the boy’s reason for concealment, whatever -had been his state when he crept under the tarpaulin cover, it was -evident that now he was very ill. - -‘Poor little fellow! Hast thou any idea where thou pickedest him up, -Jean-Marie, or how long he hath lain under that heavy covering? It may -be a case of sunstroke; the heat must have been terrible.’ - -But Jean-Marie, who was standing in the middle of a group of his -fellow-servants, gazing in amazement at the strange little passenger -whom he had so unwittingly carried in his master’s new car, shook his -head stupidly. - -‘That I cannot tell, sire,’ he answered. ‘He could not be there when I -left Nantes, because I put in the rugs and fastened up the tarpaulin -just before I started; and he can scarce have got in at Dinard, the -distance is too short. Mayhap he crawled in at Carhaix, for he looks -like a little peasant from the mountains of Bretagne. But how he pulled -down the cover over himself, and fastened it so carefully—that is what -I cannot understand, sire.’ - -‘He is dressed like a little peasant; but I hardly think he is,’ said -Mr Maxwell, who had been examining the little stowaway carefully. ‘It -seems to me, Arnauld, that there is more here than meets the eye. Just -listen to what he says, and his accent is as pure as mine.’ - -‘I am an English boy, an English boy,’ moaned Pierre, in a low -monotonous voice, as if he were repeating a lesson, ‘and I am going to -England. I have forgotten much, my head always feels queer; but I am -going to England, and then I will remember.’ - -These broken sentences were repeated over and over again, and then the -weak voice wandered off into a jumble of words, at the sound of which -the clergyman shook his head. - -‘That is not French,’ he said. ‘Who or what can he be, I wonder?’ - -‘It is the Breton patois,’ said the Vicomte; ‘I understand it, for old -Suzette my foster-mother—my housekeeper now—came from the mountains, -and I learned the language ere I could speak my own. He is talking -now like any peasant child about cows, and pigs, and other animals; -and, look, he shrinks from something as if he expected a blow. But we -must do something; we cannot let him lie here.—Go, Jacques, and call -Suzette; she is a good nurse, and she will know what to do.’ - -Mr Maxwell had already lifted the little waif in his arms, however. - -‘With your leave, Arnauld,’ he said, ‘I will carry him up to my room. -It is big enough for me and half-a-dozen sick children if necessary. -It is not the first time by any means that I have tried my hand at -nursing, and it will make me feel that I am not quite a cumberer of the -ground. Perhaps you will allow old Suzette to come to my help with some -fresh tepid water. If we had him out of the sun, and some of this dust -washed away, perhaps the little lad may revive. I confess I shall be -deeply interested to hear his story.’ - -But all that the kind clergyman, aided by old Suzette, who came in in -her quaint peasant costume, eager to lend her aid, could do, could not -bring back sense to poor little Pierre’s wandering brain. They hoped -that it would do so, for after they had undressed him, and sponged him -tenderly all over with vinegar and water, and laid him in Mr Maxwell’s -own bed, which they drew to the open window, so that he should have as -much of the air as it was possible to get on that sultry afternoon, he -fell into a heavy sleep; but when he awoke he seemed more feverish than -ever, and tossed from side to side, throwing off the spotless coverings -which Suzette would fain have kept tucked neatly round him, and talked -brokenly in English of how he was an English boy, and must get up and -go home.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE OPINION OF DR JULES. - - -‘TIENS!’ said old Monsieur Croite, the family doctor and trusted friend -of the Choisigny family, who had been hastily summoned from Dinard, -and who stood looking down at his little patient, with Mr Maxwell and -the Vicomte at his elbow. ‘At the first there has been a chill, a most -severe one, and that has brought on a slight attack of rheumatic fever. -Not bad, that is to say, but still it is there. And on the top of that, -as it were, there are signs of irritability of the brain. That may -arise from one thing, or it may arise from another. The lad may have -been ill-treated, or he may have been frightened, which after all is -but another form of ill-treatment, or he may be of weak intellect. That -I cannot say for certain, but I suspect much. See!’ And laying his hand -on Pierre’s little closely cropped head, he parted the hair just above -the right ear, and showed an ugly scar which looked as if it were only -newly healed. - -‘I do not know,’ he repeated; ‘but I suspect that the boy has had a -blow, and that the skull has been fractured, not badly, but a little, -and that the skull presses on the brain. I am no surgeon; I leave that -to those who are more skilful in that branch of our profession than I -am. But by your leave, Monsieur the Vicomte, I will return to-morrow -with my son; he, as you know, has just returned from work in the -hospitals of Vienna and Paris. He has had the experience. He shall tell -us what he thinks.’ - -So next morning Dr Croite brought his tall, grave son with him to -the château, and together they made a careful examination of the -unconscious child. - -‘It is as my father says, monsieur,’ said Dr Jules gravely, when the -patient had been left in Suzette’s hands, and all four gentlemen had -assembled downstairs in the Vicomte’s private room. ‘The boy has had an -injury to his head, inflicted by some one, I should say, rather than by -a fall. It must have occurred within the last six months, the condition -of the wound tells me that, and there is something—a tiny splinter of -bone mayhap—which presses on the brain. Had this been all, I would have -operated at once, and removed the cause of the pressure, whatever it -may be. Such operations are dangerous, but in a large hospital they are -done every day. But in the boys present condition I dare not attempt -it; it would mean certain failure. If with careful nursing you can -subdue the fever, and maintain his strength, which I very much doubt, -for he is very weak, poor little one! then in three weeks or a month it -might be attempted.’ - -‘If Monsieur the Vicomte desires it, I can have him removed to the -little hospital at Dinard,’ broke in the old doctor. ‘Such nursing as -this must be puts a household to great inconvenience, and the good -Sisters at the hospital are very kind.’ - -‘The boy is very weak,’ remarked his son suggestively; ‘he has suffered -great hardships.’ - -‘Eh, what?’ said the Vicomte, suddenly recognising the drift of the -conversation. ‘But he cannot be removed from here. Old Suzette is a -splendid nurse. She nursed me through all my childhood’s ailments; and -these were not few, as you, Monsieur Croite, know. And if there has to -be any operation, Monsieur Jules, you must just bring one of the good -Sisters up from the hospital to help you. It shall never be said that -Arnauld de Choisigny turned any sick thing, even if it be only a poor -wandering child, from his house.’ - -‘I was not suggesting that, monsieur,’ said Dr Jules humbly; ‘but the -case is very critical. The child may die, to put it plainly, and it -will cause you a great deal of trouble. He must be watched night and -day if he has to have a chance.’ - -‘I will watch him,’ said Mr Maxwell, ‘and the Vicomte and old Suzette -will help me. If, as I suspect,’ he went on, with flashing eyes, ‘the -child is really English, then there has been grave wickedness done -somewhere; but, please God, we will pull him through and put it right.’ - -Faithfully did the three Good Samaritans into whose hands Pierre had -fallen carry out their self-imposed task. - -To Mr Maxwell, whose life had been one long fight against sin, with its -accompaniments disease and death, it was simply a piece of the day’s -work, a duty that had fallen to his hands, an opportunity for service; -and had it not been for the Vicomte, who insisted that he should go out -for a daily walk, and have his proper hours for sleep, he would have -spent every minute in the sick-room, watching beside the unconscious -boy, as he had often watched beside the bed of some little street arab -in some wretched den in the slums of his city parish. - -When, to please his friend, he would go out for a walk up and down the -terrace, or go down to the little landing-stage for a row on the river, -the Vicomte was always ready to take his place, or old Suzette, who was -a born nurse, and who sat up all night and was quite ready to sit up -all day too if need be. Indeed, they let her be beside Pierre as much -as possible, for when she talked to him and soothed him in her homely -patois he seemed quieter and less excited than when Mr Maxwell was -by his bedside. One would have thought then that he knew that he was -in the presence of an Englishman, for he would stop his low rambling -Breton talk and turn to English phrases, and grow so hot and eager that -the good clergyman had often to slip out of the room, and let Suzette -take his place in the big arm-chair at the head of Pierre’s bed. - -For three long weeks this went on, and often it seemed that the little -waif would drift out of life without being able to give the slightest -clue to his identity. But at last the fever subsided, and one sunny -morning, early in June, Dr Croite came from Dinard, accompanied by his -son and another doctor, and a blue-robed Sister from the hospital, and -with great care they performed the operation which Dr Jules had called -trepanning; while out on the terrace the Vicomte and Mr Maxwell paced -silently up and down, making no effort to conceal their great anxiety, -and old Suzette knelt in her own little turret chamber at the top of -the château, and prayed with simple fervour over her beads. - -For, in spite of the fact that he had not spoken one sensible sentence -to them since the moment when he had been discovered in the car, they -had all grown to love the little fellow, with his pathetic brown eyes -and gentle ways, which, shown as they were unconsciously, made his -nurses all the surer that he was no mere peasant-boy. - -At last the great glass doors which separated the hall of the château -from the terrace opened, and the doctors came out. - -‘Well, how is it? Will he live?’ eagerly asked the two men who had -waited for them with so much impatience. - -‘It seems so; everything points to it,’ replied Dr Jules, proud in -the consciousness of appearing as a fully fledged surgeon before the -Vicomte, who had known him ever since he was a little lad in blue -blouses, who used to drive up in his father’s gig to the gates of the -château, and wait under the lime-trees with Gustave the coachman and -the old brown horse while his father, paying his daily visit, walked -up the short avenue on foot, and vanished through the great doors, -which to little Jules, gazing after him, seemed like the entrance of an -enchanted palace. - -The old Vicomte was alive then, though he was on his deathbed, and the -young Seigneur, Monsieur Arnauld, would walk slowly back with Dr Croite -to where his gig stood, discussing his father’s illness with him, and -would notice the little blue-bloused boy, and pat him on the head, and -ask his name, and go into the orchard and fetch him an apple. - -All that seemed very far away to Dr Jules nowadays, though it seemed -but yesterday to the simpler Vicomte; and he liked to have the -opportunity to show the older man that he had grown up, and had taken -his place in the world, and was no more a mere country youth, but a -learned young doctor, whose name was well known among men of science. - -‘The operation has been very successful,’ he went on, with a touch of -importance in his tone, while his father and the other doctor nodded -their heads to show that they agreed with him. ‘It is just as I—as -we—thought. There had been a hurt, a blow most likely, and a splinter -of the skull was pressing on the brain. That caused the loss of memory, -the want of intellect as it were. That ought to be gone now, and when -he awakes he ought to be as alive to everything that passes as any one -else. Only, I would advise,’ and here he held up his hand, and blinked -solemnly through his spectacles in a way that brought a twinkle to -Mr Maxwell’s gray eyes, and made him look ten years younger for the -moment, ‘that for the first six days or so he be left entirely to the -good Sister and to the old serving-woman Suzette. They will talk to him -in the Breton tongue so long as he is weak, and he will not be so apt -to remember or to ask questions. Whatever his past history may have -been, we must try to give his brain as much rest as possible before it -is troubled by his beginning to think.’ - -To which advice, in spite of his amusement at Dr Jules’s manner, Mr -Maxwell heartily agreed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -MR MAXWELL FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. - - -‘WELL, my friend, and what hast thou found out?’ - -It was the Vicomte who spoke, and the question was addressed to Mr -Maxwell, who had just come down from Pierre’s room with a puzzled look -on his face. - -Ten days had passed since the operation, and the boy was recovering -rapidly. At his last visit, Dr Jules had pronounced him out of danger, -and had predicted that he would be able to be outside in a fortnight; -and he had added, ‘There is now no reason why monsieur may not see -him, and try to learn something about his history, if only monsieur is -careful not to press things too far. Let everything come naturally, -just as the boy seems inclined to talk about the past.’ - -The good clergyman had eagerly availed himself of the permission, and -had gone twice to Pierre’s room—hoping to hear what strange chance had -brought him to the château disguised as a Breton peasant, for, from -certain things he had said to Sister Lucie, there was no doubt whatever -that he was not French—but each time he had returned grievously -disappointed. - -Pierre answered his inquiries as to his health and comfort in perfect -English, and would talk freely about any little incident which had -happened in his sick-room; but when Mr Maxwell tried to lead the -conversation back to the past, and to find out carefully how much the -little boy remembered, he grew flushed and restless, and relapsed into -an uneasy silence, and the anxious listener was too good a nurse to -disobey the doctor’s orders and press the matter, although he grew more -and more puzzled as he saw that Pierre certainly remembered more than -he was willing to talk about. - -‘I am completely puzzled, Arnauld,’ he said, in answer to the Vicomte’s -question. ‘The boy is English, so much I know; he has owned to that. -But who he is, or how he came here, is a mystery, and it is a mystery -that for some reason he is unwilling to clear up. As yet he is too -weak for it to be safe for me to force matters. He seems to be so -suspicious of my questions, and to be always on his guard, and yet I -see such a longing look in his big brown eyes. Ah well! we must have -patience. Perhaps when he knows me better he will confide in me of his -own accord. I shall make no attempt, for the present at least, to find -out his secret.’ - -So the wise man waited patiently, determined to win the little boy’s -confidence by kindness and not by force, trying in the meantime to make -the tedious time of convalescence as easy as possible, by reading to -him, and playing simple games with him, and talking as if Pierre’s life -had only begun with his illness, and all his past life had been one -long blank. - -But all the time he was watching and waiting, and when occasionally, at -night, he heard a restless movement in the little bed, that had been -placed so close to his that he could stretch out his hand to make a -position easier or turn a hot pillow, or heard a stifled sob, he knew -that sooner or later the strange reserve would break down, and the -story, whatever it was, be told. So he watched and waited, and at last -his patience was rewarded. - -It had been a glorious summer day, and Pierre had been well enough -to be carried down and laid on a couch under a great lime-tree, where -he could see the river, and watch the boats with their loads of gaily -attired holiday-makers gliding up or down, on their way to Dinan or St -Malo. - -It was all so bright and sunny, such a change from the darkened -sick-room in which he had lain for so many weeks, that he felt almost -well again, and chatted away quite brightly to the Vicomte, who spent -most of the day at his side, for the post had brought Mr Maxwell -some important letters which had caused him to go into St Malo after -_déjeuner_. - -But as evening came on, one of the subtle changes which come so quickly -to any one who is recovering from a severe illness fell over the little -boy. He grew tired and listless, and could hardly touch the glass of -warm milk which old Suzette carried out to him on a dainty tray. - -‘You are tired, my boy,’ said Mr Maxwell, who had just returned. -‘Remember, you have made a great step in advance to-day, so you must -not wonder if you are ready for bed an hour earlier than usual.’ - -Pierre shook his head. - -‘I am not so very tired, sir,’ he said slowly; ‘but—but—I was thinking -that I will soon be well again.’ - -‘And that ought to make you feel very thankful,’ said Mr Maxwell -cheerfully, although Pierre’s words, and the hopeless tone in which -they were spoken, made him wonder more than ever what the mystery was -which surrounded the little waif who had been so suddenly thrown on his -care. - -‘But we will not stop to moralise to-night,’ he went on, stooping down -and lifting Pierre gently in his arms, ‘for _I_ know that you are -tired, if you don’t, and the best place for tired boys is bed. You will -see how much brighter you will feel in the morning.’ - -He did not say any more, but when the little boy was safely in bed, and -he took up his Bible to read a few verses aloud, as he had always done -since Pierre was well enough to listen, he hesitated, and turned over -the leaves slowly. At last he began to read softly, in the dim light, -the beautiful old story of the son who went into the far country, and -of the father who was waiting so tenderly to welcome him, when as yet -he was a long way off, but when his face was once more turned towards -home. - -When it was finished he rose, and, crossing the room, he stooped down -to give Pierre his customary good-night kiss; but the little face was -buried in the pillow, and he could feel that the boy was shaking from -head to foot in his endeavours to keep back the sobs. - -‘This will never do,’ he thought to himself; ‘this will throw him back -for days. It is better to have it out, even at the risk of a lecture -from Dr Jules.’ - -So, seating himself on the bed, he put his arm very tenderly round the -little huddled-up figure, and drew it towards him. - -‘My child,’ he said softly, ‘can you not trust me? Would it not be -better to tell me everything, instead of hiding it up in your own -heart? Besides, though I do not know everything about you, I think -I know a good deal. Nay, I have not been prying,’ he went on, as he -felt the little boy start at his words; ‘but you know I have been -accustomed to meet all sorts of people in my work, and to hear all -sorts of stories, very sad ones most of them, and one learns to read -between the lines. For instance, I know that you are an English boy and -a gentleman’s son—your voice and manners tell me that; and am almost -certain that your name is not Pierre. I am almost certain, too, that -you have got into some trouble—done something wrong, perhaps—and you -are just like the son in the story, you are thinking of home, and your -father there, or perhaps your mother; only it seems so difficult to go -back that you have almost lost heart.’ - -‘It’s mother. Father knows,’ gasped Pierre between his sobs. ‘But I’ve -been thinking all this time, since I could remember, that perhaps it -would be better if I were always Pierre. I could go away and work, when -I am better. The Vicomte might give me something to do, and you know I -learned to work with Madame Genviève. For they must have lost me since -Christmas time, and perhaps mother thinks that I am dead, and it would -be better for them all, Ronald and Dorothy too, if they thought so -always. For I’ve been a thief and a liar; and, although Isobel didn’t -die, I’m sure mother’s heart must be broken. Besides, Ronald is going -to school next year, and all the other boys would get to know what -sort of brother he has.’ - -‘Poor little chap!’ said Mr Maxwell—who had been able to pick out -Vivian’s story pretty accurately from his confused sentences—lifting -him into a more comfortable position, and stroking his bandaged head; -‘so you think that lives are ruined at eleven years old, and that -mothers feel like that? Why, I hope that you have many years to live -yet—many years in which to undo the past; and as for your mother, my -boy, I think she is far more likely to be breaking her heart because -she does not know where you are or what has happened to you. But tell -me all about it, from the very beginning, and then I will try to help -you to do what is right. You need not be afraid that it will make any -difference to me; my lads at Bethnal Green always came to me in their -troubles.’ - -So Pierre told all the long story which had seemed so perplexing and -confused during the months that he had lived with Madame Genviève, -but which had pieced itself together in his mind and become clear and -distinct since the operation. - -‘I can understand it all, sir,’ he said when he had finished, ‘except -what happened at the station. I do not see what the gentleman with the -bag had to do with the man with the green patch over his eye, whom I -saw in the summer-house, or how I could be so stupid as to jump out of -the cab and run after him when father told me to stay in it till he -came back. And I don’t see why the gentleman wanted to take me with him -in the train, even although he must have thought me very rude to run -after him like that, saying that I knew him. Do you think that I was -beginning to be ill then? For I remember saying that I would call a -policeman, and I meant to do so. I saw one along the platform. It was -when I turned to go for him that one of the gentlemen pulled me into -the carriage. Do you think that my head must have been getting queer -then? I almost think that it must.’ - -‘No, your head was not queer. It was quite clear and sensible, and you -were a brave little fellow, Vivian,’ replied Mr Maxwell, a curious -light coming into his keen gray eyes, ‘for the man in the summer-house -was the same person as the gentleman on the platform, and he and his -friends were on their way to France. Probably they had a great deal of -your aunt’s silver hidden about them, and if you had been able to get a -policeman soon enough they would have been arrested; so the scoundrels -preferred to carry you off with them, and to knock you on the head when -you were likely to prove troublesome. Oh, I see it all, and so will -the men at Scotland Yard when they hear the story; and, please God, -the rascals will get their deserts. But you must not talk any more -to-night, my boy; you will go to sleep quietly now, and we will discuss -it in the morning. And as for your father and mother, why, when they -hear everything, I think they will be quite proud of you. For, you -know, Vivian, after all, you had owned up before all this happened.’ - -The little fellow’s face brightened as he heard his long-lost name -again. - -‘I feel as if I wanted mother dreadfully, all of a sudden,’ he said, as -he nestled down drowsily among the pillows. ‘How long will it take her -to come?’ - -Mr Maxwell smiled to himself at the question, which showed how strong, -after all, was the childish faith in the mother-love which would -forgive so much, and be so ready to start out at once to meet the -little prodigal. - -Ten minutes later, when he had satisfied himself that Vivian was -sleeping peacefully, he went downstairs to the Vicomte, a slip of -paper in his hand on which was written an address, and in other ten -minutes the two friends were speeding away to Dinard as fast as the new -motor-car could take them, in order to send away two telegrams, one of -which was a message of good tidings to an English home, and the other -an urgent summons to an officer at Scotland Yard. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A HAPPY MEETING. - - -THE whole of the next day Vivian lay under the lime-tree, hardly -speaking at all, a look of happy expectancy on his face. All his -dread of meeting his parents seemed to have vanished, and in spite of -Mr Maxwell’s assurances that Mrs Armitage could not possibly arrive -that night, even if she were at home and able to start the moment she -received the telegram, he pleaded to be allowed to remain up an hour -later than usual, and only consented to go to bed when his eyes were -growing so heavy that he could hardly keep them open. - -Perhaps this was the reason why he was not disturbed by the bustle -of an arrival early next morning, although the window of his bedroom -looked straight down into the courtyard; and why he did not wake when -his bedroom door was gently opened, and some one entered the room and -sat down in the great arm-chair at the head of his bed. - -It was quite half-an-hour afterwards when he opened his eyes, and fixed -them in a half-wondering way on the sweet face that was bent down over -his. - -[Illustration: ‘Mother, oh mother!’ he cried.... ‘Can you forgive me?’ - -V. L. PAGE 266] - -‘Mother, oh mother!’ he cried, throwing up a pair of thin arms and -clasping them round his mother’s neck as if he would never let her go -again. ‘Can you forgive me? I am so sorry—so terribly sorry.’ - -‘Yes, indeed, I can,’ said Mrs Armitage in a broken voice, pressing her -lips to the little face which she had given up all hopes of ever seeing -again. ‘God has been very good to us, Vivi, in giving you back; and we -will begin all over again, dearie, and forget all that has passed.’ - -For a moment there was silence, mother and son clinging to each other -in a happiness that was too deep for words. - -Then Vivian spoke again. - -‘And Aunt Dora and Uncle Walter,’ he asked rather anxiously, ‘will they -ever speak to me again? And how is Isobel? And what about Joe Flinders?’ - -‘Isobel is almost well again,’ answered Mrs Armitage cheerfully, -determined that after the first natural emotion there should be -nothing but gladness in the meeting, and that the little prodigal who -had suffered so much and repented so deeply should feel that there was -nothing but rejoicing at his return. ‘She is still lying on her chair, -but she is to be allowed to walk about next month when they go to the -seaside.’ - -‘On her chair! Has she been lying on a chair all this time?’ asked -Vivian in surprise, his radiant face growing grave with the sense of -this new calamity. - -‘Ah, it will take you quite a long time to pick up the threads of -family life again,’ laughed his mother; ‘but do not look so distressed. -Isobel is quite happy, and is really almost well; and as for Uncle -Walter and Aunt Dora—well, look here—here is a telegram which they have -sent all this way to you, just to let you know how glad they are that -we have found you again.’ - -Tears came into Vivian’s eyes as his mother held up the flimsy paper -and he read the kind words which it contained for himself. - -‘Every one is too good to me, mother,’ he said, his lips quivering; -‘I don’t deserve it. It is just like the Bible story—the ring, and -the best dress; and yet all the time Mr Maxwell was reading it to me -the other night I felt that it could not turn out the same for me, and -I was afraid to tell him my proper name. He has been so good to me, -mother; he made me feel that I must tell him, even though I was afraid, -for he began talking about you, and saying that you might be breaking -your heart because you had lost me. Somehow I had never thought about -that before; I had only thought of the trouble and the disgrace I had -been to you all. And yet it is true what he said. You are just as kind -and jolly as ever, just as if I hadn’t done anything.’ - -His mother kissed him softly. - -‘And remember, dearie,’ she whispered, ‘if it is true of mother and -father, it is far more true of God, and of the dear Lord who first told -the story as an example of what love and forgiveness really are. But we -must not have any more serious talk just now. Why, you have never asked -for father, or Ronald, or little Dorothy!’ - -‘Oh yes, how are they?’ asked Vivian eagerly, looking half-ashamed of -his omission. ‘And Joe Flinders,’ he repeated anxiously, ‘how is he?’ - -‘Joe is very well indeed,’ replied his mother, seeing that it would -ease his mind to have this sore subject spoken of. ‘But he is not with -Uncle Walter now; he has got a place as groom-gardener at a country -rectory in Dorsetshire, and his mother has gone with him to keep the -lodge and look after the hens. Joe is quite elated, I can tell you; his -wages are almost double what he had at Eversley, and we hear such good -reports of him! As for Dorothy, she is blooming; she sent a hundred -kisses to you, and would have sent her own special dolly Rose-Marie if -I had had room for her in my bag. As for father and Ronald, they must -speak for themselves, for I hear them coming upstairs.’ - -‘Father and Ronald! Have they come all this way to see me?’ asked -Vivian, his eyes wide open with astonishment. - -His mother had no time to answer before the door was thrown open, and -the smiling faces of his father and brother were beaming down at him. - -Ronald’s smile was rather misty, to be sure, in spite of the warning -Dr Armitage had given him about not breaking down or exciting Vivian, -and his ‘Hallo, old chap!’ sounded rather choked; but what did it -matter to Vivian, who pulled the dear curly head down on the pillow -beside him, feeling that he could face the world again now that he had -all his dear ones with him, and they had forgiven him freely! - -They all talked for a little time, and then his mother cleared the -room, and insisted that he should lie still and rest quietly for an -hour after all the excitement which he had passed through, while she -sat beside him in happy silence, holding his hand in hers. - -Then she helped him to dress, and his father came and carried him out -to his usual place under the lime-tree, where he spent a long happy -morning, talking to his mother and Ronald, listening to all that they -had to tell him of the events of the last six months, and pouring out -his own story about the little cottage away in the _Montagnes Noirs_, -and old Madame Genviève, and the gentle Nanette (of whom he had been -really fond), and the kind peasant who had acted the Good Samaritan to -him, and who had so unwittingly led him to safe shelter by suggesting -that he should travel hidden in the Vicomte’s motor-car. - -‘Father must find him out and give him something, mother,’ he said; -‘for if it had not been for him I would never have come here. Indeed, I -think I would have turned ill by the roadside, for I can just remember -how my legs ached and how funny my head felt. As for Madame Genviève, I -don’t want ever to see her again,’ and he gave a little shudder as he -remembered the dark days he had spent with her. - -‘No, you need never see her again, my boy,’ said his mother, ‘and I -think the best thing you can do is to put all thoughts of her out of -your head.’ - -She did not add that although Vivian would not see the unkind old woman -again, unless he had to go into the witness-box and witness against -her, other people would make a point of finding her out, and making -her explain how it was that Vivian came to live with her; for, after -discussing the matter, the Vicomte and Mr Maxwell and Dr Armitage had -all agreed that there was little doubt that she was in league with -her son who had brought Vivian to the cottage, and who in his turn -was doubtless in league with the gang of burglars who had broken into -Eversley with such disastrous results. - -The three gentlemen had gone to Dinard to meet the detective whom the -Vicomte had telegraphed for; but Vivian was not told this, as it was -thought better not to excite him more than could be helped; and when -at last they returned in time for afternoon-tea (which the Vicomte -had ordered out of courtesy to Mrs Armitage), bringing a stout, -rosy-cheeked little man with them, who spoke French and English equally -well, and who looked exactly like a farmer, it was quite a long time -before the little boy grasped the fact that the stranger who listened -so attentively, and seemed so interested in all his adventures, was -really one of the cleverest detectives in Europe. - -‘Bravo!’ he said at last, when, almost unknown to Vivian, the whole -story had been drawn forth once more. ‘You are a very plucky fellow, -Master Vivian, for I fancy that few grown men would have dared to -tackle Jim Strivers as you did. Why, he is one of the best-known -burglars in England, and a most dangerous man. It was a desperate -step, even for him, to smuggle you into a carriage, and to tap you on -the head to keep you still. I wonder they did not discover you at the -Custom-House. One of them carried you like a baby, I dare say. However, -he will find he has gone just one step too far this time. We will get -rid of him for ten or fifteen years.’ - -‘Do you know his name?’ asked Vivian in surprise. - -‘Yes, I do, now that you have described him to me,’ said the man, -laughing. ‘I have a very large acquaintanceship with people of that -kind, young sir; if I showed you my visiting-list you would be -astonished. I wonder none of us thought of Jim before; but we didn’t -know that he was in London just then, and his giving us the slip, and -getting across to Paris like that, threw us off the scent.—However, -I’ll be off to Paris as soon as is convenient to you, monsieur,’ and he -bowed to the Vicomte. ‘There is no time to be lost if we want to catch -the whole gang. For, now that the young gentleman has escaped, the old -woman may give the alarm, though we will hope that she is in too great -fear of her son to let him know a moment sooner than she could help.—I -don’t expect she could write. Could she?’ he went on, turning sharply -to Vivian. - -‘I don’t know; I never saw her try,’ said Vivian doubtfully. - -‘I do not expect she could,’ said the detective; ‘the stupider she is, -the safer for the gang. I shouldn’t be a bit astonished if they took -part of the swag there, as well as the young gentleman. With such a -hue-and-cry as there was over the robbery, it would not be very safe -for them to try to sell it.’ - -‘What do you mean by the swag?’ asked Ronald. - -‘Why, the silver, to be sure, young sir, and the other things that they -took. Experienced men like them always know that it is safer to let the -noise die down before they try to sell the swag, even if it is melted -silver in a lump. Now, I shouldn’t be at all astonished if there were -some very pretty nuggets of metal hidden about that old dame’s house. -What might tell tales in Paris or London may be quite safe in the heart -of Brittany, you know.’ - -‘I’ll tell you where it is,’ cried Vivian, starting up suddenly. ‘It is -hidden in the little outhouse where Nanette stays.’ - -He looked so flushed and excited that Mr Maxwell glanced hastily at -Dr Armitage, thinking that all the events of the day had brought on a -return of the fever. - -‘No, it is all right; he knows what he is saying,’ said the doctor, -laying a restraining hand on Vivian’s shoulder.—‘Lie down again, my -boy, and tell us quietly what makes you think that the silver is there.’ - -‘Because one day, just when I first began to get about, I was in -Nanette’s stall, and I thought I heard a rat. You know how I hate -rats,’ and he shivered at the remembrance. ‘Well, I was poking about -in the thatch with a stick to see if I could see its hole, when Madame -Genviève came in, and, oh, she was so angry! She looked frightened too, -and she shook me until I was so giddy I could hardly see, and she said -that if ever she found me poking there again she would beat me with her -little stick.’ - -‘Ah, she did, did she?’ said the little rosy-faced man grimly, while -Mrs Armitage took Vivian’s thin white hand in hers and held it fast. -‘Well, we shall see what we shall see. I fancy Madame Genviève will -need to put up with a variety of people who want to poke about in her -thatched roof.—But by your leave, Monsieur the Vicomte, I shall say -adieu, or rather _au revoir_. The train for Paris leaves Dinard at six -o’clock sharp, and I think I hear the man bringing round the motor.’ -And with a cheery nod and smile the little man departed, eager to be -on the track of the men for whom he and his colleagues had searched so -diligently for the last six months. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -A FRESH BEGINNING. - - -AFTER this Vivian made rapid progress. Happiness is a great restorer, -and the little boy was very happy in those days. - -Dr Armitage had soon to go back to his work; but Vivian’s mother stayed -with him for a whole month, until he was almost quite well and able -to run about the beautiful grounds of the château, and even to go to -Dinard; and when at last she had to go home, and would have taken her -boys with her, the hospitable Vicomte, who was really rather a lonely -man, begged so earnestly that they might both be allowed to remain a -little longer that their father and she agreed to his request, all the -more readily perhaps as the detective’s words had proved true; and -the newspapers in England were full of the romantic story of Vivian’s -reappearance, the capture of the gang of burglars in Paris, and the -recovery of most of the silver which had been stolen from Mr Osbourne’s -house in January. - -The thieves had not taken the precaution to melt it down, thinking, no -doubt, that it was safe enough for the present in the thatch of Madame -Genviève’s cowhouse, so Aunt Dora had got most of her forks and spoons -back again without their being any the worse, and Claude, to his great -joy, had his christening-mug to drink out of once more. - -Needless to say, every one who read the newspapers, and especially -those who knew the principal actors in the story, were deeply -interested in every detail of it; and, although Dr and Mrs Armitage -would have liked their two boys at home with them once more, they felt -that it was much better that Vivian should remain quietly where he was -not known until the excitement had passed over. - -So all through the long summer days he and Ronald remained at the -Château de Choisigny, learning to speak fluent French with the Vicomte, -and boating on the river with Mr Maxwell, who proved himself to be the -most delightful companion, entering into all their plans and interests -as if he had been a boy himself. - -At school and college he had been a clever sketcher, and in this time -of enforced idleness he took up the pastime again, and gave lessons to -the boys, Ronald proving an apt pupil; while Vivian could, as he said, -‘at least draw things well enough to let the people at home know what -they were meant for.’ - -Under his guidance, too, they began a collection of butterflies and one -of wild-flowers, and altogether the time passed so happily that it was -almost with regret that they saw the end of August approaching. - -Mr Maxwell was going to take up his work in his new parish in the -beginning of September, and the happy party must then be broken up. - -‘Another month, and you will be quite settled down in Cornwall, _mon -ami_,’ said the Vicomte one evening, as they were idly drifting down -the Rance in a little white rowing-boat, ‘and I will be preparing to -set out to visit you and to rub up my English a little.’ - -‘And we will be home again,’ said Ronald in such a melancholy voice -that every one laughed. ‘Of course,’ he went on apologetically, ‘I -shall be very glad to be back with father and mother and little -Dorothy, especially now that Vivi will be there too; but it has been so -jolly here, and after the holidays it may be rather dull at home, for -the Strangeways are going to school, and we will need to do our lessons -alone.’ - -‘I thought you never much liked the Strangeways, and didn’t mind their -going away,’ said Vivian. - -‘No; I didn’t much care for them as long as I had you; but they were -better than nobody,’ said Ronald candidly. ‘We will be the only boys in -the neighbourhood now, and I don’t think we will go to school till next -year at least. But, anyhow, they will not be gone for a week or two -after we go back, so it won’t be so very quiet just at first, and we -will get used to it after a bit.’ - -Vivian said nothing, but his face flushed. No one knew how he was -dreading the return home and the shower of questions which he knew -would be poured upon him by Fergus, and Vere, and Charlie. He would -have done anything in the world to have avoided the meeting; but he -knew it was unavoidable, so he was trying to accept it as part of his -punishment, and to face it as bravely as he could. - -Perhaps Mr Maxwell read his thoughts, for he laid his hand kindly on -his shoulder. - -‘I wonder how you two boys would like to come straight down to -Cornwall with me?’ he said, smiling. ‘I have been thinking lately that -I shall be very lonely after all the companionship which I have had -here.—What say you, Ronald; do you think that we could do Latin and -Greek together, and you could go on with your sketches?’ - -‘It would be jolly, sir,’ said Ronald; ‘but I am afraid we must go home -now. The holidays are nearly past, and we can’t go everywhere.’ - -But Vivian saw what Mr Maxwell meant more clearly. - -‘I believe you are in earnest, sir, and that you have asked father and -mother to let us go and do lessons with you,’ he cried, clasping his -friend’s hand in his excitement. ‘Oh, I hope they will let us go; you -don’t know how I dread going home.’ - -‘Gently, gently, old fellow,’ said Mr Maxwell, as he noted Vivian’s -quivering lips. Any sudden excitement was apt to bring on severe -attacks of headache, which still caused anxiety to the little boy’s -friends, for they showed that the bad effects of the long period of -strain which he had passed through were not completely gone. ‘The fact -is, I have arranged matters with your father and mother, and you are -both going to keep me company for the next year or so, and do lessons -with me. And, unless you very much want to go home first, we think it -better that you should go straight to Cornwall with me next week. Do -you like the plan, eh?’ - -‘I think it splendid, sir,’ said Ronald, feeling all at once that he -was raised to the status of a public school boy; for was not living -and doing lessons with a private tutor quite as good as being at -school? While Vivian only squeezed Mr Maxwell’s hand very tightly, -and whispered so softly that no one else could hear, ‘It is the new -beginning you told me about, isn’t it, sir?’ And although the words -were vague, Mr Maxwell knew what he meant. - -‘But had we better not go home for a day or two?’ asked Ronald after -a pause. ‘Will we not be rather in the way when you are settling your -things in the Rectory? You told us that all your things were packed up, -and that you would not have them sent down from London until you were -there to see to them yourself.’ - -‘Ha, you luxurious fellow!’ laughed Mr Maxwell, ‘so you are afraid that -you will arrive to find nothing but bare boards, and perhaps one plate -and one cup amongst us. Well, for your comfort, I may tell you that the -Rectory is furnished already, and I have only my books and pictures to -arrange, and I shall expect you to help me with those.’ - -‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ said Ronald; ‘for even if the house hadn’t -been furnished, Vivi and I could have roughed it; but I thought perhaps -we might be in the way just at first. You will have such a lot to see -to when there is no lady’—— And here he stopped and grew red, feeling -that it was not very polite to allude to Mr Maxwell’s bachelor ways. - -But the clergyman only laughed. - -‘So you think that I would need a wife to arrange my belongings, or -a sister, eh, Ronald? Well, I am sorry I have neither; but a very -charming lady has promised to go down and get things ready for us—a -lady and a dear little girl.’ - -Something in his voice made both boys look up. - -‘Do you mean mother and Dorothy?’ they asked in one breath. - -Mr Maxwell’s eyes twinkled. ‘Wild horses will not drag any more -particulars out of me,’ he said; ‘only I think that you will find when -you get there that there will be at least sheets on the beds, and -perhaps even a cup of tea waiting for you.’ And with that the boys had -to be content. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -WESTWARD HO! - - -IT is a far cry from Dinard to the west of Cornwall; and by the time -they were nearing their destination on the second day of their journey -both boys were feeling rather tired. But they brightened up when at -last they left the train, and took their places in the coach which was -to carry them over the twenty miles which lay between the last station -to which the railway ran and the little fishing-village of Polwherne. - -It was a lovely drive up and down steep country roads and over wide -stretches of moorland, where the heather grew like a purple pall, and -the wild moorfowl circled over their heads uttering shrill cries as -they passed. All at once, just as the sun was setting, they seemed to -come to the end of the land, for without any warning, at the top of a -steep ascent, the moorland suddenly stopped, and they found themselves -looking down on a wide expanse of dark-blue sea, over which the last -rays of the sun shone like burnished gold. - -Down below them, to the right, the cliffs fell back a little, forming -a tiny bay, and here, nestling to the sides of the rocks, lay a tiny, -red-roofed village, which was reached by a steep, straggling road. - -It was evidently a fishing-village, for the main street ran down to a -miniature harbour, which was full of boats. Farther on, running along -the foot of the cliffs, was a long stretch of yellow sand, which, -however, showed signs of being covered by the sea at high-tide. - -‘So this is Polwherne, boys,’ said Mr Maxwell, as the driver drew -up his horses for a moment’s breathing-space before they began the -descent. ‘I hope you will not find it too dull. There will be lots of -boating to be had, and long tramps on the moors, and in winter we must -keep ourselves busy with work and books.’ - -‘Oh no, we sha’n’t be dull; it looks a jolly place,’ cried both the -boys at once, for they were passionately fond of the sea, and were -never at a loss to find occupation when they were within reach of it. -‘Why, we will soon learn to know all about a boat, and we can make a -model of one in the winter. We tried to make one once at home, but we -had nothing to copy from. But what a road for a carriage! Do you think -the man will ever manage to get down with all those boxes?’ - -‘He is accustomed to it, I expect,’ said Mr Maxwell. See, he has long -skids to put on the wheels to keep the coach back. He comes over here -three days a week, so he knows the road well. Besides, the Rectory is -not very far down; that is it, that big red house among the trees at -the top of the main street. Well, I hope that the lady I spoke of has a -good tea waiting for us.’ - -The driver had arranged his skids and climbed up to his seat once more; -glancing over his shoulder with a cheery ‘To the Rectory, sir?’ he -cracked his whip, and the coach began its lumbering descent. It needed -skilful driving; but the man knew what he was about, and in less than -five minutes he had turned his horses in at the low wooden gate which -led to the Rectory grounds. - -‘Hallo! there are quite a lot of people at the door,’ said Ronald in a -bewildered voice, and then he gave a shout of glad surprise. ‘Look, -Vivi, look!’ he cried. ‘There is father and mother, and Uncle Walter -and Aunt Dora, and all the others. Even Isobel, not on a chair at all, -but walking about like the rest.’ - -And there, indeed, they all were, crowding round the coach, with eager -greetings helping the boys to jump down, and lifting out their numerous -packages. - -‘Vivi has comed back to me, mine own Vivi!’ cried little Dorothy, -forsaking for once her elder brother in her joy at finding her -younger one; while Isobel, taller and thinner than she had been at -Christmas-time, and with closely cropped hair, linked her arm in -Vivian’s, whispering in delight, ‘Isn’t this jolly? And aren’t you -astonished to see us all here? We came to give you a surprise, and we -are to stay a whole month. Uncle Jack only arrived this afternoon; but -auntie and Dorothy came two days ago, and we came last night. We are -living in that white house down there; you can see the chimneys just -over the garden wall, and I have left my stupid old chair behind me. -The doctor says I do not need it any more.’ - -Then they all went in to tea, in the low, old-fashioned dining-room, -with its mullioned windows which looked out over the sea. - -And such a tea it was, to be sure! There was newly baked bread, and -fresh boiled eggs, and a great dish of shrimps which the children had -caught in the pools that morning; and delicious butter and honey, and a -pile of hot girdle cakes, and a round orange-cake, Vivian’s favourite, -which Aunt Dora had brought all the way from London with her. - -Mrs Armitage sat at the head of the table, and Mr Maxwell at the foot, -and it seemed as if every one laughed and talked and ate as they had -never laughed and talked and eaten in their lives before. - -‘I think I have never been at such a jolly tea-party,’ said Ronald, -when at last he had to own that he was satisfied, and could not tackle -even a tiny piece more of Aunt Dora’s orange-cake. - -‘Nor I!’ ‘Nor I!’ ‘Nor I!’ echoed Isobel and Vivian and Claude. - -‘It reminds me of the tea-party we had the night you came to us at -Christmas, Ronald,’ said Ralph, ‘before all the fuss began. We had -orange-cake that night, and I don’t believe I have tasted it since. Do -you remember, we had the silver cake-knife upstairs to cut the icing -and to make the table look nice—mother’s best silver cake-knife, which -the thieves took, and which she has never got back?’ - -It was an unfortunate remark, for it brought back much that every one -was trying to forget. Somehow, Ralph had a habit of making such remarks. - -There was a moment’s pause, and then all the elders began to talk at -once, hoping that Vivian had not heard Ralph’s words, for they had -determined that no shadow of reproach should mar his home-coming. - -But he had heard it, and his face turned crimson. ‘I thought all the -silver had been found, Aunt Dora,’ he began timidly, looking across the -table to where his aunt was seated. - -‘So it has, dearie,’ she answered brightly, ‘all but one or two things -which are of no moment. The most important is a great silver epergne -which my great-uncle Joseph gave me when I was married, and which I -felt I must keep out on the sideboard, as he is always popping in to -lunch in the most unexpected fashion, and his feelings would have been -deeply hurt if he had missed it. He thought it a most wonderful work -of art, while I sometimes felt as if I would like to give it to a -bazaar or something, just to get it out of the way. So now it is gone -without hurting anyone’s feelings, and I do not mourn it. Besides,’ she -went on, ‘that party was not nearly as nice as this one—was it, Isobel? -We had not Uncle Jack, nor Aunt Dora, nor little Dorothy; and we did -not even know Mr Maxwell’s name then.’ - -‘Me don’t know him now,’ said little Dorothy, who always said straight -out what she thought, and who had been studying the strange gentleman -all tea-time, with great wondering eyes, from her place of honour at -Vivian’s right hand. - -‘Don’t you, young lady,’ said Mr Maxwell, pushing back his chair, among -general laughter, and coming round to where she sat. ‘Ah, then I cannot -take you round the garden pickaback; I only do that to people whom I -know.’ - -‘Oh, but me will know you now,’ cried Dorothy, who dearly loved this -mode of travelling, stretching out her arms to the kind, worn face -which always exercised a peculiar fascination over children; and, in -the roars of laughter which greeted this sudden change of opinion, the -threatened cloud was forgotten, and Vivian’s face grew bright once more. - -So once again the old story proved true all through, and the little -prodigal coming back to his own country found, instead of the stern -welcome which he had expected, only laughing and feasting and -rejoicing. And here, in his new home, we may say good-bye to him for -he has learned his bitter lesson, and learned it well. And no truer -resolve was ever made, or more faithfully kept, than the one he made -that night when he was alone with his mother in the little bedroom -which opened out of Ronald’s, and which was to belong to him, that from -henceforth he would strive with all his might against his besetting -sin, and that when he was overcome by it—as all of us are, many times, -by our own special temptations—he would not try to hide it, but would -own up at once fully and freely, and then begin again with fresh energy -to fight his battle with all his might. - - - THE END. - - - Edinburgh: - Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited. - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Obvious punctuation errors repaired. - -Page 195, repeated word “as” removed from text (’Tain’t as if ’e had) - -Page 226, paragraph break inserted after (‘How far is it to Carhaix?’ -he repeated.) - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Vivian's Lesson, by Elizabeth W. 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